The Complete Rhenwars Saga: An Epic Fantasy Pentalogy

by M. L. Spencer

  Arden Hannah leaned forward, intent on the deep and velvety tones of Nashir’s clanborn accent. It was much thicker than either Quin’s or Braden’s had been, harsher and more difficult to follow unless she was paying very close attention.

  “How does it feel?” he probed her, stroking the side of her face with a finger. “Is there still any pain?”

  Arden stretched languidly, luxuriating in the strength of her newfound abilities. She drew in a small taste of the magic field, sampling its profound energies. “I feel … empowered.” She shook her head, at a complete loss for words. “I can’t describe it.”

  “And vindicated?” Nashir pressed with an amused grin.

  Arden smiled. “Yes. And vindicated.”

  She closed her eyes, savoring the vibrant thrill of the fierce inheritance she had received from Braden through the Soulstone. The feel of it was intoxicating, prodigious, eclipsing anything she had ever dreamed or expected it would be like. She’d had no idea the man had been endowed with so much raw, terrifying power. Braden Reis had been sixth tier, the most vested mage in all of history. And now his great and potent legacy had fallen to her.

  “It doesn’t hurt anymore,” she informed Nashir.

  “Good,” the darkmage smiled, gazing deeply into her eyes. “We are sending you to Xerys’ Pedestal on the edge of the Cerulean Plains.” His eyes were full of malevolent confidence, holding no scrap of doubt for her newfound abilities. “There’s still a chance to stabilize the magic field. You must use the Circle there then transfer to Aerysius to assist Prime Warden Krane.”

  Nashir smiled at her reassuringly. Then he leaned forward to whisper in her ear, “Come. I have something for you.”

  He led her back into the shadows of his quarters, to a dark and narrow hallway. There, he opened a door at the far end. Arden peered into the shadows, eyes searching. She heard the sound of it before she saw anything.

  A creature padded toward her from out of the darkness, eyes glowing with a menacing green intensity. Arden flinched back away from the appalling beast. It resembled a black wolfhound with crusted fur and a great, cavernous mouth. But it was not a dog; indeed, not any living animal. It looked like evil incarnate.

  Nashir smiled affectionately, extending his hand toward his vile pet. It sniffed his fingers loudly, oozing great globs of slaver from its jowls.

  “He’s a loyal beast,” the darkmage commented, ruffling the thing’s wet and matted fur. “He is yours. Take him with you for protection.”

  “What is it?” she gasped, drawing away.

  “A thanacryst.” Nashir took her hand into his own and guided her toward the beast. “A creature that feeds on the life force of a mage.”

  The thing sniffed twice at her hand, the sound of its breath like the gasp of air from a grave. Arden had to fight the impulse to pull away.

  “How dreadful,” she whispered, staring down at the creature in revulsion. “Won’t it harm me?”

  Nashir smiled, crouching down beside his pet, ruffling the fur of its withers with his hands. “It shouldn’t,” he reassured her. “Such beasts have been known to turn against their masters, but the blackness of your soul should quiet its appetite.”

  Arden raised her eyebrows at his remark. She had never thought of it that way before. Was her soul so very black? She gazed back down at the foul creature, bending forward to scratch it behind the ears.

  The thanacryst sounded almost like it was purring.

  Arden Hannah smiled. Her soul was very black.

  Of that fact she was rather proud.

  Quin wandered the halls of the Lyceum, numb and dazed by loss. He had no idea where he was going, letting his feet carry him forward without purpose or direction. Sephana was at his side, but she, too, seemed similarly affected. Neither said a word.

  A sudden tremor in the floor jolted Quin’s senses back into focus. Above, suspended from the tiled ceiling, an enormous chandelier began to sway side to side like a pendulum on its iron chain. Another quake jolted the ground beneath their feet.

  “What is that?” Sephana gasped.

  Quin glanced around, eyes wide and fearful.

  He took her by the wrist and rushed her forward toward an exit. Bursting through the door, he ran halfway out into the courtyard, head craned back, gazing up into the sky with mouth agape. He took in the fearsome aspect of the clouds overhead, of the surging clash of energies within them.

  Immediately, he understood: the disturbance in the skies over Vintgar had swept southeast to threaten Bryn Calazar.

  He brought his hand up to cover his mouth in agonized despair.

  “This is my fault,” he admitted over the howl of the raging winds. “I dropped the Circle—I left the vortex exposed to the Onslaught! I stabilized the field there, but the Onslaught has gotten out of hand!”

  Beside him, Sephana was regarding him very seriously. Over the sound of the rumbling thunder she called out to him, “Can you pick the Circle back up again?”

  He shook his head, holding his hat against the wind as his coat was crackled out behind him. “No. It’s too late! Vintgar has fallen.”

  He turned to look behind them, to the Grand Dome of the Lyceum. Within, someone was commanding Bryn Calazar’s Circle of Convergence. He could see the acceleration rings coming off from it, masses of air that churned, rotating in the sky over the dome. It created a column of swirling clouds that fought for dominance against the Onslaught.

  “What they’re trying … it won’t work,” came a gruff voice from behind them.

  Quin whirled to find Devrim Remzi standing there, quietly gazing up into the sky. The aged Master drew toward them, staring upward as he took in the vision of the resonance driving the swirling masses of air high overhead.

  “Why won’t it work?” Quin demanded, holding his hat against his head.

  Still peering at the Circle’s acceleration, the old man explained, “They’re still trying to save themselves—they’re still working to stabilize the magic field. What they should be doing instead is trying to contain the Onslaught before it blackens the entire world.”

  Quin hung his head, lowering his hat against his chest. “This is my fault,” he repeated, admitting his failure to the old man.

  “Even if it is, it makes little difference,” Remzi shrugged. “What matters now is whether you have the courage to right what you have wronged.”

  Quin frowned, prodding him, “What do you mean?”

  The old man turned toward him. “Already, most of Caladorn has been charred to ash. The cataclysm is advancing toward the south, and will soon begin consuming the Rhen. There is nothing you can do to save our homeland. But you still have a chance to save hers.” He indicated Sephana with a glance.

  Quin gawked at him, open-mouthed and incredulous. He looked around, blinking furiously, unable to fully process the tidings he’d just heard.

  Caladorn, destroyed. By him.

  His fault.

  “How?” he whispered, heart writhing in anguished torment.

  “You must seal the Well of Tears,” commanded Remzi. “Cut the Onslaught off from its source. Let your brother’s vision come to pass.”

  “But what if they can stabilize it in time?” Sephana whispered. “If we seal the Well of Tears after the Reversal has been neutralized, then wouldn’t that deny Xerys power over this world?”

  “It might break their covenant,” Remzi agreed guardedly. “At the very least, it’s worth a try.”

  Appalled, Quin shuddered, “Can it even be done? I don’t know how…”

  “I do,” the aged Empiricist insisted. “But I can’t do it alone. The sealing of the Well requires a Grand Master, someone of at least fourth tier. You must enter the gateway that has been forged between worlds. There, you must offer yourself in sacrifice to mend the seal on the side of the Netherworld.”

  Quin stared at him a long, hard moment, eyes feverish with intensity. “Show me how.”

  “Quin—” Sephana began, but he was alread
y stalking away.

  He strode back toward the Lyceum, feet moving with determined purpose.

  Arden Hannah stepped out of the portal chamber at the base of the rock formation known as Xerys’ Pedestal on the edge of the Cerulian Plains. She muttered a Word of Command as she moved across the threshold of the chamber. The dark basalt rock surrounding the door filled in the gap where the opening had just been.

  She stepped out into the bleak grayness of night, alarmed by the sight of gathering cloud cover overhead. A wind was picking up, ruffling her hair. The Reversal was not yet here, but it was certainly on its way. To the northwest, she could see the dark peaks of the Craghorns encased in a thick fogbank that writhed and churned, incensed by violent forks of lightning.

  Mounting the man-carved steps that wrapped, spiraling, around the thick column of rock, Arden ascended the narrow path toward the summit of the crag. At her side paced the terrible creature Nashir had given her. The thanacryst trotted dutifully ahead, its black tongue slavering fetid droplets as it sniffed the way.

  She climbed, spiraling, hundreds of feet above the horseshoe-shaped valley that surrounded the pedestal. After long minutes, she gained the summit and stepped out onto the flattened vista.

  Arden smiled, staring down at the lines of the small Circle of Convergence that was there, carved into the polished surface of the summit itself. This Circle had been dormant a very long time, she surmised, tracing one of the focus lines with a slippered foot. She was excited, anticipating the thrill of power that would be hers to command when the Circle awakened. Xerys’ Vortex awaited her, its lines of charged power already beginning to cringe in anticipation of the oncoming Reversal.

  Moving to the Circle’s center, Arden summoned the vortex’s power through her feet. All around her, energies shivered as the Circle responded. The focus lines shimmered, aglow with liquid metallic light. The image of the Silver Star appeared, awakening out of the black rock of the summit. All around a wind kicked up, rotating, increasing in fury.

  Quin stared up at the transfer portal to Aerysius, feeling a surge of trepidation. Sephana drew up to stand at his side, face drawn and grimly set. Behind her walked Devrim Remzi, ambling forward with a limp.

  Quin positioned himself in the center of the tall, cross-vaulted arch. He put his hand out to Sephana. She stared at his offered hand for a long moment, considering it with a disdainful expression as though it were something diseased. Her gaze ticked upward to examine his face. Then something in her expression subtly changed, her eyes visibly softening.

  Sephana accepted Quin’s offered hand, lifting his arm along with hers as she stepped forward into the glow of the transfer portal.

  There was a blinding flash of light as the world lurched beneath their feet.

  Above Arden’s head, black clouds raced to confront the Circle’s resonance. She could feel the magic field destabilizing around her. Containing it was like trying to hold back a cup of spilt milk that just kept running through her fingers.

  And then, suddenly, the song of the magic field went abruptly silent.

  The field’s absence was shocking in its totality.

  But she had expected this.

  Arden smiled and drew heavily on the rapturous power of the Onslaught. The Circle’s resonance rallied, the magic field surging back to life with brilliant intensity. The skies above thundered, the field lines wailing like a threnody. She flung her mind out on waves of light, searching for confirmation of what she already knew:

  In this place, at least, the magic field was stable.

  Her work here was complete.

  Smiling in victory, Arden Hannah sprinted toward the flight of spiraling stairs.

  Quin and Sephana spilled out of the portal into the Chamber of Egress beneath the Hall of the Watchers. Devrim Remzi came through directly after, collapsing to his knees. A guard rushed forward to confront them, halted by Sephana. She strode toward the man, brandishing the chain on her left wrist like an emblem before her face.

  “Clear the chamber!” she commanded in a voice that rang with authority.

  All of the men who guarded the portals turned as one then jogged together toward the exit.

  Quin reached down, offering to help Remzi to his feet. The old Empiricist just batted his hand away with a scowl, pushing himself unsteadily to his feet.

  Quin looked to Sephana in askance, wondering what her intentions were with the removal of the guards.

  “We have to destroy the Egress,” she explained, walking toward the nearest cross-vaulted arch. “Do you have any disruption charges left?”

  Quin immediately nodded. He tossed open his pack, verifying that indeed they were all still accounted for, even the ones he had spilled out across the floor beneath the Lyceum. Someone had gathered them all up and replaced them back into his pack.

  “Sephana … are you certain?” he asked her. “There’s no coming back from this.”

  “Very certain,” Sephana told him levelly. “We can’t risk exposure at our rear.”

  Quin grudgingly agreed. He fished his arm deep within his pack, pulling out a handful of the small copper cubes. Four he tossed to Sephana. Then he ran to the first portal and began laying down the rest.

  18

  Cataclysm

  Zavier Renquist stared down from the balcony of a minaret high above the Lyceum’s golden dome. Unfurling before him was an apocalyptic vision of his own inception. Below, the city of Bryn Calazar burned. Even the tall ships in the harbor were ablaze, their sails black and curling, fragmenting into ash. The night sky was adrift with glowing cinders that wafted gently to the ground, drifting like snowflakes. Black, acrid smoke roved over the city in great plumes, lingering close to the ground in some places or swept high up into the air, gathering in ominous pillars.

  Renquist’s predator-like gaze remained intent upon the scene of devastation unfolding below. He stood against the balcony wall with feet apart, cradling a cup in his hands. To the man standing behind him, he commanded:

  “Evacuate the Lyceum.”

  There was a pause. The response was timorous when it came:

  “I am sorry, Prime Warden. That is not possible.”

  Renquist turned to glare his contempt at the man, his stare dispassionate and intense. “What do you mean?”

  The young mage before him swallowed, fidgeting. “It is the Onslaught. The transfer portals are no longer safe. We already tried sending a few people through…. It did not turn out well, Prime Warden.”

  Renquist glowered. “Then evacuate to the city.”

  There was another long gap of silence. Then:

  “The arches warding the gates have malfunctioned. Their polarity has been reversed. Anyone can enter the Lyceum … but no mage can leave.”

  Zavier Renquist turned his back on the man to consider the apocalyptic panorama below. He took a sip from the cup he was holding in his hand, a spiced wine fermented from mare’s milk.

  To the young man behind him, he wondered, “Then why are you still here? Go home. Make love to your wife. Then make your peace with the gods.”

  The Prime Warden continued to gaze down from the heights long after the other man had gone. The air was terrible, chokingly thick and filled with the acrid taste of wood smoke and defeat.

  Glowing embers continued to shower down from the midnight sky, falling everywhere, wafting down to cover Bryn Calazar in drifting blankets of smothering ash.

  It seemed the whole world was on fire.

  Quin covered his ears and threw himself down, shielding Sephana with his own body.

  There was a noise like deafening thunder followed by a concussion wave so intense it battered him against the ground. A thick cloud of fine, gray dust billowed toward them.

  Choking, Quin held the fabric of his coat up over his mouth. Beside him, Devrim Remzi made a retching noise. Quin locked his hand on the mage’s collar, pulling him along after him as he struggled to his feet.

  One hand on Remzi, the other around Sephan
a’s shoulders, Quin steered them back down the hallway. They jogged forward, finding a set of winding stairs that led upward. Here, Quin let Sephana go first. She knew this place far better than he.

  “Well, that was one way to announce our arrival,” he muttered.

  Sephana led them to the top of the stairs and out across the tiled floor of the Hall of the Watchers. There, Aerysius’ Circle of Convergence lay quiescent. Quin considered the Circle carefully, distrusting it. Crouching down, he spread his hand upon the red marble of its surface.

  “It’s been in use,” he observed. “And it’s been used hard.”

  He rose, turning to stare upward into the shadows of the dome above. A gnawing feeling of trepidation crept over him. He retreated a step, then another, eyes scouring the forest of stone columns that supported the roof as he turned slowly around. A terrible feeling of cold shivered across his nerves.

  All around the Hall of the Watchers, a host of necrators rose upward from the ground. They seemed nebulous, like demonic silhouettes constructed of living shadow. Quin froze, knowing very well what the touch of just one of those creatures could do.

  He reached down to his side, drawing his scimitar.

  “That sword will do you little good.”

  Quin glanced up and found himself gaping into the eyes of Cyrus Krane. The Prime Warden of Aerysius was glowering arrogantly down from a balcony high above the floor. He appeared completely at ease, master of his own dominion.

  Quin slowly circled his companions, holding Zanikar up before him. A necrator glided toward them from its position along the wall.

  Quin pushed Sephana back, inserting himself between her and the living shadow. He brought the sword up, tip pointed at the necrator’s chest. To his horror, the blade penetrated the creature harmlessly, as if the necrator was nothing more than animated mist.