Burg of Arcanum: The Glyphbane Legacy, #1

By Andrew McDermott

Join Farren, a young man with a burning desire to become a wizard, as he embarks on a thrilling journey to the prestigious Burg of Arcanum in the heart of the Empire of Rioch. Alongside him, you'll meet Lysandra, a fierce and agile warrior woman, and Orin, who seeks to harness the power of glyphs to enhance his berserker abilities in battle. As they delve deeper into their studies, they stumble upon dark secrets that shroud the Burg in danger and deceit. Amidst the mystical world of glyph magic, the enigmatic Amir emerges, harboring his own clandestine agenda. With a destiny that hangs in the balance, Farren must navigate the treacherous paths of the Burg, contend with the ambitions of the Empire, and grapple with Amir's shadowy intentions. Farren's fate teeters on a knife's edge, and only time will reveal where his allegiance truly lies.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Andrew McDermott
• Release date: Sep 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223447825

Book preview

The Glyphbane Legacy

Book 1

What is a Glyph you might ask? Scholars have been asking that for a millennia.  Magic? Not quite.  Ability? Surely not. A development in the soul of certain persons... certain bloodlines? Maybe...

Magister Lorien

Chapter 1

The sun peeked over the horizon, its golden light filtering through the dust covered windowpane. Farren rubbed the sleep from his eyes and threw off the threadbare blanket. Today was the day.

After years of study, his dream was finally within reach—the Burg .

He walked over to the rickety table and gazed at the acceptance letter once more. The heavy parchment was creased and worn from countless readings. His heart swelled at the ornate calligraphy: Congratulations, Farren Wynthrope. You have been accepted to the Burg of Arcanum.

Farren traced a finger over the raised seal of the Burg ; its towers silhouetted against a desert sky. He could almost feel the ancient stones under his hands and hear the bustle of students in the courtyard.

Are you ready? His mother's soft voice broke through his reverie. She stood in the doorway, hands twisted in her apron. Worry lines creased the corners of her eyes.

He straightened, squaring his shoulders. Yes. The single word echoed with determination.

Farren slung his satchel over one shoulder, the worn leather creaking under the weight of his books. With a last glance at the small room he had lived in his whole life, he stepped through the doorway.

The morning air was crisp and clear, scented with the promise of change. Farren walked down the dusty lane toward the village, his shadow stretching before him. Somewhere in the distance, a hawk cried out as it wheeled across the brightening sky.

His heart swelled with each step. The wide world awaited, and he was ready to meet his destiny.

Farren strode down the winding dirt path, his worn boots kicking up little puffs of dust with every step. His satchel bumped against his hip, the books inside rattling faintly.

Though his limbs tingled with nervous energy, he kept his head high. Somewhere ahead lay the Burg , towering spires piercing the sky. The Emperors most prized jewel in the entire kingdom of Rioch. He pictured the ancient stones, weathered by countless seasons, and the bustle of students practicing magic in the courtyard.

A breeze stirred the air, rippling across his tunic. Farren lifted his arm, tracing a symbol in the air. The wind twisted around his fingers, swirling into an invisible glyph that hovered before him.

No ordinary wind glyph, this. As Farren walked, the glyph spun faster and faster, particles of air and dust gathering into a miniature cyclone. Most apprentices could conjure little more than a gentle gust, but he had always had a gift for wind magic.

The cyclone danced beside him, ruffling his hair and tugging at his clothes. To an outside observer, it would seem he strode through an oddly localized dust devil.

But Farren knew the truth. This was the mark of his power, the symbol that would set him apart at the Burg . He might be an outsider, a boy from a small village with more determination than skill. But within him was a gift waiting to be honed, a talent that would make even the most powerful archmages take notice.

His steps quickened, energy thrumming through his veins. The spires of the Burg  were out there, waiting. And he was ready to claim his destiny.  Tentatively he reached for his water pouch, aware of the many weeks of travel ahead of him.

DAYS RAN INTO WEEKS as Farren continued to walk for hours under the baking sun, passing scattered homesteads and fields of golden grain. The cyclone spun beside him, a visible symbol of his power and individuality. Though it could lift only small objects and people a few feet off the ground, it made him different. Unique. He smiled.  Keeping the cyclone active used some energy, but any outlaws that thought him an easy, lone target would surely do a double take, unsure if the dust devil was his or a passing wind.

The path wound through stands of olive trees and vineyards, their gnarled branches intertwining overhead to form a leafy tunnel—dapples of sunlight filtered through the canopy, peppering the ground. The air felt close and heavy, scented with the tang of ripening fruit.

Farren quickened his pace, eager to emerge from the tunnel of trees. His heart pounded at the thought of finally arriving at the Burg , of crossing the threshold into a world of magic and mystery.

At last, the trees began to thin, mile by mile, giving way to sparse desert. The Burg rose in the distance, a grand castle of sand colored stone, its towers seeming to pierce the sky.

Farren stopped, blinking back tears. He had spent his whole life dreaming of this moment, and now it was before him. A place where he would no longer be an outsider with an odd talent but rather a student of magic in a world where he belonged.

He stood for a long moment, watching the flags snap in the wind, and students cross the courtyards. Then he set off down the path once more, his cyclone spinning with renewed vigor. Today, he would begin his destiny.

Farren approached the massive gates of the Burg , his heart pounding. Two guards stood on either side, clad in crimson tunics and bearing wicked-looking staves. As Farren drew closer, one guard stepped forward, raising a hand.

State your name and purpose, stranger. His voice was gruff, and his eyes narrowed.

Farren swallowed. I'm Farren Wynthrope. I've come to study magic.

The guards exchanged a glance. You're late, the second guard said. Classes began yesterday.

Farren flushed. I know, I—there were delays on my journey. In truth, he had lingered in his village longer than he should have, hesitating to leave the only home he'd ever known.

After a tense moment, the first guard jerked his head. Go on then. Headmaster's office is in the north tower. Best not keep him waiting.

Th-thank you, Farren stammered. He hurried through the gates, pulse racing. Being late was not the impression he wanted to make. What if they didn't accept him after all?

He made his way across the courtyard, past students practicing spells and dueling, and entered the north tower. A spiral staircase wound up inside the tower walls, and at the top was an arched doorway leading into a study.

An elderly man with a long grey beard looked up from a pile of scrolls. You must be Wynthrope. His eyes were pale and keen. Well? Don't just stand there. Come in, boy. We have much to discuss.

Farren stepped into the study, the wooden floor creaking under his boots. He had made it to the Burg at last.

The man studied him over the rim of his spectacles. I am Magister Lorien. I’m standing in for archmage Eglon. You will address me as 'Sir' or 'Magister.' Is that clear?

Farren swallowed and bowed. Yes, Magister.

Good. According to your application, you have a unique talent with wind and force magic. Is this correct?

Y-yes, Magister. Ever since I was a child, I've had an affinity for—

We shall see. Magister Lorien rose from behind his desk. Come. It is time for your assessment.

Farren followed the Magister out of the study and down a spiral staircase into a vast chamber with a high, vaulted ceiling. Several students milled about, overseen by a severe-looking professor.

Professor Vrax, Magister Lorien said. Our new student, Farren Wynthrope, is here for his assessment.

Professor Vrax turned sharp, pale eyes on Farren. Is it true you have an unusual glyph, boy?

Farren nodded, heat rising in his cheeks. He had always been self-conscious of his glyph and the limitations of his magic. Would he indeed be able to keep up at the Burg ?

Show us, then. Professor Vrax waved a hand at the center of the chamber. Step into the Circle of Assessment and activate your glyph.

Heart pounding, Farren walked into the circle. He focused his energy and summoned the wind, lifting himself a few inches off the ground. Murmurs rippled through the crowd of onlookers.

Professor Vrax's eyes narrowed. I see. An unusual talent for an apprentice, but limited in scope. His gaze bored into Farren. You will require extra training to advance in your studies. Do you understand?

Farren swallowed hard. Yes, Professor. It would be difficult, but he was ready. He had journeyed this far and would prove he belonged at the Burg .

Farren followed Magister Lorien out of the chamber, his cheeks still burning. Do not be discouraged, Lorien said gently. Many students require extra time and training.  Most come here without any glyph talent at all to begin with. You have a unique gift, and with hard work and dedication, you will thrive here.

Farren nodded, straightening his shoulders. He would not give up so easily.

Lorien showed him to his quarters in the East Tower, a small stone room with a narrow bed and desk. You will share this chamber with two other first-year students. Classes begin promptly at dawn, so I suggest you get plenty of rest tonight. Lorien bid him goodnight with a kind smile and closed the door behind him.

Farren unpacked his satchel and ran a hand over the rough stone walls, imagining the centuries of magic worked and studied within these towers. His roommates had not yet arrived, so he took the opportunity to explore. A narrow staircase led up to a parapet walk with stunning views of the desert stretching endlessly beneath a sea of stars.

When he returned, two boys had claimed beds and were unpacking their trunks. You must be our third roommate, said the taller one, offering a hand. I'm Darien. This is my brother, Corin.

Farren Wynthrope, he said, shaking hands with each of them. Darien had a clever face and easy smile, while Corin seemed shy but regarded him with curious blue eyes.

We were surprised they put three in a room this year, Darien said. Must be because of the increase in new students.

Aye, Corin agreed softly. There seems to be unrest in the southern provinces. Many are sending their children north to study magic as a precaution.

Farren's eyes widened. He had heard rumors of conflict but not the details. What's happening in the south?

No one knows exactly, Darien said with a frown. But there are reports of villages being attacked at night, glyph magic being twisted and corrupted. Whatever it is, it can't be good.

Farren shivered, hoping the Burg ’s strong walls would keep them safe. He had a feeling this was going to be an interesting year.

Chapter 2

Farren awoke with a start, his heart pounding. Shafts of early morning sunlight streamed through the narrow window of his dormitory room. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves and threw back the coarse wool blanket.  The excitement he had felt the night before now mingled with a creeping sense of doubt. Did he truly belong here among the children of nobles and seasoned mages? Farren glanced around the empty room, taking in the unadorned stone walls and simple beds

With a sigh, he rose and quickly dressed in his plain linen tunic and trousers. His roommates had already left, no doubt eager to explore the ancient halls of the Burg. Farren gathered up his satchel of books and supplies, checking to ensure he had all he needed for his first day of lessons. The leather binding of Introduction to Glyph Mastery felt smooth and reassuring in his hand.

After one last deep breath, Farren strode to the heavy oaken door and pulled it open. This was it. Time to prove he was worthy of being here. Jaw set with determination, he stepped out into the torch-lit corridor, ready to embrace his destiny.

Farren made his way through the labyrinth of stone corridors, marveling at the history contained within these walls. Faded tapestries depicting ancient battles hung alongside masterful paintings of past archmages. Suits of armor from eras long forgotten stood like silent sentinels keeping vigil over the halls.

Farren's sense of wonder was interrupted by the sound of laughter echoing from around a corner. A group of students, likely nobles based on the fine quality of their robes, strode into view. Farren shuffled to the side self-consciously, avoiding eye contact.

Well, well, what do we have here? drawled a tall blond youth, stopping to look Farren up and down with an arrogant smirk.

Farren mumbled a greeting and tried to slip past, but the boy blocked his path.

You must be one of the scholarship cases. My father warned me we'd be mingling with your...type, the noble sneered. His lackeys snickered sycophantically.

Farren flushed, embarrassment warring with anger within him. But before he could respond, a clear, commanding voice rang out.

Dalton, cease your foolish posturing and get to class.

An elderly wizard in scarlet robes stood glowering at the group of students. Dalton's smug expression evaporated and he hurried off without another word, lackeys scurrying after.

The wizard met Farren's eyes and gave him a subtle nod before continuing on his way. Heartened by this small gesture of support, Farren raised his chin and proceeded with renewed resolve.  With long, purposeful strides, Farren made his way through the maze of corridors. The sound of a resonating bell reverberated through the halls, signaling the start of morning lessons. Farren quickened his pace. He couldn't be late on his very first day!

Rounding a corner, he caught sight of an open doorway from which echoed the sounds of shuffling parchment and murmured conversations. Farren hurried toward it and slipped inside just as a severe-looking wizard in emerald robes stepped up to a lectern at the front of the hall.

Farren's entrance did not go unnoticed. As he scanned the crowded lecture hall for an empty seat, he felt the weight of two dozen pairs of eyes settling upon him. Hushed whispers rippled through the room. Heat rose in Farren's cheeks, but he kept his gaze forward and made for the only vacant chair at the very back.

As Farren slid into the hard, wooden seat, the wizard at the front rapped his knuckles sharply on the lectern. Silence instantly fell over the hall.

"Welcome to