The Sixth Strand

by Melissa McPhail

  Avatar and Surrounding Kingdoms

  Lands of Agasan

  The Strands & Their Associated Adepts

  First Strand

  Creative Energy

  Healers

  Seers

  Variant traits:

  Foretelling

  Second Strand

  Kinetic Energy

  Nodefinders

  Espials

  Delvers

  Wierwardens

  Variant traits:

  Dreamwalking

  Twisted nodes

  Third Strand

  Energy of Time/Form

  Avieths

  Fhorgs

  Nymphs

  Tyriolicci

  Variant traits:

  Timeweaving

  Shapeshifting

  Animal Magnetism

  Fourth Strand

  Energy of Thought

  Truthreaders

  Variant traits:

  Illusions

  Fifth Strand

  Elemental Energy

  Adepts of the Fifth

  Drachwyr

  Malorin’athgul

  Zanthyrs

  Variant traits:

  Seeing & Unworking Patterns

  Prologue

  Gadovan Mandoril, Captain in Illume Belliel’s Order of Paladin Knights, held up his fist to halt the others of his elite company and pressed himself to the wall. Across the Palace of Niyadbakir in T’khendar, an alarm was sounding, screaming through the galleries, echoing in the hallways, blasting on the currents of elae. Gadovan still wasn’t sure if it had anything to do with them.

  “Unholy Criim and all his demons,” drawled Mathias Kline, Gadovan’s second-in-command, “how long is that bloody thing going to keep blaring?” He retracted his elae-generated helmet to shove damp hair out of his eyes.

  “Restore your helmet, Kline,” Gadovan ordered, low and tight. “This place is full of wielders.” Their suits made them invisible to the eye as well as to elae’s currents, but only when fully engaged.

  Kline’s helmet shimmered back into existence. Their armor responded to their intent, as with any pattern.

  “Where’s the damned map?” the knight named Tars hissed. “I thought you could track it with that book.”

  “I am tracking it.” Gadovan gestured to the flood of servants clogging the arteries of Björn van Gelderan’s palace. “But as you see, there’s something of an obstacle in our path.”

  Tars grunted. “They’re servants. We can lay them out in seconds.”

  “And rouse all of the Fifth Vestal’s Shades to our arrival?” Mathias protested.

  “We’re counting on the element of surprise, Tars,” Gadovan murmured.

  “When over two hundred of our knightly brethren get here, these fools’ll be plenty surprised,” added Jude, the fourth in their company.

  “When are the others getting here?” Mathias asked Gadovan.

  Two hundred of their fellow knights had been readying to attack T’khendar when Gadovan and his team had departed. He wasn’t sure why the alarm was sounding or what it signified. He saw no armored soldiers, nor anyone who even looked important, just a god-awful number of cleaning women and courtiers rushing through the halls.

  “They’ll arrive any second now if that Rohre fellow knows what’s best for him,” Tars grumbled.

  “Shut it, all of you. No more open communication from here forward. Keep it to the bond.” Gadovan saw an opening coming in five, four, three...

  Let’s go. He led the others across the wide hallway and down an intersecting passage, encased in invisibility.

  An amalgam of every strand of elae, their radiant armor protected them from all but the most potent workings. When moving, elements of the fifth strand reflected their surroundings in a natural camouflage; when standing still, they became completely invisible. Their boots, fashioned of the second and third strands, obscured all sound of their running feet.

  When the Eltanin Seat Mir Arkadhi and Alorin’s Candidate Vestal Niko van Amstel had briefed Gadovan’s team on their mission, the two Vestals had described a fiery realm of red skies and basalt mountains. Gadovan had been expecting to invade a fortress. Instead, he’d spent the last hour winding his way through the alabaster halls of an elegant palace, feeling less like a righteous invader than a cheap thug looking for something precious to steal.

  And they were supposedly there to steal something very precious indeed: the famous weldmap belonging to Dagmar Ranneskjöld.

  All around them, the alarm kept screaming.

  The book secured snugly inside Gadovan’s coat tugged him mentally to the right. It was a variant trait specific to second-stranders from his world. He could find people using their personal belongings, and this book had come straight off Dagmar Ranneskjöld’s bookshelf in Illume Belliel.

  But Björn van Gelderan’s palace was a veritable city unto itself, even with the book to guide them. And that alarm certainly didn’t help his concentration. Gadovan feared at any moment he would run into one of the Fifth Vestal’s Shades, who were said to be capable of binding a man with a thought—even a Paladin Knight encased in magical armor.

  Gadovan raised his fist to halt his team just shy of an archway. Beyond the tall opening lay a pentagonal atrium rivaling the one in the cityworld’s Hall of a Thousand Thrones. Along each of the five sides, a grand staircase wound upwards to higher floors. The atrium and all five staircases were swarming with people.

  Moving through a flooding crowd would test their armor’s capacity for camouflage. Gadovan listened to the pulse of kinetic tides until he heard a break in the cadence. Then he motioned them on.

  Five floors later they reached the final landing.

  A long marble hallway extended before them, blessedly empty. It might’ve been half a mile to reach the far end, where Gadovan could barely make out a statue on a plinth. Dragging a breath deep into his lungs, he motioned the others on, and they jogged soundlessly on the patterned blue carpeting that ran the entire length of the passage.

  Guard your thoughts, Gadovan ordered. The fourth here is viscous. You can pluck a thought from it like a fly from molasses.

  The readings he was getting from the book indicated they were nearing its owner. Gadovan motioned them to a halt just shy of a set of tall double doors and pressed himself to the wall. He listened for kinetic pulses inside, but the room was still. Only one occupant.

  Gadovan nodded to his men. They entered a library and spread out facing a wall of tall windows, dark with night. A long table stood before the windows, bathed in its own reflection. The windows revealed nothing of the knights as they slipped invisibly into the room. The cold glass showed only the glowing image of a large reticulated globe hovering over the table, and the man who was standing before it with his back to the doors.

  With his head bent just so, his shoulder-length blond hair draped across his face. The way he braced his muscular arms wide on the table accentuated his warrior’s build. Gadovan easily recognized Alorin’s Second Vestal from the description he’d been given.

  Dagmar was studying—

  That’s got to be the map! Tars started running towards the man, who could only be Alorin’s Second Vestal.

  Tars—wait!

  But the knight ignored Gadovan’s mental command and drew his blade as he rushed on. Gadovan cursed and ran after him, followed closely by the others.

  Tars swung up his sword—

  The man at the table turned—

  Tars suddenly stiffened. He toppled sidelong onto the table, and his sword went clanging across and off. One hand grappled ineffectually to grab the map as he collapsed to the floor and froze in an awkward cringe.

  Gadovan, Mathias and Jude pulled up just shy of the carpet where Tars lay like a dead lizard. They all vanished their helmets with a thought.

  Mathias turned to Jude. “Nice. Static pull?”

  “Nerve dart.”

  “I didn’t see you fire anything at him.”

&
nbsp; “I put a tack on him before we left.”

  Mathias gave him an approving thumbs-up.

  Dagmar Ranneskjöld looked over the three knights, clearly recognizing the emblem of the Council of Realms emblazoned on their cuirasses if not the knights themselves. Then he grunted. “You’re late.”

  “I deeply apologize, milord.” Gadovan gave a slight wince. “There was some sort of alarm going off in the palace. The halls were full of people.”

  Dagmar’s brows arched towards dubiety. “You have invisible armor.”

  “It’s good for fortresses and forests, Your Excellency,” Jude said. “Not so effective among crowds.”

  Dagmar turned him a flat look. “Which you would’ve avoided if you’d arrived on time.”

  Jude dropped his gaze. “Sorry, milord.”

  Mathias shoved his damp hair back from his eyes. “Niko van Amstel had to hear himself talk for upwards of an hour before any of us could leave—some Criim-demented speech about Alorin as a birth mother. Major Reynald was practically apoplectic.”

  “Then he demanded to cross the node with us,” Jude added.

  Dagmar speared a look at him. “Niko van Amstel is here?”

  “No, thank the Time Fathers,” Gadovan said. “Franco Rohre put him down with a hard right hook. Garret had to carry him back to Illume Belliel.”

  “So you’re short by one.”

  “Aye, your Excellency,” Mathias said, “but we three are really all you need.”

  Dagmar looked the three of them over, appearing unconvinced. He turned to the awkwardly petrified knight lying on the floor. “Who’s this then?”

  “That’s Tars.” Jude went to collect Tars’ sword from the other side of the table.

  Dagmar followed Jude with his gaze. “What did he think you were coming here to do?”

  “To steal your weldmap, sir,” Gadovan answered.

  Dagmar snorted. “That would be quite the trick.”

  Mathias’s eyes were riveted to the weldmap lying open on the table. “So...that’s not it...I suppose?” He tried to make the inquiry sound innocent and failed miserably.

  Dagmar’s gaze said, Do you seriously think I would let any of you know the location of the real map? Then he looked back to the frozen knight. “Any chance of making this Tars fellow useful?”

  Gadovan pushed his dark hair out of his face. “He’s a second-strander from the realm of Heche.”

  “So, that will likely be a no, then.” Dagmar rubbed his jaw. “We can hold him until the others arrive, I suppose.”

  A braided gold circlet banded the Vestal’s blond hair, but otherwise he wore black from head to toe. The only spots of color were his pale green eyes and the blue stone of his oath-ring, which glinted as he folded the tree trunks that passed for his arms across his chest. “Have you been briefed on your mission here?”

  Gadovan exchanged a look with the others. “We were told only that you needed Nodefinders with a particular skill-set. I’m Gadovan. These are Mathias and Jude.”

  Dagmar nodded brusquely to them. “What training do you three have?”

  “We’re gold-circle on our home world. I’m told that’s five rings, by Alorin’s standard.”

  Mathias grinned. “Only the best, as the Fifth Vestal requested.”

  Dagmar arched a dubious brow. “The best, eh?”

  “The three of us have been tracing nodes since adolescence, milord.” Mathias exchanged a grin with Jude.

  Dagmar noted the exchange. “Mapping routes between the realms for the Eltanin black market?”

  “Deadly if you fail, deadlier if you’re caught,” Mathias said proudly.

  “So you’re comfortable treading the moral grey,” Dagmar surmised.

  “We’re Eltanese, milord,” Jude offered with a shrug, as if nothing more need be said.

  Dagmar grunted. “Well enough.” He collected the weldmap and began rolling the canvas as he stepped over Tars. “Lose the armor and come with me.”

  Gadovan nodded to the others. They each brought their hands together and folded their thumbs to allow the wide silver bands they wore to touch just so. Their armor shimmered out of existence. Beneath they wore fitted uniforms in the style common to the cityworld.

  As the Eltanese followed the Vestal out of the library, Mathias’s gaze kept straying back to the frozen Tars. Gad...do you think he’s just going to leave him there?

  “Uh, milord,” Gadovan asked as he caught up with Dagmar, “what should we do about Tars?”

  “The Fifth Vestal’s Shades will take care of him.”

  Mathias gave an uncomfortable laugh. “Jacks of all trades, are they?”

  Dagmar gave him a look that made them all swallow any further comments.

  Outside the library, they turned to the left. The passage was deathly silent. “Milord,” Gadovan asked, “what was that alarm about?”

  Dagmar eyed him askance. “A drill, in the event of invasion.”

  “Invasion from the Paladin Knights?” Jude asked, sounding concerned and perhaps a bit culpable.

  Dagmar made a deprecating grunt. “When the real invasion comes, we’ll be ready.” He did not say what forces would constitute the ‘real’ invasion, and the Eltanese weren’t of a mind to ask him.

  “The work we have for you is slightly more complicated than tracing nodes between the realms,” the Vestal said as he led them into a narrow alcove and down a set of winding steps. “You’re going to be dredging ley lines—”

  “Dredging them?” Mathias turned a wide-eyed look to Gad. “As in creating entirely new magnetic channels—”

  “Yes. That’s what dredging means, Mathias.” Dagmar angled him a don’t-interrupt-me-with-stupid-questions stare. “There’s no other way to restore the grid. The nodes have been too degraded. We have to remap the ley lines to new nodes, where you’ll have your anchor.”

  “Anchor?” Gadovan stressed, noting the singular.

  Dagmar stopped on the landing and looked back at them. They all drew up short rather than run into the point of his stare. “Currently it’s rarely possible to establish two anchors on T’khendar’s world grid—leastwise not in the sections you’ll be working—and triangulating anchors is out of the question. There aren’t enough nodes still active and safe in that region.” He looked them over speculatively. “I’m sure you’ll catch on.”

  Then he pushed through a door leading out of the stairwell.

  Gadovan exchanged a What the hell have we gotten into? look with his cousins.

  Mathias shook his head. We are definitely not getting paid enough for this.

  Jude pushed his finger into Mathias’s ear and wiggled it. Maybe you should argue the terms of our accord with our uncle, Mat.

  Mat swatted his hand away. Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not that stupid.

  Gadovan pushed through the door after Dagmar, whereupon he came to a standstill, with Mathias and Jude piling up behind him yet again.

  They faced a seemingly endless hallway. Identical doors fronted each other literally as far as the eye could see. Dagmar was already several lengths ahead of them and moving fast.

  “Holy passage of the Time Fathers,” Mathias murmured. “Is this—”

  “Is has to be.” Gadovan swallowed.

  “Criim, Gad.” Jude’s face had gone slack. “Do you think they laddered the entire world grid? Who does that?”

  Gadovan took a deep breath and started off after Dagmar again.

  Gad, Mathias thought tightly as he followed, this is a whole new level of We. Are. Screwed.

  Gadovan emphatically agreed.

  ***

  Amithaiya’geshwyn’s footsteps echoed as she ran, beating a rapid cadence in time with the explosions drumming Raku’s walls. Everywhere the sounds of battle accosted the tranquility of the oasis.

  Ahead of her, the doors to the Emir’s palace hung from their hinges. Dead soldiers covered the steps before them like the droppings of birds.

  Balance hangs by a thread...
<
br />   Ramu’s words of caution thrummed in her mind, even as the sound of her running feet pounded in her ears. Her every step sent ripples through the mortal tapestry.

  She’d left the Emir’s son, Prince Farid, in the arms of Dannym’s king at the edge of a sacred spring, surrounded by piles of ash that had once been eidola. She’d slain more of the abominations during her chase to the Emir’s palace, but too many still stained the tapestry. She could sense them on the currents, feel their presence like beetles feeding on the fabric, weakening it.

  Mithaiya took a running leap and launched herself to the top of the steps, soaring over the bodies littering them. She landed beyond the broken doors and ran down a corridor littered with more of the dead and dying, the aftermath of passing eidola. Death choked the air.

  She and the other drachwyr had meant to prevent this. They were supposed to be in the skies, enforcing the stalemate between the armies of the Akkadian Emir and Radov of M’Nador, protecting the Balance in at least one of the wars currently darkening Alorin’s tapestry. But a foul pattern had been worked against her siblings, and the stability their presence provided to the tapestry had already been obliterated by an avalanche of chaos.

  Shouting and the clang of weapons reached her ears from somewhere ahead. Mithaiya ran across a blood-spattered floor to the strains of an unholy cacophony.

  A battle was raging in the atrium when she reached it.

  Dozens of the Emir’s personal guard were trying to hold off a third as many eidola. Motley light shining down from the atrium’s rainbow-glass dome splayed across their battling forms, making a colored travesty of each man’s death.

  Balance hangs by a thread...

  Mithaiya found the strands of elae that flowed into each eidola—binding them via twisted patterns into derisive mimicries of men—and with a thought, seared each thread from the aether.

  Stone bodies exploded into ash.

  Mithaiya ran into the milling clouds, through the oaths of the startled guards, and ordered as she went, “Return to the Emir!”

  She charged on down the corridor, trailing a wake of guards.

  She knew the mission Radov had tasked to his eidola. If the Emir fell, Raku Oasis would succumb to the Ruling Prince’s forces with barely a whimper. Even now, trebuchets assaulted the walls while waves of men shed their lifeblood onto the desert sands, but that larger battle was a mere distraction, a lure for the Akkadians’ attention, while Radov’s eidola won the day for him.