Epilogue
The truthreader Thrace Weyland set down his pen and sank back in his chair, exhaling a sigh. All in all it had been a trying day.
It was always easier to tell the truth of a man’s thoughts while he was speaking them than to glean veracity from a page of the written word. It could be done, but it was taxing.
Still, he’d learned quite a bit from studying the compromising documents he’d purchased from an ex-Shamshir’im operative, who’d happily traded looking over his shoulder every moment of his existence for an earl’s salary in Agasi silver and a cushy stateroom on a carrack heading for Rimaldi.
And the day had offered its moments. He’d particularly enjoyed an exciting dash through lower Tal’Shira in the guise of a beggar boy being chased by hal’Jaitar’s Shamshir’im. Evading the order of spies was one of his favorite pastimes. But they’d taken it too far when they’d followed him into a taverna owned by another of his aliases, the mafioso Esfandiar Lahijani.
The Shamshir’im had gone about busting up the place, wreaking havoc and chasing away the patrons. Thrace had to make a quick change into Lahijani and come down to break some heads in return. No one got away with that kind of behavior in one of Lahijani’s establishments.
But Thrace misliked quick changes, especially when scrutiny was likely to follow, and especially when it involved hal’Jaitar’s Shamshir’im.
You couldn’t be too careful around Shamshir’im. Thrace knew this. He’d been one of them.
Shamshir’im were savvy operatives, and the clandestine order employed many unscrupulous truthreaders. Thrace never risked an illusion in front of a Shamshir’im unless he was sure it would hold up to their form of underhanded inspection. Clothing, jewelry, hair—it all had to be real; or in the case of his wigs, at least brushable and capable of casting a shadow.
When dealing with Shamshir’im, he only dared shift his facial features beneath illusion, because in that fine art, he was expertly skilled.
Slouched in his chair, Thrace wondered idly if anyone still alive would recognize the face he’d been born with. It had been so long since he’d gone by the name of Joren Wren, he doubted he would even recognize himself.
Exhaling a sigh, Thrace took up the documents and walked to his wall of file drawers. Though most of them contained information that could destroy a republic, they weren’t locked, because that entire room was a vault.
The space appeared on no blueprints. No one knew of its existence, save himself. It was protected by wards formed of all five strands—wards that had taken him ten years to construct.
Arion Tavestra couldn’t have broken into that room—assuming he’d even been able to learn of its existence.
The room’s one invisible door could only be opened by a trace seal that had to be worked simultaneously from two separate hallways on opposite sides of the building. Only a four-ringed truthreader could’ve managed the solidity of such an illusion. Short of Raine D’Lacourte or the Empress of Agasan showing up already knowing the requisite trace seal...no one was getting inside that room but Thrace.
So he should absolutely not have been able to sense another’s presence suddenly in the room with him.
Thrace froze with his hand inside the file drawer.
There was only one man in the world capable of finding him in that room, due to the familial blood they shared. Though he loved the boy, he’d hoped never to see him again. And after hearing nothing from him for nearly a decade, to be honest, he’d assumed he was dead.
Ever since the evening of their last conversation, Thrace had hoped for the best...but a part of him had always feared this day would come, that the boy would succumb to the temptation of his path, submit to its calling, obey the Sorceresy’s summons and become bound to their will.
He knew the tremendous strength it took to resist both the path and the will of their masters. He didn’t blame his nephew for failing.
Thrace closed the file drawer and turned around, exhaling a sigh. “Hello, Tannour.” He lifted his gaze to face his fate...but the eyes that met his from across the room were not the eyes of an Adept bound to the Sorceresy.
In fact, they were warm.
And Tannour wasn’t wearing the shroud of his path but stood bare-headed...and smiling. “Hello, Joren.”
Thrace caught his breath for a second time. “Fethe, is it possible?” His eyes searched Tannour’s face for explanation. “Are you...did you break free of them?”
Tannour slowly lifted his hands—so as not to spook his uncle, for which his uncle was grateful—and began rolling up his sleeves. When the cloth reached above his elbows, he held up his forearms for Thrace’s inspection.
His tattoos should have gleamed silver, but they’d been rendered black, dormant, inert. Thrace could find no trace of elae bound to them.
He lifted his colorless gaze back to his nephew. “By the Ghost Kings, how?”
Tannour’s smile was radiant. “The path proved true, uncle.” He approached, arms still extended, and let Thrace look over his tattoos more closely. “You sent me to the Akkaddian Emir, and in his service, I found...” he inhaled and let his breath out slowly. He smiled again, shrugged helplessly. “Redemption, I suppose. Freedom.”
Thrace stared wonderingly at him. “But you found your way into this chamber. You couldn’t have done that without communing.” He searched Tannour’s gaze. “You made a tether without them?”
Tannour grinned. “I made two.”
“Two tethers!” Thrace barked a laugh. “My boy—you’ve exceeded even my expectations.” But then he puzzled anew. “So...why have you come? Surely not just to share the news, though I appreciate the gesture.”
Tannour clapped a hand on Thrace’s shoulder. “Uncle, Trell val Lorian needs our help.”
Thrace blinked at him. He said slowly, “You’re serving in Trell val Lorian’s company of Converted?”
“Yes.”
For a moment, Thrace simply couldn’t process all of the circling paths.
Then he burst out laughing.
Tannour humored him with a quiet, if curious, smile.
Finally, Thrace pushed palms to his eyes and sighed. He hadn’t known the giddy effervescence of happiness in a long number of years.
He walked to pour himself and his nephew each a glass of arak. “So...Trell val Lorian.” He handed a glass to Tannour and sipped his own. “What does he need?”
Tannour shot back his drink and said, slightly hoarse from the spirit, “He’s going to take Tal’Shira.”
Thrace choked on his arak.
Tannour eyed him with a devious glint in his ice-pale gaze. “And we’re going to help him do it.”
***
Ean stepped out of Shadow into a wooded corner of the gardens behind Cristiano Sargazzo’s townhome in Faroqhar. He cloaked himself in night and moved quietly out of the woods and across the edge of the patio where Cristiano and his lover were breaking their fast.
He could see no repercussions of his choice to impersonate the Quai player. No patterns improperly adorned their consciousnesses; nothing indicated that Shail had taken an undue interest in them. He felt a measure of relief in this.
Coincidentally, the house he was looking for was located on the same street as Cristiano’s, a mile or so further north, where townhomes bowed to the domain of larger estates.
Ean let himself out through the side gate unnoticed and turned down a tree-lined street bordered by the tall limestone walls of city homes. He dropped his nightcloak and pushed hands in his pockets as he strolled the shaded lane. He marked the passing of the blocks by the number of iron lampposts.
As Ean transitioned into the more opulent end of that already affluent area of Faroqhar, he passed just as many limestone walls blocking prying eyes, and even more tall elms and oaks spreading their limbs over the walls; but now those walls interested passersby with ornate decorations, and they covered entire city blocks.
Lacquered gates were replaced by wrought iron or even
stone ones, bound with patterns to swing soundlessly open upon the production of a trace seal. Often guards manned glass-fronted cottages that lorded over the gates.
The manor of Ean’s interest lay beyond similar high walls. Two gates offered a view—a single one for visitors on foot, and a double set for carriages, further down the lane.
Ean stopped before the visitor’s gate and looked between the curled iron bars. At the far end of a stone path rose an imposing marble manor whose elaborately decorated roof towered over the oaks surrounding it.
Above the gate hovered a pattern—a sort of bell-pull or knocker, Ean supposed.
He opened the gate and let the pattern announce his presence.
The long walkway to the manor took him through a rose garden. The scent of citrus hung in the balmy air, and the sun shone brightly with promise, but Ean’s thoughts swirled around in nebulae formed of new connections—understandings gained from reading books from the Shaido archives.
Months of reading in just a few days of Alorin’s time, courtesy of the timelessness of Shadow.
How different the world looked to him now.
How different the game appeared, now that he understood its origins.
Ean climbed the steps leading to the manor’s stately entrance. Just as he arrived, the tall black doors swung inward.
A handsome man stood in the parting. His dark hair fell across his face, casually disheveled. He wore a white shirt tucked into elegant pants and a curious smile. His eyes were astonishingly blue.
Ean nodded politely to him. “I’m Ean val Lorian. I hear you’ve been looking for me.”
Baelfeir’s eyes danced. He opened the door wider and smiled invitingly. “Why don’t you come inside?”
###
End of The Sixth Strand
Keep in Touch
I sincerely appreciate receiving comments and feedback from my readers. If you’d like to connect with me online, you can find me on my website or on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and Goodreads.
I send everyone who signs up for my mailing list a copy of How Deep Does The Alabaster Go?, a compilation of chapter quotes from the series thus far. Click here to sign up for my mailing list and receive your free copy.
If you’re really only interested in hearing about new releases and special promotions, perhaps consider following me on Bookbub.
Lastly, if you enjoyed Cephrael’s Hand, please consider leaving a review on Goodreads or wherever you purchased the book.
Appendix
Glossary of Terms
Dramatis Personae
The Sormitáge Ranks
The Laws of Patterning
The Esoterics
Glossary of Terms
Underlining within definitions denotes words that are further defined in this glossary.
Adendigaeth (a den´- di gay´uth) [Old Alæic] 1 Rebirth, regeneration 2 A festival in celebration of the Winter Solstice lasting varying lengths but traditionally ending on the Longest Night.
Adept (a´-dept) n. [Old Alæic] 1 One born with the instinctive ability to sense and compel one of the five strands of elae 2 A race of such persons, each with attributes intrinsic to the strand of elae that modified them [an Adept of the third strand] 3 A Healer, Nodefinder, truthreader, or Wildling.
Airwalker n. [Ravestani, aria, melody] An Adept trained at the Vestian Sorceresy to speak the language of Air.
Alir (ah -leer´) n. [Agasi] 1 lit: heart-light 2 The path followed by an Adept during the course of his life; also referred to as the path of destiny, especially in the vernacular of the Palmers 3 Indicating either of the Two Great Paths of elae followed by an Adept inducted into the Vestian Sorceresy. See Paths of Alir.
Angiel (ahn geel´) n. [Old Alæic] The Maker’s two blessed children, Cephrael and Epiphany, who were made in the Genesis to watch over His worlds.
Annwn (an´ wen) n. [Old Alæic] The Otherworld where all life was formed and where the Maker resides. At the gates of Annwn stand the Extian Doors. On the Longest Night, the angiel open the Extian Doors to allow all the waiting souls to journey through Annwn, that they may learn the secrets of death and Return.
Ascendant n. [Cyrenaic ascendere, to climb] A priest or cleric serving the Prophet Bethamin. Ascendants are marked by tattoos denoting their rank and function.
Atrophae n. (at´ tro fay) [Cyrenaic átroph, not fed] A cursed object created with mor’alir patterns designed to bring harm or illness. An atrophae can be formed of anything into which a pattern can be indelibly inscribed.
Avieth (ay´ vee uth) n. [Old Alæic, bird] A third strand Wildling race of shapeshifters with the ability to asssume two distinctly separate forms: human and hawk.
Awaken (ah wā´ ken) v. [Old Alæic] Adepts who have Returned Awaken to their inherent abilities usually during the transition of puberty but sometimes as early as two years of age.
Baddha (bah´da) n. [Ravestani, bound] 1. An Adept of Avatar bound into the service of a Furie. Can also be used as a derogatory reference to any Adept, regardless of status or heritage. Also baddha bhisaj (a healer); baddha satya (truthreader); baddha yayin (Nodefinder); baddha talavāra, (a swordmaster of any strand).
Balance (bal´ans) n. [
Bonded pair n. [Colloq.] Two items of any form that have been magically modified with elae’s fourth strand to enable communication over long distances between the people holding each item of the pair.
Bracketed wielder n. [Colloq.] An Adept who has gained a Sormitáge ring in each of the five strands of elae, proving a basic understanding of the fundamentals of wielding each strand.
Catenaré (ca-ten ah´-ray) n. [Old Alæic, catēna, a chain] The second ranking of Adept enrolled at the Sormitáge University. Adepts wear the Catenaré cuff until they pass their Invocation Trials to advance to Maritus status, usually a span of three to four years of study. See the Sormitáge Ranks.
Celantia (se lan´ tee-ya) n. [Markhengari, box] A box formed of constantly shifting patterns developed by the elfrealm of Markhengar, often used for the capture and imprisonment of criminals.
Cephrael (sef´ray-el) n. [Sobra I’ternin] The Maker’s blessed son. Ascribed as the Hand of Fate, Cephrael is responsible for administering the Maker’s ultimate justice. See also angiel.
Coach n. [Colloq.] (also called a Nodefinder’s coach) See stanza segreta.
Companions – See Fifty Companions
Council of Nine n. [Colloq.] Björn van Gelderan’s council of wielders who together created the world known as T’khendar.
Deyjiin (day´zhen) n. [Old Alæic] The power that roams Chaos and the dimension of Shadow, antithesis of elae.
Devoveré (de-voh ver´-ay) n. [Old Alæic, to vow] The fourth ranking of Adept enrolled at the Sormitáge University. Adepts are awarded their Devoveré ring (often called a Sormitáge ring) upon successful completion of the Devoveré Trials. Gaining a Devoveré ring automatically entitles an Adept to membership in the guild respective to their strand.
Docian (dos´ see-an) n. [Old Alæic docilis, readily taught, equivalent to doc (ēre) to teach + -ian] The first ranking of Adept enrolled at the Sormitáge University. Adepts wear the Docian collar from their earliest years until they pass the Invocation Trials to advance to Catenaré status.
Doyen (doy´-yen) n. [Old Alæic, a vow] The Sormitáge assignation for bracketed Adepts who are working to complete their first row.
Drogue wolf (droag) n. [Origin unknown] A sentient animal, larger and more intelligent than a common wolf, which roams the mountains of Agasan. It is most often found in the Navárrel, the Geborahs and the wild ranges of the Hallovian plateau.
/>
Drachwyr (drak´wēr) n. [Old Alæic] An Adept of the fifth strand of elae: the drachwyr were banished to the icy edges of the realm in the year 597aV. Also called a Sundragon.
Eidola (eye dohl´ la) n. [Old Alæic, eidolon, phantom] A mutated lifeform that possesses great strength and is difficult to harm or kill. It receives its lifeforce and animation from a binding to an immortal.
Elae (e-lā´) n. [Old Alæic, elanion, life, force; the power of life] 1 The itinerant (roaming) energy that, in its accumulation and formation, creates the pattern that becomes the foundation of a world 2 Pertaining to any of the five codified strands of this energy, each with distinctly separate attributes.
Epiphany (ē pif´fany) n. [Sobra I’ternin] The Maker’s blessed daughter. Epiphany is the speaker of the Maker’s will and is often turned to in prayer by those seeking divine blessing. See also angiel.
Espial (espy´-al) n. [Cyrenaic espyen
Fhorg (forg) n. [origin unknown] One of the Wildling races most notably known for their use of blood magic.
Fifty Companions n. [Colloquial] The name given to the Adept survivors of the Battle of the Citadel on Tiern’aval.
Furie n. [Ravestani, flame] A fire prince of Avatar, often a ruler of a province; subject only to the Fire Kings.
Hal’alir n. [Agasi, light of the heart] In the Vestian Sorceresy, ‘The Path That Casts Infinite Reflections.’ Adepts following hal’alir wield the lifeforce primarily towards constructive or creative aims.
Healer (hēl´er) n. [Old Alæic haelan > hal whole] An Adept of the first strand of elae who has the ability to see the life patterns of living things and compel the creative forces of the first strand to alter them.
Khoda Panaheh n. [Kandori, “God protects”] 1 A tattooed mark upon the forehead which is gained when an Adept of the royal lines of Kandori takes the oath of immortality and works the Pattern of Life.
The Sixth Strand Page 110
