The Sorcerer's Tome

by Philip Sealey

  The Sorcerer's Tome

  The Thomas Knight Chronicles, Volume 1

  Philip Sealey

  Published by Wight Publishing, 2021.

  Published in 2021 by Wight Publishing

  Copyright © S.P.Sealey

  The author or authors assert their moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author or authors of this work.

  All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  ISBN: 978-1838409708

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  462 years ago. | (...give or take.)

  Chapter 1 | A Portal in a Storm

  Chapter 2 | Breakfast with the Professor

  Chapter 3 | Death and the Cleric

  Chapter 4 | The Witch

  Chapter 5 | A Meeting in the Tavern

  Chapter 6 | Betrayed

  Chapter 7 | The Quest Begins

  Chapter 8 | The Magic Lesson

  Chapter 9 | At the River

  Chapter 10 | The Ferryman

  Chapter 11 | Howl at the Moonglow

  Chapter 12 | Monsters and Mushrooms

  Chapter 13 | Lucky Shot

  Chapter 14 | The Trap

  Chapter 15 | Metamorphosis

  Chapter 16 | Home

  Also By Philip Sealey

  For Tom

  My Inspiration

  462 years ago.

  (...give or take.)

  The eerie glow of the burning torches threw dancing shadows on the rough stone walls of the meeting chamber. The big wooden door creaked open. A robed figure hurried through and rushed over to his assigned place at the large round table from around which twelve pairs of eyes watched him.

  “Now that we are all present,” said the Patriarch, whose beard was the longest by a clear foot. “I hereby convene the final convocation of elders, on this, the fifty-first day of the third quarter of Chemise in the age of Pisces, to...”

  “It’s only the forty-eighth day of the third quarter of Chemise,” said the person on his right.

  “No, he’s right. It’s the fifty-first,” said someone else.

  “Chemise? I thought we were still in Camisole,” said the most elderly elder.

  “Camisole! That was three eras ago. Silly old f...”

  “Brothers, please,” cried the Patriarch, “I convene this convocation of the elders to confirm the proposal made at our last meeting.

  “Brethren, as the last remaining elders of Iragoth, and before we leave this plane of existence to join with our brothers in the eternal...”

  “Oh, get on with it,” someone heckled.

  “..Eh-hem... Right... You have all had time to ponder this grave situation. Do we all agree to unite the cypher of the Dragon’s Tome and hide it in the safe and secure repository as discussed at the coffee morning last week?”

  “It is really necessary, I suppose? I mean, it is a little drastic, don’t you think?” asked the late arrival.

  “Sputillius, we can’t allow the refugees from the other realm to get their hands on it. Their magic is young, and the persecution they suffered for it will taint them for many years to come. They will fill the void we leave here on Lucifria, but they must not be permitted to discover the secrets of the Tome. Its power will corrupt them.”

  “Perhaps we could hide it; somewhere here; under a gargoyle, perhaps.”

  “Oi! Who told you where I hide my ‘Warlocks and Wagons’ scrolls?”

  “No one.”

  “Dementius! Warlocks and Wagons! I’d never have thought it.”

  “Brethren!” the Patriarch cried. “You have read the signs. If the prophecy is fulfilled and the great evil returns to these lands, the Tome will give it the power to destroy this and all other worlds. That is a legacy we have no right to leave.”

  “Quite right! Well said, Septus-Elrik,” said the man at his right, then mumbled to himself about a new hiding place for his scrolls.

  “If there is that much at stake it should be destroyed,” said a grumpy-looking, red-faced fellow. “Throw the darn thing in the well.”

  “No,” said Septus-Elrik quietly.

  “Why not?” asked Red Face. “It’s the only way to be sure of keeping it out of the hands of those who would surely use it for evil.”

  “Because,” said Septus-Elrik solemnly. “If the prophecy is fulfilled and the Saviour of Iragoth returns to fight the evil again, he will need the power of the Tome to save the universe from eternal darkness.”

  Everyone sat for a moment, looking silently at each other.

  Eventually, Dementius spoke, “Well, I’m with old Septic,” he said.

  “Brethren, you have heard the proposition, you will now signify your consent in the usual manner,” said Septus-Elrik.

  Slowly hands began to raise, some reluctantly, but eventually all thirteen elders voted in favour.

  “Then it is agreed. Gentlemen your places, please.”

  The old berobed men, all with white hair and beards of varying lengths got to their feet and placed their hands on the table. Septus-Elrik opened a small wooden box in front of him and took out an oval stone inscribed with strange runes, which he placed in the centre of the table. Taking up his position with the others, he closed his eyes and began to chant a rhythmic incantation.

  The others listened for a moment and then joined in one by one.

  When the thirteenth man had joined the chant, a crystal worn on a cord around each of their necks began to glow. Brighter and brighter they shone until a shaft of light burst from the Patriarch’s crystal to the stone in the centre of the table. In a clockwise direction, similar beams came from each of the other twelve jewels in turn, each ray of light pulsating as if something was passing from man to stone. The stone rose into the air revolving slowly as it was endowed with the mystical energy. It too began to glow, like a dynamo-powered bicycle light, the dim glow growing brighter the faster it turned. Gradually the stone started to lose its shape, collapsing in on itself till it was nothing more than a point of piercing light no bigger than a pea. As it hovered in the air, the beams of light ceased pulsating and were reflected onto the table below. Thirteen points of light hit the table, lingering for a moment before starting to rotate. Soon the beams blurred into a cone of bright light that engulfed the whole table. The rays ceased, and a tiny point of white brilliance was left hovering above a disc of pure light. It began to descend, disappearing into the dazzling glare. The disc of light faded, leaving the table as before. The stone was gone.

  “No one will find it there,” said Septus-Elrik.

  “Well, Septic, let us pray you are right,” said Red-Face.

  “DON’T CALL ME THAT,” Septus-Elrik said irritably.

  “Are you sure it’s not still Camisole?”

  Chapter 1

  A Portal in a Storm

  Tom threw off his coat and raced upstairs. His mum shouted a greeting from the kitchen as he tore through the house. In his bedroom, he dragged his already loosened black and green school tie over his head and threw it in the corner by a chest of drawers. His white shirt and charcoal trousers followed. He rescued his jeans from the end of his bottom bunk where they had been discarded the previous night. He put them to his face, inhaling deeply; ‘Hmm, last another couple of days,’ he thought, pulling them on. He picked up his can of deodorant, aimed and pressed the top. It fizzed int
o silence.

  “Bum,” he said and glancing around the room, saw his brother’s expensive body spray and grabbed it.

  After taking a shower in the pricey spray, Tom pulled on a hoody, grabbed his white trainers and ran out of the bedroom.

  “Mum, is my blue fleece ready?” Tom asked, bursting into the kitchen.

  His mum was putting a casserole dish into the oven. She was wearing a long black dress with silver sparkles and what Tom called her ‘going out face’.

  “Are you going out?” he asked, surprised.

  “Yes,” Mum replied, hurriedly taking off the apron protecting her best dress. “It’s the Minstrels’ Christmas party at the Witches tonight. Jackie is picking me up at five, so we can go and get the function rooms decorated before the others get there.”

  “Oh yeah,” replied Tom, vaguely remembering his parents talking about it the other day. He opened the fridge and surveyed its contents.

  “Matt and James will have to sort out the dinner. Your dad’s out at a meeting,” she said, rushing past him. “Oh, look at the time,” she moaned, looking at the clock in the hall. “She’ll be here in ten minutes.”

  Tom grabbed the orange juice out of the fridge, slopped some into a cup and followed her, still carrying the carton. “What about my fleece?” he asked.

  “It’s in the wash basket,” Mum called.

  “I wanted that for tonight, it’s our end of term party at Sam’s.”

  “It would still be under your bed where you threw it if I hadn’t rescued it this morning,” Mum said coming back downstairs with her fake fur coat on. Tom thought she looked like a giant poodle but thought it safer not to say anything.

  “Bet you made sure Alice’s ballet stuff was ready,” he grumbled.

  “Alice puts her things in the wash basket when she’s finished with them, so they get washed straight away. You don’t,” Mum replied. “Look, Tom, I can’t run around after you all the while. You’re old enough to help out around here. I have four of you to look after, and I’m backwards and forwards to your Gran’s all the while. You’ve got that hoody on, put your coat over the top.”

  She bustled back into the kitchen in a haze of overpowering perfume and started to write instructions on a pad for her older children to follow.

  There was the sound of thunder on the stairs heralding the arrival of a muscly, thick-set youth with a towel wrapped around his waist and dripping hair. He pushed past Tom snatching the juice carton on his way.

  “Oi, that’s my deodorant, you git,” James shouted as the fragrance registered in his brain.

  “Only borrowed it,” Tom said, running up the hall. “Ow!” He wasn’t quick enough to avoid the whip of James’ towel as he flicked it, catching the younger brother painfully on the back of his leg.

  “JAMES!” shrieked Mum, coming back into the hallway and seeing a little more of her son than she would have liked to. “Cover yourself up, Alice is in the living room.”

  James wrapped the towel around his waist, grinning. “Mum, why do you look like a giant poodle?”

  Tom heard the slap from the living room where he had gone, rubbing his sore leg. Matt, Tom’s eldest brother, was sat playing snakes and ladders on the floor by the Christmas tree with their little sister.

  “Hey, nipper! You in trouble again?”

  “Yeah,” Tom said. “But I think James is in more.”

  “What you done this time?” asked Matt.

  “Just borrowed a bit of deodorant. Anyway, if he leaves his stuff lying around my room, what does he expect?”

  “It’s his room too. You’d soon start moaning if he nicked your stuff.”

  “Yeah, s’pose,” Tom mumbled, looking down at his shoes. “Hate sharing a room.”

  “Well, you won’t have too for much longer. Stick it out till February, and you can have my room,” Matt said.

  “I’d rather share and have you here,” Tom said.

  “I know mate. But it’s only during term time, and uni has long holidays.”

  “I don’t want you to go away, Matty,” said the girl sadly.

  “I won’t be away long, Alice. You won’t notice I’ve gone.”

  “Will,” she sulked.

  “Hey! Watch yourself out there tonight, Tom,” Matt said. “There was some trouble in town last night, some kids were attacked by a bloke, it was on the news. Stay with your mates, OK.

  “Have you got money for food and stuff?”

  “Yeah, I’m good,” Tom smiled.

  “Got your mobile? Good. Any trouble call me, OK?”

  “K.”

  “Go on, have fun.”

  Tom grabbed his parka from the hook by the front door and shouted goodbye to his family, but only got one reply and then went out into the chilly night. As he closed the squeaky front gate and started down the road, he thought about what it would be like when Matt had gone, and he was left with James and Alice. Mum was always so busy running around after Alice, managing the house, and looking after dad and four children, as well as caring for Gran. Gran lived in the next street, but since she’d had a stroke last year, she could not cope on her own. Every day, mum went around to help her get washed and dressed, do a bit of cleaning and shopping, and make her meals. When she wasn’t busy with the family, she was out with the Marsham Minstrels, an amateur dramatic group who put on musical shows for charity.

  Dad was always out. If he wasn’t at work, he was at a town or parish council meeting, or it was the Rotary club, or going to rugby or ice hockey with James.

  Matt was the oldest at almost nineteen and the only one who seemed to enjoy spending any time with Tom. He was going to Plymouth University in February. Having been sponsored by a local software company he spent his first term doing work experience, but in another couple of months, he started his course properly.

  James was two years younger and an apprentice carpenter, who spent most of his free time either playing sports or trying to get into pubs with his mates. Fortunately, he wasn’t much good at the latter and usually ended up coming home early smelling of chips.

  Next came Tom, fourteen-years-old and feeling neglected. He had enjoyed all the attention as the youngest child until he was nine when his world was turned upside down by the birth of his sister, Alice. Tom had loved being the centre of attention, it made him feel important; special. But, as he walked towards the common, he was blissfully unaware that he was indeed special and very important. More important than he could possibly imagine.

  When Tom reached the top of the high street, he found his friends, Ollie and Jack waiting for him outside Sam’s.

  “We always end up waiting for you,” Ollie said as Tom approached.

  “I have further to go than you two,” Tom retorted.

  “You should start out earlier then.”

  “And you should wash your mush after scoffing a chocky spread sandwich,” Tom shot back. Instinctively Ollie wiped his mouth on his sleeve. Tom and Jack laughed. “You’re gross.”

  They started through the gate into the courtyard which once housed the town’s war memorial. ‘Sam’s’ was an old converted church that was closed down and sold about five years ago. The big stone cross with the names of the townspeople who died in the First World War, along with two stone plaques displaying the names of those who died in the Second World War, were moved to the new memorial gardens on the old brewery site. The church was sold to Sam, a retired army sergeant, who converted it into a ten-pin bowling alley, amusement arcade and cafe. It was the place where most of the kids who couldn’t blag their way into the clubs went. Sam was quite happy to let all the local youth hang out there without spending much, providing they abided by his rules; no booze, no drugs and no trouble. If you kept to these rules, Sam let you do pretty much as you wanted.

  Inside the doorway, a group of girls were busy checking in their coats, chattering and giggling as they did so. Near the back of the group, a slight girl with jet black hair and the darkest brown eyes looked around and caught T
om’s eye. She gave him the merest hint of a smile, then looked away quickly, hoping her friends hadn’t seen. She got away with it. Tom, however, did not.

  “Hello,” said Jack, nudging him.

  “Shut it,” Tom said and went up to the cloakroom attendant. Jack and Ollie looked at each other and sniggered.

  About three hours later the three friends emerged from the club singing along to the Christmas song which followed them out through the big open doors. The words the boys sang were not the same as those on the CD, but the raucous chorus from inside echoed their colourful lyrics.

  The courtyard was populated by little groups of people huddled against the cold, some of whom were smoking and some couples in the darkest corners doing what couples usually do in the darkest corners. Tom looked back towards the doors as if trying to get a last glimpse of something, or someone inside.

  “Looking for someone to take into the shadows by any chance?” asked Jack slimily.

  “Bog off,” came his reply.

  “Charming,” said Jack. “Hey, Pete! You’re not supposed to unwrap your present till Christmas morning.” The others looked to see where he was looking and found one of their school friends trying to remain inconspicuous with a year nine girl. The young man’s lips remained firmly attached to those of his girlfriend’s like a particularly strong suction cup, and he answered Jack with a rather rude hand gesture.

  The three friends turned laughing to go out of the wrought iron gate, as a tall, bald man, darkly dressed, barged right through them as if they weren’t there.

  “Oi! Watch it,” Tom exclaimed. The man turned and for a second fixed him with piercing black eyes, before looking down at his glowing palm. Tom assumed he had a mobile phone, though he could not see it clearly.

  The man looked from his device back to Tom, then at the other people in the courtyard, his eyes darting from one group to the next. “It’s close,” he mumbled. “It’s here somewhere,” and with that, he turned and strode into the club.