The Swordmage Trilogy Bundle, Volumes 1-3 (58 page)

“I told you that you'd find greatness with me, Tionne.” The Lamiad gestured toward the steps. “Now that you've found that which makes you whole, come and witness my ascension.”

Tionne followed Nerillia up out of the bowels of the Xarundi's rune chamber. Stryne was gone. When she asked Nerillia where he was, the Lamiad said she didn't know, but that it didn't matter. They'd be gone from the Warrens before dawn.

For hours, Tionne followed Nerilla through twists and turns in the corridors that had once belonged to the Xarundi. They came across few bodies and no living Chosen. Tionne supposed that Stryne was right. They'd abandoned the Warrens when they realized that all was lost. Those that remained would be scattered to the corners of Solendrea to seek out whatever meager existence they could.

After what seemed like an incredibly long time, Nerillia lead her into a chamber that was almost as cold as the rune. Tionne's breath puffed out in little clouds of condensation. As they entered a flicking green light at the gentle of the chamber began pulsing brightly. It grew to such intensity that Tionne had to shield her eyes.

“What is that?”

“That, my dear Tionne, is the other half of my soul.”

When Nerillia spoke, the voice came from her mouth and from the light in the center of the chamber. The strange chorded sound of the voice was almost hypnotic, but Tionne forced herself to remain focused.

“I need you to release it,” Nerillia was saying. “Make me whole again, Tionne. Please. Make me whole and together we'll rule all of Solendrea.”

By the following morning, the streets of Dragonfell were returning to normal. Vendors were out setting up, or repairing, their stalls. A few children ran through the streets, calling to each other in voices that seemed too loud for the recovering city. In a few places, the remains of buildings still smoldered, but for the most part, things had been cleaned and patched. Dragonfell had lived through another nightmare and was embracing the sun that fell on its cobbled streets.

Tiadaria walked slowly down the market row, enduring the curious stares and whispers she usually received from people in the capital. Part of it, she knew, was due to the collar around her neck. The rest of it was because the stories of the battle in the palace cavern had been spreading like wildfire. She'd spoken briefly to Valyn, who told her that the King had been adding his own embellishments to what happened during the battle. Pretty soon the line between what had really happened and what the people thought had happened would be clouded in legend.

The common room of the inn was empty when Tiadaria arrived. She inquired with the barmaid to see if Faxon was in his room, then started up the stairs. Two flights of stairs seemed to take far longer than they should have, and she lingered on the landing for a long time before she made her way to his room.

Faxon's door stood ajar, and she let herself in. He was sitting in a chair by the window, looking out over the city. His hair had taken on a distinct grey undertone and his arm was still in a sling. There was another chair near the bed. She drew it over to him and sat next to him.

“I heard that Greymalkin asked you to stay and take over the Captain's job,” Faxon said. His voice was soft and seemed very far away. As if he was talking to her from wherever his mind had wandered off to. Wherever he was looking.

“He did. I told him I needed to sleep on it.”

Faxon's eyes flicked to hers. She saw the same sadness there she'd seen in the hospital. It hadn't lifted and Tiadaria wondered if it ever would.

“Did you?”

“I did, but I really didn't need to. What do you think, Faxon?”

“I think the Imperium needs you. I think that both Wynn and the Captain would be very proud of you. I know I am.”

“You are?” Tiadaria was surprised. She liked Faxon, she always had, but she'd always felt as if he thought of her as a child. As if she was blundering her way through discovering who she was or who she needed to be.

“Of course I am. You've come a long way since I first met you, Tiadaria. You're not the little girl I met here in Dragonfell. You're a grown and powerful woman. A defender of the realm.”

Tiadaria didn't answer. She gazed out the window for a long time. A flood of uncertainty washed over her. Maybe Faxon and the King were wrong. Maybe she wasn't cut out to be the person they thought she was. Maybe she was still just a little girl. Her fingers went to the collar around her neck and she snatched them back as if burned.

The gasping blackness she'd felt on the sandstone courtyard came rushing back to her. She never wanted to feel that vulnerable again. She wasn't a little girl and she wasn't a slave. She was the last swordmage and she was going to be the Captain of the Grand Army of the Imperium. Maybe the King had known it before she did, but she accepted it now. It was who she was meant to be.

“Faxon...”

“I know.” He smiled at her, reaching into the sling around his arm. He withdrew a small, black glass tool. A tool she'd seen more than once in her lifetime. It was the same tool that Cerrin, the slaver, had used to attach her collar. That seemed like a lifetime ago.

“How did you know?”

He shrugged.

“You're different now, Tiadaria. You don't need anyone else defining you. I figured it was only a matter of time. Especially since Wynn...”

He trailed off there and Tiadaria saw the pain flare in his eyes. She'd always known that Faxon was fond of his oldest apprentice, but she'd never guessed how deeply the feelings ran for him. Since Wynn's parents had cast him out, Faxon had taken over and now he'd lost a son.

“Come kneel over here, Tiadaria,” he said, with a hitch in his voice.

Tiadaria slipped from her chair and went to one knee beside Faxon. She lifted her hair, exposing the back of her neck and the collar to the quintessentialist.

The glass was cold at the base of her neck. Faxon gave a quick squeeze and the collar sprang open as if hinged. It fell to the floor at their feet, landing with a dull ring. Tiadaria put her hand to her throat, feeling the naked skin there. It was the first time in a long time that she hadn't had a constant reminder of being less than everyone else.

She stood and went to the looking glass over the chest of drawers. There was a pale white line around her neck, but she knew that would fade in time. Tiadaria was a slave no longer. She went back to the window and picked up the length of curved witchmetal. She turned it over in her hands as she sat down.

“I can destroy that for you,” Faxon said, dropping the collar tool to a table near the window.

“No,” she said slowly. “I think I'd like to keep it.”

“That didn't work out for you so well once before.”

“Perhaps not,” she said with a nod. “But this time, it has no power over me. I know who I am and I'll never be bound by anyone again.”

“No,” Faxon replied thoughtfully. “I don't suspect you will.”

“What are your plans, Faxon?”

He shrugged.

“I hadn't really thought about it. I suppose I'll go back to Blackbeach. Maybe I'll teach. I fear my days of practicing theory are done.”

The quintessentialist motioned to his arm with a sour look. Tiadaria nodded. She reached into her tunic and withdrew a complicated looking brass key on a length of black ribbon. She took it from her neck and extended it to him.

“I wondered if you'd do me a favor and look after my cottage in King's Reach,” she said. “I don't think I'll have a chance to get there very often. At least, not for several years. Wynn started a little library there. The people aren't well educated, but they're eager to learn. Maybe it would be good for you.”

Faxon reached out and took the key from her, turning it over in his palm.

“Maybe it would, young Tiadaria. Maybe it would at that.”

They sat together at the window for a long time. Sometimes they talked and sometimes they just sat in silence, but they were together, and that's all that mattered.

In the years that followed, Tiadaria got back to King's Reach far less often than she would have liked, but when she did manage to find the time to visit, Faxon always greeted her with a hug and welcome smile and he always reminded her that the cottage was her home.

He would take care of it, he said, until she was ready to come back. Tiadaria always thanked him and told him that day would come soon enough. She knew in her heart that, eventually, it would.

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Martin F. Hengst resides in South Central Pennsylvania with his wife and two children.

An avid reader since childhood, he attributes his love for fantasy and science fiction to his father. Martin's passion is creating intricate stories with intimate details set in fantasy lands that exist only in his readers' dreams.

If you'd like to keep up with the world of Solendrea and the extraordinary people and places that exist there, visit: www.solendrea.com.

You can also follow Martin on Twitter and Goodreads. Email inquiries can be addressed to: [email protected].