Wynn snapped the book in front of him and sighed as well, not in relief, but in exasperation. He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and his eyes with the other. Tia rose, welcoming the opportunity to let blood flow back into her legs. She crossed behind Wynn’s chair and laid her hand on the back of his neck. The only indication that he felt the same shock that Tia felt was a momentary jerking of his shoulders. Then he let out a low groan as she began to knead the knotted muscles in his neck and shoulders.
His chin dropped to his chest and Tiadaria poked him with her finger. “Don’t you dare fall asleep on me. Turnabout is fair play. When I’m done, you’re going to do me.”
“Yes, Lady Tiadaria,” he said sleepily. “Although, to be fair, it could very well be time to sleep. I lost track of what time it was some time ago.”
“And nothing to show for it,” she groused, her fingers translating her mood into overly hard pressure on Wynn’s shoulders.
“Ow!”
“Sorry,” she said, easing her grip on the spot. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“No,” Wynn replied. “I didn’t think you did. I suspect that if you meant to hurt me, I’d know it.”
Tiadaria chuckled and Wynn looked up at her questioningly. He was infuriating, eminently logical, reasonable, rational, and he said some of the most unintentionally funny things at times. That he had no idea what he was saying or why it amused her so only served to tickle her even more.
“Nothing,” she said, answering his glance. “Just one of my little jokes.” She leaned over his shoulder and tapped the corner of the journal he had been writing in. “What’s in here?”
“Research notes,” he sighed. “There are lots of vague clues and clever turns of phrase, but nothing definitive, and certainly nothing that Master Indra can act on.”
“Well, if we do end up finding something, we may be the ones acting on it.” Tiadaria was just musing aloud, but Wynn’s reaction was dramatic and immediate. He sat bolt upright in his chair, his spine straight as an arrow.
“Don’t even joke about that!”
Tia took her hands off his shoulders and nudged her hip between him and the table. He slid his chair out and she half-sat on the edge of the table. “I’m not joking. Whatever has gotten into you?”
“You go where you want,” he said with a stubborn lift of his chin. “I’m not leaving the city. It’s safe here. Besides, I’m a researcher, not a fighter.”
“You’re a quintessentialist,” Tiadaria pointed out. “Surely you can defend yourself if necessary.”
“I…” Wynn’s cheeks went bright red and his eyes dropped to the floor. He was embarrassed! When Tiadaria had still lived among the clan, she had seen that reaction in her brothers when they failed to best rival clansman in combat. It was deep shame. She had felt it standing the council room at Dragonfell, standing in front of the Captain and knowing that she had defied him, and in so doing, disappointed him.
“I lied when I told you that I’d never been out of Ethergate,” He blurted, almost in a panic. “I wasn’t born or raised here. I was exiled here, in a fashion.” The pain in his voice eschewed any desire she had to scold him for his falsehood.
“What happened?” she asked quietly.
Wynn turned his head from her and for a moment Tia was convinced that he would just remain that way, silent and inscrutable. When he spoke, his voice wavered and she realized that his reluctance stemmed from trying to get himself under control.
“I told you that both my parents were quintessentialists. We lived in Blackbeach and they were both so convinced that I would be like them that when I reached my sixteenth name day and hadn’t shown any connection whatsoever with the Quintessential Sphere, I think they were devastated. Most children know from an early age. They’ll be able to move something here, conjure something there. Little, harmless things that tip them off to their connection. I never had that. Making the best of things, my parents taught me to be a world-class archivist and researcher. I guess they figured that if I wasn’t going to be like them, they could at least keep me close.”
Tia shifted on the desk and Wynn finally looked at her, his face still crimson and his eyes suspiciously wet. She inclined her head, urging him to continue. He took a deep breath.
“The other kids picked on me something fierce. It got to be so bad that I’d spend my days in the library, just to avoid anyone else. I got to know some of the most powerful Masters of our age. Masters Jotun and Tanglar, Master Faxon-- so many brilliant minds that I got to study while I was escaping the inevitable cruelties of adolescence.
“They caught me leaving the library one night. I had taken an armful of books to do some transcribing and I had promised Master Jotun that I’d be careful with them. They chased me down the long alley behind the library, up against the city wall.”
Wynn’s eyes lost focus and Tia knew he was back at the end of the alley. She was torn between wanting to stop him, to spare him the pain, and knowing that if he had come this far, he needed to let it out. She wondered who else, if anyone, had heard his story. Had anyone bothered to listen? Or had they dismissed him as an eccentric and left him alone?
“They knocked the books out of my arm and I was so scared. I promised Master Jotun I’d take care of them. They were my responsibility, and these kids, my peers, were kicking them around the alley, laughing and whooping, having a great time. There were four of them. I’ll remember their names of the rest of my life.
“Thomas was the biggest and the leader. The others were Harlon, Azir, and a little crippled kid named Meppet. The crippled kid was more accepted than I was. I know it shouldn’t matter now, or even then, but it hurt, you know?
“I remember it so clearly. Thomas punched me in the stomach and all the wind went out of me. I fell back against the wall and he hit me a second time. I’d never been in so much pain. He drew his hand back to hit me a third time and I threw my hands up to try and protect myself.”
He swallowed convulsively and looked away. Tiadaria put her fingers under his chin and determinedly ignoring the link-shock, turned his face to hers. Tears were slipping from the corners of his eyes.
“Wynn,” she said gently. “What happened?”
“I incinerated them,” he snapped at her. “I don’t remember calling on the sphere, I don’t remember saying any words, or making any gestures, or any part of any ritual, rite, or spell. All the same, I incinerated them. They screamed and people came running. They tried to help, but it was pointless. They were gone in moments.
“It was an accident,” Wynn continued, his voice steadying. “Everyone said so. Rationally, I know that’s true. I didn’t mean for it to happen. I didn’t want it to happen. But there was a part of me, a small part, that was glad that it did. Everyone left me alone after that. It was difficult for Mother and Father. They started fighting a lot. Then one evening Master Faxon came by the house and asked me to be his apprentice.
“I know he moved me here to get me out of Blackbeach. It was easier for everyone that way, and I got to come here and do what I’m good at. Somewhere safe, where there won’t be any more accidents.”
“Wynn,” Tia said slowly. “You can’t live your life being afraid of what might happen. Surely you’ve had training?”
He nodded. “I was trained and given the quintessential Trials just like any other mage. Master Faxon said that I was one of the biggest raw talents he’d ever seen.”
This last statement he added without hint of ego or pride. It was just another fact, another piece of information to be categorized and relayed. Tiadaria shook her head. A mage that Faxon said was one of the most powerful he’d seen and the silly boy wouldn’t even go outside the city.
“If I need your help, I need to know I can count on you, Wynn. Especially if Faxon doesn’t arrive before we find something we can act on. I don’t think I can do this alone.”
“I can’t,” he said with mournful eyes. “Inside the city it’s safe, I’m safe. I can help you from
here, but that’s as much as I can offer.”
He got to his feet, stretching in much the same way Tiadaria had when she rose. “It's late, Lady Tiadaria...or at least, I suspect it’s late. Let’s both get some sleep?”
Without waiting for a reply, he stepped past her, leaving her to watch him ascend the stairs to the upper reliquary. She was irritated with him, both for his stubborn insistence on not leaving Ethergate, and because he had forgotten to rub her shoulders.
CHAPTER SIX
By the time Zarfensis had left the Warrens, his entourage had grown from five to fifteen. Though Xenir was reluctant to remain behind, he knew that these were critical times for solidifying their vision for the Chosen. If they were going to rule and return the Xarundi to power, then they had to make sacrifices. The Warleader contented himself with hand-picking the warriors who would accompany his oldest friend on their mission. This had, naturally, resulted in a marked increase in force strength.
Now that they stood outside the city, Zarfensis was privately happy to have the extra bodies. The walls, bathed in flickering shadows cast by the eldritch fire that danced in the large braziers, seemed almost insurmountably high. The portcullis was closed for the night, a foreboding thing of steel rods as thick as a man’s thigh. There was a rustle in the bushes nearby and the last of the scouts he had sent out loped into view.
“Your Holiness, the city is secure. Every entrance is well fortified and guarded. We were unable to find a weakness.”
Zarfensis dismissed the report with a nod and turned his attention back to the city. He was unfamiliar with the history of the Hallowed Vale. It probably would have served him well to consult the archives before setting out on this mission, but time, he felt, was of the essence. If the girl were here, and indeed had knowledge of the relic, then it would do well for them to end her here and now before she could cause any more trouble. How many Xarundi relics were lost when the vermin had driven them from this place?
The High Priest went rigid and the warriors were instantly on alert. They circled him, claws unsheathed, their ears and eyes vigilant for what had alarmed their leader.
“What is it, Your Holiness?” Chrin was the nominal leader of the warriors. He was an older Xarundi, graying with age but still well-muscled. His senses were as keen as those with half his years and the others naturally looked to the experienced fighter for their orders.
“A hunch, Chrin.” Zarfensis pointed to the city. “Xenir says that this was once a city of the Chosen. The vermin took it from us when they drove us out of the human lands. What’s the first thing we do when we settle somewhere? Whether it's a new cavern in the Warrens, or the farther outposts, what is the very first thing we do?”
“Secure an escape,” Chrin answered, his jaw dropping in a feral smile. “You believe there is a bolt-hole.”
“Would our ancestors really have been so different? If the idea is so well ingrained in us as to be second nature today, certainly that imperative comes from our proud lineage.”
“Let us hope so, High Priest.” Chrin turned to the other warriors, ordering them out in pairs to scout the untamed wilderness outside the city walls. He alone remained with Zarfensis, watching over the city.
Long moments of silence passed as they waited for the scouts to return. Minutes quickly lengthened and became hours. Zarfensis grew restless, but Chrin remained in his alert crouch, only the occasional flick of an ear set him apart from a statue. Even the High Priest had to admire his discipline.
There was a scuffle nearby and Chrin whirled toward the sound. Pinpricks of blue fire betrayed their brethren as they made their way through the undergrowth. One by one the teams returned, reporting their failure and accepting the consequences of their shortcoming. Zarfensis assured them that if there was a failure to be had here, it would not be on them. They were following the orders of their Warleader and assisting the High Priest.
The second to last pair returned with news, both the news that Zarfensis so eagerly wanted to hear and news that was far less welcome.
“Report,” Chrin growled.
The adolescent Xarundi was awash with the smell of fear and Zarfensis wrinkled his nose. To his credit, the youth quickly regained his composure and presented his report.
“We found what we thought might be the bolt-hole. It was near the south-west corner of the city, almost out of sight of the city walls. It was covered with rocks and loose earth, but it smelled different. It smelled older.”
“We were clearing the debris to see if we could find an entrance to a tunnel when a patrol from the city saw us. We expected the vermin to run, but they advanced on us. We turned and ran, not from cowardice,” the youngster paused, as if wanting reassurance that his elders understood his meaning. Zarfensis nodded and the scout continued. “We wanted to draw them away, so that if we were right, they’d be none the wiser.”
“Did your plan succeed?” Zarfensis was now nearly as tense as Chrin. If the vermin discovered the hole, and it was an entrance into the city, they would waste no time in securing it, he was sure.
“Oh, yes, Your Holiness. They gave chase almost immediately, which is the problem. As we were drawing them into the woods, we inadvertently fled past our brothers.” The scout looked pained. “We led the vermin right to them! Our brothers didn’t have time to react. The vermin subdued them and took them to the city. We escaped and came directly back to report.”
“You’ve done well,” Chrin said. Then turning to Zarfensis, he pointed a long claw toward the city. “They may be young, but they carry the honor of the Chosen. They’ll do whatever they can to escape, and that may work to our advantage. If the vermin are busy dealing with the Xarundi inside their city, they may overlook those of us still outside.”
“Agreed. We should make haste.”
The party of Xarundi set off for the hole the scouts had found. They ran on all fours, trading off a bit of the stealth for speed, for they all felt that time was of the essence. Zarfensis was pleased to find that the mechanical leg, though it was louder than his brothers, only mildly affected his gait and he was able to keep up with the others easily.
It didn’t take long at all for them to reach their destination. Chrin set up guards around the perimeter and assigned four of the largest Xarundi to help clear the rocks and earth from the pit. He urged them to work quickly, but quietly. They had already lost two of their brethren to the vermin, they could ill afford losing anyone else.
Zarfensis knelt near the pit as they worked, his nose working to uncover the myriad of scents that were layered on top of each other. There was damp earth and moldering wood, rotting leaves and fungus. All to be expected. But there was something else. Something faint and peculiar, something that just didn’t belong.
The High Priest shifted his vision into the Quintessential Sphere, pressing outward from the here and now and passing, with some difficulty, through the veil that separated the memories of the past from the present. He was vaguely aware of the Xarundi working around him, of Chrin barking orders in hushed tones, but the bulk of his consciousness was in the living memory of the place where he stood. He pressed back through layers of memory, digging deeper into the past until the surrounding area began to change. Huge trees became saplings, streams appeared that had long ago withered to nothingness, and before him lie a deep tunnel in the earth.
He looked toward the city. Though he could see the hazy outline of the present-day walls, inside the Sphere the memory was vivid. Squat stone buildings made up the bulk of the city. This was ancient Xarundi architecture, Zarfensis knew. From before the days when the vermin had driven them underground to fight for their existence.
Turning his attention back from the city, Zarfensis moved his consciousness down into the tunnel. The memory of a dank, musty smell assaulted him and he suddenly felt wary, as if he was being watched. Unnerved, he quickly withdrew from the Sphere and refocused his attention on the physical world.
Chrin was watching him. “Doing some scouting of yo
ur own, Your Holiness?”
“Yes,” Zarfensis replied. Unsure of whether it was Chrin’s regard that he had felt so keenly, or something else. “This tunnel, properly excavated, will give us the access to the city we seek.”
Chrin relayed the new information to the working Xarundi, who redoubled their efforts to clear the entrance to the tunnel. Now that they were almost guaranteed access to the city, there was a definite air of excitement and anticipation about them. Zarfensis knew that they wanted to enter the city as much to complete their mission as to free their brethren from the vermin. He couldn’t blame them. The very thought of the Chosen being exposed to the vermin’s barbaric methods of interrogation set his fur on edge.
There was a soft cry from the bottom of the pit and Zarfensis moved to the edge. He was astounded at how much progress they had made so rapidly. Eight feet down, they had broken through into what had once been the tunnel. Recalling the perimeter guards, the rest of the Xarundi cleared the entrance under the watchful eyes of Zarfensis and Chrin.
Once the entrance to the tunnel was widened sufficiently to accept his frame, Zarfensis dropped into the pit, his mechanical leg making a metallic ring as it struck the stones underfoot. He ducked into the tunnel, letting his vision adjust to the darkness. The pale blue glow of the Xarundi’s night vision turned everything in the tunnel monochromatic. Still, it was quite easy to see that the tunnel had been abandoned for quite some time. The timbers that had offered support for the walls and ceilings were rotting and in some cases had given way entirely, allowing the damp earth to encroach on the tunnel.
Any attack made from this point of entrance would be a slow, methodical thing, not a rushing surprise attack that would sent their enemies into a blind panic. He turned to the others.
“Single file, and slowly. A word said out-of-place could bring the whole thing down around us. Watch your step, and touch nothing.”
The Swordmage Trilogy Bundle, Volumes 1-3 Page 23