Mystic Empire by Tracy Hickman

Author:Tracy Hickman
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780446559362
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Published: 2009-05-29T16:00:00+00:00

I am Arryk once more—the Arryk I was born to be as I stride into the city of the Sharaj—overjoyed that the power flows into me once more. The snows in the street gather around me, swirling as I pass into the courtyard.

I see my old friend—the wingless man—standing in the falling snow. I sign my greeting to him, desperate to connect with him, for the battle in the real world is upon me and I must strike quickly. I reach toward him . . .

FAERY TALES

BRONZE CANTICLES, TOME XIV, FOLIO 1, LEAF 53

“Please, Valana, you’ve got to stop!” Theona’s voice was unusually anxious as she pulled at her sister’s arm. The sands on the shore of the pool were black under the canopy of bright stars overhead. The waterfall, the people, the sky—everything was becoming alarmingly familiar to Theona. She had seen what was coming in her dream and desperately wanted to stop it.

Valana yanked her arm free. “Let me alone! I’m not going to let some selfish whelp ruin us!”

“No! You don’t understand what will happen!” Theona persisted. “I’ve seen it! Please; we’ve all got to get back to the village right now.”

“You’ve seen it?” Valana snapped. “Theona, this is mystic business—you wouldn’t understand—”

“I understand that you have to leave here right now,” Theona said more urgently. “Please listen to me!”

“No!” Valana said, pushing her sister away. “You might be afraid of this ‘prince of Arvad,’ but I’m not. I love you and you’ve always been a good sister to me, but you’re common. You don’t understand the Deep Magic and cannot possibly deal with the subtleties of this situation!”

“Which is exactly why I left!” Treijan shouted at Valana, standing in the shallow waters at the edge of the pool. “All this false glory and self-importance of position and rank and bloodlines—I’ve had enough of it! Do you know that one of my titles is Marshal of the Grand Mystic Armies—which is nothing more than presiding over parades? There hasn’t been a serious war involving the mystics in decades—not that our enemies wouldn’t like to change that. Right now the Pir Drakonis are stirring around in the Eastern Marches, trying their best to drum up a war, while our great Council keeps our soldiers marching up and down the streets of Calsandria because they fear each other more than the Pir. The army exists to keep them in power, so they make such a big deal about how grand it is to be safely under the protection of the Marshal of the Grand Mystic Armies! The courtiers are scrabbling over scraps and pretending it is all terribly meaningful when the only enemy they have is themselves!”

“Then change it!” Valana shouted back. “You’re the heir to the Arvad Dynasty—if you don’t like it, change it! If you’re so concerned about the empire, then do something about it!”

“I have my own reasons why—”

Treijan’s eyes suddenly rolled back into his head. His body stiffened as his hands splayed outward.

“Oh, no!” Gaius rushed forward, the waters of the pool spraying about his footfalls.

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