The Swordmage Trilogy Bundle, Volumes 1-3 (28 page)

Suitably assured that his companions would remember and play their assigned roles, Faxon strolled through the doors. If the outside of the inn was opulent, the inside was unlike anything Tiadaria had ever seen, anywhere. It made the king’s palace in Dragonfell seem shabby in comparison.

The thick crimson carpet under her boots was soft enough that they were actually leaving footprints. The walls were a rich, dark mahogany with a trim of gold that, Tiadaria was certain, was actual gold. The artwork that hung on the walls was captivating. Tiadaria had never seen paintings with such rich colors, or tapestries woven with such fine detail. She was beginning to feel like the smallest fish in a big fishbowl when Wynn whistled through his teeth. That he was just as impressed with the furnishings made her feel better.

A short corridor lead them into a lobby dominated by four huge marble columns that extended the height of the building. A spiral staircase climbed up from one corner of the room with extravagant landings on the second and third floors. The banister was supported by a small army of animals hand carved into the ironwood with meticulous detail. In the center of the lobby a semi-circular counter was overseen by a man in a crisp black uniform of tailored pants and a well-fitting doublet.

While Faxon spoke to the attendant, Tiadaria explored the lobby. Large glass display cases were scattered around the room, each one holding a different type of treasure. There was one display full of sparkling gemstones nearly as large as her fist. Another held an array of gold figurines in the shapes of creatures both mystical and mundane. Tia circled that case, delighted with the whimsy and artistic execution of the little statues. She glanced up to call Wynn’s attention to the figures and looked up into the snarling maw of a Xarundi.

Her startled cry called Wynn and Faxon to her side immediately. She shrank back against them and was thankful when the apprentice steadied her. The Xarundi was clearly in an attack posture, why hadn’t it moved?

“Is everything alright here?” The attendant had hurried over to them. Tiadaria thought this was as much a testament to his concern for the treasures in the room as for her wellbeing.

“Everything is fine,” Faxon replied smoothly, taking the attendant’s arm and guiding him back toward the counter. “My slave was startled by your...unique display piece.”

“Oh yes,” the man gushed. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

Tiadaria couldn’t hear Faxon’s reply, but she looked back at the Xarundi and was chagrined to see that the eyes were black and dead. There wasn’t even a spark of the luminescent blue fire that normally burned in their eyes. She felt the blood creep into her face.

“Are you alright?” Wynn asked quietly.

“I’m fine. But that,” she jerked her head at the stuffed Xarundi perched on its smooth wooden base. “That’s just wrong. I hate the Xarundi...hate them...and I wouldn’t do that. That’s just not right.”

“There is a certain barbarism to it,” Wynn agreed. Then Faxon was ordering them to attend him.

The three of them climbed to the top of the spiral and Faxon opened the door to the corner room. Tia and Wynn carried their packs, and Faxon’s, across the threshold into the room. It was a suite with a common living area and two bedrooms. The suite was larger than the entire cottage she had inherited from the Captain. Faxon closed the door behind him.

Tia dropped their packs on the floor and turned on Faxon. “That Xarundi in the lobby--”

Faxon held up a hand to forestall her anger. “I told you, this isn’t the Imperium, or even Ethergate. The rules are different here.” He motioned around the room. “There are more than a few people in Overwatch who have more money than sense. The man who owns this inn is one of them. However, he owes me a life-debt and doesn’t ask questions. That makes it the perfect place for us to stay while we’re here. Which we won’t be, for long.”

“So what’s the plan?” Wynn had flopped into an armchair so ridiculously oversized that he looked like a child playing on his parent’s furniture.

“The plan for the rest of the night is to sleep. In the morning, I have a meeting with someone. Then we need to get to the outfitter and get out.” Faxon stretched, his back popping audibly as he did so. “Tia, you take first watch. I’ll relieve you in a couple hours.”

Without waiting for acknowledgment, he disappeared into one of the bedrooms and shut the door. Wynn looked after him thoughtfully.

“Is it just me,” he said slowly. “Or is he acting really weird?”

“I think he’s far more worried than he’s letting on and I think he’s not handling it very well. The sooner we find the relic and get back to Blackbeach, the sooner everyone can relax and get back to normal.”

“I guess.”

For once, Tiadaria couldn’t argue with the lack of enthusiasm in Wynn’s tone. They were both exhausted. At least he’d get to sleep for a few hours. That was something.

Wynn bade her goodnight and left her to her duties. Tiadaria took her scimitars from her pack and settled herself in the chair that Wynn had vacated. She felt better with the steel laying across her thighs, even if the sensation of the steel so close to her skin wasn’t necessarily pleasant. Still, it would help keep her awake until Faxon relieved her. When he did, she was more than ready to climb under the blankets and sleep.

* * *

The bed was luxuriously soft and sleeping in it should have been the easiest thing in the world, but Wynn lie awake, staring up at the flickering lights from the city playing off the ceiling. Tiadaria was in the next room, standing guard, and it was to her his thoughts returned constantly. Incessantly. Refusing to let him sleep.

Wynn almost wished Faxon hadn’t called her to task. He wanted to offer Tiadaria his hand, to feel that shocking spark between them. That tingling pain that told him that she was far more than she let on. Tiadaria was a rogue mage. He had known it almost from the time they had met, certainly from the moment they had touched, and for once in his life he didn’t care about rules or regulations, or what was right and proper. He wanted to feel her hand on his, the link-shock dancing between them.

She vexed him something awful, but it was different from the teasing he had endured at the hands of his peers, or others. When she poked fun at him, or flayed him with her wit, he could look in her eyes and see her humor dancing there. It was just her way and he’d rather have her quick jokes and jabs than any other’s tender whispers and soft caresses.

What Tiadaria didn’t know, what she couldn’t know, was that she was the reason that Wynn hadn’t accepted censure as a viable option. Even now, as he lay looking up at the ceiling, he was terrified. He was scared of what they would face and even more scared of how he would react to it. He couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing Tia again, but if it meant standing his ground in a fight, he just wasn’t sure he could do it. Faxon’s threat was a horrible contemplation in its own right, but at least it was a known quantity.

Wynn sighed. The coming dawn was beginning to chase night’s shadows from the ceiling. If he didn’t sleep now, it was going to be a very, very long day. He rolled over, willing his tumbled mind to settle, and tried to fall asleep.

* * *

The lower city was crowded during the day, but not nearly as packed as it had been the previous night. Faxon, upon returning from the meeting he wouldn’t talk about, had told them they were in for a special treat. They were going to the warehouse, he said, and no prodding would get him to give up any more detail. He seemed to be in a good enough mood though, so Tiadaria and Wynn opted to leave it alone.

Faxon seemed to know his way around the lower city quite well, a fact that Tia would remember to ask him about later. He navigated with the ease of a local. He didn’t get turned around in the various blind alleys and false roads they often encountered. Faxon lead them down wide roads and smaller byways and they finally emerged at the edge of a wide but slowly moving river.

Boats of every shape and size floated on the gently moving body of water. There were tiny little skiffs and massive trading vessels with three and four masts. Tiadaria was delighted. She had heard stories of great sailing ships and had sometimes seen them from afar on her duties in Dragonfell, but she had never been so close to them. She was happy to discover that Wynn was just as enamored with the boats as she was. He grabbed Tia’s hand and pulled her to the rope guarded pylons at the edge of the street, pointing at the ships with the brightest and most outlandishly colored sails.

Faxon joined them and Tia was pleased to see that he was smiling as well. This was the Faxon she was used to being around. The Faxon who was almost, but not quite, as good a mentor as the Captain had been. She reached for her collar, wondering if Royce would have enjoyed the floating chaos on the river as much as they did. He would have, she decided. If for no other reason than the fact that she found it so fascinating.

“There’s more to see, let’s go.” The elder quintessentialist set off down the narrow lane. It was lined with squat buildings on the left and the rope strung pilings on the right. Tia watched as gray birds wheeled and dove along the river, disappearing from view for a moment at impact and then climbing back up on powerful wings with tiny fish clutched in their beaks. She breathed deeply, relishing the crispness of the air and that fresh smell that only comes from a large body of water.

They turned a corner and were faced with a long building crouched at the edge of a busy wharf. The building was an enormous gray brick structure, two stories tall and easily as long as the main trade road in King’s Reach. Thick wood planks made up the roof and large windows were set into the upper floor. A massive set of doors, wide enough for two wagons to drive in abreast, were set on tracks that extended across the front of the building. The doors were pushed open to their full width allowing one to glimpse at the madness inside. People dashed to and fro, some laden with parcels, others moving flat trollies full of goods. The words Gunther’s Warehouse were stenciled over the door in peeling black paint.

As Faxon led them inside, Tiadaria could understand the need for so many windows. The light that shone in from them illuminated a vast space packed floor to ceiling with every type of good imaginable. There were pallets of flour sacks, barrels of ale, and bins of sweets. One entire section of wall was dedicated to hanks of rope of every length and diameter imaginable. Sailcloth hung in billowing folds from the highest rafters. There were weapons racks and cages of squawking birds and tiny chattering animals.

One particular display caught her eye. It was behind a long counter, mounted high up on the wall. Crafted from gold gilded glass, it contained a selection of dwarven hand cannons and one large, long barreled cannon. Tia had been so immersed in the wonder of the place that she had nearly lost track of Faxon and Wynn. She hastily weaved her way through the crowd, catching up with them just as Faxon approached the counter. A dwarf was perched on a crate behind the counter, bringing him level with Faxon’s line of sight.

The dwarf was a swarthy little man with a pock-marked face. His bulbous red nose extended out over a great bushy black beard and black eyes glittered beneath his fuzzy eyebrows. He had a battered digger's helmet crammed onto his head, its sides much scratched and dented. When he saw Faxon, his eyes lit up and a broad smile crept across his face. He leaned over the counter and took Faxon’s hand, pumping it up and down with both of his.

“Faxon, it’s good to see ye, lad. It’s been a long time, it has.” He peered at Wynn, then turned his shrewd gaze on Tia. She felt the weight of his gaze at the base of her spine, then the feeling passed and she shrugged it off. “I see ye brought friends to old Gunther’s Warehouse.”

“Gunther, this is Wynn, and Tiadaria.” Faxon nodded to each of them. Gunther shook Wynn’s hand and offered a bow to Tiadaria. His eyes lingered on her collar and then flicked to Faxon.

“She’s the one who wields my swords, aye?”

Faxon nodded. Gunther’s smile widened.

“Couldn’t have gone to a prettier girl. But ye’re not here to talk about my swordsmithing, aye? What can Gunther do for ye?”

“We need provisions and quickly. We need to head north before sunset.”

Gunther’s smile faded a trifle. He peered closely at Faxon. “Faxon, ye huntin, or being hunted?”

“Probably a little of both, which is why time is of the essence.”

Gunther nodded. “Oh aye, old Gunther’ll set ye right.” The dwarf put two stubby fingers in his mouth and issued such a piercing whistle that both Tia and Wynn winced.

A blur of forest green swung down from the upper platform behind the dwarf. The elvish woman landed lightly on the balls of her feet, bowing so deeply that Tia could see the half dozen gold rings that adorned the pointed tips of each ear. Her mud-brown hair was cropped short and spiked out at the top. When she smiled at them, her teeth glittered like pearls.

“This is Furia. She will get ye what ye need as quickly as you can give her a list.”

Gunther excused himself to attend to another customer and Faxon produced a long scroll of paper from inside his parchment. The elf scanned the paper, her oval eyes widening slightly at some of the entries on the list. Furia deftly rolled the list into a tight tube and handed it back to Faxon, who looked perplexed.

“You can hold on to this,” he said, offering her the list.