The Swordmage Trilogy Bundle, Volumes 1-3

by Martin Hengst

  “You know this spell, don't you?”

  The girl laughed, her emerald eyes dancing.

  “Yes,” she agreed. “Quite well.”

  Tionne spoke a few words of magic and the liquid in the vial thickened visibly. They had the Captain's blood, but what did they need it for? Tiadaria watched as they uncorked a crockery jug, pouring a few drops of congealed blood into another of the empty vials.

  “Your turn,” Nerillia said to Tionne, offering the girl the dagger. Tionne took it without hesitation and drew the blade across her palm, cutting a shallow slice that bled freely. She took the vial that Nerillia offered her and used it to collect the blood that spilled from her open wound. Once the vial was filled, Tionne spoke a soft spell and watched the skin close over.

  “Now for the witness.” Nerillia motioned to Tiadaria and Tionne advanced on her with a cold malice deep in her eyes.

  Though Tiadaria and Tionne had never been close, Tiadaria couldn't imagine what had happened to the girl to have twisted her into something so completely wrong. True, she'd lost her family, but so had Tiadaria. Tionne, at least, had the advantage of Faxon as her surrogate caregiver. Though he certainly had his idiosyncrasies, Faxon was far more suitable as a guardian than even the Captain had been. She'd loved the Captain, but it had become very clear over the years that he had been training her to fill a role, not filling one she lacked.

  With each step Tionne took toward her, the feeling of dread in Tiadaria's stomach intensified. Tionne laid the cold blade of the dagger against the inside of her wrist and drew it across in a quick slice. Fire raced up her arm into her shoulder and Tiadaria screamed. Blood flowed freely from the severed vein, spilling down her arm and dripping off her slightly cocked elbow before the younger girl held the last vial under the wound, harvesting the life-giving liquid.

  When the vial was full, Tionne returned it to Nerillia, who replaced it in the wooden cradle with a gentle touch. Neither of them made any move to staunch the flow of blood from Tiadaria's wrist, so it continued to flow down her arm and drip off her elbow, making a little pitter-patter sound as it hit the floor.

  “Dispose of her,” Zarfensis said. “She's outlived her usefulness.”

  Nerillia shook her head.

  “And spoil the surprise? Come, Zarfensis. Where is your appreciation of the dramatic?”

  The Xarundi snarled, but said nothing. He skulked into the corner of the room, a shadowed hulk identifiable only by the cerulean glow of his remaining eye.

  Tiadaria was getting woozy from the loss of blood and found herself sagging against the ropes that held her to the pillars even though it intensified the pain in her wrist. She desperately wanted Wynn to wake up. She wanted to see him one more time, tell him she loved him, before she died.

  Her waning attention snapped back to Nerillia and Tionne when they approached the Captain's body with the blood they'd collected. The table where the corpse was resting was far enough away from where Tiadaria was imprisoned that she couldn't hear the words that were being exchanged.

  The tone and inflection of Tionne's voice changed and goose bumps sprang up on Tiadaria's arms. The sound that came out of the young quintessentialist wasn't her normal voice. It was the sound of something that came from the Deep Void. Part screech, part howl, the intonation of the words was almost impossible for Tiadaria to understand.

  Ultimately, Tiadaria didn't need to understand the words. The end result of the ritual was terrifying and apparent. As Tionne poured the blood from the vials into an ancient looking chalice on the table, it turned from dark red to a sickening, writhing green-black. The Chalice of Souls seemed to pulse with malevolent power. Tionne lifted it, spoke a few words, and carried it to the head of the table. She tilted it toward the gaping maw where his teeth peeked out from behind rotted lips.

  A final word from Tionne sent the mass oozing over the edge of the chalice and into the Captain's mouth. It raced passed his teeth, distending the paper-thin flesh of the corpse as it wriggled deeper into his body.

  At first, nothing appeared to happen. Tiadaria had a moment of hope that the ritual had failed. That whatever Tionne had been trying to accomplish had lacked some crucial component. All those hopes were dispelled when the Captain's corpse gave a shudder. A moment later, an unearthly keening split the air. If she'd been able to, Tiadaria would have covered her ears to try and escape from the cacophony.

  Fortunately, the sound ceased almost as suddenly as it had begun. The Captain, or what was left of him, struggled off the table and stood on legs of bleached bone and rotting flesh. Tiadaria felt strange. She felt as if she should be screaming, or crying, or attempting to escape. Instead, she found herself consumed by a numbness that was far more frightening than the resurrected form of the Captain swaying unsteadily before her.

  “Can you hear me, Captain?” Nerillia asked, peering at the construct with undisguised curiosity.

  The Captain's jaw moved, the slivers of flesh quivering, but no sound came. He turned his head this way and that, the empty eye sockets aglow with a sinister green light. The lich turned to Nerillia and nodded, the taught flesh creaking audibly.

  “I hear you, Daughter of Darkness.”

  The numbness that was gripping Tiadaria broke, all at once. His voice, the voice that had taught her so much, the voice that had offered both comfort and rebuke, was still recognizable. It was harsh and had a strange echo, as if he was speaking from across a deep chasm, but it was, without question, the Captain's voice. Her tears came in a sudden torrential burst that shook her body against her restraints. Tiadaria's entire body heaved with the support of her grief.

  “Little one,” the Captain said, his gaze sliding across Tiadaria. “I remember you.” He slowly turned back toward Nerillia. “Why have you summoned me?”

  “We have need of your skills as a fighter, Captain. A great battle is about to begin and we need your expertise in leading the armies of the Imperium.”

  “I would enjoy fighting for the Imperium again.”

  “No, Captain,” Nerillia corrected him with a sardonic smile. “You will be leading our army against the Imperium. You will be instrumental in the siege of Dragonfell.”

  “I won't,” the Captain growled, the light in his sockets flashing.

  “Oh, my dear Captain,” Nerillia laughed. “That's where you're wrong. You will do exactly as we demand. Tionne?”

  The young quintessentialist jumped at the mention of her name. She had been engrossed by the exchange between her mentor and the lich they had raised from the dead.

  “Yes, Nerillia?”

  “Give the Captain his orders.”

  “Pick up your sword, Captain, and kill Tiadaria.”

  Though the blood loss was making it difficult for her to focus, Tiadaria could plainly see the conflict on the Captain's gruesome face. Whatever magic they had used to bind his soul back into his body, it was plain that he still had all his thoughts and memories. The Captain struggled against the order for a long moment, during which Tiadaria hoped he'd be able to throw off the spell entirely. In the end, however, the lich lumbered over to the table where his weapons were laying and hefted one of the rusted scimitars resting there. The moan that escaped him was a mixture of pain and frustration and Tiadaria closed her eyes at the sudden ache in her chest.

  “Now kill the girl,” Tionne commanded again, as the Captain hesitated.

  Unable to resist the magic that bound and controlled him, the Captain advanced on Tiadaria with shambling steps. As he approached, she found that she could still sense him. Whatever had happened to his soul since his death on the battlefield, the soul that was bound to the lich was definitely the one that had known her and loved her. That he was trapped in a rotting shell made her more sad than afraid.

  “Captain,” she gasped, surprised at how foreign and painful speaking that simple title aloud was. “Please, don't do this.”

  “I must obey, little one. I don't want to do this, but I must obey.”

&nb
sp; The methodical, plodding steps had brought him nearly into striking range. She didn't have much time. Though she didn't know she could get through the spell that was forcing him to act, she had to try.

  “Please, Sir,” she begged. “Please help me.”

  Tiadaria had a sudden flash of memory. She'd been tied up, much like this, to a tree near Cerrin's wagon. She'd been sure she was going to die then. They had beaten her nearly to death and she had been ready to welcome it. Then, the Captain had arrived and saved her. That's what she needed from him now, but she wasn't sure that part of him could prevail against the powerful magic that bound him.

  “You saved me once, Sir, from a fate almost exactly like this. Please, Sir. Help me.”

  The Captain stopped and peered at her with sightless emptiness and Tiadaria's sense of hope was renewed.

  “I can't help you, little one. I can't even help myself. I am damned. As are you.”

  With a thrust only slightly less powerful than that of which he was capable in life, he plunged the rusty scimitar into her. Tiadaria screamed as the flesh below her ribs parted, tearing away from the blade as the Captain's lich ran her through. The icy coldness of shock flashed through her and she tried to fight back the darkness. It was a battle she couldn't win. Still swaying against the ropes that bound her, Tiadaria passed from the physical realm.

  #

  Wynn came to at nearly the same time that the door to the common room exploded, sending a rain of wooden shards into the room. Faxon and Adamon dashed through the ruined door, their eyes blazing with the harnessed power of the Quintessential Sphere. These weren't mages prepared to defend themselves if necessary. They were ready for war, which is exactly what they got.

  Wynn thought Faxon recovered well from the surprise of coming face to face with a dead man. The Captain's swords were dull and rusty, but still sharp enough to do serious damage. It was then that Wynn realized that the Captain's blade was already stained with blood.

  That he had forgotten about Tiadaria was secondary to the shock that coursed through him when he saw her body slumped limply against the ropes. Blood stained her tunic around a ragged hole in her gut and her arm was covered in a sheen of drying blood. Wynn couldn't see her face, but her skin was pale and waxy.

  His connection to the Quintessential Sphere was there, but it was too far away from him to be able to do anything to help. The Xarundi and his accomplices had planned this attack well. Without their magic, Tiadaria and Wynn wouldn't have stood a chance against the trio and the Captain's lich. Only the appearance of Faxon and Adamon improved the odds of their survival. A few city guards followed the quintessentialists into the room, but their presence meant little in the face of a quartet of determined foes.

  “Wynn!” Faxon cried, recognizing his former apprentice.

  Before Faxon could close the distance to where Wynn was hanging, the Captain had intercepted the quintessentialists. His scimitars flashed out, aided by power drawn from the sphere. Adamon countered with a spell to deflect the blades, pushing the lich off balance as the spell landed. Zarfensis leapt into battle, scattering the city guards with a single swipe of one muscular arm.

  Faxon seized the distraction offered by the battle to run to Wynn, using a simple cantrip to sever the ropes binding him to the building supports. Adamon and the guards were holding their own against the Captain and the Xarundi. Tionne and Nerillia were gone. They'd also taken advantage of the initial moment of conflict and made a hasty retreat. Wynn removed the restraints and rubbed his wrists, trying to restore circulation cut off by hours of abuse.

  “Faxon!”

  With an apologetic glance, Faxon abandoned Wynn and rejoined the fight that was raging around them. One of the city guards was splayed against the wall, his entrails spilled down the front of his obliterated leather armor. The Captain's lich was a blur of frenetic motion, holding both of the remaining soldiers at bay with ease. Faxon and Adamon had teamed up against Zarfensis, who, despite the missing eye, was providing a more than adequate challenge for the pair of them.

  Without his magic to call on, Wynn knew there was nothing he could do to assist either of them, so he turned his attention to Tiadaria. He put his fingers against her throat, feeling for the life beat. He found one, but only barely. It was far too faint and far too slow. She was nearly gone. His stomach leapt into his throat. He lifted her face, prying one eye open. Only the whites showed. She was almost gone.

  Wynn, his fingers trembling, untied the ropes that held Tiadaria to the posts. She slumped to the floor between them. It was then that he saw the Captain's blade had gone straight through her. He couldn't imagine the kind of damage that would do and didn't want to. Wynn rolled her over and tore one of the sleeves from his robe, doubling it over into a thick pad which he pressed against the wound in her abdomen. He pressed his hand against the puncture in her back, feeling only a tingle of the link shock that normally bound them together.

  There was a roar and Wynn's attention was torn from Tiadaria to see Faxon and Adamon backed into the corner by the lich and Zarfensis. The other city guards were dead. They'd simply been no match for the horror they had come to face. Wynn could relate. He was torn between wanting to help the quintessentialists and doing what little he could to keep Tiadaria alive. Helplessness and frustration welled up in him, fighting with anger and fear to take control of him. He forced all of his emotions down, struggling not to panic.

  Wynn heard Faxon speak in a voice so unlike him that he actually did a double take. The quintessentialist's eyes were blazing. In one hand, he held a crystal orb. Inside the orb danced formless ivory flames. Faxon brought his other palm down on the globe and screamed a word of command.

  The flash that filled the room was blinding. Wynn heard the Captain's lich scream, an unworldly screech that seemed to come from within the Deep Void and made his skin crawl. The roar that followed was easy to identify as Zarfensis. The air moved around Wynn and he felt something massive strike the wall behind him. A snarl nearby made Wynn instinctively grab Tiadaria and drag her toward where he'd last seen Faxon.

  There was a crack, the sound of splintering wood and then silence. A silence so deep and sudden that it was almost as unnatural as the Captain's lich had been. Wynn blinked a few times, hoping to clear the flash blindness from his vision and finding himself unable to see. Half blind was bad enough, being unable to see at all was maddening.

  “Faxon? Adamon?” he called, perversely pleased that his voice didn't crack as he'd expected it to. “Are you here? Are you alright?”

  “Here is one thing,” Adamon's stern voice answered. “Alright, another.”

  “We're both here and okay, Wynn,” Faxon's voice had returned to normal.

  Wynn shuddered. He'd never seen Faxon so consumed by the power of the Sphere and he wasn't sure he wanted to again. He'd heard stories of mages that went mad with power, unable to control what they pulled from the Quintessential Sphere. Wynn knew that Faxon was regarded as one of the most powerful quintessentialists of their time, but he'd had no idea to what extent that power ran.

  “I can't see, Faxon.” Wynn turned his head, trying to figure out where the others were by sound. “Tia's hurt, it's bad.”

  “I know,” Faxon was beside him now. Wynn could feel him on his right. That meant that the presence on his left would be Adamon.

  “We have to save her,” Wynn said, almost pleading. “I'm not sure we can stop this without her.”

  “Nor I,” Faxon agreed grimly. “Adamon, what can you do?”

  “Me?” Adamon's voice was incredulous. “Nothing.”

  “We may not be friends,” Faxon snarled. “But I know your history, Adamon. You were a cleric before you became an inquisitor. You were powerful. A 'power of the Lyr' Master Tanglar put it, before you mysteriously quit and never looked back.”

  “Please, Adamon.” Now Wynn was pleading in earnest. “Please, you have to save her.”

  “Why?”

  The mage's voice was cold and ha
rd. Wynn turned his head to face the sound of Adamon's voice, staring at him with a sightless eye.

  “Why? Because we need her!”

  “No,” Adamon countered. “You need her. She is a rogue mage. The flawed product of another rogue mage. As far as I can see, this is justice. She's been put down by the one who created her.”

  “Mages aren't created! They're born! You know that she couldn't control her becoming a mage any more than you could! She was born to the clans, they don't even recognize our laws. How could she have presented herself to the Academy?”

  Wynn wondered why Faxon wasn't coming to his aid. How could his former mentor abandon him now? When Wynn needed him most?

  “She lives here now,” Adamon retorted. “She knows the laws of the Human Imperium, but somehow they don't apply to her. Just as they didn't apply to her mentor. Yes, I know all about Captain Royce MacDungren. I know that he was a rogue mage who kept his abilities just out of sight of the King and managed to have enough of the right friends in the right places to evade my censure all those years.”

  “So you're taking it out on Tia?” Wynn screamed. “You can't!”

  “Give me one good reason why.”

  “Because he's right,” Faxon interrupted, his voice slow, low, and calm. “Because she may be the only way that the Captain's lich can be defeated and the Imperium saved. And you know it.”

  There was a long pause and Wynn felt Tiadaria's body move. At first, he thought she might be coming to, then he felt Adamon shift next to him. His hands were on the body now, lingering at her throat.

  “She's almost gone,” he said, his voice no softer than it had been. “Letting her go would be a mercy.”

  “We need her. I need her.” Wynn was no longer pleading. He was stating a fact. He was certain that if they were going to reverse the darkness falling on Dragonfell, Tiadaria would be instrumental to their cause.

  “I can't just bring her back,” Adamon snapped. “That's not how the Quintessential Sphere works. Every grant must be repaid. I might be able to heal some of the wounds. Maybe, possibly, save her life. You expect me to make her ready for combat. That, I cannot do.”