Page 13 of The Shadow Wand

“The Dryads that were flushed out,” the young man says, his voice strained, “the ones that can speak the Common Tongue...well, they said they’ve got warriors who will fight for them.”

The hall once again bursts into troubled, angered conversation. Mage Snowden and Mage Flood make the Ancient One’s five-pointed star sign of protection on their chests.

“They’re dangerous, these Fae,” Mage Flood declares grimly.

“They’re no threat to the Magedom,” Mage Greer snaps back at him.

“Some of them can wield branches like wands,” Mage Snowden counters, his white brow knotted. “They can draw a sizable amount of power from the forest.”

“Then we’ll send iron-tipped arrows through them,” Mage Greer sneers. “That should tamp down their power a bit.”

“What else did they say, Mage?” Vogel asks the courier, seeming impervious to the startled and livid reactions around him. The Council Mages quiet and the room falls silent once more.

The courier glances around, as if unnerved by their renewed attention. Like a cornered animal, he looks to Vogel and swallows. “They said that the Dryads threatened that they’re coming for us. With the power of the trees.”

Now all eyes look to Vogel, as if drawn to him for guidance in such troubled times.

Vogel extends his arms as if he’s embracing the room, his expression growing pained as he closes his eyes, his gray wand clasped tight. “Pray with me, Mages.”

Vyvian dips her head alongside everyone in the hushed chamber as Vogel begins the prayer and they all fall into the familiar cadence of the words.

“Oh, most holy Ancient One, purify our minds, purify our hearts, purify Erthia. Protect us from the stain of the Evil Ones.”

Then Vyvian mirrors the entire room in making the sign of the five-pointed blessing star over her chest, one point for each affinity power.

Vogel slowly lowers his arms, but his head remains bowed, the Council silent as stone.

Waiting.

Eventually, Vogel lifts his head and opens his eyes, his stare inescapable. Drawing them all in. Filling Vyvian with a heady euphoria.

His power.She can still feel it emanating from Vogel and his equally powerful wand. Riding the very air.

Vogel fixes his piercing gaze on the courier as lightning flashes above in a staccato burst and a crack of thunder peals through the glass ceiling. “Instruct your commander to send a unit of Level Five Mages into the Northern Forest,” Vogel orders, an ominous finality to his tone. “The Ancient One’s time of reckoning is upon us. These Dryads say they’ll come for our Mages? That they’ll attack the Holy Magedom? That they fight with the trees? Very well. We’ll raze the entire forest.” His stare narrows with lethal precision. “Then we’ll find these remaining Dryads. And annihilate them.”

Vogel turns toward the Council and lifts the tip of his wand as another boom of thunder shakes the building. “Blessed Mages, the Ancient One has called upon us to claim Erthia, league by league. Soon the borders of the Holy Magedom will be rune magicked against every Evil Invader. And Mage soil will be cleansed of their unholy stain.” Lines of shadowy magic curl up from Vogel’s dark wand in an undulating helix of smoke, and Vyvian marvels at the sheer beauty of it.

“The Reaping Times are here,” Vogel intones, eyes flashing along with the lightning above. “The hour has come to destroy every last Evil Invader of our blessed Mage land.”

CHAPTER THREE

HERETIC

THIERREN STONE

FifthMonth

Valgard, Gardneria

“Are you aware, Mage,” Commander Sylus Bane asks Thierren Stone, “that a dishonorable discharge from the Mage Guard will leave you unfit for service? Lock you out of all guilds forever? Not even poor Lower River farmers hire a race traitor.”

Sylus Bane sits at his desk surrounded by high-ranking soldiers, all of them glowering at Thierren.

Thierren glowers back at Sylus Bane, bleary-eyed and numbed to the censure. He doesn’t care what any of them think of him. He doesn’t care about anything.

When Thierren returned home, his parents were distraught and thrown into complete confusion at the staggering change in their eldest son, their golden child—terrified by his chronic nightmares, his frightening screams deep in the night, and then by his insomnia as they found Thierren up at odd hours, in odd places, staring at a wall as if watching a horrific nightmare, his face haunted, dark circles anchoring his eyes.

At first, his parents tried to understand. They even paid for a priest to perform an exorcism, sure their son had been stained by his close contact with the Evil Ones.

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