Free Storms (Sharani Series Book 2) by Kevin L. Nielsen

priorities kept arising and there was enough tension going around concerning the ordinary Roterralar that adding to it wasn’t necessarily a good idea right now. Besides, that wasn’t Khari’s responsibility—that was the job of the head of the mystics and Khari hadn’t appointed one yet.
    Well, she had let Farah know that Gavin was a relampago. As the only other surviving member of that order, Farah was the only one with the capacity to train him, and he, with the way he was acting and the drive he was showing to unite the clans, he had to learn. It wasn’t something she could let slide.
    There.
    Khari sensed Beryl then, deep within the bowels of the warren, in the ancient abandoned passageways beneath the main part of the warren.
    What was he doing there?
    Khari felt a small flash of annoyance. No wonder none of the people she’d sent had been able to find him.
    Khari ran a hand through her short hair. It was unlike Beryl to leave his forge at all, but it had been dormant for days. Now he was down in the bowels of the warren itself, most likely alone. If she hadn’t already been looking for him, that fact alone would have made her try and find him. He was up to something.

    Lhaurel dreamed.
    She was aware of the fact that she was dreaming, unlike the fitful nightmares she’d been trapped in before, but she saw it through the eyes of someone else. She was an observer in the dream only, unable to speak or act, but could only watch through eyes of another phantom woman.
    In the dream, she strode through a long corridor lined with torches. The corridor sloped upward to a large set of steps which lead up to a massive stone door. She strode up, noticing then the second set of echoing footsteps along with her own.
    The doorway swung open of its own accord, letting in a blazing burst of sunlight.
    “Thank you, Beryl.” The voice came as if from Lhaurel’s mouth, though Lhaurel herself did not think or say the words. She felt the surprise though, which was noteworthy in itself. Though she couldn’t control what was happening, she was still herself, could still feel and think autonomously.
    “I asked you not to call me that.” Lhaurel recognized the voice, though much of the gruff burr she was used to was absent. Why was she dreaming about Beryl?
    “Why?” The woman’s voice asked. “It is your name, after all.” There was a note of something else in the words, more than just the statement itself. Playfulness? Humor, maybe?
    Beryl snorted, though he was still not visible. They climbed up the last few stairs, stepping out onto a wide flat area covered in a cushy green something.
    A shorter, thicker version of the grasses in the Oasis?
    “It was the name of a nobody, a warrior slave, used for the amusement of your Sisters. ”
    The woman laughed softly. “Ah yes, but it was also the name of a hero among the slaves. And it’s the name of the man with whom I fell in love.”
    If Lhaurel had control of her body, she would have started in surprise. Love? Was Beryl married? Lhaurel didn’t recall anyone ever mentioning Beryl’s wife, or even a lover. This was a strange dream. Yet something within her, a small voice of reason, whispered that this was not a dream at all.
    “You are far above me, Elyana,” Beryl’s voice said as they strode across the green, squishy surface. “It is not meet that you should say such things about your Bondsman.”
    “Your protests are hollow, Beryl,” the woman said, the fondness in her voice apparent now. “Or you wouldn’t call one of the Sisters by name. Come along then, my Bondsman. Let us go see what sport we have today.”
    The woman turned her head and Lhaurel could finally see where they were headed. A group of people congregated near the edge of a sudden drop, the dull hum of conversation reaching Lhaurel’s ring of perception. Beryl and Elyana, the woman through which Lhaurel was experiencing this dream, walked toward the group, though the participants were like no one