The Canvas War by Ivory Autumn

Author:Ivory Autumn [Autumn, Ivory]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: liberty, fantasy, magic, young adult, childrens, fun, epic, darkness, freedom, stars, swords, elves, battles, andrew, light, quest, worlds, sky, pictures, fantasy contemporary, fantasy about an elf, fantasy about a magician, fantasy action adventures, fantasy adventure book, fantasy about animals, fantasy about a horse, fantasy about a prince, fantasy about a city, fantasy about a mythical creature, the quest of orions belt
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine

Morack

Twisker Proverb

Open

Open doors, open books, open ears and open eyes, open hands open hearts, open skies. Open windows, open lips, and open wings, these are the things that open mens’ minds.

Closed

Closed doors, closed books, closed ears, closed eyes, closed hands, closed hearts, closed windows, closed lips, and closed wings. These are the things that close mens’ minds.

~~~

The formidable clock in Morack's chamber chimed the hour, hammering out every gong in distress as if it was a slave, wearily wielding a heavy anvil. The room was dark, lit by only a single candle. The candle flickered, casting long shadows in the room, sputtering as if it was weary of shining in such a gloomy place.

Morack walked to the window and stared out into the blackness of night. Rain pelted the window, and drizzled down the glass. He held his fingers up to the window, inspecting his long nails by the little light the window afforded in the dark room. They were thick, and long, with a dark build up of grime underneath. He drew his dagger, cleaning the dirt underneath his nails. He scowled as he cleaned them, thinking of all the troubles and woe that had come to him. How dare his fingernails be dirty, and troublesome as well. Vargas had been putting great pressure on him to capture a band of travelers that were heading towards Danspire. But time was ticking away and he still didn’t have the traitors in his hands. If he didn't get them soon, Vargas would not be pleased. And if Vargas was not pleased, The Fallen would be even less pleased.

A rumor had been circulating about the return of Lancedon, his horrible nephew. Could it be? He was supposed to be dead.

He frowned and savagely cut at his fingernails with the dagger, almost slicing off his thumb, bringing so much blood, that he cried out in rage. He stared at his bleeding thumb and then licked up the salty blood as if he liked the taste. He paused and grimaced, remembering the boy Vargas had told him about---the boy who had a sword of truth, one that could slice through all his lies. The very thought caused him to shiver.

“Guards!” Morack called, pulling his black velvety cape around his shoulders. “Where is that Ragweed? He promised he would take care of Lancedon and the boy for me. And it has been days? I have heard nothing!”

“Be calm, my master,” a tall thin creature murmured from its position beside the wooden door of the chamber. It hugged the wall, looking as thin as a shadow. “Even now,” the voice continued, “the traitors are at your very borders and the boy whom The Fallen seeks is among them.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“But what of the Ragweed? Has he captured them?”

The flat creature bent its head away from the door and hissed. “I presume so.” Its eyes looked like two small slits in a sheet of black cloth.

Morack did not look pleased. “And what of the one they call Lancedon.

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