The Swordmage Trilogy Bundle, Volumes 1-3 (53 page)

Tiadaria was glad to get back outside. Inside the hospital had been an oppressive wall of heat. At least outside, it was cooler and easier to breathe. Faxon stopped at a basin outside the door and used water from a jug to clean the worst of the blood from his hands. The worst of Wynn's blood. She looked at her own palms and found them remarkably clean for everything she'd been through. Even the cut where they'd bled her for the ritual was little more than a faint white line. Adamon had done well.

“Okay,” she said, proud that her voice didn't shake when she spoke. “So where do we go from here?”

#

Tionne wrenched her hand free of Nerillia's grasp. She planted her feet in the center of the street. She wasn't going to run. Not now.

“Come on,” Nerillia hissed. “We don't have much time.”

“I'm not leaving,” Tionne fired back. “Not now. We've come too far and done too much.”

“We aren't leaving,” Nerillia said, grabbing Tionne's hand and yanking her into the darkness. “We need to rejoin the others at the West Gate. Zarfensis and the lich will be there waiting for us by now.”

Tionne allowed Nerillia to lead her through the night toward the West Gate. Along the way, they saw many signs of the success of their labors. Blood wraiths were spreading across the city like wildfire. There were ravaged bodies strewn across the streets, many showing signs of having been used and discarded during the blood wraiths' growth.

When they arrived at the gate, Tionne was surprised to find it standing open. Dragonfell was known for the loyal and well-trained guards that watched over the city. To not see them at their customary posts was more indicative of the chaos gripping the capital than anything else she had seen.

True to Nerillia's word, the lich and the Xarundi were waiting just outside the gate. What the Lamiad hadn't mentioned was that there would be a huge white dragon waiting for them as well. She stopped at the threshold, trying to reconcile the enormity of the beast with the fact that she knew it was real.

“I remember you,” Tionne said slowly. “There was a white dragon in my dream. I saw you flying over the city.”

“Not so much a dream as a premonition, child.” The dragon turned its arrow shaped head toward her, speaking directly into Tionne's mind. There was something in the violet eyes that made her want to shrink away from them, to flee back into the city away from that intense regard. “Hasn't everything you saw in your dream come to pass?”

Tionne spun a slow circle, taking in the destruction around her. The smell of smoke was thick and the sky above Dragonfell was an angry red-orange from the many fires that burned unchecked in the city. It was true. Almost everything in her dream was now a reality. She'd been a part of it. In fact, she'd been instrumental in it. If it weren't for her command of the Quintessential Sphere, reanimating the Captain's lich would have been impossible.

“Yes, it has,” she agreed, turning again to look into the dragon's unsettling eyes. “But what's next?”

“What's next is that you finish what you've started.” The dragon's voice was much louder and Tionne sensed from the reaction of Nerillia and Zarfensis that he was speaking to all of them, not just into her mind alone.

“My Lord,” Nerillia began, her eyes cast downward. “Although we've managed a foothold, I fear that the blood wraiths and the lich alone will not guarantee our victory and allow us to take the city. Even now, the humans are likely rallying nearer the palace, hoping to fortify that position.”

“I planned for this eventuality, Nerillia. I have an alliance to call upon. High Priest?”

Zarfensis gave the dragon a measured look, as if he was considering an act of defiance. He thought better of it and threw his head back, producing a throaty howl that made Tionne wince at the sheer volume of the sound. No sooner had he finished his ear shattering summons than a mass of black shapes appeared at the edge of the light thrown off by the torches and lanterns along the city wall. A hundred Xarundi warriors and clerics had appeared, their eyes glowing like blue coals in the night. At the head of their company, a massive Xarundi warrior stood in battered armor.

Tionne recognized the armor. It was the armor of the Dragonfell City Guard. The pieces had been beaten into shapes that would conform more closely to the Xarundi's body. It took two breastplates joined together to cross the Warleader's chest. More formed a plate skirt and additional protection for his arms and legs. He carried no weapon, relying instead on the wicked four inch claws that extended from each finger and toe. A bit of the old fear that had begun to subside in Zarfensis's presence found its way into the pit of her stomach and Tionne found herself stepping nearer to Nerillia, as much for comfort as protection.

“Warleader!” Zarfensis bellowed, stepping up to the plate clad warrior. They grasped forearms and nodded to one another before stepping apart.

“It is good to see you alive and well, Your Holiness.” Xenir motioned to the leg the gnome had recreated. “And whole again. You've not been idle, I see.”

“No, dear brother. This time, the vermin will not prevail.”

“The swordmage is dead then?”

At the mention of the girl, the Captain's lich uttered a listless moan. Xenir glanced at the construct but paid it little attention.

“There were...complications.” Zarfensis's tongue snaked out, licking his maw from top to bottom before retreating. “No matter, with as many Chosen warriors as well as the lich and our spirit army, we will prevail.”

“With a dragon on our side, how can we lose?” Tionne asked.

The dragon snorted, blowing a cloud of dust across the clearing outside the gate.

“I will not be fighting, child. I am far too important to risk in your skirmishes against the humans.”

“But in my dream--”

“In your dream, you saw me leaving the city. This battle is yours to win or lose, but know this, if you lose, you'll have a far more dangerous enemy to face than the humans.”

The dragon spread his massive wings, causing some of the Xarundi warriors to jump out of the way. Powerful leg muscles bunched and the beast sprang skyward, its wings wafting acrid air down over those assembled outside the gate. Tionne, Nerillia, Xenir, and Zarfensis all looked skyward. Watching as Stryne turned on a wingtip, flew over the westernmost edge of the city, and disappeared into the night.

“Well, that could have gone better,” Tionne said under her breath.

Nerillia looked at her sharply, then burst into laughter. Zarfensis peered at them for a moment, then shook his head and turned to Xenir.

“Xenir, have you planned your attack?”

The Warleader nodded.

“I have, Your Holiness. If you will join us in our assault on the palace, the verm...the others can assist by maintaining the level of panic and disorder.”

“Of course, Warleader.”

At a barked order, the assembled Xarundi fell into groups and started making their way through the gate. Tionne looked on in fascination. She knew she was watching the beginning of the end of the Human Imperium. There was a part of her that knew she should be sad, or angry, or something, but all she felt was the growing exhilaration of battle. No matter what happened, she'd be able to take care of herself. She'd spawned an army and created a lich that was bound to do her bidding. Never again would she have to rely on anyone else and that alone was worth fighting for.

“Keep the vermin occupied,” Zarfensis said to Nerillia as he passed her, on his way to join the last of the warriors passing through the gate.

The High Priest stopped and looked at Tionne. His glance flicked to the Captain's lich, then back to her.

“If you were my whelp, I'd tell you to die with honor.”

“I don't intend to die tonight, Zarfensis.”

“No. I don't expect you do. Fight well, little one, and die well when the time comes.”

Zarfensis and the Warleader passed through the gate, shoulder to shoulder, speaking in the harsh guttural language of the Xarundi. Nerillia laid a hand on her shoulder and Tionne looked over at her.

“Are you ready?” the Lamiad asked. “The swordmage and her friends will be coming. We must prevent them from reaching the palace.”

“I'm ready. Tiadaria may outmatch every other soldier in Dragonfell, but she can't outclass our friend here.”

Tionne patted the Captain's lich and again he gave a listless moan. She could feel his essence pulling against the magical tethers that held him in the rotting body, but it was a token resistance. She knew he wouldn't be able to throw off the spell. It was too powerful.
She
was too powerful.

Nerillia dropped the cloak she normally wore. She was clad in a wolf hide tunic and breeches, dyed dark as the night around them. A flick of each wrist unraveled a whip looped over each of her hips. As she started back toward the city, the metal tipped ends of the weapons dragged behind her like tails, etching parallel lines in the dust.

She stopped and glanced over her shoulder at Tionne, a wide smile parting her ruby lips. Her teeth shone bright white behind her smile.

“Come on, then. Let's put on a show.”

The steady stream of dead and wounded being brought to the hospital eroded any sense of respite Tiadaria had received from being outside. Time and again her mind tried to pull her back into the curtained room where Wynn was fighting for his life. So far, she'd been able to push her worry and fear to the very edge of her consciousness, but she wasn't sure how long she'd be able to do that. She only needed to make it through the night. Then she could fall apart for however long she needed.

As if the Primordials had heard her and wanted to test the limits of her dedication to remaining sane, Valyn appeared out of the darkness and strode toward them, his lips set in a thin line. There were dark circles under his eyes and a smear of dried blood across one cheek. His left arm hung limply at his side.

“Faxon, Tia! You're here. Perfect. Things have gone from bad to worse. One of my men reports that around a hundred Xarundi warriors are marching on the palace. The army's been scattered, the Captain, the current Captain, not that abomination, is dead. Men are deserting their posts. There's looting, rioting. Blood wraiths are everywhere.”

Valyn paused, drawing the back of his working hand across his brow. He looked back and forth between them before continuing.

“I fear Dragonfell may be lost.”

“Not yet, man,” Faxon said with more confidence than Tiadaria felt, or thought was warranted. “We've still got some fight left in us.”

“Right.” Valyn nodded. “I ordered my men to form triple lines around the palace and stationed my best fighters in the hall. They'll fight hand to hand if it comes to that. More than I can say for the army, the cowards.”

“It's not exactly just another day on the job, Valyn,” Tiadaria interjected. She couldn't condone the men abandoning their duties, but she could understand why they would. With every minute that passed, things were looking even more grim.

“No, I suppose not. Even so, we need every man we can muster. Those wraith things are damn hard to kill. I'd much rather be facing the Xarundi. At least I know how to fight them!”

“I might be able to help with that,” Faxon said, turning to Tiadaria. “The ritual Tionne used to animate the Captain's lich, did she have a chalice? A really old looking cup?”

“I know what a chalice is, thank you. Yes. She took the blood she needed and combined it in the chalice. Then she forced it into the Captain's body.”

Valyn shook his head.

“What good is a moldy old cup going to do us?”

“That moldy old cup is the Chalice of Souls,” Faxon explained quickly. “It's probably how they created the blood wraiths in the first place. If we can get our hands on it, we can likely use it to nullify their magic. Might be able to take them all out in one fell swoop.”

“And the Captain's lich?” Tiadaria asked. Faxon shook his head.

“The lich is bound to Tionne. It'll return to her for orders and there isn't anything we can do about it with the Chalice. Let's deal with one apocalypse at a time.”

“I'm not sure we have time for singular tasks.”

“I agree with Tiadaria.” Valyn waved in the direction of the palace. “My men are loyal, but they're outnumbered at least two to one. They won't be able to keep the King safe forever.”

“The King is still in the palace?” Faxon was aghast.

“Of course,” Valyn snorted. “Where else would he be? He was up on the battlement, calling down orders to me before I left him midsentence.”

“Yes,” Faxon sighed. “That's Greymalkin alright. Damn it! I wish there were an ether gate here. I've called up reinforcements from Blackbeach, but they're coming on horseback. They'll get here just in time to do nothing.”

“Then we'll work with what we've got,” Tiadaria said, running her finger along her collar.

It was the first time since laying in the snow of the Frozen Frontier that it had felt like a restriction. Her collar had always been a perverse comfort to her, reminding her of the connection she had with the Captain and everything he'd taught her. Now it reminded her that such bonds were all too fleeting. It felt heavier than it should, as if it was weighing her down, which was silly, considering how thin the band was.

Faxon stared at her, his eyes tracking the movement of her finger until she, embarrassed, clasped her hands behind her back.

“Indeed,” Faxon said, his voice curiously absent. “Tiadaria and I will return to the old inn and see if the chalice is still there. We might be able to narrow this war down to a single front. Do you still have runners in your ranks, Valyn?”

The Captain of the Guard shot Faxon a genuine grin.

“Finest and fastest in all of Dragonfell. I can still give orders, or get them, depending on your need.”

“I wouldn't presume to order you, Valyn. I just make suggestions.”

“That one disregards at their peril.”

Faxon shrugged.

“Maybe. We're out of time. If you head back to the palace, Tia and I will find the chalice and meet you there. If we don't find it, we'll meet you there anyway. That's where we'll make our final stand. There isn't much we can do for the people of Dragonfell now. We're all going to have to fend for ourselves.”

Valyn nodded, his eyes dark.

“Aye, Master Faxon. I'll see you there.” He nodded toward her with a sad smile. “Tiadaria.”

He half jogged, half ran off to the north, toward the road that would eventually lead him into the palace cavern, if the Xarundi didn't get to him first. Faxon was moving before the faint jingle of the clasps on Valyn's plate had faded into the distance.

“We need that chalice. We can only hope that it's still at the safe house. Otherwise, I'm not sure what we're going to do.”

“What?” Tiadaria asked, feigning surprise. “Something go right for a change? Madness!”

Her flippant remark must have struck him in his sense of humor. The bark of laughter that burst from him had a slightly hysterical sound to it, but it was, however briefly, the Faxon that she knew. He'd been entirely too serious in the face of this threat. It wasn't like him. She knew that Wynn's condition was weighing heavily across his shoulders, but he'd have to learn to keep it at bay like she did.

Tiadaria had thought that retracing their footsteps to the inn would be faster without the added burden of Adamon and Wynn slowing them down, but she was wrong. By all appearances, it wasn't only the army that was getting out of Dragonfell while they could. The streets were crowded with men and women, some of them with children and belongings in tow, trying to make their way toward the nearest gate. They passed one of the smaller gates and found it snarled with people and their belongings. Fights were beginning to break out. Tiadaria and Faxon quickly went on their way.

“This is going to get worse before it gets better,” she muttered under her breath. “I wish Wynn were here.”

“He was here, now he's not. He knew you needed to be here instead. Focus less on Wynn and more on ending this.”

Faxon's voice was almost savage. Tiadaria wasn't expecting an attack from such a surprising quarter. She stopped short.

“Faxon, stop! Tell me what happened to Wynn.”

“We don't have time for this.”

“Tell me, or so help me, you'll fight this battle alone. What happened to Wynn?”

The quintessentialist rounded on her and where Tiadaria was expecting rage, she was surprised to see tears streaming down his cheeks. Confused, she took a half step forward. When he failed to react, she took a full step, and gathered him in her arms. He put his chin against her shoulder and wept.

Tiadaria was scared. She was always a little scared when it came to battle. The Captain had said that a warrior without a little fear was already dead. However, the sight of Faxon so reduced filled her with a dread akin to a blind panic. Faxon was never this emotional, about anything. He was the stalwart defender, always ready to face death with a quip or a joke.

“Faxon,” she said gently, but urgently. “I need to know what happened.”

He pushed away from her, held her by the shoulders, and nodded. His eyes were still rimmed with red, but he'd stopped crying almost as fast as he'd begun.

“You were nearly dead, Tiadaria. There wasn't anything else we could do. You'd have been dead before we got you to the hospital. I all but ordered Adamon to switch my life force with yours, through the power of the Lyr--”

“But Wynn wouldn't let you,” Tiadaria interrupted. Her throat was tight and the corners of her eyes burned with suppressed emotion. “He knew I'd need you, so he sacrificed himself. For me.”

Faxon nodded. Tiadaria scrubbed her palms against her thighs, willing with all her might to keep the tears at bay. If she started crying now, she wasn't sure she would ever stop.

“Stupid, brave, heroic, coward!” she screamed to no one in particular. “I'd hate him if I didn't love him so much...and if we manage to live through this, I'm going to murder him. Let's go.”

Tiadaria was, at turns, impressed and horrified with Wynn's solution to the problem. He'd come such a long way from the scared boy he'd been in Ethergate, when he couldn't even fight. He'd sacrificed himself for her and she couldn't even take the ring he'd proposed to give her. She should have just said yes. Damn it. How much time had she lost because she felt as if her duty and destiny had to come first? In that moment, she hated the Captain as much as she'd hated anyone, ever.

The fire of her rage kept her feet moving in a steady rhythm and before long, they'd made it back to the inn that Tionne and the others had been using as a safe house. Tiadaria entered through the massive splintered hole in the wall and Faxon followed. Once they were inside, Faxon summoned a brilliant light that flooded the entire area.

A patch of dark crimson on the weathered wood showed how much blood had been spilled and Tiadaria had to look away. A cursory glance around the room was enough to tell her that the chalice was gone. The wooden holder and the crystal vials that had held the blood were scattered on the floor. There was no telling who else might have been here in the time between when they'd left for the hospital and now. Looters could easily have made off with anything of value left in the decrepit building.

“It's not here,” Faxon said, close to despair. “We'll need to find another way.”

“Just a minute.” Tiadaria said, closing her eyes and slipping into the Quintessential Sphere.

“We don't HAVE a minute.”

She heard him, but he was muffled, as if she could only hear him down a very long hallway. Instead, she was focused on the itch in her arm where Tionne had laid the blade. There was no scar, no sign of the injury, but Tiadaria could still feel it, and she focused on those feelings, letting the power of the Sphere tug her in the direction it wanted her to go.

Tiadaria felt as if she was being led to the center of the room, where the bloodstain was, so she went to it, standing in its center, still surrendering to the will of the Sphere. She felt a gentle tug in the small of her back, as if an invisible hook were drawing her across the room. She followed the insistent tug toward the broken bar at the end of the room.

Putting her hands on its surface, the same place where the Captain's body had lay, she tried to decipher what the Sphere was trying to tell her. It wanted her here, at the bar, but she couldn't fathom why. What was she supposed to do? She pressed further back into the etheric realm, watching the memories slip by as if she was watching time in reverse.

The images were cloudy, obscured by the amount of evil that had been present in such a small pace over such a short period of time. Still, she watched, hoping to find the clue that the Quintessential Sphere was trying to reveal to her. She stopped and watched Tionne feed the Captain's corpse the blood. Tionne sat the chalice down on the bar as the Captain's body started to stir. Then the lich came to life, swinging down off the bar and shambling toward the bound Tiadaria.

This was it. This was the moment of her death. This was when she'd found the Captain in the clearing. That's how they'd been able to find each other. They were both so near to death, but both of them clinging, somehow, to the life they'd had. Tearing her eyes from the scene unraveling before her, Tiadaria glanced at the bar. The chalice was gone, but Tionne and the Lamiad hadn't yet fled. No one had taken it. It was still here!

“Tia, we don't have time for this!” Faxon cried as she slipped out of the Sphere.

Tiadaria forced away the nausea that always came with the transition from the deeper parts of the Quintessential Sphere to the physical realm. With a graceful leap, she vaulted the bar, ending up behind it. She knelt, her fingers exploring the darkness where Faxon's globe of magical light didn't extend.

Her fingers grazed cold metal. It was much colder than it should have been, accounting for the temperature in the room. Tiadaria clutched it tightly, and wrested it from its hiding place under the bar. She held it over her head as if she'd just been crowned triumphant at some summer game of skill.

The surprise and elation in Faxon's eyes was enough for her to give a laugh of her own and she rushed around the end of the bar to deliver the artifact to the mage. If he really could use the chalice to end the threat of the blood wraiths, they might have a chance to yet prevail.