The Complete Rhenwars Saga: An Epic Fantasy Pentalogy

by M. L. Spencer

  He turned back toward Kyel, a smile on his face as he gestured at the boulder. “I see you found my rock.”

  “Your rock?” Kyel raised his eyebrows.

  Darien nodded as he sat, bringing a knee up to his chest and leaning back. Kyel had to admit, he did look comfortable there.

  “I come here often. It’s a good place to sit, to think, if you’ve a mind to be alone.”

  Kyel winced. That was exactly what he’d been doing, though he didn’t want to admit it.

  “Have you given any more thought to my offer?” the mage asked.

  Kyel opened his mouth but then closed it again, not knowing what to say. Other than his move to the top of the keep, there had been no mention of the test Darien had given him so many days ago. In fact, he hadn’t brought it up once, not until now. Kyel had been starting to wonder if maybe the Sentinel had forgotten all about it.

  Kyel shrugged. “I’ve been trying not to.”

  Darien seemed to accept his answer. He brought his hand up to the side of his face, stroking the stubble on his cheek as his eyes grew distant in thought. He sat there for a moment in silence as a breath of wind stirred his hair.

  Summoning his courage, Kyel asked, “How did you feel when you became an acolyte?”

  Darien’s gaze remained inward as he replied, “It was different for me. Both my parents were mages. Aerysius was in my blood. When I passed Consideration, it came as no shock.”

  Kyel nodded. “What was it like, growing up there?”

  “I’ve no idea,” Darien replied. “I wasn’t raised there. I lived my entire childhood in the Vale. My brother and I were fostered out to a widow who lived down the mountain in Amberlie.”

  To Kyel, that seemed strange. From what he knew from his father, it was not uncommon for mages to have families, even large ones.

  As if sensing his question, Darien explained, “My father was a Sentinel, so he wasn’t around much to raise us. And my mother was elected Prime Warden shortly after I was born, so she never had the time.”

  Kyel’s eyes widened. Throughout history, the Prime Wardens of Aerysius had always been the highest authority in the Rhen. Even kings and queens knelt at their feet, though to the rest of the world they remained somewhat a mystery.

  In an attempt to lighten the conversation, Kyel asked, “So you’ve a brother?”

  The sudden change that came over Darien’s face was not what Kyel had been expecting. In the second before the mage averted his eyes, Kyel got a glimpse of the same, haunting shadows he’d seen the night Darien had tested him. Of course, he thought stupidly. Darien’s brother was doubtlessly dead, killed in the tragedy that had befallen Aerysius.

  “I’m sorry,” Kyel told him sincerely. “I ought to have thought.”

  But Darien bowed his head, dark strands of hair falling forward to shroud his face. In a tone as dead as the heritage of his home, he explained, “It was my brother Aidan who opened the Well of Tears.”

  Kyel could only stare straight ahead, struck utterly speechless. Now he knew the impetus that fueled the storm that raged behind the Sentinel’s eyes. Darien had lost everything he’d ever known and ever loved, all at the hands of his own brother. What could anyone say to that?

  He whispered, “What are you going to do?”

  Darien looked up, the expression on his face so intense that Kyel drew back involuntarily. In starkly lethal tones, the mage answered, “I’m going to kill him.”

  Kyel stared at him hard for a minute. “What about your Oath?”

  Darien just shrugged. An awkward silence followed. Finally, he turned back to Kyel. “Want to go for a ride?” There was a reckless glint in his eyes.

  The suggestion had come from out of nowhere, and Kyel had no idea what Darien’s purpose might be. He was getting the impression he might know the Sentinel for a hundred years and still never understand the man.

  “That sounds good,” he agreed. But then he thought about it. “Under one condition: I want my own horse this time.”

  Darien’s smile reassured him. For once, even the shadows seemed gone from his eyes.

  Kyel waited at the steps of the keep while Darien went off to make arrangements. When the mage returned, Kyel was dismayed to see he was once again wearing his cloak and had strung the harness of his sword over it. He found himself feeling a little disappointed. He’d enjoyed the scant moments he’d spent with Darien dressed in the clothes of a normal man. The cloak had a power of its own, and Kyel found it distancing.

  They walked together down to a paddock hidden below the keep and selected their mounts under the watchful eyes of the sentries. Kyel chose a light riding horse, unlike the black beast that neighed and trotted up as Darien slipped through the fence.

  The last time he’d seen the warhorse, the animal had been stretched out in the ravine, looking little better off than dead. But when Darien had the gelding saddled and swung himself over its back, the horse picked its legs up smartly and tossed its head, making immediately for the gate without any prompting from its rider. Kyel mounted his own horse and followed after.

  The path they travelled wound around the mountainside, following the curve of the slope. After about two leagues, the trail narrowed and then disappeared. Looking back, Kyel could barely make out the tower of Greystone Keep, a shadowy silhouette against the pale flickers of light in the clouds. The wind was starting to pick up. He pulled his cloak more tightly about himself.

  They rode up into a narrow ravine between two great legs of the mountain. The farther they went, the deeper the shadows settled around them. Kyel found himself growing a little unsettled by the intense quiet of the place.

  Darien brought his horse to a stop and glanced up to inspect the ridges surrounding them. At last, seeming satisfied, he let his mount move slowly forward.

  Kyel didn’t like this place. He was starting to wonder why Darien had brought him there. Then a sudden, horrible feeling swept over him, like a terrible shiver of dread.

  Kyel jerked back on the reins, eyes widening. He felt the skin on the back of his neck prickle. The feeling was like nothing he had ever experienced. It was as though something important had just been yanked away, as if a necessary and significant part of the world had been suddenly withdrawn. Only, he had no idea what had happened.

  “You feel it,” Darien said, studying Kyel’s face.

  “Aye, I feel it. It’s vile.”

  Kyel rubbed his arms, trying to scrub away the disturbing feeling. Darien didn’t appear to be affected by the sensation. His eyes turned back to trace the folds of the mountain slopes. Without looking at him, he said flatly:

  “Most men can’t.” He brought his hand up in a sweeping gesture, indicating the area around them. “This is a node. It’s a place where the lines of the magic field come together in parallel direction but opposite in energy and cancel out. What you’re feeling is the complete absence of the magic field in this place.”

  Kyel felt horrified as the impact of the mage’s words sank in. “So, you’re saying I’ve always been able to feel it, and this is what it’s like when it’s gone?”

  Darien nodded. Kyel felt himself shivering. He did not like it there. He wanted to go back. But Darien urged his horse forward with the pressure of his legs, taking them deeper into the node. The feeling of dread intensified.

  “You knew this was here,” Kyel accused. “That’s the reason why you brought me. You wanted me to feel this place.” Suddenly, a new thought occurred to him, and the sensation of dread in his stomach took a nauseating, downward plunge. “You’re powerless here.”

  Again Darien nodded, eyes sweeping upward to examine the slopes of the canyon. But when he turned back, there was a small, sad smile on his face. “Like any other man.”

  Kyel reached for the comfort of his bow, caressing the soft wood that hung from his shoulder. How could the mage just sit there on his horse, gripped in the terrible absence of the magic field, knowing how dangerous it was for him to even be in this plac
e? But then he realized Darien was by no means as easy about it as he seemed. His gaze kept shifting back to the rocks as if scouring them. The shadows had once again returned to haunt his eyes.

  “I want to go,” Kyel urged. “This place is … foul.”

  Darien looked as if he agreed. Bringing his mount around, he turned it back in the direction they had come. As they started downward again, Kyel asked, “Why did you bring me here?”

  “I think you know the answer. Consider it your first lesson.”

  Kyel had figured that. The mage had wanted him to get a taste of what he truly was. He’d never even known that he could sense the presence of the magic field, not until it had been completely and utterly withdrawn. As they moved out from under the influence of the node, Kyel breathed a sigh of relief. The world felt abruptly … normal.

  But now that he knew what it was and what it felt like, he could suddenly sense the magic field stirring, flowing around him like the currents of a river. There was nothing strange or foreign about the sensation. It was something he’d always known, all throughout his entire life. He had just simply never recognized it.

  Darien stopped his horse and dismounted on the other side of the boundary. Kyel followed suit, letting his mount move away from him with its head to the ground, trying to forage for grass in the barren dirt. He followed as Darien wandered back in the direction of the node, then stood with his hand out, indicating that he wanted Kyel to walk back through the boundary one more time.

  He didn’t want to. But he did.

  Again, Kyel felt that dreadful sensation of loss, as if part of the world had suddenly faded completely. This time, he was prepared for it, and the transition was not quite so shocking. It was as if there had been a quiet cadence in his mind, and now that rhythm was lost.

  As he reemerged, he could feel the pulse coming back.

  “Do you still deny your ability?”

  Kyel cast a dispirited glance at the mage, wishing that he could. “No.” Darien had made his point all too well.

  The Sentinel nodded, his expression enigmatic. He walked away a few paces toward the crest of the hill. His cloak played out behind him in the breeze as he stood gazing down at the pass, a black silhouette against the flickering sky.

  Kyel found himself staring at the mage’s profile, wondering if it would ever be possible for himself to cast such a similar, imposing portrait. He was a merchant by trade, a woodworker by choice, and now he was an archer in truth and not just in name. Where a mage’s craft fit into that picture, Kyel could not begin to guess.

  “I need an answer, Kyel.”

  Kyel brought his hands up to rub his eyes. He already knew what his answer was going to be. But it was not going to be easy, bringing that decision into reality by giving it a voice. Darien was looking at him. Waiting. Kyel lowered his eyes.

  “All right, then. Yes.”

  He kept his gaze lowered as he heard Darien’s footsteps approaching. He was trembling uncontrollably, the bow in his hand quivering in his grip. The approaching footsteps stopped before him, and Kyel at last found the courage to look up.

  “I need you to know what you’re committing yourself to,” Darien Lauchlin said. “You must be certain of this decision. Your heart must be entirely in this, or I’m wasting my time.”

  Kyel found himself wanting more than anything to reject the man’s offer. But he knew that was impossible. He had never been able to deny someone in need. And he couldn’t think of another time in his life when he’d ever been needed more. He couldn’t bring himself to look into Darien’s eyes and tell the man no.

  “I’m certain.”

  “Kyel.” The way the Sentinel said his name made him shiver even harder. Holding his gaze intensely, Darien warned him, “You will not find me an easy master. There is a saying at the School of Arms in Auberdale I learned a long time ago: ‘What hurts, teaches.’ I find that applies to most lessons in life. I won’t go easy on you just because I’ve taken you into my confidence as a friend. In truth, I might be harder on you because of it.”

  It was no more than Kyel had expected. His father had told him of the harsh burdens and constraints placed upon new acolytes. He didn’t know if he would be up to Darien’s demands, but he did know that he had it within himself to try.

  “I understand,” he said, forcing himself to look up into the Sentinel’s face.

  Darien said, “I must ask you to repeat the vow every acolyte of Aerysius swore before they were ever admitted to the Hall of the Watchers. The Hall no longer exists, but its ways are all I know.”

  Kyel said nothing as Darien reached out and grasped his left wrist. His grip was firm, almost painful. Kyel could feel the circulation in his hand compromised by the pressure of it. As if in a dream, Kyel found himself repeating every word the mage uttered, his lips moving slowly to form the syllables as their grim significance imprinted itself on his mind:

  “I swear to exist only to serve the land and its people.

  With my life, if possible. If not, then by death.”

  When he was finished, Darien removed his fingers from his wrist. Instantly, Kyel felt a flood of warmth moving back into his hand as the blood flow returned to it. Kyel raised his arm, half expecting to find a red welt there from the pressure of the man’s strong fingers.

  But instead of a welt, Kyel found a glistening, metallic chain engraved into the flesh of his left wrist. He stared down at the ancient symbol, terrified by its implications.

  14

  Friends and Enemies

  A shout from below awakened Darien from sleep. He shot up out of his blankets and scooped up his sword. Taking the steps two at a time, he followed them down to the hall. There, he found the men gathered around an injured scout who had been laid out on the floor. The man’s chest was heaving for breath, his blood quickly spreading across the wood slats.

  “The Enemy,” he gasped. “Tens of thousands…”

  Kyel flinched at the sound of Garret Proctor’s fist smashing down on the oak table, jolting the entire piece of wood. But it was Sutton Royce who took up his argument for him, striding forward and raging into Darien’s face:

  “You have no choice!”

  Darien glared back at him, fists clenched in rage. He growled at Royce, “What gives you the right—”

  Proctor interrupted him. “He doesn’t have the right. But I do.”

  Kyel had always thought the force commander was an imposing man with a daunting presence. But at the moment, he looked positively dangerous. The side of his face twitched as he rounded on Darien, lashing out at him in scathing tones, “Whatever else you might be, while you remain at my keep, you are subject to my authority.”

  “You have no authority over me,” the Sentinel contradicted him coldly.

  “You better believe I do.” Proctor glowered dangerously. “If I decide right now to have you dragged down to the yard and thrashed, there’s not a damned thing you could do about it. Unless it’s your intention to abuse your precious Oath?”

  Darien stood regarding him silently for a moment then turned, stalking in the direction of the stairs. “Come, Kyel.”

  Kyel hesitated. He didn’t want to follow him. But Darien was standing at the opening of the steps, waiting. So Kyel gathered his bow and shouldered his pack, taking his place at his master’s side.

  Before the mage had a chance to take one step, Devlin Craig called out to stop him. “Darien, we number less than a thousand men!”

  Darien glared back at him. “And I am but one man. No one seems to understand that. Even if I did forsake my Oath, what do you expect me to do against tens of thousands?” To Proctor, he added, “You need an army, not a mage. Whatever happened to those birds you sent to Auberdale?”

  The force commander’s eyes narrowed even more than they already were. “Faukravar sends his regards, but regrets he has no men to spare us at this time.”

  “You’re the only hope we have,” Craig implored.

  Darien dropped his gaze
to the floor. “Then there is no hope.”

  Darien’s words still echoed in his ears as Kyel followed the Sentinel down the steps to the bottom of the tower. As he stepped through the door of the keep and into the dark morning, his emotions were so jumbled and confused that he didn’t even know which one dominated. He thought, perhaps, it was fear. He knew it ought to be.

  “Where are we going?”

  Darien gestured with a nod of his head, off in the direction of the slopes below the keep. “The last place they’ll think to look for us: the node. Royce is a good tracker, but I should have a few hours of peace to sort this out.” He took a deep breath. “Round up some supplies. I’ll fetch the horses.”

  Kyel moved to comply, wishing that Darien would have picked any other place in the whole world.

  Royce stood atop the battlements of Greystone’s tower, eyes following the two horses that slipped down the trail and across a dark, barren meadow. The captain’s gaze stayed fixed on the black shadow of the warhorse until it finally disappeared over the ridge behind the keep. Then he let his gaze drift heavenward. Above, thick clouds drifted across the sky, heavy with rain and sagging against the tall peaks of the Shadowspears.

  Royce heard a soft rustling sound beside him as Garret Proctor shifted his weight. The commander’s left hand was resting on an embrasure, his right hand fingering the hilt of the ebony knife at his side. As Royce’s eyes followed the path of the clouds, the force commander maintained a harsh scrutiny of the hills behind his fortress. Without looking up, he said in a half-whisper:

  “You know what you have to do.”

  Royce bowed his head deeply.

  Proctor’s voice continued, as cold and merciless as the mountains themselves. “Make certain the boy is touching him when he dies.”

  Rain began to fall. It came on slowly at first, just a damp, tentative mist that clung to Kyel’s face and collected in glistening beads on the backs of his hands. Then light droplets started falling from the clouds, coming down erratically all around them. The raindrops grew heavier, fatter, until the clouds seemed to just open up and disgorge the weight of their water onto the thirsty flanks of the Shadowspears. A great rumble of thunder rolled expansively in the distance, dampened only by the whistle of the wind.