Darkrise Page 21

  Then he looked at Darien, not certain he trusted him either.

  A bleak feeling crawled under Kyel’s skin. This could be a trap, he realized. By the look on Craig’s face, he could tell the commander had arrived at that thought ahead of him.

  Darien turned, gesturing for them to follow as he showed them his back and strode toward the tent. Kyel followed him through the guard of plate-mailed bodies, his eyes trained on the sway of Darien’s cloak. The mage’s hair was longer, the cloak different, the whiskers on his face overgrown. But there was no mistaking that graceful confidence the man projected with every stride. It was Darien’s signature.

  He held open the flap of the tent, allowing them to enter. Once inside, Kyel stood still, letting his eyes adjust to the dimness of the interior. The pavilion was lit by a subtle amber light, the glow of lanterns set about on a floor draped with rugs. There were a few cushions thrown down for them to sit on; that was all. Save for the shadows, the tent was empty.

  Darien sat cross-legged in the center of the room, resting his arms upon his knees. Kyel took one of the cushions across from him, seating himself awkwardly. Craig sat down beside him, adjusting and readjusting his posture several times. He looked patently uncomfortable.

  At last, Darien nodded at Kyel. “It’s good to see you. How have you been?”

  His voice was rich and warm, exactly as Kyel remembered it.

  “As well as can be expected,” he managed, unsure of what to say. He didn’t trust the man in front of him. Darien didn’t look like a demon, like the monster Meiran had described. But neither did he look like himself. He had changed. Calmer, steadier, more focused. Much more sure of himself. Yet, the shadows Kyel remembered still haunted his eyes.

  “I’m thirsty,” Craig said. “What have you got to drink?”

  Darien spread his hands. The thick sleeves of his robe fell back to reveal a tangle of red scars on his wrists. Kyel remembered them well. The sight of them made him want to retch.

  “I’m sorry,” Darien said. “Among my people, it’s considered inappropriate to share cups with our enemies.”

  Devlin Craig scoffed. “Your people. Are you serious?”

  Darien’s expression didn’t change. He remained impassive, staring at Craig levelly. “I am very serious. This is the path I’ve chosen. These are my people now.”

  Craig scowled. He thrust a hand into his pocket and produced a metal flask. Removing the stopper, he took a healthy drink from it. He took his time about stoppering it back up again, setting it down carefully.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he asked. “I see you sitting there with my own eyes, and I still can’t believe it.”

  Darien stared at him for a lingering moment. Then he said very quietly, “I assume Meiran’s told you about the Reversal of the magic field that is coming.”

  “That you say is coming, aye. She did.” Craig’s face conveyed his doubts. Kyel still wasn’t sure whether or not he believed it.

  “It is coming,” Darien insisted. “And when it does come, every person living north of the Shadowspears is going to starve unless you let us in. I can’t let that happen. Condemning an entire nation to death goes against every fiber of my conscience.”

  “You swore your soul to Xerys. Apparently that didn’t go against the fibers of your conscience.”

  Darien only shrugged, casually dismissing the insult. “I did what I had to do. You’ve got Meiran back because of it. I have no regrets.”

  “Well, I have plenty. Starting with saving your life.”

  Darien glanced down, seeming to be taking a moment to collect himself. When he looked back up again, his face was full of resolve. “I asked you here because both of you were once my friends. I’m hoping that together we can forge a peace between our two nations before this escalates into something awful. I’m here to save lives, as many lives as I can. I don’t want to spill one drop of blood that I don’t have to.”

  Craig’s eyes turned as hard as tempered steel. “I don’t mind spilling blood.”

  The comment took Kyel aback. He didn’t know why the man was acting so unreasonably. He figured they should hear what Darien had come all this way to offer. Especially with so much at stake.

  “There are over a million people in the Black Lands,” Darien said evenly. “That’s an awful lot of blood to have on your hands.”

  Craig just shrugged. “It won’t be on my hands. We didn’t blacken the skies over Caladorn. It was Renquist and the rest of your kind who chose to dance with the devil instead of doing the right thing. Renquist sold his people out. Why don’t you go talk to him about blood.”

  “Renquist was trying to save civilization as we know it,” Darien said. “Both our societies depend on a magical infrastructure that’s still in place today. Our entire way of life is threatened by the Reversal. Someday soon, the world you wake to is going to be very different than the one you know today. And then it will be your problem to deal with.”

  Kyel thought about that, wondering if he was right. He’d seen it, the magical infrastructure Darien was referring to. The hot water in Rothscard’s pipes, the city lanterns that looked so much like captive magelight. Aqueducts that shuttled water uphill. The way Cadmus could communicate with the High Priest even at a distance. The troves of knowledge in Om’s libraries, the vast warren of the Catacombs. That was just the beginning, he knew. He envisioned a sprawling network of magically enhanced technologies that were so taken for granted that most people weren’t even aware of their existence.

  “It sounds like we’re going to have a lot of work on our hands,” Craig said. “The last thing we’ll need’s a million more mouths to feed.”

  Darien leaned forward, his eyes intense. “Food isn’t going to be the problem. The Rhen has enough arable land to go around. Cities like Rothscard and Auberdale are going to be the hardest hit when the infrastructure collapses. What you’re going to need is a larger labor pool. We can provide that.”

  Craig sneered. “How do we know this Reversal’s even real? That this isn’t just some ploy to slip your forces past our defenses?”

  Warily, Darien said, “My offer to Meiran still stands.”

  “And what offer is that?”

  “I said I’d surrender myself to you as a guarantee of trust.”

  For the first time since the beginning of the conversation, Darien looked less than arrogant. He licked his lips, fidgeting with a flap of leather on his belt.

  Craig glowered. “You want to bring a million people through my pass. It’s going to take a hell of a lot more than that to gain my trust. If what you say is true, then you’re running out of options. I’d say it’s time to start discussing the terms of your unconditional surrender.”

  Darien’s eyes hardened. He looked suddenly very much like a demon. “Believe me: we are far from out of options. Our legions outnumber your own, and our Battlemages can stop your hearts and level your walls. And then there’s the very simple fact that every member of our population will fight to the death because that’s all they’ve got left.”

  Craig stared at him, unblinking.

  When he didn’t respond, Darien went on, “We don’t want a war. All we want is to survive.”

  “At our expense,” snapped Craig. He blew out a sigh, glancing at Kyel. Kyel didn’t know what to say. He understood the very real danger in Darien’s threats. He also understood the underlying plea for help. He wasn’t sure Craig did.

  “All right, Darien. Let’s talk terms.” The commander planted a finger on the rugs in front of him. “You want more than just safe passage. You want land and homes and the means of making ends meet. And all that’s going to have to come from somewhere—so where? I don’t know of any farmers eager to hand over their harvests to—.”

  Darien cut him off. “We need passage, Craig. Sooner. Not later. Before the light goes out and famine decides our fate for us. There’s something you have to understand. We’re coming, and there’s nothing you can do to stop us. Either you
let us in willingly, or we’ll march right over your bones.”

  Craig took a slow sip from his flask. Then he stoppered it and set the container down at his side. “These are my terms. You want to end this without a fight? Then we demand nothing less than your unconditional surrender. You disarm and leave your armor and armaments behind. You submit yourselves to our rule of law. Every mage, commander, and senior officer becomes our prisoners of war. We’ll let the rest of your population through the pass one fraction at a time. If there’s any sign of treachery, we’ll slit all your throats and seal the pass.”

  The more he talked, the darker Darien’s expression became. He was shaking his head long before Craig came to the end of his demands. “You can’t have every mage,” he said. “Our Lightweavers are useless on a battlefield, and they’re all condemned, besides. They’ll not spend the rest of their lives in a Greystone dungeon. You can have me and Myria. But that’s all.”

  “There’s Eight Servants, Darien. You’re offering us only two. That’s not near enough.”

  Darien glared defiantly at Craig. “I told you. We’re coming, one way or another. I offered myself and Myria as a token of trust. This is the last offer I make before I walk out of this tent and tell half a million men to burn you to the ground and grind your bones to dust.”

  Craig’s eyes studied Darien’s face without blinking. He reached for his flask and drained the last of its contents down his gullet. He set the container down hard, as if emphasizing a point.

  He rose to his feet. “Tomorrow evening in the canyon,” he said abruptly as Kyel and Darien rose after him. “You will formally surrender your arms, colors, and hostages. If I get one whiff of treachery, the deal’s off.”

  Darien stared at him long and hard before finally nodding. He extended his hand.

  Craig sealed the agreement with a handshake.

  “I want to speak with Kyel,” Darien said. “Alone.”

  Craig nodded his permission and ducked out of the tent.

  Kyel turned to face his former master, finding the harshness gone from Darien’s face. Suddenly, he looked just like the man Kyel used to know. For a moment, he was caught off-guard. He didn’t know what to say.

  Darien took a step toward him, real concern on his face. “Tell me truly. How’ve you been?”

  Kyel almost answered him with the truth, but stopped himself short. The truth was unpleasant, and Darien already knew it anyway.

  So he spread his hands in exasperation, demanding, “That’s all you’ve got to say?”

  Darien sighed, shaking his head. “What else can I say? I can’t say I’m sorry, because I’m not. I can’t say I wish things were different, because no amount of wishing will ever change anything. You’ll be dead soon. And I’ll be the one who killed you. That’s a fact.”

  Kyel could see the pain of guilt in his eyes. This was not a monster, Kyel realized. Darien might be a demon, but he was not demonic.

  “I’m the one who put on the Soulstone,” Kyel reminded him. “You didn’t force me to do it.”

  Something about what he said had an effect on Darien. A gloom settled over him. Reaching out, he placed a hand on Kyel’s shoulder. “For whatever it’s worth, I’m very proud of you,” he said sincerely. Then he pulled back, looking away.

  “Are you evil, Darien?”

  The man paused. He glanced back at Kyel wearily. “My actions speak for themselves. I most certainly am evil. But my people are not. Don’t confuse that distinction. The people of Malikar are not the Enemy.”

  “Then who is?”

  Darien stared at him, eyes pleading. Pleading for what, Kyel couldn’t fathom.

  “We’re the enemy,” Darien said at last. “You, me, Meiran, Naia … us mages, with all our contemptible power. It’s our power that makes us weak. It gnaws at us. Robs us of the strength of our humanity. Deep down inside, we’re all just children playing with fire, thinking we can control it. Thinking we can contain it. We can’t.

  “I am sorry about one thing,” he said as he turned away. “I’m sorry that I ever dragged you into any of this.”

  He left through the back of the pavilion, leaving Kyel feeling confused and melancholy. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed his former master. And now he felt even more conflicted than before. He understood Darien. He understood him better than he understood Craig.

  He left the tent and made his way toward the horses picketed outside, his black cloak fluttering behind him. He kept his gaze lowered to the ground, refusing to look at Meiran even though he could feel her eyes on him. When he reached his horse, he released it from the tether and swung his leg up over the saddle. Then he kicked the beast forward, following on the heels of Craig’s mount. The captain didn’t stop until they were well away on the other side of the ridge. There, he drew up, swinging around.

  “You’re right,” Craig said to Meiran. “They twisted him. They twisted him good. He’s gone rabid.”

  Meiran nodded in agreement, her eyes filled with sorrow and understanding.

  “What do we do?” Kyel asked.

  Craig glanced down, his face darkening. “There’s only one thing to be done with a rabid animal. We have to put him down.”

  Kyel looked away, feeling his gut wrench.

  “You did good back there,” Craig continued, nodding at Kyel. “It was the look on your face that gained his trust more than anything.”

  Kyel’s eyes shot up, his heart staggering as he realized what the man was saying without actually saying it. He realized he’d been used.

  From the back of his horse, Brother Desco cracked a festering grin.

  21

  Harbinger of Destiny

  Quin awoke, shivering violently.

  His eyelids snapped open to blue-black nothingness. It was cold. The kind of cold that seeped into the flesh, prickling like a thousand icy needles. He didn’t know where the cold came from, only that it consumed him. He couldn’t feel his hands, his feet, his fingers—like they didn’t even belong to him. He wasn’t in charge of them anymore. Someone else was shaking them, shaking him. He could feel his whole body trembling as if some invisible stranger were trying to jostle him awake.

  “W-w-waa … do you w-want?”

  The effort of forcing the words past his frozen lips was almost beyond him. His jaw was clattering so hard he almost couldn’t understand himself. He bit his tongue trying to fight out the last syllable.

  “You know what I want.”

  He recognized that voice. He’d heard it before. Many times, come to think of it. This wasn’t the first time she’d been here. He’d denied her before, countless times. Countless denials. Before slipping back into numb nothingness. But something was different this time. There was an urgency in her voice that hadn’t been there before, all the other times. He wondered why it was there now.

  “I… c-can’t … help you…”

  His words stumbled over his shuddering jaw as his teeth tried to clatter their way into his brain. He blinked several times, finally succeeding in clearing his vision enough to make out the woman standing over him, staring down. Her face was stern, her cat-like eyes dazzlingly black, as deep and vibrant as the shadows that surrounded her. Her skin glistened with what looked like golden dewdrops.

  She stared at him, her gaze implacable. “I was frozen in this very room for a thousand years. I know what it’s like. I won’t let it happen to me again.”

  She waved her hand, and at once ice crystals formed and started groping up his legs, spreading upward from the frozen floor. They entwined about his calves, twisting like a thorn bush as they crept over his knees and groped at his thighs. Quin didn’t want them going any further. His mind strained for the magic field, for the Hellpower, for anything he could use to fend them off.

  There was nothing but the cold and the spreading tendrils of ice.

  He glanced to the side and was appalled at what he saw. There, leaning against the wall beside him, was Naia. Her face was white, her long lashes f
rozen closed. Her hair, iced over and plastered to her face. Her hands, clawed into stiffened knots in front of her.

  She was frozen solid. Like the mages in the cabin.

  “N-naia…” he moaned.

  The woman above him had no mercy. She said, “When the Reversal hits, she would die anyway. It is better this way.”

  “No…”

  “There is nothing in the world that will prevent it. She will die no matter what you choose. On the other hand, there are many lives that will be saved if you choose to assist me.”

  He believed her. He didn’t know why, but he did. His teeth chattered harder. The ice inside of him clawed deeper, threatening his heart. The frozen vines twined about his hips, his groin, constricting.

  “I’ll h-help you…”

  There was a crackling sound as the creeping ice receded back down his legs. The frozen tendrils didn’t melt; they ungrew, writhing and unbranching until they were once again part of the glassy floor. Quin gasped in pain as hot blood gushed back into his legs. The warmth spread throughout his torso, into his shoulders and arms, flushing his cheeks. Pain followed like scalding water boiling his blood.

  He gaped up at the woman’s staring face, marveling as he felt his body come back awake. His shivering stopped, his muscles relaxing. He looked over to where Naia sat rigid, just as pale and frozen as before. The thaw hadn’t reached her.

  “Come,” the woman commanded, extending a two-toned hand with long, tapering fingers.

  Quin gazed at that hand, blinking at the memories it evoked. It had been a very long time since he’d seen a person with skin that color.

  The sight of that beautiful hand made him want to weep.

  He reached up and clenched her fingers.

  “Do you swear?” she demanded.

  “I swear.”

  “Very well.” She pulled him ungracefully to his feet.

  He turned immediately back for Naia. In two steps he was by her side, kneeling down, taking her clenched fingers in his hands. They were rock-solid. Ice crystals shimmered in her frozen hair. She was alive in there, somewhere. He could feel it. She wasn’t dead. But he had no way of reaching her. Quin cupped her cold face with his hands. Her skin was stiff but soft. Frozen, just like the rest of her. He stroked her cheek with a finger.