The Throne of Magnus — A Teaser
The Thrilling Second Installment of The Ballad of Liuwrend
Hello, and welcome back Readers.
It has been quite some time since our last update here, and not for nothing I have still been writing. I’ve had quite a few new short stories published exclusively for Sci-Fi Shorts in their printed publications. Life and personal mental struggles have definitely hampered my schedule I had hoped to keep myself on though I believe I am on the upswing again. As such, I wanted to give a taste at the rapidly growing sequel to The Trials of Magnus.
Pretty soon I will begin a pretty intense advertising schedule for the upcoming release of The Trials of Magnus on all mediums, including some audio dramas I have orchestrated so far. Everything is finally coming to its conclusion (only nine months after my intended release date), but that is nobody’s fault. As such, I felt now would be a fun time to show you the first chapter of The Throne of Magnus.
The Throne of Magnus centers around a singular conflict: a land invasion by Liuwrend’s neighboring continent of Atul. The Atallari as they call themselves are a single united force, very much unlike Liuwrend’s splintered and factional holdings. The Atul are thirsty to conquer Liuwrend, as it can provide something their lands no longer have, mana. This novel, and its sequel The Fall of Magnus, will highlight several impressive battle sequences where the technologically advanced Atul, using mana-powered machines due to their inability to cast magic, fight off against the naturally gifted peoples of Liuwrend, who can conjure their own magic. We also have a great cast of characters to dive into, including some returning members from the first novel.
This first chapter highlights the struggle that the character whose POV we will follow the most consistently throughout has to face and how it sets him on a collision course with our new god, Magnus. Beyond that, well, you’ll have to read the novel to experience it.
As I had stated before, I have no plans on uploading The Throne of Magnus onto Medium at this time, but things can always change. I will, however, continue to post some teasers and updates about the novel’s progress. Thanks again for your time, and I hope you enjoy the first chapter of The Throne of Magnus.
The Throne of Magnus, Chapter 1
Az’ral stared down at his twin axes; the worn leather grips and aged wood indicating their age. These weapons were his inheritance, delivered to him on the day of his father’s death in the field, who had himself received them upon his father’s death. They were history, and today they were heavier than they had even been.
In his six years with them, he had given the weapons their fair share of blood, but he found them difficult to pick up now. The roars of his clanfolk shook the walls around him.
Druk Un Thar! Druk Un Thar!
A steady chant. Druk un thar; born in blood.
There is only one fertile season a year for the War Orcs, and as such, every year a fresh litter of children are born at nearly the same time. At the age of twenty-six, they must claim their place in the clan in a contest of strength. Two Orcs enter an arena and only one may leave. The victor is marked with ink, displaying their strength and place among the War Orcs. Today, Az’ral would earn his tattoos and become a full member of his family’s clan.
Az’ral tightened his grip around the weapons, redoubling his will, and burst free of the wooden room he had been in. The brightness of day blinded him, and as his eyes adjusted, he saw the entirety of his people gathered around the sandpit that served as their battleground. They stomped in unison and continued to chant, the volume growing ever louder upon Az’ral’s entrance. A figure sat on the sand on the opposite end. He was unnaturally still and staring at Az’ral.
As Az’ral entered the arena, a third Orc walked towards the center. He was tall, thin, and graying. His pallid skin was covered in deep scars over blood red tattoos. Despite his frame, his muscles tensed with strength; strong cords that gripped tight to his body. He walked tall and proud, and with a single hand quieted the collected crowd.
“Today is a sacred day. Today our clan grows in strength. Every Orc here has faced this trial. Every pup here has it to look forward to. Look now upon these fighters with pride and hope, for they will be the ones to lead us into the future,” the old Orc spoke, “and today we witness a great battle indeed. Az’ral, son of Yrgog, son of Grimgog, the Wolfheart, fights now for his place in the clan of his father’s father. Against him, Ulgar, son of Amdrung, who now leads our people.”
Ulgar smiled, baring sharp teeth towards Az’ral, and shrugged his shoulders, placing a single hand on a thick greatsword laying beside him. The old Orc walked over to Ulgar, and spoke quietly to him, then headed to Az’ral.
“Gugnak, patience. Do not let your rage cause you to make a mistake. Take your time, Ulgar is no simple opponent.”
“He is of no concern. A spineless, gutless rat.” Az’ral spat, receiving a wicked glare from the old Orc. Az’ral quickly bowed his head and whispered, “Master I’ruk.”
Az’ral was struck hard on the head by the old Orc. “Patience.” When Az’ral lifted his head, he was alone in the circle with Thruk.
“Kuruk du agarak,” I’ruk said, “to the death!”
The roar of the approving crowd exploded as Ulgar bounded from his seated position, stampeding over at a breakneck pace. The orc’s greatsword came wide in a savage horizontal slash aimed right for Az’ral’s core.
He barely managed to get his axes up in time, stopping the giant metal blade on the reinforced shafts under the axe heads. The impact was greater than Az’ral had been prepared for, and he slid back a few inches as the sword pushed closer towards his body.
Ulgar placed all of his weight against his sword and pushed closer to Az’ral. He was half a head shorter than Az’ral, and thinner too, but Ulgar persisted.
Ulgar spat at Az’ral, “you die today, and your family with it. The Wolfheart have no place in our clan any longer.”
It was a simple taunt. One that Az’ral had heard many times before from Ulgar, but still he could feel his anger rising in him. A great fire began to burn in his chest, his heart, his soul. He could see it as clearly as he could see Ulgar’s bloodshot yellow eyes.
Patience.
I’ruk’s words flooded his mind unwillingly, and Az’ral shook his head, pushing hard on his axes in an instant of force, tossing the greatsword out and off-balance. Clarity returned to Az’ral, and he stepped forward on the offensive.
His axes were smaller and lighter than the giant sword Ulgar swung around, but was no less vicious. They were a legendary weapon among the War Orcs, known for their unbelievable sharpness and durability. They had protected his father and grandfather in battle, and declared their right to rule.
“Those axes will be mine!” Ulgar roared as he met Az’ral head-on. They exchanged a flurry of blows, Ulgar quickly having to switch to defense to protect himself from Az’ral’s deliberate and precise strikes. It wasn’t particularly difficult for Az’ral; every third or fourth strike he found another opening and left a cut. In a few short minutes Ulgar had been wounded badly enough that he nearly slipped on his own blood.
“You cannot best me, Ulgar. Not in a fair fight. Accept your death with honor.” Az’ral had hoped he wouldn’t take his recommendation, but felt inclined to offer, anyway. His rage was returning, and it demanded combat.
“You may be right, orphan, but remember,” Ulgar began, before kicking up a giant cloud of sand into Az’ral’s eyes, “there’s no rules in this fight. Only you versus me.”
Az’ral recoiled from the blinding dust and swung his axes in two large arcs, hoping to keep Ulgar back, but instead found a strong leg burying itself in his stomach. Az’ral wasn’t prepared for it and was tossed backwards into the crowd.
As he was caught by the audience, he felt two sharp points of heat in the small of his back. He cleared his eyes just in time to see Ulgar swing his weapon again in a cut meant to cleave him in half from head to groin.
A woman yelled behind Az’ral, bracing herself from Ulgar’s attack just as Az’ral turned to dodge. Az’ral stopped short and brought his axes up, catching Ulgar’s greatsword before he could cut down the bystander. Az’ral caught the strike late, however, and Ulgar’s full strength had been put into it. The weight of the slash brought Az’ral immediately to the ground, his muscles bulging out as he forced all of himself into arresting the weapon’s momentum.
The two pinpricks of pain from Az’ral’s back intensified as he flexed, taking the wind from his lungs. His eyes began to sparkle and flash and his consciousness was quickly fading. The sword above him hesitated for a split second as Ulgar breathed in and Az’ral’s body reacted. He dropped the axe from his right hand and twisted his entire body to the left, wrenching the sword off course and punching his massive right fist across Ulgar’s jaw.
Ulgar rolled over his blade, carrying the momentum over and standing up straight, his sword lashing out as he did. Az’ral pushed himself back to his feet, the strength in him failed. His muscles refused to keep him up, and he faltered.
Small clouds of dust kicked up under Ulgar’s slow encroach. Az’ral raised his head to look at his enemy, but his eyes refused to focus.
“Seems you’re having a bit of trouble there.” Ulgar sneered, licking at his bleeding lip. He plunged his greatsword in the ground and walked the last few steps to Az’ral, gripping him by the jaw. “Body getting weak?”
Ulgar punched Az’ral hard in the face, then lifted him back up and punched him again. When Az’ral fell, Ulgar sat on his chest and continued to beat away at his skull.
“I’ll let you in on a secret,” Ulgar said in between strikes, “it’s poison.”
Az’ral’s mind suddenly gripped onto the two spots of pain he felt on his back; the warm sensation that rippled out from them, and remembered when he was tossed into the crowd.
“You…cheated.” Az’ral mumbled.
“There is no cheating. The strong survive.” Another punch. “Strength isn’t just brawn. The brain is a muscle too.”
The crowd grew eerily quiet as Az’ral continued taking blow after blow. He could barely move his arms to defend and was stuck absorbing every last attack Ulgar gave. As he started to lose consciousness, that fire that burned just under the surface of his control began to blaze. Each punch blew new life into the fire, and Az’ral’s mind refused to relent.
The fire was burning hotter than ever, and Az’ral allowed his grip on it to slip. The flame consumed him, spreading throughout his soul and body in an instant, and its heat fed new vigor into Az’ral; the poison holding him no more.
Az’ral bellowed a roar; thick, sulfurous black smoke billowing out of his mouth and he threw Ulgar off of him with a single arm. Az’ral’s skin began to glow as if a furnace were right under it. Ulgar crashed into the flat blade of his greatsword and quickly recovered, but Az’ral was faster.
His twin axes were in his hands, and fire ran up the hafts, extending across the blade and creating a new edge. Before Ulgar could react Az’ral brought his axe up for a vertical cut, but the weapon was stopped short.
I’ruk had locked his wrist against Az’ral’s and stopped the strike before it began. His other hand held a slender black blade pointed at Az’ral’s throat, a bead of blood running down the blade.
And with that, the first half of Chapter One is concluded.
Az’ral is a character who drew a lot of parallels between himself and Magnus, and continues to do so in his journey. However, that doesn’t make him a carbon copy nor a character with no agency of his own. Magnus has a lot to learn, and Az’ral is more than willing to keep the god in his place.
The Throne of Magnus currently sits at about 50,000 words, and I’m not even nearly halfway done. It’ll be quite the epic, I’d imagine.
As always, thank you for your time, and I hope you enjoyed this look at The Throne of Magnus.
J.
