The Quintessence Cycle- The Complete Series

by Terry C. Simpson

  “So what now,” Leroi Shenen nodded toward the corpse. “With him dead, where do we go from here?”

  “We raise a new king, his son, Winslow, now known as Weilondran. Then we find this Soulbreaker army, its leader, and we crush them.”

  “Winslow isn’t Ainslen’s blood.”

  “A detail that has never mattered much when you nobles play at Far’an Senjin.”

  “The way to the crown is open. With Ainslen’s death coming so soon, his decree of succession means little. I could lay claim to the throne. So tell me, why should I support Winslow instead?”

  She cocked her head to one side to regard the tall man. “Because you gave me your word. Or did you forget? Because those armies outside, the ones rife with Dracodar and the Order’s wisemen, the ones who defeated the westerners, all belong to me. They are under Winslow’s command. Whatever remains of the King’s Blades are mine.”

  “Not all of them.”

  “Even if you were to muster a large enough force to be a thorn, the Stonelords have pledged their allegiance to Winslow. So has Hanlin, the Marish king, as well as the Heleganese Voices and their Overlords. The Farish Islanders already fight beside his Kheridisians. Whose banners did the Order fly? At best you might have the Darshanese, but one wonders what help they will truly be. The numbers against you are daunting.”

  “So were the numbers against us when we faced the westerners. Yet we prevailed.”

  She gave him a rueful smile. Chance and success had made him bold. Foolishly so. “If I tell you to kneel, you will do so.”

  Leroi Shenen opened his mouth then snapped it shut. He got down on one knee. After a moment, she gestured for him to stand.

  “How?” Leroi’s eyes were round with fear.

  “You know me as Terestere. My true name is Elin-Lahnim, Queen of All, Giver and Taker of Souls. I was also called Elysse the Temptress.”

  “Impossible,” Leroi whispered. “Elysse the Temptress is dead. Jemare killed her.”

  “Did he? When I came among you as Elysse, I always used another face.” With a quick meld, she rearranged her features, bones shifting to match the image she held. A hiss escaped Leroi’s mouth. Blood drained from his face. Smiling, she reversed the change. “Jemare, Ainslen and anyone else at my home that night thought they saw me die. All part of a mindbend I’ve used for centuries.”

  “Why?”

  “To exact vengeance. They were among the last … the last of the ones at whose feet I can lay the blame for my people’s suffering.”

  “Your people?”

  “The Dracodar.” Bracing against a surge of the Longing, she let out a slow exhale and transformed. Scales punctured skin, leaving blood that her flesh absorbed. The sensation rippled across her body. When she finished, she stood before him, resplendent in iridescent scales. The Longing became a torrent, a storm beating against her barriers. Her vision blurred for a moment, but with an added burst of soul she clung to control. If she wavered now it would take her. She teetered on the edge of that precipice.

  He stumbled away from her, one hand going to the sword at his waist. But he did not draw the weapon.

  “It took centuries to learn to suppress the memories. But they’re still there. I can still see when my father had us flee after your predecessors took my mother during the Culling. He took us west, away from the wrath of the Kasinian Empire, to our ancient haunts beyond Aladel, into the Fringes and the Tomb of Shattered Souls. He promised we would be safe.

  “But what we found there was something different. Our predecessors in the Fringes had already given up hope. They felt the Gods had forsaken them, and thus they adopted the name the Andomren: The Abandoned. They practiced rituals of appeasement, both to the Eternals and to the religious fervor of the surrounding kingdoms. They served the western races as slaves left to clear battlefields, their homes among the dead. We were outcasts, hunted by the Berendali, the Nausirii, the Aladeli, and the Tesadonians, by the forefathers of the High Kings.

  “At first we defended ourselves, but we soon learned that the High Kings’ power was greater than ours. Coupled with their numbers, we had no chance. And so my father surrendered to them, gave his life so they would show mercy. Their mercy was to enslave us, to take from us as they saw fit, to rape us, to kill any who posed a threat, and send the young through the Dragon Gates in one of their rituals.

  “Amid all that suffering, I found strength. I learned much from the remnants of the ancient Dracodar there. Escaping from the Tombs, I took a precious few back east into the deep Kheridisian forests, and there we began anew. Legends were born, given life through stories and song, spread from whorehouse to tavern to home. Finally, I’d found breath again.

  “All I ever wanted in Kheridisia was to be left in peace, to rebuild, to give us some semblance of normalcy again.” She reversed the change, chest heaving at the reduction of pressure from the Longing. “Even if we were doomed to never reproduce purely of our own, we would live out the rest of our lives there in freedom.

  “I started a life in those dank woods, a life given to me by the souls that call the Treskelin home. For the Kheridisians, my pact with the forest brought protection from the rest of the Kasinian Empire. For us, it ensured separation from the world.

  “However, your Empire continued to defile the name of Far’an Senjin, turning the Game of Souls into something it was never intended to be. So many leeched of soul, robbed of freedom, heritage, and life itself, all for you nobles to gain position with your Houses, to rise to the throne. Not once did the nobility look back and think the Dracodar descendants had endured enough for whatever slight or atrocities our predecessors might have committed. Not once did you consider true mercy. You became drunk with power. I turned a blind eye to it, even let my guard down when I thought you could change, so I, too, am to blame.”

  “Perhaps some did abuse their power,” Leroi said, hand still on his hilt, “but the same way you recall your history beneath us, so do we remember ours in your service. We were less than dogs. Man will only endure oppression but for so long.”

  Elin-Lahnim smiled. “Truer words have not been spoken, for the ones you called dregs endured all they could. And slowly, their need to escape the Day of Accolades, Far’an Senjin, and the Smear overrode fear of the Treskelin. By ones and twos, they fled through the Undertow into the forests. The elder Dracodar saw the first few of our descendants as nothing more than half-breeds, abominations. I saw something else. I saw opportunity. For through them, we could reproduce again, not in the same way, not truly pure, but it was still better than extinction.

  “I placed myself close to your king and helped secret away more folk from the Smear. To cast suspicion away from myself, I created Elysse the Temptress. She kept the Blades occupied.

  “With enough viable candidates, I became the first of the broodmothers. For a long time, we had peace, to the point where I’d given up any thoughts of repaying humankind for their part in the Culling and the Blight. Restoring my race consumed me. It made me content.”

  “What changed?”

  “The Red Swamps.” She closed her eyes for a moment and inhaled as the memories of all the dead swam through her mind. If only she hadn’t been gone for so long, if she hadn’t eased the forest’s protection to accommodate the increase of newcomers. “Your rulers weren’t satisfied with the rest of the world. They coveted Kheridisia too, as they did the west, and Jiantona, and any other place to which they could lay claim. Not only did they kill for their schemes, for greed … they killed for the sake of killing and for soul. They brought war to the Lower Treskelin until the trees, earth, and waters ran crimson with my children’s blood.

  “After the Red Swamps, I visited Kasandar, intent on taking Jemare’s life. But I realized another would replace him. I needed to scheme as you do. So, I sent some of my children to live in the Smear, to be taken on the Day of Accolades, to gain places among the Blades, the nobles, the common folk, and the Order, each one a capable Mesmer. As they grew
I taught them the melds needed to carry out my plan.

  “In time, a few of the Great Houses came under the control of my progeny, House Jarina being the first of them. It was easy then to have Cardinton and the others before him bring my girls into service. There’s no easier way to influence a man’s mind than when you and him are one. From there it was only a matter of time.”

  “You speak as if it’s so wrong to want to rule,” Leroi argued. “The Dracodar held the world entire for millennia. Until you fell to us. Now, it’s our turn. The strong stand; the weak fall.”

  “True.” She nodded. “Which is part of what I wish to change. Watching this last war, and considering the ones before it, I’ve come to realize that life in itself is like soul: a series of cycles. But too much of life’s cycles rely on death and destruction, tearing down to build up. That part must come to an end.

  “Those I leave behind to rule have experienced the good and the bad, the ugly and the beautiful. They possess facets of both bloodlines, and therein, is the difference. They already have a start for what is to be a new world.

  “And that is why I ask you to support Winslow. Besides, your grandson, Jaelen, is next in line. Your daughter will become the queen. Are you willing to give up a sure chance to help shape the new Empire?”

  “What happens when Winslow, or should I say your son, King Weilondran, discovers Jaelen isn’t his blood?” Leroi asked. She was taken aback for a moment before she smoothed her face. “Yes, I put it together as you spoke. It finally makes sense now. Ainslen took your son from the Smear as part of Far’an Senjin. It wasn’t his idea, was it? It was your doing, your mindbend. He raised the heir without realizing, never thinking the biggest threat was beside him. Well played.”

  She nodded. “My son will always believe Jaelen is his. Elaina’s mind is blocked from that memory. I saw to it myself. I have no intention of telling him, and neither will you. Jaelen is what keeps him grounded, his need to be a good father to the boy, to be the opposite of what Ainslen was to him. Even if someone should start a rumor, I don’t foresee him dwelling on it. He’ll have enough concerns as the bridge between the Dracodar and humans.”

  “What if I choose to tell him?”

  “You won’t. I’ve seen to that also.”

  Leroi looked into her eyes, and she let him. “Then why ask anything of me? Why not force me to do your bidding? Or kill me. If your influence is so great, why not simply declare who would be the Empire’s king? Why name a king at all? You could be the first queen to truly rule.”

  “Becoming the ruler is not my goal. Not that the thought hasn’t crossed my mind.” A time existed when she’d pictured herself above all, putting humankind to the sword. The urge still tempted her from time to time, but she was wiser now. “Forcing you and everyone else to bow to him wouldn’t be much different from the oppression people suffer now. We’ve both seen the results when people are denied freedom. With your support, particularly after the way you saved Kasandar, your allegiance means more than ever.

  “By your word, they will accept Winslow for who he is now. His tale is one for a guiser’s song. Consider it for a moment.

  “During the Consortium uprising on Succession Day, a rival of House Mandrigal wounded him almost unto death. In desperation he fled Kasandar and found his way into the dreaded Treskelin Forest before his father took the throne. Despite months upon months of searching, he wasn’t found. He was given up for dead.

  “In the Treskelin, the legendary Dracodar discovered him and nursed him to health. Uncertain of his place in the Empire, he stayed among them. Already gifted in soul due to his father’s bloodline, he was able to pass their greatest tests and rose to be their leader.

  “But he never forgot where he came from, the son he left behind, or the love of his life, Elaina.

  “Crowned and renamed King Weilondran of Kheridisia, he had to take action when the westerners invaded. Clad in golden scale armor, and riding atop a giant hornbear, he commanded humans, beasts, and Dracodarians alike, his army appearing at the last moment before the Empire suffered its greatest defeat. They turned the tide of the battle.

  “Winslow had returned to save his son, for Elaina, and to lay claim to the crown. He returned for love and for his kingdom.”

  “A guiser’s tale indeed,” Leroi said.

  She shrugged. “People love a romantic story. And they worship heroes. Most will follow him. At your behest, all of the Empire will. Loyalty earned and freely given is the best kind.”

  “It is, isn’t it?” Leroi regarded Ainslen’s corpse. “In truth, I’m tired of all this. Tired of the games, the killing … I just want to be with my family again, living in peace. If the way to peace is through him, then I swear allegiance to King Weilondran, from now until the day of my death.”

  “Thank you.” She dipped her head to him. “There’s still much left to do. Can you send Winslow and Keedar in when you leave?”

  “Yes, my queen.” He bowed and strode from the room.

  The last sons to whom she’d given birth entered the chamber a short time after. When she’d left them, Keedar was three and Winslow, a few months old. Years later, on a couple occasions when she would take food and supplies to the Smear’s downtrodden residents, she’d seen Keedar sitting on a rooftop. In those days he was a slender, sandy-haired boy in patchwork clothing. As for Winslow, after she gave him to Ainslen, he grew up on Mandrigal Hill, a bright, dark-haired youth with green eyes and pinewood skin that matched most nobles. Both had filled out since, features and backbones hardened through harsh experiences. Keedar was the more dangerous of the two, and the crown on Winslow’s head seemed a natural fit. The seeds she planted in them so long ago had matured into fruit surpassing her hopes.

  “Mother!” Keedar rushed over and snatched her up, hugging her tightly while crying.

  She’d dreaded this day, believing the lack of attachment she’d developed over the centuries would surface. It did not. Unlike with her other children, some inherent connection existed between her and these two. It was etched into her bones, into all she was and had ever been.

  Unbidden tears trickled down her face with the feel and smell of Keedar. She squeezed him back. Within moments Winslow had joined them. Her tears became full-throated sobs, both of joy and sorrow, as she recalled the last time she’d held them on the Night of Blades, all those long years ago.

  They talked, cried, and laughed, shared their fears, their dreams, their experiences, the jumble of words and emotions so overwhelming she didn’t wish for them to end. She whispered apologies for leaving them, for not being there to watch them grow, to nurture them, to pick them up when they fell. A weight lifted from her, one she hadn’t realized she carried. Time passed with her basking in the moment, and then reluctantly, she extricated herself from their arms.

  “My dear boys.” She smiled, still amazed at how much they’d grown. “You’ve become all I wished for and more. I questioned my decision every day, prayed to the Gods for your wellbeing. You’re the last of me, and seeing you now vindicates my choice, as difficult as it was.”

  Keedar frowned. “What do you mean the last of you?”

  She remained silent as she tried to formulate how best to put her thoughts to words.

  “Mother?” Winslow said.

  She sighed. “You are the last of my children, the last born of a truly pure Dracodar. I can no longer have children of any kind. Neither can any other Pure. After your generation, the bloodlines will be heavily diluted. But my life’s work was to make certain a semblance of us lived on. And it will, in the ability to produce scales of some sort and to have access to multiple soul cycles. It’s a legacy of which I can be proud.” Her sons glanced at each other, expressions painful. “There’s no need to be saddened, my boys. All things come to an end. It’s the one surety in life.”

  Winslow took a step closer to the bed, scowling as he regarded Ainslen’s body. “I’d hoped to be the one to kill him.”

  “You weren’t th
e only person with such a wish,” Elin-Lahnim said.

  “He had a better death than he deserved.” Keedar stood over the king’s corpse, fists clenched.

  “Perhaps, but he’s dead now, which is all that matters.” She strode toward the chamber’s windows, which offered a clear view south across the Wetlands to the wrinkled mantles of the Shifting Stones. Smoke drifted into the sky from the Treskelin beyond. “However, there is some unfinished business, namely the Soulbreaker army and the man who leads it. Hopefully the Treskelin will keep them at bay long enough for Thar to arrive here first.” Deep inside she prayed it wasn’t a misplaced wish. “Until then I hope to make up for as much lost time as I can with you two, starting with your coronation, Winslow.”

  “Coronation?” Both Winslow and Keedar spoke at the same time.

  She smiled in Winslow’s direction. “You’re to be crowned as the Empire’s new ruler. Ainslen’s decree of succession still holds. It still has the Order’s approval. Leroi Shenen will declare his allegiance to you, and thus, the other Counts will fall in line. The monarchs from every other kingdom in the Empire all support you.” At long last she would see a dream fulfilled.

  The door to the chamber crashed open, a spray of splinters shooting through the room. A tall man strode through the ragged opening, his eyes the blue of a clear sky. The sides of his head were bald, but well-oiled braids disappeared past his shoulders. Behind him, the guards in the outer hallway were sprawled on the ground, each of them motionless.

  Even as Winslow and Keedar whirled to face the threat, she opened her mouth to scream for them to stop. The words had barely formed when Vasys Balbas waved his hand in an unconcerned manner. Her sons crumpled to the ground.

  “Nooooooo!” she screamed.

  Roaring, she drew on every cycle, even the quintessence , transforming at the same time, prickles running along her skin as scales rippled forth. Blood pounding in her ears, fangs bared, she charged Vasys Balbas. A millennium of suffering, of unfulfilled vengeance, of seeing all she held dear wither and die, clouded her vision. The storm of soul threatened to drown her, but she drank of it, gorged herself on its power. The Longing crashed down upon her, but she staved it off. Her rage fueled a mindbend that would be as much physical as mental, one to sweep away an army if it stood before her.