Darkstorm (The Rhenwars Saga Book 1)

by M. L. Spencer

  Confident as she could be in her hiding spot, Merris waited as long moments dragged by. She strained to listen. Outside, there was the constant sound of the rain hitting the cobbled street. Inside the cellar, she could hear the faintest noise of soft, scurrying feet. Mice, or even rats, were about their business among the crates.

  Abruptly, the cellar door creaked open.

  Merris could see nothing; her eyes were veiled behind her cowl. The sound of voices only paces away made her flinch.

  “All seems to be progressing well,” echoed the familiar voice of Cyrus Krane. “Have Master Remzi keep working on the cipher. There’s not much time; we have little more than a fortnight.”

  “All shall be made ready,” responded the voice of another man. That voice Merris did not know. It was calmly authoritative, resonant and deep. Softly, Merris tried pulling back the lip of her cowl just enough to try to get a glimpse of the speaker. It was useless; the stack of crates in front of her blocked her view completely.

  Merris realized that the air around her was starting to feel atrociously cold. The fear in her gut was like a tight knot that slowly writhed, working its way upward to choke her throat. She shivered, hugging her arms tightly about herself. The dread within her grew along with the cold, condensing into icy panic. The panic swelled, evolving gradually into terror.

  Merris’s eyes widened with realization: there was…something else…in the cellar. Something in there with them. Something wrong.

  “I’m still working on the required payment,” Krane’s voice continued evenly, as if the prime warden himself sensed nothing at all out of sorts. “I have someone in mind, but nothing definitive as yet.”

  “Be certain there is no deviation from the covenant,” the deep voice responded. “Failure is greatly misliked by our Master.”

  Merris chewed her lip on the edge of panic, the terrible feeling of dread becoming almost unbearable.

  Movement stirred in front of her. Something streaked across her vision, coming to a rest on top of the stack of crates. A hand. A man’s hand with thick fingers relaxed against the edge of the crate in front of her. A wide, silver band encircled the third finger. Merris shirked back away from the sight of that hand, her eyes welling with tears as she struggled to keep from crying out.

  “There will be no failure,” Krane’s voice echoed, his tone full of dire promise.

  Merris heard the sound of the outer door creaking open and then closing once again as the prime warden took his leave. The other man yet remained behind, his hand still resting on top of the crate.

  The loss of Krane’s familiar presence came almost as a blow to Merris. She resisted a powerful urge to bolt out of her hiding place and run for the door.

  There was a rustle of fabric as the hand withdrew.

  The sound of footsteps, walking away.

  Then came the noise of the inner door shivering open and then closed.

  Merris lingered, trembling violently, not daring yet to move. The awful fear within her refused to subside. Moments crept by, painfully slow. She strained to listen, hearing nothing. Even the scurrying of the rats had ceased.

  Just then, a blur of dark motion streaked across the edge of her vision. The form of a man, all in black, faceless and in shadow.

  Sephana Clemley rolled over in bed, groaning in her sleep. She had been tossing fitfully most of the night. The sound of the rain needling the panes of her leaded-glass window had been keeping her awake. Normally, she would have found the sound of the raindrops soothing. But there was something different about this night. Even the cadence of the rain seemed charged with tension.

  Sephana’s hand groped blindly across the mattress, exploring, but finding only empty space at her side. Her groggy mind fumbled toward the vague rudiments of a question. But before the thought could even halfway form, an urgent clatter jolted her sharply out of sleep.

  Sephana jerked upright, throwing off her covers. Her eyes quickly scanned the dark interior of her bedchamber as another round of boisterous knocking echoed from the hallway.

  Her eyes darted to the empty mattress beside her as she reached for the cloak she always kept hanging from the poster of her bed. She pulled the black wool cloak on over her shoulders, holding it closed as she fumbled her way out into the dark hallway of her suite.

  “I’m coming,” she growled at the door, which was fairly shuddering from the abuse it was taking. Sephana paused, warily contemplating the door. Then she threw back the bolt and swept it open, glaring her ire at the person on the other side.

  Sephana blinked in shock at the wet, bedraggled woman who stood shivering on her threshold.

  “Merris?” she gasped, peering intently into the girl’s face.

  Her young acolyte’s skin was pale as chalk, her brown hair falling in wet disarray about her face. Her cloak dripped rainwater all over the freshly polished floor tiles. Merris’s usual composure was thoroughly shattered. She stood trembling, furiously wringing her hands, her blue eyes haunted by fear.

  “The prime warden is a traitor!” Merris exclaimed, sweeping past her into the room.

  Sephana closed the door to her chambers firmly, considering her acolyte with a vexed expression. Merris was dripping rainwater onto her costly Tiborian rug, she noted with a flare of annoyance. Sephana reached a hand out and guided the girl back onto the tile, pulling her in almost conversationally.

  “Be still,” she commanded, placing a steadying hand on the younger woman’s shoulder. “Come, now. First things first. Let’s get you out of these wet clothes.”

  She led Merris to her bedchamber and threw open the door of her wardrobe. Then she left the girl alone to dress. Sephana wandered out into the sitting room and made her way toward the hearth, her eyes narrowing slightly. The gray andirons that held the logs began to darken, taking on a deep-red glow. Within seconds, the hearth was ablaze with a lively dance of flame.

  Sephana busied herself by pouring a cup of wine from a wineskin that hung from a peg on the wall. Upon second thought, she poured another. Then she took a seat in one of the high-backed chairs before the fire, sipping her wine and observing the flames grow and spread throughout the kindling.

  Reaching out with her mind, Sephana tasted the flow of the magic field that moved like a swift current through the heart of Aerysius. It felt like a soothing cadence in the back of her head, like the soft tempo of a waltz. She grasped ahold of it, taking in just a small fraction and savoring its comforting presence.

  When Merris returned, Sephana noted with a flare of irritation that her acolyte had managed to select one of her own favorite gowns from the wardrobe, a yellow dress with a flowing skirt. It looked better on Merris, she noted.

  “Wine?” Sephana offered, extending her hand toward the second cup she’d poured while forcing a smile to her face.

  Merris approached slowly, timidly, at last dropping into the chair across from Sephana. Her hand trembled slightly as she raised the wine to her lips. Sephana studied her acolyte’s face as Merris closed her eyes and drank deeply from the cup. She looked back up with obvious reluctance.

  Brushing back a lock of burnished-gold hair, Sephana invited her, “Now, why don’t you tell me what’s troubling you, dear.”

  Merris squeezed her eyes shut, her hand coming up to rub her temple. “I followed the prime warden tonight,” she admitted in a tremulous voice that was little more than a whisper.

  Sephana’s mouth dropped open, her stomach twisting into knots. Merris was the prime warden’s own personal secretary, a highly coveted position. It was an honor reserved only for acolytes of the most unblemished reputation. That Merris might have abused her position troubled Sephana deeply; she was the girl’s own sworn mentor. Ultimately, Sephana herself was responsible for Merris’s actions. Or crimes.

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand.” Deceptively calm, Sephana’s words were carefully phrased to hide her ire. “Could you please explain to me what, exactly, made you think that it would be wise to shadow the P
rime Warden of Aerysius?”

  “Please, hear me out,” the young woman begged, a note of panic cracking her voice. “He’s been meeting with strange people lately and receiving messages that are written in some sort of code. It’s all very irregular! And every time I turn around he’s—”

  Sephana threw her hands up in exasperation. “We are on the brink of war with Caladorn, Merris! Surely a few encrypted communiqués are not too far out of the realm of possibility?”

  “Not like this,” Merris insisted, leaning forward in her chair. “Please, just listen! I’ve never seen runes like these before. And every time he receives one of these notes, the prime warden tells me he’s feeling ill and has me cancel all of his appointments for the remainder of the day. Then he just leaves. Every time! I always thought he was just retiring to his chambers. But then this evening I actually caught him slipping out.”

  The sound of her door creaking open made Sephana startle. She sprang to her feet, nearly losing her grip on her cup of wine. Whirling, she brought her hand up to her chest in relief as she recognized the face of the man who entered. Closing her eyes, Sephana heaved a long sigh. Then she rounded on Merris, blaming the fool girl for inspiring such fear in the first place.

  “Now you have me jumping at shadows,” Sephana snapped as she rushed forward to greet their guest.

  Braden Reis paused in the act of closing the door as his eyes slid slowly from Sephana to Merris.

  “I wasn’t aware that you were expecting company,” he said in a questioning voice, eyebrows raised. He pushed the door the rest of the way closed behind him, latching it quietly. His eyes never left Merris.

  “Ambassador Reis,” Merris exclaimed, hastening to her feet with a look of dismay. “What are you doing here?”

  Sephana paused in mid-stride, turning back to her wayward acolyte with a seething expression on her face. “I’m afraid I am going to have to trust you with one of my own secrets for a change.”

  A frown of consternation nettled Merris’s brow before her eyes widened in sudden insight. “You’re lovers,” she gasped in realization. Her tone betrayed more than a trace of disapproval. “Master Sephana, I don’t understand…How can you be sure he’s not a spy for the Lyceum? I mean…how could you? He’s the enemy!”

  “I am not the enemy,” Braden assured her quickly, taking a step forward and drawing himself up. “At least, not yet, anyway. And not if I can help it.”

  “He’s been working night and day to forestall a war,” Sephana argued defensively.

  Without taking his eyes off Merris, Braden slipped an arm around Sephana. He was a tall man, muscular enough to fill out the indigo robes of the Lyceum better than most mages of his stature. He was the Ambassador of Bryn Calazar, and the blood of Caladorn was very obvious in his appearance. His skin was tanned olive, his hair thick and black. He had the characteristic full lips and almond eyes of a Northerner. A closely trimmed beard lent a chiseled look to his features.

  Sephana could tell by the wary expression on his face that Braden was anything but comfortable with the situation. They had worked hard to keep their relationship a secret, especially from other members of the Assembly.

  “Braden, you’ve met my acolyte, Merris Bryar,” Sephana offered curtly.

  Braden nodded stiffly. “Of course.” His dark eyes were clouded with concern.

  Sephana nodded. Braden met often with Prime Warden Krane in his capacity as the Lyceum’s ambassador. More than once he had been forestalled by Merris while seeking an audience unannounced. He could be rather brazen when he wanted to be, one of the myriad qualities that Sephana found so compelling about him.

  “Why don’t you have a seat, Braden,” Sephana sighed, stepping away from him. “Grab some wine for yourself. Merris has quite a story to share with us.”

  Braden’s confusion was obvious as he complied, helping himself to the wineskin. When they were all gathered in the chairs before the hearth, Sephana leaned forward in her seat and directed Merris firmly:

  “Now, start over from the beginning. This time, take your time and try to elaborate as much as you possibly can. Details, my dear. As many details as you can remember.”

  Merris swallowed. Then she obeyed. Sephana sat back and listened carefully as Merris unfolded her story for them, relaying all of the events she had experienced earlier that night. Sephana often found herself trading startled glances with Braden, who was listening attentively, broad shoulders tight with concern. By the end of Merris’s account, Braden’s look of concern had become eclipsed by an expression of incredulity. Sephana herself felt slightly nauseous. She regretted ever drinking the wine.

  “And then I fled,” Merris finished with a shrug. “I ran all the way back to the Hall. I didn’t dare return to my cell; the man in black saw me. He might know who I am.”

  Sephana turned to Braden. He was no longer looking at Merris, just staring down into the embers of the hearth. His hand scratched absently at the dark whiskers on his chin.

  “What do you make of all this?” she asked him.

  Braden threw back his head and swallowed the remainder of the wine in his cup. He looked almost dumbfounded as he shrugged, shaking his head. In a voice colored by a slight Northern accent, he responded, “I’m not sure what I can make of it. It could be anything…or nothing.” Narrowing his eyes, he turned to Merris. “This ring you saw. Can you describe it?”

  Merris nodded eagerly. “It was a silver ring. It had a blue stone. I think it might have been lapis. There was a rune overlaid in gold, but I didn’t recognize it.”

  “Do you think you could draw it?”

  Merris nodded. “I think so.”

  Sephana stood and went to her writing desk, retrieving parchment, ink, and quill. She handed them over to Merris and then sat back down again. As her acolyte sketched, Sephana felt Braden’s hand on hers, massaging her fingers with his thumb. The sensation was comforting, easing the tension within her. When Merris finished, she handed her sketch over to Braden.

  He squinted down at the parchment, studying it for seconds. Sephana peered at it over his shoulder, her eyes narrowing.

  Frowning in consternation, she wondered, “Do you recognize it?”

  “No,” he responded, still staring at the marks Merris had made. Slowly, he rotated the drawing first one direction then the other. He ran a hand through his tousled hair. Then he reached out, plucking the quill from Merris’s hand. He added two strokes to what was already there, tracing the ink boldly down at a curving angle.

  “Are you sure it didn’t look more like this?” he prodded her, handing it back.

  Merris stared for a moment at her altered sketch with a frown. At last, she nodded and looked back up at him with excitement in her eyes. “Yes—that’s it!”

  Braden’s somber gaze latched on to Merris’s, capturing her stare with rigid intensity. “I cannot emphasize enough how important this is, Merris. Don’t just guess. I need you to be certain.”

  Merris paled, her eyes ticking upward to Sephana and then back again to Braden. She licked her lips. “I’m certain,” she whispered. “That’s what I saw.”

  Sephana looked back and forth between her acolyte and her lover. Braden was a mage of the Order of Chancellors, well schooled in the history and lore of his culture. He did not look pleased with Merris’s confirmation.

  “What is it?” Sephana pressed, gazing down at the completed rune.

  “It’s Venthic,” Braden explained, handing the parchment over to her as he rose to his feet. He paced away toward the hearth. “An ancient dialect of my people. It’s almost a dead language now, used only by a few of the original clans. This particular rune is dacros. It’s used as a symbol for the cult of Xerys.”

  Sephana found herself scowling. Turning to the young woman beside her, she tried to form her words as carefully as she could. “Merris, I’m not trying to scare you, but I do have to ask you one question. This man in black you spoke of—are you certain that it was a man? Or is it possibl
e that it was not a man at all?”

  From his position by the hearth, Braden stiffened at the import of her words.

  Merris bit her lip. “He…looked like a man made of shadow. He terrified me.”

  “A necrator!” Sephana gasped.

  “What’s a necrator?” Merris wondered, looking suddenly very frail.

  Braden spun around, eyes wide with stark realization. He turned to Sephana. “We have to get her out of Aerysius. Tonight.”

  Chapter Two

  What Lies Beneath

  Aerysius, The Rhen

  BRADEN SCRUBBED HIS hands through his hair, fuming as he paced the length of the chamber. A dozen or more jumbled thoughts churned in his head, making it all but impossible to chase any single one of them. He glanced sideways at Merris, who sat across the room from him busily scribing away at the writing desk. She sat hunched over, thoroughly engrossed in her task.

  Braden swirled the wine in his cup absently. His eyes darted to Sephana, who stood gazing out the window into the dark, rain-clad night. Her hand lingered beside her face, absently stroking a lock of her red-gold hair between her fingers. She had changed into a pale green dress with rose embroidery, the affair covered by her black Master’s cloak with the Silver Star of Aerysius embroidered on the back.

  “Merris, if you please…” Sephana groaned, eyes sparkling with irritation.

  “Almost done,” the girl muttered, not bothering to look up from her work.

  Braden tossed his head back and downed a mouthful of wine.

  “There,” Merris announced, setting her quill down on the writing table with finality.

  Braden crossed the room toward her in two large strides. He scooped the parchment she had been working on up in his hand and held it before his face. His eyes hastily scanned the lavish, flowing script of the message, lingering for a moment on the signature at the bottom, then read back over the whole affair one more time.