The Swordmage Trilogy Bundle, Volumes 1-3

by Martin Hengst

  Tiadaria was cold, though the morning was mild. The chill went deep into her bones and had nothing to do with the weather. It was a cold dread that seemed to permeate every fiber of her being. An ache of loss so profound that she didn't know if she'd ever recover. Not completely.

  She felt Wynn's hand brush hers and she grabbed it, clinging to him like a drowning man would clutch a lifeline. From the corner of her eye, she saw him wince and forced herself to relax her grip. The animosity between them had faded, or at the very least had been suspended, since Wynn had seen her after her meeting with the King.

  Tia glanced at Faxon. The change in him made her heart ache. His lips were pressed together in a firm white line, and there were deep, dark hollows under his eyes. His hair, which had been chestnut brown when she'd met him, was turning a distinct grey over the temples. He looked tired. Almost as tired as she felt.

  “This isn't accomplishing anything,” Faxon said, scrubbing his face with both hands. “I don't know what else we can do.”

  “You did your best. No one could sort through this mess.” Tia waved her free hand, indicating not only the shattered marble, but the tumultuous eddies of the Quintessential Sphere that surrounded them.

  Whoever had stolen the Captain's body had bombarded the area with so much obscuring magic that the space around the tomb was warped beyond recognition in the ethereal realm. Faxon had spent almost an hour trying to unravel the mysteries inherent in the disturbance and had found nothing. Tia couldn't even bear to look at it. The twisted essence of the ethereal realm made her head hurt. She'd made a halfhearted attempt to see what she could glean from the Quintessential Sphere, but knew in her heart that if Faxon couldn't find anything worthwhile, she'd have no hope of doing so.

  “I don't understand,” Wynn said slowly. “Who would do this? And why? What could they hope to gain?”

  Faxon shrugged and they lapsed again into uneasy silence. None of them had any answers to the myriad of questions the crime had spawned. Still, they couldn't seem to leave the place empty handed. So they stood and stared, one or the other of them occasionally offering a guess that was easily dismissed. Tia knew they were lost and they had little hope of being found.

  Releasing Wynn's hand, she stepped closer to the tomb than she had dared to the previous day. It smelled of damp earth with a hint of decay. She crouched near the edge of the broken marble, picking up the smooth pieces of white stone and fitting them back into the side of the sarcophagus as if fitting pieces into a puzzle.

  Tia wasn't surprised when Wynn knelt beside her to help, but she was grateful. Perhaps some good would come of this desecration. At least they weren't at each other's throats, and that was something. It was a start and she'd take it. They were still trying to sort out the largest of the marble shards when Tiadaria caught a shadow out of the corner of her eye. It was just a darker smudge against the fog, moving toward them.

  Faxon spread his hands, as if gazing into an invisible crystal ball. Magical lightning sprang up between his fingers, arcing from one hand to the other with a faint crackle. Tia felt for her swords and came up empty, remembering that she had left them in the inn. There was really no need for her to be armed in Dragonfell. Or so she thought.

  “Rest easy, Master Indra,” a familiar voice came from the fog. “I come as a friend, not a foe.”

  A few more steps and the figure was close enough for them to see plainly. It was Adamon, the Grand Inquisitor of the Order of the Ivory Flame. The hood of his robe was pushed back, exposing a shock of medium length, dishwater brown hair. His grey eyes glittered in the subdued light. He nodded to Tiadaria and Wynn in greeting, then to Faxon, who had dropped the spell with a grunt after seeing Adamon's face.

  “What brings you to Dragonfell, Adamon?” Faxon cast a curious glance at the Inquisitor, then turned his eyes back to Tia and Wynn.

  “The three of you aren't the only ones who are interested in the events that have taken place here over the last week. The desecration of the Captain's tomb, though the most heinous, isn't the only crime this cemetery has been home to this week.”

  That caught Faxon's attention, Tia thought. His eyebrows jerked upright, but he was quick to school his expression. Though they had been together the first night she had met them, Tia had always had the impression that there was little love lost between the stolid, humorless Adamon and her more carefree friend. She'd never asked him about the relationship and she doubted she ever would. Best to leave sleeping dogs lie.

  Adamon was the epitome of a sleeping dog, she thought. An inquisitor's job was to seek out and bring to justice rogue mages. If he ever found out about her unique abilities, the Order would send him to bring her to trial, or censure her outright, cutting off her connection to the Quintessential Sphere and leaving her to go mad from the pain of the loss.

  She shook her head, trying to clear the worrisome thought from her mind. Adamon gave her an appraising look, then continued.

  “There was an artifact stolen from one of the other graves,” he said, directing his gaze at Faxon. “An ancient artifact that was rumored to have lain with one of the oldest members of the King's court.”

  “What was the artifact?” Tia asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. She tried not to speak much when Adamon was around, just in case.

  “The Chalice of Souls.”

  Wynn jerked up as if drawn by a string. He turned to Adamon, his eye wide. He glanced to Faxon, then to Tia, then back to Adamon. Whatever he knew of this artifact, Tia thought, it wasn't good.

  “The Chalice of Souls was here?”

  Adamon reached into his robe and withdrew a roll of yellowed parchment. The edges were so brittle that some flakes broke off as Wynn unrolled it, even though his touch was gentle, almost reverent. He scanned the parchment, looked skyward as if expecting an answer, then rerolled the document and returned it to the Inquisitor.

  “Do you,” Wynn began, swallowing loudly. “Do you think that the theft of the Chalice of Souls and the sacking of the Captain's tomb are related?”

  “Yes,” Adamon replied. “Don't you?”

  “I'd happily weigh in with an opinion if someone would fill me in,” Faxon snapped. Tia hadn't planned on saying it, but she was glad that Faxon had.

  Adamon motioned to Wynn and folded his arms into the sleeves of his robes. Tia could feel the weight of his eyes. It wasn't the first time she had thought he knew more about her than he was letting on, but so far, he hadn't said, or done, anything about it, so she was inclined to leave it alone.

  “The Chalice of Souls is an ancient Xarundi artifact. The legend is that after the Cleansing, the One True King took the Chalice as spoils of war and returned it to the capital.

  It was said that the Chalice was the cornerstone of the Xarundi's necromancy...that by combining the Chalice and the Dyr, they were able to reanimate the dead and bind the tattered remnants of the soul that were scattered around the ethereal realm to the reanimated body.”

  Tiadaria's blood ran cold. Though she still didn't know who had stolen the body, she had a horrible certainty that she knew what they were going to do with it.

  “They're going to bring him back,” she said quietly, looking at the ground between her knees. “They're going to bring him back and turn him against the land he loved.”

  “They can't,” Wynn said flatly. “What we know of the ritual is long and complicated and requires several blood sacrifices. Plus, they'd need the Captain's blood. He--”

  The young quintessentialist broke off, looking pained. Tia had already skipped ahead and had a good idea what he was about to say.

  “He's been dead too long for them to take his blood,” she finished for him, climbing to her feet. “Maybe it's not him they plan to reanimate, then. Maybe it is something else entirely.”

  Adamon shrugged.

  “It's pointless to guess, Lady Tiadaria. We need more information before we can form an adequate hypothesis. I trust that you are willing to offer your, ah, unique skil
ls, to the cause?”

  Again Tia had the unnerving feeling that Adamon knew more than he was saying. She ignored it and nodded.

  “Of course, Master Vendur. Whatever you require.”

  “Very well,” Adamon replied, flipping the hood of us robe up. With the light of day as faint as it was, the motion plunged his features into shadow. “Good day.”

  The Grand Inquisitor seemed to glide away from them, fading from view almost as quickly as he had appeared.

  “I don't trust him,” Faxon said softly, peering after the younger man. “Not even a little bit. And I don't like how he implies he knows something about you that he doesn't, Tia.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe he does know.”

  Faxon snorted. “If he knew, you'd be in a cell or censured. There is very little grey in Adamon's sense of justice. There is black and white, and woe betide the poor individual who tries to convince him otherwise.”

  “What about this artifact,” she asked, addressing the thing that was bothering her far more than what Adamon knew or didn't know. “Do you really think its theft is related to the Captain's body, Wynn?”

  The younger quintessentialist tugged at his lip for a moment before he shrugged, his eye meeting hers.

  “I don't know. Adamon makes a good point about the requirements for reanimation not being met, but I think it's too much, too close together, to be a coincidence. I don't have the resources of the Grand Inquisitor, but if I had to guess, I'd say Adamon is hiding something.”

  “Which wouldn't surprise me in the slightest,” Faxon interjected. “I think if we're going to investigate the theft alongside the disappearance of the Captain's body, we should do it ourselves, and do it discretely. I'm not sure I want Adamon looking over my shoulder any more than necessary.”

  Tia had to admit that she wasn't fond of that idea herself. The less time she spent around Adamon, the better. It also seemed as if Faxon and Wynn were willing to put a good effort into finding out what was going on. That surprised her a bit. With as contrary as Wynn had been since leaving King's Reach, she'd expected him to oppose the idea.

  “So where should we start?” Tia hoped one of the mages would have an idea. The prospect of trying to track down the thieves with as little information as they had was daunting. Wynn shot her a wry grin.

  “In the library, my dear Tia, but of course.”

  Tiadaria groaned and the quintessentialists laughed. Her dislike of research was legendary, as were the lengths she would go to avoid it. Still, in this case, she knew they were right. The library probably was the smartest place to begin their search.

  “Alright,” she conceded with a sigh. “I suppose that's fair.”

  Faxon stepped away from Tia and Wynn and motioned toward the city.

  “I'll let the two of you get started. I need to go and see where my journeyman has gotten off to now.”

  “Tionne?” Tiadaria knew that Faxon had taken her on as his private pupil, but she'd never heard such exasperation in his tone when he spoke of her. “Is there a problem?”

  “No.” The older quint smiled. “She's just being a teenager. Nothing I can't handle. I'll see the two of you at the inn later.”

  He strode off, leaving Tia and Wynn beside the ruined tomb. They stood there in silence, as if Faxon's exit had suddenly widened the gulf between them. She hated that. Hated feeling as if she'd broken his trust in a way she could never fix.

  “We should probably get to work,” Wynn said, stepping away from her in the direction of the cemetery gate.

  “Wynn? Wait!”

  He paused, then slowly turned to face her. Now that she faced his full regard, she found it harder to put the words together. She'd been practicing things to say, things that might start mending the rift between them, but they all went out of her head when she saw the hurt in his face.

  “Can we talk for a minute?” Her tone was plaintive. “Please?”

  For a minute, she thought he was going to turn around and walk away. Then he shrugged and sank to a stone bench beside the path. She sat down beside him, searching his face.

  “Sure,” he said with a sigh. “Though I'm not sure what there is to talk about.”

  “I just want you to understand why I couldn't say yes. It isn't because I don't love you. I do. It's just...I'm scared. There, I said it. I'm scared of what happens next.”

  “Scared?” Wynn was incredulous. “Of what?”

  Tiadaria stared at the distant horizon for long time before she answered. When we finally did, her voice was soft and quiet.

  “Scared of you resenting me. Of resenting the fact that I have to drop what I'm doing at a moment's notice and leave on some task for the King, or Faxon, or whoever. I've seen the way you look at me when I leave, sometimes. I don't want you to hate me for what I am.”

  “I don't hate you for what you are, Tiadaria.” Wynn sighed again. “I just wish you could include me. Didn't you ever wonder how I had so much free time to plan an entire wedding without you being any the wiser? It wasn't just about the excuse of 'Order business'. You just weren't around that much. I had lots of free time to do the planning.”

  He stopped then, and Tiadaria was afraid that he might stop talking completely, but he swallowed loudly and went on.

  “I guess I had a lot of time to dream up a reaction that didn't match reality. I don't need you to be anything other than who you are, but I'd like to be included.”

  “Well, you have your tasks at the library, and...” she trailed off at the look he turned on her.

  It was a weak excuse and she knew it. The library in King's Reach was little more than a room with a few moldering tomes and some very basic educational texts. Wynn had taken to teaching some classes there, but she knew that was more out of boredom, probably exacerbated by her absence, than anything else.

  “I just want to feel like you need me, Tia.”

  “I do need you.” She reached up and touched his seamed face, where the old scars had drawn the skin down into deep valleys. “I just don't want you to get hurt.”

  Wynn got to his feet with an abrupt motion, as if he could cut off the conversation by jumping out of it. He turned to her and his eyes were troubled.

  “There are a lot of different ways to get hurt, Tia. Come on. We have work to do.”

  #

  A cock crowed somewhere in the distance, heralding the dawning of a new day. Tionne was exhausted. It had taken her an entire night of following the bloodstone's gentle pull to find the plain, squat building she stood before.

  Like the Turgid Eel, this building was nestled in the shadow of the massive curtain wall at the outskirts of the city. Unlike the Eel, there was nothing welcoming about this place. There were no windows and the only door that Tionne had found was a massive, sturdy thing of oak, banded with iron, and set in a thick frame. Everything about the building seemed determined to put off the casual observer, but still the bloodstone pulled her toward it. If Nerillia and her people were in the city, they'd be inside.

  The eastern sky was growing pink and soon the sun would be climbing over the horizon. Ignoring the coldness in her gut, Tionne raised a pale hand and rapped sharply on the door. The knock seemed to echo down the street and Tionne was sure a guard would come racing out of the alley at any moment. Her heart thundered in her ears and pounded in her chest.

  This was stupid. What had she been thinking? She'd just decided to flee the building and forget all about Nerillia when the door opened just a bit. A familiar face peered out at her, then broke into a smile. Tionne let her breath go in a sigh. A delicate grey hand reached out and took Tionne by the wrist, drawing her into the dimly lit building.

  Once Tionne was inside, Nerillia pushed the door closed and slid a series of large bolts into place, including one that ran the length of the door and slid into a hole in the floor. Then she put her hands on Tionne's shoulders and turned her this way and that, as if appraising her.

  Tionne glanced around the room. It was easy to see why the
building was so foreboding from the outside. The entry was a common room and the space had, at some point in a former life, been an inn or halfway house. A long bar ran the length of the room in the back, though it was shrouded in a thick layer of dust. No drinks had been served there in a long time. The windows had been boarded over and secured from inside. A new facade had been put up on the exterior, hiding any evidence that there had been any windows at all.

  There were tables and chairs scattered throughout the room. Oil lamps burned on a few of the tables, making islands of light in the darkness. Nerillia's eyes seemed to burn brighter in the darkness, a soft crimson glow that felt as if it should have been unnerving, but wasn't. In fact, Tionne felt more at ease with this stranger than she did with most people whom she had known for her entire life.

  “You found us,” Nerillia said happily. Her voice was light and sweet, but still held the curious deep burr that Tionne had first heard in the Turgid Eel. “See? I told you we had much in common. Come with me.”

  Nerillia took her hand and Tionne felt the pins and needles of link shock dance between them. That simple touch had sent the blood rushing to her head and Tionne felt as if she'd been plunged into a hot bath, though the interior of the safe house was cool. The Lamiad shot her a sidelong glance and smiled. Tionne wondered if Nerillia could sense her reactions as easily as she seemed to touch her thoughts.

  They stopped in the center of the room and Nerillia leaned toward Tionne. The Lamiad's cool breath against her ear sent a shiver up Tionne's spine.

  “I can,” Nerillia whispered. Her hand brushed the hair away from Tionne's eyes and trailed down her cheek to her neck, her fingers lingering there until a peculiar grating interrupted them.

  Tionne looked up to the balcony that extended around the second floor of the building. She tried to scream, but the sound came out as a hoarse grunt. She stumbled backwards, tripped over a chair, and landed on her rear. Her feet worked spasmodically against the floor, pushing her up against the far wall. Her mind commanded her to run, but her body wouldn't cooperate. The terror that gripped her was all encompassing. The monster that stood at the top of the stairs was the same that she had seen in her dream.