Martin Hengst - The Darkest Hour

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.