“In due time,” Nerillia laughed. “In due time.”
Together, they slipped through the streets of Dragonfell, keeping to the shadows to hide their return to the safe house.
CHAPTER FIVE
The crowd of people packed into the basement hall of the inn was so thick that Faxon and Adamon had to resort to elbowing their way into the storeroom. A pair of inquisitors stood guard at the end of the corridor, so when they passed that vanguard, Faxon felt like he was able to breathe again.
A woman that Faxon recognized as the innkeeper's wife, stood just outside the door to the storeroom. She wrung her hands as she paced, her pale eyes darting about with the haunted look of someone who'd just seen something that would remain with them until they died. Faxon brushed past her and stepped into the room. Adamon hung back, speaking a few words to the woman in a hushed tone before he too entered the room.
“She found the body behind one of the shelves, hidden with some crates,” the inquisitor said as he entered. “She moved it out into the room, then called for the inquisitors.”
“The one discovered with the body is often the one guiltiest of the crime,” Faxon said drily.
“Not in this case.”
The inquisitor knelt and flipped back the sheet. Lemmy's eyes, dull and sunken in their sockets, stared at the ceiling in mute accusation. His skin was paper white and so shriveled that he appeared to be little more than a shrouded skeleton. The only color about him was where his throat had been cut. It was a single, neat incision that was black around the edges, but that was all.
“Great Gatzbin's gonads.” Faxon reached over and brushed his fingertips over the boy's eyes, finding to his horror that the lids wouldn't close. They simply weren't supple enough anymore with all the blood drained from the body. “I know this boy. He was staying here.”
Adamon nodded.
“The innkeeper's woman said that many had seen him around the inn the last few days. We've questioned most of the visitors, but no one knows how the boy was taken and who perpetrated this crime. I'm told that his parents were beside themselves at the news.”
“So it's already gotten out?”
“When have you ever known bad news to drag its feet?” Adamon shrugged. “At least this way the killer, or killers, either know we know, or soon will.”
While Adamon made a slow circuit of the room, Faxon looked at the dead boy, his thoughts in turmoil. How could this happen, here, of all places? Dragonfell should be the safest city in the Imperium! And who would want little Lemmy dead? It didn't make sense. None of it made a damn bit of sense.
Having no desire to stare in the dead boy's eyes while they performed the rest of their investigation, he pulled the sheet over Lemmy's face and stood up. Adamon had pushed the door half closed, his fingers tracing the dark outline of a sigil there. Faxon took note of the other runes etched on the walls and floor. They weren't perfect, but they weren't rushed and haphazard either. Whoever had done this had time to plan and time to execute that plan.
Faxon winced inwardly at his poor turn of phrase. Executed was certainly the right word for it. Poor Lemmy hadn't had a chance. Whoever had done this to him had done it quickly and savagely. The trust of a child was a dangerous weapon in the hands of a manipulative adult. There were no signs of a struggle and no indication that anyone staying in the inn had heard anything. Whoever had lured Lemmy down here, it had been someone he trusted. Faxon jerked upright.
“You've questioned his parents?” he asked, his throat tight.
“They were the first people we interrogated,” Adamon said without turning his attention from the rune he was studying. “Both of them had passed out in the common room. Hardly fit parents, but not killers. Besides, neither of them is a vessel, so they can't have done this. Can't you feel it?”
Faxon could. He'd felt it as soon as they'd walked into the storeroom. It was a crawling, creeping darkness that seemed to hover at the very edge of Quintessential Sphere. It was the feeling of being observed by unseen eyes and he hated it. No matter how many times he felt the imprint of great evil, he'd never get used to the feeling.
There was a knock at the storeroom door and Adamon stood aside and opened it all the way. Tiadaria and Wynn stood at the threshold. Adamon and Tiadaria glanced at each other and then she and Wynn stepped into the room. It wasn't lost on Faxon that the young woman gave the Grand Inquisitor a wide berth. Not that he could blame her, but she needn't make it so obvious.
“What's going on? We'd heard someone was killed? Who? What happened? Did it have anything to do with the graves?”
“Easy Tia,” Faxon said, raising his hand. “I don't think the boy that was killed had anything to do with the other graves. He was definitely killed during a ritual--”
“I know,” Tiadaria interrupted and stopped short. Faxon shot her a warning glance. “I mean, I can see the runes on the walls. I didn't think they were decorative.”
Faxon nodded, passing a hand over his face. “In any event, I don't think the boy was a specific target. I think he was easy to get to and easy to manipulate.”
“What did they do to him?” Tia asked, kneeling to take hold of the sheet.
“Tia,” Faxon warned. “I wouldn't--”
She'd flipped the sheet back before he could finish his warning. Her sharp intake of breath told Faxon that she wasn't likely to peek under any other sheets in the near future. He passed the hand over his face a second time, wishing that he could scrub the pain that was developing behind his eyes away.
“What happened to him?” Tiadaria was aghast.
“I can't be sure,” Faxon said.
“I can,” said Adamon and Wynn at the same time. The Grand Inquisitor raised an eyebrow at Wynn but nodded for him to continue. The younger quintessentialist looked pained, but offered up his explanation.
“This is obviously the Ritual of Sanguine Reaping. I'm not sure why someone would want to harvest the boy's blood, but they did. The ritual would drain him of every drop and it seems that it did.”
“What purpose would that have?” Tiadaria asked, pulling the sheet back over the boy in much the same way that Faxon had a few moments earlier. He could appreciate her discomfort.
“It was primarily used in primitive sacrifices,” Wynn replied, wrinkling his nose. “It is a barbaric practice that, fortunately, has fallen into disuse as we distance ourselves from the past.”
“Obviously whoever did this was unconcerned about how barbaric it was. I think the age of the victim can assure us that whoever did this was without remorse.” Adamon indicated the body with the tip of his boot. “They wanted the blood of an innocent. They have it. What remains is for us to determine why they wanted it, and what they plan to do with it now that they have it.”
“I trust your inquisitors will be performing a full investigation?” Faxon asked the question, even though he already knew the answer. Regardless of how the King felt about magic and mages, Greymalkin would want answers and want them quickly. There was no better way to produce those answers than to let the inquisitors do their job.
“We've already begun,” Adamon replied with a raised eyebrow. “Hence the questioning of the parents and the others in the inn. Which reminds me, Faxon, you and your journeyman are registered in the inn. Where were you last night?”
Faxon gaped at him. Surely he wasn't serious. Did the Grand Inquisitor just seriously imply that he, Master Faxon Indra, one of the most respected and well-known mages in the Imperium, had murdered a boy in cold blood?
“Are you seriously asking me that question?” Faxon demanded, his voice rising to a shout by the end of the question. “I was with Valyn. He can vouch for my whereabouts.”
Adamon nodded. “Why were you with Valyn?”
“We were...” Faxon trailed off, his mouth suddenly very dry. “We were looking for Tionne.”
“Your journeyman?”
“Yes.” His heart sank. Faxon didn't really believe that Tionne was capable of such a thing, yet h
is thoughts kept turning back to the savage display she'd made of the finery he'd bought her. She was angry, he knew. Frankly, she had every right to be...but killing a boy? To what end? And why?
“Very well,” Adamon said with a shrug. “If she's involved, we will find out about it, Faxon.”
“I have no doubt, Adamon. I have no doubt.”
Adamon gave him a sharp look, then shrugged and left the room. A wave of relief swept over Faxon and he leaned against one of the nearer shelves. He was exhausted. He'd spent the entire night out looking for Tionne and when he'd returned, he'd found Adamon waiting for him in the common room.
“Do you think that maybe Tionne is behind this?” Tiadaria asked, breaking the silence.
“No. I think there's something else going on here, and I need the two of you to help me figure out what it is. I think Adamon is going to go after Tionne, whether there is evidence against her or not. He tends to censure first and question later. Tionne's had a rough time of it, but I refuse to believe she's capable of something like this.”
The elder quintessentialist paused, studying Tiadaria.
“You need to be more careful, Tia,” he said. “You almost said something really inappropriate in front of Adamon and I wouldn't want him hunting you the way I suspect he will be hunting Tionne.”
“I'd like to see him try.”
“Tia--”
“I know!” She raised her hands, indicating her surrender. “I know. I'll be more careful.”
“Good, because I need both of you right now. More than ever. I need to know who did this to poor little Lemmy and I need to know if it has any connection to Tionne, or to what happened in the graveyard. Can I count on you?”
“Have you ever not been able to count on either of us?” Wynn asked with an odd hitch in his voice. Tiadaria glanced at him but said nothing.
“No,” Faxon said. “You've both always been very loyal to me.”
“Then why should now be any different?”
Wynn practically ran from the room, banging the door hard on his way out. He looked at Tiadaria, who shrugged.
“What's going on with him?” he asked.
Tia shook her head, her eyes sad.
“It's complicated and we don't have time for it now. We'll be in touch.”
Tia left the room and wound her way up the stairs and outside.
The morning sun was bright and Tiadaria had to blink a few times before her eyes adjusted to the change. She'd come out the back door of the inn and was standing in the small courtyard that lay between the main building and the stable. Wynn was leaning over the edge of one of the stalls and she approached him slowly. His arms dangled into the stall and he was idly scratching a dappled grey mare behind her ears. The stable smelled of hay and beast. It wasn't exactly pleasant, but it was soothing in its own way.
Tiadaria didn't say anything. She just leaned over the rail beside them. She could feel his tension. He was practically vibrating with it. She just hoped that he'd let it out before it boiled over or before he had to explode. Tia knew that they hadn't been on the best terms since that day on the hillock, but it pained her to see him in so much distress. She wanted to know what he was thinking.
“I understand now,” he said, as if he'd heard her thoughts. “I know why you couldn't say yes.”
Wynn's voice was more bitter than she'd ever heard it, and her heart ached. Tia had always been the one in more demand, due to her natural talents and skills. There was always conflict in the world and precious few people who would stand up to anything beyond their own self-interests. So naturally, when called by King or country, she'd wanted to lend her aid. Wynn was one of many quintessentialists who had dedicated their entire lives to research. Although she knew he was special, he didn't have a reputation that put him in demand.
“I'm sorry,” Tia said, putting her hand on his shoulder. He didn't pull away. That made her feel slightly better.
“You don't need to be sorry. I guess, well, I guess I just wanted things to be different. When we met, I had this idea that it would be Tia and Wynn on whirlwind adventures, saving the land from ne’er-do-wells. It's more like Tia goes out to save the land and Wynn stays home and bakes, or does some darning, or maybe teaches a youngster how to read.”
“I thought that's what you wanted,” she said gently.
“I did too.” He closed his mouth, opened it, then closed it again, silently staring into the stall where the mare way laying. “I think maybe I was wrong, but I hate the idea of you out there facing these things alone.”
“I have to be alone, Wynn. I have unique abilities and that makes me alone. The Captain taught me what it meant to stand up for the things I believe in, and I have to use my abilities to see that through. He knew what kind of a commitment needed to be made. He was alone all his life. I'm very lucky to have you in mine, but there are some places that I have to go that you can't follow.”
“That's just it, Tia,” he said, turning to face her. “I don't want to follow. I want to be standing beside you. That's what that ring I offered you meant. I want us to stand together.”
Tiadaria sighed. She didn't want to fight with Wynn again. Things had just started feeling almost normal between them. If they had another argument now, there was no telling how it would end. She didn't want to lose him, but at the same time, how was she supposed to make him understand that this was something she had to do alone? The Captain had told her it would be a solitary life and she'd accepted that. She just didn't know how to make Wynn see that he was asking more than she could offer. Maybe they could come to some sort of compromise.
“Well,” she said slowly. “When all of this is done, maybe we can take some time to figure out how to make that happen. For now, though, this is the way things have to be. I'm sorry. I really am. We both have things to do and I can't do mine if I'm worried that you hate me.”
The last part came out in a rush, but it was true. Tia knew she was asking a lot of Wynn, but the thought of losing him altogether was enough to break her heart. She didn't want that. Wynn's eye widened a little.
“I don't hate you, silly girl. I love you. That's what all this has been about. Me loving you.” He spread his arms and she went to him, rubbing her face against his chest.
“I know,” she said, slightly muffled by his body. “There are just some things that I have to do alone, Wynn. It's my duty.”
“Alright,” he finally acquiesced. “But we'll talk about things after this?”
“Yes. I promise.”
“Alright.”
Wynn smiled at her. The first genuine smile he'd given her in days, and it felt as if a dreary, overcast day had been split by beautiful summer. Maybe things weren't going so horribly wrong after all. Maybe they'd be able to figure out the mystery and still be able to enjoy a party, even if it wasn't a bridal party, with their friends before they headed back out to the frontier of the Imperium.
#
Tionne was sprawled on the common room floor. Faxon stood over her, his hand extended and his face a mask of sadistic pleasure. He was drawing the soul out of her, shredding it. The emptiness she felt daily was nothing compared to this. Everything was being drained from her, leaving her a withered, desiccated husk, just as she'd left Lemmy.
She could feel her mind going. It was hard to think, hard to breathe, hard to do anything except feel the incessant pull of his magic and her soul ripping itself apart in answer to those primordial forces. She tried to scream, but no sound came out. Just a low hiss. She collapsed to the floor, unable to move. She saw herself from above, as if she was floating above herself, then everything went black.
The young quintessentialist sat up, gasping for breath. It was quiet and dark and save for the pale flickering light of a lantern under the bedroom door, she might have thought she was still in the dream. She brushed sweat damp hair back from her forehead. There was a light knock on the door and she jumped. If Faxon were coming for her, it wasn't likely that he'd knock.
“Come in,” Tionne called, her voice low.
Nerillia entered, her eyes glowing like embers in the darkness. She closed the door and glided across the room, her grey skin ghostly in the dim light. She seated herself on the edge of Tionne's bed and searched the girl's face.
“Are you alright?”
Tionne struggled between two extremes. On one hand, she was happy that Nerillia had come to check on her. She always felt safer in the presence of the Lamiad. Nerillia was the only one who understood her, or cared what she thought. The Xarundi, Zarfensis, only seemed to be interested in the end result of their plans. Either he was working out strategy, or he was questioning Nerillia about details. He rarely spoke to her directly and when he did, it was in a curt tone that didn't allow for conversation. On the other hand, she was worried that Nerillia might think she was too young to do what they had to do. Tionne knew she could accomplish her tasks if they gave her the chance.
“I'm fine,” Tionne said, embarrassed. It was just as well that Nerillia couldn't see her burning cheeks in the dark. “Just a nightmare.”
“Tell me about it?”
The last thing Tionne wanted was to make herself look foolish, but when Nerillia used that particular tone, Tionne found it incredibly hard not to obey.
“It was nothing, really. I just dreamed that Faxon was ripping out my soul.”
“Oh yes,” Nerillia agreed. “Someone ripping out your soul. Nothing to be scared about whatsoever. Happens every day.”
Tionne's embarrassment grew immeasurably at Nerillia's taunt and she ducked her head. The Lamiad reached out and, with a cool palm, turned Tionne's head to face her.
“Don't be embarrassed, Tionne. Our dreams are very important. They can contain warnings about things that might happen, portents of things to come. One who discounts their dreams has no right to complain when the nightmares become real.”
Tionne didn't answer. She turned her face into Nerillia's palm, inhaling deeply. There was something both sensual and soothing about the peculiar musk that was Nerillia's natural fragrance. The smell of freshly turned earth wasn't exactly pleasant, but it soothed Tionne in a way that nothing else did.
The Swordmage Trilogy Bundle, Volumes 1-3 Page 43