"It's your father that's within me. His rai."
"Yes," Ryel said; and his emotions were the complete opposite of Michael's. "He has returned to me."
Michael glowered at his Art-brother. "Not for long. I know the spell to drive him out, and send him back to the Void."
"In which case I'd use the same spell on your rai, then bring Edris back to take full possession of your bodily form, which I can assure you he'd be well contented with."
Michael surged to his feet, unsteady and furious. "Just try it, Markulit!"
Ryel, too, was standing now, equally irate and very much in control. "Don't be such an overbearing fool." With not a push but a word he hurled Michael back into his chair. "You might show a little gratitude. Were it not for my Art, your body would have lain lifeless forever—just as without me, your blood would still be poisoned with the bane that plagued your family for a thousand years. Your blood, and your brother's. But now you're both free of it."
Michael stared up at him, hands frozen on the chair-arms. "What do you mean?"
Ryel told him of the cure he had wrought upon the Count Palatine, but said nothing of the sickness he had taken upon himself, and how it had tortured him; told him of the uprising that would have been Yvain Essern's unspeakable death. When he had made an end, Michael sank back into his chair, leaning on one of the great arms, turning his head so that Ryel could not see his face for a while. When he again looked round, a faint trace of color humanized the harsh pallor of his countenance, and his voice though barely audible seemed to fill the air with resonant warmth, and his gray eyes glittered harshly in the firelight.
"Yvain," he whispered. "They would have burnt Yvain ..." With a grimace he averted his eyes from the leaping flames of the hearth. "So we both owe you our lives, my brother and I. For his at least I thank you." Michael reached for the crystal goblet, holding it to the light, seemingly absorbed in its faceted flame-bright scintillations. But his eyes glinted more. "I've missed him," he said quietly, mostly to himself. "More than I can say, I've missed him. All my desire is to return to Hallagh after these many years apart, and see him again—and I will, at once."
Ryel reflected that Edris might not be in favor of Michael's decision. But before he could offer objections, Michael spoke again, seemingly to himself.
"But I'll not stay there. I've done cruel murder, and untold wrong. Were I coward enough, I'd wish my rai back in the Void, safe in the nothingness, forever forgetful of the World I came into only to harm. But my crimes require penance, harsh and unending."
Ryel felt his mouth falling open. "By every god! Haven't you suffered your entire life? You couldn't help how you were born. You—"
Michael shook his head. "I could have helped what I became. I should have fought the Bane, not yielded to it. I should have been strong enough to resist Dagar. I was weak in all things; weak, and vile. It will take the rest of my life to make right the harm I did."
"Then you might as well begin in Almancar. More than enough needs to be made right in that city."
Michael waved away the very notion. "I'll never go back there. I never want to see that place again, that I almost destroyed...or the Dranthene princess, whose death I nearly caused."
"Her name's Diara. And if you were a man, you'd go to her and ask her forgiveness on your knees."
A long silence at that, and a barely audible reply. "Never."
"And what about my father's wishes?"
The Red Essern shrugged in scorn. "Let that Steppes gypsy Edris do what he can to overcome my rai. He's old, and his Art's no match for mine."
Ryel lifted his chin. "You only say that because you're drunk from the wine he made you drink."
"I'm not drunk! Although I admit I feel...strange. At any rate, I'm damned if a mere graybeard Markulit is going to push me around." Propping both booted legs upon the table, the Red Essern settled himself back in his chair in a posture defiantly immovable. In another moment his scarlet-skeined head, unbalanced by drink, fell upon his breast. His next sound was a muffled snore.
Ryel sighed, knowing that Edris wouldn't let Michael sleep for long. "Rest while you can, brother mine," he said in deepest sympathy, endless vistas of new roads rising up before him as he spoke. "Rest—while my father lets you. Because tomorrow we head for Almancar...all three of us."
END
A Guide to Names
Many of the names in The Ryel Saga are influenced by French and Greek, and should be pronounced accordingly.
Agenor: AGG-en-or
Bradamaine: BRADA-main
Dranthene: Dran-THEE-nay
Diara: Dee-AR-ah (rhymes with “tiara”)
Edris: EE-driss
Essern: Accented on the last syllable
Guyon de Grisainte Desrenaud: GUY-on deh GREE-zahnt DEZ-ren-aud ("aud" rhyming with "lode)
Mira: MEE-rah
Priamnor: Pry-AM-nor
Roskerrek: Ross-KERR-ek
Riana: Ree-AHN-ah
Ryel: Rye-EL
Srin Yan Tai: "Tai" pronounced like "tie"
Valrandin: Val-RAN-din
Yvain: Ee-VAN
A note on Steppes names: It is customary among males of the Steppes phratri of Destimar to use a first name followed by a patronymic (the father's name, with the additional ending -em) and a matronynmic (the mother's name, with the additional ending -ai): thus, Ryel Edrisem Mirai, Ryel son of Edris and Mira. Females upon marriage take as a surname the first name of their husband, with the additional ending -a. Upon the death of a parent, the patronymic or matronymic is not used for some length of time--usually three to five years--as a sign of mourning.
Glossary:
Aliante: (al’YANT): The lowest type of mercenary soldier, one that changes loyalties at the slightest whim. Always an insult.
Chal (rhymes with Hal): a hot drink relished by the folk of Destimar, especially those of the Inner Steppes. It is green in color (dark murky green in the Inner Steppes, where it is brewed very strong), and is invigorating, warming, and nutritious. Among Steppe-dwellers, chal is traditionally brewed in a chaltak―a wide-mouthed jar-shaped vessel that can also double as a canteen―and drunk from the close-fitting lid that serves as a cup. Chaltaks can be made of simple fire-hardened porcelain or of precious enamel, depending on the means of the owner.
Ilandrakis (Ill-an-DRAK-is): Almancarian endearment, signifying “dearer than brother.” Used by both sexes. The feminine equivalent is kerandraka.
Ithradrakis (Ith-rah-DRAK-is):: Almancarian term of respect, signifying “dearer than father.” Used by both sexes.
Kerandraka (Kerr-an-DRAK-ah): Almancarian term of respect, signifying “dearer than sister.” Used solely by a man to a woman, and betokening a deep bond of the heart.
Keirai (Keer-AYE): A High Almancarian greeting, used solely between blood relations of the imperial house.
Kriy (Kree): A Steppes game similar to polo.
Krusghan (KROOS-gahn): The seven-holed transverse flute of the Steppes, usually made of blackwood with joinings of carved stone.
Kulm (Kool’m): A peat-like substance dug from the substrata of the wide plains of the Steppes, lightweight and long-burning; used as fuel for stoves or cooking fires throughout Destimar.
Lakh (Lack): Sweets made with finely-ground almonds and sugar, enclosing a filling of apricot conserve. A favorite delicacy of Destimar.
Silestra (Sill-ESS-trah): An Almancarian term of endearment, meaning “as fair within as without.” Used principally to describe women, but can also be applied to men, in which case the word becomes Silestor.
Sindretin (Sin-DRET-in): An Destimarian celebration commemorating one’s fiftieth birthday, signalized by lavish revelry.
Sovran (SOV-ran): The male ruler of the imperial house of Destimar. The female equivalent is Sovrana, which also the title of the Sovran's consort. Male heirs apparent are given the title Sovranel; females, Sovrena. Younger brothers to the titular ruler are styled Sovranet; females, Sovranara.
Tiraktia (t
ir-AK-tee-ah): A privileged member of the Diamond Heaven, whose primary role is to entertain with music, dance, or song. Tiraktiai are at liberty to choose their lovers as they wish.
Yat: The typical dwelling of the nomadic tribes of Destimar's steppes. Its form is similar to the yurt, with a hole in the roof to provide escape for the hearth-ring's smoke.
Table of Contents
The Ryel Saga: A Tale of Love and Magic
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