Jules’s whole body stiffens, and I blanch at the sound of the familiar voice.
Brandon stands just a few feet away, smiling triumphantly as three Keltic soldiers surround us and unsheathe their swords.
“Where’s my brother? And my grandfather?” My voice is coarse and low with dread as I stumble along the wooded path toward Crykes Field. I’m stealthily summoning up bits of magic from the ground as I’m herded along, storing the power inside me, though it hurts to gather so much without using it.
All I need is a wand.
Brandon laughs. “Quit your nattering, witch.” He gives me a rough shove, which almost sends me hurtling to the ground. I choke back my outrage as I regain my balance.
Narrowing my eyes, I pull up another thread of magic and wind it around the others deep inside me. Gardnerian magic runs along affinity lines—fire, water, air, earth and light. I have mostly fire.
Lots of it.
Jules is being mercilessly driven ahead of me. One of the soldiers, a tall, bearded man, gives my friend’s head a hard smack every now and then, laughing when Jules nearly falls sideways. Night has taken hold, the stars shining pinpricks in the sky, shadows engulfing the woods around us.
I flinch as yet another dragon flies overhead, my hidden magic sending a knifelike jab to my ribs.
So many dragons. A sickening terror tries to pull me under, but I push the magic’s simmering power at it, keeping the fear at bay.
We’re close to Crykes Field, and I can hear the raucous laughter of soldiers up ahead. My nerves fray as the shrieks of countless dragons echo above and across the ground in the distance. A staccato burst of orders is shouted nearby, and I can make out rough, low voices speaking the sharp language of the Urisk.
Urisk geomancers are powerful magicians from the southern lands, able to harness the latent magic of gemstones and crystals. And their military has recently formed an alliance with the Keltic forces.
Against my people.
The woods open up, and Jules is pushed into a clearing. I hesitate, heart thudding, my steps skidding to a halt.
A mammoth barn looms before me. In the darkness of the forest, I hadn’t realized that we were approaching Mage Gullin’s sprawling farm. That the enemy soldiers had decided to place part of their encampment here.
There are Keltic and Urisk soldiers standing and talking in small groups, the barn just beyond them. Torches on iron stands have been thrust into the dirt. They ring the large, circular clearing between farm buildings, the flames casting everything in a sinister, orange glow.
This flat land extends to the steep bluff that lines the entire rear boundary of the farm, offering a clear view of the full expanse of Crykes Field below. Countless campfires are scattered across the field, flickering between the rows of Keltic military tents and the georune-marked shelters of the Urisk soldiers.
My cottage and those of my neighbors are still ablaze in the far distance, just past the river, and the smell of charred wood hangs heavy in the air. Far to the north, I can just make out the dark shapes of dragons soaring across the night sky, still winging their way toward Gardneria.
“Move,” Brandon orders, giving me a shove from behind.
A few Keltic soldiers turn to give me the once-over, their red uniforms the color of blood in the torchlight, their faces filling with dark interest at the sight of me.
I push waves of my fire magic against the fear that threatens to undo me, the surge of warmth bolstering my courage. As I study the scattered Urisk soldiers—whose magical talents make them far more intimidating than the Kelts—I find myself pulling up even more magic to steady my nerves. They’re lethally streamlined in appearance, their scythes glimmering with inlaid gemstones and strapped to their backs. One geosoldier rides by on a snarling hydreena, the beast’s ugly, tusked head twisting from side to side against its tight reins.
There’s a military sameness to most of the blue-hued Urisk soldiers, but one soldier stands boldly out. He’s the most heavily rune-marked soldier here, and the dancing torchlight reflects vividly off the gemstones adorning his armor. Sapphires encircle his wrists, looped over his palms, and a string of multicolored gemstones is thrown diagonally over his chest. An aura of glowing power surrounds him like a soft blue mist, and the sheer quantity of gems he carries marks him as a strafeling, one of the most powerful classes of Urisk geomancers.
The strafeling stands next to a Keltic commander with a neatly trimmed blond beard, the Kelt’s deep red uniform trimmed with multiple black bands around his arms and edging his cloak. Beside the Kelt commander towers a huge blond ax-paladin, one of the strongest and most feared of the Keltic soldiers, a colossal ax strapped to the warrior’s broad back.
All three men turn to look at Jules and me as we’re pushed forward, the Kelt commander’s eyes hard and steady, the strafeling appearing curious. The ax-paladin crosses his broad arms in front of his muscular chest and regards me with an open leer.
I cling to my magic, swallowing back my terror, and force myself to hold the ax-paladin’s gaze. Then my eyes alight on something thin and white tucked into the side of his weapons belt. The ball of magic churns white-hot in my chest.
A wand!
But why would a Kelt soldier be carrying a Gardnerian wand? Kelts don’t possess any magic.
“Who’s this?” the Kelt commander barks at Brandon, gesturing toward Jules.
Jules’s fists are clenched by his sides, blood trickling down his bruised, split cheekbone. His eyes narrow in defiance and an attempt to focus, his glasses long since smashed under Brandon’s boot heel.
“Jules Kristian,” Brandon announces, stepping forward with bravado. He spits in Jules’s direction and shoots him a look thick with disgust. “A race traitor.”
“He was trying to hide the Roach girl,” one of our soldier escorts explains, his lip curled with malice.
The ax-paladin lets out a low laugh and looks me over, his eyes heavy-lidded. “More than hide her, I’m sure.” He smiles suggestively at Jules, then turns to me. “Do you want a wand, Roach girl?” He bares his teeth, reaches down toward his groin and hoists his member. “I’ve got a better wand for you than that skinny boy.”
The strafeling shoots the ax-paladin a look of disdain, but Brandon and the Keltic soldiers laugh, savoring the idea of my humiliation. I beat back my fear and shift my attention inward, pulling two more long, crimson strands of magic up from the ground. The power pushes at my ribs with searing heat, straining toward the wand.
“Leave her alone,” Jules snarls, his eyes bright with fury.
“Jules,” I caution, but his eyes are locked on the ax-paladin.
“Or what?” Brandon jeers, shoving Jules so hard he stumbles back. “You’ll split our heads? Do you swear you will?”
Jules launches himself at Brandon, catching him off guard,
