The Complete Rhenwars Saga: An Epic Fantasy Pentalogy

by M. L. Spencer

  In all his browsing, he’d found the Well of Tears mentioned only three times. The first instance had been almost as an aside, just a vague reference to its link with the gateway. It was mentioned again on a fragment of parchment. It told of how the Well of Tears had been opened once by a rogue mage, who had sought to augment his own strength with the power of the Netherworld. The Well had been successfully resealed that time only with the aid of Aerysius’ Circle of Convergence. But then again, it had not been fully open.

  The scrap was not very helpful. Kyel was starting to come to the conclusion that Darien had set him to the task of chasing his own tail.

  He found the third mention of the Well of Tears in an account of the fall of the Lyceum of Bryn Calazar. The text referred to the subject of the Well frequently throughout its ancient pages. Kyel found himself scanning the book avidly, fascinated by its contents. He hadn’t known that the evil which had consumed Caladorn had actually started in Aerysius itself—or, rather, beneath it. Apparently, in the cliffs that supported Aerysius, there was a network of passageways used by the founders of the city. But after hundreds of years, the network had fallen into disuse and was eventually abandoned.

  It was discovered again some centuries later by the forbidden cult of Xerys. The followers of Chaos sequestered themselves down there in the dark, using the forgotten halls and chambers as places to convene secret meetings and dark masses, even ritual sacrifices. It was the malevolent priesthood of Xerys that created the Well of Tears in the first place.

  According to the text, the gateway to the Netherworld had been established so that the powers of Chaos could be harnessed and used in the war against Caladorn. The Prime Warden of Aerysius, Cyrus Krane, had conspired with Zavier Renquist to establish a link with the Netherworld that would tilt the balance of power in favor of the darkmages. The Well was eventually resealed, but the damage had already been done.

  In the end, Bryn Calazar fell and the rest of Caladorn was consumed by the Netherworld’s taint. It was a war that had never really been won. The same battle was yet ongoing, the reason why Greystone Keep had been erected to defend the Pass of Lor-Gamorth from the Black Lands in the first place. Renquist had aspired to remake the world in hell’s dark image, and the sinister machinations he had fostered in life had lived far beyond his span of mortal years.

  The text was fascinating, and even though Kyel knew he shouldn’t be spending his precious time reading it, he simply couldn’t help himself. The book even contained a map of the vast cave network beneath Aerysius on a half-rotten page.

  He wasn’t able to resist the temptation. The page was already loose and falling out. So Kyel waited until he was sure the cleric would be away for some time.

  Then he quickly pulled the map the rest of the way out, folded it up, and shoved it into the pocket of his cloak alongside the weight of the Soulstone. He felt awful after doing it, sorry to have desecrated the ancient text. Heart pounding, he kept glancing around to see if anyone had noticed his abuse of the book as he continued with his foraging.

  By the dim light of the oil lamp, he scanned over the faded letters on a crumbling scroll of parchment, rolled it back up, then stuffed it into the pile collecting at his feet. He reached for the next book on the top of the pile and read the gilt title, Diplomatic Etiquette.

  Kyel scowled down at the text, wondering what could have possibly been running through his assistant’s mind when he’d pulled that one down from the shelf. Surely, there would be no mention of the Well of Tears in such a work. Still, Kyel found himself intrigued. He would have need of such knowledge for his meeting with the Queen of Emmery.

  With a shrug, Kyel set the text aside, thinking he would take it with him to read later that night. The next book in the stack was a spectacularly illustrated manuscript with the title Sieges and Scrimmages: A Compellation of Modern Warfare Tactics and Strategy. Noticing the date on the cover, Kyel shook his head. The tactics described by the manuscript couldn’t possibly be very modern. According to the date on the cover, the book was over three hundred years old.

  He took a quick peek at some of the hand-rendered illustrations, then set the manuscript down at his side. Again, he had to wonder why the cleric would have brought him such a thing.

  The man returned again, heaping another armload of books onto the top of the tall column already growing by his chair. Kyel nodded his thanks as he reached for the first book on top.

  He almost dropped the thin text when he caught sight of the title. The Family Lauchlin was inscribed on the leather cover, the first cover he had seen unsullied by years of layered dust.

  Kyel’s mouth went dry as he flipped open the book and, thumbing past the first pages, considered the flowing script of the author’s hand. To Kyel’s amazement, he found that the first chapter was an encapsulated overview of Darien’s family history.

  Since the first recorded mention of a Lauchlin in the annals of Aerysius (circa 1266), the name has figured prominently in the histories and governance of the Assembly of the Hall. To date, Lauchlin has been the surname of six seven renowned Sentinels and two three Prime Wardens…

  Kyel skimmed the rest of the page, amazed, and flipped quickly to the back of the book. But, strangely, he discovered that almost half of the pages were blank. Thumbing forward again, he found the last entry at the end of the written portion of the text:

  Darien Lauchlin, Grand Master (1718 – 1747): Mage of the Order of Sentinels(?). Son of Grand Master Gerald Lauchlin and Prime Warden Emelda Clemley Lauchlin. Confirmed Acolyte in 1730 at 12 years of age. Mentored by Master Lynnea Nelle, Master Harrison Geary, Master Cedric Fisk, and Grand Master Roland Blentley. Commendations for Meritorious Achievement (6), Dedicated Service (9), and Distinguished Scholar (12). Demerits for Violating Curfew Restrictions (17), Insubordination (4), Willful Defiance (2), Unauthorized Research (3), Trespassing in Restricted Areas (3), and Gross Misconduct (1). Subject of Expulsion Inquiry (1745); suspended from active mentorship and exiled to Greystone Keep (1745–1747). Received fifth tier Transference from Grand Master Ezras Nordric in 1747 at 29 years of age. A casualty of the destruction of Aerysius in 1747. The only known survivor of the destruction of Aerysius and self-declared Prime Warden. Foreswore the Oath of Harmony in 1747. Possible second Transference of third tier magnitude, source unknown; report unconfirmed. Father of Gerald Withersby (1746 – 1747).

  Shaken, Kyel read the last line again.

  He closed the book’s cover. Meiran had given Darien a son, and he didn’t even know about it. And, Kyel silently swore to himself, he never would.

  Not if he had anything to do with it.

  It was going on early evening when he finally broke off his research with a feeling of failure and headed back up the long stairs to the living quarters. His brown-robed assistant led him back to his cell, where Kyel collapsed on the small, hard cot, thoroughly exhausted.

  His time had run out, and he still had no idea how to go about sealing the Well of Tears. Darien had given him only three days. Even if it had been three months, Kyel doubted he could have come any closer.

  It was almost time for supper, and His Eminence would be expecting him again. Kyel had promised the man three nights of his company, and this was to be their last meeting. Already, he had been forced to yield more information than he had originally planned on. The voiceless old man seemed to know when he was trying to be vague, and Cadmus was exceptionally talented at digging for details and prying facts out of him.

  Brushing the lint off his black cloak, Kyel left his small cell and began the journey again, hopefully for the last time. Wandering through underground hallways and large subterranean avenues, he passed a large water clock, pausing as he looked up at it.

  He was late.

  He hastened past scores of clerics moving by him with distant expressions on their faces. It was a strange life these men led, living down in the dark with only the smell of dusty manuscripts to keep them company and no words ever heard. It seemed such a lo
nely existence. He couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to commit themselves to such a way of life.

  Kyel arrived at the door of the high priest’s chambers. He found himself confronted by a beaming Cadmus, who beckoned him inside with a wave of his hand. The smell of supper made his mouth water as he crossed the foyer to the dining room.

  There, he was amazed to find a bountiful feast spread out across the long table, with more courses than he could possibly eat. Kyel resisted the impulse to throw himself down in his chair and dive in. His stomach had been growling ever since he had made the decision to skip his mid-day meal and work through it instead.

  But he hesitated, looking at the high priest seated at the head of the table. Suspicious, Kyel doubted the spread of food was simply a parting gift. He had worked in trade long enough to know when someone wanted something from him. Kyel took his seat across from His Eminence. As he did, he saw that Cadmus’ smile suddenly seemed forced. What was going on that he didn’t know about?

  As Cadmus took the seat opposite him, Kyel sat back and waited nervously for his host to serve him the first course, as was the courtesy even in Covendrey. The old man took Kyel’s plate and spooned on the helpings solicitously, even ceremoniously, before offering it back to him.

  But as Kyel stared down at the food on his plate, he found himself losing his appetite. Even Cadmus had not spoken a word, and an uneasy silence lingered over the room in the absence of conversation.

  “Do you mind telling me what’s going on?” Kyel looked at Cadmus instead of the high priest. He regretted the words almost instantly, knowing he was overstepping the bounds of courtesy.

  Cadmus shared a long, silent look with His Eminence, then set his fork down carefully across his plate. Standing up, he walked around the edge of the table, having to twist sideways to squeeze his portly frame around the corner of a bureau. From a drawer, he produced an elegantly bound text, which he held tucked against his chest so that Kyel couldn’t see the title.

  “We have something for you,” Cadmus said as he moved back to his seat.

  He handed the book across the table to Kyel. The black leather cover was imprinted with the words:

  A Treatise on the Well of Tears

  By

  Master Devrim Remzi

  Kyel felt his jaw drop as he folded back the dusty cover, trying not to crack the ancient binding. He quickly scanned the first few pages, realizing the text was exactly what he’d been searching for, exactly what he needed. He couldn’t believe it. But instead of feeling appreciative, the text in his hand filled him with ire.

  “You’ve known about this all along,” he accused. “Why did you have me waste my time down there for three days?”

  He closed the book with a snap that tossed a small cloud of dust up into his face, making his nose itch. The high priest and Cadmus looked at him silently, their expressions blank. What had they been doing, just feeding him rubbish while he could have been halfway to Emmery by now? Delaying him while they milked him for information at night?

  “Was it truly a complete waste of your time?” asked Cadmus.

  “Yes,” Kyel insisted.

  But then he thought about it. His research in the vaults had given him a much deeper perspective on the situation they faced, even some revelations.

  “No,” he admitted grudgingly.

  The high priest nodded. At his motion, Cadmus reached into his shirt pocket and withdrew a folded piece of parchment, which he held up between two fingers. Kyel stared at it, at the words inscribed with heavy strokes of black ink: His Eminence, the High Priest of Wisdom.

  Handing the letter across to Kyel, Cadmus informed him, “We received this note from your master shortly after your arrival.”

  Unfolding the crisp parchment, Kyel felt fury rising like angry heat to his cheeks. He traced his eyes over it, noting the careful script that seemed almost pressed with force into the page. A strange tingling sensation filled him the moment he started reading.

  His Eminence, the High Priest of Wisdom,

  Thank you for receiving my acolyte, Kyel Archer. Please provide him with a text which I require, A Treatise on the Well of Tears. If you would kindly allow my acolyte to borrow the original text, I will take great pains to assure that it is returned to you promptly. I regret that I must also beg a favor: please withhold knowledge of the text’s existence from my acolyte until after he has spent three days’ study in your vaults. I sent Kyel to you under the pretense that he is to be searching for information on the Well of Tears. However, it is my wish that he be provided with the following listed materials so as to progress further in his training. If you can think of any other resources that might be helpful to him, please include them in his course of study. I would be much appreciative, as Kyel does not have the benefit of Aerysius’ libraries to broaden his knowledge. Thank you for your time and assistance.

  Yours in the Pursuit of Wisdom,

  Darien Lauchlin

  Prime Warden of Aerysius

  Distinguished Order of Sentinels

  Grand Master of the Eighth Tier

  Below the last line appeared to be an almost comprehensive listing of the books Kyel had been searching through for the past three days. The Mysteries of Aerysius was listed first, followed by The Fall of Bryn Calazar. The list of titles and authors continued even onto the back of the page. As he scanned down the rough columns, Kyel saw that he recognized most of the works.

  But nowhere was there a mention of a book entitled The Family Lauchlin. That must have been an addition of the high priest’s, probably falling under Darien’s request for ‘other resources that might be helpful.’

  It had been helpful, all right. Kyel just wished he could get the name Gerald Withersby out of his head. It provoked too many images of his own son. He couldn’t imagine the horror of seeing Gil’s name and death date scrawled on such an entry.

  “So this was all just some damned trick?” He crumbled Darien’s letter in his hand, shoving it into his pocket. It was just as his trial with the vortex, one of Darien’s callous lessons. Kyel was damned near fed up with them.

  “You furthered your education, didn’t you?” said Cadmus. “And you learned much more than if we had just given you a stack of books and asked you to sit and read. Knowledge is, after all, the First Pillar of Wisdom. Truly, your Prime Warden is as insightful as he is brash.”

  Insufferable is more like it, Kyel thought, fuming. Lifting Treatise on the Well in his hand, he stood up from the table and turned to the high priest.

  “Thank you for your hospitality. I’ll just be on my way.”

  But the old man shook his head.

  Kyel sank back down in his chair. He set the text in his lap and held his head in his hands, propping his elbows on the table. Beneath him, his plate of food looked as cold as it was ever going to get.

  “What is it you wish to discuss this time?” he asked dismally.

  “His Eminence desires to know only one last detail before you leave our hospitality. He wishes to know, to what dark use does your master intend to put the Circle of Convergence on Orien’s Finger?”

  25

  Dangerous Audacity

  “He’s staying at an inn called the Four Quarrels in Southarbour, Sire. And it appears that Landry was right in his guess. They’re sharing a room together, and a bed.”

  Faukravar nodded, absently stroking his goatee. He had figured as much. It was the only explanation that fit. Temple priestesses simply did not go flitting about in the company of vigorous young men, alone and unescorted.

  “Excellent,” the King said, feeling his mood lighten. “What else?”

  Chadwick Cummings cleared his throat noisily. “I’m sorry, Sire, but he’s kept to his room all day. Only the priestess has emerged. Apparently, they must have gotten into some sort of row; she left the inn this morning in quite a heat.”

  “I can’t imagine, with his charm,” the King muttered. The comment sparked a round of polite chortles from his entou
rage.

  “Let me think!” He glared them all into silence. He still knew next to nothing about Lauchlin. He felt certain the man was who he claimed, but there were too many inconsistencies about him. The mage’s sword bothered him the most.

  “So we still don’t know for certain whether or not this mage is tame. I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.” His grip intensified on the arms of his throne. Every puzzle had a solution, even this one. If he could just see it. Then he realized that the solution had already presented itself. A sinister smile formed on his lips.

  “You had the priestess followed?”

  “Of course, my liege.”

  The King nodded graciously. “Good. Have her escorted to the North Tower. Should diplomacy fail, we will use her as security.”

  Cummings stepped forward, a frown on his plump face. “Sire, do you truly think it’s wise to provoke him?”

  “Why not? He provoked me, didn’t he? Let’s just see if he can maintain his cloak of arrogance when he finds out we have his whore locked up in chains.”

  The shadows of the city were lengthening by the time Darien turned away from the window. He had been there often on and off throughout the day, staring out through the rippled glass at the busy streets below. He was growing weary of the constant bustle of people that moved beneath his window like a solemn and anonymous procession.

  He had lost track of the number of white dresses he’d seen gliding by, yet none had brought Naia back to him. It was as if the priestess had been simply swept away by the tides of people flowing through the city streets. The hour was growing late, and he had no idea where she could possibly be.

  If something had happened to her, it was his fault. Vaguely, he wondered if Naia’s disappearance was some sort of punishment for his transgressions. Perhaps the vengeful goddess he’d sold his soul to was exacting atonement for his sins.