The Swordmage Trilogy Bundle, Volumes 1-3

by Martin Hengst

This was no docile creature to be treated as prey. For the difference in size, the gnome was every ounce a predator in its own right. Zarfensis had misjudged the creature. He wouldn't do so again.

  "Apologies, Greneks." The High Priest inclined his head toward the little creature, who was still shaking with suppressed rage. "My actions were unwise, and the Warleader was merely trying to protect me."

  It took several moments for the gnome to return to a docile state. The fangs and claws retracted and the creature resumed the appearance it had had when they first entered the workshop. His enthusiasm, however, was greatly diminished. He peered warily at the two Xarundi, as if he was deciding whether or not he could trust them enough to turn over his device to these volatile creatures.

  Finally, he steepled his long fingers under his chin and smiled tentatively. Zarfensis released a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding.

  "Yes, High Priest," the gnome nodded. "You will have your device and you will learn the strength of the gnomes. You!" He pointed to Xenir, his voice authoritative. "Help the High Priest to that bench." He stabbed a finger at the tall work bench that had been cleared of all the tools and materials the gnome had used to create the device.

  With some effort, the Warleader helped the High Priest up onto the bench. At this level, the stump of Zarfensis's amputated leg was level with the gnome's eyes. The High Priest felt exposed and vulnerable. It wasn't a feeling he enjoyed during the best of times, and being so close to a creature that he had so badly underestimated only compounded the feeling. He wanted all of this to be over with, but it had begun at his behest and he would see it through to its conclusion.

  Greneks moved the device into position and Zarfensis saw for the first time that there was a hollow ring at the top, obviously meant for his stump. The inside of the ring was circled with curved metal teeth, each one attached to a tiny valve that continued deeper into the machinery. It was clear that once Zarfensis offered his leg to this device, those teeth would bite deeply into his flesh and they would not be removed. Not without removing the rest of the leg in the process.

  The gnome noted Zarfensis's grimace and nodded. "Yes, High Priest. Once conversion is made, device cannot be removed. Is a permanent installation."

  Zarfensis's tongue snaked out, licking his maw in nervous agitation. He'd come this far. If the device could give him his mobility back, it was worth the price. It was worth any price.

  "I understand. What's next?"

  Greneks steadied the device with his hands and nodded toward the ring. "Lower your leg into the restraining harness until you feel it bite. I apologize for the...discomfort."

  Zarfensis grunted. He inched closer to the edge of the bench and positioned his stump near the ring that was offered him. He glanced up at Xenir and was surprised to see the Warleader's tail between his legs. Perhaps he was more worried about this than the High Priest was. Mastering his indecision, Zarfensis shifted forward, plunging his stump into the restraining ring.

  The agony was unimaginable. The roar that burst from the High Priest echoed off the chamber walls and forced both the gnome and Xenir to clasp their hands over their ears. Twelve teeth bit deeply into his flesh, drinking his blood. It was drinking in the purest sense. Zarfensis could feel tubes burrow into his leg from each of the teeth, stopping only when they found blood deep inside his leg. He could feel the valves moving against his skin, pumping his blood into the device for reasons that Zarfensis couldn't fathom and wasn't sure he wanted to.

  After several moments, the pain faded to a dull roar and Zarfensis was able to focus on something other than the metal bits that had fused themselves to his flesh. He forced himself off the bench and onto the new leg, wincing as the pain flashed anew with his weight fully on the contraption of metal and elastic banding.

  He lifted the leg experimentally, watching as the cording bunched around the levers and rods. The cording then, Zarfensis realized, replaced his muscles. The levers and rods and tubes were his skeleton, exposed without the benefit of skin or tissue to hide them from view. He took a tentative step forward, the clawed foot grasping the ground firmly under him. It would take getting used to, and it was heavy, but it was certainly preferable to the crutch. His lips pulled back from his teeth in a smile.

  "Well done, Greneks. Well done indeed."

  The gnome shook his head. "Is more to do, High Priest. Is only the attachment that is complete. Activation has not yet been finished."

  "What more is there?" The High Priest was curious. He already had his leg back and with it, the promise of being whole and a viable threat again.

  "Is to be charged and readied for use, High Priest." The gnome withdrew a small vial from inside his coat. The tiny crystals within pulsed with a greenish-brown glow, the color of spring moss. He could feel the power thrumming through the air between them. He knew what this was. He had seen it often enough in his role as a rune holder. This was runedust.

  The gnome nodded, seeing the recognition on Zarfensis's face. "Yes, is runedust. Is of the Eyr, the Rune of Earth. You have your own, yes?"

  Zarfensis nodded. He was not inclined to admit to the gnome that obtaining his own runedust from the Dyr was impeded by the pack council at the moment. He wasn't about to offer any more information to the gnome than was necessary.

  The gnome nodded again. "Good. To recharge is to be using the runedust. This is sample," he waved the vial at Zarfensis. "Is included in payment. First taste is free."

  Greneks's cackle sent shivers up Zarfensis's spine. He had little time to be unnerved. Twisting a handle on the device, the gnome opened a small chute on the side of the artificial leg and dumped the dust into it in a fluid motion. A tiny crystal window showed the dust inside, its mossy glow pulsing slowly like a heartbeat.

  An instant later, Zarfensis felt the leg respond to the magical power of the dust. Where it had been a mechanical extension of his leg before, now it was alive. He could feel it humming with power. He rose the leg. Where it had been clumsy and mechanical before, it was now smooth and fluid. He could feel the claws at the end of the foot and flexed them. They responded to his will, grasping just as his real claws would.

  The High Priest wound himself down into a crouch and leapt toward the entrance to the workshop. His jump carried him out into the corridor, where he landed lightly on his feet. This wasn't just a replacement for his lost limb. This was an improvement. He idly wondered if the gnome could make a second replacement and then quickly turned his thoughts away from that idea. Replacing a lost limb was one thing, removing a perfectly healthy one just to get a mecha-magical replacement was another.

  He raced along the path that circled the workshops, relishing in the freedom of movement, the smoothness of the gait, and then complete and utter lack of dependence on crutch or cane to move again. It was liberating. It was wonderful. He returned to the workshop and bowed deeply to the gnome, the servos in the leg whining quietly as he did so.

  "You have my immeasurable thanks, Greneks."

  The gnome smiled, his fingers again folding under his chin. "Your thanks are noted, High Priest. Now is for payment."

  "Of course, anything you wish. I will see it done."

  Whatever the gnome wanted, Zarfensis would see that it was procured. Not only did he have his leg back, he had his life back. Things in the Warrens were going to change, and they were going to change very soon.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The driving rain had soaked Tiadaria to the skin. Her hair was a mess, plastered across her forehead and clinging to her shoulders and neck. Her traveling cloak was waterlogged and let through so much of the rain that she had opted to take the hood down so that she might be able to see where they were going. Nightwind plodded on, gingerly finding his footing in the mud-filled track they were following. His head was down, his nose pointed at the earth in front of them. Tiadaria knew how he felt.

  She leaned close to his neck and shouted encouragement over the rain. Other than a flick of his ears, there was no indic
ation that the horse heard her, or cared. The last week of their journey to Ethergate had been difficult for both of them. Leaving the Imperium had been something of a shock. On the road to the border, guards paid by the coffers of the Grand Army of the Imperium had been frequent and welcome diversions from the often boring journey. Once they crossed the border, however, those diversions disappeared. What also disappeared was the well-maintained road that made travel within the Imperium relatively quick and easy.

  The guard at the border station, a wizened old man who had probably lived the last forty years of his life standing by that post, had assured her that this wide dirt track, well rutted by wagon and cart wheels, would lead her to Ethergate. That had been a week ago. Two days later, the torrential rain had started and hadn’t let up since.

  Tiadaria shivered. She and Nightwind had stayed in whatever caves they could find. At least her tinderbox was relatively waterproof. The fires they huddled by were often smoky, tentative things, fed by whatever dry fuel she could scrounge from the mouth of the cave or under fallen trees. She had been discouraged from venturing too far into the caves when, on one of her fuel-finding expeditions, she had almost slipped down a nearly vertical face. She tossed a pebble over the edge, listening for a rattle or splash, and heard nothing. She had stayed very near the mouth of the cave that night. Better off a little wet and cold.

  That was two days ago, but it might as well have been two lifetimes. The relentless pounding of the rain was starting to drive her to the edge of madness. Iron gray clouds crested the tops of the tallest trees and everything was gray. The sky, the clouds, and her mood, all gray. Nightwind tossed his head, spraying her with water from his sodden mane.

  “I said I was sorry,” she said glumly. Nightwind didn’t respond.

  Lightning flashed, so nearby that Tiadaria’s vision turned to purple sparkles. The crash that followed seemed to come from directly overhead. Nightwind, normally a stolid warhorse, reared with a frightened whinny. Tia was bucked from his back, landing on hers in the mud. The breath left her in a rush, her bottom smarting from the sudden dismount. She struggled to her feet, realizing when she finally managed it that Nightwind was nowhere to be seen.

  “Great Gatzbin’s gonads,” she swore, still trying to catch her breath. The bolting horse had run off with nearly everything she brought with her on this ill-fated trip. She had her belt knife and her purse. The knife could come in handy. The purse was less than useless in the middle of nowhere. Fantastic. She dropped her hand to the butt of the knife and gave it a tug, ensuring the strap still held it fast.

  “You can take that out and toss it over here, slave,” a gruff voice cut through the sound of the rain. Tiadaria whirled toward the voice and came face to face with a dwarven hand cannon. The muzzle of the weapon was inches from her face and the bore seemed enormous at that distance. She slipped into sphere-sight and cast out beyond the cloaked man. There was a wagon behind him, drawn by two huge draft horses. Two men stood on the wagon deck, similarly armed. She’d have taken her chances against one, three on one was more than she’d bargained for.

  Withdrawing from the Quintessential Sphere, she dropped her hand to the butt of her knife and tugged the strap free. She drew it slowly out, between her thumb and forefinger, and tossed it on the ground at the stranger’s feet.

  “Is this how you welcome all your visitors?”

  The hooded man knelt to retrieve the dagger, the barrel of his pistol never wavering. “When the ‘visitor’ is wearing a slave collar and carrying a pig-sticker? Yeah, that’s how we welcome all our escaped slaves.”

  “I’m not an escaped slave,” Tiadaria sighed. This conversation had become more and more common the farther from Dragonfell she rode. She was beginning to wonder if she shouldn’t just have Faxon remove it and be done with it. Still, it was a part of her, one of the few parts of the Captain she had left. “I have my papers they’re in my…”

  “In your what?”

  “In my saddlebag,” Tia threw her hands up at the fruitlessness of the conversation. “Which is strapped to my horse, which is who knows where since he bolted after that last lightning strike.” She shook her head, brushing the wet hair out of her eyes. “I don’t suppose you’re likely to wait for him to come back?”

  “Not likely, Miss--”

  “Tiadaria,” she supplied helpfully. “So what do we do now?”

  The hooded stranger eased the hammer down on the cannon and dropped it into a holster hanging at his hip.

  “You wouldn’t be the Tiadaria, would you? The Tiadaria who fought at Dragonfell? The Tiadaria who gave the eulogy at the Captain’s interment?”

  Tiadaria sighed again. The most painful moment of her life had turned out to be a boon on more than one occasion. It seemed that people all throughout the Imperium had heard the story. In many cases, they told it as they themselves had been there. An interesting feat for so many people when it had been such a small group that was gathered around his tomb that day. Still, if it made them feel a part of it in the retelling, who did it really hurt?

  “Yes, that Tiadaria.”

  The hooded man sniffed. “Never figured the Captain to put a girl on the battlefield.” He stabbed a thick finger at her. “I think you got damn lucky. Luck is no substitute for experience and planning, girl, remember that.”

  Without another word, he turned on his heel and stalked back to the wagon, climbing into the driver’s position. Following his lead, the other men holstered their weapons. Tiadaria gaped at them. The tale of their heroic battle against the Xarundi usually got her at least the offer of a drink and sometimes an invitation to a meal. The condition of the road wasn’t the only difference out here.

  With a snap of the reigns, the wagon started forward. As it passed, the stranger tossed her belt knife into the mud at her feet. She knelt to retrieve the Captain’s blade, shaking the worst of the mud from the blade.

  “Wait!” Tiadaria called. “Can you at least tell me how to get to Ethergate?”

  “Follow the road, girl.” The man called, without turning around. “Another half a day will get you there. Sooner if you find your horse.”

  It may have just been the rain, but Tiadaria was almost certain she heard a rough laugh as the cart moved onward. Tia stood in the middle of the muddy road, watching the wagon until it had disappeared from view. She wasn’t sure how much worse this day could get. She wanted to sit down and cry. Instead, she put one foot in front of the other, following the deep ruts made by the wagon.

  Minutes blended into hours as she trudged through the mud. At some point, she had lost the feeling in her toes. If her boots weren’t ruined, she would be absolutely amazed. Night was coming on quickly. She would have to find somewhere to while away the hours until dawn. It would be a miserable evening without her tinderbox.

  A flash of lighting lit the sky and Tia saw the shadow of a curtain wall against the fading sky. That had to be Ethergate, she thought. Even if it wasn’t, it was likely somewhere she could get a room for the night. At this point, she’d even take a stable stall if it meant getting out of the rain. She thanked every minor deity she knew that her purse was still safely tucked into her belt. A sudden apprehension flashed through her and she dropped her hand to her belt, searching frantically for the drawstring pouch until she found it, its narrow neck wrapped around and knotted. She sighed in relief and set off toward the city with a lighter heart.

  Night had fallen by the time she reached Ethergate. Large braziers on the top of the wall burned with purple flames. Tia didn’t care what color the flames were as long as she could get near enough to them to get warm and possibly dry some of the wrinkles from her fingertips.

  She reached the portcullis and was relieved to find it open still. She stepped into the passage, relishing in the fact that for the first time in nearly a full day, she wasn’t being rained on. She leaned against the wall. Her feet ached so badly and she still had to find somewhere to sleep for the night.

  “You look li
ke you’ve seen better days,” a voice came from ahead. A lantern flared in the dark and an armored guard approached her. “Worse rains we’ve had around here in, oh, probably ten years or so.”

  “Just my luck to be caught out in them, then,” Tiadaria tried to keep the bitterness from her voice with little success. The guard smiled.

  “There’s an inn just beyond the wall, take the road into the city, turn left, it's the building on the right.”

  “Thank you!” Tia didn’t need to fake the gratitude she felt toward the man. All she wanted was a warm fire and a bed. “My horse bolted on the road during the storm, I don’t suppose he’s made his way here?”

  The guard shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. I’ll put a word in with my men. If the patrols find him, they’ll bring him in.”

  “Thank you again,” Tiadaria said with a wave and started toward the city proper.

  “And Miss?” the guard called. Tia turned to see him motion toward her collar. “The Guard Captain will want to see your papers. Go get yourself a room and a warm fire. It can wait until morning.”

  Tia nodded and continued into the city. It was a good thing that her presentation could wait until the morning. She still wasn’t sure how she was going to pull that off with Nightwind being missing in action. Oh well, she’d worry about burning that bridge when she had to. For now, there was an inn, with beds, and fires, and she had money. This was going to be the best night in a long time.

  All activity in the common room stopped when Tiadaria entered the Elvish Harlot. It was obvious that the majority of those in attendance were regulars. Every eye in the building followed her to the counter where the tiny innkeeper rested on both elbows. She’d have guessed he was in at least his eighth decade. The skin drawn over his skull was deeply creased, but his blue eyes were as clear and bright as any Tiadaria had ever seen. She suspected that the man cultivated his helpless appearance, and she wouldn’t be at all surprised if he had more than one trick up his sleeve.