When Legends Rise: Highcliff Guardians Epic Fantasy Series (Soul Forge Universe Book 4) by Richard H. Stephens

Author:Richard H. Stephens [Stephens, Richard H.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dragonfang Press
Published: 2024-04-28T00:00:00+00:00

“What are you up to Wizard?”

I haven’t felt this good since the Demon Rogue attacked me. Foolish elf woman. What was she thinking. Even in her prime, she wasn’t a match for me. But as an old, washed-up Guardian, she must have lost her mind. The Soul shook his head, skeletal fingers absently tapping on the armrest of the Willow Throne to the cadence of an ancient song that for some reason kept going through his head. A song he had heard sung many times by the coven that had made the grievous error of not accepting him into their fold. How many years, he corrected himself, how many centuries have passed since that long ago time?

If only those bullies could see me now. His fingertips stopped their drumming as he appreciated what he had achieved since then. As it turned out, the witches had unwittingly done him a favour by shunning him. On the cusp of becoming the most powerful being ever known, he grinned. The pitiful covens of the old world employed parlour tricks to fill uneducated minds with superstitious rhetoric. Where are they now? Long dead, and good riddance to the lot of them.

He nodded and scanned the empty throne room. Deserted by those who wished him dead. And yet, he knew they would come for him again. Just like they always did. It seemed that nobody had the sense to learn from the fatal lesson taught to those who had come at him before.

The witches of the old world. The Dragon Witch. The treacherous Urdanya. Nyxa. Bale Tayn. Afara Maral. Odyne. Khae. The Demon Rogue. Orlythe. All gone. And those were the more notable names that flashed through his mind. There had been countless others who, if given a chance, would have wished him ill—if only the fools had possessed the courage and strength to stand against him.

He rose and made his way to the wide entranceway, willing the doors to open. From the vantage point of the threshold of Borreraig Palace’s throne room, he was able to observe the interior gardens—the plants withered and brown—pondering everything life had thrown at him to get to this point.

From an early age he had grovelled at people’s feet just to survive; offering his mystic talents to anyone willing to spare him a crust. By virtue of being orphaned due to the brazen disregard of those entrusted to govern the land with little regard for their lowborn citizens, he had fought for every scrap, barely eking out enough to survive. If not for his exceptional sleight of hand learned by watching others in the streets, he doubted he would have lived long enough to see his teenage years. As benevolent as he had tried to be, life had knocked him down, again, and again, and again.

Ironically, during his vulnerable coming-of-age years, it was the same society who forced him down an ever-darkening path, their blatant disregard to what he had to offer, that had forged his future. In a

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