The Complete Rhenwars Saga: An Epic Fantasy Pentalogy

by M. L. Spencer

  The priestess and Kyel were there ahead, waiting for him. The corridor was more like a cave than a hallway, crudely hewn from granite rock. A soft light glowed along the walls and clung to the ceiling, a misty silver luminescence. Magelight, Darien realized, staring in open wonder. He had never seen its like outside of Aerysius itself.

  “Welcome to the Catacombs,” the priestess said in a lowered voice.

  They walked forward, following the slope of the corridor, the horses picking their way carefully. The air was frigid, and there was a stale odor to the place. The churning magelight cast lurid shadows across the walls. A thick fog clung to the floor, stirred by their footsteps.

  Darien didn’t like the feel of the air. It seemed thin, almost stretched. Even sound seemed to carry differently through it. The plod of the horses’ hooves sounded stifled and hesitant. There was a peculiar reverberation to the noise, like a muffled echo.

  After a few hundred paces, the passage took a sharp turn and then opened up into an immense chamber. Darien let his eyes wander up the far wall and found himself having to crane his neck to get a glimpse of the ceiling high above.

  This was no mere cavern. The chamber they were in could have engulfed the Hall of the Watchers several times over.

  And the walls were not solid.

  Darien studied them, attempting to figure out the architecture that lent the walls a honeycombed appearance. Then it dawned on him: the holes in the rock were vaults.

  Thousands of them, each vault containing white-shrouded human remains.

  The entire chamber was an enormous tomb. It even smelled like one. His nose was accosted with the commingled stench of myrrh and decay. In front of him, he heard Kyel make a gagging noise.

  The priestess seemed completely unaffected. This was, after all, her profession. Darien found himself darkly speculating how many corpses Naia had washed and blessed before she had become so immune to the stench of death.

  He gazed at the priestess, wondering what had possessed the woman to choose such a grim occupation in the first place. She was young, and elegantly lovely. Naia would have had suitors lined up at her door if she were a common maid. But, he had to admit, there was nothing common about her.

  Naia carried herself with an air of confidence that was compelling, and her dark eyes behind her veil shone with intelligence and wisdom far beyond her age. He had to force himself to avert his gaze. Despite himself, he found the priestess intriguing. More intriguing than he would have liked.

  His eyes lingered on her back as Naia led them into the middle of the vast chamber. They walked through the cavern, past rows of sarcophagi carved with the likenesses of the dead they contained. Darien found himself confronted by the marble faces of men, women, and even children.

  “Who are these people?” Kyel asked, flinching back from the outstretched hand of a statue.

  “Nobility, for the most part,” Naia said. “Whoever can afford to pay for such treatment. Such a burial does not come without a price.”

  Darien found himself staring harder at the macabre faces, wondering if he might find one he recognized. They were moving through what amounted to a maze of marble, winding around statues and sarcophagi, even mausoleums with family names etched into their stony exteriors. Magelight glowed from the walls, pushing back the shadows only a fraction. The air grew even colder, the stench of decay more robust. Darien shivered, seeing his own breath turn to mist before his face.

  “Stop,” the priestess commanded.

  She was staring at him with a frown of puzzlement on her face. Darien didn’t like the look in her eyes.

  “What is it?”

  “You have an aura,” she said, forming the words slowly.

  Darien glanced down at himself. A faint green nimbus surrounded him. The glow was so pale, it was difficult to see. But the aura was there undeniably.

  “What does it mean?” He spread his arms out and studied the unsettling hue that crept up his sleeves and surrounded his hands. He didn’t like the color. It reminded him of Meiran’s candle. A whispered breath of apprehension shivered down his spine. He looked at the priestess in alarm.

  “I have no idea what it means,” Naia said, her face slack with concern. “But I gravely fear the implications.”

  Darien stared at her, waiting for the priestess to elaborate. But she merely turned away and led her horse forward. Darien started after her, looking down at himself in trepidation, then followed the woman through the strange city of the dead.

  As he passed by a statue of a girl with disquieting stone eyes, he thought he could hear the sound of distant laughter, soft, like the echo of a memory. He turned to study the statue, noticing the eyes had taken on a mischievous glint. Perhaps the expression had always been there. But he couldn’t suppress the nagging feeling that, somehow, the statue’s face had changed.

  He started forward and heard the sound again, this time from behind. He turned to see a softly glowing shade, the hazy reflection of a small girl with a playful gleam in her eyes. The wight disappeared almost instantly. He backed away, filled with a mixture of wonder and sadness.

  He found Naia watching him, a soft smile on her lips. “Death does not discriminate. It takes the very old and the very young, alike.”

  Darien nodded, glancing back again at the weathered granite statue. Strangely, he found himself mourning a child he’d never met and would never have the chance to come to know. But he found himself powerfully moved by the chance encounter with her shade.

  The priestess led them into a marble mausoleum. It turned out to be the entrance to a passage that opened out of the floor, sloping downward. It was paved with glistening black marble, and the horses had to struggle to keep their footing. The air grew slightly warmer again, though the magelight barely sufficed to light their way. Darien thought of casting a misty light of his own, but decided against it, not fully trusting the magic field in this place.

  The corridor leveled out, curving slightly. The passage ended at a bridge that spanned a drop of hundreds of feet over a slowly moving river of black water.

  A chill breath of stale air stirred his cloak as Darien led his horse out onto the bridge. The walls of this chamber were vaults, just as the last had been. Only, this time, there seemed no end to their height, the ceiling lost somewhere deep in shadow. The dark waters below churned and bubbled, releasing a foul miasma like a festering swamp ripe with decay.

  Stiffly, Darien asked, “How much longer?”

  “The exit is not far.”

  They moved off the bridge and into a stone passage that cut between rows of sarcophagi. The scent of death was much stronger here, so much so that Darien had to hold his cloak up over his face.

  From behind came a soft but nerve-grating noise, like the scraping of metal against stone. The noise slowly faded. But then it grew louder again, a shrill, raking sound, much closer this time.

  “What is that?” Kyel demanded.

  Darien spun around, eyes scanning the shadows of the passage behind them. He’d never heard anything like that in his life. Almost, it reminded him of the sound of dragging chains.

  The noise faded and was gone.

  Swallowing against a cold lump of dread, Darien decided it was time to try the magic field. He reached out with his mind and sampled the energy of the current, relieved to find it biddable. He opened his mind to the field, holding it at ready, just in case.

  The noise was back. Louder. Right behind them.

  Darien whirled, hand reaching for his sword. Slithering through the fog behind them swirled a glimmering mass of sparkling light. The glowing tendrils writhed toward them like a thousand squirming snakes.

  Darien forced his mind back from the magic field, too late. The flickering threads angled toward him with sinister purpose.

  “Naia!” he gasped, tugging on the reins of his horse.

  The priestess glanced back, terror on her face. Then she was running, pulling her mare behind her as Kyel sprinted forward.


  Darien’s horse reared, breaking free and bolting away. With a curse, he started after it. Then he skidded to a stop, flinching back.

  Out of a doorway appeared a creature that resembled a massive wolfhound, head lowered, eyes glowing green. It growled low in its throat, the crusted fur of its hackles rising. Darien backed away from the beast. His hand rose to his shoulder, baring his sword.

  Behind him, one of the writhing tendrils of light groped toward him.

  Darien threw himself sideways even as the demon-hound leaped for his throat. He spilled over the top of a sarcophagus, slipping to the ground on the other side. There, he lay on his back, panting, frantically looking for an escape.

  The thanacryst appeared over the lid of the sarcophagus, snarling down at him. From its jowls dribbled fetid globules of slobber.

  Darien rolled to his feet. He stumbled backward as the beast sprang after him. Whirling, he made for the shadow of a doorway. He slid around the corner, pressing his body close against the wall, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

  From the other side of the doorway came a low, menacing growl.

  Darien raised his blade, drawing it back and holding it there with trembling hands. He held his ground and waited for the beast to come.

  The thanacryst’s muzzle edged around the corner. The nose quivered, scenting the air. Its glowing eyes trained on him.

  Darien brought the blade down with all his strength. The steel connected, but he didn’t pause to see the results of the strike.

  Spinning, he threw himself through a doorway.

  A loud thud echoed behind him. Shocked, Darien stared at the marble door that had slid shut, cutting him off from the passage behind. He groped frantically at the smooth door, gripped in numbing shackles of fear. He backed away from it, blade held in a double-fisted grip.

  He glanced around. He was standing in a broad corridor with passageways leading off at intervals to either side. His eyes swept from one doorway to the next, scouring the shadows beyond.

  Hesitant, he edged forward. As he passed the first dark opening, another door slid closed with a resounding thud.

  Darien stopped, staring at the door in disbelief.

  He crept forward again, only to find his way immediately blocked by another closing door, this one cutting him off from the main passage, as another door swept open on his left.

  Darien stared at the new opening warily. He was beginning to get the sense he was being herded, steered purposefully by some unseen hand. He didn’t want to go in the direction that hand was leading. But there was no alternative. Every other way had been sealed.

  Lowering his blade, he moved through the opening into another lightless corridor. There was no magelight here to see by, and he was reluctant to make his own. Another door slid closed beside him, then he found himself confronted by a solid wall ahead.

  Darien sheathed his sword, using his palms to grope his way along the walls. He could see nothing except for the soft green aura that surrounded his hands. The terrible absence of light sharpened his fear. Anything could be stalking silently behind him. Anything.

  The walls steered him into another passage just as dark and terrible as the last. He felt his way along, hands exploring. Up ahead, a soft light beckoned him forward.

  Taking heart in the glow, Darien moved toward it. Another door slid closed, the sound a jarring thud that shuddered through his every nerve.

  He stopped, glancing around at a chamber suffused with amber light. The room was completely empty, just four high walls climbing upward to a vaulted ceiling. Suspended by a chain high above hung an enormous wrought-iron chandelier that shed a muted, wavering light. Only, the glow did not come from the light of tapers. It came from six golden orbs that hovered above the chandelier itself.

  Darien stood gazing up at the orbs, hands spread out at his sides. His eyes moved to the walls, desperately seeking a way out.

  The light wavered, then slowly dimmed. Above him, the orbs began to rotate, their pale light fading out smoothly into darkness. Shadows lengthened, closing in and drawing over him.

  An icy sweat broke out on his forehead. He edged backward, pressing his back against the cold marble door. Hardly daring to breathe, he gazed out into the blackness ahead.

  Then, from out of the darkness, a faint azure glow appeared.

  It seemed to bleed right out of the shadows, moving silently toward him. Darien gasped as he realized he was gazing upon the pale glimmer of a wight. Another appeared, this time on his right. Then another.

  Soon there were dozens of shades ringing the walls of the chamber. The gleam of the wights illuminated the hall, casting back the shadows with their ethereal blue glow. More appeared behind, pushing the others forward.

  With a terrified sense of awe, Darien found himself surrounded by shades, each hazy form vaguely familiar. His eyes leaped from face to face, startled recognition flooding into him.

  They advanced slowly, emerging from the walls to creep silently toward him through the darkness. Darien wanted to draw back away from them, but there was nothing he could do. There were too many. The marble door at his back was hard and unyielding.

  Terror in his heart, he stood his ground and faced the dead of fallen Aerysius.

  They were all here, every Master and Grand Master he’d ever known. Tyrius Flynn, Grand Master Ezras, Lynnea, Finneus, Master Harrison. So many others. Scores of them, a host of familiar faces, as well as strangers he’d never met. They moved toward him, crowding him, gazing at him with unreadable expressions.

  The shade of a man reached out an arm toward him. Startled, Darien found himself cringing away from the gnarled fingers of Edric Torrence, the strange Bird Man who had saved his life.

  As Darien looked on, a lone wraith parted itself off from the host, moving toward him, stopping within reaching distance. Darien shook his head, knowing this was the one thing in the world he couldn’t take. He wanted to turn away, wanted to deny the image that confronted him. But it was impossible. He could do nothing but helplessly stare at the face in front of him with features so achingly familiar.

  His father looked just as Darien remembered him, the last time he ever saw him alive.

  “My son,” Gerald Lauchlin whispered. “You’ve come home.”

  A ghostly hand reached toward him.

  Darien couldn’t help himself. Impelled by nearly two decades of sorrow and remorse, he moved toward the comfort of his father’s embrace.

  Kyel clutched his horse’s reins in a white-knuckled grip, his other hand shaking as he fought to control the wildly flailing beast that reared up over his head. The Tarkendar lashed out with its forelegs as Kyel jumped away from the animal’s hooves.

  “Get control of it!” Naia shouted.

  “I can’t!”

  The priestess strode forward, raising a hand before her face. She reached out toward the black gelding’s head, taking the horse firmly by the bridle. The animal settled back to four legs, its withers quivering and glistening with a slick sheen of sweat.

  Kyel glanced back the way they had come. The corridor was dark and empty. There was no sign of the slithering lights. And there was also no sign of Darien. Realizing the mage was gone, Kyel jerked his gaze back to the priestess.

  “We have to go back,” Naia gasped.

  Kyel knew she was right. He’d just assumed Darien was following them.

  “You don’t think…” he started to say but was unable to complete the thought.

  The priestess blinked as if waking from a trance, eyes flicking toward him wide with fear. “We must hurry! Without my guidance, the halls will assume he is a wandering shade and seek to take his spirit back into their keeping.”

  Kyel frowned, troubled by her words. He didn’t want to go back, afraid of what they might find.

  Darien reached toward the glowing form of his father. He felt just as he had as a boy of eight, when he’d run bounding down the path from the widow’s home in Amberlie Grove to greet his father returning from th
e war. The tall Sentinel in his black cloak had swept him up in his arms, spinning him around twice before clasping him against his chest in a strong embrace.

  The joy of his father’s homecoming had been tempered only by the look of resentment on Aidan’s face when he discovered his little brother had beaten him, winning the race to be the first scooped up in their father’s arms.

  But Aidan wasn’t here now, and the proud smile on the glimmering face before him was just as warm and genuine as Darien remembered it. He moved forward, filled with a numbing euphoria.

  Another wight swept forward, reaching out to bar his way.

  “Stop,” commanded the shade of Grand Master Ezras, turning to glance back over his shoulder. “Gerald, don’t touch him.”

  As Darien looked on in confusion, the smile drained from his father’s face. The glimmering blue aura around him wavered. “He is my son. He has come home to us.”

  But the shade of Ezras was adamant. “No. He does not belong here. He is not destined for this place.”

  Ezras reached his ghostly hands out, clasping Darien’s father by the shoulders and turning him gently but firmly away. Aghast, Darien watched as the glowing wraiths turned away from him as one, receding, departing back into the shadows of the walls from whence they came.

  His father looked back to cast an imploring glance his way before he, too, faded and was gone. Complete darkness settled in, descending on the chamber like a moonless winter night. Darien took a step toward the center of the room, eyes groping desperately through the shadows.

  “Father…”

  He sank slowly to his knees, bowing his head in shame. There had been tears in his father’s eyes. Never in life had he seen that proud man cry.

  Kyel followed Naia down the passage, back toward the chamber of vaults. The strange flickering creature didn’t seem to be there. But neither was Darien. Except for its macabre stone furnishings, the wide corridor was empty.