Table Of ContentDAVID FORBES
THE AMBER WIZARD
THE OSSERIAN SAGA • BOOK ONE
My dad loved books. He never read fiction—he was pretty much a history and
biography guy—but he would have been incredibly proud to see me in print.
This is for you, Dad. I wish you could have seen it.
Contents
Map
PART ONE
Power and Life
PART TWO
The War Storm
Glossary and Pronunciation Guide
About the Author
Other Books by David Forbes
Cover
Copyright
About the Publisher
Map
Prologue
P
rince Teluko threw back the flap of his tent and surveyed the remnants of his
brother’s once mighty army. A cold drizzle fell over the hills from low gray
clouds. He wore no helmet or hood. Rain soaked his hair and pattered against the
steel of his armor. He looked over his shoulder in the direction of Tanshe-Arat,
the Home-in-Exile where his wife and daughter awaited his return. But he knew
he would never see their faces or the beauty of his city again in this life.
Teluko closed his eyes and listened to the sounds of the army around him:
weary men speaking in hushed tones, the quiet whickering of the horses, the
creak of wagons moving across wet earth. His anger drained out of him, replaced
by an overwhelming sadness. They would be obliterated by their enemy. They
had already suffered two crushing defeats that had killed more than half of their
men. The coming battle would be the last.
He heard steps behind him. Teluko opened his eyes and turned to face
Suvendis, his chief war priest. “My prince, we should speak,” said Suvendis. He
regarded Teluko from beneath the crimson hood of his robe, pulled down low
over his blue skullcap. He gripped the witchwood staff at his side with fingers so
gnarled they seemed carved of wood themselves. His expression was stoic as
usual, unflinching, but Teluko knew him better than anyone save Suvendis’s
companion priests, and the prince could tell the older man was troubled. And
who would not be troubled in times like these?
Teluko nodded and followed Suvendis into the priests’tent.
A servant hurried to Teluko as soon as he entered and offered a cup of wine.
The prince took the cup and drained half of it, then dropped down into a small
folding chair beside the long plank table, its scarred surface covered with maps
and candles, where his other priests stood waiting. Teluko drank more of the
wine, then held out his nearly empty cup. At once another servant appeared and
refilled it.
The priests all regarded him with the same guarded expression Suvendis had
worn. Teluko could sense their concern and worry. They consider themselves to
be more than the rest of our people, different and somehow better—and in some
ways they are—but when faced with the annihilation of our race, they feel the
same fear as we do. They all bowed and took their places across from him.
The prince took another sip of wine. “Suvendis said we should speak.”
“We need to plan for the morrow, my prince,” said Hodentu, the youngest.
“The Atalari will arrive by mid-afternoon. Most likely they’ll deploy their front
lines to the north and south in an attempt to contain our flanks.”
“And what do you suggest?” asked Teluko. “There’s nothing but open land
behind these hills. If we don’t stand here, then where? At the very foot of our
homes?”
“My prince, we must do something,” said Hodentu, his voice tinged with
urgency and frustration.
“My brother lies near death,” Teluko said. “His own priests have refused to
let me see him. This is where he commanded us to come before he collapsed on
the field. I have no authority to change that unless he dies or commands me to
take control of our forces. There’s nothing else to be done.”
“The king’s wound was a grievous one,” said Odalend, his deep voice
rumbling from the shadows of his hood like the grinding of boulders. He was a
huge man, tall and broad and thick; his neck was nearly as big around as one of
Teluko’s thighs. “It has been five days since he was struck. I fear he may be
dead and that his priests are holding that from us to keep the army from
complete despair.”
“My brother is not dead,” said Teluko. “I would have felt his death. The
bond between us is deep, deeper than even the closeness of twins.”
“The king’s priests have been working strange magic whose purpose I
cannot fathom,” said Suvendis. “When I was refused entry to the king’s tent, I
sensed powerful forces within. I don’t know their purpose, and Nanjelkir told me
nothing.”
The name of Asankaru’s chief war priest set Teluko’s teeth on edge.
Nanjelkir had refused Teluko entry to his brother’s tent earlier, saying it was the
command of the king that he receive no visitors.
“It’s not fair,” said Gythero, second in authority after Suvendis. “We have
the right in this!”
“That doesn’t matter,” said Suvendis. “Might is all that is important, and
might is the one thing we do not have this day.”
“Fairness and rightness had never been part of our dealings with the
Atalari,” said Teluko. Their histories told that the Atalari had always hated and
feared them. They could not understand why the People of Theros chose to live
underground, and believed all manner of sinister motives for that choice, even
after the reasons were explained to them. Our eyes and skin do not love the sun’s
