Free The Pegasus's Lament by Martin Hengst Page A

Quintessential Sphere, but knew in her heart that if Faxon couldn't find anything worthwhile, she'd have no hope of doing so.
    “I don't understand,” Wynn said slowly. “Who would do this? And why? What could they hope to gain?”
    Faxon shrugged and they lapsed again into uneasy silence. None of them had any answers to the myriad of questions the crime had spawned. Still, they couldn't seem to leave the place empty handed. So they stood and stared, one or the other of them occasionally offering a guess that was easily dismissed. Tia knew they were lost and they had little hope of being found.
    Releasing Wynn's hand, she stepped closer to the tomb than she had dared to the previous day. It smelled of damp earth with a hint of decay. She crouched near the edge of the broken marble, picking up the smooth pieces of white stone and fitting them back into the side of the sarcophagus as if fitting pieces into a puzzle.
    Tia wasn't surprised when Wynn knelt beside her to help, but she was grateful. Perhaps some good would come of this desecration. At least they weren't at each other's throats, and that was something. It was a start and she'd take it. They were still trying to sort out the largest of the marble shards when Tiadaria caught a shadow out of the corner of her eye. It was just a darker smudge against the fog, moving toward them.
    Faxon spread his hands, as if gazing into an invisible crystal ball. Magical lightning sprang up between his fingers, arcing from one hand to the other with a faint crackle. Tia felt for her swords and came up empty, remembering that she had left them in the inn. There was really no need for her to be armed in Dragonfell. Or so she thought.
    “ Rest easy, Master Indra,” a familiar voice came from the fog. “I come as a friend, not a foe.”
    A few more steps and the figure was close enough for them to see plainly. It was Adamon, the Grand Inquisitor of the Order of the Ivory Flame. The hood of his robe was pushed back, exposing a shock of medium leng th, dishwater brown hair. His grey eyes glittered in the subdued light. He nodded to Tiadaria and Wynn in greeting, then to Faxon, who had dropped the spell with a grunt after seeing Adamon's face.
    “ What brings you to Dragonfell, Adamon?” Faxon cast a curious glance at the Inquisitor, then turned his eyes back to Tia and Wynn.
    “ The three of you aren't the only ones who are interested in the events that have taken place here over the last week. The desecration of the Captain's tomb, though the most heinous, isn't the only crime this cemetery has been home to this week.”
    That caught Faxon's attention, Tia thought. His eyebrows jerked upright, but he was quick to school his expression. Though they had been together the first night she had met them, Tia had always had the impression that there was little love lost between the stolid, humorless Adamon and her more carefree friend. She'd never asked him about the relationship and she doubted she ever would. Best to leave sleeping dogs lie.
    Adamon was the epitome of a sleeping dog, she thought. An inquisitor's job was to seek out and bring to justice rogue mages. If he ever found out about her unique abilities, the Order would send him to bring her to trial, or censure her outright, cutting off her connection to the Quintessential Sphere and leaving her to go mad from the pain of the loss.
    She shook her head, trying to clear the worrisome thought from her mind. Adamon gave her an appraising look, then continued.
    “There was an artifact stolen from one of the other graves,” he said, directing his gaze at Faxon. “An ancient artifact that was rumored to have lain with one of the oldest members of the King's court.”
    “ What was the artifact?” Tia asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. She tried not to speak much when Adamon was around, just in case.
    “ The Chalice of Souls.”
    Wynn jerked up as if drawn by a string. He turned to Adamon, his eye wide. He glanced to