The Quest of Narrigh follows Connor, an ordinary boy who, without warning, is pulled into the world of an online computer game he thought he was simply playing. One moment he’s at his brother’s laptop, besting enemies through acts of bravery and defiance—the next, he’s inside the game itself.
Narrigh is no longer virtual. It’s a realm ruled by magic, torn apart by warring factions, hostile races, and deadly beasts.
But Connor is not just another player here. In Narrigh, he possesses powers he never imagined. Powers he must learn to control—if he wants to stay alive. And first, he must find the courage he’s never truly tested.
Meanwhile, on the far-off planet of Odisiris, scientist Skelos Dorm has been exiled to Narrigh for illegal experiments. Now under the control of the Narrigh government, Skelos harbors a dangerous secret: a powerful artifact capable of tipping the delicate balance between two worlds—and possibly destroying them both.
Connor and Skelos are on a collision course. As their fates intertwine, nothing in Narrigh—or beyond—is quite what it seems…
Genre: Young Adult Fantasy
EXCERPT
A death-chill cloaked the forest. The snow had ceased falling. The trees were sparse in this part of the forest, their life eroded. No birds fluttered in the sky. No animals foraged on the ground.
“You can hear it, can’t you?” he said. “What is it?”
“Dal-Carrion. The winged beasts. They’re multiplying. That’s what Hiera told me.”
“What’s the Shardner?”
“The government.”
Connor had been so focused on trying to level up in the game, he hadn’t taken much time to learn about Narrigh society. He couldn’t afford to—not if he didn’t want his brother to catch him out. You had to be over fifteen to play The Quest of Narrigh; Connor had only just turned thirteen. When you completed your quest—usually by blasting something until it exploded or fell to the ground—you collected your loot. And once you had gained enough experience points, you would move up to the next level. They won’t know to look for me here. They’ll think I’ve run away again.
He fumbled for the chain around his neck, feeling the weight of the egg-shaped pendant suspended from it. How was he ever going to get home if he kept coming up against all these obstacles? He hadn’t forgotten the pain in his leg when the Dal-Carrion had bitten down on it. He wanted to run, not fight.
“Are you like… a Quest Giver?” he asked.
The little girl frowned. “A what?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Get it through your stupid head—this isn’t a game,” said the Authoritative Voice.
Amelia played with one of the ribbons in her hair. “The Dal-Carrion aren’t easy to kill in their current numbers. The Shardner’s Special Army wants to capture them so they can study their habits and breeding patterns—to help bring them under control. Something like that.”
Connor didn’t care what the Shardner’s men wanted with the Dal-Carrion as long as they kept them away from him. And what will the Shardner’s Special Army do with me? It was the most important question—the one he should have asked first.
“Where are they taking us?” he asked.
“To the Kingdom of Baruch, I think.”
A couple of nearby horses whinnied and reared on their hind legs.
Connor cast the strip of fur aside. The draught Amelia had given him burned through his bloodstream. He was breaking out in a sweat all over.
“What are they going to do with us in Baruch?” he asked, trying to ignore the increasing commotion outside.
Amelia scampered from the Dacker tree without answering.
Flexing his aching joints, Connor crawled out after her.
A low echo rumbled through the forest. The Dal-Carrion were approaching. Their beating wings could have been mistaken for a flowing stream, the waves of the ocean, or simply the wind—but there was no mistaking the smell for anything other than the smell of death.
The Silver Riders flew from their Dacker tree shelters. Some mounted their horses and galloped out of sight, their voices drowned in the thunder of hooves.
“Be ready!” shouted one as he fled.
Connor found Amelia leaning against a withered tree, her hands folded behind her back. Thoughtful. Watching.
Less than thirty remained. Twelve on horseback formed an orderly line—a barricade across the clearing. The rest of the riders assembled behind them, having tethered their horses to the trees.
Amelia seemed to know a lot about the Silver Riders. She hadn’t asked Connor his name or where he came from. He fell in next to her, noting her curious detachment from the scene around her. He found her calmness disturbing. She reminded him of a doll—wooden and lacking in expression.
She stared straight ahead. “This is the second catching!” she shouted above the din. “They had another one two days ago, while you were sleeping.”
I can’t have been here for days, thought Connor. Everyone will be wondering where I am.
He saw a vast shadow edging its way along the icy floor. Fear rose in his gut. “Shouldn’t we make a run for it?”
“No, not yet—not until the Herming Moth Wings have flown.” Amelia gestured to a Silver Rider running towards them—Hiera. He had a grimy orange beard and sunken auburn eyes. She flashed him a smile.
“You children get back in the shelter,” he growled.
“Yes, Hiera,” she said, without making any move to do so.
Connor watched as Hiera drew a bronze metallic object, shaped like a moth, from the pouch attached to his belt. Hiera thrust the object into the outstretched hand of a Silver Rider on horseback who sat near the end of the line. Each rider had two Wings—one clipped to their silver belts, the other clasped in their hands.
Amelia moved out, sprinting nimbly. She joined the Silver Riders on the east flank, all of whom were too preoccupied with the approaching Dal-Carrion to pay her any attention. She squatted at the root of a tree, dangerously close to a Silver Rider’s horse.
She glanced back over her shoulder, beckoning Connor to join her.
His mouth flapped open. Did she have a death wish? One kick from the horse’s iron shoe and she’d be dead.
The Dal-Carrions’ squawks ignited the forest. Tree limbs creaked and snapped in their wake. The hairs on the back of Connor’s neck rose. He steeled himself, fighting to find his inner strength—to latch on to it for good. He didn’t want it to slip away again when he needed it so desperately.
He had started to edge his way out when he caught a flicker of something in the periphery of his vision. He whirled around to see a scintillating blue light hovering in the air, several feet away from him. It rippled like ocean waves bathed in sunlight. He stared at it in amazement.
“You can come closer,” said a voice.
There was no mistaking the light—but the voice? He didn’t like the Authoritative Voice inside his head, and now a new one had emerged. How many voices could he have in his head at once?
The light started toward him. He backed away. This had to be another hallucination—the last remnants of the Trance potion trying to consume him.
He ran, stooping, heaving at the smell fouling the air, determined to get to Amelia. He dodged Hiera and narrowly missed a head-on collision with another Silver Rider who flew into his path. He finally reached her. He took her arm and dragged her clear of the horses.
Eight Dal-Carrion stalked into the enclosure, craning their long necks, their claws rising and falling with crude elegance.
Connor held his breath. What would happen when the winged beasts made their deadly assault? How would the Silver Riders achieve a “catching,” as Amelia put it?
He gripped the strap of his bag, his fingers twitching—preparing to run.