The Complete Rhenwars Saga: An Epic Fantasy Pentalogy

by M. L. Spencer

  “Then why are you leaving me?” she pressed.

  Quin traced the side of her cheek with his thumb. “I have to find out what’s happened to Braden,” he explained, staring into her eyes as if ensnarled by her gaze. “There’s risk involved. You’ll be safer at the Temple of Wisdom.”

  But his words failed to console her. Merris paled as she wondered, “What do I do if you don’t come back for me?”

  Quin could only offer her a beleaguered shrug. He licked his lips, looking completely befuddled. “Then ask the clerics of Om for sanctuary and pray that Renquist never finds you. But that won’t happen. I’ll be back for you, I promise.”

  Merris nodded, somewhat mollified, and turned to pace away from him a few steps. Passersby gazed at her with curiosity in their eyes. She could tell by their faces that they didn’t quite know what to make of her. In the silken dress her status was ambiguous, she supposed. Most of the people on the street were disinclined to make eye contact with her, glancing down the very moment their eyes found hers. They directed their stares toward the ground as they drifted by, deferentially keeping themselves at a distance.

  Status, Merris realized. In Quin’s presence, she felt her status uplifted tremendously. Recalling the harsh treatment she had received from the brusque guardsman the previous night, she marveled at how much her status had improved within the span of just a single day. It was not only because of Quin, she realized, watching the people of Bryn Calazar conspicuously avoiding her gaze. She was learning how to carry herself, how to project the kind of confidence conveyed by the women of the Lyceum. She was blossoming.

  “I don't understand,” she remarked. “All of these people act as though I’m already a Master. Why?”

  “Because there is no reason in the world for them to suspect otherwise,” Quin said softly, looking at her as if seeing her for the very first time. “You are a chameleon, Merris. Very beautiful, very intelligent … very talented. A dangerous combination, if I might venture. Absolutely beguiling.”

  Merris turned to smile at him, basking in the warm flush brought on by his compliments. The wind whipped at the long spirals of her hair, sending it tumbling around her face. She could tell by the look in his eyes that she already had him captivated.

  She had seen the same look before in the eyes of many other men, men from the dim and distant past of her youth. The old Merris was coming back, she realized. The girl she used to be before she became an acolyte was reemerging, was beginning to assert herself again.

  She realized that her rough start in life was not the disadvantage here in Bryn Calazar that it had been in the Rhen. Here, the lessons she had learned on the streets of Aerysius gave her an advantage.

  Merris drew herself up, trying to replicate the poise and grace she had seen in the women she had met the previous night. Offering a last, radiant smile at Quin, she turned away from him and moved off down the street in the direction he had indicated. She could feel his eyes on her back, following her as she made her way down the busy avenue. The crowd opened up and parted, letting her pass.

  Merris chuckled softly, reveling in the exhilaration of her own innate power.

  Quin allowed his eyes to follow Merris until the sight of her was completely absorbed by the city. Then he sighed and drew himself up, turning reluctantly away. He was having a hard time reconciling the woman before him with the one he had met just that morning. It was almost as though he was witnessing some rare and wondrous metamorphosis. Before his eyes, Merris was evolving from a timid and frightened child into a self-confident and beguiling young woman.

  “Have a care, Quinlan,” he muttered to himself. But he knew that it was already too late.

  He turned and sauntered off in the opposite direction, tipping his hat in apology at a woman who had to avoid his sudden change of direction. Then he set off down the street. The avenues of Bryn Calazar were crowded, but much less so than they had been. The city streets were already beginning to empty for the night.

  He walked crisply, turning a corner and crossing a narrow bridge into the Lantern District. Here the streets were aglow, lit by many strings of colored lanterns that crisscrossed overhead, suspended from layered ropes that spanned the streets from the windows of tall buildings. The district was a chiaroscuro of noise, commotion and color. The air was fairly saturated with music and incense, the swell of laughter and the din of revelry.

  He passed before a balcony that contained a throng of brightly clad women. One of the girls whistled at him as he strode by. Any other night, he would have engaged them in flirtatious banter, or at the very least offered the prettiest one a coin from his purse.

  But this night Quin ignored them, his mind on another woman entirely.

  “What are you doing to me?” he wondered at the air, shaking his head and frowning in troubled concern. Quin reached into his vest and produced his bronze flask of liquor, taking a heavy pull from it before stoppering the container and returning it again to his pocket.

  He crossed another bridge over the wide span of the River Nym, its waters aglow with the scattered light of the full moon. He ignored the frequent pairs of lovers that strolled by holding hands or stood embracing in the shadows by the railing. One young woman glanced up at him from the arms of the man she was with, her eyes darting quickly away as Quin strode by.

  On the far side of the river, he turned onto a broad avenue and then rounded a corner onto his own street. His residence was a good place to start looking, Quin figured. If Braden was trying to get word to him, that’s where he would attempt to make contact.

  In the middle of the street, Quin pulled up short.

  Something wasn’t right.

  The hair on his arms and the back of his neck stood upright. He could almost feel the lines of the magic field crawling over his skin.

  He didn’t hesitate another second. Quin turned and ran.

  He got only two steps before a thunderous explosion picked him up and hurled him across the street. His head hit the brick wall, stars exploding across his vision as he was thrown again by another discharge of violent energy. Quin staggered forward, having a hard time keeping his legs underneath him. He half stumbled, half careened into a narrow alley, using his hands to pull himself forward along the walls.

  A familiar face stepped out of the shadows before him. Quin sneered at the sight of his former apprentice, raking blood out of his eyes with a shirtsleeve.

  “Why, congratulations, Tarik. It looks like you’ve found me,” he commented dryly, struggling to stand upright without falling over.

  The man moved his lips, but Quin’s ears were still ringing from the violence of the blast.

  He spat a mouthful of blood onto the pavement of the alley. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to speak up if you have anything worthwhile to say.”

  A sinuous rope of light snaked around him, constricting Quin’s arms against his body. At the same time, the pulse of the magic field in his head suddenly vanished. His eyes widened in alarm.

  Trying not to let the panic he felt show on his face, Quin tested the strength of his arms against the bonds of light. “Why, Tarik, I’m truly impressed,” he remarked. “Did someone actually trust you enough to loan you a field damper?”

  The ringing in his ears prevented him from hearing the man’s response. Tarik moved forward, reaching out and catching him by the collar of his robe. Quin grunted, flinching away. As he did, he lashed out with his foot, taking Tarik in the side of the knee.

  The man howled, staggering backwards. Quin took advantage of his distraction and kicked him full in the face.

  The pulse of the magic field came flooding back. Sparing his adversary hardly a thought, Quin caused an artery to burst in the man’s brain.

  “I taught you better than that, Tarik,” Quin criticized the corpse as the bonds of energy evaporated from around him. “It’s a pity your attention span wasn’t nearly as big as your ego.”

  Tipping his hat at his former apprentice, Quin slipped away in
to the shadows of the night.

  Merris gazed up at the façade of the small building before her, wondering how in the world such a structure could possibly contain an entire library of information. The Temple of Wisdom was little more than a stone house with a sloping tiled roof, the image of a bearded man with a laureled head engraved in bas-relief above the door. She raised her hand up to knock.

  The door cracked open almost immediately. Merris peered within, her eyes searching through the shadows of the small room. Not seeing anyone, she took a hesitant step inside.

  “Greetings, Great Lady. May the light of wisdom shine upon you.”

  Merris whirled to find herself confronted by a small man standing in the corner of the room behind her. He was smiling jovially, hands clasped together before his chest. The man was very short, little more than the size of a child. A loose woven cloth was draped about his body, hanging from one shoulder.

  “Thank you,” Merris responded guardedly. “But I’m afraid you mistake me; I’m not a Master of the Lyceum.”

  The bizarre little man blinked, appearing to be taking a moment to reassess her. “Then I apologize for my presumption. May I inquire your name and clan?”

  Merris pulled the door fully closed behind her. “Merris Bryar,” she uttered with a slight bob. “Acolyte of Aerysius. I regret that I have no clan affiliation.”

  The man absorbed this information with seeming indifference. He stood there for a moment, staring at her blankly. Then his mouth jerked into a grin. “Welcome, Merris Bryar of Aerysius to Om’s temple in Bryn Calazar. My name is Abir,” he introduced himself with a bow. “I serve as the Voice of His Reverence, the priest who ministers to this temple. He would greatly desire a word with you.”

  Merris nodded, a slight frown worrying her forehead. “That would be fine,” she agreed. She glanced around, seeing no other doors leading from the room. It took her a moment to realize that Abir was actually standing at the top of a stairwell that spiraled downward into the ground.

  “Would you follow me, please?” he invited her, extending a hand.

  Merris accepted his offer, allowing him to clench her fingers and lead her forward down the winding stairs. She followed, lifting her skirt. The stairs were made of clay bricks built on to an iron scaffold that wound around and down through the wooden floor. Below the small room was another, just as empty as the first. The stairs continued spiraling downward through the floor of that level, as well.

  The room below was furnished, having the appearance of a waiting area. It was lit with the glow of twin sconces attached to smooth, whitewashed walls. A door was set into the far wall. Two high-backed chairs faced each other from opposite ends of the room.

  Merris allowed Abir to guide her toward the door, which he opened and graciously held for her as she stepped within. On the other side of the doorway, she found herself in what appeared to be a small office.

  A man was waiting for them, seated behind a wooden desk. He was robed in rough fabric and wore a stole of rich bronze silk set about his shoulders. He was of middle age with thinning brown hair combed back primly from a high forehead. His complexion was dark, which contrasted acutely with his pale-blue eyes. He smiled at her in silent greeting.

  Abir beckoned Merris to take a seat across the desk, making a place for himself on a stool in the corner of the room.

  “May I present to you His Reverence, Kaz Kirmani, Vicar of Om’s temple in Bryn Calazar,” Abir said by way of introduction. “Your Reverence, please allow me to introduce the acolyte Merris Bryar of Aerysius. Merris, you must forgive His Reverence, for, as all of Om’s clerics, Vicar Kirmani has taken a vow of silence.”

  Merris raised her eyebrows in surprise, glancing back and forth between Abir and the stoic cleric seated beside him. The vicar nodded formally in her direction. A greeting, perhaps.

  “Please,” Abir continued, “His Reverence would like to learn the nature of your visit. What brings you to Om’s temple, acolyte Merris?”

  Merris swallowed, unsure of exactly where to start. “Well,” she began, taking a breath, “I am here to do some research at the bequest of Grand Master Quinlan Reis.”

  The two men on the other side of the desk exchanged a lengthy stare. At last, Abir turned back to Merris. “His Reverence would like to know the topic of your research. He would furthermore like to understand the nature of your relationship to the Grand Master. You are, after all, an acolyte of Aerysius and not an apprentice of the Lyceum. Considering the times that are now upon us, your presence here is a matter of some concern.”

  Merris nodded, fully appreciating the cleric’s apprehension. “I was sent to Grand Master Quinlan by his brother, Ambassador Braden,” she explained. “I was witness to some troubling events back in Aerysius.”

  “What troubling events?” Abir asked, his easy smile urging her gently to continue.

  “I would love to explain,” Merris confided with a smile of her own. “But I’m afraid I must ask for some assurances first.”

  Abir leaned forward on his stool, adjusting his seat as he glanced at the balding cleric beside him. “What kind of assurances?”

  Merris folded her hands on the desk and leaned forward, responding in a firm voice, “I want His Reverence’s word that I will be allowed access to the information I require. I furthermore want His Reverence to guarantee my safety whilst I remain within the confines of this temple. Only then will I feel confident enough to share my story.”

  Abir’s eyes widened at the boldness of her request. He glanced at the man seated beside him and, as Merris watched, the two of them seemed to be staring at each other for a lengthy period of time. Fleeting expressions seemed to be crossing their faces as they gazed into one another’s eyes.

  “Are you … communicating?” Merris wondered in astonishment. They had to be. That was the only explanation for the silent discourse taking place across the desk from her.

  After a moment, Abir sat upright on his stool, turning in her direction. He folded his hands in his lap. There was no trace of a smile on his face anymore. “That is indeed a lot to ask,” he said. “Might I inquire what you can offer us in return?”

  “I can give you information,” Merris responded without hesitation. “I will tell you everything I’ve learned about a conspiracy that exists between Prime Warden Renquist and Prime Warden Krane … who are both in collusion with the Priesthood of Xerys.”

  Abir’s stare darted quickly to the side, confronting the widened gaze of the cleric sitting beside him. “Can you, now?” he uttered in a voice that sounded almost like a whispered hiss. “That would indeed prove worthwhile.”

  Merris stepped out of the stairwell and glanced around at the dark vault that surrounded her. Her nose was immediately confronted by the familiar scent of mildew, dust and ancient leather. It was a comforting smell, one she had grown quite fond of from the years she had spent in the libraries of Aerysius. She gazed around, noting that the shelves that lined the small chamber were loaded with the weight of scores of books. She clutched the oil lamp she bore more tightly in her hand, afraid of the damage its flickering flame could do in here.

  A movement out of the corner of her eye made her turn.

  Searching the shadows of the vault, Merris discovered that she was not alone in the dim room. There was someone else in there with her. A man, seated in the far corner at a small writing desk. He appeared to be scribing notes into the margin of a text. At the sight of Merris, the man closed the book and immediately tucked it away into a shelf beside him.

  “Peace! How long have you been there?” His voice was deep and thickly accented.

  “My apologies,” Merris fumbled, holding her hand up as a stir of air from the stairwell played with the delicate flame of her lamp, threatening to blow it off its wick. “I didn’t know anyone else would be down here.”

  The man rose from his writing desk, his hands going to smooth the lay of his robe. She could tell he was a Master of the Lyceum by the Silver Star emblazoned u
pon his breast. Older, with gray hair and beard, brows thick and wiry over dark and penetrating eyes. He stood beside his chair, regarding her cautiously.

  “I’m used to working alone in this particular vault,” his voice rumbled through the chamber. “Company is actually rather hard to come by down here. If you don’t mind me asking, what is the nature of your research?”

  Merris took a step toward him, raising her lamp to allow its glow to illuminate her face. “I’m trying to find information about the cult of Xerys.”

  The old Master harrumphed, crossing his arms before his chest. “Are you, now? Might I inquire as to what inspired your interest in such a darkly peculiar topic?”

  Merris swallowed. She had just spent the last hour or more mired in the very same conversation with Abir and his silent companion. “I’m really not at liberty to say,” she answered guardedly.

  The old man seemed disappointed, but accepting, of her answer. “That’s unfortunate, for you have certainly piqued my curiosity.” He strode toward her, bringing his hand up to his chest. “Please allow me to introduce myself. Devrim Remzi, First Tier Master of the Order of Empiricists.”

  Merris blinked; she had heard that name before. She smiled as she imitated his gesture, trying very hard to keep the surprise she felt from reaching her face. “I’m just Merris,” she introduced herself. “Nobody special, I mean.”

  The aged Master smiled. “It is truly a pleasure to meet you, ‘Just Merris’. Although I can see with my own eyes that you are far more than what you claim to be. At the very least, you are an acolyte of Aerysius. So forgive me if I dispute the fact that you are nobody special.”

  Merris gazed down at the symbol of the Acolyte’s Oath upon her left wrist, realizing that the marking had given her away. It was wrapped around her arm like a sinuous iron chain, its metallic sheen very visible in the lantern light.