"The Karamaz Tomb" [Chapters 1-5] (Fantasy) by Angus Leggiz

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This fast paced fantasy novel describes the adventures of an unlikely hero, who stumbles into a great destiny that will change the fates of many.

In a harsh world, this young man and his motley group of friends brave dungeons, defy kings and fight sinister magicians. Togther they seek to unravel a lost myth hidden in ancient ruins, a three thousand year old cipher that hides the darkest secret of the Dwarven race and the keys to unimaginable power and treasure.

If only they can survive...

The Karamaz Tomb


The screams were endless...
Suddenly, as if a voice spoke inside his mind, he knew exactly what to do and where help could be found. Shivers of hope rippled across his skin. He leapt up and sprinted into the darkness.

* * *

Pellanus the healer sat comfortably in a chair by the fireplace. He swirled a glass of wine in his hands and spared a distant smile for the red sparkles that danced up and down his fingers. He found himself glass in hand all too often these days.
It relaxed him and helped to better consider the proper treatments for his patients, or so he told himself. It also helped him to sleep better, which had become more important of late.
Pellanus was no longer a young man. His beard had turned white and his body, although still straight and tall, had grown weaker with the passage of years. The number of visits he paid to his patients had decreased and it seemed the eternal war a healer waged with time and death had finally begun to take its toll on him. Although his experience made up for it, just a few months ago he had failed to heal an old friend and since then thoughts of retiring had become harder to shake.
"Perhaps it is time to lay down my herbs," Pellanus sighed and sank deeper into the well worn cushions of his favourite chair.
Just as he had warded away those unwelcome thoughts with an appreciative sip of wine, a sudden pounding thundered from the door.
He never liked to be interrupted after-hours, especially not when curled up with a well-aged bottle of red. Already grumpy and cursing all manner of illnesses and people in general, he put down the glass and ambled grumbling towards the entrance.
Before he was even halfway there the urgent pounding boomed out again.
"I'm coming, I'm coming," he muttered angrily and quickened his steps.
He threw open the door, his best glare firmly in place. Pellanus held his tongue in surprise when he saw a small boy holding onto the doorframe, covered in sweat and panting in obvious distress.
Between gasps, the boy blurted out, "Are you a healer?"
Pellanus nodded, his glare slipping a little.
"Please come... please, quickly. Help us!"
Pellanus did not know the lad and assumed that he must be one of the Circus-folk who had set up their tents on the other side of the village.
The fear on the boy's face swept aside Pellanus' anger and he asked gently, "What's the matter, my boy?"
"My mother... she has... she is...," the child stuttered.
Pellanus could see tears welling in his eyes and tried to calm him down.

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