Kyel stared at him in shock.
“Yes, I do,” he gasped. “She’s here?”
When Alexa hadn’t returned, he’d just assumed she’d been slain by Darien’s necrators. And while he was grateful that she had saved his life, Kyel hadn’t mourned her. Her appearance in Rothscard was all too coincidental and disturbing. Why hadn’t she returned to him in Glen Farquist? And how had she arrived in the city ahead of him? Far too many questions still surrounded Alexa for Kyel’s liking.
“She’s here,” Swain confirmed. “I had her arrested and taken to the Citadel. I don’t like what I can’t explain, and I like it even less when my city is under siege.”
“I understand.” Kyel said. “I would like to speak with her.”
“I’ll take you to her.”
Kyel rose from his seat. Queen Romana stood and took him by the hand. She said with a smile, “You have grown so much since the first time we met. More than I would have ever imagined possible. You have become every inch a Sentinel, Kyel Archer.”
Kyel felt certain it was by far the greatest compliment he’d ever received, and he knew he should feel proud. Two months ago, he would have. But too many events had transpired since. Instead of feeling bolstered by Romana’s words, they only served to make him feel saddened.
Because the Queen was wrong. What she sensed in him was not confidence. It was simply resignation.
30
Legacies
The encampment of the Malikari legions sprawled across the plains, beginning at the banks of the River Nerium and extending in every direction to the distant horizons. Thousands upon thousands of tents pitched in orderly rows radiated outward like the spokes of a wheel from the center of camp. In the far distance, the walls of Rothscard gleamed a bloody red, reflecting the saturated colors of the sunset. Black smoke billowed from the city, roiling overhead like heavy storm clouds.
Darien ordered his Tanisars to pitch their tents on the western margin of the encampment, then continued on to the command tent with Azár and a small retinue of Zakai. At the sight of their small group, men and women ran forward to line their passage, shouting and cheering and shaking weapons in the air. What surprised Darien most were the long rows of tethered horses that had been assimilated into the encampment. Apparently, the horse lords of the plains had honored their commitment.
They found the command tent abuzz with uniformed officers trickling in and out of the pavilion’s entrance. A spectacularly garbed man with a tall plume on his hat intercepted them, then ducked aside to confer quietly with Sayeed in the language of the clans. After a short moment, Sayeed nodded and returned to Darien, his expression concerned.
“Your presence is requested within. You are to enter alone.”
Darien frowned, wondering which warlord would be arrogant enough to greet his arrival with demands. Nevertheless, he raised his hand, cautioning Sayeed and Azár to remain outside. Whoever it was that awaited within, he wanted to confront them alone. His pregnant wife need not look on.
Darien followed the officer into the pavilion. Lining the walls were men and women who immediately clamored to their feet and, bowing, streamed out of the tent. A group of officers leaning over the map table turned and, upon marking his arrival, shifted their gazes to the floor. They filed past him, avoiding his eyes on their way out. Even Darien’s plumed escort didn’t remain long. The man bowed deeply then took his leave, untying the tent flaps from the support posts and letting the fabric fall. Soon, the entire pavilion stood dim and empty.
Only, it was not.
There was a rustle on the other side of the tent’s partition. Darien turned, stiffening with suppressed tension. His hand moved to the hilt of his sword.
The partition was drawn back to admit two men—the only two men in the world whose very presence made Darien’s nerves prickle. Without hesitation, he went to his knees and bowed forward, pressing his forehead against the rugs, his palms beside his face. He remained there, unmoving, until the rustle of robes told him both men had taken a seat. Time dribbled forward, marked only by the ebb and flow of his breath.
At last, a deep and familiar voice announced, “You may rise.”
Darien pushed himself upright, feeling the blood drain from his face. He shifted into a cross-legged position, hands clasped in front of him. He raised his gaze slowly, hesitant to look Zavier Renquist in the eyes.
The Prime Warden regarded him for a long moment without moving. He was seated on a rug, wearing the formal blue robes and white cloak of his office. Beside him sat Cyrus Krane, ancient Prime Warden of Aerysius, and Renquist’s second-in-command. Krane’s dark eyes surveyed Darien suspiciously. The man had never liked him. He’d never thought to question why.
Renquist favored him with a fatherly smile. “Welcome, Darien. How is your health?”
Darien’s eyes ranged from one man to the other. He answered guardedly, “My health is good, Prime Warden.” His back remained stiff, his fingers locked together with rigid tension. He sensed danger in the air, and his muscles were responding.
Renquist nodded. “By all reports, you’ve done exceptionally well. You have managed to secure the whole of the North. Even the great city of Rothscard shall soon fall before us. As I predicted, you have truly become the greatest Battlemage in all of history.”
Darien bowed his head, feeling a flush of humility tempered by apprehension. “Thank you, Prime Warden.”
Again, Renquist supplied that same, fatherly smile. Darien didn’t trust it.
“Now, let us speak of recent developments.” The Prime Warden sat back and adjusted his posture. His many-stranded silver necklace shimmered in the lantern light. “I received word that Byron Connel was slain in battle. And that his talisman fell into the hands of a Sentinel. Two events which are … most unfortunate.”
Darien licked his lips, a faint shiver tingling his spine. He thought perhaps Renquist blamed him for Connel’s death. The man didn’t say it outright. Still, there was something that hung in the air between them, like a cold and threatening undercurrent.
“The information you received is accurate.” Darien looked from one Prime Warden to the other. “The Sentinel’s name is Kyel Archer. He was my acolyte.” He hesitated, unsure of how much information he should share. Too little could rouse suspicion. Too much might get him killed. “A woman who travels with Kyel taught him the use of the talisman. It is my suspicion he inherited Meiran’s legacy, which would make him eleventh tier.”
“Eleventh tier,” Renquist echoed, his voice a low rumble. Almost, Darien thought he saw a fleeting smile on the man’s face. The expression was there for only an instant, then was gone. If it had ever been there in the first place.
The Prime Warden said, “That would explain why this Sentinel was able to repulse your attack at Glen Farquist. So, Darien. What do you intend to do about him?”
Darien didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he took a moment to think over his response carefully. “Kyel’s not immune to my necrators. Or my thanacryst.”
A glint of metal on Renquist’s hand caught Darien’s attention. The Prime Warden was wearing a ring he’d never noticed before. A silver ring set with a lapis stone. And upon that stone, depicted in gold overlay, was an ancient rune, one he knew well: Dacros. The first rune in the sequence that commanded the Well of Tears.
Darien frowned at the presence of the ring, uncertain of what it meant.
Renquist’s face became very solemn. “There is one last matter to speak of. As you know, the Reversal of the magic field is nearly upon us. As things stand, we do not have much time left in this world.”
Darien gazed at the floor, not wishing to be reminded. He’d promised Azár he would find a way to save her and the child she carried. But as the days crept by, the more it became apparent he had made a promise he couldn’t keep.
“I believe there is a way to change that destiny,” Zavier Renquist said softly.
Darien’s eyes snapped up. Hope shot through him with the f
orce of a lightning strike. “How?” he gasped.
Renquist spread his hands. “There is a way to halt the Reversal, though at great expense.” His stare dug into Darien’s eyes as if boring into his soul. “Tell me. How much of yourself are you willing to sacrifice in order to save your wife and unborn child?”
Darien’s heart stopped. He gasped but couldn’t draw breath. His mind stumbled to a standstill. “Anything,” he managed, surging to his feet. “What must I do?”
Zavier Renquist rose to stand in front of him. Clasping his hands behind his back, he said in a calm voice, “A thousand years ago, we had a plan to halt the Reversal. It involved combining the might of eight Grand Masters using the eight Circles of Convergence. Hence the covenant of the Eight Servants came to be. As you know, there are no longer eight Servants. Or eight Circles of Convergence.”
He paced around the margin of the tent, circling Darien like a raptor. “But eight Grand Masters are not truly necessary. Only the vitrus of eight Grand Masters is needed.”
Shaken, Darien looked at him in incomprehension. “So we need to combine thirty-two tiers of mage-power? How can that be done?”
Renquist stopped pacing and turned to face him. “Through the Onslaught, you already have access to eight tiers. If you are correct in your guess, then this Kyel Archer has inherited eleven. That leaves us lacking only thirteen tiers. Cyrus and Quinlan each have five. All we will need, then, is three more tiers.”
Darien’s heart froze. “No.” He shook his head adamantly. “Not Azár.”
Renquist waved his hand, dismissing the idea. “Of course not. I was thinking, rather, of the former priestess who inherited half your legacy. Together, we can save the lives of every living mage. Including the lives of your wife and child.”
Darien could only stare at him, rendered speechless by a blaze of hope that was incapacitating.
Zavier Renquist smiled triumphantly. But the smile didn’t last long. His face darkened again almost immediately. “I doubt your acolyte will be willing to lay down his life willingly. You will need to dispatch him and absorb his legacy. I’ll take care of the others.”
He took a step forward. “You will be my conduit, Darien. You will absorb all thirty-two tiers of combined vitrus. And, reaching through you, I will be able to halt the Reversal.” His expression turned grim. He placed a comforting hand on Darien’s shoulder. “Of course, as a consequence, you will not live to see your child born.”
Even those words couldn’t cool the flame of hope that had ignited inside Darien. It raged like a firestorm, consuming him utterly. He retreated a step, shaking his head. “I don’t care. My life’s not important.”
Renquist gazed at him sadly. “Thank you, Darien. Know that your sacrifice will save many lives … and return the sunlight to Malikar.” He hesitated then. Dropping his gaze to the floor, he spoke in a troubled voice, “You are like a son to me, Darien. Your loss will be deeply felt.”
It sounded heartfelt. His own father had died long before Darien had reached adulthood, before he’d ever had a chance to make him proud. Zavier Renquist could never take his father’s place. Nevertheless, he felt moved by the Prime Warden’s expression of sentiment.
“Now go.” Renquist dismissed him with a wave. “Find a way to strip your acolyte of his legacy.”
“Aye, Prime Warden.” Darien effected a formal bow, bending at the waist. He turned to leave but paused, turning back. “Prime Warden, might I ask a boon?”
Renquist nodded. “Of course.”
“Please don’t speak of this matter to my wife. I don’t wish her to know.”
Compassion filled Zavier Renquist’s eyes, and he dipped his head. “Rest assured. Your wife will remain in ignorance.”
Darien bowed again, lower this time. And then he left the tent.
31
Promises and Lies
Quin opened his eyes to the bleak grandeur of never-ending darkness.
Around him, a faint green light awoke and brightened gradually, until it was vibrant enough to see by. Turning, Quin found he could make out rough granite walls to either side: a passage that curved ahead of him as it sloped downward. It took him a moment to realize he was viewing the world through the hellish light of his own damnation. Looking down at his body, he could see the diffuse green aura that surrounded him. It didn’t seem as potent as it had before.
There was a scuffing noise, and suddenly Naia was there with him. She drew up at his side, pausing as a mist of magelight crawled out of the shadows to linger at their feet. She placed a hand on his back and told him softly, “This is where we part.”
Quin glanced at her in surprise. He’d figured he’d be journeying most of the way through the Catacombs in Naia’s company. In truth, the thought of forging on alone was more than a bit unsettling.
Naia pointed to a fork in the corridor ahead that veered off to the right. “Follow that passage all the way to the end. It’s long, but you shouldn’t get lost. The exit will take you to a subbasement of the Temple of Death in Bryn Calazar.”
Quin eyed the corridor warily. “Won’t I be marked?”
Naia shrugged. “Possibly. If you are, I trust you’ll know how to deal with the situation.”
Quin stared at her sideways. “I do. I’m just shocked to hear you condoning such methods.”
She smiled at him sadly. “We’ve gone far past the point where our actions can be limited by what I condone. The stakes are far too high.”
Quin stared at her in admiration. Naia had come a long way from the woman who had once been defined by the chains on her wrists. She spoke from a place of calm practicality, in a way he found vastly alluring.
“Keep talking like that, darling, and I might never leave.”
“Be very careful, Quinlan,” she said. “That man is a monster.”
“I’m a monster, too,” he reminded her.
Naia shook her head. “No, Quin. You’re not. Maybe you once were. But not anymore.”
Looking down at the green aura that surrounded his body, Quin found himself in disagreement. But the thought fled quickly as Naia leaned in and pressed her soft lips against his. The kiss was long, and it left him dizzy and breathless.
“Go softly,” Naia whispered when they parted. “Don’t do anything that will get you killed. Again. Promise me you’ll come back.”
Quin shook his head. “I can’t make that promise.”
“Then promise me you’ll try.”
“I promise I’ll try,” he said, and leaned in to kiss her one last time. Then, settling his hat properly on his head, he turned and headed down the corridor.
Kyel followed Swain across the palace grounds to the sprawling hulk of the Citadel. There, the Prince led him down a flight of spiral steps into the dungeon beneath. It was not Kyel’s first visit to the prison, and memories of his incarceration were bleak. They walked down a long corridor lined with wooden doors, stopping before the last.
Swain leafed through an iron ring of keys, at last settling on one, and poked it into the lock. With a click, the cell door popped outward just a crack. Swain glanced sharply at Kyel, then pulled the door open the rest of the way. Kyel stepped forward and peered within.
Alexa careened into his arms. Her body smacked against him, her arms squeezing him tight enough to choke him. Kyel reached up and, taking her by the wrists, disengaged her firmly and pushed her back. Alexa stared up at him with a wounded pout. She opened her mouth to say something.
He cut her off before she could get the words out. “Why are you here? How did you get here?”
Alexa’s eyes darted to Swain then back to Kyel. She looked flustered, at a loss for words. “I don’t know how I got here,” she said frantically. “The last thing I remember was the battle. Then I woke up just outside the walls. I-I can’t explain it! I know it doesn’t make sense, but I don’t know what to think. Kyel, I’m scared.”
Kyel didn’t believe her. Every time he lowered his guard and started to trust her, Alexa in
variably did something that made his doubt spike all over again. Frustrated, he grappled with his options. He didn’t know whether to leave her in the cell or risk taking her with him. Of course, she could always get out on her own; she was a mage. If she really wanted to leave the cell, Alexa could in a heartbeat—but not without risking her Oath of Harmony.
He glanced at Swain. “Can I take her out of here?”
Swain’s eyes narrowed. “How well do you know her?”
An excellent question. Kyel had to think about it hard before realizing that he really didn’t know much about Alexa at all.
“I know her well enough,” he lied.
The Prince stared at him. Doubt was plastered on Swain’s face, and Kyel couldn’t blame him. “All right,” he growled. “I’ll release her into your custody.”
Kyel looked at Alexa, studying the expression on her face, searching for a reason to doubt her. Seeing none, he took her by the arm and let Swain guide them back out of the prison. No words were spoken as they crossed the Inner Ward back to the palace.
When they reached the entrance to the guest wing, Swain glanced at Alexa and said, “If you need me, I’ll be around.” His eyes stabbed one last, menacing threat before he turned and left.
It was not Kyel’s first stay at Emmery palace. He remembered the opulence of the guestrooms. Nevertheless, he was surprised at the size and luxury of the eight-room suite Romana had arranged for him. Kyel waited for Alexa to enter and then caught her by the arm and spun her back toward him.
“All right,” he snapped, slamming the door shut. “I want answers.”
“What?” She looked at him with a fearful expression.
“The necrators,” Kyel reminded her. “They didn’t touch you. Well, maybe they did, but they sure didn’t harm you. If anything, you harmed them. So what really happened?”
Darkfall Page 24
