Deadly, raging, elemental fire.
My chest is full of burning pain, but my resolve is strengthened by it. I coldly assess our situation.
We’re completely surrounded by a sea of soldiers—but the men are hardly the only threat. Several Urisk geosoldiers struggle to contain a dragon nearby, the beast’s whole body undulating with rage. The dragon turns its head to look at me and bares its long fangs, pinning me with its eerie white eyes.
Terror claws at me, but I force myself to stand my ground as Rosebeth cries out and hides behind me, her slender body quivering.
A tall, winged figure steps into the clearing, and I feel my bravado slip away.
I take a frightened step back as the Icaral demon casts its glowing orange eyes around. His black wings arch threateningly, and the terrifying evil of his grinning expression is heightened by the torchlight. He balances a bright ball of flame over his palm as he slinks over to the Kelt commander, the strafeling and the ax-paladin.
Eyeing the Icaral demon warily, the Kelt commander unfurls a scroll and glances down to read.
“What’s the word, Lucian?” the strafeling asks, his words elegantly accented and clipped.
“We wait. And march into Gardneria tomorrow morn,” Lucian sighs, rolling up the scroll and passing it back to a young Keltic soldier.
A new wagon pulls in, filled with Gardnerians, all of them well-to-do Upper River folk. They’re roughly herded out, blinking in confusion, the children crying.
They are met by a mob of laughter.
“All hail the powerful Gardnerian Mages!”
“Where’s your Great Mage now?”
A Keltic lieutenant bows toward them. “The Gardnerian Mages! Rulers of Erthia!” Two other Keltic soldiers laugh and roughly yank at the Gardnerians as they descend from the carriage, pulling one old man down so hard he tumbles to the ground and has trouble getting back up.
A young, slender Urisk geosoldier strides forward and salutes both the strafeling and the Kelt commander by bringing his fist to his chest. “This should be all of them, Commander Talin,” he says, his accent as pronounced as the strafeling’s.
All of them? Could Wren and Grandfather be locked in the barn, too?
Lucian Talin makes a casual gesture toward the barn. “Get them in there with the others. We’ll deal with them later.” He grimaces, as if this is an unpleasant but necessary task.
My heart clenches along with my fists. I inhale sharply, pulling the power in tight.
The young Urisk geosoldier’s brow tenses, and he glances briefly at the captive Gardnerians. “The children, too, Commander Talin?” I can sense his discomfort, see him swallow and blink with stunned reluctance.
The Keltic commander fixes him with a hard glare. “There’s no other way, Cor’vyyn. You know that. If they raise up another Great Mage, they’ll kill us all.”
The young man eyes the terrified children and the elderly man as they’re herded toward the barn, crying and pleading. He looks to the strafeling, as if silently imploring him for mercy. The strafeling glances briefly at the Gardnerians, then shoots the young Urisk soldier a hard, cautioning glare as he murmurs something to him in terse Uriskal.
“Don’t go all sentimental on us, Cor’vyyn,” Lucian says to the young geosoldier, his tone unforgiving. “Clearly you don’t fully understand the threat we’re under here. Any one of these Roaches, big or small, could be their next Great Mage. You’ve heard the diviner’s prophecies from both your people’s seers and ours—he’s here, that Great Mage, hidden among their people somewhere.”
“Do you have a problem with this, soldier?” the ax-paladin growls, his eyes glittering malevolently, the wand moon-bright at his waist.
The Urisk soldier’s sapphire eyes are a storm of conflict as he glances toward the Gardnerian families. The strafeling snaps at him in Uriskal, and the young geosoldier bows and strides off, casting one last, troubled look behind him.
The Icaral demon is eyeing the new group of Gardnerians, still holding the ball of fire in his palm. He hisses and hurls the flames at the Mages, and they cry out, stamping the fire out of their clothing, the children shrieking in terror.
The Keltic commander scowls at the strafeling. “Tell your Icaral demon to leave off.”
“What are they going to do?” Rosebeth sobs hysterically, tugging at my sleeve. “Are they going to set fire to the barn? My family is in there! Tessie! Why won’t you answer me?” She starts murmuring pleading prayers, tracing the star sign of the Ancient One’s protection over and over in the air.
The Kelts unlock the barn door. In the shadows are the dark shapes of my people, pressed together tight. Right in the front stands a skinny boy, and recognition sweeps through me as torchlight illuminates his face.
My eyes fly open wide. “Wren!” I choke out.
He sees me and lets out an unearthly scream. “Tessie!”
I hurl myself at the fence and struggle to climb over it in my long skirts, a nail tearing at my ankle.
Wren bursts out of the barn and lunges toward me. He’s quickly caught by one of the Keltic soldiers, jerked back by his arm.
“Wren!” I scream, finally hoisting myself to the top of the fence. A searing pain erupts all over my scalp as I’m yanked back by my hair, a strong arm clenching my arm and thrusting me down to the mud, a rumbling laugh emanating from my attacker’s throat.
I briefly turn to find the ax-paladin looming over me, but I don’t care. My magic boils bloodred as I spring up and hurl myself at the fence once more, straining toward Wren as he’s desperately reaching for me. The huge Kelt laughs behind me as he grabs my upper arms, and I kick and struggle against him.
“Tessie!” Wren cries, clawing at the soldier restraining him. “Let me go! Tessie!”
The soldier pulls his hand back and smacks Wren hard in the face.
My world contracts, the scene before me slowing as Wren’s mouth opens, his face contorted, his scream drawn out. “Tessieee!”
The image of a white bird flashes before my eyes as the soldiers drag Wren back to the barn and throw him in. Just before the door is closed and locked, I see the face of my grandfather, his expression a mask of agony.
A great tide of fiery rage wells up within me, burning away the terrible odds, the ax-paladin, the dragons and hydreenas, the Icaral demon.
I wrench myself around, tear my arm from the ax-paladin’s grip and close my fist around the wand.
Flames shoot from the tip of the wand as soon as I grasp it.
A violent wave of magic drives the air from my lungs as fire courses out of the wand, strafing Kelt and Urisk soldiers and setting several trees alight with a crackling explosion. I round on the ax-paladin with a fierce cry, and the fire whips out toward him. He screams with pain and falls back.
Fury courses through me as I send fire out in wide, repeating arcs, driving the soldiers farther away from the barn as an arrow whirs past, barely missing me. I hold tight to my woven knot of spells, readying it as soldiers all around aim their weapons. The Urisk pull stones to their palms and the Icaral demon snarls and gathers a growing ball of flame above his hand. The Kelt commander shouts an order, and a line of archers forms, drawing their bows.
Men’s voices call out, and the arrows are released in a unified whoosh. The Icaral’s fireball is hurled straight at me, spears are