Page 155 of The Dryad Storm

For a moment, Tierney stares in the direction Fyordin is streaming toward. She turns to meet Or’myr’s gaze, his body and pants slick with her rain. She finds him studying her, one purple brow cocked, and warmth blooms on her cheeks as an inconvenient spark of attraction rises, an all too knowing look heating Or’myr’s gaze.

“Let’s just get to work, shall we?” Tierney self-consciously offers.

“Good idea,” Or’myr responds kindly. He sighs, a trace of welcome amusement dancing in his eyes as he peers up at their shield, then points his Wand-Stylus toward the stone wall of runes that anchor and feed energy into it. “Let’s set up our northern focal point of power, right there.” He gives her a quick, loaded glance. “Seems a good place to channel all our pent-up...energy.”

Chapter Nine

Shadow Winter’s Ascent

Marcus Vogel

Northern Ishkartaan Mountain Range

Vogel steps through his Shadow portal and out onto a cavernous ledge, the flat surface cut right into the heathen-gold stone of the Northern Ishkartaan Mountain Range’s highest peak. Vogel tightens his eyes, brushing away visions his multi-eyed ravens are sending him of the fortified shielding the Dryad Witch’s allies have cast over the Zonor and Vo Rivers and Dyoi Forest, all of it an insignificant setback.

Because Commander Fallon Bane stands on the torchlit ledge before him.

Fallon is washed in the overcast light streaming in from the cavern’s opening. She’s bracketed by ten Level Four and Five Earth Mages, her beautiful face lit up with excitement as her gray-rimmed eyes meet Vogel’s, silver gray flame racing through his lines.

Pulling his gaze from hers, Vogel takes in the panoramic view of Southern Ishkartaan in the distance, the peninsula surrounded by the deep-blue waters of the Southern and Salish Oceans.

The last heathen nation of the Central Desert to hold out against the Ancient One’s might.

Vogel surveys the Shadow dragons Fallon and her Level Five lieutenants flew in on. The beasts are hunched down near the ledge’s long edge, each dragon watching them through multiple gray-glowing eyes. They’ve sprouted an extra set of legs, many of their dragons becoming more and more insectile as the Magedom’s Shadow power grows. Thousands more multilegged dragons and Mage soldiers are perched on countless ledges they’ve blasted into the surrounding mountain range, Northern Ishkartaan’s mountains rapidly being transformed into a huge Mage military base,its creation overseen by Vogel’s Black Witch.

Vogel’s gaze swings appreciatively back to Fallon. He can sense her excited response to his presence through her quickening heartbeat and the invisible ice crystals crackling to life through her lines as he steps toward her.

Good, Vogel thinks, his gaze sliding over Fallon’s curvaceous form.You’ve finally let go of your fury over the death of that staen’en bastard, Lukas Grey.

“Your Excellency,” Fallon drawls, her eyes bright and unintimidated, her aura churning into a hungry storm. Hunger so palpable Vogel can taste it on the back of his tongue.

How could I have ever imagined that Elloren Gardner Grey was the Magedom’s Black Witch?he wonders as he breathes in Fallon’s ruthless aura.How could I have ever entertained for one second that the Dryad Whore would be the one to bring the Prophecy to fruition and slay the Great Icaral?

It’s been ever-faithful Fallon all along.

And luckily, the Ancient One has finally given him eyes to see it.

“Are you ready, my Black Witch?” Vogel asks as he unsheathes his Shadow Wand and extends its tip toward her, silver fire churning through his lines toward the Wand in his hand, the Mages surrounding them silently looking on.

Fallon’s mouth twitches up as she unsheathes her own wand and touches its tip to his.

Tendrils of Shadow flow from Vogel’s Wand to twine around hers before winding clear up her arm. A shudder passes through Fallon, and she goes half-lidded, her lips parting.

She tenses, visibly gathering herself before opening her eyes, coolly ferocious once more. “I’m ready, Marcus.”

Hot spite sears through Vogel in response to Fallon’s daring use of his first name. His fingers twitch, Shadow claws straining to form on their tips, but he holds the power back, excitement chasing his flare of spite. Excitement over her lack of fear of him.

Yes, you always were my Black Witch, he muses, his internal fire simmering.

“Southern Ishkartaan has sent their terms of surrender,” Fallon informs Vogel with a sneer.

Vogel can’t help but smile at this, bemused. “They imagine there’s room for negotiation?” he inquires. They exchange brief lethal smiles before Vogel’s expression hardens. “Destroy the country and everyone in it,” he orders.

Excitement flashes through Fallon’s power, and through the power of every Mage surrounding them, the momentousness shivering through them all.

Fallon gestures toward a dense, dark line edging the Salish coast that extends east from the Ishkartaan peninsula. “Refugees,” she informs Vogel. “Huge numbers of them. Shall we mow them down, as well?”

“No,” Vogel calmly answers, the Ancient One’s Glorious Plan unfolding before them all. “Let them flood the East. It will further destabilize Noilaan and make it all the easier for us to invade.”

---