The Shadow Wand

by Laurie Forest

  Ah. I’d forgotten about that age-old Western Realm superstition. Because white dragons resemble the Eastern Realm’s dragon goddess. Making him lucky in the East and unlucky in the West.

  I let out a long sigh and rub my newly throbbing head.

  “So,” I say, massaging my temple as I look to Effrey. “You’re a geomancer and a boy.” I turn to Sparrow and Thierren. “You two are allies.” I give Raz’zor a pointed look. “And you’re a full-grown dragon who was pit bait and who is also empathic.” My gaze darts back to Effrey. “And you can talk to dragons with your mind.” Everyone is quiet, considering me in their guarded, unified way, which I find somewhat infuriating right now. “Just figured I’d state all the obvious things.” I set my gaze back on Sparrow and gesture toward Raz’zor. “I wish you’d told me about all this.”

  Sparrow nods, her expression grim. “Perhaps I should have.”

  I blow out a breath and turn back to Raz’zor, resigned to this new bizarre situation, as I make the split-second decision to go for broke. “We should join forces, Raz’zor.”

  The dragon glares at me, seeming a bit startled.

  “What do you have to lose?” I press. “I’m perhaps the only being on Erthia who is even more unlucky than you.”

  I have a sudden sense of this small dragon’s pain in how jaggedly his core fire is now whipping about. His head lowers slightly in an almost cower. And I realize that part of him, deep inside, is beaten down low. It prompts a remembrance of how Ariel was treated by the Gardnerians and, unexpectedly, my heart goes out to this small, threatening dragon as I come to a rapid, reckless decision.

  If this small dragon wants formality, formality is what he’ll get.

  And if I’m the Black Witch, then it’s time to be the Black Witch.

  I straighten to my full height as I hold Raz’zor’s ruby stare. “Pledge fealty to me, dragon,” I challenge. “If I ever gain control of my power and get to Noi lands in one piece, I’ll find Naga and fight for Wyvernkin. Unbroken Wyvernkin.”

  The dragon gives me a long measuring look as if considering a very dangerous thing. We stare at each other, everyone silent, tension vibrating on the air.

  And then Raz’zor’s fire solidifies into one hot, churning stream, his eyes narrowing to slits. He steps toward me, his talons scuffing against the carpeted floor as he sniffs the air, as if scenting me. He comes to a stop before me, his small head rising as he sends out a stream of hissing and clicks.

  Effrey’s eyes widen with obvious surprise as the child translates, “He says, ‘I will pledge fealty to you, Black Witch, friend to Naga the Unbroken.’”

  I blink at the dragon in astonishment, amazed this formal approach actually worked. I quickly compose myself as I consider him. I push a tendril of my invisible affinity fire toward the dragon, who responds by sending his own tendril of reddened fire out to meet mine.

  “Free Dragon,” I tell him. “I accept your pledge.” I exhale, my shoulders slumping. “I could use all the fealty I can get, Raz’zor.”

  Raz’zor looks to Effrey.

  “You need to hold out your arm,” Effrey tells me somberly. “The bond of fealty requires a blood bond.”

  I eye the dragon with guarded surprise. “How much blood? You already bit me.”

  “Only a few drops,” Effrey explains, but I don’t like how the dragon is now smirking at me.

  But...a dragon ally.

  I think of Rhys, Cael’s second, and wonder if that relationship is what fealty means to a dragon. Rashly decided, I pull up the bejeweled silk of my sleeve and hold the wrist of my wand arm out to the dragon.

  Raz’zor springs forward in a flash, and before I can even think to jerk away, his teeth are locked on my wrist, his fangs puncturing my skin with a heated sting, but only a little, like a cat biting in warning. He holds on, and I can feel him pulling on my fire power. I close my eyes and take a deep, warm breath, my whole body momentarily suffused with a delicious, ruddy heat that feels like sheer power.

  Raz’zor releases me, his eyes burning hot. A small amount of blood trickles from puncture wounds that glow as red as the small dragon’s fire, then disappear along with the sting on my shoulder as more powerful heat rushes through me and my vision flashes red.

  As if I’ve absorbed his flame.

  Black Witch, we are bound.

  Startled, I feel my eyes widen at the sound of a razor-edged, hissing voice in my mind.

  Raz’zor gives me a smug, knowing look.

  I blink in surprise and look to Effrey. “He just spoke to me,” I say, breathless. “In my mind.”

  “You can do it too,” Effrey tells me eagerly. “Concentrate on what you want to say, then send it forward with a breath. Right toward him.”

  I think my question. Really focus on it with everything in me. Then push it toward the dragon with a hard exhalation. What does the pledge of fealty mean, Raz’zor?

  You have my fire, comes the assured reply.

  I pause, shocked to be communicating this way, but quickly steady myself.

  I need your help, I send out to him with renewed purpose. I need allies.

  You have my fealty.

  Reflexively, I send out a rush of invisible golden Wyvernfire to Raz’zor, and he meets my fire once more, bolstering it in a heady rush of his red flame, our fire power joining and blazing to a vivid orange. All of a sudden all my muscles feel stronger. My blood is running hotter, my fire affinity line coursing with heightened deep-orange Wyvernfire.

  Our fires, I marvel to him, they strengthen each other.

  As is the way with hordes, Raz’zor tells me. A Wyvern horde shares fire and feeds fire. We are a horde now.

  A horde of two.

  I look to the Ishkart assassin sprawled out on the ground. The hour is growing late, and not only is there a dead body in the middle of the room, but in a few minutes’ time, Aunt Vyvian will return to escort me to the Sealing ceremony.

  The longing to have competent, steel-nerved Lukas here with me rises.

  “Lukas needs to know about the assassin,” I say to Thierren, who nods.

  “I’ll get word to him,” he assures me.

  “What will you do with the body?” I ask.

  “I’ll put a freeze spell around it and we’ll slide it under the bed. We’ll all be gone before the spell fades.” He glances at the hole in the ceiling, the crawl space revealed, then glances down at the charred, bloodied carpet.

  “I’ll keep anyone from coming in here,” Sparrow says to Thierren, who nods in unspoken agreement.

  I glance again at the assassin and his discarded rune sword, the golden runes burning bright along its length. I swallow, an icy fear working its way up my spine. “Thierren, what are the chances that they’ve sent more than one assassin after me?”

  “Quite good,” he replies without hesitation as he gives me a frank look. “Since the eastern forces clearly know that you’re the Black Witch.”

  So, there it is. Everyone in the room knows that I’m the Black Witch, but they’re still here, none of them running from the Witch of Prophecy. They’re a surprising group of allies, but allies nonetheless.

  Allies that I’m grateful for.

  Sparrow looks to the tree clock that’s on a nearby shelf then sets her unflinching gaze on me. “We need to get you cleaned up and mend your dress. Fast. It’s almost time to go.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE SEALING

  ELLOREN GARDNER

  Sixth Month

  Valgard, Gardneria

  Aunt Vyvian’s grip on my arm tightens as she guides me down the night-darkened main hall of the Grey estate, my leaf-decorated skirts swishing. She says nothing to me, her eyes focused militantly forward, as if I’ve ceased to be worthy of any conversation, and her silence unnerves me as my fear of Vogel mounts.

  Emerald fir
e torches set on iron vine-decorated poles bracket us on both sides, the broad, dark corridor washed in their green illumination. The verdant flames lick the darkness, creating the illusion that the carpet’s twisting root pattern is undulating like snakes beneath my feet. Ironwood trunks and branches rise on either side of us and curve over the hallway’s domed ceiling. Interlocking glass panes are set between the tangling branches overhead to reveal the evening’s stormy sky, all the decor creating the illusion that we’re engulfed in an ancient forest.

  Lightning forks overhead, followed by a low roll of thunder.

  My gaze darts warily around the shadowed alcoves as I imagine the shapes of assassins lurking, my chest tight with jumped-up apprehension as tempestuous fire gutters through my lines. High-level Mage soldiers stand motionless by each torch, their green-lit faces carefully blank as their eyes track me.

  So many Level Five Mages in one place.

  Aunt Vyvian guides me toward a huge archway formed by two enormous bending Ironwood trees, and we pause at the threshold.

  The ballroom’s entrance is bracketed by six Level Five soldiers, but all this pales in comparison to what lies before me.

  A forest tunnel.

  Created by two long lines of high-level Mages, each soldier holding a large curving pine branch angled toward the central path before me. The soldiers at the farthest end of the aisle are angling their branches down, blocking what lies at the end of the path from view.

  It’s traditional, this dark tunnel, symbolic of the dark times when Mages were cast into the shadows of the “Heathen Wilds.” But knowing this does nothing to diminish the wave of fright that swamps me as Aunt Vyvian releases her tight grip on my arm.

  It has the look of an inescapable cave.

  A cave I know Vogel is lurking at the end of.

  My pulse spikes as Aunt Vyvian gives my back a light shove and I step into the tunnel, willing myself forward, the branches behind and above me closing in so that I’m cast in almost total darkness. The smell of pine sap is sharp on the warm air, only a hazy tracery of deep-green light filtering through the dense branches as I warily move closer to what lies beyond.

  As I reach the center of the path, the branches ahead of me pull back in a wave to reveal Marcus Vogel standing at the far end of the tunnel.

  His pale green gaze hits me like a blow and I freeze, the force of it igniting both a raw, primal fear as well as a hard spike of defiance.

  Vogel is standing behind an altar wrought from a twisted Ironwood trunk, two military envoys standing behind him. He’s bathed in green torchlight, the planes of his elegant face glimmering emerald.

  His Shadow Wand in hand.

  The Wand sheathed against my thigh thrums with a sudden, urgent energy that quickly blinks out, as if the Wand is in rapid retreat.

  As if it’s hiding from a monster.

  I repress a surge of stifling, amorphous fright and will my legs to move toward Vogel, my defiance hardening.

  The branches tunneling over me suddenly pull back, the wave of greenery retreating on both sides as Lukas steps toward the altar and into full view.

  My heart arrests at the sight of him. He’s stunning, and I can’t tear my eyes away from his tall form.

  Lukas’s gaze latches on to mine, and he does a double take, as well. His gaze slides over me with an ardent flash of intensity as both my fear and my blazing defiance are swept aside. It’s a shock to see Lukas in something other than black. Like me, he’s dressed in deep Sealing greens that heighten the forest green of his eyes and the green glimmer of his skin, his silks perfectly tailored to complement his strong physique.

  My ally. A rebel, just like me.

  A fierce longing to escape with Lukas grips me as Vogel’s oppressive stare tracks me like prey. Keeping my gaze firmly on Lukas, I close the distance between us, noticing a hard urgency in Lukas’s expression that’s mirrored by the vibrating tension of his affinity fire.

  I stop beside Lukas, our hands immediately finding each other’s and taking firm hold. Lukas’s grip on me tightens as his branching magery rushes through me and around my magic in tendriling lines, his fire riding over my earth magery in a hot, bolstering wave.

  Strengthened by Lukas’s controlled magic, I glance around.

  A dome of pine boughs forms a low ceiling that flows down to the blessing-star-patterned floor. Countless small green glass lanterns hang from the boughs to form a verdant constellation, a veritable sea of Mages seated underneath in the torch-encircled space, all of them tinted a more vibrant green by the emerald torchlight and the lanterns above.

  I swallow as I steel myself.

  It’s as if every influential Gardnerian and most of the high-ranking military were hastily invited to Lukas Grey’s Sealing ceremony. Lukas’s family and Aunt Vyvian are seated in the first, arcing row, their glares on me raptor-hard. A line of priests, soldiers, and two envoys stand behind Vogel in an arcing row.

  There are only Gardnerians in the room, as the presence of “heathens” is banned during the sacred Sealing ceremony, the Gardnerian glimmer purposefully amplified by all the green light. The impact is dramatic, as if someone scattered brilliant deep-green starlight over everyone in the room, but I’m unsettled by the oppressive uniformity.

  Our fingers intertwined, Lukas gently guides me to take my place across from him at the altar then lets go. Heart thundering, I struggle to maintain my courage in such close proximity to Vogel, the High Priest looming beside us, no trace of his Shadow magic on the air.

  Palms up, Lukas holds out his hands to me over the altar, his gaze fixed on mine as I place my hands back in his and grasp tight as Lukas sends another bolstering wave of his affinity power through my lines.

  But then another set of hands comes to the altar, the dark gray spiraling Shadow Wand loosely clasped in elegant fingers.

  For a split second, my vision warps toward the Wand, everything surrounding it blurring, as if diffracted. I wait, breathlessly, for the terrible sense of Vogel’s dark, invading tree, his terrifying void, but...

  Nothing.

  Absolutely no sense of Vogel’s eclipsing power.

  I glance at Vogel, and his pale eyes meet mine. His lips curl in a slight smile that sends ice straight down my spine. He’s like a snake, coiled and biding its time, and I’m struck by the remembrance of the full extent of his evil. How he led the Gardnerians to murder the Lupines, using our religion to justify the horrific massacre. Diana’s whole family mercilessly killed. Her parents. Her little sister, Kendra...

  Vengeful wrath surges to life inside me like a storm yearning to burst through my skin. A sudden surge of power whips through me and strains to the Ironwood altar under my palm. Lukas’s hand clamps down tight around my wand hand, pulling it slightly up to break contact with the wood as I meet Lukas’s searing gaze and draw in a shuddering breath, the power tempered slightly.

  “Blessed Mages,” Vogel announces beatifically as he looks over the silent, anticipatory crowd, “we gather this night for the Sacred Sealing Ceremony.” He pauses as his gaze passes once more over the room, his expression growing solemn. “We gather in the sight of the Holy Ancient One to celebrate the joining of these two Mages. In union with each other and in union with the Holy Magedom. Ever in dominion over earth, fire, water, wind, and light.” Vogel turns to face a nearby knot of priests and nods. “Bring forth the element of fire.”

  One of the priests steps forward, gripping a candle on a long silver stand. He sets the candle in the center of the semicircular area that lies just before the altar, then rejoins the other priests.

  Lukas shoots me a fierce look of solidarity, releases my hands, and then steps back and pulls his wand from its sheath in one smooth, practiced motion. He strides to the candle and calmly considers it as Vogel raises his hands, closes his eyes, and intones the traditional fire blessing.

  “May
the Ancient One bless your union and grant you dominion over fire. May you bring forth Mages who own fire for the glory of the Ancient One.”

  Lukas is supposed to either put the candle out with his fingertips or snuff it out with a quick spell. It’s symbolic, all of this, as most Mages are magically powerless.

  Instead, Lukas is looking at the candle as if he finds it amusing. As if he’s mentally toying with it. He murmurs a series of spells under his breath, then gives a quick flick of his wand toward the candle.

  The candle’s flame leaps from the wick and into the air, then explodes outward into a suspended inferno big as a miller’s wheel, and the entire crowd gasps. Lukas pulls back his wand hand, and the inferno blazes into his wand in a long stream, the wand taking on a golden glow as Lukas whips the stream of fire around his head like a lasso. He throws his arm out in a wide, sweeping arc, and the fire courses out toward all the torches encircling the room. Another collective gasp goes up as Lukas’s fire lights all the torches gold instead of green, a rush of heat and flaxen light washing over us all.

  Lukas steps back and casually lowers his wand. Then he turns and grins wolfishly at Vogel, who returns his smile coolly. Outwardly, Lukas emanates his usual calm, but I can sense the Magefire contained in his center coalescing into a tightly contained inferno.

  I stare at Lukas in awe as the torches flicker back to green, a heightened gratitude rising in me to be so fully aligned with him. I knew he was powerful, well trained, and in control of his Level Five magic. But I had no idea he had this level of control.

  A priest comes forward and expeditiously takes away the candle as two priests bring out a small table and a closed glass vial magicked to hold a small cyclone of air in its interior. They set down the table and place the vial on top of it, then step away as Vogel intones the second elemental prayer.

  “May the Ancient One bless your union and grant you dominion over wind. May you bring forth Mages who own wind for the glory of the Ancient One.”