The Complete Rhenwars Saga: An Epic Fantasy Pentalogy

by M. L. Spencer

“Can you stand?” she asked. “We must go down from here. It’s not safe.”

  He couldn’t understand why. The Enemy was no longer a threat. Or, at least, they shouldn’t be. Darien felt confused. His senses were jumbled, and he was feeling even fainter now than he had before, as if Naia’s soft touch had sapped away the last vestige of his strength.

  She stood up and pulled him to his feet. Darien staggered as the world seemed to lurch, but he managed to remain standing with Naia’s support. He had to lean on her heavily as she guided him across the destroyed Circle to the stairs.

  He could hear the sound of the thanacryst’s paws padding along behind, dutifully following its new master.

  Kyel walked at Swain’s side over the blackened ground. The blast from the Circle had created an almost perfect ring of devastation that extended out about a league from Orien’s Finger, where it suddenly just stopped. After that, the plains continued off to the horizon, untouched.

  Kyel didn’t understand it. But apparently, someone else had. The remains of Chamsbrey’s army were wandering in dazed shock on the other side of the boundary, not daring to set foot within the ring of scorched earth. Someone had known where that boundary would be and had positioned most of the soldiers on the other side of it during the battle, saving their lives.

  But the Enemy hosts had not been so lucky. Kyel picked his way around what remained of the two armies, now reduced to twisted lumps of melted armor. There would be no graves dug here; there was nothing left to bury. Not even bones had survived the tremendous heat of the blast. The black soil that crunched beneath his feet glittered where it had been melted into glass.

  The sight was appalling. Swain walked in silence, face constricted in a grisly scowl. Kyel didn’t know how to feel. In a way, he was almost as dazed as Chamsbrey’s soldiers. A victory had taken place here today, though it had more the feel of a bitter defeat.

  War had been waged, but what kind of war? There was no honor in what had happened here, only cold inhumanity. His homeland was safe, but at what cost? A price had been paid, and it was more than the sum of the souls that had been taken so brutally out of life.

  Orien’s Finger loomed overhead, its sides scorched black, its summit appearing dangerously offset. A crack had widened near the summit, and the stone itself had slipped forward. The entire top of the pillar seemed in danger of toppling at any moment. Kyel shivered, almost hoping to see it go.

  They reached the base of the column, feet still crunching on glass that looked like dried and cracked pools of mud. Kyel stared down at one such puddle, wondering how hot the sand must have been to melt like that. It was beyond imagining.

  A hand on his arm made him look up.

  Swain had stopped, fingers reflexively going for the hilt of his sword, though he didn’t draw the blade. Kyel looked ahead to the base of the crag.

  Naia sat at the opening of a narrow stair carved into the side of the cliff, Darien’s head resting on her lap. His eyes were closed as if in sleep. Naia’s hand stroked gently through his hair. Behind them, a hideous beast sat on its haunches, panting. It looked almost like a dog—a dog exhumed from the grave. It drooled long strings of saliva that dripped to the stone.

  Kyel felt stunned by fear. He wasn’t sure what provoked it—whether it was inspired by the repulsive beast or the sight of Darien lying cradled in Naia’s lap. Kyel couldn’t tell whether he was dead or asleep, and he wasn’t sure which would scare him more. This was the man responsible for the atrocity that had turned even the very sand to glass, and the fell beast that lingered above him only affirmed Kyel’s fear.

  Swain started forward and Kyel followed, stopping as the captain knelt at Naia’s side. The priestess looked up at him through her veil, an unspoken question on her face. As Swain moved a hand to Darien’s arm, the mage opened his eyes.

  Kyel turned away. He couldn’t bear to look at him. The shadows that had once wandered across the Sentinel’s eyes had since utterly consumed them. Darien’s face was a mask of pain.

  “I thought you’d come,” he whispered, staring up at Swain. The words didn’t even sound like his own. The beast above him whimpered, edging closer. Naia encircled him in her arms, looking fiercely protective.

  “Then you know why I’m here,” Swain muttered softly.

  Darien nodded.

  “I can’t leave you Unbound,” the blademaster said, sitting down next to him on the step below. “You’re too dangerous now.”

  Darien shook his head. “There are some things I have to do first.”

  Swain drew back, a considering look on his face. Almost kindly, he assured him, “Kyel is perfectly capable. He’s come along well. You’ve done what you had to do, now leave the rest to him.”

  Naia stared at Swain with a contemptuous look in her eyes. Darien grimaced, pushing himself up with effort. He squeezed his eyes shut as he leaned on the step above to stabilize himself. Kyel wanted to go to him, but something held him back.

  “It takes two mages working together to seal the Well of Tears,” Darien said. “Kyel can’t do it alone.”

  The captain shrugged indifferently. “Then leave the damn thing open. Come on. You knew the price before you started any of this. Don’t try to wheedle out of it now.”

  Darien glared at him. “You know me better than that.”

  “I don’t know you at all anymore.”

  Darien brought a weary hand up to rub his face. “Aidan must be stopped. He’s using the Well of Tears to coordinate the Eight with the strength of the Enemy. If you leave him be, everything I’ve done here today won’t matter. They’ll just keep coming.”

  “I don’t know,” Swain muttered, looking around at the charred earth that surrounded them. “If you’re asking me to choose between you and your brother, I’d have to pick Aidan. From what I’m seeing, he’s the lesser of two evils.”

  “Do you think I enjoyed this?” Darien demanded, eyes narrowing.

  “I don’t know, Darien. Did you?”

  Behind them, the beast growled, standing up. The hair on the back of its neck raised, its mouth open and cavernous. Darien put a hand out. The creature sat back down, closing its mouth with a snap.

  Swain sighed, shaking his head. “Look, Darien, I’m not here to argue with you. Either Transfer your gift to Kyel, or I’ll be forced to end this myself. You’re the son of Gerald and Emelda Lauchlin. Honor their memory and die with some dignity.”

  Naia gasped, and even Kyel felt his anger rising. Staring down at the iron chains on his wrists, he remembered the resolution he had made, back in Romana’s cell. The reason he had put the Soulstone on in the first place. He wasn’t supposed to be letting this happen.

  “You can’t touch me,” Darien said, spreading his hands. The sleeves of his faded shirt fell back, revealing a set of fresh pink scars that encircled both his wrists where the marks of his Oath had once been. Kyel found the sight of them appalling, and not just because of their appearance.

  Swain sneered down, unconvinced. “Look at you. You’re wiped out. You couldn’t even think of touching the field in your condition.”

  Darien raised his eyes to Kyel. “Show him.”

  “Show him what?” Kyel frowned.

  Darien’s eyes hardened. “You know damn well what I mean.”

  Kyel thought he did. Only, it took him completely aback that Darien already knew about it. Still, he found himself holding his breath as he reached out with his mind and did the only thing he knew how to do with his ability: he bent a link on each chain.

  The iron bracelets slid off his arms, falling to the dirt with a clinking noise. Swain stared down at the chains, stunned. Kyel just hoped it would be enough.

  In front of him, Darien pushed himself up, rising to his feet. He still looked unstable, but the dark shadows in his eyes compensated for any weakness his stance implied.

  Glaring down at Swain, the mage said, “You can take your chances against two of us, Unbound. Or you can listen to my offer.”

 
Still gazing at the chains, the blademaster said, “I’m listening.”

  “Come with me to Aerysius. Let me finish what I’ve started. After that, you can do whatever you desire with me. You have my word. I’ll do nothing to resist.”

  Nigel Swain appeared to be thinking, his eyes considering the beast behind Darien. “I don’t know if I trust your word.”

  “Do you trust mine?” Kyel asked him, stepping forward.

  The captain turned to regard him. “You came to me claiming to be an acolyte. That doesn’t do much for my trust.”

  “I was.” Reaching into the pocket of his cloak, he withdrew the Soulstone, letting it swing by one of the heavy silver bands. “The stone contained his mother’s gift,” he admitted. “I put it on and received the Transference in the cell.”

  He took a deep breath, wondering how far he dared go. Glancing at Naia with a look of apology, he turned back to Swain.

  “Darien will no longer be a threat if we close the gateway. The Well of Tears demands a sacrifice in order to seal it. He’s known about it all along. It’s always been his intent to offer himself.”

  Naia surged up, demanding, “Is this true?”

  Darien nodded, turning to fix Swain with a look of rigid contempt. “When the gateway collapses, my soul will be trapped in the Netherworld. Is that end dignified enough for you?”

  Kyel looked down. He had seen this coming all along. He had been hoping Darien had found another way. But there was no other way. Swain was right; one look at the hideous beast confirmed it. Darien had planned this well. He had known from the beginning about the Well and had known the price of giving up his Oath. He had devised a perfect strategy to pay both tabs with a single coin.

  Swain never took his eyes from the creature as he grated, “I guess it’ll have to do. You’ve already damned yourself anyway.”

  Naia’s hand shot up and slapped him on the face.

  The captain stared at her for a long moment then turned and strode away. Kyel glanced after him, wondering what Swain was going to do. But the sound of Naia’s voice made him turn back around.

  “Darien, no,” she pleaded, reaching out for him.

  But the mage jerked his arm out of her grasp. “You should never have come back.”

  Darien took a lurching step down the stairs, followed by another. Not knowing what else to do, Kyel rushed forward to support him, glancing back at Naia in sympathy. He helped Darien down the last few steps as the priestess stared at his back, looking just as devastated as the surrounding landscape.

  They hadn’t gone far when the sound of Darien’s voice halted him. “Give me the Soulstone.”

  Kyel looked at him, taken aback. But nevertheless, he drew the medallion from his pocket and handed it over. Darien clutched the stone tightly, holding it against his chest for a moment before dropping his hand. His body trembled with the strain of just staying upright.

  Darien reached up and removed Kyel’s hand from his arm. “Now, repeat each word I say, exactly as I say it: ‘I swear to live in harmony with all of creation.’”

  Kyel gulped, realizing his master’s intent. Numbly, his lips moved, uttering the phrases of the Oath of Harmony:

  “I swear to live in harmony with all of creation,

  To use my gift with temperance and wisdom;

  Always to heal and never to harm,

  Or my life will be righteously forfeit.”

  When he heard the sound of his own voice trail at last into silence, Kyel looked down at his right arm, reveling in the beauty of the shimmering chain that had appeared, graven into his skin by the conviction of his words.

  37

  A Deeper Look

  Kyel pulled back the flap of the tent and ducked as he entered. It was dim, though still bright enough to see by the ambient light. Once inside, he was able to stand upright, letting the flap swing back into place.

  Naia turned to look up at him, her veil rendered almost opaque in the poor lighting. She was kneeling on the floor, fingers resting on Darien’s hand. The mage was curled at her side in a bundle of covers, for all appearances deep in sleep. A sleep that had lasted for three days.

  In all that time, the priestess had never left Darien’s side. Kyel had come often to look in, making sure she didn’t need anything. Each time he did, he was reminded again of Luther Penthos, the High Priest of Death. Naia’s father. Kyel had almost confronted her about it. But then he’d thought better of it.

  Her presence stirred his hopes. If anything could possibly save Darien from himself, it was Naia’s willing love. From Kyel’s perspective, the priestess was the last, best chance Darien had of salvaging his soul before he died.

  “How is he?” he asked.

  “The same.” The priestess sighed. “He still hasn’t awakened.”

  Kyel could tell by the sound of her voice that she was worried. Naia was fiercely protective of him, especially when Swain was around. Whenever the captain came to glance in, Kyel could almost see the priestess’ hackles raise. It was a reflection of the way that strange beast looked whenever Kyel came too near it.

  “The sleep’s normal,” Kyel assured her for what seemed like the hundredth time. “He did the same thing the last time he wore himself out.”

  From its place at Darien’s feet, the hideous creature stirred from sleep, awakening with a wide, cavernous yawn. Kyel found the thing revolting. Like Naia, the beast hadn’t moved from the vigil it kept at Darien’s side. Whenever Kyel came near it, the thing uttered a low growl, its nose wetly quivering. Kyel felt certain the creature would have attacked by now, if it wasn’t for Darien’s presence holding it at bay.

  “What is it?” he asked, giving voice to the question that had echoed so often in his mind.

  “A thanacryst.”

  Kyel glanced at Naia in surprise. She had never mentioned knowing anything about it, and he wondered where she had come by the knowledge. The thing made his skin crawl, especially the way it was always studying him with yearning interest.

  “It doesn’t like me,” he muttered, staring at it.

  The priestess nodded, her face pensive. “I think it’s hungry. It senses food.”

  Kyel didn’t like the sound of that. He had the feeling there was something inside him the beast desperately wanted to feast upon. The creature turned away, laying its head across Darien’s legs with a desolate whimper.

  The mage stirred, groaning and tossing in his sleep. Naia’s hand moved to fix the blanket that had slipped down. As if comforted by her touch, Darien’s face immediately relaxed. Almost, Kyel thought he could see the man he remembered from Greystone Keep.

  Naia’s veiled face was the first thing Darien saw when he opened his eyes. He had been drifting in and out of sleep, each time coming a bit closer to full wakefulness. It was difficult. His body resisted even the most fundamental impulse to stir from the heavy weight of the covers and the soft pallet beneath him. He stretched, for a moment basking in the soothing warmth of Naia’s tender smile.

  And then he saw the thanacryst. And remembered.

  Her smile was anathema, as poisonous to him as deadly nightshade. If he succumbed to it, he would lose every advantage he had gained by consummating his sins between Arden’s legs. Then he would be prey once more for the necrators. Even the thanacryst would turn on him to slake its ravenous thirst for the life force of a mage. He would lose the only opportunity he had to prevail against his brother. No. Love was a luxury his impoverished heart could not afford.

  He could barely stand to look at Naia after what had passed between Arden and himself. There had been no love in the act, but there had been passion. Desperate passion. It was a requirement. If he hadn’t enjoyed the moment to its fullest, then his ploy would have failed utterly. The necrators would have probed his heart and found him still wanting. He would have never regained his perception of the magic field and, in all likelihood, he would be dead by now. That, or on his way to Bryn Calazar in chains. Nevertheless, the guilt plagued him fiercely.
He could never expect Naia to understand or to forgive him. Darien doubted he could ever bring himself to ask. He didn’t want to.

  He had to find a way to make her leave. Her very presence was a corruption, a temptation he knew he didn’t have the strength to fight. The part he had left to play was going to be difficult enough. If she stayed, he doubted he could go through with it at all.

  “I thought you’d be gone by now,” he said. He didn’t have to work hard at instilling the cold dispassion that came through in his voice. It was there naturally now, a brittle outgrowth of his twisted soul.

  “I’m not leaving you again,” she assured him, ignoring the cruelness of his tone. “You need me by your side.”

  He seemed to recall her saying something similar once before, though he couldn’t remember when. Grimly, he shook his head. “This is no place for you.”

  But Naia just smiled down at him, a poisonous, rapturous look. Taking his hand, she said, “In Auberdale, I asked you to make a decision that was not yours to make. I didn’t realize it at the time, but it was my decision all along.”

  “Naia, that makes no difference—”

  “It does,” she insisted firmly, her voice ringing out above his own. “I told you I can either be a priestess or your lover, and I’ve made up my mind.”

  “No,” Darien growled, jerking his hand back and sitting up. “I’ve made up my mind. I don’t want you here. Go home.”

  “Darien—”

  “Go home, Naia,” he raged coldly, feeling frustrated and lost. “I want you to leave. Just go.”

  “No.”

  Her eyes trail down to the thanacryst at his feet. The creature noticed her attention, growling softly as it rolled over on its side in a submissive posture.

  Holding fast to her quiet smile, she told him, “I’ve sat here for three days looking down at this wretched beast. People come and go. It ignores everyone. Yet, strangely, it doesn’t seem to like me. It’s appalling, really, the way it keeps sniffing me, almost as if it’s hungry.”