Frostborn: The World Gate by Jonathan Moeller

Author:Jonathan Moeller [Moeller, Jonathan]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Science Fiction & Fantasy, Fantasy, Epic, Historical, Arthurian
Google: bAKKCgAAQBAJ
Amazon: B015APGFVW
Publisher: Azure Flame Media, LLC
Published: 2015-09-10T23:00:00+00:00

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A deathly chill washed through Calliande, and her eyes shot open. For a moment she thought the shutters to her small room had blown open, but that was absurd. It was still late summer, and the nights were hot and muggy. She started to sit up, wondering where the chill had originated.

But she could not move.

Thousands upon thousands of shadowy black threads wound around her bare arms and legs, seeming to sink into her flesh without touching her skin. Calliande tried to move again, but the terrible chill leeched away her strength. She summoned magic, but the black threads drained away the power. Fear surged through her, and she blinked, trying to follow the maze of threads to their source.

A man in a white robe stood at the foot of her bed, his face gentle, his blue eyes kindly. He held his arms over the bed, and his hands had…vanished, replaced by thousands upon thousands of delicate black threads erupting from his sleeves.

Suddenly Calliande knew why Imaria had called him the Weaver.

“Ah, Calliande,” said the Weaver. “You’re awake. How very excellent.” His voice was soft, and would not carry through the thick wood of the door. “I’m going to kill you, both because the master commanded it, and because you are an obstacle to the great vision. But before you die, I wanted to remind you who I was.”

She had never seen this man before in her life. She drew breath to scream, but the shadowy threads wrapping her head tightened, draining away her breath.

“Of course, I know you don’t remember me,” he said in that same calm, gentle voice. “I look a little different now. The shadow of Incariel taught me many things. But let us see if I can remember what I looked like when you knew me.”

His head exploded.

Calliande would have flinched, had she been able to move. Instead of blood and brains and bone, his head exploded into a spray of a thousand lashing black threads, every one of them whipping about of their own volition. The threads reknit themselves, weaving into a new shape, the head of a middle-aged man with graying black hair and bloodshot gray eyes, his face lined, but a sardonic smile on his lips.

And that face Calliande did know.

“Ah,” murmured the Weaver. “So you do remember, even after all those centuries.”

She had known him, centuries ago, though he had not been called the Weaver back then. She had known him as Toridan, a Magistrius of the Order, one of the new generation of Magistri that had come of age in the final phases of the long war against the Frostborn. He had also been friends with Talvinius and Coriolus, the Magistri had been the forerunners of the Eternalists and the Enlightened of Incariel, the Magistri who had corrupted Calliande’s apprentice and listened to the deceptions of Shadowbearer…the Magistri who had set Calliande upon the path that had led her to the Tower of Vigilance.

And like Talvinius and Coriolus, Toridan had survived the centuries to threaten Calliande once more.

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