Wylde Magic | Book 3

Sixty Five: The Pinnacle Of Magic (part 3)

Bile rose in my throat as I ran down the uneven ground.

"Wren, wait!" Purda called, but I had already left her behind me. The infirmary needed her, and the battlefield needed me.

The rock and roots woven through the earth of the lost elven city stuck out and threatened to trip me with every step. But I had to reach the ice peak that had just erupted beyond the trees.

Ice meant DuVarick. Possibly Schula, though I wouldn't have thought her abilities, though strong, could produce such a thing without her tirquetram by her side. Unless Spaulder...?

I glanced to the far side of the field where a fierce black dragon was wreaking havoc on a surge of Bara Khalja's risen minions emerging from the forest.

No, Spaulder wasn't with her, so the more likely culprit was the Winter king himself. Still, Schula could be close and my gut instincts feared that Nassir would be there as well. It was a conflict I knew was coming, though I still dreaded it. Nassir had changed, the moment Teyber uttered the words that sentenced Bara Khalja to Nassir's wrath back in Eidelhein. And the closer we drew to the Wyldes, the more fierce Nassir's rage to our enemies grew. He wasn't even trying to hide it anymore.

But still, his own triquetram. Even if Spaulder or Schula betrayed me, a foreign enough thought as it is, I couldn't imagine fighting them.

As I passed the open pit of disturbed earth and ancient bones now mending themselves together to stand again under the warlock's command, I saw the forces that had arrived to participate in the fight. Eberon led the newly arrived Autumn court to the conflict, as did king Diamid and the Spring forces. Many of the elven children were now mingled within as well, and a few witches were scattered about in small groups as they fought, moved, and mended what they could trying to sway the battle in our favor. But that would be difficult with an enemy that didn't react to having a limb cut off or flesh burned away. The only thing that could be done is to destroy them completely.

Past the earth and bones and dark magic, I broke into the trees near where the ice had erupted toward the sky. It grew cold. Impossibly cold, even for the early winter days we had been having. My steps slowed as ice began to encrust the plants and trees around me. I had to walk carefully so as not to fall. Going as quickly as was safe, I finally reached where an opening had been made as a circle of trees had been felled from a blast of power. In the center of the fallen trees was the mountainous shard of ice that jutted above the forest. At the base of it was DuVarick, holding a white form by her neck. Her hands were clutching at the mad king's around her throat.

"Schula!" I screamed, throwing out a hand to attack with purple witch fire. DuVarick 

He dropped one of his hands from Schula's throat and a sheet of ice shot up from the ground to form a wall between him and my attack. As my fire struck and melted the shield, his eyes were set on me. His clothes were tattered, his appearance that of someone who just clawed his way out of a landslide. I saw none of his army around him, only the ice, the mad king, and his scorned daughter.

"Lark, why did you betray me?" His voice was dark, dangerous, wounded, and completely serious.

Lark. His lost triquetram. His lost love. I looked the spitting image of my mother except for my father's gray eyes. Everyone said so, and if DuVarick's mind was as irrevocably corrupted as everyone thought it was, it was no wonder he believed I was his lost love.

My eyes flicked to Schula who now seemed to be able to breathe, though she was still at DuVarick's mercy hanging in the air by her throat.

"Put her down, DuVarick," I said, straining to keep my voice level. Maybe if he really thought I was Lark, even for a moment, he would listen to some reason. "She did nothing wrong."