“Rest easy, Tionne,” the stranger said, exposing her own arm. The skin was the color of a leaden sky, a light, warm grey that was both surprising and seemed perfectly natural.
A gloved hand pushed away the cloak and the stranger turned the inside of her arm to show Tionne a much longer line of scars like her own. Instead of fine white lines on pale skin, these were faint black lines on grey. Even so, Tionne could see that they were made from the same type of injury: a self-inflicted wound with a very sharp blade.
“So?” she asked, unappeased. “We share some scars. Nothing more. Who are you?”
The stranger pushed the hood of her cloak back and Tionne gasped. She was surprised on several levels. The first of which was that the woman hidden by the cloak was possibly the most beautiful creature she had ever seen. Fine silver hair was brushed back from her forehead, flowing down her back like a moon touched waterfall. Her skin was uniformly grey and smooth, like the surface of a river rock worn down by eons of sand and water. What set her apart, and caused most of Tionne's reaction, was her eyes. They were wide and round, seeming to Tionne to be much larger than they should be. They were an opaque red, with just the faintest glimmer of light, like a single ember burning from across a dark clearing.
“I am Nerillia, of the Lamiad,” she said, inclining her torso toward Tionne. “We share much more than scars, Tionne. We share an affinity for the blood. We crave it. We want to control it. I'd like to talk to you about who I am, who I represent, and what we can offer you, if you would hear me.”
Tionne tumbled that about in her mind. If you would hear me, she had said. It wasn't a demand. It wasn't coercion. It wasn't a threat. True, Nerillia had touched her mind without her consent, but if the Lamiad was also a slave to the call of blood, Tionne could understand. That wasn't just something you blurted out to a stranger. Not without having some assurances.
“You've been watching me,” Tionne said with sudden clarity.
“Yes. For some time. We had to be sure before we approached you.”
Nerillia flipped up the hood of her cloak. Not, however, before Tionne noticed some of the other patrons staring in their direction. People were strange. Men were here cheating on their wives. Wives were here making extra crowns on their backs. But expose something beyond the fringe of those acceptable debaucheries and people got uncomfortable.
Aluka appeared before them as if summoned. Her grey eyes were troubled and Tionne saw something in her face she hadn't seen before. Fear.
“You need to leave,” the barmaid said to Nerillia. “Now. It isn't safe for you here.”
“I was just going,” Nerillia said, getting to her feet. She turned toward Tionne, her eyes faint glimmers of crimson under the drawn hood. “You're like us. I just want to talk. Think about it.”
Before Tionne could react, Nerillia took her hand and clasped it. The young mage felt something cold on her palm and instinctively closed her hand around it. Then the Lamiad was gone, weaving through the crowd and disappearing through the hanging doors. Behind her, Aluka let out an exaggerated sigh.
“Thank goodness,” she said. “I thought we were going to have real trouble. Another mead?”
“No thank you,” Tionne said absently, still looking out over the crowd.
“Suit yourself,” Aluka huffed, stalking off down the bar.
That she might have permanently damaged her relationship with the barmaid never crossed Tionne's mind. Her attention was drawn to the cold, hard object in her palm. She unfolded her fingers and looked at it. It was a pebble, but a pebble unlike any she had ever seen. It was black, so black that it seemed to drink in all the light and heat around it. She wasn't sure why, but she felt as if she needed to protect it. As if it had suddenly become her utmost responsibility to protect this little stone.
Pushing a coin across the counter, Tionne left the Turgid Eel and wandered out into the street. With the din of the crowd now at her back, the night seemed more serene and still. There were a few hangabouts outside, but no one hassled her as she descended the wide steps.
Now that her head was clear, she wondered what she was supposed to do with the stone Nerillia had given her. She cradled it in her open hands, staring at it, trying to puzzle out its meaning. The effects of the mead were starting to wear off, so she slipped into the Quintessential Sphere, hoping that sphere sight would help unlock the mystery that had presented to her. The stone, in the timelessness of the sphere, was no different than the physical manifestation she held. It was small and completely black. It was the only object that Tionne had ever seen that didn't have a memory or an echo of its past.
This was a test. She was sure of it. It was a test that would tell Nerillia and her mysterious group if she had the skills to join them. It was a puzzle. Tionne loved puzzles. It was one of the only aspects of being a student in the Academy that really appealed to her. There was no better feeling than finally figuring out the last piece of a riddle that was a particularly difficult spell or ritual.
So then, all that remained was for her to figure out the riddle. To do that, she'd need somewhere to sit and think. Going back to the inn was out of the question. Faxon would no doubt be there. The last thing she needed while trying to figure this out was Faxon standing over her shoulder with his jokes. Or worse, his sermons.
Glancing around she saw the little alley that ran between the Eel and the buildings on the other side. That should offer sufficient privacy to worry out the puzzle. She slipped into the darkness, relying on the advantage of sphere sight to lead her around the debris that made the footing dangerous. She found an empty crate and turned it over, plopping down on her makeshift stool.
The stone didn't seem to respond to her touch, nor did it respond to her thoughts, either in the physical realm or in the ethereal one. It seemed utterly unaffected by magic and the few simple manipulations that Tionne tried. Warming it, cooling it, and suspending it with the power of her mind seemed to make no discernible difference. It stayed the same temperature as it had been from the moment Nerillia had thrust it into her palm.
Her ruminations were disturbed by a man stumbling into the alley. He reeked of ale and teetered on his legs so violently that Tionne thought he might collapse at any moment. He saw her and stopped short, a broken smile glittering in the darkness.
“'Choo doin here, pretty girl?”
The words were so slurred that Tionne could barely understand him, but the naked intent on his face held enough meaning. She reached into the sleeve of her robes, taking an obsidian dagger from the sheath strapped to her forearm. She had crafted it herself, drawing the obsidian from the Great Tower and shaping it through sheer force of will in the Quintessential Sphere. Tempered with magic, the glass blade was just as strong and durable as the finest steel and twice as sharp.
As he saw the blade, the drunkard's face took on hard lines. He held up a warning hand.
“Choo gonna stick me with 'at, girl?”
I'd like nothing more, Tionne thought. However, she knew her limitations. She was no fighter. If she let the man get close enough, it was very possible he'd be able to overpower her. She was tall for her age, but she was lanky. She had reach, but no muscle to make her a skilled fighter. Instead, her power came from the timeless void of the Sphere and from there, she'd deal with his threat.
Keeping the blade pointed at the man, who was still creeping toward her, she dropped the stone in an inside pocket of her robe. Then she drew the very tip of the blade across her other palm. The pain was exhilarating, an erotic pleasure that bubbled up from the black depths of her soul. A fine, thin line of blood welled up in her palm and she closed her eyes, slipping into sphere sight.
The grey-washed living memory of the alley surrounded them. Speaking ancient words of command, Tionne slowed the passage of time in the physical realm, manipulating the memory-in-making. The drunk seemed to move in slow motion, a darkened shade consumed by a writhing blackness.
Tionne's darkness was blacker still. Her manifesta
tion in the ethereal realm was her body rendered black as coal. The only light that surrounded her was the pulsing, crimson glow that welled up from the palm of her hand where she had drawn the blood. She called to it in the sphere, coaxing it to do her bidding. She imbued it with the memories of ancient evils and wars long ended. Tionne commanded the infestation to attack and it broke from her body, streaking across the ethereal void to burrow into the man's chest.
In the physical realm, there was a crimson flash as the transference was made. The line on her palm was a new, pink scar, untainted by a single drop of blood. The man seemed unchanged. Tionne let her control of the Sphere collapse and reentered the physical realm, doing her best to ignore the sudden nausea that swept over her.
The drunk took a step forward and stopped with a lurch. The menacing look on his face shifted to surprise, then agony. He screamed, but no sound came, just a low gurgling from deep within his chest. Blood streamed out of his nose first, then his ears. Tionne could see it glimmer in the dim moonlight. The blood came from his eyes next, finally trickling from the corner of his mouth before he went rigid, falling face forward into the trash-strewn passage.
Tionne stood motionless. It was the first time she had killed anyone. She knew he was dead. She had felt his presence pass beyond the physical world. If she was expecting to feel remorse, or glee, or joy, she was disappointed. She felt nothing. It was just a thing that she had done. He had meant nothing to her. He had probably not meant much to anyone. She had protected herself and provided a service. This man wouldn't again bother any young girl in an alley.
A strange sensation overwhelmed her and she thought, with sudden panic, that she might be reacting in some way to the taking of another life. Then she realized that the feeling was coming from inside her robes, a gentle vibration from the pocket where she had slipped the stone. She reached inside and withdrew it, feeling it shake against her hand. It tugged her toward the body and she took a reluctant step forward.
The nearer she got, the more insistent the stone was, pulling her toward the blood. Finally, Tionne released the stone. It skittered across the ground of its own accord, stopping near the blood pooled near the body. She watched with curious fascination as the stone seemed to absorb all the blood from the body, drawing it out of the orifices and leaving the body a withered husk. She was glad that the man had fallen face down. She wasn't sure she wanted to see what the stone had done to him in any more detail.
It was pulsing with crimson light, beckoning to her. She felt its pull and Tionne suddenly knew what the stone was. It was a bloodstone. It had its own type of magic, activated by the power of the blood. As she picked it up, she felt it pulling her, guiding her. She took a few steps forward and the stone pulled her this way or that.
Tionne continued to walk, following the pull of the stone and allowing it to lead her where it willed. She had no doubt that it would take her to Nerillia and the rest of her people.
CHAPTER TWO
Tiadaria had never been more glad to see the gates of Dragonfell. Their passage through the last gate in the pass through the Dragonback Mountains meant that the weeklong journey was at an end, but more importantly, that she and Wynn would have some space from each other.
It wasn't that she didn't understand why he was upset, it was just that she wished he wouldn't linger on it so. She knew she hurt him, and it broke her heart to do it, but she just couldn't abandon her duties to the King and crown without a second thought. If nothing else, the Captain had taught her that her honor was everything.
A sidelong glance was all she dared as they descended the last gentle slope before they'd be on the valley floor. Wynn was looking the other way, which was probably just as well. It seemed like every time they talked they were snapping at each other. They'd always been able to overcome their differences, but Tia was worried that this time, the chasm would be too wide to bridge.
“I'll be glad to get into the city,” he said, almost as if he was hearing her thoughts. “I'm tired of traveling.”
“Me too,” Tia replied, her voice soft and tired. That, at least, was innocuous enough that it wouldn't lead to another fight.
Wynn must have decided the same, as the conversation ended at that point. The horses continued their gentle, plodding gait. It was almost enough to lull Tia to sleep. Would have been, probably, if she hadn't been so upset. As it was, she kept her eyes on the horizon and the city walls that were growing steadily taller.
As the hard packed earth gave way to cobbled streets, they passed the first of the city guard posts. They presented their papers, chatted a bit with the duty guard about the condition of the roads and the trip into the capital, and then they went on their way. Not more than five minutes after they had left the outpost, a guard courier on a steel grey charger raced passed them. Nightwind shied to the side, letting the faster beast pass.
“Run me off the road next time,” she muttered under her breath.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Wynn smile. Then he stopped, as if he had suddenly remembered how angry he was with her. No, angry wasn't the right word. He hadn't been mean about it at all. He was just upset. As upset as she was that he couldn't see her side of it. Though she supposed that was fair. She couldn't really see his side of it either.
“We're almost to the gate,” he said. Tiadaria nodded.
Tia wasn't used to Wynn being so quiet. She was accustomed to his dry wit and his penchant for pointing out things during their travels that she might not know, or realize. She had missed the easy peace between them during their ride. For at least the hundredth time in the last week, she wished she could just go back and have that entire conversation over again. She'd take the ring and be happy about it and everything would be okay.
“Listen,” he said, turning in his saddle so he could face her. It was the first time he'd done so in days. “I sort of understand why it has to be this way, but coming into Dragonfell is going to be hard for me. I already had Faxon making arrangements, so I need to tell him to undo all those arrangements. I'm sorry if I've been, and continue to be, a little short. I'm just disappointed.”
“I know. I'm sorry.”
“I know you are.” He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. “We'll figure this out, just like we've done with everything else. I just wanted you to know that, at least this part of it, isn't your fault.”
Tia bit back a retort. She wanted to tell him that none of it was her fault. She didn't ask him to take her away from her life and her duties. She didn't expect him to rescue her and whisk her off to the life of a wife and, potentially, mother. She just couldn't think of that right now. No matter how much he wanted it. Fortunately, they had just arrived at the massive ironwood city gates, which spared her from having to make any reply at all.
No sooner had they pulled up to the guard house when Faxon appeared around the corner. Tia stifled a groan. Of course he would show up just now. The stupid grin plastered across his face meant that he had, like Wynn, taken for granted the fact that she'd accept his proposal, no questions asked. She wondered if Faxon would treat her the same way as Wynn had when he found out what had happened.
“How's the happy couple?” the quintessentialist asked, coming up to take the reins of both horses.
Wynn made a strangled noise and Tia covered her face with her hands. She wanted to slip off Nightwind's back and just melt into the earth. If there was anything she didn't need, it was Faxon making things even worse. Wynn recovered sufficiently to reply before Tia could.
“We're fine, but the handfasting is going to have to wait.”
Faxon's eyebrows went up at the hardness in the young man's tone, but he had enough good sense not to say anything. He turned to Tia, the question plain on his face.
“I have duties to attend to, Faxon,” she snapped, finally losing the grip she had held on her temper.
The older quint rocked back on his heels, surprised by the vehemence in her voice. He blinked at her and nodded, as if buying himsel
f time to compose a response.
“Yes, I had heard that the King requested you come to Dragonfell.”
“At least she's eager to do it when someone asks,” Wynn groused.
Tia rolled her eyes skyward. She clenched her hands around the edge of the saddle so hard that the thick leather doubled. She would not get into this argument again. Not for the third time in as many days.
“I wasn't asked. I was ordered.”
“Well, better hop to and follow those orders, then.”
The last of her patience snapped. She slid from the saddle and rounded on him.
“Fine, Wynn, I will. Just remember one thing, I wasn't the one who surprised you without any warning. I'm not the one who asked you to give up what and who you are to be with you. I'm not the one who wants you to be something you're not. Maybe, just maybe, you were the one who was wrong even asking me in the first place.”
She stomped away from them, leaving Wynn to deal with both their mounts. Maybe a little extra inconvenience would help him realize what a jackass he was being. Her anger and frustration propelled her deep into Dragonfell before she managed to let go of the worst of her fury. She stopped short and forced herself to take deep breaths, counting to ten as she did so.
Wynn had called out to her as she left him standing at the gate. She hadn't wanted to return to him then and didn't want to now. She needed some time to herself and the walk through the city to the palace would provide her with ample time to get herself under control before she spoke to the King.
Now that her head was clearing, it was easier for her to get her bearings. She stood in the shadow of the curtain wall that surrounded the city. There was a throng of people gathered around the end of an alley not too far away. Tia couldn't help but be reminded of her first visit to Dragonfell, when a similar mob had been turned against her. She quickened her pace and walked toward the group. If nothing else, it would sate her natural curiosity.
The Swordmage Trilogy: Volume 03 - The Pegasus's Lament Page 4
