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

growled and continued to back up, but was stopped by the ring of men.
    Dagger-wielder grinned wickedly. “You’re not nearly so tough when you’re not hiding away while the rest of us die, are you, Heltorin?”
    The Heltorin spat at his feet.
    Dagger-wielder’s face scrunched together in a mask of fury. This was going to turn into a bloodbath and quickly. The Heltorin man was clearly outmatched and none of his companions were going to step in to defend him. They wouldn’t impugn his honor. They would avenge him if—no, when he fell—but they wouldn’t step in before.
    This wasn’t the first conflict between the Heltorin and Londik and the other clans, but this was the first that had escalated to this level. Normally Gavin’s reputation from the Oasis was enough to calm a situation, but not anymore. He didn’t have time to consider the implications of that.
    Gavin had to do something. Acting on instinct, Gavin reach out into the walls and sandy floor and pulled. He felt the energy gathering, like thousands of ants. The two holding his arms yelped as white energy crackled up Gavin’s arms. They released him and jumped away and Gavin rushed forward, grabbing Dagger-wielder by the back of his shirt and hauling him backward before he could land a blow on the Heltorin. Caught unaware, Dagger-wielder stumbled and Gavin was able to step in front of him, between the two men.
    The energy faded.
    For a moment, everything was still. Dagger-wielder stared up at him in confusion and anger, the onlookers equally as stunned, some even with looks of fear at the overt display of magic. Then, Gavin felt a sword-tip placed against the side of his neck.
    Gavin turned slowly until he faced the Heltorin man, who held his sword to Gavin’s neck. Gavin almost smiled at the irony of having saved this man’s life only to have him threaten Gavin’s own, but smiling would only make him even angrier.
    “Wrong move, friend,” the man said, his voice as cold as the blade at Gavin’s neck.
    “There’s no need for this,” Gavin said, carefully. “If the two of you need to fight it out, you can just as easily use fists as blades. You’ll still both know who’s the stronger.”
    The man sneered and, behind Gavin, Dagger-wielder snorted.
    “You’re an outcast. You know nothing of honor,” the Heltorin man said. “The only way you beat Taren at all in the end was because of trickery. You’re in league with the Roterralar devils. You’re one of their mystic pets.”
    Gavin swallowed, forming his words carefully. The ring of men closed in around him, united suddenly in their dislike of him. Gavin licked his lips, wondering how he’d managed to get in this situation.
    “Enough of us died in the Oasis. Can we really afford any more deaths?”
    It was the wrong thing to say. Gavin saw it in the set of the man’s jaw, the sudden change of posture. Gavin reached out to the walls around him, consciously attempting to replicate his act of only a few moments before. Nothing happened. In that moment, Gavin felt his mouth dry with fear. He tried again as the pressure increased on his neck, the blade cutting into flesh. Again, nothing happened. The energy remained elusive.
    “I really wouldn’t kill him,” a passionless voice said.
    Gavin turned his head to look toward the speaker. His face was lined and his hair was greying, though his frame held the muscles and power of a much younger man. His arms were bigger around than most men’s legs, his chest a barrel of corded muscle straining against a thick, leather vest. He held a number of scrolls under one arm. And there was something about his skin. Was it covered with metal flecks?
    “None of you know how to mind your own business, do you?” one of the onlookers said.
    The man grunted and made an odd gesture with one hand. The sword at Gavin’s neck lifted and flew out of its owner’s hand. The Heltorin man yelped softly as the weapon flew away from him and came to rest in the air in