“I hadn’t noticed,” Tiadaria replied at her driest. She motioned him in and closed the door behind him.
Seeing the work table seemed to ground the young quintessentialist. He went to the table and deposited the book he was carrying on the surface with reverent hands. Tia found herself wondering if he treated every book he touched with such awe and care. If so, she could understand why Faxon entrusted his research to this particular apprentice.
Wynn began flipping through the book, his fingers lightly grazing each page as he flipped through them. When he spoke again, the shakiness had left his voice.
“You said yesterday that Master Indra is looking for a relic that the Xarundi also seek, buried in snow and ice. I remember seeing an entry in this journal about an expedition to the Frozen Frontier to find a source of rare and powerful magic.”
“Ah, here it is; Alveron and his men left Ethergate two fortnights ago. They go to the far north in search of a relic of limitless power. I asked Alveron where he learned of the relic, but he wouldn’t share the information with me. I thought it was important that we know the source of the rumor, so I took matters into my own hands. I took his quartermaster to the inn and got him good and drunk. The quartermaster says that they bought the information from a Dyrseer in Overwatch. He said the Dyrseer’s great-grandfather saw the relic buried in the ice and brought the tale back with him at the end of the war.”
Wynn glanced up at her. “It continues on into a lot of detail you probably don’t need or want. It does, however, seem to hint at there being some truth to the rumor you’re chasing.”
“What’s a Dyrseer?” Tiadaria asked.
The quint tapped the journal with his forefinger. “It seems to be a now-forgotten term for the creatures you refer to as the Xarundi.”
“So who was this Alveron?”
Wynn sniffed. “A quintessentialist of mediocre renown. If he had paid more attention to his studies and less time running around searching for relics, maybe he’d have survived his journey to the Northern Rim.”
“How do you know he didn’t survive?”
He tapped the journal again. “Theodrin was a direct descendant of Grigor Gatzbin and the historian of our order until his death in 219p.c. Theodrin mentions Alveron once or twice more in his journals, but he never mentions his return.”
“That’d be a neat trick after eight hundred years,” Tiadaria quipped. “If he wasn’t dead then, he is now.”
“A logical assumption,” Wynn said, nodding.
Tia stared at him. “I was joking, Wynn.”
There was a long silence, punctuated by the quintessentialist flipping the book closed and tucking it back under his arm.
“Joking, if you can call it that, aside, you now know that there may be a relic somewhere in the Northern Rim.” He turned to leave and Tia caught him by the sleeve.
“We need to know more, Wynn. We need to know where the relic is, or at least make a good guess so we can start looking. We have to beat the Xarundi to whatever this thing is, if it exists.”
“Why?”
Tiadaria gaped at him. Her lips moved wordlessly for a moment before she finally found her voice. When she did, her words came out in the barest whisper.
“Why? Why do we have to beat the Xarundi? Why do we have to ensure that they don’t unleash something terrible on Solendrea?”
“Yes. Why?”
Her initial shock abating, Tia found the full strength of her voice and used it. “Don’t you know anything about the Xarundi? Don’t you know that they almost wiped out the human race? Don’t you know that two years ago, they almost did it again? I was there. People died, Wynn.” Her voice broke and her fingers went instinctively to her collar. “People I cared about. People Faxon cared about. The Xarundi are savage monsters and we cannot allow them any advantage. None.”
The quintessentialist had the good form to look uncomfortable, though Tiadaria couldn’t tell if it was because her words were having any impact whatsoever, or if he was just twitchy because she was so emotional.
“I’m-- I’m sorry,” he said after a long pause. He placed the journal back on the table and sat down on her bed. “I was born here. In Ethergate, I mean. My parents were both quintessentialists, both researchers. Like me. I’ve never even been outside the city.”
Tia peered at him, wondering if this was his way of getting back at her for her joke earlier. She studied his face, drawn in solemn lines. Wynn probably wouldn’t know a good joke if it leapt out of the fire and danced on his toes.
“You’re serious?” Tia was aghast. Even as she asked the question, Tiadaria realized it wasn’t as ridiculous as it had first seemed. After all, she hadn’t been outside the clan lands before her father had sold her to the repugnant slaver who brought her into the Imperium. Even so, she had been to other clan villages. To never have been outside the city...
“Why would I leave?” Wynn’s sweeping gesture encompassed all of Ethergate. “Everything I could ever need is inside these walls. There’s never been an attack on Ethergate that made it beyond the gate. What kind of fool would make war against a city full of mages?”
She could appreciate the logic in that. Somehow, though, she didn’t think that the Xarundi would much care about how many mages there were. They’d breed as many bodies as they needed and throw them at the walls until they fell.
“The Xarundi might,” she said with a sigh.
The look he shot her was plainly disbelieving. “These creatures may be savage, but surely they don’t think they could take the city. That’s just not reasonable.”
Tia threw her hands in the air. “These aren’t reasonable creatures, Wynn! They believe they are the Chosen. They believe that they alone have the right to rule over every race on Solendrea and they’ll stop at nothing to ensure that they see that to its end.”
She took a knee next to him, so she could look up into his face. “Don’t you see? That’s why we need you, Wynn. That’s why we need to find out as much as we can about this relic. What it is. Where it might be. How to find it. Your skill could be invaluable. You could save hundreds, maybe thousands of lives.”
The mage rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. His eyes were troubled and Tiadaria felt sympathy for him for the first time. It wasn’t all that long ago that her entire world view had been challenged. She knew what a shock that was.
“I don’t know,” he finally said, meeting her gaze. “I can’t believe that these...things...would attack Ethergate.”
“Maybe they won’t,” Tiadaria agreed. “Maybe they’ll just kill as many men, women, and children in the Imperium as they can, then enslave the rest. Then Ethergate will be the last human settlement they haven’t destroyed or made slaves of. Do you really think they’ll leave you alone forever?”
“Alright!” His voice rose as the last of his resistance broke. “Alright. I’ll see what else I can find in the archives.” He shook his head slowly. “Maybe I can at least find you somewhere to start.”
Tia laid her hand on his knee and a familiar shock shot up her arm. Wynn jumped at the touch and she quickly pulled her hand away. “That’s all we ask for, Wynn, thank you.”
The quint got to his feet and once again retrieved his book. He bade her good day and told her that he’d come to her with anything that he might find during his investigation. As Tiadaria closed the door behind him, she wondered if he had realized what had passed between them, and if he had, how long it would be before the Order’s inquisitors descended on the inn to take her away.
“Damn it, Faxon,” she said quietly to herself. “I need you here now. Where are you?”
* * *
“Vermin in the Warrens! There are vermin in the Warrens!” The pup that came racing into the rectory was so young that Zarfensis suspected he wasn’t long off his mother’s teat. His eyes were wide with panic, their blue fire amplified by a lens of tears.
The High Priest put down his pen and went to the door. In the cathedral he could hear exc
ited yips and shouts. Excited, not fearful, and not panicked like the youngster crouched down next to his desk. It wasn’t, then, the vermin descending on them en masse to finish what they’d begun at Dragonfell.
“Come, whelp.” He offered his hand to the cowering pup, who took it with only a moment’s hesitation. “The vermin are not to be feared. We teach the vermin to fear us. We are the Chosen.”
“Y-yes, Your Holiness.”
Zarfensis lead the pup from the rectory into the cathedral. He’d wasted no time in moving back into his traditional quarters after the coup and now the adolescents that he and Xenir had assigned to stand guard over the upper levels of the Warrens were streaming into the sanctuary in twos and threes. The High Priest was about to take them to task for leaving their posts when he saw Xenir.
“Your Holiness!” Xenir motioned toward the antechamber and Zarfensis nodded his understanding. He gently pushed the pup into the waiting arms of a nearby stripling. The adolescent stepped in front of the pup, his half-grown claws unsheathing as he took up a protective position.
Zarfensis bounded across the sanctuary, his metal leg ringing against the marble floor with each step. “Report, Warleader.”
“There are vermin in the upper tunnels, Your Holiness. The tunnel guards did exactly as they ought, took them by surprise from one of the blind tunnels and restrained them. They are holding their captives at the north entrance.”
“They’re not bringing them here?”
Xenir wrinkled his nose, his lips drawing back from his teeth. “No, I’ll not see the Warrens defiled by vermin.”
Zarfensis chuckled at the vehemence in the Warleader’s tone. He clapped him on the shoulder. “Very well, brother. Let us go greet our...guests.”
The Warleader snorted but said nothing. They loped easily up through the tunnels leading to the surface, passing knots of curious onlookers as they went. They passed a bitch, followed by a full litter of pups. Zarfensis held up a hand and the Warleader stopped. The High Priest turned to the bitch, who immediately bowed her head and went to her knees.
“Your Holiness?”
“Rise, dear sister. Why are these pups out of the nursery?”
“I heard there are vermin in the Warrens, High Priest.”
“Then why aren’t you protecting your charges in their place?”
“The pups must learn what the vermin look like, what they smell like, how they sound. Otherwise, how will they hunt them down as they grow?”
She tossed her head haughtily, refusing to drop her eyes from Zarfensis’s intense gaze.
“Well spoken, sister.” Zarfensis motioned for the Warleader to continue and called over his shoulder. “Just ensure their safety.”
“The day I can’t protect my pups from a few vermin, I’ll cut off my own tail.” She said as they rounded the corner.
Zarfensis shuddered. Losing a tail was the greatest shame a Chosen could be subjected to. The High Priest wondered if there were many other females with that same streak of aggressiveness.
“She has a warrior’s heart,” Xenir remarked. Zarfensis had often wondered if Xenir’s gift of foresight also offered him the occasional glimpse into another’s mind, but when the Warleader continued, the High Priest’s suspicion was allayed.
“Those pups are mine,” Xenir said without a trace of pride. “She’s not the only female with that kind of fire, either. I wonder if we might be well-suited by allowing them to become warriors.”
“One cultural upheaval at a time, Xenir. We’ve only just restored the Chosen to our rightful status, let’s not give the scant handful of elders who backed us a reason to overthrow us just yet.”
Xenir grunted and walked on. Before long, they reached the oval cavern that was used as the ready room for the northern entrance to the Warrens. Three dirty, pink vermin were on their knees, guarded by two pairs of Xarundi guards. Zarfensis was impressed with their restraint. None of the prisoners seemed to be mauled in any way.
“Only three?” Zarfensis remarked to Xenir. “Are these vermin suicidal?”
“You were at Dragonfell,” the largest of the humans said, nodding toward Zarfensis. “The quints gave you a right good beating.”
A meaty thud echoed across the cavern as the man’s head rocked back on his neck. The force of the High Priest’s backhand raised an ugly welt across the human’s cheekbone.
“Learn your place, vermin.” Zarfensis snarled.
The man hawked and spat blood onto the floor in front of him. “My place is where the most money is. We have information you may find interesting, for a price.”
Zarfensis marveled at the audacity of these vermin. They defiled the Warrens with their presence and then expected to be compensated for their information. They should be happy they were still breathing.
“What information could a lowly vermin possibly have that is of interest to the Chosen?”
The man smiled, showing a crooked row of bloody teeth. “We know where the clan girl is…the one who turned you back at Dragonfell. If I were you, I’d want my revenge. I’d want to see the bitch flayed alive.”
The High Priest glanced at Xenir. The vermin obviously had no idea how offensive his words were. To compare a human woman to a female Xarundi. It was disgusting. The Warleader’s gaze slid from his and Zarfensis suddenly wondered if he was seeing the Deep Oracle again.
There would be time to address that later, he thought. If these vermin actually did know the location of the girl, that could be valuable.
“What is the price for this information?” Zarfensis raised a hand at Xenir’s protest. He understood the Warleader’s protest. No Chosen could ever be indebted to the vermin.
“Runedust,” the man said, longing creeping into his voice. “Six vials, two for each of us.” He nodded to his companions.
Dusters, Zarfensis thought, his skin crawling. Now that he looked closely at the vermin, he could see the signs. The tiny pupils, the drawn skin, the broken veins around the nose. These men had been consuming runedust for quite some time. They were desperate. He could smell their need.
Xenir’s nose flared and Zarfensis caught his eye. The Warleader flicked one ear. He had come to the same conclusion at the same time. Dire straits had driven these vermin into the Warrens. A duster with no regular source of runedust was as good as dead anyway. Trading their information for a small fortune must have seemed brilliant to the three of them.
The High Priest drew a vial of glowing blue crystals from the pouch on his belt. He held it level with the vermin’s line of sight, ensuring that the gentle pulse caught his eye.
“A show of good faith,” Zarfensis said, rolling the vial across the floor. The human snatched it up, pulling the stopper with his teeth and pouring some crystals into his hand before passing it to his companions.
Pressing his nose to his palm, the vermin snorted the crystals, not even bothering to pulverize them first. A moment later, the human’s eyes had taken on a pale blue fire that was far too similar to the Xarundi’s for the High Priest’s piece of mind. The tension in the man’s frame seemed to ease and he sighed deeply before speaking.
“There is a human settlement, a city outside the Imperium borders, a mage city.”
“I know this city,” Xenir said. “The vermin call it Ethergate. It is known to the Xarundi as the Hallowed Vale.”
“How do you know that?” The human was visibly startled.
Xenir snorted his derision. “Because, vermin, it was a Chosen city long before the humans moved into our ruins like the scavengers they are.”
The leader of the vermin paused as his companions got into a squabble over the division of the crystals left in the vial. Once they had consumed their portions, he continued.
“The girl is in Ethergate. We found her on the road to the city and scared off her horse to slow her down, then we came here.”
Zarfensis nodded. “Knowing that the Xarundi possess the rune of death.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes
. Surely this information is worth the price we ask?”
Zarfensis looked at the Warleader, who nodded almost imperceptibly. He trusted Xenir’s council. If they both suspected these men were more desperate than interested in practicing deception, there was a good chance that the information was good. They could have their revenge on the girl and then retrieve the relic.
“It is,” the High Priest agreed. The human sagged in on himself, almost comically relieved. His addiction to runedust must be staggering, Zarfensis thought without pity. He motioned to the Xarundi guards. “Dispose of the vermin.”
Even augmented by the power of runedust, three humans were no match for four nearly adult Xarundi who descended on them with claws and fangs flashing. The screams were intense, but short-lived as the Chosen dispatched their prey with deadly efficiency.
“Do you believe the information to be accurate?” Zarfensis watched with grim pleasure as the adolescents ate their fill. Xenir, coming to stand beside him, nodded.
“I see no reason to doubt it. I know of this city. We can dispatch warriors and know for sure if the girl is really there.”
“No, Warleader. I prefer to attend to this myself.”
Xenir nodded. “I suspected as much.” He motioned to the guards, dragging the remains of the humans from the cavern. “At least take them with you. They’re young, but their instincts have proven true.”
“Of course, brother. We leave tonight.”
* * *
Tiadaria arched her back against the chair, he ankles crossed and legs stretched out under the table. A series of pops and snaps issued from her joints and she sighed in relief. There was no way of telling how long they’d been at it. The magical lanterns on the walls used no oil and burned no wax. No consumption meant no way of measuring the passage of time. Without windows, they might as well be isolated from all of Solendrea.
They’d been in the library every night for the past four nights and each night, the hopelessness of their endeavor seemed to weigh on them even more. If nothing else, the time together had immunized Tiadaria against Wynn’s logic and reason. She was even beginning to genuinely like the young quintessentialist, even if he did make her crazy.
The Swordmage Trilogy Bundle, Volumes 1-3 Page 22
