“Aye, Sire.”
“It appears Radov is no longer in command.” Gydryn glanced soberly to Farid. “The war may yet continue for the Seventeen Tribes, but for us, it is over.”
Relief announced itself on a tide of audible exhales from his officers.
“I regret you’ve had to remain here so long, but I want to thank every one of you for staying the course. I cannot express my relief at finding the army still here, even though it ails me to know the danger our people back home are now facing as a result.”
“Ye are our liege, Sire,” Loran said quietly but in a tone that implied nothing more need be said.
“Your Majesty,” Lachlan asked, “what is our plan? Do we make for the coast?”
Gydryn glanced again to Farid. “We head northwest, towards Kandori.”
The officers all gave each other astonished looks.
“The land route, Your Majesty?” Tavon sounded justifiably bewildered. The overland route to Dannym would take them three times as long.
“The truth is,” Gydryn confided then, “we cannot afford to move this army over land any more than we can afford the lengthy voyage at sea. Viernan hal’Jaitar is a dangerous enemy to us, and we cannot risk the march back through territory controlled by hal’Jaitar or the Prophet Bethamin.
“Moreover, the Emir received news through his own information lines that Morwyk has begun his march on Calgaryn. We have to be there by the time he reaches the capital.”
“But...how is that possible, Your Majesty?” Lachlan asked.
Gydryn looked to Farid. “By traveling the Seam. I will let Prince Farid, who is a Nodefinder, explain it to you.”
The prince pressed palms and bowed politely to the king’s council, murmuring, “As-salaam’alaykum.” Peace be upon you. Farid told them then, “The Seam is a band of nodes positioned close together. It mirrors the line of the Eidenglass Range. Sormitáge scholars think the geological movement that created the mountains is responsible for creating the Seam, but much of what we know of it is speculation. Traveling it is very dangerous.” He looked to Gydryn meaningfully.
The king told his men, “The risk that time poses to us is equally great. Two moons or more to reach our own shores is time gifted to Morwyk to lay siege to our home. You all know it will be much easier keeping him out than ousting him, should he establish his own foothold behind our walls.”
“Aye, ’tis a fact,” Loran muttered.
“Can you explain the danger of the Seam, Prince Farid?” Lachlan asked. “Perhaps there are precautions we can take.”
Gydryn murmured, “Farid, this is Captain Lachlan val Reith, our quartermaster.”
“Captain.” Farid nodded to Lachlan. “I’ll try to explain it, yes.” He noted the pile of pistachios on the table before Ramsay and asked him, “Sir, if I may?”
Ramsay scooped up a pile of the nuts and handed them to Farid, who stood to receive them.
Still standing, the prince laid out the nuts on the table to form a grid of four lines by four. “This is the general structure of the realm’s nodes.” He glanced up under his brows. “The nodes sit in a grid pattern equidistant from each other. Magnetic induction flows along the channels established by the nodes’ interrelationship. A Nodefinder uses this induction to move from node to node across the world grid.
“Normally, when a Nodefinder transports people or merchandise, he opens a channel between two nodes. So long as they are linked on the same magnetic line,” and he moved his finger along one of the lines of nuts, “he can move through many nodes or a single one with the same ease. His passengers can move with him across the Pattern if connected to him by touch, or if he is strong enough, he can open a channel between two nodes with his mind, forming a sort of bridge, and then direct his passengers across along that protected channel.”
Farid swiped all the nuts together, then quickly arranged them into piles, with each pile sitting close to the next. “These are the nodes of the Seam. They’re clumped so tightly that induction is unpredictable. You can’t travel just one node. You often cannot predict where you will emerge. But these clumps...” and he pointed from one pile to another, “represent hundreds of miles. Using the Seam, a Nodefinder could conceivably reach Dannym in the space of an afternoon.”
The officers exchanged looks at this. “So you’ve traveled it?” Sir Kendrick asked.
Farid shook his head. “I know only the theory of its structure.”
Gydryn shifted in his chair. “Prince Farid will travel it ahead of us, mapping the way as best he is able, then return to take the army across, battalion by battalion.”
“I cannot move you all at once,” Farid admitted. “The forces are too great. Too, because of the inconsistency of induction, each time I move a new section of the army, it’s possible we could emerge in a different location, so I must take steps to keep us all together.”
The men were starting to understand, if told from their varied expressions of discomfort.
“So it might take three days then,” Ramsay surmised with a dry smile.
“Jai’Gar willing.” Farid gave a soft nod to his effort at levity.
Gydryn ran his gaze across his men. “Farid will ride ahead of the army. We’ll meet him at the northwestern edge of the Forest of Doane, where the Seam begins.”
“Jai’Gar willing,” Farid finished quietly. Retaking his seat, the Akkadian prince exchanged a portentous look with Gydryn.
In truth, they were making light of the danger.
Farid had told Gydryn horror stories of Nodefinders smashing into one another on the Seam due to the unpredictable paths of induction. When the Adepts were found, it was impossible to separate their parts. This was one of the lesser dangers.
Greater was the chance of men becoming caught by opposing induction channels, ripped out of the group Farid was moving and dumped into some foreign kingdom, or simply lost forever on the Pattern of the World.
All of this Farid’s eyes said as he retook his chair.
Gydryn’s level gaze said in return, But the danger posed by Morwyk claiming Calgaryn is greater still.
Ramsay asked, “Is Your Majesty aware that Gideon val Mallonwey’s men never reached us?”
“Yes, Ramsay. Trell is on a mission to rescue Gideon and his men from Abu’dhan.”
A palpable silence claimed the court. The officers looked around at each other.
“Sire,” Loran’s brow was furrowed, his voice betraying his confusion, “did ye...could ye possibly be meanin’ yer son, Prince Trell?”
Only then did Gydryn realize he’d forgotten to tell them about Trell. He glanced to Farid, who returned a look of apology for his own equal lapse of memory.
Warmth flooded Gydryn’s expression just thinking of their reunion. He nodded to Loran. “Yes, Loran. My middle son lives, thanks to Prince Farid’s father, Zafir.”
The men were absolutely silent with shock.
Gydryn told them, “This news must stay between us for now, but Trell has been in the Akkad these long years, protected and nurtured in Zafir’s own household.”
“He is like a brother to me,” Farid murmured.
“Trell’s story is too long for this council,” Gydryn continued, “but you should know that for most of the last five years, my son didn’t know his own name. This was the result of an interrogation against a truthbinding I myself asked to be placed upon him.”
Gydryn dropped his gaze to his hands. A smile twitched in one corner of his mouth. “You may have heard of a commander among the Emir’s elite forces who was responsible for holding the Veneisean army on the far side of the Cry.”
Loran exploded, “Thirteen hells, that was Trell?” Then he quickly recovered himself and murmured, “My apologies, Sire.”
The king eyed him tolerantly with pride welling in his chest. “No, it was quite appropriate, Loran.” He cast his gaze across his officers, not caring to hide his feelings. Let them know he was a father reunited with his son. Let them take inspiration f
rom the miracle, as he had.
“Trell’s memory is restored now, my friends, and thanks to Prince Farid and his father, my son and I reunited in Raku.”
He gave them time to process this, then said, “Trell volunteered for the mission to rescue Gideon and his men, and against all odds, I believe he will accomplish it.”
“Jai’Gar willing,” Farid murmured softly.
Loran was staring at Gydryn—they were all staring at him—but he saw in their gazes a shadow of the mystified incredulity he’d seen so often in his own expression since waking in Raku.
Gydryn pushed up from his chair. His officers quickly followed.
“Gentlemen,” said the king, “to use a phrase I’ve recently come to understand far more viscerally than I ever imagined, the Balance is shifting. Let us ride the tide.” He glanced to Farid with as much gravity as gratitude. “The Prime God willing, it will carry us all home.”
Twelve
“A piece never knows he’s in the game. But
a player always knows he’s a player.”
–Dhábu’balaji’şridanaí, He Who Walks the Edge of the World
“Tanis, are you certain about this?”
Tanis glanced over at Sinárr, who was walking beside him on the white marble bridge. The Warlock wore a frown upon his black-skinned features, while his golden gaze revealed reservation and discontent in equal measure.
Tanis looked back to the path ahead. “It was the only way he would agree to do it, Sinárr.”
Sinárr clasped hands behind the folds of his long blue coat. “That you offered Rafael the idea at all is more troubling to me.”
“You said you wouldn’t dream of it.”
“I didn’t dream you would prospect Rafael in my stead.”
Tanis chuckled. “Are you reconsidering?”
“The wisdom of your actions? Yes.”
“It’s not too late. You can still change your mind.”
Sinárr gave a shudder of such deep revulsion that his reaction rippled through the fabric of his world.
Tanis smothered a smile. “That bad?”
Sinárr arrowed an affronted stare at him. “Would you wear another man’s loincloth, soiled with his humours?”
Tanis hitched his satchel up higher on his shoulder. “Pelas is in agreement with my plan.” At least, his bond-brother hadn’t been completely opposed when Tanis had put the idea to him in dreamscape two nights before.
Sinárr gave a long-suffering sigh. “Pelasommáyurek isn’t known for prudence.”
Tanis barked a laugh. “Is that what you’re worried about? Prudence?”
“I perceive the hue of sarcasm in the color of your inquiry. You think I’m concerned with petty possessiveness.”
Tanis stopped and turned to face him, whereupon his expression softened. “If you were, I wouldn’t hold it against you.”
“I am,” Sinárr gave the remotest of nods to this truth, “but it’s not my only concern, nor even my primary one.”
Tanis looked him over carefully. Then he started walking again. “I don’t share your concern.”
“Tanis, you cannot understand...” Sinárr made a thin line of his lips as he followed. “If Rafael succeeds in binding that many harvesters...I’m not sure I trust even him with such power.”
“I’m offering something he wants more than power.”
“Yes, for the time being,” Sinárr groused.
“If Rafael succeeds in doing something no other Warlock has ever done—”
“Who would ever have contemplated such unspeakable self-degradation?”
“—then he deserves to reap the rewards,” Tanis finished.
Sinárr drew back with superior disapproval. “Does he? And do you not see how fantastically glib is your assertion? You know next to nothing about Rafael.”
“I hardly know more about you, Sinárr. Look,” Tanis stopped to face him again. “I don’t claim to know this is the right decision, but if I can’t trust my own instincts, what future will be left to me?”
Sinárr observed him in cryptic silence.
In all fairness, Tanis felt as nervous about this decision as he had about binding with Sinárr—maybe more so, since he’d offered himself in trade to Rafael, knowing Rafael wanted to bind with him to become closer to Pelas.
And what was one more binding, more or less? Three immortals...four...was there that much difference?
At least, that’s what he’d told himself to calm the racing of his heart.
When Tanis had bound with Sinárr, he’d had that sense of unbalance leading him. Now...the lad couldn’t quite say where it was pointing him now. The sensation wasn’t exactly forthcoming at the best of times, though it did seem to be...somewhat inclined in his current direction. At least he didn’t feel quite so queasy when thinking along this line.
Tanis placed a hand on Sinárr’s arm, knowing the latter enjoyed the sensation—not of the physical contact, which was illusion, but of the resonance of power that this connection generated.
Despite his earlier claim, Tanis actually knew Sinárr fairly well, and he was far from convinced that the Warlock’s actual concerns had anything to do with Rafael garnering more of the same sort of power.
“I give you my oath,” he told the Warlock, meeting Sinárr’s gaze with all humor aside, “this binding with Rafael will not supersede my binding with you.”
Sinárr made a sound of utmost dubiety.
Tanis had to laugh then. “I can’t believe you’re so discomposed by this. Are you afraid I’ll like Rafael more than you?” He started off again.
Sinárr followed in prickly silence.
After a time, Tanis asked, “Why do you say Rafael can’t be trusted with that much power?”
Sinárr eyed him circumspectly. After a moment of this, he admitted, “Rafael claims the Warlock Persephus bound himself to your angiel Cephrael, but I believe it was actually Rafael. He’s by far the most human of us and the only one who’s certain the binding occurred, which of course indicates he was there; therefore he must be the one who bound himself.”
Tanis wasn’t sure he even believed that myth about Cephrael, much less Sinárr’s logic concerning it. But another question occurred to him. “Do all Warlocks know one another?”
Still prickly, Sinárr replied, “I have not yet met one with whom I was unacquainted.”
Tanis gave him an odd look at this.
As they were passing through the blowing mist of a waterfall, Sinárr clasped hands behind his back and posed icily, “Just how many more immortals will you be binding with, do you imagine, Tanis?”
Tanis shot him a sidelong grin. “If you wanted some restriction on the number, Sinárr, you should’ve made it a requirement of our accord.”
“Had I known you would make a vocation of it, I would’ve done so.”
“I’ll do whatever I must to see the game won. You knew that when you forced me to bind with you.”
“When I forced you...”
Tanis sighed, realizing he’d hurt him. “Well, you didn’t give me much choice in the matter.”
“The lesser of two evils. Is that how you view our mutual binding?” Sinárr spoke the last three words reverently, as though of a marriage troth, but with an undertone of deep personal injury.
“You needn’t be so petulant.” Tanis put warmth into his teasing smile to smooth over the rough edges of Sinárr’s indignation. “I don’t think of it that way now.”
This seemed to mollify the Warlock for the time being, but Sinárr was incredibly possessive in his affections for Tanis.
“If I can endure your protesting this for the next bout of eternity,” Tanis posed in all earnestness, “can’t you endure an echo of Rafael’s binding? You won’t be bound to him.”
“Yes, that is precisely what concerns me. Rafael is beguiling and tricksome. He will lure you into his bed in an instant.”
“I don’t think it’s me Rafael wants to take to his bed, Sinárr.” Tanis looked him o
ver humorously. “How does that even work?”
“Don’t be impertinent. The bed is illusion, sex a metaphor. You know that. It’s the connection he seeks.”
This statement brought Tanis to a halt.
Sinárr looked him over with sudden hope blossoming. “You are...reconsidering?”
Tanis frowned at him. “No. It’s just that Ean said nearly the same thing to me yesterday, talking about the revenants.”
Sinárr blew a frustrated exhale. “Let us be done with this unpleasant business so we can return to our own affairs.”
Our own affairs...Tanis hesitated upon these words. Balance was making waves again. He just wished he could be more certain in which direction the waves were inclining.
He hitched up the strap of his satchel on his shoulder and started off again. Carrying the satchel was metaphorical too, he supposed, but he’d had the real one when he entered Shadow, and he wanted to make sure he had the real one when he departed. For some reason, he felt departure to be imminent.
“I confess my lingering doubts about this course of action, Tanis,” Sinárr grumbled.
“Duly noted for the record.”
Sinárr blew out a frustrated breath. “You were far more agreeable when bound in Shail’s temple. I never should’ve released you from the goracrosta.”
“Pelas released me from the goracrosta.”
“But I made you accessible to him, did I not?”
“You had me surrounded by a force-field.”
“So Pelas could come for you.” Sinárr lifted an exasperated hand. “I cannot understand why you persist in failing to see my benevolence towards you both during that battle.”
“Perhaps if you provided a magnifying glass through which to view it,” Tanis offered, grinning.
After this, Sinárr walked behind him, boring a hole in his back with his stare of injured silence.
They were meeting the others on one of Rafael’s worlds.
The white bridge brought them across a long lake between jutting blue crystal mountains bejeweled with golden flora that looked vaguely like butterflies.
Where the lake fell off the edge of the world, a city hovered in midair. Beyond the city, framed in a froth of clouds, a blue-green planet consumed much of the sky. Seven moons in different phases traced a path from the planet, back through the heavens, to the other side of the lake and another planet, a twin to the first, which was hovering there.
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