“Ramuhárikhamáth,” Raine replied soberly. As he released Ramu’s hand, he nodded to Carian. “May I present the Nodefinder Carian vran Lea.”
“Ah yes,” Ramu’s dark eyes swept Carian. “The intrepid explorer who would free the Great Master from the Fifth Vestal’s basalt prison. You are him, no?”
Carian grinned like a wench who’d just been heartily propositioned. “Who knew you were so tall?” he remarked. “Are all of you that tall? I mean, I thought I was tall.” He ambled closer to Ramu and stood up straight, eyeing their respective shoulders critically.
“Carian has trouble with authority,” Raine murmured in response to Ramu’s inquisitive look.
“Perhaps I should introduce you to my brother Rhakar,” Ramu suggested to Carian. “He also lacks a certain perspective.”
“But can he drink an entire bottle of rum while banging a Vaalden barmaid?” Carian demanded with one arched eyebrow.
“You must pose that question to him tonight, Carian vran Lea. I am most interested to know how he responds.”
“You haven’t come to cart us off to prison then?” Carian sounded highly disappointed.
“Sadly not,” Ramu told him, and Raine alone caught the utter amusement behind his composed demeanor. “Though no doubt you may wish by the end of the evening that I had,” he added.
Carian leveled him a suspicious glare. “How’s that?”
Ramu looked to Raine. “The First Lord has asked us to host you for the Solstice celebration,” he said. “Of course, we are more than pleased to do so.”
“I see,” Raine said quietly.
“Do you accept our invitation?”
“Do I have a choice?”
Ramu regarded him with his piercing dark eyes. “You always have a choice, Vestal.”
“What? Of course we’ll go!” Carian shot Raine an annoyed look. “Lead on, your Majesticness.”
“Please, call me Ramu,” the drachwyr replied. “That particular term of endearment is only used by a zanthyr whose memory I would rather not invoke this evening.”
“Oh,” Carian sounded uncharacteristically contrite—as if united suddenly with Ramu against zanthyrs in general. “Sorry about that.”
Ramu nodded in gracious acceptance of his apology. “Follow me, gentlemen, if you please.” He turned and headed off across the plaza, and once again the crowds parted for him like waves before a ship’s prow. Raine and Carian followed in his wake.
“So, I’ve a question for you, my handsome,” Carian posed to Ramu, who arched a brow at the appellation. “If your First Lord always intended to receive us so equitably, why couldn’t he have grabbed us in the Wyndlass?”
“I did send someone to your aid, if memory serves,” Ramu noted.
“Yes, and many thanks for letting us walk all damned day first,” Carian complained sourly. “I needed to work out a few kinks in my back.”
“If you like, I can return you to the Wyndlass.”
“But we’ve already made the journey now. Doesn’t that mean we’ve seen what he brought us here to see?”
“It appears there may be more to be gained.” Ramu turned an arch look over his shoulder.
“Carian is new to my oath-brother’s philosophies, Ramu,” Raine offered, wishing that in this case he might have less experiential understanding himself. “He may not realize that in Björn’s view, the journey is as important as the destination.”
Carian snorted. “Tell that to Gregoire nach Kugghen.”
“Who is?” Ramu asked.
“Who is?” Carian returned indignantly. “Only the first man to sail the West Agasi Sea to the far edge of the known realm! Six months aboard the Kuggenhainen, surviving storms and scurvy and a near mutiny to finally land at Kugghen Rock in 489aF.”
“And during which part of this exploration did Gregoire learn the most, do you suppose?” Ramu inquired without turning. “The journey, or the landfall?”
Carian cast a sooty glare at the drachwyr’s back.
Raine might’ve told the pirate it was pointless to argue philosophy with a Sundragon, but he thought he’d let Carian discover that painful truth for himself.
They traded the wide city square for a smaller lane that wound uphill among storefronts and tall city homes, and just when Carian was opening his mouth to lodge a complaint—presumably about the torturous incline—Ramu halted them before a stone edifice housing a single black-lacquered door. He traced a pattern in the air and then opened the door.
“You might gather your companion,” he advised then, to which Carian collected Gwynnleth into his arms, but not before shooting Raine an incendiary glare full of blameful annoyance. They followed Ramu through the dark portal and emerged on the other side into an endless hallway.
“Belloth take me for his bitch!” Carian swore. He swung his head to look from one end of the passage to the other, his face completely transformed by astonishment.
“No doubt, you comprehend the laddering effect of the nodes,” Ramu noted as he closed the door behind them.
Carian abruptly shoved Gwynnleth into Raine’s arms, who scrambled to accept her before the pirate dropped her completely. “This is incredible!” Carian shoved both hands into his wild black hair and swung to stare from end to end. Suddenly he spun to Ramu. “This is the Great Master’s work!”
“But of course.”
Carian let out an excited whoop and ran to the nearest door, which he yanked open, peered into, and then slammed shut before rushing across the corridor to the next closest door and repeating the process.
Ramu frowned as Carian headed for the third door. “I fear he could be about this for some time.”
“No doubt,” Raine agreed. “Is it safe to leave him?”
Ramu considered this for a moment. His gaze swept Gwynnleth’s form, heavy in Raine’s arms, and he seemed to make up his mind. “Yes, come. I shall send Rhakar to ensure the pirate doesn’t fall into trouble.”
Raine wondered how much trouble the pirate could really discover there.
As if in answer to this thought, the Lord of the Heavens offered, “The First Lord’s Shades mislike renegade Nodefinders running rampant about the realm. Some of them display a less than tolerant temperament on the matter.”
Right then Raine realized Carian could get into quite a lot of trouble and was glad Ramu thought to send Rhakar to watch over him. Besides which, he rather enjoyed contemplating that pairing—the volatile Rhakar seemed well matched against the irrepressible pirate. A little insouciance was just the tonic Rhakar needed to rouse his ire to wildfire proportions. The entire scene was heady to contemplate. Raine almost wished he could be there to witness it.
Several paces down the long hallway, Ramu stopped before another door and led Raine through. They exited into an elegant, marble-encased hallway and crossed to a bedroom, which was dark inside save for a pair of lamps burning low to either side of a large canopy bed. “Leave the avieth here,” Ramu advised from the doorway. “The First Lord will see to her welfare.”
Raine accordingly laid Gwynnleth on the bed and then stood frowning down at her. ‘…any help for her—if she can be helped at all, my lord—will only be found in Niyadbakir…’ Well, he’d done all he could to get her to the city, but still he regretted leaving her in that condition. With great care, Raine smoothed a strand of hair from the avieth’s face and then looked to Ramu.
They were soon back in the endless corridor with the node doors passing by in a repetitive blur. “What of your journey, Vestal?” Ramu asked during a moment of silence—every twenty seconds or so, they’d hear another door open and close from far down the corridor as Carian continued his enthusiastic inspection. “What have you learned?”
“Is this a test?” Raine inquired, glancing at him.
“It is merely my own curiosity. You need not share your thoughts with me.”
Raine sighed. It was impossible not to like Ramu. “I’m sure your First Lord would be pleased to know the extent of my discove
ries and subsequent foundering, but he will have to ask me himself if he wishes to know my thoughts.”
“You mistake me for a Shade, Raine D’Lacourte,” Ramu said, eyeing him sagaciously. “The First Lord does not know my every thought, nor am I bound to him. But one cannot come to T’khendar from so long in Alorin and not face certain truths that shake the foundations of what one believes.” He gave him a knowing look and a little smile. “Your answer is enough. I see that you have been giving it an honest look. It is all any of us could ask of you.”
In that moment, Raine wished very much to be an ostrich who was perfectly happy hiding his head, and his embarrassment, in the sand.
It is not such a terrible thing to be humbled by an immortal creature, he tried to tell himself.
But his own childish remark still rankled him.
Raine endured the silence that followed as his own form of self-imposed chastisement, well knowing the drachwyr was perceptive to his discomfiture. They reached the end of the torturously long passage, and Raine followed Ramu through a pair of tall doors and out into the palace.
They passed many inhabitants and guests already elegantly dressed for the evening’s celebration. Raine thought he might’ve recognized a few of the faces they met in passing. To be certain he knew others among the faceless masses, for certain thoughts reached his truthreader’s mental ears with a familiar chord.
Both to his relief and subsequent disappointment, however, Isabel’s mental voice was not among the music of the fourth that night. He thought of inquiring of Ramu as to her whereabouts but changed his mind when he realized the drachwyr would probably tell him.
Isabel.
She’d never expressed an interest in Raine that was anything beyond platonic, her heart having long been claimed by Arion Tavestra, but that hadn’t discouraged Raine from dreaming of her often. Allowing himself a rare memory from happier days, before Malachai’s war, Raine remembered Arion Tavestra as the most universally envied man alive.
He cringed slightly then at other memories of Arion, who like Cristien, had been a friend once. Arion was a force to be reckoned with in his day, whether facing off publicly in Sormitáge trials beneath Markal Morrelaine’s critical dark gaze, or intimately, across a King’s board. Though he’d been sworn to Björn wholly even before the wars and therefore became Raine’s enemy, Arion was one of the few who Raine honestly missed—and certainly the realm was diminished for want of his talent. The best and brilliant of them had fallen to Malachai’s madness, in one form or another.
Raine wondered how Isabel was faring with Arion so long vanquished, and he was surprised to feel the slightest glimmering of hope—however unlikely—that with the wielder gone, she might entertain thoughts of himself instead.
It wasn’t hard to become obsessed with Isabel van Gelderan. The challenge was in not being so.
“Ah, here we are,” Ramu said pleasantly. He cast the fifth before him to open two towering doors, but not before Raine realized what doors they were copies of.
And beyond the Extian Doors and across the gallery, a great game room awaited, already packed with revelers. Raine immediately noted the many silver faces of Björn’s Shades scattered among the partygoers. Realizing that some of those Shades might be the ghosts of men he’d once known brought a new perspective to his concept of their being.
“Raine?” someone called. And then, shouted: “It’s Raine D’Lacourte!”
Suddenly countless people were rushing to greet him with excitement and shouts of surprise. The next many minutes were a blur of faces and thoughts—all of them pleasant and full of hope—of hugs and hands and warm kisses of welcome. Behind him all the while stood Ramu, whose presence remained a grounding force among the whirlwind of strangers and once-friends alike.
When the hubbub finally had calmed, Ramu touched Raine’s elbow, and they continued their crossing of the vast room. Everywhere Raine looked people smiled, nodded, waved. In a room full of strangers, he felt like everyone knew him. Certainly as a Vestal he was used to being recognized, used to being welcomed by kings and queens, used to a certain level of homage even—but this welcome was somehow much more…profound.
Ramu led him out onto an expansive balcony that overlooked the city glowing in splendor far below. Once again, its unexpected beauty took his breath away—even the cityworld of Illume Belliel could not hold a candle to the brilliance of Niyadbakir. But then…Björn had spent centuries in Illume Belliel—plenty of time to plan and design his own city and make improvements, which was something he certainly would’ve done.
At the far end of the balcony, several figures stood separate from the other celebrants. They were all dressed in elaborate desert-style garments typical of the Kandori. Raine would’ve known them immediately, even had there not been such a quiet force to their presence that was equally reflected on the currents.
As Raine and Ramu joined the other drachwyr, the Lord of the Heavens said, “Rhakar, you are needed in the Nodes. Keep an eye on the pirate Carian vran Lea or bring him here, as you wish, but see that he doesn’t fall into harm.” Raine was amused to note the undertone in Ramu’s words, which clearly implied that Carian mustn’t meet harm from Rhakar, either.
Dressed in an elaborate kurta of crimson silk embroidered with gold, and matching thread-of-gold desert pants, Rhakar actually looked…attractive. His yellow eyes were as fierce as ever, however, and his disposition certainly had not improved in the three centuries since Raine met him last.
He took one look at Raine, arched a critical brow and shoved his empty goblet into the truthreader’s hands before stalking off. Raine imagined he could see the dragon-hilted greatsword strapped to his back, though this was only an impression…he hoped.
“Welcome, Raine D’Lacourte,” greeted one of the others, and Raine tore his gaze from Rhakar’s retreating figure to find Naiir extending a welcoming hand. Raine took it feeling unbalanced.
“Naiir,” he said in return. They’d met only once, long ago, and Raine had been too new to his talent and too awestruck to notice much detail about the drachwyr at the time. Now, however, he saw Naiir as the currents revealed him, a brilliant force of power and courage with a deeply introspective mind.
“Ah, ‘tis well that you join us this evening, Vestal,” said Balaji, who approached carrying two goblets. Raine had never before met Dhábu’balaji’şridanaí, but He Who Walked the Edge of the World was unmistakable, if yet as enigmatic as Björn’s zanthyr. Balaji handed a goblet to Raine in exchange for Rhakar’s empty one and flashed a smile of pearly white teeth, bright against his caramel skin. Yet for all that his manner was amiable, for all he seemed a youth of ten and six, Raine thought there was something decidedly feral about Balaji.
“The Solstice is upon us,” Balaji continued, eyeing Raine quietly, “a new year, a new life, a new Return. One might say the same of you in many ways, might they not?”
“I…” Raine blinked at him, for he had not realized himself so intimately connected with the Solstice until that moment.
The two females approached then, and the darkly exotic one dressed in a gown of blue said gently, “Welcome, Raine D’Lacourte.”
Raine nodded to her. “My lady,” he managed in reply.
“You have had a difficult journey, I think,” observed the female dressed in opaline silk, a startlingly lovely woman with golden hair and eyes like citrines, brightly sparkling.
“Raine, may I present my sisters,” Balaji offered then. “Amithaíya’geshwen,” and he indicated the dark-haired woman in blue, “and Jayachándranáptra.”
Raine bowed to both of them, and to Jaya, he couldn’t help himself observing, “My lady, the brilliance of your beauty indeed rivals the sun,” for this was the meaning of her name.
“Yes, so I keep telling her,” Naiir noted in amusement, “yet she insists her beauty is not the reason she is so named. Being that she is my oldest sister, I am forced to disagree with her.”
Ramu rejoined Raine’s side and
oddly handed him a goblet of wine in exchange for the one Balaji had just given him. He smiled and said, “Jaya would have us all believe her name is but a forewarning of the power our father bestowed upon her.”
“It is how she keeps us in line,” Naiir noted.
Taking all of this in with his head already slightly spinning, Raine sipped his wine and found it excellent. “A very nice Volga,” he complimented, to which Ramu turned Balaji an indescribably knowing and superior smile.
And yet, the look Jaya cast her brothers was somehow even more so. She extended her arm to Raine, inviting of his escort, and said, “I would partake of the view. Will you accompany me, Vestal?”
“It would be my honor, my lady,” Raine replied. He wrapped Jaya’s hand around his arm, and together they strolled along the balcony railing. Far and wide the city lights glowed, while the stars paled in splendor, dimmed by the city’s brilliance.
After a time wherein they merely absorbed the many sounds of revelry from near and far, Jaya said, “You have been here…what, a fortnight?”
“Or so,” Raine said.
“I envy you.” She cast him a solemn look. “Save for Ramu, who moves between the realms at will, we are granted but a brief reprieve from our duties in celebration of the Solstice. At least the First Lord allows us that much.”
Raine recalled then what she must be speaking of when mentioning their ‘duties,’ those mounting stories of Sundragons recalled from isolation by the ‘Emir’s Mage.’ It was yet one more mystery within his oath-brother’s vast web. He turned Jaya a troubled look. “Why is Björn involving himself in a war between mortal kings?” Never mind that his own affairs brought him perilously close to the same.
She turned her oddly beautiful tangerine eyes upon him with one gilded eyebrow raised. “Is that what he does? I thought you better learned, Vestal.”
“I find myself increasingly ignorant of obvious truths,” Raine admitted with no small measure of angst, knowing it neither behooved him nor complimented him to dissemble amongst this ancient race.
The Dagger of Adendigaeth (A Pattern of Shadow & Light) Page 49
