* * *
Tiadaria and Wynn lay sprawled on the ice. The lightning strike hadn’t been near enough to singe them, but it had knocked them flat and left them with the purple afterimage of flash blindness. Though neither one of them could make out detail, they saw enough to know that the dragon that the Xarundi had freed was enormous and not to be trifled with.
Though they hadn’t been able to hear the Xarundi’s side of the conversation, the dragons had reverberated in their heads. It seemed not to care whose minds it touched, or what information it conveyed while it was there. At least they had the satisfaction of knowing that the Xarundi, for all their speed and maneuvering in getting to the relic first, had ultimately failed. They had no weapon with which to battle humanity. At best they had gained nothing. At worst, they had gained an incredibly powerful and cunning foe.
Tia managed to sit up and saw the Xarundi racing toward them. They weren’t out of the woods yet. In fact, the woods threatened to swallow them whole.
“Wynn, get up. Get up! We’re in trouble.”
“What else is new?” he asked, struggling to his feet and picking up his staff. He spun the weapon experimentally, fire sprang from the ends. “Come on, then.”
The battle was joined in the center of the cavern. Tiadaria’s blades flashed and rang as steel struck claw. Wynn fired spell after spell into their attackers, cackling with delight when his weapons made contact with their enemies. When one of the Xarundi in healer’s robes burst into flames by his hand, he crowed with such uncharacteristic glee that Tiadaria whirled to look at him.
Wynn’s eye was as red as the deadly fire he commanded. The uncertain boy was gone. In his place was a raging maniac, channeling the force of the sphere as fast and as furiously as he could. Tiadaria knew from painful experience that that sort of wanton destruction came at a terrible price. No sooner had the thought passed through her mind than Wynn cried out and doubled over, clutching his chest.
Tiadaria tried to reach him, but she was beset on all sides by Xarundi warriors. Through her sphere enhanced reflexes, she was able to keep them at bay, but gaining the upper hand was proving to be almost impossible. She watched in helpless horror as the Xarundi with the metal leg, the High Priest, descended on the helpless Wynn.
Zarfensis grabbed Wynn around the throat with his powerful hand, digging his claws into the young man’s neck. Surprised by the sudden assault from a different quarter, Wynn cried out and tried to struggle free. The massive Xarundi hefted him off the ground, squeezing his neck ever tighter.
Wynn gasped for breath. His vision was going gray and he knew that he had only moments to act or be lost forever. Summoning the last of his reserves, he summoned a small ball of magical flames. It coalesced in his hand, bathing him with no more warmth than a hot bath but singing the unprotected hair of the High Priest. He turned his hand over and shoved it into the Xarundi’s face, directly into his left eye.
The young apprentice heard the sizzle of burning flesh and smelled the burning fur. The Xarundi screeched in pain, dropping the mage and attempting to put out the flames with his hands. When he finally succeeded, the side of his face was a ruin of charred flesh. The eye had melted in its socket, oozing down over the ravaged skin.
Zarfensis took a step forward, intent on killing the mage, and Wynn summoned another ball of flame. They stood that way, eyes locked on each other for what seemed like an eternity, then Zarfensis broke and ran. Not satisfied to leave well enough alone, Wynn threw the summoned flame at the Xarundi’s leg. A smile crept over his face as the projectile struck the contraption, melting the thick rubber cords and shattering its tiny crystal window. A small quantity of feebly flickering runedust spilled out onto the floor of the cavern. The mechanical leg completely immobilized, the High Priest teetered clumsily and fell over.
The Xarundi war party was losing its cohesion. Their High Priest was wounded and immobilized. Tiadaria had dealt two of them deep wounds that bled freely and made the ice under their feet treacherous to fight on. As if that wasn’t bad enough, the mage was descending on them, his staff blazing.
In the end, the Xarundi tucked their tails between their legs and ran. They scampered up over one of the bridges, ignoring the shattering ice and disappeared into the tunnels beyond.
“We should go after them,” Wynn said, preparing to suit words to actions.
“Let them go, Wynn. We’ve bloodied them enough for one day. Plus, we have a prisoner.”
They turned to look at Zarfensis just as the Xarundi began to intone the words of a spell. Wynn crossed the ice in long strides and brought his staff around quickly, connecting the end of the weapon to the base of the Xarundi’s skull and knocking him unconscious. He slumped to the ground and Wynn prodded him experimentally before returning to Tiadaria.
“Alright,” Wynn said. “But what are we going to do with him?”
Tiadaria shrugged. She hadn’t figured that part out yet. The two of them stood there for quite some time trying to figure out what to do next. Fortunately, the opening in the center of the cavern let in some of the outside air, so it wasn’t as cold as it had been during their descent. Neither of them had any magic that could help them. Tiadaria’s abilities extended only as far as her combat skills, and Wynn wouldn’t be of much help if they didn’t need to set anything on fire. He knew lots of theory, but very little in the way of practical application. He lacked the years of practice and trial and error that endowed most apprentices with a well-rounded education.
The Xarundi was starting to stir and Tia was worried about what the long term effects would be if they kept him subdued by whacking him in the back of the head with the end of Wynn’s staff. Fortunately, she didn’t have to worry about it for long.
“Tiadaria? Wynn?” A deep bass rumble boomed out of the mists at the edge of the island. “Is anyone out there?”
Tia recognized that voice. Grabbing Wynn by the hand, she rushed to the edge of the precipice and looked across. Torus Winterborne, flanked on either side by quintessentialists in the cream-colored robes of the Order of the Ivory Flame, stood peering into the mist.
“Torus! Over here!” Tia waved both arms above her head, getting the attention of the massive soldier from Dragonfell. “We need you over here, quickly. We have a prisoner and he’s about to wake up.”
“Tia! Look out!” The panic in her old friend’s voice sent icy fingers of dread curling around her spine. She whirled just as the razor sharp claws of the Xarundi slashed across her shoulder and down the front of her armor. She felt the witchmetal rings part, watching in fascinated horror as they fell and bounced off the ice. Ribbons of agony spread from her shoulder to her ribs. Looking down, she saw the lacerations and blood spreading across the armor that Captain had given her.
That armor had saved her life. The clawing was long, but shallow. Her armor hung in tatters. Her breast band showed under the torn fabric, offering her very little in the way of protection from a second attack. The linen was rapidly soaking through with blood. She stumbled back, her arms cartwheeling to maintain her balance. She felt a hand in the small of her back and she was suddenly shoved away from the edge of the crevasse and past the raging Xarundi.
The quintessentialists across the chamber were shouting for Wynn to move out of the way. They couldn’t cast at Zarfensis while Wynn was between them. The Xarundi was taking advantage of the opportunity to cast spells of his own. Wynn spun his staff in a circle, calling on the power of the sphere to deflect Zarfensis’s magic.
Growling in frustration, the Xarundi turned to his other weapons and tried to claw Wynn from head to foot. The apprentice was ready for him, catching the powerful claws on the end of his staff and forcing them away from his body. As the motion left him vulnerable the Xarundi dashed forward. Wynn spun, thrusting the staff out behind him like a spear. Unable to check his forward momentum, Zarfensis slammed into the staff. There was a muffed crack, like someone stepping on a twig under rain-soaked leaves and the Xarundi stumbled back, ho
lding his chest
Wynn was certain something had broken. Leaping on the advantage, the young mage pressed his attack, calling the magic fire to dance along the length of the staff and sweeping it back and forth in front of the wounded Xarundi. Zarfensis backed away from the flaming weapon. As he backed away, he gave the other quints the opening they needed. Gleaming white projectiles streaked across the cavern, lighting up the mist. They slammed into the Xarundi, knocking him to the floor and spinning him across the ice. For a moment, Tia was afraid he was going to slide right off the opposite end of the island, but he came to rest in a crumpled heap just short of that terrible drop.
Suddenly Torus was beside her, wrapping her torso in a long strip of white cloth he had taken from his pack. Perhaps she was a little delirious, but Tiadaria found the size of his pack, a pack that met the full measure of the mammoth man, comical. She couldn’t help herself and she started laughing.
“She’s in shock,” Torus cried to the quints. They had just finished magically reinforcing the bridge they had crossed and rushed to his side. Tia waved them off.
“I’m alright. The only thing shocked is my sense of the absurd.” She took a deep breath, wincing as the action made her chest hurt. The pain sobered her quickly. “How did you know we were here?”
“I didn’t. Lacrymosa showed up at the infirmary in Blackbeach with Faxon mostly dead. She told Adamon where you were and what she thought you were after. So here we are.” Torus gave her a shrewd look. “Was there really a dragon here?”
While Tia was trying to process his question, the rest of his statement sunk in. “Adamon? Adamon! It’s good to see you again.”
The quintessentialist drew back his hood and nodded in her direction. At least some things didn’t change. She still got nervous around an Inquisitor and Adamon still treated her as if he knew something she wasn’t telling. The sooner this was over, the better.
“Yes, a white dragon, with violet eyes. We heard it in our heads. It was talking to the Xarundi, but didn’t stick around on their behalf.”
Torus shook his head. “This is bad. We need to get you back to Blackbeach and I need to get back to Dragonfell.”
“How are we getting back to civilization,” Wynn asked. He sounded so tired.
Torus glanced at the apprentice and for an instant, Tia thought he was appraising the young man’s suitableness for her, but the expression was so fleeting she dismissed it as a trick of her exhausted mind.
“We brought a runner-sled. Sort of a big wagon with rails and fast horses. We...um...borrowed them, from Overwatch. We’ll return them and gate-walk back.”
“First you’ll need to secure the prisoner, Torus.” Adamon motioned toward the motionless hulk of the injured Xarundi.
“Of course.” Torus took a steel collar and manacles from his pack. In short order, Zarfensis was secured for transport.
Not wanting to rely only on the inhibition of steel, Adamon and the other quintessentialists performed a ritual that would prevent the Xarundi from calling on the sphere. Only when the ritual was complete would Adamon allow them to leave the cavern. He flipped up his hood and stalked off ahead, preceding them from the chamber.
The ascension to the mouth of the tunnels was long and difficult, hampered by the fact that Torus was dragging the unconscious body of a several hundred pound Xarundi behind him the entire way. They were exhausted when they reached the sled. However, the horses were swift and made the journey back to Overwatch go by quickly.
No one said very much. They were too worried, too hurt, or too tired.
Epilogue
The large silver bell above the Great Tower of High Magic pealed loudly and nearly everyone in Blackbeach stopped to look toward the great obsidian monolith. From where Tiadaria sat by the entrance, the sound was nearly deafening. She could feel it through the low rock wall that surrounded the ornamental gardens. She felt it in her tailbone and all the way up into her spine. The wide doors that sealed the tower were pushed back and the conclave, all the masters in every order, began to make their way up the sloping path from the bowels of the tower.
She caught sight of Wynn and jumped down off the wall, running to intercept him. They veered away from the main group, slipping down the alley between the tower and the library.
“Well?” she demanded imperiously.
Wynn gave her a measured look, then broke into a wide grin.
“The conclave has confirmed me as a master, with all the rights and privileges of such. They said that I show more than enough aptitude to hold the rank, but recommended that I remain in Blackbeach for some remedial courses in applied theory.”
“Master Wynn. It suits you.” Tiadaria punched him affectionately in the shoulder and he winced. Master or not, he was still hers to abuse and she’d see to it that it remained that way. She took his hand, no longer conflicted about how she felt about the young mage and relishing in the thrill of excitement that the link-shock sent through her body. Tia pulled him out of the alley and turned down a wide lane.
“Where are we going?” Wynn asked, though he suspected he knew the answer already. She’d want Faxon to hear the news, as if the bell hadn’t told him enough already.
“The infirmary,” Tiadaria said, confirming his guess. “Faxon said you weren’t to return to Ethergate without seeing him first.”
Wynn stopped short, peering at Tia with undisguised curiosity. “I’m going back to Ethergate?”
“You’re not? I’d assumed that after you were confirmed you’d want to go back home.”
He caught her around the waist, drawing her body into his and pressing his lips to hers. When he released her, she sighed. No longer was he the timid mage afraid of taking chances. If nothing else, their time together had taught him that every moment was fleeting and to be taken advantage of.
“Home is wherever you are, Tia.”
She laid her hand against his cheek, her fingers caressing the creases of the now-healed scars. “I have a cottage in King’s Reach,” she said laughing. “But I don’t get to spend much time there.”
“I can’t promise that will change much,” Wynn said thoughtfully. “But we need somewhere to get away…somewhere private.”
“Master Wynn! You’re scandalous.”
“Not yet,” he said with a grin. “But I’m sure you can teach me.”
Hand in hand, they walked to the infirmary. Today was a day for celebrating the recovery of old friends and the excitement of new beginnings.
* * *
Zarfensis lay curled on the cold stone floor of his prison cell. He had been given basic medical care, provided with meat and water, and then left alone. The High Priest wasn’t sure how long he had been in the cell. With no outside windows it was impossible to tell the time of day. The heavy iron and steel bars that surrounded his enclosure caused a stabbing pain deep in his skull that made concentrating enough to slip into the sphere an impossibility.
So he tried to sleep as much as possible, tossing and turning on the rock, more often than not waking in a blind panic from a dream that stayed with him after he awoke. A massive white dragon was aloft above the mountains, his great wings blocking out the sun and spreading darkness across the land.
No matter how Zarfensis tried to turn away from the beast, the dragon was never far from his thoughts. Was it only a dream, the Xarundi wondered, or had the dragon somehow left a part of its soul in his mind? It seemed that every time he closed his eyes, he was staring into the violet orbs of the dragon.
Zarfensis rolled over and curled his good knee up to his chest. The other leg was a twisted ruin of blackened metal and melted rubber. He closed his eyes, meeting the familiar gaze of the dragon and hearing the litany that had become as much a part of his heartbeat. He mouthed the words silently as they came into his head.
Stryne the Despicable. Stryne the Hated. Stryne the Forsaken.
“Come to me,” the voice inside his head echoed. The voice of command. “Come to me and I will make you whole
again and you will be my prophet.”
The High Priest tried to push the voice from his mind and failed. Let the vermin kill me and end this, he thought frantically. He threw his head against the wall, knocking himself into peaceful unconsciousness.
Just before he slipped away, Zarfensis heard laughter.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Martin F. Hengst resides in South Central Pennsylvania with his wife and two children.
An avid reader since childhood, he attributes his love for fantasy and science fiction to his father. Martin's passion is creating intricate stories with intimate details set in fantasy lands that exist only in his readers' dreams.
If you'd like to keep up with the world of Solendrea and the extraordinary people and places that exist there, visit: www.solendrea.com. You can also follow Martin on Twitter and Goodreads. Email inquiries can be addressed to: [email protected].
The Swordmage Trilogy: Volume 02 - The Darkest Hour Page 18
