Page 12 of The Shadow Wand

“A glamour,” Mage Flood murmurs, sounding awed by Vogel’s newfound advantages, glamouring having always been solely a Fae power, just as portal magic had always been the domain of the Noi’s Vu Trin forces.

There’s a sly look in Mavrik Glass’s falsely Noi-dark eyes. “The portal stones are almost fully charged,” Mavrik tells Vogel, his deep masculine voice at odds with his glamoured female form. He smirks at the entire Council. “I’ll be paying a visit to the Eastern Realm this very evening.”

“The Icaral has yet to come into his full power,” Vogel explains as Mavrik taps his wand to his shoulder and morphs back into his Gardnerian form. “Mage Glass will journey through the portal with the runic eye,” Vogel states. “He will track the Icaral creature down. And slay him.”

Relief floods Vyvian’s shock, overriding her fear of Vogel’s new runic powers as the promise of a world-set-right burns bright in her mind.

Yes, her own niece was unconscionably mixed up with an Icaral demon.TheIcaral demon.

But Yvan Guryev will be dead in a matter of days, she consoles herself, forcing even breaths. The Great Prophecy will be smashed to bits under Gardnerian might, and her mother’s death will be avenged.

Gardnerian power has just become unstoppable, Vyvian realizes, goose bumps prickling over her skin. With portal magic, aerial spies, and the ability to glamour now in Mage hands, there will be no stopping the Reaping Times.

The Council members are nodding to each other and conversing in low, reassured tones, as if rapidly adjusting to Vogel’s incredible display of power, their eyes brightening with renewed purpose.

There’s a single, brisk knock at the doors and everyone’s attention is drawn toward the sound.

Vogel nods at the bird, and the creature closes all its eyes except the original two, its shadow runes blinking out of sight. Another wave of awe rushes through Vyvian at the bird’s easy camouflage as the doors are pulled open once more.

A young, skinny military courier steps into the chamber. He seems nervous, his posture rigid as he swallows, his gaze riveted on Vogel as the two guards shut the doors behind him.

Silence descends.

“Highest Mage, we’ve word from the North,” he says, his voice unsteady.

“What word would that be?” Vogel asks, slow and controlled.

“Commander Sylus Bane’s unit...they flushed out another band of Fae from the wilds, Your Excellency.” The courier’s brow tightens. “Eighteen of them this time. Dryads.”

Vyvian inwardly recoils from the word as troubled mutterings fill the room.

“Dryads?”Mage Snowden exclaims.

“The Tree Fae?” Mage Priest Alfex marvels, eyes wide. “That’s not possible.”

“They were supposed to bedead,” Mage Greer spits out. “All of themdead. How is it we keep flushing out more of them?”

Eventually, everyone quiets and looks to Vogel, tension thick on the air.

“It has begun.” Vogel’s tone is low with import as it resonates through the room. His words gain an impassioned edge as he closes his eyes and recites fromThe Book of the Ancientsin a priestly cadence. “‘Lo, the wilds shall be corrupted and cast shadows across the land. And the Ancient One’s flock shall converge on this corruption in power and inglory.’”

Excitement crackles inside Vyvian and she straightens, determined to be included on the righteous side of this dangerous heavenly saga—the First Children set against the full might of the Evil Ones.

There’s an intricately embroidered white bird on the breast of Vogel’s tunic, and on the wall behind him hangs the newly designed Gardnerian flag—the Ancient One’s white bird on black.

The Ancient One’s flock, Vyvian echoes, beatific tears sheening her eyes.

Vogel opens his eyes and peers at the courier. “Have these Dryads been dealt with?”

“Y-yes, Your Excellency,” the youth sputters. “Cut down. Every last one.”

Sounds of relief well up.

“But...there are threats, Your Excellency,” the courier adds, casting an unwelcome note of doubt into the room.

Vyvian’s pulse ratchets higher as they all stare at the courier, who seems to shrink under the combined weight of the Council’s attention.

“Threats?” Vogel asks, unblinking.

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