“That is correct.”
“And what is your path, Tannour?” asked Taahira.
“Ver’alir. The Blind Path.” He added more quietly, “A rare path.”
Dareios murmured, “Rare, I imagine, due to the skills required to walk it.” He told the others, “I doubt anyone but a fifth strander could manage it, despite all paths being valid. The path chose you, Tannour, because you are fifth strand.”
Tannour frowned slightly. “I suppose that must be true. We’re just not taught to think in these terms.”
“No, it’s utterly fascinating, the way you’re taught.” Dareios shifted a portentous gaze to Nahveed. “I’ll have to tell you what Ean discovered when we have more time.”
“So when you speak of the path choosing the Adept,” Kashvi asked, “is it because the person has a propensity, or a natural affinity, for whatever challenges that path inherently poses?”
Tannour let out a slow exhale. “It’s possible. It’s also possible that they tell you the path has chosen you whether or not it’s done anything of the sort. It could be that they simply needed another Adept to fill a hole in their ranks.”
At Kashvi’s startled look, Ean supplied, “The Sorceresy will modify an Adept to be able to walk whatever path they’re supposed to walk.”
Kashvi drew back with widening eyes. “Modify?”
Dareios murmured, “We are dealing with a different morality, my dear.”
“These are the people who invented mor’alir, after all,” Nahveed noted to no one in particular. “No offense, Tannour.”
Tannour nodded tolerantly to him.
Ean said, “Actually, Rafael just asked me to clarify that the Sorceresy didn’t invent mor’alir but adapted it from Quorum teachings, and that the Quorum gained much of their understanding of inverteré patterns from Warlocks.”
Every eye turned immediately to Ean and then to the Warlock sitting at the far end of the very long table. He seemed to be deeply involved in conversation with Dareios’s sisters.
“He can hear us?” Kashvi whispered.
“He’s a Warlock, Kashvi,” Nahveed said, as though she shouldn’t be surprised if Rafael turned them all into monkeys or made the trees rise up and caw like crows.
“But benevolent?” She looked hopefully to Ean, though there was no small degree of distress underscoring her polite smile.
“Our purposes are aligned at present,” Ean reassured her. “In any event, Rafael isn’t the one we need to worry about right now.”
“You mean there are more Warlocks walking the realm?” Alarm pushed Kashvi’s voice an octave higher.
Dareios fingered the stem of his goblet. “I think we’re overdue in the lab, gentlemen. Ladies, I thank you deeply for your company this morning.”
Bahman’s wife smirked at him. “Coward.”
“I know my cue is all, Taahira.” He winked at her and, rising from his chair, pressed his palms together and bowed to his remaining guests. “Thank you all for a lovely morning. Sobh bekheir.”
Trell and the other men dutifully rose. Trell watched Ean make eye contact with Rafael, who seemed entirely content to remain there, basking in the admiration of the other half of the table, and then they were following Dareios away.
Trell fell into step beside his little brother. What’s the deal with you and that Warlock, Ean?
Ean glanced sidelong to him. We’re bound.
Trell gave a disbelieving laugh. With the fifth, I suppose?
Not the Unbreakable Bond, but close enough.
Trell studied his brother, both mystified and amazed, but mostly just so happy to see him again. So you’re bound to a Warlock.
And a Malorin’athgul, if you must know. Ean pushed a palm to one eye. It’s a long story.
A Malorin’athgul. Trell laughed out loud that time, drawing curious glances from the others.
Yes, his name is Darshan. You know him as the Prophet Bethamin.
Trell swung an incredulous look at Ean. Are you out of your bloody mind?
Ean delivered a sheepish grin by way of his answer. I haven’t told Sebastian yet. Maybe keep this between us until I can think of a way to tell him? I’m not sure he’ll take it quite as calmly as you.
There it was again, the subtle intimation that Trell would see Sebastian sometime soon. Trell shook his head, eying his little brother wonderingly. You seem to know a suspicious amount about this alleged reunion.
Maybe, Ean winked at him, but I’m not one to See and tell. He grabbed Trell around the shoulders in a brotherly embrace, and they continued their long trek up to Dareios’s lab.
They’d just finished the arduous climb up the equivalent of ten long flights of stairs when Ean puffed the complaint, “For Epiphany’s sake, Dareios, would it hurt you to apply some of your considerable talent towards creating a few soglia’res? How much better would it be to just pop over to the lab instead of hiking halfway to Dheanainn to get there?”
“But then he would get fat,” Nahveed said, aiming a dark smile at the prince, “because he refuses to do anything that remotely resembles exercise.”
“I exercise my intelligence regularly,” Dareios intoned with regal resolve.
They were heading through a hall of massive columns carved in the shape of olyphants whose trunks met in the middle to form a tunnel of swooping arches, when Tannour fell in beside Trell.
“A’dal,” he murmured, low and tight.
“I know.” Trell gave him a look to acknowledge his meaning.
For all he was grateful for the respite, Trell felt a rising urgency to return to his men, and Naiadithine’s missive was never far from his thoughts. “Soon,” he whispered, and Tannour nodded.
After Dareios reached the first of his laboratories and realized it was not the one he needed, Trell asked him how many labs he had, only to discover that the prince didn’t actually know.
Dareios traced the line of one eyebrow as he strode smoothly towards their next destination. “When one has a palace of upwards of two hundred and fifty rooms, Trell, one unfortunately tends towards sprawl. It doesn’t help matters that if I’m not obviously using a room, one of my sisters will claim it for her own activities. The women in my life already occupy hundreds of rooms in my mother’s palace. I dare not give them any further opportunity to occupy mine.”
He exhaled a resigned sigh. “The more property you own, the more it starts owning you. As we say here in Kandori, Take care the sheep don’t come to rule the shepherd.”
Ean shot Dareios a devious grin. “Is that similar to the one that says, ‘Ten hands make a gaggle but a gaggle cannot make ten hands’?”
Nahveed chuckled.
“That’s not the correct wording, Ean, and no,” Dareios eyed him cryptically, trying not to smile, “they have entirely different meanings—as you well know.”
They regrouped in a long, open-air gallery dominated by a table even longer than the one they’d just left. All sorts of gadgets, tools, weapons and stacks of metal covered it.
In one corner along the outer wall, the iron doors of a furnace stood open, the banked coals within giving off wavering heat. Beyond the shaded gallery, daylight bathed a view of the palace gardens and the surrounding mountains.
Dareios shoved a few daggers aside to uncover a letter. He waved for the others to approach as he flipped through the pages. “Yes, here it is.” He lifted his gaze to Trell and Tannour, who were coming up on the other side of the table. “I thought you should know, news just in from Saldaria says Ivarnen has become a pile of mud.”
Trell turned a wide-eyed look to Tannour, who gave an it-wasn’t-me shrug.
“A pile of mud.” Trell looked wonderingly back to Dareios. “Did anyone survive? How do you know this?”
“I have people watching all of Dore Madden’s strongholds.”
Ean added, “Everywhere he was making eidola.”
Trell tried to process what this news might mean for his plans. “Did hal’Jaitar escape?”
“I cannot say. The letter gives no information about survivors.” Dareios turned an accusing gaze on Ean. “Was this your doing?”
Ean barked a laugh. “You think I’m capable of turning an entire island to sludge? I’m flattered, but no. It was collapsing when Rafael roped Tannour out of the catacombs. I had nothing to do with it—not that I don’t applaud whoever did.”
“Mithaiya,” Tannour said quietly.
All eyes shifted to him.
“The Sundragon?” Ean sounded puzzled. “I thought she was searching for the pattern that banished the drachwyr.”
“She was—is,” Trell said.
“Was.” Tannour sounded definitive. “I followed her inside the fortress, though I’m not sure she noticed me. She had hal’Jaitar in her sights when I moved on to seek Trell.”
Dareios looked dumbfounded. “From what I’ve heard of her from Rhakar, Mithaiya is usually the one to caution against involvement in mortal affairs.”
“Mithaiya left a boiling moat of sand five miles long around Raku,” Trell told him. “I’d say she’s fairly involved now.”
“It falls to her to weight the tapestry,” Ean murmured. He shifted a meaningful look to Dareios. “Balance favors her now.”
“And we have a melted island to show for it.” Dareios sighed. “And I thought Rhakar was formidable.”
“I need to find out if hal’Jaitar survived the island,” Trell murmured.
Dareios met his gaze. “I will see what my operatives can discover for you.”
He walked to a long row of shelves stacked with lacquered ebony boxes of varying sizes. Finding the box he wanted, he brought it back and opened it to show Trell its contents.
Two labradorite rings shimmered within the velvet lining, their faceted stones a shifting, iridescent blue. “These are a bonded pair.” Dareios extended the box towards Trell. “Please, take one.”
Trell glanced significantly to Tannour as he took a ring, murmuring, “We have some recent experience with bonded pairs.”
“Excellent, then I needn’t explain the dynamics of their function. All you must do is place your thumb over the stone and you’ll be able to reach me. If you’re wearing your ring, I’ll be able to reach you. I’ll pass along any information we receive. Now, if you will permit me...” and he directed their attention to a wheeled cart across the room. It was totally enclosed, with two lengthy handles to ease maneuverability.
“I realize you’re keen to return to your men, Trell. Allow me, please, to send you on your way with a parting gift.”
Nahveed unlatched the cart’s cover and opened the wood top. Inside, lay a trove of black weapons nestled among straw.
“Merdanti—for you and your men. In case you should encounter more eidola like the warlock you battled earlier.”
Ean spun Dareios a look. “Our pattern?”
“Folded into every blade.” Dareios gave them all a rather devious smile. “These will kill eidola on contact.”
Trell could only stare in startled gratitude. “Thank you, Dareios,” he managed finally. “I cannot even begin to say how much this means.”
“The difference, perhaps, in ending the war?” Dareios held Trell’s gaze with quiet meaning in his. “This mission of yours is ubiquitous in your thoughts. Forgive me for hearing it so clearly.”
He held a hand to Nahveed. “My cousin is prepared to take you anywhere you want to go. I understand this fortress you took has a node chamber. It will be a simple thing for Nahveed to take you there directly from our nodecourt.”
After all he’d been through recently, Trell could hardly believe things could be that easy. He extended a hand to Dareios, nearly speechless with gratitude. “You’ve done so much for me—for us.”
Dareios clasped wrists with him. “You’re family, Trell. What wouldn’t I do?”
The sun was at its zenith when Trell and Tannour met Nahveed on the nodecourt. Tannour had donned his fighting gear once more and had his scarf wrapped around his head and shoulders. Trell had found a new set of drachwyr’s fighting blacks laid out for him when he’d returned to his rooms. He experienced a renewed sense of purpose just in putting them on.
Nahveed had brought with him Dareios’s gift of the weapons, and Trell’s little brother, who was a potent weapon himself.
Trell embraced Ean. Then they took each other by the shoulders, their matching grey eyes conveying everything they couldn’t bring themselves to say.
Many of the drachwyr had told Trell how much Ean had grown. He’d still never imagined that his little brother had become such a powerful Player on the field.
Ean held Trell’s gaze affectionately. I’ll only ever be a thought away.
And for that and a hundred other things I probably don’t even know about, I thank you, little brother.
Ean grinned. Just remember you said that when you get the bill for my services.
Then Nahveed was waving them over to place their hands on his shoulders.
Tannour looked to Trell and said low at his ear. “So...that’s your little brother.”
Trell chuckled as he watched his amazing brother head away into the shadows. “Yes, it is.”
Tannour grunted portentously, then leaned close to Nahveed and murmured, “Take the A’dal to Abu’dhan, but I need to go to Tal’Shira.”
Trell turned him a look of surprise. “Tal’Shira?”
Tannour met his gaze. “To see my uncle. Will you trust me, A’dal?”
“With my life, Tannour. Whatever you need.”
“Well then,” Nahveed declared, “your wish is my command.”
Then the world was spinning through a whirling bronze light, and the next thing Trell knew, he was standing inside the warlock’s fortress with the box of weapons beside him.
A giant moved out of the shadows.
Trell breathed a relieved exhale upon recognizing him. “Nyongo.”
“Welcome back, A’dal!” The Shi’ma warrior spoke in a voice as deep as his mahogany skin was dark, but his bright smile always hinted of good humor.
Other than the imposing warrior, the room appeared empty and much as Trell remembered—that is, generally destroyed, full of shattered stone and angry shadows.
Trell pushed a hand through his hair. He was happily surprised to see the warrior, but also bewildered. “Nyongo...what are you doing here?”
“Chamagi’tiito had us keep watch for your return,” he said cheerfully. “He swore that the Vestian would bring you back, all odds and reason to the contrary.”
Chamagi’tiito was Nyongo’s sobriquet for Loukas. It meant little-mouse-who-doesn’t-know-his-own-strength.
“You’ve never seen the little mouse argue so vehemently for something,” Nyongo continued good-naturedly, resting a melon-sized hand on the hilt of his scimitar. “His faith in the Vestian put every one of the commanders to shame. Even Lazar couldn’t argue him down. And here you are. Looks like he was right.” He turned his gaze around curiously. “Where is the Vestian?”
“He’ll be joining us on the road.”
“Well enough, A’dal. Good to have you back with us.”
“It’s good to be back. So you’ve been waiting here...”
“Oh, about five days now.” Nyongo shrugged. “Three broken ribs after the assault on the fortress...I didn’t protest the assignment.” He nodded to Trell’s hand. “What happened there?”
“Oh...” Trell made a fist of his stone hand where Nyongo could see it moving. “Right. A wielder turned it to stone.”
“Huh. Haven’t heard that one before.” Nyongo motioned to the cart. “What’s that?”
“A gift from a friend.”
“It’s coming with us, then?” The warrior took hold of the handles and heaved the cart into motion, barreling the massively heavy thing through piles of stone, completely oblivious to the uneven floor. “Chamagi’tiito left a small garrison behind to hold the fortress,” he said as he led the way out of the room. “They can arrange transport for your gift
here. You and I have a date with two horses, A’dal. The others are already a couple of days ahead.”
Trell followed him out of the chamber, gratefully.
“We got almost everything routed in your absence,” the giant man continued, always in his let-nothing-get-you-down, cheerful way. “You didn’t miss much, I have to say, save of course winning every battle and so on. But you expected that.”
Trell chuckled. “Did I?”
“So says Chamagi’tiito. He said you knew everything that was going to happen, and that it all did happen exactly like you said it would.”
Trell sighed. “I’m afraid Loukas isn’t helping my reputation overmuch.”
Nyongo shot him a bright grin. “Only if you object to being thought of as blessed of the gods.”
Trell dropped a smile to his hands and relayed the conversation on to Ean, along with the comment, Somehow, I’m going to find a way to blame you for this.
Ean’s mental laughter in reply warmed Trell’s heart.
It was good to be home.
Sixty-one
“All men stand as equals in the eyes of a camel.”
–An old Kandori proverb
“This is going to go badly.”
Captain Tavon val Forbes pinched a speck of tobacco off his tongue and flicked it away with his thumb. He plugged his smoke back between his lips and angled a narrow-browed stare off over the men on the march. Something in his manner reminded Gydryn of his eldest son. Perhaps it was just the seriousness of his gaze, or the cut of his dark hair, or the way he shifted from one foot to the other, as if ready to take on anything the world threw at him.
They’d finally traded desert for forest and for the past week had been following the line of the Eidenglass Range, marching over lush hills paralleling a tremendous spine of crags that seemed the skeletal remains of a mammoth beast.
Standing beside Tavon on the hillside, Captain Rafferty Makenna aimed a scowl at his friend. “Shade and darkness, Tavon. What if His Majesty heard you?” He peered long towards the other officers, who were ranged across the hillsides keeping tabs on the army, the bulk of which was marching through the valley below.
The Sixth Strand Page 100
