Quin stared at her blankly, feeling suddenly weak and very dizzy, his insides going completely numb. Deep down in his chest, his heart despaired. His soul felt brittle, fragile and cold.
He nodded absently when she finished talking. He heard the words she was saying, even understood what she was asking of him. But, somehow, it all just seemed remote and unimportant. Like it didn’t pertain to him at all.
It didn’t; his mind was entirely somewhere else.
Not sensing his mood, Myria pressed on, “For the first hour, it will be entirely up to you, Quin. No other Circle will be tied in, yet. You must maintain the resonance. If something goes wrong and you drop your Circle, we could lose control of the entire Onslaught. I don’t think I need to emphasize how devastating that would be.”
Once again, Quin could only nod. He really had heard very little of what was being said. He turned toward Byron Connel, a profound and weary sadness in his eyes.
“Is my brother dead yet?” he wondered in morbid speculation.
Connel compressed his lips together, eyes full of compassion. He reached out, laying a comforting hand on Quin’s shoulder. “Not yet. Soon, though. Quin, you have to let this go. There’s nothing you can do. It is out of your hands.”
Quin drew in a deep breath, swallowing against a bitter lump of grief in his throat.
He felt completely at a loss.
He had no idea how to follow the man’s advice.
The woman named Arden Hannah smiled up into the angular planes of Nashir Arman’s chiseled face. Of all the Servants she had met so far, he was the most self-assured, the most mysterious, the most dangerous and fascinating. She found his sinister charisma enticingly desirable.
Gazing down at her with his hazel eyes, Nashir asked of her with a smile, “Arden, you are glowing. Are you so very eager for the Transference?”
She smiled and glanced shyly at the two guardsmen that stood stone-faced at the bottom of the stairs, double swords crossed behind their backs. She despised their presence, but knew there was nothing to be done about them. So she decided to ignore them completely, acting as though they weren’t even there.
Arden grinned, smirking playfully up at Nashir, twirling her fingers around in her hair.
“I am,” she admitted sincerely. “I’ve been waiting for this moment most of my life.”
He raised his thick eyebrows, nodding in understanding. “What of Braden Reis? Do you not harbor any feelings of remorse for him? He was your friend once … was he not?”
Arden scoffed. She drew closer to him, reaching out and trailing her hand along the rise of his broad chest. “You are far more of a man than Braden ever was,” she assured him with confidence, her eyes intent upon the texture of his muscles beneath her fingers. She lifted her gaze to meet his. “No. I feel no remorse at all. I feel only … vindication.”
She leaned forward to whisper that last word in his ear. Her eyes lingered on him longingly, her lips parted and inviting. He placed a firm hand behind her head, drawing her toward him.
Arden moaned softly as his lips pressed against her own, his tongue exploring the inside of her mouth. She ran her fingers through his hair.
When they parted, Nashir stood there for a moment gazing hungrily into her eyes. At last, he informed her in a breathless whisper, “It is time.”
Arden’s eyes widened in anticipation.
She walked forward beside Nashir, who strode down the stairs with cat-like grace, wielding an ironwood staff that was taller than he was and shod with elaborate gold end caps. They followed the guards down the lightless corridor, walking through a churning trail of amethyst magelight. They paused before a thick oaken door approximately halfway down the passage. Arden waited behind as Nashir undid the lock with his mind, letting the door sway open on its hinges.
“Braden Reis,” he called within. “On your feet.”
Arden moved forward, peering around Nashir’s tall frame into the cell. She found Braden sitting hunched over on the floor, arms bound behind his back, head bowed forward against his chest. He showed no sign whatsoever that he was even aware of their presence. He just sat there, gaze fixed somewhere on the floor between his feet. His hands were trembling.
Noticing his discomfort, Arden couldn’t help but smile.
Nashir stroked her cheek, indicating Braden with his eyes.
Arden turned to look.
Braden lurched suddenly upright, throwing his head back and groaning through clenched teeth. He fell sideways to the floor, limbs flailing in anguished torment. Arden watched, startled, but otherwise completely mesmerized by the brazen display of torture. She trailed her tongue across her lips, wetting them.
“Still feeling vindicated?”
Arden glanced upward at Nashir, breath coming in gasps, face flushed with excitement.
“Very much,” she whispered.
Quin staggered, catching himself from falling but roughing the palms of his hands on the coarse stones of the floor. He righted himself, gazing around. The room he was standing in now was different from the one he had just been walking through only moments before. He instantly recognized the stark bleakness of the walls and the cross-vaulted arch behind him.
He had arrived in the portal chamber at Vintgar.
Here in the eye of Vintgar’s vortex, at the bottom of the ice chasm, he knew it would be safe enough to open his mind to sample the flavor of the magic field.
Only, he wasn’t nearly prepared for what he’d find.
The magic field itself was keening, wailing like the howls of a thousand tortured spirits. Quin cried out, wincing back from the frenzied disquiet of the field. The eye of the vortex was contorting, shuddering as if in violent distress. It pained his head to open his mind enough to sense it.
He knew what he had to do, although his heart was not really in it. Looking around, he gathered his thoughts, his feelings. What little courage he had left. And then he compelled himself to walk out the door of the room, leaving the portal chamber behind.
As he strode through the halls of glowing ice toward the hall where Vintgar’s Circle of Convergence lay dormant, there was only one subject of thought on his mind: was his brother already dead, or was he yet still alive?
The thought plagued him utterly; he dwelled upon it, and upon it only. Despite his every attempt, he could not get the topic out of his head. Dark, morose thoughts churned around in his brain, frothing with morbid conjecture.
Was the bond of brotherhood between them strong enough to allow him to feel the moment when Braden died? Would he even be aware of his passing?
Would Braden’s last thoughts be warm memories of the love and joy he had known? Or would his final moments be full of despair and pain?
Would there be anyone there with him at the end, someone to offer him comfort? Or would he die alone and in misery, with no friend to ease his passing?
Quin clenched his jaw, scrubbing at his eyes with his sleeve. He swallowed heavily against the sorrow that plagued his heart. He shook his head violently and drew up, determined to cast the tormented images from his mind.
Before him, quiescent in the shadows and dormant from a long period of sleep, lay Vintgar’s Circle of Convergence.
Quin stepped out into the room, placing his feet timidly between the axes of power on the floor. Engraved into the basalt rock at his feet was a larger copy of the Silver Star that Braden had always worn embroidered over his heart. The pattern was far more than mere ornamentation; it was the focus of the Circle of Convergence.
All he had to do was awaken it.
Quin strode over to the tip of the nearest ray and drew deeply on the power of the magic field. At first, the field did not respond to his call. Like a skittish foal, the magic field resisted his touch, flinching away from the caress of his mind. Quin closed his eyes, concentrating harder, and commanded it again. This time, he mustered much more authority, summoning that great well of power through the lines at his feet.
The Circle of Conver
gence at last responded, hearkening to his call. The ancient, stone-carved lines awakened, beginning to glow with argent intensity. A graceful trickle of light traveled outward from his boots, running like liquid silver from a blacksmith’s forge, trailing outwards to ignite the tips of all eight rays. Quin walked forward, taking up position at the Circle’s center, closing his eyes as he exerted his dominance over the vortex.
Then:
Another feeling enveloped him, one so consummate, so penetrating, so encompassing, that it wracked his mind in molten ecstasy.
Quin’s mouth fell agape, eyes springing wide open, as he gasped for air. His emotions jolted in a rhapsody of spiraling sensations.
He realized with a fragmented, scattered thought:
The Well of Tears has been opened.
Consumed by the euphoric power of the Onslaught, Quinlan Reis writhed in the center of Vintgar’s power vortex, drowning in smothering tidal waves of rapture.
Arden grinned at Braden, reveling in the pleasure she was taking from his pain. She pressed her soft body up against his as she gazed up into his eyes with a smile.
“I want you to die knowing that they chose me to inherit your legacy,” she whispered into his ear. “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 fixed him with a pout, then scoffed with a shrug. “You’ll just be dead.”
She stepped back away to observe his reaction.
Braden bowed his head, his whole body seeming to sag. The gentle confidence she had once admired in him was now completely gone from his eyes. In its place was only weary acceptance.
Arden couldn’t help the smile of triumph that sprang to her lips. Glancing behind her at Nashir, she saw the darkmage return her expression with a look of satisfied esteem.
She turned her back on Braden and stepped out into the corridor. She left him at the mercy of the guards, who swept forward to claim him.
Quin gazed up at the black dome above the Circle, mouth agape, eyes widened by a mixture of horror and euphoria. Through perceptions extended by his connection with the Onslaught, he could sense the effects of the Circle’s acceleration.
Far above, in the rolling hills above the ice chasms, the swirling mass of midnight cloud cover was starting to give way.
High above in the sky, the powerful energies of the vortex were hurling against the forces driving the Reversal. It was an ever-evolving battle that spanned the entire length of the sky, both terrible and awe-inspiring. Arcs of wild lightning licked across the atmosphere, nebulous auroras flickering brilliantly before collapse. Thunderheads clashed, colliding, showering cascades of sparks that rained down upon the hills from the heavens above.
Quin’s heightened perceptions confirmed what his senses were already telling him: in this place, the magic field was beginning to stabilize.
It was truly magnificent. And it was also terrifying.
Quin beheld it all through a suffocating veil of tormented anguish.
As he watched the ongoing battle ensuing across the sky, his mind kept drifting back toward his brother.
Why was he even here? What purpose did it even serve?
I’m here for Sephana. No; not for her. For Braden.
Would his brother even have wanted this?
No, he wouldn’t. Not at all.
Quin cried out in a rage of conflicted emotions. This is not what Braden would have wanted, he realized tragically. Never in a thousand years.
Is it over for you yet, Brother?
Quin’s eyes shot wide open. It had taken this, the torrent of the Onslaught, to make him realize the magnitude of his own hypocrisy, the terrible extent of his betrayal. All along, Quin had thought he was doing something to honor his brother’s memory. Instead, Quin realized in horror, he had been working to destroy everything Braden considered worth dying for.
When had he ever been there for his brother? Never before in his life.
I am the architect of his pain.
Quin staggered backwards, tormented by feelings of guilt and despair. With a cry, he let go of his command of the Circle of Convergence, dropping the energies to the floor like a sack of spilt grain. He staggered toward the door, covering his ears against the wailing backlash of the magic field.
Reaching within, he drove a mental barrier between his mind and the Onslaught, railing against that terrible power and battering it away.
Then he was running as fast as he could in the direction of the transfer portal.
Maybe, just perhaps, there was still yet time…
Back in the Circle’s chamber, the Onslaught assumed its own sinister domination over the vortex, filling the power vacuum that Quin had left behind.
16
Atonement
Arden watched Nashir raise his staff, using its gilt end cap to rap three times upon the enormous double doors that warded the entrance to the Grand Assembly. The resounding noise of his strikes echoed throughout the tall chamber.
There was a pause.
Then the knocks were answered in kind, the sound emanating from within.
The doors of the Assembly were thrust open, their ancient hinges groaning in rusty protest. Arden stepped to the side as she coldly observed Braden’s guards impelling him forward. He staggered, seeming to have a hard time moving in their iron clasp. He didn’t fight, but he did not go quietly either. To Arden, Braden Reis appeared a reluctant but active participant in his own execution.
The double doors were closed, the bar thrown down to seal them shut. The doors would not be opened again until Braden’s fate was resolved to the satisfaction of the Assembly.
Nashir draped his arm around Arden’s shoulders possessively.
“I’ll take you up to the second gallery.” He pressed a kiss against her cheek. “When it is done, the Prime Warden will call you down. Make certain to offer him the appropriate obeisance.”
Suddenly uncertain, Arden wondered, “Am I going to be required to say any words as part of the ritual?”
Nashir shook his head, stroking a finger over her chin. “No. Not in this situation. This is not the way it typically works.” His voice was calm and reassuring.
He kissed her again, slowly, cupping her face.
“I should warn you,” he whispered, still holding her face in his dark hands, “this is not going to be like any Transference you’ve ever witnessed. It is going to hurt. A lot.”
Arden blinked. “Him? Or me?”
“Both,” Nashir answered ominously. “But mostly him.”
“Good.”
“You’ll do just fine.” Nashir held her gaze steady with her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “I’ll be waiting for you when it’s over.”
Quin ran through the deserted halls of ancient Vintgar, dodging falling bricks and shifting floor tiles. The ground shook beneath his feet, heaving in seething turmoil from the violence of the Onslaught. Huge fragments of ice rained down from above in the chasm, bounding like hail upon the lower caverns. Down in the gorge, the River Nym was hurled from its course, spilling chill floodwaters into the halls of the ice fortress.
Dodging a boulder that was only just moments ago part of the ceiling, Quin sprinted across the threshold of the portal chamber. To his relief, the cross-vaulted arch remained intact, the warm glow between its columns beckoning like a promise. Quin threw himself headfirst into the transfer portal just as the raging waters of the Nym spilled into the chamber behind him.
Arden stepped out onto the second-floor gallery, moving toward the chairs Nashir had reserved for them. Her eyes swept across the dimly lit hall, widening with amazement. There, in the Grand Assembly of the Lyceum, were gathered more mages than she had ever known even existed in all the world. They were seated in rows on terraced galleries, level upon level of cascading rings encompassing the entire height of the dome.
The Assembly was filled with the drone of conversation, a compressed and uneasy tension filling the air.
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As Arden seated herself, she could feel her eyes tear up in gratitude that she was finally, actually, here, ready to take her own place as a member of this great body.
She had waited so many years. So much struggle. So much effort. So much pain. She had come so close to losing everything so many times.
It had always been possible, but always a distant dream, tangible, but ever just out of reach. And now that dream was about to be hers to grasp in her hands and claim as she pleased.
Deeply moved, Arden brought her fingers up to cover her mouth as all across the chamber the drone of conversation faltered.
An anxious silence settled gradually over the hall.
A large orb of light appeared on the floor of the chamber. It was brilliant, intense. All around, the ambient lighting slowly dimmed. The effect was hypnotic, mesmerizing. Her gaze was directed at the sphere of light on the floor, forsaking all else.
She watched as Braden was brought forward by his guards into that argent glow. They positioned him there in the center, one man to either side. He was made to stand there, shirtless, blinking against the brilliance that surrounded him.
Arden’s pulse lurched in anticipation as she stared down at the man who was about to surrender to her his legacy and life. Braden did not go to his death with defiance or pride, nor did he rail in panic against his fate. There was no fight left within him at all.
She closed her eyes, savoring the sweet exhilaration brought about by that insight.
Quin rolled as he landed on the other side of the portal, hauling himself up off the ground and staggering forward at a run. He ignored the shouts of the guards behind him as he outdistanced them, launching his body in the direction of the stairwell.
The Complete Rhenwars Saga: An Epic Fantasy Pentalogy Page 170