The Swordmage Trilogy Bundle, Volumes 1-3 (26 page)

Tia gaped at him, momentarily at a loss for words. “Wynn! Did you just make a joke?”

“Depends. Was it funny?”

Tia laughed. “Yeah. Yeah, it was.”

“Then I guess so.” Wynn ducked his head as one of the clerics shot him a sour glance. It wasn’t hard to decipher that look. “You need to rest, Tia,” he said, passing along the unspoken message.

“I think that’s a good idea.” She sighed. “Will you stay with me?”

“Of course.”

Wynn watched over her until she fell into a fitful sleep. He dozed in the chair beside her bed. He woke when she woke, slept when she slept, and ate when she ate. In between, they pointedly did not talk about the relic or the attack.

When the sun went down, one of the healers brought Wynn a cot. It was hard and narrow, but it let him remain at Tia’s side. He lay down, and eventually, fell into a fitful sleep.

* * *

“Twice! Twice the vermin wench has beaten the warriors of the Chosen. It is shameful. A disgrace! An outrage!”

Zarfensis remained silent. He knew that it was better for Xenir to burn off his anger and frustration through vitriol rather than try to answer any of his heated comments. In truth, Zarfensis felt much the same way and he knew that Chrin had had some harsh words for the Warleader when they had returned to the Warrens.

In fact, the only thing that tempered the High Priest’s rage was the small piece of living stone that he held in his belt pouch. It was an unexpected, but incredibly valuable gift. The girl could have slaughtered Chrin and the rest of the warriors and it would have been worth the losses. A gargoyle! Zarfensis doubted the vermin knew what a treasure they had held in their reliquary.

“Well?” The Warleader was obviously waiting for an answer to a question that Zarfensis hadn’t heard. Xenir stood, gripping the edge of the table with extended claws, glaring at the High Priest. It would do no one any good to provoke the Warleader, so rather than show that he hadn’t been paying much attention to the tirade, he took a different path.

“You are absolutely correct, Warleader. It is a shameful disgrace. However, what if I told you that even being subjected to such dishonor, the Chosen came out of the entire encounter with the advantage?”

“How?” The Warleader was plainly skeptical.

“We have this,” Zarfensis replied, taking the stone fingertip from his belt pouch and laying it on the table between them.

Xenir glanced at the stone, then to Zarfensis, and back again. He shook his head slowly.

“You mock me? We lose four of our warriors to the vermin and yet you mock me?” The Warleader’s voice had grown in volume until the end of his sentence was little more than an ear-splitting roar.

The High Priest spread his hands, palms up, a gesture of supplication. “I mock no one, Warleader. Not you, and not the memory of our fallen brothers. This is no simple stone,” he said, tapping the table with one claw. “What lies here before you is incredibly valuable. Its appearance is deceiving.”

“Then what is it?”

“The living finger stone of a gargoyle.”

Again, the Warleader looked from the High Priest to the stone and back. Xenir picked up the stone and turned it over in his palm. His tongue flicked out, circling his maw. His ears twitched in agitation.

“You have the living stone of a gargoyle?”

“It was a happy coincidence, to be sure. I’d be lying if I said otherwise. However, we do have it. The sacrifice of our brothers was great, but so was the reward that came from our endeavor.”

Xenir dropped the stone back to the table as if it had burned him. “So what do we do with it?”

“We find the relic and ensure that we get to it before the girl or any of the other vermin.”

Without waiting for Xenir to ask any more questions, Zarfensis took the gargoyle’s finger and cupped it in his massive hands. As he spoke the ancient words of power, calling on the forces of the sphere, he felt the stone vibrate in his hands. He pressed the fingertip to the wall of the council room and watched as it melted into the stone. Xenir rumbled deep in this throat, but Zarfensis ignored him.

The cavern began to tremble and the two Xarundi had to brace themselves against the table to keep from being knocked over. The shifting of the walls and floor was enough to unnerve even Zarfensis, so he could forgive the stink of fear wafting off the Warleader.

A moment later, the earthquake stopped and an area of the council room wall began to glow with the reddish-orange color of molten rock. As they watched, the molten area became larger, eventually spreading from the ceiling to the floor. A face formed in the center of the glowing mass and pushed outward into the room, extruding itself. Arms and legs appeared next, as the gargoyle hauled itself out of the fissure. The opening closed behind it, leaving only the stifling air in the room and the odor of charred stone in its wake.

“High Priest. Warleader.” The gargoyle nodded to both Xarundi.

“How did you--” Xenir blurted, but the gargoyle cut him off.

“The stone hears all, and we hear the stone, Warleader. Please forgive my brusqueness, but our time is short. The moon’s rays do not reach us here. My name is unspeakable by your race, so you may address me as Sleeper.”

“Sleeper,” Zarfensis said with a respectful half bow. “We wish to know--”

“The location of the relic which you seek, so that you might obtain it before the humans.”

“Yes.”

“I must commune with the stone,” Sleeper replied, stretching out his hands and caressing the rock as one would touch a lover. His touch lingered here and there, tracing lines and striations in the wall as he mumbled to himself in a language Zarfensis had never heard.

“Yes,” Sleeper said. “The stone remembers. It remembers many relics the Chosen have sought over many hundreds of years. You seek one relic, a special relic, buried in snow and ice.”

“Yes!” Xenir’s skepticism seemed to have waned at the mention of the relic from his vision. “That is the relic I saw!”

“The stone remembers. Many Xarundi have sought this relic.”

“My great grand-sire among them, Sleeper.” Zarfensis was nearly as excited as Xenir. “Can you show us where it is?”

“I can show you what the stone remembers.” Sleeper took his hands from the rock and traced a series of symbols on the wall with one stony finger. The traced sigils glowed bright orange on the dark stone before they seemed to take on a life of their own. The symbols spread out, twisting and writhing across the wall. A mountain range of tiny little spikes grew from the stone. In other areas, the stone dropped away, leaving deep valleys and wide expanses of emptiness.

It took Zarfensis a moment to realize that what was forming before them was a map of Solendrea. Xenir’s startled yelp from behind him satisfied the High Priest that the Warleader had come to the same conclusion. Sleeper tapped his finger deep in a rocky range of hills.

“This is the area you call the Warrens.” Sleeper traced a circle with his finger and the area began to glow with a pale orange luminescence. He traced a line from the Warrens, zigzagging up through the clan lands and into the icy wastes far to the north. Farther north than the Xarundi had ever explored.

“Here,” Sleeper said, tapping the spot where his finger had stopped. “Here is the place you will find your relic. Beware, the thing you seek is ancient and powerful. Perhaps more powerful than you can control.”

Zarfensis stared at the map, trying to commit every detail to memory. Xenir had the presence of mind to grab a scrap of parchment from the scroll case and was rapidly scratching out a crude replica of what was displayed on the wall before them. Xenir gave an inarticulate cry as the map began to fade into the same glow that Sleeper had emerged from.

The gargoyle stepped into the molten rock, his body half consumed by the unlikely portal, he inclined his head toward Zarfensis.

“Farewell, High Priest of the Xarundi. Our alliance is concluded. Thank you, again, for freeing me from the humans.”

Without another word, he vanished into the stone, the molten portal sealing behind him.

Zarfensis turned to see Xenir standing over a crude, but mostly complete, replica of the map Sleeper had drawn for them.

“It’s real,” Xenir whispered. “It’s real and we know where to look for it.”

“This is it?” Tia had tried to keep the disappointment from her voice. She knew Wynn was excited to bring her here, but somehow, she had expected something much more impressive.

The gate room was small, nondescript, and much plainer than Tia would have imagined. Maybe fifteen feet square, the only remarkable feature of the room was the gate itself. A ring of standing stones about waist high and twelve feet in diameter. A wizened old man sat on a bench in one corner of the room, wiping down a tin bucket with a scrap of cloth. Wynn looked hurt and Tia felt a stab of contriteness. She had asked to come, the least she could do was be polite.

“I’m sorry, Wynn.” Her grin was sheepish. “I was just expecting something a little more...”

“Something more magical and sparkly?”

Tiadaria laughed. “Yes, something more magical and sparkly.”

“Well, when someone is coming through, it gets a little more interesting. Then you might find it appropriately impressive.”

“Is Blackbeach the only other place with a gate?”

“That I know of.” Wynn nodded. “Although, I’m told that the order wanted to put one in Dragonfell, but the king wouldn’t allow it.”

“That doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.” Tiadaria wrinkled her nose. “Heron is a great man and a good friend, but he has some strange notions about quintessentialists and magic in general.”

Wynn stared at her for a moment before he was able to speak again. “So you’re on a first name basis with the One True King?”

“No.” She faltered when he quirked an eyebrow at her. “Well, yes, but it’s not like that. We, uh, found ourselves thrown together by circumstance.”

The look Wynn gave her seemed to say that that particular circumstance was just about as likely as a dragon popping up in the gate room, but he said nothing.

“So,” Tia continued, filling the awkward silence. “If there is near instantaneous transport between Blackbeach and Ethergate, why didn’t Faxon tell me about it?”

“I suspect he probably would have, had you not taken it into your head to run off on your own.” Wynn frowned at her. “When Faxon says something, it's usually for a good reason.”

Tia sighed. If she had to endure one more of Wynn’s lectures on logic, reason, and responsibility, she was going to scream. The first day or two of their recovery, he had been almost normal, happy to be alive. It hadn’t taken long for that to wear off and for the apprentice to return to his stubbornly rational ways.

There was a commotion in the hallway outside the gate room and Tia and Wynn turned toward the door. Cabot, looking much disheveled, stumbled into the gate room, fumbling with the buttons of his doublet. One of his boots was untied and his travel pack was half open, threatening to spill its contents over the floor at any given moment.

“Oh, Tia, Wynn. I’m glad to see you. You’re both looking well, by the way. I knew a couple of days in the capable hands of Ethergate’s healers would set you right.” His voice cracked and he hastily cleared his throat.

“In a hurry to get somewhere, Cabot?” Tia was curious what would have the normally imperturbable young man so out of sorts.

“I’ve been recalled to Dragonfell. I was hoping to catch the gate back to Blackbeach and shave some time off the trip.” He looked expectantly at Wynn. “What do you say, Apprentice Wynn?”

Wynn looked at Cabot, then glanced at Tia, silently pleading for her to intervene. She shrugged.

“I don’t know the gate ritual,” he finally said to Cabot. “I wish I could help.”

Cabot looked crestfallen. A shadow of something flickered behind his eyes so quickly that Tia was sure she had misread his expression. “I understand. Thanks anyway, Wynn.”

The young man turned to leave and Tia laid a hand on his shoulder. He stiffened and for a moment, she thought he was going to turn on her.

“Cabot?” she asked quietly. “What’s going on?”

“I just need to get back to Dragonfell.” He took a deep breath. “Harold. My father. The innkeeper. He died this morning. His injuries were just too severe.”

“Oh Cabot, I’m so sorry.” Tia’s eyes were suddenly wet. She could still see Harold sprawled on the common room floor.

“Yeah. I need to go. Maybe there’s a wagon heading east.”

Cabot all but ran from the room, leaving Tia and Wynn standing in silence. Tia wiped her eyes and turned to Wynn. She was surprised to see that his eyes were just as moist as hers.

“Wynn?”

“I’m fine. Harold looked after me for a while after Faxon brought me to Ethergate. He was...important to me. When Cabot came to see you in the infirmary, I knew he was familiar. I just now realized why.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too. So let’s get to the library and find this relic before anyone else has to die.”

Tia chose to ignore the bitterness in his voice as they made their way out of the gate room and across the city toward the reliquary. The wall in the lower library had been repaired, the lightness of the new stone a telltale sign of the recent construction. The tunnel beyond had been collapsed with charges of flashpowder. Never again would Ethergate by breached by way of the old Xarundi bolt-hole.

Although the wall had been patched, no one had been in to set the library right. Shelves were still toppled in all directions and books and papers were strewn about without a care for their age or fragility.

“You’d think a city full of quintessentialists would be more concerned about their books.” Tiadaria was collecting the oldest tomes from the floor and piling them on the nearest desk.

“We all seem to have different priorities these days,” Wynn said absently. He was leaning against a fallen bookshelf, flipping through a small leather-bound journal. “I think I’ve found something, Tia.”

The excitement in the young apprentice’s voice was enough to draw Tiadaria to his side.

“What is it?” The prospect of a clue in their elusive quest for the relic had set her all aquiver.

“Alveron’s journal. I didn’t even know it was here. It must have been tucked back in one of the bookcases.”

“But I thought you said Alveron never returned?”

“He didn’t. There’s an inscription in the front that says it was returned to Ethergate with the rest of his personal effects.”

“Returned by whom?”

“Clan tradesmen, it says.”

Tiadaria snorted. “Probably the only time the clan ever did anything so selfless.”

“I doubt it was selfless,” Wynn replied with a wry grin. “The order pays well for artifacts returned. The clans probably account for about eighty percent of the bounty we pay out.”

“Figures. So what does it say?”

“Skip what it says for now,” he said and before Tia could wonder what he meant, he tipped the journal toward her so she could see the pages he was looking at.

It was a map, a detailed map of the area west of Ethergate. There was a series of notes and annotations in a scrawl that Tiadaria couldn’t decipher. What jumped out at her was a symbol scrawled far to the north on the map.

“What does this mean?” She tapped the symbol with her finger, daring him to dispute what she already felt.

“That’s our relic. Or rather, what Alveron thought was the relic’s resting place.”

Tia let out a low whistle. After so much anticipation, it seemed almost anti-climactic to have a neatly labeled map laid out before them. She scrubbed her palms on her thighs, trying to work off some of the nervous energy.

“So what do we do?” Even as she asked the questions, part of Tiadaria wanted Wynn to come up with some other plausible theory.

“We do what we were instructed to do. We stay put and wait for Faxon to arrive. When he does, we’ll turn over all this information and let the order take whatever action they see fit.”

“Seems like I was almost late for the party.”

Tiadaria whirled toward the familiar voice. Faxon stood at the foot of the stairs, his robes shimmering in the magical lamp light.

“Faxon!” Tiadaria broke and ran to him, throwing her arms around his middle and nearly bowling him over.

“It’s nice to see you too, Tia.” The quint chuckled, looking over her head at his apprentice. Wynn gave him a half bow.

“Master Indra.”

Faxon sighed. “Still with the formalities, Wynn? I had hoped Tia would have broken you of that by now.”

“It’s an ongoing project,” Tia said, disengaging herself from Faxon and trying to smooth his rumpled robes.

“Of that, I have little doubt. I’m sorry I was delayed. I had to attend to some other business before I could come to Ethergate, but it seems like you’ve done well enough for yourself.” He held Tia away from him by her shoulders, turning her this way and that, as if appraising her. “Bring that journal and let’s get out of this moldering dungeon. We have a lot of work to do.”

* * *

The Elvish Harlot was a different place, Tia thought sadly. She, Faxon, and Wynn were gathered around the largest table left intact in the common room. They were the only ones in the building. Cabot’s brother had told them to stay as long as they liked. He had been by to board up the worst of the damage. The other patrons had all moved on. She could understand why. She kept glancing at the broken bar, expecting Harold to be there, and rubbing it down with his tattered towel.

Faxon touched her arm and she jumped. “Sorry,” she said, inclining her head in apology.

“It’s alright,” the quintessentialist’s smile was warm. “I understand, but right now, we need to focus.”

“As I was saying,” Faxon continued without rebuke. “It is safe to assume that if we have figured out where the relic is, the Xarundi probably have too.”