Whyborne & Griffon, Tome 9 : Draakenwood

The gale screamed through the clearing. The trees bent low, trunks groaning. Branches snapped off and flew through the air, and tiny bits of bark and lichen pelted my skin. The sorcerers shouted in alarm, their cloaks and hoods whipping around them. Half the torches went out, and the others guttered madly.

“What the devil is this?” Stanford shouted.

“Keep chanting, damn you!

”Whyborne strode into the clearing. No—the maelstrom did.

My heart nearly stopped at the sight. The power of the arcane line poured through Ival, turning him from a candle flame to an arc light. The sleeve of his shirt had charred away over his scars, and they boiled with blue fire. His eyes blazed like twin stars.

He was beautiful and terrible as a god, and if I had not already given him my heart and soul, I would have done so at that instant.

“You,” Stanford snarled. “How dare you interrupt?”

Ival’s stride didn’t falter. He moved with a determined gait, as if the very ground belonged to him. As though nothing and no one could possibly stand against the force of his will. “I dare,” he said in the voice of something ancient. “And I will dare a great dealmore.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a shadow detach from the trees behind us. Rupert Endicott crouched in front of the cage of roots holding Heliabel and Niles. He drew out a wand, and I saw the spark of magic, invisible to anyone else.

“You’re nothing,” Stanford said to Ival. “A coward, who stole what was rightfully mine.

”Whyborne laughed, and the sound sent a thrill along my nerves. “I am the maelstrom. You imagine yourself capable of controlling me? I will burn you from the inside out, until there is nothing left but ash on the wind.”

Stanford’s eyes bugged from his head. “Destroy him!”