The Swordmage Trilogy: Volume 02 - The Darkest Hour (3 page)

             
“Yes, yes,” she said impatiently. “I understand. But how long to ride from Blackbeach to Ethergate?”

             
He peered at her with his watery brown eyes for a long moment before he replied. “I’d reckon about two weeks, My Lady.”

             
“Are there smaller versions of this map? One I could borrow perhaps?”

             
Jotun went to a cabinet and produced a roll of parchment. Tia slipped the ribbon band off the end and unrolled it. It was a perfect copy of the map she had laid out, right down to the bends of each river. The only thing it lacked was the rich colors of the original. She suspected that the copy was meant to be functional, where the original was obviously a display piece. She re-rolled the parchment and slipped the ribbon down over it.

             
“Thank you, Master Jotun,” she smiled at him and his eyes crinkled with happiness. “You’ve been most helpful.”

             
“My pleasure, Lady Tia. My pleasure.”

             
She lingered long enough to replace the map that she had spread on the table and then departed the library, going directly to the stables. Nightwind nickered as she approached and she clucked her tongue to appease the animal.

             
“Easy now, lovey,” she said quietly as she took down her saddle and bags from the pegs near the stall. “We’re off on an adventure.”

             
Tiadaria quickly fitted the accoutrements to Nightwind’s well-muscled body and eased him out of the stall, leading him by the reins until they were outside the stables. With the ease of much practice, she hefted herself from one stirrup, swinging her leg over and settling herself into the saddle.

             
It was nearing dinner time and the sun was sinking low behind the mountains in the west. Traveling in the dark didn’t bother Tiadaria, as sphere-sight was just about as good as being able to see in the dark, but Nightwind didn’t care for it at all. He hesitated at her spur, and then reluctantly trotted onto the cobble road that would lead them out of Blackbeach.

             
Tia smiled. Faxon would catch up with her at Ethergate, she was sure. That was if he didn’t catch up to them on the road. It served him right to be left behind, she thought, still smoldering over the incident with the fire. She leaned in close to Nightwind’s neck and spurred him into a run, delighting in the spring air that swept her hair back as they plunged headlong into the twilight.

Zarfensis sat on a rough-hewn bench outside the cathedral. Since being stripped of his rank and shunned by the pack council, he was no longer permitted to enter the holy places. Only his status and years of service to the Shadow Assembly had prevented him from being excommunicated from the Chosen entirely.

The cavern was empty, as was much of the Warrens since the failed attack on the Human Imperium. The heavy weight of the blame placed on him by the majority of the Chosen settled over his shoulders like a shroud. He deserved every bit of that blame, he knew.

              The intervening years had done nothing to lessen the anger and shame that their defeat had brought. If anything, his need to go back and even the score had grown with each passing day. His leg itched abominably. He wanted nothing more than to give it a long, hard scratch. A feat that would have been considerably easier had it not been the leg he had lost to infection after the battle.

             
His crutch leaned up against the wall beside him, mocking him. He eyed it, growling softly, ears twitching in agitation. He knew the others viewed it as a sign of weakness. Without a leg, he had very limited mobility. Without his mobility, he was vulnerable. Though he was crippled, he was still a formidable opponent, which was why no one had challenged his decision to remain in the Warrens, even though he had been stripped of his customary duties.

There was a scrabbling of claws on the rock behind him and a pup appeared from the doorway. She was one of the recent litters, the Chosen born after the attack. The younger generation were the ones more likely to ignore his shunning. While the youngsters recognized the authority of the pack council, they also bridled against the heavy restrictions the elders had placed them under.

The pup was a thin thing, slight and gaunt from malnutrition. Her voice was a high pitched whine that went right to the base of the High Priest’s skull.

             
“Your Holiness?”

             
“Yes, whelp?”

             
“The technician is here. He wishes to see you.”

             
Zarfensis growled deep in his throat, his ears flattening back against his head. The whelp took a step back and he quickly controlled his agitation. It wasn’t her fault he had lost his leg. Nor was it her fault that he was desperate enough to call this thieving, hairless vermin into the Warren and guarantee his safety.

             
“Very well,” Zarfensis said. “Bring him to me, quickly.”

             
“Yes, Your Holiness.”

             
The pup bowed deeply and disappeared, reappearing a moment later with a creature no more than two feet tall. Its skin was dark as sackcloth and its eyes were enormous black pools that seemed to drink in the slightest light and trap it forever.

             
The hands, Zarfensis thought. These were the hands that would make him whole again. The fingers were long and slender, tapering to pointed tips. They were ideal for working on all manner of machinery. The gnome’s ears disturbed the High Priest, almost to the point of revulsion. Naked skin, they stuck out from the sides of the head, tilted forward to catch the minutest sound. All in all a repugnant creature.

             
To be beholden to such a creature would be a shame of its own, but if the technician could make him whole again, perhaps he could lead the Xarundi back from their teetering existence.

             
The gnome slipped the pack off his shoulder, dropping it to the floor with a metallic clatter.

             
“I am to be called Greneks,” the gnome said, pointing a long slender finger at his own chest.

             
“Very well, Greneks,” Zarfensis replied. “Have you brought what I’ve asked for?”

             
“No, no. Nothing to bring.” The gnome nodded vigorously. “First there is work to be done. Measurements to take. Drawings to make. All manner of things to discover before the making, yes?”

             
Zarfensis’s dug his claws into the palms of his hands. He had thought that the gnome would bring him a device ready to be fitted. This only served to compound his frustration.

             
“How long will the making take?” Zarfensis’s growl would have been a dire warning to any other creature, but the gnome seemed unfazed.

             
“Not long, not long,” the gnome replied with more nodding. “There is the finding and gathering to do, then the making. A day or two, maybe less. The device must fit perfectly. Otherwise, you are vulnerable. The High Priest cannot be vulnerable. This is the reason for the device, yes?”

             
That this lowly creature could so easily see Zarfensis’s urgent need to be whole raised the Xarundi’s ire. His eyes blazed with blue fire as he contemplated killing the technician and finding another way to attain his goal. He slowly regained control of his temper. The technician came highly recommended. Bringing him to the Warrens and sneaking him inside had cost a small fortune. He could put up with the aggravation for a time.

             
“Proceed,” the High Priest growled through clenched jaws.

             
The gnome steepled his long fingers under his chin and looked at the Xarundi, cocking his head this way and that, murmuring to himself. Without another word, he unrolled his tool roll and selected implements unfamiliar to Zarfensis. The tape was for measuring he knew, but the High Priest was wary of the object that appeared to be a curved metal wishbone. It reminded him of the pincers that, heated red hot, they sometimes used to extract information from the vermin.

             
Stretching the tape between his hands, the gnome approached Zarfensis, whose ears flicked back against his head. A warning snarl curled his lips. The gnome clucked his tongue.

             
“Now, now,” he said. “The measurements must be taken and must be precise. You want your device, yes?”

             
Without waiting for permission, or even acknowledgment, the gnome climbed up on the bench next to Zarfensis. He wrapped the tape around the stump, muttering to himself. The calipers he used to measure the distance to the center of the limb. He took a thin book from his back pocket, produced a stylus from another, and began scratching out his notations.

             
The measurement process continued. The gnome had him stand up, sit down, kneel, crouch, and bend. Every new set of measurements grating more against the High Priest’s already taught nerves until he felt as if he were ready to explode. The entire process took far too long.

             
Finally, when Zarfensis was sure he could bear no more, the gnome announced that the measurements were finished. He hopped down off the bench and tucked his tools back in the roll. The roll was then quickly bound and thrown over the technician’s shoulder.

             
The gnome steepled his fingers under his chin again, giving Zarfensis such a long and measured look that the High Priest’s patience finally snapped.

             
“Well?” he demanded. “You have your measurements! Speak!”

             
“I have the measurements,” Greneks replied, unperturbed by the outburst. “Now comes the finding. You’ll take me to your workshop now?”

             
A cold surge of dread crept out from the base of Zarfensis’s spine. The Xarundi had workshops, true, but they were utilitarian things and raw materials were exceedingly difficult to come by. Especially these days, as the elders had forbidden trading with anyone outside the Warrens, even the other races of the Shadow Assembly.

             
“We have a workshop,” he replied, his tongue snaking out to lick his muzzle. A nervous habit. “But we have no materials.”

             
“Nonsense,” Greneks replied. “Every people have materials, they just haven’t been found yet. Lead on, please.”

             
Zarfensis had grave doubts that the gnome would find anything of use in the Xarundi’s workshops. While some of the younger Chosen had slowly accepted the encroachment of technology that seemed to be creeping across Solendrea, most of the elders still held to the belief that claw and fang couldn’t be improved upon by gears and springs. Even so, to give up now would be to admit defeat. He might as well throw himself into the darkness under the cathedral.

             
With some effort he got to his foot, shoving the crutch under his arm. Every step he took fueled the fire of his rage. He hated having to rely on the crutch. He hated feeling vulnerable and weak. He hesitated and the gnome gestured impatiently for the High Priest to lead the way.

             
The corridors of the Warrens were not easy to navigate in his condition. The passages were made for padded feet and claw to find purchase and the tip of the crutch often slipped one direction or the other, forcing Zarfensis to fight for his balance. Their descent was agonizingly slow, but they eventually entered the lower caverns where the workshops were located. They were fortunate that the Chosen were so reduced in number. They encountered no one else on their way to the workshop.

             
Greneks, appearing from the tunnel behind Zarfensis, squealed with delight and dashed past the startled Xarundi and through the archway into the first of several workshops spread out along the cavern wall.

             
When Zarfensis managed to catch up, he found the technician climbing head first into a trash bin. With only his ankles visible, the gnome chattered away to himself, the bin making the sound echo hollowly.

             
An arm appeared, tossing debris out of the bin. The High Priest couldn’t imagine what the gnome wanted with these long broken machines, but he remained silent. Before long, the gnome climbed out of the container and dashed down the cavern to the next workshop. There he climbed into another bin of discards.

             
Twice more Greneks repeated the performance. Each item he tossed items out of the bins and into a pile. Still in the last bin, the technician’s head popped up over the side and he grinned, a wide smile stretching from ear to bat-like ear.

             
“So many treasures!” he said happily. “Much material to work with. You will have your device, yes.”

             
"When will you begin?" Zarfensis asked. He was tired and his arm was sore from leaning on the crutch too long and too often.