The Swordmage Trilogy: Volume 03 - The Pegasus's Lament

by Martin Hengst

  “Yes, High Priest. To be repairing your leg, I will. Materials needed, yes? And much gold, also.”

  Tionne thought she saw something unpleasant flicker across Zarfensis's features, but it was gone so quickly she couldn't be sure. The gnome seemed harmless enough. Why would the High Priest of the Xarundi have anything to fear from a creature so much smaller than himself? He certainly didn't seem to be threatened by either Nerillia or herself.

  “This way, Greneks,” Zarfensis growled, motioning toward a back room. “The materials and your payment have been gathered.”

  Nerillia didn't speak until the door had closed behind them. Then she heaved a massive sigh and sank to the bench Tionne had vacated.

  “I hate those things,” she said, placing heavy emphasis on the last word. “I can't hear anything from them and they make me nervous.”

  “I don't think he means any harm,” Tionne replied. “Except maybe to Zarfensis, and maybe a little bit of a kicking would do him some good.”

  Nerillia frowned. “Don't let him hear you say that, Tionne. Better yet, don't say it at all. Certain parts of our plan will require his skills and he's not stable. Not by a long shot.”

  Tionne looked down at her hands. She hated being talked to like a child and she hated it even more when Nerillia did it. She quickly sublimated her thoughts, forcing them down away from the surface of her mind. Tionne thought she must have done a decent job of it, since Nerillia didn't react in any fashion.

  “Come on,” Nerillia said, climbing to her feet. She offered Tionne a hand and helped her up. “There is a ritual we must prepare for, and I need to teach you some of the spells before we can perform it. It must be perfect, so we'll practice while they work.”

  Tionne let Nerillia lead her into an upstairs room she'd set aside as a study. They worked there together for the better part of the afternoon, the Lamiad coaching Tionne until the younger woman's intonation was perfect. It took a long time, but Nerillia was finally satisfied with her performance, and Tionne was more than willing to call that a success.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Cold grey walls slimy with black mold closed in on every side. No matter which direction Tiadaria turned, she was faced with another wall of unyielding stone. The smell of mildew hung in the air, so thick she could feel it in the back of her throat. Slow, rattling breaths were drawn by something hidden in the blackness.

  Tia whirled, her hands dropping to her sides, but her sword belt wasn't there. She had neither weapons nor armor, her only protection from the horrors of this dank place was a nightshirt. Somewhere, nearby, Tiadaria heard a woman scream. It was a raw, grating sound, the sound of a woman in unimaginable agony.

  Her eyes snapped open and it took Tia a moment to realize that the screaming had just been intruding on her nightmare. It was very real, very loud, and very close by. Wynn lay pressed up against her, one arm draped across her hip. She nudged him with her elbow. He grunted and rolled away from her.

  How he could sleep with the woman going on that way was beyond her. She swung her feet off the bed and into her boots. She slipped her breeches over the boots and shucked the nightshirt without modesty, replacing it with a durable tunic and belt.

  “Wynn, get up. There's trouble.” She didn't speak loudly. Her tone of voice was even but firm. It cut through his sleep and his good eye snapped open.

  “What kind of trouble?” His voice was hoarse with sleep, but he was already out of bed and pulling his robes over his head.

  “I don't know.”

  “Well good,” he said, picking up his staff from the corner where it rested. “Who needs a full night's sleep anyhow?”

  Tiadaria lifted her sword belt from the post at the foot of the bed as she passed. She didn't lose a single stride as she looped the belt around her waist and cinched it tight. Tia felt the familiar twinge of pain as the scabbards slapped against her thighs. That pain was reassuring in a perverse way. She always felt a little naked without her weapons and the pain of steel so near her skin was a tactile reminder of the weapons that awaited her call.

  They took the steps to the common room two at a time. It was empty and dark. The screaming was coming from a room behind the bar. Tiadaria vaulted over, effortlessly clearing the top of the bar and leaving Wynn to take the long way around. She took the knob in hand, waited only a moment, then twisted it and threw the door open.

  Tiadaria stumbled back in horror. Wynn stepped forward, unable to lower his staff in the close confines of the tiny room. It was just as well, his mind was preoccupied with sorting out the scene in front of him. Casting a spell would have been impossible.

  The woman doing the screaming was backed into the corner. The bed was turned on its side, providing a flimsy barrier against which the horror repeatedly flung itself.

  Wynn supposed it had been a man at some point in recent history. A farmer judging by the dirty feet and patched pants. Its arms were stretched out in front of it and it was clawing at the bed as if trying to dig through the wood.

  Its head was what turned Wynn's blood cold. The eyes were rolled back in the head, showing only red-tinted whites. Blood oozed from wherever it found a way free of the body. Trickles of blood leaked from the ears, the nostrils, and the eyes. The worst part, Wynn would reflect later, was the thing's mouth. The jaw hung limply away from the rest of the skull, its hinge broken so forcefully that it was almost torn off.

  The blood had congealed in that distended maw and a grotesque face peered out at him, its black eyes glittering like coal.

  “Move!”

  Wynn didn't need to be told twice. The tiny room didn't give him many options, so he flattened himself against the wall to his right as Tia passed him, scimitar drawn.

  The thing took a step toward her and she plunged the tip of her sword directly into the heart. There was a ripping sound as the tip of the scimitar exited through the back of the threadbare tunic it wore.

  It grabbed her by the shoulders, ignoring the blade that had run it through. As its face got nearer to hers, the blood began to expand outward, long tendrils of crimson fluid snaking toward her eyes and ears.

  Tia gripped the scimitar tight with both hands and shoved the creature back with one foot, managing to free her blade. She spun and the thing raised its hands as if trying to fend off her attack. The blade sliced through one wrist, parted the head from the neck, and then through the other wrist.

  What had once been a farmer collapsed in a pile of parts. As soon as the body hit the floor, the tendrils of blood snaked out, seeking a new host. They slid under the edge of the bed incredibly quickly, blood snakes seeking out new prey.

  They found a target in the woman who still hadn't stopped screaming. The ribbons of blood wound their way up her legs and then around her arms and torso. As they slipped into her ears, the scream stopped abruptly, as if cut off with a knife. Smaller tendrils split off from the main ropes and invaded the woman's eyes and mouth.

  Tia and Wynn watched in stunned disgust as the blood drew itself into the woman's mouth, the hideous face beginning to form in a new host. There was a sickening pop as the woman's jaw snapped, making room for the bulk of the blood creature.

  She couldn't be certain, but Tiadaria thought that the thing peeking out from beyond a row of yellowed teeth had gotten bigger. The woman got to her feet with a speed that Tia couldn't believe and threw herself out the tiny window beyond the bed. There was a wet thud in the night beyond, and then silence.

  Wynn gingerly stepped over the body of the farmer and stuck his head out the window. Before Tiadaria could scold him for his recklessness, he withdrew from the jagged hole and shrugged.

  “Whatever that was, it's gone now.”

  “We need to go after it.”

  Wynn looked at her as if she had suddenly sprouted wings and a tail. “Are you out of your mind?”

  “We can't just leave it to terrorize the city!”

  “I'm not suggesting we do. We need to find Faxon and figure out what in the name
of hell that thing was, and how we kill it.”

  Though she didn't fancy the idea of leaving whatever that thing was loose in the city, she had to accept that Wynn's plan was the most rational and logical thing to do. She sheathed her scimitar and motioned for the door.

  “Come on then. I don't want to leave that thing out there for any longer than we have to.”

  Wynn shook his head. “Nor do I.”

  They dashed out of the common room and into the street. Though most of the street lights had been doused for the night, enough remained on street corners that they could see the chaos that Dragonfell had been plunged into.

  The creature that had been in their inn was one of many, it seemed, judging by the shouting in the streets and people running madly in all directions. A sea of people was surging up the wide main street, running over any of their number unfortunate enough to stumble and fall.

  Tiadaria and Wynn flattened themselves against the wall of the inn as the mob passed and in a few moments the street was empty save for the stragglers who had been trampled. Many of those lie motionless in the street.

  “Come on,” Wynn said, grabbing her hand and dragging her away from the wall.

  Tia willingly followed. They needed Faxon and they needed him now. There was no telling how many of those creatures were loose in Dragonfell or what kind of casualties they were causing. No sooner had that thought crossed her mind than she noticed something even more ominous than the thing they had pursued. Her half gasp, half sigh alerted Wynn and he spun to look at her.

  “What?”

  “Wynn, look!” Tiadaria pointed over his shoulder toward the far end of the city, toward the cavern where the royal palace was nestled. The sky was tinged an angry orange. Dragonfell was burning.

  Wynn glanced in the direction she was pointing and the blood drained from his face.

  “Let's go, Tia. Now!”

  #

  The common room of the Dirty Magpie was abuzz with activity, a hive of agitated bees. City guards were marshaling civilians into squads. Faxon had a map of the city spread out over one of the tables, the corners weighed down with half-filled tankards and ale mugs.

  As they entered, Faxon glanced up. The look of naked relief on his face was enough to start Tiadaria's heart pounding. Even with his considerable knowledge and experience, it was clear that Faxon was floundering.

  “Oh thank the Gods!” Faxon dropped a sheaf of papers on the table and rushed to Wynn and Tiadaria. “There's something loose in the city.”

  “We noticed,” Tiadaria shot back drily.

  That brought up Faxon short on his heels. “You saw it? What was it?”

  “That's why we are here,” Wynn said with a sigh. “We were hoping you could tell us what it is and how to kill it.”

  The elder quintessentialist shook his head slowly. He gestured over his shoulder to the other people in the room.

  “I daresay we know less than you do. Maybe if you could give us some details, you'd help in our search and he can destroy whatever it is faster.”

  Wynn nodded. “Of course. We'll offer whatever details we can.”

  “No need.” A new voice came from near the door and the trio turned to see Adamon standing in the doorway. He hooked a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the city beyond. “It's a blood wraith.”

  “A what?” Tiadaria, Wynn, and Faxon all asked the question in unison.

  A flicker of something that might have been a smile tugged at Adamon's lips, then it was gone. Tia wondered if his good humor was always so fleeting. Every time she had seen the man, he had seemed to be in a dour mood. Although, to be fair, every time she had seen him, they had been in the middle of a bloodbath or cleaning up after it.

  “A blood wraith. A malevolent spirit crafted from the living blood of an innocent.”

  “Lemmy,” Faxon said, his voice harsh. Adamon nodded.

  “Yes. Now we know why the youngster was a target when there were so many others of equal or greater opportunity. We also know that whoever summoned the wraith has considerable skill and power. Blood magic is volatile, and this particular rite is exceptionally difficult.”

  “Alright,” Tia said, planting her hands on her hips. “So how do we kill it? We killed its first victim and it just jumped into another.”

  Adamon peered at her for a moment, as if he was decided whether or not he believed her, or whether or not he trusted her. Maybe it was a bit of both. After a moment's pause, he answered.

  “Kill the host and destroy it before it jumps into a new one. You'll be on guard against it now. I'm sure your blade will make short work of the host. Wynn, your particular specialty will serve to kill the wraith before it can find a new host.”

  “Great,” Wynn said with an edge of sarcasm. “Now we get to go hunt it down.”

  “Be careful,” Adamon advised them gravely. “When it gets large enough, it'll split itself in two and spread. The more blood they consume, the faster they reproduce. Go, now.”

  Adamon stepped back from the door, gesturing widely for them to leave. Tia walked past him as quickly as she could. She had a healthy amount of both fear and respect for the Grand Inquisitor, and though she didn't necessarily think he knew about her true nature, she didn't want to test the theory.

  As Wynn stepped past the inquisitor, Adamon stopped him.

  “Remember, when the host dies, it's going to try to jump into one of you. Kill it before it can. No time for hesitation.”

  Wynn's cheeks burned red, but he assured Adamon that he would be able to perform his duty without issue when the time came. Adamon gave him a doubtful look, but let him go.

  Tia could tell by the look on Wynn's face that he was rattled. To some, he would always be the boy who stood by and watched the sacking of Ethergate without being able to lift a finger to stop it. Tiadaria felt bad for him, but as there was little she could do about it, she kept her mouth shut.

  They left the inn, crossing the wide porch and descending the stairs into the street. They could still hear screaming, some in the distance, some much closer. Tiadaria wondered how many of the wraiths had managed to reproduce during the time they were talking to Faxon and Adamon.

  “Okay,” Tia said, glancing at Wynn. “We know how to kill it, now how do we find it?”

  At that moment, almost as if answering her question, there was a sound of a woman shrieking nearby.

  “My guess is that we follow the screams,” he said uncertainly. “That didn't sound too far off.”

  “Let's go.”

  #

  As they entered the small workshop, Greneks made a quick survey of the materials and equipment and then indicated that the High Priest climb up onto the workbench. Zarfensis complied and the gnome peered at the ruined contraption still attached to the Xarundi.

  Grenek's face became an almost comical mask of tragedy. “My work! What have you done?”

  “I did nothing,” Zarfensis replied with a snarl. “The human vermin did this and I want to make them pay.”

  Greneks didn't reply. He fished around inside his belt pouch and produced a large eyepiece, which he placed in one eye and began to inspect the leg. His attention to detail was impeccable. He investigated every inch of the prosthetic, occasionally poking here or prodding there. There were several times when he demanded Zarfensis hold the most uncomfortable poses while he scratched figures and calculations on the pad he produced from the back pocket of his worn breeches.

  Finally Greneks replaced the pad and dropped the monocle into his pouch. Placing one hand on his chin, he rolled his large eyes skyward and stood there for such a long time that Zarfensis thought he might have fallen asleep.

  “Yes, can be done,” Greneks said, as if he and the Xarundi had been carrying on a conversation.

  “What can be done?”

  “Repair, of course. Make leg new again. Improve. Make better.” The look Greneks gave him was clearly condescending, as if the answer to Zarfensis's question should have been obvious.


  The High Priest's ears flicked back. The gnome was obviously mad to think that the twisted pile of scrap fused to his flesh could be repaired. For a moment he thought of seizing the little creature and shaking him, then he remembered what had happened in the Xarundi workshop when Xenir had tried to menace the gnome and controlled the urge.

  “Are you certain?” Zarfensis's tone was just short of naked incredulity. He didn't want to antagonize the gnome, but neither did he believe the claim that the leg could be repaired. Then Greneks said he could improve it, which was just flatly impossible.

  “Yes, of course. Certain. Need several hours. No more. Fix and make better.”

  Zarfensis gaped at the gnome. He still remembered the agony of his initial introduction to the prosthetic. A ring of hollow brass teeth had burrowed into his flesh, seeking out his blood and, through some dark gnomish magic Zarfensis would never understand, bonding with the veins. Now the gnome proposed to just yank it out like removing a splinter from a paw pad?

  His tongue flicked out, circling his maw before it snaked back in. The nervous habit wasn't lost on the gnome, who saw it and grinned his toothy grin.

  “No worry, High Priest. Gnomes prepare. Every contingency planned for.”

  From his pack, he took a tiny brass instrument. To Zarfensis, it looked like an arrow shaft with a claw on one end and a knurled ball on the other. He couldn't imagine what Greneks intended to do with it, but he was terrified that he was about to find out.

  “Settle here,” the gnome said, pointing to the very edge of the workbench. “Will detach for repair. But a moment.”

  No stranger to pain, Zarfensis was still wary of the instrument and the gnome holding it. His tongue snaked out again.

  “How much pain will there be?” Zarfensis finally asked, settling himself onto the indicated spot.

  “Not so much as the attaching.”