Page 12 of The Dryad Storm

“The Shadow sea,” Marina breathes out, gazing at the mass with wide-eyed dread.

Defiance churns to life inside Gareth’s lines. He dives below the water’s surface just as one of the larger mangroves releases a stout purple root and the Waters float it toward him, the power of the entire Ocean roaring through him once he grabs hold of it.

Gareth thrusts his wand arm upward as he launches himself back toward the surface while murmuring a wand spell in the Selkie language, the low tones flowing smoothly from the base of his throat, the translation effortless.

Power shoots through him with such force that it rattles his wrist. Energy blasts from the root and breaks through the water’s steel gray surface just before Gareth emerges, his huge waterspout bolting high into the air.

A blaring Selkie battle sign.

“We’ll fight Vogel’s Mages with all the magic we can summon,” Gareth says to Marina as they exchange a look of determination... and launch themselves toward the Shadow sea.

Chapter Two

The Reaping Times

Gwynnifer Croft Sykes

Valgard, Gardneria

Ten days after Xishlon

Gwynnifer Croft Sykes hurries along the green-torchlit periphery of Valgard’s huge, crowded Cathedral Plaza, night closing in on all sides. Fear tightens her chest in a constricting ache, but she holds fast against it, her jaw stiff with defiance.

Because she’s all too clear on the monster the Magedom has become.

And so, Gwynn beats back the fear and anguish threatening to tear her apart and scans the vast throngs of black-clad Mages, intent on finding her parents amidst the sea of zealous Gardnerians eagerly drinking in High Mage Marcus Vogel’s every last syllable. She knows it’s vital that she make an appearance with her kin on this night.

As cover.

But the surroundingcolor... she can’t let her mounting draw to it reveal her rebellious nature or her awakening light power, her wand hand increasingly gleaming with any hue her trapped light magery is drawn to. And so, Gwynn clenches it, struggling to ignore the brilliant green of the torchlight and the golden luminescence of the fiery Blessing Stars suspended around the plaza. A speckling of green-and-gold sparks flits through Gwynn’s vision and affinity lines, the glow from the torchlight and stars mingling to produce a heady chartreuse luminescence that bathes the mob’s enraptured faces and the plaza’s central statue depicting the Great Black Witch killing the Cursed Icaral.

A chill races down Gwynn’s spine as she takes in the martial statue. Because the Magedom has found its next Black Witch—Elloren Gardner Grey.

A Black Witch who could finish bringing the Reaping Times to all of Erthia.

A Black Witch who is now fasted to Vogel, as evidenced by the gray fastlinesmarking the High Mage’s hands as well as the dark military uniform he now wears instead of his former priestly garb.

“My Blessed Holy Mages...” Vogel’s rune-amplified voice thunders out over the packed plaza.

Bile rises in Gwynnifer’s throat, and she quickens her stride even as her knees tremble. She casts a glance toward where Vogel stands on the landing atop Valgard Cathedral’s huge sweeping staircase. A forest green amplification rune hovers just below his chin, and rows of Mage soldiers line the stairs before him.

A shiver races through Gwynn as she takes in the four glamoured pyrr-demons bracketing Vogel. She can spot their true natures through the veil of their Mage glamour quite clearly. As a former Bearer of the Wand of Myth, she can detect the simmering red points of their eyes and their twisted Shadow-smoke horns, as well as the Shadow rising from Vogel’s Wand of Power, the gray tendrils twining around the High Mage’s form...

The Wand of Myth pulses hard in the back of Gwynn’s mind, its spiraling green form flashing with chromatic light, a vision of herself and six other Bearers with multihued light power shimmering to life around the Wand. A vision that’s ocurring more and more frequently, along with a sense of the direction the Wand lies in. Like a migratory pull on Gwynn’s very center. North. And down. Below the ground, drawing ever closer...

One of the demons pivots its head in her direction, as if it’s scented something in the air. Fear igniting, Gwynn ducks her head slightly and averts her eyes, her breathing carefully measured, every nerve in her body primed for flight. Because she knows that if she meets the demon’s sulfuric eyes, even for a blink of a moment, it will sense the Wand of Myth in her very thoughts.

And mark her as one of its former Bearers.

“We have dealt a staggering blow against the heathens of the East,” Vogel states as Gwynn resumes searching for her parents. “Our Blessed Black Witch and Mage forces have struck down Noilaan’s Wyvernguard and their unholy cesspit-city of Voloi.”

A rousing wave of cheers and applause swells, unity crackling in the air as Gwynn keeps her eyes averted from the demons.

“But be warned, Holy Mages,” Vogel intones, his amplified voice a bone-deep vibration resonating through her, “the Icaral demon and his Dryad beasts have taken hold of our Black Witch.”

Thunderous outrage crashes through the plaza, Gwynn’s shock momentarily skidding her to a halt.

“The Dryad beasts are portalling our Black Witch to their warded Northern Forest,” Vogel warns. “Bent on slaying her. She is caught in a portal lag as we speak. And the surviving Vu Trin forces are mobilizing, ready to advance upon both our Black Witch and our most Holy Magedom.”

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