The Complete Rhenwars Saga: An Epic Fantasy Pentalogy

by M. L. Spencer

  He rose and walked back in the direction he had come, making his way back toward his camp as the downpour subsided. Once there, he dug down deep in his pack, finding the clean, dry robes Renquist had provided him. Darien withdrew the folded garments, holding them out reverently in his hands. For the first time, he fully appreciated the significance of the robes. They were far more than just a gift; they were a symbol. A symbol he could no longer afford to ignore.

  He reached up and removed the brooch that held his cloak in place, letting the wet fabric fall off his shoulders. He shrugged out of his shirt, wadding it up and throwing it down in the dirt at his feet. Then he pulled the indigo robes on over his head. He trailed his fingertips over the delicate, embroidered star. So much like the emblem of dead Aerysius he had once worn at his back.

  That had been a lifetime ago, a different life.

  He wasn’t that man anymore.

  Darien returned the next day to the cave.

  He didn’t feel the same anxiety he’d felt before. Those feelings had been washed away, replaced by the calm clarity of resolve. He didn’t hesitate as he ducked inside and followed the low passage toward the back. He paused at the entrance of the room-size chamber, collecting himself as he regarded Meiran in silence.

  She was standing next to Quin, garbed in an azure pool of magelight. Darien recognized the color; it was his own legacy, passed down to Meiran through the Soulstone. Only, she had come by it legitimately. The magelight Darien wove was like a lingering reflex, only made possible by the Onslaught.

  When Meiran noticed him, Darien dropped to his knees, bending forward in the formal gesture of obeisance demanded by the office of the Prime Warden. He maintained that position, forehead pressed against the floor, palms beside his face. His mind was focused, his heart free of tension. It beat a deliberate cadence in his chest.

  “You may rise.” Her voice was rich and clear.

  Darien regained his feet with a blademaster’s grace. He reached up and drew the strap of his baldric over his shoulder, setting sword and scabbard aside. Then he turned back to Meiran with a questioning look.

  Her anxiety was visible on her face. It was obvious she could sense the change in him, and it was profound enough to give her pause. She glanced sideways at Quin before finally nodding wary permission.

  Darien approached Meiran carefully, one hand behind his back, the other held clenched at his side. When he stood in front of her, he took her hand and brought it up to his lips, pressing a kiss against her fingers in the manner of the clans.

  “Nur a’yiid,” he said. Morning’s grace. He released her hand, drawing himself up to his full height. “Thank you for receiving me.”

  Meiran gazed up at him with grave concern in her eyes. She swept her gaze over him, taking in the significance of his new garments. Her eyes lingered on the emblem on his chest. After long seconds, she asked him simply:

  “Why?”

  There were so many subtle layers of meaning woven into the various textures of that word. He didn’t know which Meiran wanted addressed. Darien stood looking at her for a moment, allowing himself one last opportunity to enjoy the sight of her. Finally, he spread his hands. “These are the formal robes of the Lyceum of Bryn Calazar. They were presented to me by Prime Warden Zavier Renquist.”

  “I know what they are,” Meiran snapped. “What I asked was, why?”

  Darien nodded, now understanding her meaning. “I decided it was important that there be no misunderstandings between us. I want you to be absolutely certain of who I am and what I stand for. And why I’m asking what I am.”

  The look on Meiran’s face didn’t falter. “So, you’ve finally picked sides, is that what you’re telling me? I take it by your choice of attire that you didn’t pick my side. Yesterday I branded you an Oathbreaker. I suppose ‘turncoat’ would be more appropriate.”

  “Call me what you like,” Darien shrugged. The barb of her insult failed to find purchase in his feelings. “Just so you’re aware, Zavier Renquist proclaimed me overlord of this region. But I want to be perfectly honest with you, Meiran. I don’t have Renquist’s permission to treat with you. Any agreement we make, I’ll take back to him with my full support and recommendation. But I can’t guarantee anything. That’s the best I can offer at this time.”

  Meiran nodded. “Then it will have to do. Please, have a seat. You’ll have my response.”

  He followed her gracefully to the floor, Quin lowering himself to his knees at his side. Darien sat cross-legged with his elbows draped over his thighs, hands clasped together in front of him.

  Meiran wore her hair up in a knot of elaborate braids. She looked every inch a Prime Warden, despite her ragged attire. Meiran, too, had armored herself for combat in her own subtle way.

  She gazed into his eyes, her expression fortified by her calm inner strength. “I thought about what you said. Here is my decision: I can’t assume the risk of opening up our borders to the Enemy and letting your hordes pour unchecked into the Rhen. For all I know, you could be lying. Your entire story might be just a ploy to slip your legions past our defenses.”

  “I speak the truth, Meiran. You of all people would know if I were lying.”

  “I know you think you’re telling the truth,” Meiran contradicted. “But what if you’re the one who’s been lied to? Have you even considered that possibility?”

  Darien shook his head. “No one is lying, Meiran. Although you’ve no idea how much I wish we were. Look. There must be some compromise we can negotiate. What if we offer to disarm? Leave our armor and armaments behind? Then we would be entirely at your mercy. That should give you some reassurance.”

  Meiran shook her head. “No. You would still have seven Unbound mages to bolster your armies.”

  Darien nodded, understanding her reservations. He didn’t know what he could offer that might alleviate the threat posed by even one Unbound darkmage. He took a moment, thinking. At last he offered warily:

  “Quin and I could surrender to you. You could use our lives as assurance against the others.”

  But Meiran wasn’t having it. “No. Renquist could just sacrifice the both of you to cut his losses.”

  Darien scowled in frustration. “If you won’t compromise at all, you’ll give us no choice but to invade.”

  “What if there’s another way?”

  Darien glanced at her sideways, eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What are you talking about?”

  Meiran raised her chin. “What if there’s a way to lift the curse over the Black Lands?”

  Darien looked at Quin. The darkmage shrugged. Apparently he, too, had no idea what Meiran was talking about. Quin cleared his throat, sitting up a little straighter. “And how, my dear, do you propose going about doing that?”

  “I don’t know,” Meiran admitted. “But I think it’s worth looking into. Don’t you?” she added, turning back to Darien.

  He shifted his posture, uncertain what to think. It almost seemed like a false trail meant to deter him from his purpose. But that wasn’t a tactic Meiran would use. He argued, “If there was a way to remove the curse, surely in a thousand years, someone would have come up with it already.”

  Beside him, Quin fidgeted. “Not necessarily…”

  Darien’s eyes probed him sharply. “What are your thoughts?”

  “Well, my first question would be, what’s causing the curse to begin with? I mean, it’s obviously not a curse; there has to be some rational explanation for it. So, what kind of force is holding the cloudcover over Malikar and darkening the sun? It’s not the Onslaught, because the clouds persist even when the Well of Tears is sealed.”

  He was right. Some other force was maintaining the cloud cover in place.

  “Then what is it?”

  Quin shrugged. “I don’t know … it’s almost as if the Onslaught enclosed Caladorn in some sort of bubble, trapping in the clouds and keeping out the light. I’m not saying that’s what it is, but it’s as good an analogy as any. So �
� what if we could pop that bubble?”

  “How do you propose doing that?”

  Quin rose to his feet. He paced away a few steps then started circling the rug as he spoke, gesturing with his hands. “The Arcanists of Aerysius were always a pathetic lot compared with those of the Lyceum. When Bryn Calazar was destroyed, many of the most powerful artifacts ever created were lost to humanity. But an even greater loss was the knowledge of how to create those artifacts in the first place. I don’t mean to brag but, in my own time, I was considered the foremost talent of my order. If there’s ever been a mage capable of challenging the curse over the Black Lands, well … that mage is me.” He stopped pacing and spread his hands.

  “All right,” Darien allowed. “What would you need?”

  “First, I’ll need access to Athera’s Crescent. And for that I’ll need a living Harbinger or Querer.”

  Athera’s Crescent. Darien had forgotten all about that ancient relic. Just the mention of it filled him with hope. Not only for Quin’s purpose, but it was also possible they might find one or more living mages educated enough to help their cause. He was thrilled with the idea, except for one part.

  “So, you’ll be needing Meiran to go with you.”

  Quin glanced back at him and nodded.

  Athera’s Crescent was an artifact so significant and complex that an entire order of mages had been dedicated to its study: the Order of Harbingers. There were no Harbingers left alive in the entire world, at least none that he was aware of. The next best thing would be a Querer such as Meiran. It had always been the Order of Querers who roamed the land, making themselves available for Query, or petition, by the populace. Most Queries involved healing. But Querers had to be prepared for almost anything, which was why they studied bits and pieces of the lore of every order. Of their number, Meiran alone would have the most knowledge of Athera’s Crescent.

  Darien turned toward her. “It’s up to you. Are you willing to support him?”

  “I think it’s the only option we have,” she responded with calm certainty.

  Darien drew in a long, slow breath. He took a moment to deliberate. At last, he said, “I can give you four months. But after that … we’ll be coming. Whether we’re invited or not.”

  Meiran rose from the ground. “Four months,” she agreed. She didn’t sound very happy about it.

  Darien followed her to her feet.

  Meiran said, “Quin, would you mind waiting outside? I’d like to speak with Darien alone.”

  Hearing that request, Darien felt his stomach tighten. The cloak of dispassion he’d adopted slipped just a fraction, like a crack in the armor of his soul. He knew what was coming; it was inevitable. He’d thought he was prepared to hear it. But he was not, he realized sadly.

  “Of course,” Quin muttered. He fumbled for his hat. Then he turned and slouched away into the shadows of the passage.

  Darien found himself alone with Meiran. He glanced down, staring at his worn leather boots. “You don’t have to say it.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Then make it quick.” He glanced off to the side, focusing his stare behind her on the wall of the cave. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her.

  Meiran gazed up at him, her arms held crossed against her chest. Her eyes were full of sadness and resolve.

  “You were once my greatest love and the father of my child. But that was before you betrayed everything we ever stood for. Now … you’ve gone somewhere I can’t follow, Darien. I will always love the man that you were. But I can no longer love the man you’ve become.”

  “You mean the monster I’ve become.”

  He pivoted and stalked away, pausing only to snatch up his sword and scabbard. Then he left her, striding briskly out of the cave.

  Meiran lingered alone in the chamber a long time after he was gone. She stood there, head bowed, heart heavy with sorrow. She didn’t cry, which surprised her. Not only did she feel the full measure of her own guilt and grief, but she also felt Darien’s, a heavy weight that pressed against her chest. Because of their link, she felt his pain just as tangibly as she felt her own. She barely noticed when Quin slipped silently back into the room. He held his hat in his hands, eyes downcast.

  “I’m terribly sorry,” he offered awkwardly, moving toward her across the floor. “It’s always hardest to cast aside those demons we love.” He paused, looking patently uncomfortable. “Which leads me to wonder … are you still coming with me? Or have you decided to forgo the pleasure of my own disreputable company?”

  Meiran regarded him silently, probing his intentions with her mind. Quinlan Reis did not seem to be hiding anything. His emotions were straightforward and reasonable.

  Meiran reached down and scooped up her pack, striding toward the entrance to the cave. “Where exactly are we going?”

  “Back to Ishara to use the transfer portal there,” Quin answered as he shouldered his own pack. “Hopefully, we can transfer directly to the Isle of Titherry. If not, gods help us, we’ll have to find another way. Which will probably involve a ship.”

  Meiran peered at him. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of water?”

  “Water? Of course not.” Quin shook his head. “But I do become atrociously seasick.”

  Meiran cast a blue swath of gleaming magelight across the floor, making her way out of the cave. Once outside, she found the world encased by mist. Thick, billowing fog roved slowly over the ground, shutting out the rest of the world.

  “How convenient,” Quin muttered. “Maybe he didn’t want a long goodbye.”

  Meiran glanced at him. It was possible the mist had been conjured, but unlikely. Darien simply wasn’t the type to cower beneath a fogbank. She let her magelight wander forward, illuminating their path down the face of the cliff. “Goodbyes have already been spoken.”

  Quin followed behind her down the path, complaining, “Well, I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye.”

  “Stop brooding.”

  “I hate to say this, but I’m having a hard time being silent.”

  “Then speak your mind,” Meiran snapped.

  The darkmage gestured with his hands as he talked and walked. “Now, I’m usually not one to judge, but looking at your situation from my lowly and contemptuous perspective, it just seems … well….”

  “Well, what?”

  “Well, it just seems to me as though you’re being rather hypocritical.”

  “Hypocritical?” she echoed, turning back to him with a look of amazement. “How so?”

  “Well, by all appearances, you just set aside a man who loves you more than anything just because his soul is damned. A situation, I’d like to point out, he got himself into because of you.”

  Meiran stopped walking, feeling a sudden heat of anger flush her cheeks. She turned back to glare her resentment at him. “That’s not fair. I never asked Darien to do what he did. Committing his soul to Chaos was his decision, not mine. I would have never asked that of him.”

  Quin spread his hands. “That’s all very well, but that doesn’t change the fact that he did it for you. How does it feel, Prime Warden, to break the heart of the same man who damned his own soul to rescue yours?”

  His words were like a slap in the face. She reeled from the sting of the insult. “That’s a disgusting oversimplification, and you know it.”

  “But it’s the truth. If you find it either simple or disgusting, then I’m sorry. The truth is often exactly what we don’t want to hear.”

  Meiran ran her eyes over him with a contemptuous look. “You really are his creature, aren’t you?”

  “Actually, Prime Warden, right now I’m doing you the favor.”

  “How so?”

  Quin set his hat back on his head. He adjusted the brim carefully until his eyes were half-hidden beneath it. “I’m trying to talk you out of a decision that you’ll likely regret for the rest of your life. However short that life may be. Why, just think of—”

  There was a loud crack fol
lowed by a thick splatter of blood. Quin’s eyes rolled back in his head as he collapsed to the ground. Before Meiran could react, his body slipped sideways, falling over the side of the embankment.

  Meiran threw herself down against the trail, bringing her hands up to ward her head even as she summoned a glowing shield around her body. Her eyes groped through the murky darkness, but the fog was like an insulating curtain, cutting her off from the rest of the world.

  “Quin!” she screamed into the shadowy ravine where his body had disappeared.

  Two dark forms emerged from out of the mist directly in front of her. Meiran scrambled away from them, surrounding herself in a protective aura of blue energies. Terror chilled her heart. There was very little she could do to protect herself. She was no Sentinel, trained in the subtle gradations somewhere between attack and defense.

  A large, bearded man reached out to catch her by the arm. She whirled away from him—into a third man standing right behind her. The grisly warrior surged forward, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her tight against him. She could smell the rank odor of his armor.

  Immediately, Meiran lashed out with the force of her mind, shoving him off her with a whiplash draft of air. At the same time, she threw up a shield, blocking the strike of the other man’s blade. She shoved him forcefully away, hurling him back against the rocks. The man with the sword lost his footing, teetering on the edge of the cliff as he groped desperately for balance.

  Meiran gasped, feeling a sudden rush of panic. She couldn’t let him go over. She couldn’t let her magic be the cause of any man’s death.

  Meiran reached out and caught her attacker by the hand, wrenching him toward her and away from the cliff’s edge. She fell backwards onto the path, the man she had saved falling on top of her with the full weight of his body. She struggled, trying to wriggle herself out from under him.