Martin Hengst - The Darkest Hour

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.

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?”