The Eighth Born: Book 1 of the Pankaran Chronicles

by C. Night

  “Cazing of Avernade?” Frainco interrupted quickly. “Of course, sir. He must move now if he is to take a position at the Academy in time.”

  Thom closed his eyes. “It’s all been arranged.”

  As the colors whirled around him again, Rhyen tried to close his eyes. None of this made sense. What was he seeing? Why was he the subject of these memories? How was it possible?

  This time, they were in a place Rhyen knew very well: Ikha. From his kneeling position, he watched as the gnome, completely bald now, crossed the brick paved avenues of the Academy, and began to mount the steps. He was going to Cazing’s office. Then Rhyen was huffing as he climbed the stairs. Cazing opened the door for him as he reached the top.

  “Thom, my old friend! How the hell are you?” Cazing called, beaming.

  Thom smiled. “Tired. And thirsty.” He strode past Cazing into the room. The sorcerer clapped him on the shoulder as he entered. Rhyen saw that Thom produced two bottles of wine from his sack that he carried—the same wine that Cazing had given him the eve of his eighteenth Name day. He set them on the table and took a chair, the same chair where Rhyen himself had sat on the one occasion he had visited Cazing’s office.

  “So,” Thom began, settling down. Rhyen felt him stretch his aching legs and feet out, and Cazing glared at a footstool, wielding it over in front of the gnome. Thom gratefully rested his sore feet on it. “His Name day is in a few weeks.”

  “It is,” Cazing replied, uncorking one of the bottles and pouring generous amounts into two cups. He tasted it.

  “This is good wine,” Cazing said, holding up his glass and grinning across the table. “Cheers.”

  Thom smiled and fished in his pocket with a gnarled hand. “I brought you some more of that tea, too,” he said, tossing a packet of the leaves lightly on the table. “Now, tell me about him.”

  Cazing raised his eyebrows and shook his head slightly as he took his chair. “He’s brilliant. Clever, and curious, but not inclined to mischief. Kind hearted. And he’s strong. So strong. More powerful than he could ever know.”

  Thom accepted his glass and took a sip thoughtfully. “He has to be. But so was the other.”

  Cazing looked seriously at the gnome. “He’s nothing like Taida. He’s compassionate and merciful.”

  “So was Taida, until his Opposite consumed him.”

  Cazing frowned and looked away. Rhyen watched, a torrent of emotions running through him. What was this? Why were they comparing him to Taida? Thom was feeling a dichotomy of emotions as well—hopeful and, at the same time, fearful.

  “Are you putting an offer in for his apprenticeship?”

  “No,” Cazing answered.

  Rhyen felt Thom stiffen. “What? You are supposed to master him. The Order is expecting you to!”

  “I will,” said Cazing quietly. “But he will ask me to apprentice him.”

  Rhyen was horrified, unable to understand what he was hearing. He was watching Cazing as though seeing him for the first time. But this was Thom’s memory, and in addition to his own thoughts, he felt and said what Thom felt and said. “How can you be so sure?” Rhyen was not sure he wanted to hear the sorcerer’s answer.

  Cazing took a swig of wine and tapped his fingers against the table. “I’ve spent his entire time at the Academy building a rapport with him. He’s a likable person, so it was easy enough. I know I’m his favorite teacher.” He looked up at Thom. “He trusts me.”

  “And you’re certain he will ask you?”

  Cazing nodded. “He will, once I put the idea in his mind.”

  Thom nodded, reassured. Rhyen wanted nothing more than to shut out Cazing’s words. He didn’t know his master at all.

  When the room finished swirling around him, Rhyen saw that they were back in Corna, in Thom’s great room. The gnome was standing at the balcony with his long-fingered hands clasped behind his back. Then Rhyen felt the sun on his face and the warmth on his skin.

  “Father.”

  Thom turned and looked curiously at Avarek.

  “Rode’s here.”

  Rhyen felt Thom’s pleased surprise. “Is he? Show him in.”

  Avarek bowed his head at his father and left. Thom watched him go. He was feeling restful—the tired contentment that accompanies old age. Rhyen had experienced the same thing when Ellis had grown old.

  “Thom!” Rode boomed, following Avarek back into the room.

  “Rode,” Thom inclined his head at the elf. “I was not expecting you. To what do I owe this great pleasure?”

  Rode cheerfully accepted a glass of water from Avarek. “I met him,” he said with the suppressed air of someone who has exciting news. “The Eighth Born.”

  “What did you think of him?” Avarek asked.

  Rode smirked triumphantly. “He’s perfect.” The gnomes smiled at each other. “And thank the gods,” Rode continued, “because Taida’s getting stronger every day. Have you heard the news from Zirith?”

  The room blended together in a myriad of colors. Again, they were in Thom’s house. He was reading a letter in the foyer at the base of the stairs. Then Rhyen was frowning as his eyes scanned the paper. Thom was reading a collection of horror stories about Taida’s right hand, a ghostly rider in black. Rhyen would have swallowed hard if he could.

  “What’s wrong?” Avarek asked from the top of the stairs.

  Thom shrugged. “More troubling news. Taida is very strong now, and his hold over his minions is growing. His right hand is more powerful than ever.”

  Avarek sighed sadly. “Well, it will be over soon. The Eighth Born is twenty-eight now.”

  Thom sighed too. “I know. It’s time to send word—Cazing needs to make ready to leave Avernade.”

  “Why must they come here?”

  Thom looked up seriously at his son. “Because, finally, it is time for us to play our part. And we must play it well—he has to make the decision of his own free will.”

  Avarek nodded. “Then we must convince him to make the right one.”

  Then, after the dizzying swirl of colors, Rhyen was astonished to see that he was looking at himself at Thom’s table, seated next to Cazing and across from Avarek and Thom. Rhyen barely recognized himself—there were deep worry creases on his forehead, and he was slumped over in his seat. I look distressed and nervous. And tired. But then he was Thom again and was staring intently across the table at Rhyen.

  The memory Rhyen was the first to speak. “This is insane,” he said angrily, “But let’s just say we do decide to put the Stone together again. How do we even do it?” He looked up at them.

  Thom laughed and shook his head, amused. “That is the least of our worries, Sorcerer.”

  The young sorcerer looked annoyed. Cazing quickly jumped in. “Taida’s spell destroyed the Stone when he was not able to complete it, yes? And what is the key in magic?”

  “Balance,” Rhyen watched himself answer. “But—”

  Cazing spoke over him. “Yes, balance. So to undo any spell, you need to balance it. You simply recreate it, using the exact same components, and then—and only then—can you undo it.”

  Thom listened to Cazing’s explanations and interjected every so often, but Rhyen, even though he was sharing Thom’s thoughts, lost track of the conversation. He was stunned. He was finally beginning to understand. Any spell could be undone using the exact same components… They share the same blood, the same Name day, the same family situation…

  Rhyen wished he could get out of the Trance. He would have traded his own life to forget what he had discovered in Thom’s memories. He suddenly remembered that Thom was dying, was suffocating out there in the real world, and Rhyen recalled what the gnome had said to him, right before he went into the Trance: It must be you… Only you… Rhyen tried to forget this as soon as he remembered it, but it was no use—it was burned into his
mind. No! But he was unable to leave or speak, trapped as he was in Thom’s memory.

  Then Thom suddenly felt a very strong bout of nervousness, and Rhyen was forced by the strength of the gnome’s emotion to pay attention to the conversation.

  “What do you think, Rhyen?” Cazing was asking in a queer voice.

  “You want me to decide?” Rhyen watched himself ask. “But I’m just your apprentice…”

  “You are so much more than that. I trust your judgment completely. So tell me—what do we do?”

  Thom leaned forward in his chair, his hands gripping his armrests. Rhyen felt his nervousness, and remembered that Thom had said earlier that his job was to convince Rhyen to make the right choice. He has to make the decision of his own free will.

  The Rhyen in the memory sighed. “It seems we have no choice, then. We remake the Stone before Taida does and use its power to end him.”

  At these words, Thom relaxed, sighing quietly in relief. Rhyen again felt his overwhelming triumph. Rhyen wanted to scream. He had been manipulated into everything—choosing Cazing as a master, deciding to put the Stone back together. How in the name of the gods could he end this hellish Trance?

  Rhyen watched himself shove his chair back from the table and hop up. “I’m going for a walk.”

  As soon as he left the room, Thom, Avarek, and Cazing all breathed audible sighs of relief. They all grinned at each other. Rhyen felt Thom’s shoulders relax as if a huge weight had been lifted from them.

  “We will win now,” Cazing said confidently. “Rhyen can end it.”

  “And the world will be balanced again,” Avarek added.

  Rhyen felt that Thom, though relieved, did not meet their same level of confidence and enthusiasm.

  “But we’ve failed in one respect,” Thom admitted slowly.

  Avarek and Cazing’s smiles vanished. “Taida knows about Rhyen,” Cazing stated. “You’re right. That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  “How did that happen?” Avarek asked.

  “Taida’s right hand,” Cazing said heavily.

  The young gnome shook his head. “We knew Taida would be searching for Rhyen, just as we were. But I thought we had a net around him—we had contacts in place to prevent people like the hand slipping in and discovering him.”

  Cazing rubbed his eyes. “But that’s the problem—I don’t think Taida’s right hand is a person.”

  Rhyen felt Thom remembering the letter containing accounts about the Dark Rider, still and silent as the grave. “I would fear that you’re right, except the right hand is a sorcerer. He must be human, for only humans can be wielders, but he is a terrible, twisted one. How else could he act in such a manner?”

  The sorcerer hesitated. “There’s something else: Rhyen knows about the hand.”

  Thom frowned. “How do you know this?”

  “Rhyen’s friends from Yla. I told you we ran into them in the first level. As they were telling us about the Zirites, they mentioned the hand—”

  “They know his name?” Avarek asked, his hard face excited. “We’ve never been able to find out who it is.” Thom also looked at Cazing, hopeful.

  But Cazing shook his head. “They knew him by description only. But Rhyen was able to fill in the blanks.” Cazing looked around at them. “I’ve never seen this figure, but you should have seen the expression on Rhyen’s face when he realized who his friends were talking about. I would bet my life he’s seen the rider before—and more than once.”

  There was silence as they considered this. But before anyone could speak again, the room whirled around. Rhyen watched as he, Cazing, and Liem entered the great room. Then he was Thom, and he turned around and was taken aback to see a stranger. Rhyen felt Thom’s eyes flicker to the table, where the shard of Stone was laying in plain sight.

  “That’s a piece of the Pankara Stone, then?” Liem asked.

  “What makes you say that?” Avarek demanded.

  “It’s all right,” Cazing said, waving him off. “This is Captain Dawsliem Day of the King’s Eyes. He’s just returned from a five-year mission collecting intelligence on the Zirite queen. He’s our ally.”

  Rhyen felt as Thom instantly went from suspicious nervousness to jubilant glee, relaxed and ready to accept Liem into their little group without a moment’s delay. A Soldier! Another companion! Thom thought. Rhyen barely had time to register this before the colors churned together again.

  Rhyen caught another glimpse of the wide grassy plain and the endless blue sky before at last returning to the wet cobblestoned street in Corna’s second level. He was kneeling in a sticky puddle of blood, his cut cheek stinging with his tears, his left hand gripping Thom’s, and his right cupped around the gnome’s wrinkled old head. Rhyen caught sight of Thom’s face just in time to see the light go from his eyes.

  Chapter 30

  Rhyen gasped. He was reeling. His eyes stung as he looked down at Thom’s blank face, and he was having difficulty breathing. His throat and chest were so tight. He tried to let go of the gnome’s stiff, curled hand, but the blood was so thickly congealed that they were stuck together. He wrenched his hand away and fell backward. His elbows scraped across the wet rocks as he caught himself.

  He couldn’t look away from Thom. Rhyen was full of confusion. He felt livid and used and controlled, and his sickened bewilderment pushed aside any grief he might have had for the gnome. He wanted to shut out Thom’s memories.

  “Rhyen?” A familiar hand touched him gently on the shoulder. Rhyen sprang up, recoiling from his master. He glared with wide eyes at the sorcerer, who put up his hand peaceably.

  “It’s just me, Rhyen,” Cazing said, his face tired and concerned. “It’s all right.”

  Rhyen would have laughed, but his body seemed to have frozen. All right? Cazing had planned this all along, this mad decision to go for the Pankara Stone. He was using Rhyen to achieve his ends—how could he say it was all right? How could Cazing look him in the eyes?

  It was obvious the master thought Rhyen was in shock. “It’s over now, Rhyen,” he soothed.

  Maybe he was in shock, but if so, it was not for the reasons Cazing guessed. Rhyen was standing stock still, his hands balled into angry fists at his sides, staring at his master as though seeing him clearly for the first time. He took in the sorcerer’s lined face and trembling hands. Cazing was tired. For a moment, Rhyen softened, realizing his master had overstretched the limits of his wielding, and with a pang of sympathy he remembered the utterly exhausting sensation of using too much magic. But then he saw, sprawled all around, the bodies of the dead. He had killed people tonight—killed them!—and all for a fool’s mission orchestrated long ago and kept secret by his false friend.

  Cazing made to take a step forward, but Rhyen backed away. Cazing paused, his concerned face puzzled. His eyes flitted between Rhyen and Thom, and he raised his head slowly, comprehension dawning dreadfully on his face. He skirted a wide circle around Rhyen, watching him closely with something like fear. Rhyen circled as Cazing did, his long legs taking one step for every two of the master’s, always keeping the distance between them.

  When Cazing reached Thom’s body, he tore his gaze away from his apprentice and stared sadly down at his old friend. With difficulty, he knelt down and put his hand over the gnome’s eyes. He bowed his head as if in prayer. Rhyen’s compassion mingled with his anger, and he relaxed his face, sighing. He was livid with the old sorcerer, but now, right after the death of a friend and a dozen soldiers, was not the time for Rhyen to confront his master. He kept hold of his rage, but moved it aside just enough so that he could function, just enough so that he could think clearly.

  Shouts came from higher up the street. The two soldiers he’d let go earlier had gone for reinforcements. Rhyen saw them galloping down toward them. He raised his hand to the gate, which was still opened the few necessary feet for them to ride
through. “Shut, damn you!” he hissed, and focused with all his strength on wielding it closed. The iron bars dragged along the pavers of the street and left in their wake deep gouges of crumbled stone. The gate was heavy and hard to move, and Rhyen suddenly realized that it must have some sort of magical enchantment. It made it difficult to wield against, but not so much that he was unable to do it. The gates were only a few inches from each other when Rhyen dropped his hand and cut off the magic that had been streaming out of him. He took a step back, panting from the effort. The enchantment must have only been maintained by a magician or a wizard, because it was not nearly strong enough to stand against Rhyen. But it was the first time he’d ever wielded against someone else’s spell, and the sensation was new and troubling.

  “Well done,” came a ragged voice from behind him. Liem had joined him, his trained horse picking quiet clopping steps on the wet road. They watched as the soldiers reined in their horses and milled anxiously around the gate, trying to push it open. But Rhyen’s spell held, and would hold for many days yet. The Zirites would have no luck reaching them through that gate.

  Liem looked around. “There will be others,” he said stonily, looking with unconcern at the Zirite bodies lying mutilated on the streets. “There is a garrison to the east of the first level, and who knows where they are patrolling. We should leave, now, while it is quiet.”

  Rhyen nodded. He walked purposefully back up the street. It seemed a long way away, but finally he reached his beautiful dead horse. He knelt down next to her and put a forlorn hand on her glossy neck, flecked with the gray of her age. A lump formed in his throat. “Good girl,” he finally said, his voice thick. “Good girl.” He pulled the saddlebags from her, tugging them out with all his strength. He wished he could have said more, had apologized for not saving her or thanked her for all her long years of friendship. But his constricted throat would not allow it, and Liem was yelling urgently to him from down the road. With one final pat, Rhyen stood and turned his back on Cinnamon.