Magick Revived: Destiny Defined, #4

By Stephanie Ayers

Edgar left Northend a traitor. With nowhere else to go and unwilling to risk Tribba's life, he runs to the Holy City of Evenir to find the ancient fairy tomes and relearn his magick. He hides deep within the mountain to practice his skills with Ravengale until rumors of an evil half-breed race of dragons and humans force him to act. Equipped with the unfailing confidence of the dwarves he befriended and the fairies who guide him, he must discover his own strengths and accept his weaknesses before he can take on the greatest enemy Savania has ever known.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Crazy Ink
• Release date: Apr 12, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393090793

Book preview

Prologue

The world was so quiet , the soft padding of the field mice echoed as they scampered through the grass. It was as if all of Savania hung on a breath, waiting. Cerian watched from her rooftop window of the Wayward Inn as Ravengale rode into Brimm with darkness on his heels and warnings on his lips. His words forebear the state of chaos the world was under. He spoke of the trouble that arose in Savania and spread like wildfire. He warned that it was on its way to Brimm. His words pelted like stones against flesh. The prophecy demands fulfillment. The dragon queen must be stopped.

Ravengale entered the inn and told Cerian and her father, Fillian, this tale:

Years ago, a human woman birthed a child—a dragon shifter—who would rise to become a queen. According to ancient prophecy, this queen’s fury would be born from revenge and suppression. She alone would awaken the power needed to revive the Draoi, the ancient and nearly extinct race of her people, and claim the world as her own. Her fury would not abate until she had erased the last human. She, along with her evil army of black knights, would be unstoppable.

In the opposite corner of northern Savania, another child was born, the fifth son of a just king, another Wynne in a long line of Wynnes, a child whose fate was linked to the Draoi and their Dra’een. The prophecy declared magick must defeat magick, and only one can remain. Unable to claim his power, they sent Edgar on a journey to find his true magick and defeat the queen.

Now, the hardest part of this prince’s journey still lay ahead of him. With the world he was accustomed to changed dramatically, he must go to Fjoer Peak with the ancient tomes and find the Shynalara Chapel, where he will regain his lost magick. The fastest way to this place was through the deadliest part of Savania—the Barren. This desert separated the green of the North from the mountains of the South and contained the most dangerous people in existence, the flesh-eating Mortii.

And now, the druid Ravengale raced into Brimm ahead of this man-child, weary desperation buried in the wrinkles of his forehead. Fortune favored him as the only inn in the small village still had one vacancy remaining. With one declaration before Ravengale fell into a deep sleep, Fillian’s daughter, Cerian, became an asset to Edgar’s journey.

You will be the key to saving Savania, his words echoed in Cerian’s head in an endless loop.

Cerian sat down in a state of shock. She was supposed to play a role in saving the world yet did not know what that role was or what she was supposed to do. According to Ravengale, the fate of everyone rested in her hands, but she refused to believe it. She was no more than a random stranger Ravengale had just met. If he had stayed at any other inn, would it still have been her destiny? Would he have sought her out, anyway? Cerian doubted it. No one in all of Brimm would recommend her for anything; she was the town joke. Even the mayor only called for her when he needed a good laugh. The fate of the world could not rest in her hands. It was just not possible.

Whatever Cerian needed to do, she must find the answer quickly. Wolves howled from the near distance. The bargle answered with angry cries. Edgar was closer than she thought and in danger. If she did not help him, he may not survive, and they would lose all hope. He must continue. He must.

And then the wind whispered in Cerian’s ear.

He wants to fly. Carry him over the desert.

But I have no wings! Cerian told the wind.

Then get some, the breeze replied.

How would I do that?

In answer, the wind played with a sign not far from her window, whipping it back and forth. Cerian picked up a piece of concave glass from her nightstand and held it up to her left eye.

Salon de Artique, she read out loud. An art studio?

She thought hard for a moment and then it hit her. Oh! I understand!

She ran from her room, down the stairs, and out the door. She rushed into the artist’s studio short of breath and heaving.

This is what I need, and you must hurry, but it must be perfect, she explained to the wizened old man sitting in front of a large painting once she caught her breath.

The town’s sole artist nodded his wrinkled head and signaled for Cerian to sit. He held a long needle dipped in ink behind her. Pricks of pain stabbed her flesh and tendrils of hot stings raced across her spine, her shoulders, her lower back. Cerian cried out until her flesh grew numb, and the pain lessened as he worked. Grateful tears slid down her face. She wanted to make him stop, but she had to do this. Edgar’s life depended on it.

The artist stopped. Tears rolled from his eyes as he admired his work. Cerian caught flashes of yellows, pinks, and blues in the picture glass behind her. It was then that Ravengale entered the shop unexpectedly, his lips moving in silence, his arm stretching his staff towards the sky. The wind rustled, and the breeze ruffled her hair. Liquid salt splattered her cheeks. She choked in pain as the wings on her back broke free from the cocoon of her flesh and unfurled. Cerian would remain forever changed, but it did not matter. Contentedness settled over her face for the first time. Her life now had a purpose. She knew what she had to do. Her beautiful, shimmering wings would carry Edgar across the Barren. She would help save the world from the dragon queen’s grasp.

Destiny created her wings, but her wings freed her soul.

Chapter 1: A City in Chaos

I’m telling you now, Rydar, something stinks. Edgar stood next to his brother’s bed. His mind had been troubled ever since the revelation of the secret entrance into the dungeon from the woods. It had festered in his mind for many days as he helped Derik and the Guild clean up the city from the earthquake. They’d found no bodies, and no one seemed missing, and while that was a lot to be grateful for, devastation and despair became overburdened storm clouds following the people about. The castle had suffered the most damage. The dungeon would need to be rebuilt as many of the cells had caved in during the tremors. Edgar’s mind went back to Wallas. The memory of his words still echoed through his bones.

The blood of innocents has been shed. It is the beginning of the end!

No one dared to repeat it aloud for fear King Derik would hear it. I don’t understand how Derik can still expect the people to be ready to celebrate a new king with all that’s happened lately. Edgar stared openly at Rydar. He had regained enough strength after his imprisonment to move around. Edgar helped him stand up, and they paced the small room together. He terrified the people when he executed Wallas.

Rydar stopped pacing and reached for the chair. He needed a break. He inhaled deeply and released it slowly. Yes, I can hear it in the guildsmen’s voices in the halls. I get it, though. He has to be this way because there must be order. Nothing good is happening, so to keep more chaos away, he has to step up. He can’t just be ‘acting king.’ It’s too risky if someone challenged him. He huffed as he rose, not quite ready to walk again, but needing to stretch. As for the coronation, it should have happened already. I don’t agree that he needed to execute Wallas first. He could have waited until after his coronation. Fear and intimidation will only get him so far.

Edgar nodded. He completely understood as Derik had subjected him to fear and intimidation Edgar’s whole young life. I don’t know what to do. If Derik knew the thoughts in my head, I’d be the next one hanging from the gallows.

Rydar laughed. I’m sure the gallows would stay busy if he could read minds. As it is, you need to keep those thoughts to yourself. Don’t even whisper them anywhere within Northend or its limits, not even to me. I fear we have more spies than we realize.

Edgar shivered. You know, I watch from my window every morning as I wake and every night before I sleep, the quietest hours of the day, the best time of day for a spy to make a move, and I have seen nothing. Not one glint of light off black armor. Not one soul out of place. I fear that in addition to the enchantment, there’s another spell of invisibility or something that keeps anyone from suspecting.

Rydar’s hand went to his chin, his index finger tapping his lips. This was one trait all the brothers shared, this tapping of their lips just as their father had done.

What if the spies aren’t dwelling in the city, but within the castle itself?

Edgar’s mouth dropped open. He had not thought of that.

It would be the best way to infiltrate a kingdom and overthrow the king, honestly. It’s what I would do if that was my goal. Rydar sat back down in a huff, a yawn splitting his face in two. Edgar, I’m starting to think you should leave as soon as possible. Have you heard anything else since the execution?

No, and until I do, I’m afraid to leave. His thoughts floated to Sergy unbidden. It bothered him the fairy had not returned yet. Sergy left so angry, Edgar feared he would not return despite the promise that he would.

You may not have a choice. While Derik has dismissed you of your ‘duties’ to him, I doubt he would look kindly at your desire to leave, regardless of the reason. He’ll likely declare you a traitor and demand a reward for your head. I don’t know what’s wrong with him. Rydar frowned. His concern for both of his brothers showed in every wrinkle and line etched on his face. The whole ordeal had aged him considerably in a short amount of time. He had been barely older than Edgar when he’d left, and now he looked almost as old as Father had just before he