Excerpt: The Drowned Throne - Volcanic Power

 

FERVENTLY TORRULLIN HOPED to see autumn again.

As Rayne he was entranced by the amazing spectacle of it, the many feasts as the harvest was brought in, culminating in the huge Harvest Festival of the month Haerfell. Reno, he recalled, loved it too, as had the boy Torrullin. Torrullin the man needed Valaris whole, for all reasons, not merely the majesty of autumn … and yet it called.

Shortly before dawn, he jerked upright, inadvertently tumbling Saska to the ground. She came awake grumbling. Briefly apologising, Torrullin vaulted to his feet.

“What do you sense?” Vannis whispered from the seat of power.

Taranis was already standing, sword to hand.

“Valleur sorcery. He is doing something.” The Enchanter’s eyes glazed in concentration.

Saska rose, looking up. The cloud cover had thickened and darkened during the preceding hours, all stars vanished. In the indistinct almost-light of pre-dawn, it appeared forbidding and dangerous. It was unbearably cold and quiet.

It would rain later.

Torrullin focused on them and his eyes glittered. “We had better pray for the mother of all storms in the next few minutes. Margus is unsealing the volcano in Gosa and has begun agitating the core.”

“Mother of all gods,” Vannis said, flinching. He straightened, his nakedness blue and goose-fleshed. “Gosa is too close for comfort. How much time do we have?”

“None,” Torrullin said.

“I thought the volcano was extinct,” Saska frowned.

“That will not stop him,” Taranis said in controlled fury. “Still, Gosa is a fair distance from here, with desert all around.”

“Agitating the core is unhealthy,” Vannis murmured.

Torrullin’s eyes glazed again. “The first gasses escape, the Horde has retreated to a safe distance. It will blow any second.” He focused on Vannis. “I believe they intend to direct the flow.”

“Into the Sound,” Vannis muttered. “Naturally.”

Torrullin faced west, staring over the treetops.

Taranis sighed, a hopeless sound, and Saska was rooted. No one, except Vannis, realised how potentially devastating the situation was. They did sense it on a more instinctive level.

“I can make it rain, like on Ardosia. Belun showed me,” Taranis offered.

Torrullin shook his head. “No heroics, Taranis. It takes time and when it blows you go with it.”

“Rain has never stopped lava,” Saska murmured. “Only big water … oh, I see, the Sound. The sea will go crazy and we will be in it … crap.”

“Exactly.” Vannis spat.

“Tremors,” Taranis whispered, staring at his feet.

It was the first shivers of a core at odds with itself after a long period of stability and dormancy, tremors that would swiftly become earthquakes, waves of motion to shake up entire regions.

The greyness began to glow then as if a giant cauldron had just had its lid lifted - precisely the case. Bright incandescent orange, not the dawn, no; that would materialise behind them in the east. A volcano preparing to erupt was unmistakable, even on Valaris where it had not happened in living or dead memory.

  

UNBEKNOWNST TO THEM, a number of the Horde left in pairs to wing their way across the continent. Two by two, not capable of total annihilation, but nonetheless able to cause certain damage, they laid waste to the empty and near-empty cities and towns; Galilan, Gasmoor, Tetwan, Saswan, Actar, Mintor, Linmoor, Winnish and Farinwood.

If Margus and his Horde were defeated, it would take Valaris centuries to return to former glory.

  

THE TREMORS WERE faint, but increasing in frequency.

As unmistakeable as a volcano preparing to erupt had been moments ago, thus it was with the actual eruption. They heard and felt a distant roaring, and the orange heavens in the west became a fireball, great and hot. The land shook in terror.

“Phet, investigate … cautiously,” Torrullin said.

The Falcon took to the air.

He returned quickly, tail and wingtips singed.

I could not get close, Enchanter, so I went high. There is a gigantic hole in the Gosa Mountains and it spews lava at a rate. I cannot adequately describe it. The sand burns, and already much land is covered in ash. Secondary eruptions are constant as gasses explode and there is no sign of anyone. Enchanter, they have engineered the main lava flow to head for the Sound opposite Aqua Islet and this one. It cannot be stopped.

“How soon before it hits the water?” Taranis asked.

Ten, twelve minutes - a guess only.

“Thank you, Phet,” Torrullin said. Time now to think, but not much of it available. “It is no isolated attempt at destruction. As with everything else, this too has purpose. If sufficient lava flows into the ocean, and let us assume that will be the case, Margus could engineer a land bridge to the mainland. The Sound will be left with only one outlet at Emleth.”

“The water level will rise,” Taranis followed, “although not significantly. I would suggest the problem lies in earthquakes, and the currents, naturally, will go haywire … god, tidal waves.”

“Yes,” Vannis said. “That is what this is about. He is challenging the island and, by inference, the Throne. Genius. Safe distance and a topographical alteration we are powerless against. Fine.” Vannis was grim, his eyes black. “The Throne is in danger. No magic can withstand changes of this nature to the terrain it requires to operate in. If this chair,” and he slapped the armrests, “is toppled, its power will be unleashed. It will be a disaster worse than a thousand volcanoes.”

An ancient seat has the power to destroy

  

From the cesspool of Silas Island into the underworld of Two Town, the battle continues. As epic storms batter the continent, men, women and children succumb to soltakin touch and darkling blade.

It is time to reveal the hidden half-race from under the sands of the Vall Peninsula; Valaris needs soldiers as much as she needs hope. It is time also to face Margus in his lair and throw down the gauntlet.

Arrayed against his might is the small team of defenders, among them Taranis of the Guardians, Vannis of the Valleur, and Torrullin, a man with a dual nature, who as often fights the darkness rising within as he fights to protect his world. Visions plague Torrullin; he struggles to find himself when fate appears omnipotent, and love ever beyond his reach.

The extinct Gosa volcano erupts as sacred sites implode, creating earthquakes and tidal waves. A monster surge races to the site of an epic confrontation before an ancient and powerful golden seat.

The Valleur Throne is about to assume ultimate status. Will it save or conquer their world?

 

THE DROWNED THRONE