The Swordmage Trilogy Bundle, Volumes 1-3 (39 page)

“Your Grace!” she cried, sinking to her knees.

“Get up, get up,” he snapped, undisguised irritation in his voice. “The
last
thing I need lately is the common folk seeing me with some pretty young woman on her knees. Things are bad enough as it is.”

“I'm afraid they're worse than you think, Majesty.”

The King lifted his cane from the cobbles and brandished it at her.

“I don't need you making more trouble, young lady.”

“No, Your Grace. Sir Valyn found a body out near the curtain wall. You're not going to like hearing this, but it appears there might be a rogue mage involved.”

Greymalkin dropped his cane back to the street and leaned on it with his entire weight.

“And why, pray tell, isn't Sir Valyn imparting this particularly disturbing morsel of information?”

“He's still securing the body and dealing with the crowd. Since I passed by on my way here, I offered to pass on his message when I got here.”

“And spare him my terrible wrath, no doubt.” The King peered at her with hooded eyes. “What did this mage do?”

“Killed a man, Your Grace.”

“What else?”

Tiadaria shook her head. “I don't know. I was only there for a moment. Sir Valyn asked my opinion, but I'd never seen anything like it.”

“I suppose I'll have Faxon or some other finger-waggler on my doorstep tonight telling me how this never happens and that they'll take care of it and so on and so forth.”

“Very likely, Your Grace.”

“Alright. Then let's get on with why I summoned you here. Walk with me.”

The King turned away from the cavern and Tiadaria hesitated for a moment before she took two quick steps to catch up. The King's physical infirmity made it easy to match his pace, but she was still confused by the direction they were going.

“Aren't we going the wrong way, Your Grace?”

“We are not, young Tiadaria. We're not going to the palace. At least not just yet.”

Greymalkin didn't seem inclined to carry on any more conversation so they walked in silence for a long time. They turned a corner and descended a gentle slope and Tiadaria knew with gut-wrenching certainty where they were going. She stopped, rooted in place by fear and uncertainty.

“Your Grace?”

The King stopped and leaned on his cane, his head bowed. He stood that way for so long that Tiadaria thought he might have fallen asleep on his feet. In fact, she wished he had. Then she could turn around and go find Wynn, or Faxon, or anyone or anything that wasn't right here, right now.

“Yes. You know where we're going.”

“But I don't want to.”

Tiadaria had avoided returning to the place where the Captain had been interred. All that was left there was a body, an empty shell. The last time she had stood in front of his tomb, she had said goodbye. Standing there in front of the Captain's closest friends, she had spoken of her love for him, the love that she had lost, and broken down there, weeping as they moved the heavy capstone onto the sarcophagus. She never wanted to go back there. There was no reason to go back.

“I know,” the King said quietly. “But you need to see what I have to show you.”

Dread coiled around Tiadaria's spine, a cold black viper ready and waiting to strike. As the King began walking, Tiadaria didn't move. She couldn't. No matter how many steps there were between her and the Captain's tomb, there weren't enough.

“Come along, Tiadaria.” The King's voice was kind, but firm. No matter how horrible it felt, she knew she would obey the King's orders. The Captain had trained her well.

Putting one foot in front of the other was the hardest thing Tiadaria had ever had to do. It took all of her concentration and force of will to follow Greymalkin into the city cemetery and down the well manicured path that lead to the stone monument that held the Captain's remains. Tia kept her eyes on the ground, both because she felt uncomfortable around so many dead, and because she didn't want the King to see the tears that welled in her eyes.

The King stopped and Tia finally looked up. The Captain's monument was before them. It was smaller than she remembered. It seemed so much bigger in her memory. She'd been younger then. Her perspective had changed, both with age and with experience. What had seemed to be a massive memorial at the time was, in reality, no more than a stone coffin a little larger than the man laid to rest inside it.

“Why are we here?” she asked in a whisper, proud that she'd managed to keep her voice from cracking.

Heron Greymalkin raised his cane, using it to point to the far end of the grave. Tiadaria, hands shaking, took slow steps toward the spot he had indicated. The grass was soft and green underfoot, a stark contrast to the stone pavers making up the path leading from the edge of the cemetery. She glanced back over her shoulder, half expecting the King to be gone, but he was still there, head bowed over his cane.

Tiadaria turned the corner of the memorial and the viper coiled around her spine attacked. Coldness spread through her body, starting at the base of her spine and racing down each limb and up into her head. Though the day was mild, Tia couldn't remember ever having been colder. She sank to numb knees, unable to control the tears that were now spilling down her cheeks.

It seemed like she was unable to breathe for a very long time. When she was finally able to draw a long, ragged breath, it burst out of her in a wail of anguish that wracked her entire body. She surrendered to the grief, letting it wash over her, hoping that it would drag her under and end her suffering. It wasn't fair. His dignity, his honor, was all she had left to remember him by and they had been ripped away.

Tia had never quite been able to reconcile herself to the human custom of an interment. The clan way was to honor their warriors with a funeral pyre, ensuring it burned so hot and so long that their worldly remains rejoined the essence of all things, just as their soul returned to the ethereal eternity of the Quintessential Sphere. Even though it somehow still felt wrong, she had come to terms with the Captain's remains resting in peace in the little garden cemetery in Dragonfell.

Now he was gone. Someone had smashed the back corner of the stone box containing his remains and dragged him out of his rest. Someone had violated both the Captain and his memory. Everything they had laid with him in the crypt, the flowers, his armor, his weapons, were all gone.

Rage replaced sorrow and she rounded on the King, who had come up behind her.

“How could you let this happen?” she demanded. “How could you let--”

Tiadaria faltered. She couldn't even imagine who would do such a thing. Who would take the Captain's body? And why?

The old King laid his hand on her shoulder, showing surprising strength when she tried to pull away from him. He held her there, one hand on her shoulder the other on his cane.

“That's why I called you here, Tiadaria. To find out and to make it right.”

#

The sun retreated from the sky, as if it knew what darkness was about to descend on Dragonfell and refused to bear witness to the horrors to come. A low hanging pall of smoke poisoned the evening sky, turning the last light of day to an ominous crimson glow.

Tionne stood in the center of the market square. Frantic people dashed past her. A woman was crouched by an overturned cart, scooping scattered fruit into the upturned hem of her skirt. A man running from the other end of the square collided with her, sending them both sprawling. The fruit rolled free of her skirt. She tried to grab for it, but someone stepped on her hand as they passed. Tionne heard the crunch of breaking bone and a strangled cry as the woman clutched her arm to her chest. With her other hand, she tried to retrieve the few pieces of fruit that hadn't been ruined.

The man who had collided with the old woman had regained his composure. He crouched by the overturned cart, watching the woman with wary, animal eyes. As she reached toward the tantalizing red sphere that was inches from her grasp, the man sprang at her. His fist caught her in the mouth and her head rocked back from the force of the blow. Her lips tore on her teeth and blood and spittle glistened in the evening light before she fell over backward and was still.

Snatching a few pieces of fruit from the ground, the man's eyes darted about the square. His gaze fell on Tionne. His face a menacing rictus, he took a step toward her. Tionne broke into a wide smile, her teeth gleaming behind ruby lips twisted to one side. The aggressor's step faltered. The menace in his eyes turned to fear and he tripped over his own feet backing away from her. He landed hard on his bottom, his teeth making an audible crack as they came together. Scrabbling away from her, he managed to get to his feet, and then he was gone. Just another body pelting headlong down the cobblestones.

Throwing her head back, Tionne laughed. Her laugh wasn't the laugh of a carefree girl of fifteen, just barely out of her apprenticeship at the Academy. No, this was the dire cackle of a banshee loosed from the very bowels of the Deep Void. Whether consciously or not, the other people in the square gave her wide berth as they abandoned the capital city of the Human Imperium.

The wind that howled through the square was hot on her face, warmed by the fires that burned almost every building in Dragonfell. She brushed her raven dark hair back from her face, her pale skin tinged an ugly orange by so many fires nearby. By morning, every building in the city that was capable of burning would be reduced to ash and cinder.

A brassy scream sounded high overhead and Tionne cast her large emerald eyes skyward. In stark contrast against the oncoming night, a massive white dragon turned on a wingtip, hurling magical lightning at a target only he could see. There was an explosion that shook the ground under her feet and a plume of dust and fire blossomed into the sky in the distance.

A child's wailing, the sound thin and warbling, seemed to pierce her eardrums and dragged her attention away from the destruction the dragon was raining down on the city. A little boy sat in the dirt under a nearby cart. His eyes were wide and wet, streaming rivulets down his dusty cheeks. A woman lay beside him, on her back, her open eyes staring sightlessly skyward. The woman's torment was over and she was still. Tionne only wished the toddler would stop its screaming. When it didn't, she resolved to do it herself.

As she moved toward the cart, a black shape bounded across her path. It reached the cart before she had even taken a step, the monster flipped the cart up and away from the child with the strength of half a dozen men. It snatched the little boy from the ground and whirled to face Tionne.

Half its face was a ruin of old scars and patchwork fur. One eye was missing, but the other burned with luminescent blue fire that sent a chill up her spine. The toddler's wails had become screams of terror. The Xarundi roared, baring its wicked fangs. There was a wet tearing sound. The child gave a final, gurgling scream and was still. Blood and offal dripped from the monster's jaws as it fed with messy greed.

As if spirited away, the panicked masses of people were gone. The fires were still, frozen. Coils of smoke arrested themselves in mid-motion, painted on the sky by the hand of some unseen artist. Only the Xarundi seemed to be immune from the sudden cessation of even the minutest movements of life.

It dropped the tattered remains of the boy and peered at her, the eye boring into her.

“We are bound by blood, child,” it said in a guttural but passable rendition of the low tongue. “Come to us. Come to us and we will rule together.”

Before Tionne could process the words, or feel the gut-wrenching terror that she usually associated with the huge wolf creatures that had massacred her family, she was plunged into darkness. Not just darkness, but a blackness so deep and pervasive that she felt as if it was folding over her like a heavy blanket.

The air was fetid and seemed to cling to her, as if it was trying to smother her in her hiding place. Every breath she took sounded like the roar of a tornado in her ears and she dare not take too many. There was no way of knowing if the monsters were still there. The strong odor of urine and the uncomfortable dampness clinging to her thighs was proof of her fear. When mother had shoved her into the barrel, she had protested, half awake and groggy, not understanding what was happening.

The naked terror in her mother's face had stopped any more questions. Seven year old Tionne found herself shoved in an empty water barrel and wedged under a bed.

She had heard the monsters when they came into the house. Their claws made little scratching sounds on the floor.
It sounds like the stylus on the slates at school,
she thought.
How strange that it could sound almost the same.
Then the screaming started and she couldn't think of anything else. Tionne bit down on her lower lip, tasting copper and forcing any sound that might escape deep down into her belly which already ached from the panic that gripped her.

Mother's screams, for she knew it was mother who had been screaming, ended in the same wet, rending sound that had ended the toddler's life only a few moments ago. It was dark in the barrel, but it wouldn't have mattered. Tionne's eyes were shut so tightly that her head pounded with the effort to not see anything at all.