Page 18 of The Dryad Storm

A snarl rises in Sparrow’s throat, but she swallows it back, noticing Tilor has not replaced the prison cavern’s bars. Seizing her chance, she bolts toward him, knocks the wand from his hand, and dives toward the exit.

Tilor’s unnaturally strong hand clamps around her arm, her trajectory painfully halted as the world swings sideways. Crying out, she’s hurtled back into the cell, her back and head slamming against stone once more, stars exploding in her vision.

Tilor levels his wand at her.

Shadow vines burst from its tip, netting her to the cavern wall. Murmuring a spell, he flicks his wand, and the netting wrapped around her wrists and ankles spreads out, splaying her arms and legs apart.

Her breath comes in short, desperate gasps. Tilor’s eyes spark with glee as he sheathes his wand and saunters forward, his leer slithering over Sparrow’s beautiful Xishlon dress. Her rageful tears come faster as she chokes on the memory of how she fashioned this dress for her Xishlon night with Thierren, handcrafting every one of its multitude of violet-silk flowers.

Tilor reaches toward Sparrow’s chest, and she lets out a growl of protest, her skin crawling as he fondles the petals of one of the small violets, then yanks the flower from the fabric and tosses it to the floor before running his hand territorially over her breast and squeezing tight.

White-hot fury shocks through Sparrow. She sucks saliva into the center of her mouth and spits at Tilor’s face, her heart pounding with rage as she drowns in the certainty that her life is over. But she’ll go down fighting.

Tilor’s eyes ignite with rage. In a blur, he raises his fist.

Sparrow jerks her head back against the stone, sure she’s about to be punched with bone-smashing force, just as a hooded figure darts into the cavern and launches at them both.

Blood explodes from Tilor’s neck, a knifepoint appearing through his throat’scenter, and he lets out a gurgling groan. His eyes bulge and his body shudders, more blood spraying over Sparrow. A flash of blue light detonates from the blade, exploding Tilor’s neck in a larger splash of blood and gore, and his head falls off as his decapitated body crumples to the ground.

Sparrow blinks away blood and spits gore from her lips as she stares, in dazed shock, at the gray-hued, point-eared, sharp-featured young woman before her. Amaz runic tattoos mark the woman’s face, her garb that of a Mage soldier, a dark Gardnerian military cloak fastened over her shoulders, hood raised. There’s a charged blade in her fist, its runes glowing bright emerald green.

“Who are you?” Sparrow rasps as the Amaz raises her blade and deftly slices through Sparrow’s bindings, freeing her.

“Valasca Xanthrir, at your service,” the Amaz answers before she sheathes her blade and lowers herself to Tilor’s decapitated, bloody corpse. All business, she yanks off his cloak, weapons, and clothing and hands his garb to Sparrow. “Put these on,” she directs with warrior calm, narrowing her dark blue eyes on Sparrow. “Be quick about it.”

“H-h-how did you get free of the Mages?” Sparrow sputters as she yanks off her dress and throws Tilor’s tunic and pants on with quavering hands.

Valasca cocks a rakish brow as she gathers Tilor’s wand and weapons. “I’m the former head of the Amaz Queen’s Guard. It’s not a position given to the untalented.” She shoots Tilor’s corpse a disgusted look. “I saw him drag you past.”

Sparrow gapes at her. “But... but all the soldiers... theirmagic...”

Valasca’s eyes fill with a sly light as she pats her sheathed blade. “Ah, well, it seems the Crows made a rather large mistake. They dumped this Amaz Ash’rion blade they stole from Elloren Gardner within my sight.” She lifts a palm marked with a gray rune. “Varg-infused retrieval rune. I spelled down its green glow so it would look vanquished.” She grins at Sparrow, who notices a multitude of Mage blades sheathed in Valasca’s belt and another pushed into the side of her boot, along with two wands. “And, turns out,” Valasca continues, “Mage wands can be used as runic styluses with some spell modifications. And I happen to be a rune sorceress.” She winks at Sparrow. “I’ve a few tricks up my sleeve.”

Sparrow’s mind whirls. “You know Elloren?”

Valasca spits out a laugh as she finds places to sheathe Tilor’s weapons and hands one of the blades to Sparrow. “It’s a bit of an involved story.”

“I was with her in Valgard,” Sparrow confides as she takes hold of the weapon.

Valasca looks at her closely, one brow cocked. “She told me about you. Sparrow Trillium, is it? The seamstress?”

Sparrow nods and sheathes the blade through her belt, then pulls Thierren’s bloodied cloak over her shoulders.

“Well, Sparrow Trillium,” Valasca says in an overly polite cadence, “would you like to stand here and continue these introductions, or would you rather get the hells out of here and kill a few Mages while we’re at it?”

Sparrow gives her a grim look. “There’s a huge army out there...”

Valasca huffs out a breath, rolling her eyes. “Yes, we’ve terrible odds. I’d say the whole of Erthia has terrible odds at the moment.” Her dark eyes take on a battle-fierce light, her lips lifting. “I believe in being ridiculously feisty in the face of impending doom. Are you with me?”

Rebellion coalesces inside Sparrow, sparking hot. “I’m with you,” she vows.

Valasca shoots her a more lethal grin. “Well, then, I suspect we’ll get on just fine.”

“I need to get back East,” Sparrow blurts out. “There’s a child there who’s family to me... Effrey. I don’t know what happened to him. And I need to find Thierren Stone. He’s joined the Vu Trin.”

Valasca cocks a black brow, obviously catching both Thierren’s blaringly Gardnerian name as well as the ardent emotion Sparrow can’t keep from her tone when speaking of him.

“Well, Sparrow Trillium,” Valasca says. “I wouldn’t mind getting back to my Great Love, Ni Vin, either, but our allies and all of our loved ones are currently clear across a desert from us.” Valasca gives her a pointed look. “It’s you and me, Urisk.”

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