Page 104 of The Dryad Storm

I can sense Vogel’s scream of fury, his Void tree image punching through my mind again and again in furious assault as his roiling Shadow rages against our strengthening shield to no avail, the Shadow storm soon dying down to a steady roar.

Hazel shrieks out a multitoned snarl, and the bindings tethering all the semiconscious Dryads to my Errilor Ravens turn to smoke.

My allies pull Sylvan, Yulan, and Oaklyyn, and Mavrik and Gwynn off theravens and Thierren off a giant eagle and lay them on the ground, all of them gasping for breath and barely conscious. Jarod and Rafe lift an unconscious and bloodied Jules Kristian off Errilith while Yvan rushes toward both Jules and Thierren, our horde forming another defensive line between us and the Vu Trin forces.

Sylvan is grasping his chest over his heart, his pine hair morphed to deadened sticks as he murmurs “My kindred one... mykindred” over and over, his mysterious, hidden Northern Forest kindred almost certainly murdered. Yulan’s flower tresses have turned into ashen, withered vines, all of my Dryad’kin alarmingly grayed.

A heartsick fear for them rises in me as I slide off Raz’zor and stumble toward the Dryads, the pain in my leg and arm now manageable aches thanks to Yvan’s ministrations, but my power still disastrously weakened, even as Yvan’s Zhilaan Forest thrums its courageous energy through me. I catch sight of a purple branch on the stony ground and lean down to swipe it up. A bolstering shimmer of energy rushes through my lines from the living branch. Grasping it tight, I set my sights back on the Dryads as I approach.

Oaklyyn is splayed out on the ground, pulling in air in great heaving gasps, her hand clasping at her rib cage, as if her heart is seizing. Mavrik and Gwynn are struggling for breath as well, as they keep tight hold of each other, their orange-hued hawks staunchly by their sides and ruffling their feathers with obvious distress.

“These Dryad’kin will die without an immediate linkage to the Forest!” Alder cries as she drops to her knees by Oaklyyn’s side, bringing her hands to the combative Dryad’s chest. I note that Alder’s green hue is undimmed and has a purple branching pattern marked over it, the design bolder and more vivid than my faint Zhilaan branch markings.

Speaking of a full link to an Eastern Forest.

“How can we link these Dryads to the Forest?” Diana demands in an urgent growl.

In answer, Alder raises her hand.

Small eagles burst from the tree line edging the back of the ledge, a purple branch clasped in each eagle’s talons.

“Press the branches to my Dryad’kin’s hearts!” Alder calls out as the eagles drop the branches on each Dryad and Alder yanks Oaklyyn’s leafy tunic open then thrusts a living branch onto her chest.

Bleddyn and I drop down beside Yulan, while Yvan rips Thierren’s tunic open,grabs hold of a branch and presses it to his chest while bringing his other hand to Jules’s bloodied temple to heal him. Desperate to link Yulan to the Dyoi Forest, I yank her clothing open as well, and Bleddyn presses a living branch to her sickly gray chest. Yulan shivers from the contact, a purple branching design radiating out from where the branch is contacting her skin.

“Where’s Or’myr?” I press Bleddyn, fearing her answer.

“Here in the East by the Vo River,” she assures me. “He stayed to summon Tierney back—”

“LUCRETIA!”Jules Kristian is suddenly crying out as he regains consciousness, breaking off Bleddyn’s words. Jules pushes himself up, batting Yvan away as he forces himself to his feet and stumbles toward our shield, looking as if he’s bent on leaping straight through it.

“Jules, stop!” Andras cries as he and Rafe lunge toward him and wrestle him away from the barrier.

“What’s happened to my sister?” Fain calls out to Jules, dire urgency lighting his green eyes.

“She’s trapped in that Shadowhell!” Jules growls back as he fights against Andras’s and Rafe’s holds, eyes wild, spectacles cracked. “We can’t leave her there! We can’t leave her toVogel!”

As if in cruel mockery of his words, the Shadow storm roars to more intense life in a thickening wall of poisonous gray, a dark Shadow net forming over our entire shield.

“Ancient One,” I breathe, sensing the Shadow net’s power. “Vogel’s trapping us under our own shielding with an impenetrable net.”

Sheathing my living branch through my tunic’s belt, I rise and take a faltering step toward our shield, transfixed by both the Shadow netting and the parasitical gray might assaulting our barrier. Massive and growing in power while the living wilds diminish.

We’ve walled Vogel off from the East, I consider, stricken,but not for long.

A huge Varg rune blasts into being on our shield, a net of emerald magic coursing out from it. I turn, taking in the young Smaragdalfar-Amaz sorceress standing before it, her glowing stylus raised. From our side of the ledge, Ra’Ven adds his Varg power to hers.

“Vestylle, my friend,” Alder calls out to her.

The sorceress’s invisible emerald aura flickers with anger as she casts a daggeredglare at Alder. “Silence, traitor,” she hisses.

I pull in a shuddering breath as the Varg rune rays out emerald light, its net of magic rapidly coursing over the entire shield, my power empathy sensing the amplification of our shield’s power, the Shadow roaring against our shield instantly muted.

Slowly, both Ra’Ven and Vestylle lower their styluses, the surviving Forest firmly shielded.

A moment of unbearably tense silence descends, and everyone turns their attention to me.

The Black Witch.

---