Free Golden Tide (Song of the Aura, Book Four) by Gregory J. Downs Page B

the gates of the keep and far over the heads of her enemies, she stopped.
     
    For half a second, the Windmaster hung suspended in the air.
     
    Then a funnel of fiery wind fell from the skies, sweeping past her into the dalheim. Stone cracked and crumbled as the keep collapsed. The golems roared in rage.
     
    Then Karanel Winter hurled herself down to the earth in a glowing bolt of light. Everything within a hundred meters was ripped apart like a leaf in a blaze, struck by energy so potent that the golems and their Coalskins, the horses in the stables, and the stables and keep themselves all melted into ash.
     
    The storm died away in minutes, and a mighty wind that rose from the west blew away the remnant of the dalheim and the battle that had been fought there.
     
    All but Karanel. She lay, broken and shuddering, clothes and hair in tatters, amid a dark wound in the earth where the lightning had cast her.
     
    She was dying… but not dead.
     

Chapter Eight: Severed
     

     
    The Windwalker’s tale seemed impossible, but somehow Avarine knew it to be true. None she knew could have done what this male human said he had… but if anyone could, it was he. Lauro Vale. A prince. He drew her like birds to the sky, or a blade to flesh. One of the two, and she was not sure which.
     
    One thing was certain, though, and she knew it. Her dreams… and Kalzikir’s… had been about this human. She could not ignore him, whatever she did. Kalzikir had lost hope, but she would not. She refused to.
     
    “ That is how I found myself here, nymph. I ask only that you would let me go free, to continue this quest I have been set on, and…”
     
    “ The treetoken,” Avarine said quietly, and the Windwalker prince stopped amidst what he had been going to say.
     
    “ What? I don’t know what a treetoken is, Nymph.” His voice seemed less forceful, now. The lack of air was getting to him. Still, Avarine curled her lip. That he could not see her was no excuse.
     
    “ My name is Avarine, Openlander. Call me by it, or I leave you here. Just because you cannot see me is no reason for rudeness.”
     
    There was a pause. Obviously the prince had not thought of it this way before, but his answer came quick enough. “Fine… Avarine. But don’t call me Openlander, then. My name is Lauro.”
     
    “ Lauro. Show me your treetoken, Lauro.”
     
    “ I already said I don’t know what that is.”
     
    Avarine sighed. “You carry it, you speak of it… yet you do not know what it is?” That gave him pause. Perhaps he was lying, and knew he had been caught… or perhaps he had not really known, and only now realized what he carried. “I… the wooden bird? It’s hanging around my neck. I can’t reach it, not with my hands stuck like this.”
     
    Avarine could see in the darkness, barely. It was one aspect of her gifts. She rose from where she had silently crouched, and moved in front of Lauro. The Windwalker stiffened, as if he sensed she was there- he had better senses than most, obviously. Cautiously- anxiously, though Avarine knew no reason she should be afraid- she turned aside his worn shirt-collar and found the leather string of a necklace at his neck. A low hiss escaped his mouth, and the word “cold,” but he did not move. She did not answer. Her hands were always cold.
     
    Drawing out the wooden carving on the end of the necklace, she closed her hand around it, feeling the contours of the carving. Her eyes were not good enough to show her exactly how it looked, not in the dark, but sense of touch would not fail her.
     
    Yes, this was the one. It had to be. He had to be. She let the necklace go, but kept her place in front of Lauro. This must drive him mad, to know she was close but be unable to see her. She wondered she would be beautiful to him. Stop. This is not why you came. She put the thought away, but did not quench it. It could be… useful, later.
     
    “ That is a treetoken… Lauro. I have one as well.” She