The Quintessence Cycle- The Complete Series

by Terry C. Simpson

  “Too bad most of them fled to Melanil after Succession Day,” Corbie said with a wistful shake of his head. “I don’t blame them either, or any of the other peoples who did the same, what with all the fighting that’s started since. Bloody Empire War all over again same as the days of Hemene. Sooner or later there won’t be anyone left. Anyways, I’m here because there’s been trouble.”

  “Trouble the watchmen can’t sort?”

  “Something like that.”

  “So what’s your part in it?”

  “I’m here to watch the door.”

  Frowning, Thar leaned forward and stared at the thick oak door. He remained that way for a good few minutes without speaking.

  “What ya doing?” Corbie asked.

  “Same as you, watching the door. There must be something special to see if I stare at it long enough. Who knows?” Thar shrugged. “It might dance for us.”

  Corbie’s face contorted and he looked from Thar to the door and back again. Eventually he shook his head. Seeing the man’s confusion made it harder for Thar to hold in his laughter. Marin must have heard because he had the back of one hand to his mouth, hiding a wide grin. Thar winked at the proprietor and ordered more mesqa.

  When the drinks came, Corbie leaned over and said, “It’s Felius Carin.”

  “The Minstrel Blade?”

  “Pipe down, ya fool.” The big man peered around.

  “Sorry.” Thar lowered his voice. “So what’s this about Felius?”

  “The king dismissed him from his service, took his pin.”

  Thar’s eyes widened, and although he knew the implications he couldn’t help but to ask, “You mean he’s no longer a Blade.” Corbie nodded. “But that’s not possible. Being a Blade isn’t just about the title or the pin. It’s who you are. The king can’t possibly take that from him.”

  “Well, tell that to Felius. With the way he’s been treating the taverns in the Quarter lately, particularly this one, he seems convinced of what the king did. He takes out his anger on the girls, and the patrons too if they get in the way. It’s gotten so bad that the place empties when he shows up.” Corbie downed another cup and his words did not so much as slur.

  Thar’s head was feeling quite large since the second cup. The man could drink. Thar had to give him that much. “What made the king do it?”

  “Ya haven’t heard? Where ya been? Hiding in a cave?” Corbie ignored Thar’s blank stare. “Rumor has it that Blades been disappearing. And then someone tried to kill Ainslen. It was Felius’ job to solve the mystery of the missing Blades and capture the escaped assassin. He failed. I heard he failed in the Parmien too, when he went after some guild leaders on Succession Day. Doesn’t do a man well to have the king mad at him, even if he’s a Blade. Ruthless bastard, he is.” None of it was news to Thar, but he still allowed himself the open-mouthed expression of shock, which got a nod from Corbie. “That’s how I felt. And because of Felius’ issues, I get to deal with this.” The bruiser gestured to the tavern’s smoky interior.

  “What’s House Jarina doing about it? Or any of the Ten Hills for that matter?” As far as Thar knew, Jarina Hill still owned the rights to the brothels throughout the Empire. “With Cardinton gone, most likely dead, surely one of them has taken over ownership of House Jarina’s properties.”

  “Jarina Hill belongs to Shaz now, Ainslen’s pet Marishman, the one with the funny eye and the face that looks like someone tried to cook him. Used to be a member of the Shaded Snakes, or so I heard.” Corbie hawked and spat. “Blasted spies.”

  Thar remembered Shaz. He’d warned Delisar about the man, but considering who Shaz’s father had been, they’d let him into the Consortium. Only to have him betray them later in Shaz’s need for revenge against anyone who had not helped his father. At least Shaz hadn’t discovered the importance of Jarina Hill’s holdings, as evidenced by Cardington’s ability to still pass orders to the courtesans. “Then what’s this Count Shaz’s position on the whole thing?”

  “That’s why we’re here.”

  Puzzled, Thar narrowed his eyes. “We?” He studied the tavern’s patrons, this time really looking at the men and women. After a moment he could tell them apart from the others, those who didn’t belong. A couple whose laughter was a bit too strained. In one corner sat a pale-skinned Kasinian, dressed in gold embroidered linen, who would fit right in with the nobles along Walker’s Row but not here in the River Quarter’s middle class. At one of the tables along the wall a man leaned forward to place his lips on the slim wooden tube of a Calum pipe, the black powder turned to tar bubbling in the bell-shaped glass base. Not once did he suck in the smoke. They all had sintu engaged, but it was simply the cycle, not part of a meld. That alone revealed much about them.

  “Cyclers? You don’t stand a chance,” Thar said, “not against a Blade … especially not the Minstrel Blade. Any fight will be over before it really begins.”

  “We did well enough on Succession Day,” Corbant replied acidly.

  Thar knew his friend didn’t believe his own words. “You did well enough against boys raised to Blades when they didn’t deserve it. What made you agree to this folly?”

  “Ten silver monarchs a piece.”

  Thar whistled. “What does this Shaz expect you to do? Kill him?”

  “Nothing so drastic. We just get him to leave, not make a mess of the Cork or the girls.”

  “Seeing as we’re friends, and I’d hate to see a friend of mine get hurt, I’ll let you in on a secret.” Thar leaned in. “Felius has a thing for Thelusian girls, the darker the better. Or so I’ve been told.”

  “He does?” Corbie asked, bushy brows furrowing.

  “I came across him a few times at the Wild Rapids, heard him bragging about two of them that put him to sleep.”

  “Maybe we can find one or two here willing to please him.” Corbie’s eyes shifted side to side as he perused the folks in the tavern. Thar followed his gaze.

  “Hazline shines his luck on us,” Thar exclaimed. “I think I see the very same two.” He held up his cup in the direction of the women, their skins like silky obsidian, hair down to their necks, curves enough to make a man wince and whisper his amazement.

  “Neseny and Senebnay,” Corbie said with an appreciative nod. “Any man would get worn out dealing with those two. But they’re already expensive. Getting them to stay for Felius will be even more. I don’t have that kind of coin to spare.”

  “Fortunately, I do.” Thar passed Corbie two silver monarchs. The bruiser’s eyes bulged. “Anything to save a friend’s life.” He clapped Corbie on the back.

  Corbie pushed up from the stool and weaved through the crowd to the two courtesans who were having a laugh with a Farish Islander. One glare from the bruiser and the Islander scooted away. A few words, the exchange of coins, and the women gave Corbie a kiss on each cheek. When he turned to walk away, one of them squeezed his bottom. Red-faced and grinning, the man made his way back. Thar raised his glass to the two women and received smiles.

  Felius Carin entered the Cask and Cork not long after, pausing at the door, frigid night air accompanying him. Stand a deep bowl on its edge with the curved part protruding outward and you had the Minstrel Blade. Throw in a round face with several chins, spindly arms and legs, and a high-pitched voice, and one might wonder how the man ever passed the rigorous physical training attributed to the Blades. At least until you saw him fight or heard him truly speak. The Minstrel Blade’s talent was that he made people listen. And obey. He was a Mesmer, renowned for his mindbending.

  The laughter and chatter in the Cork dwindled to silence. No one so much as clinked a glass or cleared their throat. Eyes already dulled from earlier cavorting, Felius waddled straight to the bar. While he was heading there, several men and women made good their exit, including half a dozen courtesans.

  Marin poured the fat man three cups of mesqa. Felius drank them one after the other without a pause, each in a single gulp. He swayed a bit after the thi
rd before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He squinted, head shifting slowly from one side to the other. When his roving gaze crossed Neseny and Senebnay, he stopped. Felius’ mouth spread in a silly grin, like a greedy boy who got his hands on a confectioner’s sweets. Thar couldn’t help but to smile where he sat toward the rear of the tavern.

  “Don’t pay me any mind, damn you. Back to your drinks and revelry,” Felius shouted, voice slurred.

  A rush of soul swept out from the man as he spoke. The normal tavern noises resumed as if they’d never stopped. Even Corbie made his way over to Marin and ordered a drink. The cycler with the Calum pipe took a deep pull and laid his head back. The pale-skinned Kasinian headed to the door and out. The hired bruiser couple were kissing, his hands up her dress, hers digging at his belt.

  Cackling, Felius had both Thelusians by their waists. Eyes glazed over, they were stroking his face.

  Thar eased out the rear door. Although under Felius’ mindbend, Neseny and Senebnay would still take him to the appointed the room. Whistling to himself, he strode to the tavern across the street to wait.

  ******

  Felius Carin’s capture had been simple, so simple that Thar still suspected a trap despite watching the man for two days. He again checked for signs of soul attached to the Minstrel Blade’s body or clothing but found none.

  A low wail escaped Felius’ mouth as he lived his nightmares. He would break; Thar knew this beyond a doubt. All his prisoners eventually did.

  Lamplight threw capering shadows across Felius’ round face where he lay on the long table, feet moving as if he walked. His eyes flitted from side to side before they stopped, and focused on the low-burning flames. Felius’ triple chins ceased jiggling for a moment, his brow furrowed, and the pace of those feet increased, running but taking him nowhere. The moment stretched … and then Felius’ determination evaporated into quivering lips and snot.

  The key to breaking a man was the mind. Too many believed it was the body. Cause enough physical suffering and he surrendered, they thought.

  Such methods didn’t work with the King’s Blades. They were trained to separate their minds from their bodies. Physical extremes and damage were the norm for them. Thar himself had been most adept at the skill when he’d been known as the Lightning Blade.

  But the mind, now that was different. Worm your way into a man’s head and you could make him believe anything. The impossible became the possible. Nightmares became reality.

  The Minstrel Blade’s face contorted, eyes rolling back in his head. Chest heaving, he gasped for breath, the folds of flesh around his ample belly quivering with each exhalation. A wet, sucking sound issued from the man. Brown stained his underclothes, followed by a stench that made rotten eggs smell like perfume. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, a thin red line against pale skin.

  Thar cupped his nose and mouth against the reek, lips curled in disgust. Heart let out a whine, padded toward the stairs, and settled down on his stomach once more. Thar smiled before refocusing on his prisoner, mood souring again at the mess pooling under Felius’ backside.

  If Felius wished, he could have gotten up from the table and walked away. But he didn’t. He was as much his own prisoner as he was Thar’s.

  The best mindbending worked that way. Mesmers convinced the victim not only of the threat they envisioned, but also created an entire environment from which their captive could not escape. The most gifted did not need to be in their victim’s presence. They subtly laid down the groundwork over years until reality and fantasy were inseparable. Elysse was one such.

  In Felius’ head he was trapped in a wilderness of ice, a glow in the distance promising the warmth of a campfire. And help. Help from the stalking pack of derins. The beasts had already slaughtered his loved ones.

  Shuddering, Felius hugged himself. Or tried to. Those stubby arms couldn’t encompass his girth. Dirty fingernails dug into the male version of tits. Sobs burst from him.

  Thar felt no pity for the man. Felius and the wisemen had done much worse in the Smear. Thar brushed away Felius’ tears, each time sending a jolt of soul into the man to weaken his resolve. “Dear, dear, no need to cry. Answer my questions honestly, and I won’t be forced to make you suffer any further. Lie, and I let the derins have you.”

  Felius’ eyes rolled until they focused on Heart. The derin raised his head, gazed at Felius, and yawned, teeth showing, before he rested back on his forepaws. Heart’s ears flicked at the buzzing flies. Whatever Felius envisioned drained the blood from his face and made his eyes grow round with terror.

  “So,” Thar said, “which will it be? Speak or meat?” He gestured toward the derin.

  “Sp-sp-speak,” Felius sputtered.

  “Good,” Thar said. “Let’s begin again. You went with Cardiff on his trip as ambassador to Thelusia and Marissinia, correct?” Felius nodded. “And the trip there took the usual, what? Month? Two?”

  “Five weeks.”

  “And you met with Prince Taelan?”

  “N-no, we met Seligula, the Farlander general.”

  “Where?”

  “Outside Ernassa.”

  Thar frowned. He had doubted the reports, but connected as he was to Felius’ mind, he could tell if the man lied. Felius’ belief was unshakable.

  “Did you witness the attack on the city?”

  “No, Ernassa had already fallen.”

  Shaking his head, Thar tried to make sense of it all. Prior to the attack the Farlanders could have secreted a force around the Giant’s Horn, up the Raging Sea, and into the River Ost. That would answer the question of how they reached Kasandar so quickly. But even if so, how did King Cardiff return in less than half the time it took him to reach Ernassa? And, according to the spies, Cardiff had ridden in with the Farlanders in their disguises as Thelusians.

  “So, you traveled from near the eastern coast all the way to Kasandar in two weeks.” Thar absently stroked his wispy beard. “How is that possible?”

  “We r—” The sound of choking cut off Felius’ words

  Thar’s attention snapped to the man. A warning growl issued from Heart.

  Froth bubbled from Felius’ mouth. The stench of shit rose more prominently than before, drowning out all other odors. Eyes bloodshot, Felius was staring off at nothing, head making short jerks. A spasm, and then he was still, body slumped bonelessly.

  “Hells,” Thar muttered under his breath. The block was so intricately woven that he’d missed it. Tracing it now, he picked out the meld’s effects. Keyed to any attempt by Felius to speak on certain matters, it shut down his vital organs.

  Frustrated by how close he’d come, Thar perused his maps once again, but discerned no answers. He replayed Felius’ last words. “We r—” Was he saying they ran? Thar almost said it was impossible before stopping himself.

  Frowning, he paced back and forth. The sooner he discovered a solution to this problem, the better, for the next obstacle appeared to be that much more difficult: finding a way to neutralize the Farlander firesticks. From all reports, not only had they been the downfall of the King’s Blades, but a larger version of them, employed on ships, were the cause of Ernassa’s defeat.

  The spark of an idea growing, he headed to the room he used as a study area where a cup of steaming spiced tea waited. He picked it up and took a sip, the taste and aroma sweet and tart all at once. The books strewn across the table drew his eye. One of them held the answers. Scanning the table, he searched among the Undertow’s tomes. When he found Etien’s Compendium, he sat in his cushioned armchair, flipped to the pages he’d marked previously, and began to read.

  The first thing that struck me about the Farlanders was their connection to nature. They had tamed many beasts that did their bidding or provided food. They had birds for their scouting, certain types of fish to lure other fish so the Farlander nets would be bountiful, a type of goat to scale mountains and dig out new paths and search out the dust and metals they used in their weap
ons. They employed darwhals, giant sea creatures much like lidas, to break waves during storms when they sailed to the far reaches of the oceans. One of their desert tribes possessed another type of beast that would seek out water for them.

  Their most intriguing pets were the ereskars, as tall tas five men standing on each other’s shoulders, and just as long. The males had tusks and horns while the females possessed tusks alone. Ears as big as a man, an ereskar could carry fifty people by way of baskets the Farlanders hung off its sides. I thought these gigantic creatures would be slow and lumbering, particularly since their every step shook the very earth. But they were not.

  These beasts, like so many others, could harness their soul. I cannot begin to say which cycles they use. What I can say is that whatever form of soul magic they called upon allowed them to run at tremendous speeds almost nonstop. No longer would their steps quake the earth; it was like floating on air. Distances that might take us a week to traverse, these beasts covered in half the time.

  Thar felt a surge of elation. At the same time he wanted to slap himself. For months now he’d searched for answers and they had been but a few paragraphs away.

  Despite his discovery, he was confused. A beast of this magnitude would’ve been seen and heard. None of his scouts reported any creature of the sort. Where were the Farlanders keeping them, and how could they move without being seen? Thar continued to read.

  Q ueen’s D oom

  W ashing his hands through his hair, Ainslen left Terestere’s quarters, followed by his escort of four Blades. Seven days of playing had revealed that Terestere possessed surprising skill, but not enough to be a challenge. So how is it you lost to her? He thought back to the day’s game. In hindsight the trap should have been obvious.

  She had started out as aggressively as ever, pushing him. She sacrificed her Dracodar queen and several other pieces to capture his queen. But then she fell into a pattern of defense. Taking it as a sign of desperation he swept in with three cyclers, one melder, and two Aladar and trapped her dragon king.