Martin Hengst - The Darkest Hour

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.”

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?”