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

front of the well-muscled stranger.
    The man reached up and wrapped a hand around the sword’s hilt. “As I said, I really wouldn’t kill him.” He put the sword’s point against the ground and leaned on it like a cane. “Don’t try it.”
    The last was directed at Dagger-wielder, who had shifted as if he were going to try something. His weapons flew free of his grip as well and came to rest at the older man’s feet. All was quiet for a few moments, even more silent than when Gavin had interrupted earlier. Then the onlookers and two combatants turned to leave.
    “Some day you won’t have another of your devil friends to protect you,” the Heltorin man hissed at Gavin, then he followed his companions down the hall and out of sight.
    Gavin clenched and unclenched his hands as moisture returned to his mouth. He suppressed the soft tremble which threatened to make his legs lose stability and turned to look at the mysterious man.
    “Thanks for that.”
    The man grunted. “Try not to die.” He started walking, dropping the sword he’d been holding onto the floor with the others. Gavin noticed the limp with interest.
    “Wait,” Gavin said, holding out a hand. “Who are you?”
    “Beryl.” He kept on walking.
    “Wait. Thank you. I’m Gavin.” Gavin hurried after the man.
    “I know,” Beryl said. “Learn to fight. Now leave me alone.”
    Gavin stopped in his tracks. What had he done to deserve that?
    Beryl continued walking, limping down the hall until he was lost from sight. Gavin pursed his lips and absently ran a hand over the spot on his neck where the sword had rested.
    Farah was right. He needed to learn more about his powers.

    Almost an hour later, Gavin strode into the greatroom of the Roterralar Warren and—not for the first time—felt a slight sense of awe at the grandeur and sheer size of the place. Khari constantly complained that the warren couldn’t house the entire population of the Rahuli people. Gavin disagreed. Even with the remaining clans each claiming their own tier of rooms, there was plenty of evidence to show that this place was built for far more people than it currently housed. The issues, as Khari always pointed out, were feeding, clothing, and maintaining a civil relationship between the five hundred current inhabitants. Even housing segregation wasn’t proving an effective measure to maintaining that civility.
    He drew a few stares as he entered, but Gavin ignored them for the most part. Several of the clans looked at him with awe after his defeat of Taren at the Oasis. Gavin was slightly uncomfortable under the weight of that understanding, but he knew he needed the notoriety if he was to lead this people.
    He turned to the right and climbed the steep, winding switchbacks up the side of the massive room. The outcasts, all six of them that had survived, kept to themselves at the very top tier of rooms. As much as Gavin idealistically wanted the clans to unify as one Rahuli people, it was simply wasn’t happening, as he had witnessed firsthand earlier that day. He put a hand to his neck absently, rubbing it along one side.
    As Gavin walked, the families stuck out to him, as always. He tried to not notice how many families were devoid of one parent or another. The battle at the Oasis had been costly. They’d paid a terrible price, but—hopefully—the genesauri were gone. It had been worth it. The children running around or getting scolded would have the chance to grow up in a world free from the yearly terror of a Migration. There was that glittering hope shining at the end of the long tunnel of despair.
    Gavin made it up the last few steps on the highest switchback, narrowing his eyes against the glare of the sun gleaming down through the massive opening in the cavern’s mouth. He’d only taken a few steps onto the landing when one of the thick wooden doors opened and Shallee poked her head out the door.
    “Gavin.” She stepped out onto the landing with one hand on her