Now, however, a few snowflakes swirled on the breeze. They had an odd bluish tint to them.
It’s working!Bryn thought and recited her spell with even more focus.
More blue-tinged snow blew in from the arena’s open arches. Though it landed harmlessly on the casters’ hair and clothing, the wolf began to spasm when touched by the magical snow. It twitched several times, then gave a contorted yawn.
As they chanted, more of the enchanted snow blew in. As it collected in the wolf’s fur, the beast curled up in the bottom of the cage. It yawned again and then seemed to fall asleep. Its body gave another few twitches, and then with a strange sigh, the beast stopped moving entirely.
Elysander, watching from the side, ducked beneath Valenden and Bryn’s clasped hands and ran to the cage. With a knife in hand out of caution, she reached in to test the wolf’s breath. She peeled open one of its eyes.
“It’s dead!” Elysander confirmed. “Dead, and back to normal, too. No more black eyes or black tongue.”
An excited murmur spread throughout the crowd, but Bryn shushed them urgently. “Keep chanting! We must ensure all the wolves are put to sleep!”
Clasping hands again, the group returned to their spell with even more enthusiasm. Bryn could hear shouts from outside the arena as Ardmoor’s townspeople remarked on the strange blue snow.
Finally, a cloud rolled over the moon, and Bryn stopped as exhaustion overtook her. The other casters, also tired, dropped hands with one another. Bryn pressed her hand to her throat, raw from having chanted for so long.
Rangar supported her, looking at her with concern. “You wore yourself out.”
“I’m fine.” Her voice was hoarse.
Valenden looked out the high arches at the night sky, where the final snowflakes were swirling down. “Do you think it worked over all the Eyrie?”
The spell Ren had come up with created an enchanted snowfall that would put the berserkir wolves to sleep—then quietly to death—while not harming people or livestock. Only creatures affected by the original spell would be affected by the snow. And though snow never occurred in the southern kingdoms, it would today. It would cover every glen and mountain and field of the Eyrie until every last berserkir wolf lay curled and still on the ground, covered in bluish flakes.
Bryn looked up at the sky, feeling a flutter of hope in her chest. “We’ll have to find out,” she said, “but the wind is whispering to me that we won.”
Chapter 43
THE MAGE QUEEN . . . blue snowfall . . . finally home . . . an end to terror . . . a new beginning
Bryn saw the results of the Ardmoor gathering with her own eyes as their traveling party made their way back north to the Baersladen. The faintly bluish snowfall blanketed every inch of road and forest within eyesight, even to the distant mountains that gleamed with the bluish cast. By the second day of their return journey, when they reached the Vil-Kevi border, the snow had mostly melted. And yet when they stopped at The Chestnut Inn to rest, the mood couldn’t be more different than it had been on their previous visit.
Instead of somber diners distrustful of anything with a whiff of magic, the patrons in the inn’s tavern buzzed excitedly.
As Bryn, Rangar, and Valenden took their seats—in plain traveling clothes to hide their titles—while the guards patrolled outside, the old innkeeper came up with rounds of ale. “On the house!” she declared.
“I’ve never known inns to give away ale for free, good madam,” Valenden said. “What is the occasion?”
“Mester Harrow, one of our foragers, found a den of those monstrous berserkir wolves in the forest—dead! All of them! Asleep and cold as ice! And that’s not all; we’ve heard similar stories from nearby villages.”
Bryn couldn’t hide her smile. “I’m so relieved to hear that.”
“Could it be the berserkir attacks are finished?” the innkeeper speculated.
Bryn touched her chest in a sign of hope. “Let us pray to the gods and Saints alike that is so.”
The innkeeper leaned in conspiratorially. “Word reached us too about the decree for the free use of magic. By the Saints, you best believe I’m going to learn a hex or two! I’ve needed more help since my grandchildren moved away, and I thought to myself, why can’tIsee what magic can do?”
“As well you should,” Rangar said. “Last time we came through here, your patrons did not appear to be supporters of magic.”
“Oh, pish.” She made apfftsound. “Then they don’t have to practice it, do they? But this is good for the rest of us. The town’s leaders are discussing setting up lessons for the villagers to learn the rudimentary hexes. Apparently, there was a witch living in secret just three towns away! Can you believe it? Now that she doesn’t have to hide her abilities anymore, she’s going to teach others.”
“We are glad,” Bryn said and meant every word.
Sure enough, once they returned to the road and crossed into the Baersladen lands, they were met with more reports of berserkir wolves found dead in forests and fields. By the time they reached Elderwall, they hadn’t seen a “No Magic” sign in miles. They stopped at the dairy farm to greet Jonnah and let the horses rest, where the farmer’s two little girls brought them pitchers of warm, creamy milk.
“And you haven’t had more berserkir attacks, I take it?” Rangar asked.
