And pray that, over the past weeks, the Mage grandson of the Black Witch has been fully accepted and integrated into Noilaan’s Wyvernguard.

Part One

PART ONE

Eastern Realm

One realm month ago

CHAPTER ONE

WYVERNGUARD MAGE

Trystan Gardner & Vothendrile Xanthile

The Wyvernguard
North Wyvernguard Island, Noilaan
Eastern Realm
Sixth Month; longest month of the realm year

Vothendrile

“I hope they blast the Crow to pieces,” rune sorceress Heelyn hisses from beside me as we observe the military exercise with a cluster of sapphire-uniformed soldier-apprentices. We’re assembled on the obsidian river-level terrace, standing near the massive bas-relief marble dragon sculpture that wraps around the entire base of the Wyvernguard’s North Island, a cool breeze gusting in from the expansive Vo River.

Heelyn’s words kick up a tumultuous current through my water and wind auras as I watch Trystan Gardner assume an offensive position, his wand raised toward the six Vu Trin soldiers taking battle stances before him, his green-glimmering face a mask of determination. The black-clad sorceresses murmur a shielding spell in unison, swords and blades drawn, their gazes pinned on the Gardnerian.

The wind intensifies. I breathe in its coolness, joining it to my internal weather-based power in an attempt to smooth out my increasingly unsettled emotions over this grandson of the Black Witch I’ve been charged to guard. By Wyvernguard Commander Ung Li herself.

Her rationale remains unspoken, but I know I’ve been handpicked as the soldier-apprentice guard most likely to drive the reviled Mage out.

Sunlight glints off the soldiers’ raised rune swords, blades, and stars, the sorceresses ready to deflect Trystan’s formidable Level Five magic and strike him down. A magical shield the sorceresses have thrown up adheres to their focused forms, blanketing them in an iridescent sapphire glimmer.

I glance at Heelyn, my friend since childhood and one of Noilaan’s most powerful runic sorceresses. Her close-cropped black hair shines in the bright sunlight, the image of a dragon shaved into the side of it, her muscular body tense with loathing. She looks at me expectantly, obviously waiting for my affirmation of her blistering hatred of the Mage—an affirmation I would have supplied all too readily only weeks ago.

Inexplicably vexed, I turn away from Heelyn, my gaze drawn back to Trystan. The familiar storm of conflict rises.

He’s truly on our side.

It’s been clear from the first night he arrived, even as I fought to deny it, my Wyvern senses and power-empath abilities forcing me to confront the outrageously unexpected.

I struggle to beat back my doubts. The controversy surrounding the Gardnerian’s inclusion here is explosive. How could it not be? I fought against it as well—a Crow wanting to fight for the Eastern Realm, the grandson of the Black Witch no less.

How could that be right on any level?