James Lovegrove

Language: English

Pages: 420

ISBN: 0575073888

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

When the Worldstorm first stirred in the distant reaches of the earth, the people of the earth were torn asunder and thrown into disarray. For a time, all was panic and terror. But out of this panic and terror and division a new order coalesced, and the four Inclinations were known, and named.'

Or so at least one of the old stories has it. Elder Ayn doesn't really know why the Worldstorm comes to wreak devastation on the world any more than the next man. But, being a previsionary, he does know the exact time and nature of his death. He will be murdered, and he will do nothing to prevent the killing blow. He also knows why he has left the splendid academic isolation of Stonehaven and gone out into the world, which his scribe Khollo.

The world's order is breaking down. War is brewing between the Earth and the Fire Inclined. People who can shake the ground with a fist or pull fire out of the air with a simple thought. A storm is coming.

The Waterfront Journals


A Matter For Men (War Against the Chtorr, Book 1)

Mars Prime (Corvan Duology, Book 2)

Who Was That Masked Man Anyway?
















behind the times, and I’ve heard there have been republican stirrings in various quarters of the country, threats to hold a referendum and force an abdication if the results show the bulk of public opinion is against Queen Kharona. I hope that doesn’t happen, and I don’t think it will happen. Why discard something, simply to keep pace with modern opinion? Why get rid of something that has worked for centuries? Is democratic rule any better? What I witnessed in Jarraine (not wishing to pre-empt

some not. Some were little larger than slivers. Some were whole planks. One which looked like a section of a tree trunk, branches and all, proved to be nothing of the sort. It rolled gently over as the river carried it, revealing an arm, a hand, a face, all charred to a bark-like texture. There was worse to come. AYN IT’S FUNNY. WHEN we set out from Hallawye that morning, I knew what was coming. I knew what we were going to see. There would be horrors. And yet, for all that, I was excited. The

phosphorescent substance – a lichen, Querennion said, which thrived in conditions of sunless damp. The level of illumination it provided seemed considerable but then that might just have been in contrast to the darkness we had passed through to get there. I doubt one could have read by it. It was akin to moonlight, flat and somehow uncertain. Abyssal viridian moonlight. It was cold in there. Not cold enough to make one’s breath visible, but almost. And did I mention the water? I mentioned the

one more time, and you will tell me. Where – precisely – did they go?’ Querennion’s voice trembled only slightly as he said, ‘For their sake I don’t believe you ought to know.’ ‘I don’t give a toss what you believe,’ Reehan snarled. ‘You can believe in men with wings and purple-spotted elephants for all I care. The fact is, you are clearly aware of what I am, and it isn’t too big a leap of logic from there to understanding what I could do to all of you and will do to all of you if I don’t get

when the Worldstorm came up on us? Where did we have to spend two days and two nights in shelter, cooped up with some of the dullest human beings imaginable? Varshet! Because the ’Storm doesn’t slide over anywhere, does it. Not at all. We had almost reached the coast by then, and in Varshet that means the landscape is either marshland or reclaimed marshland. Either swamp and muddy estuary, or farms, villages and small towns nestled behind dykes, with a network of drainage channels running

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