Page 198 of The Black Witch

Elfin Steel

“I don’t even know where to begin,” Trystan comments as he stands making neat slicing motions in the air with the white wand. The Elfin steel arrow tip is propped up on a tree stump a few feet away. “I’ve been learning spells to magic Gardnerian weapons, and that’s about it.”

We’re in a secluded clearing in the wilds, about a half hour’s walk from the University. We’ve all found it quite easily, starting at the edge of the field by the horse stables and walking straight toward a towering, vertical shard of salt-white Spine stone.

The morning sunlight cuts through the trees around us, our breath fogging the cool air. I look around warily, feeling as if the trees are pulling away, whispering about me on the wind. I take a seat on a moss-covered rock and pull my cloak tight to fight off the stiff chill. Yvan is leaning against a tree, facing me, his expression wary and watchful, his eyes always coming back to me.

He seems immune to the cold. I never see him wearing a cloak, but he’s always so warm—heat practically radiating off his body the few times I’ve been close to him, brushed his fingers, placed my hand on his arm...

Yvan’s eyes meet mine, and heat flares between us. I flush and glance away.

Rafe is flipping through the same type of grimoire that was handed to me for my wandtesting, the volume chock-full of basic spells. Diana sits on a long log next to him, her arms crossed, a determined expression on her face. Jarod quietly watches Trystan play with the wand.

Andras sits, sharpening his rather scary, rune-marked silver labrys—the usual weapon of choice for the Amaz. It’s a huge weapon, able to deflect magic as well as split skulls, with the two axes attached to its long handle. Andras rubs a sharpening stone over the cutting edge of one side, a thin, rhythmicscreechsounding from his steady, circular motion.

Yvan steps forward from the tree, his hands on his hips. “Why do you want to help me free this dragon?” He glances around at everyone. “I’m not even sure it can be done. And even if it can—”

“This is a dangerous idea,” Andras puts in flatly, setting the sharpening stone aside. “I do not know if I can be part of such a thing.” He gestures with his broad chin toward the arrowhead. “But I will help you try to break this steel. There will come a time when dragonflight east could help many.” He sets his dark eyes on Yvan. “And my people despise the caging of wild things.” He’s silent for a moment. “I have always wanted to see an unbroken dragon. I have heard they are magnificent.”

“They are,” Yvan confirms with an edge of emotion in his voice.

“I will take a look at your dragon, Kelt,” Andras tells Yvan. “And then I will decide if I will help the beast.”

Yvan gives Andras a somber nod, then looks to Diana.

“Jarod and I also despise the caging of wild animals,” Diana states vehemently, her arms crossed tight. “All Lupines do.” She nods in my direction. “And Elloren Gardner asked for our help. So we will help you free your dragon, Yvan Guriel.”

“And you, Rafe?” Yvan asks. “Why would you go against your own people?”

Rafe bares his teeth in a wide smile. “Oh, I don’t know, Yvan. Because Marcus Vogel’s a jackass, and the Gardnerians are really beginning to piss me off. What about you, Trystan?”

Trystan is only half paying attention to all of us as he focuses intently on the wand and slices it through the air in small swirls. “They’re a bit self-righteous, yes,” he comments absently.

“I wouldn’t mind seeing them with one less military dragon,” Rafe goes on.

“You never know when a military dragon might come in handy,” Trystan agrees.

Rafe laughs. “That’s quite true.”

“I’ll start with the weakest fire spell I know and work my way up,” Trystan announces as he points the wand out in front of him, his other hand curled over his head gracefully.

“What? The candle-lighting one?” Rafe wonders.

“That would be the one,” Trystan replies.

“Illiumin...”Trystan recites the words of the spell by rote. He flicks the wand in the direction of the steel.

A sharp, orange flash flies from the tip of the white wand and knocks Trystan backward with its force. I flinch sharply back, almost falling off the rock as the flash collides with the Elfin arrow tip and turns the entire log it rests on into a ball of churning flames.

Rafe’s eyes have flown open wide. “That was thecandle-lighting spell?”

Trystan nods, his mouth agape.

“Hell of a wand you got there, Ren,” Rafe says.

I stare at the flames, stunned. A fantastical idea flashes into my mind—wouldn’t it be incredible if Sage’s wand actually was the true White Wand of legend? The thought is so outrageously impossible, it almost makes me smile.

It may not be the White Wand, I relent, but I’m glad it’s a better than average wand.

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