The Complete Rhenwars Saga: An Epic Fantasy Pentalogy

by M. L. Spencer

  He scooped up a bowl of millet gruel on the way to the command tent, throwing back his head and trying to hold his breath as he swallowed it down. The clumps stuck in his throat, making him gag. He couldn’t finish it.

  Not knowing what else to do with the bowl, he handed it off to a soldier who sat alone at a campfire looking hungry. The man took one look at his cloak, another at the bowl in his hands, then tossed it on the ground.

  Kyel tried not to let the soldier’s display of resentment get his temper up. It was galling, though, the way these men were always staring at him. Before Aerysius’ fall, a black cloak had commanded immediate respect wherever it was seen. Now a mage’s cloak seemed more like a badge of iniquity. Somehow, when this was over, he was going to have to work at changing that.

  Kyel arrived at the command tent to find Swain already there, waiting beside his horse. The captain didn’t look like he’d gotten much sleep either. Kyel greeted him sullenly.

  “Is she coming?” Swain asked.

  Kyel nodded. At least, he hoped Naia hadn’t changed her mind. He shivered. It was a bitterly cold morning, and the wind was coming up. Freshly fallen snow covered most of the blackened ground, except in places where men had trampled through it, reducing the fine white powder to ashen-gray sludge. The sky was still overcast, the sun only a pale glow. Looking up, Kyel wondered if it might not snow again before the day was through. That would be just their luck, to get mired in a blizzard.

  He heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Darien approaching. The mage looked a little better than he had the previous night, but there was still a pall of gloom lingering about him. He was dressed all in black with his hair tied back for once, the hilt of his sword protruding over his shoulder. Somehow, he had found himself a new black cloak to wear, though Kyel doubted there would be a Silver Star on the back of it.

  His attention was drawn to the thanacryst that followed at the Sentinel’s heels. The creature jogged along with its tongue hanging out, drooling avidly. Kyel averted his eyes in disgust.

  Darien stopped in front of Swain, slouching, his eyes downcast. That wasn’t like him at all. Just yesterday, he had been trudging around the camp shooting glares at Swain. Now it seemed he couldn’t look the captain in the eyes.

  Swain put his hands on his hips. “Just out of curiosity, have you thought about how we’re going to get up there?”

  Darien nodded, hand tensing on the leather strap of the baldric slung across his chest. “We’ll need to go through the Gap of Amberlie. After that, there’s only one way up the mountain. We climb.”

  The blademaster appeared exceptionally unconvinced. “That’s a three thousand foot cliff, Darien.”

  The mage shrugged. “We’ll take the stairs.”

  Swain cast a glaring stab of doubt at him. “I was captain of the guard there for nine years. I don’t remember any stairs.”

  “Do you recall the system of passages beneath the city?”

  The captain nodded.

  “Aidan showed them to me. We used to go down there sometimes when we were both still acolytes. We got along occasionally, if you can imagine it. There’s a stair that goes all the way down inside the mountain and comes out somewhere at the base. Aidan told me about it. He used it all the time.”

  “So you don’t know where this stair comes out?”

  “No. But I’ll know it when I see it. It’s the only way.”

  With a surge of excitement, Kyel threw his pack down on the ground and started rifling through the contents, his fingers at last closing around the leather cover of Treatise on the Well. Righting himself, he flipped the book open to the page he’d marked with a folded piece of parchment that had completely slipped his mind.

  “Here.” He stuffed the paper into Darien’s hand.

  As Darien looked down at it, Kyel thrust the text at him, as well. “And here’s this book you wanted so badly. You never even asked me for it.”

  Darien refused the book with a shake of his head, gazing down at the map in his hand. “I have no need of it,” he grumbled absently. “You’re the one who’ll be sealing the Well, not me. Wait. Where did you come by this?”

  Kyel felt a surge of resentment. “I found it in a text down in the vaults. I was supposed to be researching ways to help us, remember?”

  Darien ignored him, eyes poring over the map in his hands. He whispered, “This is exactly what I need.”

  Kyel nodded, feeling smug as Darien continued his fervent examination of the map. The mage stood there for minutes, just staring down at it, eyes scouring the page. Then, at last, he let his hands drop, fingering the parchment as he turned to glance behind them with a bewildered expression.

  In a voice just as slack and stunned as his face, he said, “The entrance is on this side of the mountains. It’s just behind Orien’s Finger.”

  Kyel glanced up at the blackened rock pillar, his face doing an unintentional imitation of Darien’s. “It couldn’t be.” His gaze darted to the line of the Craghorns jutting away into the distance. “The Vale’s yet leagues from here. Isn’t that Aerysius over there?”

  He pointed at a bank of clouds that hung against a jagged line of tall peaks. To his eyes, the gray gloom of the thunderheads seemed to be tinged distinctly, unnaturally green. Seeing Darien’s slight nod, Kyel stared even harder at the summit beneath the cloudbank. It was leagues to the north, beyond even the Gap of Amberlie.

  “We’ll place our trust in your map,” Darien muttered, a strange expression on his face as he folded the paper back up, running his fingers along the crease.

  Kyel wondered what thought had occurred to him. Before he could ask, he was distracted by the sound of an approaching horse. He looked up to see Naia leading her small roan mare across the field toward them.

  The priestess was dressed for travel, a coat thrown over her white gown. She wore a new veil he had never seen, one that glimmered with hundreds of tiny crystals worked into the fabric. She smiled as she saw them. But her expression wilted as her eyes sought Darien.

  The mage turned to Swain with a look of fury. To Kyel, he seemed ready to reach for the blade at his back.

  “No.”

  If Kyel hadn’t heard it, he would never have believed it possible that one simple word could be infused with such resentment. Darien took a threatening step toward the captain, looking like a wolf moving in for the kill. Kyel could see Swain’s hand drawing slowly toward his sword as the air around Darien fairly crackled with blue energies.

  The captain stated firmly, “That’s the condition. Either she comes, or we’re not doing this at all.”

  Kyel backed away a step as the strange energies that writhed over Darien’s body condensed into a brilliant aura that completely enveloped him. With a cry, Kyel threw his hands up to cover his eyes from the intensity of the light. The air itself seemed disturbed, a whistling wind that ripped at his hair and tormented his cloak.

  “Darien,” Naia called over the sound of the wind, “Is this truly your wish?”

  The brilliant light collapsed into glowing filaments that wavered for a moment in the air before burning out completely. Where the light had just been, now only the Sentinel remained. He stood with his head bowed, eyes focused dimly at the ground between his boots.

  “Damn you, Swain.”

  Without looking up, he moved away toward the horse pickets, shoulders slouched and feet scraping the ground with every step. When he was gone, the captain let out a slow, lingering breath.

  “That was close.”

  40

  Absolution

  Darien let the black warhorse pick its own path toward the west. Ahead, Orien’s Finger looked nothing more than a cracked and blackened log dug up from the ashes of an abandoned fire pit. Its summit had slipped even further off its charred pedestal than he remembered and had twisted slightly askew. Someday soon, the entire mass of broken rock was going to come crumbling down.

  Darien looked toward the green glow above dead Aerysius. He tried
to dredge up a picture in his mind of that terrible pillar of light, but the image was dim and bleary. It had been months since he’d last seen it, stabbing into the foundations of the ruined city like a spike through the heart.

  Then, the sight of the gateway had terrified him. But now he was almost eager to view that dreadful column of power again, anxious for the promise of release the gateway could afford him. He gazed ahead toward the bank of storm clouds that hung over the jagged mountain peaks, a look of distant yearning in his eyes.

  He was finally going home.

  The sound of hoofbeats made him aware that a horse was drawing up alongside his. Not in the mood for conversation, Darien turned to glare at whoever had the temerity to invade the one, small moment of privacy he had claimed for himself. Expecting either Kyel or Swain, he was surprised to find himself glaring at Naia instead. His anger diffused instantly. Feeling ashamed, he glanced away.

  “Can we talk?”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her peering at him through the sheer fabric that covered her face.

  “I don’t know what there is to talk about,” he muttered in reply.

  “Stop it.”

  The ferocity of her words took him aback. He almost pulled his horse up as he turned to look at her. Naia’s dark eyes were filled with resentment, her cheeks red with ire that could be seen even through the mist of glittering crystals before her face.

  “Stop trying to intentionally hurt me,” she told him. “It’s unkind. And it’s not getting you anywhere.”

  As always, she had seen right through his walls as if they were made of glass. To her, his defenses were as thin as the translucent drape of fabric she always wore. She was becoming expert at tearing right through them, rendering him naked and exposed.

  He didn’t know what to say to her. He rode in silence, trying to ignore her presence. It was impossible. He longed for her, missing her company more now that she was here, riding at his side, than when he had thought her leagues away in Glen Farquist. He let his gaze trail back to the light of the gateway in the clouds above Aerysius, thirsting for the comfort of its promise.

  Softly, she said, “I know what you’re trying to do. You think that by distancing me, you can protect me. But you’re wrong. You have a lot of audacity if you think you are responsible for my feelings. You are not. You have no right to treat me this way. What you’re doing is cruel. And it hurts.”

  She was right, of course. She had looked into his soul and seen for herself the bleakness that was there. Why wasn’t she riding away? She was still there, still at his side. And she was waiting for a response, he realized.

  He had no idea what to tell her that wouldn’t hurt her more.

  “Talk to me,” Naia insisted. “You owe me at least the truth.”

  He didn’t know what version of the truth she wanted to hear.

  “Do you care for me, Darien?”

  He whispered softly, “Aye.”

  “Look at me.”

  It was hard. Naia’s eyes were more beautiful than ever, burning with a fierce compassion he hadn’t earned and would never deserve.

  “I love you. And I forgive you,” she said.

  It was the last thing in the world he wanted to hear. Kicking his heels into the Tarkendar’s sides, Darien sent the warhorse forward at a gallop.

  Kyel’s eyes followed the sight of the black gelding racing ahead, feeling a fresh swell of resentment. He regretted asking Naia to come. He should have left her behind with her votive candles and her goddess. Her presence didn’t seem to be making a bit of difference anyway. Rather, it seemed to be having the opposite effect. Naia’s company seemed to be instilling in Darien an even deeper melancholy.

  The ruined crag towered over them, its shadow obscured by the gloom that still hung overhead in the sky. Looking ahead, he saw Darien’s horse disappearing behind the dark column of stone.

  When Kyel’s own mount finally trotted around the circumference of the pillar, he found Darien sitting cross-legged in the snow, staring upward at the shattered summit. The hideous creature he’d adopted sat beside him. Kyel felt like uttering a choice word from Swain’s extensive vocabulary of curses. Had Darien done nothing in the time he’d been there? Dismounting, Kyel scowled as he led his horse up behind him, further embittered by the fact that his arrival went completely unacknowledged. Darien still sat there, staring up at the sky, eyes dark and distant.

  “Well?” Kyel demanded.

  He glanced around at the curving walls of the small valley, finding nothing but burnt and ruined stone. If there had ever been a stair, it was gone now. The full force of the grand resonance had hit this area the hardest of all. Still, the mage just sat staring up at the dilapidated pillar, unblinking.

  Kyel wanted to throttle him.

  But then Darien stood up and lifted his hands as if trying to hold some enormous weight. Kyel felt a sudden surge of fear as he realized what the Sentinel was readying himself to do. He turned to find Naia and Swain approaching on their horses.

  “Go back!” he yelled.

  The captain frowned at him for the briefest moment then followed Darien’s gaze upward to the summit of the crag. Eyes widening, he leaned over and grabbed the reins from Naia’s hand, swinging both horses around and sprinting away.

  The entire summit of Orien’s Finger shuddered, rock and debris raining down. Kyel threw his arms up to cover his head as, with a horrible, grating noise, the broken mass of stone twisted on its pedestal, righting itself. The summit shifted forward, grinding as it slid slowly back into place. Kyel looked up, dropping his arms as he realized that not so much as a grain of dust had touched him.

  Darien was not yet finished with his work. He was still staring upward, concentration bent on the column overhead. He extended the first two fingers of his left hand, angling them upward toward the restored cap of stone. White light burned, hissing, along the crack in the rock face. The stone melted from within, running outward from the crack and reforming again whole.

  When it was done, Darien lowered his hand. Kyel stared in wonder, realizing he hadn’t even broken a sweat. How many tons of rock had Darien shifted, using nothing more than the force of his mind? And he made it look so effortless. Kyel couldn’t even think about performing such a feat himself. It was inconceivable. As he stared up at the intact pillar of stone, he found himself wondering why Darien had performed the task at all.

  When he asked, the mage just shrugged, replying, “I needed to know the time.”

  Kyel stared at him blankly as Darien sat back down in the snow and stared out across the canyon.

  That’s all he did for another hour. Only, this time, the mage’s attention was focused at the cliff walls behind. Kyel stared at them until he had their every feature seared into his mind, but he saw nothing to warrant such scrutiny. So he paced, growing increasingly impatient, as Naia and Swain stood silently looking on.

  It was getting frustrating, and every time he asked Darien what he was doing, the Sentinel would only reply, “Just wait.”

  At last, Darien stood back up from the ground. His pants were soaked through from the snow, but he went through the motions of dusting them off anyway. The thanacryst bounded to his side, jumping up and pawing at his shirt. Darien whispered something to it that Kyel didn’t catch, and the thing lowered itself to its haunches and sat there, panting like a dog. To his disgust, Darien reached out and ran a hand fondly through its wet, matted fur in praise.

  “What now?” Kyel demanded.

  “Just wait.” Darien turned away and stared up into the sky.

  A gust of wind rose from behind him. It increased in strength until it blew over the valley with the force of a gale. Above, the gray clouds moved quickly by overhead, increasing their speed until it seemed they crossed the sky at an impossible rate. Gradually, a break formed between the thunderheads to reveal blue sky between.

  Kyel stared in amazement at the golden beams of sunlight that slanted down from the gap in the cl
ouds, even as the air around him remained dark and chill. He was almost afraid; the whole scene reminded him too much of Black Solstice. But then he realized the darkness that encased them didn’t come from some dread power blotting out the daylight. It was the shadow cast by Orien’s Finger, revealed only now by the dramatic appearance of the sun.

  The wind stopped. Overhead, the clouds ceased their motion as Darien turned and walked toward the blistered cliffs, following the dark shadow cast by the crag. He paced up the exact center of the broad line drawn across the ground, stopping only when he came to the blackened wall of rock. There, he muttered something under his breath that Kyel couldn’t hear.

  But something heard him.

  Above his head, the outline of a marking glowed from the seared rock of the cliff face, glistening with a golden light. The rock ahead of them dissolved, a dark opening appearing in its place. In the dim light beneath the shadow of Orien’s Finger, Kyel could just make out the beginning of stairs angling upward into the cliff.

  “I’ll be damned,” Swain muttered, staring ahead.

  Darien glared at him.

  They had to leave the horses behind. Darien had a hard time turning away from the Tarkendar. Craig had given him that horse. Watching the black gelding wander away with its nose to the wind, he felt almost as if he was giving up the last part of his old friend that still remained. But there was no other choice, so he shouldered the weight of his pack and, collecting Naia’s without asking, turned toward the darkness of the opening he’d created.

  As soon as the sole of his boot found the first step, he knew something about it was peculiar. The step didn’t seem formed of solid rock, but rather of a strange, spongy material. It was almost like stepping off the ground onto a cloud. When he reached the fourth step, he was hit by an intense revelation.

  “Kyel.” He whirled around, searching desperately back through the opening. But he could see no trace of his former acolyte, or any of the others. He waited. Presently, Naia came through. Then Swain. It was strange. The opaqueness of the opening reminded him of the entrance to the Catacombs. It might have been the same, peculiar spell. Kyel appeared, looking past him into the darkness beyond.