by C. Night
The walk back seemed much quicker, despite the heavy saddlebags slung over his shoulder. Brefen picked his way over to him as Rhyen slipped over the bloody wet cobblestones. Rhyen grabbed the horse’s reins and pulled him closer, burying his face in Brefen’s sweaty neck. He breathed in the scent of horse, and instantly a memory filled him: Summer sunshine shone in through the windows of the Tower stable, with hay floating serenely in the light as the dust hung suspended in the air. Cinnamon and Brefen leaned against him as Rhyen groomed them, laughing as they playfully bumped their heads against his jaw and left wet, sticky trails where their huge nostrils touched his skin. But the laughter faded in his mind as Rhyen opened his eyes. He was in Corna, surrounded by blood and gore, good Cinnamon was dead, and his master had used him, manipulating him into choosing Avernade and even going to the Tower in the first place.
“Come on,” Rhyen said quietly to the horse. He walked the last steps forward, the faithful horse following.
“Should we move the body?” Rhyen asked quietly of Liem. The soldier was standing still, watching Cazing mourn Thom with sorrowful eyes.
Liem sadly shook his head. “We don’t have time. We need to leave right now.”
Rhyen nodded. He kept his anger checked as he approached his master. He clenched his teeth, but placed his hand firmly on Cazing’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Cazing, but we have to go.”
Cazing crossed his arm over his chest and reached up, grabbing Rhyen’s hand. Rhyen’s compassion again got the better of him, and he didn’t recoil or throw off the hand as he might have done. Instead, he helped his master to his feet. He could feel the sorcerer’s weakness, and his anger changed momentarily to fear. Cazing could not die, no matter his crimes. Rhyen needed answers and help, and the only one who could give him both was Cazing. Though he might not be Rhyen’s friend after all, though he might have used and manipulated his apprentice, he was still the only sorcerer Rhyen knew and the only one who could help him in his fool’s quest.
“Cazing?” Rhyen asked, anxious. “Cazing!” But the old sorcerer had reached his limit. He started to sag and Rhyen quickly caught him. Liem jumped down from his horse, and together they managed to put Cazing in his saddle. Liem quickly produced some rope from his packs. Rhyen cut it in long strips with the knife he always wore at his side, and they wound the lengths around the sorcerer’s hands, waist, and legs, securing him to the saddle.
Rhyen saw Thom’s red roan. He approached it cautiously, and the horse allowed him to stroke his face. Rhyen gingerly clipped his saddlebags into place just behind Thom’s saddle. He ignored the blood splashed across the seat and mounted. The horse sidestepped nervously, but Rhyen soothingly patted his neck and spoke quietly, the ruddy ears flicking back at him. Then he led Liem, who was holding Brefen’s reins behind him, and they followed Avarek and Caliena into the shadows.
* * *
They were in the tunnel, where they had stopped briefly to tend to their wounds.
As the gnomes had said, there was a vast network of underground pipes and tunnels that encompassed the length of Corna. They had found Avarek and Caliena waiting at a blank patch of wall at the end of the alley.
When Liem and Rhyen had joined them, towing the unconscious Cazing along with them, Avarek had placed his hands on the blank stretch of wall and pushed. If Rhyen had had the energy to be impressed, he would have been astonished at the ingenuity of the design. The door was completely hidden in the wall, yet opened to a wide underground avenue.
The horses were nervous, but Avarek was ready. He had tied kerchiefs over the eyes of his and Caliena’s horses, and he had three more waiting. Rhyen had no idea how he managed to do it, as the gnome was so small and the horses so tall, yet in seconds the gnome had all the horses covered. Rhyen slipped off the roan’s back and took the reins in his hand. Then, one by one, they had gone into the tunnel, leading their blinded horses. Avarek placed his long fingers on the hidden door and closed it, shutting out the smell of smoke and muffling the screams that still filled the night.
Rhyen lit a torch, glaring so hard at it that it blazed up like the Palace. The soldier held it in one hand while speaking in a low urgent voice to Avarek, who was shaking his head expressionlessly as he tied off the wrappings on Liem’s other arm.
Liem had sustained a gruesome cut in his duel, caught a blade very unluckily above the elbow, in the flexible, open space between his armor. Rhyen touched it and harshly barked “Heal,” and the skin closed together. There wasn’t even a scar, though the skin was new and fragile. “Wrap that up,” Rhyen muttered, and Avarek stepped quickly forward. The gnome seemed no worse for the wear, though his black eyes were filled with grief as he bandaged the wound. Liem looked away with gritted teeth, his face looked haggard and worn.
Caliena was more shocked than hurt. Her dress was torn at her shoulder and slit in two to mid-thigh on her right side. Some of her hair had escaped her long ponytail, and she had a few scrapes on her legs and arms, but otherwise, she looked fine. She was standing by Brefen, at Cazing’s side, her hand raised and rested on the old sorcerer’s elbow. When they had met up after Thom’s death, Caliena had bounded forward with a worried cry, looking at Cazing with wide eyes. In a few words, Rhyen had conveyed to her that the old sorcerer was alive, just unconscious. Caliena hadn’t left his side since. She loved the old man so.
Cazing was by far the worst off. He was unconscious after stretching his magic to the limit. The rope was the only thing keeping him in his saddle, and while Avarek doctored Liem, Rhyen moved forward to secure his master more firmly in place, gently moving Caliena aside so that he could reach the old sorcerer. Even though he now knew of Cazing’s betrayal, he felt for him a loyalty which he currently despised. Though Rhyen no longer wanted any ties to his master, he couldn’t let the old man die. After he secured him to Brefen’s saddle, Rhyen placed a battered hand on Cazing’s knee and rasped, “Heal.” He let his magic transfer over to Cazing, but he had to push it through to the old sorcerer. It was unlike the straightforward ease with which he had healed Liem. He now understood how difficult it was to wield against another wielder. It took all his concentration to feed the old man even a small dose of magic, and as soon as he passed on enough so that he was satisfied Cazing wouldn’t die, Rhyen dragged his hand away and staggered backwards, breathing heavily.
Yet even after all his spells that night, he was alert. Though he was mentally exhausted and shaken, physically he was as fresh as if he had just woken up after a peaceful night’s sleep. Rhyen shook his head. He should be utterly exhausted. He shouldn’t be feeling as spry as a rested athlete. What did that mean? With a jolt, Thom’s memories blasted into his mind. Rhyen remembered Cazing’s words: And he’s strong. So strong. More powerful than he could ever know. And he remembered Thom’s reply: He has to be.
Rhyen blew out his breath as images flew before his eyes, words by many speakers echoing distantly in his ears, almost indistinct as they layered on top of each other.
…to undo any spell, you need to balance it. You simply recreate it, using the exact same components, and then—and only then—can you undo it… They share the same blood, the same Name day, the same family situation—… It must be you…Only you… The Eighth Born…
So this was it, the answer to all the riddles. Rhyen now knew the terrible truth: Only he could piece together the Stone. Only him. He was somehow connected to Taida by blood, and they shared everything. Rhyen was the component necessary to undo the spell. Just as Taida had broken the Stone, Rhyen was his exact match, and would mirror the Faceless One to re-forge it.
“Rhyen?” said a soft voice from beside him, breaking him from his reverie. He turned his head as slowly as though he had aged a thousand years. He pushed his golden hair out of his face, and he kept his expression blank as he regarded Caliena. She gasped when she saw him.
“You’re hurt!” Caliena exclaimed, reaching up to take Rhyen’s face in
her white hands. She hadn’t been able to see the gash on his cheek until he pushed his hair from his face. And, perhaps, she had been too concerned about Cazing to see it before now anyway. “Come here.”
“I’m fine,” he mumbled, but she ignored him. As she took his hand, Rhyen thought it strange that such a small woman could control him so easily, for though her hands were tiny in his, they were grasping him with such a firm force that he obeyed her without question. She led him over to Respen and pulled a clean handkerchief from her saddlebags.
Rhyen winced as Caliena tenderly cleaned his cut cheek. He had almost forgotten the arrow that had nearly pierced his head. He closed his eyes, remembering the arrows protruding from Cinnamon’s beautiful chest. Strange that, after all that had happened, and all that he had learned that night, the emotion he felt keenest was the deep, immovable grief he had for his horse.
“Shush, you’re fine,” Caliena clucked sympathetically. “You’re fine.”
She was the only one he could trust. Rhyen realized this as he looked around at his company. Cazing had controlled him from the very beginning like a puppeteer. Rhyen glowered at his master as he lolled limply in his saddle, feeling his betrayal like a knife in his back. How could he have ever thought Cazing was his friend? Of course there had been a plan, a reason. Why else would a great sorcerer choose to apprentice him, Rhyen, a simpleton from Yla, over all the other students at the Academy? Rhyen bit his lip. He’d never felt so stupid in all his life.
But then there was also Avarek. Though Rhyen should have felt sorrow for the gnome because of the loss of his father, he felt only bitterness. He had been learning to like Avarek, with his wooden expressions and strange manners, but now he knew the truth: The gnome had manipulated him, just as Cazing had. And Liem, well, Rhyen knew from Thom’s jubilant memories that the soldier was a companion as well, whatever the hell that meant. Perhaps he was also a part of their plan. Maybe he had used Rhyen too. He couldn’t be trusted either. Rhyen narrowed his eyes.
But Caliena he knew. Caliena would never use him. She was his friend and his comrade. Ever since he had saved her in the Low Country, they had grown closer and closer until he couldn’t imagine his life without her. Her affection for him was the only real thing in his world—his world which had been turned upside down and destroyed. He was flooded with memories of the horrible things he had done that night. His stomach churned and guilt gnawed at him. Rhyen suddenly took her in his arms and buried his face in her dark hair.
She stiffened in surprise and dropped her handkerchief. As he grasped her, trembling, she relaxed. “Rhyen?” she asked gently.
He shook his head and pulled her closer, hanging to her as if she was the only thing anchoring him to this world. After a moment, she put her arms around him and softly rubbed his back. “Hush, Rhyen,” she whispered soothingly in his ear. “You’re all right now.”
He continued to cling to her, like a child, sinking to his knees as his memories flashed like fireworks in morbid, ugly bursts through his mind. She knelt down with him and pulled his head to her chest, rocking slowly back and forth. She hummed quietly to him. The noise reverberated in her chest and through his cheek as he desperately pressed closer to her. It comforted him, her soft, musical voice. She was his only comfort now in this dark new world. As she softly stroked his hair, Rhyen squeezed his eyes together, but he couldn’t stop the hot tears from splashing over his lashes.
* * *
They didn’t emerge from the tunnels until the following evening. It had been much faster to traverse the network of pipes than it had been to travel upwards through the city. The tunnels became narrower and narrower until they were only able to ride in single file. Eventually they turned from the clear path they had been taking and stepped down into a storm drain, which, at this time of year, was mercifully low. Rhyen sloshed through the water, leading his horse and Brefen, whose reins were tied behind the roan’s saddle. The grey and stinking water rose even to his knees. Avarek was ahead of him, the water to his waist, and Caliena unhappily followed in his wake, wet to mid-thigh. Liem took up the rear.
At last, at the very end, a pinprick of light grew steadily larger until they arrived at a wide grate. The iron was worked into a patchwork, and the yellow of the setting sun seemed very bright after their long trek in the dark. They had had only two torches, but Rhyen had kept them lit. It was always easier to wield more of something if there was already some of it to begin with, and though the fire by all rights should have consumed the torches within hours, Rhyen kept them burning as bright and fresh as if they were just lit.
“There is no keyhole,” Avarek throatily called to Rhyen, drawing to the side to allow the sorcerer to pass him. Rhyen nodded. No one had talked much during their journey, and Rhyen’s voice was as rough as the gnome’s.
“Stand back, then,” he said. He narrowed his eyes at the grate and channeled the magic through him. “Bend!” he demanded, and the iron was immediately bent out on one side, completely detached from the curving stone of the tunnel. Rhyen dropped his reins and strode forward. When he reached the grate he pushed, and the grate swung open as easily as any door.
Rhyen stepped outside and out of the water. The storm runoff made a little stream into the sea, and the banks were shallow but hardened and slippery. Avarek followed with his white horse. Caliena came next with Respen. She had led the red roan out as well, and she wordlessly placed the reins in Rhyen’s hands as she passed him, letting her soft fingers linger on his wrist. Cazing, who had remained unconscious, was still tied to Brefen. His head lobbed from side to side as Brefen struggled up the bank. Liem pushed the grate back into place as he exited the tunnels.
They all stood there, breathing heavily and blinking in the fading sunlight. Their journey had only lasted a day, yet it seemed a lifetime since they had breathed fresh air. While in the tunnels, the only means of tracking the time were the tiny grates they occasionally passed—the strength of the light that shone pitifully through being the only indication of the sun roving across the sky.
They were very near the shore. Rhyen looked over his shoulder. Corna’s great outer wall was at least two miles behind them. He’d had no idea the tunnel would lead them this far. As he looked at the city, he noticed that steady streams of gray issued from over the rooftops and clouded the darkening sky. Corna was still burning. Rhyen saw a thick dark river running from the massive gate. It took him a second, but he finally realized what it was: Thousands of people fleeing the city. The sight saddened him, and he resolutely turned his back.
While the others caught their breath and tried to regain their energy, Rhyen looked slowly around, trying to get his bearings. He could see a green haze in the distance, which he knew to be the wall of trees that formed the border of the Low Country. They had already passed the Deameos River, and were as close to the coast as possible. There was nothing but sandy grasses around them, the nearest clump of trees being far away to the south.
“What’s the plan?” Liem quietly asked him.
Rhyen looked at him. He wanted to ask why it was he who should decide, but he bit his tongue. It was obvious. With Cazing unconscious and Thom dead, he had suddenly been elevated to leader of their pitiful party. He wished Avarek would answer for him, but the gnome offered nothing. Rhyen wetted his lips, thinking. He had no idea what to do, but Liem, Caliena, and Avarek were all watching him quietly, awaiting his decision.
Finally he said, “For now, we stick to the original plan. We go to Adom, we hire a boat, and we make for Wyda.” They all nodded, but Caliena looked at him with an accusing question in her eyes. She hadn’t known there even was an original plan.
Rhyen looked down guiltily, avoiding everyone’s gaze. Truthfully, he had no intention of going to Wyda anymore. Now that he knew what he did about his circumstance, he wanted nothing more than to abandon this quest. But with everyone relying on him, Rhyen’s conscious wouldn’t allow him to leave t
hem without a leader, and on the spot he decided to stay until Cazing awoke. “How far is Adom?” Rhyen asked quickly.
Liem shrugged. “A few days away. Maybe three.”
Rhyen nodded. Avarek drew close, listening intently. “We’ll need supplies,” Rhyen croaked. He was thirsty—they all were. They had left with very little provisions, and were almost delirious with hunger and exhaustion. Rhyen had tried stretching the water, for they had a few skins, but what he wielded wasn’t as refreshing as their original supply, and thirst had plagued them for hours. If Cazing had been awake it would have been different, but Rhyen didn’t have as much Water as his master and couldn’t wield the Element as well.
“I know place nearby. Dit,” Liem said hoarsely. “It’s a small village, if you can even call it that. Just a couple little merchants and shacks, but they’ll have supplies.”
Rhyen stifled a yawn. He was so tired. They had ridden through the night and the whole day, and every few hours he had transferred some more magic to Cazing, trying to heal the sorcerer and keep him alive. Rhyen could tell that he was nowhere near his magical limit, but mentally he was exhausted, and his body no longer felt strong. “Is there a place in Dit where we can stay tonight?”
Liem shook his head. “No.”
Rhyen groaned. “Of course not. How far is this place?”
Liem looked around him, using the last glow of the sunset to track his whereabouts. He suddenly smiled. “Actually, it should be just there, beyond that bluff.” He pointed to a small dip in the coastline only about a half-mile south. Rhyen looked closely and could just make out a tiny stream of smoke, as if from a few campfires.
He squared his shoulders. “Right. I’ll go get some supplies.”
“I’ll go with you,” Liem quickly offered, but Rhyen shook his head. Though a few years younger than the soldier, Rhyen was still a sorcerer, and when he spoke, his words rang with the obvious authority of magic.
