WITHIN THE CONFINES of his unseen garden, Nyalis opened his eyes.
He could feel a trembling in the Life Web. An awakening of something dark that had, until now, remained dormant for centuries, for millennia.
They found the grimoire.
Across his small sanctuary there in the heart of Y’tarra—the realm between realms, hidden to both world and time—the old wizard strode to
the ancient reliquary. Up the steps he climbed into the fallen ruins, stopping in front of a large obsidian basin, built into the top of a white-marble dais.
Around the bowl’s outer edge were runes etched in gold. They were glowing. Inside the basin, the Waters of A’sterith stirred and Nyalis gazed upon the images summoned. They were dark, full of violence and death.
“Worse, they have conjured a transformation. Fools! Do they not know the power they are meddling with?”
He wiped his hand across the silvery water, clearing the dark foretelling before spinning back around. His white hair stirred like a mantle behind him as he moved toward the edge of the platform and looked out over his garden oasis, the lush colors that carpeted the ground, the violet blooms that laced the low-hanging branches of the surrounding willows, the slowly moving stream that hugged the outer edge, and beyond, the massive wall of protective trees, so thick he couldn’t see past the first few rows.
He took a deep breath and sighed. “The board is now set and the first move made.”
Nyalis could feel the abrupt stirring of the waters behind him. He turned and walked back to the basin. There was a presence rising. Leaning over the edge, he peered inside. “I know you are watching.” Nyalis leveled his hands over the placid liquid, causing the sleeves of his robe to retract past his wrists. He whispered into the silence. “Iryseth a’ Daomon.”
Lowering his arms, Nyalis took a step back and waited. From over the rim the Waters of A’sterith rose and took shape, its thick silvery liquid molded into the contour of a hooded cloak. There was no face, no hands, no
feet. Only darkness rested beneath its folds, for which Nyalis was well aware as he waited for the apparition to retake its corporeal form.
“I see the years have not been kind to you, Nyalis, last of the wizards?” The booming voice rose out from under its fluid robe, filling the small glen with its echo.
“Ah, my dear Aerodyne, where else but from you could I find such a jousting of wit.”
“You mock me, wizard?”
“I mock what you have become,” Nyalis said with a sharp gesture toward the basin. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”
“You will speak differently soon enough.”
Nyalis didn’t respond. Instead, he studied his opponent with careful scrutiny. The thick fluid continued to roll across the shadow’s formation, much like honey as it courses down its comb, collecting at the bottom. The shade shifted slightly, causing a momentary change in the liquid’s path. “Why do you keep the child hidden from me, Nyalis? Even from here I can sense the stirring of his power. You know I will find him eventually.”
“Perhaps.”
“You cannot keep me bound forever.” The image slid forward in the basin. “The confinement spells are weakening. They are eroding. You know this is true. What will become of your precious humans then, with you no longer there to direct them, to protect them?” He raised the empty arm of
his robe. “Shall I tell you, Nyalis? Shall I tell you all the wonderful details of what I am going to do with them once I have been freed?”
The thought of Aerodyne being loosed on the world once more was frightening. To his regret, Nyalis knew the dark wizard spoke the truth. The protective barrier holding the dark wizard’s essence had begun to deteriorate. It had been over a thousand years since the wizard covenant
was established. Countless wizards had sacrificed their lives in the creation of the barrier. It was built as a prison deep beneath the Pits of Aran’gal. A place known only to the Wizard Order. Its name in the Fae tongue was Taerin nu’Cyllian—Tomb of the Abandoned.
“They may yet surprise you.”
“Hah! Their minds are weak and pliable. They will serve me before the end.”
“Almost a thousand years and yet you have not changed.”
“Oh, but I have.” Aerodyne turned and lifted the sleeves of his robe. “I am no longer bound by flesh and bone. I am truly immortal.”
“But at what cost?” Nyalis took a step forward. “Every choice has a consequence as the Creator designed, and I fear yours has cost you
everything.”
“Is that empathy I detect in your voice?” Aerodyne’s tone held a hint of sarcasm, mingled with loathing. “Hah! Your feelings are wasted on me,
wizard.”
“That wasn’t always so. There was a time when I would have called you . . . friend.”
The silvery phantom slid back toward the center of the basin. “Those times are no more.”
Nyalis watched as the former First Wizard sank beneath the rim, leaving the Waters of A’sterith to lie dormant once again. The gold runes faded.
If there was one thing Nyalis agreed with the dark wizard on, it was that time was indeed running out.
