The Darkling Chronicles: White Mountain [Englisch] [Taschenbuch]

Sophie E Tallis, originally from a sleepy village north of Bristol, currently lives in the Cotswolds with her family and her two enormous white wolves. She has worked as a full-time teacher of young children for the past 14 years, but her first passion has always been for writing stories, which she has done since she was a child. A painter and artist, she divides her time between writing, teaching and her artwork. She loves to go to Dartmoor, stargaze and buy yet more bookcases for her growing library! When asked what her interests are, she usually smiles and replies, "EVERYTHING!"

The deepening sun scorched the snowy drifts turning them cherry pink as it cast its dying rays over the peaks and popular winter resorts of the skiing elite. Shadows of dusk lengthened as lights twinkled in the valley below. Above the hustle and bustle of bistro and café life, chic alpine lodges, ski schools and cable cars, White Mountain loomed. Its towering flanks gleamed in the fading light, its secret heart still safe, still undisturbed — the ancient, ancestral home of an old wizard. Within the bowels of the mountain lived the aging scholar, a practitioner and magus of the old arts. An archetypal wizard with steely gray hair and a scruffy beard; his heavy, lidded eyes belied a keen intellect and appeared both sharply alert and ready for slumber. A powerful but rather eccentric figure, he had the bumbling demeanor of an old-world gent, a long-lost uncle back from some distant travels with stories to astound and amaze. Mr. M Agyk, also known as Marval or simply the Green Wizard, had witnessed the passing of ages. A quickening of time had brought too many great changes to the world outside; yet nestled deep within the mountain’s walls he had continued to live his life mostly unaffected by the curious comings and goings beyond. From within this dwelling sprang many hundreds of beautiful rooms and twisting tunnels, a labyrinth of chambers, which even the wizard had forgotten or lost his way in. Its endless expanse of passages and curling staircases glittered and shimmered when touched, and delicate frozen beads of water, each encrusted with crystal, hung from the corridor ceilings, swaying and tinkling like millions of tiny bells. At the core of this strange home lay a huge, round living room. Its circular walls were lined with shelves upon shelves crammed full of books and curiosities from all over the ancient world and bulged as if the mountain were pressing inwards. Dominating the center of the room stood a roughly-hewn fireplace where an ever-burning fire always flickered. Mr. Agyk, not being the tidiest of people nor able to throw a single thing away, had, over the centuries of his life, become a hoarder on the grandest scale. Despite the size of his home and the vastness of its rooms, he had managed to fill nearly every nook and cranny with an immense collection of dust-covered clutter. The living room was no exception. Littered amongst the dozens of faded and matted rugs, their overlapping edges frayed and worn, lay little stacks of books and parchment paper piled in tumbling mounds or stuffed beneath the missing legs of tables and chairs. Above it all, and stretching to a height of some forty or fifty feet, arched an enormous, domed, and vaulted ceiling of the deepest sapphire blue, set with a thousand twinkling stars that drifted across its expanse. Mr. Agyk lived a hermit life on the whole, unknown to the outer world and isolated from others of his kind, except for a few of his closest friends. However, to the exasperation of these friends, and despite the wizard’s own aversion to modern day man, he was also deeply fascinated by humans and their complicated, chaotic lives. On occasions, when this fascination became too great, the old scholar ventured outside — disappearing for days, weeks or even months on one of his expeditions. Often the wizard could be found wandering the streets of the great industrial cities, an unnoticed elderly fellow watching the frenetic pace of humans in their never-ending cycle of work, stress, and life. So it was, that after one of these strange days Mr. M Agyk eventually returned to White Mountain to find an old friend waiting in the cold. Gralen stood leaning against the rock face, scraping his talons down the ice-covered stone, an expression of boredom and annoyance on his face. “Where have you been?” “Sorry, am I late?” fumbled the old man, patting his friend on the back. “You know I always get my days muddled!” Mr. Agyk and his lifelong companion, Gralen, a temperamental and rather portly green dragon with dark, leathery wings and an amazing orange-jeweled belly, stood precariously high upon a narrow and slippery mountain ledge. The weather grew steadily worse as chilling night winds howled and curled over the rocks, blasting a flurry of ice flakes into their eyes. The wizard looked his usual disheveled self, his straggly beard and shock of wiry hair blowing around him like the mane of a mangy old lion. His ruddy features and profile were almost handsome, with pale silver eyes and an impressive Roman nose, the bulbous tip of which reminded the dragon of an unripe or scarlet-colored raspberry, depending on the weather and mood of the old man. Today, it glowed red like a beacon. Gralen on the other hand, though certainly impressive at full height or in mid-flight, was a rather overweight and average example of the near extinct North Eurasian dragon. Mr. Agyk pressed his hand against the rock, eager to get out of the cold. A large doorway appeared. “This is your home too, you should have gone in,” he said quizzically, looking at the settled snow on the old dragon’s scales. “How long have you been waiting?” “A while … waiting and watching,” Gralen grumbled, crossing his arms and making no effort to hide his irritation. He looked at the old man’s tweed trouser suit. “You’re wearing your human robes I see … you haven’t been off on another expedition have you? I thought you’d gone off somewhere south to visit Malty, or one of the others.” Mr. Agyk smiled. “It is cold, let us get inside. After you,” he bowed. Gralen gave him a suspicious look and mumbled something under his breath, then disappeared inside, closely followed by the wizard. Standing eight feet tall at the shoulder and fifteen feet to the top of his head, Gralen had a broad frame and huge articulated wings, which folded flat against his sides. His long, muscular neck supported a slightly outsized head with overlapping fan-shaped spikes, which splayed out from behind his ears. His large amber eyes, though swift to anger or laughter, displayed a depth and subtlety unexpected in such a lumbering bulk. However, Gralen’s most distinguished features lay not in the horns that protruded from his muzzle and forehead, or the wispy chin whiskers he had grown over the years to catch stray bits of food, but merely in the remarkable fact that, in a modern world, he remained the sole surviving member of his kind. The very last of the race of dragons. The dragon settled himself in front of the warm glow of the fireplace. Mr. Agyk shook his outer clothes, which promptly changed to his usual green attire, and vanished down one of the many tunnels leading off from the living room like the burrows of a rabbit warren. “Is offal sweet-cake alright?” he asked a few moments later, from the general direction of the kitchen. Gralen stretched in front of the flames, curling and flexing his toes in comfort. “Let me know if I can help,” he yawned, closing his eyes. “No, no,” came a hurried voice amidst a clatter of dishes and a faint whiff of peppery smoke. The wizard reappeared. Floating in front of him were two enormous dishes. Gralen sat bolt upright wrapping his tail around his huge clawed feet. The dishes gently drifted towards him, hovered for a moment, as if offering themselves for approval, then placed themselves neatly on the table in front of the dragon. Mr. Agyk sat cross-legged on the floor as another long procession of plates and dishes piled high with steaming food glided in from the kitchen. Gralen’s orange eyes widened, his chin whiskers already twitching wildly. “Well, tuck in!” Mr. Agyk chuckled and raised a crystal goblet. “A toast … to great friends and great food!” “I’ll toast that!” spluttered the dragon, his mouth full to overflowing. The two friends sat for hours in front of the roaring fire talking and laughing and eating until they thought they’d burst. Finally Gralen stretched out, satisfied at last, and patted his pendulous belly. Then, with a...