Lowering the tip of her blade to charge, Tiadaria managed to take a step forward before the Lamiad stretched out her hand. With a simple motion, Nerillia yanked the sword from Tiadaria’s grasp and flung it aside. Her survival instinct kicked in and Tiadaria decided to run, but it was too late. Nerillia had her cool hand around Tiadaria’s throat and was lifting her into the air. Narrow fingers dug into the sides of her neck, cutting off the precious air she needed to live.
“Drop her, now.”
Tiadaria had never been overly fond of Adamon’s voice, but right now, the sound of it was the sweetest music she had ever heard. Nerillia seemed not to have heard him, or didn’t care, as she squeezed ever tighter. The roar of Adamon’s dwarven hand cannon shattered the night and Nerillia’s grip loosened, if just a little.
“Let her go now, or I promise that I will return you to whatever corner of the Deep Void you crawled out of. The next shot goes through your head.”
The bronze hammer quivered in anticipation, waiting to spring forward and set off the explosion that would drive the projectile out of the miniature cannon and into the flesh of the Lamiad, lifting Tiadaria off the ground. The pressure of Adamon’s finger on the trigger was almost, but not quite, enough to trip the hammer and fire the remaining shot.
The Lamiad tensed, and Adamon put an almost infinitesimal amount of additional pressure on the trigger. He could feel the resistance of the tiny gears that drove the mechanism that lifted the hammer from its resting place. Any further movement on his part, and the weapon would discharge. That would almost certainly kill the Lamiad, and possibly Tiadaria as well. He wouldn’t be heartbroken over the first, but the latter would cause no end of problems, investigations, and inquiries.
“What assurance do I have that if I free her, you won’t kill me anyway?”
“I’ve given you no assurance of anything,” Adamon replied. “In fact, if you don’t do as I say, I’ll kill Tionne first, just so you know she’s dead, then I’ll kill you anyway. It matters little to me.”
Nerillia turned her head just a fraction so she could see the Grand Inquisitor out of the corner of her eye. Adamon suspected that she was appraising how truthful he was being. He hoped that her intuition was good. He had no qualms about killing both of them there in openness of the field. It would solve so many problems. Tiadaria’s insistence that they be returned to Dragonfell for “justice” chief among them.
The Lamiad must have realized that he was serious, for in the next moment, she released her hold on Tiadaria’s throat and dropped her unceremoniously onto the ground by her feet. The Swordmage scrambled across the damp earth, snatching up her weapon and pointing it in the direction of her recent captor.
“Where’s Selma?” Tiadaria asked.
Adamon snorted. At least she had the good sense to think about her charges first. Perhaps there was hope for this reckless creature yet.
“Safe.”
“I’m here, Tia.” The young girl stepped out from behind the inquisitor, still clinging to his traveling cloak. Her pale white face shone like a second moon, and it was obvious that she’d taken no lasting harm from their escape from Havenhedge or their arrival at Tiadaria’s rescue.
“What now?” Adamon asked. He knew how he wanted to proceed, and it ended with two graves dug deep in the earth at the edge of the field, but he doubted Tiadaria would allow that. She was, after all, nominally in charge of the operation since it fell under the purview of the Grand Army of the Imperium. Of which, by all the gods that were, are, or would be, she was the Captain.
“Censure them both and return them to Dragonfell to answer for their crimes.”
Tiadaria’s answer came far too easily to sit well with Adamon. He almost wanted her to struggle with it. To realize that not everything in the world was black and white. However, he knew that arguing with her would be pointless. Once her mind was made up about something, it stayed made up about it. All the horses in the Imperium wouldn’t drag her away from it.
“Very well.” Adamon eased the hammer down on the cannon and dropped the weapon into the holster hanging on his hip. He flexed his hand, which felt extraordinarily empty. It was almost as if the heavy brass and leather of the weapon had become an extension of his arm. He missed it, but he couldn’t perform the censuring ritual with it in his hand. Tiadaria still had her scimitar pointed at Nerillia’s throat. That should be sufficient deterrent against any rash actions on the Lamiad’s part.
As soon as Adamon’s hand had retreated from the handle of the cannon, Nerillia dove toward where Tionne lay. Tiadaria was only a split second behind her, and Adamon reacted only a moment after that, but it was still too late. By the time Tiadaria had landed at the spot where the unconscious girl lay, both she and her Lamiad protector had disappeared in a swirl of cold darkness.
“What?” Tiadaria asked. She seemed unable to find words to elaborate on the question.
Adamon really couldn’t blame her. He scrubbed at his face with both hands.
“Gatewalk,” he said, slipping into sphere sight just long enough to catch the last faint echo of their departure in the living memory of the field in which they stood.
“But there’s no gate!” she exclaimed. “Did you know they could do that?”
“No,” Adamon admitted. “But the Pheen can do it. We’d be fools to expect that no other creature on Solendrea could mimic that ability.”
“Where did they go?”
He shrugged. “No way of telling. At least not quickly. And they’re smart. By the time we figure out where they went, they’ll have moved on. She was one step ahead of us this time.”
“I don’t like that one bit,” Tiadaria said, her tone savage. “I don’t like that they’re out there together. Tionne is bad enough. Tionne with Nerillia in tow is the stuff of nightmares.”
“We’ll catch up to them eventually. We have larger problems to attend to at the moment. Like ridding Havenhedge of the rest of those…things.”
“Good, I could work out some of this aggression,” Tia said, flexing her arms. She shot a comically savage look at Selma, who giggled.
Adamon rolled his eyes.
The three of them started across the field, back toward Havenhedge and the task that waited for them there.
~
“This is it?” Tiadaria nudged the lifeless body of one of the creatures with the toe of her boot. “I wanted something I could fight.”
Adamon knelt by another body laying on the cobbles not far from where Tiadaria stood. The pumpkin-creatures seemed to have collapsed where they stood. He rolled the inert thing over. It left a long string of black ooze that connected the body to the street where it had lay. They were rotting already.
“It seems that when Tionne and Nerillia departed, they took the animating force of these creatures with them.”
“Filthy blood magic, no doubt.” Tiadaria snorted, giving the body a savage kick that sprayed ichor across the littered street.
“A likely hypothesis.”
Adamon’s pragmatic response did nothing to improve her mood. She’d wanted to work off the frustration of losing both Tionne and Nerillia. She wanted to know where they had gone, to be able to pursue them and bring them back to Dragonfell one final time. Once she got hold of them, she’d ensure they never saw the light of day again. She’d see them censured and dropped in a pit deep enough that they’d never again see the light of day. That wouldn’t bring back the scores of innocents they had killed or make Tiadaria whole again, but it would be a start, and that would have to be good enough.
That thought put her in mind of Wynn and she swiped at a tear that appeared, unexpectedly, at the corner of her eye. She blinked back another and turned toward the location of the farmhouse where she’d seen the specter of her former love. She caught Adamon looking at her and quickly looked away. She’d arrived at the burned out ruins of the farmhouse last night after returning from the field. She had stayed with the burning wreckage until Adamon had threatened to remove h
er bodily if she didn’t go of her own volition. Tiadaria had tried to explain what had happened, but he’d just dismissed the entire occurrence as a product of her overstimulated nerves and the peril of her situation.
“Tiadaria—”
“He was there, Adamon.” Her voice was cold and hard. “I’m not emotional, I didn’t imagine it. He was there. Even if it was just for a moment. If he wasn’t, how do you account for the farmhouse bursting into flames?”
“You control the powers of the sphere, Tiadaria. Just because you use them in a martial manner doesn’t mean that you’re not capable of any of the other powers that Quintessentialists wield. It’s not outside the realm of possibility that you started the fire yourself. If you managed to convince yourself that—”
She rounded on him, her eyes blazing. Tiadaria’s fists were balled at her thighs, and Adamon took a step backward.
“You weren’t there! You didn’t see it. You can’t be certain, because there’s no way for you to be certain, right?” Tiadaria took a twisted pleasure in using his own close-minded logic against him. It felt good. It felt right.
For a moment, Tiadaria was sure he was going to argue the point. At long last, he spread his hands in supplication and shrugged.
“You’re right, of course. I wasn’t there, so I can’t be certain.”
She knew that it was unlikely that he’d ever believe that Wynn had come to her. It didn’t matter. As long as he was willing to believe that she had seen it, even if he doubted it, that was enough. It meant that he was willing to play by his own rules, and she could accept that. At least for as long as they were to be partnered together. She wiped the last of her tears away with the heels of her hands. By the time she looked back at Adamon, he had turned his back on her and was investigating another body.
“G’morning,” a timid voice said from a darkened doorway.
Selma stood in the doorway, rubbing the last of the night from her eyes. The mid-morning sun gave the child an almost radiant quality. There was something about her, an indomitableness of her spirit, which made Tiadaria think that Tionne had failed in her quest to twist this child into a macabre mimic of her own image. Tionne may have succumbed to the darkness she had witnessed and been a part of, but Selma never would. She’d fight against the dark with every fiber of her being.
“How are you, Selma?” Adamon asked, getting to his feet and walking to the girl.
“Better now.” The girl paused, looking around at the bodies that littered the cobblestones outside the small inn where she’d spent the last hours of the night and first hours of the morning. “What happens next?”
Adamon glanced at Tiadaria, then back to the girl.
“Well, what do you think happens next?”
Selma made a sour face and waved a tiny hand at the rapidly rotting corpses of the pumpkin creatures.
“These need to be cleaned up. No one will want to live here with those nasty things scattered about.”
Tiadaria giggled, and Adamon shot her a look, then threw back his head and laughed. It was the first time that Tiadaria had heard him laugh and it was strange to see such a normally stolid man having a good guffaw. He reached down and ruffled Selma’s already none too neat hair.
“True enough, youngster. True enough.”
The three of them, for Selma wouldn’t let them work without her, began stacking the bodies to burn. Toward the middle of the afternoon, they paused in their labors and sat on the edge of the town fountain to have a meal of sharp cheese and hard biscuits. Tiadaria had a thin wedge of cheese nearly to her lips when she stopped and shot a look at Adamon.
“Do you hear that?”
“I do.”
Tiadaria dropped the cheese and her scimitars appeared from her scabbards as if summoned. Adamon got to his feet a moment later, his cannon in his hand. The noise grew louder, and Tiadaria flipped into sphere sight, preparing to cast out through the town to see what the nature of this new threat could be. A crowd of commoners poured into the main street from the far end. It appeared as though those who had abandoned the town in its darkest hours were now returning.
“Daddy!” Selma screamed, dropping the cheese and biscuits and running to a harried looking blond man at the front of the crowd.
The man stopped short, blinking as if he didn’t quite credit what he was seeing or hearing.
He sank to his knees, folding the young girl into a tight embrace.
“Selma? Oh, Selma! I thought I’d lost you for sure.”
Tiadaria felt as if her smile might break the sides of her face. She dropped her swords back in their scabbards. Adamon was a little more wary. He lowered the cannon, but didn’t slip it back into the holster until the throng of townspeople had gathered around them at the fountain.
Luka and Selma were the first to approach. The man’s bloodshot eyes were wet with recent tears.
“Thank you. Thank both of you, for saving my daughter. I thought for sure she was lost.”
“Now you can begin anew,” Tiadaria said, inclining her head to acknowledge the thanks. “I can’t promise that things are as you left them, but you’re safe now.”
It took several hours for Tiadaria and Adamon to extricate themselves from the profuse thanks and offering of gifts the people of Havenhedge seemed to think was necessary and befitting for the heroes who had liberated their town. At long last, they left the town gate, which already had a new guard posted, and made their way up the hill toward where they’d left the horses. That seemed like a lifetime ago, Tiadaria thought as she walked, glancing back over her shoulder to see Selma still standing at the gate.
The girl had followed them through the town and out to the gate, only stopping when Adamon had told her, gently, but sternly, that her place was with her father. Luka would need her help, Adamon told her. They had a lot of cleaning and rebuilding to do. Selma reluctantly agreed and promised to stay by the gate and only watch their departure until they were out of sight.
“I suspect things will be back to normal in no time,” Tiadaria said, almost to herself as they walked.
“No doubt. Especially if that little girl has any say in the matter.”
Tiadaria found herself smiling again, and did so until the crested the ridge and found Nightwind and the dappled pony, just where they’d left them. Nightwind nickered happily, dancing about at the limit of his tether.
“I’m glad to see you too,” Tiadaria laughed, slapping the steed affectionately on the neck.
“Let’s go home.”
In short order, the mounts were tended, loaded, and they were back on the trade road that would lead them back into Dragonfell. As they reached the first turn, Adamon stood in his stirrups and looked back the way they had come, as if by concentrating hard enough, he could see the little town tucked away in its valley.
“I’m going to miss the little one,” he said, his voice wistful. “She reminded me of my daughter.”
Adamon settled back into the saddle and spurred on his mount, leaving Tiadaria staring after him, her mouth agape. She spurred Nightwind forward, bringing the larger steed into stride with the pony.
“Wait a minute, Adamon. You have a daughter?”
Adamon didn’t answer. He turned his mount onto the trade road and began the journey back toward Dragonfell.
Tiadaria followed.
Adventurer’s Guide to Solendrea
Welcome adventurer! Come in, sit down. You look exhausted after such a long journey. Which backwater town did you say you were from? Don’t want to say? That’s fine. Everyone deserves a fresh start if they want one. You’ll get no chastising for me. Who am I, you ask? That’s as good a place to start as any. Let’s begin.
My name is Jotun. I’m the Head Archivist here at the Great Library in Blackbeach. If there’s been a book written about what you want to know, you’ll find it here. What’s that? No time for books? My, you are eager to get out in the world and make a name for yourself, aren’t you? Fret not, I can tell you everything about the w
orld of Solendrea that you need to know to get out there and start exploring on your own.
Say, before we get started, mind handing me that skin of wine slung over the back of the chair? We’ve got a lot of talking to do, and talking is thirsty work.
Pronunciation Guide
There’s some folks and some places that have some pretty strange names. Can’t have you making a fool of yourself when you’re out and about, now can we? Let me give you this list of people, places, and things that might not sound exactly as you’d expect. It might save you a little trouble as you head on down the road.
Adamon
add-ah-mon
Aldstock
ahld-stock
Aluka
al-ook-uh
Bannash
ban-nash
Baris
bare-is
Cerrin
sair-in
Chrin
krin
Dendrel
den-drell
Dyr
dire
Ecera
ess-era
Faxon Indra
fax-un in-druh
Folkledre
foak-l-dray
Fulgent Casto
full-gent cast-oh
Furia
fury-ah
Gatzbin
Quintessential Tales: A Magic of Solendrea Anthology Page 14
