PATHS OF ALIR
A Pattern of Shadow & Light
Book Three
MELISSA MCPHAIL
This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or living persons. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.
Paths of Alir
A Pattern of Shadow & Light Book 3
All Rights Reserved.
Copyright 2014 Melissa McPhail
v1.0
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Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
Author's Note
Map of Alorin
The Strands & their Associated Adepts
The Sormitáge Ranks
Part One
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Part Two
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Forty-One
Forty-Two
Forty-Three
Forty-Four
Forty-Five
Forty-Six
Forty-Seven
Forty-Eight
Forty-Nine
Fifty
Fifty-One
Fifty-Two
Fifty-Three
Fifty-Four
Fifty-Five
Fifty-Six
Fifty-Seven
Fifty-Eight
Fifty-Nine
Sixty
Sixty-One
Sixty-Two
Sixty-Three
Sixty-Four
Sixty-Five
Epilogue
Appendix
The Laws of Patterning
The Esoterics
Dramatis Personae
Glossary of Terms
Acknowledgments
Every novel is a collaborative effort. Even if the bulk of the responsibility for its creation lies with the author, the story would’ve been quite different—and lessened in that difference—without the input of loyal friends.
This novel is dedicated to those early readers, staunch and enthusiastic supporters all. Many of your inspiring ideas have found their place in this story, and for them, I’m forever grateful.
To Heidi and Shon, for your valuable thoughts and observations, and for the many hours you’ve both spent working with me through the difficult moments of what seemed at the time to be plot disasters—my gratitude is unending.
To all of my beta readers, and my editor, Melissa, I could not have done it without you. Thank you.
Author’s Note
As a reader of fantasy, and especially of epic fantasy, I have at times taken issue with authors whose tales have unraveled into so many storylines that the entire length of a book could be expended without ever revisiting some of my favorite characters. I’m left, instead, waiting for yet another lengthy span of years to find out what’s become of them. I’ve complained and I’ve protested—perhaps even wrongly maligned these authors for their inconsideration, because here I find myself facing a similar branching of paths.
I suppose it’s an unavoidable aspect of epic fantasy that the tale—being truly epic in scale—necessarily comprises so many characters from disparate kingdoms, so many viewpoints and unique expressions of truth. In many cases, and particularly in the case of A Pattern of Shadow & Light, the story couldn’t be told properly without revealing to the reader the important roles each of these many characters played.
As my fellow authors likely understood, and which I have recently come to learn, were I to keep these story threads from you, dear reader, I would be cheating you. How could you grasp the vastness of the threat Malorin’athgul posed to the Balance if I never revealed the troubles the Empress was battling in Agasan, or if I merely breezed over Nico van Amstel’s attempts to claim the Second Vestal’s seat? How could you truly comprehend the Malorin’athgul’s purpose if I denied you the viewpoints of Darshan, Shail and Pelas?
Therefore, while I apologize for the continued branching of threads in this third installment of A Pattern of Shadow & Light—for introducing yet more viewpoint characters for you to keep track of—please know I do so only that I might give you as complete a view as possible into the conflict the First Lord is attempting to overcome, and ultimately, to do his story justice in the telling.
***
For those of you who’ve been away from Alorin for some time (or a long time), here’s a brief summary of where we left off in The Dagger of Adendigaeth:
When we last saw Tanis, he’d said goodbye to the Malorin’athgul Pelas and was once again traveling with the zanthyr Phaedor, heading through the high mountains of Agasan towards a place Phaedor called ‘home.’
Across the Sea of Agasan, an estranged Trell and Alyneri parted desperate ways beneath the arrows of ambush. Alyneri made a wild flight with an injured Fynnlar to find help at the First Lord’s sa’reyth, while Trell was delivered to Tal’Shira to be interrogated by Radov’s Consul, the wielder Viernan hal’Jaitar.
Also coincidentally in Tal’Shira, King Gydryn learns that Radov has been plotting his overthrow in collusion with the Duke of Morwyk and the Prophet Bethamin. He willingly offers himself in sacrifice as a necessary diversion and launches his own plan to save his kingdom.
The truthreader Kjieran van Stone was also in Tal’Shira, waging his own battle against time, hoping to learn the truth of the plot against his king before Dore Madden’s Pattern of Changing binds him eternally to the Prophet Bethamin.
In his final hours, Kjieran saves King Gydryn from assassination at the hands of hal’Jaitar’s wielder, Kedar—though the king is mortally wounded in the attempt—and then immolates himself
on a pyre before Bethamin can claim his soul.
Gydryn val Lorian is lying beside the pyre of burning tents when he’s found by a mysterious man called Prince Farid and taken away.
Finally, at the icebound Castle of Tyr’kharta, Ean had just defeated his enemy in Işak’getirmek, only to discover that Işak was actually his eldest brother Sebastian, thought long dead.
And now the story continues in Paths of Alir, Book Three of A Pattern of Shadow & Light.
MAP OF ALORIN
The Sormitáge Ranks
(in ascending order)
The Docian Collar: yoked to the honest study of elae. Adepts wear the Docian collar from their earliest years until they pass the Catenaré Invocation Trials, often a span of five to eight years.
The Catenaré Cuff: chained to the dutiful service of elae. Adepts wear the Catenaré cuff until they pass the Maritus Invocation Trials, usually a span of three to four years.
The Maritus Bracelet: married to the courageous exploration of elae. Adepts wear the Maritus bracelet until they’ve completed their Maritus thesis and passed the Devoveré Invocation for their strand, usually a span of five to ten years.
The Devoveré Ring: devoted to the just and virtuous practice of elae. Adepts are awarded their Devoveré ring upon successful completion of the Devoveré Trials.
A stacked Adept– referencing an Adept who has gained more than one ring in the discipline of a single strand.
A bracketed wielder – referencing an Adept who has gained a Devoveré ring for each strand of elae and thereby wears a ring on every finger of his or her right hand. A bracketed wielder has ascended from Docian to Devoveré on every strand of elae.
A rowed wielder – having gained a bracket on both hands. A rowed wielder has ascended first from Docian to Devoveré in every strand, then again ascended through the same ranks specializing in the wielder’s craft of Patterning, learning to apply the Laws and Esoterics to each strand of elae, as well as building his or her repertoire of associated patterns.
Part One
“Darkness holds eternal sway over he who cannot first find the light within himself.”
– Isabel van Gelderan, Epiphany’s Prophet
Prologue
Shailabanáchtran stepped out of the gloss-black portal into an alley bathed in midnight and the pouring rain. Casting a look at the sky, he solidified a shield of the fifth above his head, lifted his red silk robes out of danger from the muck, and walked with care out of the alley onto a deserted street.
An hour further north and the rain would’ve been snow—a kinder visitor to be certain, in moderate measure—but the isolation of this Agasi harbor town bordering the great river Vjärna served three purposes: first, it ensured the safety of the king Shail walked to meet; second, it proved the other’s troth, his dedication to their mutual aims; and third, it provided witnesses to their collaboration.
Shail believed the king would commit fully to his proposal—no one else could possibly provide what he was offering, and desperate men resorted to desperate means; as case in point, striking a bargain with the likes of him—but he took steps to secure his recourse to blackmail, nonetheless. It had ever proven a prudent and effective practice among these mortal rulers.
Reaching the tavern of his destination, he released his shield and breezed inside to be greeted by the stench of river and sour ale and the tang of unwashed men. He noted three such at a corner table, steely-eyed and beardless, clearly strangers there and most likely guards for the man he’d come to meet. The few other pitiful creatures that passed for men in that town looked up from their mead to watch him cross the room, but he cared only that the man behind the bar paid attention to his arrival.
The fair-haired tavernmaster followed Shail with his eyes, doubtless noting his red silk robes, his long ebony hair bound with black cord, and the earrings in his ears. Shail had paid the man for this notice, and he’d dressed so the tavernmaster would readily remember him—should the need arise—in a visual recounting to a truthreader’s skill.
The tavernmaster nodded towards a door in the back, his gaze meaningful.
Good.
Shail entered a private room dominated by a long table that supported a goblet and two mugs. One of the latter stood empty save for an uneven line of froth. The fire burning in the river-stone hearth lit the room but cast the hooded man standing before it into shadow. He turned at Shail’s entrance.
“By the witchlight of the Disir,” he hissed. He pushed his hood roughly back, revealing the face of a man barely twenty and five. Blonde, blue-eyed and bearded…and already bitter to the core. “I’ve been waiting here an hour for you!”
Shail pressed the door closed behind him and arched a brow. “Your time is so valuably spent? Ruling from a broken throne?”
The young king’s expression hardened. “Don’t patronize me, Lord Abanachtran. I’m not one of your Fhorg chattel to command about.”
Shail claimed the goblet of wine from the table and eyed the Dane suggestively over its rim. “No…” A smile hinted in the corner of his mouth, mirthless and sharp. “Merely the Empress’s.”
The king clenched his jaw. For all the enmity he clearly harbored in his soul, he was not quick to anger. “I’m taking a great risk coming here. The Empress’s Red Guard watch me like vultures, her spies as crows reporting on my every move. No doubt they’ve catalogued every time I take a whore to my bed or a shite in my chamber pot.”
Shail’s dark gaze flicked over him like the sharp edge of a blade. “A show of courage is an effective means of sealing a troth, Ansgar.”
The king let out a slow exhale. “Is that what this is meant to be?”
Shail seated himself at the table. “What did you think it was?”
The young king shrugged. “Another test.”
“All of life is a test.” Shail waved his goblet airily.
The king looked away, and emotions flickered like firelight across his features. “If that’s so…then I’m failing it.”
Ah…how easy it would be to bind this young king to his will. His brother Darshan used patterns of binding as adroitly and indiscriminately as he worked deyjiin. But Darshan never seemed to grasp the inherent fallibility of compulsion—how it weakened the minds of one’s underlings.
Far more effective to bring a man over to one’s cause through masterful manipulation—or at worst, subtle influence upon his emotions. But such took time, effort, cunning and above all, an attempt to understand the pitiful races of humankind.
Shail cursed Darshan for a fool. Had he seen fit to convince their brother Pelas to follow their purpose rather than simply compelling him upon it, Shail would not now be dealing with the ramifications of Pelas’s embarrassingly obsessive tendencies.
But that was a problem for another day.
“When we’re through,” Shail told the brooding king, “you will have a new kingdom, one worthy of your ancestors.”
Ansgar spun him a heated look. “So you claim, but it will all be for naught if the Empress learns of our activities.”
Shail’s dark eyes gleamed. “The Empress can see nothing.”
“She sees the future!” Ansgar flung his hand in a general southerly direction, ostensibly towards the Empress. “And anything she can’t see, the High Lord di L'Arlesé can read on the currents. You bring me ideas thick with promise but thin of credibility.”
Shail cracked a bare smile, humorless beneath his black gaze. It was testimony to his patience that his expression revealed none of his immense disdain for this broken king, who but for the fact that he played into Shail’s plans would have long ago lost his life.
“You have no idea what I’m capable of,” he murmured, lacing each syllable with threat. “I’m telling you, she can see nothing and will know nothing until we’re ready to act.”
“And I’m just supposed to believe you?” Ansgar threw up his hands and spun away. He set to pacing, a young cougar trapped on a ledge with its prey in plain sight.
Shail arched a cool brow. “That’s the price I require for giving you back your kingdom and a throne to rule it from.”
“Your price,” the king groused, casting him a look. “This is not your only price, and it’s high, what you demand.”
“The cost of a kingdom.”
The comment earned him a glare that time—reproachful, rancorous, full of resentment at his being so foully used. Since their first interaction, Shail had plucked and played the young king’s emotions as a minstrel’s harp. Ansgar knew it. Shail knew he knew it. The king was no fool. And the price Shail demanded was high, but Ansgar’s youthful idealism yearned to pay it—this they both also knew.
Shail considered Ansgar in silence while he decided how best to stir this soup of animosity into a furious froth. He sat back in his chair and crossed one knee, but his gaze never left the young king stewing in his anger.
After a moment, Shail murmured with a taunting smile, humorless and hinting of malice, “What happened to the great courage of the Danes? Are you all merely shamed dogs, beaten and leashed?” This drew a fierce glare from the king. Shail smiled wider. “Or are you the pinned wolves they fear to bring inside their walls? Warriors they imprison within the deepest dungeon, lest your vengeance be unleashed?”
Ansgar spun with fists clenched. “My people were the fiercest warriors this land has ever known! Ruthless, courageous raiders who dominated the northern coastlines plundering at will. Our halls were resplendent with the spoils of war. ‘From the fury of the Varangians, deliver us, O Lord!’” He cast Shail a bitter look, chest heaving with an anger closely reined. “T’was a prayer uttered often from the mouths of softer kings.”
“So I’ve been told,” Shail murmured.
Ansgar crossed his arms and started pacing again. “Yet here I am,” he grumbled, glancing to Shail, “the descendent of those great warrior-kings, ruling from a hall empty of adornment and shadowed as if to hide its absence of glory…to hide its shame.”
Paths of Alir (A Pattern of Shadow & Light Book 3) Page 1
