CHAPTER ONE
Magical Realm
Thick, black smoke billowed down the hallway. Nyanda’s skirts tangled about her calves; she lifted them, the scuff-and-slap of her slippers on stone lost in the din as she raced to a window. Bright shards of stained glass littered the floor, the elegant depiction of a lion and a rose she’d passed every day for the past twenty seasons now nothing more than shimmering gaudy wreckage. She stepped through the rubble, rough stone abrading her palms as she leaned out the window, her grip on the sill rigid.
Clash! Clang!Metal rang against metal down below. Swords, knives, farming tools. Whatever weapon came to hand. Screams of anguish rose from the castle courtyard, chased to the sky in a shower of sparks. Flames engulfed the buildings beyond. As far as the eye could see, thatched-roof cottages formed bonfires against the darkness—a nightmare world.
Myrgren, the jewel of the mountains, ablaze. Seasons upon seasons of preparations. Gone!
Acrid smoke stung Nyanda’s eyes, seared her nostrils. She conjured a magical veil, sealing the fumes from her face. Better. Much better, though heat continued to batter every bit of exposed skin. She couldn’t spare the effort for a full-body shield.
Fairies darted past, streaking through the broken window for the forest. Bah. Fairies. Dine on the finest foods at the king’s table; run at the first sign of trouble.
Or maybe not the first sign.
Gargoyles broke free from the roof with a succession of sharp cracks, gliding away into the darkness on outstretched wings. They were no help against such a force. They’d bend their stony knees and swear allegiance to the enemy the moment the battle ended.
Fickle beasts.
Nyanda lost the option of surrendering when she’d thrown her lot in with the Myrgrenian king. This land oozed magic. Magical creatures flocked here to bask in the energy—energy she’d harnessed. But, since she’d learned to use the land, enemies would have to kill her to claim its strength for their own.
How could this have happened? Rival sorcerers were no match for her powers. She narrowed her eyes. They’d chosen the wrong kingdom to attack.
“Come to me,” she intoned. Staring past the carnage, she focused all her might on the summoning spell. Snow. Rain. Either would do. Dark, boiling clouds yielded no moisture. Why wouldn’t the heavens answer?
Drat King Umbri’s sorcerer. Aberfrer’s power paled to hers. He must have learned to isolate her from the wellspring far under the earth. How many mages gave their lives to enhance his power? Had he found a familiar to amplify his abilities, cut Nyanda’s ties to the magical flow pirouetting beneath the castle?
She’d not risen to her lofty position as Tirra Neu’s greatest sorceress without a familiar of her own. If she stood no hope of winning the battle, she’d escape with her life.
“Chynne!” she shrieked, voice lost in the winds. “Chynne, come to me.” Nothing. No cry of outrage. No glowing red eyes. No comforting voice in her head.
Where had the faithless creature gone? He should have returned by now.
Nyanda closed her eyes, throwing her strength into reaching out. “Chynne! Come! I need you!” No familiar mind reached back. No scaled head pierced the mist.
This should have been her moment of triumph, not defeat! Well, the enemy underestimated her if they thought she hadn’t planned for the worst.
Pounding echoed from below. Nyanda leaned farther over the window ledge. A battering ram she’d not sensed till the mighty oaken beam hit the castle doors. The enemy had dampened her powers. They might as well have blinded her. With their forces defeated and Nyanda unable to summon aid, Myrgren would soon fall.
She refused to abandon plans put into motion long ago. If she couldn’t succeed one way, she’d find another.
Darting back the way she’d come, she passed a maid in the hallway. “Bring my son to the tower this instant.”
The maid’s face went white, yet the pitiful creature managed to fumble a curtsy. “Y… yes, my lady.”
No time to waste coddling the weak-minded. “Now!”
The timid mouse fled. Of course, the servants feared Lady Nyanda Gimitri. She could destroy the silly git with a single thought.
But not defeat an army.
Nyanda took the stairs two at a time, gripping the handrail to pull herself along. Finally, she flung open the tower door and stormed inside. Preparations. So many preparations to make.
She brushed past her ornately carved canopy bed, ignoring the jewels laid out on a table by her ladies’ maid for the coming day. Possibly Nyanda’s last day. Only cowardly bastards attacked at night.
A wardrobe sat across from the bed. Embroidered tapestries draped the walls; sumptuous rugs covered the floor, barely fighting back the ever-present chill. For a low-born lass, she’d amassed enormous wealth in the mountain king’s service.
What did she need? Gold. Certainly gold. Jewels. Her grimoire. She couldn’t let her innermost thoughts fall into enemy hands.