Elfsorrow (Legends of the Raven, Book 1)
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The Raven travel to a new continent in search of mages to help the ruined college of Julatsa rebuild and find themselves in the midst of ancient curse - a curse that has unleashed a plague that threatens to wipe out the elven race.
impossible to avoid the conflict around them. To their right, multiple FlameOrbs burned away the mist, their arcs of flight carrying them down to splatter into buildings and onto streets. The flat crack and orange flare of a ManaShield collapsing was succeeded immediately by the screams of those caught abruptly defenceless. Smoke billowed as mana fire gorged on wood and flesh, pouring out of a side street and billowing over rooftops, hemming them in still further. Ahead of them, shapes ran,
chambers. He waited while the servants cleaned the banqueting chamber, cleaned the table and mopped the floors. He waited until the deepest depths of the night. And only then did he slip from his room, rough travel cloak covering his new clothes, cleaned leather and glittering axe holster, and into Erys's room. The mage was lost to sleep, flat on his back and snoring gently. A smile played on his face and his arms were flung wide across the luxurious bed. Yron placed one hand over Erys's mouth
deck, the set of her body kept everyone away from her. Denser could understand her reaction but was frustrated he wasn't being allowed to help. She had withdrawn into herself completely, ate little and said less. Ilkar had given voice to his concern the day before. Calaius and its climate were not like Balaia in any way. It drained and fatigued the fittest of bodies and sickness was so easy to contract, particularly for those not born there. Erienne, he said, would be seriously risking her
metal glowed red, stones blackened, timber disintegrated, glass dissolved. Roof tiles flew high into the sky as the globe breached another building, tearing it apart. A great pall of smoke billowed in the superheated wind, which took the screams of the dying and whipped them away like chaff in a breeze. A burning corpse struck the wall by Senese and broke apart, gaping skull pleading. Indesi had been right; this was no ordinary FlameOrb construct. There was too much heat, too much energy. It
another clever comment he's going to find himself a snack for one of those great reptile things in the river. Oh, and my hands hurt from rowing.” “They're called crocodiles. And quiet,” hissed Ilkar. “We can't afford to upset him.” They both looked at Kayloor but he didn't seem to have heard them. “Look,” continued Ilkar. “I know it's difficult to understand, but it's not personal what he's saying. It's how elves think. They tolerate Balaians in the trading towns and ports, but inland it's