All around us, the Elfhollen soldiers brave the icy rain to search through wagons: looking under secured wax cloth, opening up barrels, questioning the drivers. Some of the soldiers are accompanied by heavily armed women garbed in black, their hair and eyes as dark as their uniforms. Their uniforms bear glowing blue rune-marks that are so beautiful, I can’t tear my eyes away,
“Are those Vu Trin soldiers?” I ask Lukas, transfixed by the sight of the lethal-looking women and their shimmering rune-marks.
Lukas nods, eyeing them with what looks like respect. “They’re a guest military force here. They control the western and eastern passes through the Spine. Their presence is part of the treaty agreement that formally ended the Realm War.”
“It’s strange to me,” I say, marveling at the curved swords the Vu Trin carry at their sides and the rows of silver throwing stars strapped across their chests. “Women as soldiers.”
Lukas seems amused by this. “The men of their race don’t have any magic. But the women more than make up for it, believe me.”
A tall Vu Trin motions sharply for a group of Kelts on horseback to halt, her face steel-hard. Her uniform’s arms are marked with lines of circular ward symbols that glow blue. A smaller Vu Trin woman, with only one glowing sleeve ward, searches the Kelts’ saddlebags.
“What are they looking for?” I wonder.
“Smugglers.”
“Of what?”
Lukas shrugs. “Weapons, spirits...pit dragons.”
Spirits don’t surprise me. Forbidden by our religion, they’re illegal in Gardneria. A number of passages in The Book of the Ancients touch on the evil of intoxication. But my eyes widen at the mention of dragons.
“Pit dragons?”
“They’re a particularly vicious type of dragon,” Lukas explains. “Used as weapons. And for sport.” He turns from the window to glance at me. “They’re pure dragon. They don’t shift.”
I’ve only seen dragons twice. Both times were in Halfix, the dragons high in the sky. They were black Gardnerian military dragons, used for transport and as powerful weapons. But I know there are other dragons rumored to be somewhere in the Eastern Realm. Wyverns who can breathe fire and shift to human form. And Wyrm shapeshifters who breathe lightning and can control the weather.
Our carriage hits a bump and jostles me from my thoughts. It’s all stop and go for quite a while, but soon the traffic lessens and we’re on our way.
After a few hours the rain thins and I gasp as the tops of the northern and southern peaks of the Spine become visible, like two great walls bracketing the entire country of Verpacia. I’ve never seen anything as high as these snowcapped and intimidatingly beautiful peaks.
I’m glued to the window for the rest of the ride. There’s so much to see, the thrill of the unknown lighting me up.
We pass a busy horse market full of foreigners, our carriage slowed to the pace of walking by the heavy road traffic. Fascinated, I take it all in.
Elves are showing off ivory mares, the Elves’ hoods down to reveal gracefully pointed ears and long, white hair decorated with thin braids. Near the Elves are a group of muscular women garbed in black pants, boots and red tunics that shine brightly with fiery crimson rune-marks. The glowing symbols remind me of the blue rune-marks used by the Vu Trin sorceresses, though these women are a far more mixed group. Some are pale with blond hair, and others have skin in varying shades of brown and a rainbow of Urisk hues.
They’re as heavily armed as the Vu Trin sorceresses, and many have facial markings shaped like the runes on their clothing, as well as some piercings. A gleaming metal hoop is stuck right through the bottom of one red-haired woman’s nose, her ears sharply pointed and multiply pierced with dark metallic hoops.
“Amazakaran,” Lukas informs me. “Horsewomen of the Caledonian mountains.”
I stare at them, wide-eyed. “Are they as dangerous as the Vu Trin?”
Lukas laughs. “Just about.”
“They look like they aren’t really one race. Except they’re all dressed similarly.”
“The Amaz allow women of any race to join them.” He smiles at me and motions toward them. “They’d let you in, Elloren. And train you to use an ax like that.”
I gape at him, then look back toward the largest Amazakaran there. Her white-rose hair is braided and pulled back, and her face is heavily tattooed. She carries a huge, gleaming, rune-marked ax strapped to her back, and I jump slightly as the woman sets her fierce gaze on me, her eyes narrowed and dangerous. I whip my eyes quickly away from her, heart thudding, as the carriage gives a lurch forward and whisks the Amaz warrior from my sight.
We press on, and soon we’re traveling through forest and down a winding road, the rain picking up. There’s a clearing up ahead, and the Southern Spine comes into view, the forest falling away.
Rain-fogged Verpax appears, spread out before us, the countless domes and spires of the University city completely filling the immense valley. A haze of golden light from countless lanterns and torchlights hangs in the darkening fog. It’s a gated city, surrounded by a stone wall, the gates bracketed by guard towers.
I stare out over the scene, excitement and trepidation rising in equal measure.
Lukas turns to me, his mouth tilting into a wry smile. “Welcome to Verpax.”
PROLOGUE
“We cannot allow the Black Witch to be in possession of the White Wand.”
“The White Wand chooses its own path. You know that, Kam. To interfere would be to court disaster.”
The two women stand in the guard tower at Verpax’s entrance gate. They watch through high-arched windows as an elegant carriage makes its way down the winding road that leads to the University. The carriage’s horses press on slowly, their heads bowed by the rain and howling wind.
Every so often, thunder rumbles in the distance.
One of the women, a Gardnerian, is still and calm, her dark green eyes narrowed behind gold-rimmed spectacles as she peers through the diamond-paned glass, her ebony hair tied back into a neat bun.
The second woman, a Vu Trin sorceress, is garbed in a black uniform marked with glowing blue rune-marks. She wears a series of razor-sharp metal stars strapped diagonally across her chest, curved swords sheathed at her sides. Her eyes are dark, her skin a deep brown, and she wears her straight black hair tied into a tight, ropy coil, as is the custom of the Vu Trin soldiers.
“If she is indeed the one, we need to strike her down immediately,” the sorceress says with fierce resolve. “Before she realizes her power. While there is still time.” She sets her cold gaze back on the carriage as a streak of lightning scythes through the sky, flashing against the steel of her weapons.
The Gardnerian holds up a hand in calm protest as she watches the carriage. Thunder cracks overhead. “Patience, Kam. Patience. We must give the girl a chance.”
The sorceress turns her head sharply to face her companion. “Have you forgotten the Prophecy?”
“The Prophecy is vague. The girl has a choice, as we all do. Her future is not fixed. She might not choose the path of darkness.”
“And what of this girl’s grandmother? What of her?” The sorceress’s face grows hard. “Was she not once just a girl, as well? A girl with a choice? A girl who chose to kill thousands of my people!”
The Gardnerian takes a deep breath and slowly turns to face the sorceress, her expression one of grave sympathy. “I know how much you have suffered, Kam.”
The sorceress’s face flinches. “No. You do not.”
The words hang in the air for one long minute as the women regard each other.
The Gardnerian places a comforting hand on the sorceress’s arm, but the sorceress remains military stiff, her hands clenched tight on her swords as if ready to attack the very memory of atrocities endured. After a mo
ment, the Gardnerian lets her hand drop and turns back to the window. Thunder rumbles again to the west.
“Now is not the time to strike her down, Kam,” the Gardnerian states. “The Wand has chosen her. We must wait a bit to find out why—to see what this girl is made of. I do not plan on making her life here easy. Curiously, I have her aunt’s cooperation in this.”
The sorceress cocks a questioning eyebrow.
“Vyvian Damon has her own motivation for putting some pressure on the girl,” the Gardnerian explains. “A wandfasting conflict. She wants the girl to fast to Lukas Grey.”
“Rising star of the Gardnerian military forces. How fitting.”
The Gardnerian chooses to ignore the comment.
“My assassins are restless,” the sorceress cautions darkly. “I cannot promise you that the girl will be safe if they view you as complacent, not after what this girl’s grandmother did to our people, and what she would have succeeded in doing had the Icaral not cut her down. And this girl—” she gestures in the direction of the carriage with a sharp jerk of her chin “—if she is indeed The One, she is prophesied to be even greater in power than Carnissa, perhaps the most powerful Mage that has ever existed.”
The Gardnerian’s mouth is pressed into a thin, hard line as she deliberates, the ticking of the clock on the wall reverberating in the silence. “I understand your dilemma,” she finally says. She straightens and turns from the window to face Kam Vin. “If the White Wand chooses to leave Elloren Gardner, or if she makes any move to contact the Amazakaran, the Kinh Hoang may strike.” Her eyes narrow, facing the sorceress down.
The sorceress meets the Vice Chancellor’s intense gaze levelly, without blinking. “That will be sufficient for now,” she says, pausing for emphasis. “But take care. We will not be patient forever.”
CHAPTER ONE
Verpax University
With a jerking, forward lurch, our carriage finishes its winding descent into the valley, the city’s lights glittering like jewels through the rain-soaked fog.
We slow down at Verpax’s gated entrance, two stone guard towers bracketing it, and I crane my neck to take in the tops of the towers with their arching, diamond-paned windows. I can just make out two still figures standing inside the window, watching us. They’re garbed in black, but the rain streams down the glass and renders their features wavy and amorphous.
“I’ll be right back,” Lukas assures me. He disembarks to talk with a pair of unsmiling Vu Trin sorceresses stationed at the gates, but my eyes are repeatedly drawn toward the watching figures.
“They’ve warded the border,” Lukas tells me as he swings back into the carriage, his shoulders and hair damp from the rain. “You’ll be quite safe.”
Our carriage makes its way through the gates, leaving the watching figures and the Vu Trin guards behind as we enter the University city.
I’m instantly swept up in the exotic bustle of Verpax, even on this cold, rainy day.
Colorful Guild crests and banners mark the Spine-stone buildings, their designs a bright contrast to the gray sky and stone. The cobbled streets are narrow, which puts my window close to shops, taverns and passersby. On either side of us, knots of cloaked Gardnerians, Kelts, Verpacians, Elfhollen, Urisk and Elves hurry through the rain, some wearing forest green professorial robes, their heads bowed against the weather like the carriage horses’.
I’m wide-eyed over the sheer number and diversity of people.
And the cornucopia of shops and taverns and crafthouses.
There are glass merchants, cheese vendors, a Gardnerian wandcrafter’s shop, cheerful lodging houses and even a swordsmith from the Eastern Realm. My nose bumps the glass as I take in the golden rune-marked, embroidered tunic of the man selling jeweled swords under a sheltering canopy, a green headband marked with more golden runes round his head.
And then I spot it—a gleaming apothecary shop, the Gardnerian Guild crest painted boldly on its front: a white mortar and pestle on a black shield, the mortar marked with a silver Erthia sphere, the image surrounded by a wreath of leaves. Neat bottles line the window, and I can just see the tight bunches of herbs hanging from the ceiling rafters in long rows. A smiling Gardnerian woman, her hair pulled back into a tight bun, talks with a customer.
My spirits rise. That could be me someday. With a beautiful shop like that.
Soon the road widens, we pass through the wrought-iron University gates and we’re there. Verpax University.
We ride down several narrow streets, the crowds thicker here, more green professorial robes in sight. The carriage slows, and we come to a stop before a mammoth, multidomed building hewn from pure alabaster Spine stone—Verpax’s central White Hall.
Craning my neck to take in the huge, rain-splattered dome, a wave of relief washes over me.
“My brothers?” I ask Lukas, turning to him. “They’ll be here?”
“They should be,” he says, then pauses. “I’ll take you to them. And later you’ll come with me. We’ll ride up toward the Northern Spine, away from all this, and I’ll wandtest you.”
He says it calmly enough, but there’s something in his eyes that brooks no argument. I nod in assent.
Satisfied, Lukas pulls his hood over his head, the carriage door opened for him by one of our guards. He steps out into the rain, turns and extends his hand for me to take.
For a moment I hesitate, afraid to expose myself to the open, but Lukas’s aura of invincibility steadies me. I take his hand and pull my cloak tight against the icy rain.
Lukas steers me through the needling rain toward a wide staircase that leads to an arching doorway. Anticipation lifts my battered spirit.
Rafe. Trystan. Gareth.
They’ll be there, just past the doors.
Lukas pulls the heavy door open for me while he gestures for our driver and the guards to continue on. As our carriage pulls away, I slide into the building’s huge, torch-lit foyer and am quickly cast into confusion and deep alarm.
A large contingent of Gardnerian soldiers, Elfhollen archers and Vu Trin sorceresses swarm around me.
Lukas’s hand clamps tight around my arm as he pulls me backward and whips out his wand.
A sickening metallic scrape tears through the air as the Vu Trin sorceresses unsheath curved, rune-marked swords and the Elfhollen nock arrows, all aimed at Lukas’s head.
“Stand down!” orders one of the Elfhollen, his gray uniform marked with a single blue stripe down the center.
“What’s this?” Lukas demands of a stern-faced Gardnerian soldier whose uniform bears the silver markings of our High Commander—a wide silver band encompassing his upper arms and silver fabric edging the bottom third of his black cloak.
Lachlan Grey. Lukas’s father.
Heart racing, I search the older man’s face for something of Lukas, but can find little resemblance, except in the line of his jaw and his identical, fierce green eyes.
“It appears that Mage Elloren Gardner has never been formally wandtested,” Lachlan Grey informs his son with barely concealed anger.
“That’s not true. I have been tested,” I protest shakily. “My uncle tested me more than once.”
Which I don’t remember. And he lied about formally testing me this past year. A thread of dizzying fear worms through me.
Lukas’s hand tightens around my arm.
The Elfhollen commander steps forward. “She is on Verpacian territory, and I am taking her into custody,” he grinds out to Lachlan Grey, ignoring my protest.
Lukas pulls me a fraction closer.
Lachlan stares the Elfhollen down. “She is a citizen of Gardneria,” he counters. “You have no jurisdiction.”
“She is potentially the greatest weapon in the Western Realm,” the Elfhollen insists.
My mind spins in tu
mult, my heart hammering. This is impossible. I’m no weapon. I have absolutely no power.
“Tell your son to stand down, Lachlan,” one of the Vu Trin puts in as she enters the foyer, her tone conversational. “You’re outnumbered.”
Lachlan Grey is unmoved. “I insist on bringing her back to Gardneria.”
“Not until she is tested,” the Elfhollen demands. “Right now. Under a joint guard.”
A joint guard? To test...me? I look to Lukas imploringly, his hand still vise-tight around my arm.
Lachlan Grey’s eyes cast around, visibly calculating the chances of successfully taking on so many Elfhollen and Vu Trin. “Stand down, Lukas,” he finally relents.
Lukas’s face is fierce as his eyes dart around the room, wand still raised. I begin to feel weak in the knees.
Commander Grey eyes him, furious. “Lieutenant Grey, I said stand down!”
After a long moment of deliberation, Lukas resheathes his wand but keeps tight hold of my arm.
My heart feels like it will pound straight through my chest.
“Very clever, Lachlan,” the Vu Trin comments. “Hiding the girl in Halfix for so many years.”
“Believe me, Commander Vin,” Lukas’s father replies as he glares at his son, “it was completely unintentional.”
“No one was hiding me!” I insist with spiking alarm.
Lukas’s quick look silences me, his eyes a warning.
“If she is found to be powerful,” the Elfhollen puts in to Lachlan Grey, “we will be taking her into custody.”
“No,” Lachlan firmly counters. “What’s to prevent you from killing her?”
Killing me? My gut clenches, and I stifle a cry. I move closer to Lukas and clutch at the side of his tunic.
“We could place her in the High Tower under a joint guard,” the Elfhollen offers, “until we come to an agreement regarding what to do with her.”
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