Chapter One

A thin green tendril snaked upward out of the earth. It slithered toward its prey, silent and unnoticed. The constriction started as a gentle squeeze, increasing rapidly as it took hold, threatening to choke the life out of its chosen victim.

Tiadaria grasped the weed just above the root and yanked it out of the ground. She shook the dirt from the bundle before tossing it over her shoulder into a growing pile on the cobblestone pathway. Spring had come to the Imperium and already birds were singing in the trees at the edge of the fence that circled the cottage.

Winter had been cold and dark, with the loss of the Captain being harder to bear during the bleakness of the frozen months.

Still, with time, the sharp pain of loss had been reduced to a dull ache. Two years had passed since that fateful night on the battlefield outside of Dragonfell. The events of that night had forever changed her, but as that first winter had changed into spring, she found the loss easier to bear than she would have imagined. The time she spent in Dragonfell after his death had helped immensely. This past winter had been easier still. She supposed it was true; time heals all wounds.

She still felt the Captain’s presence in a very real way around the cottage. Although she was frequently called to Blackbeach or Dragonfell on Imperium business, she had no desire to live anywhere but King’s Reach or the little home she had inherited from her former mentor. A new constable and magistrate kept things quiet in the tiny hamlet and it was a welcome respite from the constant flurry of activity in the capital.

There was a creak from the end of the path and Tiadaria was instantly alert. The gate hinge was left unoiled for precisely that reason. It was an innocuous warning, a first line of defense against anyone who might seek to sneak up on her. True, they could just jump the fence, but even King’s Reach, so far from the heart of the Imperium, was mostly civilized.

The man who stood at the end of the path was tall and lanky. His curly brown hair peeked out from under the wide-brimmed hat he wore pulled down over his eyes, casting a shadow over his face. He wore a dirt-stained coverall and was stooped over, a common posture ailment for those who walked behind the plow. His dirty hands also lent credence to the image, but the little hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Something told her this was no simple farmer. She shifted into sphere-sight. It was second nature now. She cast out toward the man standing at the end of her path and inspected him in minute detail.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, Lady Tiadaria,” he said in a soft voice, very much at odds with his appearance. “I assure you that I am no threat to you. However, I suspect you’ve already allayed yourself of that worry.”

Tiadaria shifted her sight back to the physical realm. Her cool blue eyes ranged over him as she pushed herself to her knees, then to her feet. She brushed her palms against the thighs of her breeches, loosening the worst of the dirt that was caked on her hands. Her visitor didn’t seem concerned by her dirty attire and unkempt hair. The latter she twisted into a crude blond knot at the base of her neck.

“I don’t believe we’ve met

” She trailed off, silently prompting him for a name, since none had been offered.

“Cabot, Lady Tiadaria, with the Imperium Intelligence Service.” He glanced around and nodded to himself as if satisfied. “Do you think we could speak? Inside?”

Tiadaria led him into the little cottage, stopping only to fit a tiny brass key into the complicated lock set in the door. Cabot’s eyes widened slightly as the lock made its customary series of pops, snaps, and twangs before the key, turning on its own accord, unlocked the door. She pushed it open and gestured for Cabot to precede her into the common room.

“To what do I owe the honor of a visit by Imperium Intelligence, Cabot?” she asked, ushering him onto a stool by the long trestle table. There were neat stacks of parchment at the end of the table and the far wall had a myriad of maps pinned to it. Weapons and armor of all types hung from pegs around the room. Cabot’s awestruck expression was almost comical, but Tiadaria could forgive him that. It was an impressive room. It had been so when it was the Captain’s and it remained so under her care.

“My Lady”

“Tia is fine, Cabot.” She felt a little silly correcting someone several years her elder, but as he had made no attempt to drop the title, she did it for him.

“Tia then,” he said, inclining his head in thanks. “Master Faxon Indra at the Academy of Arcane Arts and Sciences sent me to you. He says it is of vital importance for you to have my full report. Since I’m on my way back out on assignment, Master Faxon asked me to visit you.”

If Faxon had sent Cabot to her, there must be something foul afoot. There was a standing joke between Tia and the quintessentialist that the only time Faxon summoned her to Blackbeach was when something horrible was about to happen. Or already in progress. She sighed.

“Alright then,” she said, slipping onto a stool and leaning forward over the table. “You’d better tell me all of it.”

“I’m afraid all of it isn’t very much.” Cabot spread his hands in a gesture of apology. “All we have to go on are rumors and hearsay. The Xarundi have apparently been licking their wounds and they are striking out again, attacking some of the smaller human settlements nearest to the Warrens. We know that they were badly fragmented after the battle at Dragonfell. We have a mole within the Shadow Assembly”

“Really?”

“Yes, Lady

I mean, Tia. We have several moles that have infiltrated the lower ranks of the Assembly. Most of them report to lower functionaries, which is part of the problem. There is talk that one of their seers has had a vision of a great and powerful artifact. Others dismiss this as rumor and misdirection. Either way, we don’t know what the artifact is, or where it might be.”

“But if the Xarundi are seeking it out, there’s a good chance that it doesn’t bode well for the Imperium. Or me.”

“Exactly. So Faxon”

“Wants me to get near enough the Warrens to see what’s going on and what we can do to stop it,” she finished for him. Cabot slowly shook his head.

“No, not exactly. He wants you to meet with him in Blackbeach so the two of you can go through the Great Library and see if there are any clues as to what the artifact might be and where the Xarundi could be looking for it.”

“Ugh,” Tiadaria groaned. “Research. What is it with quints and their research? I’ll take a blade in my hand over a book any day.”

Cabot smiled tolerantly. “I’m not inclined to disagree with you, Lady Tia.”

“If that’s all then?” Tiadaria pushed off the table and got to her feet, extending her hand to Cabot as he did the same. He grasped it tightly and smiled.

“I have nothing more,” he said. “It was nice to meet the heroine of Dragonfell in person, though. Not very often that a man gets to say that he was in the presence of greatness.”

“Oh stop it,” Tiadaria snapped, her cheeks burning red. “There were many on that battlefield that night.”

“True.” Cabot nodded. “But not many who laid out two score of Xarundi before the rest of us could find our daggers.”

“You were there?” She asked, touching his shoulder lightly.

“Aye, Lady.” He sighed. “A shame about the Captain, but he wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. May we all be so lucky when our time comes.”

“Indeed.” Tiadaria’s throat was tight, her chest aching.

Cabot seemed to shrug off his melancholy.

“Anyway, it was nice to meet you, My Lady. I’ll see myself out.”

Tiadaria stared after him long after he had slipped out through the exquisite door. She went to the window and watched him take the path away from the cottage with long strides, his farmer affectation a memory.

Cabot’s innocent remark had stung her in a tender place. How long, she wondered, would old ghosts continue to haunt her?

*

“Cabot found you then, I presume?” Faxon spoke to her without raising his eyes from the paper laid out in front of him. His chambers in the Great Tower were crammed, floor to ceiling, with books, sheaves of parchment, and all manner of contraption, both magical and mundane. Tiadaria had never been particularly claustrophobic, but walking into this man-made cave gave her vivid visions of the entire mass crashing down on them at any moment. She was already fairly disagreeable after a week on the road and his nonchalance wasn’t helping her disposition in the slightest.

Faxon gestured absently to a buried object in front of his desk that might have been a chair. Tiadaria lifted stacks of paper and looked for someplace to put them. She was completely at a loss. There was literally nowhere in the cramped room for her to put the pile down in any meaningful way.

“Faxon?”

“Hmmm?”

“Where should I put these?”

The quintessentialist finally looked up from the papers and seemed to really see Tiadaria for the first time. He looked from the chair to her hands and back again.

“Oh, right,” he pointed to the gently smoldering hearth in the corner of the room. “You can put them there. Yes, that will do fine.”

“Really?” Tiadaria looked from the papers to the fireplace, uncertain.

“Yes, yes.” He waved his hand, lost again in the paper spread out on his desk.

Tiadaria went to the hearth and shifted the papers into the crook of one arm. She prodded the glowing coals to life and then tossed the entire sheaf into the fireplace. It took a moment, but the edges of the paper began to blacken. Before long, orange tongues of flame licked up around the edges and the fire started burning in earnest.

“What are you doing?” Faxon cried, leaping to his feet, toppling his chair backwards. He rushed to the hearth, his face contorted into a mask of alarm.

“What you told me to do!” Tiadaria shouted, dropping to one knee. She was about to reach into the flames when she heard Faxon’s rumble of laughter.

“Relax, Tiadaria,” he said, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “I was just teasing you.”

She brandished the poker at him, backing him against the wall. “You gremlin-eared, goblin-toed, stinking, filthy ice pig!”

Faxon threw his hands up in surrender, still laughing so hard that tears were streaming down his cheeks.

“Alright! Alright,” he said, getting himself under control. “Oh, but if you could have seen the look on your face.”

Tiadaria shook the poker at him again, and then dropped it into the rack by the hearth. “Not funny, Faxon.”

“On that, young Tiadaria, we will have to agree to disagree. However, scarring you for life wasn’t my intent in calling you here. I trust that Cabot filled you in on what we know?”

“What he knew of it. It seems to me that we don’t know as much as we need to.”

The quint nodded, leaning against the edge of his desk. “From what Cabot tells me, there are a number of Xarundi packs harrying the settlements around the Warrens, the few of them there are. It seems like they’ve recovered from the thrashing we gave them at Dragonfell and now they’re looking to expand as far and as fast as their furry little feet can carry them.”

“That’s not funny either, Faxon.”

“No,” he said, sobering abruptly. “It’s not. It is, however, the way things are. Add to that the rumor that they’re looking for something, but we don’t know what. I’ve been going over every record we have in the library and there are vague mentions of ancient Xarundi seeking out an object of great power in the icy wastes of the Frozen Frontier, but no concrete statement of what it is, or where it might be.”

“Surely the records here can’t be all we have to go on,” Tiadaria said uncertainly. “If there isn’t any information here, maybe there is in Dragonfell. I can go to the capital and”

“No need,” Faxon interrupted. “King Greymalkin had all the documents pertaining to magical history, theory, and such moved to here from Dragonfell. He felt that they were

safer

in the hands of those who were trained in the arts and sciences.”

Tiadaria wrinkled her nose. “In other words, he was afraid that a rogue mage would get hold of something nasty and do something horrid.”

“Something like that,” Faxon agreed. “Regardless, all the documents that refer to any magical relics are either here in Blackbeach or in Ethergate.”

“Ethergate?”

“Blackbeach isn’t the only quintessentialist city. It just happens to be the largest one in the Imperium. Ethergate is farther north, outside the Imperium’s borders. Here in Blackbeach, we deal with education and research. Ethergate deals more with practical application.”

Tiadaria ran her finger along the thin gray witchmetal collar around her neck. It was a habit she had developed as a former slave under the Captain’s care. Now it was a source of comfort when she was nervous or agitated. It helped temper the unknown with the familiar.

“So,” she finally said. “Ethergate is where you test the things that you don’t want the King to know about, or that you want to be able to disavow.”

The papers in the hearth had died back down to embers. Faxon took the poker and prodded them experimentally, watching them crumble to ash before he replied.

“Not officially,” he said at length. “But there are those quintessentialists who

shall we say bend the rules from time to time.”

Tiadaria laughed. “I’m surprised you don’t spend more of your time in Ethergate.”

“I used to, in my youth. Now my talents are better put to use here, shaping impressionable young minds. Like yours.”

Tia snorted. “Ha!”

There was a knock at the doorway and they turned to see a girl no older than eight or nine standing in the doorway. Her miniature robes swirled around her ankles. The girl’s long black hair was pulled back in a ponytail and framed a delicate face so pale and flawless that it reminded Tiadaria of smooth porcelain.

“Yes, Tionne?” Faxon’s voice was gentler than it had been just a moment before.

“Head Master Maera wishes to see you, Master Indra.” Tionne’s wide round eyes, like little pools of emerald fire, glittered in the dim light. Tiadaria found the effect unsettling.

“Thank you, Tionne,” Faxon said with a wave. “Please tell her that I’ll be along momentarily.”

Tionne nodded and padded off down the hall, her slippers making only the slightest whisper on the smooth obsidian floor.

“Tionne,” Tiadaria said thoughtfully, then shot Faxon a startled glance. “Not the girl from Doshmill?”

Faxon nodded gravely. “The same. She showed an affinity for the arts, so Torus brought her here after the attack. She’s a quick study. She’ll outmatch even me one day.”

“That’s hard?” Tiadaria quipped.

“Quiet you,” Faxon snapped. He was gathering stacks of paper and piling them on top of each other. He hefted the entire pile and gave her a measured look. “I need to meet with the Head Master. If you want to make yourself useful, you can start going through the library again to see if I missed anything. Once I’m done with Maera, we’ll have dinner and tomorrow maybe we’ll see about heading to Ethergate. I have an apprentice there who can probably help us dig up some details.”

He squeezed past her and stopped in the hallway, turning to face her. “Stay put until I get back, Tiadaria. This is no time to be flaunting your independence.”

“Have I ever?” She asked sweetly.

“Oh, only at every turn.” He gave her a piercing look. “I mean it, Tia. This could get ugly. I’ll be back.”

With that, he disappeared from the doorway, leaving her alone in the office.

*

The library in Blackbeach was a large rectangular building that filled the better part of the entire northwest corner of the city. It was bounded on the north by the city walls, the east by the great eastern ocean, and the west by the Great Tower itself. Four stories were crammed floor to ceiling with books and scrolls, diagrams and paintings, from all over Solendrea. One of Tiadaria’s favorite things about the library was the way it smelled. The subtle combination of old paper, ink, and lamp oil was soothing no matter how frayed her nerves were when she arrived.

She slipped through the arched doorway and passed the prune-faced quintessentialist at the reference desk. Tiadaria had long ago learned not to let the disapproving glances at her collar bother her. There were many, both here and in Dragonfell, who didn’t approve of her unorthodox jewelry. However, since she was vouched for by not only her reputation, but also one of the most powerful quintessentialists in the realm, and the One True King himself, there weren’t many who would openly show her any blatant disrespect. No matter how they thought of her in private.

Tiadaria climbed the spiral staircase to the third floor and let herself into the map room. Large wide cabinets dominated the perimeter walls, while a series of tables were pushed together in the center of the room forming one large table that allowed even the largest maps to be spread out in all their glory. Small moveable steps were scattered around the table, allowing those viewing the maps to climb up and gain the proper perspective on the larger specimens.

Jotun, a quint so old that Tia suspected he had been present at the founding of the Imperium sat in one corner of the room. His head was pillowed on his arm and his snores were the only sound in the otherwise still and empty room. She let the old man sleep. Circling the map table, she read the neatly printed letters on each cabinet. Though she had come to the Imperium with a very basic understanding of written language, Faxon had drilled her time and again on both fundamentals and advanced concepts of language and record-keeping.

He expected her to be able to match the fastidious Captain’s records and notes, a task that Tiadaria loathed almost as much as research. Still, the records she kept for Faxon helped to document the tasks she performed in service to the quints and the realm as a whole, and so earned her a stipend from the king’s treasury for her service. That part, she had to admit, was rather nice and could be easily adapted to.

Finally she found the cabinet with the map she sought. It was painted on thin muslin but was so large that it was still rather heavy and bulky for her to move on her own. However, even if she woke Jotun from his nap, he wouldn’t be much help. The elderly mage was much more adept at reading maps and remembering forgotten details than he was at anything as pedestrian as physical labor. With some effort she got the map to the viewing tables and began to spread it out.

When fully unfurled, the map took up nearly the entire viewing table. It was easily twenty feet wide and three-quarters of that high. Tiadaria had to climb to the top of one of the step-stools to get the proper vantage point from which to gather her bearings. Dragonfell was easiest to locate, as the inset detail of the cavern palace and the large alabaster stonework was unmistakable. From there, it was a relatively simple matter to trace the trade road south, past Wheatborne and eventually to Blackbeach.

Tiadaria gnawed thoughtfully at her lower lip. Faxon had said that Ethergate was outside the Imperium’s border, so she followed the trade route north from Blackbeach, across the Dragonback Mountains through which she passed so often and out past King’s Reach. There was a large city far to the northwest of King’s Reach. It was unlabeled on the map, but marked with the hand-eye-and-triangle symbol that was the common mark of the quintessentialists. Certainly that had to be Ethergate.

“Have you found what you seek, young lady?” Jotun’s gravelly voice startled her so badly that Tiadaria jumped and had to clutch the handrail on the steps lest she fall down. He had gotten silently to his feet and shuffled around to where she stood on the stool, two heads higher than he.

“Is that Ethergate?” she asked, pointing at the dot on the map. Jotun nodded, scratching his stubbly white whiskers and looking at her thoughtfully.

“Aye, young lady, it is.”

“How long would you say it would take to travel there on horseback?”

Jotun shook his head. “The trade road ends outside the Imperium, Lady Tiadaria. That slows things up something awful. Once you get onto the lesser used roads in the outlands, it’s slow going indeed.”

“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.

Chapter Two

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.

“Has already begun, yes! In the finding. Will begin with the making straight away.”

Without another word, the gnome leaped from the bin and began to scamper back and forth between the piles, sorting the parts into smaller piles that the Xarundi couldn’t hope to understand. He beckoned to an adolescent Chosen who had stopped tinkering with a machine of his own and was watching the gnome curiously.

“Yes, Your Holiness?”

“Keep an eye on that…creature. If he asks for anything, please see that he gets it. I’ll be in my warren.”

“As you command, Your Holiness.”

Zarfensis suspected that if the gnome knew half as much as he was purported to, that the young Chosen might find himself apprenticing to the loathsome creature. He chastised himself for such an obscene thought and began the laborious trek to his warren.

Repugnant as it was, if Greneks could deliver what he promised, things would rapidly turn around within the Warrens. With two good legs, he would be as fearsome as ever and he would remind all of them of their place.

*

No longer permitted in his traditional quarters, Zarfensis kept a small warren in the upper tunnels. Although the climb was greatly hampered by his crutch, he was in better spirits than when he had descended. However, by the time Zarfensis reached the warren, all he wanted to do was tuck his nose under his tail and go to sleep. Alas, that was not to be the case. His sensitive nose picked up the smell of another Chosen as soon as he neared his quarters. Xenir was waiting for him.

The Warleader’s tail twitched vigorously, his ears flicking forward and back. The tells of his anticipation were as evident as the burning excitement in his one good eye. The blue fire positively danced with delight.

“I have news, Your Holiness,” Xenir said without preamble. “The northwestern team has sent back a runner. During one of the supply raids, they found the passage I saw in my vision.”

The High Priest lowered himself into a chair, propping the crutch against the wall beside him. That motion had become all too comfortable, almost a habit. Hopefully, soon, it would be a habit to be broken.

“Any idea what we might be chasing here, Xenir?”

The Warleader shook his head, visibly aggravated. “No, Your Holiness. Only that there is an object of immense power somewhere in the north, buried in the ice. I know it isn’t much to go on, but this vision is strong and it is insistent.”

Zarfensis rubbed his muzzle with both hands. He was so tired. Still, if Xenir’s vision were accurate, they would have an item powerful enough to ensure that no one challenged their rule of the Chosen again. The risk they took in sending out raiding parties without the knowledge or consent of the council was great. However, if the raiders had located the tunnel that Xenir saw in his vision, the reward could be greater. He had no reason to doubt the Warleader. He had, after all, foretold their defeat at the hands of the Imperium.

“Then perhaps it’s time we consulted the Deep Oracle,” Zarfensis sighed.

Xenir tucked his tail between his legs, his ears laid back and his gums pulled up over his teeth. The stink of his fear was becoming more pervasive by the second.

“Is that

” Xenir licked his maw nervously. “Is that necessary?”

“Yes, Warleader, I believe it is.” Zarfensis could understand the Warleader’s reluctance.

Buried in the deepest bowels of the Warrens, the Deep Oracle was an ancient spirit of immeasurable power. Zarfensis could count on one hand the number of times the Oracle had been consulted in the written history of the Chosen. It was an insidious thing, trapped there by a powerful shaman long ago with magic that had since been lost to the Xarundi. Its hunger for power could only be fed by runedust. The more it fed, the more powerful it was. The more powerful it was, the higher the chance that it might find a way to escape.

Consulting the Deep Oracle wasn’t something to be considered lightly, but if there were an ancient relic buried somewhere in the north, it was likely that the Oracle would know of it.

“That journey isn’t well managed on one leg, Your Holiness.” Xenir’s tone was apologetic.

“That might not be as much of an issue as you think, Xenir.” Zarfensis replied, his eyes flicking to the doorway where the adolescent Xarundi from the workshop had just appeared. “Yes?”

“The gnome wishes to see you, Your Holiness.”

Zarfensis was startled. “So soon? Did something go wrong?”

“It” The youngster had dropped his jaw in a grin. “You need to go see for yourself, High Priest. It is most impressive.”

“A gnome?” Xenir was aghast. “In the Warrens?”

Zarfensis struggled to his foot, tucking the crutch under his arm. He nodded at the Warleader. “A means to an end, my old friend.”

He dismissed the adolescent and turned to Xenir.

“The journey back down to the workshops will go faster with two. Will you accompany me, Brother?”

“Of course Your Holiness.”

*

The thing that sat on the floor of the workshop only vaguely resembled his missing leg. In fact, the most familiar part of the contraption was the large set of articulated claws at the end of the device. The rest of it was a mass of tubes, valves, and rods, connected by bundles of thick black cording. Xenir looked dubiously at the device. Zarfensis couldn’t blame him.

Greneks, however, was delighted. He danced back and forth from one foot to the other, his large, thin fingers dancing to and fro in time to his antics. The High Priest thought that the little creature must have lost its mind.

“Is very good!” He said, his large eyes twinkling. “Is very good indeed. Much success with the finding and making. You will be a proud warrior again!”

“That remains to be seen,” Zarfensis countered gruffly. “This looks as if a strong breeze would blow it to pieces.”

Xenir chuckled and the gnome’s ears went red. His eyes narrowed and he stabbed a narrow finger in the direction of the High Priest.

“You know nothing, Xarundi. The device is not attached and activated.” He paused, peering at the large predator. “Perhaps if you lack such faith, I should just push the whole works into the furnace!”

Without another word, Greneks set words to actions, pushing the entire device toward the smelting furnace that burned at the end of the workshop. It was burning quite hot, the stifling warmth spreading out from its open maw and the red-orange flames dancing beyond. If the gnome pushed the device into that conflagration, it would be a ruin of melted metal in moments.

“NO!” Zarfensis roared, attempting to leap for the gnome. His good leg took the landing, but the crutch slipped out from under him, sending him sprawling across the floor between the gnome and the oven.

Xenir sprang forward, snarling. His ears were laid back along his head and the hair on the back of his neck stood out, making him appear larger than he was. This was a Xarundi at his most dangerous. Zarfensis had a sudden, vivid vision of the Warleader tearing the gnome to pieces and gorging on the bloody remains.

“Hold!” he cried, raising a hand to forestall Xenir’s rage. Zarfensis pushed himself up off the floor, struggling to his feet. For a moment, it appeared that the Warleader was going to fall on the gnome regardless of the High Priest’s imploring cry. After a longer pause than Zarfensis would have liked, the larger Xarundi got himself under control and backed away from the gnome.

It was just as well, Zarfensis thought, for the gnome had undergone a change of its own. The large black eyes were replaced by orbs that shone with crimson light. The long fingers had sprouted claws that were just as sharp and wicked as any Xarundi’s, for all that they were smaller and shorter. It was the teeth that gave Zarfensis the most pause. The gnome’s mouth was open wide, the front teeth having elongated into a row of vicious fangs perfect for tearing and rending flesh. Beyond the fangs, a second row of razor sharp teeth was visible.

This was no docile creature to be treated as prey. For the difference in size, the gnome was every ounce a predator in its own right. Zarfensis had misjudged the creature. He wouldn’t do so again.

“Apologies, Greneks.” The High Priest inclined his head toward the little creature, who was still shaking with suppressed rage. “My actions were unwise, and the Warleader was merely trying to protect me.”

It took several moments for the gnome to return to a docile state. The fangs and claws retracted and the creature resumed the appearance it had had when they first entered the workshop. His enthusiasm, however, was greatly diminished. He peered warily at the two Xarundi, as if he was deciding whether or not he could trust them enough to turn over his device to these volatile creatures.

Finally, he steepled his long fingers under his chin and smiled tentatively. Zarfensis released a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding.

“Yes, High Priest,” the gnome nodded. “You will have your device and you will learn the strength of the gnomes. You!” He pointed to Xenir, his voice authoritative. “Help the High Priest to that bench.” He stabbed a finger at the tall work bench that had been cleared of all the tools and materials the gnome had used to create the device.

With some effort, the Warleader helped the High Priest up onto the bench. At this level, the stump of Zarfensis’s amputated leg was level with the gnome’s eyes. The High Priest felt exposed and vulnerable. It wasn’t a feeling he enjoyed during the best of times, and being so close to a creature that he had so badly underestimated only compounded the feeling. He wanted all of this to be over with, but it had begun at his bequest and he would see it through to its conclusion.

Greneks moved the device into position and Zarfensis saw for the first time that there was a hollow ring at the top, obviously meant for his stump. The inside of the ring was circled with curved metal teeth, each one attached to a tiny valve that continued deeper into the machinery. It was clear that once Zarfensis offered his leg to this device, those teeth would bite deeply into his flesh and they would not be removed. Not without removing the rest of the leg in the process.

The gnome noted Zarfensis’s grimace and nodded. “Yes, High Priest. Once conversion is made, device cannot be removed. Is a permanent installation.”

Zarfensis’s tongue snaked out, licking his maw in nervous agitation. He’d come this far. If the device could give him his mobility back, it was worth the price. It was worth any price.

“I understand. What’s next?”

Greneks steadied the device with his hands and nodded toward the ring. “Lower your leg into the restraining harness until you feel it bite. I apologize for the…discomfort.”

Zarfensis grunted. He inched closer to the edge of the bench and positioned his stump near the ring that was offered him. He glanced up at Xenir and was surprised to see the Warleader’s tail between his legs. Perhaps he was more worried about this than the High Priest was. Mastering his indecision, Zarfensis shifted forward, plunging his stump into the restraining ring.

The agony was unimaginable. The roar that burst from the High Priest echoed off the chamber walls and forced both the gnome and Xenir to clasp their hands over their ears. Twelve teeth bit deeply into his flesh, drinking his blood. It was drinking in the purest sense. Zarfensis could feel tubes burrow into his leg from each of the teeth, stopping only when they found blood deep inside his leg. He could feel the valves moving against his skin, pumping his blood into the device for reasons that Zarfensis couldn’t fathom and wasn’t sure he wanted to.

After several moments, the pain faded to a dull roar and Zarfensis was able to focus on something other than the metal bits that had fused themselves to his flesh. He forced himself off the bench and onto the new leg, wincing as the pain flashed anew with his weight fully on the contraption of metal and elastic banding.

He lifted the leg experimentally, watching as the cording bunched around the levers and rods. The cording then, Zarfensis realized, replaced his muscles. The levers and rods and tubes were his skeleton, exposed without the benefit of skin or tissue to hide them from view. He took a tentative step forward, the clawed foot grasping the ground firmly under him. It would take getting used to, and it was heavy, but it was certainly preferable to the crutch. His lips pulled back from his teeth in a smile.

“Well done, Greneks. Well done indeed.”

The gnome shook his head. “Is more to do, High Priest. Is only the attachment that is complete. Activation has not yet been finished.”

“What more is there?” The High Priest was curious. He already had his leg back and with it, the promise of being whole and a viable threat again.

“Is to be charged and readied for use, High Priest.” The gnome withdrew a small vial from inside his coat. The tiny crystals within pulsed with a greenish-brown glow, the color of spring moss. He could feel the power thrumming through the air between them. He knew what this was. He had seen it often enough in his role as a rune holder. This was runedust.

The gnome nodded, seeing the recognition on Zarfensis’s face. “Yes, is runedust. Is of the Eyr, the Rune of Earth. You have your own, yes?”

Zarfensis nodded. He inclined to admit to the gnome that obtaining his own runedust from the Dyr was impeded by the pack council at the moment. He wasn’t about to offer any more information to the gnome than was necessary.

The gnome nodded again. “Good. To recharge is to be using the runedust. This is sample,” he waved the vial at Zarfensis. “Is included in payment. First taste is free.”

Greneks’s cackle sent shivers up Zarfensis’s spine. He had little time to be unnerved. Twisting a handle on the device, the gnome opened a small chute on the side of the artificial leg and dumped the dust into it in a fluid motion. A tiny crystal window showed the dust inside, its mossy glow pulsing slowly like a heartbeat.

An instant later, Zarfensis felt the leg respond to the magical power of the dust. Where it had been a mechanical extension of his leg before, now it was alive. He could feel it humming with power. He rose the leg. Where it had been clumsy and mechanical before, it was now smooth and fluid. He could feel the claws at the end of the foot and flexed them. They responded to his will, grasping just as his real claws would.

The High Priest wound himself down into a crouch and leapt toward the entrance to the workshop. His jump carried him out into the corridor, where he landed lightly on his feet. This wasn’t just a replacement for his lost limb. This was an improvement. He idly wondered if the gnome could make a second replacement and then quickly turned his thoughts away from that idea. Replacing a lost limb was one thing, removing a perfectly healthy one just to get a mecha-magical replacement was another.

He raced along the path that circled the workshops, relishing in the freedom of movement, the smoothness of the gait, and then complete and utter lack of dependence on crutch or cane to move again. It was liberating. It was wonderful. He returned to the workshop and bowed deeply to the gnome, the servos in the leg whining quietly as he did so.

“You have my immeasurable thanks, Greneks.”

The gnome smiled, his fingers again folding under his chin. “Your thanks are noted, High Priest. Now is for payment.”

“Of course, anything you wish. I will see it done.”

Whatever the gnome wanted, Zarfensis would see that it was procured. Not only did he have his leg back, he had his life back. Things in the Warrens were going to change, and they were going to change very soon.

Chapter Three

The driving rain had soaked Tiadaria to the skin. Her hair was a mess, plastered across her forehead and clinging to her shoulders and neck. Her traveling cloak was waterlogged and let through so much of the rain that she had opted to take the hood down so that she might be able to see where they were going. Nightwind plodded on, gingerly finding his footing in the mud-filled track they were following. His head was down, his nose pointed at the earth in front of them. Tiadaria knew how he felt.

She leaned close to his neck and shouted encouragement over the rain. Other than a flick of his ears, there was no indication that the horse heard her, or cared. The last week of their journey to Ethergate had been difficult for both of them. Leaving the Imperium had been something of a shock. On the road to the border, guards paid by the coffers of the Grand Army of the Imperium had been frequent and welcome diversions from the often boring journey. Once they crossed the border, however, those diversions disappeared. What also disappeared was the well-maintained road that made travel within the Imperium relatively quick and easy.

The guard at the border station, a wizened old man who had probably lived the last forty years of his life standing by that post, had assured her that this wide dirt track, well rutted by wagon and cart wheels, would lead her to Ethergate. That had been a week ago. Two days later, the torrential rain had started and hadn’t let up since.

Tiadaria shivered. She and Nightwind had stayed in whatever caves they could find. At least her tinderbox was relatively waterproof. The fires they huddled by were often smoky, tentative things, fed by whatever dry fuel she could scrounge from the mouth of the cave or under fallen trees. She had been discouraged from venturing too far into the caves when, on one of her fuel-finding expeditions, she had almost slipped down a nearly vertical face. She tossed a pebble over the edge, listening for a rattle or splash, and heard nothing. She had stayed very near the mouth of the cave that night. Better off a little wet and cold.

That was two days ago, but it might as well have been two lifetimes. The relentless pounding of the rain was starting to drive her to the edge of madness. Iron gray clouds crested the tops of the tallest trees and everything was gray. The sky, the clouds, and her mood, all gray. Nightwind tossed his head, spraying her with water from his sodden mane.

“I said I was sorry,” she said glumly. Nightwind didn’t respond.

Lightning flashed, so nearby that Tiadaria’s vision turned to purple sparkles. The crash that followed seemed to come from directly overhead. Nightwind, normally a stolid warhorse, reared with a frightened whinny. Tia was bucked from his back, landing on hers in the mud. The breath left her in a rush, her bottom smarting from the sudden dismount. She struggled to her feet, realizing when she finally managed it that Nightwind was nowhere to be seen.

“Great Gatzbin’s gonads,” she swore, still trying to catch her breath. The bolting horse had run off with nearly everything she brought with her on this illfated trip. She had her belt knife and her purse. The knife could come in handy. The purse was less than useless in the middle of nowhere. Fantastic. She dropped her hand to the butt of the knife and gave it a tug, ensuring the strap still held it fast.

“You can take that out and toss it over here, slave,” a gruff voice cut through the sound of the rain. Tiadaria whirled toward the voice and came face to face with a dwarven hand cannon. The muzzle of the weapon was inches from her face and the bore seemed enormous at that distance. She slipped into sphere-sight and cast out beyond the cloaked man. There was a wagon behind him, drawn by two huge draft horses. Two men stood on the wagon deck, similarly armed. She’d have taken her chances against one, three on one was more than she’d bargained for.

Withdrawing from the Quintessential Sphere, she dropped her hand to the butt of her knife and tugged the strap free. She drew it slowly out, between her thumb and forefinger, and tossed it on the ground at the stranger’s feet.

“Is this how you welcome all your visitors?”

The hooded man knelt to retrieve the dagger, the barrel of his pistol never wavering. “When the visitor’ is wearing a slave collar and carrying a pig-sticker? Yeah, that’s how we welcome all our escaped slaves.”

“I’m not an escaped slave,” Tiadaria sighed. This conversation had become more and more common the farther from Dragonfell she rode. She was beginning to wonder if she shouldn’t just have Faxon remove it and be done with it. Still, it was a part of her, one of the few parts of the Captain she had left. “I have my papers they’re in my

“

“In your what?”

“In my saddlebag,” Tia threw her hands up at the fruitlessness of the conversation. “Which is strapped to my horse, which is who knows where since he bolted after that last lightning strike.” She shook her head, brushing the wet hair out of her eyes. “I don’t suppose you’re likely to wait for him to come back?”

“Not likely, Miss—”

“Tiadaria,” she supplied helpfully. “So what do we do now?”

The hooded stranger eased the hammer down on the cannon and dropped it into a holster hanging at his hip.

“You wouldn’t be the Tiadaria, would you? The Tiadaria who fought at Dragonfell? The Tiadaria who gave the eulogy at the Captain’s interment?”

Tiadaria sighed again. The most painful moment of her life had turned out to be a boon on more than one occasion. It seemed that people all throughout the Imperium had heard the story. In many cases, they told it as they themselves had been there. An interesting feat for so many people when it had been such a small group that was gathered around his tomb that day. Still, if it made them feel a part of it in the retelling, who did it really hurt?

“Yes, that Tiadaria.”

The hooded man sniffed. “Never figured the Captain to put a girl on the battlefield.” He stabbed a thick finger at her. “I think you got damn lucky. Luck is no substitute for experience and planning, girl, remember that.”

Without another word, he turned on his heel and stalked back to the wagon, climbing into the driver’s position. Following his lead, the other men holstered their weapons. Tiadaria gaped at them. The tale of their heroic battle against the Xarundi usually got her at least the offer of a drink and sometimes an invitation to a meal. The condition of the road wasn’t the only difference out here.

With a snap of the reigns, the wagon started forward. As it passed, the stranger tossed her belt knife into the mud at her feet. She knelt to retrieve the Captain’s blade, shaking the worst of the mud from the blade.

“Wait!” Tiadaria called. “Can you at least tell me how to get to Ethergate?”

“Follow the road, girl.” The man called, without turning around. “Another half a day will get you there. Sooner if you find your horse.”

It may have just been the rain, but Tiadaria was almost certain she heard a rough laugh as the cart moved onward. Tia stood in the middle of the muddy road, watching the wagon until it had disappeared from view. She wasn’t sure how much worse this day could get. She wanted to sit down and cry. Instead, she put one foot in front of the other, following the deep ruts made by the wagon.

Minutes blended into hours as she trudged through the mud. At some point, she had lost the feeling in her toes. If her boots weren’t ruined, she would be absolutely amazed. Night was coming on quickly. She would have to find somewhere to while away the hours until dawn. It would be a miserable evening without her tinderbox.

A flash of lighting lit the sky and Tia saw the shadow of a curtain wall against the fading sky. That had to be Ethergate, she thought. Even if it wasn’t, it was likely somewhere she could get a room for the night. At this point, she’d even take a stable stall if it meant getting out of the rain. She thanked every minor deity she knew that her purse was still safely tucked into her belt. A sudden apprehension flashed through her and she dropped her hand to her belt, searching frantically for the drawstring pouch until she found it, its narrow neck wrapped around and knotted. She sighed in relief and set off toward the city with a lighter heart.

Night had fallen by the time she reached Ethergate. Large braziers on the top of the wall burned with purple flames. Tia didn’t care what color the flames were as long as she could get near enough to them to get warm and possibly dry some of the wrinkles from her fingertips.

She reached the portcullis and was relieved to find it open still. She stepped into the passage, relishing in the fact that for the first time in nearly a full day, she wasn’t being rained on. She leaned against the wall. Her feet ached so badly and she still had to find somewhere to sleep for the night.

“You look like you’ve seen better days,” a voice came from ahead. A lantern flared in the dark and an armored guard approached her. “Worse rains we’ve had around here in, oh, probably ten years or so.”

“Just my luck to be caught out in them, then,” Tiadaria tried to keep the bitterness from her voice with little success. The guard smiled.

“There’s an inn just beyond the wall, take the road into the city, turn left, it’s the building on the right.”

“Thank you!” Tia didn’t need to fake the gratitude she felt toward the man. All she wanted was a warm fire and a bed. “My horse bolted on the road during the storm, I don’t suppose he’s made his way here?”

The guard shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. I’ll put a word in with my men. If the patrols find him, they’ll bring him in.”

“Thank you again,” Tiadaria said with a wave and started toward the city proper.

“And Miss?” the guard called. Tia turned to see him motion toward her collar. “The Guard Captain will want to see your papers. Go get yourself a room and a warm fire. It can wait until morning.”

Tia nodded and continued into the city. It was a good thing that her presentation could wait until the morning. She still wasn’t sure how she was going to pull that off with Nightwind being missing in action. Oh well, she’d worry about burning that bridge when she had to. For now, there was an inn, with beds, and fires, and she had money. This was going to be the best night in a long time.

All activity in the common room stopped when Tiadaria entered the Elvish Harlot. It was obvious that the majority of those in attendance were regulars. Every eye in the building followed her to the counter where the tiny innkeeper rested on both elbows. She’d have guessed he was in at least his eighth decade. The skin drawn over his skull was deeply creased, but his blue eyes were as clear and bright as any Tiadaria had ever seen. She suspected that the man cultivated his helpless appearance, and she wouldn’t be at all surprised if he had more than one trick up his sleeve.

“How can I help ye, Miss?” His smile was welcoming, if a bit eager and some of the apprehension that she had gained on the road began to lift.

“A room, please, with the biggest, hottest hearth you have.” Tia noticed belatedly that she was dripping into a puddle around her feet. She went red right up to the tips of her ears.

The innkeeper peered over the counter and chuckled, nodding to her.

“Aye, Miss…And don’t you be worrying about that. These floors have seen far worse than a little rainwater.” He winked at her before he turned to the pegboard behind the counter, lifting a key from its neatly numbered peg. He laid the key on the counter and looked at her expectantly.

The intervening pause was uncomfortable, with the innkeeper staring at her and Tia having no idea what he expected of her. She was used to the Imperium where the cost of goods was posted, or if it wasn’t, then the vendor or merchant was more than willing to tell you exactly how many crowns something cost.

“I, um—” She stammered, her voice the barest whisper. “How much for the room?”

The innkeeper leaned forward on his elbows. “Depends on what you’ve got, Miss. Three average garnets is the going rate. Or a good quality sapphire. Trade goods, well, depends what you’ve got.”

“I don’t have any of those things,” Tia replied, her heart sinking. She was so close to a bed, and a fire, and…and! She wanted to cry. “I only just arrived from the Imperium. All I have is crowns.”

“Well why didn’t you say so?” The innkeeper smiled tolerantly at her, producing a thin metal block that he placed on the counter. “Gold is gold, doesn’t matter whose stamp is on it. Let’s see then?”

Tia took her purse and reached inside, unsure what to offer and not wanting to offend or seem foolish. She took a five crown piece from the small leather bag and handed it to the old man. He raised an eyebrow, but took the coin and rang it against the block of metal on the counter, catching it on the first bounce. Tiadaria watched in amazement as he made the coin dance over his knuckles before it disappeared into his palm.

“How long did you plan on staying, Miss—”

“Tiadaria. Two nights? Maybe three?”

The innkeeper scratched his chin, then nodded. “Three nights, blackrock for the hearth, and meals, yes?”

“Yes, please.”

Tiadaria was starting to wonder if she wasn’t being taken advantage of. Five crowns was a lot of money. In Dragonfell, a five crown piece would get you a week in the finest inn with all the accoutrements. She supposed some value was lost in the exchange, but even so!

Deciding that looking foolish was better than being ignorant, Tiadaria had decided to ask about the costs when the man sat a red velvet bag on the counter. He slipped the crown piece inside and rooted around in the depths of the bag. He placed four blood-red stones on the counter and deposited next to them a slightly larger sapphire. The innkeeper pushed the stones toward her.

“This’ll help you trade while you’re in Ethergate. I did you right on the exchange, since you won’t have had a chance to visit the brokerage yet.” He laid a finger aside of his nose as if he had involved her in some grand conspiracy. He offered her the key. “End of the hall, last door on the left. I’ll send a boy to tend the fire.”

Tiadaria reached over the counter and clasped the innkeeper’s hands in hers. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

The old man smiled. “Ethergate isn’t that much different from Dragonfell or Blackbeach, Miss Tiadaria. Just different enough to keep you on your toes.” With another wink, he withdrew his hands from hers and shuffled to the end of the counter where another patron was patiently waiting.

Tia took the key and following the hallway to its end, opened the last door on the left and slipped inside. A small oil lamp burned on the table. The hearth was banked, and put off a warmth that, though it was meager, felt amazing. She struggled out of her boots and had shucked her breeches when there was a knock at the door. Choosing urgency over modesty, she threw the door open to find a young man standing there with a bucket of blackrock.

“Come in,” she said, standing aside. “Please hurry, I’m freezing.”

The young man entered the room, pointedly not looking in Tiadaria’s direction. He prodded the fire to life and laid out a layer of blackrock on the grate. He kept his back to her for the duration of the process.

“Generally wearing clothes helps with the whole freezing thing,” he said, still facing the hearth.

Tiadaria couldn’t help but laugh. “I was soaked straight through and couldn’t stand being in wet clothes another minute. Once you’ve properly tended the hearth, I promise I’ll dry my clothes and be more presentable.” More for his comfort than hers, she took the blanket from the foot of the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders.

“Blackrock takes a minute to catch,” he remarked as he turned toward the door. Seeing that she had covered up, he breathed an audible sigh and glanced at her. “I’ll come check on it in a minute. Can I get you anything?”

“Something hot to drink? And eat? I’m starving! All I’ve had is trail rations for days.”

The young man’s wrinkled nose told Tiadaria all she needed to know about his opinion of travel rations. “Bess made a pot roast for the working folk, there’s probably some left.”

“Please and thank you. That would be perfect.”

The porter slipped out of the room without another word and Tiadaria set about shucking the rest of her clothes. She wrapped the blanket around her naked frame and spread out her clothing as near the hearth as she could manage without worrying that she’d catch something on fire and burn the inn down.

By the time she had managed the arrangement to her satisfaction, the young man had returned with a blanket under one arm and a laden tray balanced on the fingertips of his other hand. He tossed the blanket on the bed, and deftly transferred the tray to the little table. Nodding to Tiadaria, he crossed in front of her to check the fire and gave a half smile at the array of clothing laid out before it.

“I thought the extra blanket was in order,” he said, apparently satisfied with the state of the fire. “I brought you some things from the kitchen. Nothing fancy, but I suspect it’s better than travel rations.” He wrinkled his nose again, shaking his head. “Goodnight!”

Before she could offer a word of thanks, he had passed through into the hallway, closing the door behind him. She threw the bar on the door, guaranteeing her privacy, and turned to inspect the tray.

It was a banquet. It was more than a banquet! It was a feast! There was a metal plate with a few slices of roast beef, some carrots, a piece of crusty bread, a small crock of butter, and most importantly, a mug of hot spiced cider. This she took carefully from the tray, cradling it in her hands and wishing its warmth to spread through her palms into the rest of her body.

She ate more quickly than was probably advisable, or ladylike, and then tucked herself into bed with both blankets wrapped around her like a cocoon. Tiadaria was asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow.

*

The next morning, Tiadaria was awoken by an insistent pounding on the door. She dragged the blanket up over her head, willing whoever was causing such a racket to just go away and leave her alone.

“Miss Tiadaria?” She recognized the muffled voice as that of the innkeeper she had spoken to last night. It would do her well not to alienate that old man. He had given her far more information about how to get on in Ethergate than anyone else had. “Miss Tiadaria? Open up please, there’s someone here who needs to speak to you.”

“Just a minute,” she called. Tia doubted she had time to get dressed, so she wrapped the blanket around herself once again and went to the door, lifting the bolt and hauling it open.

The innkeeper stood there with a man she recognized as the gate guard who had told her she would need to present herself. Her heart went to her throat for a minute before she realized he was grinning at her.

“Sorry to bother you, Miss,” the guard said with a smile. “But we thought you might want these.” From behind his back, he produced her saddlebags, offering them to her with a wide grin. “All apologies, but we went through them to find your papers. I’ve already sent word to the Guard Captain, so you’re free to stay in Ethergate as long as you like.”

“Oh thank you!” Tiadaria flung herself at the guard, trying to hug him, take the saddlebags, and hold the blanket all at the same time. The old innkeeper laughed and took the saddlebags from the guard, laying them on the table and retrieving the tray. He excused himself and disappeared down the hall. Belatedly, Tiadaria realized that she had her saddlebags. “Nightwind!” she gasped.

“He’s fine,” the guard assured her, nodding. “We gave him a good rub down, a bag of oats, and put him in the guard livery. He’ll be fine there until you move him to the livery here, or wherever.”

“How can I repay you? I don’t even know your name!”

The guard smiled. “My name is Thomas, Lady Tiadaria. You paid me in full when you sent those mangy dogs back into their hole.” He paused just a moment as he turned to leave. “My brother, Cabot, says to tell you hello.” With a grin and a little wave, he closed the door.

Tiadaria glanced around the room, almost unable to believe her good fortune. She flipped open her saddlebags. The contents were still fairly waterlogged, but her traveling clothes were dry, and that was a start. She dressed quickly, delighting in the warm cloth against her skin. Even her boots were mostly dry. She looked out the window and realized that the sun was shining. Things were definitely looking up.

Locking her room behind her, Tia made her way to the common room. It was much less crowded than the night before and seemed much more welcoming. Though she strongly suspected that was mostly due to her no longer being soaking wet and dripping on the floor.

She approached the innkeeper who was leaning on his counter. It seemed to be his customary spot.

“I never got your name, sir.”

“No, Miss Tiadaria, you didn’t. You can call me Harold. You’ve already met my boys.”

“Your boys?” For a moment, she thought he meant the porter from last night, but he had said boys, plural.

“Cabot and Thomas, Miss.”

“Cabot is your son? And the guard, Thomas?”

“Aye, and fine boys they are…but you’re not standing here looking to climb my family tree. What can I do for you?”

Tiadaria fingered her collar before answering. “I’m looking for someone, an apprentice of Master Faxon Indra’s. I suspect I can find him in the library, if you can point me in the right direction.”

Harold’s brow furrowed. “That might present a problem, Miss.”

Tia’s heart dropped. If she had come all this way and Faxon’s apprentice wasn’t here, she didn’t know what she was going to do. “A problem? Why?”

“Well,” Harold began, running a hand over his wrinkled scalp. “There are eleven libraries in Ethergate.”

Chapter Four

“How much further?” Xenir growled. “I’m about to roast alive.”

Zarfensis could appreciate the Warleader’s sentiment. The heat was stifling and as they descended deep into the tunnels under the Warrens, it had grown exponentially more cumbersome. His metal leg was now too hot to comfortably touch and their thick fur was suffocating them slowly.

“Not much further,” Zarfensis grunted. “Relish the heat, brother. Soon enough you’ll long for it.”

The Warleader grunted something non-committal and followed the High Priest deeper into the twisting tunnel. Zarfensis kept quiet. It was better if the Warleader stayed ignorant of the true nature of their destination until he had to experience it for himself.

Zarfensis was well aware of what awaited them below. He remembered, in vivid detail, the long hours that he had spent descending through the twists and turns at the heel of his grand-sire. The elder High Priest had ensured that his kin knew where to find the Deep Oracle. It was the duty of the High Priest to maintain the rituals that kept the thing bound to its ancient prison.

It had also been his grand-sire who had taught him of the thing’s craving for runedust and the information that could be gleaned from the Oracle by making the merest offering of the magically-imbued powder. He had watched on in tandem awe and horror as his elder made an offering to the creature and then asked it about Zarfensis’s deepest, most hidden secret.

Just a whelp then, Zarfensis hadn’t had more of a secret than some playful experimentation with a bitch several years his elder, of which he was more prideful than ashamed. It was the ease with which the Deep Oracle laid out his transgressions, in all their torrid detail, as if it had been present during the acts themselves. That was what had sent a shiver of terror up his spine and forced his tail between his legs. His grand-sire had scolded him then, berating him for showing weakness to an inferior. Zarfensis often thought, even now, that the scolding he received was more bravado than anything else. The Deep Oracle was anything but inferior. It was a power not to be trifled with and Zarfensis had vowed then and there not to repeat the mistakes of those who had come before him.

“Mind your head,” Zarfensis said, ducking into a low fissure in the rock. This tunnel was shorter than any they had encountered so far and the High Priest knew they were nearing the end of their travel. It took them quite a long time to reach the end, where another crack in the rock let them out into a small circular cavern.

Zarfensis dropped lightly to the floor of the subterranean chamber, taking most of the impact on his new leg. The novelty hadn’t yet worn off and he was wondering if it ever would. He turned to see the Warleader drop to the floor behind him and heard the sudden intake of breath.

“It’s cold!” Xenir’s exclamation was accompanied by a puff of condensation from his breath. The High Priest nodded. The difference in temperature between the room and the tunnel beyond was staggering. It was easily as cold here as in the northern reaches of the Frozen Frontier.

“I told you that you’d soon relish the heat.” Zarfensis motioned to a simple shaft of rock in the center of the chamber where a pale green light bobbed to and fro. Its light flickered dimly, throwing shadows upon the wall that weren’t, Zarfensis realized with a shudder, the shadows of anything that existed in the room.

Xenir growled, his claws slipping from their sheaths. Zarfensis turned toward the pillar and saw that the light had vanished. It was replaced by the translucent form of a human female whose shape and endowments would be the envy of many vermin. The High Priest felt a wave of rutting passion wash over him and he struggled to fight against the powerful magic being used against him. The Warleader’s aspect had entirely changed. Gone was any pretense of threat, he bounded toward the image as he would toward a bitch in heat.

As Xenir reached the illusion, there was a blinding flash of light and a howl of pain. His vision was a mass of purple, but Zarfensis heard the heavy thud of Xenir’s body hitting the wall beside him. Closing his eyes, Zarfensis slipped into the Quintessential Sphere. In that magical realm, just beyond the physical world, he could see clearly. He saw the pillar and the writhing mass of blackness there, the Deep Oracle’s true form exposed. Black tendrils shot forward, a thousand snakes intent on devouring his very essence.

With an extended claw, Zarfensis traced runes in the air, speaking the ancient words of power. Words so old that their true meanings had been forgotten. Words that, nonetheless, shackled the Oracle to its pillar as surely as the heaviest chain. The tendrils receded with a roar of frustration that the High Priest felt in his bones. He heard a groan, as if across a great distance, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Xenir was still alive then. Zarfensis was as concerned for his friend, but more worried about what the Oracle could, or would, do with the power of a life forcefully taken.

Withdrawing from the sphere, he knelt and felt for the pulse at Xenir’s throat. It was there, strong and steady. The Warleader seemed no worse for his ill-advised adventure.

“Speak,” the voice came not in sound, but within his head. It was thick and sultry and oozed a sensuality not to be denied. “Speak your desires so that we may bargain and my need be fulfilled.”

Zarfensis struggled against the physical urges that were surging through him. He opened his belt pouch and withdrew a vial of faintly glowing runedust.

“This is what will sate your needs, Oracle.” Zarfensis waved the vial. “You will not sate yourself on the urges of the flesh.”

“You may not be willing…but the other…”

Zarfensis waved at the still unconscious form of the Warleader. “The other is outside your control. You will bargain with me, or bargain not at all.”

There was another rumbling roar and Zarfensis focused all his thoughts on the idea of slipping the vial back into his pouch and returning to the Warrens. The rutting urges vanished as quickly as they had appeared and were replaced with the intense feeling of a whelp’s sulking.

“I will bargain with you,” the Oracle agreed sullenly. “Or not at all.”

Zarfensis unstopped the vial of runedust and poured some of the fine crystals into his palm. Stepping toward the pillar, but being careful to keep a safe distance, he puffed and blew a cloud of the crystals toward the Oracle. The powder was consumed in a shower of sparks and the Oracle’s orb glowed a bit brighter.

The sound of claws on rock from behind him alerted Zarfensis that Xenir had regained consciousness. The High Priest turned and watched as the Warleader slowly got to his feet, shaking his head. His eyes met Zarfensis’s and then slid away. The embarrassment would serve him well, Zarfensis thought. He’d be more on his guard next time. If there was a next time.

“More!” the Oracle demanded imperiously.

“Tell me what I wish to know,” Zarfensis countered, twisting the vial between his fingers. “Then you shall have the rest.”

“We need it,” the Oracle whined. “Please!”

“Tell me what I wish to know,” the High Priest demanded, reinforcing his words with the mental image of the vial of runedust shattered on the floor beyond the Oracle’s reach.

In the pause that followed, Zarfensis idly considered abandoning this foolhardy meeting and returning to the Warrens. Surely he and Xenir were resourceful enough to find the relic on their own.

“The relic you seek sleeps far to the north, buried in the ice of ages past,” the Oracle’s voice was strong and clear. “It lies within your grasp if you can find it and wake it, but beware, the Chosen are not the only suitors the relic seeks. There are others, climbing, sneaking, and burrowing through forgotten tunnels to find that which you seek.”

“The vermin?” Zarfensis asked, his lips pulling back from his teeth in a feral snarl.

“Among others,” the Oracle laughed. “More, now!”

Zarfensis poured the remainder of the runedust into his palm and blew it toward the pillar. In a fluid motion, he had jumped to the lip of the tunnel, beckoning for Xenir to follow. They navigated the tunnel as quickly as the low ceiling would allow, finally emerging at the junction that had seemed unbearably hot not long before.

“My vision—” Xenir began.

“The relic exists, but we must hurry. There are others who seek its power as well.”

“How do we proceed?”

“We take back control of the council. We lead the Chosen to victory and exterminate the vermin, once and for all.”

Taking strength from the confirmation of Xenir’s vision, they started the long trip back toward the Warrens to put their plans in motion.

*

Tiadaria sat at a worn table in the common room of the Elvish Harlot. On the table in front of her a tankard of cider sat, barely touched. The search for Faxon’s apprentice had not gone well.

She had spent the morning searching library after library. It wasn’t until she had been turned out of the fourth library that she realized how many quints there were in Ethergate. She was realizing with no small sense of chagrin that there was probably a good reason that Faxon had wanted to accompany her. Most of the people she had talked to here were far too involved in their own affairs to give much concern to the apprentice of another Master, especially one from Blackbeach. That was the other thing she found odd, the seemingly high amount of animosity that existed between the quintessentialists here and those outside the capital.

She had thought they were all the part of a single order. She had been disabused of that belief after listening to an extended tirade on the Orders and the finer (and less fine) points of each one. Afterward, Tiadaria had realized that looking for Faxon’s apprentice in Ethergate was similar to looking for a needle in a stack of other needles. After her most recent failure, she had returned to the inn for a friendly face and a few minutes to nurse her wounds.

Harold was behind the bar, polishing the wood with a tattered rag. His hands were so gnarled with age that by the time he had finished rubbing down the counter, he’d need to start over at the other end. Tia wondered how many years he had spent trudging up and down the floor between the bar and the drink cabinet and how long he had used the rag that he now brandished like a badge of honor.

Tia took a sip of the cider and tried to coax a useable idea out of the tumble of her thoughts. She had spent so much time in various libraries this morning that she thought she’d scream if she saw another book. Still, there were seven more libraries she had to explore and probably get thrown out of. Faxon’s apprentice had to be here somewhere and she’d find him even if she ended up being an old lady before she did it.

That thought hit her so forcefully that she dropped the tankard back to the table with a thunk. She stood and quickly walked to the bar, surprising Harold as he worked on his eternal polishing.

“How can I help you, Lady Tia? More cider?”

“No thank you,” she said quickly. “If you don’t mind my asking, how long have you lived in Ethergate, Harold?”

The old man smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Why, my whole life, Lady Tia. Born and raised. Why?”

“Can you tell me which library is the oldest?”

“Oh certainly,” he leaned out over the bar, stabbing a finger southward beyond the inn. “Take the south road to the center of the city. The oldest library is under the Reliquary.”

“Thank you!” Tiadaria took a garnet from her pocket and pushed it across the counter at the startled gentleman, leaving him to stare after her as she all but ran from the common room.

Though it was just after midday outside, it might as well have been midnight in the reliquary. The squat stone building had no windows and was illuminated by magic lanterns hung from pegs around the long, wide room full of shelves. After being stopped by the guards outside the door, she had assured them that she was vouched for by the King of the Imperium and showed them her writ as proof. Once inside, they had directed her to a quintessentialist so old that he made Jotun look young and sprightly.

His appearance was ancient, but the quint’s mind was sharp, unmuddled by the years he had seen. As soon as Tiadaria had explained who she was and where she had come from, the elder quint nodded.

“You’ll be wanting Wynn, then.” He took a lantern down off a peg and motioned for her to follow him. “Come along then, the youngster rarely leaves the stacks.”

Tiadaria followed the old man, who moved surprisingly rapidly for someone of his apparent age. They descended a long flight of marble steps and emerged in a room lined with shelves. As they walked, Tia sneaked peeks at the books on the shelves. Many weren’t even proper books at all, but sheaves of parchment bound together by ribbon or string. Most of them were so weathered and yellow that she thought they would crumble to dust as the merest touch. She resolved not to handle anything in this library unless she absolutely had to.

Finally, they arrived at a table in a dimly lit corner of the library. The youngster the older quint had referred to was probably a couple years older than Tia, and he was so thoroughly engrossed in the book he was studying that the elder had to shake him to get his attention.

“Hmmm?” he asked absently, finally tearing his eyes away from the tome long enough to register that there were people standing next to him. “Oh, sorry.”

“Wynn,” the quint said tolerantly. “This is Lady Tiadaria, from Blackbeach, Master Indra sent her to find you.”

“Oh.” Wynn looked unsettled. “Uh, okay then. Thank you.”

Her escort shot her an apologetic glance and shook his head before retreating, leaving Tiadaria and Wynn standing there in silence. Tiadaria had expected Faxon’s apprentice to be as garrulous has Faxon himself was. As seemed to be the case a lot lately, she was wrong. They stood there awkwardly before she finally decided to take matters into her own hands.

“So you’re Faxon’s apprentice?”

The young man peered at her for a moment before nodding. “Yes, I help Master Indra with his research.” He pointed to the book on the table. “I really must get back to it. Fascinating stuff, really.”

“Oh?” Tia asked, cocking her head to read the text scrawled in the tome. “Three thousand types of fungus,” she read and raised an eyebrow. “Riveting reading, then?”

“Oh yes!” Wynn said at the most animated she had yet seen him. “Each of the specimens was categorized and defined by its unique characteristics, both magical and mundane.”

He turned back to the book and seemed to completely forget about her. Wynn sat with his chin in his palms, his head bowed over the weighty tome of mold. The only indication that he was even awake was the occasional turn of a page. Tiadaria stood by his elbow, completely at a loss. She cleared her throat, loudly, trying to recall his attention. He seemed to be lost in his own world. A world full of fungus, no doubt.

“Wynn?” she said tentatively. Slowly, Tia realized that tentative wasn’t going to get the job done. She reached over and flipped the book closed, the binding barely missing the tip of the young man’s nose.

“Careful!” he hissed, jumping to his feet. He caressed the book with a tender touch. “You could have damaged the binding, or torn a page!”

Tia had reached her breaking point. She poked him in the chest with her index finger. “I’m going to damage YOUR binding if you don’t pay attention to me,” she said savagely.

Wynn blinked, obviously unaccustomed to such forcefulness. He nodded, his hand still lingering on the book protectively.

“Faxon said that you’d be the person to ask about a relic we’re looking for,” Tiadaria said without a hint of flattery. “We need to know what the relic might be and where it is.”

“If Master Indra,” Wynn began, drawing out both the title and the surname. “Wanted to know about a relic, why didn’t he come here and ask about it himself?”

“Because, Apprentice Wynn, he sent me to start the research before he got here.” Tiadaria stabbed her thumb at her own chest and glared at Wynn. He was probably four inches taller than she was, and she felt sort of ridiculous trying to intimidate him. If only she had her scimitars…

The use of his title appeared to partially deflate Wynn and he slumped back in the chair at the study table. He gently moved the mold book to one side and peered at her expectantly. They stared at each other for a few moments before he heaved a long, drawn out sigh.

“I can’t help you find anything if you don’t tell me what you’re looking for!”

“Then ask,” Tiadaria snapped. “I can’t read minds!”

Wynn shook his head, as if he was dealing with some eminently unreasonable creature incapable of intelligent thought. “What relic are you looking for?”

“I don’t know,” Tiadaria stammered. “We know the Xarundi are looking for it, and that there are rumors of it being buried in snow and ice.”

“That’s all? If you don’t know what you’re looking for, how do you expect me to find it?”

Tiadaria lost the last of her patience. “Faxon said you were the person to ask!” Her shout echoed across the labyrinthine library. “If I knew what I was looking for, I wouldn’t need you, would I?”

She turned on her heel and stomped off.

“You really shouldn’t yell in the library,” he called after her.

*

Zarfensis and Xenir were exhausted when they finally reentered the Warrens. The urgency they felt to return to the familiar caverns was only partly spurred by their enthusiasm for their mission. Though they’d never put the feeling into words, they both wanted to be away from the Deep Oracle and its grasping mind. Xenir had been very quiet on their return to the Warrens.

They had nearly reached Zarfensis’s warren when one of the adolescents came bounding up to the weary travelers.

“Your Holiness! Warleader! The pack council is demanding your presence, they’ve found out about the raiding parties you dispatched!” The youngster’s fur stood out in agitation, his lips pulled back to bare his still under-developed fangs. “There are rumors of execution, Your Holiness.”

Xenir grasped the youth by the shoulders and turned him to look directly into his eyes. “Do you believe in us? Do you believe in the omens that have been foretold?”

“Of course, Warleader! There are many who stand behind you, but the pack council—”

“I will deal with the pack council,” Zarfensis growled with unconcealed savagery. “Cowering in our caves like vermin is beneath us. We are the Chosen! Go and tell the loyal that we have spoken to the Deep Oracle and returned. Gather them in the cathedral.”

“As you command, Your Holiness.” With a half-bow, the young Xarundi bounded back down the corridor the way he had come.

“The pack council?” Xenir asked.

“You know what must be done, brother. Do you doubt the omens? Or what information the Deep Oracle provided?”

“No, Your Holiness.”

“Then have faith. Our dominion is preordained. The Chosen will possess the relic and we will usher in a new age of domination over the vermin.”

A knot of loyalists appeared in the tunnel, passing the High Priest and the Warleader on their way to the cathedral. Zarfensis returned their respectful bows as they passed. They were almost uniformly youngsters, those too young to have fought at Dragonfell but now coming into adulthood. The elders were more stubborn.

“We must attend the council, Warleader.” Zarfensis noted with approval that Xenir’s claws were unsheathed. They set off down the corridor, the metal leg beating out a war drum’s staccato rhythm on the smooth stone.

The council chamber was packed with bodies. The pack council sat on their high stone thrones looking down on the chaos on the floor. As Zarfensis and Xenir entered, the throng moved back against the walls, opening an aisle for them to approach the council. They stopped behind the advocate’s table, though there was no advocate present. Zarfensis knew better than to think this was a real tribunal. It was punitive justice.

The Voice stood, and bowed toward the two members of the council on his right, then the two on the left.

“The council speaks with one voice,” he said, in accordance to the laws the Xarundi had followed for centuries. “You are called before the council to answer for your crimes against the Chosen.”

Zarfensis had to wonder at the hypocrisy of the foolishness playing out before them. The Voice used the traditional words, handed down over hundreds of years, and yet there was no Advocate present, no customary way for them to defend themselves. Not that he expected anything about this meeting to be customary, but he wondered who the council thought they were fooling.

“If our crimes are those of not sitting idly by while the council destroys the last vestiges of our pride, then I’ll gladly plead guilty and end this farce right now.” Zarfensis motioned to those assembled in the chamber. “Do you honestly expect them to believe this nonsense?”

A murmur ran through the crowd and the Voice lifted the gavel, a stone cylinder about six inches tall and three in diameter, slamming it into the platform in front of his seat. The loud crack it produced effectively silenced the assembly.

“Do you,” the Voice stabbed a long finger at Zarfensis, “deny that you sent raiding parties out without the approval, or even knowledge of the pack council?”

“I deny nothing,” the High Priest said with a snarl. “I refuse to recognize the authority of any council that would have the Chosen cower like vermin in their dens.”

This time it was less of a murmur and more of a roar that went through the chamber. Zarfensis looked sidelong at Xenir and saw him scanning the crowd. They were thinking the same thing. Perhaps there were more elder loyalists than they had given credit for. Once again the gavel silenced the uproar.

“You will be summarily executed for treason,” the Voice announced, dropping any pretense of a fair ruling. He pointed to Xenir. “Your accomplice, the Warleader—”

The Voice never had a chance to finish his sentence. Zarfensis had hunkered down into a crouch, exploding forward as the magically imbued leg drove him across the advocate’s table and into the Voice. They crashed into the throne, toppling it and plunging the room into panic. The High Priest wrenched the gavel from the Voice’s hand and slammed it into the elder’s head. There was a sickening, satisfying crunch and the Voice twitched once and was silenced.

Tossing the gavel aside, Zarfensis saw that Xenir had followed his lead and descended on the other council members. He tore at them with a ferocity that bordered on zealotry. Zarfensis reached into the deepest depths of the Quintessential Sphere and called forth a disease-ridden mist that descended over the panicked Chosen scurrying about below the council platform.

The older and infirm Xarundi succumbed almost immediately. Gasping for breath, their tongues lolled from open mouths, their clouded eyes protruding from the sockets as they fell. Those not immediately afflicted broke for the doorway, only to find a flood of young Xarundi descending upon them. Young fangs and claws could still do damage, and their sheer numbers guaranteed their swift victory. Zarfensis dispersed the mist as the striplings entered the chamber.

The entire coup was over within minutes of its start. No one on the council had survived the assault, and most of those who had attended the faux trial lay dead or dying on the floor of the chamber.

The Warleader scooped up the gore-matted gavel, brandishing it above his head as he leapt to the top of the Advocate’s table, somehow, miraculously, still standing among the detritus of battle.

“The council is dead! I swear my loyalty to a new Lord Regent, the High Priest!” Xenir dropped the gavel and went to a knee. The genuflection spread rapidly through the crowd, until all the Chosen had taken a knee before Zarfensis.

“My brothers and sisters!” Zarfensis spoke loudly, so his voice would carry into the tunnel beyond. “Let today usher in a time of dominance and superiority for the Chosen. Let us seek out and destroy our enemies where they live and never again cower in the Warrens as if they were a prison.”

The thunderous shout that rose from the assembly shook the walls of the chamber and echoed down the wide corridor. Zarfensis dropped from the platform and offered a hand to Xenir.

“Come, Lord Protector, there is much to put into motion.”

Chapter Five

Tiadaria was laying on her bed, staring at the ceiling when someone knocked on her door. “Lady Tiadaria,” Harold called. “You have a gentleman caller.”

“Faxon,” she said to herself. “It’s about bloody time.”

Shifting off the bed, she strode to the door and threw it open. Wynn stood on the threshold. He had a large book tucked under one arm, almost hidden from view by the sleeve of his robe. He took a step backward at the sudden moment of the door and ran into Harold, who steadied the lad and disappeared down the hallway.

“Lady Tiadaria,” Wynn’s voice wavered and the tips of his ears were burning a bright enough red that they could have probably lit the deepest cavern on Solendrea. Tiadaria was perversely pleased by his discomfort. “I, um… I’m, er— what I mean to say is that I’m not very good with people.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Tiadaria replied at her driest. She motioned him in and closed the door behind him.

Seeing the work table seemed to ground the young quintessentialist. He went to the table and deposited the book he was carrying on the surface with reverent hands. Tia found herself wondering if he treated every book he touched with such awe and care. If so, she could understand why Faxon entrusted his research to this particular apprentice.

Wynn began flipping through the book, his fingers lightly grazing each page as he flipped through them. When he spoke again, the shakiness had left his voice.

“You said yesterday that Master Indra is looking for a relic that the Xarundi also seek, buried in snow and ice. I remember seeing an entry in this journal about an expedition to the Frozen Frontier to find a source of rare and powerful magic.”

“Ah, here it is; Alveron and his men left Ethergate two fortnights ago. They go to the far north in search of a relic of limitless power. I asked Alveron where he learned of the relic, but he wouldn’t share the information with me. I thought it was important that we know the source of the rumor, so I took matters into my own hands. I took his quartermaster to the inn and got him good and drunk. The quartermaster says that they bought the information from a Dyrseer in Overwatch. He said the Dyrseer’s great-grandfather saw the relic buried in the ice and brought the tale back with him at the end of the war.”

Wynn glanced up at her. “It continues on into a lot of detail you probably don’t need or want. It does, however, seem to hint at there being some truth to the rumor you’re chasing.”

“What’s a Dyrseer?” Tiadaria asked.

The quint tapped the journal with his forefinger. “It seems to be a now-forgotten term for the creatures you refer to as the Xarundi.”

“So who was this Alveron?”

Wynn sniffed. “A quintessentialist of mediocre renown. If he had paid more attention to his studies and less time running around searching for relics, maybe he’d have survived his journey to the Northern Rim.”

“How do you know he didn’t survive?”

He tapped the journal again. “Theodrin was a direct descendant of Grigor Gatzbin and the historian of our order until his death in 219p.c. Theodrin mentions Alveron once or twice more in his journals, but he never mentions his return.”

“That’d be a neat trick after eight hundred years,” Tiadaria quipped. “If he wasn’t dead then, he is now.”

“A logical assumption,” Wynn said, nodding.

Tia stared at him. “I was joking, Wynn.”

There was a long silence, punctuated by the quintessentialist flipping the book closed and tucking it back under his arm.

“Joking, if you can call it that, aside, you now know that there may be a relic somewhere in the Northern Rim.” He turned to leave and Tia caught him by the sleeve.

“We need to know more, Wynn. We need to know where the relic is, or at least make a good guess so we can start looking. We have to beat the Xarundi to whatever this thing is, if it exists.”

“Why?”

Tiadaria gaped at him. Her lips moved wordlessly for a moment before she finally found her voice. When she did, her words came out in the barest whisper.

“Why? Why do we have to beat the Xarundi? Why do we have to ensure that they don’t unleash something terrible on Solendrea?”

“Yes. Why?”

Her initial shock abating, Tia found the full strength of her voice and used it. “Don’t you know anything about the Xarundi? Don’t you know that they almost wiped out the human race? Don’t you know that two years ago, they almost did it again? I was there. People died, Wynn.” Her voice broke and her fingers went instinctively to her collar. “People I cared about. People Faxon cared about. The Xarundi are savage monsters and we cannot allow them any advantage. None.”

The quintessentialist had the good form to look uncomfortable, though Tiadaria couldn’t tell if it was because her words were having any impact whatsoever, or if he was just twitchy because she was so emotional.

“I’m— I’m sorry,” he said after a long pause. He placed the journal back on the table and sat down on her bed. “I was born here. In Ethergate, I mean. My parents were both quintessentialists, both researchers. Like me. I’ve never even been outside the city.”

Tia peered at him, wondering if this was his way of getting back at her for her joke earlier. She studied his face, drawn in solemn lines. Wynn probably wouldn’t know a good joke if it leapt out of the fire and danced on his toes.

“You’re serious?” Tia was aghast. Even as she asked the question, Tiadaria realized it wasn’t as ridiculous as it had first seemed. After all, she hadn’t been outside the clan lands before her father had sold her to the repugnant slaver who brought her into the Imperium. Even so, she had been to other clan villages. To never have been outside the city…

“Why would I leave?” Wynn’s sweeping gesture encompassed all of Ethergate. “Everything I could ever need is inside these walls. There’s never been an attack on Ethergate that made it beyond the gate. What kind of fool would make war against a city full of mages?”

She could appreciate the logic in that. Somehow, though, she didn’t think that the Xarundi would much care about how many mages there were. They’d breed as many bodies as they needed and throw them at the walls until they fell.

“The Xarundi might,” she said with a sigh.

The look he shot her was plainly disbelieving. “These creatures may be savage, but surely they don’t think they could take the city. That’s just not reasonable.”

Tia threw her hands in the air. “These aren’t reasonable creatures, Wynn! They believe they are the Chosen. They believe that they alone have the right to rule over every race on Solendrea and they’ll stop at nothing to ensure that they see that to its end.”

She took a knee next to him, so she could look up into his face. “Don’t you see? That’s why we need you, Wynn. That’s why we need to find out as much as we can about this relic. What it is. Where it might be. How to find it. Your skill could be invaluable. You could save hundreds, maybe thousands of lives.”

The mage rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. His eyes were troubled and Tiadaria felt sympathy for him for the first time. It wasn’t all that long ago that her entire world view had been challenged. She knew what a shock that was.

“I don’t know,” he finally said, meeting her gaze. “I can’t believe that these…things…would attack Ethergate.”

“Maybe they won’t,” Tiadaria agreed. “Maybe they’ll just kill as many men, women, and children in the Imperium as they can, then enslave the rest. Then Ethergate will be the last human settlement they haven’t destroyed or made slaves of. Do you really think they’ll leave you alone forever?”

“Alright!” His voice rose as the last of his resistance broke. “Alright. I’ll see what else I can find in the archives.” He shook his head slowly. “Maybe I can at least find you somewhere to start.”

Tia laid her hand on his knee and a familiar shock shot up her arm. Wynn jumped at the touch and she quickly pulled her hand away. “That’s all we ask for, Wynn, thank you.”

The quint got to his feet and once again retrieved his book. He bade her good day and told her that he’d come to her with anything that he might find during his investigation. As Tiadaria closed the door behind him, she wondered if he had realized what had passed between them, and if he had, how long it would be before the Order’s inquisitors descended on the inn to take her away.

“Damn it, Faxon,” she said quietly to herself. “I need you here now. Where are you?”

*

“Vermin in the Warrens! There are vermin in the Warrens!” The pup that came racing into the rectory was so young that Zarfensis suspected he wasn’t long off his mother’s teat. His eyes were wide with panic, their blue fire amplified by a lens of tears.

The High Priest put down his pen and went to the door. In the cathedral he could hear excited yips and shouts. Excited, not fearful, and not panicked like the youngster crouched down next to his desk. It wasn’t, then, the vermin descending on them en masse to finish what they’d begun at Dragonfell.

“Come, whelp.” He offered his hand to the cowering pup, who took it with only a moment’s hesitation. “The vermin are not to be feared. We teach the vermin to fear us. We are the Chosen.”

“Y-yes, Your Holiness.”

Zarfensis lead the pup from the rectory into the cathedral. He’d wasted no time in moving back into his traditional quarters after the coup and now the adolescents that he and Xenir had assigned to stand guard over the upper levels of the Warrens were streaming into the sanctuary in twos and threes. The High Priest was about to take them to task for leaving their posts when he saw Xenir.

“Your Holiness!” Xenir motioned toward the antechamber and Zarfensis nodded his understanding. He gently pushed the pup into the waiting arms of a nearby stripling. The adolescent stepped in front of the pup, his half-grown claws unsheathing as he took up a protective position.

Zarfensis bounded across the sanctuary, his metal leg ringing against the marble floor with each step. “Report, Warleader.”

“There are vermin in the upper tunnels, Your Holiness. The tunnel guards did exactly as they ought, took them by surprise from one of the blind tunnels and restrained them. They are holding their captives at the north entrance.”

“They’re not bringing them here?”

Xenir wrinkled his nose, his lips drawing back from his teeth. “No, I’ll not see the Warrens defiled by vermin.”

Zarfensis chuckled at the vehemence in the Warleader’s tone. He clapped him on the shoulder. “Very well, brother. Let us go greet our…guests.”

The Warleader snorted but said nothing. They loped easily up through the tunnels leading to the surface, passing knots of curious onlookers as they went. They passed a bitch, followed by a full litter of pups. Zarfensis held up a hand and the Warleader stopped. The High Priest turned to the bitch, who immediately bowed her head and went to her knees.

“Your Holiness?”

“Rise, dear sister. Why are these pups out of the nursery?”

“I heard there are vermin in the Warrens, High Priest.”

“Then why aren’t you protecting your charges in their place?”

“The pups must learn what the vermin look like, what they smell like, how they sound. Otherwise, how will they hunt them down as they grow?”

She tossed her head haughtily, refusing to drop her eyes from Zarfensis’s intense gaze.

“Well spoken, sister.” Zarfensis motioned for the Warleader to continue and called over his shoulder. “Just ensure their safety.”

“The day I can’t protect my pups from a few vermin, I’ll cut off my own tail.” She said as they rounded the corner.

Zarfensis shuddered. Losing a tail was the greatest shame a Chosen could be subjected to. The High Priest wondered if there were many other females with that same streak of aggressiveness.

“She has a warrior’s heart,” Xenir remarked. Zarfensis had often wondered if Xenir’s gift of foresight also offered him the occasional glimpse into another’s mind, but when the Warleader continued, the High Priest’s suspicion was allayed.

“Those pups are mine,” Xenir said without a trace of pride. “She’s not the only female with that kind of fire, either. I wonder if we might be well-suited by allowing them to become warriors.”

“One cultural upheaval at a time, Xenir. We’ve only just restored the Chosen to our rightful status, let’s not give the scant handful of elders who backed us a reason to overthrow us just yet.”

Xenir grunted and walked on. Before long, they reached the oval cavern that was used as the ready room for the northern entrance to the Warrens. Three dirty, pink vermin were on their knees, guarded by two pairs of Xarundi guards. Zarfensis was impressed with their restraint. None of the prisoners seemed to be mauled in any way.

“Only three?” Zarfensis remarked to Xenir. “Are these vermin suicidal?”

“You were at Dragonfell,” the largest of the humans said, nodding toward Zarfensis. “The quints gave you a right good beating.”

A meaty thud echoed across the cavern as the man’s head rocked back on his neck. The force of the High Priest’s backhand raised an ugly welt across the human’s cheekbone.

“Learn your place, vermin.” Zarfensis snarled.

The man hawked and spat blood onto the floor in front of him. “My place is where the most money is. We have information you may find interesting, for a price.”

Zarfensis marveled at the audacity of these vermin. They defiled the Warrens with their presence and then expected to be compensated for their information. They should be happy they were still breathing.

“What information could a lowly vermin possibly have that is of interest to the Chosen?”

The man smiled, showing a crooked row of bloody teeth. “We know where the Swordmage is. If I were you, I’d want my revenge. I’d want to see the bitch flayed alive.”

The High Priest glanced at Xenir. The vermin obviously had no idea how offensive his words were. To compare a human woman to a female Xarundi. It was disgusting. The Warleader’s gaze slid from his and Zarfensis suddenly wondered if he was seeing the Deep Oracle again.

There would be time to address that later, he thought. If these vermin actually did know the location of the Swordmage, that could be valuable.

“What is the price for this information?” Zarfensis raised a hand at Xenir’s protest. He understood the Warleader’s protest. No Chosen could ever be indebted to the vermin.

“Runedust,” the man said, longing creeping into his voice. “Six vials, two for each of us.” He nodded to his companions.

Dusters, Zarfensis thought, his skin crawling. Now that he looked closely at the vermin, he could see the signs. The tiny pupils, the drawn skin, the broken veins around the nose. These men had been consuming runedust for quite some time. They were desperate. He could smell their need.

Xenir’s nose flared and Zarfensis caught his eye. The Warleader flicked one ear. He had come to the same conclusion at the same time. Dire straits had driven these vermin into the Warrens. A duster with no regular source of runedust was as good as dead anyway. Trading their information for a small fortune must have seemed brilliant to the three of them.

The High Priest drew a vial of glowing blue crystals from the pouch on his belt. He held it level with the vermin’s line of sight, ensuring that the gentle pulse caught his eye.

“A show of good faith,” Zarfensis said, rolling the vial across the floor. The human snatched it up, pulling the stopper with his teeth and pouring some crystals into his hand before passing it to his companions.

Pressing his nose to his palm, the vermin snorted the crystals, not even bothering to pulverize them first. A moment later, the human’s eyes had taken on a pale blue fire that was far too similar to the Xarundi’s for the High Priest’s piece of mind. The tension in the man’s frame seemed to ease and he sighed deeply before speaking.

“There is a human settlement, a city outside the Imperium borders, a mage city.”

“I know this city,” Xenir said. “The vermin call it Ethergate. It is known to the Xarundi as the Hallowed Vale.”

“How do you know that?” The human was visibly startled.

Xenir snorted his derision. “Because, vermin, it was a Chosen city long before the humans moved into our ruins like the scavengers they are.”

The leader of the vermin paused as his companions got into a squabble over the division of the crystals left in the vial. Once they had consumed their portions, he continued.

“The Swordmage is in Ethergate. We found her on the road to the city and scared off her horse to slow her down, then we came here.”

Zarfensis nodded. “Knowing that the Xarundi possess the rune of death.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes. Surely this information is worth the price we ask?”

Zarfensis looked at the Warleader, who nodded almost imperceptibly. He trusted Xenir’s council. If they both suspected these men were more desperate than interested in practicing deception, there was a good chance that the information was good. They could have their revenge on the Swordmage and then retrieve the relic.

“It is,” the High Priest agreed. The human sagged in on himself, almost comically relieved. His addiction to runedust must be staggering, Zarfensis thought without pity. He motioned to the Xarundi guards. “Dispose of the vermin.”

Even augmented by the power of runedust, three humans were no match for four nearly adult Xarundi who descended on them with claws and fangs flashing. The screams were intense, but short-lived as the Chosen dispatched their prey with deadly efficiency.

“Do you believe the information to be accurate?” Zarfensis watched with grim pleasure as the adolescents ate their fill. Xenir, coming to stand beside him, nodded.

“I see no reason to doubt it. I know of this city. We can dispatch warriors and know for sure if the Swordmage is really there.”

“No, Warleader. I prefer to attend to this myself.”

Xenir nodded. “I suspected as much.” He motioned to the guards, dragging the remains of the humans from the cavern. “At least take them with you. They’re young, but their instincts have proven true.”

“Of course, brother. We leave tonight.”

*

Tiadaria arched her back against the chair, he ankles crossed and legs stretched out under the table. A series of pops and snaps issued from her joints and she sighed in relief. There was no way of telling how long they’d been at it. The magical lanterns on the walls used no oil and burned no wax. No consumption meant no way of measuring the passage of time. Without windows, they might as well be isolated from all of Solendrea.

They’d been in the library every night for the past four nights and each night, the hopelessness of their endeavor seemed to weigh on them even more. If nothing else, the time together had immunized Tiadaria against Wynn’s logic and reason. She was even beginning to genuinely like the young quintessentialist, even if he did make her crazy.

Wynn snapped the book in front of him and sighed as well, not in relief, but in exasperation. He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and his eyes with the other. Tia rose, welcoming the opportunity to let blood flow back into her legs. She crossed behind Wynn’s chair and laid her hand on the back of his neck. The only indication that he felt the same shock that Tia felt was a momentary jerking of his shoulders. Then he let out a low groan as she began to knead the knotted muscles in his neck and shoulders.

His chin dropped to his chest and Tiadaria poked him with her finger. “Don’t you dare fall asleep on me. Turnabout is fair play. When I’m done, you’re going to do me.”

“Yes, Lady Tiadaria,” he said sleepily. “Although, to be fair, it could very well be time to sleep. I lost track of what time it was some time ago.”

“And nothing to show for it,” she groused, her fingers translating her mood into overly hard pressure on Wynn’s shoulders.

“Ow!”

“Sorry,” she said, easing her grip on the spot. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“No,” Wynn replied. “I didn’t think you did. I suspect that if you meant to hurt me, I’d know it.”

Tiadaria chuckled and Wynn looked up at her questioningly. He was infuriating, eminently logical, reasonable, rational, and he said some of the most unintentionally funny things at times. That he had no idea what he was saying or why it amused her so only served to tickle her even more.

“Nothing,” she said, answering his glance. “Just one of my little jokes.” She leaned over his shoulder and tapped the corner of the journal he had been writing in. “What’s in here?”

“Research notes,” he sighed. “There are lots of vague clues and clever turns of phrase, but nothing definitive, and certainly nothing that Master Indra can act on.”

“Well, if we do end up finding something, we may be the ones acting on it.” Tiadaria was just musing aloud, but Wynn’s reaction was dramatic and immediate. He sat bolt upright in his chair, his spine straight as an arrow.

“Don’t even joke about that!”

Tia took her hands off his shoulders and nudged her hip between him and the table. He slid his chair out and she half-sat on the edge of the table. “I’m not joking. Whatever has gotten into you?”

“You go where you want,” he said with a stubborn lift of his chin. “I’m not leaving the city. It’s safe here. Besides, I’m a researcher, not a fighter.”

“You’re a quintessentialist,” Tiadaria pointed out. “Surely you can defend yourself if necessary.”

“I

” Wynn’s cheeks went bright red and his eyes dropped to the floor. He was embarrassed! When Tiadaria had still lived among the clan, she had seen that reaction in her brothers when they failed to best rival clansman in combat. It was deep shame. She had felt it standing the council room at Dragonfell, standing in front of the Captain and knowing that she had defied him, and in so doing, disappointed him.

“I lied when I told you that I’d never been out of Ethergate,” He blurted, almost in a panic. “I wasn’t born or raised here. I was exiled here, in a fashion.” The pain in his voice eschewed any desire she had to scold him for his falsehood.

“What happened?” she asked quietly.

Wynn turned his head from her and for a moment Tia was convinced that he would just remain that way, silent and inscrutable. When he spoke, his voice wavered and she realized that his reluctance stemmed from trying to get himself under control.

“I told you that both my parents were quintessentialists. We lived in Blackbeach and they were both so convinced that I would be like them that when I reached my sixteenth name day and hadn’t shown any connection whatsoever with the Quintessential Sphere, I think they were devastated. Most children know from an early age. They’ll be able to move something here, conjure something there. Little, harmless things that tip them off to their connection. I never had that. Making the best of things, my parents taught me to be a world-class archivist and researcher. I guess they figured that if I wasn’t going to be like them, they could at least keep me close.”

Tia shifted on the desk and Wynn finally looked at her, his face still crimson and his eyes suspiciously wet. She inclined her head, urging him to continue. He took a deep breath.

“The other kids picked on me something fierce. It got to be so bad that I’d spend my days in the library, just to avoid anyone else. I got to know some of the most powerful Masters of our age. Masters Jotun and Tanglar, Master Faxon— so many brilliant minds that I got to study while I was escaping the inevitable cruelties of adolescence.

“They caught me leaving the library one night. I had taken an armful of books to do some transcribing and I had promised Master Jotun that I’d be careful with them. They chased me down the long alley behind the library, up against the city wall.”

Wynn’s eyes lost focus and Tia knew he was back at the end of the alley. She was torn between wanting to stop him, to spare him the pain, and knowing that if he had come this far, he needed to let it out. She wondered who else, if anyone, had heard his story. Had anyone bothered to listen? Or had they dismissed him as an eccentric and left him alone?

“They knocked the books out of my arm and I was so scared. I promised Master Jotun I’d take care of them. They were my responsibility, and these kids, my peers, were kicking them around the alley, laughing and whooping, having a great time. There were four of them. I’ll remember their names of the rest of my life.

“Thomas was the biggest and the leader. The others were Harlon, Azir, and a little crippled kid named Meppet. The crippled kid was more accepted than I was. I know it shouldn’t matter now, or even then, but it hurt, you know?

“I remember it so clearly. Thomas punched me in the stomach and all the wind went out of me. I fell back against the wall and he hit me a second time. I’d never been in so much pain. He drew his hand back to hit me a third time and I threw my hands up to try and protect myself.”

He swallowed convulsively and looked away. Tiadaria put her fingers under his chin and determinedly ignoring the link-shock, turned his face to hers. Tears were slipping from the corners of his eyes.

“Wynn,” she said gently. “What happened?”

“I incinerated them,” he snapped at her. “I don’t remember calling on the sphere, I don’t remember saying any words, or making any gestures, or any part of any ritual, rite, or spell. All the same, I incinerated them. They screamed and people came running. They tried to help, but it was pointless. They were gone in moments.

“It was an accident,” Wynn continued, his voice steadying. “Everyone said so. Rationally, I know that’s true. I didn’t mean for it to happen. I didn’t want it to happen. But there was a part of me, a small part, that was glad that it did. Everyone left me alone after that. It was difficult for Mother and Father. They started fighting a lot. Then one evening Master Faxon came by the house and asked me to be his apprentice.

“I know he moved me here to get me out of Blackbeach. It was easier for everyone that way, and I got to come here and do what I’m good at. Somewhere safe, where there won’t be any more accidents.”

“Wynn,” Tia said slowly. “You can’t live your life being afraid of what might happen. Surely you’ve had training?”

He nodded. “I was trained and given the quintessential Trials just like any other mage. Master Faxon said that I was one of the biggest raw talents he’d ever seen.”

This last statement he added without hint of ego or pride. It was just another fact, another piece of information to be categorized and relayed. Tiadaria shook her head. A mage that Faxon said was one of the most powerful he’d seen and the silly boy wouldn’t even go outside the city.

“If I need your help, I need to know I can count on you, Wynn. Especially if Faxon doesn’t arrive before we find something we can act on. I don’t think I can do this alone.”

“I can’t,” he said with mournful eyes. “Inside the city it’s safe, I’m safe. I can help you from here, but that’s as much as I can offer.”

He got to his feet, stretching in much the same way Tiadaria had when she rose. “It’s late, Lady Tiadaria…or at least, I suspect it’s late. Let’s both get some sleep?”

Without waiting for a reply, he stepped past her, leaving her to watch him ascend the stairs to the upper reliquary. She was irritated with him, both for his stubborn insistence on not leaving Ethergate, and because he had forgotten to rub her shoulders.

Chapter Six

By the time Zarfensis had left the Warrens, his entourage had grown from five to fifteen. Though Xenir was reluctant to remain behind, he knew that these were critical times for solidifying their vision for the Chosen. If they were going to rule and return the Xarundi to power, then they had to make sacrifices. The Warleader contented himself with hand-picking the warriors who would accompany his oldest friend on their mission. This had, naturally, resulted in a marked increase in force strength.

Now that they stood outside the city, Zarfensis was privately happy to have the extra bodies. The walls, bathed in flickering shadows cast by the eldritch fire that danced in the large braziers, seemed almost insurmountably high. The portcullis was closed for the night, a foreboding thing of steel rods as thick as a man’s thigh. There was a rustle in the bushes nearby and the last of the scouts he had sent out loped into view.

“Your Holiness, the city is secure. Every entrance is well fortified and guarded. We were unable to find a weakness.”

Zarfensis dismissed the report with a nod and turned his attention back to the city. He was unfamiliar with the history of the Hallowed Vale. It probably would have served him well to consult the archives before setting out on this mission, but time, he felt, was of the essence. If the girl were here, and indeed had knowledge of the relic, then it would do well for them to end her here and now before she could cause any more trouble. How many Xarundi relics were lost when the vermin had driven them from this place?

The High Priest went rigid and the warriors were instantly on alert. They circled him, claws unsheathed, their ears and eyes vigilant for what had alarmed their leader.

“What is it, Your Holiness?” Chrin was the nominal leader of the warriors. He was an older Xarundi, graying with age but still well-muscled. His senses were as keen as those with half his years and the others naturally looked to the experienced fighter for their orders.

“A hunch, Chrin.” Zarfensis pointed to the city. “Xenir says that this was once a city of the Chosen. The vermin took it from us when they drove us out of the human lands. What’s the first thing we do when we settle somewhere? Whether it’s a new cavern in the Warrens, or the farther outposts, what is the very first thing we do?”

“Secure an escape,” Chrin answered, his jaw dropping in a feral smile. “You believe there is a bolt-hole.”

“Would our ancestors really have been so different? If the idea is so well ingrained in us as to be second nature today, certainly that imperative comes from our proud lineage.”

“Let us hope so, High Priest.” Chrin turned to the other warriors, ordering them out in pairs to scout the untamed wilderness outside the city walls. He alone remained with Zarfensis, watching over the city.

Long moments of silence passed as they waited for the scouts to return. Minutes quickly lengthened and became hours. Zarfensis grew restless, but Chrin remained in his alert crouch, only the occasional flick of an ear set him apart from a statue. Even the High Priest had to admire his discipline.

There was a scuffle nearby and Chrin whirled toward the sound. Pinpricks of blue fire betrayed their brethren as they made their way through the undergrowth. One by one the teams returned, reporting their failure and accepting the consequences of their shortcoming. Zarfensis assured them that if there was a failure to be had here, it would not be on them. They were following the orders of their Warleader and assisting the High Priest.

The second to last pair returned with news, both the news that Zarfensis so eagerly wanted to hear and news that was far less welcome.

“Report,” Chrin growled.

The adolescent Xarundi was awash with the smell of fear and Zarfensis wrinkled his nose. To his credit, the youth quickly regained his composure and presented his report.

“We found what we thought might be the bolt-hole. It was near the south-west corner of the city, almost out of sight of the city walls. It was covered with rocks and loose earth, but it smelled different. It smelled older.”

“We were clearing the debris to see if we could find an entrance to a tunnel when a patrol from the city saw us. We expected the vermin to run, but they advanced on us. We turned and ran, not from cowardice,” the youngster paused, as if wanting reassurance that his elders understood his meaning. Zarfensis nodded and the scout continued. “We wanted to draw them away, so that if we were right, they’d be none the wiser.”

“Did your plan succeed?” Zarfensis was now nearly as tense as Chrin. If the vermin discovered the hole, and it was an entrance into the city, they would waste no time in securing it, he was sure.

“Oh, yes, Your Holiness. They gave chase almost immediately, which is the problem. As we were drawing them into the woods, we inadvertently fled past our brothers.” The scout looked pained. “We led the vermin right to them! Our brothers didn’t have time to react. The vermin subdued them and took them to the city. We escaped and came directly back to report.”

“You’ve done well,” Chrin said. Then turning to Zarfensis, he pointed a long claw toward the city. “They may be young, but they carry the honor of the Chosen. They’ll do whatever they can to escape, and that may work to our advantage. If the vermin are busy dealing with the Xarundi inside their city, they may overlook those of us still outside.”

“Agreed. We should make haste.”

The party of Xarundi set off for the hole the scouts had found. They ran on all fours, trading off a bit of the stealth for speed, for they all felt that time was of the essence. Zarfensis was pleased to find that the mechanical leg, though it was louder than his brothers, only mildly affected his gait and he was able to keep up with the others easily.

It didn’t take long at all for them to reach their destination. Chrin set up guards around the perimeter and assigned four of the largest Xarundi to help clear the rocks and earth from the pit. He urged them to work quickly, but quietly. They had already lost two of their brethren to the vermin, they could ill afford losing anyone else.

Zarfensis knelt near the pit as they worked, his nose working to uncover the myriad of scents that were layered on top of each other. There was damp earth and moldering wood, rotting leaves and fungus. All to be expected. But there was something else. Something faint and peculiar, something that just didn’t belong.

The High Priest shifted his vision into the Quintessential Sphere, pressing outward from the here and now and passing, with some difficulty, through the veil that separated the memories of the past from the present. He was vaguely aware of the Xarundi working around him, of Chrin barking orders in hushed tones, but the bulk of his consciousness was in the living memory of the place where he stood. He pressed back through layers of memory, digging deeper into the past until the surrounding area began to change. Huge trees became saplings, streams appeared that had long ago withered to nothingness, and before him lie a deep tunnel in the earth.

He looked toward the city. Though he could see the hazy outline of the present-day walls, inside the Sphere the memory was vivid. Squat stone buildings made up the bulk of the city. This was ancient Xarundi architecture, Zarfensis knew. From before the days when the vermin had driven them underground to fight for their existence.

Turning his attention back from the city, Zarfensis moved his consciousness down into the tunnel. The memory of a dank, musty smell assaulted him and he suddenly felt wary, as if he was being watched. Unnerved, he quickly withdrew from the Sphere and refocused his attention on the physical world.

Chrin was watching him. “Doing some scouting of your own, Your Holiness?”

“Yes,” Zarfensis replied. Unsure of whether it was Chrin’s regard that he had felt so keenly, or something else. “This tunnel, properly excavated, will give us the access to the city we seek.”

Chrin relayed the new information to the working Xarundi, who redoubled their efforts to clear the entrance to the tunnel. Now that they were almost guaranteed access to the city, there was a definite air of excitement and anticipation about them. Zarfensis knew that they wanted to enter the city as much to complete their mission as to free their brethren from the vermin. He couldn’t blame them. The very thought of the Chosen being exposed to the vermin’s barbaric methods of interrogation set his fur on edge.

There was a soft cry from the bottom of the pit and Zarfensis moved to the edge. He was astounded at how much progress they had made so rapidly. Eight feet down, they had broken through into what had once been the tunnel. Recalling the perimeter guards, the rest of the Xarundi cleared the entrance under the watchful eyes of Zarfensis and Chrin.

Once the entrance to the tunnel was widened sufficiently to accept his frame, Zarfensis dropped into the pit, his mechanical leg making a metallic ring as it struck the stones underfoot. He ducked into the tunnel, letting his vision adjust to the darkness. The pale blue glow of the Xarundi’s night vision turned everything in the tunnel monochromatic. Still, it was quite easy to see that the tunnel had been abandoned for quite some time. The timbers that had offered support for the walls and ceilings were rotting and in some cases had given way entirely, allowing the damp earth to encroach on the tunnel.

Any attack made from this point of entrance would be a slow, methodical thing, not a rushing surprise attack that would sent their enemies into a blind panic. He turned to the others.

“Single file, and slowly. A word said out-of-place could bring the whole thing down around us. Watch your step, and touch nothing.”

His words were quickly relayed to those outside the range of his quiet growl. Zarfensis carefully picked his way through the rubble, tucking his tail down between his legs to ensure he wouldn’t accidentally brush it against an already crumbling support. It was a very slow advance, but the Xarundi plodded onward in silence.

As they descended deeper into the tunnel, the packed earth and wood supports gave way to a rough-hewn tunnel of rock, which made them all feel a little more comfortable. The passage was reminiscent of the tunnels in the Warrens and had obviously been created by the same tools and manufacture. Emboldened by the familiarity of it, their advance picked up momentum. That was just as well, Zarfensis thought. It would be dawn soon and while the Xarundi could fight in daylight, it made things more complicated. Their night vision gave them an advantage over the vermin that he’d rather not give up if he could avoid it.

Turning a sharp bend, Zarfensis abruptly came to the end of the tunnel. He stopped so quickly, that Chrin, following close behind, ran into him. Only the sure footing of his replacement leg kept them both from toppling over.

“There’s a wall here,” Zarfensis said. “The tunnel is too narrow for more than one. We’ll need to pass the bricks out one by one.”

Extending his claws, Zarfensis dug into the loose mortar around the bricks. It was an easy task, but tedious. After a time, he loosened the first brick enough to ease it from its place in the wall. He drew it out and passed it Chrin, who passed it to the warrior behind him. The brick was exchanged, hand to hand, leaving the last warrior in their procession to determine what to do with the loosened bricks.

Zarfensis had little time to worry about such details, as the missing brick offered him a narrow window into what lay beyond the wall. He pressed his eye to the opening, peering through into the comparatively brightly lit room. Shelves of books lined the walls, which were illuminated with flame-less lanterns. A few desks were scattered among the shelves, but the room appeared to be empty.

Not knowing if this would be the case for any particular length of time, Zarfensis quickly set about removing the next brick from the wall, and then another brick following that. Once the opening was sufficiently widened, it was easier to remove the surrounding bricks and the entire process became much more rapid. Finally, the High Priest stepped into the library and moved away from the hole they had created, allowing the other Xarundi to pass through and into the space where they could all stand without crouching.

“Vermin,” one of the warriors snarled, his nose wrinkling with distaste.

“Yes,” Zarfensis agreed. “There will be many. When we leave this place, douse any light you see. The vermin are nearly helpless in the dark. The advantage is ours.”

Where Zarfensis had been the first into the tunnel, Chrin now took the lead, issuing orders in a series of quiet yips and snarls. Given their instructions, the warriors set out along the walls of the room. They tossed shelves out of the way, seeking an egress into the city. Their zeal earned them a savage reprimand from Chrin to be stealthier. When one of them found the staircase leading up, there was a low whine and the others moved to the foot of the stairs.

Bounding up the stairs, the warriors were alert for any sign of their ancient foe. However, they skidded to a stop in the center of the reliquary. There were no humans in the building. Their sense of smell made that a certainty, but as he climbed the last of the steps, being careful to quietly place the metallic leg lest he give them away, Zarfensis suddenly felt the heavy weight of eyes on him again. He quickly inventoried the room.

In the far corner, well apart from the shelves that held the other magical oddities that thrummed with muted power, was an enormous gargoyle. It sat on its haunches, its stony wings folded against its back, its carved scowl glaring sightlessly into the room.

“Chrin, your strongest warriors, now. We need to get the gargoyle outside.”

“Your Holiness, this is no time for treasure hunting…if one could call it that.”

“The gargoyle,” Zarfensis insisted. “Outside. Now.”

While the strongest of Chrin’s warriors, including Chrin himself, lifted the awkward bulk of the gargoyle, Zarfensis found the doorway leading outside. He pushed it open, carefully peering around the edge. There were no patrols in sight and there was an alley across from the building that would suit his purpose perfectly.

“There,” Zarfensis growled, motioning them toward the alley. He stepped quickly out of the way so that the encumbered warriors could pass, then ushered the rest of the Xarundi out of the building and closed the door behind him.

They dashed into the alley, clustered around the gargoyle in a loose circle. Their eyes burned with blue fire as they looked expectantly at the High Priest, waiting for some explanation. Zarfensis cast an eye skyward. The night was almost cloudless, and the moon shone brightly down upon them, almost making their superior night vision superfluous.

“Your Holiness,” Chrin snarled. “I don’t understand.”

“You will in just a moment.”

The moonlight beat down upon them, bathing the gargoyle in its gentle glow. As the astounded Xarundi watched, the chiseled features of the stone guardian softened, becoming less angular as it unwound from its crouch. Its eyes were liquid silver in the moonlight. It folded its wings against its back and cocked its head at Zarfensis.

“Five hundred years,” it said, its voice like rocks in a barrel. “Five centuries have I been locked in that place, unable to feel the light of the moon on my skin. You have my eternal thanks, Chosen One.”

“It is our duty to the Shadow Assembly to assist where we may,” Zarfensis said with a slight bow. “If I may, there is a favor I’d ask of you.”

“Name it, Xarundi, and if it is within my power, you shall have it.”

“We come to this place to right an ancient wrong that continues to this day. In order to extinguish the humans, we must catch them by surprise. I know the legends of your power. Will you block out the light of the moon?”

The gargoyle laughed, its eyes flashing brightly. “Deny them the moon they denied me for so long? Yes, it shall be done.” The gargoyle extended its claws, breaking the tip off the smallest digit of the living stone. He offered it to Zarfensis.

“I am ever in your debt, Xarundi. If you know the legends, then you know what I offer you is beyond price or value. Go well and strike swiftly.”

Without another word, the gargoyle spread his wings and leapt into the air. A rush of air wafted over them as the powerful wings caught and propelled him upward. They saw his silhouette pass across the moon and heard his voice, booming from above, invoking ancient words of power. A moment later, a thick rolling darkness formed over the city, just below the upper edge of the barrier wall. It blocked out the moon and stars above, as if a sackcloth had been thrown over the city.

“I don’t understand what just happened,” Chrin growled to Zarfensis.

“I’ll explain it later. Right now, we have much to do and limited time to accomplish it.”

They heard a shout from the top of the curtain wall, as if the vermin were acting on Zarfensis’s words. Though the gargoyle’s magic prevented them from being seen from above, it would only be a matter of time before their shouts roused the city guard.

“Leave three of the warriors with me,” Zarfensis commanded. “Take the others and find our brothers. Free them from the vermin and kill any that dare oppose you. Find me when you’ve released them. We will be hunting the Swordmage.”

“As you command, Your Holiness.”

*

Tiadaria felt as if she had just laid her head on the pillow when a deep bass roar shook her bed. She rolled out from under the blanket, sleep blurred and fuzzy, trying to figure out where the noise was coming from. A series of loud crashes echoed down the hall. There had been a few people in the common area when she had staggered through on the way to her room, but no one who seemed like they’d be enough of a problem to cause this kind of commotion. The Elvish Harlot attracted a colorful clientele, but no one who ever really got out of hand.

Whatever was going on, she couldn’t be of any use half-naked. She quickly pulled on the tunic and pants she had slithered out of far too recently. Jamming her feet into her boots, she went to the door and pulled it open.

Splinters of wood were scattered over the hallway floor. Now that the door was open and she was a little more awake, Tia realized that the sounds she heard weren’t the shouting of a bar fight gotten out of hand, they were screams of terror. She sprinted to the end of the hall and skidded to a stop, her feet going out from under her. Tia landed hard on her rump and cracked her teeth together.

The common room was in shambles. There had been a large window that looked out on the high street. It was gone. All that remained was a gaping hole of jagged wood. A towering beast with glowing blue eyes and gray fur was swiping with razor-sharp claws at the patrons who were trying to defend themselves with belt knives and overturned chairs.

The fighters were ranged in a loose circle and Tiadaria peered between their legs to see Harold, his face bloody, laying motionless on the floor in the midst of their group. Her feet worked against the floor, her boots refusing to find purchase in the debris of the destruction that surrounded her. Xarundi! Xarundi! Xarundi! The word pulsed in her mind with every frantic beat of her heart. Instinct took over and she groped for her scimitars, remembering too late that her sword belt was still wrapped in its traveling felt and shoved under her bed.

Tia finally got to her feet, pulling herself up on the bar. The sudden motion caught the attention of the Xarundi, who turned on her. A long string of bloodstained spittle dripped from the corner of its maw. The beast threw back its head and howled so loudly that Tia clasped her hands over her ears. She saw the muscles in the powerful thighs bunch and she dove down the hallway. The creature sprang.

The Xarundi crashed into the bar, shattering it and adding more broken wood to the ruined common room. Somehow, Tiadaria managed to keep her footing and pelted headlong toward her room. The door still stood open. If she didn’t reach her room before the beast grabbed her, she was done for. A split-second glance over her shoulder showed her that the Xarundi was too close. It was running on all fours, which was her only advantage. With its body mass on its front arms, it couldn’t grab for her without going into the floor face first.

Ducking left into her open room, she dove under the bed, frantically searching for the felt bundle that she normally kept behind her saddle. Her fingers tore at the jute that tied the parcel closed. She had nearly gotten the felt unrolled, when she felt the powerful hand grasp her ankle. The grabbed the hilt of one of the scimitars and held on with every ounce of strength she could muster.

The gray-furred Xarundi hauled her out from under the bed. Tia forced away a moment of blind panic and shifted into sphere-sight. Freed from the physical constraints of her body, she turned and faced the black roiling mass that was the Xarundi’s essence within the sphere. Instinct took over and she quickly selected her point of attack.

Snapping back into the physical realm, she twisted at the waist, striking out with a backhanded slice that only barely connected with the Xarundi’s face. The well-honed blade sliced through skin and cartilage with ease. Blood sprayed from the wound where the monster’s nose had been a moment before.

Howling in pain, the Xarundi loosened its grip on her ankle. She rolled up onto the balls of her feet and, calling on the power of the sphere, flipped backward over the bed. Tia rolled her wrist, bringing the scimitar into an offensive position. With her free hand, she grabbed the side of the bed and flipped it up and over, sending it hurtling at her attacker. The bed slammed into the bloodied Xarundi, pushing it back into the hallway. The moment of reprieve gave her the chance to grab her other scimitar.

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.

Chapter Seven

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.

The air in the infirmary was thick with the smell of antiseptic spirits. It reminded him of the hall in Blackbeach where they had taken the bodies of the boys he had killed. Wynn had vowed never to enter such a place again. Yet here he was, keeping an uneasy vigil over the woman who had saved his life. It seemed the least he could do. After all, it was his fault that she was in the bed in the first place.

No matter how many times he revisited the previous night’s events in his head, he couldn’t come up with a single way in which he had done anything but get her hurt. To be fair, Tia hadn’t fully conveyed the mind-numbing horror of being face-to-face with a real, live Xarundi. To hear about the beasts was one thing. To watch in helpless terror as it tore apart every living thing in its path was another matter altogether.

Still, she had asked him to fight, and instead, he had frozen in place, too terrified to do more than huddle against the wall and hope that the entire ordeal would be over soon. If only he had fought, maybe his face wouldn’t hurt so much, maybe he’d still have his eye, and maybe the girl laying in the bed next to him could not have only saved herself, but others in the city who had needed her help as well.

The side of his face throbbed like a distant drumbeat. He tentatively touched the bandages there. His fingers came away sticky, stained with blood that had seeped through the gauze. The healers had offered him medicine for the pain, but he had politely, if firmly, refused. The pain was a good reminder that the next time Tia asked him to fight, maybe he should do it.

There was a commotion at the end of the long hall and Wynn turned his body so he could see clearly with his remaining eye. The clerics had just drawn a bloodstained sheet over the face of someone laying on the table. A woman, a commoner judging by her plain linen dress, threw herself over the body, her wails echoing across the infirmary. How many more would die, Wynn wondered bitterly.

Even as small as he felt, there was something inside him that was even worse. It was the insistent little voice that asked what if? What if Tiadaria had never come to Ethergate? What if the Xarundi hadn’t come looking for her? It wasn’t as if the city hadn’t fought off its fair share of attacks in the past, but never had the cost been so high. The rational part of him knew she wasn’t really to blame, but the rational side of him hadn’t done him much good lately.

Tiadaria shifted and Wynn’s attention was instantly focused back on the bed. He watched her eyes. They fluttered a bit under the lids, but she didn’t wake. He wanted to grab her, shake her, and do anything that might bring her back. He wasn’t sure what to do. So rather than make things worse, he settled on doing nothing. Brooding, he slumped back in his chair and watched her.

The steady throbbing in his head had almost lulled him to sleep when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned his head, then followed a moment later with his full body. He was still struggling to adapt to his newly acquired handicap. The man who stood behind him was of medium build and height, with a head of thick, curly brown hair. The look of compassion he turned on Wynn was enough to make the apprentice look away in embarrassment.

“Apprentice Wynn?” The stranger’s voice was a mellow baritone, far more soothing than Wynn wanted or felt he deserved.

“Yes?”

“I’ve brought a message for Lady Tiadaria. The cleric at the door said you’d been with her all night.”

“And will be until she wakes,” he said harshly, as if somehow the stranger’s statement implied that Wynn should be elsewhere.

“That’s good,” the man said, snaking his foot around the leg of a nearby stool and drawing it next to the apprentice’s chair. “Tia would like that.”

The familiarity of his tone caught Wynn off guard. “You know her?”

Offering a slow, sad smile the man nodded. “Yes. We fought together against the Xarundi at Dragonfell. My name is Cabot. I wish we were meeting under better circumstances.”

Wynn grunted and offered no other reply. Cabot didn’t seem overly inclined to continue the conversation, which suited the apprentice just fine. In fact, Wynn had almost forgotten about Cabot’s presence when he spoke again.

“I feel like I can trust you to deliver this in my absence.” Cabot produced a sealed letter from inside his doublet. He offered it to Wynn, who took it with numb fingers.

“This is from Faxon?” Wynn asked, recognizing the seal and the extravagant blue wax.

“Yes,” Cabot replied with a smile. “For Lady Tiadaria.” He tapped the scrawled name over the seal.

“I’m not in the habit of reading other people’s mail,” Wynn retorted hotly.

“I am,” Cabot said, slowly getting to his feet. “I work for Imperium Intelligence. Please see that Tiadaria gets that letter as soon as she wakes.” Cabot turned to leave, then stopped and looked back at Wynn over his shoulder. “The Xarundi would have come to Ethergate sooner or later, Wynn. Tiadaria wasn’t the only thing of interest to them here, it would seem.”

Wynn jerked upright in surprise. “The gargoyle?” He had only just found out about the theft himself. A knot of quintessentialists had passed through the infirmary discussing the gargoyle. He wondered how Cabot could know of its disappearance already.

Cabot nodded. “We live in interesting times.” He walked off, leaving Wynn to contemplate exactly how interesting they were. Cabot seemed vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He was still trying to puzzle out the connection when Tia spoke.

“Did I hear Cabot?” Tia’s voice was soft and slow and for a moment, Wynn wasn’t sure he had heard it at all. Her eyes were still closed.

“Are you awake?” Wynn pulled his chair closer to the bed. “Tia?”

“I’m awake,” she said with a grimace. “Please don’t yell. My head is killing me. So was Cabot really here?”

“He was.” Wynn kept his voice barely above a whisper. “He brought a letter for you, from Faxon.”

“Can you read it to me?” There was a pause, then Tia gasped. “I’m sorry, Wynn. I

“

“It’s okay, Tia. I still have one good eye.” He broke the seal, shaking the letter open. It was the first time he had to try to read. It wasn’t so bad, but it would take some getting used to. “It reads:

“Dear Tiadaria,

“Bad news spreads like wildfire. The attack on Ethergate is all anyone is talking about here in Blackbeach. I’m coming as soon as I can, but I think we both know that this attack was no coincidence.

“I’m sending Cabot on with this letter. My reasons for this are twofold: first, I wanted you to know I’m on my way. Second, I wanted you to have someone you could rely on—”

Wynn faltered here. Surely there was no way that Faxon could have heard about his shameful cowardice so quickly. He recovered his composure and continued.

“I wanted you to have someone you could rely on in the city until I arrive. Please keep Wynn safe. He’s a good lad, but not much of a fighter. I’ll be there soon. Stay put. Faxon.”

Wynn glanced over the letter again before adding, “He underlined stay put.”

Tiadaria laughed. If the laughter had a bit of a hysterical edge to it, neither of them would mention it. She opened her eyes and looked at him, her face a mask of sorrow as she saw his stained bandages.

“Oh Wynn,” she sighed, her voice cracking and dangerously close to a sob. “I’m so sorry.”

Wynn ducked his head. Her grief only made him feel that much worse. He had failed her and yet she was the one saying she was sorry. Mastering a fear that had nothing to do with what they had been through the previous night, he reached out and took her hand. Link-shock jumped between them and Tiadaria tried to pull away, but he held her firmly.

“I should be apologizing to you,” he said, his voice rough. “If I had fought—”

“If you had fought, it wouldn’t have made any difference. We might both be dead. We’re not. We survived.” She freed her hand from his and laid it gently against the bandages. The look in her eyes made Wynn’s heart skip.

He placed his hand on hers and gently forced it back to the bed. “I’ll be fine, Tia. I have a spare eye, and besides, the healer said that the scars will make me look rugged and manly.”

“Well then,” she said with a hint of her normal humor. “Things went according to plan then, huh?”

Wynn gave her a puzzled look and Tia sighed with exasperation. She really had to do something about his sense of humor, or more accurately, the lack thereof. He wasn’t that much older than she was, there was no reason for him to be so serious and humorless.

“I was kidding you, Wynn. You know, as if you planned the whole thing to get yourself some manly scars.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you have the strangest sense of humor?”

Tia smiled tolerantly. “Life is pretty strange, Wynn. Might as well laugh about it while we can.”

“I guess.” He glanced around the infirmary. “Doesn’t seem like there is much to laugh about in here.”

“No,” she agreed. “Things are pretty serious in here. Hey! Wait a minute! You said that Cabot had brought that letter from Faxon, but he’s still in Blackbeach. It took me more than a week to get here.”

Wynn snorted. “He probably took the gate.”

“What gate?” Now it was Tiadaria’s turn to look puzzled.

“The ether gate,” he said, rolling his eyes. “It’s much faster to get here from Blackbeach that way. More dangerous though, and not fun. At all.”

“Wait, wait, wait. You mean to tell me that there is a way to get directly from Blackbeach to Ethergate?”

“Of course.” Wynn seemed completely oblivious to her agitation.

“And this mode of travel that connects Blackbeach to Ethergate is called the ether gate? A little on the nose, don’t you think?”

“Well, calling it the City of Sparkling Magical Teleportation was deemed a waste of words.”

Tia gaped at him, momentarily at a loss for words. “Wynn! Did you just make a joke?”

“Depends. Was it funny?”

Tia laughed. “Yeah. Yeah, it was.”

“Then I guess so.” Wynn ducked his head as one of the clerics shot him a sour glance. It wasn’t hard to decipher that look. “You need to rest, Tia,” he said, passing along the unspoken message.

“I think that’s a good idea.” She sighed. “Will you stay with me?”

“Of course.”

Wynn watched over her until she fell into a fitful sleep. He dozed in the chair beside her bed. He woke when she woke, slept when she slept, and ate when she ate. In between, they pointedly did not talk about the relic or the attack.

When the sun went down, one of the healers brought Wynn a cot. It was hard and narrow, but it let him remain at Tia’s side. He lay down, and eventually, fell into a fitful sleep.

*

“Twice! Twice the vermin wench has beaten the warriors of the Chosen. It is shameful. A disgrace! An outrage!”

Zarfensis remained silent. He knew that it was better for Xenir to burn off his anger and frustration through vitriol rather than try to answer any of his heated comments. In truth, Zarfensis felt much the same way and he knew that Chrin had had some harsh words for the Warleader when they had returned to the Warrens.

In fact, the only thing that tempered the High Priest’s rage was the small piece of living stone that he held in his belt pouch. It was an unexpected, but incredibly valuable gift. The Swordmage could have slaughtered Chrin and the rest of the warriors and it would have been worth the losses. A gargoyle! Zarfensis doubted the vermin knew what a treasure they had held in their reliquary.

“Well?” The Warleader was obviously waiting for an answer to a question that Zarfensis hadn’t heard. Xenir stood, gripping the edge of the table with extended claws, glaring at the High Priest. It would do no one any good to provoke the Warleader, so rather than show that he hadn’t been paying much attention to the tirade, he took a different path.

“You are absolutely correct, Warleader. It is a shameful disgrace. However, what if I told you that even being subjected to such dishonor, the Chosen came out of the entire encounter with the advantage?”

“How?” The Warleader was plainly skeptical.

“We have this,” Zarfensis replied, taking the stone fingertip from his belt pouch and laying it on the table between them.

Xenir glanced at the stone, then to Zarfensis, and back again. He shook his head slowly.

“You mock me? We lose four of our warriors to the vermin and yet you mock me?” The Warleader’s voice had grown in volume until the end of his sentence was little more than an ear-splitting roar.

The High Priest spread his hands, palms up, a gesture of supplication. “I mock no one, Warleader. Not you, and not the memory of our fallen brothers. This is no simple stone,” he said, tapping the table with one claw. “What lies here before you is incredibly valuable. Its appearance is deceiving.”

“Then what is it?”

“The living finger stone of a gargoyle.”

Again, the Warleader looked from the High Priest to the stone and back. Xenir picked up the stone and turned it over in his palm. His tongue flicked out, circling his maw. His ears twitched in agitation.

“You have the living stone of a gargoyle?”

“It was a happy coincidence, to be sure. I’d be lying if I said otherwise. However, we do have it. The sacrifice of our brothers was great, but so was the reward that came from our endeavor.”

Xenir dropped the stone back to the table as if it had burned him. “So what do we do with it?”

“We find the relic and ensure that we get to it before the Swordmage or any of the other vermin.”

Without waiting for Xenir to ask any more questions, Zarfensis took the gargoyle’s finger and cupped it in his massive hands. As he spoke the ancient words of power, calling on the forces of the sphere, he felt the stone vibrate in his hands. He pressed the fingertip to the wall of the council room and watched as it melted into the stone. Xenir rumbled deep in this throat, but Zarfensis ignored him.

The cavern began to tremble and the two Xarundi had to brace themselves against the table to keep from being knocked over. The shifting of the walls and floor was enough to unnerve even Zarfensis, so he could forgive the stink of fear wafting off the Warleader.

A moment later, the earthquake stopped and an area of the council room wall began to glow with the reddish-orange color of molten rock. As they watched, the molten area became larger, eventually spreading from the ceiling to the floor. A face formed in the center of the glowing mass and pushed outward into the room, extruding itself. Arms and legs appeared next, as the gargoyle hauled itself out of the fissure. The opening closed behind it, leaving only the stifling air in the room and the odor of charred stone in its wake.

“High Priest. Warleader.” The gargoyle nodded to both Xarundi.

“How did you—” Xenir blurted, but the gargoyle cut him off.

“The stone hears all, and we hear the stone, Warleader. Please forgive my brusqueness, but our time is short. The moon’s rays do not reach us here. My name is unspeakable by your race, so you may address me as Sleeper.”

“Sleeper,” Zarfensis said with a respectful half bow. “We wish to know—”

“The location of the relic which you seek, so that you might obtain it before the humans.”

“Yes.”

“I must commune with the stone,” Sleeper replied, stretching out his hands and caressing the rock as one would touch a lover. His touch lingered here and there, tracing lines and striations in the wall as he mumbled to himself in a language Zarfensis had never heard.

“Yes,” Sleeper said. “The stone remembers. It remembers many relics the Chosen have sought over many hundreds of years. You seek one relic, a special relic, buried in snow and ice.”

“Yes!” Xenir’s skepticism seemed to have waned at the mention of the relic from his vision. “That is the relic I saw!”

“The stone remembers. Many Xarundi have sought this relic.”

“My great grand-sire among them, Sleeper.” Zarfensis was nearly as excited as Xenir. “Can you show us where it is?”

“I can show you what the stone remembers.” Sleeper took his hands from the rock and traced a series of symbols on the wall with one stony finger. The traced sigils glowed bright orange on the dark stone before they seemed to take on a life of their own. The symbols spread out, twisting and writhing across the wall. A mountain range of tiny little spikes grew from the stone. In other areas, the stone dropped away, leaving deep valleys and wide expanses of emptiness.

It took Zarfensis a moment to realize that what was forming before them was a map of Solendrea. Xenir’s startled yelp from behind him satisfied the High Priest that the Warleader had come to the same conclusion. Sleeper tapped his finger deep in a rocky range of hills.

“This is the area you call the Warrens.” Sleeper traced a circle with his finger and the area began to glow with a pale orange luminescence. He traced a line from the Warrens, zigzagging up through the clan lands and into the icy wastes far to the north. Farther north than the Xarundi had ever explored.

“Here,” Sleeper said, tapping the spot where his finger had stopped. “Here is the place you will find your relic. Beware, the thing you seek is ancient and powerful. Perhaps more powerful than you can control.”

Zarfensis stared at the map, trying to commit every detail to memory. Xenir had the presence of mind to grab a scrap of parchment from the scroll case and was rapidly scratching out a crude replica of what was displayed on the wall before them. Xenir gave an inarticulate cry as the map began to fade into the same glow that Sleeper had emerged from.

The gargoyle stepped into the molten rock, his body half consumed by the unlikely portal, he inclined his head toward Zarfensis.

“Farewell, High Priest of the Xarundi. Our alliance is concluded. Thank you, again, for freeing me from the humans.”

Without another word, he vanished into the stone, the molten portal sealing behind him.

Zarfensis turned to see Xenir standing over a crude, but mostly complete, replica of the map Sleeper had drawn for them.

“It’s real,” Xenir whispered. “It’s real and we know where to look for it.”

Chapter Eight

“This is it?” Tia had tried to keep the disappointment from her voice. She knew Wynn was excited to bring her here, but somehow, she had expected something much more impressive.

The gate room was small, nondescript, and much plainer than Tia would have imagined. Maybe fifteen feet square, the only remarkable feature of the room was the gate itself. A ring of standing stones about waist high and twelve feet in diameter. A wizened old man sat on a bench in one corner of the room, wiping down a tin bucket with a scrap of cloth. Wynn looked hurt and Tia felt a stab of contriteness. She had asked to come, the least she could do was be polite.

“I’m sorry, Wynn.” Her grin was sheepish. “I was just expecting something a little more…”

“Something more magical and sparkly?”

Tiadaria laughed. “Yes, something more magical and sparkly.”

“Well, when someone is coming through, it gets a little more interesting. Then you might find it appropriately impressive.”

“Is Blackbeach the only other place with a gate?”

“That I know of.” Wynn nodded. “Although, I’m told that the order wanted to put one in Dragonfell, but the king wouldn’t allow it.”

“That doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.” Tiadaria wrinkled her nose. “Heron is a great man and a good friend, but he has some strange notions about quintessentialists and magic in general.”

Wynn stared at her for a moment before he was able to speak again. “So you’re on a first name basis with the One True King?”

“No.” She faltered when he quirked an eyebrow at her. “Well, yes, but it’s not like that. We, uh, found ourselves thrown together by circumstance.”

The look Wynn gave her seemed to say that that particular circumstance was just about as likely as a dragon popping up in the gate room, but he said nothing.

“So,” Tia continued, filling the awkward silence. “If there is near instantaneous transport between Blackbeach and Ethergate, why didn’t Faxon tell me about it?”

“I suspect he probably would have, had you not taken it into your head to run off on your own.” Wynn frowned at her. “When Faxon says something, it’s usually for a good reason.”

Tia sighed. If she had to endure one more of Wynn’s lectures on logic, reason, and responsibility, she was going to scream. The first day or two of their recovery, he had been almost normal, happy to be alive. It hadn’t taken long for that to wear off and for the apprentice to return to his stubbornly rational ways.

There was a commotion in the hallway outside the gate room and Tia and Wynn turned toward the door. Cabot, looking much disheveled, stumbled into the gate room, fumbling with the buttons of his doublet. One of his boots was untied and his travel pack was half open, threatening to spill its contents over the floor at any given moment.

“Oh, Tia, Wynn. I’m glad to see you. You’re both looking well, by the way. I knew a couple of days in the capable hands of Ethergate’s healers would set you right.” His voice cracked and he hastily cleared his throat.

“In a hurry to get somewhere, Cabot?” Tia was curious what would have the normally imperturbable young man so out of sorts.

“I’ve been recalled to Dragonfell. I was hoping to catch the gate back to Blackbeach and shave some time off the trip.” He looked expectantly at Wynn. “What do you say, Apprentice Wynn?”

Wynn looked at Cabot, then glanced at Tia, silently pleading for her to intervene. She shrugged.

“I don’t know the gate ritual,” he finally said to Cabot. “I wish I could help.”

Cabot looked crestfallen. A shadow of something flickered behind his eyes so quickly that Tia was sure she had misread his expression. “I understand. Thanks anyway, Wynn.”

The young man turned to leave and Tia laid a hand on his shoulder. He stiffened and for a moment, she thought he was going to turn on her.

“Cabot?” she asked quietly. “What’s going on?”

“I just need to get back to Dragonfell.” He took a deep breath. “Harold. My father. The innkeeper. He died this morning. His injuries were just too severe.”

“Oh Cabot, I’m so sorry.” Tia’s eyes were suddenly wet. She could still see Harold sprawled on the common room floor.

“Yeah. I need to go. Maybe there’s a wagon heading east.”

Cabot all but ran from the room, leaving Tia and Wynn standing in silence. Tia wiped her eyes and turned to Wynn. She was surprised to see that his eyes were just as moist as hers.

“Wynn?”

“I’m fine. Harold looked after me for a while after Faxon brought me to Ethergate. He was…important to me. When Cabot came to see you in the infirmary, I knew he was familiar. I just now realized why.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too. So let’s get to the library and find this relic before anyone else has to die.”

Tia chose to ignore the bitterness in his voice as they made their way out of the gate room and across the city toward the reliquary. The wall in the lower library had been repaired, the lightness of the new stone a telltale sign of the recent construction. The tunnel beyond had been collapsed with charges of flashpowder. Never again would Ethergate by breached by way of the old Xarundi bolt-hole.

Although the wall had been patched, no one had been in to set the library right. Shelves were still toppled in all directions and books and papers were strewn about without a care for their age or fragility.

“You’d think a city full of quintessentialists would be more concerned about their books.” Tiadaria was collecting the oldest tomes from the floor and piling them on the nearest desk.

“We all seem to have different priorities these days,” Wynn said absently. He was leaning against a fallen bookshelf, flipping through a small leather-bound journal. “I think I’ve found something, Tia.”

The excitement in the young apprentice’s voice was enough to draw Tiadaria to his side.

“What is it?” The prospect of a clue in their elusive quest for the relic had set her all aquiver.

“Alveron’s journal. I didn’t even know it was here. It must have been tucked back in one of the bookcases.”

“But I thought you said Alveron never returned?”

“He didn’t. There’s an inscription in the front that says it was returned to Ethergate with the rest of his personal effects.”

“Returned by whom?”

“Clan tradesmen, it says.”

Tiadaria snorted. “Probably the only time the clan ever did anything so selfless.”

“I doubt it was selfless,” Wynn replied with a wry grin. “The order pays well for artifacts returned. The clans probably account for about eighty percent of the bounty we pay out.”

“Figures. So what does it say?”

“Skip what it says for now,” he said and before Tia could wonder what he meant, he tipped the journal toward her so she could see the pages he was looking at.

It was a map, a detailed map of the area west of Ethergate. There was a series of notes and annotations in a scrawl that Tiadaria couldn’t decipher. What jumped out at her was a symbol scrawled far to the north on the map.

“What does this mean?” She tapped the symbol with her finger, daring him to dispute what she already felt.

“That’s our relic. Or rather, what Alveron thought was the relic’s resting place.”

Tia let out a low whistle. After so much anticipation, it seemed almost anti-climactic to have a neatly labeled map laid out before them. She scrubbed her palms on her thighs, trying to work off some of the nervous energy.

“So what do we do?” Even as she asked the questions, part of Tiadaria wanted Wynn to come up with some other plausible theory.

“We do what we were instructed to do. We stay put and wait for Faxon to arrive. When he does, we’ll turn over all this information and let the order take whatever action they see fit.”

“Seems like I was almost late for the party.”

Tiadaria whirled toward the familiar voice. Faxon stood at the foot of the stairs, his robes shimmering in the magical lamp light.

“Faxon!” Tiadaria broke and ran to him, throwing her arms around his middle and nearly bowling him over.

“It’s nice to see you too, Tia.” The quint chuckled, looking over her head at his apprentice. Wynn gave him a half bow.

“Master Indra.”

Faxon sighed. “Still with the formalities, Wynn? I had hoped Tia would have broken you of that by now.”

“It’s an ongoing project,” Tia said, disengaging herself from Faxon and trying to smooth his rumpled robes.

“Of that, I have little doubt. I’m sorry I was delayed. I had to attend to some other business before I could come to Ethergate, but it seems like you’ve done well enough for yourself.” He held Tia away from him by her shoulders, turning her this way and that, as if appraising her. “Bring that journal and let’s get out of this moldering dungeon. We have a lot of work to do.”

*

The Elvish Harlot was a different place, Tia thought sadly. She, Faxon, and Wynn were gathered around the largest table left intact in the common room. They were the only ones in the building. Cabot’s brother had told them to stay as long as they liked. He had been by to board up the worst of the damage. The other patrons had all moved on. She could understand why. She kept glancing at the broken bar, expecting Harold to be there, and rubbing it down with his tattered towel.

Faxon touched her arm and she jumped. “Sorry,” she said, inclining her head in apology.

“It’s alright,” the quintessentialist’s smile was warm. “I understand, but right now, we need to focus.”

“As I was saying,” Faxon continued without rebuke. “It is safe to assume that if we have figured out where the relic is, the Xarundi probably have too.”

“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 ignoring 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 eyes, 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 could 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.

Chapter Nine

“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.”

Suitably assured that his companions would remember and play their assigned roles, Faxon strolled through the doors. If the outside of the inn was opulent, the inside was unlike anything Tiadaria had ever seen, anywhere. It made the king’s palace in Dragonfell seem shabby in comparison.

The thick crimson carpet under her boots was soft enough that they were actually leaving footprints. The walls were a rich, dark mahogany with a trim of gold that, Tiadaria was certain, was actual gold. The artwork that hung on the walls was captivating. Tiadaria had never seen paintings with such rich colors, or tapestries woven with such fine detail. She was beginning to feel like the smallest fish in a big fishbowl when Wynn whistled through his teeth. That he was just as impressed with the furnishings made her feel better.

A short corridor lead them into a lobby dominated by four huge marble columns that extended the height of the building. A spiral staircase climbed up from one corner of the room with extravagant landings on the second and third floors. The banister was supported by a small army of animals hand carved into the ironwood with meticulous detail. In the center of the lobby a semi-circular counter was overseen by a man in a crisp black uniform of tailored pants and a well-fitting doublet.

While Faxon spoke to the attendant, Tiadaria explored the lobby. Large glass display cases were scattered around the room, each one holding a different type of treasure. There was one display full of sparkling gemstones nearly as large as her fist. Another held an array of gold figurines in the shapes of creatures both mystical and mundane. Tia circled that case, delighted with the whimsy and artistic execution of the little statues. She glanced up to call Wynn’s attention to the figures and looked up into the snarling maw of a Xarundi.

Her startled cry called Wynn and Faxon to her side immediately. She shrank back against them and was thankful when the apprentice steadied her. The Xarundi was clearly in an attack posture, why hadn’t it moved?

“Is everything alright here?” The attendant had hurried over to them. Tiadaria thought this was as much a testament to his concern for the treasures in the room as for her wellbeing.

“Everything is fine,” Faxon replied smoothly, taking the attendant’s arm and guiding him back toward the counter. “My slave was startled by your…unique display piece.”

“Oh yes,” the man gushed. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

Tiadaria couldn’t hear Faxon’s reply, but she looked back at the Xarundi and was chagrined to see that the eyes were black and dead. There wasn’t even a spark of the luminescent blue fire that normally burned in their eyes. She felt the blood creep into her face.

“Are you alright?” Wynn asked quietly.

“I’m fine. But that,” she jerked her head at the stuffed Xarundi perched on its smooth wooden base. “That’s just wrong. I hate the Xarundi…hate them…and I wouldn’t do that. That’s just not right.”

“There is a certain barbarism to it,” Wynn agreed. Then Faxon was ordering them to attend him.

The three of them climbed to the top of the spiral and Faxon opened the door to the corner room. Tia and Wynn carried their packs, and Faxon’s, across the threshold into the room. It was a suite with a common living area and two bedrooms. The suite was larger than the entire cottage she had inherited from the Captain. Faxon closed the door behind him.

Tia dropped their packs on the floor and turned on Faxon. “That Xarundi in the lobby—”

Faxon held up a hand to forestall her anger. “I told you, this isn’t the Imperium, or even Ethergate. The rules are different here.” He motioned around the room. “There are more than a few people in Overwatch who have more money than sense. The man who owns this inn is one of them. However, he owes me a life-debt and doesn’t ask questions. That makes it the perfect place for us to stay while we’re here. Which we won’t be, for long.”

“So what’s the plan?” Wynn had flopped into an armchair so ridiculously oversized that he looked like a child playing on his parent’s furniture.

“The plan for the rest of the night is to sleep. In the morning, I have a meeting with someone. Then we need to get to the outfitter and get out.” Faxon stretched, his back popping audibly as he did so. “Tia, you take first watch. I’ll relieve you in a couple hours.”

Without waiting for acknowledgment, he disappeared into one of the bedrooms and shut the door. Wynn looked after him thoughtfully.

“Is it just me,” he said slowly. “Or is he acting really weird?”

“I think he’s far more worried than he’s letting on and I think he’s not handling it very well. The sooner we find the relic and get back to Blackbeach, the sooner everyone can relax and get back to normal.”

“I guess.”

For once, Tiadaria couldn’t argue with the lack of enthusiasm in Wynn’s tone. They were both exhausted. At least he’d get to sleep for a few hours. That was something.

Wynn bade her goodnight and left her to her duties. Tiadaria took her scimitars from her pack and settled herself in the chair that Wynn had vacated. She felt better with the steel laying across her thighs, even if the sensation of the steel so close to her skin wasn’t necessarily pleasant. Still, it would help keep her awake until Faxon relieved her. When he did, she was more than ready to climb under the blankets and sleep.

*

The bed was luxuriously soft and sleeping in it should have been the easiest thing in the world, but Wynn lie awake, staring up at the flickering lights from the city playing off the ceiling. Tiadaria was in the next room, standing guard, and it was to her his thoughts returned constantly. Incessantly. Refusing to let him sleep.

Wynn almost wished Faxon hadn’t called her to task. He wanted to offer Tiadaria his hand, to feel that shocking spark between them. That tingling pain that told him that she was far more than she let on. Tiadaria was a rogue mage. He had known it almost from the time they had met, certainly from the moment they had touched, and for once in his life he didn’t care about rules or regulations, or what was right and proper. He wanted to feel her hand on his, the link-shock dancing between them.

She vexed him something awful, but it was different from the teasing he had endured at the hands of his peers, or others. When she poked fun at him, or flayed him with her wit, he could look in her eyes and see her humor dancing there. It was just her way and he’d rather have her quick jokes and jabs than any other’s tender whispers and soft caresses.

What Tiadaria didn’t know, what she couldn’t know, was that she was the reason that Wynn hadn’t accepted censure as a viable option. Even now, as he lay looking up at the ceiling, he was terrified. He was scared of what they would face and even more scared of how he would react to it. He couldn’t bear the thought of disappointing Tia again, but if it meant standing his ground in a fight, he just wasn’t sure he could do it. Faxon’s threat was a horrible contemplation in its own right, but at least it was a known quantity.

Wynn sighed. The coming dawn was beginning to chase night’s shadows from the ceiling. If he didn’t sleep now, it was going to be a very, very long day. He rolled over, willing his tumbled mind to settle, and tried to fall asleep.

*

The lower city was crowded during the day, but not nearly as packed as it had been the previous night. Faxon, upon returning from the meeting he wouldn’t talk about, had told them they were in for a special treat. They were going to the warehouse, he said, and no prodding would get him to give up any more detail. He seemed to be in a good enough mood though, so Tiadaria and Wynn opted to leave it alone.

Faxon seemed to know his way around the lower city quite well, a fact that Tia would remember to ask him about later. He navigated with the ease of a local. He didn’t get turned around in the various blind alleys and false roads they often encountered. Faxon lead them down wide roads and smaller byways and they finally emerged at the edge of a wide but slowly moving river.

Boats of every shape and size floated on the gently moving body of water. There were tiny little skiffs and massive trading vessels with three and four masts. Tiadaria was delighted. She had heard stories of great sailing ships and had sometimes seen them from afar on her duties in Dragonfell, but she had never been so close to them. She was happy to discover that Wynn was just as enamored with the boats as she was. He grabbed Tia’s hand and pulled her to the rope guarded pylons at the edge of the street, pointing at the ships with the brightest and most outlandishly colored sails.

Faxon joined them and Tia was pleased to see that he was smiling as well. This was the Faxon she was used to being around. The Faxon who was almost, but not quite, as good a mentor as the Captain had been. She reached for her collar, wondering if Royce would have enjoyed the floating chaos on the river as much as they did. He would have, she decided. If for no other reason than the fact that she found it so fascinating.

“There’s more to see, let’s go.” The elder quintessentialist set off down the narrow lane. It was lined with squat buildings on the left and the rope strung pilings on the right. Tia watched as gray birds wheeled and dove along the river, disappearing from view for a moment at impact and then climbing back up on powerful wings with tiny fish clutched in their beaks. She breathed deeply, relishing the crispness of the air and that fresh smell that only comes from a large body of water.

They turned a corner and were faced with a long building crouched at the edge of a busy wharf. The building was an enormous gray brick structure, two stories tall and easily as long as the main trade road in King’s Reach. Thick wood planks made up the roof and large windows were set into the upper floor. A massive set of doors, wide enough for two wagons to drive in abreast, were set on tracks that extended across the front of the building. The doors were pushed open to their full width allowing one to glimpse at the madness inside. People dashed to and fro, some laden with parcels, others moving flat trollies full of goods. The words Gunther’s Warehouse were stenciled over the door in peeling black paint.

As Faxon led them inside, Tiadaria could understand the need for so many windows. The light that shone in from them illuminated a vast space packed floor to ceiling with every type of good imaginable. There were pallets of flour sacks, barrels of ale, and bins of sweets. One entire section of wall was dedicated to hanks of rope of every length and diameter imaginable. Sailcloth hung in billowing folds from the highest rafters. There were weapons racks and cages of squawking birds and tiny chattering animals.

One particular display caught her eye. It was behind a long counter, mounted high up on the wall. Crafted from gold gilded glass, it contained a selection of dwarven hand cannons and one large, long barreled cannon. Tia had been so immersed in the wonder of the place that she had nearly lost track of Faxon and Wynn. She hastily weaved her way through the crowd, catching up with them just as Faxon approached the counter. A dwarf was perched on a crate behind the counter, bringing him level with Faxon’s line of sight.

The dwarf was a swarthy little man with a pock-marked face. His bulbous red nose extended out over a great bushy black beard and black eyes glittered beneath his fuzzy eyebrows. He had a battered digger’s helmet crammed onto his head, its sides much scratched and dented. When he saw Faxon, his eyes lit up and a broad smile crept across his face. He leaned over the counter and took Faxon’s hand, pumping it up and down with both of his.

“Faxon, it’s good to see ye, lad. It’s been a long time, it has.” He peered at Wynn, then turned his shrewd gaze on Tia. She felt the weight of his gaze at the base of her spine, then the feeling passed and she shrugged it off. “I see ye brought friends to old Gunther’s Warehouse.”

“Gunther, this is Wynn, and Tiadaria.” Faxon nodded to each of them. Gunther shook Wynn’s hand and offered a bow to Tiadaria. His eyes lingered on her collar and then flicked to Faxon.

“She’s the one who wields my swords, aye?”

Faxon nodded. Gunther’s smile widened.

“Couldn’t have gone to a prettier girl. But ye’re not here to talk about my swordsmithing, aye? What can Gunther do for ye?”

“We need provisions and quickly. We need to head north before sunset.”

Gunther’s smile faded a trifle. He peered closely at Faxon. “Faxon, ye huntin, or being hunted?”

“Probably a little of both, which is why time is of the essence.”

Gunther nodded. “Oh aye, old Gunther’ll set ye right.” The dwarf put two stubby fingers in his mouth and issued such a piercing whistle that both Tia and Wynn winced.

A blur of forest green swung down from the upper platform behind the dwarf. The elvish woman landed lightly on the balls of her feet, bowing so deeply that Tia could see the half dozen gold rings that adorned the pointed tips of each ear. Her mud-brown hair was cropped short and spiked out at the top. When she smiled at them, her teeth glittered like pearls.

“This is Furia. She will get ye what ye need as quickly as you can give her a list.”

Gunther excused himself to attend to another customer and Faxon produced a long scroll of paper from inside his parchment. The elf scanned the paper, her oval eyes widening slightly at some of the entries on the list. Furia deftly rolled the list into a tight tube and handed it back to Faxon, who looked perplexed.

“You can hold on to this,” he said, offering her the list.

“No need,” she replied. Her voice was soft and gentle as a summer shower. “I know what you need.”

“How?” Faxon’s skepticism was plentiful and plainly apparent.

“Here,” she said, tapping her temple. She smiled. Furia grabbed the rope she had swung down on and briskly shimmied to the top of the platform.

Watching her move among the pallets and sacks, barrels and bags, was like watching an exceptionally skilled dancer execute an arrangement written for one. She dodged around others working from the same pallets, plucking items from cases, hangers, and bins and tossing them down to Faxon and the others. As she continued her lithe performance among the rafters, the pile of supplies and provisions grew until Tiadaria wondered how they were going to carry everything they apparently needed.

A moment after that worry entered Tia’s mind, Furia leapt off the platform above, executed an incredible somersault in midair, and landed on her feet beside them. She plucked a sheet of paper from the counter, took a pencil from behind her ear, and began tallying their purchases.

Wynn looked at Tia with raised eyebrows and she just shrugged. The day had been full of surprises. That was for certain. After Furia had written out their bill of sale, she handed it to Faxon.

“A pleasure meeting all of you, come again any time.” With that, she was gone, swinging up into the rafters from her line and surveying the warehouse floor for another client to assist.

Gunther hopped from crate to crate behind the counter, coming to where they were still standing, dumbstruck. He held out his hand for the bill of sale, snapping his pudgy fingers to get Faxon’s attention when he took too long.

“Best puller I’ve ever had,” he said as he perused the sheet of paper. “I told ye that ye’d be set in no time.”

“And you delivered, as always, Gunther. What’s the damage?” Faxon pulled a heavily laden purse from inside his robes. The dwarf said something in a language that sounded like a rock slide inside a bass drum. Tia was surprised to hear Faxon reply in kind.

Wynn leaned in close, whispering in her ear. “They’re dickering. Its ancient dwarven. I don’t know enough to understand all of it, but Faxon’s driving a hard bargain.”

The rumbling back-and-forth exchange continued for several minutes until the dwarf thrust out his hand and Faxon took it, pumping it three times.

“Well bargained, lad,” Gunther said with a shake of his head. “I never should have taught ye that.”

Faxon smiled. “We all have our vices, Gunther.” He took several large gold crowns from his purse and laid them on the table. From inside his robe, he added a small parcel wrapped in brown paper and string. The dwarf made the package disappear under the counter, then picked up the coins and slipped them in a pocket.

“A pleasure,” Gunther said with a smile. “Take care of yeself, lad. And your friends.” He moved off down the counter.

Faxon turned to Tia and Wynn. “Let’s get packed up and on the road. I want to be beyond Overwatch by nightfall.”

Faxon rooted around in the pile of supplies and produced three large travel packs of fine leather. The supplies disappeared into the packs in relatively short order and Faxon ushered them outside. As Tia hefted her pack, she wondered at how light it was and how easily it conformed to her back and shoulders. These weren’t just ordinary packs. They had to be enchanted.

There was no way the coins that Faxon had given to Gunther could have accounted for the massive amount of provisions they had purchased. Tia had been curious about what was in the paper-wrapped package before. Now she was dying of curiosity. Faxon caught her eye.

“Yes, they’re enchanted. No, I’m not telling you what was in the package. Let’s go.”

Tia sulked the entire way back to the inn, where she changed into her armor and hung her sword belt from her hips, well below the pack. Wynn traded his travel clothes for robes and they set out into the rapidly aging day.

Chapter Ten

The road leading out of Overwatch took them around the greater bulk of the city and up to the crest of a rise that was nearly as high as the upper level of the city. Looking down, it was easy to understand why the marvelous place was called Overwatch. From the upper levels of the city, especially from the highest towers that lined the cliff-side over the lower city, one could easily see the entire river valley and a good stretch of the land beyond. They passed through the city gates, which were well guarded by mercenaries, and out onto the road that led north.

They stopped at a livery just outside the city and Faxon inquired about the rate for three horses to take north. The stableman quoted a price so outrageously high that Tiadaria thought he was joking. It was just as well that she didn’t say anything, for the man was completely serious. He and Faxon settled down to the serious work of dickering for an acceptable price. When they finally came to an agreement, the sum was still more than Tiadaria could credit.

“Remember,” the hostler reminded Faxon as he led the beasts out by their reins. “They’ll take you to the Narrow Pass. No farther. They’re well trained to return here. I’ll expect them back tonight sometime.”

Faxon agreed, again, to the terms and helped Tia onto the unfamiliar mount. She missed Nightwind and the way that he knew her every command and mood. Still, any horse was better than no horse at all, even if they would only have them for the first leg of their journey. The rest would be done on foot. The first half hour or so of their departure from Overwatch was conducted in silence as the mounts and riders got acquainted.

They rode three abreast, keeping the horses at a reasonable pace, fast enough to make good time but not so fast that conversation was impossible between them.

“Are there any cities further north than Overwatch?” Wynn asked as they followed the cobbled road. Far on the horizon, they could see the snow-capped peaks of the Frozen Frontier.

“Nothing quite as large or hospitable. There are a handful of towns leading up toward the mountains, and of course the clan villages.” Faxon eyed Tiadaria and she snorted.

“I’ve heard that the clans are all savages,” Wynn said thoughtfully. Faxon chuckled and shook his head.

“I’ll show you a savage,” Tiadaria retorted, her eyes flashing.

“You were part of a clan?” Wynn’s eyes widened. His dismay was so comical that Tia couldn’t help but laugh at his expression.

“Yes. I was the Folkledre’s daughter.” She grimaced. “For all the good that did me.”

“So you were a princess?”

“Not exactly, no.”

“I don’t—”

“Let it go, Wynn.” Faxon interjected, trying to spare the young man from any further blunders on his part.

Tia looked at the quintessentialist and then back to Wynn. “My father sold me into slavery. That’s how I got this.” She slipped a finger into her collar, drawing it as far from her neck as it would go and then dropping it. “But it’s also how I met the Captain and ultimately came to the Imperium. So I’d say it was a fair trade.”

“I’m sorry,” Wynn seemed more uncomfortable than her easy retelling of her misadventure should account for. “I didn’t know. Faxon could remove that. He invented witchmetal, you know.”

“I’m going to scout ahead,” Faxon announced suddenly, and spurred his mount into a canter. He didn’t slow again until he was far ahead of them on the road.

“I know he could,” Tia answered, looking after Faxon, her expression thoughtful. “I chose to keep it.”

“You did?” Tia couldn’t tell if Wynn was impressed or horrified. Or possibly a little of both. “Why?”

“Because it reminds me of someone who meant a lot to me. Someone who taught me that what I was wasn’t all I could be.”

“The Captain?”

“Yes”

It was Wynn’s turn to look thoughtful. “Was he a rogue mage too?”

Tia went rigid so quickly that her horse whinnied in alarm. She reigned in her mount so hard that Wynn actually walked past her and had to turn his beast around to look her in the face.

“How did you know I was a rogue mage?”

“I’ve known since the first time you touched me in the inn,” he shrugged. “Every quintessentialist, apprentice or not, knows what link-shock feels like. I know you tried to cover it up, so I didn’t say anything. It’s only logical that Faxon knows, so I figured if Faxon knew and you didn’t want me to know, that was okay.”

She shook her head. Tia suddenly felt like her thoughts were swimming in a hundred different directions at once.

“Why? Wynn, don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re—”

“Too rational? Too logical? A stick in the mud that always follows the rules?”

Tia blushed and dropped her eyes. “Well. Yes.”

“At first, I was tempted to turn you in,” he admitted candidly. “But the more I got to know you, the more I got to like you, and, well, I figured it couldn’t hurt to break the rules just this once.”

“I appreciate your keeping my secret.” She laughed. “We didn’t get off to the best start. I’m a little surprised you didn’t turn me in to the inquisitors right then.”

Wynn shrugged. “Your heart was in the right place. It’s one of the things I love about you.” Tiadaria’s head jerked up and Wynn ground his teeth. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! In the candor of the moment he had let his guard slip a little too far. “As a person,” he amended lamely, his cheeks blazing red. “We should probably catch up with Faxon.”

He turned his mount around and flicked the reigns, urging it on up ahead where Faxon was waiting.

“Wynn—”

“It’s alright, Tia. Just forget it and let’s catch up.”

Tiadaria lagged behind a bit, trying to put her troubled thoughts in order. Wynn’s revelation, if it was one, was troubling on a couple different levels. Maybe he did actually love her as a friend, which was perfectly understandable and to be expected. They’d been working together very closely and she enjoyed his company. Still, it didn’t sound like he meant as friends and the fact that he couldn’t even look at her after he stumbled over his words…

Faxon and Wynn were waiting for her and when she caught up, their journey had gone silent. They rode in absolute quiet for quite some time until they reached a rocky pass, apparently the only way past the nearly vertical rock face that they had come upon. Large boulders littered the road here.

“Looks like we’ve reached the end of civilization,” Wynn said.

“Hush.” Faxon held up a hand, his head cocked to one side. Tia heard it too, a scratching, like claws on rock. Her scimitars rang as she drew them from their scabbards.

The horses reared almost simultaneously, scenting something they feared. The trio had to hold tightly to the beasts to keep them from bolting back the way they had come. Sensing something not quite right, Tiadaria slipped into sphere sight. She saw the black writhing mass crouched behind a nearby boulder.

“Xarundi!” she cried, slipping back into the physical realm and brandishing a sword at the rock the creature was hiding behind. She dropped the point of her blade, ready to run down the Xarundi when it appeared. It stepped out from behind the rock, its arms spread wide. Tia thought the creature looked odd and realized that its strange look was because its tail was missing.

“Please hold your blade, Swordmage,” the Xarundi’s grasp of the common tongue was nearly human, but carried the burr of an underlying growl in the pronunciation. “I mean neither you nor your beasts any harm.”

It took several moments of tense conversation and maneuvering to settle the horses and to remove themselves and their gear from the terrified animals. Faxon slapped them on the rump and sent them on their way back to the livery. Throughout the process, Tiadaria kept her scimitar pointed at the Xarundi. The longer she looked at it, the more she realized there was something familiar about it.

“I’ve seen you before,” Tiadaria said, motioning to the Xarundi with the tip of the blade. “You were in the tavern in Overwatch. You were drinking with humans.”

“Yes. I am called Exile, for my name was taken from me when my people took my tail.”

“Your own people cut your tail off?” Tiadaria winced. “That’s barbaric.”

Exile shrugged. “It is the way of the Chosen. My shame is inconsequential, Swordmage. I must speak to you and we must speak quickly, time is short.”

“We’re speaking now,” Tia pointed out. “Say what you will.” She glanced at Faxon and he nodded slightly. She slipped her scimitars back into their scabbards.

“The evening before the three of you came to Overwatch, a Xarundi war party arrived through the gate.”

“And the mercenaries did nothing?” Tiadaria was incredulous.

“The rules—” Exile began.

“Are different in Overwatch,” Tia snapped. “Yes, I know. What of this war party and why are you telling us?”

“I tell you because there is no love lost between myself and the remainder of the Chosen. The leader of the war party was speaking to the others in our tongue, certain that the inferiors wouldn’t understand them.

“They seek a powerful relic to the north, a relic that you also seek, and they mean to kill you before you can take it.”

“What else is new? Where are they now?”

Exile motioned to the pass. “They’re a half day ahead of you, to the north. You must hurry to stop them.”

Tia cast a critical eye on the Xarundi. “Why are you so interested in stopping them? And if it’s that important, why didn’t you do something.”

“I am no longer a warrior,” Exile said, waving a dismissive hand at his sagging middle and graying fur. “I am old and fat and no match for young warriors or the High Priest. As for stopping them, you must. Any item of power makes them a danger to all the cities of man. Including Overwatch, which is now my home.” The Xarundi dropped to all fours. “Heed my warning, Swordmage. Please.”

Exile bounded off down the road the way they had come without another word, leaving the trio to exchange dubious glances with each other.

“So what was that about?” Tia asked.

“He sounded honest enough to me,” Wynn remarked. “If he’s been living in Overwatch, I can understand his wanting to protect the city.”

Faxon sighed, scrubbing his face with his palms. “I think we have to take his warning at face value. I fail to see what he gains by lying about the others being a half-day ahead.”

“Let’s say that he’s telling the truth,” Tiadaria said, trusting her own instincts in the matter. “Where does that put us?”

“In a bad position,” Faxon replied. “Not only are we behind, but we’re on the defensive. We don’t know where they are, or what their plans are.”

“Fantastic.”

“We can’t do anything about it tonight,” Wynn said, ever the voice of reason. “It’s getting dark and if it’s getting dark out here, it’s going to be really dark in there.” He pointed to the opening of the pass. “Let’s find someplace to spend the night and try to make up some time, quickly, carefully, in the morning.”

Faxon rubbed his chin. “Wynn makes a good point. The Xarundi are largely nocturnal. They can travel in the day, but it’s unlikely they will. We might be able to make up more ground while the sun is up. Might even be able to catch them with their guard down.”

“Alright,” Tia rubbed her palms on her thighs. “So where do we bed down for the night?”

Wynn’s eyes took on the half-glazed look of someone half inside the Quintessential Sphere. He pointed southeast, back the way they had come.

“Looks like an abandoned hunter’s hut. It’s not very far.”

“Good thinking, Wynn.” Faxon clapped his apprentice on the back.

Having a destination and plan helped shake them of the uncertainty that had spawned from their encounter with Exile. The hunter’s hut was in good condition, with cots and cooking implements. It was obviously used often, as there was a recent layer of ash in the fire pit. They sat around the fire telling stories until late in the evening. They enjoyed themselves, but the talk was hushed and the looming specter of impending battle weighed heavily on them all.

*

It was nearly dawn when Zarfensis finally relented enough to allow the war party to stop and rest. The air had grown colder and patches of snow were becoming more and more common as they forced their way north.

“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.

She heard the twang of a crossbow and only barely managed to avoid the bolt as it streaked past her, a brilliant white line etched in her augmented vision. Tia felt a presence behind her and struck out backhanded, slicing a man across the middle. He clutched his stomach, blood pouring from between his grasping fingers. A forward swing sliced deep into the shoulder muscle of a ragged woman wielding a foot-long knife. Her arm dangled limply at her side and still she ran at Tia, who kicked her feet out from under her, spinning away from the potential attack.

Faxon cried a warning and Tia spun, too late to avoid the magic missile he had sent screaming into the mass of surging bodies. The brigand in front of her took the worst of the blast, but the shock wave was strong enough to send her head over heels, sprawling in the dirt. She lost the grip on one of the swords and it skittered across the packed earth, out of her reach.

As she struggled to her feet, she felt a dull thud against her back and felt the familiar constriction of the witchmetal rings reacting to the blow. Tia spun, bringing her sword up to block a return swing aimed at the back of her neck, rather than her armor. The burning in her chest intensified as she called on the power of the sphere to grant her the speed and strength she so desperately needed in this fight.

Armed with only one blade, her strikes were a flurry of feints, strikes, and counter-strikes. Her frenetic pace and the constant drawing of energy were taking its toll. The pain in her chest was making it incredibly hard to concentrate. Tia felt slow, clumsy, and she knew she couldn’t keep this pace up much longer. There were half a dozen dead or wounded scattered around the pass, but they seemed to just keep coming.

Tia heard Faxon’s warning the second time and danced away in time to avoid the shock wave from his projectile. The man who stood in the way of the missile folded nearly in half as he absorbed its energy. The sound of his spine splintering was loud enough for her to hear a full ten feet away. For the first time, some of the attackers seemed like they might be rethinking their plan.

Faxon screamed and Tia turned toward the sound. This wasn’t a cry of warning, this was pain, pure, unfettered agony. She saw him from across the sea of bodies, a crossbow bolt sunk deep in his chest. The wound was too high and too far to his right to have hit his heart, but the blood that stained his cream-colored robes was spreading too far, too fast. Faxon collapsed on his uninjured side.

For the first time, Tia could see Wynn. He was fighting at least, but he wasn’t using his full potential. He handled the staff well, swinging it to and fro, shattering an ankle here and crushing a skull there, but he was no match for Faxon’s spells or Tia’s speed. The highwaymen were converging on him, recognizing his weakness and Faxon’s predicament.

Tia prepared to spring, to launch herself into his attackers and save him from the menacing mob. Just before she leapt, her legs were swept out from under her, throwing her face first into the ground. She tasted blood from her lip as it split and struggled to roll over. Her assailant was the woman with the ruined arm, who grinned up at her with unbridled malice. Her teeth were a broken row of yellowed chalk, stained with blood. Tia kicked out hard, the heel of her boot connecting with the woman’s nose. There was a satisfying crunch and the woman was still.

The exertion was taking its toll and Tia had to struggle to get to her knees. One of the men at the edge of the group advancing on Wynn saw her vulnerable position and called to his mates. A moment later, they had abandoned the young apprentice and converged on her. Hands tore at her armor and she felt the shoulder seam of the material give. The witchmetal rings held, but even those she could feel flex under the relentless assault.

Fighting against a wave of blind panic at the mass of hands grabbing at her, she screamed, a raw, primal sound that tore at her throat and burned her lungs.

“Wynn! HELP ME! PLEASE!”

Tiadaria heard Wynn’s cry of rage and it was the last thing she heard. Suddenly all the air was gone. She struggled to breathe and felt her lungs move, but there was nothing to fill them. An instant later, the air rushed back, scorching hot and smelling of burning rock. The wave of air caught her, lifted her, ripping her away from the hands that tried to drag her back down to her death.

Suddenly she was surrounded by flame, dancing black-orange across her vision. She tried to shield her eyes, but couldn’t raise her arms. She could feel the roar of the expanding fireball in the pit of her stomach, but she couldn’t hear its unholy thunder. As suddenly as it had appeared, the conflagration faded and she slammed into the ground. The world went black.

Chapter Eleven

All she wanted to do was sleep, but someone was shaking her and calling her name over and over again. Why wouldn’t they just let her sleep? She was so tired. Something pungent and repulsive was waved under her nose and she tried to move away from it. She opened her eyes to see what produced such an offensive smell and saw Wynn crouched over her with a vial of some foul smelling liquid.

“Tia?” His voice was full of anguish. “Tia, are you alright? Can you hear me? Please! Say something. Say anything.”

Tiadaria tried to lick her lips and found her tongue dry and swollen. She fumbled for the water skin that hung from her belt and found it missing. She must have lost it during the fighting that was, by her best estimate, a hundred years ago.

Wynn reached outside her field of vision and brought a water skin to her lips. She tried to gulp it down, but choked and ended up spitting most of it down her chest. He offered her the skin again and she took a small sip, relishing in the cool soft feel of the water against her tongue and parched lips.

“Tia, can you hear me?”

“I’m okay, Wynn. I think.” Her voice was barely more than a croak. She didn’t sound okay. Even to herself.

She managed to turn her head to one side and saw a mass of smoking ash in a neat little pile. She turned her head to the other side and saw a dozen of those piles. Moving was painful, but she managed to look at Wynn.

“You fought for me,” she whispered. He looked sick.

“For all the good it did us. I need you, Tia. I think Faxon’s dying.”

Faxon’s dying. The words seemed to echo down a deep well in her mind, hitting bottom and sending ripples through her entire body. She groaned, trying to sit up. Wynn offered her his hand and managed to get her up on her knees. She thanked all the minor deities that Faxon was propped up against the wall not too far away. Wynn was right. There was too much blood.

Tiadaria managed to crawl to Faxon. He was white as linen and his head lolled to one side. His eyes were glazed and dull. She looked at the bolt in his chest and realized that neither she, nor Wynn, had any hope of removing it without ensuring that he died.

“Turns out,” Faxon said weakly, his eyes rolling back under his lids. “Wynn does know how to fight.”

“What do we do, Faxon?”

“My pack.” The quintessentialist coughed and blood bubbled at the corners of his mouth. “Get the callstone.”

Tia scanned the pass and saw the pack laying tattered and discarded against the far wall. She half ran, half crawled to it, snagging the strap in one hand and dragging it back. Her fingers tore at the threading around the neck and she cursed loudly when she couldn’t get the knot free. Wynn reached over her hands and pulled the end, loosening it. Tia pulled the mouth of the pack wide and upended it on the ground in front of her.

There were a dozen objects that Tia had never seen before. She looked to Wynn, her eyes pleading.

“What’s a callstone?”

He shook his head, his eyes haunted. “I don’t know, Tia! I don’t know.”

With a considerable amount of effort, Faxon managed to lift his wrist. He waved at a small package wrapped in leather. Tia managed to get it open with numb fingers and a large, cloudy crystal fell between her knees.

She picked it up and felt its latent power thrum through her body. It set her chest to aching all anew, as if she was still holding her swords. Faxon’s head pitched forward suddenly, his chin touching his chest. Tia reached out and shook him.

“Faxon! You need to tell me what to do! Faxon! WAKE UP!” She shook him again, harder this time. She was afraid of hurting him more, but she couldn’t let him go. Tears spilled from her eyes, running hot down her cheeks. “Please, Faxon, don’t leave me.”

Faxon opened his eyes, his pupils were so large there was barely any iris showing. “Call…for…help.” He managed, and then slumped sideways.

Tiadaria crushed the crystal in her hands, she could feel its power. “Help,” she whispered to the crystal. Then she found her voice. “Help! Help us! Please!”

Nothing happened. She folded the crystal in both hands, held it to her chest, and squeezed her eyes shut tightly. Help us! Help us! Help us! The thought tore through her, each mental cry punctuated by a sob. Still nothing happened. She opened her eyes and looked to Wynn. He shook his head sadly.

There was a loud crack from above them and a shower of sparks in every color of the rainbow fell around them. A creature hovered above them on rapidly beating wings. Her skin was so pale it was almost translucent, pale blue veins tracing underneath its surface. Her hair was so ridiculously red that Tiadaria had reason later to wonder if it was even real. Her eyes were violet and huge, drinking in the surrounding scene. The rapid beats of her pearlescent wings wafted cold air across their faces.

“Oh Faxon,” the foot-tall creature said, her voice like a songbird. “What have you gotten yourself into?”

“Please,” Tiadaria pleaded. “Please help him, he’s dying. He told us to use the stone.”

“Fret not, Swordmage. I’ll see that Faxon recovers.” The diminutive being landed and took a handful of Faxon’s robe. She looked up at Tia and Wynn, towering over her, even though they were kneeling.

“I’m afraid you’re on your own now, younglings.”

With a crack like thunder, Faxon’s body and the tiny winged woman exploded in a shower of rainbow sparks.

Tiadaria stared at the spot where Faxon had been. It seemed almost like a dream, but there was a bloodstain on the ground. He was definitely there a minute ago. She looked at Wynn, who sank to the ground, shaking his head. He was staring at the spot where Faxon had been too.

“Wynn? What just happened?”

“I don’t know. I think—” He stopped, licked his lips, and tried to find words. After a moment, he managed to start again. “I think that a Pheen just took Faxon into the Quintessential Sphere.”

*

Zarfensis and the rest of the Xarundi war party had made good time down the near edge of the ravine. Going up the other side proved to be more of a challenge. There was no regular path up from the floor of the gully, so they were forced to find each new hand and foothold, often holding on, quite literally, by their claws. They were burning through entirely too much time.

One of the warriors lost his footing above and nearly slid down the face before managing to find purchase on an outcropping. They tried to stay spread out as they climbed, but if one of the vanguard warriors slipped off the face, chances were good that they would take at least one of the other Xarundi with them on the way down. While the ravine was hardly insurmountable, Zarfensis didn’t relish the thought of falling twenty feet to the jagged rocks below.

Slowly, carefully, they picked their way up the edge of the ravine. By the time the last of them had crawled over the far edge and lay panting with exertion, the eastern sky had begun to lighten. The High Priest ground his teeth. They had lost an entire night to skittering around the rocks like insects. The only consolation was that the Swordmage and the other vermin would be hard pressed to descend as skillfully as they had, nor would they be able to scale this face as easily.

It was likely that they would be hung up here for the better part of a day. Meanwhile, Zarfensis and the other Chosen would be well on their way to possessing the relic. Crouching at the edge of the ravine, the High Priest slipped into the Quintessential Sphere and backtracked along the way they had come. He hoped to find some sign of the vermin, to get an idea of where they were along the path to the ravine, but he was unable to find them. He wasn’t worried. The further away from the physical place one was, the murkier the sphere became over long distances. It was also likely that the vermin were actively working to counter his surveillance. Zarfensis had certainly cloaked his war party with spells that would help them avoid detection both physically and in the sphere.

He called the shaman up from where he was crouched near the languid warriors. He bounded over to Zarfensis, ears and eyes alert.

“Let the warriors rest, shaman. We’ve made good progress tonight and the vermin will be hard pressed to catch up crossing that ravine. We’ll warren here for the day and tomorrow night, we will be in the hills.”

“As you command, High Priest.” The shaman returned to the rest of the Chosen, relaying Zarfensis’s orders to the warriors.

The others began constructing a temporary warren while Zarfensis gazed north. They were very close now indeed. Close enough that the snow-covered tops of the hills glowed in the early morning light. He turned to rejoin the rest of the Xarundi and nearly fell over. The mechanical leg was like a block of ice, cold and unyielding. Zarfensis cast an eye toward the little window in the contraption and found it black, empty. He took a vial of runedust from his belt and poured it into the compartment, feeling the limb come back to life as the gentle blue glow of the death rune pulsed behind the crystal aperture.

Whole once again, Zarfensis returned to the hastily constructed warren. Try as he might, sleep would not come. They were close to the relic now, he could feel it calling to him, compelling him, urging him to find it and possess it. The sun was high in the morning sky before the High Priest was finally able to rest. When he did, his dreams were troubled by visions of the relic crumbling to dust and slipping through his fingers.

*

It was cold on the other side of the pass. Stunted grass and rock had given way to packed snow as they climbed higher into the hills at the foot of the northern mountain range. They had stopped in a grove of stunted pine trees to review the map and for something to eat, though neither of them were hungry.

Wynn had been a sullen mess since the incident in the pass. Neither Faxon nor the Pheen had reappeared, so they assumed that they really were on their own. Younglings, the Pheen had called them. Well, Tiadaria thought, that certainly fit. Never before had she felt so small or felt like a task was so insurmountable.

Though she understood why Wynn felt responsible, his wallowing wasn’t helping anyone. She also knew that his use of magic was weighing heavily on him. More than once over the last few hours, she had seen him stumble because his eyes were locked on his staff, but somewhere far away at the same time. Tia had tried to get him to talk about it, but he had curtly informed her that she wouldn’t understand and she hadn’t pressed the issue. He’d talk when he was ready. She hoped.

Tiadaria had been so immersed in her thoughts that she hadn’t realized how familiar the terrain had become. She stopped, turning a slow circle as she surveyed the gentle slope of the hills and the stunted line of pine trees that dotted the northern ridge.

“Hey!” Her exclamation startled Wynn, but personally, she thought he could use a little startling. “I know where we are. This land is part of the clan’s hunting grounds.” Without waiting for him to answer, she grabbed his hand and all but dragged him toward the base of the largest hill.

“Where are we going?” The peevish tone of voice annoyed Tia, but she wasn’t going to let his sourness spoil her surprise. She grinned.

“You’ll see.”

Wynn began to protest but she shushed him, dragging him headlong behind her. They went down a gentle slope and then even the apprentice had to admit that he understood the source of her excitement.

At the base of the hill, a half-circle about fifteen feet tall had been cut directly into the earth. Massive stone blocks made up the outer wall, carved to fit the curve of the circle perfectly. An iron stovepipe jutted out of the wall next to a heavy banded wooden door. He had resigned himself to sleeping in their tent on the cold ground. This was much, much better.

Tiadaria opened the door and bowed deeply, gesturing him inside. As bad as his mood was, Wynn had to chuckle at her ridiculousness. She smiled at him as she lit an oil lamp hanging from the ceiling before closing the door and dropping the bar across it.

She went down the length of the long room, lighting lanterns that hung from the support beams at regular intervals. When she was done, the light in the hunting lodge was just as bright and warm as in the library in Ethergate. Wynn glanced around, taking stock of their much improved fortune.

There was a stove, some shelves with basic cooking implements, and most importantly, cots piled high with furs. Not only would he not have to sleep on the ground, but he’d be warm too. There was a basin next to the stove with a pipe that extended down from the ceiling. A chain with a ring on the end hung at eye level. Without really thinking about it, he reached up and pulled the chain.

Water gushed out of the pipe and splashed into the basin below. Tiadaria laughed at his startled exclamation and watched as he pulled the chain a second time, slower this time, limiting the flow to a trickle.

“Don’t waste it,” she warned him, coming to stand next to him. “The barrels that feed it are up on the hillside. They collect rain and snow and runoff and the water comes here.”

“Why isn’t the water dirty? If its runoff?”

There are screens on top of the barrels, and then there’s this. Tia pulled the bottom section of pipe off and showed it to Wynn. Inside were layers of rock, sand, and charcoal.

“See? If there’s anything too icky, it gets caught in there.”

“The clans thought of this?” Wynn sounded doubtful and Tiadaria frowned at him.

“Well, I don’t know if we were the first to think of it, but yes. We use it a lot in the hunting lodges and the longhouses.”

“Huh.” Wynn took the section of pipe from her and inspected it under one of the lanterns. Then he took it and slid it back onto the section it had come from, and pulled the ring very briefly to ensure there was still water coming out of it. “That’s pretty ingenious, Tia.”

“Well, I didn’t say it was my idea.”

Without answering, Wynn went and plopped down on one of the cots. He looked at her mournfully.

“I don’t think we can do this without Faxon,” he said slowly. “Maybe we should just stay here.”

Tiadaria laid kindling in the stove’s firebox and fed it a match. She watched to ensure that the flames caught and then she sat against the wall across from Wynn. She looked at him for a long while before she said anything.

“We have to do this, Wynn. Faxon is depending on us. We need to get to that relic, and we need to get to it before the Xarundi do. If they get their claws on it, who knows what kind of horrible things they’ll do to us…and more importantly, what they’ll do to the people who can’t defend themselves.”

Tia felt bad for him. He looked so unhappy. Even so, she was going to need his help if they were going to get to the relic in time to keep the Xarundi from obtaining it. It was best if he would just come to that realization now so they didn’t have to keep arguing over it.

“I know you’re not fond of your particular gift, but it saved my life in the pass. That’s something, right?”

“Yeah, after I put us there in the first place,” he snapped. “I’m the reason Faxon isn’t here, and the reason that you almost died. I shouldn’t have come.”

“If you hadn’t come, I’d probably be dead,” she snapped back. “There’s no way that Faxon and I could have handled that mob alone. As it was, you were the one who ended things. What do you think would have happened to me if you weren’t there?”

The blood drained out of Wynn’s face and Tiadaria almost felt bad for putting him back in the moment, but if it helped him to realize that he was essential to their success, it was worth the pain. She got up and crossed to the cot, sitting so close to him that their shoulders touched.

“Listen, I know you’re scared, I am too…but if you live your life being afraid of what might happen, you’ll never take any chances.”

“I don’t take chances, Tia. I’m not sure I know how.”

She nodded. “I know. So I guess it’s up to me to show you that sometimes, risking the unknown is worth it.”

Tiadaria leaned closer to him and laid her hand along his cheek. Link-shock danced between them as she turned his face to hers. The kiss was brief, the barest brush of her lips against his, but the ripple of excitement that it sent through her was unmistakable.

She guessed that she had known she was falling in love with the young apprentice, but it wasn’t easy to separate what was real emotion from what was the familiarity of their working relationship. Still, if she didn’t genuinely care for the mage, she wouldn’t worry about him as much as she did. The thrill that passed through her when they kissed was a nice confirmation of what she already expected. That there was something here that was worth exploring.

Wynn surprised her by taking her in his arms and returning her kiss in the same gentle, almost hesitant way she had kissed him. There was no urgency in his embrace, just the weight of his body against hers and the nearly overwhelming sense of rightness about it. How long they remained entwined together, Tiadaria couldn’t say. When Wynn finally released her, she sighed.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, his voice anxious. She smiled at him, a warm, tender smile lacking her customary wit and humor.

“Nothing,” she said, patting his hand. “It was a happy sigh.”

They went about their domestic duties in silence. Neither of them wanted to discuss what might happen tomorrow. For now, they had each other and had finally put into action the feelings that bubbled just under the surface. That was enough for tonight.

Tiadaria made them a hearty stew of dried travel meat and winter roots stored in the hovel. They ate quietly and turned the lanterns down to a dim glow. Wynn slipped into a cot and threw the fur over himself. Tia knew he’d be asleep in moments. His inner turmoil aside, Wynn seemed to be able to stop whatever he was doing and fall asleep at a moment’s notice.

Pushing one of the other cots up next to his, she settled on the straw-filled mattress and tried to fall asleep. Tiadaria lay there watching the dancing lantern light for a long time before she finally fell asleep.

*

Their long journey was finally at an end. Zarfensis stood in the mouth of an ice tunnel at least fifty feet across and three-quarters of that high. The floor that sloped down into the earth under the mountain was smooth as glass. The walls were fractured here and there, with large ice crystals and piles of snow littering the walls and floor at irregular intervals. The last part of their task, the descent into the cavern to locate the relic, would be the most arduous. Fortunately, the Xarundi were well equipped to handle the rigors of ice travel.

With finger and toe claws fully extended, they slowly made their way into the passage. Only a few hundred feet into the tunnel, the natural light had faded to a dim glow. Their eyes made up for the worst of the deficiency, and when they got further in, Zarfensis and the shaman summoned orbs of magical light to guide their way. The glowing wisps hovered above them, glinting off the angles in the ice and make it sparkle like an enormous jewel.

The air was cold, cutting through even the Xarundi’s thick fur. Their breath could be seen as little puffs of vapor that condensed into snow nearly as soon as it left mouth or nose. The metal of Zarfensis’s replacement leg was burning the flesh where it came into contact. It was a wholly unpleasant sensation.

As cold as the cavern was, the High Priest could understand how those who had come before him had failed to recover the relic. If he wasn’t absolutely certain that they needed its power to rule the Chosen, he might have turned back himself. The Deep Oracle’s mocking laughter came back to him now, echoing in his ears, and he wondered if the spirit hadn’t foreseen their failure. Worse yet, perhaps it had seen them perish in these tombs of ice.

As if conjured by his thoughts, they turned a corner and stumbled across a gruesome discovery. A pair of ancient Xarundi, huddled together for warmth, were half-buried in the frozen floor of the tunnel. They were remarkably well preserved, with only a few clumps of fur missing here and there, allowing the white of bone to peek out from under the shriveled, blackened skin.

The cleric growled deep in his throat, his tail tucked between his legs, his neck fur puffed out in an aura.

“We will die here, High Priest! Like these poor wretches, frozen together for eternity.”

Zarfensis grasped the cleric by the shoulder, forcing the troubled eyes of his pack mate to meet his. The contact seemed to brace the cleric’s flagging spirit.

“Have faith, my brother. Our ancient brethren knew the risks and at least they died together. Our pack is stronger, we will prevail.”

The cleric dropped his eyes. “Yes, Your Holiness. I’m sorry for my moment of weakness.”

“Think no more of it, my brother. It is…unnerving…to come across our ancient brothers fallen in such a way. Succumbing to the cold instead of dying at the hand of an enemy.” Zarfensis motioned deeper into the tunnel, looking meaningfully at each member of their war party. “Steel your resolve, brothers. This may not be the only horror that awaits us. The longer we keep moving, the better off we’ll be.”

Move they did, deeper and deeper into the frozen void under the mountain. Zarfensis was beginning to feel a familiar presence in the back of his head. The feeling that his consciousness wasn’t alone, that there was someone sharing his thoughts. It was the same feeling that came from the depths of the Deep Oracle’s chambers.

He said nothing, and they moved on.

Chapter Twelve

Tiadaria held up her hand, going rigid. Wynn stopped instantly behind her, head cocked to one side, straining to hear what might have alerted her. The apprentice heard it too, the low, growling rumble that was the Xarundi approximation of speech. They had no way of knowing what they were saying and Wynn suspected that they probably wouldn’t have wanted to know anyway. What he did know was that it was close. Too close. He felt sweat trickle down his side from under his arms, though the cavern was below freezing.

He settled back on his haunches, relying on the metal spikes strapped to his boots to keep him from sliding across the mirror-like surface of the floor. He doused the wisp he had summoned and they crouched there in the dark, listening. It sounded as if the Xarundi were moving deeper into the tunnel complex. Wynn summoned a smaller wisp, a barely glowing orb of light that illuminated their faces and nothing more.

“I think they’re moving on,” he whispered, the words barely a movement of breath behind his lips. Tiadaria nodded, but said nothing. She too had dug her spikes into the floor, ready for battle at a moment’s notice.

Wynn was thankful for Faxon’s planning, even as he wished that the elder quintessentialist was with them. They had gone through the packs at the hunting lodge, selecting only the items that would be absolutely necessary on their pursuit of the relic. They had found three sets of spiked straps for their boots. Thankfully, Tiadaria had immediately recognized their use and purpose. Wynn would have been lost without her.

Tia motioned to the wisp and made an expanding gesture with her hands. Wynn nodded, mumbling the spell that would enlarge the wisp and light their area of the tunnel. If Tiadaria wanted more light, he was fairly certain that any imminent danger of encountering the Xarundi was past.

“I’m pretty sure they’ve moved further in,” she said, her voice the barest murmur over the subtle cracking and pinging of the ice around them. “We’ll give them another few minutes to pass on.”

Wynn wanted to point out that every moment they remained stationary was another in which they might freeze to death, but he prudently remained silent. When Tiadaria was in what he referred to as battle mode, he knew better than to introduce what she would often deride as superfluous details.

Tia unwound from her crouch, checking the straps on her sword belt and on the pack. It was an unconscious habit and one that Wynn had adopted from watching her. Not that the holster did him much good. The ironwood staff hadn’t left his hand since they set foot in the cavern. The ironwood was certainly living up to its name. The staff felt cold as ice, even through the fur-lined inner of his winter gloves.

She motioned them forward and Wynn nodded. He noticed her customary checks of his gear and dismissed them with a sigh. He knew that he had given her enough reason to question his readiness for combat, but when she did those quick, quiet checks of his kit, he couldn’t help but to feel like a child. She never corrected anything though, so either he was doing alright, or she didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Hah. As if.

They encountered a blind corner and Tia pressed her back against the wall, peering around the edge into the darkness. Sending the wisp on ahead was out of the question. Any benefit they might gain from the light would be negated if they gave away their pursuit too early. Seeing nothing within the radius of the light that seemed threatening, she gave Wynn the go ahead and they turned the corner.

A few steps forward and the light of the wisp was thrown over the familiar shape of a Xarundi, low to the ground. Wynn let out a startled yelp and Tia clamped her hand over his mouth before he could expand on that ill-advised exclamation. As it was, his cry echoed down the corridor, bouncing off the walls for what seemed like minutes.

“They’re dead already,” she hissed at him, eyes flashing. “Which is what we’re going to be if you don’t keep quiet.”

Wynn’s cheeks went red but he said nothing. Couldn’t, in fact, as her hand was still pressed firmly over his mouth. She glared at him for a moment longer and then removed her hand. Morbid curiosity got the better of Wynn and he commanded the wisp closer to the bodies so that he could get a better look. They had been frozen in place for what he guessed was probably hundreds of years. The soft tissues were desiccated and withdrawn, with patches of bone showing through here and there. He knew the importance of keeping quiet, but he gave himself a break. Anyone not trained for this sort of thing would have been startled coming upon something like that. He wasn’t sure Faxon would have fared any better.

“Do you feel that?” Tiadaria asked in hushed tones, taking her hand from his mouth. It felt like something was inside her head, as if someone was standing behind her, looking over her shoulder, or out through her eyes. She shuddered. “It feels like something’s watching us, from inside.”

“I know.” Wynn nodded. The sensation had started when they entered the cavern and had only gotten more pronounced the deeper they went. “Whatever it is, it’s deeper in. Nothing left of these two, living or undead.”

Tia spared the corpses a moment’s consideration and then set off again, heading deeper into the corridor. Wynn caught up to her in short order, the wisp bobbing along behind him.

*

Xarundi hearing was nearly as keen as their eyesight, so when the echo of a faint cry bounced from wall to wall, they all turned toward the sound, their ears upright. Zarfensis recognized the character of the voice. There were vermin pursuing them through the tunnels. Quickly slipping into sphere-sight, he cast back along the way they had come. Just passed the corpses of their fallen brothers, there was a shimmer in the ether. It was the Swordmage. He was certain of it.

“We’re being followed,” he growled, not bothering to lower his voice. Let the vermin hear them. Let them know that their death was coming with sharp claws and rending fangs. The warriors were instantly alert at his statement, powerful muscles bunching in anticipation of the hunt.

“Shall we intercept Your Holiness?”

Zarfensis held up a hand. “Not yet brothers. Time is of the essence. Let us see how skilled these vermin are before we commit to fighting them. They may prove not to be worthy of fighting the Chosen’s finest warriors.”

Though displeased at being stayed, the warriors preened at the implied compliment. They relaxed somewhat, watching the High Priest and waiting to see what Zarfensis had in store for the vermin snapping at their heels.

Zarfensis slipped into the Quintessential Sphere and began to manipulate the forces there. From the walls of the cavern, he pulled large ice crystals, forming towering monsters of frozen water. When the bodies were formed, he called on the power of the Dyr, the Rune of Death, to imbue the forms with the singular desire to kill and destroy. Anything to feed the hunger of the rune.

The ice elementals took on a glowing blue fire that danced across the surface of the constructs without harming them. Zarfensis willed them up the tunnel, in the direction of the Swordmage and her companions. They moved slowly at first, as if uncertain of their mission, then, as the spell reached its completion, they began to move more fluidly, the ground beneath the Xarundi’s feet quaking with the impacts of the elementals as they pounded relentlessly toward their prey.

The High Priest smiled and was gratified to see the shaman and several of the warriors grinning as well. A battle was never to be shirked from as one of the Chosen, but there were many ways to enter combat. Zarfensis urged them on. He wanted to get to the relic as quickly as possible. The sooner they had it, the sooner they could be home and free of the vermin.

*

“What is that?” Wynn had dropped all pretense of stealth and practically had to roar the question over the thunder that was spreading up the tunnel toward them.

“I don’t know,” Tiadaria replied, loosening the straps on her scabbards and pulling her scimitars free. “But it doesn’t sound like anything good.”

She cast a sidelong glance at the young apprentice. He had sworn to her that he could fight. That he’d fight for her…for them. This might be the first time his resolve was tested. Tia hoped he’d be able to live up to the challenge.

“Are you ready?” Tia looked him in the eye. The weight of the question hung in the air between them. Wynn nodded.

“I’m ready.” The quintessentialist spun his staff around his hand, catching it at the balance point in the center of the rod. As he did so, flames sprang to life along its length. The magical fire danced over his hand but didn’t scorch his glove or the sleeve of his robe.

It was the first time that Tiadaria had seen him completely in control of his magical gift. Both in Ethergate, then again during the attack in the ravine, his magic had come at a moment of great extremity, exploding in an uncontrollable burst of rage and fear. This was a different Wynn. A mage in control of his mind and his weapon. A mage with something to fight for and the will to see it through.

Tia put aside the pride she felt for him and prepared herself for battle. Two ice elementals skidded around a distant corner of the corridor. They had a clear run toward Tia and Wynn now, with not so much as a snowdrift between the aggressors and their intended victims.

The thundering footsteps of the elementals made it difficult to remain upright, even with the added help of the spikes strapped to their feet. Tiadaria went to the balls of her feet, spinning the scimitars in a fluid motion of wrist and arm, testing their weight and balance.

To her surprise, it was Wynn who attacked first. She heard him invoke the ancient words of power and call the essence of flame forth from the Quintessential Sphere. His staff moved dizzyingly fast, spinning a great circle over his head that formed more streams of flame with each revolution. Finally he dropped the end of the staff, pointing it toward the elementals as if he intended to use it as a lance.

The ball of flame he had conjured was immense. As Wynn released it toward their targets, it roared down the length of the corridor, steam rising from the walls on either side. It slammed into the crude arm of one of the elementals, blasting it to pieces and melting a crescent hollow where the flame had touched the body. Ice quickly turned to steam, which turned to snow, drifting down from the damaged titan as they continued forward.

With a throaty war cry, Tiadaria leapt toward the damaged elemental. Her arc took her to a height impossible without the use of magic and she jackknifed in the air, bringing her swords down in a vicious slash. One dug a deep furrow in the shoulder that still had an arm attached to it. The other glanced off the creature’s head harmlessly.

Tia almost made it clear of the elemental, but its grasping hand knocked her off balance as she tried to twist away. She was thrown into the wall and slid down the slope, ending sprawled on the floor of the tunnel behind the attacking monstrosities. Wynn wanted to go to her, to ensure she was okay, but they were closing on him too quickly for him to do anything but defend.

Wynn hefted the staff over his head, chanting in the language of the sphere. He brought it down, slamming the end into the ice and watching with savage pleasure as a wave of fire raced out from the point of impact. It intersected the approach of the elementals and boiled away some of the stumps of ice they used as legs before fading out completely. His skills were of particular use against these foes, but it was slow going. He could really use Tia’s help in splitting them up and giving them two targets to contend with.

No sooner had he finished that thought then he saw Tiadaria struggling to her feet. Her face was a bloody mess, but most of the blood seemed to be coming from her nose. She flashed him a thumbs up, just long enough to assure him she was okay, and waded back into the fray. She seemed disinclined to battle the creatures where their hands could reach, so she snuck up behind them as they advanced on Wynn and sliced out at the legs Wynn had already weakened.

The enraged elemental turned to face the new attacker and swiped ineffectually between its own legs. Tiadaria, her movements a blur between the physical realm and the sphere, easily danced out of the way before ducking in to strike again and again. Shards of ice littered the floor of the cavern. There was a crack like a whip and a deep fissure appeared in the elemental’s leg, racing up into its blocky, angular torso.

“Wynn,” she yelled. “This one! Now!”

The apprentice threw his hand out in front of him, his fingers curled into a claw. He drew essence from the sphere, weaving it, folding it, compressing it into a tight ball of flame different in both character and composition from the one he had summoned with his staff. He hurled it toward the damaged elemental, willing it to find the seam that had opened in the smooth ice skin. The projectile flew straight and true, slamming into the crack and making the elemental glow from within. A moment later, it exploded, pelting them with shards of ice no larger than a fingernail.

Tiadaria let out a whoop and turned to the other elemental, which was getting dangerously close to Wynn. Following the same strategy she had used on the first elemental, she attacked the legs. She had only a stroke or two before the towering giant of ice kicked her legs out from under her. She landed hard on her back, the air rushing out of her lungs. She looked up and saw a huge foot descending toward her. She only barely managed to roll out of the way before it ground into the floor of the cavern, making the floor quake.

A series of small fireballs pelted the elemental. Barely larger than a snowball, they weren’t enough to cause any real damage, but the incessant assault was enough to draw it away from Tia while she got her bearings. She had to admit, for someone as reluctant to fight as Wynn had been, he certainly had a knack for it.

While he kept it occupied, she approached the elemental from behind and drove her blade deep into its leg. She twisted the hilt and the leg shattered, topping the elemental over on its side. Wynn motioned for her to get clear and then summoned a ring of fire that surrounded the elemental, shrinking in on the rapidly melting form until only a puddle of water remained. A few wisps of steam danced in the air and then they were gone. The water on the floor of the tunnel was already starting to freeze.

As the sphere gave, it also took away. Tiadaria was gripped with a coughing spasm so powerful that it dropped her to her knees. The tears that formed at the corners of her eyes froze on her cheeks while she struggled for breath. She tasted the familiar copper tang of blood on her tongue and knew that the same sickness that had claimed the Captain was already inside her. He’d lived a full and active life, even dealing with the side effects of his condition. She could do the same, although she now had a new respect for the enthusiasm he had exhibited. Especially on the battlefield.

Wynn was crouching next to her, his hand on the small of her back, the link-shock sending a painful jolt into her spine.

“Are you okay?”

Tiadaria still didn’t have her breath yet, so she nodded at him, locking her eyes with his so that he knew she was telling the truth. He nodded and left her kneeling there, making his way back up the tunnel to retrieve the packs they had dropped when the battle began.

When he returned, Wynn took a cloth from his pack and helped her clean the worse of the blood from her face. Her nose wasn’t broken, but she’d be quite colorful for a few days as the bruises healed. She thanked him for his attentiveness and then they set off down the corridor once again.

Neither of them bothered with stealth this time. Whatever was down there, the Xarundi presumably, knew they were there. If they didn’t already know that Tia and Wynn had destroyed their little toys, they would soon enough. Now getting to the relic first was the only thing that mattered. They dug in the spikes on their boots and rushed headlong into the dark.

Zarfensis felt the psychic backlash of the elementals being destroyed at the same time that he and the rest of the war party exited the tunnel into a massive cavern. The distance across was so great that they couldn’t see the other side through the swirling mists. It was much lighter here. Part of the ceiling had long ago given way and left an irregular hole that sloped up away from the opening like a funnel. As a result, a single shaft of light illuminated the center of the chamber.

The feeling of having someone else inside his head had intensified greatly when they entered the cavern. The relic was here. He could feel it. It was calling to him, guiding him. It wanted to be found and set free.

“The relic is here,” Zarfensis announced to the others. “Spread out, find it quickly.”

A deep chasm separated the outer rim of the cavern from the shallow bowl-shaped island in its center. The High Priest was reminded of the bottomless ravine that surrounded the cathedral in the Warrens. The dim light was just enough for him to see the thick central column rising up out of the dark, like a finger pointed skyward. The bowl rested on the tip of that finger.

This was the first time during their journey that the warriors balked at his orders. Surveying the cavern, Zarfensis could understand why. The only paths onto the center island were fragile-looking arches of ice that extended out over the crevasse. The distance was too great to jump, which meant that they would have to cross these unlikely bridges if they were to reach the center of the chamber.

Unwilling to sacrifice his brothers even though he, too, was afraid, Zarfensis went to the first arch and inspected it. It wasn’t nearly as thick as he would have liked. It looked as if it would give way under the full weight of a Xarundi warrior. He worried about the bridge shattering while they were crossing it. Having more than one Xarundi cross the bridge at a time was out of the question. The High Priest was certain that it would collapse and send them all plummeting to their deaths.

There were three arches near enough to use. There were others, but they were so far along the rim that they would be spread dangerously thin. Though they may not be able to cross in numbers, they should at least remain near each other in the event that the Swordmage and her vermin ilk caught up with them. Once they had the relic, it wouldn’t matter. They’d destroy the Swordmage and her friends, then destroy the rest of the human race. Zarfensis would see that no vermin were left alive during the second ascension of the Chosen.

“Over the arches, quickly, but carefully.” Zarfensis suited his words to actions, climbing gingerly up on the bridge nearest to him. The ice creaked under his weight and he moved slowly toward the apex of the arch. To his left and right, warriors were climbing with the same methodical care that he was.

There was a sound like splintering wood and all three of the Xarundi on the arches froze. After a moment, the sound had faded away and it seemed that they were safe to move on. Zarfensis reached the pinnacle of the bridge before the warriors on either side, so he had a clear vantage point as the right-hand bridge gave way.

The Xarundi warrior managed to grab the edge of the platform as the ice gave way beneath him. It was a remarkable feat of strength, but wasted effort, as the ends of the bridge broke from their anchors and tumbled with the warrior into the darkness. Though Zarfensis listened for a long time, he heard nothing. No indication of how deep the bottom might be, or if there was a bottom at all.

The cleric spoke a prayer, urging the warrior’s soul to be absorbed into the Dyr. Zarfensis took a step forward, then another. The progress was agonizing, but it was progress and though the ice groaned and shifted under him, it seemed relatively stable. The warrior on his left was moving forward again also, his arms spread out for balance as he descended the treacherous path.

Almost all of the party had made it over the bridges when the Swordmage and her companion entered the chamber. The shaman and the cleric were still in the middle of their crossing when the mage began hurling fireballs at the exposed Xarundi. One of the projectiles hit the bridge where the shaman was standing and it exploded into shards of ice. He howled as he fell, the sound becoming distant incredibly quickly and then dying out altogether.

As another fireball slammed into the other bridge, the cleric made a death-defying leap toward the center bowl. His claws dug into the ice, leaving long furrows as he slid backwards over the edge of the chasm. The other warriors dashed forward, ignoring the flaming projectiles, and hauled their healer up onto the island.

Zarfensis didn’t have time to mourn the loss of his brothers. They needed to find the relic and find it now. Ordering the warriors away from the edge, he commanded them to follow and set off toward the mist shrouded center of the chamber.

*

“They’re going to find the relic,” Tiadaria cried as the Xarundi loped away from the fireballs Wynn had thrown at them. “We need to hurry.”

They started around the perimeter of the cavern, watching for the return of the High Priest or any of the others. It wasn’t hard to imagine that they’d like to destroy whatever bridge they crossed and repay the death of their companions in stride.

“I know,” Wynn panted. “If they’re looking for the relic, at least they’re not paying attention to us.”

There was that, Tiadaria thought and she was grateful for the respite. Though she suspected they could cross the bridges far more easily than the heavier Xarundi, she didn’t fancy the idea of having them on the other side trying to kill them while they crossed. Rather than waste time finding another bridge for Wynn to cross, Tia turned to him and laid out a plan.

“I’ll go across first, you follow when I’m on the downslope. We’ll balance each other out that way, even the load. We’ll get across quicker than they did. The sooner we get over there, the sooner we can stop them.”

Wynn nodded, though he wasn’t fond of the idea of walking across the bridge, exposed to anything or anyone that might be lurking in the mist on the other side. Still, he had resolved to follow Tiadaria and see this through to the end. That meant staying by her side, no matter how scared he was of crossing the arch.

Tia climbed up onto the bridge, picking her feet up and carefully laying them down. When she reached the top, she gave Wynn a little wave and started down the other side.

Slipping his staff into its holster, he stepped out onto the ice. Wynn’s first steps were terrifying. His mind kept going back to the sight of the Xarundi falling into the hole and howling all the way down. The apprentice put the thought firmly out of his mind and focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

He managed to fixate on that one action so well that he was on his way down the far side of the arch when he realized that Tiadaria was on the island, waiting for him. A few more steps and she was almost near enough to touch. Just as he was about to step onto the island, there was a mighty crack and the ground dropped out from under him. Wynn threw himself forward, slamming his chest into the edge of the bowl, his hands scrabbling for purchase and finding none.

Tiadaria, acting purely on instinct, slipped into sphere sight. Wynn’s fall slowed to a glacial pace. She pulled one of her scimitars free and drove it deep into the ice. She clung to it with one hand, and with the other wrapped her fingers around Wynn’s wrist. Every muscle in her body strained and she called on the power of the sphere to pull him up next to her. They both collapsed, shaking. Tiadaria with exertion, and Wynn in horror.

The deep ache in her chest told Tiadaria that the sphere had once again claimed payment for her remarkable abilities. Her hands burned, as much from the contact with the steel of her sword as with the bitter cold. She managed to push herself to her feet and offer Wynn a hand.

“We need to go.”

“I know.”

Wynn took her hand and struggled to his feet. His staff, fortunately, was still slung in the holster across his back. He pulled it free now, using it to steady his still wobbly legs. Tiadaria shrugged out of her pack and dropped it to the ice. Wynn gave her a puzzled look.

“We won’t need them for the fight, and if we live, we can come back for them.”

He nodded, slipping out of his pack and leaving it next to hers. As they jogged into the thickening mist in the center of the cavern, Wynn paused and looked back over his shoulder. The bags sat abandoned by the base of the ruined arch. He wondered if they’d ever see that place again. Putting the thought out of his head, he followed Tia into the unknown.

Chapter Thirteen

The deeper into the chamber they went, the thicker the mist became. They could walk off the edge of the island and never know it until it was too late, Zarfensis thought. The warriors clustered around him, following his lead. It took a moment or two for the High Priest to realize that though the mist was thickest here, there was a subtle violet glow emanating from below them. He dropped to his knees, brushing a light layer of snow off the ice. The brilliance of the purple light magnified considerably.

“Here!” he called to the warriors triumphantly. “We dig here!” Without waiting for the rest of the war party to heed his cry, Zarfensis unsheathed his claws and began chipping away at the ice. The source of the light appeared to be only a few feet down. With the help of the others, they should have the relic uncovered before the vermin could catch up.

The excavation was furious. Each of the warriors moved out of the others way so they didn’t risk cutting each other with their razor sharp claws. This allowed them to uncover several large patches, all converging into a center area where Zarfensis had been digging. Zarfensis plunged his claws into the ice and was surprised when they broke through a thin shell of ice into a pocket of air beyond.

The air space under the ice allowed them to get a better grasp and they began pulling up large chunks of the stuff, tossing it away. A moment later, a Xarundi size hole was broken into the hollow chamber and Zarfensis could gaze with equal parts reverence and horror on the relic they had just uncovered.

The relic was ancient and powerful indeed. So powerful that Zarfensis knew they had no hope of controlling it, but rather asking it to acknowledge that the Xarundi were the ones responsible for freeing it from its icy prison.

“I know.” The voice echoed loudly from inside his head.

Zarfensis looked down at the violet eye, the size of a small buckler, as the slit lengthened and turned its intense stare on the High Priest. A rush of air swept past the war-party and the ground under them trembled. The warriors stepped back and Zarfensis followed.

As the massive dragon took air into its lungs for the first time in who knew how many hundreds of years, the thick neck expanded with the support of the breath. The ice around it exploded outward, carving a channel down toward where the massive body lie immobilized. There was an explosion of shards and the Xarundi shielded themselves from the projectiles. As the massive lungs filled, the chest expanded, sending large fissures racing in all directions across the surface of the island. For a moment, the entire surface of the bowl seemed to explode upward, then settled.

Slowly, the beast’s neck, long and thick as the tallest ironwood tree, freed itself from the ice. The head followed, the violet eyes blazing in the mist. The body came next, swaying to and fro on unsteady legs as the dragon found itself upright on limbs that hadn’t been used in centuries. Finding its footing, it spread its snow-white wings, blocking out the light from the broken ceiling above. It turned its pinions, flexing the wings to their full extension before folding them across its back.

It reared its head, looking skyward through the ceiling and took another deep breath. The brassy roar that exploded from the dragon shook the island to its foundation and forced the Xarundi to their knees. The head swung down again, one huge violet eye fixing its gaze on Zarfensis.

“You seek to control me, dog?”

Zarfensis tried to find words to reply and found that he couldn’t form any. He had thought that the relic would be an object of power, something to be wielded in battle against the hordes of vermin. A dragon! They couldn’t hope to control a dragon.

“No, mongrel, you will not,” the dragon said, responding to the frightened Xarundi’s thoughts. “However, you freed me from my prison. That is an act to be repaid in kind. Therefore, you will have your lives and your freedom. Leave this place. Leave it and spread the word that the threat of your feeble empire is nothing compared to my might and power.”

Suddenly the massive head whipped upright, peering into the mist. A moment later it had opened its titanic jaws, allowing a miniature bolt of lightning to steak across the cavern. There was an explosion of ice and Zarfensis heard the terrorized bleating of the vermin. If nothing else, at least the dragon had done them that favor.

“That is the last such boon you will receive, mongrel. Remember.”

The dragon spread its wings and leapt into the air. It seemed for a moment that the huge wings weren’t strong enough to hold the creature aloft, but it lurched upward on the down stroke, the rush of air wafting away the mist so that everyone in the cavern could see its awesome size. It flew up to the jagged hole in the ceiling, crashed through its rough edges, and was gone.

*

Tiadaria and Wynn lay sprawled on the ice. The lightning strike hadn’t been near enough to singe them, but it had knocked them flat and left them with the purple afterimage of flash blindness. Though neither one of them could make out detail, they saw enough to know that the dragon that the Xarundi had freed was enormous and not to be trifled with.

Though they hadn’t been able to hear the Xarundi’s side of the conversation, the dragons had reverberated in their heads. It seemed not to care whose minds it touched, or what information it conveyed while it was there. At least they had the satisfaction of knowing that the Xarundi, for all their speed and maneuvering in getting to the relic first, had ultimately failed. They had no weapon with which to battle humanity. At best they had gained nothing. At worst, they had gained an incredibly powerful and cunning foe.

Tia managed to sit up and saw the Xarundi racing toward them. They weren’t out of the woods yet. In fact, the woods threatened to swallow them whole.

“Wynn, get up. Get up! We’re in trouble.”

“What else is new?” he asked, struggling to his feet and picking up his staff. He spun the weapon experimentally, fire sprang from the ends. “Come on, then.”

The battle was joined in the center of the cavern. Tiadaria’s blades flashed and rang as steel struck claw. Wynn fired spell after spell into their attackers, cackling with delight when his weapons made contact with their enemies. When one of the Xarundi in healer’s robes burst into flames by his hand, he crowed with such uncharacteristic glee that Tiadaria whirled to look at him.

Wynn’s eye was as red as the deadly fire he commanded. The uncertain boy was gone. In his place was a raging maniac, channeling the force of the sphere as fast and as furiously as he could. Tiadaria knew from painful experience that that sort of wanton destruction came at a terrible price. No sooner had the thought passed through her mind than Wynn cried out and doubled over, clutching his chest.

Tiadaria tried to reach him, but she was beset on all sides by Xarundi warriors. Through her sphere enhanced reflexes, she was able to keep them at bay, but gaining the upper hand was proving to be almost impossible. She watched in helpless horror as the Xarundi with the metal leg, the High Priest, descended on the helpless Wynn.

Zarfensis grabbed Wynn around the throat with his powerful hand, digging his claws into the young man’s neck. Surprised by the sudden assault from a different quarter, Wynn cried out and tried to struggle free. The massive Xarundi hefted him off the ground, squeezing his neck ever tighter.

Wynn gasped for breath. His vision was going gray and he knew that he had only moments to act or be lost forever. Summoning the last of his reserves, he summoned a small ball of magical flames. It coalesced in his hand, bathing him with no more warmth than a hot bath but singing the unprotected hair of the High Priest. He turned his hand over and shoved it into the Xarundi’s face, directly into his left eye.

The young apprentice heard the sizzle of burning flesh and smelled the burning fur. The Xarundi screeched in pain, dropping the mage and attempting to put out the flames with his hands. When he finally succeeded, the side of his face was a ruin of charred flesh. The eye had melted in its socket, oozing down over the ravaged skin.

Zarfensis took a step forward, intent on killing the mage, and Wynn summoned another ball of flame. They stood that way, eyes locked on each other for what seemed like an eternity, then Zarfensis broke and ran. Not satisfied to leave well enough alone, Wynn threw the summoned flame at the Xarundi’s leg. A smile crept over his face as the projectile struck the contraption, melting the thick rubber cords and shattering its tiny crystal window. A small quantity of feebly flickering runedust spilled out onto the floor of the cavern. The mechanical leg completely immobilized, the High Priest teetered clumsily and fell over.

The Xarundi war party was losing its cohesion. Their High Priest was wounded and immobilized. Tiadaria had dealt two of them deep wounds that bled freely and made the ice under their feet treacherous to fight on. As if that wasn’t bad enough, the mage was descending on them, his staff blazing.

In the end, the Xarundi tucked their tails between their legs and ran. They scampered up over one of the bridges, ignoring the shattering ice and disappeared into the tunnels beyond.

“We should go after them,” Wynn said, preparing to suit words to actions.

“Let them go, Wynn. We’ve bloodied them enough for one day. Plus, we have a prisoner.”

They turned to look at Zarfensis just as the Xarundi began to intone the words of a spell. Wynn crossed the ice in long strides and brought his staff around quickly, connecting the end of the weapon to the base of the Xarundi’s skull and knocking him unconscious. He slumped to the ground and Wynn prodded him experimentally before returning to Tiadaria.

“Alright,” Wynn said. “But what are we going to do with him?”

Tiadaria shrugged. She hadn’t figured that part out yet. The two of them stood there for quite some time trying to figure out what to do next. Fortunately, the opening in the center of the cavern let in some of the outside air, so it wasn’t as cold as it had been during their descent. Neither of them had any magic that could help them. Tiadaria’s abilities extended only as far as her combat skills, and Wynn wouldn’t be of much help if they didn’t need to set anything on fire. He knew lots of theory, but very little in the way of practical application. He lacked the years of practice and trial and error that endowed most apprentices with a well-rounded education.

The Xarundi was starting to stir and Tia was worried about what the long term effects would be if they kept him subdued by whacking him in the back of the head with the end of Wynn’s staff. Fortunately, she didn’t have to worry about it for long.

“Tiadaria? Wynn?” A deep bass rumble boomed out of the mists at the edge of the island. “Is anyone out there?”

Tia recognized that voice. Grabbing Wynn by the hand, she rushed to the edge of the precipice and looked across. Torus Winterborne, flanked on either side by quintessentialists in the cream-colored robes of the Order of the Ivory Flame, stood peering into the mist.

“Torus! Over here!” Tia waved both arms above her head, getting the attention of the massive soldier from Dragonfell. “We need you over here, quickly. We have a prisoner and he’s about to wake up.”

“Tia! Look out!” The panic in her old friend’s voice sent icy fingers of dread curling around her spine. She whirled just as the razor sharp claws of the Xarundi slashed across her shoulder and down the front of her armor. She felt the witchmetal rings part, watching in fascinated horror as they fell and bounced off the ice. Ribbons of agony spread from her shoulder to her ribs. Looking down, she saw the lacerations and blood spreading across the armor that Captain had given her.

That armor had saved her life. The clawing was long, but shallow. Her armor hung in tatters. Her breast band showed under the torn fabric, offering her very little in the way of protection from a second attack. The linen was rapidly soaking through with blood. She stumbled back, her arms cartwheeling to maintain her balance. She felt a hand in the small of her back and she was suddenly shoved away from the edge of the crevasse and past the raging Xarundi.

The quintessentialists across the chamber were shouting for Wynn to move out of the way. They couldn’t cast at Zarfensis while Wynn was between them. The Xarundi was taking advantage of the opportunity to cast spells of his own. Wynn spun his staff in a circle, calling on the power of the sphere to deflect Zarfensis’s magic.

Growling in frustration, the Xarundi turned to his other weapons and tried to claw Wynn from head to foot. The apprentice was ready for him, catching the powerful claws on the end of his staff and forcing them away from his body. As the motion left him vulnerable the Xarundi dashed forward. Wynn spun, thrusting the staff out behind him like a spear. Unable to check his forward momentum, Zarfensis slammed into the staff. There was a muffed crack, like someone stepping on a twig under rain-soaked leaves and the Xarundi stumbled back, holding his chest

Wynn was certain something had broken. Leaping on the advantage, the young mage pressed his attack, calling the magic fire to dance along the length of the staff and sweeping it back and forth in front of the wounded Xarundi. Zarfensis backed away from the flaming weapon. As he backed away, he gave the other quints the opening they needed. Gleaming white projectiles streaked across the cavern, lighting up the mist. They slammed into the Xarundi, knocking him to the floor and spinning him across the ice. For a moment, Tia was afraid he was going to slide right off the opposite end of the island, but he came to rest in a crumpled heap just short of that terrible drop.

Suddenly Torus was beside her, wrapping her torso in a long strip of white cloth he had taken from his pack. Perhaps she was a little delirious, but Tiadaria found the size of his pack, a pack that met the full measure of the mammoth man, comical. She couldn’t help herself and she started laughing.

“She’s in shock,” Torus cried to the quints. They had just finished magically reinforcing the bridge they had crossed and rushed to his side. Tia waved them off.

“I’m alright. The only thing shocked is my sense of the absurd.” She took a deep breath, wincing as the action made her chest hurt. The pain sobered her quickly. “How did you know we were here?”

“I didn’t. Lacrymosa showed up at the infirmary in Blackbeach with Faxon mostly dead. She told Adamon where you were and what she thought you were after. So here we are.” Torus gave her a shrewd look. “Was there really a dragon here?”

While Tia was trying to process his question, the rest of his statement sunk in. “Adamon? Adamon! It’s good to see you again.”

The quintessentialist drew back his hood and nodded in her direction. At least some things didn’t change. She still got nervous around an Inquisitor and Adamon still treated her as if he knew something she wasn’t telling. The sooner this was over, the better.

“Yes, a white dragon, with violet eyes. We heard it in our heads. It was talking to the Xarundi, but didn’t stick around on their behalf.”

Torus shook his head. “This is bad. We need to get you back to Blackbeach and I need to get back to Dragonfell.”

“How are we getting back to civilization,” Wynn asked. He sounded so tired.

Torus glanced at the apprentice and for an instant, Tia thought he was appraising the young man’s suitableness for her, but the expression was so fleeting she dismissed it as a trick of her exhausted mind.

“We brought a runner-sled. Sort of a big wagon with rails and fast horses. We…um…borrowed them, from Overwatch. We’ll return them and gate-walk back.”

“First you’ll need to secure the prisoner, Torus.” Adamon motioned toward the motionless hulk of the injured Xarundi.

“Of course.” Torus took a steel collar and manacles from his pack. In short order, Zarfensis was secured for transport.

Not wanting to rely only on the inhibition of steel, Adamon and the other quintessentialists performed a ritual that would prevent the Xarundi from calling on the sphere. Only when the ritual was complete would Adamon allow them to leave the cavern. He flipped up his hood and stalked off ahead, preceding them from the chamber.

The ascension to the mouth of the tunnels was long and difficult, hampered by the fact that Torus was dragging the unconscious body of a several hundred pound Xarundi behind him the entire way. They were exhausted when they reached the sled. However, the horses were swift and made the journey back to Overwatch go by quickly.

No one said very much. They were too worried, too hurt, or too tired.

Epilogue

The large silver bell above the Great Tower of High Magic pealed loudly and nearly everyone in Blackbeach stopped to look toward the great obsidian monolith. From where Tiadaria sat by the entrance, the sound was nearly deafening. She could feel it through the low rock wall that surrounded the ornamental gardens. She felt it in her tailbone and all the way up into her spine. The wide doors that sealed the tower were pushed back and the conclave, all the masters in every order, began to make their way up the sloping path from the bowels of the tower.

She caught sight of Wynn and jumped down off the wall, running to intercept him. They veered away from the main group, slipping down the alley between the tower and the library.

“Well?” she demanded imperiously.

Wynn gave her a measured look, then broke into a wide grin.

“The conclave has confirmed me as a master, with all the rights and privileges of such. They said that I show more than enough aptitude to hold the rank, but recommended that I remain in Blackbeach for some remedial courses in applied theory.”

“Master Wynn. It suits you.” Tiadaria punched him affectionately in the shoulder and he winced. Master or not, he was still hers to abuse and she’d see to it that it remained that way. She took his hand, no longer conflicted about how she felt about the young mage and relishing in the thrill of excitement that the link-shock sent through her body. Tia pulled him out of the alley and turned down a wide lane.

“Where are we going?” Wynn asked, though he suspected he knew the answer already. She’d want Faxon to hear the news, as if the bell hadn’t told him enough already.

“The infirmary,” Tiadaria said, confirming his guess. “Faxon said you weren’t to return to Ethergate without seeing him first.”

Wynn stopped short, peering at Tia with undisguised curiosity. “I’m going back to Ethergate?”

“You’re not? I’d assumed that after you were confirmed you’d want to go back home.”

He caught her around the waist, drawing her body into his and pressing his lips to hers. When he released her, she sighed. No longer was he the timid mage afraid of taking chances. If nothing else, their time together had taught him that every moment was fleeting and to be taken advantage of.

“Home is wherever you are, Tia.”

She laid her hand against his cheek, her fingers caressing the creases of the now-healed scars. “I have a cottage in King’s Reach,” she said laughing. “But I don’t get to spend much time there.”

“I can’t promise that will change much,” Wynn said thoughtfully. “But we need somewhere to get away

somewhere private.”

“Master Wynn! You’re scandalous.”

“Not yet,” he said with a grin. “But I’m sure you can teach me.”

Hand in hand, they walked to the infirmary. Today was a day for celebrating the recovery of old friends and the excitement of new beginnings.

*

Zarfensis lay curled on the cold stone floor of his prison cell. He had been given basic medical care, provided with meat and water, and then left alone. The High Priest wasn’t sure how long he had been in the cell. With no outside windows it was impossible to tell the time of day. The heavy iron and steel bars that surrounded his enclosure caused a stabbing pain deep in his skull that made concentrating enough to slip into the sphere an impossibility.

So he tried to sleep as much as possible, tossing and turning on the rock, more often than not waking in a blind panic from a dream that stayed with him after he awoke. A massive white dragon was aloft above the mountains, his great wings blocking out the sun and spreading darkness across the land.

No matter how Zarfensis tried to turn away from the beast, the dragon was never far from his thoughts. Was it only a dream, the Xarundi wondered, or had the dragon somehow left a part of its soul in his mind? It seemed that every time he closed his eyes, he was staring into the violet orbs of the dragon.

Zarfensis rolled over and curled his good knee up to his chest. The other leg was a twisted ruin of blackened metal and melted rubber. He closed his eyes, meeting the familiar gaze of the dragon and hearing the litany that had become as much a part of his heartbeat. He mouthed the words silently as they came into his head.

Stryne the Despicable. Stryne the Hated. Stryne the Forsaken.

“Come to me,” the voice inside his head echoed. The voice of command. “Come to me and I will make you whole again and you will be my prophet.”

The High Priest tried to push the voice from his mind and failed. Let the vermin kill me and end this, he thought frantically. He threw his head against the wall, knocking himself into peaceful unconsciousness.

Just before he slipped away, Zarfensis heard laughter.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Martin F. Hengst resides in South Central Pennsylvania with his wife and two children.

An avid reader since childhood, he attributes his love for fantasy and science fiction to his father. Martin’s passion is creating intricate stories with intimate details set in fantasy lands that exist only in his readers’ dreams.

If you’d like to keep up with the world of Solendrea and the extraordinary people and places that exist there, visit: www.solendrea.com. You can also follow Martin on Twitter and Goodreads. Email inquiries can be addressed to: martin@solendrea.com.