Fireforger

By Alycia Christine

The full moon revealed her true form. Now she must reshape his destiny.

To save what is left of their world, Katja and her packmates must destroy the vampire High Elder Luther before he can discover the secret of divinity. This requires the packmates to hunt down the remaining eight Keystones, but they are not the only ones seeking them.

During the hunt, the vampire Daeryn offers Katja an exchange: the packmates’ Keystones for two of their imprisoned companions. Whether she denies or appeases him, Katja risks losing her friends, the war, and the realm.

As conflict roars across their world, a holy prophecy whispers hope within the shadows. But being obedient to that prophecy means allying with the very enemy who threatens every freedom the packmates still hold. Can Katja and her packmates give voice to one last hope, or will the vampires finally silence freedom’s cry forever?

What Readers Are Saying about this epic series conclusion:

“OH. MY. GOODNESS. I have been so excited to read Alycia Christine’s novel Fireforger since the moment I laid eyes on this amazing trilogy. Alycia Christine does a fantastic job of tying this series together and making sure Fireforger is unique in its heartwarming and inspiring ending. My favorite part about this book was its detailed characters. I was continually amazed and enthralled with the numerous character developments and the vast knowledge behind many different races within the magical and mythological worlds. With that being said, I highly recommend this riveting finale to any book lover!” -Audrey Smith

“Fireforger is the perfect ending to the Sylvan Cycle Series. Alycia has woven a tale that is a page-turner full of adventure, suspense, and surprise. And it finishes in the most beautiful way, an ending of redemption and healing and beauty.” -E. Simmons

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alycia Christine
• Release date: Nov 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9781941588390

Alycia Christine

Alycia Christine grew up near the dusty cotton fields of Lubbock, Texas, with a fearless mutt for a dog and a backyard trampoline that almost bounced her to the moon. She fell in love with fantasy and science fiction books when her father first read them to her at age ten. Her love of fiction writing blossomed during her time at Texas A&M University. Alycia’s fiction has received wide praise for its unique characters and vivid storytelling. Her award-winning art photography has been featured in Times Square. When she isn’t writing or shooting photos, Alycia enjoys long talks with her husband, drinking copious amounts of tea, and coaxing her skittish cat out from under the living room furniture. Find her at AlyciaChristine.com.

Book preview

Fireforger

Book Three of the Sylvan Cycle Series

Alycia Christine

Purple Thorn Press

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Fireforger copyright © 2023 by Alycia Christine

Sylvan Continent Map design by Alycia Christine

Sylvan Continent Map copyright © 2016 by Alycia Christine

Cover illustration and design by Alycia Christine and Dean McGhee

Cover copyright © 2023 by Alycia Christine

Sylvan Writing design by Dean McGhee and Alycia Christine

Sylvan Writing copyright © 2016 by Alycia Christine

Scripture quotations marked (NKJV) are taken from the New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

FIREFORGER. Published by Purple Thorn Press. Smashwords Edition. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher except for brief passages excerpted for review and critical purposes. Please contact Purple Thorn Press for more information. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

Purple Thorn Press books may be purchased for educational, business, or for sales and promotional use. Please contact Purple Thorn Press for more information.

Purple Thorn Press logo designed by Alycia Christine.

Alycia Christine

https://www.alyciachristine.com/

Purple Thorn Press

https://www.purplethornpress.com/

ISBN 978-1-941588-39-0

For Mom, who never let me quit. You are the reason that my truest magic workers are honored with the name Lynn.

For my Matthew, who reminds me daily of what real love is.

For Jesus, my creator, re-creator, and comforter who keeps me from the darkness. 1 John 1:5-9

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Information

Dedication

Table of Contents

Map

Fireforger

Prologue

Chapter I: Remembrance

Chapter II: Dreamwalking

Chapter III: The Shade’s Vengeance

Chapter IV: Reformation

Chapter V: Bloody Reflections

Chapter VI: Growing Obsessions

Chapter VII: The Coronation

Chapter VIII: The Manticore and The Sphinx

Chapter IX: Cael Isle

Chapter X: The Phoenix’s Promise

Chapter XI: Wolf Tales

Chapter XII: The Klorevind Camp

Chapter XIII: Reunions

Chapter XIV: Loyalties

Chapter XV: Meetings and Partings

Chapter XVI: Lasting Gifts

Chapter XVII: A Vision of Stars and Grain

Chapter XVIII: Hunting the Betrayed

Chapter XIX: The Candalit Warriors

Chapter XX: The Battle of Feral Plains

Chapter XXI: Saving the Survivors

Chapter XXII: The Blood Moon Bargain

Chapter XXIII: Of Love and Death

Chapter XXIV: The Funeral

Chapter XXV: Wisp

Chapter XXVI: The Waterway Road

Chapter XXVII: Wortelberg

Chapter XXVIII: The Ghoul’s Confession

Chapter XXIX: The Battle of Black Powder

Chapter XXX: Turning

Chapter XXXI: Black Fire

Chapter XXXII: The Tree of Death

Chapter XXXIII: Of Stone, Bone, and Fire

Chapter XXXIV: The Phoenix’s Song

Epilogue

Extras:

A Special Invitation

Pronunciation Guide and Glossary

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Sylvan Character Art

Also by Alycia Christine

Map of the Sylvan Continent,

End of Third Age

Prologue

It was a perfect morning for hunting. The sun was bright, the weather was warm, and the air currents were strong enough to fly upon without having to battle for altitude or direction. Daeryn circled lower than his twin brother Dayalan as the two twenty-winter-old males searched the valley floor for suitable prey.

The words of their father still echoed in his head: Hunt within the Ring Spell boundaries. Do not stray past them or you risk discovery by the Sylvans, and then all of us will perish in their vampire hunts.

Daeryn sneered. Caleb had repeated that speech to them before every hunt that the twins had ever taken by themselves. It was insufferable! Even so, he dared not stray past the boundary and remained ever watchful of the world around him as he hunted within Caerwyn lands. He and Dayalan were no vampires, but few beings would be able to tell the difference—or would care even if they did discover that the twins were indeed living and not undead. As hybrids, they still bore pallid skin, dragon-like wings, and drank blood for their sustenance. Although they refused to drink the blood of soul-bound beings and drank only from beasts, blood-drinking was still an offense punishable by death in most Sylvan clans. If those clans discovered them, they would find a way to break through the Ring Spells cloaking Caerwyn and destroy every last inhabitant of the castle. The thought made Daeryn’s anger seethe and his Thirst rose within him. He needed to feed soon or he would risk losing control of his sanity.

Dayalan swooped past Daeryn on pale leathery wings and signaled for Daeryn to follow him. Grudgingly, Daeryn did. When the pair had glided over a low mountain peak and on to the next valley, Daeryn saw their would-be prey: a pair of does grazing among the dew-licked grasses at the high edge of a meadow.

On Dayalan’s signal, the brothers split. Dayalan circled around while Daeryn charged straight ahead. If the does spooked before either of the brothers could get close enough to land a killing blow, they would peel off and hunt the larger of the two. Between the two of them, the youths should at least be able catch and share a meal from one.

Daeryn swooped too low, too soon, and the does both bolted before he could get himself in position behind them. With a curse, Dayalan flew after the larger doe as it fled into the safety of the trees with Daeryn just behind him. Together they flew above the treetops, waiting for an opening between the boughs through which they could attack the fleeing deer.

It did not come until she had run three-fourths of the way up the ridge.

There! Daeryn shouted, pointing to their opening.

I see it! Dayalan folded his wings and shot through the tree break.

The doe screamed as Dayalan slammed the bulk of his weight into her—stunning her with a blow to the head. He was already feeding from a claw gash in the creature’s neck when Daeryn landed beside him. Custom dictated that the eldest always got the first feed, and so Daeryn waited none-too-patiently for his brother to sate his hunger from the fresh kill. As he did so, he again checked their surroundings. The pair had strayed to the far reaches of Caerwyn lands and were now dangerously close to the werewolf territories. The perils of a werewolf attack so far from home made Daeryn search the forest all the more warily.

A flash of white between the dark tree trunks caught his eye and he peered into the forest gloom—sniffing and searching. The scent of wolf came to him on the breeze, then, and he hissed a warning.

What is it? Dayalan asked as he lifted his bloody mouth away from his kill.

We are not the only hunters in this wood.

Dayalan’s hard gaze followed his brother’s. They stayed motionless and watched the white wolf slink toward them between the trees. She was almost as large as a small pony, with perfectly silky, white fur, and no hint of fear in her dark eyes as she watched them.

A wraith wolf, Dayalan said, his deep voice quiet with awe.

Not a werewolf?

Dayalan shook his head. She has the wrong scent. Besides, from the way she moves, you can tell that she’s accustomed to walking on four legs, not two.

She could be a skinshifter mage in full wolf form.

Dayalan cocked an eyebrow at him. Do you really believe a skinshifter would have the ability to skinshift into a pure white wolf? Be reasonable. Skinshifters and wraith wolves are both far too rare for that.

You are absolutely certain she is a regular wolf, then?

She is as regular as such a legendary beast can be.

Good.

In a flash, Daeryn’s swords were loosed from their scabbards and he was running—using his half-stretched wings to help him bound over the undergrowth toward the snarling wolf. His blood rushed in his ears and his fangs lengthened to their fullest in anticipation of his new prey. Dayalan might be satisfied with the blood of a frightened little doe, but Daeryn wanted nourishment from a creature as powerful as he.

No, brother! Wait!

He heard Dayalan’s footfalls behind him and only ran harder, dodging out of his older twin’s reach. Dayalan had his prize, now Daeryn would have his.

And what a prize she was!

The wraith wolf leapt to meet his attack with a ferocity that delighted him, and even managed to get in the first bite before his swords drove her off of him. He used the flat of his blades to stun her rather than spill her precious blood—yet one or two cuts still were made, filling the cool, damp forest air with the hot, heady scent of her life’s flow.

The scent overpowered him, and he dropped his swords to grab her head in a chokehold, dragging her snarling and biting down against the ground under him. His white fangs found her neck and he bit down hard. The blood gushed warm and wonderful into his mouth. As he drank, he felt his heart beat faster, matching the rhythm of the wolf’s own panicked pulse.

With each new swallow, his strength increased and his Thirst intensified. He knew nothing of the world around him; there was only the thunderous rush of blood past his lips, down his throat, and through his mind. The wolf’s heartbeat slowed as Daeryn drank his fill and then ceased altogether.

It was only after the wolf’s last shuddering breath that Daeryn finally heard his brother’s sobs as Dayalan tried once more to pull him off of the corpse.

"Daeryn! Brother, stop!"

In confusion, Daeryn looked past the mangled neck of his prey to where his brother knelt weeping. As he pushed himself off of the wolf, his brother pulled something small and furry from underneath it.

You killed it! You killed it when you killed her! She was trying to protect them!

Daeryn stared at the crushed little body and then his eyes widened in sudden comprehension. The bundle of bloody fur was a wolf pup, barely weaned. In his desperation to feed, he had attacked the grown wolf without thought or conscience. The mother had put herself between him and her pup, trying to defend it against him, but instead he had crushed her body on top of the pup’s—suffocating and killing it, too.

Daeryn backed away as Dayalan pulled a second pup from under the carnage.

How could you? They were innocent! Defenseless!

Chapter I

Remembrance

The fiery sun was setting into the misty gray sea as hundreds of Tyglesean nobles and commoners filed into the marble grandeur of the Kaylere Cathedral. Katja and her packmates found their places in the front row across the center aisle from the Tyglesean Royal Family. The little werecat grimaced as she witnessed the bright orb’s last rays filter through the stained-glass windows to color the hallowed hall’s white arches in rainbow hues. It seemed to her that the waning sunlight was offering one last vivid promise of hope before the coming darkness consumed everything in sight.

She shifted her attention to the platform in front of her and forced herself to refrain from panting. Several of the humans in attendance were looking at her askance as it was, and she would not make a further spectacle of herself tonight. She had thought to appear human for the ceremony, but Ashomocos had insisted that she remain in her true form to properly represent her clan. She wrinkled her nose, wishing that honoring her kin in this situation had called for a form with far less fur.

Even with half of its upper windows flung open to catch the evening breezes, the cathedral of one hundred arches had quickly grown stifling thanks to the multitude assembled within it. No one complained of the discomfort, however; instead, all kept a reverent silence as they took their places upon the kneeling cushions on either side of the center aisle and waited for Inquisitor Daya’lyn to light the single candle upon the lectern on the raised platform at the front of the hall.

Once the fireforger mage master had sparked the candle’s flame with the tip of his clawed finger, he bowed and then took his place on the cushion beside Katja just in front of the platform.

Prince Ashomocos then strode up the steps to stand beside the lectern. Ashomocos gazed at the dancing blue candle flame a moment before staring out at the kneeling crowd. We come here today to honor our injured and our dead. Those heroic beings who have sacrificed so much in the fight against the monsters who seek to subjugate and destroy us deserve our utmost respect. This day marks the one-year anniversary of the Asheken deadwalkers’ invasion of our lands and the massacre of the Feliconas Clan—one year since all Sylvans’ fight for freedom from death and slavery began anew.

Ashomocos took the glowing candle and raised it high over his head. Today, we remember those lives lost and those beings enslaved. In honor of our beloved dead, I ask the sole survivor of that first atrocity, Katja Kevrosa Escari, to place the first candle.

Ashomocos nodded toward the werecat and Katja slowly stood. With careful steps, she walked to the platform, took the lit candle from Ashomocos’s outstretched hand, and walked over to the enormous, tiered memorial altar usually used during Aribemasse. Silent tears ran down her furry cheeks as she set her candle in the first hole carved into the stone. She then bowed to the candle before returning to her place in the front row.

Ashomocos stepped off the platform to join his mother and siblings in the front row across the center aisle from Katja and her packmates. Then, the Tyglesean High Priest took his place at the lectern.

I thank His Highness, Prince Ashomocos, for his powerful words today, Father Arcos said as he surveyed the crowd. In treacherous times such as these, we must all be ready and willing to stand united against our common enemy and make any and all sacrifices necessary to drive their pestilence from our land. Today, we honor those who have already done so great a deed. If you would all please rise and join me in reciting the Sylvan Prayer of Remembrance.

All of those present stood from their cushions and intoned as one:

"All hail the gallant Sylvan souls

And honor our champion dead

Who fought the greed of bloody fangs

And chose rest eternal instead.

"Now we surrender these nobles

To our Creator’s loving hand

Praying that when our life is drained

We too shall dare to take our stand."

Lo aideem, Father Arcos intoned.

Lo aideem, they all responded.

One by one, every member of the assembly lit a candle from Katja’s first flame and placed it upon the stone altar to burn for a loved one. There were too many candles to fit on the great altar, and so the last parishioners had to set the candles around it instead.

When all the candles were lit and the last mourner had returned to her cushion, candles adorned the altar and most of the speaking platform as well. The old priest formally dismissed the assemblage, making allowances for those who needed to mourn a little longer to leave when they wished. Each mourner left in their own time and way, but none left the cathedral with dry eyes.

The packmates stayed silent as they exited the grand building after the Remembrance Ceremony. Together, they walked along the gray cobblestones of the winding road leading from the cathedral toward Castle Summersted.

Castle Summersted and the surrounding Tyglesean city of Kaylere might have been scrubbed clean of its gore and debris, but Katja still saw the triaged bodies huddled, broken and bleeding, against the stone walls as the group walked through the streets toward the castle and their respective chambers. She shuddered and immediately felt Felan’s reassuring hand on her shoulder. She gave him a small smile, comforted by the fact that, even in his human form, the werewolf skinshifter still held the same gentle blue-green eyes.

She looked over at Daya’lyn, whose pale face was downcast and whose violet eyes were glassy from too little sleep and too much worry. The strapping fireforger mage may have bathed and put on clean attire, but he still reeked of the forge he had been working.

How many weapons did you make today, before the ceremony? she asked him.

He shook his head. I lost count, but the smithy seemed pleased with our progress. I only know that the more sunsilver blades we have in the armory, the better. Our supply of ore is running low, but I’ll make as many as I can before we exhaust the supply. He stretched his arms and grimaced.

And the work with Saldis—how is that going?

Daya’lyn looked at Vraelth, who shook his head. Saldis cannot effectively remake the black powder recipe. He has tried everything, but he can’t remember the full formula. Kyla destroyed so many of the samples and the notes that Saldis has basically had to start over. Without Sandrie’s knowledge, every attempt so far has proven fruitless.

Katja nodded just as a tall Tyglesean dressed in a well-tailored merchant’s tunic and hose shoved past her. Filthy mongrel changeling! he yelled. She nearly gagged at the scent of mead on his breath.

Even though Felan was in human form, his response was every bit of the guttural growl of a werewolf. As one, he and the rest of the packmates turned to face this new potential threat, but the drunk old merchant was already stumbling onward, muttering about werecats, werewolves, and mages alike being a plague upon the world.

Felan snarled in spite of himself, causing both Vraelth and Daya’lyn to grab hold of his arms, keeping him from pursuing the imbecile. He is drunk! Leave him! Vraelth implored. He didn’t harm her. You’ll ignite war in the streets anew if you try to add him to the body count!

Felan growled again, but he allowed himself to be steered away from the Tyglesean. None of the companions spoke again until they were all safely back inside the castle where Verdagon waited for them.

As the packmates all gathered in the sitting room of the guest chambers that Zahra and Katja now shared, the dragon Verdagon joined them by resting his large green head on the stone balcony railing and watching through the open doors.

While Vraelth checked to make certain the chamber was free of spies, Zahra busied herself by brewing some herbal tea. The rest of the packmates each sat lost in their own weary thoughts.

Katja sat curled in a corner of the room near the stone fireplace with her knees to her chest, her furry tail wrapped around her ankles, and her chin resting on her knees. Felan skinshifted himself from his human form into his usual werewolf form and sat down on the floor beside her. Absently, she leaned against him and rested her head on his massive chest as he draped his arm around her.

Despite Zahra’s best efforts to wash and comb her fur before the ceremony, she knew she still looked disheveled—and why not? She had barely slept in the days leading up to the ceremony. Each time she had closed her heavy eyelids, visions of the vampire Daeryn, the ghoul Curqak, and various other deadwalkers attacking and feeding from her kin had inevitably snapped her eyes wide again.

Last night had been particularly bad. Katja had relived Daeryn’s attack of the Sphinx who had guarded the Sylvan Continent from the deadwalkers. She had then witnessed him as a much younger male kill a wraith wolf and her cubs. She glanced at Daya’lyn, wondering if she should ask him about the dream, and then dismissed the thought. It would do no good now to pile additional worries on the Sylvan Inquisitor by informing him that she still dreamed and shared memories with his Fallen brother.

Katja’s scarred right paw reached up to absently scratch at Daeryn’s bite scars on her neck. How she missed Lauraisha! The dreamdrifter was the only being who could truly banish the nightmares and calm her sleep.

Zahra touched her shoulder and pressed a steaming cup of the pungent liquid into her paws. She took a sip and was suddenly warmed by the mint, lavender, and basil concoction. She smiled up at Zahra and nodded her thanks, pondering on all of the times the dryad had made tea for her.

When they had first met, Katja had thought the dryad princess to be imperious and brusque, and yet the sproutsinger warrior was always the first of their pack to brew tea, tend to wounds, and see to the general welfare of those around her. Zahra had proven herself to be as noble and nurturing as a friend could be, and Katja was especially grateful for the comfort of her friendship today of all days.

A flash of blue fire from the Sapphire Keystone amulet resting on the werecat’s furry chest lit the chamber, and then Damya wafted into view. For a moment, the little blue firesprite floated in silence, and then she laid a tiny flaming hand on Katja’s shoulder. Far from burning her, the heat in Damya’s touch actually soothed the werecat’s skin and soul.

You came? Katja asked the petite Pyrefay.

Of course I came! she snapped, and then shuddered. My apologies, Katja. That was unkind.

Are you well, My Madam? Daya’lyn asked Damya, who now glowed more dimly than usual.

When the firesprite only smiled, Daya’lyn frowned, before producing a single pale blue flame from the tip of one white claw.

Take some sustenance, My Madam, he said. We gain nothing from your exhaustion.

The firesprite flitted on fiery gossamer wings to his hand and drank from the proffered flame. Only when she had finished and once again glowed bright blue with renewed strength did Daya’lyn extinguish the now orange flame.

Damya peered at him. We gain nothing from your exhaustion either, fireforger. When was the last time you took some sustenance for yourself?

Daya’lyn only shrugged.

Katja peered at the Pyrekin. Why were you so dim?

The Darkkyn and Drosskin have begun Tainting much of the power from the Wraith Realm through their Breaches in Edgewater, so the Pyrekin and Litkyn have thickened the Veil to keep their corruption from spreading back into the Erde Realm. That makes traveling between our realm and yours all the more dangerous and taxing. Damya rubbed her eyes. We must end this war quickly. Otherwise, everything and everyone in both realms will Fall to the Abomination’s eternal darkness.

We cannot hope to do that without finding and uniting all twelve of the Keystones so that we can finally destroy Luther and the rest of his bitten spawn, Felan said, and the others all nodded.

The hulking, black-furred werewolf peered at Damya. If the Veil is shut, how did you make it through, Damya? And why risk the effort?

The flames enveloping her tiny body flared bright red even as she bared her tiny teeth at him. As if I wouldn’t come to check on Katja’s well-being today of all days! Besides, I had to come—I have some information about the Keystones that should spark some hope in all of you.

Katja’s ears perked at that. What is it?

Damya grinned. "I have a riddle that the Hayoth Lion Cabrica bade me to share with you concerning the location of her particular Keystone:

‘Under the bridal tower;

In the mountain bower,

Blooms a lasting bane:

The Hayoth Lion’s flame.’"

Daya’lyn’s white eyebrows creased in a frown. Why does that riddle sound familiar?

Have you heard it before? Katja asked him.

He shook his head, his expression still bewildered.

Daya’lyn, there was a series of riddles that your mother Marga penned when she first hid the sacred jewels. They were designed to lead others to the sacred gems’ hiding places should she die before they could be recovered, Damya explained. Many of the riddles are no longer valid as the Keystones have since been moved from their original hiding places, but that one should still prove useful to you, at least.

Katja looked from the Pyrefay to the dhampir, noting how haggard Daya’lyn looked and wondering when the last time had been that he had taken his blood sustenance from the horse Tyron. I thought you said that your mother never told you anything about the sacred jewels’ whereabouts?

She didn’t, at least not that I can recall…and yet, why does that infernal rhyme seem familiar? He scratched his forehead and glowered at the rug-covered floor.

Perhaps your father would know? Felan asked.

Perhaps.

We assume that the Seer, the Arbitrator, the Sower, the Guardian, the Pariah, the Discerner, and the Renewed are all supposed to be part of our company, but how does that mean we should proceed? Zahra asked. If they are all part of our company, who are we missing, and how do we find them?

Vraelth shook his head. We now are a company of five when seven mages are required to defeat the Vampire High Elder in the prophecy. Even if Lauraisha is indeed the Seer as we’ve all assumed, we are still missing one. Thanks to their recent skinshifts, we know for a fact that Katja is the Manticore’s Daughter and Felan is the Sphinx’s Son. However, I’m still not convinced that they are also two of the seven named mages. I mean, Katja as the Discerner makes sense considering her wraithwalking abilities, but what does that make you, Felan?

Felan is the Guardian, Daya’lyn responded. He protects our pack from evils threatening us from without—Daya’lyn looked down at his own white-clawed hands—and sometimes from within.

Perhaps I am the Guardian, or perhaps I am the Arbitrator, or possibly I am only the Sphinx’s Son, Felan said. Whatever the case may be, we need to know for certain. Damya, Verdagon—do you know?

Damya looked at Verdagon, her head cocked to one side in a gesture of silent question. The dragon merely shook his head and gave a seemingly mournful huff of a sigh before resting his scaly green chin again on the balcony railing.

Katja frowned at the dragon. What wasn’t he telling them? She gazed at him and unlocked her wraithwalker’s sight. There is something more you can tell us about the Keystones’ whereabouts, she said pointedly.

The big Pyrekin being shook his head. Not at this time, Katja. Since being hatched, I am bound far more to your own Erde Realm than I am to the Wraith or Dyvesé Realms, so Damya’s advice is more sound than my own. I can tell you that I have noticed certain patterns of power interwoven between the three realms. When the balance of power between good and evil shifts here in this realm, it affects the balance of power in the Wraith Realm as well. I have my conjectures about why that is, but if I reveal them to you and I am wrong, I will have steered all of you down a false path and into certain peril. Better for me to keep my silence for now.

Katja flicked her ears as she hissed at him. You’re no help whatsoever!

The green dragon returned her suddenly exasperated expression with a meek bob of his serpentine head. I know. I am sorry.

I am sorry as well, Damya said. Caleb, Marga, Zahlathra, and Joce’lynn would all likely be able to shed more light on The Keystone Wielders’ Prophecy and the Manticore and Sphinx’s Begotten Prophecy and how they directly affect this group, since we cannot. Can you contact any of them?

Daya’lyn turned to Katja, his expression pleading. Is there any way to contact Marga or Lauraisha, since she is likely with her? You reached Lauraisha once…

Katja’s ears drooped again. I’m sorry, Daya’lyn. I tried again just before the ceremony tonight, and I failed. I don’t know why. Perhaps I need the strength of the full moon?

Damya flew back to Katja and settled on her shoulder before patting her cheek in comfort. You needn’t be so harsh toward yourself, Katja. That night, you caught Daeryn by surprise. I have no doubt the shade has doubled the mental defenses surrounding himself and Lauraisha since your minds’ last encounter.

She nodded, but her ears still drooped and she looked away from Daya’lyn.

Vraelth grimaced. Since Joce’lynn is still sequestered on the Isle of Summons helping to hold the Sylvans’ fractured leadership together, as well as finishing the training of those mage pupils yet to be sent to war, she is too far away to help us now.

Zahra nodded in agreement. And my mother is fighting for the lives of my sister dryads and all of the other refugees currently entrenched on Mount Sol’ece. Even if I send a message through the trees to her, there is no guarantee that she’ll be able to receive it, let alone be able to reply given how much damage the last battle did to the Sylvan Forest.

Vraelth ducked his head at that. Sorry, he said quietly.

She rounded on him. Don’t you dare apologize! Your charmchanting and Verdagon’s flames are the main reason that my mother and my tribe sisters are still alive, free, and fighting! As painful as it will be, we can regrow scorched forests, but it’s impossible to restore Tainted hearts. She looked at Daya’lyn. Or nearly impossible.

Zahra’s comment made Katja pull her ears back and show her fangs in a silent snarl as she and the others all looked at Daya’lyn. Two full moons ago, the dhampir had almost Turned into a full vampire. Only Lauraisha’s love had kept him from doing so. Now that she was gone, the memories of that day were all the more painful for all of them.

So that leaves Caleb, Felan said to break the suddenly awkward silence.

My father is almost as far across the continent as Joce’lynn is, Daya’lyn said.

True, Zahra said, looking back at Katja. But Caleb has something that the other two mages do not: a bloodstone mirror—and we currently hold seven shards from that particular bloodstone mirror. That gives us a communication advantage that we do not have with the other two. What do you think, wraithwalker? Can you use the shards to contact Daya’lyn’s father?

She pointed to the shard-embedded spearhead hanging from her own neck and then to the two spearheads that the werecat was wearing. Katja wrapped her scarred right paw around both of them. They warmed in her grasp and, concentrating, she wrapped her wraithwalker’s discerning sight around them. Immediately, she felt the other companions’ shards in the room through her connection to her own. She could feel the bond between the seven shards and the mirror, but it was very faint—something that a dreamdrifter might be able to exploit, but not a wraithwalker. After a few attempts to strengthen the bond, she finally shook her head. I need Lauraisha to have any hope of success.

You have no idea how true those words are, Daya’lyn murmured as he touched his own spearhead and the one that had belonged to Lauraisha. The rest of the companions nodded their dejected agreement.

Katja looked down at the spearheads now cupped in her paws, remembering her fear as Daeryn used the Ott vre Cael bloodstone mirror to abduct Lauraisha and allow Luther’s deadwalker army easy entry from the Northern Continent to Tyglesea. Lauraisha had thrown her spearhead along with the Keystones that Daeryn had possessed to her companions just before he had pulled her through the portal. The deadwalkers had swarmed through the mirror, then, and Katja had had no choice but to hurl one of her own shard-embedded sunsilver spearheads into the depths of the Ott vre Cael to destroy it. They had won the battle and kept their Keystones safe, but had lost Lauraisha.

She stared down at her bleary reflection as her tears washed the scarlet shards’ surfaces. She frowned as they absorbed in the salty liquid and twinkled. The other companions’ spearhead shards twinkled, too, and then went dark once more.

I remember! Daya’lyn suddenly exclaimed. I remember now why the riddle seemed so familiar! It bears a similar cadence to a riddle that my mother taught me when I was a young child! The riddle is this: ‘Near the archway now broken, in the waves a lost token, slumbers Leviathan under the fire’s fountain.’

Under the fire’s fountain? What does that mean? Zahra asked.

Daya’lyn shook his head and looked at Verdagon and Damya, who also shook their heads.

I have no idea, but I must ask Father about it. Clearly, Mother did teach us Keystone riddles after all!

But, Daya’lyn, it will take a powerful dreamdrifter to use the Ott vre Caerwyn mirror shards to reach your father. Who other than Lauraisha can we trust—

Pardon the bluntness, Katja, but we may not need Lauraisha for this, Vraelth interrupted. If Queen Manasa is half as talented as her daughter, she should be able to use the remaining mirror shards to contact Caleb.

Daya’lyn was standing before any of the other packmates had moved. It is worth the effort. Every stone we find is a step closer to destroying the deadwalkers and rescuing Mother and Lauraisha.

He walked toward the main door without another word and opened it to find a very surprised guard standing on the other side, a fist raised in front of him as if he were about to knock. When Daya’lyn stopped short in front of him, he bowed low with both palms raised. My apologies, Your Excellency. Her Majesty, Queen Manasa, requests an audience with you and all of your companions in her private chambers at your earliest convenience.

Daya’lyn bowed his head to the flustered human male. Of course. We will come at once, he said, not bothering to even look over his shoulder as he strode out into the corridor. After a moment of confusion, the rest of the packmates followed him.

When they arrived, the packmates found two of Captain Federicos’s most trusted guards standing at the door to Her Majesty’s chambers. Federicos himself ushered them immediately into the room where Manasa and the rest of the royal family members were gathered.

Tension filled the room as the packmates and the royals bowed to each other.

The queen dismissed Federicos, and then leveled a piercing gaze at each of the packmates. Please forgive the lateness of the hour, she said to Daya’lyn, but we need your help in settling a matter of grave importance, and I fear we cannot afford to tarry long in our decision.

Of course, Your Majesty, Daya’lyn answered for the packmates. His tone of voice may have been light, but his gaze was narrow. How may we aid you?

As time is of the essence, I must be blunt, Daya’lyn. Have any of you divulged the information that we discussed in confidence about the situation surrounding my union to my late husband King Kaylor, or the circumstance of Prince Ashomocos’s birth?

No, Your Majesty, Daya’lyn answered for all of them.

Each shook their heads in turn when her gaze fell upon them.

What is all of this about, My Madam? Katja asked.

There are rumors abounding throughout our fair country that our royal line is not quite as simple as it would seem, Prince Ashomocos answered her. Word has reached many that Queen Manasa is in fact the lost Princess Laura, who hid her identity to keep Kaylor from killing her when she was a courtier. As King Aedus’s only surviving daughter, she holds the right of succession from our country’s original dynasty—and yet, as King Kaylor’s lifemate, she also holds the right of succession from our current dynasty.

He glanced at Queen Manasa. However, no female has ever ruled Tyglesea. Consequently, even though Mother is the rightful heir to the throne, several of the nobles are contesting her reign. There is mounting pressure for her to abdicate the throne and allow her first-born son to rule instead so that the tradition of kings as rulers may continue.

And you are concerned that your lineage will be called into question should you attempt to take the throne, Daya’lyn surmised.

Exactly, the eldest prince replied. If the nobles discover that I am not Kaylor’s son, but am actually his brother Tristin’s son, then they may deem me unfit to rule, and the right of succession will fall to Tryntin instead.

Yes, if the nobles actually back Kaylor’s line of succession in the first place, Prince Tryntin said as he sat cross-legged on a divan, sheets and scrolls of parchments scattered at his feet and at the table in front of him. There has been talk that perhaps a male solely steeped in Aedus’s line should rule. If that is the case, no one in our family would take the throne and it would go to one of our cousins on Mother’s side instead.

Assuming that Kaylor didn’t murder all of them like he did Mother’s father, sisters, and uncles. Then the line becomes hopelessly convoluted. Prince Saldis looked over at Tryntin. The nobles may be traditionalists, but even they are not that puritanical. They will choose someone from our line. The question is: who?

Agreed, Ashomocos said. Tryntin certainly would make a good king, but his reign will come at the cost of split loyalties and rising factions. Many nobles would still support me, while many others would support him. Feuds would inevitably break out and our already fractured country would devolve into civil war.

Come now, Ash. How much resistance is there really likely to be toward your reign? Tryntin said as he looked up from his papers. I have been through the documents pertaining to your birth three times now and I cannot even find a circumstantial reference to Mother’s first spouse anywhere in here!

Ashomocos crossed his arms and glared at his brother. From the talk of Saldis’s sources, there will be plenty of push from several factions.

Prince Saldis spread his hands even as he gave Ashomocos a smug smile. Well, we can’t fault them for being good at what they do, now can we?

Ashomocos glowered at Saldis. We cannot afford our country to be divided by a civil war! We’ve barely survived the onslaught of the deadwalkers as it is—how will we withstand them further if we are also fighting amongst ourselves?

Saldis threw up his hands. And I agree with you, brother! Calm yourself. We will not let it come to that.

Katja looked at Manasa. Your Majesty, do you wish to abdicate?

Manasa shook her head. As heavy as the burden of leadership is, I will gladly carry the mantle of queen for as long as I am able, so that our family legacy may be preserved and our country’s fortunes may be restored. My late husband pilfered from many, squandered much, and nearly sold the inhabitants of this country into eternal slavery. I have much to redeem.

And we will help you, Mother, Ashomocos said. In whatever way we can, we will see Tyglesea restored to its former prosperity and peace.

The others all nodded.

What do you need from us, Your Majesty? Daya’lyn asked.

If I push to keep the crown, do I have your support?

Whole-heartedly.

And do you all swear to me here and now, upon your sacred honor, that you will protect this family by never revealing Ashomocos’s true parentage to anyone, unless he releases you to do so?

Daya’lyn looked around at the other packmates, who all nodded their heads, before replying, We do.

Manasa gave a deep sigh of relief.

Ashomocos scratched his curly, auburn beard and then looked at Damya. What is your opinion on all of this, My Madam? If I can trust nothing else, I can always trust your word as a Pyrekin.

She visibly brightened. Indeed you can. I stand beside Queen Manasa and you as her successor, Prince Ashomocos. Both of you are of noble hearts, and you would steward this kingdom well.

Would you say as much in front of a council of nobles?

Her smile drooped. If the council is convened quickly, then yes. But I dare not tarry in your realm longer than a day more at most. Otherwise, I will fail my fellow Pyrekin in the Wraith Realm. They need me fighting at their side.

Ashomocos nodded and then looked at his younger brothers, who both nodded in return. We can convene it tomorrow and we request that all of you attend to lend your support.

Good, Damya said.

Done, said Daya’lyn. Now that the problem is momentarily mollified, we have an issue of our own that must be addressed.

What is it?

Your Majesty, we need your help specifically, Daya’lyn answered. Like your daughter Lauraisha, you are a powerful dreamdrifter. We need you to use your abilities to contact my father Caleb in Caerwyn Castle.

How? From what you’ve told me, Caerwyn is nestled in the heart of the southern Nyghe sol Dyvesé Mountains. That is no small distance from here.

The Inquisitor nodded as he unfastened one of the sunsilver spearheads from his neck and held it out to her in his ungloved hands. That is quite true, but we think these will help extend your range.

Queen Manasa looked at the blood-red shard embedded in the spearhead’s center and frowned. Is this a piece from that vile mirror that stole my daughters and nearly destroyed our country?

Daya’lyn shook his head. This is a shard from the Ott vre Caerwyn bloodstone mirror in my father’s castle, which was purified by my mother Marga’s own fire, and was then subsequently reformed by Katja’s wraithwalking command. It and its shards are safe to use, unlike the Ott vre Cael mirror that we destroyed here at Castle Summersted—which was shattered, but not purified.

Cautiously, Manasa lifted the spearhead from the fireforger’s bare hand and held it dangling by its necklace straps. She looked at Katja. What do you want me to do with this, Wraithwalker?

Katja stood before the queen and placed her paws over the top of the spearhead. Close your eyes and concentrate on the shard with me.

She did.

Picture it in your mind and try to feel its essence with your soul… Can you hear the shard’s voice in your mind? she asked.

Yes. It is like a wisp of a whisper.

The werecat nodded Exactly. See if you can follow that whisper back to the source of the chorus.

The queen nodded and closed her eyes as she held the shard in her delicate hands. Her pale face flushed in concentration as she explored the bond between the shard and the mirror. Finally, she blew out a breath of exhaustion and shook her head. I’m sorry… she said between breaths. I cannot strengthen the bond. If all of you will lend me your shards tonight, I will have to attempt to dreamdrift through the shards when I am actually asleep tonight and have access to my full strength.

Manasa looked over at Daya’lyn as he and the other packmates gave her the remaining spearheads. What should I tell Caleb, if I am able to communicate with him?

Daya’lyn held out the scrap of parchment that he had taken from Tryntin, having scribbled notes upon it while the others had been talking. Tell him this.

She read it and frowned at him. Marga and Lauraisha’s current predicament, and…two riddles?

He nodded. We think that the riddles will help us find the Keystones, which will hopefully help us rescue both my mother and your daughter from Blaecthull.

Manasa’s smile turned hopeful then. Good—then let us all take some rest tonight and see what dreams we can accomplish in the next day.

Chapter II

Dreamwalking

The next day proved to be a flurry of activity, one that carried the packmates and the royal family from engagement to engagement with little in the way of breaks in between. There were meetings with nobles and commoners alike dealing with various problems within the kingdom, and the Council of Nobles itself convened shortly after the noonday meal was served in the Great Hall.

The meeting lasted well into the evening as the nobles all debated about who should ascend Kaylor’s throne. Damya and Daya’lyn both gave their endorsements for Manasa, as did Father Arcos, Captain Federicos, and a half-dozen other high-ranking nobles and prominent leaders.

In the end, the nobles and elders agreed to break from tradition and accept Manasa as queen and ruler of Tyglesea so that they could avoid further civil unrest. However, the compromise came with a heavy toll attached to it: if the nobles deemed Manasa unfit for rule after a year’s reign, she would abdicate the throne in favor of her son Ashomocos.

It means that if the war with the deadwalkers goes ill, the nobles will blame Manasa and have an easy excuse to depose her! Katja snarled as the packmates and the royals gathered together in the queen’s private chambers that night to eat and discuss the day’s events.

We cannot worry about that now, Manasa answered. The compromise buys us the time we need to focus on more important matters, like winning this war. All the same, Saldis, I need you and your informants to lean heavily on our strongest opponents and keep them from causing us further mischief.

Saldis’s grin was wicked as he bowed. I would be honored to do my worst by them. By the time I am finished, some of our more impudent dukes and lords may find themselves not so noble by others’ estimation. I already know of two that are heavy gamblers and whore-mongers—that should be enough leverage to diminish their influence over the others.

Just be clean about it, Ashomocos said.

Brother, I am always discreet. Saldis crossed his arms. And I never kill, except as a last resort.

Or if the wretch deserves it, Tryntin added.

Saldis rolled his eyes. And that wretch did deserve it. Now, would you care to dredge up more of my sordid past for our guests, or can we please press on?

Katja’s ears perked. What did you do?

The Tyglesean Spy Master turned to her, his expression calculating. There are few things I can abide less than insolence to a female, particularly if that female happens to be my sister. There was a situation in which one of the courtiers became a bit too familiar with my sister Kyla. Although she had rebuffed his advances, he still caught her alone in one of the castle corridors and forced her into impropriety. I believe his intention was to impregnate her so that our father would be forced to marry her off to him, in order to hide the shame of having a bastard child.

Katja and Zahra both snarled.

Fortunately for our sister, Saldis continued, she did not become pregnant. However, it soured her outlook toward males in general and she was always wary around them from that point onward.

Saldis spat. When Father discovered the situation, he did nothing. Instead, I challenged Kyla’s rapist to a duel. It was a short fight. I gutted the cowering mongrel and had the satisfaction of watching him bleed out in the street. I then had his body hung by his own entrails from the castle wall just above the main gate as a warning to lechers in general. His face brightened. Strangely enough, our number of rapes dropped considerably after that.

Tryntin put his head in his hands. Yes, Saldis, we can press on!

Saldis looked at Tryntin with an expression of contrived innocence. You started it!

Both of you, behave! Manasa said.

Sorry, Mother! came their chorus.

She nodded, and then looked at Katja. Katja, I am sorry, but I failed to use the shards last night. Therefore, I would like permission to have you share in my dreams tonight. I know that you were able to share Lauraisha’s dreams, and that the two of you are far more powerful together than either of you are alone.

Katja swallowed down the sudden tightness in her throat and tried to keep her ears from drooping. It’s true. We were far better together at many things than we ever were apart.

Manasa smiled a sad smile. I know that you love my daughter as a sister and that you two should be the ones attempting this instead of you and me. Nevertheless, would you do me the honor of helping me do this? Perhaps together we can accomplish what neither of us can do apart.

The wraithwalker werecat nodded. Gladly, I will.

Good. She looked around the room. Is there anything else that we need to discuss?

When none spoke, she bowed her head. Then I bid you all a grateful farewell. Thank you so much for all of your help today! Katja, I will meet you in our dreams tonight.

With silent bows, the packmates filed out of the queen’s chambers and found their way to their own rooms to think and to sleep.

Once in her own room, Katja curled underneath the scratchy woolen blankets that Tyglesean humans used instead of proper sleeping furs. She stared up at the ceiling waiting for sleep that would not come, all the while wondering if what she and Manasa were about to attempt was possible. Would the Ott vre Caerwyn mirror shards’ added strength, along with Katja’s aid, be enough to help Manasa’s thoughts really reach across an entire continent?

The last sliver of a crescent moon rose high outside the window of her bedchamber. She watched it rise and her mind drifted away from the reality of her scratchy blankets and too-soft bed—and then Katja found herself walking down the castle’s corridors and out along the narrow beach just below Summersted, in search of someone who was calling her name.

In the distance, she saw a human walking along the beach beside the waves toward her—the female’s long, dark hair and indigo skirts tossed by the same billowing breeze that ruffled the werecat’s golden fur. A small, incandescent figure flitted upon the breeze just above her shoulder.

Come, Katja, Manasa said as she and Damya stopped before her. Manasa placed the spearheads into the werecat’s waiting paws. Come dreamwalk with me between the folds of reality tonight. Let us see if your strength can be the difference between victory and defeat.

Katja nodded and followed the queen along the shoreline beside the rolling sea, until the pair came to the entrance of a small cave hidden away in a cleft of the cliff. Without a word, Katja followed Manasa into the stony darkness as Damya’s blue glow lit their path. Together, the three threaded their way into the very heart of the cliff—the crashing waves of the sea becoming less and less thunderous with each echoing step.

The narrow stone tunnel coiled around itself like a huge basel snake, but Manasa followed its winding course with unerring certainty until the tunnel eventually widened out into a stone gallery complete with carved figures and paintings adorning its walls.

What is this place? Katja asked as they rounded a corner, and she found herself staring at the carved mural of a griffin and a dryad locked in battle with a gargoyle. The griffin looked so much like King Canuche that it made her stop wide-eyed and open-mawed in surprise.

Freedom, Manasa said as she rubbed a gentle hand over the chiseled wall. This place began as a simple cave, which my father, King Aedus, expanded into a private family chapel during the first decade of his reign. My father was an avid scholar of the Second War of Ages, so you’ll see many scenes from that period carved into the walls here. Father even knew several mages who had survived the war and had gone on to help rebuild the Sylvan Continent after that war, and after the subsequent Clan Wars.

Manasa followed Katja’s eyes to the carving. I see that you recognize the great griffin King Canuche and his dryad rider, Queen Mother Ella. Such a beauty! Your companion Zahra bears such a striking resemblance to her.

Katja nodded. Princess Zahra is Queen Mother Zahlathra’s daughter. Ella was her grandmother.

Manasa smiled at that. I wondered. My father told me many stories of Ella’s exploits in battle when I was a young child. If Zahra is half as courageous as her grandmother, then you have a good friend indeed.

Katja returned the queen’s smile before gazing again at King Canuche’s image. It had been almost a year since she and Lauraisha had made a promise to the trapped griffin king that they would fight the deadwalkers and eventually find a way to help free him from his imprisonment in Crown Canyon. In many ways, Canuche was the reason that she and Lauraisha had met each other and the rest of their packmates in the first place.

The Tyglesean Queen walked on, and Katja followed, still staring at Canuche’s visage for as long as she was able. The pair walked on as the tunnel narrowed again and then gave way to a jagged tunnel of rock that looked as if it had been no different from the cliff.

Katja touched the splintered stone and frowned at its familiarity. Are we close to the dungeons?

Manasa nodded. This tunnel system served a dual purpose: it was both a private way for my family to get to the chapel and an escape route to use should we ever have needed to flee the castle. The rest of my family was unable to flee through here during the Tyglesean Uprisings, but I did. My valet Arlis and I managed to escape through the tunnel and to our horses before anyone realized we were missing. In that way, my father’s piety saved my life. Kaylor walled this all off and turned the chapel into a dungeon system after I escaped, but your companions have done my family and our country a great service by helping to restore what Kaylor tried to bury.

The pair turned a corner, climbed through a gap in the broken rock that had been recently excavated, and entered a small stone dungeon barely large enough to allow two humans to lay down. Katja sniffed at the familiar scents. This was where King Kaylor had incarcerated his own sons Tryntin and Saldis for sedition, before Lauraisha had freed them.

Manasa and Katja moved on—crawling through the gap in the stone that Lauraisha’s fire had created—until they had pushed into the much larger dungeon. Here, Kaylor and his deadwalker allies had imprisoned Katja and her packmates so as to keep them from interfering with Luther’s planned invasion through the Ott vre Cael mirror.

The golden-furred werecat gazed up at the dim dungeon around her. She noticed that the tatters of Zahra’s luminescent Moon Moss were beginning to grow back in the places where Daeryn had ripped them from the stone walls. The vegetation’s soft green glow reflected in the salty puddles around her and shed light on the room’s only notable feature: a round stone altar.

The werecat moved forward to rub her scarred right paw across the symbols of her clan’s language carved into the altar’s stone, and traced the chiseled script that she recognized as her father’s own writing. Katja’s expression turned wistful. Here, in this dank, dark Tyglesean dungeon that was so unlike anything of home, she had found one of the most powerful reminders of her family: her father’s Wraithwalking Altar.

Dei Dyvesé it unmygn ort ol restel. Nur dei reinen ol sere finden Me frieden, she prayed in her native tongue. The Felis words echoed in the dank chamber like the utterances of a charmchanter’s stone-shifting spell. The rocks around them seemed to shiver a moment before once again going still. Damya laid a tiny hand on the werecat’s shoulder.

The Feliconian werecat let out a breath heavy with sorrow and longing, and then she translated: The Creator is our refuge. Only the pure of soul will find His freedom.

A brilliant white light twinkled in the center of the basin, lighting the room for the merest moment—then, a small, silver tree grew out of the offering basin at the altar’s center. Its entwined trunks untwisted to form a translucent oval and the sylph Cyrena greeted them from within its frame. Creator keep you, My Madams. Queen Laura Manasa Astraht’a and Mage Katja Kevrosa Escari, Damya has told me that you both seek a way to contact the Reformed Mirror and its keeper. The shards alone will not give you enough strength, as you have likely discovered. The power you seek is in the Wraith Realm itself, but finding it is more dangerous than you know. You will need a guide if the pair of you are to survive this night. Otherwise, I cannot let you pass, she said.

I will be that guide, Damya said.

Cyrena nodded. You will need the blood-mirror shards with you. Keep their necklaces fastened and touch the altar with their tips.

Obediently, the females stood on each side of the altar, and then bowed to touch the spearheads against the altar’s offering basin as Cyrena indicated. With a flash of crimson and silver, Katja and Manasa stretched through the ethereal tree’s oval and then appeared in a place as different from the dank dungeon as daylight was to darkness.

In an instant, the quiet dark stone gave way to the rush of verdant waves. Hip-high grasses eddied and flowed like the waves of a great ocean around them—each curving leaf infused with green hues far richer and more varied than any Katja had ever seen in her own world. The wraithwalker smiled at the breathtaking beauty of the Wraith Realm now around her, but her joy evaporated when she saw what lay just beyond the vibrant green.

The great boundary river of Edgewater snaked its way along the edge of the grasslands—a contrast to their beauty in every way. As ugly and deadly as it was, Katja knew that the river’s boiling black eddies were the only barrier keeping the inhabitants of the ruined land beyond the river’s shores from infecting the perfect land her dead family members now called home with their pestilence.

Except now the river’s winding length could no longer hold back the danger. Three new sandy breaches had now bridged the river and encroached into the pristine meadow—spreading their sickness into the yellowing grasses at Edgewater’s banks. Katja’s ears lay flat against her head and she hissed when she saw their sickly yellow hues.

Be on your guard, Damya said as she flitted up beside Manasa. Dangers now abound in this land.

A loud screech met them, and Katja and Manasa both turned to see a gnarled black creature flying toward them on membranous wings.

Get down! the firesprite screamed as twin fireballs erupted in her tiny, blue hands. She launched both of them at the monster, who dodged the first, but not the second. With a screech of pain and anger, it veered away from the small group and flapped back toward the river where more of its fellows readied their attack.

Perfect! she hissed. "You’ve taken no more than three steps in the Wraith Realm and the enemy already knows you are