Witchsign
From celebrated fantasy author Den Patrick comes WITCHSIGN, the first novel in a fresh and exciting new fantasy trilogyIt has been seventy-five years since the dragons’ rule of fire and magic was ended. Out of the ashes, the Solmindre Empire was born.Since then, the tyrannical Synod has worked hard to banish all manifestations of the arcane from existence. However, children are still born bearing the taint of the arcane, known to all as witchsign. Vigilants are sent out across the continent of Vinterkveld to find and capture all those bearing the mark.No one knows when the Vigilants of the Synod will appear and enforce the Empire’s laws.But today they’re coming.And gods help those who bear the sign of the witch.
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HarperVoyager
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First published in Great Britain by HarperVoyager 2018
Copyright © Den Patrick 2018
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
Den Patrick asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the authorâs imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Source ISBN: 9780008228132
Ebook Edition © September 2018 ISBN: 9780008228156
Version: 2018-04-17
For Kevin
Table of Contents
Chapter Twenty-Three: Kjellrunn
Chapter Thirty-Three: Kjellrunn
The Holy Synod has done much in the last decade to expunge all mention of the goddesses Frøya and Frejna. We have had less success in the Scorched Republics, whose people still hold affection for the old ways. It is the Synodâs hope that veneration of these goddesses passes into history as our grip tightens on Vinterkveld.
â From the field notes of Hierarch Khigir, Vigilant of the Imperial Synod.
The furnace burned bright in the darkness. The old timbers of the smithy were edged in orange light, tools hung from iron hooks, gleaming. Steiner loved it here, the smell of hot metal and coal dust, the pleasant ache of muscles hardened from work, jobs in need of doing and jobs well done. The product of his labour lined the walls: small knives; pots and pans; hammers; scythes and the odd sickle.
The anvil chimed as Steiner brought the hammer down on the white-hot metal. Sweat dampened his brow and ran down his back with each breath. A deep contentment settled upon him; something was being made, something was being created.
âThatâs enough of that,â said his father. âLooks like youâre making a sword. And you know how the Empire feels about that.â
Steiner grinned. âCould I at least finish it? Iâll melt it down afterwards.â
Marek allowed himself a smile, caught up in Steinerâs enthusiasm. âA sword does a strange thing to a manâs mindââ
âBeing beaten over the head with one thing is much like another, I reckon.â Steiner shrugged and gave a chuckle.
âI mean wielding a sword, you oaf.â Marek returned Steinerâs chuckle with one of his own. âIt makes a man think he has some destiny or privilege.â Marekâs tone made it clear exactly how he felt about the latter.
âNot much destiny or privilege in Cinderfell,â said Steiner, feeling the joy of creation grow cold despite the searing heat of the smithy.
âNo, there isnât. Itâs why I moved here.â Marek rolled his heavy shoulders and rubbed one scarred forearm with an equally scarred hand. âCome on, weâre done for the day.â
They stepped out beneath overcast skies. Every day was overcast in Cinderfell. The Empire said it was a legacy of the war with the dragons, that the terrible creatures had scorched the skies above the continent for decades to come.
âMust it always be so grey?â muttered Steiner, as the wind chilled the sweat on his skin.
