She watched as Nashir and his lady helped themselves to the steaming platters of food. It was a sumptuous variety: breads and pickles, vegetables and grains. As Meiran sat there looking on, Nashir tore off a piece of bread, which he used to dip into a bowl. He talked as he chewed, staring down into his plate.
“The last I remember of you, you were kneeling at the feet of my Master’s throne. I see that both your life and gift have been restored to you.” His eyes rose to meet hers. “I am wondering … how was this accomplished?”
Meiran glared into Nashir’s soulless eyes, watching him take another bite. He gazed at her expectantly, chewing slowly as he awaited her response. The woman at his side cast Meiran a condescending smile as she bit into a plump grape.
“I inherited Darien’s legacy through the Soulstone,” Meiran said. It was hardly a secret, and there was nothing to be gained by holding that information back.
Nashir’s thick eyebrows flicked upward in curiosity. “Impressive. All eight tiers?”
Meiran didn’t respond. She dropped her gaze to the table.
Nashir’s smile faltered. “Not all eight, then. The legacy was split.” He shared a glance with his woman as he scooped a morsel of eggplant into his mouth. “Who did you share this legacy with, I wonder?”
Meiran ignored the question, still staring down at the wood of the table before her. Her stomach growled. The smell of the food made her mouth water.
The woman leaned close to Nashir and whispered something in his ear. An affectionate smile flitted across his lips as he patted her hand. It was evident that he genuinely cared for her.
Nashir smiled proudly as he took his lady by the hand and said with a gracious smile, “I would like to introduce to you my newest apprentice, Katarya Safiye. Katarya has the potential. Alas, she lacks a living master to Transfer the gift into her. Perhaps Katarya can receive the legacy that gleams so brightly within you?” He reached up to stroke the woman’s chin, smiling deeply into her eyes.
Katarya flashed Meiran a grin full of mischief.
Nashir plunged his hands into the fingerbowl beside his plate, wiping his skin dry on a cloth. He stood and moved behind his lady’s chair, placing both hands upon her shoulders. He gazed across the table at Meiran. In a voice colored by a rich, melodic accent, he explained:
“I am the sovereign of a hungry, naked, and wretched people. It is my desire to deliver them from this state. With Katarya at my side, I intend to lead the people of Malikar out of these cold, forsaken wastes. Together, we will conquer the nations of the Rhen. We will force your monarchs to bow their heads and bend knee before us. We will show them that we are the iron race, and they will know what it is to hunger and despair.”
Meiran raised her eyebrows, directing her gaze at Nashir. “Your own Prime Warden declared Darien Lauchlin overlord of this region. You are not the sovereign of these lands you pretend to hold.”
The demon glowered, drawing himself up and placing a hand on the sheath of a bone knife he wore tucked into the sash at his waist. “I was born a thousand years ago on these very slopes, the son of a warlord who was the son of an overlord. My mother’s grandfather was Khoresh Kateem, the most glorious and ruthless conqueror in all of history. Kateem’s empire stretched from sunrise to sunset, from ocean to ocean. I was born to rule these lands. The Khazahar is mine by birthright.”
Meiran chose to ignore the danger in his eyes. She stared at him unblinking. “And, yet, your Prime Warden saw fit to invest another with these lands. That must be so humiliating.”
She had meant to bait him into a rage, forcing him to lose composure and face. Her words, however, had exactly the opposite effect. Instead of exploding in fury, Nashir Arman said nothing. He regained his seat, taking Katarya by the hand. To Meiran, Nashir’s self-possession was even more frightening than his outright anger would have been. This, she decided, was a very dangerous man.
“A ghost cannot rule,” he said finally, sitting back and taking a large goblet into his hand. “I will drink Lauchlin’s blood from his skull and feed my fires with his flesh.” He brought the goblet to his lips and took a swallow of its contents.
Meiran stared at him flatly. She knew how unwise it would be to provoke him further. But she also understood how unwise it would be not to.
“And how do you intend to do that?” she taunted with a toss of her chin. “Darien Lauchlin is far more powerful than you will ever be.”
Her words somehow brought a smile to Nashir’s face. He chuckled, a hand going to caress Katarya’s cheek. “Did you hear that, my shining moon?”
He turned back to Meiran with a look of contempt. “I was trained by the greatest masters of the most ancient school of magic this world has ever known during the most enlightened period of human history. What is a fallen Sentinel of a shattered race compared to me? In this vortex, I alone have the advantage.”
“Darien isn’t fool enough to be lured into a vortex.” Her words carried little conviction. Even as she spoke, Meiran knew she was probably wrong.
Nashir made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “He was lured into damnation for you, Meiran. My guess is Darien will chance a mere vortex.”
“He won’t,” Meiran maintained. She spared a glance at Katarya. More softly, she added, “I am nothing to him any longer.”
Nashir Arman appeared to contemplate her words. He stared deeply into Meiran’s face as he raised the goblet to his lips.
“My eyes and intuition tell me otherwise,” he said at last. He set the goblet down on the table. He extended his hand out toward Meiran, palm upward, across the table.
“Remove your necklace.”
“No.” Meiran’s hand went possessively to the silver pendant at her neck. Not once had she ever taken it off.
Nashir’s eyes flicked to the servant behind her. Before Meiran could react, an iron-clad arm slipped around her chest, bracing her back against the chair. She gasped as the silver chain was ripped away. She glared hatred at Nashir as the burly guardsman released her, necklace in hand.
“Have that delivered to Darien Lauchlin in Qul,” Nashir commanded.
The guard bowed gracefully, stepping back. He handed the necklace to a page, who fled out of the room.
Meiran stared across the table at Nashir, appalled, her mind filled with confusion and resentment. “Why would you risk the wrath of your own Prime Warden to murder another Servant?” It was irrational; it made no sense.
“Zavier Renquist doesn’t care what we do, just as long as there are Eight of us ready when the time comes. It makes no difference to him who those Eight are. My Katarya will make a fine Servant once she inherits the legacy of power trapped within you. I will enjoy watching you die,” he added with a cold smile. The woman beside him leaned forward, planting a kiss on his cheek.
For the first time since entering the fortress, Meiran felt truly afraid. Her fear wasn’t for herself. She reached down, pushing back her sleeves and baring the sparkling dual chains that were there. “Then here it is,” she taunted, her eyes daring Nashir to act. “Let her come take it.”
The darkmage cracked an amused half-grin. “Patience, little warrior. It is not yet time. For the death I have imagined for you, we require the proper setting. And the proper audience.”
21
Tangled Eternity
Darien awoke, blinking his eyes to gaze upward at a ceiling steeped in shadow. It was dismally cold in the mud-brick room. There was only one source of light: a clay oil lamp perched on a shelf that cast a pale, wavering glow with its miniscule flame. It did little to drive back the darkness.
He lay on his back on a thin mat covered by his cloak, still wearing the robes Renquist had given him. His body was shivering despite the thick layers of fabric. The cold in the floor seeped upward through the mat, leeching into his skin. In a land that had long ago forgotten the warmth of the sun, ice and darkness ruled the seasons.
A movement on his right caught his attention. Darien rolled over, surprised t
o find Quin already awake. He brought his hands up to his face, rubbing his eyes. He rose to a sitting position and squinted at Quin, his vision blurry.
The darkmage was sitting with his back against a wall, eyes hidden by the brim of his hat. His attempt at a smile was a wan and mirthless endeavor.
“You’re here and Meiran’s not,” Quin observed. “Does this mean I’ve fallen pathetically short of heroism yet again?”
Darien shook his head. “You were ambushed. You didn’t have a chance.”
“I’m sorry,” Quin muttered, staring down at his arm as he tugged at a shirtsleeve. “Some people are just unfit to be heroes; they either try too hard or lack the necessary skillset. I fall into the latter category.”
“There’s nothing you could have done.” Darien threw off his cloak and rose to his feet, stretching out his legs. His muscles were stiff and aching from the cold and the damp. He limped across the room to a tall water jug with a narrow neck, kneeling down beside it. He poured some water into a bowl, which he raised in both hands to his lips, drinking thirstily. When he’d had his fill, he cupped his hands and splashed chill water over his face.
“So, do I get to find out what happened?” Quin prodded, peering at Darien. He’d pushed his hat back so that it lay across his forehead at a slant. Quin’s extreme age was apparent in his eyes. He had a defeated look about him, as if his soul were weary of the years. Darien understood. It was indeed possible for a soul to outlive its allotment of joy. His own tolerance for life had deteriorated well before his death.
He set the bowl down, moving back across the room. “Nashir must have found out about Meiran. He’s figured out a way to get the revenge he’s always threatened. He’s established himself in a fortress to the north of here. That’s where they took her.”
Quin arched an eyebrow, sucking in a cheek. “So, if I may ask … what are you still doing here?”
“Nashir’s fortress is protected by a vortex. I didn’t dare go too far in.”
Quin sat up straight, his face going tight with concern. “He’s taken over Tokashi Palace? That was meant to be your stronghold, you know.”
Darien shrugged. “No, I didn’t know. Renquist never mentioned it. In truth, he never mentioned a lot of things.”
Quin leaned his head back against the wall, gaze angled upward at the ceiling. “Tokashi Palace has been the bastion of power in the Khazahar for over four hundred years. I’m sure Renquist intended you to claim Tokashi as your base. But if Nashir got there first … he must be greatly emboldened to move against you so overtly. It’s not like him, to take such a risk.” He chuckled, sneering wryly. “I’ve got to hand it to you, Darien. More than any other person I’ve ever met, you really do know how to piss someone off.”
Darien closed his eyes, shaking his head at Quin’s graceless quip. He was right, of course, which didn’t help.
“This is one honey of a pickle,” Quin remarked.
“Aye, I guess it is.” Darien brought a hand up to rub his temple. “I suppose I can’t just walk in there and rescue her, can I?”
“No.” All trace of humor fled Quin’s face. “No, you cannot.” The weariness came back to shadow his eyes. “There’s really not much you can do. Not if Nashir’s already established himself.”
“It’s a vortex,” Darien grumbled. “That means there’s a Circle of Convergence in there somewhere. Is there a chance I can reach it without being discovered?”
Quin shook his head. “I destroyed it.”
Darien gaped at him. “How?”
Quin scooped his hat off his head, tossing it down in his lap. He ran a hand back through his hair, sighing heavily. “Tokashi Palace is built over the remains of an ancient fortress called Vintgar. Vintgar was….” His voice trailed off. He shook his head. “I don’t know that I have the words to describe it.”
He seemed to be struggling to gather his thoughts. “The ice caverns of Vintgar were the source of the River Nym. Vintgar’s Circle of Convergence was tucked away deep in the bottom of the caverns, far below where Tokashi Palace exists today. That was my Circle to protect. I was assigned to guard it on the night of the Reversal.” He paused then, letting a long gap of silence stretch between them.
In the two years Darien had known him, through all of hell’s tribulations, Quin had never once broached the subject of what had happened that night, so long ago. How it had all gone so terribly wrong. Except in fleeting moments of self-deprecation, Quin refused to talk about it.
“What happened?” Darien urged softly.
Quin took a deep breath. “I stabilized the magic field. But then I dropped the Circle before tying it off. Braden …” His voice cracked. He brought a hand up to cradle his brow. “I thought that if I left right then, maybe I could get back before they executed my brother. I thought there still might be a chance I could save him.” He shook his head. “I was wrong. Braden was already dead by the time I got there. And, in my folly, I left the vortex exposed to the Onslaught. Everything got out of hand before anyone realized what was happening.
“The air itself caught fire, the ground beneath seared to ash. The inferno swept across Caladorn, destroying everything in its path. It was as though all the fires of hell had risen up to consume the very earth.” Quin spread his hands helplessly before dropping them back down again to his sides. He sat there, biting his lip, slowly shaking his head.
Darien stared at the ground with no words to offer into the heavy silence that followed.
Quinlan Reis looked up at him, fixing him with an ancient, desolate stare. “Vintgar was reduced to rubble. The River Nym jumped its course and flooded the ice caverns. The Circle of Convergence lies now lost somewhere beneath the waters of the lake that formed. It won’t be of any use to you.”
Darien nodded. He had heard of Caladorn’s lost Circles of Convergence. He had read about the destruction of the Lyceum’s Greater Circle, but he had never known where the other had been located or what had become of it. That Quin had a part in the Circle’s destruction did not surprise him in the least. Disaster seemed to follow Quin like a second shadow.
“Darien Lauchlin Nach’tier.”
He glanced up at the sound of his name. Two men he didn’t recognize stood in the open doorway. He rose immediately to his feet as Quin did the same.
“I’m Darien Lauchlin,” he acknowledged warily, stepping forward.
One of the men had the appearance of a villager. The other did not. That one was a uniformed soldier, probably an officer, spectacularly arrayed in a blue and gold waistcoat. A long sash was tied about his hips, to which was affixed an array of various knives and implements.
The soldier nodded curtly. He was carrying a plumed hat tucked in the crook of his arm. Very formally, he effected a perfect bow, folding forward at the waist. Then he strode forward with measured stride, halting before Darien. He fell immediately to his knees, then bent forward until his face touched the cold bricks of the floor.
Darien stood frowning down at the prostrated man, his eyes flicking back to the villager still standing in the doorway.
“Rise,” he muttered.
The man obeyed, bringing himself to his knees, but not to his feet. Keeping his gaze fixed on the ground between Darien’s boots, he held a small silver box up before his face, proffering it with both hands.
“I, the Chamberlain of Armorers, Sayeed son of Alborz, have been sent on behalf of the Madashar Overlord Nashir Arman, Xerys’ Shadow on Earth, to present to you this token.”
Darien glared at the offered parcel, distrusting it. Very slowly, he extended his hand. But, instead of accepting the silver box, he curled his fingers into a fist and retracted his hand.
“Open it,” he commanded.
Still with eyes lowered to the ground, the officer obeyed. He removed the lid from the small box and offered its small treasure up toward Darien in the palm of his hand.
Darien’s face did not change. His expression didn’t reflect the blunt thrust of anger that tore up
through his middle, stabbing him first in the chest and then again in the stomach. He accepted the thin silver chain with an air of reverence, holding it laced between the fingers of his hand. Unable to breathe through the suffocating dread that filled his chest, he raised the pendant up before his eyes.
He didn’t look again at the soldier on the ground. His eyes remained fixed on the pendant that hung swaying from his hand, turning, white globs of light running like quicksilver across its interlaced design.
The shadows in the room thickened visibly. The chill in the air crystallized as the chamber darkened.
Darien continued staring at the pendant as if mesmerized, his eyes tracking its motion. At his feet, the soldier began rocking back and forth, moaning, face contorted in a rictus of pain. The floor around him turned dark with spreading ice.
“Go.”
Somehow, the trembling soldier managed to regain his feet with some semblance of grace. Cloaked by the dignity vested by years of discipline, he bowed stiffly and backed away. He turned and hurried out of the room. He was followed closely by the villager, who glanced back once with a look of horror in his eyes.
When they were gone, Quin shook his head and whistled softly.
“You really are a devil,” he commented, striding forward from his position against the wall. “I suppose you’ve never heard the phrase, ‘spare the messenger?’”
“I spared him.”
Darien lowered the pendant, caressing it with the pad of his thumb.
“Narrowly,” Quin scoffed. “For a moment there, it could have gone either way.” Then, more gently, he asked, “What are you going to do?”
Darien’s eyes locked with Quin’s. “What are my options?”
“I don’t know that you have any options. Nashir might be hellspawn, but he’s wicked-cunning.”
“It’s a vortex,” Darien argued. “He’ll be at just as much of a disadvantage as I. What assets does he have?”
The Complete Rhenwars Saga: An Epic Fantasy Pentalogy Page 74