Prolog
Blades of Roma
Book I
An Unlikely Hero
A fantasy Novel by Michael P Barber
Prologue
In the heart of a vast, dimly lit library, aged hands moved with a flurry of activity, sifting through an overwhelming sea of scrolls and bound texts. The flickering orange glow of countless candles cast dancing shadows across the large table, illuminating the determined face of the mage. Well, “aged” might be a bit of a stretch; at just 82 years old, he was still considered relatively young among his kind, who often lived to nearly 200. He had a friend who was 120 and still quite spry—if one could call meandering through the woods for herbs and mushrooms at a pace that would make a snail yawn “spry.”
At 82, he was in fine form. His beard, a respectable two feet long, was a rich brown, and his shoulder-length hair was only just beginning to show hints of gray at the temples. His azure eyes sparkled with vitality, not yet sunken into his skull, which spared him the ghastly appearance of a living skeleton beneath his dark blue hood and robes. The thought of “the elder years,” as his people referred to them, sent a shiver down his spine. Those were the twilight years when the body began to wither, the first signs being the eyes retreating into the skull until the eyelids fused shut, leaving a mage blind. Next, the ears would shrivel to the size of raisins, rendering even the faintest sounds a distant memory.
It was during this decline that a mage would find themselves in the so-called Halls of Eternity—a misnomer, as any mage who entered that grand hall of chanting and song had few years left to them. The mere thought of languishing there for a decade, waiting for the final breath to turn to dust as the last remnants of magic consumed the body, sent a chill racing up and down his spine. It was enough to shake him from his daydreaming.
Now, where was he? Ah, yes! The task at hand: the very quest his lord and master had set him upon nearly a week ago. He needed to find the incantation that would unleash the seeker spell, a spell that would reveal the hero destined to fend off the encroaching darkness foretold in a vision he had shared with his lord.
“Oh, me and my cursed visions,” he muttered aloud, scolding himself. “If only I had researched the meaning of my vision before rushing to inform his majesty of the impending doom, I might have had more time to locate this blasted incantation!”
To his right, a gray tabby cat mewed in agreement. The mage shot the feline a mockingly stern glare. “Now, now, Milo, don’t offer your opinion when it isn’t asked for. We discussed this, remember?” The cat seemed to shrug, curling into a ball atop a stack of parchment. The mage shook his head, a smile creeping onto his face as he regarded his familiar and friend of fifteen years. Just then, something caught his eye. He turned to the right, noticing a piece of parchment peeking out from beneath Milo’s furry form. As he leaned closer, he could just make out the word “Seeking.”
“Milo, get up, my lad!” he exclaimed, shooing the cat off the now-wrinkled parchment. He smoothed it out as best he could and read the title emblazoned at the top: “Incantation of the Seeking.” A thrill of delight surged through him as he scanned the ancient text, searching for the key words that would confirm his search had been successful. Yes! There it was! He now knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that this was the spell he needed to summon the hero destined to save his realm.
Milo, clearly attuned to his master’s excitement, began to pace back and forth, purring and meowing loudly. The mage reached over to calm him with a gentle pat, then leaned in with a devilish grin. “Come now, my lad! We have preparations to make!”
