Quin took a seat beside Naia, holding her hand. Tsula stared down at their hands, her face darkening in irritation. It was the first emotion Quin remembered seeing on her face. He found himself enjoying it. Just to provoke her, he raised Naia’s hand to his lips and kissed it, grinning in triumph at the seething look on Tsula’s face.
She went deliberately about smoothing her gown, as if using the action to compose herself. Then she looked up with a flat expression and told them, “For nine days, I have been analyzing the information harvested by the Crescent. There has been much to take in.”
“And what did you discover?” he asked.
“There are many things going wrong in the world, and very few going right. There are too many variables in play to guess the outcome of it all. But one thing is for certain: we must destroy the magic field. It is the only way to break the Curse over the Black Lands. And it is the only way to destroy the Well of Tears.”
Quin looked at her sideways. “Destroy the Well of Tears. I thought that wasn’t possible.”
“It is possible. Difficult, but possible.”
“How?” he demanded. Naia squeezed his fingers. She looked just as confused as Quin felt.
Tsula crossed her legs, folding her hands over her knees. “For you to understand, we must discuss the nature of the Well itself.”
“I’m listening.” Quin glanced at Naia, seeing the intense frown on her face that had to mirror his own.
The Harbinger nodded. “The Well of Tears unlocks the Gateway between worlds. Think of it as a tunnel between two realms: our realm, and the realm of Xerys.”
Quin frowned. “You mean hell.”
Tsula waved her hand dismissively. “Hell is a religious concept. I do not speak of religion. What you know of as the Netherworld is simply one facet of an infinite number of realms that define existence. It is the realm most closely associated with our own plane.”
Her concept of the universe was so far removed from anything in Quin’s experience, that her statements seemed preposterous. “I’ve been to the Netherworld,” he reminded her. “For a thousand years, I existed there in torment. Now you’re telling me I wasn’t damned?”
Tsula shrugged. “Damnation is simply the consignment of a soul to the realm of Xerys. Your soul, unfortunately, was imprisoned there and subjected to torture.”
He demanded, “Why? Why was I tortured?”
“Because you defied the will of Xerys.”
Quin felt the heat of outrage flush his cheeks. Stewing in bitterness, he asked, “So what is the Gateway, exactly?”
Tsula crossed her arms. “The Gateway is like a tunnel with two openings: one in our own realm, and the other in the Netherworld. It is a rip in the fabric which separates those two planes.”
“How was the tunnel created?” Naia asked.
“It was created by harvesting an extraordinary amount of vitrus in the eye of a vortex, then focusing that vitrus on Xerys’ plane.”
Quin frowned as he thought about it. Vitrus was an archaic term used to describe the Gift that was passed from a dying mage to their successor—a mage’s life force. The creation of the Well of Tears must have required the slaughter of dozens of mages.
Tsula continued, “This act opened the mouth of the tunnel in our world. The other end was bored by Xerys using the Hellpower. The manipulation of the Gateway requires tremendous amounts of vitrus. That is why a Grand Master must be sacrificed to seal the Well of Tears—the sacrifice has to be great enough; elsewise, it will fail.”
“So a thousand years ago, I was the sacrifice,” Quin concluded.
“Yes.” Tsula nodded. “Just as Darien Lauchlin sealed it more recently.”
Quin exchanged looks with Naia. Despite his reservations, he believed Tsula. She came from a perspective that contradicted every religious doctrine he had ever heard. But her explanations were too rational to deny. If she was correct, then Xerys was not necessarily a god of evil. He was merely the ruler of his own domain.
Baffled, Quin asked, “So how do we destroy the Gateway?”
“The Gateway is unstable. Its natural tendency is to collapse. It is maintained by the Well of Tears, which draws its power from the magic field. In the Netherworld, there is another Well that is powered by the Onslaught.”
Tsula leaned forward, her black eyes taking in both of them with a look of grave portent. “To collapse the Gateway, we must destroy the stabilizer that holds it open: we must destroy the Well of Tears. And the only way to do that is to destroy the power that feeds it.”
Quin understood. He understood completely. “Destroy the magic field,” he concluded in a whisper.
“Yes.”
His head spun. He felt the dizzying sensation of his headache returning. He asked, “And there’s no other way?”
The Harbinger nodded. “There is no other way.”
11
The Naturalist
Kyel gestured at Alexa, demanding, “Let me see your arm.”
She pulled her right sleeve back, exposing the glistening mark of the Mage’s Oath. Kyel glared down at the emblem, not trusting it. Perhaps Renquist had found a way to replicate it. His hand lingered on the talisman’s haft while Alexa tugged her sleeve back down.
Kyel looked at her. “Start talking. Right now.”
Alexa nodded, her gaze dropping to the ground. “I was away when Aerysius fell. But I returned … and I was captured.”
“By Zavier Renquist?” he asked skeptically.
“No. By Cyrus Krane.” She reached up and brushed a lock of hair out of her face. “They took me to Bryn Calazar and made me a slave. I was there for two years….” Her voice shook. She looked like she was close to crying.
He didn’t care; she was lying to him again. “You’re a mage. How could they keep you as a slave?”
She cast an injured pout his way. “They took me into the vortex. There was nothing I could do.” The look on her face begged him to believe her.
He didn’t. Kyel paced away, one hand on his hip, the other on Thar’gon. “So how did you end up in Creek Hollow?”
“Cyrus Krane came back. He took my baby.” Her voice shook harder. “He told me he’d kill her if I didn’t do what he said.”
Kyel gritted his teeth. That was a lie. She couldn’t possibly have a baby if she’d been a slave in the Black Lands for two years—
The thought staggered to a halt. It suddenly occurred to him how such a child could have been conceived. He turned back to her, hoping for her sake she was lying. More gently, he asked, “And what did Krane tell you to do?”
“Krane told me you were Darien’s acolyte. And that Renquist wanted you. He didn’t say why, but I can guess.”
“Then guess!” Kyel’s voice was harsher than he’d intended.
She pointed at the weapon hanging from his belt. “You’re carrying the most powerful talisman in the world. I’m sure Renquist wants it. And there’s only one way he can get it.”
“By killing me,” Kyel concluded, feeling his anger rising. Not specifically at Alexa, but at the whole situation. Almost, he thought he could believe her. Almost. But not quite. He glanced down at the ground, at the shadows of the pine trees laced with sunlight. A cool breeze swayed the branches overhead and moved the fronds of the bracken around them.
“Thar’gon binds to only one person at a time,” Alexa explained. “Right now, it’s bound to you. There’s only two ways it could ever abandon you. First, you could die. Or if the Warden of Battlemages ever touches it, then Thar’gon will transfer to his hand.”
“Byron Connel’s dead,” Kyel said, feeling relieved.
“Who took his place?”
Jarred, Kyel stared unblinking at Alexa. He hadn’t thought of that. “There’s only four Servants left. Renquist, Krane, Quin Reis … and Darien.”
Alexa spread her hands. “Then you have your answer. Darien Lauchlin is the new Warden of Battlemages. And if he ever gets his hands on that weapon—”
“Oh, gods…
” Kyel let out a slow sigh, realizing the likelihood of that danger. He remembered the atrocious means Darien had used to escape the dungeon of Greystone Keep. And the implacable ease with which he’d killed.
“I can’t let him get it,” Kyel said. No matter what. He looked at Alexa, realizing it didn’t matter whether or not he trusted her. He couldn't take the risk of bringing her along. “I’m going to leave you with your horse. Don’t follow me.”
“I thought you—”
Kyel shook his head. “I can’t trust you.” He went to his mount and threw the saddle blanket over the animal’s back. Alexa dashed after him, shaking her head, her eyes wide and desperate.
“I made my bargain with Krane before I ever knew you had Thar’gon!” she gasped. “Now … the stakes are too high.” Her eyes fill with tears. “I’ll teach you how to use it!”
Kyel paused in the action of lifting his saddle off the ground. He set it back down. “You know how it works?”
“I’m a Naturalist … pushing the boundaries of Natural Law is my area of expertise. And that talisman you’re holding bends Natural Law far beyond the limits of what should ever be possible. Thar’gon is every Naturalist’s dream. We studied it exhaustively, at least as much as we could from historical records.”
Kyel’s eyes narrowed in distrust. “Then show me something. Show me something I can do with it.”
Alexa spread her hands. “What do you want to know?”
“I don’t care!” He flung his arms up in frustration. “Show me anything!”
“All right.” She walked away from him a few paces. Then she lifted her hand, gesturing around at the forest and the rocky outcrop behind them. “First, get a good look at your surroundings. Notice things like the horses, the rocks, these particular trees. Are you doing it?”
Kyel nodded, following her directions sourly, even though he didn’t understand why he was doing any of it. For all he knew, Alexa could be tricking him into killing himself.
“Now think of somewhere nearby. Somewhere you’ve been and can easily visualize.”
Curious now, Kyel forgot his reservations. The campsite where they’d left the remains of the dead leapt into mind. The fallen tree. The rotting body parts. Cadmus’ ashes. He remembered all of it.
“Now what?” he grumbled.
Alexa approached him slowly. “Try to see it in your mind. Every detail that you can remember, as clearly as you can.”
“I am.” It wasn’t difficult.
She stopped beside him. “I’m going to hold your hand.”
He felt her fingers clasp his own. He almost flinched away. But he gripped her hand, far too curious to stop now.
“Hold your weapon,” she instructed softly. “Bring it up. There. Now, say this word: Vergis.”
“Vergis,” Kyel echoed.
The forest shivered and disappeared … and another appeared. Startled, Kyel broke away from Alexa’s grip and spun in a slow circle, taking in the sight of the grove complete with its rotting smell and decomposing flesh. Lowering Thar’gon to his side, Kyel blinked, feeling dizzy.
“How is that possible?” he gasped.
“It’s called transferring,” Alexa informed him with a smile. “Thar’gon is imbued with several motive characters. That’s one.” She gestured around expansively. “Do you trust me now?”
“No.”
The smile collapsed, replaced by a scowl of frustration. She stalked away through the bracken then whirled back, planting her hands on her hips.
“Use logic,” she snapped. “If I was trying to hurt you, why would I be showing you how to use the most powerful talisman in the world?”
“I don’t know, but I’m sure there’s a reason.”
Kyel moved to the nearest corpse, nudging it with his boot. Flies swarmed up to buzz him angrily before settling back down again. The stench that rose from the rotting tissue made him gag. He moved away quickly.
“What else can it do?” He set off through the trees toward the little brook he knew was there.
Alexa rushed to keep up. “Thar’gon was crafted to enhance a war mage’s effectiveness in battle. Mobility. Communication. Defense. It anticipates its master’s needs and reacts accordingly.”
“What else?” Kyel paused, looking around for familiar landmarks.
Alexa said to his back, “Several of its motive characters are powerful offensive strikes. It also has an amplification character I’m sure you’ve discovered.”
“I have.”
He stopped by the brook and looked down sadly at Cadmus’ ashes. He turned to Alexa, gesturing with the talisman as anger tightened his throat. “This is your fault. If it wasn’t for you, he’d be alive now. I needed him. And now he’s dead.”
A look of regret filled the woman’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Kyel. It wasn’t my intent to get him killed.”
“No. Your intent was to get me killed.” He glared at her. “What were those things back there? The dead people?”
She clasped her hands together. “They are the men of Creek Hollow. Or what’s left of them. The women and children were carried off. I don’t know what happened to them.”
“They didn’t look like rotten meat in Creek Hollow.” The men of the town had been alive. Awkward and strange, but definitely not decomposing. But she was right; there’d been no sign of women or children. He’d thought that odd at the time.
Alexa explained, “The ward of preservation ended the moment they left the town.” She lifted her arm, offering her hand out to him. “Please. Take us back.”
Grudgingly, he took her hand. He looked back at Cadmus’ ashes. “Vergis.”
The world spun and lurched. Kyel staggered as the ground stabilized beneath his feet. The horses tossed their heads, rolling their eyes at their sudden appearance. Kyel released his grip on Alexa’s hand and moved to reclaim his mount. He tossed the saddle over the animal’s back, then bent to tighten the girth strap.
Alexa rushed up behind him, grabbing his arm. “Please, Kyel! Take me with you! I’m the only chance you have!”
Kyel ripped his arm out of the woman’s grasp and swung around to shout at her, “Why? Why are you my only chance?!”
She looked at him coldly. “Because that weapon wants to return to its rightful master. And you’re not him.”
Kyel held her gaze. “And what can you do about it?”
“Darien Lauchlin commands a host of necrators. They will shut you down in a heartbeat. But as you see, I have some experience with the undead.” Alexa smiled slowly. “If you take me with you, we’ll shut him down, instead.”
12
Blood Kin
Darien woke to darkness. For a moment, he thought he was back in the Black Lands. But the ubiquitous flickers of cloud-light were absent, not ribboning across the fabric of his tent. Then he remembered: he was in the Rhen, where the night sky had never been tortured by Malikar’s Curse.
He put out a hand, searching next to him, but felt only empty blankets. Azár hadn’t returned.
He climbed out of the covers and walked naked across the rugs to the water jug. He took a gulp of water and swished it around in his mouth. The taste was foul. Grimacing, he picked up a bristled tooth-stick and used it to scrub his teeth as he pulled on his clothes. He gathered his weapons then walked out into the gathering area.
A dozen or more men lay sleeping within, sprawled across the rugs. Darien had to pick his way carefully as he wound his way toward the door. He found his boots and pulled them on by the straps. He left the tent and walked out into the cool night, spitting the film from his teeth and pocketing the tooth-stick.
The air smelled robustly of woodsmoke. Darien breathed in deeply, filling his nostrils with the scent of it. After so many months breathing the harsh stench of burning coal, Darien relished the scent of woodfire. All across the encampment, his soldiers leaned over fires of wood and prairie dung, a first of the many bounties the Rhen had to offer.
Darien looked around for sight of his wife, won
dering where she could have fled to. Azár had no immediate family to take her in. She also didn’t seem to have any friends—at least, none that he was aware of. The life of a Lightweaver was a solitary existence. Searching the camp, Darien finally remembered that not all friends walked on two legs.
He found Azár by the horse pickets. She was rubbing down her mare’s glossy coat, moving her hands in slow circles over the animal’s neck. The horse followed her movements with its head, brushing its nose against her back. Smiling, Azár caught hold of the bridle and focused her attention on the mare’s head.
A twig snapped under Darien’s boot. Azár flinched then twisted around to look back at him. Her hands ceased their motion, and a scowl of anger twisted her face.
Darien halted, raising his hands. “I’m sorry. I know you’re angry—”
She turned and stalked toward him, glaring at him with an alarming fury. She raised her hand as if to strike him. But instead of landing a blow, she lurched into his arms, growling, “Don’t ever do something so stupid again.”
Instead of responding, Darien picked her up and carried her into the shadows of the tall grass.
He woke to the sound of distant thunder. The sun was already up, its glaring light stabbing darts into his eyes. Darien sat up from the bed of grass he shared with Azár. He squinted against the light, his pulse kicking up as he recognized the earth-shaking rumble that was growing louder by the second.
Horses. Hundreds of horses. Perhaps thousands.
In the distance, he heard the encampment stirring.
At his side, Azár roused from sleep.
“Get back to the pavilion,” he told her.
She glared at him reproachfully, looking ready to protest.
“We’re in a vortex,” Darien snapped, reminding her of her vulnerability.
Azár’s face softened, and she nodded. She rose and pulled on her clothes, muttering, “Don’t do anything—”
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