morphs back into his Gardnerian form. “Mage Glass will journey through the portal with the runic eye,” Vogel states. “He will track the Icaral creature down. And slay him.”
Relief floods Vyvian’s shock, overriding her fear of Vogel’s new runic powers as the promise of a world-set-right burns bright in her mind.
Yes, her own niece was unconscionably mixed up with an Icaral demon. The Icaral demon.
But Yvan Guryev will be dead in a matter of days, she consoles herself, forcing even breaths. The Great Prophecy will be smashed to bits under Gardnerian might, and her mother’s death will be avenged.
Gardnerian power has just become unstoppable, Vyvian realizes, goose bumps prickling over her skin. With portal magic, aerial spies, and the ability to glamour now in Mage hands, there will be no stopping the Reaping Times.
The Council members are nodding to each other and conversing in low, reassured tones, as if rapidly adjusting to Vogel’s incredible display of power, their eyes brightening with renewed purpose.
There’s a single, brisk knock at the doors and everyone’s attention is drawn toward the sound.
Vogel nods at the bird, and the creature closes all its eyes except the original two, its shadow runes blinking out of sight. Another wave of awe rushes through Vyvian at the bird’s easy camouflage as the doors are pulled open once more.
A young, skinny military courier steps into the chamber. He seems nervous, his posture rigid as he swallows, his gaze riveted on Vogel as the two guards shut the doors behind him.
Silence descends.
“Highest Mage, we’ve word from the North,” he says, his voice unsteady.
“What word would that be?” Vogel asks, slow and controlled.
“Commander Sylus Bane’s unit...they flushed out another band of Fae from the wilds, Your Excellency.” The courier’s brow tightens. “Eighteen of them this time. Dryads.”
Vyvian inwardly recoils from the word as troubled mutterings fill the room.
“Dryads?” Mage Snowden exclaims.
“The Tree Fae?” Mage Priest Alfex marvels, eyes wide. “That’s not possible.”
“They were supposed to be dead,” Mage Greer spits out. “All of them dead. How is it we keep flushing out more of them?”
Eventually, everyone quiets and looks to Vogel, tension thick on the air.
“It has begun.” Vogel’s tone is low with import as it resonates through the room. His words gain an impassioned edge as he closes his eyes and recites from The Book of the Ancients in a priestly cadence. “‘Lo, the wilds shall be corrupted and cast shadows across the land. And the Ancient One’s flock shall converge on this corruption in power and in glory.’”
Excitement crackles inside Vyvian and she straightens, determined to be included on the righteous side of this dangerous heavenly saga—the First Children set against the full might of the Evil Ones.
There’s an intricately embroidered white bird on the breast of Vogel’s tunic, and on the wall behind him hangs the newly designed Gardnerian flag—the Ancient One’s white bird on black.
The Ancient One’s flock, Vyvian echoes, beatific tears sheening her eyes.
Vogel opens his eyes and peers at the courier. “Have these Dryads been dealt with?”
“Y-yes, Your Excellency,” the youth sputters. “Cut down. Every last one.”
Sounds of relief well up.
“But...there are threats, Your Excellency,” the courier adds, casting an unwelcome note of doubt into the room.
Vyvian’s pulse ratchets higher as they all stare at the courier, who seems to shrink under the combined weight of the Council’s attention.
“Threats?” Vogel asks, unblinking.
“The Dryads that were flushed out,” the young man says, his voice strained, “the ones that can speak the Common Tongue...well, they said they’ve got warriors who will fight for them.”
The hall once again bursts into troubled, angered conversation. Mage Snowden and Mage Flood make the Ancient One’s five-pointed star sign of protection on their chests.
“They’re dangerous, these Fae,” Mage Flood declares grimly.
“They’re no threat to the Magedom,” Mage Greer snaps back at him.
“Some of them can wield branches like wands,” Mage Snowden counters, his white brow knotted. “They can draw a sizable amount of power from the forest.”
“Then we’ll send iron-tipped arrows through them,” Mage Greer sneers. “That should tamp down their power a bit.”
“What else did they say, Mage?” Vogel asks the courier, seeming impervious to the startled and livid reactions around him. The Council Mages quiet and the room falls silent once more.
The courier glances around, as if unnerved by their renewed attention. Like a cornered animal, he looks to Vogel and swallows. “They said that the Dryads threatened that they’re coming for us. With the power of the trees.”
Now all eyes look to Vogel, as if drawn to him for