Page 132 of The Dryad Storm

Vogel steps toward the center of the dais at the head of Issaan’s Sun Hall, its heathen sand-gold hue cleansed by the Magedom’s Shadow to gray, the taunting purple moons Or’myr Syll’vir conjured into being above this newly annexed land finally blasted away.

Yes, he’s received messages that more purple moons have burst into being over Valgard and other Gardnerian provices. The geomancy Or’myr Syll’vir sent through the Wand’s V’yexwraith has been surprisingly difficult to subdue, slyly embedded as it is, through the Shadow Wand’s huge network of branching tethers.

Let Edwin Gardner’s bastard rockbat of a son have his moment, Vogel seethes. He’ll inevitably be ripped to shreds by the Magedom’s Shadow.

Gratified by the thought, Vogel stills, lifts his Shadow Wand, and conjures a suspended, steel-hued voice-amplification rune to hover in the air just below his chin.

A sea of Mage soldiers stand straight-backed and silent before him in neat rows, several of his high-level commanders gathered around him in a semicircle, including Fallon and Damion Bane, the power in the room burning with euphoric, violent triumph. The Magedom’s huge black flag flaps above them, just beyond the hall’s domed glass ceiling, the Ancient One’s white bird sewn into its center.

“Most Holy Mages,” Vogel booms, his voice shot through with zealous triumph, “our annexation of the continent’s entire center will soon be achieved.”

A victorious roar erupts, echoing off the curving walls of the domed interior. The sound triggers a silver blaze of excitement through Vogel’s power, the muscles of his back straining against it. He glances at the roiling slate clouds gathering above,his Shadow-portal journey from the stump of the Great Heathen Tree to newly conquered Issaan over in the time of a breath. His Shadow Wand’s new ability to conjure lag-free portals has been a revelation, new powers emerging as the Wand’s power grows, all of it further proof of the Ancient One’s blessing of the Magedom’s Holy Might.

And the Magedom’s unstoppable march east.

A disturbance sounds at the far end of the hall’s long, central aisle, drawing everyone’s attention. Vogel narrows his gaze at the black-bearded Mage stepping into view at the aisle’s distant terminus. Several Level Five Mages have closed in around the man, wands drawn, troubled murmuring kicking up.

“Your Excellency,” one of the Mages calls out over the distance via his own hastily conjured amplification rune, “the Magedom’s agricultural advisor, Mage Warren Gaffney, seeks an audience. He refuses our order to stay back. Says he brings dire news that cannot wait.”

“Lower your weapons, “ Vogel benevolently commands as he beckons Warren Gaffney forward. “Approach, Mage,” he prods, concealing the spite crackling to life through his power.Thisis the Mage who spawned the light sorcerer Sagellyn Za’Nor, mother to an Icaral demon and ally to the Stae’nen Witch.

Warren Gaffney’s gaze darts around as he heads down the aisle, the thud of his boots on the stone echoing through the silent chamber as he strides toward the dais and stills before Vogel.

“Your Excellency,” Warren Gaffney starts, forcibly straightening. “I bring news of Gardneria’s food supply. The Shadow power cast over Amazakaraan has spread west. A dark cloud of Shadow now covers Gardneria’s northernmost reaches, blocking sunlight and raining ash onto Mage fields. And the Magedom’s Shadow sea military exercises in the Voltic Sea... our fishermen there are bringing in corrupted catches, the fish poisoned and inedible, many with multiple eyes.” His eyes focus on the Wand in Vogel’s hand. “We’re starting to fear that if this contagion spreads, it will bring famine to large sections of Gardneria.”

A tense stillness descends, every ounce of elemental Magery in the hall shivering expectantly toward Vogel.

“A sacrifice,” Vogel finally states, calm and final.

Warren Gaffney blinks at Vogel. “A sacrifice, Your Excellency?”

“Asacrifice,” Vogel repeats, enunciating the word. “?‘The Ancient One’s own must walk through the Reaping Times’ Shadow before they can emerge into HisHoly Renewal.’?” A beatific smile lifts Vogel’s lips. “When the Reaping Times are over and the Prophecy has been fulfilled, all will be cleansed and transformed, as theBookassures us. The waters will run clean. The air will be purified and your fields, my Blessed Mage, will turn gold with grain.”

Warren Gaffney’s brow knits tight. “But, Excellency, if there isn’t enoughfood—”

“Where is your faith, Mage?” Vogel quietly cuts in.

A dangerous silence overtakes the vast hall, fear flashing across Warren Gaffney’s face. “In the Ancient One above,” comes his rattled reply. “But, Your Grace, how will the Prophecy be fulfilled with our Black Witch lost to us?”

Vogel smiles. “It will be fulfilled because the Magedom’s True, Blessed Black Witch has risen.” Vogel turns toward Fallon with bright, predatory interest and is stopped short by hereyes... they’re bright as ice daggers, and they meet his without one speck of intimidation.

Vogel suppresses a shiver, overcome by the heady sense of Fallon drawing up her power, her lines churning with lethal wind and killing cold, her ferocious desire for vengeancebeggingto give way.

Good, Vogel thinks, approval searing through his lines.I need your thirst for revenge. To annihilate the Whore Witch and her Icaral demon.

“Show them, my Black Witch,” Vogel charges, as his silver-dark fire aura strains toward Fallon. “Show them the power that is bringing the heathens to theirknees.”

Fallon’s mouth lifts into a frigid smile before she unsheathes her wand, raises it, and murmurs a spell low in her throat.

A chill wind whips up to encircle her, buffeting her dark garments, her raven hair. ACRACKsounds, triggering a collective flinch, a shiver of excitement racing through Vogel, as ice blasts from Fallon’s wand to collide with the empty middle of the central aisle.

A huge column of ice bolts up from the point of impact, Mages nearby jolting to their feet to stumble away from it as the column rapidly branches out to form a gigantic ice tree, the air markedly cooling.

Fallon’s gorgeous icy-green eyes flash to Vogel’s before she murmurs another spell, and the ice tree’s branches slam down onto the side aisles in impaling sprays of gravel, shocked sounds erupting as the Mages near the collisions jump back. Smaller ice branches crackle into being at each impaling branch’s terminus, spindly soldiers made of ice forming and rising, higher than any human.

The soldiers crack themselves off from the branches, Fallon’s ice army encircling the hall now. As one, they look to Fallon with gray-glowing eyes, and the air turns evencolder.

Vogel’s power shivers with excitement as it sizzles against Fallon’s frigid magic, his every linestrainingto send fire into perhaps the greatest Ice Witch Erthia has ever known. “My Blessed Black Witch,” he intones, “My True Black Witch, the Prophecy rests with you.”

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