Raging Storm by Markus Heitz

Author:Markus Heitz
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Orbit
Published: 2019-08-05T16:00:00+00:00

Ishím Voróo, Älfar town of Dsôn Dâkiòn, 5452nd division of unendingness (6491st solar cycle), summer

The place where the sovereign received them looked to Aiphatòn more like a courtroom than a stately residence, as would have been fitting for the son of the Inextinguishables. What’s more, the Hall of Entreaties, as Vailóras announced it was called, didn’t sound quite as hospitable as the barman’s behaviour had led him to believe it would be.

It’s like they want to condemn us. The inscriptions on the battlements had already made him wary. The balcony-like platform with the desk on it, where those seated looked down from above, reinforced the impression that justice was administered in this immense vaulted hall, and no heartwarming balls or glamorous banquets took place here.

During their swift ride over the bridge and through the streets, the dimensions of the town had looked different. Giants had clearly founded it before being chased away. But he did like the way the älfar had taken the long, enormous buildings made of black basalt blocks and made them their own. So different from home. The Majestic was appropriately named and the nobility of this town and people were obvious in the hall too.

Nodûcor stood diagonally behind him. Vailóras and half a dozen warriors in a semi-circle guarded them.

Aiphatòn waited patiently and listened to his own body. Another thing—apart from the nature of the town—had struck him and it only seemed to affect him. His whole body was prickling so much that it was almost painful. He rubbed his arms several times, but it didn’t help at all.

The runes on the alloy plates and the spear flashed from time to time without him ordering them to. Either there was a magical field under Dâkiòn or it was linked to the stones. The runes appeared to be invisible whenever he was particularly near the blocks of stone or where they closely surrounded him.

It’s no surprise they have cîani in their ranks. He was sure that their spells would cause difficulties even for him. In northern Ishím Voróo, many things were very different but an älf was still an älf and still evil. This town will fall.

A side door eight paces high swung open, the wood creaking.

To Aiphatòn, Shôtoràs was simply a limping, broadly built älf using his right hand to lean on a tionium stick with a skeletonised crow’s head on it; its tiny inlaid tiles of bone had been damaged and not yet repaired. His black robe had runes and decorations on it that had long since been forgotten in the älfar realms of Girdlegard.

He was followed by a heavily armed warrior with two swords on his weapons belt as well as a young, red-haired älf-woman who was wearing nothing but tight-fitting shorts and a skimpy top; her nail-like daggers were mounted on tionium forearm guards. Intertwining tattoos of runes shimmered all over her skin, mainly done in black and grey. Glittering precious stones had been affixed to her skin in a number of places.

Bringing

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