The Swordmage Trilogy: Volume 02 - The Darkest Hour

by Martin Hengst

The excitement in the young apprentice’s voice was enough to draw Tiadaria to his side.

  “What is it?” The prospect of a clue in their elusive quest for the relic had set her all aquiver.

  “Alveron’s journal. I didn’t even know it was here. It must have been tucked back in one of the bookcases.”

  “But I thought you said Alveron never returned?”

  “He didn’t. There’s an inscription in the front that says it was returned to Ethergate with the rest of his personal effects.”

  “Returned by whom?”

  “Clan tradesmen, it says.”

  Tiadaria snorted. “Probably the only time the clan ever did anything so selfless.”

  “I doubt it was selfless,” Wynn replied with a wry grin. “The order pays well for artifacts returned. The clans probably account for about eighty percent of the bounty we pay out.”

  “Figures. So what does it say?”

  “Skip what it says for now,” he said and before Tia could wonder what he meant, he tipped the journal toward her so she could see the pages he was looking at.

  It was a map, a detailed map of the area west of Ethergate. There was a series of notes and annotations in a scrawl that Tiadaria couldn’t decipher. What jumped out at her was a symbol scrawled far to the north on the map.

  “What does this mean?” She tapped the symbol with her finger, daring him to dispute what she already felt.

  “That’s our relic. Or rather, what Alveron thought was the relic’s resting place.”

  Tia let out a low whistle. After so much anticipation, it seemed almost anti-climactic to have a neatly labeled map laid out before them. She scrubbed her palms on her thighs, trying to work off some of the nervous energy.

  “So what do we do?” Even as she asked the questions, part of Tiadaria wanted Wynn to come up with some other plausible theory.

  “We do what we were instructed to do. We stay put and wait for Faxon to arrive. When he does, we’ll turn over all this information and let the order take whatever action they see fit.”

  “Seems like I was almost late for the party.”

  Tiadaria whirled toward the familiar voice. Faxon stood at the foot of the stairs, his robes shimmering in the magical lamp light.

  “Faxon!” Tiadaria broke and ran to him, throwing her arms around his middle and nearly bowling him over.

  “It’s nice to see you too, Tia.” The quint chuckled, looking over her head at his apprentice. Wynn gave him a half bow.

  “Master Indra.”

  Faxon sighed. “Still with the formalities, Wynn? I had hoped Tia would have broken you of that by now.”

  “It’s an ongoing project,” Tia said, disengaging herself from Faxon and trying to smooth his rumpled robes.

  “Of that, I have little doubt. I’m sorry I was delayed. I had to attend to some other business before I could come to Ethergate, but it seems like you’ve done well enough for yourself.” He held Tia away from him by her shoulders, turning her this way and that, as if appraising her. “Bring that journal and let’s get out of this moldering dungeon. We have a lot of work to do.”

  * * *

  The Elvish Harlot was a different place, Tia thought sadly. She, Faxon, and Wynn were gathered around the largest table left intact in the common room. They were the only ones in the building. Cabot’s brother had told them to stay as long as they liked. He had been by to board up the worst of the damage. The other patrons had all moved on. She could understand why. She kept glancing at the broken bar, expecting Harold to be there, and rubbing it down with his tattered towel.

  Faxon touched her arm and she jumped. “Sorry,” she said, inclining her head in apology.

  “It’s alright,” the quintessentialist’s smile was warm. “I understand, but right now, we need to focus.”

  “As I was saying,” Faxon continued without rebuke. “It is safe to assume that if we have figured out where the relic is, the Xarundi probably have too.”

  “That’s a pretty big leap,” Wynn said uncertainly. “We have resources the Xarundi don’t. I’m not sure it's a given that they know where to look.”

  “And under normal circumstances, I’d probably agree with you, Wynn. But there’s something you’ve forgotten to account for.”

  “Which is?”

  “The gargoyle.”

  Wynn shook his head in disbelief. “I’m not sure how statuary is going to help them. Was there a map hidden inside it?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” Faxon said with a grin. “That gargoyle was a living thing. The only reason it was still in its dormant form is that someone who died long before we arrived either accidentally, or through their own insight, put it in a building without windows. Had it been somewhere the moonlight could reach it, we’d likely be having a different conversation.”

  The apprentice fumbled for a few seconds before he found his words. “Surely you don’t believe that old wives tale about gargoyles coming to life at night?”

  “Ask Tiadaria about old wives tales,” Faxon said, chuckling. Tia rolled her eyes when Wynn looked at her expectantly.

  “What Faxon is trying to say, as undiplomatically as possible, is that I thought the Xarundi were an old wives tale until two years ago. I think we can both agree that they are very real.”

  Wynn shuddered and Tia wondered if he was reliving his injury, facing a life changing realization, or a little of both.

  “Okay,” the apprentice finally said, getting control of himself. “Let’s say that the gargoyle is a living thing. What does it know?”

  “That will remain a mystery.” Faxon frowned. “The thing has been here since I was a lad. Everyone felt it was better not to wake the sleeping dog and I rather agreed with them. However, it cannot be coincidence that the gargoyle went missing the same night as the Xarundi attack.”

  “So where does that leave us?” Tia asked, failing to stifle a yawn. It was late and she doubted they’d be getting much sleep in the near future.

  “We get a good night’s rest. Then, in the morning, we will gate-walk to Overwatch. The Xarundi may know where they’re going, but we still have a few advantages they can’t match yet.”

  “There is no gate in Overwatch,” Wynn said flatly.

  Faxon shook his head, smiling tolerantly. “There are gates everywhere, Wynn. You just have to know where to look.” He winked at Tiadaria. “Or who to ask.”

  No further persuasion would make him elaborate on his cryptic remark about the gates. The elder quint bid them a somewhat forceful goodnight and climbed the stairs to the second floor. Wynn looked at the empty staircase for a moment before swearing under his breath and turning to Tia.

  “I guess we should sleep too.”

  “If I can,” Tia replied with a shiver. “It’s so quiet.”

  “I know.” Wynn seemed to have a brief but intense battle with himself. The tips of his ears turned bright red. “We could share a room if you want.”

  Tia was just about to tease him for his boldness when he ruined the moment by blundering on.

  “There’s a room with two beds across from yours. I saw it this afternoon.”

  “Sounds perfect,” she said, dousing the lantern on the table and leading the way down the hall. She had faced down the Xarundi and weathered the horrors of war, but the thought of spending the night alone in the all but abandoned inn was enough to make her skin crawl.

  It wasn’t long before they were nestled in their beds. Wynn blew out the candle and with a little sigh, rolled over and was asleep almost instantly. As Tia listened to him breath, she remembered the last inn room she had shared and her chest ached. She had lay in another inn room and listened to another man sleeping. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

  Not that they were even remotely alike. Wynn would never possess the passion and intensity that the Captain had shown her brief glimpses of when they were together. They were different sides of a coin, Tia thought. The Captain was spontaneous energy, an explosion that consumed everything around
it. Wynn was a slow burn, careful, methodical, missing nothing. Tia fell asleep pondering the differences between the two men.

  Morning came far too quickly for Tia, but she was apparently not the early bird. Wynn was gone, his bed made so precisely that Tia nearly wondered if he had slept in it at all. If he opted not to take the quintessentialist Master trials, he could surely find employment in any number of inns or way houses.

  The thought of the stolid young man catering to the needs of rowdy travelers was enough to make her laugh out loud. She was still chuckling to herself when she walked into the common room.

  “What’s so funny?” Wynn’s face was so contorted that he looked like he’d been sucking on a lemon. His tone of voice matched perfectly.

  “Nothing, grumpy.” She answered in a voice just as tart. She accepted the mug of hot coffee he passed to her. She added milk and ignoring Wynn when she added so much sugar that he made gagging noises. Even so, the brew was only barely palatable. Tia suspected that Wynn’s culinary skills were limited, so she kept her mouth shut.

  Faxon appeared, bleary eyes, at the foot of the stairs. “Is that coffee I smell? Oh bless all the gods that were, are, or ever will be.”

  He took such a long pull at the mug that Tiadaria was convinced that he either didn’t have taste buds, or had burned them all away long ago.

  The older mage plopped down in a chair by the table and reverently placed his mug atop it. He glanced from Tia to Wynn, nursing his cup.

  “Well,” he said, pausing to take another draught from the mug. “This is probably the only time your collar will come in handy, Tia. You’ll be playing the part of slave for the next portion of our adventure. Wynn, you’ll need to lose the robes while we’re in Overwatch. You’ll be my dutiful man servant.”

  “So not that much different from now then?” Tia could help but to needle the apprentice, who glared at her over the top of his mug.

  “Enough.” Faxon glowered at her until she had to look down, her cheeks burning in embarrassment. She couldn’t believe he spoke to her in such a way in front of Wynn. Yes, maybe she had been being childish, but that was no reason to actually treat her like a child.

  Somewhere in the distance, a clock bell tolled eight times. Faxon finished the last of his coffee in a single gulp and put the cup down on the table. He stared at the two young people, scratching his chin.

  “I want to be in the gate room in an hour. Bring what you think you’ll need, but pack lightly. Tia that means weapons and armor for you. Wynn, whatever books you think will help us find this relic before the Xarundi do.”

  Wynn put his cup on the table, his hand shaking so badly that he threatened to splash the last of its contents over the rim. “Master Faxon, I really think I’d be more of a help to you here. Whatever research--”

  “Wynn,” Faxon reached out and put his hand on the apprentice’s shoulder. “I need you to come with us. Overwatch is a dangerous place and the more of us there are, the better off we’ll be.”

  Faxon raised his hand, forestalling the objection Wynn had started to make. “I know all your objections categorically, Wynn. The only way you’re not coming on this trip is if you renounce your place in the order.”

  Wynn sucked in his breath, as if someone had just punched him in the stomach. He looked at Faxon, his hands curling into fists. The young man shook his head slowly, disbelieving what he had just heard.

  “So I go with you, or I face censure?”

  “Wait, what?” Tia went stiff in her seat. “That’s not what he meant.” Tia looked at Faxon. His lips were pressed together in a firm white line. “Faxon? That’s not what you meant, right?”

  “That’s exactly what I meant. Wynn faces a choice that every apprentice must make eventually. He can either accept the full weight of his responsibilities as a quintessentialist, or he can give that up and go lead a ‘normal’ life.”

  “Cut out part of his soul?” Tia was incredulous. “A normal life? Are you joking? Most people don’t survive after censure and you know it.” In that moment, Tiadaria came the closest she had ever come to hating Faxon. He had been her champion and mentor after the Captain’s passing, but this...this was beyond the pale. She stood so quickly that her chair toppled over backwards. “I won’t permit it.”

  Faxon pinned her with a hard stare. She didn’t know what had possessed him, but this wasn’t her friend. This wasn’t the man who loved a good prank or a bad joke. The lines of his face were set and hard, his eyes unwelcoming.

  “You don’t get a say in this, Tiadaria. This is an internal order matter. You have many rights and freedoms, but interfering with a member of the order carrying out his sworn duties is not one of them.”

  “I don’t give a damn about your duties or the order. You’re not going to threaten Wynn with censure just because he doesn’t want to leave the city.”

  “He’s right, Tia.” Wynn’s voice was soft and even, almost serene. She whirled on him, her anger finding a new home as quickly as it took to turn.

  “He’s what?”

  “He’s right.” Wynn shook his head, as if trying to clear away some painful memory that wouldn’t quite be banished. “I need to accept my responsibilities, or leave the order. I’m one of the oldest apprentices. I should be an acolyte or journeyman by now. I’ve just never wanted to take the tests. So he’s right. If I choose to leave the order, I know the consequences.”

  Tia looked from Wynn to Faxon, her hands clenching spasmodically at her sides. “You can’t be serious,” she whispered.

  “This is the way things are done in the order, Tiadaria.” Faxon’s tone tolerated no argument. “Every apprentice knows what is expected of them.”

  Wynn got slowly to his feet. He reached out to touch Tia’s shoulder and she shied away from him.

  “Don’t.” Her voice was cold and hard. Wynn looked pained, but dropped his hand. The three of them stood in silence, each of them carrying the heavy weight of the conflict like a lead mantle.

  “I accept my responsibilities to the order,” Wynn said finally, according Faxon with a bow. “I trust that my Trial of Progression can wait until we return?”

  Faxon nodded, his eyes still on Tia. She hadn’t moved and was still glaring at him, her hands balled into fists. The elder quint jerked his chin in her direction. “If you’re going to hit me, hit me. Get it over with. We have things to do.”

  For a moment, Wynn was sure she was going to do just that.

  “I’m not a bully,” she spat, turning on her heel. “That’s your job.” She ran from the room.

  “Tia, wait,” Wynn called after her, but she was already in the hallway. She slammed the door to her room so hard that the walls in the common room rattled.

  “Let it go, Wynn,” Faxon said with a sigh. “She’ll come around in time.”

  The apprentice said nothing, sinking into his chair. He was being pulled in so many directions. He was glad to have chosen to follow the order’s path. He was embarrassed that Tia felt the need to protect him, but he felt good that she did and wanted to. His mind was a tangled knot of feelings, chasing each other under, over, and through.

  “She’s going to be twice as mad at me when she finds out that I’m sending Nightwind back to Blackbeach with the next wagon.” Faxon sighed. He didn’t like antagonizing the young warrior, but there were times when his way was the only way. Wynn glanced at him, but said nothing.

  “Well, we can’t take a horse through the gate!” Faxon cried, throwing up his hands in exasperation.

  He stalked off and up the stairs. Wynn heard his door close. Forcefully, but not as forcefully as Tia had slammed hers. The apprentice was once again alone in the common room. Part of him wondered if censure wasn’t the only sane choice.

  Putting that thought out of his head, he collected the mugs and put them in a basin behind the ruined bar. He flipped the hood of his robe up. He had been wearing it up quite a bit lately. It reduced the number of stares he got on the street. People were kind enou
gh, but his mangled face brought curiosity or sympathy and he really didn’t care for either.

  Wynn opened the inn door and stepped out into the morning sunlight. Faxon was right. There was much to be done.

  Chapter Nine

  “Chrin refuses to go,” Xenir said gruffly. He looked at the High Priest to try to gauge his reaction, but Zarfensis appeared to be unperturbed by the news.

  “He’s within his rights, Xenir.” Zarfensis was throwing things into a travel pack as he spoke. His ritual dagger, spell book, and vials of runedust disappeared into the bag. A wooden apothecary kit followed and Zarfensis caught a whiff of the herbs and extracts contained in the little box. Those smells reminded him of his grand-sire.

  Xenir was looking at him expectantly and the High Priest realized that he wasn’t likely to just let Chrin’s obstinacy go. He stopped his packing long enough to turn his full gaze on the Warleader. “He was terribly mauled at the Hallowed Vale. If he wants to remain here in the Warrens, that’s his prerogative. I don’t judge him for that.”

  The Warleader snorted and Zarfensis continued. “I’d rather have him here and not have to worry about him than have him come with me, under duress, and snap under the strain. The younger warriors are still green enough to bend without breaking.”

  “It’s their greenness that worries me, High Priest.”

  “They are warriors of the Chosen and will behave that way,” Zarfensis said firmly, tired of Xenir’s negativity. “If we can’t trust our brothers, who can we trust?”

  “Perhaps,” Xenir agreed grudgingly. “I’d still prefer it if a few of the more experienced warriors went with you.”

  Zarfensis shrugged. “Send who you like, Warleader. Just don’t send so many that you’re left unprotected here. We would be foolish to think that all the vermin are racing us to the relic. They may attempt an attack on the Warrens while they think we are vulnerable.”

  “Let them try,” Xenir replied with a snarl. “They might fight well on the surface, under their open sky, but get them in the tunnels and we’ll see who the truly superior warriors are.”