Read The Swordmage Trilogy: Volume 02 - The Darkest Hour for Free Online

the device, the gnome opened a small chute on the side of the artificial leg and dumped the dust into it in a fluid motion. A tiny crystal window showed the dust inside, its mossy glow pulsing slowly like a heartbeat.
    An instant later, Zarfensis felt the leg respond to the magical power of the dust. Where it had been a mechanical extension of his leg before, now it was alive. He could feel it humming with power. He rose the leg. Where it had been clumsy and mechanical before, it was now smooth and fluid. He could feel the claws at the end of the foot and flexed them. They responded to his will , grasping just as his real claws would.
    The High Priest wound himself down into a crouch and leapt toward the entrance to the workshop. His jump carried him out into the corridor, where he landed lightly on his feet. This wasn't just a replacement for his lost limb. This was an improvement. He idly wondered if the gnome could make a second replacement and then quickly turned his thoughts away from that idea. Replacing a lost limb was one thing, removing a perfectly healthy one just to get a mecha-magical replacement was another.
    He raced along the path that circled the workshops, relishing in the freedom of movement, the smoothness of the gait, and then complete and utter lack of dependence on crutch or cane to move again. It was liberating. It was wonderful. He returned to the workshop and bowed deeply to the gnome, the servos in the leg whining quietly as he did so.
    "You have my immeasurable thanks, Greneks."
    The gnome smiled, his fingers again folding under his chin. "Your thanks are noted, High Priest. Now is for payment."
    "Of course, anything you wish. I will see it done."
    Whatever the gnome wanted, Zarfensis would see that it was procured. Not only did he have his leg back, he had his life back. Things in the Warrens were going to change, and they were going to change very soon.

Chapter Three
     
                  The driving rain had soaked Tiadaria to the skin. Her hair was a mess, plastered across her forehead and clinging to her shoulders and neck. Her traveling cloak was waterlogged and let through so much of the rain that she had opted to take the hood down so that she might be able to see where they were going. Nightwind plodded on, gingerly finding his footing in the mud-filled track they were following. His head was down, his nose pointed at the earth in front of them. Tiadaria knew how he felt.
                  She leaned close to his neck and shouted encouragement over the rain. Other than a flick of his ears, there was no indication that the horse heard her, or cared. The last week of their journey to Ethergate had been difficult for both of them. Leaving the Imperium had been something of a shock. On the road to the border, guards paid by the coffers of the Grand Army of the Imperium had been frequent and welcome diversions from the often boring journey. Once they crossed the border, however, those diversions disappeared. What also disappeared was the well-maintained road that made travel within the Imperium relatively quick and easy.
                  The guard at the border station, a wizened old man who had probably lived the last forty years of his life standing by that post, had assured her that this wide dirt track, well rutted by wagon and cart wheels, would lead her to Ethergate. That had been a week ago. Two days later, the torrential rain had started and hadn’t let up since.
                  Tiadaria shivered. She and Nightwind had stayed in whatever caves they could find. At least her tinderbox was relatively waterproof. The fires they huddled by were often smoky, tentative things, fed by whatever dry fuel she could scrounge from the mouth of the cave or under fallen trees. She had been discouraged from venturing too far into the caves when, on one of her fuel-finding expeditions, she had almost slipped down a nearly vertical face. She tossed a pebble over