The Swordmage Trilogy: Volume 02 - The Darkest Hour (23 page)

             
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.