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

Lhaurel had ever seen. All men, they stood well over seven feet tall, sculpted muscles bulging beneath tight clothing. Half had blond, wispy hair, while the other half looked far more solid , as if they were rooted to the earth itself. But there was something slightly off about them too. Eyes slightly too large, bodies too well formed, features too similar one with another. Not that they all looked alike, but the tone of their skin, the chiseled perfection, even the color of their hair was identical.
    The conversation died as Beryl and Elyana neared, the men all turning to regard them, each inclining their heads and clamping their right palm flat against their chests.
    Who were these people?
    “What is the status of events today?” Elyana asked. Her tone was more formal now, less playful.
    One of the blond-haired men replied. “The Rhiofriar are ahead. It may be that one of them may prove themselves today and progress to the next Iteration.”
    Several of the others, mostly those with darker hair, chuckled.
    “And which family would claim him, when reborn?”
    Reborn?
    “The Avrefran.”
    “They’ve been receiving a lot of new blood.” Elyana’s voice was contemplative, musing, but the assembled men reacted as if she had threatened them.
    “The Sisters have smiled upon them,” one of the men said. Several others nodded and another one chimed in as well. “They must have followed their Progressions most notably, Honored Sister.”
    Sisters?
    Lhaurel was confused. This was the strangest dream she’d ever experienced. She willed herself to wake up, but nothing happened. She thought about pinching herself, but realized she couldn’t almost as soon as she’d considered it.
    What was going on?
    “What are the odds?” Beryl asked. He was still standing behind Elyana, so Lhaurel couldn’t see him.
    This got the men talking again, gently ribbing one another or else shooting each other knowing looks. “Not as good as when you were one of them, Beryl.”
    One of them?
    Elyana raised one hand sharply, pointing a pale, white finger at the man who had spoken. The laughter died in his throat and the man swallowed and then licked his lips before Elyana spoke.
    “You will show more respect to the Bondsman of one of the Sisters,” she said in a voice of steel. Just because I have dwelt with you for a time does not give you such familiarity. Do not forget yourself unless you wish to join those below.”
    The man hastened to stammer an apology.
    Lhaurel studied the finger raised in front of her gaze. Pale white skin—not a pale brown, but white, like hers after the Oasis. And the nails, they were as red as the blood within her veins.
    “Too late,” Elyana hissed. Red mist—blood itself—formed in the air around the man and shimmered toward Elyana. The men around him scattered back. Blood surged toward Elyana, crackling with a strange white energy and coalescing into a ball within her outstretched hand. Then she thrust it outward.
    As it flew, the red ball seemed as flame, but when it struck the man, it struck with solidity. Blood and energy splashed across his chest, throwing him over the edge of the cliff with enough force to send him several dozen spans out from the edge and into the unknown abyss beneath.
    Lhaurel woke up.

    Khari strode along in the darkened passages of the warren, more than a little irritated at the distance she’d had to walk already.
    What was Beryl up to down here?
    She sensed the lake before she saw it. She’d always known it was down here though she’d never had any desire to actually see it. The spring in the healing rooms was plenty for any clan’s needs. Yet when she rounded the corner of the passage and saw the light of distant lanterns reflecting off such a vast, indescribable pool of water, her heart skipped a beat. It was pure beauty.
    Khari reached out to it with her powers, feeling the depth of it with perceptions better than sight. Here was a source of fuel for her magic beyond