“Learn your place, vermin.” Zarfensis snarled.
The man hawked and spat blood onto the floor in front of him. “My place is where the most money is. We have information you may find interesting, for a price.”
Zarfensis marveled at the audacity of these vermin. They defiled the Warrens with their presence and then expected to be compensated for their information. They should be happy they were still breathing.
“What information could a lowly vermin possibly have that is of interest to the Chosen?”
The man smiled, showing a crooked row of bloody teeth. “We know where the Swordmage is. If I were you, I’d want my revenge. I’d want to see the bitch flayed alive.”
The High Priest glanced at Xenir. The vermin obviously had no idea how offensive his words were. To compare a human woman to a female Xarundi. It was disgusting. The Warleader’s gaze slid from his and Zarfensis suddenly wondered if he was seeing the Deep Oracle again.
There would be time to address that later, he thought. If these vermin actually did know the location of the Swordmage, that could be valuable.
“What is the price for this information?” Zarfensis raised a hand at Xenir’s protest. He understood the Warleader’s protest. No Chosen could ever be indebted to the vermin.
“Runedust,” the man said, longing creeping into his voice. “Six vials, two for each of us.” He nodded to his companions.
Dusters, Zarfensis thought, his skin crawling. Now that he looked closely at the vermin, he could see the signs. The tiny pupils, the drawn skin, the broken veins around the nose. These men had been consuming runedust for quite some time. They were desperate. He could smell their need.
Xenir’s nose flared and Zarfensis caught his eye. The Warleader flicked one ear. He had come to the same conclusion at the same time. Dire straits had driven these vermin into the Warrens. A duster with no regular source of runedust was as good as dead anyway. Trading their information for a small fortune must have seemed brilliant to the three of them.
The High Priest drew a vial of glowing blue crystals from the pouch on his belt. He held it level with the vermin’s line of sight, ensuring that the gentle pulse caught his eye.
“A show of good faith,” Zarfensis said, rolling the vial across the floor. The human snatched it up, pulling the stopper with his teeth and pouring some crystals into his hand before passing it to his companions.
Pressing his nose to his palm, the vermin snorted the crystals, not even bothering to pulverize them first. A moment later, the human’s eyes had taken on a pale blue fire that was far too similar to the Xarundi’s for the High Priest’s piece of mind. The tension in the man’s frame seemed to ease and he sighed deeply before speaking.
“There is a human settlement, a city outside the Imperium borders, a mage city.”
“I know this city,” Xenir said. “The vermin call it Ethergate. It is known to the Xarundi as the Hallowed Vale.”
“How do you know that?” The human was visibly startled.
Xenir snorted his derision. “Because, vermin, it was a Chosen city long before the humans moved into our ruins like the scavengers they are.”
The leader of the vermin paused as his companions got into a squabble over the division of the crystals left in the vial. Once they had consumed their portions, he continued.
“The Swordmage is in Ethergate. We found her on the road to the city and scared off her horse to slow her down, then we came here.”
Zarfensis nodded. “Knowing that the Xarundi possess the rune of death.” It was a statement, not a question.
“Yes. Surely this information is worth the price we ask?”
Zarfensis looked at the Warleader, who nodded almost imperceptibly. He trusted Xenir’s council. If they both suspected these men were more desperate than interested in practicing deception, there was a good chance that the information was good. They could have their revenge on the Swordmage and then retrieve the relic.
“It is,” the High Priest agreed. The human sagged in on himself, almost comically relieved. His addiction to runedust must be staggering, Zarfensis thought without pity. He motioned to the Xarundi guards. “Dispose of the vermin.”
Even augmented by the power of runedust, three humans were no match for four nearly adult Xarundi who descended on them with claws and fangs flashing. The screams were intense, but short-lived as the Chosen dispatched their prey with deadly efficiency.
“Do you believe the information to be accurate?” Zarfensis watched with grim pleasure as the adolescents ate their fill. Xenir, coming to stand beside him, nodded.
“I see no reason to doubt it. I know of this city. We can dispatch warriors and know for sure if the Swordmage is really there.”
“No, Warleader. I prefer to attend to this myself.”
Xenir nodded. “I suspected as much.” He motioned to the guards, dragging the remains of the humans from the cavern. “At least take them with you. They’re young, but their instincts have proven true.”
“Of course, brother. We leave tonight.”
* * *
Tiadaria arched her back against the chair, he ankles crossed and legs stretched out under the table. A series of pops and snaps issued from her joints and she sighed in relief. There was no way of telling how long they’d been at it. The magical lanterns on the walls used no oil and burned no wax. No consumption meant no way of measuring the passage of time. Without windows, they might as well be isolated from all of Solendrea.
They’d been in the library every night for the past four nights and each night, the hopelessness of their endeavor seemed to weigh on them even more. If nothing else, the time together had immunized Tiadaria against Wynn’s logic and reason. She was even beginning to genuinely like the young quintessentialist, even if he did make her crazy.
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 s
he 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.
The Swordmage Trilogy: Volume 02 - The Darkest Hour Page 7