The Swordmage Trilogy: Volume 02 - The Darkest Hour (13 page)

             
Now fully armed, a savage smile crept across Tiadaria’s face. She sprang over the bed like a striking snake, sailing into the hallway. Her blades flashed downward as she passed through the highest point in the arc. Wounded or not, the Xarundi was fast. It brought its claws up and intersected her blades, pushing them aside and knocking her askew.

             
Tia landed hard on her side and struggled to keep the breath in her lungs. The Xarundi was on her again in an instant. It made to fall on top of her, pinning her under its weight. As it fell, she drew back both legs and kicked out, feeling the power flow through her. Her feet connected with the beast’s chest and she heard the dull cracking of its ribs.

             
Playing off the momentum of that charged kick, she rolled backward in a somersault, her blades angled outward to avoid doing any unpleasant damage to her own body. Coming up on her feet, she flung one blade forward and drew the other back, falling into a favorite position of the Captain’s. The one he had called the viper.

             
Savage, but not particularly stupid, the Xarundi bounded past her with a snarl. Tia turned to pursue, but the beast had leapt out through the ragged hole in the wall of the common room, calling loudly for what she could only imagine would be more wolfish reinforcements. The inn momentarily secured, she went to the crowd clustered against the wall.

             
Tia was relieved to see that Harold, though bloodied, was sitting up against the wall. His eyes were open, but he was very pale. She brandished one blade toward the hole in the wall and he nodded, giving her a feeble smile. Tia exited the inn the same way her enemy had.

             
What little she could see on the street was pandemonium. Most of the lights had been torn down, and casting her eyes quickly skyward, she saw that the moon and stars had been blotted out by a shifting, inky blackness. She shifted into sphere-sight long enough to confirm that the phenomenon was magical in nature and then dismissed it. It didn’t seem dangerous in any way other than as a tactical liability.

             
A scream from the end of the street grabbed her and she turned to see another Xarundi cut down a pretty young woman. The scream abruptly ended as her top half was nearly severed from her bottom. The beast turned on Tia, its blue eyes glowing with unholy fire. It made to run her down, but Tiadaria was already running toward it. Her arm flashed out and the enchanted steel of her blade slid easily into the Xarundi’s body, hilt deep. She twisted the blade and pulled it free, watching the fire in its eyes to go dark. Assured that it was dead, she stepped into the street and glanced one way, then the other.

             
It was impossible to tell how many Xarundi were loose in Ethergate. The city guard had mustered and were combing the streets, three abreast. At least their armor would give them a better chance against the beasts than unarmed commoners. For a city full of mages, Tiadaria had yet to see one amidst the fighting. Granted, she had only just come to the party, but she would have thought that the quints would be more alert to the defense of their city.

             
A shout from up ahead sounded familiar and Tia bounded up the street to find Wynn backed up against the wall by a pair of Xarundi. One stood nearly eight feet tall and its companion was only a foot shorter.

             
“Tia!” Wynn shouted. “Help!”

             
The larger of the Xarundi whirled and Tiadaria was struck by two thoughts almost simultaneously. The first was that she had seen this Xarundi before. She could see it standing on the battlefield at Dragonfell before the quints had blasted it halfway across the valley. The second thought, the one that her brain had trouble coping with, was the fact that the creature had a massive metal leg grafted onto its thigh. The absurdity of that thought gave her just enough pause that the Xarundi got the drop on her.

             
With a brassy howl, the larger of the Xarundi began to chant in their guttural language. Tia felt the coldness of the mist coalescing at her feet and leapt away from the spell’s influence. Yes, she had definitely faced this Xarundi once before. The smaller of the pair was still menacing Wynn, so she decided to deal with that one first.

             
Slipping into sphere-sight, she jumped forward, her blades crossed. The larger of the beasts tried to intercept her, but she was too quick. Tia whipped the blades outward, parting the monster’s head from its neck and kicking the body away from Wynn. Even in the dim light, he was as pale as milk.

             
“Now would be a good time to fight, Wynn.”

             
Tia didn’t have time to expand on that comment, for the Xarundi with the metal leg was casting another spell. She bounced toward it, intent on cutting its throat and ending its magic. The metal leg flashed up, impossibly fast, and caught her in the side. This time, it was her own ribs she heard crack and she crumpled into the street, rolling away from the Xarundi. Breathing hurt and she had to force herself to get out of the vulnerable position she was in.
Get up! Get up! Get up!
She heard the Captain’s relentless command as surely as if he were standing next to her.
You’re a fighter! Fight!

             
Tia circled the Xarundi, looking for an opening to press the attack. Suddenly she found all the air gone from her lungs. She fought to breathe and was unable to even gasp. In the moment it had taken her to get reoriented after the savage kick, the Xarundi had managed to wrap her in the suffocating grip of his magic. A ridiculous thought flashed through Tia’s air starved mind. This Xarundi was going to kill her and Wynn was just going to stand there and watch her die. She tried to struggle against the powerful magic holding her but was unable to concentrate enough to call on the power of the sphere.

             
Her hands went weak and the scimitars dropped to the ground. She felt herself lifted by an invisible hand around her throat, the toes of her boots dangling an inch above the street. Tiadaria prepared herself to die. Her vision was starting to go gray around the edges and flashes of light were dancing across her eyes. She wondered if this was how the Captain felt just before the end.

             
There was a brilliant flash and it took her a moment to realize she could breathe again. The pain in her chest was excruciating, but she forced herself to take one deep breath after another, filling her starving lungs. Another flash seared her vision and she realized that these weren’t from her near suffocation. The quintessentialists had rallied and were sending magic missiles at her attacker. Two quints had rounded the corner at the end of the street and were casting as fast as they could speak the words of power. The Xarundi fought back, answering their magic projectiles with dark, seething missiles of his own.

             
Tia picked up her scimitars and glanced at Wynn. He was still backed against the wall, paralyzed with fear. The quints were losing ground to the Xarundi and she waded into the fray, her blades slicing the air toward the beast’s good leg. He caught the descending blade easily with his claws and threw it off, hitting her with a pulsing wave of magical energy that knocked her backward into the street.

             
The Xarundi whirled and grabbed Wynn, hauling him up by the collar and using him as a shield. The quints tried to flank their enemy but were unable to get a shot that wouldn’t harm Wynn as well. As he turned his shield to face his attackers, the Xarundi turned his back on Tiadaria. A momentary advantage was all she needed, and she sprang forward. The beast whirled, its claws extended, but Tia dropped and slid, screaming as her cracked ribs grated against each other. She drew her blade across the living leg as she slid. Blood spilled on the cobblestones.

             
She had hoped to sever the tendons behind the knee, but she missed. Fortunately, the resulting gash was deep enough that the Xarundi howled in pain and rage and tossed Wynn aside. Tia heard flesh tear as the creature’s claws raked down the young man’s face as he fell. Tia didn’t have a chance to check on Wynn, instead she danced into striking range, intending to strike a killing blow to the creature who had been responsible for the Captain’s death.

             
The Xarundi knocked the attacking quints away with another spell burst. He caught her around the throat. There was no invisible grasp this time. He had her in is very real, very dangerous hand. He lifted her easily over his head. Other quintessentialists had appeared from either side of the street, converging on her captor. Tia wanted to shout at them to kill them both, but she couldn’t do more than croak.

             
Its eyes locked on hers, the blue fire searing into her soul. When it spoke, its harsh rendition of the common tongue sent chills up her spine. “I am Zarfensis, High Priest of the Xarundi, Chosen of the Shadow Assembly, and I will see you dead, Swordmage. I swear it.”

             
Zarfensis threw her into the wall that Wynn had been backed against and her head rocked back. Just before she passed out, she saw the Xarundi close the distance to the quintessentialists in two astounding leaps. He slammed into the tight-knit group, tossing them aside like so many rag dolls. The monstrous beast disappeared into the darkness.

             
Wynn lay a few feet away, the left side of his face a ruin of blood and torn flesh. Tia’s stomach churned when she saw that his eye was gone. She coughed and tasted copper on her tongue. Her chest hurt so badly and fighting for breath was becoming harder.

             
Tia tried to call for help but couldn’t make the words come. Lying there in the street, her outstretched fingers nearly touching Wynn’s, she slipped into blackness.

Outside Ethergate, the eleven remaining Xarundi gathered in the gathering light of day. Chrin’s maw was a mass of blood and gore. Most of his nose was gone, bare cartilage exposed by the flashing blade of the Swordmage’s scimitar.

Zarfensis struggled with his metal leg. The gnome had told him that it would need to be recharged periodically with runedust. The High Priest had fished about in his belt pouch only to find that the vial of dust that he had been carrying for
that purpose had been shattered during the fighting. He pried the chamber open and poured as much of the dust as he could scrape out of the pouch into the leg. It helped some, but the journey back to the Warrens would be a slow one.

“That’s twice,” Chrin snarled. “That the vermin have bested us, High Priest.”

“I don’t know that they bested us, Chrin. We lost four of our brothers, but we killed scores of vermin, including their magic users, and we gained a valuable ally. The gargoyle gave us the means to summon him at our will and will be uniquely suited to providing information we cannot hope to obtain elsewhere.”

The warrior glared at him, saying nothing.

“I know it goes against our nature to flee from vermin,” Zarfensis said. “All I ask is that you trust me a little longer. Wars aren’t always won with the first battle.”

Chrin thought about that for a moment and then nodded slowly.
He turned and began trudging through the predawn light, the warriors falling into formation behind him. They’d find somewhere safe to sleep the day away and start mending their wounds. Then they would return to the Warrens and plan their next attack. The Swordmage would fall. Zarfensis would see to that personally.

* * *

              The infirmary, normally ample space for the sick or wounded of Ethergate, was crammed full to bursting. Normally there were beds for half a dozen patients, spread out from each other so that the healers and clerics could do their work. The surprise attack on the city had left them with five times that many injured and so many dead that the city guard had moved some of the bodies into an unused storeroom across from the brokerage. Someone had proposed a mass grave, but was met with such vocal resistance that the idea had been summarily dismissed.

             
Dawn had brought with it the full reality of the night’s horrors. In the cold light of day, there were many reminders of how narrowly they had survived. Buildings were damaged or in some cases, burned out hulks. Crimson stained the streets and in many places the heavy stench of blood and offal still hung on the air. The guards had gone from door to door, as much to catalog any wounded or dead as to assure themselves that no Xarundi, living or dead, remained in the city. The four monsters they had killed had been dragged outside the city walls and set to burn. Many had gathered to witness the disposal, looking on in grim silence.

             
Wynn looked out the window near Tia’s bed. A pair of healers carrying a litter dashed by. Curls of lazy smoke climbed into the sky from within the city and without. He wondered how long it would take them all to recover. He looked down at Tiadaria. She might have been sleeping, except that the healers had said she took a nasty blow to the head. That had happened after he had been knocked out. There was hushed talk that she might never wake, but he refused to believe such nonsense. She was strong, a fierce warrior. Unlike the coward he was. Tia had to wake, he thought savagely. They needed her. He needed her.