Preview Chapter 1

To Look For a Book

At last! At long last, it had arrived! All the research, studying, excessive costs, and waiting were finally over. Morgan Glendennings gasped for perhaps the twentieth time today at the thought, then she tossed a lock of her usually well-kept, curly red hair back into its rightful place.

She walked along the tightly bricked main road of Stormhaven, a port city along the coast of the Sea of Storms. A cobbler, a tailor, a weapon-smith and a general store lined one side of Currency Avenue, making it the center of commerce for the coastal city. Several large rundown warehouses stood opposite, their weather-beaten exteriors a testament to their age.

Morgan barely noticed the surrounding hustle and bustle of the crowd as she skirted it. Her cloak blew open in the breeze. She shivered and pulled it tighter, then glanced at the sky. A storm was coming. Her wooden staff tapped the ground rhythmically with every other step, the length of its five feet just eclipsing her shoulder. Although she had been to Stormhaven a few times before, she doubted she would ever get used to the constant stench of salt that permeated the air with every gust of wind.

She thanked the gods above, though none in particular, that she lived farther inland, in the small town of Leranth. How fortunate she was that her former mentor turned colleague, Avarond, helped -- no, "arranged" she reminded herself -- for her to stay with the Lorekeeper priests of Yndelis, the venerated deity of knowledge and wisdom. Their modest church library provided Morgan with all the peace, solitude, scrolls, and books that she would ever need. For several months she had been studying and researching the history of magic and its origins. The library was perfect. With its vast resources at her disposal, she hadn't thought life could get any better.

How wrong she had been! But this time, she didn't mind being wrong. Not in the least. And all because she knocked a book off of a table. A book she hadn't even planned to read! It had landed on its back and wide open and the image on the page immediately grabbed her attention.

The drawing depicted an exact replica of the Glendennings family heirloom. The family had long since forgotten the relevance of the story although they passed the ancient gem setting down from one generation to the next.

The accuracy of the drawing compared to the heirloom in her possession, a silver eagle's talon, still amazed Morgan. Three open claws curved inward to clasp the missing jewel. The jewel had likely been lost longer than the story behind the setting.

She always believed the missing stone to be a powerful magical crystal, not simply another expensive gem. Much to her chagrin, her cousins often teased her about the theory. And so Morgan had the setting mounted atop her magical staff, mainly to spite her taunting relatives.

The discovery of the drawing and its resemblance to the Glendennings family heirloom captivated Morgan and the priests. The study of the book and anything potentially relevant became the focus of everyone in the temple. Their research led them to several references including another, even older tome. But the library, despite its enormous collection, didn't have a copy of that rare book.

Thus, a search commenced.

It had taken weeks, but the Lorekeepers finally located a copy of the ancient book in the personal collection of a greedy scholar who lived in the distant city of Mirsewell. This particular scholar had not been willing to part with the manuscript. At least not until the overly enthusiastic Morgan agreed to his outrageous price.

And that's how she ended up here, in Stormhaven.

Morgan brushed aside her thoughts about the gods and forcibly ignored the salty sea smell. On her right, not much farther ahead, stood the main warehouse for Schastly Shipping and Transport. A sign hung over the door, attached directly to the building by huge rusted spikes. Engraved along the left side of it was "S S & T". The rest of the markings were indecipherable; the constant battering of salt, wind, and water had eroded them long ago.

She pulled open the door and stepped inside, eager to pay the remainder of the shipping fee and collect her book. The front room was empty except for a dust-covered counter. The backroom, however, buzzed with activity. Or so it appeared through the narrow slit between the partially opened, dirty gray curtains separating the storefront from the warehouse.

Morgan strolled to the counter, her short graceful steps the embodiment of wealth, rank, and nobility. Anyone that looked upon her could tell that she had an air of superiority that expected -- nay, demanded -- respect. Although at the moment, no one noticed.

For several moments she stood quietly at the counter, her hands crossed in front of her. She shifted her feet and let out another sigh, this one louder and much more dramatic, then resumed her vigil. A few more seconds elapsed, each one seeming longer than the previous. She slowly -- so slowly -- let her gaze fall to the little bell on the countertop.

"Not again," she murmured.

How preposterous! To have to stand and wait! Back in her hometown of Wingarde, the capital city of Terecet, the owners of the shops were always at the counter, ready to serve their patrons. Not that the reputation of Morgan's family didn't contribute to their attentiveness. Their wealth and status was well known.

"If these folks even knew," she said. Was there anyone in Wingarde who didn't know her? Or at least know of her? She shook her head and chuckled to herself, instantly dismissing the silly notion.

Morgan glanced one final time at the curtain and, seeing no help forthcoming, hesitantly reached out and tapped the bell. She started at its shrill clang. A hand thrust through the curtain, its index finger extended upward, indicating that she should wait for its owner. Eventually, a grinning face covered by a thick beard poked through the drapes.

"Whatcha need, lass?" he asked without stepping into the room. "Make it quick, now. We're still tryin ta off-load the goods that jus arrived."

Morgan scowled. "I am here to pick up an order."

"Oh, I see," he replied. "We don't do that 'ere. Ya need ta go down ta our receivin' office in Trade Circle 'n wait til it gets there with the other orders." He abruptly disappeared behind the tattered cloth.

Morgan gaped in disbelief at the swaying curtain. "W. . . W. . . Wait!! That's not what I was told! This was a special delivery!" she half-yelled. The man didn't return.

Morgan simultaneously stamped her staff and one foot on the wooden floor, then muttered a string of unintelligible sounds. In the next moment, she composed herself, straightened her cloak just so, and exhaled a deep calming breath. She tapped the bell again, sending out its all-too-familiar ring.

A different face greeted her through the raggedy curtain; this one belonged to a clean-shaven man in his early twenties.

"Yes, ma'am?" he asked politely. "What can I do for you?"

Morgan considered this a definite improvement. "I am here to pick up a package that was supposed to arrive on the ship that just came into Stormhaven."

He was shaking his head before she finished the sentence. "We don't deliver the merchandise here. This is just the front of our warehouse and sorting area on the docks. You need to go down to our receiving office in Trade Circle." He started back through the curtain.

"Wait," she screeched.

He halted the swinging curtain with a dirty hand and turned to face her. "Do ya need directions? Well, you go back out and down the-"

"No, no, no. I do not need directions," she said. "I was told by Dmitri Schastly himself to come here to pick up my order. I made it very worth his while to see that I received this package the second it arrived."

The dockworker rubbed a hand across his chin and furrowed his brow. "Hmmm, that does sound like something Master Schastly would do. Let me check in the back with the boss and see if he knows anything about it. What's the name again?"

"Glendennings. Morgan Glendennings," she said.

The man nodded and slipped beyond the curtain, leaving her alone.

Many minutes later, Dmitri Schastly stepped through the ruffled cloth, his weathered face showing a hint of concern. He gradually approached the counter, wringing his stubby hands together and avoiding eye contact. He gulped before glancing up at her from beneath his shaggy black hair.

"Lady Morgan, so nice to see you agai-" he said.

Her thunderous roar cut him off. "Where is my book?"

"Well, you see, we seem to have a little problem," he soothed, his gaze never leaving her face.

"If you don't have my book, then you have a huge problem." She tossed a stray lock of hair out of her face.

"We think that your cargo has been temporarily misplaced," he said.

"Misplaced? Misplaced?" Morgan glowered. "Where and when did you realize that it had been 'misplaced'?"

"We really aren't quite sure." He held his hands out to his ample sides. "I'll have my best crew look into it right away."

"Oh, I see," she said. "So they haven't been sent out yet? I guess that means that you only just now realized that it was missing."

Dmitri winced, nearly biting his tongue. "Unfortunately, yes."

Morgan glared at him. Then she blinked, huffing once.

"You have until I return to find that book," she growled through clenched teeth. She pivoted and strode purposefully toward the exit, clutching her magical staff with a vise-like grip.

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THE STOLEN TOME
by J. Brian Jones

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308 pages, 6" x 9"
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