The Swordmage Trilogy: Volume 02 - The Darkest Hour (21 page)

“I understand your urgency, High Priest,” the
cleric said to him when they stopped. “But the warriors need food. They cannot keep up this pace indefinitely and we will be entering the snowy wastes soon.”

Zarfensis nodded. “I understand. We’ll stop here for the day. There’s still some time before dawn for hunting and we will hunt again in the evening before we depart. Will that be adequate for our needs?”

The cleric nodded, obviously relieved. “Yes, Your Holiness.”

“Very good. See to the warriors.”

As the cleric and the others were seeking a suitable place for a temporary warren, Zarfensis climbed to the top of the nearest ridge and gazed out across the land. Far to the south he could see a thin smudge of smoke crawling into the predawn sky. That would be the Swordmage and her companions. They’d be hard pressed to make up the distance during the day, even if they pushed themselves to the very limits of their endurance. He turned and looked to the north.

“We’re coming to find you,” he said to himself. “We’ll rescue you from the vermin.”

The ground under his feet trembled, as if the earth itself was answering his barely spoken vow. Surely this was a sign, a portent of their victory to come. The shaman came racing up the ridge from below, his fur puffed out in alarm.             

“Your Holiness! Are you alright?”

“Quite, thank you. The earth trembles in anticipation of our victory. The relic calls to us and we must heed its call. Return to the warriors and bid them good hunting, then rest.”

“As you command, High Priest.” The shaman bowed and descended, much less urgently than he had appeared. Zarfensis again turned his eyes to the northern horizon, hoping to see some sign that would lead him to the relic and their salvation.

He remained on the ridge until the sun crested the eastern hills, then followed his nose to the temporary warren the warriors had hastily constructed under a fallen tree. Zarfensis curled up beside them and slept.

* * *

             
Tiadaria woke to Faxon’s discordant snoring. It was so loud and pervasive that, for a moment, she thought the hunter’s hut might be under attack by some sort of wild animal. She glanced at Wynn’s cot and found it empty, stripped of his bedroll. His pack and staff were gone as well. If he had snuck back off to Ethergate, she was going to kill him. She threw back her cover and dressed quickly, shrugging into her armor and not bothering to buckle her sword belt. Jamming her feet into her boots, she opened the door just enough to slip through and stepped into the crisp morning air.

             
Wynn was standing next to a modest fire, his back to her. He had fashioned a trestle table of sorts out of a few logs and some long willowy branches. He had a map spread out on his makeshift table and was immersed in whatever he saw there. Now that she knew he hadn’t abandoned them in the middle of the night, she was much calmer. Tia circled her waist with the belt, pulling it tight around her midriff and threading it through the buckle. The jingle of the hardware caught Wynn’s attention and he turned to watch as she descended the steps from the hut and came to stand next to him.

             
She gently nudged him out of the way with her hip, making room for herself at the foot of the map he had spread out. He had been making notes and annotations during their journey, which pleased her. Tia didn’t care for his choice of ink though. The crimson letters and figures reminded her entirely too much of blood. She shuddered involuntarily.

             
“Are you cold?” Wynn asked. “I can throw more wood on the fire.”

             
“I’m fine,” she said with a smile for his consideration. “What are you looking at?”

             
“Trying to find a way to get the advantage back.” He tapped the map, calling her attention to freshly scrawled notes. “This is the pass where we met Exile. I’m fairly certain that the Xarundi are on the other side. They won’t be traveling during the day, and when they set out tonight, they’re going to have rough going.”

             
Wynn traced his finger up through the pass until it intersected with a deep ravine that ran the length of the ridge. The Xarundi would have to descend into the ravine and then up the other side to cross it. Tia frowned. That meant that they would have to do the same.

             
“Well, that certainly doesn’t help us any,” she said, frowning.

             
“No, it doesn’t. But this might.” Wynn traced a different path along the ridge to a wider pass to the east. “It's much further out of the way and not a straight path, but I think with the time they’re going to spend trekking down into that ravine and back out again, we’ll still catch up, if not overtake them.”

             
“Not a good idea, Wynn.”

             
“Why not? It’s more distance, but less time, I’m sure of it.”

             
Tia shook her head. “That might be true, but the distance isn’t the problem.” She traced an irregular circle around the eastern pass with the tip of her finger. “This area is completely lawless. There are mercenaries, highwaymen, and who knows what else along that stretch of the pass. The clans won’t go near it. It’s
bannash
. Forbidden.”

             
Wynn shrugged. “The notes say that it’s just as safe as the other pass.”

             
“Geographically, maybe,” Tiadaria conceded. “Or if your notes were written by brigands and thieves. That word,
bannash
...my people don’t use it lightly.”

             
“What’s forbidden?” Faxon asked, coming out of the hut and cracking his back so loudly that Wynn blanched.

             
“Wynn found an alternate route, but it’s too dangerous.” Tia tapped the map. “The direct route might take longer, but it’s less likely to get us killed.”

             
Wynn snorted, stepping aside so that Faxon could take his place at the table. “I think the three of us can handle ourselves, don’t you agree, Faxon? This is the route I propose.” Wynn showed him the pass and explained the time difference between Tia’s plan and his own. “If we want to catch up to the Xarundi, this makes the most sense.”

             
“Except for the fact that you’re not adding time for us to be murdered,” Tia said derisively. “There’s a reason the clans won’t pass through there.”

             
“The clans don’t usually travel with two trained quintessentialists and a Swordmage, Tiadaria.” Faxon said, somewhat coolly. “I hardly think that whatever dangers there are on Wynn’s route will be enough to slow us for long. We’ll take the eastern pass.”

             
Tia sighed, shaking her head. “You’re making a mistake, both of you.”

             
“Come on, Tia,” Faxon said with half a grin. “Wynn proposed the route, do you really think he’d put himself somewhere that he’d have to fight?”

             
Tiadaria wasn’t sure what bothered her more, that Faxon had said it, or that Wynn looked absolutely stricken about it. He was standing behind his mentor, so Faxon couldn’t see the effect his words had, but she certainly could and her heart hurt for the young apprentice. Wynn might be older than her in years, but in many ways he was still a boy enough to need acceptance.

“Faxon--”

The quintessentialist held up his hand. “Tia, I understand your concerns and they’re noted. The potential gain is worth the risk. We’re going to follow the route that Wynn laid out for us so nicely. Let’s get packed up and get moving.”

Tia just shook her head. For a moment, she thought about telling Faxon exactly what she thought of his comment about Wynn and what he could do with his plan, but it wouldn’t do her any good. As hurt as Wynn looked by Faxon’s words, outwardly contradicting his mentor could drive him away too, and they couldn’t afford to alienate each other.

              Faxon returned to the hut. Tiadaria let out some of her anger by aggressively kicking dirt into the fire ring. Wynn folded up his map and tucked it in his pack, then stood and watched Tia dismantle the dying fire.

             
“Tia--”

             
“He shouldn’t have said that,” she snapped savagely, kicking a clod of dirt hard enough that it sailed over the ring and into the bushes behind. “Why didn’t you say something?”

             
“He didn’t mean it.” Wynn shrugged. “And it’s not my place.”

             
“I’ll make it my place.”

             
“Tia,” Wynn said softly. “Please? Just let it go. I’m fine.”

             
She whirled on him so quickly that he took a step back, nearly falling over his table of logs.

             
“You weren’t fine when he said it. I saw you.”

             
“I know.”

             
Tia stared at him for a moment, shaking her head. “Fine!” She threw her hands up and stormed into the hut. A moment later she emerged with her pack in one hand and her bedroll in the other. She was shoving the blanket and her sleep sack into the pack as she walked, muttering under her breath.

             
Wynn knew better than to get in her way when she stomped past him. He made sure the last of the embers were covered in the fire ring and then picked up his own pack. Following Tiadaria at what he thought was a safe distance, he followed her to the east. Faxon would catch up with him, Wynn was sure. He wasn’t so sure about Tiadaria. She was walking so fast that the distance between them was growing by the minute.

             
Faxon did, in fact, eventually catch up with him. When he did, he didn’t ask about Tiadaria or the fact that she was a distant smudge on the horizon. That was just as well. Wynn really didn’t want to talk about it. They walked in silence for the better part of the morning and the sun was near its zenith when they caught up to Tiadaria. She was seated under a tree on the side of the path with her knees curled up to her chest, eating an apple.

             
It was to Faxon’s credit, Wynn thought, that he said nothing to Tia when they found her. The quintessentialist just waited for her to get to her feet and then the three of them walked between the high walls of the eastern pass.

             
Tiadaria had never been particularly bothered by enclosed spaces, and certainly this path between the rock faces was far more spacious than the Narrow Pass, which had originally been their destination. Even so, as they walked deeper into the pass, she began to feel the weight of the stone on both sides and the ever growing distance to the open end of the pass and relative safety.

             
The path itself was about forty feet wide with steeply sloping walls that reached up twenty or so feet on either side. The perfect place to lie low and drop rocks on unsuspecting travelers, she thought. She had a sudden and vivid vision of laying on the ground with her skull cracked open and blood trickling out of her ears. Shaking her head, Tia focused on any other thought but that one.

             
The tension that existed between the three of them now had nothing to do with Faxon’s treatment of Wynn and any slights that might have existed, real or imaginary. Now the only conflict between them was the very palpable feeling that they all wanted to be on the other side of the pass as quickly as possible. They were about halfway through, by Faxon’s estimation, when Tiadaria felt it. It was the unmistakable weight of eyes.

             
“Faxon--” Tia’s hands hovered above the hilts of her swords, not sure if drawing steel or remaining casual would be the better course of action.

             
“I know. I feel it too.”

             
“This is a hell of a time to be able to say I told you so.” Tiadaria drew steel, the ring of her blades echoing off the sides of the pass.

             
Up ahead, the high rock walls dipped to no more than ten feet above the path. That’s where they poured into the pass when they came, the ragged band of vagabonds who rushed at them with sword and spear and crossbow.

             
Fleetingly, Tiadaria was glad that they had sent the horses away. Terrorized animals in this confined space would have killed them before the battle even started. They’d have been trampled to a pulp in minutes. As it was, they had time to dive to opposite walls. Tia ended up on the right, Wynn and Faxon on the left.

             
Her issues with the elder quintessentialist aside, Tiadaria had to admit that he lived up to his rank. He was truly a master of the arcane arts. As she was slipping into the sphere and preparing to attack, he had thrown a wave of magical energy forward, slamming into their foes and sending them sprawling like a child’s jackstraws.

             
Tia’s grip on the scimitars tightened and she felt the familiar burning in her palms and deep within her chest. Even as she drew her power from the sphere, it was stealing her life, little by little, drop by drop. The battlefield was no time to worry about mortality. With a warrior’s roar, she leapt high in the air, propelled forward and up by her own type of magic. She twisted in the air, flipping over the heads of the opposing force and landing behind their line. They had recovered quickly.