The Rise of Greg by Chris Rylander (An Epic Series of Failures) Paperback – June 16, 2020
English | 2020 | Children/Young Adult | ePUB | 5.0 MB
Chris Rylander currently lives in North Dakota with his wife Amanda. He swears he’s never participated in any organized crime. (Just don’t ask how he got his house.) The Fourth Stall is his first book.
The Dawn of Magic has arrived, and thirteen-year-old Greg Belmont and his friends have only a few weeks left to figure out how to keep the modern world from falling into utter chaos. Greg’s former best friend (and current archenemy), Edwin, and his Elven army believe the only way to save the life on earth is to steal the world’s magic supply and keep it only for the Elves. But Greg knows Edwin must be stopped. He and his friends will journey from the ancient forests of Russia to the bottom of the San Francisco Bay—battling plenty of fierce creatures and gaining some surprising new allies along the way—and back to the streets of Chicago for the final battle for the fate of magic on earth. Will Greg and his friends save the world? Or will epic failure strike again when it matters most?
Essentially, my only job on this mission had been to keep a Rock Troll company.
And yet I’d still found a way to ruin the whole thing before it even got started. The boat had capsized, I was about to die a pretty unremarkable death at the bottom of a Russian sea nobody has heard of, and my friends were likely being devoured by a Dwarf-craving sea monster at that very moment.
Someday there’d be a buoy placed above me, bobbing on the surface of the dark sea. My floating tombstone* would read: Here sinks Greggdroule Stormbelly, a pretty lousy fisherman, but a pretty epic failure.
Or something like that.
The familiar voice cut right through my drowning brain like a magical blade.
Bloodletter? I thought back. Carl?
But how could that be? Distance affected our magical telepathic link, and he was currently sitting at the bottom of the San Francisco Bay. I was literally halfway around the world.
I chalked it up to near-death-induced delirium.
You’re not delirious, but you are definitely about to be dead if you don’t DO SOMETHING, you smidgy kunk! the voice said.
It was definitely the Bloodletter’s voice. Or, well, as much as an ax can have a “voice,” that is.
I can’t believe the Dwarf I selected to be my owner, the Chosen One, is going to die in a simple fishing accident, Carl continued. If I’d known what a spineless Gwint you were, I’d have picked someone else. Maybe even that one kid in your Metallurgy class who accidentally encased his hand in solid steel last year. At least he had the wherewithal to get his hand into nose-picking formation before it became permanently fixed.
But what am I supposed to do? I thought back weakly, seconds from unconsciousness. I’m drowning—too far down to possibly make it back to the surface.
My magical ax somehow actually sighed in my head.
Use magic, dummy, he said.
Oh, yeah. Magic.
I’d almost forgotten I could perform magic anytime I wanted now. Since its full return, those of us with the Ability could cast spells at will. We no longer needed to directly ingest the swirling fog we called Galdervatn. It was everywhere now, it had fully seeped into the atmosphere, the elements, and the cells of every living creature.
Turning to stone probably won’t help much at this point, though, I thought.