The Swordmage Trilogy Bundle, Volumes 1-3 (56 page)

A new day was beginning.

“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.

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 devices.”

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.