Stormchaser (The Edge Chronicles, No. 2)

Stormchaser (The Edge Chronicles, No. 2)

Paul Stewart, Chris Riddell

Language: English

Pages: 400

ISBN: 0385750706

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

Since his childhood in the DeepWoods, young Twig has always longed to soar above the forest canopy and explore the sky. Now a crew member on his father’s sky pirate ship, the Stormchaser, his dream seems fulfilled. But a much higher destiny awaits Twig. The lofty city of Sanctaphrax—built on a giant rock, floating high in the sky—is at the point of disaster. The city’s future is dependent on stormphrax—a valuable substance available only from the heart of a Great Storm. And only the Stormchaser, with Twig onboard, could risk entering a storm. . . .

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bar-stool, was a slight, almost luminous creature, grinning from ear to huge bat-like ear. Mother Horsefeather raised a feathery eyebrow and glared at Twig menacingly. ‘This is Forficule,’ she said, and returned her unblinking gaze to Cloud Wolf. ‘He, too, will be present during our little talk,’ she told him. Cloud Wolf shrugged. ‘It’s all the same to me,’ he said, then added as if Forficule were not there, ‘What is it? Looks like the runt of an oakelf litter.’ Mother Horsefeather’s beak

is why I offer you now the possibility to avenge yourself on the usurpers.’ Cloud Wolf stared back at her, as it finally occurred to him what the devious bird-woman was after. ‘You mean you want me to sail to the Twilight Woods in search of fresh stormphrax,’ he said. ‘I mean,’ said Mother Horsefeather, ‘that I am giving you a second chance. You will be able to utilize all that training you were given in the Knights’ Academy; you will show that Cloud Wolf is more than a mere cut-throat and

cruelty. He returned his gaze to the mirror and glared approvingly at his reflection. Seldom, if ever, had Vilnix Pompolnius looked so gaunt, so imposing. He arched one eyebrow. ‘So, Forficule, my little messenger bird,’ he said. ‘I am ready for you now. How I am looking forward to hearing you sing!’ The Hall of Knowledge as the interrogation chamber was euphemistically known was situated at the top of a tower in the west-wing of the vast palace. The only access was through a concealed door in

muttered. ‘One more step and …’ All at once, he felt the horny hand of the flat-head goblin grasping at his ankle. ‘No!’ he screamed and kicked back with both legs. Shoving the hinged hatch open with shaking hands, Twig launched himself up and pulled himself through the narrow opening. He knelt down beside the hole. Mugbutt’s spatula fingers appeared at the rim. Twig leaned forwards, seized the hatch door and slammed it down with all his strength. There was an agonizing cry. The fingers

much further to go?’ asked Twig. ‘We’re almost there’ said the professor. ‘Just round this next corner and …’ ‘HALT! WHO GOES THERE?’ The professor stopped in his tracks. Twig who was finding it difficult to see the black robes in the dark tunnels anyway walked slap-bang into him. Maugin grunted with alarm and dropped the chest onto her foot and grunted again, this time with pain. Out of the confusion came the professor’s frail voice. ‘Is that you, Bogwitt?’ he said. ‘It is I, the Professor

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