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Tionne rubbed her bottom where the bolt had hit her. The skin still tingled there, but he hadn’t burned her. It wasn't the first time that she'd goaded Faxon into using his power against her, but she was usually more adept at avoiding the repercussions.
One day she'd return the favor. If he thought he could sling spells at her with impunity, he had another thing coming. She might not be able to do it soon, but when she was ready to pay him back, she'd do a good enough job of it that he'd never forget. Or dare to attack her again.
The sun was low in the western sky, gilding the city streets in gold and casting long, dark shadows. A smile crept across Tionne's face. Any big city changed after sunset and Dragonfell was no exception. Once the last rays of the sun had died away, the things that shied away from the light would come out to play, scurrying out of their daytime dens.
Tionne was one of them. Ever since she was small, she had found comfort in the darkness. It was the dark that had saved her from the savage monsters that destroyed her village. The black, hot confines of the water barrel she had been shoved in had kept her safe with only her own breath in her ears to keep her company. There was a comfort in the dark that forever eluded her in the light.
Now that the sun had slipped below the city wall, she felt better. Cradled in the night, she was more herself. She walked down the emptying street. The reputable citizens were closing their shops and sitting down for dinner with their families. Soon the night would belong to her kind. She smiled.
With sudden clarity, Tionne knew exactly where she wanted to go. She ducked down an alley and weaved her way through the city, away from the palace caverns and toward the fringes near the walls. The darkest places in a city were always those that fell under the shadow of the city walls. The places where the touch of sun only lasted for an hour or two every day.
The Turgid Eel was just such a place. A motley combination of inn, tavern, and brothel, the Turgid Eel catered to the disreputable elements of the city. Tionne loved it there. The people were interesting and the barmaid didn't care who she served as long as they had good coin to pay with.
Aluka, the barmaid, was one of the only friends Tionne had. She was always glad to see Tionne and twice as glad if there were crowns being pushed across the bar. Ale wasn't a fondness for her, but the young quintessentialist had taken to honey mead from the first time it had crossed her tongue. A frosty glass of mead would be just the thing to take her mind off Faxon and his forceful reprimand.
By the time she reached the halfway house, twilight had deepened almost into total night. Tionne crossed the rough wood planks that made up the wide porch that surrounded the building, her boots rapping a sharp staccato pattern on the boards. She pushed through the batwing doors and surveyed the room with arch superiority.
The regulars were just starting to trickle in. There was a table toward the back of the room where a group of sailors were playing dice. Most of them were stripped to the waist, their arms well muscled and their fingers and torsos scarred with the ravages of salt, sea, and line. Just beyond the table of seamen, there was an open spiral staircase that snaked its way up to the rented rooms. Tionne had never been up there, but she had heard enough stories that piqued her curiosity in the most devilishly sensual ways.
A long bar ran the length of the room on the left and that was where the young mage made her way now. There was a lanky blond behind the counter. Her butter yellow hair was pulled back in a long braid that hung to her waist. Deep grey eyes, the color of witchmetal, flicked over the bar and the patrons, as if tallying up the number of crowns that would be in the till at the end of the night. Those eyes caught Tionne's and held them for a moment, the corner of the barmaid's mouth lifting in a smile.
Tionne's stomach did a little flip when Aluka smiled at her like that. She didn't know if it was because she found the older girl so pretty, or just because she relished the singular attention that Aluka lavished on her when she was nearby, but Tionne knew that she had never felt that way about anyone else. If the rough company was enough to make her shy away from the Turgid Eel, Aluka's smile was always a stronger reason to come back.
“Hey beautiful,” Aluka said to her in low voice as Tionne sat down at the bar. She produced a thick, well-frosted glass filled with deep amber liquid and slid it front of the mage. “Honey for my honey?”
Her milky pale skin did nothing to hide the blush that crept up Tionne's neck and spread all the way up to her ears. She felt as if her entire face was burning. Aluka smiled at her again and then drifted down the bar, her attention caught by a figure in a thick traveling cloak.
Tionne watched the newcomer out of the corner of her eye. Surreptitious investigations came as naturally to her as breathing. Her guile and subterfuge had kept her one step ahead of officious Masters and conniving fellow students alike. She prided herself on her knowledge of things that were thought well guarded secrets and only divulged that knowledge when it would profit her to do so.
Aluka was drawing a drink for the stranger in the cloak. The mysterious figure kept its head low, letting the voluminous folds hide its features and grant it anonymity. They must be roasting under all that cloth, Tionne thought. It was still warm outside and even though the windows were open, the air inside was thick and hot. The barmaid passed the ale to the stranger and took a coin in return. During that brief exchange, Tionne noticed that the stranger was wearing thick leather gloves.
She leaned back in her chair to get a look at the feet. It was an inadvisable action, as it called attention to her, which was something one usually didn't want in a place like the Eel. Still, her curiosity got the better of her and she gave the stranger a closer look. Not that it helped all that much. The cloak ran almost to the floor. Only a pair of black leather boots peeked out. The boots were unremarkable, save for the brilliant shine of the silver hardware. If nothing else, it was obvious that the footwear was well cared for.
Shaking her head, as if to clear the curiosity, she took a long pull on the mead and shivered as the alcohol sparked a fire in her belly. The warmth was a welcome visitor and she nursed it along with small sips throughout the evening. Aluka would stop by and chat when she wasn't busy with others, scampering off only when drinks were shouted for or when she caught the master of the house giving her the evil eye.
It was during one of these absences that Tionne realized that the stranger in the traveling cloak had ended up on the stool next to hers. The newcomer was accompanied by a strange, but not unpleasant, musk. Like the smell of freshly turned earth. Tionne couldn't recall the stranger moving. It felt as if they had been further down the bar one moment, and very nearby the next. As they sat there side by side, Tionne's sidelong gaze was drawn to the hood again and again, as if through force of will she could see past the veil of darkness.
“You're a bit too tipsy for that to be an option,” the stranger said. The voice was definitely feminine, but it had a strange, deep burr to it.
Tionne went rigid. She was tipsy enough that command of the Quintessential Sphere would have been difficult, but normally she was more on guard. She hadn't felt the stranger touch her thoughts and her lapse in self-defense was as disturbing as the violation itself.
“I apologize,” the stranger said softly, still not turning to face Tionne, though the girl had now swiveled on her stool to face the interloper. “That was rude of me. Still, we had to know that you were one of us.”
Tionne's eyes narrowed. There were few things she distrusted more than inclusion in a group. She had learned those lessons painfully from the other students in the Academy. Groups were good only for excluding others…usually for excluding Tionne.
“One of who?” she demanded, all pretense of patience gone in a flash. “You don't know me. How do you know what I am or who I belong with.”
With surprising speed, the stranger's hand snapped out and caught her wrist. Tionne tried to pull away, but found the grip more than enough to hold her hostage. She could feel the finger
s inside the glove, they were thin and delicate, but strong. The stranger turned to face her now, still just a dark expanse of black under the hood.
The stranger's other hand pushed up the sleeve of Tionne's robe, exposing a line of old scars just below the elbow, as neat and tidy as a farmer's furrows. The stranger traced these with a gloved fingertip and Tionne felt a strange longing spread through her. It was similar to what she felt when she looked at Aluka, but much more intense.
“Stop,” Tionne said, pulling her arm away. This time the stranger released her and Tionne pulled the sleeve down, covering the old scars. The touch had unnerved her. Her reaction to it, doubly so.
“Rest easy, Tionne,” the stranger said, exposing her own arm. The skin was the color of a leaden sky, a light, warm grey that was both surprising and seemed perfectly natural.
A gloved hand pushed away the cloak and the stranger turned the inside of her arm to show Tionne a much longer line of scars like her own. Instead of fine white lines on pale skin, these were faint black lines on grey. Even so, Tionne could see that they were made from the same type of injury: a self-inflicted wound with a very sharp blade.
“So?” she asked, unappeased. “We share some scars. Nothing more. Who are you?”
The stranger pushed the hood of her cloak back and Tionne gasped. She was surprised on several levels. The first of which was that the woman hidden by the cloak was possibly the most beautiful creature she had ever seen. Fine silver hair was brushed back from her forehead, flowing down her back like a moon touched waterfall. Her skin was uniformly grey and smooth, like the surface of a river rock worn down by eons of sand and water. What set her apart, and caused most of Tionne's reaction, was her eyes. They were wide and round, seeming to Tionne to be much larger than they should be. They were an opaque red, with just the faintest glimmer of light, like a single ember burning from across a dark clearing.
“I am Nerillia, of the Lamiad,” she said, inclining her torso toward Tionne. “We share much more than scars, Tionne. We share an affinity for the blood. We crave it. We want to control it. I'd like to talk to you about who I am, who I represent, and what we can offer you, if you would hear me.”
Tionne tumbled that about in her mind. If you would hear me, she had said. It wasn't a demand. It wasn't coercion. It wasn't a threat. True, Nerillia had touched her mind without her consent, but if the Lamiad was also a slave to the call of blood, Tionne could understand. That wasn't just something you blurted out to a stranger. Not without having some assurances.
“You've been watching me,” Tionne said with sudden clarity.
“Yes. For some time. We had to be sure before we approached you.”
Nerillia flipped up the hood of her cloak. Not, however, before Tionne noticed some of the other patrons staring in their direction. People were strange. Men were here cheating on their wives. Wives were here making extra crowns on their backs. But expose something beyond the fringe of those acceptable debaucheries and people got uncomfortable.
Aluka appeared before them as if summoned. Her grey eyes were troubled and Tionne saw something in her face she hadn't seen before. Fear.
“You need to leave,” the barmaid said to Nerillia. “Now. It isn't safe for you here.”
“I was just going,” Nerillia said, getting to her feet. She turned toward Tionne, her eyes faint glimmers of crimson under the drawn hood. “You're like us. I just want to talk. Think about it.”
Before Tionne could react, Nerillia took her hand and clasped it. The young mage felt something cold on her palm and instinctively closed her hand around it. Then the Lamiad was gone, weaving through the crowd and disappearing through the hanging doors. Behind her, Aluka let out an exaggerated sigh.
“Thank goodness,” she said. “I thought we were going to have real trouble. Another mead?”
“No thank you,” Tionne said absently, still looking out over the crowd.
“Suit yourself,” Aluka huffed, stalking off down the bar.
That she might have permanently damaged her relationship with the barmaid never crossed Tionne's mind. Her attention was drawn to the cold, hard object in her palm. She unfolded her fingers and looked at it. It was a pebble, but a pebble unlike any she had ever seen. It was black, so black that it seemed to drink in all the light and heat around it. She wasn't sure why, but she felt as if she needed to protect it. As if it had suddenly become her utmost responsibility to protect this little stone.
Pushing a coin across the counter, Tionne left the Turgid Eel and wandered out into the street. With the din of the crowd now at her back, the night seemed more serene and still. There were a few hangabouts outside, but no one hassled her as she descended the wide steps.
Now that her head was clear, she wondered what she was supposed to do with the stone Nerillia had given her. She cradled it in her open hands, staring at it, trying to puzzle out its meaning. The effects of the mead were starting to wear off, so she slipped into the Quintessential Sphere, hoping that sphere sight would help unlock the mystery that had presented to her. The stone, in the timelessness of the sphere, was no different than the physical manifestation she held. It was small and completely black. It was the only object that Tionne had ever seen that didn't have a memory or an echo of its past.
This was a test. She was sure of it. It was a test that would tell Nerillia and her mysterious group if she had the skills to join them. It was a puzzle. Tionne loved puzzles. It was one of the only aspects of being a student in the Academy that really appealed to her. There was no better feeling than finally figuring out the last piece of a riddle that was a particularly difficult spell or ritual.
So then, all that remained was for her to figure out the riddle. To do that, she'd need somewhere to sit and think. Going back to the inn was out of the question. Faxon would no doubt be there. The last thing she needed while trying to figure this out was Faxon standing over her shoulder with his jokes. Or worse, his sermons.
Glancing around she saw the little alley that ran between the Eel and the buildings on the other side. That should offer sufficient privacy to worry out the puzzle. She slipped into the darkness, relying on the advantage of sphere sight to lead her around the debris that made the footing dangerous. She found an empty crate and turned it over, plopping down on her makeshift stool.
The stone didn't seem to respond to her touch, nor did it respond to her thoughts, either in the physical realm or in the ethereal one. It seemed utterly unaffected by magic and the few simple manipulations that Tionne tried. Warming it, cooling it, and suspending it with the power of her mind seemed to make no discernible difference. It stayed the same temperature as it had been from the moment Nerillia had thrust it into her palm.
Her ruminations were disturbed by a man stumbling into the alley. He reeked of ale and teetered on his legs so violently that Tionne thought he might collapse at any moment. He saw her and stopped short, a broken smile glittering in the darkness.
“'Choo doin here, pretty girl?”
The words were so slurred that Tionne could barely understand him, but the naked intent on his face held enough meaning. She reached into the sleeve of her robes, taking an obsidian dagger from the sheath strapped to her forearm. She had crafted it herself, drawing the obsidian from the Great Tower and shaping it through sheer force of will in the Quintessential Sphere. Tempered with magic, the glass blade was just as strong and durable as the finest steel and twice as sharp.
As he saw the blade, the drunkard's face took on hard lines. He held up a warning hand.
“Choo gonna stick me with 'at, girl?”
I'd like nothing more, Tionne thought. However, she knew her limitations. She was no fighter. If she let the man get close enough, it was very possible he'd be able to overpower her. She was tall for her age, but she was lanky. She had reach, but no muscle to make her a skilled fighter. Instead, her power came from the timeless void of the Sphere and from there, she'd deal with his threat.
Keeping the blade pointed at
the man, who was still creeping toward her, she dropped the stone in an inside pocket of her robe. Then she drew the very tip of the blade across her other palm. The pain was exhilarating, an erotic pleasure that bubbled up from the black depths of her soul. A fine, thin line of blood welled up in her palm and she closed her eyes, slipping into sphere sight.
The grey-washed living memory of the alley surrounded them. Speaking ancient words of command, Tionne slowed the passage of time in the physical realm, manipulating the memory-in-making. The drunk seemed to move in slow motion, a darkened shade consumed by a writhing blackness.
Tionne's darkness was blacker still. Her manifestation in the ethereal realm was her body rendered black as coal. The only light that surrounded her was the pulsing, crimson glow that welled up from the palm of her hand where she had drawn the blood. She called to it in the sphere, coaxing it to do her bidding. She imbued it with the memories of ancient evils and wars long ended. Tionne commanded the infestation to attack and it broke from her body, streaking across the ethereal void to burrow into the man's chest.
In the physical realm, there was a crimson flash as the transference was made. The line on her palm was a new, pink scar, untainted by a single drop of blood. The man seemed unchanged. Tionne let her control of the Sphere collapse and reentered the physical realm, doing her best to ignore the sudden nausea that swept over her.
The drunk took a step forward and stopped with a lurch. The menacing look on his face shifted to surprise, then agony. He screamed, but no sound came, just a low gurgling from deep within his chest. Blood streamed out of his nose first, then his ears. Tionne could see it glimmer in the dim moonlight. The blood came from his eyes next, finally trickling from the corner of his mouth before he went rigid, falling face forward into the trash-strewn passage.
Tionne stood motionless. It was the first time she had killed anyone. She knew he was dead. She had felt his presence pass beyond the physical world. If she was expecting to feel remorse, or glee, or joy, she was disappointed. She felt nothing. It was just a thing that she had done. He had meant nothing to her. He had probably not meant much to anyone. She had protected herself and provided a service. This man wouldn't again bother any young girl in an alley.
The Swordmage Trilogy Bundle, Volumes 1-3 Page 37
