The Primages bowed and murmured. “As you command, Most High.”

Vadim watched them depart with satisfaction. Once Garok learned what the mission was, he his cronies would pursue victory with every bit of might and determination they possessed, because a triumphant return from where they were headed would earn each of them the greatest jewels they’d ever fastened to their sashes—and a standing in the Mage Council that would catapult them into direct line for Eld’s Dark throne. Unfortunately for them, Rutan and a score of his most trusted Mages—all of whom Vadim had personally raised to the blue—had orders to ensure that Primages Garok, Fursk, and Mahl did not return from this mission alive.

Almost smiling, Vadim turned back to the table in the center of the room. “Ah, Vargus, you’ve got that tracker up. Excellent.”

The tracker was on a wide view, showing the Feyls, the Rhakis, and more than half of the Fading Lands. A pinpoint of light in the center of what should have been total darkness made his brows snap together. He lunged for the tracker, spinning the command to zoom in on that small flicker of light. When it did, he nearly screamed in triumph.

His hand closed around Vargus’s neck, and he bent low to hiss his commands in the startled Primage’s ear. “Contact Boura Fell. Get me every dahl’reisen in our service, all of my Black Guard, and every available Primage from Fell, Maur, Gorin, Kovis, and Loc. I want two thousand at least.”

Vargus cleared his throat. “Most of the Primages are already here, Master Maur, as you commanded them to be. There aren’t two thousand Primages left in the Bouras.”

“Then get me all you can. I’ll take Primages and Sulimages—even yellow-robes if that’s all there is. Pull every Mage off the Heras from Odol to Kovis. This is more important than protecting against anything that might come up the river. And get me that Celierian brute of mine… Brodson. I want them all here before twelve bells tomorrow, armed and ready for battle.”

He straightened and spun on his heel. “Kron, I’ll need that spell room of yours again.”

A bell later, Vadim’s consciousness was once more soaring through the night on threads of Azrahn, only this time it headed south, into Celieria.

Celieria ~ Allied Encampment

Ellysetta dreamed again of a ruined building and a secret, windowless room housing the dark mirror that began to glow silver-blue like Lord Hawksheart’s mirror pool in Elvia when she approached. As the phosphorescent surface began to swirl, the face of the stranger who somehow seemed so familiar appeared in the mirror’s depths. Blond hair billowed gently around the stern, Fey-beautiful masculine face.

She lifted her hands. Magic swirled around her fingertips in a bright glow, threads of gold and black weaving in a pattern she’d never seen before. The eyes of the man in the mirror went bright. He began to speak, but she couldn’t hear the words.

Suddenly, a dark shadow enveloped her and the world went dark. When she could see again, the scenes from vivid and familiar nightmares raced before her eyes. Herself, bound by heavy chains and clad in a green, boat-necked gown, standing beside a cowled Mage. Her sisters, Lillis and Lorelle, trapped in a pit and screaming for her to help them as a pack of snarling darrokken closed in for the kill.

And then, the most terrifying scene ever to haunt her nightmares: Rain, chained to a wall, as a knife drove deep into his chest. Rain, his dying eyes fixed upon her, as a sword severed his head. Lillis and Lorelle, their eyes black as night, dancing in the shower of his blood.

Ellysetta’s eyes flew open, and she came awake with a gasp. She sat up and lifted her hands, expecting to see them covered in Rain’s blood. Instead, she saw the spotless white linen of her nightgown with its soft lace cuffs. With a shuddering gasp, she buried her face in her hands. She wasn’t in some dark Mage fortress. Her sisters weren’t Mage-claimed and Rain wasn’t dead.

A dream, she told herself. It was only a dream.

But when she reached for Rain, needing to verify his safety, her searching hand encountered only cold, empty space.

Alarmed, she spun a swift Fire weave to light a candle lamp. The soft glow of light blossomed, revealing the rumpled pile of furs where Rain had been sleeping and the barren rack where he kept his steel at night. His war armor was missing—and so was he. «Rain? Where are you?»

Even before she finished the worried call, the tent flaps parted and he ducked inside, glowing silver and gold in his war steel. “Forgive me, shei’tani,” he apologized. “I didn’t mean to alarm you. I was just outside, trying to let you sleep as long as I could.”

Relief that he was here, and unharmed, left her drained. “It’s time?”

“Aiyah. The rest of the camp is already packed.”

Ellysetta ruthlessly banished the remnant terror from her nightmare. They were riding to war. She wouldn’t add her fears on Rain’s already overburdened shoulders. She rose without hesitation and spun her own armor and steel into place. “Then let’s go, shei’tan.”

In less than a handful of chimes, her lu’tan spun the bulk of the tent and its furnishings back to the elements, and condensed the rest into small, lightweight parcels for easy transport.

And then the Fey army began its march towards Orest and war.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Tairen roar a battle call

As warriors gather one and all.

Face the foe that now steps forward

With Fey’cha red and glinting sword.

To save the magic Fey of lore