“As you wish, My Lord.”
The Lamiad bowed deeply and backed out of the cavern. Stryne listened to her descent down the mountain, following the sound of her feet on the loose earth until it was outside his senses. Then he turned his eyes toward the Quintessential Sphere, stalking her until she reached the foot of the mountain and turned back toward the city. Satisfied that she was well away from the cave, he closed his eyes and slept.
#
“Where in the nine hells have you been?” Faxon demanded as Tionne entered the common room of the Dirty Magpie Inn.
The raw fury in his face gave her a moment of panic, her heart racing like a startled rabbit. Though she was mostly devoid of normal feelings for a girl her age, the dread that settled into the pit of her stomach was visceral. She wanted to run. To turn and run from the inn and not have to explain anything. Even in her panicked state, she knew that if she ran, he would follow and where would she go? Back to the safe house? That'd be even more dangerous than Faxon at his worst.
“Out,” she replied, with far more confidence than she felt, and tried to brush past him toward the stairs.
As she passed him, his hand flashed out and he grabbed her arm, hard. His fingers dug into her flesh and tears of pain sprang to her eyes. He spun her to face him, his fingers dug into the muscle and her arm started to go numb.
“You're hurting me,” she managed to gasp. The confidence was gone and now she was just a terrified girl in pain.
“You think this hurts?” Faxon backed her up against the wall near the staircase.
He was apparently unconcerned by the stares of the few patrons who were in the common room. It was still early in the afternoon and the common room wouldn't get busy until later. Tionne wondered why none of them would come to her rescue. No one ever has before, she thought bitterly. Why should they start now? Another squeeze of her arm snapped her out of any conscious thought.
“This doesn't hurt,” Faxon snarled, giving her a little shake. “Can you imagine what it would be like to be cut off from the Quintessential Sphere? You know that is what's waiting for you if you abandon your training, don't you? An inquisitor will come for you. They will hunt you down, find you, and tear out the part of your soul that makes you special. Is that what you want?”
The rage that welled up within her was sudden and engulfing. It coursed through her, replacing the pain with the fire of her own indignant fury. She wrenched her arm from his grasp, ignoring the flare of pain.
“What difference would it make?” she screamed at him. “My soul is mostly empty anyway! So what if an inquisitor takes the rest of it?”
Faxon spoke quickly. So quickly that Tionne almost had trouble making out the words. She was aided by the fact that his invocation was impeccable for the speed at which he was speaking. Too late, Tionne realized what he meant to do. She couldn't defend herself against what was coming. She'd heard the call to power for the censure ritual before, in the School of Academics. There they were taught the theory behind the complicated and ancient words. That was the spell Faxon was casting on her.
Something snapped deep within her and there was an emptiness unlike anything she had ever felt. Tionne had thought that she was as empty as she could be. She'd been wrong. Horribly wrong. The feeling in the back of her mind, the feeling that told her that she was a part of all things and the energy of the Quintessential Sphere flowed through her, was gone. Now she knew, with the clarity of experience, why most censured mages went mad or killed themselves. No one could exist this way and remain sane. Her knees went weak and she slid down the wall until she was slouched on the floor.
Tionne was vaguely aware of Faxon crouching down beside her. She heard a few words, then screamed. The pain that coursed through her was unimaginable. Her blood was fire in her veins. Then as quickly as it began, it was gone. In its wake was the subtle, subliminal hum that reminded her of her connection to the Quintessential Sphere. Faxon had severed the connection and held the ends of the cut thread that linked her to her power. Then, somehow, he'd made it whole. Focus was difficult, but she saw one of the men in the common room get to his feet and start toward them. Now he finds a conscience, for all the good it does me.
“Don't.” Faxon's voice was low and menacing. Though he didn't turn around, it was obvious to everyone in the room who he was talking to. “This doesn't concern you.”
He leaned over Tionne and pressed his fingers against her neck. She wanted to pull away, but couldn't muster the strength.
“You're traveling a dark path, Tionne.” Faxon rocked back on his heels, looking at her. “That was the merest taste of what awaits you at the end of the path. The darkness at the end of that path will consume you. It will consume you and there will be nothing left. Whatever you're involved in, whatever you think you know, you don't have the experience to temper your passion. Let me help you. Please.”
“I'll think about it,” she lied. “Now I just want to be left alone.”
Faxon took her hand and she ignored the link shock that jumped between them. He stood and helped her to her feet, stepping away from the stairs.
“I can help you.”
“I don't want your help.” She started climbing the stairs, every muscle in her body screaming in protest. She stopped halfway up and looked over her shoulder at him. “I hate you.”
For a moment, she thought he would pursue her and finish the job he'd started. He didn't. He stood at the bottom of the stairs, shaking his head. His face was a mix of sorrow and grief and she hated him for that too. She didn't need his help, and after what he had done to her, she didn't want anything to do with him. Whatever he knew, or thought he knew, didn't compare to what Nerillia had shown her.
She wanted to run to her room, but her legs wouldn't manage anything more than a slow walk. The temporary cessation of her link with the Quintessential Sphere had had a very pronounced effect on her. Faxon probably thought the experience would make her submit, but he had another thing coming. She heaved a sigh of relief when she reached the door of her rented room and slipped inside. She closed it behind her and leaned against it, regaining some of her composure in the solitude.
Nerillia hadn't wanted her to leave the safe house and now Tionne wondered if maybe she had made a mistake in returning. She'd argued that if she didn't return, Faxon might come looking for her. The elder quintessentialist had an annoying way of sticking his nose places that it didn't belong and Tionne doubted that either Nerillia, or Zarfensis, wanted him to be snooping around their plans. Not that she was even certain what their plans were.
Tionne frowned. Nerillia had wanted to fill her in on the details last night in the common room of the safe house, but the Xarundi had stopped her before she'd been able to divulge anything meaningful. She knew that the success or failure of the plan depended heavily on blood, but she hadn't been able to convince either Nerillia or Zarfensis to tell her who's blood it would be or why it was so important. That was going to change, she decided. If they needed her for their plan, they'd tell her what she wanted to know. They'd have to. Besides, she wasn't coming back here.
She crossed to the foot of the rented bed and the battered wooden chest that was on the floor there. The magical seal she'd placed on the container was still in place, so Faxon hadn't thought to disturb her belongings in his half-hearted search. Not that there was much there. She'd been rescued, if that was even the word for it, from the ruins of her village with hardly anything to her name. Her current fortune wasn't much better. There were a number of things in the trunk, but few that she actually cared about.
Stripping off her robes, she dropped them to the floor and kicked them away. Opening the chest, she lifted out the finery Faxon had given her and set the garments aside. She took a pair of black leather breeches and a simple tunic. Dressing quickly, Tionne lifted a thin belt from inside the chest and wrapped it around her waist. To that she added her dagger, a purse with a few crowns she'd scrimped and saved from odd jobs, and a pouch that held the vial
s of blood and the bloodstone.
Nerillia had let her keep the bloodstone, explaining that if they were ever separated, all Tionne had to do was feed the stone and it would lead her back to the Lamiad. Tionne didn't feel the same attraction to Nerillia that she felt for Aluka, but whenever the Lamiad was nearby, Tionne found herself drawn to her as if she couldn't help herself.
Tionne glanced around the room. What was left in the chest would stay here. There was just one more thing she had to do before she could be out from under Faxon's thumb forever. She scooped up the clothes he'd given her and drew her knife from its sheathe. The razor sharp blade made short work of the fine velvet. Soon all that remained of the expensive garments was a pile of jagged scraps. These she spread across the bed. When Faxon came looking for her, he'd surely be able to puzzle out the meaning of that message.
Slipping into the Quintessential Sphere, Tionne slipped through the wall and into the hallway. There was no one there. No one in the rear stairwell or the small yard that separated the inn from the visitor's stables. No one to stop her and no one to see her leave. Perfect.
Almost as an afterthought, she snagged her cloak from the chest. She'd have no need of the Order's robes anymore, but something that would hide her could come in handy. Throwing the thick fabric over her shoulder, she slipped out the door, down the stairs, and into the city. Her absence wouldn't be noted until much later that night when Faxon came to check on her.
It was easy for him to figure out her message, but by that time, he had far more dire things to worry about than his errant journeyman.
#
“You're sure you're ready for this?” Nerillia was crouched behind her and the woman's breath on Tionne's neck sent goose bumps racing down her arms.
“I'm ready.” Tionne didn't take her eyes off the inn. “I know exactly what I need to do.”
“Very well then.” Nerillia gave her a gentle shove. “Go. Fulfill your destiny.”
The lateness of the hour and the location of the inn made it easier for her to slip inside unnoticed. Tionne had watched the inn since earlier that evening and when she saw Faxon leave in a rush, she'd summoned the Lamiad with a spell Nerillia had taught her. Nerillia had looked things over, asked Tionne about her plan, then told her to wait. They'd waited until after midnight, watching the lights in the windows of the inn go out one after another. Now her time was at hand.
The night had grown cold and dark. Her breath puffed out in little white wisps as she crossed the wide street to the stairs that lead to the rear entry of the inn. There was a guard there, but he was sleeping soundly. His chin was touching his chest and the sound of his own snores would mask any noise that Tionne might make.
With a simple manipulation of the Sphere, Tionne silenced the oak door leading into the back hallway. She slipped inside and closed it behind her. The easy part was over. Now came the challenge.
She tiptoed down the hall to the doorway she'd noted earlier in her stay. A youngster was staying there, a boy, maybe five years old. He'd wanted to play with Tionne on the day she'd arrived with Faxon, but she'd been busy running errands. When she was in the inn, Lemmy was underfoot, wanting to play, or watch, or just be paid attention to. His parents spent more time in the common room than they did with little Lemmy. A fact that would work to her advantage.
Shifting into the Sphere, she cast out into the closed room. The main bed was empty. Lemmy's parents had probably passed out at the table. Lemmy was there though, tucked into the little trundle at the foot of the bed. Snapping back into the physical realm, Tionne glanced up and down the hall to ensure she was alone, then eased the door open and went inside.
She knelt beside the little bed, her hand hovering over his face. As if he sensed her presence, Lemmy's eyes snapped open and he gasped. Tionne knew that breath would end in a scream, so she clamped her hand over the boy's mouth, leaning in close so she could whisper in her ear.
“Shhhhh, it's okay, Lemmy. It's me. Tionne. You're okay, right?”
The boy's eyes scanned her face frantically, but finally the tension left his tiny frame. Tionne let a smile play across her lips.
“Good. I'm gonna take my hand away, but you've gotta be really, really quiet, okay?”
Lemmy nodded again. His eyes were troubled, but Tionne knew exactly what to say next.
“Okay. When I take my hand away, I need you to get up. Be as quiet as a mouse. The cook just made a new batch of honey drops and we can get all of them all to ourselves, but you have to be extra quiet. Would you like that?”
The trouble in the boy's eyes was replaced by childish avarice. When Tionne removed her hand, he swung his legs out of the bunk and put his bare feet on the smooth wood floor. She laid a finger to her lips as a reminder and made an exaggerated pantomime of sneaking away.
The boy giggled, then clapped both hands over his mouth. Tionne glared at him and they stood, still as statues, for a moment while she listened. No one in the inn seemed to stir, so she led him across the length of the room and out into the hallway beyond.
As she took Lemmy's hand in hers, Tionne saw herself holding Raynold's hand, leading him toward the stream for a bath. Her heart gave a sudden lurch and she shook her head, trying to drive the memory away. It was suddenly hard to swallow and Lemmy gave her an inquisitive look.
Tionne tried to give him a reassuring smile, but it came across more as a grimace of pain than anything else. She gave him a little tug on the hand and they continued down the hallway to the stairwell at the end.
They descended the stairs and took a short walk to the storeroom at the end of the basement hall. She pushed open the door. The storeroom was pitch black and Lemmy, like any good child his age, balked at going into the darkened room.
Tionne summoned a willow wisp, a little ball of pale blue light, and sent it floating into the storeroom. Delighted by both the light and its summoner, Lemmy stepped inside without any further prodding. She followed him and closed the door behind her.
As preoccupied as the boy was with the wisp, it was easy for Tionne to prepare the requirements of the ritual. With a charcoal stick, she inscribed the runes on the walls and floor. She reached high up on a shelf and took down an empty crockery bottle. She pulled out the cork and inverted the bottle, insuring it was empty. It wasn't very big, but then, neither was he.
Lemmy was standing on his toes, batting at the wisp and giggling as it bounced and swayed in the air over his head. As Tionne began to invoke the ancient words that Nerillia had so recently ingrained in her memory, the temperature in the room plummeted like an avalanche.
In a few moments, it was as cold inside as it was outside, Lemmy's panting breath tiny puffs of white in the dim light. The longer she spoke, the colder it got. They boy stopped playing with the wisp and hugged himself tight.
“Tionne, I'm cold. I wanna go back to bed.”
Lemmy started to turn around, but never got the chance. Tionne's hand snaked over his shoulder and under his chin, yanking it upward, she drew the knife across his throat, severing the blood carriers and turning his high, thin voice to a bubbling croak.
His blood flowed eagerly from the wound, but did not touch the floor. It was held in abeyance by the magical power of her spell. Instead, it coalesced in the air, forming a large sphere. Tapped into the Quintessential Sphere, Tionne chanted the words that would coax every drop of the vital liquid from her young victim's body. As it drained, his skin shrank against his frame, turning paper thin.
Disgusted, she let the husk fall to the floor as she completed the ritual and stared at the blood before her. There was so much. She'd had no idea that such a tiny body could hold that much. With a gesture and a curt word in a long dead tongue, she directed the blood into the jug.
Tionne was certain that it wouldn't all fit, but it did, and when she finally shoved the stopper back into the bottle, the bone chilling cold left the room. The wisp that had so delighted the boy was still bobbing in the middle of the chamber.
She loo
ked around. There was a small area between one of the shelves and the back wall. She lifted Lemmy's body with a shudder and dragged it over to the shelf. It weighed hardly anything at all and without much trouble, she managed to wedge it into the space behind the shelf. She took some old crates from one of the other shelves and piled them around the shelf where she'd hidden the body. It wasn't perfect, but it didn't have to be. It was good enough.
Tionne picked up the jug and noticed that it had a curious heft to it. More weight than should have been accounted for by the liquid alone. She crossed to the door, banished the wisp, and stepped out in to the dark hall. The inn was quiet and still. She climbed the stairs and slipped out the back door, past the guard still asleep at his post.
As she crossed the street, she wanted to shout with elation. She felt so alive. She almost felt whole. Even more importantly, she was powerful. She could feel the residual magic flowing through her, dancing along her skin. This wasn't the pain of residual magic she was used to. This was pure, unadulterated pleasure, a sensual caress that seemed to touch her in every place she desired to be touched. Her breath caught with the heady rush of what she had done.
An image of Raynold intruded, pushing its way into her head. She dismissed it. Raynold was a long time dead. Lemmy was dead now too. By her hand. Maybe her little brother's memory could play alongside the dead boy. She didn't care. All that mattered was that she had done exactly what she had set out to do. Nerillia was still crouched in the alley where she had been keeping watch.
“Is it done?” she asked as Tionne approached. The young quintessentialist offered her the jug as if she were presenting the older woman with a trophy.
“It's done,” Tionne said with a smile.
“How do you feel?”
“The best I've ever felt in my life,” she replied, without hesitation. “How can I help next?”
The Swordmage Trilogy Bundle, Volumes 1-3 Page 42