The Complete Rhenwars Saga: An Epic Fantasy Pentalogy

by M. L. Spencer

  “Your master can go to hell.”

  He reached out from within, summoning the fatal potency of his rage. A shaft of fire bloomed from his hand, hurling viciously at Krane. The demon seemed to shrug slightly as a wall of red light appeared in front of him, neatly absorbing the lance of flame. Krane smiled, black eyes gleaming with sinister promise as he reached his hand upward to the sky.

  Darien dodged, but he wasn’t quick enough. A writhing net of living energy fell, draping over him and tugging him to the ground.

  The searing fibers of the net burned, scorching his skin with blistering heat as he struggled to free himself. Through the web of glistening light, he could see Krane’s robe trailing toward him over the ground, through his groans he could hear the demon’s malevolent voice:

  “Is it your wish to spend an eternity in such pain?”

  The net lifted, dissolving into threads that slithered away into the air. Darien lay on his back, shuddering as he healed the burns the ghastly thing had made. He struggled to sit up, but no sooner had he accomplished the motion then a series of rings appeared around him, constricting. The rings tightened inexorably, compressing his ribs a little more with each breath.

  Soon, even breathing became impossible. Frantic, Darien reached deep inside the mage. He clasped his mind around the demon’s heart, envisioning it shuddering to a standstill in his chest.

  But, as he groped for that blackened and twisted organ, he discovered to his horror that Krane’s heart was already dead.

  With a laugh, the ancient Prime Warden threw out his hand. The rings fell away as a ferocious blast of air hit Darien full in the face. He sagged to the ground, feeling the sharp stab of a sword thrust take him between the ribs.

  He looked down to see blood welling over the hand he held clutched against his side. He could hear Krane’s laughter, almost drowned out by a clamorous ringing in his ears. He groped within, trying to get enough sense of the wound to heal it. As he did, he felt a shooting lance of pain descend like an axe through the middle of his head.

  Abruptly, the magic field was gone. He couldn’t even sense it.

  Darien looked up and saw Krane moving toward him as if through a fog, a dim silhouette backlit against the brilliant light of the gateway directly behind him. The demon seemed to be moving impossibly slow as he knelt at his side, smiling that baneful grin, fingers roving over him scant inches above his body.

  “Your first lesson, my acolyte,” Cyrus Krane pronounced. “Never seek to defy your masters again.”

  He pressed his hands to Darien’s chest, wielding vicious, searing agony. Darien convulsed, the noise of Krane’s harsh laughter drowned out by the sound of his own screams.

  Kyel figured he had waited long enough. It was time.

  He moved back to the first rune in the sequence and raised his hand. Behind him, he could feel Naia leaning over him, looking on over his shoulder. Her presence made him suddenly self-conscious, and he clenched his hand into a fist. He couldn’t doubt. He had to believe. He knew fire, knew how to summon it from flint. All he needed to do was transfer that knowledge to the air.

  Raising his finger to the glowing rune, he muttered its name and willed the air above it to warm. At first, there was nothing. Then, slowly, he could feel the heat. But it wasn’t enough. He steeled his mind in concentration, consuming his thoughts with a determined, singular intent. A fine dagger of flame flared toward the rune, hissing as it came in contact with it. Kyel almost fell backward into Naia in alarm, staring up at the rim of the Well to see the unholy light of dacros suddenly dim and fade out.

  “That’s it,” Naia whispered. “You can do this.”

  Kyel nodded. He moved around the Well, swiftly finding ledros. Kneeling beside the vile mark, he quickly conjured the tiny knife of flame. Within seconds, the next rune turned a dull, lifeless black.

  He repeated the task, working counterclockwise in the sequence Darien had given him, wandering in circles around the Well of Tears until, at last, he found himself kneeling before the pale light of the final marking. Raising his hand, Kyel seared the last vestige of Meiran’s blood from the dark stone of the rim.

  The column of light shivered, white energies crackling through it. Kyel stared up at it, terrified, as the gateway seemed to throb, its form suddenly unstable.

  The Well of Tears was sealed, at least in this world. But the awful energies of the gateway still shivered, throbbing in the air like a dilapidated pedestal on the verge of collapse.

  “The rest is up to Darien, now,” he whispered.

  The gateway shivered, pierced through by white streaks of energy that shrieked violently upward. The whole pillar throbbed, shuddering fiercely.

  Cyrus Krane turned toward it, an expression of horror on his face. On the ground beneath him, Darien squinted up, admiring the beauty of the white streaks that tarnished the vile perfection of the green column of light. He smiled a small, sad grin. Then he drew in a long, wheezing breath that sent a lancing pain from his ribs.

  “Crenoch!” he shouted.

  The demon-hound obeyed, springing up from the ground in a great leap, catching Krane in the chest with its paws and shoving him backward with the force of its weight.

  Krane staggered, arms pinwheeling, as the thanacryst’s huge mouth closed on his throat. Together, beast and demon tumbled into the gateway, disappearing in a brilliant flash of light.

  The smile slowly faded from Darien’s lips. The pulse of the magic field was still nothing more than a faded memory in his head.

  He struggled to roll onto his side, shaking and weak from Krane’s vicious assault. Clenching his jaw, he pushed himself up and crawled painfully toward his brother.

  Aidan still lay where he’d fallen. Reaching his side, Darien collapsed on top of him, laying his head on his brother’s chest. Surprisingly, there was still a heartbeat in that ruined body.

  Darien grasped Aidan’s limp form in his arms, clutching him tight as he struggled to rise. His body trembled, refusing the effort he was asking of it.

  Darien groaned. He heaved himself onto his knees, then rose, locking his arms around Aiden’s middle. His legs shook as he took a lurching step backward, dragging his brother after him.

  “Darien…”

  He looked down, surprised to find Aidan’s blue eyes cracked open.

  “It hurts…”

  Darien gazed down into his brother’s wretched face and assured him, “It’ll be over soon.”

  He took another step backward toward the pillar of light. The pain in his side was like a fiery brand that flared with every motion of his body.

  “I’m scared,” Aidan whispered in a weak, trembling voice.

  Darien took a last, long look up at the towering pillar as he whispered, “Me too.”

  Gripping Aidan under the arms, he crossed into the ethereal light.

  At first, he saw only mist. A hazy green bleakness that unfolded before him, expanding outward in swirling clouds of vapor. Beyond the mist, there was darkness. This place had the feeling of closeness, as if there were walls all around he simply couldn’t see. This couldn’t be the Netherworld, Darien decided. Somehow, he must still be within the gateway.

  And he was alone. His brother had gone on ahead of him.

  Darien collapsed to his knees, raising his hands before his face. Appalled, he took in the sight of the aura that surrounded his fingers and emanated from his skin. It was the same awful glow he remembered from the Catacombs. The aura was brighter, now, writhing up his arms, very visible against the darkness and the mist.

  This time, he knew exactly what it meant.

  Dropping his hands, he raised his voice and called out into the bleakness, “I accept your offer. Now, make good on your end.”

  The mist around him continued to swirl, unaffected by his words. Scowling, Darien realized what he had to do. Somehow, he’d known it all along. He closed his eyes in dread and forced himself to utter the same infamous phrases spoken by Zavier Renquist a thousand y
ears before:

  “I commit my soul to Chaos. From this day forth,

  I will be the obedient servant of Xerys.

  I will serve faithfully all the days of my life…

  and may not even death itself release me.”

  His voice trailed off into silence. Still, the haze that enveloped him yet lingered, swirling. Darien wondered if he had been heard at all, or if his proffered oath had been rejected entirely. Only silence surrounded him. Only silence and the mist.

  But then, a soft light spawned before him, a pale and wondrous glow that confronted the mist and turned back the darkness. To Darien, it was the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen.

  Mesmerized, he crawled toward the radiant promise of that glow. Before his eyes, the light assumed definition, solidifying into the image that for months had haunted his waking memories and his dreams. He reached out toward it, his trembling fingers tracing the soft profile of the face that glowed before him like the first light of a rising moon.

  Meiran lay beside him on the ground, dark waves of her hair spread out at her side. The gown she wore was stained and tattered, her eyes closed as if sleeping. But then, as he watched, those lovely eyes fluttered open.

  For a moment she stared up at him vacantly, as if waking from the depths of the deepest slumber. Dim confusion nettled her features. Then, slowly, her expression changed. Meiran’s lips parted, dark eyes widening.

  She was even more beautiful than he remembered. She was gazing up at him with such a look of joy it wrung his heart. Clutching her against him, Darien held her close in his trembling arms. He closed his eyes and kissed her, his nostrils filled with the sweet fragrance of her hair.

  With effort, he forced himself to draw back away. He took her face in his hands, cupping her cheeks, as he told her gently, “I need you to be strong for me.”

  The joy in her eyes collapsed, replaced by a look of shadowy confusion. Darien shook his head, grimacing through the sorrow in his heart. He wished he had time to explain. He wished he had time to hold her longer in his arms.

  Shaking, he brought the Soulstone up, encircling the bands of the collar around his neck as his fingers fumbled at the clasp.

  “As soon as I’m dead, get this off me.”

  The look of confusion on Meiran’s face dissolved into terror.

  He let the clasp of the necklace snap closed.

  The onslaught of pain was instant and terrible. Darien fell back against the ground, shuddering in agony as the talisman around his neck stirred awake with a deep inner glow.

  Meiran held him in her arms as his soul was ripped out of life. Her beautiful face was the last thing Darien saw as he died. It was all he wanted to see. It was enough.

  42

  Wiped Clean

  The chamber shuddered, the whole world lurching under Kyel’s feet.

  “Quick, get the cover on!” Naia screamed.

  Swain was already bent over the enormous circular slab of stone, heaving against it with all his might. Kyel saw the captain didn’t have near the strength it would take to budge it.

  “Stand back,” he commanded. He raised his hand as Swain released the cover and backed away. It was just a push, that’s all. He could not doubt.

  The cover of the Well of Tears rose silently from the wet floor, dripping liquid filth as it hovered, sliding stately through the air, at last lowering to a gentle rest on the rim.

  Then there was only darkness. Kyel tried to see through the emptiness that surrounded him, but all he saw was the red afterglow of the gateway. Confused and scared, it took him a moment to realize what had just happened.

  The Well of Tears, finally, had been fully sealed from both sides.

  “He did it.” Swain’s voice echoed through the darkness.

  As if from somewhere very distant, he heard the soft sound of Naia weeping. The noise made Kyel’s heart feel heavy with sorrow. Moving toward it, he groped through the darkness until his fingers found the silken texture of her gown. He folded his arms around her, pulling her close and wishing there was something further he could do.

  But there wasn’t. So he stood there, holding her, as long minutes dragged by. Through the darkness, her voice whispered, pleading, “I want to go up there.”

  He couldn’t say no, even though he wanted to. He knew it was the wrong thing to do.

  Kyel produced a soft, misty glow around his feet. The magelight drifted out away from him, coursing in glimmering tendrils of burnished yellow-gold. He had read that every mage produced their own signature color. This was his, and Kyel stared down at it with a sense of pride.

  In its pale warmth, Naia’s face looked very young and incredibly fragile. Taking her by the hand, he let the golden magelight spill before them as he guided her out of the chamber. He didn’t turn back. He had no desire for a last glimpse of the Well.

  Instead, he followed the long corridor, eyes scanning the walls for the tiny circles that indicated the presence of the magical traps Darien had pointed out to him. He found only one and disarmed it with a click. Letting the ribbons of magelight spill before them, he moved ahead, leading his two companions up a wide, curving stair.

  At the top of the steps was an opening that revealed a gray expanse of sky. Overhead, storm clouds were gathering. Kyel mounted the last few steps with growing unease.

  He didn’t know what to expect at the top of that stair and wasn’t sure if he wanted to see it. He had never known Aerysius, but he harbored a long-established and cherished image of what he thought it must have looked like. Wanting to hold onto that vision, he was hesitant to see the reality that confronted him over the top of the steps.

  What he found surprised him. There was no city at all. Only empty terraces on a high mountain face, barren rock covered by a thin layer of snow. And, to his amazement, it was snowing still. Soft white flakes drifted down from the sky, alighting on his shoulders and clinging to his face. Kyel moved out into the white haze, Naia at his side.

  It was hard to see anything through the falling snow and swirling mist. He could make out the shadow of a tall and thin arch, but there was virtually no other trace that people had ever lived in this place. The wide terrace he stood on could have been a natural indentation in the cliff. Perhaps, one day, it would go back to nature, be reclaimed by the mountain face that had nurtured it for so long.

  Aerysius was truly gone. Except for the soaring arch, not a vestige of the city remained. There was no trace of the gateway. The sky above the mountain had been released from the grip of that unholy light.

  Kyel stared straight ahead into the falling snow, feeling Naia’s fingers tighten around his own. He wished he hadn’t brought her. There was nothing for them there, nothing but hurt. It was time to go.

  Swain placed a comforting hand on Naia’s shoulder. “We should leave, now.”

  The priestess nodded, bowing her head.

  Kyel moved to turn away from the stark and lonely terrace. As he did, his eyes caught a motion ahead in the drifting snow.

  He peered through the mist, seeing what looked like a shadow moving toward them through the obscurity of the haze. He hesitated, a muddled turmoil of hope and fear choking his heart. Eyes fixed on the shadow ahead, he watched it resolve into the features of a woman.

  Kyel felt Naia’s fingers trembling in his hand, heard the sound of her moan as she threw her head back. Then she broke away from him, stumbling forward through the snowdrifts. Kyel started after her as the strange woman staggered forward. He reached her just in time to catch her before she fell.

  “Who is she?” Kyel all but whispered.

  Swain knelt beside him and brushed matted strands of dark hair from the woman’s face. Her skin was ashen pale, her body shivering violently in Naia’s arms. Tears ran down her cheeks, falling from her chin to land softly in the snow. She gazed up at Swain with a look of uncertainty.

  “Captain?” she muttered.

  Nigel Swain nodded, his face sad and solemn. “Hello, Meiran.”

>   Kyel gasped, filled with sudden understanding. Renquist had delivered on the promise he had made to Darien.

  A glimmer of light in Meiran’s hand captured his attention. She raised her trembling hand from her side, offering out the necklace clasped in her fingers. Kyel felt an urgent flair of grief when his hand closed around the glowing medallion.

  He held the Soulstone up before his face, marveling at its myriad facets. The gem pulsated with a radiant inner life, brighter than he remembered it being ever before. A sad sense of finality rushed over his body like a wash of cold water. This was legacy he was holding. Now more than ever before, he fully understood what that meant.

  But this legacy was not his own. Wordlessly, he offered the medallion to Naia. She received it from him timorously, her expression a mixture of sorrow and awe. She held the medallion in her open palm, fingers trailing over the gem’s smooth texture.

  “He left this for me,” she whispered.

  Kyel nodded, though he knew she was partially wrong. The power in the Soulstone was an inheritance that would have to be shared. The heritage of Aerysius was in that stone, the power it contained too great for just one person. Looking back down at Meiran, his eyes confirmed what his heart had already guessed.

  There were no chains on Meiran’s wrists.

  It was then that Kyel fully understood the nature of the gift. Deep within the gem’s glowing facets moved the same inner power that had moved through Darien. It was a part of him that would be with both women always, would never grow old and fade, never sicken or falter.

  Kyel wrapped his arms around both of them as he bowed his head, thoroughly overcome.