The Light Beyond the Storm Chronicles: Book 1 by A.L. Butcher Genre: Dark Fantasy Romance
A beautiful young elven sorceress flees for her life in a dark world where magic is forbidden and elves are enslaved. A world in which her very existence is illegal. Watching her are the Order of Witch-Hunters; the corrupt organisation that rule Erana by fear and ignorance. An iron fist which itself is watched. As the slavers roll across the lands stealing elves from what remains of their ancestral home the Witch-Hunters turn a blind eye to the tragedy, and a story of power, love and a terrible revenge unfolds. 3rd Edition – revised and expanded. *18+* age limit – this contains adult themes, including scenes of a sexual nature, violence, slavery and some profanity. Add to GoodreadsAmazon * Apple * B&N * Kobo * Website/Blog
The Shining Citadel The Light Beyond the Storm Chronicles Book 2
In a dark world where magic is illegal and elves live as slaves, a desperate elf and her human companion seek aid from the mysterious sorcerer, Archos and his lady, the sorceress Dii’Athella. Hoping to unearth the secrets of the Shining Citadel, lost for centuries in the mists of magic and time, they begin a dangerous and arduous journey. Could these secrets change the lives of an oppressed people or will such information bring about a worse fate? Yet all is not as it first appears for the corrupt Order of Witch-Hunters watch from afar and one man’s obsession leads to a deadly trap. Avarice and betrayal are everywhere; who can be trusted? Creatures long thought dead rise in the darkness, and forgotten magic burns with a bitter flame. Who makes the rules in this game of intrigue and lies? Shattered beliefs and unwelcome truths abound in an adventure filled with magic, passion, greed and revenge. 18+ rating – contains scenes of both sex and violence. Extra warning – contains elves! Add to GoodreadsAmazon * Apple * B&N * Kobo The Stolen Tower The Light Beyond the Storm Chronicles Book 3
What stalks the land cannot be, but is. Where magic is outlawed a troll Shaman calls from her deathbed to her heiress, Mirandra Var, daughter of the storm. Mirandra vows to find her missing kin, sort friend from foe, and claim the dangerous secrets guarded by unthinkable creatures. If she succeeds, she will become the leader of her tribe. If she fails there, will be no tribe to lead. Please note 18+ rated. This contains scenes of violence and sexual situations. Add to GoodreadsAmazon * Apple * B&N * Kobo
British-born A. L. Butcher is an avid reader and creator of worlds, a poet, and a dreamer, a lover of science, natural history, history, and monkeys. Her prose has been described as ‘dark and gritty’ and her poetry as ‘evocative’. She writes with a sure and sometimes erotic sensibility of things that might have been, never were, but could be. Alex is the author of the Light Beyond the Storm Chronicles and the Tales of Erana lyrical fantasy series. She also has several short stories in the fantasy, fantasy romance genres with occasional forays into gothic style horror, including the Legacy of the Mask series. With a background in politics, classical studies, ancient history and myth, her affinities bring an eclectic and unique flavour in her work, mixing reality and dream in alchemical proportions that bring her characters and worlds to life. She also curates for a number of speculative fiction themed book bundles on BundleRabbit. Her short novella Outside the Walls, co-written with Diana L. Wicker received a Chill with a Book Reader’s Award in 2017 and The Kitchen Imps won best fantasy for 2018 on NN Light Book Heaven. Alex is also proud to be a writer for Perseid Press where her work features in Heroika: Dragon Eaters; and Lovers in Hell – part of the acclaimed Heroes in Hell series. http://www.theperseidpress.com/Website/Blog * Facebook * Twitter * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads
Excerpt 1 – The Stolen Tower – The Light Beyond the Storm Chronicles – Book III
© A. L. Butcher
“So, you are the Heart of the Mountain. What can you show me, I wonder?” Kherak
muttered, pulling her thoughts back to the task in hand. She settled back in her armchair with
the crimson embroidered and beaded Shamanic Shawl across her shoulders. The item was
old, far older than the Shaman herself, and imbued with magic, for it had passed down from
Shaman to Shaman, and each woman had added to it. To all appearances it was simply the
shawl of an old woman, but there was nothing simple about the garment. It was a symbol of
status, an heirloom with much Power and, of course, it kept her warm.
A pearlescent glow rose in the Opal, which hovered above the Circle adorning the table.
Colours shifted and, as she placed the Heart of the Mountain over the large stone, the red and
black pattern began to move, swirling like a whirlpool. “I am Kherak Var, Shaman, as my kin
have been before me. Show me your secrets; guide me in seeking my kin.”
This was strong and wild magic, flowing in a torrent which was close to sweeping the
ailing woman away with its force. Suddenly a voice rumbled around, timbre low like thunder,
drawing her in and making the old Shaman tingle in ways she had not experienced for many
years. The language was strange, ancient and arcane, the very language of the earth. Such
words Kherak had seldom heard; the sound held Power, the very essence of magic and rose
like a song. She had not expected this, even with all her foretelling. Peering into the depths of
the Opal, the images swirled like mist on the mountain and the shifting vision would not yield
further. “You will reveal, my eyesight fades but my Sight is clear. You will reveal to me, as is
my right and my Power.”
The humming Opal whined with a painful shrill, and tired Kherak fought the errant vision
to do her bidding. The Shaman’s Focus shifted— partly in the Realm of Dreams and partly
remaining in the mundane world. In Astral Sight the Opal loomed large and bright, a globe of
dancing images woven in mist; before her rose a peak of reddish stone, run through with
black veins arising from a lake of greenish water, and high in the peak an arch looked out
across the lake, weathered but dark and foreboding. As she watched, the lake filled with
blood, and screams echoed in her head. As quickly as it had appeared Kherak saw the half-
dream flicker away to be replaced by a high-roofed chamber of rock, lit with crystal, and in
the centre a red and black stone statue, circled by molten rock, runes glowing like fire about
it. The strange words roared as the rolling of waves against stone, echoing in the Realm of
Dreams as it did in her parlour, rattling the shelves from which items tumbled. Then the
vision was gone.
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this cover is intriguing
Sounds so good.