The Swordmage Trilogy Bundle, Volumes 1-3

by Martin Hengst

  “What?”

  “Wynn, look!” Tiadaria pointed over his shoulder toward the far end of the city, toward the cavern where the royal palace was nestled. The sky was tinged an angry orange. Dragonfell was burning.

  Wynn glanced in the direction she was pointing and the blood drained from his face.

  “Let's go, Tia. Now!”

  #

  The common room of the Dirty Magpie was abuzz with activity, a hive of agitated bees. City guards were marshaling civilians into squads. Faxon had a map of the city spread out over one of the tables, the corners weighed down with half-filled tankards and ale mugs.

  As they entered, Faxon glanced up. The look of naked relief on his face was enough to start Tiadaria's heart pounding. Even with his considerable knowledge and experience, it was clear that Faxon was floundering.

  “Oh thank the Gods!” Faxon dropped a sheaf of papers on the table and rushed to Wynn and Tiadaria. “There's something loose in the city.”

  “We noticed,” Tiadaria shot back drily.

  That brought up Faxon short on his heels. “You saw it? What was it?”

  “That's why we are here,” Wynn said with a sigh. “We were hoping you could tell us what it is and how to kill it.”

  The elder quintessentialist shook his head slowly. He gestured over his shoulder to the other people in the room.

  “I daresay we know less than you do. Maybe if you could give us some details, you'd help in our search and he can destroy whatever it is faster.”

  Wynn nodded. “Of course. We'll offer whatever details we can.”

  “No need.” A new voice came from near the door and the trio turned to see Adamon standing in the doorway. He hooked a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the city beyond. “It's a blood wraith.”

  “A what?” Tiadaria, Wynn, and Faxon all asked the question in unison.

  A flicker of something that might have been a smile tugged at Adamon's lips, then it was gone. Tia wondered if his good humor was always so fleeting. Every time she had seen the man, he had seemed to be in a dour mood. Although, to be fair, every time she had seen him, they had been in the middle of a bloodbath or cleaning up after it.

  “A blood wraith. A malevolent spirit crafted from the living blood of an innocent.”

  “Lemmy,” Faxon said, his voice harsh. Adamon nodded.

  “Yes. Now we know why the youngster was a target when there were so many others of equal or greater opportunity. We also know that whoever summoned the wraith has considerable skill and power. Blood magic is volatile, and this particular rite is exceptionally difficult.”

  “Alright,” Tia said, planting her hands on her hips. “So how do we kill it? We killed its first victim and it just jumped into another.”

  Adamon peered at her for a moment, as if he was decided whether or not he believed her, or whether or not he trusted her. Maybe it was a bit of both. After a moment's pause, he answered.

  “Kill the host and destroy it before it jumps into a new one. You'll be on guard against it now. I'm sure your blade will make short work of the host. Wynn, your particular specialty will serve to kill the wraith before it can find a new host.”

  “Great,” Wynn said with an edge of sarcasm. “Now we get to go hunt it down.”

  “Be careful,” Adamon advised them gravely. “When it gets large enough, it'll split itself in two and spread. The more blood they consume, the faster they reproduce. Go, now.”

  Adamon stepped back from the door, gesturing widely for them to leave. Tia walked past him as quickly as she could. She had a healthy amount of both fear and respect for the Grand Inquisitor, and though she didn't necessarily think he knew about her true nature, she didn't want to test the theory.

  As Wynn stepped past the inquisitor, Adamon stopped him.

  “Remember, when the host dies, it's going to try to jump into one of you. Kill it before it can. No time for hesitation.”

  Wynn's cheeks burned red, but he assured Adamon that he would be able to perform his duty without issue when the time came. Adamon gave him a doubtful look, but let him go.

  Tia could tell by the look on Wynn's face that he was rattled. To some, he would always be the boy who stood by and watched the sacking of Ethergate without being able to lift a finger to stop it. Tiadaria felt bad for him, but as there was little she could do about it, she kept her mouth shut.

  They left the inn, crossing the wide porch and descending the stairs into the street. They could still hear screaming, some in the distance, some much closer. Tiadaria wondered how many of the wraiths had managed to reproduce during the time they were talking to Faxon and Adamon.

  “Okay,” Tia said, glancing at Wynn. “We know how to kill it, now how do we find it?”

  At that moment, almost as if answering her question, there was a sound of a woman shrieking nearby.

  “My guess is that we follow the screams,” he said uncertainly. “That didn't sound too far off.”

  “Let's go.”

  #

  As they entered the small workshop, Greneks made a quick survey of the materials and equipment and then indicated that the High Priest climb up onto the workbench. Zarfensis complied and the gnome peered at the ruined contraption still attached to the Xarundi.

  Grenek's face became an almost comical mask of tragedy. “My work! What have you done?”

  “I did nothing,” Zarfensis replied with a snarl. “The human vermin did this and I want to make them pay.”

  Greneks didn't reply. He fished around inside his belt pouch and produced a large eyepiece, which he placed in one eye and began to inspect the leg. His attention to detail was impeccable. He investigated every inch of the prosthetic, occasionally poking here or prodding there. There were several times when he demanded Zarfensis hold the most uncomfortable poses while he scratched figures and calculations on the pad he produced from the back pocket of his worn breeches.

  Finally Greneks replaced the pad and dropped the monocle into his pouch. Placing one hand on his chin, he rolled his large eyes skyward and stood there for such a long time that Zarfensis thought he might have fallen asleep.

  “Yes, can be done,” Greneks said, as if he and the Xarundi had been carrying on a conversation.

  “What can be done?”

  “Repair, of course. Make leg new again. Improve. Make better.” The look Greneks gave him was clearly condescending, as if the answer to Zarfensis's question should have been obvious.

  The High Priest's ears flicked back. The gnome was obviously mad to think that the twisted pile of scrap fused to his flesh could be repaired. For a moment he thought of seizing the little creature and shaking him, then he remembered what had happened in the Xarundi workshop when Xenir had tried to menace the gnome and controlled the urge.

  “Are you certain?” Zarfensis's tone was just short of naked incredulity. He didn't want to antagonize the gnome, but neither did he believe the claim that the leg could be repaired. Then Greneks said he could improve it, which was just flatly impossible.

  “Yes, of course. Certain. Need several hours. No more. Fix and make better.”

  Zarfensis gaped at the gnome. He still remembered the agony of his initial introduction to the prosthetic. A ring of hollow brass teeth had burrowed into his flesh, seeking out his blood and, through some dark gnomish magic Zarfensis would never understand, bonding with the veins. Now the gnome proposed to just yank it out like removing a splinter from a paw pad?

  His tongue flicked out, circling his maw before it snaked back in. The nervous habit wasn't lost on the gnome, who saw it and grinned his toothy grin.

  “No worry, High Priest. Gnomes prepare. Every contingency planned for.”

  From his pack, he took a tiny brass instrument. To Zarfensis, it looked like an arrow shaft with a claw on one end and a knurled ball on the other. He couldn't imagine what Greneks intended to do with it, but he was terrified that he was about to find out.

  “Settle here,” the gnome said, pointing to the ve
ry edge of the workbench. “Will detach for repair. But a moment.”

  No stranger to pain, Zarfensis was still wary of the instrument and the gnome holding it. His tongue snaked out again.

  “How much pain will there be?” Zarfensis finally asked, settling himself onto the indicated spot.

  “Not so much as the attaching.”

  Without further conversation or any warning, the gnome thrust the instrument into the charred remains of the leg. He worked quickly with long, nimble fingers, explaining in his clipped sentences that he was closing the valves and loosening the attachment points. The pain wasn't as bad as Zarfensis was expecting. Certainly nothing compared to the fusing process that he had also endured at the gnome's hand.

  Greneks dropped the tool back in his pouch and grasped the leg. With a twist that demonstrated the surprising amount of strength in the gnome's wiry frame, he removed the entire assembly and sat it to the side.

  Zarfensis was almost afraid to look down, but the curiosity that compelled him would not be denied. The sight he beheld wasn't nearly as bad as he was expecting. The solid ring with its metal teeth was still in place. A few flexible segmented tubes ended in tiny valves. The thicker supporting rods and rings that held the prosthetic in place had tiny claws that were open, as if waiting to accept the leg once it had been repaired.

  “Will fix soon,” Greneks said, hefting the leg as easily as a feather, though it was easily three times his own weight. “Bring back. Stay here.”

  The gnome trundled over to another work bench and began unpacking his bag, singing to himself in a strange language Zarfensis didn't recognize. Stay here, the gnome had said. As if he could go anywhere else. He had no crutch to lean on. He was effectively trapped in the workshop until the gnome completed his task.

  After several hours, the gnome announced that his task was complete. A few spells needed to be prepared, he said, but Zarfensis would be whole again very soon.

  Every muscle in Zarfensis's body was aquiver in anticipation. In the years that had passed since the battle in the ice cavern, he had never expected to have a functioning leg again. At first, he expected the vermin to execute him outright. Then, when they didn't and instead left him to rot in one of their subterranean jails, he had assumed he would die of neglect.

  The day that the Grand Inquisitor had come to the prison to tell the guards that he would be transferred to the city to have his connection with the Quintessential Sphere severed was at turns the most terrifying and elated moment he could remember. The dragon who had stayed in contact throughout those years promised that he would be freed and he had been.

  Regardless of anything else Stryne said or did, he had lived up to that promise and it seemed that he was about to live up to this one as well. Of course he had ulterior motives, but if their motives aligned in the extermination of the vermin, a dragon was a powerful ally to have.

  Greneks was singing a jaunty tune as he came to stand before Zarfensis. His black eyes danced with merriment. He finished the last verse of his song before he sat the prosthetic down in front of the High Priest.

  Zarfensis could hardly believe that in a few mere hours, the gnome had produced this from the mangled remains of his previous leg. Where the original had been a mass of exposed gears and bundles of cording, this new leg had plates of armor that wrapped around the points most prone to damage or attack. Gone also was the crystal window that had held the runedust powering the leg's magic. This concerned the Xarundi, but he had learned enough from the gnome to know that anything important would be explained in due time.

  “Is good yes?” Greneks waved a hand at the contraption, his dark eyes staring intently at Zarfensis.

  “Not just good. Amazing.”

  The little creature beamed and took the strange instrument from his pouch. Zarfensis assumed his previous position without being asked and Greneks set about reattaching the leg to the metal ring. After it had been reattached to the studs that circled the rings, the gnome began to open the valves he had closed only a few hours before.

  As Greneks enervated the prosthetic, Zarfensis felt a surge of power flow through him. This wasn't just the return of his mobility, although it was certainly that. The leg had begun to thrum with muted power upon being fed his living blood. This was something different entirely.

  Greneks stood back, motioning for Zarfensis to stand. The Xarundi got unsteadily to his feet, relishing the feeling of being truly mobile again after so long. He took an experimental step forward, finding the motion of the leg to be much smoother and more natural than the previous version.

  “You've outdone yourself, Greneks.”

  “Pleased, yes?” The gnome steepled his long slender fingers under his chin and regarded the massive Xarundi as he flexed the leg, taking a few more steps to get the feel of the augmented limb.

  “What about the runedust chamber?” Zarfensis asked, bending at the waist to get a better look at the armor plating that surrounded the leg.

  “No runedust,” Greneks said with a grimace. He displayed his left hand and Zarfensis saw that half of the smallest finger was missing.

  Sudden comprehension sent a chill up Zarfensis's spine.

  “You mean...” The High Priest trailed off, feeling uncharacteristically squeamish about voicing what he suspected.

  “Gnome magic most powerful machine magic,” Greneks replied solemnly, nodding. “Is power and protection.”

  Without warning, the gnome thrust his right hand forward, fingers extended. He spoke words that crackled with power. Zarfensis recognized it as a spell, but had no time to counter with magic of his own.

  A jet of green flame leapt from the gnome's fingers, striking the prosthetic leg. Zarfensis instinctively jerked it back, but not before he saw that the armor plating had deflected the flame. He reached down and touched the spot where the flame had touched. It was no warmer than the air around them.

  “Gnome machines, gnome protection,” Greneks said, as if that ended the conversation, which it effectively did. There was nothing left to say.

  Greneks turned toward the door and motioned for Zarfensis to precede him. The High Priest bounded easily into the common room, relishing in the comfort and stability the new leg provided him. It had been so long, so many years, since he had been whole. If nothing else, the dragon kept his word. Now it was up to them to keep theirs.

  “Greneks, would you be so kind as to summon the women?”

  The gnome grinned his wide smile, his triangular teeth glimmering the dim light. With his head still bobbing up and down, Greneks opened the door to the safe house and stepped outside.

  #

  Tionne and Nerillia stood in the shadow of the safe house, watching panic sweep through the city. The magical safeguards Tionne had put in place around their hiding place keep them free of the wraiths as they jumped from host to host, consuming as much blood as they could before splitting and resuming the hunt. Tionne glanced at Nerillia and the older woman flashed her a wide smile, gesturing to the city.

  “You did that, Tionne. That's your power, set free and rampaging through Dragonfell. How does it feel?”

  “I feel alive.”

  “That's all?” Nerillia frowned. “I thought you'd feel more.”

  “Oh, no, Nerillia,” Tionne corrected her. “You don't understand. I've never felt this alive. I feel full to bursting, when I've always felt empty. This is my purpose. This is what I was born to become. I live to serve the will of the Ancient Dyr.”

  Nerillia sniffed.

  “You sound like Zarfensis.”

  Tionne shrugged.

  “He might be right, Nerillia. Maybe I do have some strange, unknown connection to the rune and its ancient power. All I know is that I can feel them. I can feel every single wraith loose in the city. I feel them swelling. I feel them growing. I feel them spawning. I feel the terror they're spreading and the death they are causing and it all feels so...so...alive!”

  “I told you that you'd fulfill your purpose with u
s,” Nerillia said. “You just had to believe in yourself.”

  “I had a good teacher,” Tionne said, slipping her hand into the Lamiad's and giving it a squeeze. “I couldn't have done it without you.”

  The Lamiad shrugged and looked out over the city. “I imagine you could have. I just pushed you in the right direction.”

  “Why couldn't you help me with the ritual?” Tionne asked, peering curiously at Nerillia. “I know you're a vessel. I can feel the link shock dancing between us.”

  She squeezed Nerillia's hand, sending a renewed tingle through both of their bodies. Nerillia pulled away, her crimson eyes troubled and focused far away.

  “I can't.”

  “Surely you have the knowledge,” Tionne blundered on. “You taught me the ritual--”

  “No. You don't understand. I can't. They took that part of me.”

  “They took--” Tionne gasped, her hands going to her mouth. “They censured you? Who? How? When?”

  “Censure is a human ritual,” Nerillia replied, her voice bland. “Other races have other rituals, but the end result is the same. Who isn't important. It was a long time ago. Hundreds of years before you were born.”

  Tionne's head jerked up and she looked at the older woman. She didn't seem more than twice her own age. How could she be hundreds of years old?

  “You're hundreds of years old?”

  “I am,” the Lamiad replied with a hint of her usual humor. She slid her palms down her voluptuous body, writhing in exaggerated sensuality. “I look pretty good for my age, don't I?”

  “Yes,” Tionne replied flatly, and Nerillia laughed. “How did you survive? Faxon cut me off from the Sphere for seconds and I thought I was going to die.”