The griffins were faster than the pegasus, and by noon we had reached our destination. The sun was high in the azure sky as we descended into a clearing within the thickly forested southern range of the Wildflower Mountains. The cold wind bit through my clothes, and the ground was wet and muddy from the melting overnight frost. The winter had not abated, though spring was creeping closer. Still, Elfi was far warmer than the northern kingdoms; the temperatures in lands like Andrysia and Kelliandria were well below freezing in the winter months.
The training camp was in full swing. Everywhere, fae of all shapes and sizes trained with swords and shields, staffs, bows, spears, and other deadly looking weapons. The clash of steel and the smell of sweat filled the air as High Fae moved among the warriors and inspected the rigorous training. Demi-fae were the bulk of the army; they had been recruited from all over the kingdom along with fae creatures like centaurs, nymphs, and other elementals.
Tristan had told me that when they came of age, the best warriors in the towns and villages were sent to these camps, which were situated all over the Wildflower Mountains at regular intervals. They were then trained and recruited as soldiers and sent back to their respective courts, where they either joined the grand duke’s guard or army. The best of these were recruited to defend the Royal Court and the city of Iris.
In one corner of the clearing a group of dryad warriors, tree maidens with green skin and flowing hair, practiced archery with the centaurs and satyrs. Many of the warriors stopped training and turned to look at us as we flew into the camp.
“The latest sighting of the werewraiths was nearest this camp.” Tristan jumped off the griffin and helped me dismount. “I will talk to the commander and find out what I can. In the meantime—” he paused, looking at Cade, “—take her to the guest lodgings. I will meet you there.” He stalked off into the crowd of training warriors, who quickly moved out of the way to let the Dark Prince of the Night Court through. In the training camps he was more than a legend, the greatest fire-fae warrior of the Elite Guard. I noticed many of them whispering in hushed, awed voices as their eyes followed him around the camp.
Cade led me to the far end of the clearing. Mud and rock gave way to the surrounding forest, at the edge of which rested a few small stone houses, lodgings for the warriors. Tents were also laid out among the trees, as the camps were getting more crowded because of new recruits brought in to train for the upcoming war.
The little stone house Cade led me to was rustic to say the least. Four wooden pallets lay on the cold stone floors, covered with blankets and furs, and a small fire flickered in the fireplace. I moved closer to warm my hands. It was a dismal blaze; I shot a small fire strike at the dying embers, the flames roaring to life.
“Much better,” said Cade. “Mage magic is definitely useful for a few things.”
I had learned during my time here that the magical fire of the fae was different in that it couldn’t create a living flame as mages could. Silver fire burned as much and could destroy demons, but it couldn’t produce the warmth of a real fire and a golden flame.
The next night we sat by the flickering fire in the tiny cottage, warming ourselves after a long day trying to track the werewraiths through the forest. “They must have moved on,” Tristan said, putting his sword to the side as he packed a small saddlebag. “The camp commander says there is another camp close by that was attacked; we will check it out next.”
Just then I heard a commotion outside.
Tristan jumped up, his sword in his hand, and rushed out of the door toward the sound. I grabbed my sword and followed him as the commander of the training camp charged up to him.
“Your Grace,” he shouted, his face flushed. “Your Grace, the temple on the south face of the mountain has been attacked by werewraiths. The patrols just came in. Half my men are dead.”
“Let’s go,” Tristan growled, glancing at me.
The griffins were waiting, and Cade had already mounted. I jumped up and Tristan followed, settling himself behind me on the back of the enormous beast.
“The centaurs are already on their way there,” shouted the commander as the griffin crouched, spread its massive wings, and shot into the sky.
“Werewraiths would never attack a temple of the Great Goddess on their own. They are being controlled by someone, a powerful spirit-fae,” said Tristan in my ear as we flew over the forested mountains, down to the southern slopes.
“Who could it be?” I shouted over the sound of the wind. “And why target the temples?”
“When they were randomly attacking training camps, I wasn’t so sure what they were after,” said Tristan, his breath warming my neck. “The training camps are situated in such a way as to guard the temples. Now I know what they want.”
“What is it? What do they want that the priestesses have?”
“The Fae Codex,” said Tristan flatly as the griffins flew lower toward a great stone structure covered in vines and creepers, jutting out through the towering trees.
I heard a blood-curdling scream from the forest, and a great roar followed. The two griffins swooped down toward it and landed in front of the temple. Cade and Tristan had already jumped off before we reached the ground.
I focused my power and jumped right after Tristan, landing on my feet nimbly as a cat. I took off my amulet, my fae senses taking over as my powers blazed to the surface. Unsheathing my sword from the scabbard on my back, I ran to the temple. Screams and snarls came from inside, and I practically flew
