The Complete Rhenwars Saga: An Epic Fantasy Pentalogy

by M. L. Spencer

  “My Master’s purpose is to protect the magic field. Which can’t happen if what I suspect about the curse is correct. So … I really can’t divulge any information that would jeopardize my mission. That would conflict with my nature, and I’d find myself unmade rather rapidly and painfully.”

  The woman gazed at him with a healthy dose of skepticism. “So you can’t tell me anything? Isn’t that rather convenient?”

  “Actually, I find it rather inconvenient,” Quin countered. “Believe me, I’d love to avoid the verbal sparring and skip right to the part where we agree to help each other. All I can tell you is this: if there is a way to lift the curse—which I believe there is—we can find it by using Athera’s Crescent. And then, after the magic field is stabilized … why, then, my services will no longer be required by my Master. And I’ll be at liberty to act.”

  “After this Reversal of the magic field you keep insisting is coming,” Naia elaborated. Her eyes grew cold. “After we’re all dead, you mean.”

  “Yes.” Quin nodded. “After you’re dead, rather. I’m already dead—which, in this case, works out serendipitously.”

  At least she’d listened to him when he’d told her about the Reversal. Unlike Meiran, Naia seemed to have a good appreciation for the threat it posed. Not just to magekind, but to all the rest of the world. He studied the woman’s face, watching the flickering expressions that played across it.

  When her eyes met his again, the icy fire was gone. “I believe you,” Naia said finally. “Darien trusts you, so that tells me a lot. I suppose I’ll have to trust you also. In all honesty, you’ve given me no reason not to.”

  Quin blinked. He had anticipated much more of a fight. This was almost too easy.

  To his shock, a small smile brightened Naia’s face. “I understand why you killed Sareen,” she said. “You’re not like her at all.”

  “No,” Quin agreed with a wry smile of his own. “I’m not. Not that Sareen was entirely bad. Our objectives were just … incompatible. It was my intent to reunite Meiran and Darien simply because it was the right thing to do. Sareen wanted to use Meiran to control him. I believe you’ll find, if you ever get a chance to meet the other Servants, that not all demons are evil. We’re all just damned. There is a distinction, you know.”

  “I believe that I see it,” Naia whispered. She dropped her gaze to the ground, looking suddenly saddened. Quin thought he could guess the reason why.

  He adjusted his posture, slouching further down against the rock and draping an elbow over one knee. So far, Naia was proving to be a much more reasonable companion than Meiran had. Of course, the scar on her wrist spoke volumes for her character. As far as Quin was concerned, that ugly, puckered welt was far more virtuous than Meiran’s unbroken chain. It was a bold declaration of freedom.

  He pushed his hat back, cocking his head. “I need to know how you escaped the Rhen,” he said in as gentle a tone as he could muster. “We’re going to have to travel to the Isle of Titherry, and we don’t have time to take a ship. If you’ve found a transfer portal south of Rothscard, then I need to know about it.”

  Naia stared at him hard, brow knitting in confusion. “Transfer portal? What is that?”

  Quin managed a smirk. “Not a transfer portal, then. Look, darling, why don’t you just tell me how you got here?”

  Naia’s face turned toward the fire, her eyes distant in thought. Her hand came up to tuck a lock of soft auburn hair behind her ear. She glanced away. And then her gaze snapped back to him.

  “I came to the Black Lands through the Catacombs of Death,” she admitted.

  Quin blinked. And blinked again. Never in a thousand years would he have thought to use Death’s Catacombs for that purpose.

  “Truly?” He sat fully erect, his interest piqued. “Well, don’t stop there. Pray continue…”

  8

  Come the Monster

  Darien staggered away from the lightfields and wandered alone into the dark turmoil of the waste. He lumbered northward, following the snaking line of the river. He wasn’t particularly aware of where he was going. He didn’t care. His feet carried him forward, so the rest of him followed. His thoughts swam across his vision like the swirling colors in the clouds.

  He didn’t understand. Didn’t try to understand. Didn’t care. Nothing mattered.

  I am a monster.

  The image of Sinan exploding in a showering mist of blood made him flinch.

  From his memories, an avalanche of fire poured forth to vaporize armies.

  Naia stared at him through her veil, hurt collecting in her eyes.

  Azár’s firm legs spread out beneath him in the grass.

  Darien brought his hands up to cover his face as his feet stumbled over rocks. All around him, the wild flux of the magic field surged with fury. The vicious energies sawed at his head, raked at his brain. The violence of the field became uncomfortable. He ignored it for as long as he could. Until the pain demanded his attention.

  Darien stopped, blinking dumbly at the river that had appeared in front of him. He turned slowly where he stood, eyes taking in the landmarks all around him. He could feel his stomach loosening as he realized where he was. And what he’d almost done.

  He’d stumbled into a vortex without shielding himself from it.

  He slammed up a barrier in his mind to protect him from the wailing torrent of energy. Trembling in dismay, he continued on toward the river. He walked with no particular destination in mind. Away from the lightfields. Away from Azár. Away from his past. He could feel the vortex raging against his shield, suffocating in its fury. He didn’t care.

  Let it rage.

  The river beside him became a whitewater. And then a blackwater.

  Darien stopped, gazing out at a solid wall of rock that bent the river in its course. He looked up. And up, craning his neck. The wall of debris stretched across the great expanse of the gorge. It blocked the passage of the river, diverting it from its channel. He could see where the canyon ahead forked. Another riverbed, long dry, veered away to the west, into the vast expanse of shadowlands beyond.

  Darien’s mind snapped suddenly into focus.

  The wall of rock was the source of the black lake that lapped at Tokashi’s gates. It must have fallen from the mountainside, damming the gorge and redirecting the river from its path. If he could move the rubble, then the lake behind it would drain … which would uncover the transfer portal lost beneath it.

  Only, such an act was impossible beneath the fury of the vortex.

  Darien paced forward, eyes scanning the massive wall of debris in front of him. The entire side of the mountain had collapsed into the canyon. The obstruction stood hundreds of feet high, an enormous dam made of black earth and chunks of stone.

  When he had attacked Nashir in the dungeon, Darien had drawn on the power of the Onslaught within the same vortex. The difference was, his mind had been protected by the dampening effect of Quin’s sword, which was a powerful magical talisman. But here, his mind wouldn’t be protected. One slip, and the raw fury of the vortex would end him instantly.

  Perhaps he could keep his mind shielded while drawing on the Onslaught. It might be possible. It might also send his soul screaming back to hell.

  Darien stared down into the gorge, contemplating the rocky dam, weighing his options. Long minutes wore by. A breeze came up, ruffling his hair. A cold sweat broke out all over his body. At last he made his decision.

  He had nothing better to waste his death on.

  He searched the canyon around him and found a trail that cut up along the wall of rock. Seeking higher ground, Darien took the trail up the rock face of the cliff. As he walked, he allowed his mind to wander, unfocused and adrift. Eventually he reached a plateau that overlooked the canyon and the lake. It was much cooler at that altitude. Overhead, clouds raced in dark streaks across the sky. Lightning flickered in the east, jagged forks stabbing down at the desert.

  His skin crawled; he could sense
the hostility of the vortex that surrounded him.

  Darien tilted his head back, closing his eyes, and spread his arms out at his sides. He fixed his attention inward, at the shield he’d thrown up to block his mind from the vortex. He focused on that shield, reinforcing it with every effort of will he could muster. Then, dividing his attention, he opened a window to the Onslaught. Darien grimaced, feeling the strain of concentration. It felt as though his mind were being pulled in two different directions at once.

  At first there was nothing. Then, ever so slowly, the Onslaught began leaking into him. When it started, it was just a trickle; not enough to do anything with. Darien willed himself to relax, to open up. Tried to open one part of himself wider while keeping another part walled off. Clenching his jaw, he reached out and took hold of the Hellpower, drawing it greedily from its source.

  Scorching fire lanced into him, searing down every nerve of his body.

  Darien screamed and fell to the rocks. He lay there moaning, writhing, gasping for breath through bubbling froth in his throat. His sight went black and then red as his eyes filled with tears of blood.

  Mercifully, the pain didn’t last long.

  Darien’s mind was swiftly overcome.

  When he awoke, Naia was somehow sitting at his side, her dark eyes obscured by the sheer fabric of her veil. She reached down and tenderly stroked his face, her touch a soothing grace. Darien relaxed a little, savoring the feel of her. He couldn’t remember why she was there.

  “What is my name?”

  Naia…

  But that wasn’t right. He struggled, wrestling for clarity through a fog of pain.

  “Azár…”

  The image of her face receded into darkness. Then someone was shaking him. The pain in his head exploded into agony, threatening to drag him back under.

  “No!” Azár gasped. “Stay awake!”

  She smeared the blood from his eyes, her fingers trailing down to cup his head. Darien drew in a deep, choking breath that rattled in his throat. It wasn’t enough. Azár wrapped her arms around him, leveraging him up until he was staring into her face. Her forehead touched his, her hair swaying forward to veil them both.

  She was panting, eyes wide and full of panic. “Were you attacked?”

  Darien struggled to remember. All he could do was lay there gulping mouthfuls of gurgling air. Every muscle ached. His head felt like it had been smashed with an iron maul.

  “No…” he finally whispered. “Not attacked. I tried to use the Onslaught….”

  Azár’s mouth fell open, her face aghast. “Why? Why would you try to destroy yourself?”

  Was that what he’d intended? Darien struggled, unable to recollect his purpose. The fog in his brain weighed down at him, dragged him back toward unconsciousness.

  “What does it matter?” He let his eyelids slide closed. The pain eased. He was drifting away.

  A ringing slap startled him awake. He cried out, cringing as Azár clawed at his hair, wrenching him up off the ground.

  “Listen to me!” she raged, spittle flying from her lips. “Until my people are free, I do not release you from your duty! I didn’t raise you from hell just to have you die a coward’s death! Take hold of your nerves!”

  Her anger cleaved right through the fog that shrouded his mind. Darien struggled, fighting to sit up. He only got halfway there before a surge of nausea made him fall flat on his back again. He stared up at Azár, blinking miserably.

  “I was trying to drain the lake,” he explained. “Underneath, there’s a transfer portal. I need it.”

  “Why?” she demanded, leaning over him. “Why must you risk death to find this thing?”

  Darien sat up, swallowing back nausea. “Because we could transfer our people directly to the staging area. It would save hundreds of lives that might be lost travelling across the desert. And we can use it as a supply line, so we won’t need a baggage train to cross the waste.”

  He looked up into her face. To his surprise, she seemed more shocked than appalled.

  She said, “You exposed your mind to the vortex. How is that possible? You should be dead.”

  Darien brought a hand up to rub his temple. Even his scalp was sore to the touch. “I’m a demon,” he reminded Azár. “I used the Onslaught, not the magic field. Like I did with Nashir.”

  Azár folded her arms across her chest, looking defiant. “With Nashir, your mind was protected. You were dampened by your friend’s talisman. This is different, Darien Lauchlin. How can you justify such a risk?”

  Trembling, he used his arms to leverage himself off the ground, struggling to gain his feet. He staggered and had to catch himself on Azár’s outstretched hand. The horizon veered sharply before stabilizing again. Darien put his hand out, trying to halt the motion of the world in front of him.

  He said, “If I can shield my mind while drawing on the Onslaught, I’ll have an advantage no other mage in the world has ever had. No one would be expecting that. It almost worked….”

  “You nearly sent your soul back to hell!” Azár snapped, anger infecting her tone.

  “But I didn’t.” He turned away from her, glancing back toward the canyon. He took a step toward it. Then another.

  She stalked after him, as if incensed by his resolve. “You want to try this thing again?!”

  “Yes.”

  He paused next to the cliff’s edge, motioning toward the dense wall of rock that spanned the gorge.

  “That used to be the side of the mountain.” He indicated the dark slopes across from them. Jagged ridgelines stabbed at the sky, piercing the ocean of clouds that swarmed overhead.

  “It must have collapsed and blocked the river. If I can shift some of the rubble, even just a fraction, the weight of the water behind it should clear the rest.” He nodded his head. “That’s the old river bed. If I can force the water back into its proper course, the lake will drain itself.”

  Azár stood at his side with her hands on her hips. “You think to move all those rocks? There are too many. What you propose is impossible.”

  Suddenly dizzy, Darien dropped to a crouch. He closed his eyes and brought his hands up to his brow. His head throbbed in time to his pulse. “I’m eighth tier,” he said wearily. “Such an act is not beyond me.”

  “Eighth tier…?” Azár stared down at him, looking dumb-founded.

  “Aye.”

  She lowered herself down by his side, her face softening into a look of pity. She reached a hand out, setting it on his shoulder. “Why did you never tell me this before?”

  Darien shrugged, lowering his hands. He kept his eyes averted. “I don’t like to speak of it.”

  For a long moment, she gazed at him in silence. Finally, she whispered, “No wonder you were such a monster. You were mad.”

  He turned to look at her, wondering if she might be right. He sat back, propping himself with one arm. The cold breeze felt good on his damp skin. His eyes lingered on Azár’s, exploring the depths of forgiveness there.

  He licked his lips, trying to work up the nerve to apologize. “I want to talk to you about what happened—”

  “Don’t.”

  Darien nodded, glancing away. He drew in a deep sigh. “I am a monster, Azár. But you have my word: I’ll never touch you again.”

  Her lip curled, drawing up like a dog’s. “I don’t want your promises.” Her tone seethed with sadness and ice.

  Darien felt defeated. His shoulders sagged, his body slouching. Not for the first time, he found himself questioning the necessity of his own existence. He was sick of this world, sick of his sad and sorry place in it. Each day seemed to reduce him to new depths of shame. He was weary of it all.

  He asked, “What kind of reassurance can I give you?”

  “I already told you.”

  He knew what she meant. She was talking about marriage again. Darien bowed his head; he couldn’t give her what she wanted. In truth, he was surprise she still wanted him at all. Resigned, he pushed hims
elf to his feet.

  “Stay here.”

  He limped toward the edge of the cliff, reeling like a drunken man. He stood there, swaying, as the world rippled in front of his vision. He hated heights, hated cliffs. This one didn’t bother him as much as others. Probably because he didn’t care anymore whether he lived or died. Still, he could feel his feet start to itch. The palms of his hands grew clammy.

  He closed his eyes and groped within. Keeping his mind closed against the vortex, he called on the Onslaught and let the Hellpower trickle in. This time, he let it fill him gradually, not seeking to hurry it. He could feel it dribbling through his pores, saturating him slowly. He stood there on the edge of the cliff, swaying, soaking it all in. Eventually, he was full. He could hold no more.

  Darien opened his eyes.

  The world was darker and tinged with green. His head and body no longer hurt. The wind no longer blew. Azár no longer existed or even mattered.

  There was only the cliff in front of him and the rubble-wall of rock.

  His eyes found the biggest boulder, one positioned like a keystone in the center of the massive wall of earth. He narrowed his eyes and focused his concentration on it. He felt the rock start to shift.

  The boulder disappeared. Its sudden absence produced a small avalanche of debris that rained down into the depths of the gorge. Darien found another rock and shifted it, as well. The boulder was gone, leaving a large hole in the space where it had just been. The rubble around it gave way, filling in the gap.

  Darien removed another great chunk of mountain. This time, a shudder ran through the entire dam. Rocks poured down into the gorge. A thin spray of water shot out from a crack, followed by another further up.

  Darien directed his focus at the base of the obstruction, at a large swath of mounded rubble. He concentrated, his brow furrowing. The canyon itself started to vibrate. Then the whole world shuddered. There was a loud popping sound. More water sprayed out in shooting cones, bursting in quick succession all across the face of the dam. Rocks and rubble poured down into the gorge below.