The Swordmage Trilogy Bundle, Volumes 1-3 (27 page)

“That’s a pretty big leap,” Wynn said uncertainly. “We have resources the Xarundi don’t. I’m not sure it's a given that they know where to look.”

“And under normal circumstances, I’d probably agree with you, Wynn. But there’s something you’ve forgotten to account for.”

“Which is?”

“The gargoyle.”

Wynn shook his head in disbelief. “I’m not sure how statuary is going to help them. Was there a map hidden inside it?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Faxon said with a grin. “That gargoyle was a living thing. The only reason it was still in its dormant form is that someone who died long before we arrived either accidentally, or through their own insight, put it in a building without windows. Had it been somewhere the moonlight could reach it, we’d likely be having a different conversation.”

The apprentice fumbled for a few seconds before he found his words. “Surely you don’t believe that old wives tale about gargoyles coming to life at night?”

“Ask Tiadaria about old wives tales,” Faxon said, chuckling. Tia rolled her eyes when Wynn looked at her expectantly.

“What Faxon is trying to say, as undiplomatically as possible, is that I thought the Xarundi were an old wives tale until two years ago. I think we can both agree that they are very real.”

Wynn shuddered and Tia wondered if he was reliving his injury, facing a life changing realization, or a little of both.

“Okay,” the apprentice finally said, getting control of himself. “Let’s say that the gargoyle is a living thing. What does it know?”

“That will remain a mystery.” Faxon frowned. “The thing has been here since I was a lad. Everyone felt it was better not to wake the sleeping dog and I rather agreed with them. However, it cannot be coincidence that the gargoyle went missing the same night as the Xarundi attack.”

“So where does that leave us?” Tia asked, failing to stifle a yawn. It was late and she doubted they’d be getting much sleep in the near future.

“We get a good night’s rest. Then, in the morning, we will gate-walk to Overwatch. The Xarundi may know where they’re going, but we still have a few advantages they can’t match yet.”

“There is no gate in Overwatch,” Wynn said flatly.

Faxon shook his head, smiling tolerantly. “There are gates everywhere, Wynn. You just have to know where to look.” He winked at Tiadaria. “Or who to ask.”

No further persuasion would make him elaborate on his cryptic remark about the gates. The elder quint bid them a somewhat forceful goodnight and climbed the stairs to the second floor. Wynn looked at the empty staircase for a moment before swearing under his breath and turning to Tia.

“I guess we should sleep too.”

“If I can,” Tia replied with a shiver. “It’s so quiet.”

“I know.” Wynn seemed to have a brief but intense battle with himself. The tips of his ears turned bright red. “We could share a room if you want.”

Tia was just about to tease him for his boldness when he ruined the moment by blundering on.

“There’s a room with two beds across from yours. I saw it this afternoon.”

“Sounds perfect,” she said, dousing the lantern on the table and leading the way down the hall. She had faced down the Xarundi and weathered the horrors of war, but the thought of spending the night alone in the all but abandoned inn was enough to make her skin crawl.

It wasn’t long before they were nestled in their beds. Wynn blew out the candle and with a little sigh, rolled over and was asleep almost instantly. As Tia listened to him breath, she remembered the last inn room she had shared and her chest ached. She had lay in another inn room and listened to another man sleeping. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

Not that they were even remotely alike. Wynn would never possess the passion and intensity that the Captain had shown her brief glimpses of when they were together. They were different sides of a coin, Tia thought. The Captain was spontaneous energy, an explosion that consumed everything around it. Wynn was a slow burn, careful, methodical, missing nothing. Tia fell asleep pondering the differences between the two men.

Morning came far too quickly for Tia, but she was apparently not the early bird. Wynn was gone, his bed made so precisely that Tia nearly wondered if he had slept in it at all. If he opted not to take the quintessentialist Master trials, he could surely find employment in any number of inns or way houses.

The thought of the stolid young man catering to the needs of rowdy travelers was enough to make her laugh out loud. She was still chuckling to herself when she walked into the common room.

“What’s so funny?” Wynn’s face was so contorted that he looked like he’d been sucking on a lemon. His tone of voice matched perfectly.

“Nothing, grumpy.” She answered in a voice just as tart. She accepted the mug of hot coffee he passed to her. She added milk and ignored Wynn when she added so much sugar that he made gagging noises. Even so, the brew was only barely palatable. Tia suspected that Wynn’s culinary skills were limited, so she kept her mouth shut.

Faxon appeared, bleary eyed, at the foot of the stairs. “Is that coffee I smell? Oh bless all the gods that were, are, or ever will be.”

He took such a long pull at the mug that Tiadaria was convinced that he either didn’t have taste buds, or had burned them all away long ago.

The older mage plopped down in a chair by the table and reverently placed his mug atop it. He glanced from Tia to Wynn, nursing his cup.

“Well,” he said, pausing to take another draught from the mug. “This is probably the only time your collar will come in handy, Tia. You’ll be playing the part of slave for the next portion of our adventure. Wynn, you’ll need to lose the robes while we’re in Overwatch. You’ll be my dutiful man servant.”

“So not that much different from now then?” Tia couldn’t help but to needle the apprentice, who glared at her over the top of his mug.

“Enough.” Faxon glowered at her until she had to look down, her cheeks burning in embarrassment. She couldn’t believe he spoke to her in such a way in front of Wynn. Yes, maybe she had been being childish, but that was no reason to actually treat her like a child.

Somewhere in the distance, a clock bell tolled eight times. Faxon finished the last of his coffee in a single gulp and put the cup down on the table. He stared at the two young people, scratching his chin.

“I want to be in the gate room in an hour. Bring what you think you’ll need, but pack lightly. Tia that means weapons and armor for you. Wynn, whatever books you think will help us find this relic before the Xarundi do.”

Wynn put his cup on the table, his hand shaking so badly that he threatened to splash the last of its contents over the rim. “Master Faxon, I really think I’d be more of a help to you here. Whatever research--”

“Wynn,” Faxon reached out and put his hand on the apprentice’s shoulder. “I need you to come with us. Overwatch is a dangerous place and the more of us there are, the better off we’ll be.”

Faxon raised his hand, forestalling the objection Wynn had started to make. “I know all your objections categorically, Wynn. The only way you’re not coming on this trip is if you renounce your place in the order.”

Wynn sucked in his breath, as if someone had just punched him in the stomach. He looked at Faxon, his hands curling into fists. The young man shook his head slowly, disbelieving what he had just heard.

“So I go with you, or I face censure?”

“Wait, what?” Tia went stiff in her seat. “That’s not what he meant.” Tia looked at Faxon. His lips were pressed together in a firm white line. “Faxon? That’s not what you meant, right?”

“That’s exactly what I meant. Wynn faces a choice that every apprentice must make eventually. He can either accept the full weight of his responsibilities as a quintessentialist, or he can give that up and go lead a ‘normal’ life.”

“Cut out part of his soul?” Tia was incredulous. “A normal life? Are you joking? Most people don’t survive after censure and you know it.” In that moment, Tiadaria came the closest she had ever come to hating Faxon. He had been her champion and mentor after the Captain’s passing, but this...this was beyond the pale. She stood so quickly that her chair toppled over backwards. “I won’t permit it.”

Faxon pinned her with a hard stare. She didn’t know what had possessed him, but this wasn’t her friend. This wasn’t the man who loved a good prank or a bad joke. The lines of his face were set and hard, his eyes unwelcoming.

“You don’t get a say in this, Tiadaria. This is an internal order matter. You have many rights and freedoms, but interfering with a member of the order carrying out his sworn duties is not one of them.”

“I don’t give a damn about your duties or the order. You’re not going to threaten Wynn with censure just because he doesn’t want to leave the city.”

“He’s right, Tia.” Wynn’s voice was soft and even, almost serene. She whirled on him, her anger finding a new home as quickly as it took to turn.

“He’s what?”

“He’s right.” Wynn shook his head, as if trying to clear away some painful memory that wouldn’t quite be banished. “I need to accept my responsibilities, or leave the order. I’m one of the oldest apprentices. I should be an acolyte or journeyman by now. I’ve just never wanted to take the tests. So he’s right. If I choose to leave the order, I know the consequences.”

Tia looked from Wynn to Faxon, her hands clenching spasmodically at her sides. “You can’t be serious,” she whispered.

“This is the way things are done in the order, Tiadaria.” Faxon’s tone tolerated no argument. “Every apprentice knows what is expected of them.”

Wynn got slowly to his feet. He reached out to touch Tia’s shoulder and she shied away from him.

“Don’t.” Her voice was cold and hard. Wynn looked pained, but dropped his hand. The three of them stood in silence, each of them carrying the heavy weight of the conflict like a lead mantle.

“I accept my responsibilities to the order,” Wynn said finally, according Faxon with a bow. “I trust that my Trial of Progression can wait until we return?”

Faxon nodded, his eyes still on Tia. She hadn’t moved and was still glaring at him, her hands balled into fists. The elder quint jerked his chin in her direction. “If you’re going to hit me, hit me. Get it over with. We have things to do.”

For a moment, Wynn was sure she was going to do just that.

“I’m not a bully,” she spat, turning on her heel. “That’s your job.” She ran from the room.

“Tia, wait,” Wynn called after her, but she was already in the hallway. She slammed the door to her room so hard that the walls in the common room rattled.

“Let it go, Wynn,” Faxon said with a sigh. “She’ll come around in time.”

The apprentice said nothing, sinking into his chair. He was being pulled in so many directions. He was glad to have chosen to follow the order’s path. He was embarrassed that Tia felt the need to protect him, but he felt good that she did and wanted to. His mind was a tangled knot of feelings, chasing each other under, over, and through.

“She’s going to be twice as mad at me when she finds out that I’m sending Nightwind back to Blackbeach with the next wagon.” Faxon sighed. He didn’t like antagonizing the young warrior, but there were times when his way was the only way. Wynn glanced at him, but said nothing.

“Well, we can’t take a horse through the gate!” Faxon cried, throwing up his hands in exasperation.

He stalked off and up the stairs. Wynn heard his door close. Forcefully, but not as forcefully as Tia had slammed hers. The apprentice was once again alone in the common room. Part of him wondered if censure wasn’t the only sane choice.

Putting that thought out of his head, he collected the mugs and put them in a basin behind the ruined bar. He flipped the hood of his robe up. He had been wearing it up quite a bit lately. It reduced the number of stares he got on the street. People were kind enough, but his mangled face brought curiosity or sympathy and he really didn’t care for either.

Wynn opened the inn door and stepped out into the morning sunlight. Faxon was right. There was much to be done.

“Chrin refuses to go,” Xenir said gruffly. He looked at the High Priest to try to gauge his reaction, but Zarfensis appeared to be unperturbed by the news.

“He’s within his rights, Xenir.” Zarfensis was throwing things into a travel pack as he spoke. His ritual dagger, spell book, and vials of runedust disappeared into the bag. A wooden apothecary kit followed and Zarfensis caught a whiff of the herbs and extracts contained in the little box. Those smells reminded him of his grand-sire.

Xenir was looking at him expectantly and the High Priest realized that he wasn’t likely to just let Chrin’s obstinacy go. He stopped his packing long enough to turn his full gaze on the Warleader. “He was terribly mauled at the Hallowed Vale. If he wants to remain here in the Warrens, that’s his prerogative. I don’t judge him for that.”

The Warleader snorted and Zarfensis continued. “I’d rather have him here and not have to worry about him than have him come with me, under duress, and snap under the strain. The younger warriors are still green enough to bend without breaking.”

“It’s their greenness that worries me, High Priest.”

“They are warriors of the Chosen and will behave that way,” Zarfensis said firmly, tired of Xenir’s negativity. “If we can’t trust our brothers, who can we trust?”

“Perhaps,” Xenir agreed grudgingly. “I’d still prefer it if a few of the more experienced warriors went with you.”

Zarfensis shrugged. “Send who you like, Warleader. Just don’t send so many that you’re left unprotected here. We would be foolish to think that all the vermin are racing us to the relic. They may attempt an attack on the Warrens while they think we are vulnerable.”

“Let them try,” Xenir replied with a snarl. “They might fight well on the surface, under their open sky, but get them in the tunnels and we’ll see who the truly superior warriors are.”

“There’s no contest, brother.”

Placating Xenir took much longer than Zarfensis would have liked. After much argument, the Warleader finally accepted the warriors that the High Priest chose to accompany him on his mission. Zarfensis also brought a shaman and a cleric, bringing the number of the entire party to seven.

By the time they left the Warrens, it was well after sunset. Although Zarfensis could have done without Xenir’s mothering, nightfall was the preferred time of day for travel. The Xarundi’s enhanced senses gave them a distinct advantage over the other races while traveling in darkness. Not that they had a very long journey to make. The ancient gate stones stood in a grove not too far distant from the western entrance to the Chosen’s territory.

Checking to ensure the map was safe and secure under the flap of his travel pack, Zarfensis dropped to all fours and loped out into the dark night.

* * *

“Do what you’re told, when you’re told, especially after we arrive in Overwatch. Now take my hands.”

Faxon was relieved when both the young people took his hands without bickering, quarreling, or challenging his authority. The rest of the morning in Ethergate had been long and difficult to tolerate. After afternoon had progressed into evening, their accord had begun to reassert itself. Now that they were finally in the gate room and ready to embark, Faxon sincerely hoped that the worst of their foolishness was behind them.

As the quintessentialist began speaking the words to activate the gate, Tiadaria understood why it was taught to masters of the order and no one else. It was an incredibly complicated and elaborate ritual, with several iterations of invocation that got progressively more complex. Faxon completed the ritual and Tiadaria had half a second to wonder if he hadn’t performed it correctly when there was a brilliant flash of blue-white light and she had passed into the Quintessential Sphere.

This was unlike anything she had ever experienced. Slipping into the sphere while she was fighting was a transition of consciousness. Her soul, her essence, was split between the physical realm and the sphere. The gate had pulled her entire body into the sphere and she felt a terrifying disassociation from the Solendrea she knew. Shadowy mountains and rivers flashed by them incredibly fast. Some were nearly tangible. Others were faint and shimmering, ancient memories of things that had long passed from the surface of the world. Tia closed her eyes, but it didn’t help the sensation. Her mind, her body, and the sphere were inexorably linked.

Just as Tia was certain that she was going to completely lose her grip on reality, another blue-white flash heralded their arrival. The afterimage of the flash left her partially blind. She could barely make out a similar ring of stones to what was erected in Ethergate. Someone grabbed her by the arm and pushed something hard and round into her hands.

“Take this,” a voice said in her ear. “You’re going to need it.” Tia heard other voices offering similar advice to Wynn and Faxon. It took her a moment to realize that the object in her hands was a metal bucket. She managed a single step forward before a wave of nausea dropped her to her knees. Drenched in beads of cold sweat, she made use of the bucket she had been given. She heard retching behind her and knew that Wynn and Faxon were having an equally difficult time with the adjustment.

Powerful hands lifted her from under her arms and helped her walk to a cot along the wall. She was laid down and Tia had never been so thankful for a flat surface. She wasn’t sure if she laid there for minutes or hours, but eventually the horrible feeling of unreality passed and the sickness with it.

When she opened her eyes, she found Faxon standing over her, offering her a caramel from the pocket of his robes. She groaned and he gave her a half-smile.

“Trust me, the sugar will help.” He waited until she took the sweet and moved on to the next cot, offering Wynn a confection.

Tia unwrapped the caramel and chewed on it, trying not to focus on the roiling of her stomach. Within a few moments, she was feeling better enough to sit up, though standing was still out of the question. She pushed herself up on the cot, leaning against the wall. Faxon leaned against the wall between their cots and slid to the floor, drawing his knees up nearly to his chest.

“A little warning would have been nice,” Tia said. She wanted desperately to be angry with Faxon, but she didn’t have the energy.

“Sorry,” he replied, sounding just as tired and wrung out as she felt. “I was afraid that if I warned you about it, you’d have balked at coming. Or thought I was trying to scare you.”

“That was certainly not what I expected,” Wynn said weakly. He had managed to sit up, but was still looking extremely ill. Tia would tease him about practically anything, but not this.

“Be that as it may, we are in Overwatch now. The worst of it is over.” Faxon leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

“Well, if nothing else, it answers a question I’ve had since I learned about the gate,” Tia said, trying to find a positive thought to cling to.

“What’s that?” Faxon asked, without opening his eyes.

“Why the gate couldn’t be used to stage an attack. If that kind of reaction is universal...”

“It is,” Faxon assured her. “The only creatures on Solendrea not affected by gate sickness are the Pheen and they probably aren’t affected because they don’t need the gate to travel through the Quintessential Sphere. They can do it by innate ability.”

“What’s a Pheen?”

“Wynn?” Faxon passed the question off to his apprentice.

“The Pheen are an extraordinarily powerful race of magic users. They are bipedal, twelve to fourteen inches high, have wings, and two rows of teeth.”

“Tell her the rest,” Faxon said. Wynn wrinkled his nose.

“The rest is rumor and conjecture. The Pheen claim that they created Solendrea and every living thing on it. They claim that they remain as impartial observers. I think it's a load of horse apples. There are those, however, who take the sprites at their word.”

Tiadaria was not at all surprised that he took issue with the claim of world-building. For someone as eminently logical and rational as Wynn, the very thought of coexisting with the creators of the world must be about as natural as an eight-legged horse. In this particular instance, she was inclined to agree. She had a hard time believing that any race capable of preventing the Xarundi’s unstoppable thirst for violence would let them continue unchecked.

Faxon finally opened his eyes and struggled to his feet. “If you two can manage, we really need to get moving. We don’t have much time and we have a lot to do while we’re here in Overwatch.”

Tiadaria got experimentally to her feet. She was still a little wobbly, but it was manageable. Wynn was less than steady as well, but it seemed like they were ready to leave the gate room. The gate keepers sent them on with a nod and a wave toward the door. Tiadaria suspected that they needed to prepare for the next arrivals. Her next thought was wondering how much they got paid for performing this service. Whatever it was, it probably wasn’t nearly enough. Faxon led them down a short corridor and into the streets of Overwatch.

Tiadaria was used to Dragonfell, Blackbeach, and even Ethergate, where life in the cities slowed down greatly after sunset. If the activity in the streets of Overwatch was any indication, this city didn’t come to life until after the sun left the sky. The streets were packed with throngs of people in the most outlandish dress Tia had ever seen. Those first few moments of their stay in Overwatch reminded Tia that she had a lot to learn about the world she lived in.

It seemed that everywhere she turned, there was some creature, food, or thing that she had never seen before. She even caught sight of a Xarundi through the open door of a tavern, standing at the bar shoulder to shoulder with humans and at least one dwarf. She bridled at the sight and would have waded into the packed establishment ready for a fight if Faxon hadn’t restrained her.

“This isn’t the Imperium,” he shouted in her ear. He had to. The din in the street was nearly deafening. “The rules are different here.”

Different rules or not, Tiadaria wanted to get into that tavern. Faxon prevented her from causing a scene by taking her by the arm and guiding her, somewhat forcefully, through the crowded streets. She managed to catch a glimpse of Wynn trailing behind them. He looked absolutely terrified. Tia wasn’t sure if he had seen the Xarundi, or if this was just his natural reaction to the insanity unraveling around them.

They turned down a side street that was slightly less crowded than the main avenue leading from Overwatch’s gate room. Now that they had a little more room to move, Tia wrenched her arm free of Faxon’s grasp. Getting back to the tavern now would be an exercise in futility. She’d have to bide her time, but she would find that Xarundi and ensure that it didn’t leave Overwatch. She was furious with Faxon and this time she wasn’t just going to let it slide. There was no reason for one of those creatures to be allowed to live...and sitting with humans as if it belonged there, no less!

There was little she could do about it now, so as she followed Faxon through the twisting streets and alleys, she focused on the myriad of details that was assaulting her every sense. Brightly colored enchanted lanterns were strung on strings across the streets, throwing circles of light in all directions and casting weird shadows that seemed to have a life of their own.

The din was constant, the noises of a hundred taverns, bars, way houses, and brothels all combining to form a low and constant drone that made it difficult to think, much less hold a conversation. Several times they passed doorways and caught fragments of shouted conversations between patrons. More often than not, these fragments weren’t fit for polite company.

The trio ascended a flight of stone steps so long that by the time they reached the top, Tia’s thighs were burning and both she and Wynn were out of breath. As Faxon let them pause a moment at the top to rest, Tiadaria realized that the noise had faded with their long ascent. She peered over the wall, delighted to find that the entire lower city was laid out for her to see, its bright colors and noisy revelry easily observed from this distance.

“Wynn, come look at this,” she said, motioning to the young Apprentice. He came to her side and looked down. Wynn made a peculiar gulping noise and backed hastily away from the wall. Tia turned to see him standing as far away from the wall as the upper landing would allow, his face white. She rolled her eyes.

“Wait, don’t tell me, let me guess. You’re afraid of heights?” Tia sighed, her exasperation with the young mage reaching new levels. She backed up against the wall, planted her hands atop it, and hoisted herself up, turning so that her legs hung in the open air over the lower city.

Wynn gave a strangled cry and Tiadaria looked over her shoulder to see Faxon shaking his head, one palm to his forehead.

“Will you please stop trying to give my apprentice a heart attack and come on?”

Tiadaria stuck out her lower lip, but turned neatly on her bottom and dropped off the wall. There was another short staircase that lead them into the heart of the upper city. After a few minutes walking from the lower city overlook, Faxon lead them to the entryway of the most ornate inn she had ever seen. He held up a hand.

“Remember, you are a slave,” he pointed a finger at Tiadaria. “Act like it. And you are my servant boy. Remember your parts. I don’t want any undue attention while we’re here.”