He tried to stand, but Tiadaria quickly crossed the room and put a firm hand on his shoulder. Faxon made a token attempt at resistance, then buckled under the gentle pressure she put on him. The quintessentialist contented himself with patting the hand she had laid on his shoulder.
“It's over then?” He craned his neck to look up at her. She nodded and snaked her foot around a stool in the corner of the cubicle and sank onto it.
“I guess? I killed Zarfensis. The Xarundi lost many of their young warriors. I doubt they will be much of a threat for a while. I don't know about Tionne or the Lamiad. They weren't at the palace and Valyn hadn't seen them. I guess they made it out of the city.”
“I doubt this will be the last time we hear from them.”
“I really don't care.” Tiadaria sighed, cracking her neck. “They just got thoroughly whipped and I don't think they're likely to come back to Dragonfell any time soon. As long as I can get a solid night's sleep in, I'll be ready for them when they come back.”
Faxon smiled. “I don't doubt that in the slightest.”
They lapsed into silence. The sounds of the hospital had faded to a low drone, as if with the safety of the Imperium restored, the burden on the healers and the clerics had been lifted. There was an occasional cry, or a moan of someone in pain too great to abate by medicine or magic, but for the most part, dawn had brought a morning that was quiet and still.
Faxon's gaze was fixed at some point on a distant horizon. Somewhere far away from Dragonfell or Blackbeach. Tiadaria doubted he was even still on Solendrea. She had a feeling she knew what he was thinking about, but she really didn't want to ask. In fact, there were few things in the world she wanted to do less than have that conversation with him. Still, it had to be done, and as with many of life's hardest moments, perhaps it was best done quickly.
“So,” she said uncertainly. “I...um...” Tiadaria wasn't sure what to say. The words all seemed so foreign. As if everything had taken on a different meaning. “Is he here? Wynn, I mean?”
“Yes. They moved him into the basement. His parents asked me if I would be so good as to bring him home.”
“Oh.” Tiadaria hadn't thought of that. She knew that Wynn's parents lived in Blackbeach, but he hadn't been close to them. He hardly ever spoke of them. It seemed strange that his parents would want back the empty shell of what had once been their child. “That's nice, I guess.”
Faxon shrugged.
“Everyone has their own traditions,” he said, as if that explained the matter. He paused then and gave her a look she couldn't read. “Are you going to go see him?”
“Should I?”
“It's up to you, Tia. Just think about how you'd have felt if you hadn't seen the Captain one last time.”
“I think I've seen enough of the Captain to last a lifetime.”
Faxon winced, obviously realizing what he'd said.
“You know what I mean. If you hadn't seen him before...”
“Yes, I know what you mean.” Tiadaria mulled it over. She supposed she should do it, if only for the sense of peace it would bring. It was still hard for her to believe that he was really dead. Seeing him that last time would at least settle that lingering doubt. “I guess I should.”
Faxon nodded. He gave her a half smile.
“I'll be here when you get back.”
Tiadaria found the wide granite steps that led down into the basement of the hospital. All the activity was upstairs. Only a few clerics and orderlies were working on the lower level. Every one of them nodded to her with grave courtesy as she passed. As if they knew of her task and silently commiserated with her pain and discomfort.
She realized she had no idea where to begin looking for Wynn's mortal remains. She flagged down an orderly and asked. The young man nodded and led her to a curtained room, little larger than the Captain's tomb had been. Wynn's body was inside, laid out on a white marble slab in the center of the alcove. The orderly retreated with sympathies for her loss and closed the curtain behind him.
It was odd. Tiadaria was no stranger to death. In fact, she'd just cold-bloodedly killed more Xarundi warriors than she could count, but standing in this cold stone room with Wynn's body made her feel peculiar in a way she'd never experienced before. She expected him to get up. To tell her that everything was going to be okay. He didn't, and though she knew it was ridiculous and unfair, she was angry with him for not meeting her completely unreasonable whim.
The clerics had done a wonderful job of cleaning him up. He was draped with a simple white linen. Wynn's usually unruly shock of brown hair was pushed back away from his face. Tiadaria's eyes stung with tears that slipped down her hot cheeks. She'd never again see him brush a lock of hair away irritably in that charming, boyish way he'd had. Stupid that such a simple realization could make her throat close up and her chest tighten with an agony unlike any she'd ever felt.
“I should have said yes!” she sobbed, the dam she'd built up around her heart bursting into a torrential flood of regret. “I did love you. I always loved you, Wynn. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”
Tiadaria laid her forehead against his folded hands. They were cool and lifeless. Hands that would never again seek hers in comfort, stroke her hair, or just to hold while they were walking through the market. There just hadn't been enough time for her to do what her duty demanded and what her heart wanted.
“He knew, child.” A familiar voice startled her. She hadn't heard the curtain part or anyone else enter the small room. Tiadaria had been so consumed with her grief that nothing else registered. “He knew how much you loved him, otherwise he wouldn't have wanted you to have this.”
Tiadaria turned and found Heron Greymalkin standing behind her, the gold and silver ring cradled in an age weathered palm. The King pushed his palm toward her, urging her to take it. She found herself both wanting to take it and wanting to cast it from her, as if it were the cause of all the pain she felt. After a pause that seemed like hours, she plucked it from his hand and held it between her thumb and forefinger, as if it might burn her.
“I should have taken it when he offered it to me.”
Greymalkin snorted.
“If I had a plank for every regret in my life, I could bridge all the oceans and the seas. If you spend your life worrying about everything in your life that you should have done, you lose track of all the things you can do.”
“I guess.”
“I know. Take some advice from an old man, Tiadaria. Regret is the most wasteful emotion. Young Master Wynn loved you for who you are. That wouldn't change just because you weren't ready to accept that ring. Instead of lamenting the terrible loss you've experienced, celebrate that you found someone so worthy of your love. And someone who found you worthy of theirs in return. That, in itself, is no small feat.”
“But what do I do now?”
The King slipped his cane from a loop on his belt and leaned on it with both hands. He tilted the upper part of his body toward her as if he were committing a grand conspiracy.
“I always have need of those loyal to the crown and who steadfastly support the people of the Imperium. The offer I've made you in the past stands, young Tiadaria. You can make a difference here. You can protect the citizens of Dragonfell from such an attack happening again. You can protect the Imperium from her enemies. I need people like you.”
“I'm too young.”
“Nonsense,” the King snorted. “Age is but a number on a piece of paper. I'm nearly in my ninth decade and I still manage to do alright. Do you expect me to believe that you can't meet the challenge?”
“I'll make mistakes. Probably a lot of them.”
“Aye, and you will. Not the least of which was pretending that you're not one of those finger-waggling types from the day I met you...but I suspect Royce had his reasons for wanting it to remain a secret and I suppose you do too. That Adamon is a good lad, but he's a bit too severe for my peace of mind. Still, mages do as mages do. The rest of us are left to our own devic
es.”
There was a strange feeling in the pit of Tiadaria's stomach and she found that it was less pain and more excitement. If the King believed in her, then maybe it was possible that she really could make a difference. She couldn't bring back Wynn, but she could honor his sacrifice. She could do everything within her power to ensure that the loved ones the people of the Imperium held dear were always defended if they were put into harm's way.
“So you knew, Your Grace? About the Captain?”
“Of course I knew, child. I'm old, not daft. No man untouched by the Sphere can move that way on the battlefield.” He tapped his temple with a wrinkled finger. “Not much escapes Heron Greymalkin, my dear. Not much indeed. It hurt no one for him to have his secret and I suspect it saved him a great deal of harassment from the inquisitors and the mages in general.”
He paused and looked down at Wynn's body, shaking his head slowly.
“I never much cared for magic,” he said candidly. “I don't really trust quintessentialists and I suspect they don't like me very much for my bias. However, no one can deny what they've done and continue to do for the Imperium and her people. Young Master Wynn is a hero, and he'll be honored as one.
Faxon told me what he did. He sacrificed himself so that you could live, because he knew that you alone could save us when we needed saving. Those are large boots to fill, Lady Tiadaria. No one knows better than I how heavy the mantle of leadership really is. Wynn knew we needed you and I'm glad he did.”
The lump in her throat had returned, making it difficult for her to swallow, or even breathe. A tear slipped out of the corner of her eye and the King reached up and wiped it away with a touch that was much softer than she'd expected from such a grizzled man.
“When Royce first brought you to Dragonfell, I knew you were different. My advisors pitched a fit you wouldn't believe. 'You let a slave into the palace.' 'What will the people think?' All that rot. Fact of that matter is, I knew if Royce was bringing you into the Capital, there was a damn good reason.”
“Do you still think so, Your Grace?”
“I know so, Lady Tiadaria. I also know that you'll need to sleep on it to make your own decision. People like you and Royce keep their own council. I approve of that. I keep my own as well. Just don't think on it overlong.
You've driven the dogs back into their den, but that doesn't mean there won't be someone else at the gate tomorrow morning looking to destroy everything we've created.”
“I just need a little time, Your Grace.”
“Aye, child. I know.” He patted Wynn's hand, where her head had so recently rested. “You'll have time to mourn your loss. I'll see to that. Think about what I've said and think on it well. I need you and the Imperium needs you, if you're equal to the task.”
He vanished as quickly as he'd come, the curtain barely moving behind his swift exit. Tiadaria wondered if the King didn't have some sort of secret magic of his own.
Tiadaria knew in her heart that she'd accept his offer; that it was her destiny to fill the void that the Captain had left when he died. She hadn't been ready then, but she was ready now. Or at least, as ready as she was going to be. She wasn't expected to be perfect, but she wanted to do as good a job as she was capable of. For Wynn, for the Captain, and for the King, but most of all, for herself.
Her father had sold her into slavery, thinking only of the benefit it could bring him. To her own family, she'd only ever be worth a handful of gold and a couple beasts. The Captain had seen so much more in her, and he'd been right.
Tiadaria pushed her shoulders back, standing a little straighter, though there was no one in the alcove to see her. Her conversation with the King hadn't healed the awful hole in her heart. That space would always be reserved for Wynn, but now she knew how to best honor his memory. He'd always been proudest of her when she knew exactly what she wanted to do and set those plans in motion.
Now she had the biggest plan of all to set in motion. She was going to be the protector of the Imperium and all its people, and she couldn't imagine Wynn being more proud of her.
#
“What about Zarfensis?” Tionne asked as they fled through the night. The orange-black smudge of Dragonfell burning was fading into the distance behind them.
The even fields surrounding the capital had given way to rolling foothills and would soon become the treacherous paths and passes leading through the Dragonback Mountains.
“He's dead,” Nerillia said flatly, scanning the ridge ahead of them. “As we will be, if they catch up with us. We need to keep moving.”
“Where are we going?”
“The Warrens.”
“But if Zarfensis is dead, won't the Xarundi be, uh, less than happy to see us?”
“Unless I miss my guess, we won't need to worry about the Xarundi. I suspect the Swordmage took care of most of their warriors at Dragonfell and those remaining at the Warrens will have another matter to contend with.”
“Which is?”
“You'll see.”
They traveled all that night and most of the next day, stopping only for the briefest of moments to take water from springs or streams and then moving on. The Lamiad's eyes constantly scanned the trail, both before and behind, for any sign that they might be caught or pursued. It was so tense a journey that Tionne didn't realize how hungry she was until they stopped the next evening.
They were in a small mountain clearing high above Dragonfell. So high above that the city seemed to be little more than a dark smudge on the land below. It was the first time that Nerillia seemed to relax. She consulted the rising stars and mumbled something to herself before turning to Tionne.
“We can rest here, for a time,” she said.
“What are we going to do now?” Tionne asked, for the first time uncertain of her role in everything that had transpired.
In commune with the darker forces of the Quintessential Sphere, their success had seemed preordained. It was almost as if nothing could stop them. Now, huddled together for warmth at the top of a cold mountain, Tionne wasn't sure how things had gone so wrong, so fast. What she did know, what coursed through her like venom with every beat of her heart, was that she wanted Tiadaria dead. She wanted to make the Swordmage suffer and Tionne would relish every minute of it.
“We wait.”
No matter how she prodded Nerillia for information on what or who they were waiting for, the Lamiad refused to elaborate. She also refused to build a fire or allow Tionne to use her magic to summon a source of heat, so when the sun slipped below the horizon, what had been a bothersome annoyance became a threat to life and limb.
Fortunately, Tionne didn't have long to wait after the sun had slipped from the sky. The massive form of the white dragon backwinging for a landing answered Tionne's unasked question about who or what they were waiting for.
“You failed me,” the dragon snarled by way of greeting. He was broadcasting his anger so loudly that Tionne clutched her head in pain. “The humans still control the place of my birth.”
“My Lord,” Nerillia said with a bow. “It was neither I, nor Tionne, who failed you. In fact, we both acquitted ourselves of our roles in the plan without error. I brought you artifacts and power you needed to summon the lich and Tionne reanimated it and the wraiths.
The Xarundi are to blame for the collapse of your plan. It is they who have paid with their lives, unless I wildly miss my guess.”
Stryne snarled, tossing his head back and forth on his long neck. His wings rustled restlessly. Tionne had suspected Nerillia knew more than she was letting on. The dragon's behavior only reinforced that notion. After a few moments, Stryne regained his composure and lowered his head, turning one massive eye toward the Lamiad.
“You speak truth, Nerillia of the Lamiad. I will not punish my allies for the failure of their contemporaries. The Draconic Empire fell because they lacked the foresight to award the loyalty of their subjects. I will not commit the same sin.”
“I had hoped that you
might see things that way, My Lord.” Nerillia motioned to Tionne. “How may we serve?”
Stryne settled back on his haunches, looping his great neck so that his chin rested on his chest. The huge wings moved idly and he remained in that position for so long that Tionne though he might have gone to sleep. After what seemed like an hour or more, he raised his head, looking first at Nerillia, then at Tionne.
“Dragonfell is lost, for now, at least. The Xarundi have failed me. Perhaps, however, some good can come of their failure. One cavern may be as good as another for the short term and it will fulfill the terms of our arrangement, Nerillia of the Lamiad.”
“Very good, My Lord.”
“I will allow you to ride on my back for this part of our travels.”
“Our thanks, My Lord.”
Stryne crouched down low on his forelegs, allowing Nerillia to climb up onto the soft skin between his wings. There were no ridges there, so when she offered a hand to Tionne to help her up onto the gigantic beast, she balked.
“I can't!” Tionne exclaimed. “We'll fall.”
Nerillia shot her a savage look.
“If you stay, you'll die. Don't anger him. He won't let us fall.”
The Lamiad thrust out her hand a second time, demanding Tionne's immediate compliance with her unspoken demand. Tionne was still unsure of her place and wondered if this weren't some complicated ruse for Stryne to get them high above the mountains and then drop them off onto the jagged peaks below.
Still, what were her options? She'd followed Nerillia this far. If she decided to turn back now, she'd be on her own again, and she didn't want that. Tionne had spent all of her life alone. The prospect of losing the kinship and closeness she felt with Nerillia was worse than the thought of dying. With a final moment of hesitation, Tionne grabbed the hand that Nerillia offered her and allowed the older woman to hoist her up onto the dragon's back.
True to his word, Stryne did not let them fall. His magic protected them from the cold and thin air that his powerful wings carried them through and prevented both her and Nerillia from falling from the wide shoulders where they crouched. Looking back on it later, Tionne wouldn't be able to say it was a comfortable way to travel, but it did get them to the Warrens in the span of a few hours, when going by foot would have taken weeks or months.
The Swordmage Trilogy: Volume 03 - The Pegasus's Lament Page 20