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

by Martin Hengst

  It was the first time that Faxon had ever called her that and the surprise spurred her into movement. She ran across the room, snagged the chalice, and brought it back to him. Faxon had sunk back to his knees, unable to remain standing.

  “Hold it tightly. No matter what happens to me, don't let go. Just focus on sending the blood wraiths back from where they came.”

  “Faxon--”

  “No arguments, Tiadaria. Focus!”

  Tiadaria screwed her eye shut and focused on the blood wraiths being tossed back into the abyss of the Deep Void. As she concentrated, her hands where she clutched the metal started to get cold. She felt the coolness of Faxon's hands over hers as he intoned a complicated spell. With each passing iteration, the metal seemed to grow colder and colder, until it was burning her flesh.

  It felt as if the chalice were molten in her grasp. She screamed in pain, her eyes snapping open to see a stream of red wisps flowing into the safe house through the broken doors and windows and through the massive hole in the wall. They slipped into the chalice where they disappeared in a whirling vortex of blackness at the bottom.

  Faxon's chant had reached a hysterical pitch and Tiadaria held on to the chalice with every ounce of willpower she could muster. Just when she thought she couldn't take any more, the last of the red wisps was sucked into the chalice and there was a brilliant flash at the bottom of the cup. They released it at almost the same time, nearly throwing it from them. It hit the floor, rolled toward the chasm, and tipped over the lip, disappearing from view into the darkness.

  Tiadaria knelt by the quintessentialist, who lay on his back, his injured arm clutched to his chest. She prodded his shoulder with an experimental finger.

  “I'm still here,” he said, from what seemed like a considerable distance. “Go to the palace. Now, before it's too late.”

  “I can't leave you, Faxon. Please.”

  “You can and you will. You need to stop the Xarundi. Go.”

  Tia got to her feet, brushing her palms against her tattered breeches. She gathered her scimitars and turned toward the door.

  “Tia?” Faxon called.

  “Yes?”

  “If you see a healer, I'm not too proud to be carried back to the hospital.”

  Tiadaria couldn't help but chuckle. She promised to send help and slipped out into the night, heading north toward the palace and the Xarundi. Whether or not Tionne was there too, this was going to end and end now, before anyone else had to die.

  #

  As it turned out, finding a healer to attend to Faxon wasn't a problem. It appeared as if the ritual that he had invoked using the chalice had indeed rid Dragonfell of the last of the blood wraiths. Rotting husks dotted the streets, but none of them appeared to be moving. She checked on one or two as she passed, but finding nothing to be concerned with, hurried on. The city guards were returning to their posts, and with them a host of clerics and healers who were doing their best to attend to those who couldn't make it to the hospital or a healing house for treatment. Tiadaria paused long enough to give directions to where Faxon was and urge haste, then she continued on her way toward the palace cavern.

  The nearer she got to the northern quarter, the more signs of combat she saw. Valyn's men might be outnumbered, but they were fighting for their lives and the lives of their King. The bodies of slain Xarundi warriors lay where they had fallen, indicating that the city guard was forcing them to stay on the move. Otherwise, the Xarundi would have reanimated the corpses for use in their attack. That much, at least, gave her heart. If the Xarundi couldn't use their fallen to their advantage, the guards might have a chance yet. She'd seen a few human casualties, but not as many as she would have expected from a surprise assault.

  Tiadaria was near enough now that she could hear the unmistakable sounds of battle. The ring of metal against claw and the shouts of the engaged combatants was amplified by the echo bouncing back from inside the cavern. The Xarundi hadn't yet breached the line and the city guards were fighting valiantly to keep them out of the cavern and away from the palace proper.

  Glancing up toward the battlements, Tiadaria was unsurprised to see King Greymalkin pacing the parapet between the largest turrets. Every now and again he'd pause in his rounds to shout something down to the fighters below. If she knew Greymalkin, he was probably yelling down encouragement or what he thought was the best tactical advice.

  Quickly scanning the cluster of Xarundi warriors outside the cavern, Tiadaria decided that Zarfensis and the Warleader must be inside. Though fearsome in their own right, the warriors outside were all young, without the size or experience to make them truly intimidating. If this was all that was left of the Xarundi Combine, Tiadaria understood why there were so many dead lupines and so few of their own casualties.

  None of the younger Xarundi were watching their flanks. They were so focused on pressing into the cavern that they were throwing themselves past each other toward the human lines. Archers, high atop the palace walls, were picking off those who strayed too far from the pack with deadly precision.

  In no immediate danger, Tiadaria took a moment to take a deep breath and ready her weapons. She wished, for the umpteenth time that night, that she'd been in her customary armor. The witchmetal rings provided a sense of safety and security that she found soothing in combat. No sense in worrying about it now, however. She'd have to rely on her skill and speed to make it through without losing any more of her skin.

  Tiadaria tightened the grip on the scimitars, feeling the familiar bite of the steel deep within her chest. The pain was a welcome reminder that things were as they had always been. She was a powerful warrior and would prevail with the unfaltering assistance of the Quintessential Sphere. She began to run.

  Each pounding footstep brought her closer and closer to the writhing mass of Xarundi warriors. Her boots pounded out an equal rhythm to her heart as she closed the distance between them. She jumped, exploding upward with the assistance of the Sphere, and angled her blades down for the first strike.

  Ten feet above a knot of Xarundi warriors, she picked her targets and ensured that none of the city guards were near enough to be struck down by her attack. Tiadaria dropped like a stone, her enchanted blades slicing easily through fur, flesh, and bone. Two warriors died instantly, divided in half from the tops of their head to their bellies. She yanked her blades free and struck out at two new targets.

  Each arm acted independently of the other, seeking out and dispatching targets seemingly of their own accord. Tiadaria was only vaguely aware that she was making conscious decisions on where to strike and when. She had opened herself to the Sphere, making her body a conduit for the will of the Primordials who would see light and justice prevail over the darkness.

  Claws raked down her back, rending flesh and spilling her blood on the cobblestones underfoot, making them treacherous to stand on, much less fight on. The pain knocked her out of her commune with the Quintessential Sphere and she was forced back into the here and now. She dodged away, trying to ignore the ribbons of fire that spread from her left shoulder to her right hip.

  Pushing the pain to the back of her mind, Tiadaria waded back into the fray, dealing death to as many Xarundi as she could reach with her wicked blades. Claws tore at her, sometimes cutting narrow fissures in her flesh, but none of the injuries, save the one on her back, gave her much pause. After a time, she was covered with so much blood that it was difficult to see where theirs left off and hers began.

  A change in the quality of sound cause Tiadaria to do a quick scan to reassess her surroundings. They were inside the cavern now, in the sandstone courtyard that led up to the wide steps that entered the palace. The number of human casualties was much greater here. The bodies of fallen guards littered the courtyard and the steps leading up to the palace.

  A peculiar glean on the stairs caught her eye and she turned in time to see Zarfensis kick out at Valyn with his mechanical leg. The Captain of the Guard was unfortunate enough to catch the b
low directly in the chest. His breastplate buckled and he sailed down the stairs, crashing into the retaining wall that circled the fountain in the center of the courtyard. Even from this distance, Tiadaria could see the stamped impression of Zarfensis's foot in the breastplate. If Valyn were very lucky, he'd have only some interesting bruises to recount the tale. If he weren't so lucky, it could be much worse.

  Zarfensis turned toward a quartet of city guards who were clustered by the doors to the palace. Tiadaria spied the Warleader, being harried by another group of loyalists not too far away. The High Priest was, without question, the greatest threat at the moment, so she set out to intercept him.

  Dodging and weaving across the courtyard, Tiadaria deftly outmaneuvered the younger Xarundi warriors and killed the older ones who had more skill and experience. Forces on both sides of the conflict were thinning now, making it much easier to move without being penned in on all sides by flesh of one type or another.

  Tiadaria reached the foot of the stairs just as Zarfensis plunged his claws into the stomach of the last guard standing between the High Priest and the door. He ripped out the man's entrails, lifting them up to the young man's line of sight before kicking the not-quite-dead body away from the door.

  “You go no further, Zarfensis,” Tiadaria said as his massive hand wrapped around the handle.

  The High Priest turned on her, his eye blazing. Saliva dripped from exposed fangs, his matte-black claws glistening with blood.

  “You? Again? Quit while you're ahead, girl. You may have survived our previous encounters, but we've already won. Look around you.”

  Keeping her other senses trained on the High Priest, Tiadaria took a quick look at the courtyard. Most of the city guard had fallen or fled. Those that remained were outnumbered, though they were fighting bravely.

  “I see young warriors who lack experience and discipline. They'll break and run home with their tails between their legs as soon as I slaughter their leaders.”

  “A prideful boast, child. Do you really think you can back it up?”

  Tiadaria was done talking. She leapt forward, blades flashing out to strike at Zarfensis's neck. He was fast and managed to deflect the blades with his long claws before launching a counterattack. Their weapons rang off each other, filling the cavern with the sound of their frenetic combat and the echoes that it spawned. Strike, feint, strike, parry. They ranged up and down the stairs, trading blows.

  Zarfensis's tongue lolled out of his mouth to one side, the panting told Tiadaria that she was at least an equal match for the High Priest, though she was sweating too. The Xarundi began to speak the words of a spell and she slammed the flat of her blade into his side, breaking his concentration as well as a couple ribs. She remembered his skill with spellcraft from Ethergate and she'd not let him gain that advantage over her.

  His backhanded swipe caught her in the throat, his claws glancing off the witchmetal collar. Suddenly, it was biting into her throat, cutting off breath she so desperately needed. She gasped, dropped her scimitars and clutched at her throat, trying to force her fingers between the band and her skin. She knew it would expand to its normal size soon enough, but soon enough might very well be too late.

  Tiadaria fell to her knees, only too aware of how close the Xarundi was and how sharp his claws were.

  “Now, swordmage, you die.”

  Zarfensis raised a massive hand. One swipe of those long claws would open her from head to toe, much like she had ended the first Xarundi warriors she'd come into contact with. Her vision was starting to go grey around the edges and she thought, with bitter irony, that it would be a fitting way for her to die.

  The collar suddenly expanded, letting air rush back into her starved lungs. Her chest burned, both with tension and pressure, as she tried to catch her breath. Zarfensis had begun his downward stroke and Tiadaria watched in a sort of horror intensified slow motion. There was a spray of blood, and a crossbow bolt appeared in Zarfensis's shoulder, knocking him off balance.

  Tiadaria glanced over her shoulder and saw Valyn, his back propped up against the fountain wall, with a crossbow between his legs. He flashed her a feeble smile and raised a thumb. She quickly snatched her swords up from the ground, crossing them in front of her to protect against another attack that would make her vulnerable to her collar.

  Zarfensis reached up and snapped the shaft of the bolt, howling in pain. Though it had sunk deeply into the flesh, it seemed not to affect him at all. He flexed the arm with a grimace, but it was easy to see that he still had almost full control over the limb.

  He closed on her with a bound, his mechanical leg whining with the stress of his rapid movement. Tiadaria watched his chest and when he was fully committed to the charge, dodged away at the last moment. She drew her blade along the top of the High Priest's good leg, and she felt the blade grate against the bone.

  There was a spray of blood and a howl of agony. Zarfensis collapsed to the stairs, unable to stand. Not even the mechanical leg could make up for such a terrible wound. He rolled onto his back, looking up at her with a hateful eye.

  “Vermin filth,” he snarled. “Strike me down, make me a martyr for my people.”

  Zarfensis tried to swipe at her, but she easily cut through the tendons in his elbow, leaving him lying limp at her feet. He was no longer a threat. If she left him this way, blood loss would claim him in a matter of minutes.

  Tiadaria went to one knee by his massive head.

  “A martyr for who? Look around you before you die, High Priest.” She waved a hand at the courtyard. There were still a few small groups of city guards making their way through the fallen, checking for survivors, but the Xarundi were gone. True to her prediction, they'd broken and run when the tide of the battle had turned. “Even your Warleader has abandoned you. There are none left. The few Xarundi who have survived will be hunted down in the days and weeks to come. You are the vermin now.”

  “You'll never break the Chosen, vermin. We are your rightful masters.”

  “You are the masters of nothing and I'll ensure that you and those like you, are never a threat to the people of the Imperium again.”

  “We won't stop. Not until every last one of us is dead.”

  “That can be arranged.”

  Tiadaria got to her feet and swung one blade, parting the High Priest's head from his neck. She stepped out of the way of the pooling blood, letting it flow down the stairs. She watched the fire in the one remaining eye flicker for a moment, then die out.

  “That's for the Captain,” she said quietly.

  She sank to the steps, her swords dangling between her knees. She glanced over at Valyn, who was still propped up against the fountain. Tiadaria wondered if he felt as bad as he looked. Then she took stock of her own wounds and realized that she didn't look much better.

  There was a creak at the top of the stairs, and King Greymalkin poked out his head and looked around before casting the door open. He stepped out, leaning on his cane for support. He slowly made his way down to where Tiadaria was sitting. He nudged Zarfensis's head with one slipper clad toe.

  “It would seem that you've saved the day again, Lady Tiadaria.”

  Tiadaria didn't answer, she just waved toward the courtyard, where the men were gathering their dead. Greymalkin nodded.

  “Many sacrificed themselves for the greater good today. That's true. However, without your particular set of skills, would they have won the day?”

  “Maybe.”

  The King snorted.

  “You know better. Come see me after you've settled your affairs. We should talk.”

  Without waiting for her to answer, the King moved down the stairs in his shuffling gait. He stopped to talk to Valyn, who had managed to get to his feet, though he was leaning heavily on the fountain for support.

  Tiadaria was exhausted. She wanted nothing more than to find a bed and sleep, but she knew her duties weren't quite finished. She needed to find Tionne and the Lamiad and she needed to check i
n on Faxon. Then...she paused, not wanting to even think the painful reality. Then she had to see if what the Captain's lich had said about Wynn was true.

  There was still more pain to face today. Tiadaria struggled to her feet and wandered, mind numb, out of the cavern. The sky was tinged orange and pink, but not with the fires that had ravaged the city. Dawn had come, kissing Dragonfell with its gentle golden caress.

  A new day was beginning.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “I must look worse than I thought,” Tiadaria quipped as a cleric ushered her into a curtained cubicle.

  The cleric uttered a vague platitude, the kind that seemed to only come naturally to healers and politicians. She cleaned the worst of Tiadaria's wounds with a bedside manner as sterile as the building they were in. Then she went out through the curtain, leaving Tiadaria alone with her thoughts.

  “No, I won't calm down,” a familiar voice bellowed from the opposite end of the ward. “I'm injured, not an invalid!”

  Tiadaria smiled to herself. Faxon was obviously fine. Or near enough to fine that she needn't worry about his recovery. Risking the wrath of the ward nurse, she slipped out past her curtain and walked slowly down the long hall, following the sound of Faxon's vocal complaints.

  She found him in the last cubicle on the left. He was seated in a wheeled chair, with a blanket over his legs and his arm swaddled in enough bandages that it looked twice its normal size. Tiadaria's smile faded a trifle when she saw him. It was the first time since she'd met Faxon that he looked old. Much of that, she knew, was due to his injury, but it was more than that. The quality of the light in his eyes had changed. There was a darkness there that hadn't been there before. In that moment, as happy as she was that Faxon was alive and relatively well, she felt immeasurable, crushing sadness.

  Tiadaria knew Wynn was dead. There was nothing else that would have robbed Faxon of the twinkle in his eye and his ready smile. He looked at her, standing in the doorway. He still had a smile for her, but it was a slow, sad smile. The smile of a survivor who had lived through much and seen even more.