Page 10 of The Demon Tide

The soldier dismounts. “A rune hawk just arrived, Your Excellency,” he states, his sulfuric gaze simmering like twin coals.

“What news?” Vogel inquires.

The bottomless flame in the demon’s eyes deepens to a more ominous red. “It sends word that Yvan Guryev’s ‘assassin,’ the wandmaster Mavrik Glass, has defected to Noilaan.”

A cataclysmic rush of fire sears through Vogel’s lines, his sense of unimpeded triumph burned clear away as he absorbs the ramifications.

If Mavrik Glass, our most talented assassin, is a traitor...then the Icaral of Prophecy is potentially...

...still alive.

“What news has been confirmed?” Vogel asks, slow and deadly firm as an image of dark wings accosts his mind.

“We tortured a captured Vu Trin spy,” the envoy replies. “She told us of Yvan Guryev’s survival. His death was a ruse.”

Vogel’s internal fire stokes higher, violent outrage churning through him. “How can it be? The Icaral was impaled.”

“He is Lasair Fae,” the demon answers. “The Vu Trin said he drew on Fae healing powers to bring himself back from the brink of death.”

And fooled the entire Magedom.

Silvery flames spit against Vogel’s vision, but he quickly re-tethers his violent inner storm. “It is the Ancient One’s will,” he states, chillingly calm. “So, let the Prophecy come to completion. The Holy Magedom will soon have possession of Erthia’s most dangerous weapon, and she will smite the Icaral demon without mercy.”

The envoy dips his head. “Are we to step up the hunt for Elloren Grey, Excellency?”

“It is unnecessary.” Vogel’s lips edge up. “I knowexactlywhere she is. And I have the perfect bait to draw her to me.”

CHAPTER THREE

SHADOWDOME

Wynter Eirllyn

City of Cyme, Amazakaraan

Western Realm

Wynter Eirllyn stands before the huge Goddess statue in the center of Cyme’s crowded plaza, dread coiling in her gut as crimson torchlight flickers over the besieged Central Plaza. The city’s dome looms above, its scarlet runes casting a ruddy glow through the Shadow relentlessly churning over it.

A sea of women and girls look to Queen Alkaia, who stands, supported by her cane, on the statue’s broad pedestal, her Queen’s Guard—including Wynter’s soldier friend, Freyja—bracketing her. A huge contingent of the Amaz military surrounds them all.

We’re trapped, Wynter thinks, her fright echoed by the rosefinches perched on her shoulders.

Sensing another kindred winged, Wynter glances up and spots a lone hawk soaring down toward them, a pinprick disturbance roiling the Shadow dome where the winged must have burst through.And...the winged one is allwrong.

The scarlet hawk’s normal blaze of ruddy coloration morphed to hues of gray, the bird’s eyes unnaturally silvered. A stunned sympathy shivers through Wynter as she senses the bird’s fear in the frantic motion of its wingbeats.

You’re corrupting and terrifying my wingeds, she thinks of Vogel, agony mounting. And then, something Wynter is not used to feeling ignites. Something her Zalyn’or necklace usually suppresses, as it does with all Alfsigr Elfkin.

Defiance.

The spark of rebellion fuels Wynter’s next thought.

Runic domes are magicked to allow wildlife passage.

The grayed hawk swoops down and lights on the Amaz fowler’s outstretched arm, the message attached to the bird’s rune-banded leg hastily retrieved.

The fowler’s blue-hued jaw tightens, her sapphire eyes scanning the missive.“My queen,” she says, looking to the Amaz monarch with outraged gravity. “It says, ‘Surrender your lands to the Magedom immediately. Or face total annihilation.’”

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