Excerpt from THE TOWER OF BEGGARS by Torsten Weitze:
Silence had fallen on the neatly cobbled street as Niri continued to push her coal cart towards her destination, the stately house looming ahead of her in the distance.
The sun had already disappeared behind the horizon, with only the echo of its powerful rays bathing the plastered facades of the two-storey, half-timbered houses with their slate roofs that dominated this district of Brightburgh in a bluish twilight. Niri was glad not to have to share the street with anyone as she steered her cart to the middle of the road, where the cobblestones had not yet been damaged by the wheels of heavy carriages. Here the vehicle was much easier to handle, and, with a bit of luck, she might manage to finish this last delivery of the day before these newly constructed eerie lanterns which lined the streets of the rich and powerful blazed to life. Her nuncle Vasdram had explained to her that there were caves deep be neath the city filled with flammable gas which seeped in through their walls, and that these crude-looking, sooty tubes protruding from the earth – each with a dome-shaped structure on top – were connected to these caverns. Soon the fire gate of the caverns would be opened and then the lanterns would wheeze like dying, plague-stricken invalids, before spitting their darts of fire into the sky until dawn.
“At least, no-one, as yet, has dared to use those strange pipes inside their houses,” murmured Niri to herself. “Otherwise Vasdram and I would soon be out of work.”
With a loud crunch, the wheel of the cart wedged itself tightly between two cobbles in the paving.
“Oh, please don’t”, she groaned, looking around hastily. There was still no-one else to be seen. The inhabitants of these streets – known only as the Golden Chimneys – did not tolerate simple servants who bothered them with their menial problems.
As she tugged at the handles of her heavily laden wooden coal cart, she pondered over the nickname given to the opulent district of the capital. So much wealth was gathered here that some of the chimneys really were decorated with gold. Rumour had it, that a gang of particularly daring thieves had even managed to steal one of the chimneys from a roof. One more rea son for Niri not to be stuck here in the middle of the street for any longer than necessary. She had no desire to meet one of those who did their nefarious work at night, nor would she like to encounter a Malkarite who might see her as a common criminal. Indeed, any neutral observer espying her in her worn and dirty linen clothing would immediately recognise that she didn’t belong here - even without looking at her recalcitrant coal cart.
“Damn and blast it!” she groaned, as she pulled the leather-wrapped handles with her calloused palms. The wheel was wedged so tightly between two cobblestones that it felt as though the vehicle was stuck in a bear trap. However, she could not risk pulling too violently, because a new wheel would cost more than she and her nuncle earned over the whole moon cycle.
The loud clatter of horse hooves and the characteristic rumble of a carriage portended doom. Niri pulled harder, ignoring the pain in her hands and back, and she was now tugging at the cart with all her might. Depending on the rank and whims of whoever was in the carriage, Niri could be in even deeper trouble than her cartwheel currently was. A coal girl who blocked the way of the high and mighty…
“Hey! Get out of the way!” A shout rang out, and Niri’s head spun around. A four-horse team, pulling a coach, was heading toward her at high speed!
Niri was petrified, her every muscle freezing. It was as if she had suddenly been plunged into a torrent of icy water, her body escaping her control for a few precious heartbeats. Niri called this condition the sinking, a temporary state which had afflicted her for as long as she could remember. And so, she was left with no other choice but to stare motionlessly at the approaching vehicle.
The black horses were groomed to a high sheen, while the precious ebony of the carriage seemed to swallow whatever was left of the evening light. A stern-looking coachman, with a perfectly fitting hat on his head and dressed in a distinguished, dark livery, pointed in her direction with an accusatory finger.
“Make way there!” he roared, raising his whip threateningly.
At last, the sinking released her and immediately Niri began to comply with the coachman’s request. Anxiety made her hands so clammy that they slid off the leather covering of the handles.
Come on! I have to get out of here, she urged herself, remembering one of her nuncle’s favourite sayings: A long detour is always better than a short dead end.
The driver’s whip cracked through the air not ten paces away from her. The snorting of the horses sounded close – much too close.
With a cry of rage, Niri threw herself against the side wall of her cart, and at last – the vehicle budged.
“Away with you now!” roared the coachman, an exceedingly haughty voice then calling from within the carriage: “Whatever is going on?”
With a courage born of desperation, Niri threw herself twice more against the side of the cart, just as the swaying vehicle tilted away from her. The whip cracked again, this time directly above her head, and finally, the coals gave up their fight against gravity and began to tumble over the side of the cart and onto the road. Niri immediately grabbed the blocked wheel and lifted it up in such haste that her back cracked with pain. The cart tipped completely onto its side, scattering every last coal over the cobblestones. There was now enough space to her right for the coachman to steer his horses past the scene of the mishap – if he wanted to.
Niri humbly bowed her head, as she was accustomed to doing, before looking pleadingly up at the coachman. Their eyes met and the man’s dis approval was almost palpable. His fingers curled more tightly around the whip, and for a moment she feared she would feel his wrath with a few well aimed lashes. But then, a spark of pity flashed in his eyes, and he nodded silently to her.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Niri watched the man steer his horses around the chaos and slowly pass the place of her misfortune. A movement in the carriage, however, caused Niri’s relief to shatter, like a piece of coal smashed into smithereens by a sledgehammer. The fleeting shadow of a face peered out from between the red silk curtains and casually observed Niri’s figure.
Head down, shoulders back, gaze to the floor! The orders of her nuncle, burned into her mind over many years, made her assume the submissive posture that had saved her hide more than once. Dirty, stringy hair fell in front of her face, but certain that a thick layer of coal dust was hiding her features, she glanced up.
This time something was different.
With icy horror, Niri recognised the most dangerous of all expressions on the features of the noblewoman looking down at her – curiosity.
An excerpt from THE TOWER OF BEGGARS by Torsten Weitze
Text copyright © 2026 by Torsten Weitze
All rights reserved
Stormfell Academy #1
The first book in an immersive & addictive fantasy series from the million‑copy selling phenomenon Torsten Weitze that follows the epic journey of a young protagonist with nothing left to lose.
When tragedy strikes her family, Niri finds herself penniless and alone in a city determined to turn their back on 'her kind'.
Her only possession is also her only hope ‑ a copper coin that grants her admission to the prestigious Stormfell Academy, renowned for its magical and combative training.
But the coin only offers her a place to sleep, and Niri must learn to adapt and fight if she is to survive the Academy ‑ and its occupants.
The Tower of Beggars is the first enthralling instalment in the bestselling Stormfell Academy series that has captivated millions of readers in Europe, now available in the US and UK for the first time.
Welcome to the Academy . . .
Fantasy Epic [ Absurd Ventures, On Sale: September 1, 2026, Hardcover / e-Book, ISBN: 9798994931622 / eISBN: 9798994931653 ]
Torsten Weitze, born in 1976, is a native of Krefeld, Germany, where he still lives today.
Trained as a publishing clerk, he was eventually drawn to the creative side of storytelling after many years of leading a pen-and-paper role-playing group. Today, he spends much of his free time imagining new worlds and characters, bringing them to life in his fantasy novels.
He finds balance and relaxation through regular Jiu-Jitsu practice and by studying the use of traditional Japanese weapons.
His debut novel, Ahren: The 13th Paladin, was published in February 2017.
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