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

by Martin Hengst

  Tionne actually managed to fall asleep toward the end of the trip and was surprised and out of sorts when Nerillia awoke her with a gentle shake.

  “Where are we,” she'd asked, her voice slow and groggy with sleep.

  “Just outside the Warrens. Wake up and prepare yourself for battle.”

  That simple warning forced Tionne's mind awake and she called useful cantrips and memorized spells to the front of her mind. If Nerillia thought they'd be in combat, there was probably a good reason for it. They slid off the dragon's back, landing on the hard, packed earth that surrounded the largest entrance to the Warrens.

  It turned out that Nerillia was right. Almost as soon as the dragon had landed, young Xarundi streamed out of the cavern, armed with underdeveloped claws and spears. They tried to attack Stryne, but an ages old dragon was too powerful for even their massed numbers.

  Between Nerillia's whips, Stryne's lightning, and Tionne's command of the Quintessential Sphere, the waves of Xarundi that belched forth from the Warrens were dispatched with deadly efficiency. It wasn't long before there were piles of Xarundi bodies scattered across the moonlit expanse of flat earth. At last, the stream of defenders came to an end and the trio stood in the midst of the carnage they had caused.

  “Was that all of them?” Tionne asked. Though they'd killed many adolescent Xarundi, she wasn't at all convinced that all of the elders would have abandoned their young so readily.

  “Doubtful,” Stryne said, poking his head into the entrance to the cavern. “The remainder most likely fled from another entrance. I sense no more in the immediate area.”

  “Good,” Nerillia replied, writhing in almost sensual pleasure. “Then we can do what we came here to do.”

  “Indeed, Oracle,” Stryne said. “You shall have your payment in full.”

  Stryne lumbered down the corridor, his wings folded tightly against his back. It was an exceedingly tight fit and there were places where he used his magic and his breath to break open parts of the tunnel that were too narrow or too low for him to fit through. Tionne didn't enjoy the trip, constantly in fear of the dragon bringing down tons of rock and earth on top of them.

  At last they reached a wide open cavern, with a narrow ledge of rock encircling it. A wide granite bridge crossed over to a center island where a huge cathedral stood, its windows flickering with subdued light.

  “Behold,” Nerillia said to her softly. “The Cathedral of the Dyr. The ancient seat of power for the Xarundi Combine.”

  Before Tionne could respond, Stryne leapt across the chasm, landing in the open area in front of the cathedral. The hair on the back of Tionne's neck stood on end as the dragon filled his massive lungs. The air seemed alive with lightning and a moment later, a concentrated blue-white bolt burst from Stryne.

  The right hand side of the cathedral exploded in a splinters of wood and fragments of rock. It cascaded down the side of the building, falling into the abyss below. Another blast from the dragon ruined the left side of the ancient structure. A final blast obliterated most of the remaining structure. With a swipe of his powerful tail, Stryne knocked what remained of the building into the crevasse, leaving only a small pile of rubble in its wake.

  As the last of the Xarundi's cathedral slipped into the darkness, Tionne felt a curious pull from the smoldering pile of rock that was left. Breaking away from Nerillia, she ran across the wide bridge to where the dragon was standing. She darted between his legs, climbing up onto the rocks and shattered timbers.

  There was something here, calling to her. Begging her for help. She had to find it. Out of the corner of her eye, Tionne saw a blue-black glow from under a pile of rocks. She ran to the spot, hefting the jagged stones that cut into her palms, and tossing them away. After what seemed like a lifetime of backbreaking labor, she'd cleared a hole.

  At the bottom of the hole were spiral stairs, bathed in the blue-black glow she'd seen from afar. Whatever was calling to her, was calling from down those stairs. Without waiting, or even considering the consequences, she bounded down the steps two at a time.

  The nearer she got to the source of the light, the more insistent the call became. Tionne instinctively constructed mental barricades, keeping the seeping tendrils of dark thoughts at bay. Whatever was down here was powerful, but not so powerful that it would have its way with her. She could, and did, command it. It withdrew ever so slightly, still probing her defenses but finding no openings.

  Tionne turned the last corner of the stairwell to find a simple stone pillar, upon which was perched the Dyr. The Rune of Death was what had been calling to her, begging for her help. It had tried to worm its way into her mind, but she'd been too wily for it, denying it entry into her head. It would do her bidding, not the other way around.

  “Zarfensis was the Dyr's last rune holder,” Nerillia said, from behind her. “It has chosen you as a replacement.”

  With a hesitant touch, Tionne reached out and caressed the rune. It was colder than anything she'd ever touched. Colder than the snow and ice of winter storms. When she touched it, it felt as if insects were crawling inside her head, seeking out weak places where they might burrow into her mind. She forced them out with a toss of her head. She'd need to remain on her guard as the keeper of the rune.

  Tionne lifted a handful of the glowing blue dust that surrounded the rune. She let it sift through her fingers, falling back into the pile. It seemed that no one had gathered the dust for quite some time. Probably since Zarfensis had first been defeated by the Swordmage. Tionne had little gold and no possessions, but she was now richer than she'd ever imagined.

  With the Dyr and an unlimited supply of runedust, she'd kill the Swordmage. The rune thrummed against her hand, signaling its approval of her thoughts. Not only would she kill Tiadaria, but she'd raise the corpse and make her lich serve the Dyr until it rotted away to dust.

  A cold smile crept across Tionne's lips. She tore away the bottom half of her tunic, relishing in the cold touch of the rune's power against her bare flesh. She fashioned the cloth into a carryall of sorts, reverently tucking the rune into the hastily constructed bag. She gathered as much runedust as the pack would carry and lovingly filled the space around the rune, cushioning it from any outside force that might seek to influence it.

  Tionne crafted some crude straps and carefully laid the pack across her shoulder. She could feel the gentle pulsing of the rune against her pack. Never before had she felt so accepted by anything or anyone. The rune was hers and it would remain hers forever. She turned to find Nerillia smiling at her.

  “I told you that you'd find greatness with me, Tionne.” The Lamiad gestured toward the steps. “Now that you've found that which makes you whole, come and witness my ascension.”

  Tionne followed Nerillia up out of the bowels of the Xarundi's rune chamber. Stryne was gone. When she asked Nerillia where he was, the Lamiad said she didn't know, but that it didn't matter. They'd be gone from the Warrens before dawn.

  For hours, Tionne followed Nerilla through twists and turns in the corridors that had once belonged to the Xarundi. They came across few bodies and no living Chosen. Tionne supposed that Stryne was right. They'd abandoned the Warrens when they realized that all was lost. Those that remained would be scattered to the corners of Solendrea to seek out whatever meager existence they could.

  After what seemed like an incredibly long time, Nerillia lead her into a chamber that was almost as cold as the rune. Tionne's breath puffed out in little clouds of condensation. As they entered a flicking green light at the gentle of the chamber began pulsing brightly. It grew to such intensity that Tionne had to shield her eyes.

  “What is that?”

  “That, my dear Tionne, is the other half of my soul.”

  When Nerillia spoke, the voice came from her mouth and from the light in the center of the chamber. The strange chorded sound of the voice was almost hypnotic, but Tionne forced herself to remain focused.

  “I need you to release it,” Nerill
ia was saying. “Make me whole again, Tionne. Please. Make me whole and together we'll rule all of Solendrea.”

  EPILOGUE

  By the following morning, the streets of Dragonfell were returning to normal. Vendors were out setting up, or repairing, their stalls. A few children ran through the streets, calling to each other in voices that seemed too loud for the recovering city. In a few places, the remains of buildings still smoldered, but for the most part, things had been cleaned and patched. Dragonfell had lived through another nightmare and was embracing the sun that fell on its cobbled streets.

  Tiadaria walked slowly down the market row, enduring the curious stares and whispers she usually received from people in the capital. Part of it, she knew, was due to the collar around her neck. The rest of it was because the stories of the battle in the palace cavern had been spreading like wildfire. She'd spoken briefly to Valyn, who told her that the King had been adding his own embellishments to what happened during the battle. Pretty soon the line between what had really happened and what the people thought had happened would be clouded in legend.

  The common room of the inn was empty when Tiadaria arrived. She inquired with the barmaid to see if Faxon was in his room, then started up the stairs. Two flights of stairs seemed to take far longer than they should have, and she lingered on the landing for a long time before she made her way to his room.

  Faxon's door stood ajar, and she let herself in. He was sitting in a chair by the window, looking out over the city. His hair had taken on a distinct grey undertone and his arm was still in a sling. There was another chair near the bed. She drew it over to him and sat next to him.

  “I heard that Greymalkin asked you to stay and take over the Captain's job,” Faxon said. His voice was soft and seemed very far away. As if he was talking to her from wherever his mind had wandered off to. Wherever he was looking.

  “He did. I told him I needed to sleep on it.”

  Faxon's eyes flicked to hers. She saw the same sadness there she'd seen in the hospital. It hadn't lifted and Tiadaria wondered if it ever would.

  “Did you?”

  “I did, but I really didn't need to. What do you think, Faxon?”

  “I think the Imperium needs you. I think that both Wynn and the Captain would be very proud of you. I know I am.”

  “You are?” Tiadaria was surprised. She liked Faxon, she always had, but she'd always felt as if he thought of her as a child. As if she was blundering her way through discovering who she was or who she needed to be.

  “Of course I am. You've come a long way since I first met you, Tiadaria. You're not the little girl I met here in Dragonfell. You're a grown and powerful woman. A defender of the realm.”

  Tiadaria didn't answer. She gazed out the window for a long time. A flood of uncertainty washed over her. Maybe Faxon and the King were wrong. Maybe she wasn't cut out to be the person they thought she was. Maybe she was still just a little girl. Her fingers went to the collar around her neck and she snatched them back as if burned.

  The gasping blackness she'd felt on the sandstone courtyard came rushing back to her. She never wanted to feel that vulnerable again. She wasn't a little girl and she wasn't a slave. She was the last swordmage and she was going to be the Captain of the Grand Army of the Imperium. Maybe the King had known it before she did, but she accepted it now. It was who she was meant to be.

  “Faxon...”

  “I know.” He smiled at her, reaching into the sling around his arm. He withdrew a small, black glass tool. A tool she'd seen more than once in her lifetime. It was the same tool that Cerrin, the slaver, had used to attach her collar. That seemed like a lifetime ago.

  “How did you know?”

  He shrugged.

  “You're different now, Tiadaria. You don't need anyone else defining you. I figured it was only a matter of time. Especially since Wynn...”

  He trailed off there and Tiadaria saw the pain flare in his eyes. She'd always known that Faxon was fond of his oldest apprentice, but she'd never guessed how deeply the feelings ran for him. Since Wynn's parents had cast him out, Faxon had taken over and now he'd lost a son.

  “Come kneel over here, Tiadaria,” he said, with a hitch in his voice.

  Tiadaria slipped from her chair and went to one knee beside Faxon. She lifted her hair, exposing the back of her neck and the collar to the quintessentialist.

  The glass was cold at the base of her neck. Faxon gave a quick squeeze and the collar sprang open as if hinged. It fell to the floor at their feet, landing with a dull ring. Tiadaria put her hand to her throat, feeling the naked skin there. It was the first time in a long time that she hadn't had a constant reminder of being less than everyone else.

  She stood and went to the looking glass over the chest of drawers. There was a pale white line around her neck, but she knew that would fade in time. Tiadaria was a slave no longer. She went back to the window and picked up the length of curved witchmetal. She turned it over in her hands as she sat down.

  “I can destroy that for you,” Faxon said, dropping the collar tool to a table near the window.

  “No,” she said slowly. “I think I'd like to keep it.”

  “That didn't work out for you so well once before.”

  “Perhaps not,” she said with a nod. “But this time, it has no power over me. I know who I am and I'll never be bound by anyone again.”

  “No,” Faxon replied thoughtfully. “I don't suspect you will.”

  “What are your plans, Faxon?”

  He shrugged.

  “I hadn't really thought about it. I suppose I'll go back to Blackbeach. Maybe I'll teach. I fear my days of practicing theory are done.”

  The quintessentialist motioned to his arm with a sour look. Tiadaria nodded. She reached into her tunic and withdrew a complicated looking brass key on a length of black ribbon. She took it from her neck and extended it to him.

  “I wondered if you'd do me a favor and look after my cottage in King's Reach,” she said. “I don't think I'll have a chance to get there very often. At least, not for several years. Wynn started a little library there. The people aren't well educated, but they're eager to learn. Maybe it would be good for you.”

  Faxon reached out and took the key from her, turning it over in his palm.

  “Maybe it would, young Tiadaria. Maybe it would at that.”

  They sat together at the window for a long time. Sometimes they talked and sometimes they just sat in silence, but they were together, and that's all that mattered.

  In the years that followed, Tiadaria got back to King's Reach far less often than she would have liked, but when she did manage to find the time to visit, Faxon always greeted her with a hug and welcome smile and he always reminded her that the cottage was her home.

  He would take care of it, he said, until she was ready to come back. Tiadaria always thanked him and told him that day would come soon enough. She knew in her heart that, eventually, it would.

  <<<<>>>>

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Thank you to every single reader and fan who has made the Solendrea stories a success. Your interest and support means more to me than you will ever know. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

  Special thanks to my beta readers for helping to keep me on the right path. Thank you Barbara, JR, Laura, Faith, and Heather.

  Thanks to my editor, Amber Bungo.

  Thanks to Jess, Tori, Tyler, and the Ladybug Baking Company for being my office away from home and keeping me well fed and supplied with cupcakes.

  Last, but certainly not least, thanks to Alexander Trefethen who has brought the audiobooks of the first trilogy of the Solendrea series to life.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Martin F. Hengst resides in South Central Pennsylvania with his wife and two children.

  An avid reader since childhood, he attributes his love for fantasy and science fiction to his father. Martin's passion is creating intricate stories with intimate details set in fantasy lands that ex
ist only in his readers' dreams.

  If you'd like to keep up with the world of Solendrea and the extraordinary people and places that exist there, visit: www.solendrea.com.

  You can also follow Martin on Twitter and Goodreads. Email inquiries can be addressed to: martin@solendrea.com.