As if the Primordials had heard her and wanted to test the limits of her dedication to remaining sane, Valyn appeared out of the darkness and strode toward them, his lips set in a thin line. There were dark circles under his eyes and a smear of dried blood across one cheek. His left arm hung limply at his side.
“Faxon, Tia! You're here. Perfect. Things have gone from bad to worse. One of my men reports that around a hundred Xarundi warriors are marching on the palace. The army's been scattered, the Captain, the current Captain, not that abomination, is dead. Men are deserting their posts. There's looting, rioting. Blood wraiths are everywhere.”
Valyn paused, drawing the back of his working hand across his brow. He looked back and forth between them before continuing.
“I fear Dragonfell may be lost.”
“Not yet, man,” Faxon said with more confidence than Tiadaria felt, or thought was warranted. “We've still got some fight left in us.”
“Right.” Valyn nodded. “I ordered my men to form triple lines around the palace and stationed my best fighters in the hall. They'll fight hand to hand if it comes to that. More than I can say for the army, the cowards.”
“It's not exactly just another day on the job, Valyn,” Tiadaria interjected. She couldn't condone the men abandoning their duties, but she could understand why they would. With every minute that passed, things were looking even more grim.
“No, I suppose not. Even so, we need every man we can muster. Those wraith things are damn hard to kill. I'd much rather be facing the Xarundi. At least I know how to fight them!”
“I might be able to help with that,” Faxon said, turning to Tiadaria. “The ritual Tionne used to animate the Captain's lich, did she have a chalice? A really old looking cup?”
“I know what a chalice is, thank you. Yes. She took the blood she needed and combined it in the chalice. Then she forced it into the Captain's body.”
Valyn shook his head.
“What good is a moldy old cup going to do us?”
“That moldy old cup is the Chalice of Souls,” Faxon explained quickly. “It's probably how they created the blood wraiths in the first place. If we can get our hands on it, we can likely use it to nullify their magic. Might be able to take them all out in one fell swoop.”
“And the Captain's lich?” Tiadaria asked. Faxon shook his head.
“The lich is bound to Tionne. It'll return to her for orders and there isn't anything we can do about it with the Chalice. Let's deal with one apocalypse at a time.”
“I'm not sure we have time for singular tasks.”
“I agree with Tiadaria.” Valyn waved in the direction of the palace. “My men are loyal, but they're outnumbered at least two to one. They won't be able to keep the King safe forever.”
“The King is still in the palace?” Faxon was aghast.
“Of course,” Valyn snorted. “Where else would he be? He was up on the battlement, calling down orders to me before I left him midsentence.”
“Yes,” Faxon sighed. “That's Greymalkin alright. Damn it! I wish there were an ether gate here. I've called up reinforcements from Blackbeach, but they're coming on horseback. They'll get here just in time to do nothing.”
“Then we'll work with what we've got,” Tiadaria said, running her finger along her collar.
It was the first time since laying in the snow of the Frozen Frontier that it had felt like a restriction. Her collar had always been a perverse comfort to her, reminding her of the connection she had with the Captain and everything he'd taught her. Now it reminded her that such bonds were all too fleeting. It felt heavier than it should, as if it was weighing her down, which was silly, considering how thin the band was.
Faxon stared at her, his eyes tracking the movement of her finger until she, embarrassed, clasped her hands behind her back.
“Indeed,” Faxon said, his voice curiously absent. “Tiadaria and I will return to the old inn and see if the chalice is still there. We might be able to narrow this war down to a single front. Do you still have runners in your ranks, Valyn?”
The Captain of the Guard shot Faxon a genuine grin.
“Finest and fastest in all of Dragonfell. I can still give orders, or get them, depending on your need.”
“I wouldn't presume to order you, Valyn. I just make suggestions.”
“That one disregards at their peril.”
Faxon shrugged.
“Maybe. We're out of time. If you head back to the palace, Tia and I will find the chalice and meet you there. If we don't find it, we'll meet you there anyway. That's where we'll make our final stand. There isn't much we can do for the people of Dragonfell now. We're all going to have to fend for ourselves.”
Valyn nodded, his eyes dark.
“Aye, Master Faxon. I'll see you there.” He nodded toward her with a sad smile. “Tiadaria.”
He half jogged, half ran off to the north, toward the road that would eventually lead him into the palace cavern, if the Xarundi didn't get to him first. Faxon was moving before the faint jingle of the clasps on Valyn's plate had faded into the distance.
“We need that chalice. We can only hope that it's still at the safe house. Otherwise, I'm not sure what we're going to do.”
“What?” Tiadaria asked, feigning surprise. “Something go right for a change? Madness!”
Her flippant remark must have struck him in his sense of humor. The bark of laughter that burst from him had a slightly hysterical sound to it, but it was, however briefly, the Faxon that she knew. He'd been entirely too serious in the face of this threat. It wasn't like him. She knew that Wynn's condition was weighing heavily across his shoulders, but he'd have to learn to keep it at bay like she did.
Tiadaria had thought that retracing their footsteps to the inn would be faster without the added burden of Adamon and Wynn slowing them down, but she was wrong. By all appearances, it wasn't only the army that was getting out of Dragonfell while they could. The streets were crowded with men and women, some of them with children and belongings in tow, trying to make their way toward the nearest gate. They passed one of the smaller gates and found it snarled with people and their belongings. Fights were beginning to break out. Tiadaria and Faxon quickly went on their way.
“This is going to get worse before it gets better,” she muttered under her breath. “I wish Wynn were here.”
“He was here, now he's not. He knew you needed to be here instead. Focus less on Wynn and more on ending this.”
Faxon's voice was almost savage. Tiadaria wasn't expecting an attack from such a surprising quarter. She stopped short.
“Faxon, stop! Tell me what happened to Wynn.”
“We don't have time for this.”
“Tell me, or so help me, you'll fight this battle alone. What happened to Wynn?”
The quintessentialist rounded on her and where Tiadaria was expecting rage, she was surprised to see tears streaming down his cheeks. Confused, she took a half step forward. When he failed to react, she took a full step, and gathered him in her arms. He put his chin against her shoulder and wept.
Tiadaria was scared. She was always a little scared when it came to battle. The Captain had said that a warrior without a little fear was already dead. However, the sight of Faxon so reduced filled her with a dread akin to a blind panic. Faxon was never this emotional, about anything. He was the stalwart defender, always ready to face death with a quip or a joke.
“Faxon,” she said gently, but urgently. “I need to know what happened.”
He pushed away from her, held her by the shoulders, and nodded. His eyes were still rimmed with red, but he'd stopped crying almost as fast as he'd begun.
“You were nearly dead, Tiadaria. There wasn't anything else we could do. You'd have been dead before we got you to the hospital. I all but ordered Adamon to switch my life force with yours, through the power of the Lyr--”
“But Wynn wouldn't let you,” Tiadaria interrupted. Her throat was tight and the corners of her eyes bur
ned with suppressed emotion. “He knew I'd need you, so he sacrificed himself. For me.”
Faxon nodded. Tiadaria scrubbed her palms against her thighs, willing with all her might to keep the tears at bay. If she started crying now, she wasn't sure she would ever stop.
“Stupid, brave, heroic, coward!” she screamed to no one in particular. “I'd hate him if I didn't love him so much...and if we manage to live through this, I'm going to murder him. Let's go.”
Tiadaria was, at turns, impressed and horrified with Wynn's solution to the problem. He'd come such a long way from the scared boy he'd been in Ethergate, when he couldn't even fight. He'd sacrificed himself for her and she couldn't even take the ring he'd proposed to give her. She should have just said yes. Damn it. How much time had she lost because she felt as if her duty and destiny had to come first? In that moment, she hated the Captain as much as she'd hated anyone, ever.
The fire of her rage kept her feet moving in a steady rhythm and before long, they'd made it back to the inn that Tionne and the others had been using as a safe house. Tiadaria entered through the massive splintered hole in the wall and Faxon followed. Once they were inside, Faxon summoned a brilliant light that flooded the entire area.
A patch of dark crimson on the weathered wood showed how much blood had been spilled and Tiadaria had to look away. A cursory glance around the room was enough to tell her that the chalice was gone. The wooden holder and the crystal vials that had held the blood were scattered on the floor. There was no telling who else might have been here in the time between when they'd left for the hospital and now. Looters could easily have made off with anything of value left in the decrepit building.
“It's not here,” Faxon said, close to despair. “We'll need to find another way.”
“Just a minute.” Tiadaria said, closing her eyes and slipping into the Quintessential Sphere.
“We don't HAVE a minute.”
She heard him, but he was muffled, as if she could only hear him down a very long hallway. Instead, she was focused on the itch in her arm where Tionne had laid the blade. There was no scar, no sign of the injury, but Tiadaria could still feel it, and she focused on those feelings, letting the power of the Sphere tug her in the direction it wanted her to go.
Tiadaria felt as if she was being led to the center of the room, where the bloodstain was, so she went to it, standing in its center, still surrendering to the will of the Sphere. She felt a gentle tug in the small of her back, as if an invisible hook were drawing her across the room. She followed the insistent tug toward the broken bar at the end of the room.
Putting her hands on its surface, the same place where the Captain's body had lay, she tried to decipher what the Sphere was trying to tell her. It wanted her here, at the bar, but she couldn't fathom why. What was she supposed to do? She pressed further back into the etheric realm, watching the memories slip by as if she was watching time in reverse.
The images were cloudy, obscured by the amount of evil that had been present in such a small pace over such a short period of time. Still, she watched, hoping to find the clue that the Quintessential Sphere was trying to reveal to her. She stopped and watched Tionne feed the Captain's corpse the blood. Tionne sat the chalice down on the bar as the Captain's body started to stir. Then the lich came to life, swinging down off the bar and shambling toward the bound Tiadaria.
This was it. This was the moment of her death. This was when she'd found the Captain in the clearing. That's how they'd been able to find each other. They were both so near to death, but both of them clinging, somehow, to the life they'd had. Tearing her eyes from the scene unraveling before her, Tiadaria glanced at the bar. The chalice was gone, but Tionne and the Lamiad hadn't yet fled. No one had taken it. It was still here!
“Tia, we don't have time for this!” Faxon cried as she slipped out of the Sphere.
Tiadaria forced away the nausea that always came with the transition from the deeper parts of the Quintessential Sphere to the physical realm. With a graceful leap, she vaulted the bar, ending up behind it. She knelt, her fingers exploring the darkness where Faxon's globe of magical light didn't extend.
Her fingers grazed cold metal. It was much colder than it should have been, accounting for the temperature in the room. Tiadaria clutched it tightly, and wrested it from its hiding place under the bar. She held it over her head as if she'd just been crowned triumphant at some summer game of skill.
The surprise and elation in Faxon's eyes was enough for her to give a laugh of her own and she rushed around the end of the bar to deliver the artifact to the mage. If he really could use the chalice to end the threat of the blood wraiths, they might have a chance to yet prevail.
No sooner had she passed the chalice to Faxon than they heard a voice at the wall where it had been broken away by the Xarundi's exit. The voice was soft and sultry, and it was a voice that Tiadaria would never forget as long as she lived.
“Well, well,” Nerillia said, stepping into the room, two wicked looking whips trailing behind her. “It seems that I'm not the only one interested in recovering our party favors.”
“You know what they say,” Tiadaria snapped. “Finder's, keepers.”
“Not in this case, I'm afraid,” another voice said from outside the wall. Tionne entered, the Captain's lich only a step behind. “I think we'll be taking back our little toys.”
“Tia!” Faxon yelled in warning, but her blades were already in her hands.
As the Captain's scimitar streaked down, her blades flashed out, catching the rusted blade of her former mentor and throwing it away. Another strike came soon on the heels of the first, then another.
Soon, Tiadaria and the Captain were locked in a battle of blades that flashed faster than the human eye could recognize. With Tiadaria occupied, Tionne and Nerillia moved toward Faxon.
#
“Don't do this, Tionne. Turn back from this dark path you're traveling and I promise you that we can find a way to make this right.”
Tionne was, at turns, amused and horrified. The fact that Faxon thought he could make her 'right' only showed how little he knew about her or had been paying attention. The last few days had shown her that there was no place for her among the Imperium. Her connection to the Dyr would forever make her an outcast to the majority of their society.
She spared a quick glance to where the lich and Tiadaria were fighting. The swordmage would be far too busy trying to stay alive to meddle in other affairs. Tionne was thankful for that. Though she thought she could fight Faxon and win, she was somewhat frightened of Tiadaria. The flashing blades were something she didn't understand. Magic, on the other hand, was something she was intimately comfortable with.
“I don't need fixing, Faxon. What about that don't you get? Or do you get it? Is that it? That the great and powerful Master Faxon Indra couldn't fix the broken little girl under his care?” She laughed. “You couldn't even see me for what I really am. How could you ever think you could fix me?”
He looked away from her and Tionne knew she was getting to him. That was it then. Faxon felt as if he had failed her. Never mind that she hadn't wanted his help in the first place. He was a fool. She dropped her hands to her sides and hung her head.
“Please, Master Indra,” she said in her best scared little girl voice. “Please, help me.”
As she expected, Faxon took a step toward her, his hands outstretched as if to guide her back to the path of the light. Tionne's head snapped up, her eyes flickering with the sickly glow of power drawn from the Dyr. She snarled the words of power as her hands snapped forward. Deadly black tendrils shot from her palms, seeking to ensnare and devour the older quintessentialist.
A flick of his wrist severed the tendrils before they could reach their target and Tionne felt the burning backlash of the countered spell between her temples. A blue-white missile streaked from Faxon's hands, striking her in the shoulder and spinning her around. She screamed in both pain and surprise. Before she could counter, Neri
llia had gone on the offensive, striking out with one of the whips.
Faxon countered with one of his own. A whip of gleaming white light formed in his hand and wrapped around Nerillia's weapon, arresting it mid-strike. He yanked hard on the magical strand, pulling the Lamiad off balance and wresting the weapon from her grasp. He flicked the whip out a second time, wrapping it around the Lamiad's ankle.
Tionne drew on the Quintessential Sphere and sliced the air in the direction of the whip Faxon was holding. The spell bolt went wide, slamming into the bar and sending a shower of splinters into the air. Before Tionne could do anything about it, Faxon yanked the lanyard upward, picking Nerillia up off the floor. He lifted her until she nearly touched the ceiling, then whipped his hand down, slamming her into the floor so hard that the boards snapped.
“NO!” Tionne screamed. Nerillia wasn't moving, but she didn't dare go to her. That would put Tionne directly in Faxon's line of sight.
Instead, she took her rage and coaxed it out, feeding it with all the memories of her miserable experiences in the Great Tower. Feeling isolated and alone in the Academy. All the times she missed her family. All the times Faxon had treated her unfairly. Every negative experience she could remember, she fed to the raging fire in her belly.
Slipping into the Quintessential Sphere, she called out to the Dyr, feeling its influence in the swirling eddies of magical power that surrounded her. Though the rune was far away, protected by the Xarundi, she felt it answer her call. It had accepted her offering, all the harrowing experiences she had offered it in return for granting her the power to dispose of Faxon once and for all.
He turned on her, his hands full of ivory fire, his lips moving in a silent prayer to whatever lightwalker runes he called on for his magic. Her guttural shout was faster and more powerful than he was expecting. She moved her hands, as if parting an invisible curtain, and the ground split under their feet.
The Swordmage Trilogy: Volume 03 - The Pegasus's Lament Page 17
