A War of Wizards: Book Five of the Blackwood Saga by Layton Green

Author:Layton Green [Green, Layton]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Cloaked Traveler Press
Published: 2021-02-28T16:00:00+00:00

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After returning from Temmenily Ayawet, Caleb met with his advisors in a bower of live oaks. The morning sunlight barely penetrated the canopy, and sheets of Spanish moss hung from the muscular branches of the trees. A startling variety of bird life chirped in the forest. The damp air smelled of moss and ferns. Though winter, it was still warm enough in the southern clime of the Fifth Protectorate to wear a light cloak.

No one knew what to make of the strange and mystical journey from the Ninth Protectorate to a forest less than two dozen miles from the city limits of New Victoria. Not in his wildest dreams did Caleb imagine they would end up that close.

On the one hand, he considered it a gift. His ultimate goal—making Lord Alistair pay for his actions—was now within reach.

Or was it? Being within spitting distance of the Congregation scared the bejesus out of him, not only from the imminent peril to his own life, but for the lives of those who had followed him across a continent.

“We’ve traveled too far, too fast,” Tamás said. The revolutionary was pacing back and forth, his long hair unbound and his face dark with worry. “I was counting on gathering support along the way.”

“Enough support to fight the Congregation?” Lance said. “A few thousand more oath avoiders are hardly going to make a difference. From what I’ve heard, maybe a few hundred thousand won’t.”

“Truth,” the Brewer said, strumming a chord on the silver-stringed lyre from Temmenily Ayawet. The instrument had the purest sound Caleb had ever heard.

“Are you advocating for a retreat?” Yasmina asked Tamás. A yellow songbird was perched on the wilder’s shoulder while her harpy eagle stalked the canopy.

“What purpose would that serve?” Tamás muttered. “It’s genocide in the Ninth, and genocide here.”

“Not when the Coffer returns,” The Prophet said calmly, sitting cross-legged on a bed of moss in the center of the grove.

“Maybe, maybe not,” Tamás said, his voice rising, “but the Congregation has the Coffer!”

The Prophet pushed to his feet. “Have faith, my brother. Have you not born witness to the events that have befallen us on this journey? A divine hand is surely at work.” He turned to Caleb. “I need to attend to my followers and calm their nerves with prayer. I trust you will send if you need me?”

Caleb waved a hand in dismissal. Since the beginning of time, to further their own interests, people had claimed to be special, or favored by their god—right until a stronger army or civilization wiped them off the face of the planet.

After the Prophet left, Tamás stopped pacing and crossed his arms. “The Congregation surely knows of our presence by now. They’ll never tolerate an armed force so close to New Victoria. The only question is whether they’ll arrest us all and shove us in the Fens—or kill every last one of us.”

“But you knew this when we started,” Yasmina said. “What changed, other than the proximity of the enemy?”

“We had more time for a miracle.

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