Quintessential Tales: A Magic of Solendrea Anthology

by Martin Hengst

  A sinister cackle split the sounds of battle and Royce's head whipped around to see four new Grobins, unbloodied by battle, gnawing on the helpless Faarsh, who was mewling in agony and fear. The little bastards had been hiding, biding their time. Royce wouldn't reach them in time to save the Shyraan, but Torus might.

  "Torus!" he shouted, flinging one hand toward Faarsh while he drove his blade into the belly of a Grobin trying to bite his fingers off.

  "On it!" Torus cried. He jumped back with agility that seemed impossible for his size. Royce yanked his sword free, kicking the dead Grobin off the end of it with a bare foot. He was disgusted by the cool clamminess of the Grobin's hide.

  His disgust was short lived, his attention instead turning on Torus, who had almost reached the injured Faarsh. She was covered in blood, ravaged by the sharp teeth and claws of her attackers. The Lieutenant swung the mace, connecting the spiked orb with one of the Grobin's heads. The skull shattered, driving in the side of the head and leaving it looking like a child's deflated ball. The eye on the crushed side of the skull popped free from its socket, dangling from a mass of bloody tissue. Torus kicked the body aside and swung at the next attacker.

  Three more times Torus swung, and three times a Grobin life was snuffed out. A broken back, a caved-in chest, and another smashed skull. These were the legacy of Torus's frenzied struggle to save Faarsh's life. Neither did the great warrior come out of the battle unscathed. The last of the Grobin attacking Faarsh had lunged at him, raking sharp claws down Torus's left side, leaving him with four deep lacerations that added his blood to that which had already been spilled.

  Though Torus fought well, his effort was in vain. When the Lieutenant moved away from the bloody body of the Shyraan, it was easy to see that she hadn't survived. Her sightless eyes were dull, staring up into the sky beyond the tops of the trees. Royce sighed, then turned his thoughts back to the battle still raging around him. A dozen or more Grobins were dead or dying. The others were flinging themselves at whatever target they could reach with fanatical zeal. They'd lost the coherency of their force and were now attacking on the strength of their instinct alone. Once frenzied, a Grobin wouldn't stop attacking until it had died, or its prey had.

  Royce sensed, rather than heard, the pair of Grobins jumping at his unprotected neck. Tapping on the Quintessential Sphere, he summoned a burst of speed that allowed him to get his blade between his body and the bodies of his attackers. He was unable to check their momentum, however, and they toppled to the ground. Teeth gnashed inches from his eyes, the fetid, rank breath of the sea gnome wafting up his nose. Royce thrashed, trying to get free of the small, dense bodies. His legs felt as if they were on fire. He tried to roll away, but had to throw himself back when sharp claws sliced down, just a few inches from his face.

  One of the Grobins was ripped away. Shreth and Hsaan hauled the squirming gnome away from Royce's face, engaging in a ferocious tug of war that ended with the Grobin being ripped in two. No longer taken by surprise, Royce was able to kick the remaining Grobin aside. Throwing his shoulder to the side, he rolled over, using his momentum to slice deep across the gnome's back, cutting through its spine. Whump, whump, whump. Torus's mace dispatched Grobins with deadly efficiency. Hsaan and Shreth ran down the last of the sea gnomes, preventing them from escaping into the brush from which they'd come.

  Now that the battle was over, the jungle was still and silent. The noises of the insects and animals had stopped. No breath of wind stirred the trees at the edge of the clearing. Even the fire had died to embers, only a faint orange glow holding back the dark of night. Royce shuddered. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off and his connection to the Quintessential Sphere had waned, the fatigue and pain threatened to drag him down a deep, dark hole. He wasn't afraid of the fall. He was afraid of there never being a bottom. He drew his legs up to his chest, ignoring the lancing pain that stabbed up into his hips. Every muscle in his body begged for rest, but there was still more to be done.

  By the time he'd gotten upright again, Torus had stripped some wide, long leaves off the nearest tree. The lozenge shaped leaves were a foot wide at the middle and three times that long. They'd work admirably for what they needed to do. Royce cast a glance around the clearing. Shreth and Hsaan hadn't yet returned and there was no way of telling when they would. Thick foliage blocked out most of the sky, but to the east, the blue-black of night was giving way to dawn. They'd soon have enough light to work by.

  As Torus laid the leaves out on the ground, Royce ripped the last tattered remnants of his shirt off and tore it into smaller pieces. He crouched near Faarsh's body, ignoring his aches and pains. This was more important, and it deserved his full attention. With the torn pieces of cloth, he cleaned the worst of the blood from her ravaged body. The Grobins had savaged her, leaving her flesh torn from the bone in some places. With gentle hands, Royce did the best he could to honor her memory, then nodded to Torus, who was standing nearby, waiting in the soft light of the growing day.

  They lifted her in silence, moving her onto the bed of leaves that Torus had constructed. They laid her down with the tenderness of a mother caring for a sick child. Royce crouched by her feet, weaving the ends of the leaves together and tying them off with the strong center veins that Torus had separated. Royce didn't know what the burial customs of the Shyraan might be, but Faarsh deserved better than to be left out in the open, where the insects and vermin could get to her. Even with tired hands, they made efficient use of time and closed the shroud they'd created, up to the base of her shoulders. They left her face exposed. Shreth would want to say goodbye.

  Grim work done, they settled their backs against the base of a thick tree. It felt good to rest. Torus leaned his head back against the rough bark and closed his eyes. After a few moments, Royce heard his breath deepen and figured that the Lieutenant had fallen asleep. Royce picked a blade of grass from the edge of the clearing, splitting it along the grain with dirty fingernails and staring into the jungle.

  "This is how it's going to be, Captain?"

  Torus's rich voice startled him and Royce jumped, dropping the grass he'd been worrying.

  "How what's going to be?"

  "Your legs were broken, Captain. You shouldn't have been standing up, much less fighting. Yet there you were, blade in hand, doing what you do. Do you think I'm an idiot? I don't know whether to be angry, or insulted."

  "I don't think you're an idiot, Torus. I never have." Royce paused. He plucked another piece of grass and focused on it as if it were a talisman that could ward off the conversation they were having. "I knew this day would come. I just hoped that we'd have some time before it did."

  "So you lied to me."

  "Yes, through omission." Royce wouldn't insult Torus further by trying to give him an explanation. Torus wasn't the type of man who would care about whys and wherefores. Just that it had happened. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

  "So am I."

  The silence grew longer as the shadows shrank away from the coming dawn. Royce didn't know what else to say, and he wasn't going to risk pissing off Torus with more than his Lieutenant wanted to know. They still weren't home yet, and they'd need each other if they were ever to see Dragonfell again.

  "What are you?" Torus asked, without opening his eyes. Royce didn't know if it was because Torus was just that tired, or because he couldn't bear to look at the man who'd betrayed him. Royce swallowed. It probably didn't matter.

  "Just a soldier. Like you."

  "You're not like me."

  "No. I suppose not. My father called himself a Swordmage. A fighter who can hold a sword and tap into the Quintessential Sphere."

  "That's not possible. You'd die."

  Royce's mirthless chuckle was harsh in the quiet morning.

  "Make no mistake, I'm dying. I'm just going about it slowly. The Quintessential Curse will kill me just as it would kill a mage. It just takes longer."

  "Why?"

  "I don't know. I'm not a Qu
int. I can't tell you that. I don't really understand it myself."

  "No," Torus shook his head. Now he opened his eyes, pinning Royce with them. "Why do you do it? Why pick up a sword if you know it'll kill you?"

  "Because I have a duty to the Imperium and the One True King. I was destined to be the Captain of the Grand Army of the Imperium, just as my father before me. And my grandfather, and his father's father, and so on, and so forth. It wasn't something I could just decide against."

  "Who else knows?"

  "Faxon Indra. And you."

  Torus was quiet for a long time, and Royce could see his troubled thoughts reflected in his light eyes.

  "You're a rogue mage."

  "Essentially." Royce nodded. "If the Inquisitors ever find out, they'll censure me. Or worse."

  Torus shuddered. "What could be worse?"

  "They could take me before Greymalkin and tell him that I've deceived him since I was a boy. I think, in a way, that would be worse than madness."

  Torus snorted, and then was quiet. Royce wondered where Shreth and Hsaan were. Surely the Grobins couldn't have gotten that far ahead of the predators.

  "Do you expect me to keep your secret?" Torus asked finally.

  "I expect you to do what your honor requires, Torus. I have nothing but respect for you. I always have. You're a good man and a fine soldier, and if you need to turn me in, I have no doubt that the army will prosper under your leadership."

  "You think I want your job? Are you out of your mind? I'd rather clean privies in the market square."

  Royce laughed. If Torus was making a joke about it, then Royce's secret was safe. Torus might be sour about it for a while, and Royce couldn't blame him, but in the end, the burly Lieutenant would stand behind him. Whatever reply Royce could have made was preempted by the arrival of Shreth and Hsaan at the far edge of the clearing. He and Torus rose in unison, crossing their arms over their chests and bowing their heads as the Shyraan passed. Shreth fell to his knees near the body, his soft mewling almost harder to bear than a man's cries of anguish. Hsaan bowed his huge head, his ears flicked back, his tail laying limp behind him.

  Hsaan placed a hand on Shreth's shoulder. He gripped it tightly, then turned to Royce and Torus.

  "You did this? Why?"

  "Because it was the right thing to do." Royce said it as if it was the only explanation.

  The Shyraan's eyes narrowed, then his ears flipped forward and his shoulders sagged.

  "Perhaps we misjudged you, humans. You are not emissaries of the Sirens. They leave us to rot on their beaches when we heed their demands. You've shown honor and respect, in battle and after."

  Royce nodded.

  "All we want is the chance to earn your respect in return."

  "We'll see that you have that chance," Shreth said, his voice soft, reverent. "You've done much for us already, Royce and Torus. If I might beg of you--"

  "No begging is required, Shreth." Torus stooped and grasped one end of the long wooden poles he'd woven into the shroud. Royce bent and picked up the end opposite his Lieutenant.

  "It would be our honor," Royce said.

  Together, the humans and the Shyraan carried Faarsh's body out of the jungle. As they reached the wide beach, the sun broke over the Eastern horizon, bathing them in its warm glow.

  ~

  "So what do we do we do now?" Torus asked.

  "We wait." Royce chose a pebble from the dozen or so he had in his left hand and whipped it out across the water, counting the number of times it skipped. It reminded him of quiet afternoons with his grandfather, which in turn reminded him of the King. "Greymalkin will send a boat to Pearlwatch Estuary as soon as he realizes the Warhorse isn't coming back. We'll be here when they get here. I imagine it'll be no more than a month or two."

  Torus scowled and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand.

  "A lot can happen in a month."

  "What would you have us do? Swim?" Royce took another pebble and chased the first. His eyes never left the water.

  "No but--"

  "Relax, Lieutenant. The Imperium has persevered for thousands of years without us. I'm sure she can hold on just a little while longer until we get back.

  Torus didn't reply, but he lowered his bulky frame onto the edge of the dock where Royce had parked himself. He took a handful of stones from the pile that Royce had collected and tossed one, sidearm, across the still water of the estuary. They watched it jump, once, twice, thrice, and more, until it finally sank after the sixth skip. Royce raised his eyebrows.

  "Nice."

  The only reply he got from Torus was a grunt. Royce shrugged and tossed another stone.

  Returning Faarsh's body to the Shyraan conclave had earned them a great deal of respect. Shreth was second in command to a massive Shyraan that towered over even Torus at nearly nine feet tall. He was ancient, in his thirteenth decade, and it wouldn't be long before he followed Faarsh into the Ethereal Realm. Still, he'd welcomed Royce and Torus into their village as if they were old friends, once a rapid conversation of hissing and spitting had been concluded. They'd rested there long enough to heal their wounds, sate their bellies, and take on some meager supplies donated by their new allies.

  They'd left the village with new backpacks, food, and a few scant articles of clothing. The backpacks were woven from a plant fiber that grew in the jungle with a skill that would impress even the most seasoned tradesmen in the Imperium. It was thin and durable, requiring a good amount of force to penetrate with a blade, but much lighter than leather. Royce had told Shreth that the backpacks alone would be a backbone of a trade deal with the Imperium. Shreth had demurred, saying that the Shyraan weren't ready for such complications just yet. Royce couldn't blame him.

  Shreth's daughters had taken much amusement from the task their father gave them. He'd provided some old clothing, gathered from the other Shyraan, and instructed his daughters to take the items in so they would fit the smaller men and not make Royce and Torus appear to be children playing dress up in their parent's clothes. Royce commended his aplomb. Sorrow would breed in an idle mind. With a task to undertake, they weren't as likely to mourn their mother's loss overlong.

  Stopping at the wreckage of the Warhorse on their way to the Shyraan village had been a waste of time. Aside from the weapons they already carried, there was nothing more of use on the wreck. They'd helped Shreth and Hsaan set the ship to burn. The rise and fall of the tides would carry the last of the doomed vessel out to sea. As long as it was off the beach, it couldn't give rise to another Grobin infestation. Royce was quite sure they'd seen enough Grobins to last a lifetime.

  Royce was certain that finding their way home would be far more complicated than it had turned out to be. The Shyraan had a sixth sense when it came to cartography. In the largest hut at the center of their village, Shreth showed them a great map that took up most of one wall. Detailed wasn't enough to speak of the volumes of information the map held for them. Hunting trails, streams, copses of trees, even boulders large enough to withstand the ravages of wind and weather were identified on the map. As were the most rapid ways to cross the jungle to points beyond without getting near the beaches or the seas.

  Fear of the Siren's retribution had instilled in the Shyraan a hatred of the sea that went beyond anything Royce had ever known. Even bodies of fresh water, though incapable of supporting a Siren population, were regarded with intense antipathy and mistrust. Fortunately, there wasn't much freshwater between the Shyraan camp and the Pearlwatch Estuary. Four days of hard travel with Shreth and Hsaan as their guides saw them back in a human settlement. Torus worried that they were near enough to the Shyraan that territoriality might become an issue, but Shreth informed him curtly that they believed in holding no more land than they could live in and care for.

  Arrival in Pearlwatch had been an experience. Royce imagined that the conversation he had with the Captain of the militia was similar in aspect to the conversation Shreth had with the leader of his pe
ople. In Royce's case, he'd have been happier if his people had been half as welcoming of then newcomers as the Shyraan had been of them. Still, he knew that these things took time. Humans were eminently adaptable. They'd come around.

  "I'm still not happy you kept me in the dark about your...whatever you want to call them. Your powers," Torus said, interrupting Royce's thoughts.

  "You're right, of course." Royce clapped the man on the shoulder. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again. It can't. My life is in your hands."

  "Literally." Torus's voice had dropped an octave, taking on an ominous tone.

  "Exactly. I suspect I'll know if I ever upset you again."

  "You wound me, Sir."

  "Not if you wound me first."

  Torus chuckled and Royce knew that they were okay. Their friendship was strong enough to withstand the great gulf of difference between them, and there was still no one else that Royce would want to be shipwrecked with than his Lieutenant. Royce was a consummate tactician. He could say that without false modesty. But Torus...well, Torus was just a good man, and Royce was lucky to have him as a friend.

  Together, they sat on the end of the dock until the sun dipped below the western horizon. They'd been through many battles and they'd go through many more.

  For now, though, all things were right in the world, and Solendrea was at peace.

  If Wishes Were Horses

  “Come on, Declan, swallow it.”

  Serena held her brother’s jaw closed with one hand and patted his cheek with the other. Not hard enough to be considered a slap, really. Just hard enough to keep him from letting go of his already tenuous hold on consciousness. The attack had left him spent and limp. He was as comfortable as she could make him among the moss and ferns. His pale skin, a stark contrast to her sun-kissed tan, was almost white and his curly brown hair was damp with sweat.