Far below, the River Nym cut its way through the bottom of the chasm, its waters swift and turbulent. The glow that filled the cavern emanated from the river itself, filtering up through the air, reflecting off the water-polished rock. A breeze delivered the scent of the river, wild and fresh and teeming with life. Darien felt exultant. He’d never seen anything so beautiful in his life.
He turned to find Azár standing behind him, basking in a pool of summery magelight.
“The eye of the vortex,” he breathed. “The river flows through the source.”
“No.” Azár’s eyes were fixed on the Nym’s swift currents. “The river is the source.”
Darien frowned, suddenly troubled. That’s not how the magic field worked. “Come on, let’s get down there. I’ll show you. At the center of the eye will be a Circle of Convergence. That’s what we’ll find. That river’s just a river. Nothing more.”
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, gazing down into the turquoise wash of light.
So was she, Darien had to admit. He muttered, “Aye.”
Azár took a step back away from the edge then turned and crossed the bridge to the other side. Darien followed her, anticipation speeding his stride. On the other side of the gorge, the path became encased by rock. Another mud-ruined stair took them downward. Water dripped from the ceiling, splashing on his head and wetting his hair. His feet sloshed through puddles of oozing mud.
They came to a point where the ceiling had partially collapsed. Large boulders and debris filled the narrow passage, blocking their path. Darien and Azár lingered behind as Sayeed’s men labored to clear away the rubble. They formed a human chain, handing rocks and debris from one man to another, depositing them along the cave walls.
Feeling idle, Darien turned to Azár. “You said you wanted to speak with me?”
Her face darkened. “Later. Now isn’t the time for it.” She turned and moved to the opposite end of the passage, leaving him feeling awkward and alone.
When the path was clear, their small party forged ahead again. They came to a place where many corridors branched off their path, lightless, boring into the depths of the rock that surrounded them. Darien wondered where the passages led; the ancient fortress of Vintgar surrounded them, but there was no sign yet of its former grandeur, only of its decay.
The deeper they went, the more the tunnel became clogged with filth and debris. Eventually they came to another place where the ceiling had collapsed entirely. Sayeed’s men strained against the wall of rock without success; it seemed as if the weight of the entire mountain bore down upon it.
Darien watched the men labor, nettled by frustration. At last, he’d had enough.
“Stand back,” he ordered. Then he opened his mind to the Onslaught. The corridor darkened then flared a sinister shade of green. Darien was aware that his entire body blazed with an unnatural glow, exuding the Hellpower from his pores.
He concentrated, willing the debris to be gone. Nothing happened, so he concentrated harder. Suddenly, he felt the entire obstruction shift, just as he had shifted the boulders of the dam. The mountain above them rumbled, provoked by his meddling. The floor shook as pebbles rained down from the ceiling. The blockage ahead had disappeared completely, revealing a tiled mosaic that gleamed up at them from the floor.
Darien let go of the Onslaught and walked toward the spot where the rocks had just been, eyes fixated on the floor. He knelt down, running his hand across the vibrant tiles. They formed an elaborate pattern of wine and gold. It reminded him of an ornate tapestry, somehow preserved in ceramic and time.
“Is that … what this place once looked like?” Azar whispered, stroking a tile.
Darien looked up at her. “It would seem.”
He regained his feet, still marveling at the mosaic beneath his feet. Only then did he realize the stares that were aimed at him, the gaping disbelief on the faces of Sayeed’s men. He spread his hands. “This is your heritage,” he told them. “Perhaps someday Vintgar can be restored. But not today.”
He motioned Azár to go ahead then followed after her, gazing down at his feet as he crossed the intricate web of tiles. They marched along another mud-strewn passage decorated in crumbling rock and oozing slime. The noise of the river was much louder now. The sound of its rushing current echoed through the darkness from somewhere close by. They came to another passage, one that sloped downward into black depths of shadow.
Reluctant to use magelight, Darien let the green glow of the Netherworld light their path. The sloping corridor they followed led to the bottom of the caverns, opening into a wide space that bordered the gorge. They stood in a many-vaulted chamber lit by the river’s vaporous glow. Ruined archways and crumbling corridors led off in all directions.
“Here,” Darien said, closing his eyes. He tore down the barriers that protected his mind from the vortex and let the magic field come gushing in. He gasped, reveling in the sweet perfection of the field lines that converged in this place, here in the eye of the vortex. He sucked in the power, basking in euphoric bliss. When he opened his eyes, he saw that Azár’s face had taken on a smile of elation.
He couldn’t help himself; he sighed in relief, glad just to feel whole again. But the contentment he felt was short-lived. A feeling of cold purpose stole over him, reminding him of his business here. Darien turned back to his men, beckoning them forward.
“Stay close. The Circle of Convergence is this way,” he said, and started off across the filth-covered chamber, splashing through puddles on the floor. He felt his way with his mind, following the smooth currents of energy.
He found Vintgar’s Circle of Convergence in an adjoining chamber, on the other side of a collapsed archway. Darien stopped in the entrance to the hall, glancing around at the slime-encrusted walls, and taking in the shattered ceiling. A solid bank of mud encased the floor. They would have to dig down through layers of silt and fallen rock to unearth Vintgar’s Circle.
Still, even through the layers of mud that covered it, he should be able to sense something of the Circle below. But that wasn’t the case. The Circle of Convergence lay buried mere inches beneath his feet, but he could feel no connection to it at all.
It was not slumbering beneath all that mud.
It was dead.
He was sure of it. Darien bowed his head, letting the tragedy of the loss settle in. He needed the Circle, needed it desperately. He’d hoped to use it to disrupt the curse that infected the skies. Now that chance was gone. Gone forever.
“There’s nothing here,” he said at last, sorrow heavy in his voice. “Nothing for us, at least.”
Azár nodded, a look of understanding in her eyes. Sayeed and his men started back toward the entrance of the hall, faces grim. Perhaps they sensed his mood. Or saw the burden of loss in his eyes. It didn’t matter; they knew something had gone terribly wrong.
Darien allowed the light of the river to guide their way through the system of littered corridors. Even here, in the heart of ancient Vintgar, there was nothing of the past left to find. No furniture or artifacts had managed to survive. Everything was encased by mud or weathered away. The fortress of Vintgar had drowned under the Nym’s displaced waters a thousand years ago. Nothing of its former grandeur remained.
“Lord, over here,” one of the men called from behind.
Darien turned, starting toward the officer who beckoned him from the opening of a passage. He stopped in a doorway, his feet rooted to the floor.
He couldn’t move. His eyes were locked on the center of a shattered room, where a pristine cross-vaulted arch rose majestically from the mud and slime. It glowed with a soft amber light that was both eerie and comforting. The arch appeared as though neither time nor floodwaters had dared touch it. Darien moved toward the artifact, drawn as if compelled. He stopped inches away, reaching out to run a hand down the rose-colored pillar. He could almost feel the charged power that surged within it.
“What do we do?” Azár asked, drawing up at
his side. She was staring in awe at the transfer portal, an expression of wonder on her face.
Darien extended his hand in invitation. “We go through.”
She looked at him with surprise in her eyes then eyed the portal skeptically. “What if it’s broken?”
“Then I suppose we’ll find out. But I don’t think it is.” Darien was sure of it; he could feel the stirring of power in the artifact. The lines of the magic field warped around it then disappeared smoothly within. Azár nodded, taking his hand.
Sayeed moved quickly, inserting himself in front of them. “No! Lord, let me go first. It is my life that should be risked; not yours.”
Darien’s first impulse was to deny him. But he found himself relenting. As mages, both he and Azár were irreplaceable. Sayeed was not, as much as Darien hated to admit it. There were many Zakai who would be willing and honored to take his place.
“Very well,” Darien said and stepped back, letting go of Azár’s hand.
“Thank you, Lord, for this honor.” Sayeed bowed stiffly then moved into the center of the portal, positioning himself between the pillars that supported the cross-vaulted arch. He turned back around, his face set in lines of determination.
“What do I do?” he asked.
“Close your eyes,” Darien advised. “Empty your mind and let the portal do the rest.”
Sayeed nodded, closed his eyes, then took a step back, adjusting his position under the arch. There was a brief, brilliant gush of light. And then he was gone.
Darien moved quickly around the transfer portal. He hoped he wouldn’t find Sayeed’s body slathered across the rocks behind it. He had no idea what the portal would do if not configured correctly. Suddenly, he was very glad Sayeed had volunteered. He could kick himself for almost risking Azár’s life. Despite the cold, he began to sweat. The man should be back by now.
“What is he doing?” Azár grumbled.
“I don’t know.” Darien placed his hand on the stone of the portal without actually stepping inside. He closed his eyes and felt deep within the artifact. There was no resonance, no distortion of the energies that moved within it. Nothing seemed amiss.
A strong flash of light startled him, making him flinch back. Sayeed staggered out of the brilliant glare, face pale and covered in sweat. He bent forward, hands on his knees, catching his breath.
Darien felt more excited than concerned. “Where does it go?”
Sayeed drew himself up, still panting, his expression dour. “The portal leads to Bryn Calazar. Lord, your presence is requested immediately.”
Darien felt his excitement wither. “By whom?”
Sayeed swallowed, managing to look even paler than he had before. “By Prime Warden Zavier Renquist.”
Darien nodded somberly. After Byron Connel’s visit, he had every reason to fear the wrath of the Prime Warden. He should have seen this coming.
“Wait here,” he told Azár, and moved stiffly toward the portal.
She shook her head, inserting herself ahead of him. “If you go, then I go also.” She offered out her hand.
Darien stopped, staring for a moment at her soft fingers. He glanced back up at her face, at the stubborn set of her jaw. At the firm resolve in her eyes. He knew better than to argue.
“As you like,” he said, and took her hand in his.
11
Blood Bond
Darien released Azár’s hand and stepped away from the transfer portal, moving out of a blinding wash of light. He found himself in a vaulted chamber filled with many similar arches. He recognized the space immediately: the portal chamber in Bryn Calazar. All around him, black-mailed bodies fell to their knees then bent forward to the floor. Darien gazed at the sight, awed and shaken. This was an entirely different reception than he had experienced before.
“Arise,” he said.
At his word, the mailed bodies returned to their feet, coming forward to form a tight cluster about him. His gaze leaped from helm to helm, the sight intimidating. This had once been the only image he had of a people he’d known only as the Enemy. Now he understood there were real people behind those helms: fathers, brothers, husbands, sons. He wished he could see their faces.
“Remove your helms,” he ordered.
When they did, he realized that he’d been wrong. Darien stared in shock at the stern faces of the guards that surrounded him. More than a few were female. He hadn’t expected that. He looked from face to face, making eye contact with each man and woman in the chamber. At last, he nodded, more than a little shaken.
How many women had he killed at Orien’s Finger? He would never know the numbers. He knew it shouldn’t matter. But it did. He sensed Azár moving to stand beside him as the guards replaced their helms.
A white-bearded man wearing the robes of a priest of Xerys appeared at the top of the steps. “Darien Nach’tier,” he said in a raspy voice. “Your presence is requested.”
Darien did his best not to cringe at the sound of the old man’s voice. The words felt like a noose slipping around his neck. He could almost feel it tightening. He said to Azár, “You should wait here.”
“Where you go, I go.” Her tone brooked no argument.
Darien didn’t want her accompanying him to this meeting with Renquist. He couldn’t guarantee it would have a good ending. But he relented, knowing better not to protest. After all, it was his life, not hers, at risk.
The guards parted to let them pass as they made their way toward the stairs. The priest in crimson robes greeted them with a nod, saying nothing as he led them up the steps. The man’s face was skeletal, his eyes sunken in their sockets. He shuffled as he walked, one leg obviously weaker than the other. They emerged from the stairs into a large, domed room with a Circle of Convergence set into the floor.
Darien halted, at once stunned and dismayed at the sight. It was larger than Aerysius’ Greater Circle had been. Alas, this one was quiet. Staring harder at the patterns on the floor, he realized that the lines of power had been irrevocably warped. It wept, leaking magical energies like a sieve. Another Circle, lost to time.
Only, this loss was staggering.
He tore his eyes away from the distorted artifact that seemed to bleed power from its pores. Instead, he fixed his stare on the back of the red-robed priest who walked ahead of them. He followed the old man across the floor and into a hallway beyond. With a bow and a flourish of robes, the priest stepped aside, gesturing toward a wooden door.
Darien paused, considering the door. He was hesitant to open it; it was the only wooden door he had encountered in all the Black Lands, made of solid oak and bound by iron bands. He understood the vast wealth and power conveyed by that single fixture. He feared that door, feared what might await him on the other side of it.
He grasped the cold handle and depressed the latch. The door creaked open a fraction on its own. He pulled it the rest of the way, exposing a dim chamber within. Darien drew back and raised his hand, signaling Azár to let him enter first. He paused, collecting his nerves. Then he stepped forward into the room.
At the sight of Zavier Renquist, he dropped to his knees and bowed forward, pressing his head against the rugs as, beside him, Azár did the same. Closing his eyes, Darien engaged his other senses. Fragrant incense thickened the air, masking the odor of coal soot. There was the rustle of fabric from across the room. A soft, trickling noise. Then silence. Silence and agarwood and soft woven carpets. The combination provoked a nauseating wave of fear.
For a moment, he felt transported back to the tent where Renquist had manipulated him into submission. Or into hell; there really wasn’t much difference. It all had the same unnerving feel.
“Arise and be heard.”
That resonant voice chilled his blood to ice. It was distinctive, and singularly disturbing. Darien rose from the position of prostration, regaining his feet.
Resplendent in robes of deepest indigo, Zavier Renquist stood to greet them both. “Sulimu kadreesh,” he uttered, moving to
clasp Darien in a close embrace.
“Akadreesh issulim.” Darien shuddered at the proximity of the man. He didn’t like anyone that close to him. Especially someone with the amount of power he sensed in Renquist. He’d never known another mage who commanded such strength and authority. By comparison, Darien felt like a mere pawn to be moved at will.
The Prime Warden released him and turned to Azár, who bent forward to kiss the hem of his robe. He extended his hand, inviting them to sit beside him on embroidered cushions arranged in an intimate circle upon the floor.
A serving boy came forward, carrying a bronze pot with an elongated spout. He produced a cup and poured a small amount of brown liquid into it. This, he handed to Renquist, who received the beverage without thanks. Azár was served next. The third cup went to Darien. He knew that the cups were poured in that order intentionally; Renquist was making certain that Darien was aware of his place.
He knew better than to decline the offer of drink; he valued his life. The odor of coffee filled his nostrils. He took a taste, finding the bitter flavor to his liking.
“Tell me,” Renquist said, setting his cup down at his side, “how is your health?”
“I’ve been well, Prime Warden.” Darien took another sip, savoring the taste. The coffee was strong but not overpowering. It was also very hot; the cup felt wonderful in his hands after the chill of Vintgar’s ice warren.
Renquist nodded. “I hear you returned the River Nym to its proper course. That was no small feat. Tell me, Darien. How did you accomplish such a miracle?”
Darien winced internally at Renquist’s choice of words. It was no miracle. His actions had been stupidly reckless. That or attempted suicide; he wasn’t sure which.
“I found a way to use the Onslaught while shielding my mind from the vortex.” He didn’t bother to elaborate. He just hoped Renquist would let it go at that. He waited, gazing down into his cup at the patterned swirls of cream.
The Prime Warden seemed to accept his answer. Raising his own cup, he said, “And what is the state of Vintgar’s Circle of Convergence?”
Darkrise Page 10
