Quintessential Tales: A Magic of Solendrea Anthology (10 page)

“I know all I need to know. Declan dies.”

A quick glance at Declan told her the old man was right. Thin trickles of blood had seeped out of both his ears and were tracing red rivulets down his shaking neck. A pink-tinged foam was forming at the corners of his mouth. Her thirst for vengeance blew away like dust in the wind. Now all she wanted was for Declan to be better.

“Can you help him?” Tears sprang to the corners of her eyes. “Please!”

“I can, but I will not.”

“Why?”

“I am the guardian of this place. You have trespassed in our sanctuary and disturbed the slumber of my people.
Judgment must be handed down.”

“You? But Declan said it would be some kind of monster.”

The man moved to stand over Declan’s twitching body. His feet didn’t even make a whisper against the floor.

“I am afraid your brother’s skill in translation leaves much to be desired. I am not a monster, nor is this place a tomb or a temple.”

“Then what are you? And why won’t you stop my brother from dying?”

“I told you. I am the guardian of this place. Stop your brother from dying? Yes. I can do this.”

The old man extended a wrinkled hand from within his robe and passed it over Declan’s body. The shaking stopped as if it had been cut off by a blade. The change was so sudden that Serena panicked. She touched Declan’s forehead. It was ice cold.

“What did you do to him?”

“Precisely what you asked. I stopped him from dying. More accurately, I stopped everything.”

“What do you mean, you stopped everything?”

The guardian reached over and plucked a gold coin from atop a nearby pile. He held it up between his thumb and forefinger, placing it at her eye level. Then he released it. The coin stayed where he’d placed it. If she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, she wouldn’t have believed it was possible.

“Do you see now?” The guardian’s voice was full of easy condescension. “I stopped everything.”

“So in Overwatch, there are people frozen in the streets?”

The old man shook his head. “No. Outside, I have no power. Within these walls, my control over my bailiwick is absolute.”

A chill went up her spine. “I can’t leave, can I?”

“No. You cannot.” He stabbed a finger at the bulging pockets of her breeches. “You are guilty of trespass and theft. It is my duty to protect this place, as I’ve done for thousands of years.”

“Please, let us go. I promise it won’t happen again. I’ll destroy the map we used to find our way here.”

“The map has already been destroyed. Regardless, I cannot release you. You have committed the crimes and
judgment must be handed out.”

Serena reached into the back pocket where she’d tucked the map. It was gone. A fine dust coated her fingers as she took her hand from her pocket. There was nothing left of the map. Fortunately, she could find her way back to Overwatch by simple directions and landmarks. If, and it was a big if, she ever got out of here.

“So what happens now?” Serena sank to the floor and put her head in her hands. She’d come so close to having everything she always dreamed of, only to have those dreams dashed upon the rocks. It hurt. A lot.

“You must face the reality of your actions. Your brother will die for his transgressions. You will remain here until you follow him in your own fashion.”

“You can’t just let us die!” She balled her fists, slamming them into her thighs with impotent rage. There was a snap and pain lanced through her leg. Serena cried out as a crimson stain spread across her breeches, a combination of the red medicine and her blood.

“As you can see, all actions have consequences.”

A heavy weight settled itself on Serena’s chest and she choked back a sob.

“Please, let Declan go. It’s my fault he’s here. He didn’t want to come in the first place. Please!”

“Your brother has disturbed the Sphere of All Knowledge. The combined thoughts and memories of my people are in his head. Even if I were to release him, he would die in a matter of hours.”

“There has to be another way!”

The guardian leveled a gaze on Serena that made her blood run cold. The weight of his eyes was very real, and she shifted uncomfortably under his regard.

“Perhaps there is another way. Leave your brother. Take what is in your pockets and go.”

“You’ll kill me before I reach the door.”

“I will not. You will leave with what you have taken, but you will also leave your brother here, and you will never return.”

Serena looked at the frozen form of her brother. The blood on Declan’s neck seemed brighter than it had been, somehow. His medicine was gone. He might not make it out of the jungle even if she managed to talk the guardian into releasing them.

Maybe it was better for him, this way. He probably didn’t even know what had happened to him. Declan would just slip away. No more attacks. No more medicine. And even if she could never return here, the coins and gems in her pockets would keep her for the rest of her life. Even if she chose never to work again.

Declan looked so small and frail. Serena’s mind kept going back to their childhood. Winters spent huddled around a tiny fire, a single blanket wrapped around them, sharing their warmth. They’d always taken care of each other…but maybe this was just another way of taking care of him.

“I can just walk out?” Just asking the question made her heart ache
, and she doubted the guardian would just let her leave.

“Yes. If that is your choice.”

“I don’t want to make that choice! I just want to go home!”

“You can go home right now. You just cannot take your brother with you.”

Tears slipped out of the corners of her eyes. Serena had never been without Declan. No matter what they went through, they’d always done it together. How was she supposed to live without him? She could have everything she’d always dreamed of, but now that seemed worse than having nothing at all.

“Why is this a difficult decision for you, Serena? Your deepest desire is for enough wealth to lead a comfortable life. You can have that. All you need to do is walk away.”

Serena hated that there was a part of her that wanted to do just that. To walk away, leaving her brother to die, and becoming richer than she’d ever imagined in the process. There was something more important than money though, and Declan had been all she had more often than not. She couldn’t just walk away from him.

“I can’t,” she screamed at the guardian, tears of anger and frustration joining those of sadness. “I can’t. Okay? Is that what you want to hear?”

Shoving her hands in her pockets, Serena took the treasure she’d pilfered and threw it at the old man. The coins stopped in mid-air as soon as they left her hand. They hung there, mocking her. The guardian waved an open hand in front of the coins and they clattered to the floor, rolling off in every direction.

“Why?”

“Why what?” Serena’s voice sounded far too small and timid for her liking.

“Why not walk away?”

“Because he’s my brother. He’s annoying. He’s sanctimonious. He’s a know-it-all. He’s a royal pain in the ass at times…but he’s my brother, and he being with me is more important than all the riches in the world.”

“Then you refuse my offer. Are you ready for judgment to be handed down?”

“Yes,” Serena said, wiping the last of the tears from her cheeks. “May I make one request?”

“You may, though I cannot promise to honor it.”

“Please make it quick? I don’t want Declan to suffer any more. He’s gone through enough because of me.”

“I promise you will feel no pain.”

The guardian shook his hands free of his robes and brought them together. There was a brilliant flash of light, then nothing. The world went dark.

The afterlife was much more fetid than she’d have imagined, Serena thought. Then she giggled. She opened her eyes and watched insects dance in
the shafts of sunlight filtering down through the thick jungle canopy. Flashes of where she had been and what she had done raced through her memory. She sat up in a panic.

Declan was laying beside her in the brush, his head pillowed on a clump of moss. He was snoring softly. No blood stained his ears or neck
, and his face was relaxed, not drawn back in lines of indescribable pain.

Serena shook her head, trying to rid herself of the fog that seemed to cloud every thought. She patted her thigh pocket. There were two vials there, outlined by the fabric. Had she been dreaming? It all seemed so real.

“It was not a dream,” a soft voice said. It was a familiar voice. The voice of the guardian. She turned to see him leaning against a tree.

“I thought you were going to pass judgment on us?”

“I did. You made a choice. You chose to give up your avarice and everything you dreamed of to save your brother. It was a wise choice.”

“What’s going to stop us from coming back here?”

The guardian smiled. It was the first time she’d seen him show any real emotion.

“I will still be here. Do you really want to do this again?”

“No. No, I don’t.” Serena sighed. “So where do we go from here?”

“You go home, Serena.” The guardian produced something from inside his robe and tossed it to her. She caught it and opened her hand. She couldn’t believe it. It was the ruby she’d taken from the archway outside the treasure room.

“You’re rewarding bad behavior?”

The guardian shook his head. “No. I’m giving you the opportunity to live a different life. It is up to you to make the most of it.”

Declan stirred beside her and Serena looked down at him. She was happy. No matter what happened, they’d have each other. That was all that mattered. She turned back to thank the guardian, but he was gone.

“What happened?” Declan asked groggily. “Where are we?”

“Everything’s fine.” Serena patted his hand. “We’re going home.”

Faxon winced as a bullet hit the low stone wall he was crouched behind, showering him with shards of rock. High-pitched whines pierced his skull as ricochets bounced off the wall and went screaming off in other directions.

"Ye sure know how ta show a lad a good time," Gunther grunted. He sidled up to the wall and raised his head just enough that he could peer over the top. There was a loud clank
, and the dwarf dropped back below the edge of the wall with a new dent in the battered miner's helmet that was jammed down onto his head. Gunther reached up and stroked the much abused helmet with a grimace. "That one done near rung my bell."

"I'd point out that we wouldn't even be here if it weren't for you." Faxon's nonchalant wave encompassed the small courtyard around them and the wall they were hiding behind as cover.

"Aye, lad. But she never said she was married."

"You didn't ask." Faxon snorted. He mumbled something, coaxing a ball of energy to form from the power of the Quintessential Sphere. He hefted it in the palm of his hand for a moment, then hurled it over the wall toward their attackers. "You can't slap a lady of the Upper Baronies on the ass and expect there not to be repercussions."

"It was a mere tap, lad. Nothing to get one's bonnet in a bunch over."

"Tell that to the Baron."

Renewed thunder of hand-cannon fire echoed through the courtyard. Tiny pieces of stone bounced off the wall and landed in their hair and clothes.

"I dunna think he wants to talk, lad."

"Send out the dwarf and you can go, magician," a harsh voice called from beyond the wall.

"Did you hear that?" Faxon asked, his eyebrows raised.

"Aye, he called you a magician. Insulting that."

"No,
that I can turn you in and go about my merry way. I wonder if there's reward money for turning you in."

Gunther clutched his chest, narrowing his eyes at the Quintessentialist sprawled beside him. "Ye cut me, lad. Ye cut me real deep."

One of the Baron's guards rounded the wall on Gunther's side. The guard held his cannon with both hands and leveled it at the dwarf. Never missing a beat, Gunther lowered his head like a bull and rammed his helmet into the guard's groin. The Baron's man squealed like a pig, clutched his privates, and toppled over behind the wall.

"Isn't this going to end badly for you?" Faxon asked. "You live here. I'm just a tourist."

"Nah. Baron Ohlagly and I go back a long way. He'll make a good show of it, but he's not a bad sort. I'll send him a nice bottle to apologize, and he'll get over it in a couple of weeks."

"Before then?"

"Oh, he'll kill me if he can catch me. We need to get back to my warehouse. Bless Overwatch. My property is my sovereign domain. Not even the Baron can touch me there."

"So the plan is to run for it?"

"Seems so, lad. Seems so."

"Oh good. This was getting boring. You better be able to keep up on those stumpy legs of yours."

Faxon rolled to his feet in a single graceful, fluid motion. A motion that no mere mortal could have performed. A motion fueled by the power of the Quintessential Sphere. He opened his arms wide, as if he was intending to hug the Baron's guards, then clapped his hands together with a shout of command.

The power he'd called from the Ethereal Realm rushed out from his hands in a massive wave, lifting the Baron and his men and throwing them into wall across the alleyway. While Ohlagly and his men were recovering from the surprise attack, Faxon hauled Gunther to his feet and gave him a shove in the general direction of the long staircase that wound its way down into the Lower City.

"Run, little man. Run."

"I'll kill ye for that, ye towering bastard," Gunther grunted. His short legs drove like pistons to keep up with the Quint's much longer strides. Shouting and more shots told them that the Baron and his men had recovered and were giving chase. Fortunately, the Upper City was mostly deserted at night. The respectable folk were tucked safely into their beds and away from any
undesirables who might still be out roaming the streets. They could make their escape largely unnoticed. If they could get to the Lower City, into the brothel and tavern district, they'd be able to disappear into the crowds of people packed into the streets at all hours of the night.

"You can kill me once we're safe," Faxon shot back, glancing over his shoulder. The Baron's men had nearly caught up with them. They were almost to the stairs. Just a little further now. They rounded a low building and skidded to a stop before two pairs of militia guards blocking the passage to the Lower City.

"Halt! In the name of the Upper Baronies and the militia of Overwatch, you are commanded to stand down."

"Better and better," Faxon muttered.

"C'mon lads, ye don't want any part of this. Just step aside."

The shortest of the militiamen, a stocky young man with
sergeant’s blazes on his epaulets, shook his head.

"Can't do that, Sir."

Renewed shouting from a street or two over told them that they were almost caught.

"Faxon," Gunther grunted. "Little help here, lad."

"If I had a crown for all the times..." Faxon planted his feet and called upon the power of the Quintessential Sphere.

He summoned memories of death and disease, of all the horrid, slimy things that man fears in the dark of night. He channeled these living memories into his eyes and they blazed with power. He turned his face to the militiamen.

"Gaze upon me mortals, and see my true aspect." Faxon's voice thrummed with power. The men looked at Faxon and dropped their weapons. They ran, blind with panic, crashing into each other in their haste to flee what they had seen. The Sergeant’s face went pale, the lantern light exposing the dark stain running down the leg of his tan breeches.

Faxon and Gunther pelted down the long stairs two at a time. Stepping into the Lower City was like jumping into a turgid sea of bodies. Humans, Xarundi, a Gnome here and there. Overwatch was known to welcome all comers, so long as those who stepped foot inside the city walls had the wherewithal to survive. The only immutable law in Overwatch was that the laws were flexible. They heard Ohlagly's angry snarl from a distance, but by that time, they were already working their way through the crowd. The two of them had it much easier than the Baron's men would. Patrons of the Lower City didn't much care for the Barons or their men. It wasn't long before they lost their pursuers altogether.

"That was a neat trick," Gunther said as they made their way toward his warehouse. "What'd ye show 'em?"

"Living nightmare." Faxon chuckled. "Whatever they fear most, personified. I'm a bad man."

"Aye. Still got what we went for?"

Faxon opened the throat of his robe and briefly showed a packet of parchment he'd tucked there for safekeeping.

"Safe and sound. I'll be on a ship back to Dragonfell in the morning. Then all this business will be done with."

"A ship?" Gunther raised his bushy eyebrows. "Why not take the gate back?"

"Greymalkin wants a survey of the coast. Merchant ships have been going missing."

"Pirates?"

"So the King thinks."

"Send Greymalkin my regards."

Faxon laughed. "I'll be sure to do that. However, I think he still has a prison cell set aside for you if you ever set foot in Dragonfell again."

"I didn't
know
she was his daughter, Faxon."

"I don't think that matters, old friend."

They'd arrived at Gunther's Warehouse, a massive two-story wood frame building that squatted in the center of the Trade District in the Lower City. Huge wooden doors, now closed for the night, were wide enough to allow two carts to drive in abreast. Large windows, the largest Faxon had ever seen, were set into the upper story and the roof to allow for daylight to penetrate the cavernous building during business hours. The light would illuminate the vast quantity of treasures within. If it could be bought or sold, odds were that Gunther kept it in stock. If he didn't, he knew someone who could provide it, procure it, or build it. They bypassed the main doors and a chill ran up Faxon's spine. He glanced around, thinking perhaps the Baron had caught up with them, but saw nothing out of place.

He dismissed the feeling and followed Gunther to the side entrance, a normal sized door without any of the trappings that made the front of the building so impressive. Fishing around in his pocket, Gunther found an oddly shaped key. It was a short brass tube with a series of studs and knobs protruding from its surface. A Gnomish key was impossible for an outsider to duplicate
, and the corresponding lock was just as difficult to pick. The dwarf spared no expense when it came to his business. He was probably the most powerful and influential person in the Lower City. Once inside, Gunther closed and locked the door behind them. Then he heaved a great sigh.

"I think that's enough adventure for one night, if ye don't mind."

"Oh, why call it a night so soon?" a sickly-sweet voice called from somewhere in the warehouse.

It was dark, but as soon as Faxon heard the voice, his blood ran cold. He'd recognize that voice anywhere, until his dying day. Somewhere, out there in the dark, his former apprentice was waiting.

"Tionne," Faxon said, trying to keep his voice even. "What do you want?"

"You have something that belongs to me, Faxon Indra. I want it back.
Now
."

Faxon felt Gunther shift beside him, preparing to attack, but before he could warn his friend, a luminescent green missile streaked out of the darkness. Gunther grunted as he hit the wall and slid to the floor.

"Don't. The next one goes through your heart, tiny."

Faxon's mind raced. Tionne said the packet he was carrying belonged to her. What did she want with shipping manifests and sailor's rosters? It was information the Imperium Navy could use to combat the piracy Greymalkin was worried about. There seemed to be no value in it for Tionne, and Tionne was only interested in what could further her own twisted agenda.

"The papers, Faxon. I don't have time to kill you, as much as I'd love the opportunity. Just put them on the floor and step away."

"You know I can't do that, Tionne."

Now that his eyes were adjusting to the dim light, he could just make out Tionne's shape perched atop a stack of crates. Her pale, almost translucent, skin stood out among the black. Faxon opened one hand and something hard hit him across the shoulders, knocking him off balance. He whirled around and found himself facing a mountain of a man.

Naked from the waist up, his body bulged with muscle. The man's skin was almost as dark as Tionne's was pale. Thick rose-tinted lips parted to reveal matching rows of broken teeth. A large gold hoop hung from one ear and his short gray breeches were tied around the waist with a brilliant red sash. He held a large cutlass, the blade with which he'd hit Faxon between the shoulders, no doubt.

A buccaneer if ever Faxon had seen one. He went rigid as the pieces of the puzzle dropped into place. A low laugh from Tionne set his teeth on edge.

"Surely you didn't expect me to come alone, Faxon? I remember what you tried to do to me the last time we were alone. I won't let that happen again."

"I can afford to wait, Tionne. One day you'll have alienated all your potential allies, and I'll be there, waiting."

"I don't think you'll live that long," she snapped, her condescending tone souring abruptly. "The papers, Faxon. Now. I'm done talking."

Faxon reached into his robes, and he felt the sharp edge of the pirate's blade against the back of his neck. Cold steel stung like a wasp, the pain shooting down his spine and settling like a scorpion's sting poised over his heart. A Quintessentialist couldn't touch steel and live. Brief periods of contact would only cause pain and disorientation. Prolonged contact would kill a mage as surely as a bullet to the head. Faxon felt his connection to the Quintessential Sphere waver, then break. A part of him that he'd had since childhood was suddenly missing, and the pain in his chest was augmented by an ache of loss. Spellcraft was impossible while the burly buccaneer held the steel blade to his neck. He had no choice but to comply.

Deliberate and slow, Faxon reached into his robe and withdrew the packet of papers bound together with string. He dropped it on the floor by his feet and kicked it toward Tionne. The pale young woman scampered down off the crates, her flowing black dress billowing out behind her like bat's wings. She said something in a language Faxon didn't understand and the blade was withdrawn.

"Mebbe next time, finga-wiggla. Yah?" The pirate's chuckle did nothing to set Faxon's troubled mind at ease. He turned, intent on laying out the man with a spell, and found nothing but empty air.

Groaning beside him reminded Faxon that Gunther was sprawled there in the dark. Ignoring the lingering ache in his chest, Faxon spoke a word of command and summoned a globe of warm light that drove back the dark. The dwarf was leaning against the wall, his ruddy face tinged an unnerving gray. He was sheened with sweat. Gunther opened one eye.