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  • Meet Loreseeker Elarin, a Daring (or Foolhardy) Lumineth Scholar, in a Sneak Peek From Children of Teclis

Meet Loreseeker Elarin, a Daring (or Foolhardy) Lumineth Scholar, in a Sneak Peek From Children of Teclis

During the events of the Broken Realms saga, Teclis and Nagash clashed in a divine duel of epic proportions, pitting their world-rending magics against each other at the peak of Mount Avalenor. The God of Undeath  ultimately came up short, and his material form was shattered. 

In his wisdom, Teclis sealed Nagash’s essence within an ensorcelled tomb, leaving a trusted guard of Lumineth Realm-lords to keep an eye on things. However, dark deeds are afoot, and the meddling of the Idoneth Deepkin could spell doom for more than just the tomb’s watchers in Children of Teclis, a new novel by Evan Dicken.

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The novel follows Loreseeker Elarin the Illuminated – an inquisitive soul willing to delve deeper than any of her kin into the Ossiarch necropolis of Marrowscar. In this first glimpse into the novel, she and her Bladelord bodyguard travel the landscape of Shyish in search of necromantic clues…


The day had dawned cold and grey, corpse-pale clouds rolling in from the Dwindlesea to strangle what little light pierced the oppressive gloom. Pinpricks of icy rain stippled Loreseeker Elarin the Illuminated’s face. Sharp on her cheeks, they bled into her robes, sending icy fingers tickling beneath her breastplate and greaves. 

Like the Realm of Death itself, Shyish’s weather cared little for the living.

Elarin bore the discomfort without complaint, pausing only to adjust one of the braids of dark hair the wind had teased from her coiled topknot. She picked her way across the broken cliff, careful to avoid the bits of weathered bone jutting from under rocks and poking from crevasses. Although Lord Regent Chariel’s forces had scoured most of the unquiet dead from this blighted stretch of shore, the Ouroboran Coast was far from safe.

‘We should not be here.’ Celastir’s voice came sharp as her bared blade. The Bladelord was helmetless, auburn hair swept up with a sunmetal clasp, her pale, sharp-chinned face seeming set in a perpetual scowl. Celastir’s gaze flitted across the ragged cliffside like a prism hawk searching for prey, the tip of her rune-etched greatsword twitching as if the blade itself were impatient.

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‘It is close.’ Elarin cocked her head. Lips moving in cants of seeking, she sought to tease threads of necromantic power from amidst Shyish’s funereal winds. 

‘Lord Regent Chariel would not approve of–’

Elarin turned away with a cluck of her tongue, leaving her bodyguard to scowl at the rocks and sand. Celastir was right, of course, Chariel would be furious to discover one of her sorcerous advisors had wandered into the Shyish hinterlands, chasing a strange eddy of necromancy. Unfair as it was, this would be exactly the type of thing Prince Sennareth could use to paint Elarin as a danger to the Lumineth salient. 

Elarin felt her lip curl at the thought of Regent Chariel’s Bannerblade. If anything, Sennareth was the danger. If the prince had his way, the Lumineth would simply sit back and await Nagash’s return. 

As they always did, thoughts of the God of Death conjured a tightness in Elarin’s chest, the shadowed scars along her ribs prickling with cold fire. She had seen Nagash fall, broken on the peak of Mount Avalenor, his body pierced by shafts of brilliant light, scoured by the God-Mage Teclis’ holy wrath.

It had been a close thing, closer perhaps than many realised. Even in victory the Lumineth had paid a terrible price. One Elarin would see they never had to suffer again.

As if to echo her dire thoughts, a chill wind blew off the Dwindlesea. Short, sharp gusts like the thrusts of enemy spears whipped the dark waters into a frenzy, waves crashing against the maddening gyre of cliffs that gave the Ouroboran Coast its name. 

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Elarin craned her neck to peer down at the snarled bluffs below. Pale bones stood stark against the slate-grey stone. Arms, legs, ribs, even the occasional grinning skull, speckled the vast expanse of rock like shells cast upon windswept sands. Entombed by tons of stone, the skeletons snapped and scrabbled, pulled and flexed, vainly trying to tear themselves from the rocky cliffs. Occasionally, a bit would fall free, only to be snapped up by the waves and bludgeoned back into the hungry stone. The constant churn of bone, breaker and boulder made the cliffs appear to move, as if the Ouroboran Coast were some vast, skeletal beast slowly devouring itself over the course of millennia. 

Prince Sennareth claimed it was the army of some rebellious Necrarch lord, cursed by Nagash to remain conscious as they were forever consumed by Shyish’s cruel geography. 

Sennareth was a liar, of course, but Elarin hardly cared.

In their way, the cliffs were almost beautiful.

‘There.’ Steadying herself with her rune-etched staff, Elarin drew her blade to gesture at a shadowed overhang some fifty paces distant. Although there was nothing to distinguish this particular shelf of rock from a thousand other wind-scarred crags, it glittered in Elarin’s sorcerous sight, the snarled weave of necromancy writ cold upon the ancient stone.

Celastir stepped to her side, squinting at the rock. There was no uncertainty in her bearing, no apprehension, only the steady regard of a duellist sizing up an opponent. The Bladelord might question Elarin’s decision to leave the safety of camp, she might question the wisdom of seeking a place steeped in such dark power, but she did not question Elarin’s skill.

‘Should we inform the Lord Regent?’ Celastir asked.

‘There might not be time.’ Jaw tight, Elarin studied the flow of amethyst energy. In addition to unleashing a tide of death upon the Mortal Realms, Nagash’s Necroquake had unearthed many things that were better forgotten. This could be one such evil, locked away by some long-departed psychopomp to protect Shyish.

It had been months since Chariel Thrice-Burnished had led her gleaming host through the Shyish Realmgate to establish a Lumineth bulwark in the Realm of Death. Even amidst the battles and strife, this place would have called to Elarin.

Which meant it had been opened recently.

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Elarin’s incantation set twinkling motes of light swirling up through the air. Bits of native Hyshian brilliance, they guttered like dying embers, golden brilliance tarnished by the oppressive weight of Shyish. Even so, it was enough to illuminate the outline of a heavy door set into the rock, its face covered with sigils of warding and concealment. Stepping closer, Elarin could see the runes were not etched into the black basalt, but set within the stone itself. The ossified remnants of fish and nautili and other small sea creatures, their bodies had been twisted into uncomfortable sigils then left to fossilise within the rock. 

The door sat ajar, its wards broken. They had been strong enchantments, steeped in the weight of ages. Such spells would have taken time, power and most of all patience to unravel. Although the Lumineth possessed all these traits, such dogged persistence spoke to a more ageless mind, one that thought nothing of months or years.

The thought of confronting such terrible patience sat like a stone in Elarin’s stomach. 

Whatever had opened this tomb, it was not mortal.

Even so, she was not afraid. If anything, her limbs tingled with a strange species of excitement. Elarin was a Loreseeker, sent to prise open Shyish’s sepulchral depths and bring the Realm of Death’s secrets to light. If she turned away, it would be as much as admitting she was not up to the task, that all the struggle, all the destruction, all the death had been for naught.

The names of her slain comrades slipped from Elarin’s cold lips. Repeating them gave her strength. The others had fallen with the Inscribed Citadel, buried beneath the rubble. But Elarin remained. She must act for all of them, carrying the weight of the memory, their sacrifice. 

She glanced to Celastir. Apparently sensing her resolve, the Bladelord gave a tight-lipped nod. Elarin drew her blade. Forged for another, the hilt did not fit her hand as well as it might. Nonetheless, she took comfort from Glimmerdark’s familiar weight.

Staff held high to illuminate their way, she stepped into shadow.


Children of Teclis will be coming to Black Library pre-orders very soon, so keep your eyes open for further announcements.

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