The Swordmage Trilogy Bundle, Volumes 1-3

by Martin Hengst

  A moment later, Nerillia was crouched beside her. Through her panic, Tionne could make out the faint odor that followed the Lamiad and found it calming. She gulped breath, trying to get herself under control while Nerillia whispered in her ear.

  “It's okay. Zarfensis isn't going to hurt you. He's one of us. Just as you are one of us.” She turned toward the stairs, raising her voice. “Please come down, Your Holiness. I'm afraid your presence startled our newest friend.”

  The Xarundi remained silent, but navigated the stairs with careful steps. As her panic subsided, Tionne saw that one of his legs was a ruin of twisted, blackened metal and melted rubber. After what seemed like hours, Zarfensis stood at the foot of the stairs. His ears flicked back, then swiveled forward as he regarded Tionne with one bright blue eye.

  “I've seen you, child,” Zarfensis growled in a passable approximation of the low tongue. “In the Quintessential Sphere. In your vision.”

  “I remember.” Tionne was glad that her voice was stronger than she felt. She managed to get to her feet with just a little help from Nerillia. “That was just a dream. A nightmare. You said we were bound by blood.”

  The Xarundi shook his head.

  “Not a dream, child. A vision of the future. A portent of things to come. We are bound by blood. It was I, Zarfensis, who killed your parents and gorged on their flesh. I drank deeply of their blood. The blood that courses through your veins.”

  Tionne heard the words, but wasn't sure she was really comprehending their meaning. The entire experience was surreal and supernatural, leaving her feeling slightly less than grounded. She also didn't understand why, discounting her initial flood of panic, she didn't feel afraid. She was standing across the room from the monster that, by his own admission, had slaughtered her parents.

  “Go on,” Nerillia said with an encouraging shove in the small of Tionne's back.

  The young quintessentialist let the momentum carry her forward a few steps and then she hesitated. There was a knot in her stomach, but that wasn't the same as fear. The Xarundi stretched a hand toward her. Tionne could see the indentations at the tips of the strong fingers, where the claws could appear at a moment's notice.

  Even with the mangled leg, the Xarundi could easily have killed her by now if it had wanted to. She was within striking range of the sharp claws and if he chose to end her life, there was little she could do to stop it. Mastering the last of her misgivings, she closed the distance to Zarfensis and stood before him.

  The High Priest took her by the shoulders, just as Nerillia had done moments before. Tionne had to look up at him and she saw his nostrils flare. His breath was hot on her forehead.

  “You don't smell like other vermin, child.”

  “Um,” Tionne stammered. “Thanks? I think?”

  The Xarundi dropped his jaw in a feral grin. “You smell of the Dyr, the rune of death, decay, and disease. I think your essence is older than you know. Your soul was born into the wrong vessel. Perhaps you should have been a Xarundi, or a gargoyle, or a Lamiad.”

  “I'm not sure what that means,” Tionne answered candidly.

  “You are different from the rest of your kind. You are special. Can you not feel it?”

  Tionne wasn't sure what she thought, or what she felt. Suddenly the room was spinning and she tipped forward. Only the quick reflexes of the High Priest kept her from falling down. The next moment, Nerillia was beside her, her strong but delicate hands holding Tionne against her.

  “She's exhausted, Zarfensis. Perhaps we can continue this later?”

  Zarfensis nodded.

  “See her to a room and make her comfortable. Then return to me.”

  “Of course, Your Holiness. Come along, Tionne.”

  Nerillia put a hand on her elbow and guided her up the stairs onto the balcony. Tionne felt the weight of Zarfensis's eye on them as they climbed the stairs and circled the balcony leading to the farthest room. The Lamiad opened the door and motioned for the young mage to enter the room.

  Tionne didn't bother to hide her surprise at the room she was ushered into. While the rest of the safe house was in a state of disrepair, this room was pristine. Fresh linens adorned the bed, the floor was polished to a bright shine, and a small oil lamp burned on the bedside table. Tionne sat down on the bed and sighed with relief. She'd nearly forgotten how tired she was.

  She tried to express her gratitude, but Nerillia shushed her. The Lamiad's deft fingers removed her boots and robes, folding the latter and draping them over a nearby chair. She tucked Tionne under the cover and turned down the lamp. As it was doused, Nerillia's glowing eyes were the only light in the bedroom.

  “Sleep well, Tionne. We'll talk more when you wake.”

  Tionne was asleep before Nerillia had left the room, pulling the door shut behind her.

  #

  “Did the child give you any trouble?” Zarfensis asked as Nerillia returned to the common room.

  “Of course not. The pheromones will see to that. Though I won't even need those in due time. She's smitten with me. I can feel it in her thoughts.”

  “That could work to our advantage.”

  Nerillia regarded the High Priest for a moment.

  “Did you mean what you said?” she asked. “About her being different? About her smelling different?”

  “Yes. She is different. I don't know how, or why, but she is no vermin. She has the soul of a Chosen. Perhaps that's why she's been out of place for so long. Why you feel the draw of blood from her. I feel the power of the Dyr within her. That child is destined for great things.”

  “How will that help us?”

  “She will do what needs to be done, even without your wiles. She will feel compelled to obey the will of the rune.”

  Nerillia studied Zarfensis's face, her eyes tracing the deep seams of scars that ran along one side.

  “You're sure the rune will guide us?”

  “The Dyr craves death and what better way to feed its hunger than to turn our creation loose in the city?”

  “And what of the dragon?”

  Zarfensis winced at her simple question. Nerillia wasn't sure what power the dragon held over the High Priest, but whatever it was, the Xarundi felt it keenly. Though she didn't want to needle the High Priest any more than was needed, she had her own goals to see to fruition. If their plan failed for any reason, it wasn't only the Xarundi who would suffer for that failure.

  “Stryne wants only to see the humans driven from his ancestral homeland. He has said that we are free to go about with our other plans once his goal has been achieved.”

  Nerillia wasn't sure if the High Priest was trying to convince her, or himself, of that rather large leap of faith. While it was true that the dragons were largely gone from Solendrea, she wasn’t sure that she would trust the mammoth beast to keep its word. Everything she had ever heard about dragons was that they were vile, treacherous creatures who placed very little value in the lives and plans of anything outside their own realm of influence.

  “Let's assume that he does allow us to go our separate ways. Then what?”

  “Then the Chosen will recover all the lands the vermin have taken from us and you will have your...payment.”

  The High Priest winced again and Nerillia knew exactly what he was thinking. Zarfensis had vehemently denied her original request. He wanted nothing to do with the fee she had requested for her crucial role in the plan. However, she'd worn him down through negotiation and guile. Eventually she'd gotten exactly what she wanted, though she knew it bothered him greatly.

  “Which is?” She asked, prodding the Xarundi into saying the words. She needed to hear it. More importantly, she needed to assure herself that he remembered the terms of their arrangement.

  “The agreement is that upon dispatch of the vermin and return of their lands to the rightful owners, you will take possession of the Deep Oracle.”

  “Very good.” The smile that crept across Nerillia's face was as cold as the Frozen Fron
tier.

  “I still don't understand--”

  “It doesn't matter what you understand,” Nerillia snapped, cutting him off. “All that matters is that you'll remember and honor the terms of our agreement when the time comes.”

  “As you wish, Nerillia of the Lamiad. You will have possession of the Deep Oracle. For however long you survive after releasing it from its prison.”

  Zarfensis stalked off and Nerillia watched him go. The Xarundi might not be openly hostile to the other races of the Shadow Assembly, but they certainly didn't go to great lengths to hide their general disdain for anyone not of their lineage. No matter, she thought, once the Lamiad have control of the Oracle, they'd learn their true place in the grand scheme of the Assembly.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The rock tower on which Stryne perched was the highest peak in the range of mountains that protected the human capital city from attack from those outside its borders. He had driven his claws deep into the stone like a climber's pitons. His wings were folded to his back, the muscles along his great shoulders bunched, ready to provide the first all-important down sweep of the wings. The air was thin and cold at such a height and any other creature on Solendrea would have succumbed to suffocation long ago. Only the air stored in his lungs and the diligent beating of both fore and tail hearts kept him awake, alert, and alive.

  Not moss, nor lichen, nor a single intrepid blade of grass crept up the bare rock face of this lonely pinnacle of stone pointing toward the sky. During the Age of Empires it had been known as the Dragonlord's Spire. It was the symbolic seat of power for the draconic empire long before the disease of man spread across the world, consuming and laying waste to everything they touched. A disease responsible for the travesty that was laid out before him. In the distance, at the very limit of his vision, he could make out the great cavern by the sea that had once been his demesne. Even the name the humans had given the city, Dragonfell, was an affront.

  As the youngest of seven nest mates by a day and an hour, Stryne had been forced to fight for everything. His sisters were larger than even his biggest brother and each of his four brothers dwarfed him in size. Therefore, it had been to the smallest dragon's advantage to rely on guile and deceit to gain what was denied to him. He became so adept at scheming that his siblings didn't realize he had been turning them against each other until it was too late. Their sire and dam had long since left the nest, leaving their offspring to fend for themselves. Eventually, between being hunted for sport by men, challenged in the air by the meddlesome winged horses, and terrible fighting amongst themselves, their numbers dwindled dramatically.

  Eventually only Stryne and his eldest brother, Dominus, remained in the East. They ruled the land along the seacoast, Stryne controlling the northern half and Dominus the southern. By that time Stryne had amassed a great cavern full of treasure from selling information and his magical services to the lesser races of Solendrea. As his treasure grew, he gave in to the ingrained hoarding instinct that ruled all dragons. When Dominus discovered his brother's stronghold, it was the most basic draconic instinct for him to drive the younger dragon out and take the hoarded trinkets, gold, and baubles for himself.

  The battle was long and bitter, with the sound of their fighting echoing along the valley for several days and nights. Though Stryne fought valiantly, Dominus was larger and stronger. Eventually he could stand against Dominus no longer and Stryne renounced his claim on the cavern and his hard-earned treasure. Slinking away into the night, he had vowed his revenge on his brother. The humans had stolen much from him. First in taking his right of vengeance against his brother. Second, in moving into the cavern he, himself, had built up over many years and claiming it as their own. Dominus's skull hung on the ridge above that same cavern. It was sacrilege and Stryne would see that the humans paid for their arrogance.

  Wrenching his claws from the rock, Stryne threw himself backward, his wings tucked tight against his body. He fell toward the jagged rock peaks several thousand feet below the wind screaming around him. As air became thicker and warmer, scented with the touch of spring, he opened his jaws and filled his starved lungs. He felt a tingle deep in his chest, the innate power of his soul seed feeding on the sudden return of air. At the last moment, his wings snapped out and he threw himself nose over tail, checking his descent and hovering over the sharp rocks which were now only a hundred or so feet under his broad wings.

  Stryne hung there a moment, his sharp eyes searching, cataloging every crack and crevasse. Every boulder that an intruder might hide behind. Every rock fall that could hold a complement of archers. Satisfied that the Dragonlord's Spire was safe from human defilement, he turned on a wingtip and winged into the warm wind blowing from the west. The current pressed against him, but lifted his wings, which carried him along toward the cavern that he had claimed for himself in the mountains overlooking Dragonfell. It wasn't as grand as the one he had lost to the humans, but it would do until he could reclaim his home.

  It took time for him to reach his destination, but as the sun was slipping beyond the horizon, he folded his wings and dove toward the entrance, black against the twilight sky. He back-winged with just the right amount of force to land on the rock lip that surrounded the cave. Powerful claws caught the ridge, checking his momentum. His violet eyes sparkled as he surveyed his refuge. Satisfied that no living creature hid in the shadows to challenge his claim, he nestled down into his wallow and curved his long neck around the small pile of treasure he had amassed in the center of chamber.

  Most of it was useless. A battered shield he had taken from a solitary knight, surprised to find a dragon in his path. A broken wagon wheel. A handful of gold coins pilfered from travelers along the desert trade road far to the west. The only item of any great importance was a ruby as large as a man's fist that Stryne had kept hidden before he was driven into exile under the ice and snow. He had found it in its hiding place, a narrow cleft in the northern mountains that had been covered over by hundreds of years of ice and dirt. It had taken him the better part of a day to find it and dig it out. In the end, though, he had wrested it from its safe place and it felt good to have something that truly belonged to him once again.

  The day's warmth was draining from his body and Stryne felt the suggestive siren's call of sleep spreading through his body. His eyes closed and he was just drifting off to slumber when he heard it: the sound of rocks and loose scree sliding down the side of the mountain where he kept his refuge. Convinced, in his half slumbering state, that it was Dominus returned to take his sanctuary from him once again, Stryne's eyes snapped open. They blazed in the dim light and a low rumble of warning shook the rock of the cavern and loosened a fine sifting of dust from the ceiling.

  However, it wasn't Dominus, or any dragon, that appeared over the lip of the cave. It was a woman. Not a human woman, but the exotic grey skinned curves of a Lamiad. She stopped just inside the cavern and presented herself with a respectful bow. Stryne snaked his head forward, protecting the meager, almost laughable, treasure he had amassed. Still, the treasure was his, and instinct was a powerful thing.

  “You may enter, Nerillia,” the dragon said, his mind touching hers.

  “Thank you, My Lord.”

  Nerillia responded in the same way she had been spoken to. Stryne much preferred direct mind-to-mind communication with the species who were capable of such a feat. There was much less opportunity for misunderstanding, or deception. True, a skilled telepath could still influence either their own thoughts, or the receptive thoughts of the other party, but Stryne felt that he was as skilled in that arena as any.

  “What have you to report, Nerillia?”

  “I was able to smuggle the High Priest into the city without incident. Likewise, the girl you recommended we recruit has been found. How did you know about her, My Lord?”

  “Her essence is a blight on the Quintessential Sphere,” the dragon replied. “The forces of death, darkness, and disease are drawn to her like moths to a
flame. The Ancient Dyr seeks to make her its avatar.”

  Nerillia's eyes widened. He could feel her uncertainty. She wasn't sure whether or not to believe what he said about the Ancients. She was still young enough to know that there were forces in the Deep Void more powerful than any mortal could comprehend, but old enough to be skeptical when another invoked those primordial powers.

  “Is it wise to meddle in the affairs of an Ancient, My Lord?”

  “If we were to truly anger the Ancient Dyr, none of us would survive long enough to worry about it, Nerillia. Our task remains the same. To eradicate the human pestilence and recover what they have taken from me. In return, your soul will be made whole again.”

  Stryne felt the pleasure spill out from her, a cup filled past the point of overflowing. Though he wasn't certain exactly how long the other half of her soul had been trapped in the cavern under the Xarundi's adopted home, he knew that it was long enough that the desire to be made whole would override all other concerns that might arise.

  “You honor me with your assistance, My Lord.”

  The dragon snorted, blowing Nerillia's hair out behind her like a bridal train.

  “I assist you because it benefits me to do so. Remember that, tiny creature.”

  “As you say, My Lord.”

  “Have you obtained the Chalice of Souls?”

  “Of course, My Lord. The information you provided was invaluable. All proceeds according to your plan.”

  “Very well. Then leave me and continue to carry out my instructions. I will summon you as necessary.”