The Dagger of Adendigaeth (A Pattern of Shadow & Light)

by McPhail, Melissa

  “Moderately,” Tanis admitted.

  “Come then!” and before Tanis could agree, Pelas stripped out of his pants and dove off the side of the boat, seeming wholly unaware of the injury to his side.

  The lad could do no less than follow, though he reckoned he was nowhere near the specimen of manhood that Pelas struck.

  Leaving his clothing behind, Tanis dove in and followed. The water was that perfect temperature of cool without being cold, and the sun, though falling now toward the horizon, was still hot enough to warm his back. Tanis caught up with Pelas as he was treading water beneath the cliffs. The waves were at mid-tide and not too heavy, but they had enough swell that they required timing if one wanted to safely gain the rocks. Pelas went first, riding the rise to a jutting precipice he’d determined as the best point of access, and when the waves were right again, Tanis followed.

  Pelas hauled him out of the water effortlessly and turned to assess the cliff while the lad found his footing.

  “Um, sir…” Tanis asked, flipping wet hair from his eyes. “What are we doing?”

  “We’re going to climb that cliff and dive off.”

  “But it’s got to be thirty paces high.”

  “Yes, perfect for diving.”

  “Perfect for dying,” Tanis muttered.

  “Nonsense.” Pelas clapped a frosty hand on the lad’s bare shoulder and grinned. “The bottom is sand and three fathoms deep.” He gave him a chastising look. “You’ll have to be more adventurous if you hope to keep your position, little spy.”

  “My position as what?” Tanis challenged. “Your truthreader or your friend?”

  “Just now I was thinking accomplice.”

  Pelas showed Tanis how to find handholds on the cliff face, and then they started climbing. Tanis struggled while Pelas shimmied up the steep side faster than a mountain goat. By the time the lad reached the top, Tanis was starting to resent Pelas his nature—whatever it was. Then, when he looked down, Tanis decided the man was verifiably insane.

  “Looks a lot higher from up here, doesn’t it?” Pelas noted with a grin.

  Tanis gave him a baleful stare.

  “Just follow me.” Pelas gave him a swat of encouragement. “Dive or jump, but if you jump,” and here he grinned broadly, “best…you know…keep everything pulled in tight.” Then he laughed uproariously and dove off.

  Tanis watched him vanish beneath a splash and surface again soon thereafter.

  Well, here goes…

  He dove in after him.

  The force of the water against the top of his head felt like a tree had just bounced off his skull, and even though he forcefully exhaled, saltwater still plunged up his nose. He came up coughing and sputtering and with all the fair humor of a wet cat.

  Pelas grinned as he was treading water about five feet away. “That was an experience, no?”

  “You could say that,” Tanis gasped.

  Pelas laughed at him and headed back over to do it again, but Tanis decided one experience was enough and swam back to the boat.

  The Malorin’athgul turned out to be good at more than sailing and diving off cliffs. After he’d had his fill of head-bashing against the waves, Pelas snared two blades from his stash—Tanis was quite sure one of them was his dagger—and speared a skate for their dinner.

  This they took on the beach by a fire that Pelas started the old-fashioned way—with magic. Tanis had no idea how he’d done it, since he claimed he didn’t use elae. Pelas tried explaining the negative properties of fire, but Tanis got lost the moment he said ‘meridian transference.’

  When they were well fed and Pelas was enjoying feeding dry brush to the fire and watching it blaze heavenward, Tanis finally asked him, “Sir, why do you think your brothers tried to kill you?”

  “Probably because they feared I might turn against them,” he remarked idly, pitching another branch onto the flames. “You know, switch sides.” Then he winked at the boy.

  Tanis knew he expected him to think it a jest, but the lad knew better. There was truth hidden beneath his flippant grin. Tanis was quite serious as he pressed, “Why would they think that?”

  Pelas leaned back on one elbow to regard the lad, and for a moment he was silent, just gazing at him. Then he said, “I was the first, you see.” He scratched idly at the scruff on his neck, extending his chin like a cat as long fingers slowly roughed up the sandpaper of the day’s growth of beard. “When I first arrived, I just wanted to taste every moment, experience everything I could possibly imagine doing.” Pelas brightened considerably upon recalling these memories, and Tanis saw such a lightness of spirit within him that it startled the boy. “When my brothers arrived a…long number of years after me, they were disappointed with my progress along our objectives.” He eyed Tanis pensively. “Our eldest brother, Rinokh, claimed I had betrayed them all.”

  “Why?” Tanis whispered.

  Pelas sighed, shrugged. “I suppose because I hadn’t done anything as far as he could see. But what I’d done was experience much of this realm…there is so much to observe and do here, Tanis!”

  It was the first time the man had called him by his name, and there was something perilously intimate in hearing him use it now.

  “Darshan showed me how wrong I was,” Pelas added after a moment, and Tanis heard true bitterness in his tone for the first time. With mention of his brother, a darkness descended upon his thoughts. “Ironic,” Pelas added, and Tanis saw all the light fade from his countenance. “One night with my brother showed me the error of a century of life in this realm.”

  Tanis heard this tragic statement and knew that he verged on an important understanding. Suddenly that sense of duty resonated strongly—indeed, it veritably hummed.

  But Tanis didn’t yet comprehend its melody. He didn’t know what he was meant to do, and eventually the moment passed. The night lingered, warm and sweet, but the fire died down.

  They swam back to the boat and slept in the lee of the wind, and when the sun rose to golden the heavens and gild the waters, Pelas took them back to sea, and home.

  Twenty-Five

  “Take the road less traveled. Bandits prefer riper pickings.”

  - Dareios, Prince of Kandori

  Alyneri woke in Trell’s arms. They were lying fully clothed upon the bed, comfortable beneath the cool morning breeze blowing in through the open windows. She vaguely recalled Trell carrying her to the bed in the wee hours of the night, after they’d both fallen asleep in the window seat. The sound of his breath soft and deep beside her, the press of his body against hers, his arm around her waist, holding her close through the night…small things, yet they served to deepen the bond between them. She’d never felt so safe as lying in his arms.

  Trell lives!

  The miracle of it still shocked her at odd times, a thrill fluttering in her chest such that she could barely contain her joy. In such moments where she realized that this was Trell beside her, speaking with her, guiding her…they brought indescribable happiness. Trell was a tonic to her soul. She’d never imagined loving a man could soothe so many wounds, yet she knew that deep-felt wrongs had been righted by the mere fact of his survival, her faith restored.

  Alyneri felt like she’d been reborn. Waking in Yara’s home to the sound of his voice had been a moment of resurrection that had changed everything.

  Such happiness imbued her just being in Trell’s company—a start contrast to her time with Ean. With Trell, she felt safe and protected, confident that whatever came to bear upon them might be weathered in the lee of his leadership. Her moments with Ean by comparison had always been characterized by angst, anxiety and a sense of desperation. She found neither contentment nor peace in them.

  “Sobh be kheyr,” Trell murmured into her ear. Good morning. When they were alone, they spoke almost exclusively in the desert tongue. Trell pulled her closer, his feet tangled with hers amid the folds of her dress.

  Alyneri thought she must be simply radiating delight, for
she’d never felt so blissful. Trell’s voice roused heady thoughts…dreams from private moments when she’d wondered and explored, seeking pleasure that one day another would provide. She blushed to think of those moments now. “Good morning to you also,” she returned in the desert tongue.

  “It looks like dawn is calling us.”

  Her breath came faster for his nearness, for his touch…for wishing it was more. “Yes,” she agreed.

  He tightened his hold on her again. “We should be off, but I…”

  He stopped himself.

  Alyneri knew his mind. “We should go,” she agreed regretfully. But she turned in his arms, and her eyes promised him there would be other times. His gaze in return assured her there most certainly would.

  Alyneri laughed beneath the force of that gaze, and he smiled and winked at her. Thus did they separate, but the powerful sense of connection remained.

  “I realized last night that I really have no idea how to find the others,” Alyneri told Trell as he sat up to don his boots. “I think maybe I could find my way to the villa if we started on Faring East—”

  Trell glanced over with a smile. “I have a feeling Fate will lend a hand.”

  She arched a brow at him.

  “Come,” he said, and he straightened to stand.

  So tall and broad of shoulder, he reminded Alyneri almost painfully of King Gydryn, with his unruly black hair and wolf-grey eyes. And so handsome! She nearly lost her breath for admiring him.

  Trell gave her a suggestive half-smile. “Come,” he said, holding out one hand. “On the road, I have another story to tell you.”

  They headed out as the sun was just clearing the Assifiyahs. It goldened the world and cast long shadows westward toward Rethynnea, marking their path. They broke their fast from supplies taken from Yara’s stores, content to eat as they rode.

  Alyneri couldn’t stop thinking about how strongly she felt for Trell and how far her feelings for Ean had strayed. Yet surely she would find peace in this new direction—was not any potential union between them already sanctioned? They’d been betrothed, after all. Still…some part of her betimes suffered the ill stirrings of guilt.

  Trell noted her thoughtful expression, which had brought a little furrow to her brow, and he gave her a wry grin. “Deep thoughts, Duchess?”

  She blushed beneath his gaze, which only seemed to rouse lustful desires, images she wasn’t prepared for. “Oh,” she managed, dropping her eyes with a soft smile, “I was just thinking about how different you are from Ean.”

  “Really? In what way? I remember so little about him, but I long to know more.”

  She glanced to him and then forward again. “You look like brothers, though his nose is more like your mother’s and yours like the king’s. You’ve the same eyes, but Ean has your mother’s hair—again, you take after the king.” She smiled. “You are very much your father’s son.”

  “I see,” he said, and she sensed deeper thoughts stirring inside him.

  “Ean is reckless,” she pushed on. “Headstrong. Impetuous. But there is something wonderful about him, too. He’s brave and adventurous—the other sides of those traits. You both have a sense about you…” She glanced to him again and confessed quietly, “You both make people want to follow you.”

  He gave her a soft look of thanks.

  “But weren’t you going to tell me a story?”

  “Yes,” he replied. So did he proceed to tell her of his visit to the shrine of Naiadithine in the Kutsamak and subsequent near drowning, of his rescue and healing by the Emir’s Mage, and his meeting of the mysterious and compelling drachwyr.

  Alyneri stared in amazement. “You met Sundragons?” It seemed something out of myth.

  Trell grinned at her. “You would like Ramu. He is incredibly gracious for all he could probably annihilate both of us with a simple thought.”

  Alyneri laughed at the sheer incredulity of it. After a thoughtful moment, she remarked, “You know, the Mage did more than heal you.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I noticed when we three were linked, while healing Gendaia. He made your pattern stronger somehow, restructured and renewed, yet without altering its basic form. It was like…it was like he remade you with new material—better stuff, stronger stuff. I haven’t the least idea how he did it,” she added with a wondrous look on her face, “though the fact that you were healed by the Fifth Vestal at least makes sense of what I found.”

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “Björn van Gelderan is rumored to have translated the Sobra I’ternin in full, and his knowledge of Patterning is unmatched. If anyone could remake your inherent composition with better stuff than the Maker saw fit to start with, he could.”

  Trell frowned and shook his head. “Why would he do that? It baffles me why this man has taken an interest in my welfare. Vaile said it was good luck to have the blessing of the Mage.” He cast Alyneri a rueful grin. “I’m still not sure if I agree with her.”

  A sudden surge of inexplicable jealously pricked Alyneri upon hearing of the woman named Vaile who’d had the blessing of Trell’s company and was obviously a friend. Then she chastised herself for such ridiculous insecurities.

  “The Mage is the reason I’m heading to Rethynnea,” Trell added then.

  She arched brows inquiringly.

  “As I was preparing to leave the sa’reyth, Balaji—one of the Sundragons—presented Gendaia to me.” The horse nickered upon hearing her name, and Trell leaned to rub her neck. “The Mage gave her to me as a gift, along with new clothes and a fortune in Agasi silver.” He turned Alyneri an unreadable look. “Balaji also gave me a letter to take to the Mage’s contact in the Cairs. I’d already decided to go to Xanthe—not for any reason I can explain, I think it just seemed as good as place as any to start looking for my past—but the Mage made sure I headed to Rethynnea by requesting that I deliver his message.”

  “Trell, he must’ve known who you were.”

  “Undoubtedly.” He grunted and shook his head. “Balaji asked me once what I thought the Mage did for the Emir. At the time I understood him to imply that the Mage had many talents. Now I think he hinted at something else entirely.”

  Alyneri shook her head, not understanding.

  “I don’t think the Mage serves the Emir. I think it’s the other way around.”

  Alyneri’s stomach fluttered anxiously at this idea.

  “Everything changed when the Mage appeared,” Trell remarked, pensive now. He gazed unseeing at the road ahead. “The entire balance of a six-year war shifted within months of his arrival.”

  Alyneri hugged her cloak closer, feeling a sudden chill. It wasn’t hard to imagine the Fifth Vestal as having a grand plan that encompassed entire kingdoms—certainly all the stories spoke of him as some evil mastermind. But until that moment, she’d never thought of herself as being somehow involved in his plans.

  “Do you think the Emir knows the Mage’s true identity?” she asked in a small voice.

  Trell gave her a telling look. “Without question, and I think it’s safe to say the Mage means for me to have a role in his game.”

  Alyneri gave him an uneasy look. The zanthyr’s loyalties notwithstanding, she merely hoped that the Fifth Vestal meant well, for certainly nothing of the sort was ever attributed to him. The idea that the wielder had intentions for Trell frightened her. “Why do think that?”

  “He mentioned me in one of his journals. Ean and I both.” Trell exhaled heavily and shook his head. “But I needn’t disturb you with these thoughts, my lady,” he added with a smile to lighten the mood. “Things will be as they will. We can only walk the path ahead of us and see where it leads.”

  Strangely enough, even with all the fears now growing inside her, Alyneri realized that she would willingly walk that path, so long as Trell walked it with her.

  ***

  The royal cousin Fynnlar val Lorian knew Fate was punishing him. It remained a mystery which on
e of his many misdemeanors had finally drawn Cephrael’s loathsome and merciless eye, but Fynn was certain that even the most egregious of them should not have required this penance.

  He sat nursing his wine in the company of Seth nach Davvies, Third Vestal of Alorin; Rhys val Kincaide, Captain of the King’s Own Guard; and Björn van Gelderan’s personal zanthyr. Since the night Creighton’s Shade claimed Ean and all of the others vanished, Fynn felt he’d been somehow transported to purgatory. That Seth put himself in charge only rubbed salt in the wound. Fynn would rather have taken orders from the zanthyr than get bossed around by an overgrown pigeon with an ego complex. Not that he actually did anything Seth told him to do. He just felt irritated about it on principle.

  Which didn’t mean he was doing nothing about the fact that Tanis and Alyneri had vanished, or that Franco Rohre and Creighton’s Shade had dragged Ean across a node that Carian, Gwynnleth and Raine later vanished upon, or that the Temple of the Vestals had been magically disintegrated overnight… However, there wasn’t much he could do.

  Too, it galled him that he hadn’t been there to see it all himself—that he’d only the word of two immortals on what had happened at all. That the zanthyr and Seth were in agreement on the facts didn’t exactly prove their verisimilitude, but he was willing to give them the benefit of the doubt, under the circumstances.

  As if any of them cared what he thought.

  “…no information of any kind,” Rhys was saying when Fynn tuned back into the conversation. They’d all gathered that day to pool their recent discoveries and any progress on the tasks assigned to each of them, but so far the soup of news was pretty damn thin. The Captain finished, “Cayal and Dorin have now inquired in every store along three miles of the Thoroughfare and only the one barmaid remembered seeing anything of Tanis.”

  “The boy cannot simply vanish,” Seth grumbled. For some reason he’d taken Tanis’s disappearance as a personal affront.

  “Pretty much looks like that’s what he did,” Fynn pointed out. He was tired of the same argument day after day, and he could be drinking at the Villa D’Antoinette right now.