It has been over a thousand years since the seals between this reality and the dark realm of Kur were broken and the wraith-like gallus invaded the continent of Dannum.
When the former priest of An, Adaru, escapes from the tower where the restored seals lay that prevent the gallus from crossing realms, war consumes the land with Adaru's machinations. A kingdom falls, ancient powers awaken and the power of Kur is unleashed again.
The guardian Nanaya and her companions barely stopped the gallus last time, but the Darisam civilisation was annihilated those 1000 years ago, and the land reduced to a poisoned desert, but for one ancient tower. Nanaya, now advisor to the king of Southcastle. fears the past will repeat itself.
Elsewhere, Baraka, a desperate treasure hunter from the arid Fringe States, discovers secrets that irrevocably change him; and Samuel, a young man working on his family's farm in the western kingdom of Royaume d'Occident, realises his dreams of adventure, but in doing so loses his innocence.
Kur corrupts the land as Adaru moves closer to realising his terrible ambition of breaking the seals again and Nanaya knows she is not strong enough to stand against him alone.
It has been over a thousand years since the seals between this reality and the dark realm of Kur were broken and the wraith-like gallus invaded the continent of Dannum.
When the former priest of An, Adaru, escapes from the tower where the restored seals lay that prevent the gallus from crossing realms, war consumes the land with Adaru's machinations. A kingdom falls, ancient powers awaken and the power of Kur is unleashed again.
The guardian Nanaya and her companions barely stopped the gallus last time, but the Darisam civilisation was annihilated those 1000 years ago, and the land reduced to a poisoned desert, but for one ancient tower. Nanaya, now advisor to the king of Southcastle. fears the past will repeat itself.
Elsewhere, Baraka, a desperate treasure hunter from the arid Fringe States, discovers secrets that irrevocably change him; and Samuel, a young man working on his family's farm in the western kingdom of Royaume d'Occident, realises his dreams of adventure, but in doing so loses his innocence.
Kur corrupts the land as Adaru moves closer to realising his terrible ambition of breaking the seals again and Nanaya knows she is not strong enough to stand against him alone.
1003 Years After The Great Collapse.
The lack of windows and the dark surface of the mud-brick walls made the tavern gloomy and full of shadows. Woven pastel-coloured rugs covered the floor, worn thin by the passage of many patrons over the years. A fine layer of dust and sand from the world outside was scattered on those rugs. A yellowish herbal mist softened the interior lamplight as men blew fragrant smoke dragged from the many hookahs available. The tavern smelled of sweetness, spice, and sharp spirits.
A short, round man with thick, black hair down to his shoulders, and a similarly coloured beard, leaned casually back in his chair as he sipped a glass of arak. He wore a kandora, a loose, long-sleeved beige robe that hung to the floor. It was made from fine cloth with precise stitching that showed its value. A medallion hung around his neck, upon which was the seal of the Association of Fringe State Merchants. Even though he appeared relaxed, the tightness of his eyes and the slight fidget of his hands said that his demeanour was a mask.
The man in front of him noticed. He was lean, his dark-brown hair cut just above his ears, his beard stretching almost a foot below his jaw. He was also dressed in a kandora, but one of clearly cheaper material, though still more finely made than most.Â
âI am Omar,â he said. âYou petitioned The Guild, and I am here to understand what you are looking for and to see how we might help.â
The merchant smiled, though it did not touch his eyes. âMany thanks for meeting with me, Omar. I am Jabir. I am a merchant with an interesting request. It involves a towerââ
The tavern door opened fast and wide with a slight crack as if forced, capturing the attention of both men. The man that entered had bright blue eyes that almost blazed in their intensity. A cream keffiyeh was draped across his back and shoulders. The cotton head cloth was not wound about his face, so his black beard and dark hair were on display. His hair was pulled back and tied into a tail with its curling ends pulled over his shoulder to lay across his chest.Â
âOmar,â he said with a slight mocking smile as he walked toward the two men. His long, loose, white tunic billowed with each step, and a sleeveless dark cloak flapped as a light gust of wind slipped through the closing door, catching it.
Omarâs eyes were hard and angry. âBaraka.â
As Baraka walked, his eyes darted to a nearby dark-haired serving woman, and he flicked a coin to her. Thank you, Aya, he mouthed. The woman smiled coyly and dipped her head. Baraka did not see her expression. His eyes were full of anguish as they watched the coin spin through the air.Â
Four left. Just four.
He bowed to Jabir. âI understand thereâs a job on offer.â
âWelcome, stranger,â Jabir said, dipping his head. âI would be happy to talk with you, though I am in discussions with this man at this time.â
Baraka shrugged with mock nonchalance. âWith a nobody who has a tenth of my clients and a fraction of their buying power.â
Omar slammed down his glass, the drink splattering across the stone table. âThe Guild has been petitioned, Baraka, and that gives me first rights.â
Baraka shrugged again. âThe Guildâs a long way away, Omar. Bet this man here doesnât give a ratâs ass about their laws and would rather get the best value for his money.â
âThe Guild provides assurances and guarantees for any transactions that pass through them,â Omar said. âWhat can you offer treasure hunter?â He turned back to Jabir. âYou were saying about a tower?â
âIâm the best,â Baraka said.Â
Omar growled and jabbed a finger at Baraka. âI am warning you.â He turned to the merchant. âThis treasure hunter can talk the hump off a camel, but make no mistake about who he is. He is not part of The Guild and cannot offer any service guarantees, cannot verify buyers for anything secured.â Omar snorted in derision. âHe does not even have any men!â
âSo, whereâs this tower?â Baraka said, ignoring Omar. He kept his tone light and casual but could not hide the sharp intensity in his eyes.Â
âIn The Territory,â the merchant said. âAn acquaintance has come into possession of a rare item, a map that points toââ
Barakaâs fragile façade cracked at the mention of the desert. âNothing that enters The Territory returns,â he muttered. His hand unconsciously grasped the coins in his pocket.
I needed this to be a real job.
Jabir caught Barakaâs change of mood and raised his hands in the air. âI know how this sounds-â
Omar finished the last of his arak and stood. âThank you for the opportunity,â he said before turning to leave.
âWait!â the merchant called out. âWhy are you leaving?â
I should leave, too, Baraka thought, but he was acutely aware of the four coins in his pocket, the sum of his wealth.
Omar looked, wide-eyed, back at Jabir. âWhy? Do you even know what you are talking about?â
The merchant nodded. âOf course, I do. An unforgiving, difficult desert thatââ
âUnforgiving? Difficult? The Territory is impassable. No one can travel more than an hour, at best, without falling ill.â
âTwo weeks,â Baraka said.
âTwo weeks?â Jabir repeated, turning to look at Baraka, who was picking at his teeth with a small toothpick.Â
Baraka nodded. âTwo weeks in The Territory without as much as a cough.â
The merchant turned back to Omar, who was glaring at Baraka.Â
âThe Guildâs told you before about telling lies to get jobs.âÂ
Of course, I am making it up. Nothing can last two weeks in The Territory!Â
âStill prickly about the run to Safety Cove, eh?â Baraka said.
Omar loomed over the table, his hands curling into fists clenched so tight the bones of his knuckles gleamed white. âI lost a lot of money when that woman pulled out.â
Baraka raised first his eyebrows, and then his hands in the air.Â
âYou pulled the rug out from under me. Youââ Omar took a deep breath as he ground his teeth. âPah!â he spat. He walked away, throwing the door open to slam against the far wall with a deafening crash.Â
âYou have history,â the merchant remarked.Â
âItâs a ruthless business.âÂ
âAnd he does not trust you. He makes many good points. Why should I trust you?â
Baraka gestured to Aya, and once he had caught her attention, he motioned to the empty glass Omar had left before returning his eyes to the merchant. âBecause I am the only one who can do this job. Omar is many things, but he is not a fool, and he is rightâThe Territory is a deadly place. The only people youâll find who want a job involving The Territory are either trying to scam you or trying to steal from you.â
âAnd which are you?â the merchant asked with narrowed eyes.Â
Baraka smiled. âNeither. Iâm the person you want for this job. I can do this.âÂ
Aya approached and refilled the glass with arak. Barakaâs fingers were trembling as they curled around the four coins in his pocket. This is everything. This is all I have. He hesitated. This is insane. The Territory! Nothing survives in that desert. If I take this, Iâm almost certainly a dead man.Â
He cupped the four coins. There has not been another job in months. Four coins will barely buy me food, and Iâll be sleeping on the streets. If I donât take this, Iâm definitely a dead man.Â
He made-up his mind. Some chance, no matter how slim, is better than no chance at all. He placed all four coins on the table. Iâm all in now.Â
Aya swept the coins away. Baraka felt an acute sense of loss as they left him.
The merchant frowned. âAnd just why would I choose a lone treasure hunter rather than someone from The Guild?â
Baraka sat back and gestured to himself. âWhat you see is what you pay for. I go in, myself, bring back what I find, myself. You deal with me and me only. There are no hidden fees, no politics, no additional agendas.â He smiled and leaned forward. âAnd besides, I donât think The Guild is going to pick this one up, so what options do you have?â
âWithout a support team, how can I be certain you will deliver? What assurances can you provide?â
âFirst of all, I donât even know if this tower exists. You want to know how I can deliver? I donât even know if there is anything to deliver.â Baraka shook his head. âIt doesnât matter.â He gestured between them. âThis is about trust. I trust in you, and in return, you trust in me. You give me just enough to make the trip and return. Donât pay me gold, just give me the supplies I need. If I donât come back, your losses are negligible.âÂ
The merchant pursed his lips as he considered Barakaâs words.Â
The treasure hunter appeared calm as he waited, but his stomach was cramping with anxiety.Â
I need this job. After Safety Cove, The Guild will do whatever it takes to stop me from getting a lucrative opportunity.Â
Baraka forced his hand to stillness as he took a sip of arak. âWhere in The Territory is this tower?â he pushed gently as he set the glass down.
The merchantâs eyes flickered. âIn the centre.â
Baraka let out a long, slow whistle. âThat is a long way, my friend.â
âIt is,â Jabir agreed.
âIf I take thisââ
âIf you take this,â the merchant interrupted, âwhat is to stop you from running away with what you find?â
âEptimi is a small place. Sure, I could make a return route via Eros or Jutland, but a man returning from The Territory with discovered treasure?â The hunter shook his head. âI donât think I would last that long. I come back here, and we complete the job with no fuss, no aggravation.â
âHow can you do this? How can you travel The Territory when no one else can?â
Baraka leaned across the table. âI never give up. I keep going when everyone else stops. When I feel like I canât do any more, I go that bit farther. That is why I can do this. Besides, no one is going to take a job to go into The Territory and especially not one going that deep into it.â
Jabir nodded slowly.Â
Barakaâs eyes narrowed. âI would hazard a guess that you paid a substantial amount for the information about this tower. How many hunters did you go to before you went to The Guild?â
Jabir did not answer.
Baraka nodded. âThought so. I am the only option you have.â
And you are the only option I have.
Jabir cleared his throat. âWhat is the catch?âÂ
âA fifth of the value found.âÂ
âAbsurd. A fiftieth is the best I can offer.â
Baraka smiled as he prepared to negotiate. Itâs happening.
* * *
Weeks Later.
Baraka clutched the weathered stone of the ruined tower with arms shaking in protest.
âDonât give up,â he said to his body. Words spilled through cracked lips and muffled by the shemaghâs cloth ends that were wound around his face and neck.
His lungs refused him a deep breath. His fingers and toes screamed at this ordeal he forced upon them, sending jolts of pain from their bloody tips. Sweat abandoned him in favour of a quick death on the desert over one hundred feet below.Â
âJust a little farther.â
The wind moaned a promise to pry him away from the ruin and shatter his body on the sand below.Â
Baraka could feel his fingers slipping as he pulled himself closer to the stone. He hissed in pain as his foot cramped, and he longed for the foot-spikes he had been forced to sell a month ago to feed himself.
âIt is just a little farther.â
His overworked and underappreciated back spasmed at the lie. He was barely half-way.
âPlease donât give in now.â Trembling fingers reached for his next handhold.
âI just need to reach the top. I just need to see whatâs inside.â
If there is anything inside.
Sand-laced wind howled in hateful incredulity that he was here. It wrapped its hands around him and tried to rip him away from the wall he climbed.
âPlease just let me make the climb,â he pleaded to the wind as it fought him.Â
As if enraged by his audacity to try and bargain with it, the wind intensified. It came at him like an enraged brawler, pounding his body with fast hard punches.Â
âIf there is nothing here, if this has all been for nothing, then I will gladly give myself to you because I have nothing left. Please, I have to try!â
How dare you! Baraka heard the wind shriek as it beat and raked his body. Die!Â
Pain throbbed in his thighs, in his calves, in his forearms, in his biceps, and across his shoulders.
A cry of desperate longing to be anywhere but here burst from Barakaâs parched throat. As if sensing victory, the wind struck again, changing tactics and trying to wrestle him away from the wall. Barakaâs toes started slipping from the niche they were barely lodged into. The fingers of his left hand lost their grip. His right hand started to slip. He began to fall backward. His fingers and toes slipped some more.Â
Die! the wind shrieked.
His cry of desperation became a scream of denial. He snatched at the wall with his left hand, and his fingers found a grip. He pulled himself closer to the wall, pushing his toes back into the niche.Â
âI will not give in!âÂ
Die!
âNo!â
With a howl of frustration, the wind realised it was beaten. It lashed out with one last spiteful blow before rushing away to find easier prey.Â
Baraka let out a shuddering breath, and then reached up, searching for his next handhold. His fingers slid over stone that had been weathered glass-smooth until they found a space between two blocks. He gripped the edge and pulled his body up.
Please hold.
It held.
Inch by inch he rose, scraping up from a reality of nothing toward a dream of something. It was a journey of blood and pain. It was a near impossible climb on something broken that brutally resisted his advancement and promised to break him.
It was the physical embodiment of his life.
It will not break me.
He raised one knee and reached out with a leather boot, searching for the space he had used as a handhold a moment before. Cracked leather scratched against the wall as he sought it once, twice, three times. His eyes grew wide as his fingers started slipping.
He found the opening on his sixth attempt, higher than he had thought. He shoved the toe of his boot into the crack and settled his weight with a gasp and a moan. After a few moments, when he had regained a measure of strength, he reached up with his left hand for his next handhold.
Without warning, the stone he gripped in his right hand crumbled. He snatched at the wall with his empty, reaching hand as he started to fall back, his heart pounding. His fingers found a stone edge and clutched it tight. His body continued to twist away from the wall, and he lost purchase with his right foot, leaving him hanging from just his left hand.
His feet scrabbled at the wall as he tried to find purchase. He swung his right arm around to scrape at the stone with that hand as the bloodied fingers on his left started to lose their grip.
He cursed himself for taking this job. He cursed the tower he climbed. He cursed the wind, the sand, the sun, the world.
Just as he was about to fall, his right hand found something to hold on to, then his left foot found something to stand on. He pulled his body flat against the wall and took several deep breaths.
Please let there be something hereâŚ
After a moment, he started to climb once more. Rest would only be found by finishing the ascent.
Search for something to grasp, grasp what was found. Search for something to stand on, stand on what was found. Step-up. Pull-up. Search for something to grasp, grasp what was found.
Over and over.
He stretched for his next grip, but where there should have been stone, he found nothing except air. His hand flailed around for a moment before settling on a worn, thin, raised surface. Adjusting his feet, he reached up with his other hand and took hold of it. He traced its surface and found the edge of an opening a little wider than he was. Gripping with blistered fingertips, he moved his legs until he found places he could put his weight on, and both pulled and pushed to get himself up and onto the edgeâs opening.
Protesting muscles hauled him over, and he leaned forward to feel down and find what was on the other side. His hands touched sand. He manoeuvred himself through with the last of his strength, then rolled onto his back. He lay panting, looking up through a gaping hole in the floor above into a cloudless sky of deep blue. He pulled the shemagh off his face so he could breathe properly.Â
Once he had caught his breath, Baraka sat upright, and with one hand on the nearest wall to steady himself, he took in the ruinâs interior.
Sand.Â
Even as high as he was, being open to the elements had enabled the desert to invade and consume whatever had resided in this room. Sand lay in sweeping dunes throughout a space just over two hundred square feet. A cylindrical stone core rose from the sand into the wooden floor above.Â
Taking small steps, Baraka walked onto the piled sand, and then around the buried room. The sand was particularly high at one point, and he was able to reach up into the floor above. He pulled himself up into that next level on protesting, painful muscles and with a groan that came from deep in his exhausted core.Â
This level had no ceiling, and sand piled in corners here, too, but he could see a closed door in the central stairwell. The floor he had pulled himself onto had many gaps. The one he had gained entry through was one, another was just after it, and another before the stairwell door. A landing of about a square foot stretched in front of it.
Baraka stared at that door. It was maybe six feet high and had a curved top with a wrought-iron ring pull as its door handle. He stepped back, and then took a running leap over the space to the door. He landed on groaning wood. Grasping the iron ring, he pulled hard.
It did not move.
Baraka cursed and took a moment to compose himself before pulling with all his strength. Inch by inch, and with grinding protest, the door opened to reveal stone stairs leading down into darkness. After he had caught his breath, he walked inside.
Baraka found what he had hoped for after several steps down: A small copper oil lamp hanging on the wall. He reached up and felt around the base to check how it was attached to the wall. Satisfied that it could be removed, he lifted it off its fixture, twisting its base so the lamp was vertical.Â
The glass chimney was cloudy and dirty from use, but thankfully, still intact. Baraka sat on the stone step, checked the oil font: half full. He removed the chimney and found enough of a wick to use. After setting the glass down beside him, he reached into his sling bag and took out his flint and steel. In moments, the lamp was alight. He replaced the chimney, and then sat with a weary sigh.
He dipped into his sling bag again and pulled out a water skin, then took a slow, measured drink. He closed his eyes and licked his lips, savouring the moisture on his cracked lips and his parched throat. He sealed the skin closed and replaced it, then twisted his neck one way, then the other, grunting as his spine cracked. He massaged his biceps and forearms, then did the same to his thighs and calves.
He stared into the darkness. A sense of foreboding filled him, and he hesitated to take the next step.
Taking a deep breath, he rose and, holding the lamp before him, started down.Â
The first few doors he came across were impossible to open, and Baraka assumed the desert had found a way into the spaces beyond and filled them with sand. He descended, stopping only when he found other lamps to collect oil and replacement wicks from.Â
The lower Baraka went, the colder it became, until he was shivering, and his teeth were chattering. He paused and took a moment to wrap himself in his shemagh before continuing.Â
Finally, he managed to open a door, and he stepped into a wide corridor that encircled the central stairwell. There was no sand on the floor. The dark was oppressive, and the air was thick with the smell of things left discarded and forgotten.Â
He made his way around the corridor by the lampâs dim glow and found doors set into the outer wall. He could not open the first, but the second was open, and he walked inside. The flickering lantern flame illuminated a small library, its walls covered by shelves that stretched from floor to ceiling and were full of books of every colour and size.Â
Several tables and benches were scattered throughout the room, as were splendid, upholstered armchairs with accompanying sculpted side tables. Rugs and animal skins covered the floor in a haphazard patchwork, and lanterns hung on the walls.Â
Baraka walked to one of several tall, narrow windows set within deep recesses. He saw they were split into two halves that were sealed together by three handlesâeach the size of one of his handsârunning up the centre edge of one section. Thick lines of lead crisscrossed the surfaces of each half, and by the light of his lantern, the treasure hunter could see closed wooden shutters on the other side protecting the windows from the sand piling against them.  Â
He searched the chamber.
Nothing of value.
There was an open door in each interior wall leading to rooms beyond. He picked one at random and walked through.Â
This seemed to be a classroom with desks, chairs, and blackboards as tall as he was and equally as wide on each wall. All of them were covered with intricate shapes and explanatory scribbles, but in a language he did not recognise.Â
Again, nothing.
He returned to the small library room, and from there passed through the other door and found another classroom.Â
Please say there is something here!
Baraka returned to the stairwell and descended deeper into the oppressive darkness.Â
Opening several other doors revealed similar corridors leading to similar rooms and the same distinct absence of anything valuable.Â
Was this all for nothing?
The arched top of a doorframe several floors down caught his eyes and made him pause. It was covered in strange signs that sat deep in the stone with blackened edges as if they had been burned into the rock.Â
This is no ordinary room.
Baraka grabbed the iron ring pull. Sparks burst from between his fingers and lit the stairwell. He fell back, cursing and rubbing his skin. He looked at his hand, expecting the worst, but it was not even singed. Baraka tentatively touched the iron again, but this time, nothing happened. He took a firm grip and pulled. The door did not move. Taking hold of the ring with both hands this time, Baraka pulled as hard as he could. The wooden door groaned in protest, but as Baraka continued to pull, it grudgingly surrendered. Licking his lips, he walked inside.Â
Unlike the other levels, there was no corridor on the other side. Instead, it opened into a single windowless room that filled the entire level.Â
It was full of bodies.
Each was dressed in clerical robes. They had mummified in what must have been a considerable number of years since their deaths so that their genders were unidentifiable.Â
The treasure hunter walked around the room, turning up his wick to let more light illuminate the space. There was little to be found, apart from the bodies. A few overturned braziers and a couple of broken chairs. A narrow, single-column stone lectern stood in the roomâs centre. Baraka hurried to it.Â
A thick book stretching three-feet tall and almost the same wide lay open on its slanted top. Baraka brought up his lantern to study it. Symbols were scrawled across the open pages in dark, thick lines. His eyes traced the shapes, and as they did, the room seemed to get even colder. Baraka could not look away, even as he tried to control his shivering. A faint scratching gnawed at the edge of his mind. As his eyes continued to slide along the dark lines that blotted the page, pressure began to build inside his head, pushing against the inside of his skull and making his temples throb with sharp pain.Â
The scratching grew louder, shifting from a formless background noise to something he could almost identify.
Baraka began to drip with sweat, and puffs of steam came from his mouth with each breath even though his fingers and toes were blue from the freezing temperature. A low whine slipped through his lips at the building tension. Just before he reached the end of the drawn symbols, he realised what the growing noise was.Â
It was laughter.Â
I thoroughly enjoyed the adventure that is Chosen of the Dark Realm. The story begins with an introduction to Baraka, a desperate treasure hunter on his last coin. He takes on a perilous job to explore The Territory, an unforgiving desert, in search of a mythical tower. Baraka's actions set off a chain of events that tie him to ancient, dark, and dangerous forces. Meanwhile, Nanaya, a mysterious woman bound by a sacred vow, discovers the tower has been breached, threatening the balance of the world. As political tensions brew in the kingdom, the stakes rise for everyone involved.
David Cornford delivers an intricately crafted world in Chosen of the Dark Realm, alive with history and mystery. The settings vary from tense moments in a tavern, where Baraka competes with a rival treasure hunter for the job, to the Ebonshire Keep shrouded in eternal twilight. Cornford's descriptions are rich and well-written, bringing the world to life. Thematically, the book excels, too, exploring topics like resilience and sacrifice. Nanaya's internal conflict over her duty and tragic past is particularly poignant, making her one of the story's most compelling figures.
While the world-building is superb, it occasionally overshadows the plot. For instance, Baraka's grueling climb up the tower is described in exhaustive detail. Additionally, some of the subplots, while intriguing, feel disconnected for much of the book. For me, Samuel's pastoral life and dreams of adventure seem to belong to a different story until the connections are made later on. Similarly, the political intrigue in the king's court is well-written but competes for attention with the central magical conflict.
That said, fans of slow-burn dark fantasy like The Black Company or The Priory of the Orange Tree will appreciate the rich world-building and complex themes. It's ideal for readers who enjoy savoring detailed prose and exploring layered character arcs. Chosen of the Dark Realm has ambitious scope, evocative writing, and an atmospheric world that makes it worth reading for patient fantasy enthusiasts. Cornford's tale is a strong foundation for what could become an even more compelling series.