The Quintessence Cycle- The Complete Series

by Terry C. Simpson

  “My man will report to me today, and we’ll discover exactly what’s happened,” Leroi said. “Until then.” He nodded toward the door.

  After they left, Leroi sat in his favorite armchair, staring at the empty space on the wall where a picture of himself and King Ainslen once hung. Vengeance occupied his mind. He’d tasted a bit of it by killing Shaz, but his appetite was unsated. Ainslen’s downfall was a necessity. The man deserved nothing less for ordering Elaina’s rape.

  Leroi sighed, the weight of the task before him a mountain on his shoulders. Seeking relief, he stood, straightened his jacket, and headed out into the hall. Servants bowed to him as he passed, his footsteps muffled by the carpeted floors. Women’s laughter drew him to one of the many gardens surrounding his home on Hazline Hill.

  Against a backdrop of green hedges with yellow and red blooms whose fragrance filled the air, little Jaelen was rolling around in the grass while one of the pet hounds nudged him this way and that. Giggling, the boy climbed to his feet and waddled off in an attempt to run with the hound nipping at his heels. He fell again and the game repeated. His grandmother and mother, Amalia and Elaina, occupied two chairs, straw hats protecting them from the sun while they sipped on plum wine fresh from the icehouse, if the way the glasses sweated was any indication.

  “I see you three are enjoying the weather.” Leroi graced his wife and daughter with a smile, mood lightened by their presence.

  “Ah, there you are, my love.” Amalia waved at him. She was finally showing her age a bit with the few silver strands among her golden tresses. Her usually milky skin had taken on a slight tan. “I was wondering how long you would stay cooped up inside on such a wonderful day.”

  “Just needed some time to think. And to deal with those trumped up commoners.” He nodded to Elaina, suppressing a scowl at her short-cropped black hair that had once hung to her waist. A style worn by the warrior women among the Farlanders. He knew better than to give voice to his displeasure. It would only encourage her to do something else to annoy him. “How are you feeling today, Elaina. Sleeping better of late? Any dreams?”

  “One or two but not as troublesome as before. Last night I slept rather soundly.” She stared straight at him.

  “Good, glad to hear,” he said, despite the lie. She had cried out the night before on several occasions, and the dark rings under her eyes told their own story.

  He shifted his attention to Jaelen. The boy looked more and more like Shaz every day. The resemblance brought his ire rising like bitter bile. With an effort he suppressed his emotions. At least his daughter no longer had to deal with the rumors of who fathered the boy. Not since he’d slain Shaz. He refused to tell her the truth of the rape. Such an atrocity would destroy her feeble mind, a mind she was trying to keep strong by denying the subconscious.

  “Any progress on the missing folk?” Amalia asked. “They’re on everyone’s lips whenever I have company. It’s one thing for commoners and dregs to disappear but when nobles do the same, those who matter pay attention.”

  Leroi shook his head. “None yet. Sergeant Rilshir is still looking into it. I know, I know, you wish to go shopping; the Vermillion District is calling, but I suggest you wait until the mystery is resolved. One less thing to worry me. I have enough troubles as is.”

  “You could simply spare a few of the watch or the Blades you kept behind. The Day of Change is quickly approaching. If I’m to look my best for the festivities then I must have something new to wear, something exotic.”

  “Not only don’t we have enough of the watch for the city as is, but the majority of them wouldn’t be good enough to guard someone’s great grandmother, much less my precious wife. I won’t risk it. As for the Blades, you know they must remain a secret. The king wouldn’t be pleased if he discovered I kept them here. To say the least.”

  “Have it your way, if you must,” Amalia huffed. “One would think special provisions would be made for the heir’s grandparents, perhaps even our own rooms in the Golden Spires. But no, we’re not much different than before despite your new title. It’s as if Ainslen’s decree means little.”

  “I want no part of that place.” Eying the ten spires, their surfaces reflecting Mandrigal’s glare, Leroi considered the days when he, Jemare, and Ainslen were the best of friends, all serving as Blades under King Tolquan. So much had changed since then. Most of it for the worse.

  “Why, dear heart? Because of what King Jemare did to those children? The man had gone mad.” She nodded toward the Golden Spires. “That’s the seat of the Empire and little Jaelen should be there for when his time comes to rule.”

  He knew she actually meant ‘our time’. They both had the same dream.

  “If there’s even an Empire to rule by the time the war’s done,” Elaina said, more than a little bitterly. She watched Jaelen, a frown on her face. The boy and the hound were oblivious to everything but their little game.

  “There will be an Empire.” Leroi walked to his daughter’s side and rested a hand on her shoulder. “That, I promise. Winslow might be gone, but a piece of him lives on in Jaelen. We’ll see the memory put to good use.”

  “Winslow isn’t dead, Father. Until they provide me with his body, and prove it’s him, I will believe he’s out there … somewhere. He knows Jaelen and I await him.” She stared off into the sky where Mandrigal blazed in radiant gold.

  “Perhaps he lives,” he whispered and bent to kiss her hair. “Everyone should have hope. It’s our lifeblood. I won’t deny you yours.”

  “Lord Marshal?” One of the servants called from the open doorway.

  Leroi turned to face the woman. “Yes, Emille?”

  “A visitor, my lord.” Behind the blue liveried woman was Renar, one of Borosen Prestiss’ attendants.

  “Business calls, my loves.” Leroi strode into the mansion.

  Renar was a waif of a man, a cycler like his master, capable of manipulating individual soul cycles, but lacking the ability to touch shi to combine them to meld. His specialty was remaining inconspicuous, a common trait of those in Borosen’s employ. An art Leroi had come to appreciate, if not rely upon. His presence meant there was word from Queen Terestere. A single thought of the woman set Leroi’s heart racing. Not out of any infatuation, but for the need to please her. She’d promised to help pull down the king. Any enemy of Ainslen was a friend.

  “What message today?” Leroi drew abreast of the man. He gestured to the long hallway leading to the front door.

  Renar bowed and followed alongside the Lord Marshal. “You’re to meet with my master tonight at the eleventh hour, my lord.”

  “And this message couldn’t be delivered by courier?”

  “He had to be certain you understood the urgency. Besides, you know him, he fully trusts no one, and expects everything to be done in secrecy.”

  “Very well. Where?”

  “At the old Temple of Humel in the Smear.”

  Leroi almost missed a step. A number of dregs had gone missing near the location. Brows furrowed, he regarded Renar. The man’s smooth features gave away nothing. “That’s an odd request. Why there?”

  “I don’t ask questions, my lord. I simply do as I’m told.”

  Lips pursed, Leroi considered the meeting and the unusual location. If he wished, he could find some excuse not to attend. But doing so would only make him seem afraid if Borosen was somehow involved in the disappearances. Repeating that last made it seem all the more absurd. The merchant was Terestere’s man to the hilt.

  “My master said if you had doubts to remind you that this meeting is by Queen Terestere’s request.”

  At the mention of the queen’s name, Leroi’s doubt fled. “Tell him I’ll be there.”

  Renar bowed from the waist and took his leave. Leroi made his way to the den to give himself time to think and to prepare. He also sent for Sergeant Rilshir to report by sunset and then settled in to wait. Drink in hand, he stood before a window that provided a view of the Grey Fist,
the Ten Hills spread in a circle around it. Dregs and commoners were still reporting to the fortress for testing, as they chased their dream of becoming Blades, and more often than not, the lure of an opportunity to earn more coin than they ever possessed.

  He was still at the window when a servant arrived to light the lamps in their sconces along the walls and to announce Rilshir’s arrival. Mandrigal was dipping slowly below the horizon, the God of Rebirth closing his eye, and painting the sky and clouds with scarlet hues to signal his death. Lanterns flickered to life throughout Kasandar like a thousand tiny yellow-orange forges.

  “Lord Marshal.” Rilshir bowed as he entered. As always, the watchman was clean-shaven, uniform pristine. He held up a black ledger. “I’ve done as you asked, starting with the last nobleman who went missing, Count Monere.”

  “Fill me in.” Leroi indicated a soft armchair. “Leave nothing out.”

  So followed a comprehensive report on Rilshir’s research since Leroi assigned him the task. The sergeant had investigated any possible connection between the missing folk. He delved into debts and allegiances, vendettas and feuds, family histories and origins, going so far as to reveal several infidelities by wives and husbands.

  His findings chronicled the depth of the nobles’ forays into Far’an Senjin. This led to revelations on their religious practices dating back to before the Order of the Dominion. Most people worshipped one deity or another in those times until the Gods were deemed to be of the same pantheon. This research uncovered those who’d been tested to become Blades or those who had family members that were once dregs, plucked from the Smear to strengthen family lines. All the nobles were either melders or cyclers. The abilities of the dregs couldn’t be ascertained.

  Leroi stroked the light stubble under his chin. “Did you make certain Count Monere was not at one of his estates? He likes to show his favorite girls from Walker’s Row a good time when he’s in the mood. Takes them to the estates to impress them, and to do as he pleases without bringing shame to his wife.”

  Although he knew the count’s outings didn’t last longer than a week, he mentioned them in hopes the young philanderer had changed his routine, perhaps grown besotted with some whore. It certainly would make things easier. He could use easier after the chaos of the past year. But several weeks had come and gone since anyone saw Monere in the River Quarter.

  “Yes, Lord Marshal, I did. His girls of choice are gone, followed Housemistress Estelia and Fenrella Rintell after Succession Day. Whether to Melanil or Danalyn I’m not certain. But he didn’t follow them, nor did he choose some new playthings. He’s simply vanished. He’s not even been to the bank to turn in the coin he’d collected from a few of his shops on that last day. In fact, he’s not checked in on any of his businesses since. Even when he’s gone on one of his jaunts he leaves an agent to handle such things.”

  “Any chance this one was a robbery?”

  “Not likely.”

  “And the watchmen who haven’t reported to duty this past week? Any new word?” Leroi picked up the bottle of Darshanese red, poured himself a glass, and sniffed, the woody aroma indicative of a well-aged vintage.

  “None.”

  The Lord Marshal took a sip of the wine, savoring the coolness, and the tangy, rich taste. It left a trail of smooth warmth going down his gullet. “So, all told, we lost five nobles this month alone, a dozen merchants, double that number in shipmen, a score in watchmen, and only the Dominion knows how many commoners and dregs?”

  Rilshir opened the ledger, flipped a few pages, and traced his index finger along what was written. “That’s about right, sir.” He closed the book.

  “Some nobles are suggesting they’ve simply fled, perhaps to Darshan or the Farish Isles, like so many before them,” Leroi swilled the liquor in the glass, watching the light play off the dark hues. “With the westerners on our doorsteps it could be a possibility, couldn’t it?”

  “I doubt it. Anyone with sense would know better. The Isles are a stone’s throw away from the western kingdoms. The only reason they didn’t strike there first is because they must deal with us, the greater threat, and those damned lida worms that make a home in the seas near the Isles. The same worms that would make anyone fleeing there think twice. Darshan has its own set of issues. Truth be told, Kasinia, and Kasandar, in particular, is the safest place until the war’s said and done. I’m surprised those who fled north haven’t returned yet. They’re certainly in the path of the westerners should they get past the Swords of Humel.”

  “They won’t,” Leroi said absently.

  Rilshir’s deductions had already crossed Leroi’s mind, although he disagreed with the man’s Farish Isle assessment. Leroi hadn’t greatly doubted his own conclusions, but he had to deal with the misleading suggestions of men and women clamoring to better their position. Minor nobles in service to the king as obstacles. Another similar opinion always helped.

  “You’ve had a chance to nose around, dig into the many whispers floating about. What do you think?” Leroi emptied his cup.

  “Well, the idea of the Dracodar as the ones responsible is nonsense, even with the reports of strange sightings in the Smear, or the people who swore they saw one of the creatures the night King Ainslen was attacked. Hasn’t been one of the things alive in centuries. Most likely it was some melder with a clever manifestation. As for the stories of a western force … those are similarly ludicrous. I stand by my last report. The people behind this are either the Consortium’s remnants or the Farlanders.”

  Leroi sighed. He’d argued with the sergeant over this once already, scoffing at the man’s suggestion. “I take everything into consideration, but please, you must convince me as to why I shouldn’t laugh this off. The Farlanders have defeated every force they faced. They wouldn’t need to slink around behind our backs to weaken us. They could destroy us outright. As for the Consortium, in case you haven’t heard, their leaders are dead. And thus, the guilds are dead. Whatever is left of them is of no consequence.”

  “Which is why I lean toward the Farlanders as the culprits,” Rilshir said.

  “Why? What would they gain by taking some nobles who hold no real sway? And a bunch of dregs who are beneath useless?”

  Rilshir tucked his ledger under his arm. “Considering their history, I’d say slavery is their purpose. I haven’t had confirmation, but there’s been stories of them taking entire villages in Marissinia, forcing the folk to work in mines of some sort. I know it seems a reach, but think for a moment: most of the disappearances were in the River Quarter. The one constant down there has been the influx of Farlander ships. Ships we’re not allowed to board.”

  “You’re ignoring the people who went missing in the Smear, the Grey Ward, and the Artisan Quarter.”

  “All reachable through the sewers and the Undertow,” countered the sergeant.

  Leroi snorted. Rilshir was a stubborn bastard. “So, you wish me to believe complete strangers to the city were able to navigate ancient passages under Kasandar and knew exactly where they led. Never mind whatever creatures call the place home, or that folks have ventured below, never to be heard from again, lost to the Undertow’s maze. Never mind the criminals who hide in its rodent-infested streets and tunnels waiting for prey. No, no, these newcomers are so knowledgeable that they avoided all those dangers and entered and exited the Undertow without anyone being the wiser. And if those feats weren’t enough, they’ve developed extensive mining operations, the existence of which no one can confirm.”

  “Didn’t the Consortium do something similar for years with its black markets?”

  “Yes, but Kasandar has ever been the home of the guilds. And those markets were approved by our late king to benefit the nobility.”

  Rilshir shrugged. “Sir, I don’t know what else to say, but based on my investigation, we should take a hard look at the Farlanders.”

  Leroi found himself wondering if Rilshir’s accusation was part of the ploy engineered by the king. An even
more extravagant scheme than the one he’d deduced. Give Leroi a powerful position, take most nobles who could be allies, leaving but a few, place him in an untenable situation where any move, either to resolve the problem or to wait it out further, would mean failure and thus shame. What if these people weren’t missing but had been secreted away by the king’s own forces? The families of those concerned weren’t in on it. That was for certain. The grief he’d witnessed couldn’t be faked.

  If the Farlanders were involved, and that if was as wide as the Renigen Sea, the king might be unaware. Would they risk discovery in enslaving Kasinians? He couldn’t fathom it. They needed the king as much as he needed them. They wouldn’t risk his wrath.

  Leroi eyed Rilshir. The sergeant met his gaze, unperturbed. “You’ve helped me a great deal, particularly since we suffer a shortage of capable men. For that alone I’ll trust you not to repeat what you said here. The last thing the Empire needs is more rumors of this sort.”

  “As you wish, Lord Marshal.” Rilshir stood, straightened his clothes, bowed from the waist, and left.

  The Winds of Time gonged to announce the tenth hour of night, the knell rippling through the city. Leroi pushed up from the chair, the armored scales beneath his skin stiffening in response to his trepidation over the meeting with Borosen. A little voice re-minded him the man was Terestere’s to the hilt, that he should go, but it did not erase his doubts.

  For a moment he considered calling on a few watchmen for escort or even the Blades he had secreted away. He shook his head. He was the strongest melder left in all of Kasandar. If anyone could best him despite soul and skin augmented by the Dracodar re-mains, then the watchmen would be mere playthings. The Blades could help, but risking their discovery and a report of them to the king wasn’t worth it if he were wrong about Borosen.

  He wished the queen hadn’t ordered him to send Sorinya off on some secret mission. He could use the man’s skills now. Discovering the Ebon Blade’s true allegiance was still a shock. The Thelusian giant had ever been Ainslen’s man. The king had saved him from certain death, raised him, and yet … Leroi shook his head in wonderment. The Game was as deep as it was great.