Shane did not need to say it. Every elf knew they had to find out what had happened.
After a day and a half of marching toward the Eye of the Typhoon, they did not even need to raise their eyes to see a hellish scene. There was no light in the sky, and the sun seemed dead. On the horizon, dark clouds swirled into a towering tornado, with silver-snake flashes of lightning flickering around it.
"The rain's getting heavier." Shane held out a hand to catch the drops. The drizzle, once fine as hair, had grown into needle-sized droplets. Each carried a faint trace of hex magic. When they fell on him, they stabbed like needles, as though trying to pierce his mind, only to be instantly repelled by the fluctuations of his mana.
This was not natural rain, but the result of hex magic. Though it could not inflict serious harm, it still affected the rangers who had no spellcasting abilities.
"Sylvanas, the troops can't go any farther. I suggest we stop here. I'll go alone and see what happened."
"I agree." Sylvanas shook the rain from her hood. Her hair was already soaked, and her breath chilled into mist. This rain was colder than winter. She knew the condition of her troops; the rain had nearly drained their strength. The Trolls were more formidable than she had imagined. She wanted badly to help Shane, but these spells lay beyond her knowledge. As a woman of the Windrunner family, she would not get in a man's way at the wrong moment.
"That patch of woods will do. Take them there to shelter from the rain. I'll have a look from that hill." Shane pointed to a small rise nearby, where he could see the entire altar.
As he