The High History of the Holy Quail - a Fantasia: Volume the first in: Volume the First in the "End of All Magick" Saga (End of All Magick Saga) [Paperback]

"Confident...belongs firmly in Terry Pratchett's comic-fantasy land."

The High History of the Holy Quail by Bruce Durie

All in all a great read, so if you're into authors like Terry Pratchett this is a book you really shouldn't miss out on. There's also a quite unique ending for a fantasy story, but that's something you'll have to find out for yourself.

ALL THE WORLD'S A MAGE...

There are only two rules in life - It's Not Fair and Don't Be Late, as Slouch finds when he is apprenticed to Vizagriz, wizard of Al Faq'Ahl. Is all Magick a consequence of a mysterious artefact known as The Holy Quail? What is the InterWeb? What exactly are heroes for? And why does there have to some drippy woman along on every Quest? Slouch finds out more than he wanted about the amatory proclivities of Faerie Folk, is arrested by the Enchanted Cops and discovers what happens when Deities fancy a bit of telly late of an Era.

A comic fantasy masterpiece in the honoured footsteps of Fritz Leiber, Lord Dunsanay and whoever wrote The Revelation of St John the Divine.

AND THE NEXT TWO VOLUMES ARE AVAILABLE NOW!!! Volume the Second THE KING OF ELFLAND'S DAFTER A funny thing happened on the way to the forest. The Magick is gone. Suddenly, grown to full size without the existence of extropy to keep the them thumb-height, the Faerie Folk have to find a new way and a new place to live. But there is hope - the Crystal Dwarves are dying out and they want an infusion of new blood, preferably female and a bit dim. The King of Elfland leads his motley tribe of Imps, Emps, Amps, and Umps to the Hole of the Mountain Kimg where the Diamond Duke and the five guys named Mho take a shine to the Princess Titania and her gels. Little does anyone know that some vestige of Magick still resides in certain crystals. Anyone, that is, except Lobster Rampant of the Third Ear and his band of New Age Dippies. Will the crystal elementals manage to tap the Magick before it gets perverted by Plunk Rock musicians? Will Titania get married in white shoes and a mini-dress? Will Prince Vince stage a takeover? And who is Idaho Jonah? Read this, and you'll be none the wiser. This book is mything something important - New York Review of Gooks Time will tell if this series is the product of madness or genius - A Lawyer

Volume the Third THE NATIONAL ELF Magick is truly finished. No, honest this time. The Cunning Crystals are no more. The Globe must now rely on Ticknology. Unfortunately, the only ones who understand how to make anything work are the Faeries who used to be representatives of physical principles. Setting up a Collage of Ticknology seems a natural step for King Pearly. He's short, he's mean, and he understands about cart parking - all the requisite features for a Collage Cancellor, you would have thought. Ineptly assisted by his Dene, Bursa, Secretor, Pro-Under-Deputy-Vice-Cancellor and Head Inspector, The King of Elfland tries to maintain family values, make education vouchers work, and prove that the National Elf Service is safe in his hands. So why are the students revolting? Cutting-edge socio-political satire with 60s mystical undertones - Family Circle What a waste of trees - Practical Woodworker PLEASE CONTACT info@holyquail.com for further details.

The Author: Bruce Durie has been a science journalist, a senior academic and administrator at Kingston University, Director of the Edinburgh Science Festival, a regular contributor to New Scientist and other periodicals, broadcaster, radio panel games host, and maker of medical videos. His book "Medicine" was short-listed for the COPUS Prize and his parody of Sherlock Holmes's, "The Mystery of the Pneumonic Numismatist" was performed nationwide by Simon Williams and William Simons. He performed his one-man play, "MacPherson's Rant," at the 1992 Edinburgh Fringe. Bruce Durie is now a full-time writer (fiction and non-fiction) and lives in Fife with his young son and a third of two cats.

Chapter The First In which Slouch, catamite-in-training, gets frightened witless by an apparition and learns something of his destiny as wizard's apprentice It was a dark and stormy Knight. In fact, it was an eight-foot tall dark and stormy Knight, and the Knight was standing in front of me, obsidian armour somehow shining in the blackness of the star-black, Bibble-black fastness of the Watching Hour. I was simply walking back to the SamBernardo Catamite Training Agency having delivered a parcel on behalf of Brer Dryberg. The last thing I expected was to bump into a huge, jet-dark warrior, armoured totally in shiny blackness, leaning on his sword. And humming. I confess that my bowels turned to water, more effectively than the last time I had had a Jacana Kurrmah with extra lime-frog pickle. I suppose I must have stood there fully five minutes - or it could have been five seconds. Hard to tell, really.

I stood, rooted to the very paving stones, mouthing strangled inanities like a cageful of mute eunuchs on dope. The Knight drew himself up to his full height, already the size of a wardrobe, and flexed his arms. There was a creaking that sounded uncomfortably like the gates of hell opening. That broke the spell and I was conscious again of the huge fulgent shape in front of me in the small alley. He appeared to fill it in all directions, and I was just working out whether to try and dodge past him, turn around and bolt, or simply sink down and gibber like a demented panda, when the vast form before me made the sound I least expected.

He cleared his throat.

Actually, it sounded more like hot iron being dragged over an anvil, and I was assuming he had a throat. Somewhere deep within me - round about the position of my last meal, which was halfway up my gorge by that time - I found the words to say, "Err, can I help you?" Pathetic, I know, but it's all I could come up with at the time.

The helmet swung towards me and I looked into the visor, which appeared to contain an infinity of nothing. The motion of the helmet continued onwards to - I hoped, considering I had no idea what might be within - look at me. "Sorry?" a deep-dark-resonant- pulsating-mechanical voice said. "Where am I?"

Politeness being the better part of valour, I judged at the time, I thought it wise to answer him. "This is Pally Alley. In the Porter Quarter."

"Ahhh," said the Dark Thing. "But which city? Hmmm?"

"Well, it's Al Faq'Ahl. Chief city of the Province of Ditton." "Ahhh. Bang on target for once. Good!"

I had as much clue what was going on as you do, so I thought I'd try to be as helpful as possible - always a good idea when you're right in it up to the neck. "Were you looking for someone?"

"Be you Slouch?

This stunned me so much, I nearly dropped the copper dinar Master Mindador had given me for delivering Brer Dryberg's parcel. I was not so much amazed that a mysterious creature dressed entirely in what seemed to be the basic stuff of the night should know my name, as that anyone outside of SamBernardo's should know it at all.

"Err, if it please Your Lordship, yes. I am Slouch." He said nothing. "Can I help?" I added.

"That's the general idea. You are, just let me check, Slouch, apprentice to Vizagriz, wizard of this parish?"

That threw me. "Errr, no. I think you must have the wrong apprentice." I was relieved, not to say nearly fainting. If he wasn't looking for me in particular, as opposed to any random victim to skewer on what looked like a wicked sword, he might just move off elsewhere and frighten some other poor berk to death.

"I don't know Vizagriz, but I'm sure he lives around here somewhere. I could help you find him. If you like."

"I seek Slouch. Are there more than one of you?"

"You mean catamites-in-training? Yes. Yes. SamBernardo's has the City concession on bum-boy supply. If you would like..."

"No, I specifically seek Slouch. Are you the only Slouch in this alley at this time?"

I looked around, hoping I'd find a namesake hiding in a doorway. No such luck. "Well, I seem to be. Are you sure it's me you want?"

"Positive. But you aren't apprenticed to Vizagriz?"

"No. Never even met him, although I did once see him at the market square in the Fish Quarter, giving a stall-holder some stick for getting his thumb in the scales. Scales of the balance, that is. Not the scales of the fish. Turned him into a giant lizard, he did. The fishmonger, that is. For about three minutes. They said it was a record for an off-hand transformation, and..."

I stopped, because the warrior had raised his arm, and plunged it into the deepness of his armour. It went right through, and appeared again holding a book of some sort, which he started to thumb through, leaning his sword against his legs while he did so.

"Hang on, what day is this?"

"Well, Wodin's Day. Third week of the constellation of Rumpot."

"Bugger!" the visor intoned, the head shaking back and forth. The Knight consulted a device strapped to its wrist. "Far-Eastern rubbish! If I don't crack this one and get back on time, I'll never make it to the golf course. Rumpot, is it?"

"Yes" I nodded, trying to be helpful. "Last day of the Festival and Holy Day of the sacred Gettiz Endawey."

The warrior was thumbing through the book again. "But according to the PhilosoPhax, you shouldn't be here until next month. What's going on, I'd like to know?"