The sound of approaching footsteps made him flinch. Try as he might, he couldn’t stop his hands from trembling.
“On your feet.”
Braden ignored the command, knowing there would be a penalty for his defiance. He squeezed his hands into fists in anticipation of the pain. For heartbeats, he waited. When nothing happened, he allowed himself to relax a bit.
The pain hit with force.
Molten-silver lightning raged like a firestorm through his mind. He threw his head back, clenching his teeth. Slumping to the floor, Braden convulsed as liquid energies seared through his body. Bile rose in his throat, choking him as he writhed on the floor.
The pain lessened only gradually, taking a long time to completely go away. He lay on his back on the cold stone, staring upward, spent and gasping.
A different voice, soft and repulsively familiar, addressed him from the doorway. “Think very carefully, Ambassador Reis. There are many kinds of deaths, some much worse than others.”
He shuddered at the sound of that voice. It was despicably seductive, stroking like soft velvet down the length of his nerves. Braden kept his eyes squeezed closed, so loath was he to gaze upon that face.
He could feel her moving toward him across the cell. Her hands brushed his skin, a silken caress as she slid her arms around his torso. With gentle pressure she compelled him to his feet. He stood, swaying, naked from the waist up, arms chained behind his back. His breath still came in gasps.
“It doesn’t have to be this way,” she whispered gently in his ear as her soft fingertips stroked the skin of his back. “You can still choose to make a difference. Think of the lives you could save. It’s the right thing to do.”
His eyes shot open, glaring his contempt at her.
“Don’t lecture me on morals, woman,” he grated. “You have no idea what they are.”
The smile that bloomed on her lovely face was only a dim reflection of the delight that filled her eyes. His response had pleased her. It sickened him, knowing that he had given her exactly what she’d wanted.
“I want you to die knowing that they chose me to inherit your legacy,” she informed him with a grin. “One way or another, your gift will be put to the service of Xerys. With your power inside me, I will be the one destined for greatness. And you?” She looked at him sadly and scoffed with a shrug. “You’ll just be dead.”
Hearing her words, Braden Reis closed his eyes and bowed his head in acceptance of defeat. Never before in his life had he felt so utterly powerless.
The sound of her slippered footsteps moved away from him across the floor. Then hands were upon him, wrenching him forward. Braden allowed his guards to escort him out of the cell.
The despair that gripped him dulled his senses. It was as though he moved through a dim and murky haze, the world around him distant and strangely muted. They ushered him up many flights of stairs toward the floor of the Lyceum. The dance of magelight that churned at their feet only served to confound his senses all the more.
Braden gazed ahead with bleary eyes at the woman who strode before him. She glided in a sway of blue silks, platinum curls spiraling to her waist. She moved with an easy grace, every motion poised, every step a deliberate, calculated seduction. Arden Hannah was just as alluring as she was vile. It was a powerful and frightening dichotomy. She gazed back at him and smiled, her wide eyes glistening in the magelight.
He dropped his stare back to the floor.
They reached the level of the Assembly. There, his guards wrenched back on Braden’s arms, forcing him to a halt. The sound of a staff rapping thrice upon wood resounded throughout the hall. There was a pause. Then the knocks were answered in kind, echoing from the other side of the barred doorway.
The bars were thrown from the inside, the enormous double doors cast open, shuddering on their hinges with a throaty groan. Braden avoided Arden’s eyes as his guards forced him forward. He could see very little, only shadowy silhouettes of people gathered above in the galleries. Within, the room was completely dark save for a single sphere of brilliant light in the center of the hall. It was toward that orb of light that he was made to walk.
Braden forced himself to hold his head up despite the chill fingers of dread that caressed his bare skin. Nervous sweat trickled down his brow. He couldn’t help trembling as he stepped within that sphere of light. There he paused, hands bound behind him, completely blinded by the dazzling brilliance. That was the purpose of the light: to protect the anonymity of those gathered above in the galleries.
The doors slammed closed, sealing the chamber with a resounding thud. An awful, gaping silence struck the room. The silence lingered, long moments stretching on and on. Braden continued to stand, blinking against the glare, eyes groping desperately for the sight of just one face he could recognize. But he could make out nothing; the thick wall of light was dense and unyielding.
A deep and resonant voice addressed him:
“Braden Reis, you have been convicted, attainted, and condemned of high treason committed against the state of Caladorn and the Lyceum of Bryn Calazar. A sentence of death has been pronounced against you. May the gods have mercy on your soul.”
Braden bowed his head under the sheer weight of the words. A paralyzing numbness overcame him. He stood there shaking, withered by the miserable knowledge that he had failed so utterly in his purpose.
Slithering ropes of energy twined around him, restraining him completely as they forced him roughly to his knees in the circle of light. He fought to draw breath, but succeeded only in producing a strangled wheeze.
The Prime Warden himself stepped forward into the wash of light to carry out his sentence. Panic seized Braden at the sight of the object displayed in Zavier Renquist’s hands: a stone of many facets, lifeless, dull and black. It hung from the bands of a silver collar that shone like satin in the light.
The sight of the Soulstone was ghastly, terrifying.
Braden’s eyes shot up, groping at Renquist’s face. But in the gaze of his executioner, he found no trace of mercy.
1
Jumping at Shadows
Three weeks prior...
Rain pelted the dark streets of Aerysius as thunder rolled expansively across the cloud-choked night. Merris Bryar shivered as her feet splashed through growing rivulets in the street, hugging her black cloak tightly against her body. She was drenched, her toes almost numb in her wet slippers. It was a terrible storm, the worst yet of the season. There was really no good reason for anyone to be moving about the city streets on such a night.
Which was exactly why Merris stalked the man who walked ahead of her through the storm.
Of all the people in Aerysius, the person Merris followed had the least excuse to be skulking through the shadows of the city. Merris hung well back from him, relying on the cloak she wore to obscure her features in the darkness. Her quest was dangerous, but that did little to daunt her. Rather, the thrill of the risk she was taking urged her forward.
Merris was no stranger to the night. She knew perfectly well how to navigate the city streets unseen. Her father had been a cutpurse, her mother a sot and a swindler. Their combined examples had served Merris well in her youth. This was not the first time she had tracked a mark through the city streets under the cover of darkness.
It was just the first time she had done so since becoming an acolyte mage.
And back when Merris had forged a living on the streets, she would never, ever, have considered selecting Cyrus Krane himself, the Prime Warden of Aerysius, as her quarry.
Merris moved as silently as she could, keeping at least a block’s distance between herself and Cyrus Krane. She kept to the shadows, moving low, using the pillars of balconies and the arches of doorways as concealment. The rattle of the downpour covered any noise her slippered feet might have possibly made. Merris smiled slightly. She knew exactly what she was doing; she was in her element.
She watched as Krane turned and crossed the cobbled street toward the open
ing of an alleyway. Tonight, the Prime Warden wore just the thick, black cloak of a common mage rather than the white cloak with the Silver Star that was the emblem of his office.
As Krane disappeared around the corner, Merris dashed forward. She didn’t dare take the chance of losing him in the darkness. Ducking down behind a large bin, she wedged her body behind it and peered around the edge of a building. By the light of a street lamp, she could barely make out Krane’s shadowy figure. The Prime Warden had stopped, glancing around as he reached for the handle of a door. He cracked the door open. Into that opening Cyrus Krane quietly slipped, pulling the door closed after him.
Merris pulled back behind the bin, pressing up against the cold stone wall. She sat hugging her knees against her chest, shivering, wondering what she should do. She bit her lip, considering. She knew better than to follow her quarry inside the building. The right thing would be to turn back and return to the Hall of the Watchers. But she had no proof to validate her suspicions. Without proof, she would be sorely punished, most likely expelled from Aerysius for sure.
There really was no decision to be made. She rose from her hiding place behind the bin and slipped quietly into the alley. Here, the cobblestones ran with icy rainwater that flowed over the tops of her slippers. She splashed across the street through fast-moving rivulets, pausing beside the building Krane had disappeared into.
She stood there considering the door as the rain came down steadily, plastering her hair against her face. The wood was made of age-grayed pine, reinforced with iron bands. It looked like any other back-alley door in the heart of Aerysius.
Merris gripped the rusted metal handle. She started to pull it open but stopped herself, taking a deep breath and holding it in. Then, with gentle pressure, she pulled the door open just a fraction. Leaning forward, she glanced within then stole quietly inside.
She found herself in some type of storage cellar or undercroft. The room was very dim, lit only by two tapers that glowed from sconces on opposing walls. All around the room were stacked row upon row of wooden crates, the floor littered with straw. The only exit was another door at the far end.
The cellar appeared empty, but anyone could be hiding within those rows of crates. Merris strained to listen. All she could hear was the sound of pattering rain. She considered the door on the opposite wall. Krane must have gone through there ahead of her. Merris did not want to follow him into the guts of the building; she had pushed her luck already.
But she had come this far. Gathering her courage, she took a step forward into the cellar. Then another.
Merris reached the door and pressed an ear up against the wood, straining to listen. There were no sounds coming from the other side. Her hand trembled as she reached for the handle, depressing the latch. The door swung inward, revealing dark depths beyond.
The corridor ahead was lightless, narrow, and empty.
Merris moved forward into the shadows, pulling the door closed behind her. She lingered there for a moment, uncertain, trailing her hand along the cold wall. The stone was rough and uneven, carved by the harsh strokes of tools. This building was old, she surmised, possibly as old as Aerysius itself. So unlike the rest of the structures in the city, which had been seamlessly wrought by magecraft.
Merris stepped into the darkness, using her hands to grope along the walls to either side. She strained to hear the sound of footsteps that might be following. Her fingers traced the stone, searching for a doorway. Ten paces. Fifteen. Twenty. Still no sign of either door or passage leading off. The narrow corridor led straight ahead into the dark bowels of the ancient structure.
When her next footstep felt only air, Merris drew up short. She reached down ahead with her foot, finally encountering stone.
Stairs. Leading downward into blackness.
She shivered, knowing in her heart that she should turn around and go back. Merris forced herself to press forward anyway. It was imperative that she follow through with this plan, despite the risk.
She had discovered a letter in Cyrus Krane’s office which professed his disappointment with her character and noted his intent to have Merris removed. Her entire existence in Aerysius depended on finding something she could use against him: some secret, some evidence of treachery. If she didn’t, then the Prime Warden would proceed with her expulsion.
Merris was not about to let that happen; she couldn’t go back to life on the streets. She had to find something, anything she could use as leverage. Some token, some bargaining chip that would persuade the Prime Warden to let her remain and pursue her studies.
He’d had no business testing her character in the first place. Krane had meddled where he didn’t belong….
Merris followed the stairs cautiously as they curved around and down into darkness, arguing with herself at every step. She shouldn’t be here—this was becoming too dangerous. She greatly feared what she would find at the bottom of those stairs. Or, worse, what would find her. In the darkness, Merris’ imagination ran rampant. She wished for magelight or even a taper to light her path.
A loud, metallic clank resounded from far below.
Merris startled, flinching to a crouch. Another noise echoed up the stairwell. Trembling, she regained her feet and turned, ready to flee. From the depths below came the sound of voices.
Merris stopped in her tracks, straining to listen. The voices were distant, too indistinct to make out words. They did not seem to be coming any closer.
She bit her lip, trembling, glancing behind and ahead in desperate indecision. Her foot kept wanting to slide back up the stair behind her. She willed it forward instead. Courage nearly spent, Merris continued down the stairs in the direction of the voices.
She moved slowly, cautiously, creeping forward as silently as she could. There was another sharp, metallic groan. The sound of the voices ceased.
Then came another noise: that of approaching footsteps.
Merris turned and ran. Dizzy with fear, she was not at all careful about her retreat. She took the stairs two at a time, curving back upward in the direction she had come. She staggered and almost fell as she gained the top of the steps, catching herself on the rough stone of the passage. Then she was sprinting forward again on unstable legs down the corridor in the direction of the cellar.
She spilled through the cellar door, throwing it closed behind her and pulling it firmly shut. Wondrous light confronted her vision. She started toward the outer door, but brute stubbornness made her turn back.
Determined to glean some answers from this harrowing night, Merris dropped to her knees and squirmed herself into a corner between two stacks of wooden crates. She wriggled her body between them as far as she could, pressing herself tightly against them and pulling the cowl of her black cloak down to conceal her face. She fought for control over her panting breath, willing the speed of her heart to slow its frenzied pace.
Confident as she could be in her hiding spot, Merris waited as long moments dragged by. She strained to listen. Outside, there was the constant sound of the rain hitting the cobbled street. Inside the cellar, she could hear the faintest noise of soft, scurrying feet. Mice, or even rats, were about their business among the crates.
Abruptly, the cellar door creaked open.
Merris could see nothing; her eyes were veiled behind her cowl. The sound of voices only paces away made her flinch.
“All seems to be progressing well,” echoed the familiar voice of Cyrus Krane. “Have Master Remzi keep working on the cipher. There’s not much time; we have little more than a fortnight.”
“All shall be made ready,” responded the voice of another man. That voice Merris did not know. It was calmly authoritative, resonant and deep. Softly, Merris tried pulling back the lip of her cowl just enough to try to get a glimpse of the speaker. It was useless; the stack of crates in front of her blocked her view completely.
Merris realized that the air around her was starting to feel atrociously cold. The fear in her gut was like a tight knot t
hat slowly writhed, working its way upward to choke her throat. She shivered, hugging her arms tightly about herself. The dread within her grew along with the cold, condensing into icy panic. The panic swelled, evolving gradually into terror.
Merris’ eyes widened with realization: there was… something else … in the cellar. Something in there with them. Something wrong.
“I’m still working on the required payment,” Krane’s voice continued evenly, as if the Prime Warden himself sensed nothing at all out of sorts. “I have someone in mind, but nothing definitive as yet.”
“Be certain there is no deviation from the covenant,” the deep voice responded. “Failure is greatly misliked by our Master.”
Merris chewed her lip on the edge of panic, the terrible feeling of dread becoming almost unbearable.
Movement stirred in front of her. Something streaked across her vision, coming to a rest on top of the stack of crates. A hand. A man’s hand with thick fingers relaxed against the edge of the crate in front of her. A wide, silver band encircled the third finger. Merris shirked back away from the sight of that hand, her eyes welling with tears as she struggled to keep from crying out.
“There will be no failure,” Krane’s voice echoed, his tone full of dire promise.
Merris heard the sound of the outer door creaking open and then closing once again as the Prime Warden took his leave. The other man yet remained behind, his hand still resting on top of the crate.
The loss of Krane’s familiar presence came almost as a blow to Merris. She resisted a powerful urge to bolt out of her hiding place and run for the door.
There was a rustle of fabric as the hand withdrew.
The sound of footsteps, walking away.
Then came the noise of the inner door shivering open and then closed.
Merris lingered, trembling violently, not daring yet to move. The awful fear within her refused to subside. Moments crept by, painfully slow. She strained to listen, hearing nothing. Even the scurrying of the rats had ceased.
The Complete Rhenwars Saga: An Epic Fantasy Pentalogy Page 148