Stormlands ( Book 2 of the Torrent Skies Saga)

Chapter One: City of the Mountain

871 P.C, Aughk'tor, Itrea Mid Lumynos.

Late into the night, the stars shone across the Ekylid mountains. The wind carried the scent of night-blooming flowers to the dusty and incomplete city of Aughk'tor, that nestled in the crease of land where mountains meet hills.

The horns finally blared their alarms and their shrill, ear-piercing sound blew away any fatigue Katerin had been nurturing. She stood, stretching her stiff muscles and retrieving her staff.

The dwarves were scrambling to the gate and up the walls—Lugaria, Agrata and Juen'tal had vanished before she had even gotten to her feet.

Fykes sighed and stretched his neck. "Be careful," he said, brushing a kiss across her cheek.

"You, too." She gave him a stern look as she headed for the wall and he turned towards the gates.

The dwarves she stood with atop the wall nodded to her, but did not speak. Her eyes widened as she looked out over the grass. A good fifty orcs and one giant were thundering towards them tonight—straight for the gate this time.

By the mercy of all the gods, she thought, they're suicidal.

The sound was unique and spine chilling. Despite witnessing something similar for many nights the thundering of their approach left her nerves on edge. It was a sound akin to a drum being played inside a cabinet.

She ducked, as the first few arrows pierced into the stone around her, and dodged from behind her cover and gesturing with quick and practiced movements, as crystal missiles formed above her palm and arced into the orcs as they charged.

The orcs closed the gap in a blink of her eye, and the sounds of clashing weapons and people yelling cascaded over her and echoed into the mountain behind.

The orcs broke into small skirmish groups protecting their giant companion, as another bout of arrows flew by. One whistled past, and hit the stone behind her with enough force to smack into her leg and leave a stinging welt.

The dwarves broke into small groups as well, and they fanned out down the wall beside her. Katerin saw a flicker in the torchlight, and caught a glimpse of Fykes' pale lavender hair.

Fykes stood firm with the dwarves beside him, sword poised and ready for the first of the orcs as they charged in. The blow he blocked skidded him backwards with its power, and he only just managed to turn aside the second attack—a spear, as its gleaming point thrust for him.

The dwarf to his side threw his whole body into the swing of his axe, and the orcish spear-wielder fell, as three more rushed to take its place. Fykes panted for breath and pushed forward again, adjusting his sword grip to match the ferocity of the orcish charge. He could smell the blood around him, but the fighting to his sides was no more than a blur. The yells and screams were only echoes, as he focused.

He felt a cut along his arm from the damp feeling it left, and his blade flicked out elegantly, despite that he weilded it with two hands, and separated the strap that held the orcs helm in place. His next swing was far less graceful—a short yet powerful chop—that buried his blade well in the face of his opponent.

It stuck for only a moment, but in that moment a hammer struck for Fykes chest. He stepped aside, trading places with a ready dwarf, who swung his own hammer into the shins of the orc, and jumped to deliver one final blow.

Katerin ducked once again behind the merlon in front of her, but this time an arrow shredded through the side of her shirt, and left a nasty gash above her hip. She crouched lower for a moment, whispering a spell under her breath, and stood with a yell to unleash a line of lightning into the small half circle of orcs who were already aiming their longbows. She followed that with a globe of light, a beacon above them in hopes to blind them for a moment.