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

by Martin Hengst

  Flattening his hand, he allowed the ball of flame to dissipate and instead called on the forces of time and energy deep within the Quintessential Sphere to freeze the wraith in place. Cocooned in an invisible web of energy, the wraith pulsed in agitation, throwing tentacles against the invisible walls of its floating prison. Wynn lifted it to eyelevel, peering in at the paranormal creature. It looked back at him with menacing black eyes.

  Through those darkened orbs, Wynn projected himself. Though enough of him was left outside the wraith for him to find his way back, he found himself consumed with the primordial need for food. The hunger was overwhelming. Only blood could sate the hunger and make him whole.

  Ignoring the urge, he pressed deeper into the thing's limited mind, tracing its connection to the Quintessential Sphere to the point where it had originated. There! Wynn saw what he was looking for. A thin crimson thread snaked out from the wraith, showing him everywhere the spirit had been since its inception.

  In a sort of trance, Wynn followed the thread through the Quintessential Sphere. It was slow going. There were many places the wraith could go, both in the physical and the ethereal realm, that Wynn wasn't able to pass. When he reached those blockages, he'd have to puzzle out where the wraith had gone and then find another way to pick up the trail. It was several hours before he found himself across the street from a seemingly abandoned inn on the outskirts of the city.

  At a hoarsely whispered command, the web Wynn had cast around the wraith contracted, compressing the wraith within it. There was a single moment in which the spirit issued a piercing scream, then it imploded and was gone. This inn was where they were keeping Tiadaria. He was sure of it. The protective magic around the building was thick, a roiling blackness that made him recoil in instinctive self-preservation.

  Now what? He was certain that Tiadaria and the others were inside, but what could he do about it? He was one quintessentialist against a powerful Xarundi priest and a rogue mage. He might be able to hold them off for a time, but it would take a considerable amount of luck. He wasn't feeling particularly lucky. He needed Faxon, or even Adamon. Wynn wasn't at all confident in his ability to mount a heroic rescue. He didn't feel like a hero. He felt small and insignificant.

  Wynn reached over his shoulder for his staff and grabbed only empty air. He remembered then that his staff lie in shards in the hospital courtyard and felt even more alone than he had. Funny that the loss of something tangible could make him feel like everything was in flux.

  There was nothing he could do here, not without help. He'd go and get Faxon or at least find a city guard or someone who could help him mount a rescue. He wanted Tiadaria back, but if he tried to do it himself, he'd just end up getting them both killed. He cast one last long look at the building, committing both its features and its location to memory, then he turned to leave.

  “Going somewhere, mage?”

  The voice was feminine, but had a curious burr to it. He whirled to face it and found himself looking into glowing crimson eyes in a delicately boned face. The woman's grey skin was smooth as porcelain and her plump lips were twisted to one side in a little smile.

  In that moment, the carnal thoughts that invaded his mind pushed all the urgency of finding Tiadaria away. Wynn wanted to know more about this woman. Who was she? Why was she here?

  “Um, no, I mean, yeah,” he stammered, overtaken by a powerful compulsion he didn’t understand.

  The woman smiled at him and reached down to take the hand that was lying limply at his side.

  “Come inside, we'll talk.”

  Somewhere in the back of his head, Wynn knew that he shouldn't follow this stranger into the inn where he was sure the Xarundi was waiting with Tionne, but he couldn't make himself care.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Tiadaria's head felt like it was wrapped in thick felt. Everything sounded far away and it seemed to take more effort than it should to breathe. There was a familiar aroma in the air. It smelled old and faintly of spices. It wasn't a pleasant smell, but it wasn't immediately offensive either. She managed to open her eyes, just a sliver at first, and then more fully.

  The screaming pain of the muscles in her shoulders and arms told her that she was bound, spread eagle, to some sort of upright frame. Her legs were similarly bound. She tested the strength of the bindings, finding no give to work against to free herself. She glanced to the side and saw that she wasn't alone. Wynn was bound in the same fashion to other pillars in the spacious room. It appeared to be a common room. There was a dusty bar at one end of the room and there were tables pushed to the edges of the room.

  What was laying on the bar tore her attention away from the fact that Wynn was there with her. The body of Royce MacDungren was arranged there, his armor torn and tattered. She remembered the russet stains on his armor. They were wet and fresh when she held him dying on the battlefield. Tiadaria had watched the light go out from his eyes and held him until his last breath expired and his soul was released to the Quintessential Sphere. Now his body, the shell of him, was here in this dusty, dimly lit room. Why had they brought it here?

  “She's awake.”

  Tiadaria recognized Tionne's voice. There was a curious roughness to it. The girl had always been quiet, withdrawn. Tiadaria would never have expected the mousy girl from Doshmill to be in league with Zarfensis. Especially not since the Xarundi had murdered Tionne's family and everyone else in her village. Tiadaria wondered what hold the beast had over the girl to force her into this.

  “Very good, then we can begin.”

  With a groan, Tiadaria managed to turn to face the new voice. This one she didn't recognize. It had a curious resonance, as if it was coming from deep down a well. It was sultry and smooth and as the woman stepped into the pool of flickering light cast by the single lantern lit in the room, Tiadaria found that the voice matched her appearance. Her granite grey skin was smooth, etched with the faint white lines of ritual scars. Her eyes were crimson pools that glowed with subdued radiance.

  “Who are you?” Tiadaria managed to ask. The effort of forming the words seemed almost insurmountable. She didn't know what they'd done to her, but her entire body and mind felt as if she was immersed in molasses. The entire world was slower than it should be.

  She tried to shift into the Quintessential Sphere and found, without much surprise, that she couldn't break through the physical realm. Whatever they'd done, they'd made certain that she'd be no threat. Without her weapons or her magic, Tiadaria was at their mercy and they almost certainly had planned it that way.

  “Let us complete the ritual and be gone,” Zarfensis snarled. Tia recognized his guttural voice instantly.

  “Patience, High Priest,” the grey skinned woman chided. “The ritual is complicated and will take some time. Attention to detail is essential.”

  “Get on with it then, Nerillia.”

  “Very well. Tionne, bring me the blade.”

  When Nerillia approached Tiadaria, she seemed to glide rather than walk. She stopped very near to Tiadaria. Nerillia exuded a strong musk, like the smell of freshly turned earth, that made Tiadaria think of the graveyard where they'd laid the Captain to rest. That was the smell she'd recognized earlier, the smell of the long dead.

  Tionne carried a wickedly sharp obsidian dagger to Nerillia in reverent hands. She offered the weapon in upturned palms and Nerillia took it with a nod and a smile. A cold knot of dread settled in Tiadaria's stomach and beads of sweat broke out on the back of her neck. She wasn't sure what they were planning to do with the knife, but she knew it wasn't going to be pleasant.

  “Bring the vials, Zarfensis.” Nerillia waved absently at the Xarundi, towering in the background.

  “Do not presume to order me, Nerillia. Know your place,” Zarfensis growled, but carried a wooden rack of crystal vials to Nerillia and placed them on a nearby table.

  “The ritual requires four vials of blood,” Nerillia said to Tionne, ignoring the Xarundi entirely. “One from the source, one
from the one who wields the magic, one from an innocent, and one from someone who was there at the time of departure.”

  Tionne nodded, ticking off the requirements on her fingers as she spoke.

  “One from the body, mine as the quintessentialist, one from the child we sacrificed, and one from her.”

  “Exactly so. Very good.” Nerillia beamed at the girl and Tiadaria felt sick.

  “You're not taking my blood,” Tiadaria said, with far more conviction that she felt.

  “Silence, vermin.” Zarfensis raised his hand, about to strike her. An upheld hand from Nerillia arrested his swing.

  “You're in no position to balk us, child.” Nerillia smiled. “Your part in the ritual doesn't require your participation, only your presence.”

  “How are we going to get the blood of the source,” Tionne asked, her face a mask of confusion.

  “Why, that part will be the easiest.”

  Nerillia went to the Captain's body and used the dagger to slice away a bloodstained strip of his once brilliant white armor. She returned to the table and tucked the strip into one of the vials. She filled the vial with water from a pitcher and shook it vigorously. The liquid in the vial took on a threatening, ruddy color and Nerillia handed it to Tionne.

  “You know this spell, don't you?”

  The girl laughed, her emerald eyes dancing.

  “Yes,” she agreed. “Quite well.”

  Tionne spoke a few words of magic and the liquid in the vial thickened visibly. They had the Captain's blood, but what did they need it for? Tiadaria watched as they uncorked a crockery jug, pouring a few drops of congealed blood into another of the empty vials.

  “Your turn,” Nerillia said to Tionne, offering the girl the dagger. Tionne took it without hesitation and drew the blade across her palm, cutting a shallow slice that bled freely. She took the vial that Nerillia offered her and used it to collect the blood that spilled from her open wound. Once the vial was filled, Tionne spoke a soft spell and watched the skin close over.

  “Now for the witness.” Nerillia motioned to Tiadaria and Tionne advanced on her with a cold malice deep in her eyes.

  Though Tiadaria and Tionne had never been close, Tiadaria couldn't imagine what had happened to the girl to have twisted her into something so completely wrong. True, she'd lost her family, but so had Tiadaria. Tionne, at least, had the advantage of Faxon as her surrogate caregiver. Though he certainly had his idiosyncrasies, Faxon was far more suitable as a guardian than even the Captain had been. She'd loved the Captain, but it had become very clear over the years that he had been training her to fill a role, not filling one she lacked.

  With each step Tionne took toward her, the feeling of dread in Tiadaria's stomach intensified. Tionne laid the cold blade of the dagger against the inside of her wrist and drew it across in a quick slice. Fire raced up her arm into her shoulder and Tiadaria screamed. Blood flowed freely from the severed vein, spilling down her arm and dripping off her slightly cocked elbow before the younger girl held the last vial under the wound, harvesting the life-giving liquid.

  When the vial was full, Tionne returned it to Nerillia, who replaced it in the wooden cradle with a gentle touch. Neither of them made any move to staunch the flow of blood from Tiadaria's wrist, so it continued to flow down her arm and drip off her elbow, making a little pitter-patter sound as it hit the floor.

  “Dispose of her,” Zarfensis said. “She's outlived her usefulness.”

  Nerillia shook her head.

  “And spoil the surprise? Come, Zarfensis. Where is your appreciation of the dramatic?”

  The Xarundi snarled, but said nothing. He skulked into the corner of the room, a shadowed hulk identifiable only by the cerulean glow of his remaining eye.

  Tiadaria was getting woozy from the loss of blood and found herself sagging against the ropes that held her to the pillars even though it intensified the pain in her wrist. She desperately wanted Wynn to wake up. She wanted to see him one more time, tell him she loved him, before she died.

  Her waning attention snapped back to Nerillia and Tionne when they approached the Captain's body with the blood they'd collected. The table where the corpse was resting was far enough away from where Tiadaria was imprisoned that she couldn't hear the words that were being exchanged.

  The tone and inflection of Tionne's voice changed and goose bumps sprang up on Tiadaria's arms. The sound that came out of the young quintessentialist wasn't her normal voice. It was the sound of something that came from the Deep Void. Part screech, part howl, the intonation of the words was almost impossible for Tiadaria to understand.

  Ultimately, Tiadaria didn't need to understand the words. The end result of the ritual was terrifying and apparent. As Tionne poured the blood from the vials into an ancient looking chalice on the table, it turned from dark red to a sickening, writhing green-black. The Chalice of Souls seemed to pulse with malevolent power. Tionne lifted it, spoke a few words, and carried it to the head of the table. She tilted it toward the gaping maw where his teeth peeked out from behind rotted lips.

  A final word from Tionne sent the mass oozing over the edge of the chalice and into the Captain's mouth. It raced passed his teeth, distending the paper-thin flesh of the corpse as it wriggled deeper into his body.

  At first, nothing appeared to happen. Tiadaria had a moment of hope that the ritual had failed. That whatever Tionne had been trying to accomplish had lacked some crucial component. All those hopes were dispelled when the Captain's corpse gave a shudder. A moment later, an unearthly keening split the air. If she'd been able to, Tiadaria would have covered her ears to try and escape from the cacophony.

  Fortunately, the sound ceased almost as suddenly as it had begun. The Captain, or what was left of him, struggled off the table and stood on legs of bleached bone and rotting flesh. Tiadaria felt strange. She felt as if she should be screaming, or crying, or attempting to escape. Instead, she found herself consumed by a numbness that was far more frightening than the resurrected form of the Captain swaying unsteadily before her.

  “Can you hear me, Captain?” Nerillia asked, peering at the construct with undisguised curiosity.

  The Captain's jaw moved, the slivers of flesh quivering, but no sound came. He turned his head this way and that, the empty eye sockets aglow with a sinister green light. The lich turned to Nerillia and nodded, the taught flesh creaking audibly.

  “I hear you, Daughter of Darkness.”

  The numbness that was gripping Tiadaria broke, all at once. His voice, the voice that had taught her so much, the voice that had offered both comfort and rebuke, was still recognizable. It was harsh and had a strange echo, as if he was speaking from across a deep chasm, but it was, without question, the Captain's voice. Her tears came in a sudden torrential burst that shook her body against her restraints. Tiadaria's entire body heaved with the support of her grief.

  “Little one,” the Captain said, his gaze sliding across Tiadaria. “I remember you.” He slowly turned back toward Nerillia. “Why have you summoned me?”

  “We have need of your skills as a fighter, Captain. A great battle is about to begin and we need your expertise in leading the armies of the Imperium.”

  “I would enjoy fighting for the Imperium again.”

  “No, Captain,” Nerillia corrected him with a sardonic smile. “You will be leading our army against the Imperium. You will be instrumental in the siege of Dragonfell.”

  “I won't,” the Captain growled, the light in his sockets flashing.

  “Oh, my dear Captain,” Nerillia laughed. “That's where you're wrong. You will do exactly as we demand. Tionne?”

  The young quintessentialist jumped at the mention of her name. She had been engrossed by the exchange between her mentor and the lich they had raised from the dead.

  “Yes, Nerillia?”

  “Give the Captain his orders.”

  “Pick up your sword, Captain, and kill Tiadaria.”

  Though the blood loss was ma
king it difficult for her to focus, Tiadaria could plainly see the conflict on the Captain's gruesome face. Whatever magic they had used to bind his soul back into his body, it was plain that he still had all his thoughts and memories. The Captain struggled against the order for a long moment, during which Tiadaria hoped he'd be able to throw off the spell entirely. In the end, however, the lich lumbered over to the table where his weapons were laying and hefted one of the rusted scimitars resting there. The moan that escaped him was a mixture of pain and frustration and Tiadaria closed her eyes at the sudden ache in her chest.

  “Now kill the girl,” Tionne commanded again, as the Captain hesitated.

  Unable to resist the magic that bound and controlled him, the Captain advanced on Tiadaria with shambling steps. As he approached, she found that she could still sense him. Whatever had happened to his soul since his death on the battlefield, the soul that was bound to the lich was definitely the one that had known her and loved her. That he was trapped in a rotting shell made her more sad than afraid.

  “Captain,” she gasped, surprised at how foreign and painful speaking that simple title aloud was. “Please, don't do this.”

  “I must obey, little one. I don't want to do this, but I must obey.”

  The methodical, plodding steps had brought him nearly into striking range. She didn't have much time. Though she didn't know she could get through the spell that was forcing him to act, she had to try.

  “Please, Sir,” she begged. “Please help me.”

  Tiadaria had a sudden flash of memory. She'd been tied up, much like this, to a tree near Cerrin's wagon. She'd been sure she was going to die then. They had beaten her nearly to death and she had been ready to welcome it. Then, the Captain had arrived and saved her. That's what she needed from him now, but she wasn't sure that part of him could prevail against the powerful magic that bound him.

  “You saved me once, Sir, from a fate almost exactly like this. Please, Sir. Help me.”