Page 189 of The Dryad Storm

“No,” Ung Li returns with a stiff shake of her head. “He’s aiding Western refugees trapped there, many of them sick with the Red Grippe.” She glares at Quoi Zhon. “He told us, ‘That’s where Vo resides now. Not here.’?” Ung Li looks toVang Troi, her expression tightening with what seems like an edge of reluctance. “Vanglira, you’ve been relieved of all rank and dishonorably discharged from the Vu Trin.”

Without hesitation, Vang Troi swipes off her horned headpiece and lets it drop to the terrace’s stone with an emphatic clatter, her violet eyes afire. “Rank meansnothingcompared to the threat the East is faced with if you destroy the Dyoi Forest and Zonor River.” Her piercing gaze falls on Quoi Zhon. “No more talk. Let us through.”

Quoi Zhon stares Vang Troi down for a protracted moment before she brusquely gestures us forward. Yvan, Soleiya, and I exchange intense glances before my allies and I follow Quoi Zhon through an arching stone entranceway and into the Wyvernguard, Vu Trin soldiers filing in at our sides.

We enter the Conclave’s huge circular hall. A colossal Noi flag hangs there, Vo’s white dragon form emblazoned on sapphire. Noilaan’s sapphire-robed Conclave sits behind a curved, obsidian table on a slightly raised dais, white dragons embroidered on every robe encircled by sewn images of Vo’s white bird messengers. I count twenty Conclave members as their eyes zero in on me with palpable hostility. We still before them, Yvan’s hand gripping mine, one wing arcing around me as he gathers defensive fire.

Introductions ensue, Quoi Zhon stiffly naming Conclave members before introducing, with a reverential dip of her head, the Vo Conclave’s majority leader, Niko Luun.

As I take in his yellow eyes, black hair and angular features, Bleddyn spits out a curse from behind me. I angle my head toward her in question and am caught off guard by the haunted look in her eyes.

“Remember when I told you about Noilaan’s Vo’nyl movement?” she whispers. “Well, Niko Luun is their leader.”

The blow connects, hammer hard—the Vo’nyl responsible for all those signs in Voloi when I was in hiding in Mora’lee’s rune ship—Noilaan for the Noi.

“Damn them,” Rivyr’el mutters under his breath from beside Bleddyn. “Damn themall. They’re truly turning Noilaan into the West.”

Every nerve alight with tension, I note that only Noi are serving on the Conclave now. The Noi people are varied in skin and hair tones, but they share similar dress, hair, and makeup styles, kohl lining every man’s eyes. And each Conclavemember wears the Vo’lon religious necklace with its twelve multicolored beads and central white Vo-dragon bead, a white bird pendant hanging from it.

Vang Troi steps toward the Conclave, her shoulders squared, her aura shivering to powerful, sapphire life. “Nor hyoi’lir Noi’khin,” she formally greets them. “We bring urgent news of the Magedom’s strike on Erthia’s wilds and an offer of emergency alliance. Alliance not only with the Icaral of Prophecy, Yvan Guryev, but also with his revered mother, Soleiya Guryev. Along with our entire Dryad’khin force and the transformed Dryad’kin Witch, Elloren Guryev.”

Harsh murmurs break out amongst the Conclave members at the announcement of my new name. Except for Niko Luun, who remains still and silent, his hands clasped before him, his penetrating, pale yellow eyes fixed unwaveringly on me.

Naga steps toward the Conclave in human form, her movements full of powerful, serpentine grace. She gestures toward Yvan and me with a black-clawed hand. “The Icaral and Dryad Witch are united as Wyvernbonded mates,” she states with formal import. “They are bound to our horde, by blood and by fire, and we can read their noble intent.”

The Conclave’s looks of hatred remain unchanged, the ensuing silence volatile.

“The last time we saw you, witch,” Niko Luun smoothly states, breaking the silence, “you were leading an invasion of our lands that almost destroyed Voloi. And now, here you are again.”

I will myself to remain calm, Yvan’s fire and that of my entire horde blazing through me. “I wasforcedto move against the East,” I clarify, remorse tightening my throat as I convey the full story of how Marcus Vogel took hold of me with his Shadow Wand before I was freed by the Great Tree of the Northern Forest and transformed into Dryad’kin. “And now,” I tell him, “my allies and I seek to stand with you against the Magedom’s Shadow.”

“Yet you and your army would keep us from sending a storm band west to wall that very same Shadow out,” Niko Luun counters.

“Have you listened tonothingElloren just said?” Soleiya cries, her invisible fire rearing.

“The storm band you’re preparing,” Sylvan interjects. “It isimperativethat youdo notsend it out over the Dyoi Forest and Zonor River.”

“If you do,” Yulan adds, the floral magic coursing through her lines shivering with tension, “you’re as good as placing a powerful weapon right in the Magedom’s hands.”

“Tell us, then, Tree Fae,” Niko Luun stonily offers both Yulan and Sylvan, “how could it possibly work against us to send out the strongest storm band we have ever conjured to blast Vogel’s forces and corrupted storm bands back West, destroying them en route?”

Tension crackles through Sylvan’s power. “For centuries,” he growls, “all your power has come from Nature’s Matrix. Because a critical mass of Forest has always existed, you have taken this wellspring for granted. You used the Natural World’s elemental gifts to fight your Forest-destroying wars as well as to gut the Forest’s root-supporting Sublands with your lumenstone mines. So much of our Forest remained as a buffer to your ignorant destruction that the Continent’s Natural Matrix survived.”

Sylvan’s piercing gaze sweeps over the Conclave. “But now, Vogel has murdered III, the Life-anchoring Heart Tree of the Forest, only its Verdyllion branch remaining. His Magedom has razed our kindred Northern Forest, along with most of the Forests of the West and the South. He has killed and poisonedtoo much.” Sylvan’s elemental power burgeons, rising to storming heights within him. “If you destroy the Dyoi Forest and the Zonor River,” he warns, “your power, as well as ours, will be decimated as the Matrix comes undone. You will tip the Natural World into an Unbalancing that will unleash the greatest Death Reckoning Erthia hasever seen.”

Troubled murmurs rise among the Conclave members, the sapphire-robed officials leaning toward each other, their faces tense with agitated concern.

All except for Niko Luun

“Which will dowhat?” he presses.

“Your weather will come unhinged,” Hazel answers as he slides forward, his eerie voice shot through with the weight of a nightmare foretelling. “Your seasons,unmoored. And a storm of Death will follow.”

Vothe’s father lets out a scoffing huff. “You stand in theEast, Death Fae.Wecontrol the weather here.”

Sylvan’s gaze swings to Hizar’drile, his expression like the slash of a sword. “No,” he sharply counters. “You merely amplify or suppress natural cycles. If your storm band obliterates the Dyoi and the Zonor, even the Zhilonile Wyverns of the East will be unequal to the chaos you’ll unleash.”

“Your crops will wither anddie,” Yulan warns, her melodic voice trembling. “Your seas, rivers, and air will spin into mayhem.” She glances mournfully at thebedraggled heron hugging her side. “And our animal and plant kindreds—their worlds and lives will betorn apart.”

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