The Complete Rhenwars Saga: An Epic Fantasy Pentalogy

by M. L. Spencer

  Kyel let his eyes trail down the terrible pillar of light to the rough stone of the Well itself. There, along the rim, he could see the glowing runes. It came almost as a shock when he realized he could actually read them. The first rune glared out at him with a piercing brilliance that seemed to want to inscribe itself into the backs of his eyes: dacros.

  Mesmerized, Kyel moved forward, his boots sloshing through dark puddles of water collected on the floor. He wasn’t aware of the others behind him, knew nothing but the glaring markings that looked like claw marks raked into the stone of the Well’s rim. He knelt beside the character of dacros, his hand reaching out until he could almost touch the luminous marking with the tips of his fingers. He traced the rune’s outline in the air above it, lips moving silently to form the syllables of its name.

  “You know what to do,” he heard Darien’s voice from behind him. Looking up, Kyel found the Sentinel standing over him. “Remember―believe in yourself. Be steadfast, and do not doubt.”

  As Kyel looked up at him, Darien nodded slightly, confidently, then turned away. Suddenly dismayed, Kyel realized that it was Darien’s way of saying goodbye. Kyel didn’t want him to go, didn’t want to be left without the comforting scaffold of his presence.

  Kyel watched Darien cross the chamber away from him, his heart sinking as he realized he would never see him again. He suddenly realized that in the entire time he’d known him, Darien had shown only confidence in him. Through every test he had prepared, every trial, Darien had never doubted him once. Kyel understood then what he hadn’t been able to understand before: that the mage had been his friend all along, and he had just never realized it.

  Darien stopped beside Naia, turning to regard her with a softened expression on his face. “Stay here,” he said. Reverently, he traced his fingers down her cheek.

  “Darien—” she began.

  He shook his head, silencing whatever it was she had started to say.

  To Swain, he uttered, “Take care of them.”

  The captain nodded. “I will.”

  The thanacryst padding at his side, Darien strode out through the chamber’s dark opening, disappearing into the shadows on the other side. Kyel stared after him into the darkness beyond, profoundly saddened.

  He turned back to the Well. He had a part to play, and he couldn’t falter. He owed it to Darien not to fail.

  First, he needed to locate the rune progression. Then he could wait, giving Darien the time he needed to accomplish his part of the task before them.

  Lifting his fingers back to the rune, Kyel muttered, “Dacros.” Moving around the rim, he located the next marking in the sequence. “Ledros.” He found he didn’t need to refer back to the text to remember the pattern. The sequence was already established in his mind. With growing confidence, he hunted down the next vile marking. “Noctua.”

  Darien moved through the darkness of the caves, a pale azure glow of magelight revealing the path before his feet. If he remembered correctly, somewhere up ahead was another trap. This one, he intended to trigger. He needed to draw Aidan’s attention to him. He didn’t have time to go hunting through the rubble of Aerysius to find his brother.

  Somewhere deep below, Kyel would be preparing to start his work on the Well of Tears. There wasn’t much time. He would have to find Aidan before Kyel finished his task. Otherwise, his brother would be alerted to the threat to the gateway. Swain was an accomplished blademaster, possibly the best, but he was no match against a mage. And, Bound and inexperienced as he was, Kyel would be all but defenseless.

  The corridor he moved through was narrow and dark, its walls wet and covered with spongy secretions from the rock. The magelight groped along just ahead of his feet, lighting his way. He tried not to let his thoughts wander back to his companions at the Well, but they kept slipping back that way despite his efforts. It had been hard to leave them. But what awaited him ahead, he had to face alone. Where he was going, his friends could not follow.

  The magelight revealed the shadows of an intersection just ahead. There, Darien paused. His eyes scanned the walls to either side as the magelight traveled up the stone, following the motion of his gaze. He found a small circle in the wall that depicted the nature of the trap: the button was inscribed with a small pictogram.

  The marking was so worn by the constant trickle of water and the passage of years that it was almost indiscernible. It took him a moment to interpret the symbol. Thankfully, it was just the type of device he needed. Any movement through the intersection would trigger it, unless the circle was depressed.

  This time, Darien stayed his hand, walking purposely into the trap.

  He hadn’t known what to expect. An alarm of some kind, a screeching wail or distant tolling of a bell. But there was nothing. No evidence the device had even been triggered. It was possible the mechanism had failed after so many years of disuse and neglect. Possible, but he doubted it. Aidan would have made certain his defenses were well maintained. His brother had always been one to err on the side of caution, if not downright paranoia.

  With a sense of conviction, Darien knew his presence had been made known. All he had to do now was wait.

  Waiting was never easy.

  He roamed forward, pacing slowly, casting the magelight ahead and brightening its intensity. He would give them a luminous trail to follow, so there would be no guessing his location. Already, he felt too pressed for time. Not daring to move far from the trap he’d sprung, Darien stopped, bending over to pet the thanacryst. The beast whined, its tail beating against the wet stone as Darien passed his fingers through its fur. However dreadful, the beast was a faithful companion. Its eyes gleamed in the darkness, wide and eager.

  Abruptly, the motion of the tail stopped. The thanacryst lifted its head, nostrils quivering as it scented the air.

  Darien straightened, alerted by the sudden change that had come over the demon-hound. He closed his eyes and listened but heard nothing. No distant echo of footsteps, no rush of armored bodies. Of course, whatever might be coming may not tread on legs and feet. He opened his eyes, scanning the narrow path ahead.

  The necrators that rose up from the floor all around him came as no surprise. Darien merely regarded them, releasing the magelight and letting complete darkness settle in. He felt no trace of the awful dread their presence had once inspired. The rhythm of the magic field continued on in his mind, uninterrupted.

  They were no threat to him. He had rendered himself immune to their influence. His meeting with Renquist had taken him beyond the point of return. Now even the indiscretion of his feelings for Naia was not enough to lessen the sickness in his heart. Darien smiled, knowing he was now free to feel anything he wished. There was no going back, not anymore. Not ever.

  The necrators had not been a surprise. But the sight of Cyrus Krane striding toward him gave Darien a shock. He had not expected the darkmage, and the significance of Krane’s presence was alarming.

  The demon drew up before him, his gaze lingering on the thanacryst that stood at Darien’s side, purring and drooling profusely at the same time. Krane’s stare roved upward as a smile came to his lips, distorting the dreadful scar on his face into a jigsaw pattern that made his appearance seem even harsher than it was already. His eyes were satisfied, perhaps even gloating.

  “We had a feeling you might try something like this,” he stated. “My Master will be well-pleased.”

  Darien refused to be intimidated. The advice he had given Kyel held true, especially now. He had to remain steadfast. To doubt was to die. He held no white banner in his hand this time.

  “Which master are you referring to?” he taunted. “Aidan or Renquist?”

  “I have but one Master,” was Krane’s terse reply. “Now, so do you.”

  Darien made no effort to resist as the necrators pressed in around him, surrounding him with their shadowy forms. Krane turned away, striding back down the long corridor the way he had come as the necrators moved to follow him, gliding l
ike shadows over the ground. Darien allowed himself to be herded forward, moving in the wake of Krane’s flowing robes.

  Strange, how Krane felt comfortable enough to walk with his back to him, as if he considered him no threat at all. Perhaps the demon felt confident enough that the necrators had eliminated any possibility of his resistance. Or, perhaps, he really did pose no threat to the ancient darkmage, which was a thought altogether more disturbing.

  The corridor wandered upward, turning back on itself as they approached the surface. There, a narrow stair was carved into the rock, curving as it rose. Krane mounted the steps first, his magelight a crimson mist pouring up the stairs. Darien followed, walking within the confines of his shadowy guard. After what seemed like minutes, the stair opened up, emerging at the base of the ruined city.

  As he stepped out of the darkness of the warren, Darien realized he was once again finally home. Only, Aerysius was no longer as he remembered it.

  There were no structures, no crumbled ruins, no traces of the devastation he remembered from that dreadful night. There, on the cliff face high above the Vale, the slate had been wiped completely clean. Except for the soaring arches that rose like a forlorn and obsolete monument over the snow-covered square, only empty terraces remained. The ruins were gone, scoured away. The arches were all that remained, and the terrible column of light striking upward into the heavens.

  Darien craned his neck, gazing up at the towering pillar of the gateway. The sight of it filled him with a mixture of dread and anticipation. The glowing spear of light inspired nothing of the terror he’d experienced the night it had first appeared. He understood its purpose better now. He had internalized it, making it his own. With that strange sense of ownership, he allowed Krane to guide him toward it, out into what had once been the ornately tiled square. Now just a flat expanse of snow and rock.

  Looking around, he realized there was nothing left for him here. This desolate mountain face no longer held even the memory of his home.

  “Darien?”

  So transfixed was he by the barren foundations of the city, he had almost missed the small, dark figure kneeling in the snow only a few steps away.

  Like Aerysius, his brother was nothing as Darien remembered. Indeed, his face was more of a devastated wasteland than the city he had brought to ruin. Aidan was gaunt, the flesh sagging on his pale face, eyes but dark hollows above the sharp ridges of his cheekbones. His hair had gone completely gray, almost white, and had receded dramatically. He knelt on the ground, arms bound behind his back by bonds of red light that twined about his arms in a grim parody of the scars hidden beneath Darien’s own sleeves.

  Darien froze, forgetting the presence of even Krane. He wanted to look away but found it impossible to do anything but stare at the sad, twisted man that had been the object of his hatred for so long. Almost, Darien thought he could feel sorry for him. Almost. But then he reminded himself of Meiran, of the Hall of the Watchers, of the mother he had lost. That was just the beginning of the long, blood-written list he wanted to hold this man accountable for.

  “They want to remake you,” Aidan rasped, staring up at him with wide, startled eyes. “Why did you come?”

  Confused, Darien felt a terrible, growing sense of dismay. Aidan was insane. It was written on his face, gaped out from his reddened, tortured eyes. The realization came as a startling shock. Darien could feel the hatred he had nurtured so carefully for so very long simply dissolve. In its place, he felt only an emergent sense of pity.

  Turning to Krane, Darien silently implored the man for an explanation.

  “He drained too many before the Hall of the Watchers fell,” the demon stated, glaring down at Aidan as if he were some abject and broken tool to be discarded. “There is only so much power the human mind can endure.”

  Not knowing what to feel, Darien gazed down on his brother somberly. Slowly, he moved toward him. As he lowered himself to kneel at his side, Aidan shrank back, turning his face away. But not before Darien caught a glimpse of the tears that streaked his ruined cheeks.

  Peering intently, Darien searched the man before him, trying to find something left within him to hate. But he found nothing. Just a pathetic, miserable creature that cowered from his presence. Darien found himself instead searching his own heart, wondering if he had it within himself to deliver the justice he had sworn in blood to mete.

  Sighing, Darien reached out with his mind and unmade the bonds that constrained Aidan’s wrists. His brother sagged visibly, chin falling against his chest, eyes staring vacantly at the ground. Tears fell from his cheeks, dribbling to the snow.

  Wretchedly, he whispered, “Forgive me.”

  Darien almost wished he could. The sight of his brother’s tears brought back memories of their boyhood together. For once, not all of those memories seemed so terribly bad. There had been times when he’d enjoyed Aidan’s company. Not often. But times. For a long period of his life, his brother had been the only connection he’d had with his family. He had never been fond of Aidan as a person. But, once, Darien had loved him as a brother, the only brother he’d ever had.

  “Take my hands,” Darien whispered. “Let’s be done with this.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Darien shook his head. “I can’t forgive you, Aidan. Mercy is all I have left to offer you.”

  Behind him, he heard the soft footsteps and shivering robes of Cyrus Krane.

  “Yes,” the demon hissed at his back. “Take his life. That is the first step.”

  “The first step of what?” Darien turned to glare up at him, resenting the intrusion.

  “Your new life as one of us.” Krane smiled down at him: a gloating, sinister grin.

  Darien shook his head, feeling suddenly uncertain. “I declined Renquist’s offer.”

  “You were under the protection of truce last night. Not so, now.”

  With a shiver of dismay, Darien realized Krane was right. Aerysius was a snare, with his brother set out as bait. After their meeting, Renquist had anticipated he would come here. It was a trap, and he had fumbled blindly into it.

  Darien rose from his brother’s side. “I’ll never be one of you.”

  “But you already are.” The confidence in Krane’s tone made Darien take a step back, consumed by a cold numbness that eclipsed his every perception.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The thanacryst.” Krane nodded at the creature. “Such a beast cleaves only to a soul already damned. You are a Servant of Xerys. You have surrendered yourself to Him freely. You belong to Him, now.”

  “No.”

  He refused to believe it could be that heinously simple.

  But Krane seemed very certain it was. He dismissed Darien’s denial with a curt wave of his hand. “You already made your choice. There is no going back. Now, go. Do your duty by your brother. I wish to depart this vile place.”

  Darien glanced up at the gateway. The beacon throbbed, beckoning, its slithering ropes of energy calling out to him with a promise of hope and release. There was no chance he could reach it. Krane stood before him, physically barring his path.

  There was only one thing to do. Dropping back to Aidan’s side, Darien reached out and took his brother’s hands in his own. As their fingers touched, Darien felt a pulling sensation from deep within, a strange and distant tingling. Startled, he realized that his brother was establishing a conduit between them, locking them together in a treacherous link. Reviled, he tried to pull back.

  But Aidan clenched his hands, a look of hungry desperation in his eyes. Darien fought as the pulling became a tearing ache that grew into a tangible pain. The pain swelled, increasing to a wrenching agony. Darien threw his head back, gritting his teeth and clutching his brother’s hands as he fought to turn the conduit back around.

  A lightning spear resolved from the sky and stabbed into Aidan. Darien felt the conduit slam closed with a force that hurled him backward.

  He rolled onto his side, looking
up to see Aidan writhing on the ground, red energies crackling as they clawed over his body. The sounds of his shrieks were terrible, and they seemed to go on and on. Finally, Aidan collapsed back to lie in the snow, his tortured body limp and still.

  Darien looked away, horrified. Cyrus Krane moved toward him and, to his amazement, reached down and offered him his hand. Darien accepted it, allowing the ancient darkmage to help him to his feet. His legs trembled as he walked over to where Aidan lay motionless on his back. Darien bent down over the body of his brother, laying his head against his chest to listen for a heartbeat. Unbelievably, he heard a faint stirring, weak and irregular, but undeniably there.

  “I don’t understand. He summoned you. I thought you were required to obey him.”

  Krane shook his head. “Only until the initial purpose of our summoning was fulfilled. Since then, we’ve been under our own recognizance.”

  Darien looked back down at his dying brother, not quite certain how to feel. Aidan had been responsible for the tragedy of Aerysius, but everything that had happened since had been Renquist’s doing all along. All this time, Aidan had been merely the demon’s pawn, nothing more.

  Feeling strangely weak, Darien struggled back to his feet. He was unable to take his eyes off his brother, watching the shuddering rise and fall of his chest.

  “Come, now,” Krane commanded, extending his hand with a welcoming invitation on his lips. “Renquist is expecting us down the mountain.”

  Darien shook his head, the demon’s cool assurance distilling a cold anger within him. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  Krane only shrugged. “I’ll compel you if you leave me no choice. But I must warn you: our Master exacts harsh punishments from his Servants. And you must also think of Meiran. Her soul will be made to suffer along with yours.”

  Darien gaped at him, appalled, feeling his anger chill to a frozen sea of contempt. He couldn’t accept that. Not Meiran. Too many souls had already paid the price for his decisions. Meiran was innocent and had already suffered far more than she ever deserved. Looking at Krane, he narrowed his eyes and coldly shook his head.