Chapter Seven Dryad’khin Army

Chapter Seven Dryad’khin Army

Elloren Guryev

Zhilaan Forest Vu Trin military base

“Vogel has absorbed the storm band the Eastern forces sent against him,” Vothe’s father, Hizar’drile, grimly informs us. His

lightning-limned onyx face is stern, his black Noi Fire Hawk kindred perched on his shoulder. “We just received word of this

from our most elite unit of Wyvern-shifters, who followed the East’s storm band west.”

Troubled murmurs rise amongst our Dryad’khin, all of us assembled on the Zhilaan Forest military base’s huge terrace. It’s

built into the apex of the spiky mountain it sits on, a panoramic twilight view of the Nightwood Pine Forest surrounding us,

knots of multicolored deciduous trees scattered throughout its expanse. Torches set on black metal stands spit white lightning,

the East’s storms a distant roar against Valasca and the Zhilaan Forest’s shielding of the country of Zhilaan.

Hizar’drile, Sylvan, Yulan, Oaklyyn, and Alder are grouped in the center of a curved obsidian command table, Iris beside Sylvan,

and Raz’zor in his pale human form by Oaklyyn’s side, their invisible power blazing around each other. Multiple high-ranking

Vu Trin Dryad’khin soldiers, including Vang Troi and Ung Li, bracket the group.

Yvan and I are seated beside each other at one end of the table, a large crowd of our Dryad’khin forces massed on the expansive

terrace before us. Yvan’s restless energy mirrors my own, his fingers interlaced with mine under the table’s stone edge, our

invisible fire powers embracing with a mounting fervor that has us palpably fighting off the wild urge to take tighter hold

of each other.

I can still feel the hot brand of Yvan’s kiss in the Zhilaan Forest’s canopy. The tingle of his tongue’s hungered motion lingers on my own, like a scorching tether set down between us. The Zhilaan Forest’s fiery energy encircles us both in a warm rush, as if the Forest itself is drawing us together.

“Our combined magic will never be stronger than it will be in two days’ time,” Sylvan warns, expression severe, his link to

some unknown kindred reestablished, like an invisible elemental cord I can track toward a spot deep in the Zhilaan Forest.

“Peak foliage will be here ,” Sylvan stresses, glancing toward a large section of decidous trees, their mosaic of color evident even in twilight’s deep

blue dimness.

“After the color falls,” Yulan chimes in, “our magic will rapidly slide into dormancy. After which, the Magedom will likely

sweep into the Unbalanced East with their Shadow winter, blast down our last remaining shields, and overtake the rest of Erthia.”

Yvan’s fire rears. “So we deploy against the Magedom before it comes to that,” he charges, molten steel in his tone.

Yvan meets my gaze in a look of ardent alliance, sparks igniting through our bond with such force that my thoughts scatter,

the Forest’s fire aura coursing around us intensifying, enhancing our pull to each other, as if our claiming each other as

full mates holds some vital importance to the trees themselves, both Yvan’s gaze and mine drawn in question toward the surrounding

Nightwood Pines.

I’m suddenly overly aware of the strength of Yvan’s grip, the feel of his warm wrist and forearm pressed against mine, the

sustained contact sending a swirling blaze of heat through my body that’s so fervid I don’t dare look at him again, and he

makes no move to look at me, eye contact having triggered too much want .

When we need to be focused on the battle at hand—our coming war with the Magedom.

And Yvan’s prophesied battle with the Black Witch.

Fear for Yvan is suddenly lancing through me, and I have to stamp it back. The possibility of never having an extended chance

to build a life with Yvan... it’s almost too much to bear. And I can tell, by the way his grip is firming around mine,

that we’re both stamping down that fear while fiercely holding on to our love for each other.

Both of us ready to fight.

“The way Vogel gained power from our storm band is of dire concern,” Vang Troi warns. “He siphoned it into an army of storm

spiders and a creature we’ve encountered only in myth. A primordial V’yexwraith demon.”

Rivyr’el and others let out sounds of shock, and I blink at Vang Troi, a hard dart of fear jabbing into me. I’ve read about this demon in Jules Kristian’s books on religious lore. I glance toward the table’s other end, where Jules and Lucretia are seated, and meet Jules’s gaze, the dire light in his brown eyes mirrored by both Lucretia and the silver kestrel perched on Jules’s shoulder.

“I never imagined that demon could be real,” Rivyr’el blurts out, his prismatic eyes two beacons of dread. “When it comes

into its full power, its horror is world-ending. It was last seen during the ancient Elfin Wars.”

“The V’yexwraith was the most feared demon-weapon of the Elfin Conflict,” Jules grimly interjects. “The Alfsigr religious

texts speak about it as a vicious parasite, able to consume limitless amounts of elemental power and transform it into Shadow

might. It is said to be an actual physical manifestion of the Shadow Wand-Stylus.”

More dread-filled murmuring rises as my thoughts spin.

“Does the Verdyllion Wand-Stylus have a manifestation?” I ask.

Everyone quiets as we all look to the Dryads.

“A tree,” Yulan quietly states.

An explosion of protest breaks out.

“It’s not enough!” the Noi soldier Hee Muur cries.

“How can a tree stand against a world-consuming demon?” my uncle Wrenfir exclaims, and I curse, for maybe the hundredth time,

the East’s foolish decision to send out their storm band despite our strident warning. I look toward Sylvan, Oaklyyn, Yulan,

and Alder. They’re a single silent unit, Sylvan’s gaze fixed with piercing gravity on us all, our alliance too little, too

late.

Hizar’drile turns to the Dryads, remorse writ deep in his night-dark features. “You were right about everything,” he admits.

He moves his lightning-flashing gaze over us all. “Who here agrees it’s time for us to follow the Dryad Fae as our leaders

in this fight?”

Sylvan spits out a disgusted sound, and Iris gives him a tortured look, her invisible fire whipping around him, a mournful

expression overtaking Yulan’s deep-green features.

“You seek to follow us?” Oaklyyn snarls, her gaze a lance. “Then follow them .” She slashes a finger toward the Zhilaan Forest’s cloud-high canopy. “Place them above everything . Cede not one more inch of Forest .”

The Forest’s agreement rumbles through my rootlines—through all our rootlines—in a bone-deep rush, and Raz’zor growls his support, red fire burning in his eyes, his aura lashing protectively around Oaklyyn.

“There is one heartening development,” Vang Troi informs us. “The Water Fae Tierney Calix and the geomancer Mage Or’myr Syllvir

have managed to reshield the Vo River and its bracketing Forest.”

Renewed sounds of surprise break out as Yvan and I dare one quick look at each other.

Both Vang Troi and the Noi Fire Hawk kindred perched on her shoulder narrow their violet and midnight gazes on me. “It seems

your geomancer cousin has been quite active,” Vang Troi comments, a sly edge to her tone. “We’ve received word that Mage unity

is breaking down in Gardneria. A new Resistance has sprung up with the purple Xishlon moon as its symbol. All thanks to Or’myr

Syll’vir.”

More murmurs of surprise.

“It seems Or’myr fought Vogel’s V’yexwraith when the demon’s power was fledgling,” Vang Troi continues. “He marked the beast

with a Xishlon moon before the creature was drawn back west through some type of Shadow tether. Apparently, the moon marking

was embedded with concentrated geomancy spells that partially detonated before Vogel could destroy them all.”

“What did they do?” Diana demands.

Vang Troi’s shrewd gaze swings to my Lupine sister, Rafe beside her. “They caused suspended purple moons to appear in the

sky all over the Western Realm. Including one large moon suspended straight over Valgard.”

A shocked laugh bursts from Rivyr’el, stunned looks traded all around.

Vang Troi’s expression hardens. “Vogel’s rapid destruction of the Forests of the West has thrown the Natural World there into

dangerous disarray. The already stormy autumn weather of the West has been whipped into constant tempests, causing increasing

numbers of Mage farmers and fishermen to sour on Vogel. A group of fishermen went so far as to lodge a protest against the

Shadow sea weapon Vogel created, which had the unfortunate side effect of poisoning and disfiguring huge numbers of fish.”

“Vogel will kill anyone who dissents,” Queen Freyja Zyrr points out.

“He has,” Hizar’drile affirms. “Which is why the protests have taken a stealthy turn. Not only have dissenting Mages taken up Or’myr Syll’vir’s purple moon as their symbol of Resistance, but they’ve also adopted the forbidden color purple itself as a sign of rebellion. Paintings of Xishlon moons have begun to turn up on Gardnerian buildings and on the street’s cobblestones, and purple ribbons have been tied around doorknobs on Mage Council and military buildings.”

“It’s infuriating Vogel,” Vang Troi adds. “He’s made the possession of anything purple or bearing the image of a moon punishable

by death.”

“I hate to rain on your Resistance parade,” Mavrik interjects from where he and Gwynnifer sit beside Jules and Lucretia. Mavrik

holds up his fastmarked hand. “As Vogel’s Shadow power increases, he’ll gain the ability to tether more and more of the Magedom

to himself via their fasting spells. Including everyone in this purple Resistance as well as the whole of Alfsigroth via their Zalyn’or necklaces.”

Wrenfir huffs out a sound of blistering frustration as he glares at us all. “Vogel has access to primordial demonic magic

that we don’t have a good understanding of. He’s always one step ahead. Who knows what other horrors he’s accessing with that

Shadow Wand of his.”

“The question is,” Ra’Ven adds, “how do we access that knowledge, as well?”

“We have a way,” a masculine voice calls from beyond the Dryad’khin massed before us.

We all turn, unsettled sounds rising as the thick crowd parts and four figures stride toward us.

Astonishment shocks through Yvan and my Wyvernbond as I blink at them, not quite believing my eyes.

The lead figure is a slender Mage about the age of my uncle Wrenfir. He’s clearly joined with the Forest, his ears pointed,

his green hue deepened and heightened, a streak of violet through his short black hair... and there are gills on the sides of his neck. He’s dressed in purple leaf armor and is holding hands with a Selkie woman garbed in the same purple

Dryad’khin leaf armor. The Selkie’s dark blue feet are bare, her long, silver tresses violet streaked, a silver sealskin wrapped

around her shoulders.

And behind them stride Gareth Keeler and Marina the Selkie.

A sound of surprise bursts from my throat as a sense of Marina’s prismatic light and water auras, that flash every color on

Erthia, shimmer through my vision. The image of the Verdyllion Wand-Stylus pulses through my mind as my power empathy picks

up a new Dryad line of light power inside both her and the other Selkie.

Gareth’s and Marina’s hands are tightly clasped, Gareth’s powerful water aura swirling around her. A small octopus is looped over Marina’s shoulders, its hide flashing every bright color, water magicked into being around the tentacled kindred. My Dryad’kin senses identify purple mangrove roots sheathed at both their sides, Marina’s silver sealskin secured around her shoulders, both of them garbed in purple leaf armor.

There’s a shock of dark purple through Gareth’s black hair, its silver streaks now blazingly prominent, gills marked on the

sides of his neck, as well. His ears have gained subtle points, and streaks of violet decorate Marina’s waterfalling silver

tresses.

“Gareth... Marina...” The words escape my lips as Yvan and I both rise, along with my brothers, Ariel, Valasca, Ni Vin, Andras, Alder, Queen Freyja,

and my other Dryad’khin family, friends and allies who worked to liberate the Selkies what feels like a lifetime ago.

Marina’s and Gareth’s eyes light up with looks of deep emotion and even deeper alliance as they draw up beside the other Mage

and Selkie couple and take in our equally Forest-altered appearances.

“I’m Alaric Fynnes,” the Mage with them announces as he holds up his palm, marked with III’s image. “I’m a former priest-apprentice

to Marcus Vogel. We’ve been led here, by the power in the center of all Erthia’s faiths, to bring you knowledge that can help

you fight the Shadow Wand.”