The Offspring (Children of Cain book 2)

Prologue

The crowd made it difficult for her to see the two magicians as they battled for the throne of Wicca. She couldn’t risk being seen here so she stayed back a foot or two. She had as much right to be in attendance as anyone else, if not more. After all, her future happiness relied heavily on the outcome of this duel. Still, she didn’t want to raise any suspicion later, so the lady tried to blend into the jeering crowd, the hood of her plain-black cape drawn low to cover her face.

            To look at them they were equally attractive, she thought. Both men were in their early twenties, both of muscular builds, handsome and intimidating. However, one wore black and was slightly taller. His green eyes blazed with furry and frustration as he quickly blocked another ball of fire aimed at his chest with a counter spell.  Onan’s fiery-red hair, tousled and matted with blood, kept falling into his eyes, his black headscarf lost some time ago during the feud.

His opponent, Deverick Hawthorne--the rightful heir to the Throne--was clad all in white. Looking as calm and unstoppable as a warm morning sunrise, Deverick kept advancing on his so-called friend, hurtling a barrage of magical missiles from his fingertips while simultaneouslyblocking Onan’s defensive strikes. Clearly Deverick had the upper hand. His black curly locks were slightly damp with sweat. She had noticed earlier that his bare feet were cracked and bleeding but otherwise he was unscathed.

Onan ducked and rolled away from Deverick to block an orb of fire. It hit the ground where he had stood with a boom, leaving a gaping hole in the smoldering earth. The crowd both cheered and cursed in response.

Springing back to his feet, Onan shouted an enchantment and flung out one hand toward his friend who was still advancing. Suddenly from Onan’s palm shot forth a bolt of lightning; a white streak of light more blinding than the noon day sun. Without even a thought, Deverick glided sideways, the bolt of light missing him by half a foot.

Even though Onan was outmatched, he had impressively held up against the stronger Warlock for almost two hours, the lady observed. However, she feared it may only be a matter of time before exhaustion caused him to let down his guard. In that moment he would die, his chance at being King lost along with his very life.

The dark-clad lady gasped, seeing the ground behind the redheaded man move as if alive. The dirt turned and rolled into a large mound, as he unknowingly walked backward toward it. Deverick sent out a gust of wind and an orb of light at once, the spells igniting from his out-stretched palms. Forced to move backward, Onan suddenly found his foot caught in the enchanted dirt beneath him. The animated soil began to climb up his body, engulfing him.

Trapped, Onan could not move out of the way of the magical projectiles headed toward him. Crying out in defiance, he put all his strength into one last spell. With arms outstretched and palms shaped like a fan, he braced himself for impact. When Deverick’s magic hit him, it suddenly absorbed into his palms, his skin glowing white hot. Onan’s face contorted with strain, clearly struggling to control the power. Then, suddenly, the light burst forth from his hands, shooting back to the man who made it.

Onan laughed triumphantly just before the ground covered his chest and arms, leaving only his head in view. He watched with wide-eyed anticipation as his last defense struck Deverick square in the chest.

His opponent screamed in agony as the light and the wind pushed through him as if the sheer force of it might tear him apart. Deverick lurched and then doubled over, falling to his knees, his head dropping to touch the ground. His body seemed shuddered, his breaths labored. Tension hung around the battlegrounds as thick and oppressive as a humid fog. Suddenly the lady wished she could forgo the heavy cloak to escape the dread pressing down upon her. The audience around her seemed to feel as she did yet no one dared move an inch.