Paths of Alir (A Pattern of Shadow & Light Book 3)

by Melissa McPhail

Fynn raised his goblet. “I drink every hour of the day to Trell’s continued health.” To Carian, he added, “My libations may be the only thing keeping him alive—have you considered that?”

  Carian grinned across Fynn’s head at Gannon. “See what I mean?”

  Gannon grunted. “It is no great mystery why they get along.”

  “Who?” Fynn spun a look between them. “Are you trying to involve me in some conspiracy? Because I only participate in conspiracies on Tuesdays. I find otherwise they dramatically cut into my loafing time.”

  “It appears to me your entire life is loafing time,” Gannon noted.

  “My point exactly.”

  Carian grinned. “This’ll be good for you, Fynnlar. A little nourishment for your responsibility-starved soul.”

  “Look at the pot calling the kettle black.”

  The pirate puffed out his chest. “But I’m a changed man.”

  Fynn grunted sympathetically. “Relationships with women—or, I suppose, dragons—will do that to you. That’s why I choose a different one every time—women that is, not dragons.” Fynn gestured with his goblet in emphasis. “Otherwise they attempt to bind you down with ‘I love you’ while they’re bleeding your pockets dry of everything you love.”

  “But an oath to the First Lord is more binding still,” Gannon remarked with a penetrating stare.

  Fynn eyed him uncertainly and drank his wine. “Look…you’re both wasting your time here. I’ve proven myself to be incorruptibly corrupt—even more than you, vran Lea—oath or no oath. Besides,” he glanced over at a scowling Vaile, “I’m not so sure you won’t be kicked out of here in a couple of minutes.”

  “Nah.” The pirate waved away the suggestion. “Mithaiya expected a battle, but she says Vaile will come around. We just need a little space to plan our rebellion.”

  “Rebellion?” Fynn perked up.

  Carian grinned and waved over two more of his companions. They slipped away while Mithaiya was talking with one hand on her hip and the other flung towards the next valley. She looked imperious, while Vaile remained stormy.

  As the two men neared, Carian indicated the first of them, a tall Bemothi who walked with an aristocrat’s practiced disdain. “Fynn, this is the Nodefinder Devangshu Vita.”

  Fynn nodded to him.

  Carian then indicated the other man, who had a mop of red hair and deep-set eyes like onyx beads. Fynn had never seen him before, but he had a guileful look about him, which of course made Fynn like him immediately.

  “And this is Kardashian.”

  Fynn perked up at the name of the infamous thief. He pressed a hand to his heart and bowed his head. “It’s an honor.”

  Kardashian grinned.

  “So…” Fynn sipped his wine and eyed all of them over the rim. “What’s this all about, vran Lea?”

  Carian jerked his head at Kardashian. “Show him.”

  The thief opened a satchel at his hip and pulled out an enormous tome. Fynn did a double-take from the book to the satchel and back again. There was just no way a thing so massive could’ve been hidden in there.

  Kardashian unwrapped the suede cover to reveal a gilded leather volume with a well-known seal engraved on the front. Fynn moved closer for a better look, not believing his eyes. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “The Vestal Codex,” Carian remarked, and there was more than a hint of pride in his tone.

  Fynn turned to him sharply. “How in Tiern’aval did you get your hands on that?”

  “We borrowed it from the Guild Hall in Rethynnea.”

  “Borrowed.” Fynn’s eyes widened. “Surely D’varre kept it locked in his vault.”

  Kardashian snorted derisively. Fynn looked from Kardashian to Carian and back again. “You two stole the Vestals’ sacred manifesto?”

  They boasted happily culpable expressions, and Kardashian said, “Niko’s speech provided the best possible diversion we could’ve asked for. The Guild Hall was all but deserted.” He spoke with a heavy Dheanainn accent, making all of the vowels sound longer and rounder.

  Fynn sipped his wine. “Who’s Niko?”

  Gannon muttered, “A rat in the wheat.”

  Whereupon Devangshu growled, “We’re going to stop Niko’s plague before it spreads.”

  Fynn eyed all of them speculatively. Then he looked at the book under Kardashian’s arm. “Stop him…with that?”

  Carian grinned. “Knowledge is power, Fynnlar.”

  Franco looked back to him. “If D’varre discovers you have that book—”

  “Why do you think we brought it here, mate?” Carian clapped him on the shoulder. “Besides, it’s D’varre who should be readying to meet his maker, eh?” He eyed Fynn knowingly.

  Fynn frowned at the memory of Rethynnea’s Guild Master. D’varre had double-crossed them. He was to blame for their ambush in the Kutsamak and ultimately the three spikes Fynn had gotten through his gut. The worst part was Fynn had been forced to pay the man up front.

  “D’varre…” The name made the wine taste sour on Fynn’s tongue. “He owes me a refund, which I intend to take out of his hide.”

  Carian’s brown eyes gleamed with the prospect of sweet retribution as they held Fynn’s gaze. He wrapped an arm around Fynn’s shoulder. “Let me tell you about our plan.” He smiled triumphantly at the others as he steered Fynn away.

  Fynn motioned frantically to Balaji as Carian was dragging him off. He pointed inside his empty goblet and made a pleading face conveying his desperation. As his wine was magically refilling, Fynn turned back and regarded Carian seriously. “Just so we’re clear, vran Lea, I can only commit on Tuesdays.”

  ***

  Alyneri stepped on her right foot, immediately pivoted to her left, and brought her hands together above her head. She took another step and spread her arms and sank into a wide crouch that pulled the soft leather pants she wore tight around her knees. She leaned her weight into her bent right leg and extended through her left as she rose.

  Another step. She brought her hands together as if holding a sword. Over her head she lifted, slowly, precisely, making a mountain’s peak of her arms before sweeping them swiftly apart and spinning into a sideways lunge. Her right leg extended straight as she crouched that time, and she brought her left hand down to touch the earth. She pivoted low, switching balance from left to right, and rose with her sword arm thrusting.

  Elae sang in her ears as she continued the steps of the cortata. She’d never experienced anything like this sensation. Her body felt as light as air yet connected to the earth in some profound way. The more she flowed through the steps that formed the cortata’s pattern, the more she felt magnetized to an even larger pattern beneath her…as though with each new step she bound herself to the Pattern of the World and it to her. She felt threads of power grasping and supporting her, lifting and fueling her…

  A Patternist might’ve explained how the cortata worked, describing the purpose of every curve and swirl and what it accomplished on a metaphysical level—someone like her uncle Dareios Haxamanis, who read patterns with the same facility as he read truth in a man’s thoughts. She hadn’t seen Dareios since she was a child, but the thought of his smile reminded her of her father, Prince Jair, and both faces warmed her heart.

  She needed that warmth. As the days drew into weeks and they’d still no word of Trell, Alyneri increasingly felt hollow inside. The waves of fear continuously crashing over her had carved a cavern in her heart, and every day deepened its darkness.

  She’d needed something to focus on, something to anchor her and prevent her from worrying herself mad. She’d hated feeling so afraid all the time.

  Wanting to be free of this fear had drawn Alyneri to Vaile. She remembered coming upon the zanthyr one day while walking the hills. She’d been immediately flustered, and a simple comment from Vaile had elicited a torrent of confessions. Something about Vaile’s knowing gaze—so like Phaedor’s, though softened with surprising feminine compassion—made Aly
neri feel an overpowering need to tell her everything.

  Vaile had stood in silence and listened to all of Alyneri’s outpourings—her infatuation with Ean since she was a child, falling in love with Trell, and how desperately she hoped that Trell could love her back; how she’d betrayed him by keeping the secret of their childhood betrothal out of selfishness…

  These confessions led to her deepest desires: to travel the world while honing her craft, to study at the Sormitáge and learn Patterning, to become a great Healer and contribute something to their world. Finally, she told Vaile of her experience with Phaedor and what she’d seen of him when they’d Healed Ean together.

  All of this Vaile heard in silence. Then her emerald eyes had swept Alyneri, discerning but unreadable, and she’d spun on her heel and commanded Alyneri to follow. Startled, Alyneri had obeyed.

  Thus had begun her lessons in the cortata, in swordplay, and—to her heart’s joy—in Patterning. Alyneri never would’ve imagined such a predatory woman had a motherly side, but she’d never conceived that the dark shadow that was Phaedor had a star of divinity burning inside him either.

  Vaile taught Alyneri swords with flawless competence, combining the study of swordplay with the dance of the cortata so that Alyneri had been immediately able to wield a blade that would otherwise have been too heavy for her to lift. After a week of practice, Alyneri had made enough progress that Vaile let Alyneri use her personal blades to learn—sentient Merdanti weapons!

  Now Alyneri worked diligently from sunup until well past sundown running through her forms. When she and Vaile practiced together, the days felt longer still. Alyneri suspected that Vaile worked elae’s third strand to lengthen the days so she might progress more quickly in the time allotted. Neither of them knew what the next moment would bring, only sharing in the unspoken understanding that the instant they received news of Trell, everything would change.

  Learning to Pattern challenged Alyneri more than anything she’d ever done in her life. Vaile was teaching her to do amazing—startling things. Yet for all of this, she’d found the cortata the most surprising—this practice, requiring total concentration, pushed all fear from her thoughts. It made her arms feel powerful enough to break bones—or at least to wield Vaile’s Merdanti blades for hours unending. Learning it had offered benefits beyond her envisioning.

  And for all of this, Vaile asked nothing in return.

  Alyneri had been so surprised by the zanthyr’s compassion, so surprised that the words had actually escaped her quite unexpectedly while they were taking a break one day.

  Vaile only laughed at her. “We zanthyrs are…” She smiled quietly, and her emerald gaze took on the glint of mystery. “Well…we’re a private sort of race, but that doesn’t make us entirely uncaring. Just…particular about who we invest our time in.” She turned Alyneri a meaningful look at this.

  Alyneri blushed and dropped her gaze.

  Vaile regarded her thoughtfully. “Mankind…you think the fifth-strand races so mysterious, yet you are none of you truly as you seem.”

  Alyneri looked back to her. “What do you mean?”

  Vaile arched a brow in faint challenge. “A zanthyr has but one life. You have many. When you look at us, you see us. But when we look at you…we see only a shell for the immortal being. We might’ve known you many times with different faces, different names. You live out your countless lives behind innumerable masks, leaving the discarded shells of lifetimes on the path of years behind you.”

  Vaile was full of such philosophy. The zanthyr looked upon the world with a deep introspection and remarked upon what she saw with a candor often as poignant as it was disturbing.

  Usually Vaile joined Alyneri early with a meal to break their fast together, but on that morning the dawn light pooled into bright midday and the zanthyr still hadn’t arrived. When hunger became too insistent, Alyneri returned to the sa’reyth to see what had become of her teacher.

  She didn’t find Vaile, so she went in search of Balaji. She’d noticed that one or the other of them could always be found in residence. Vaile was the sa’reyth’s steward, Balaji its peacekeeper.

  She found He Who Walks The Edge of the World in the sa’reyth’s open-air kitchen. Rarely were the canvas walls of this massive tent lowered against the world. Balaji lorded over the kitchen as his kingly domain, and it ever stood open to receive, like its host.

  When Alyneri arrived, the youth who was older than the sun stood at a long, wooden table slicing eggplants into thin strips. Alyneri leaned against a tent pole and watched him with a smile. She’d never seen a man with lovelier hands, or fingers more dexterous and skilled. Every motion Balaji made held a certain grace. But this could be said of all the drachwyr. Fifth-strand creatures didn’t move across the world—they flowed.

  Something in Balaji always reminded her of Phaedor. To be certain, their manners were entirely opposite—Phaedor stood as remote as Balaji was engaging—yet the drachwyr’s life-essence resonated with Alyneri in a similar way. She wondered what she might see if ever she were to share a Healer’s rapport with Balaji. Would his soul glow as brightly as the zanthyr’s had?

  She hadn’t been standing there but for a few heartbeats when Balaji glanced over his shoulder and cast her a smile. “Good day to you, Alyneri, daughter of Jair. I hope you’ve been enjoying this fine morning.”

  She managed a smile. “As best I can.”

  He motioned with his knife towards a stool. “Sit. I have just the thing to help you.”

  She obeyed, and he brought her a plate of dates and figs, along with a stew of spiced pheasant sweetened with currants and honey. After she thanked him with the acknowledgement that it was indeed just what she needed, she asked, “Do you know where Vaile is?”

  “Our intrepid steward is in the next valley setting up a new compound.” He looked up at her under his brows, which lifted to humorous points on each side of the noble’s peak that defined his hairline. “We had unexpected arrivals this morning. Among others, an acquaintance of Fynnlar’s—and yours, I believe. The pirate Carian vran Lea.”

  For a split-second, Alyneri wondered if the pirate might know something of Trell, but then she remembered that Jaya had told her Carian had been in T’khendar and couldn’t possibly know any more of Trell’s whereabouts than the rest of them. It was difficult keeping track of where her once-companions were and what they were all doing. She heard but whispers of Ean, and only her faith in Phaedor kept her from fearing for Tanis. Meanwhile, life at the sa’reyth felt disconnected from everything real, and everyone she cared about remained so scattered to the four winds…

  “I didn’t know the pirate well, but it will be nice to see him again.” She took up a fig. “But why has he come here?”

  “He and several Companions—as in the Fifty Companions—are upon a mission for the First Lord. At least, this is the argument they made for wanting to use his sa’reyth as their headquarters.”

  Alyneri drew back slightly. “And Vaile agreed to that?”

  Balaji chuckled. “Not exactly. Hence the establishment of another compound nearby. It seemed a fair compromise to settle the tempest that raged this morning between Vaile and Mithaiya, though I don’t doubt the solution gained in the compromise had been my sister’s true intention all along.” He waggled his knife at her. “Never let my sisters’ seeming innocence fool you—they are both as crafty as they come.”

  Alyneri wouldn’t have used the word ‘innocent’ to describe either of Balaji’s sisters, though both had been exceptionally kind to her.

  But hearing about Carian made her frown—or rather, the understanding that the pirate now served Björn van Gelderan just as Ean, Vaile, Phaedor, and all of the drachwyr apparently did. She felt excluded from elevated company for lack of an oath. It all remained incredibly confusing.

  “Vaile has taken you under her wing, I see.” Balaji sent her a smile as he chopped. “What adventures have been filling your shared days lately?”

  �
�She’s…” Oddly, Alyneri found the truth somehow hard to confess. She desperately desired the skills Vaile was teaching her, yet learning such things still bumped up against some old sense of impropriety—unwanted feelings ingrained in her by the disapproving glares of northern nobility.

  Well…it was time to be finally free of their disdain, wasn’t it?

  Alyneri straightened her shoulders. “Vaile is teaching me.”

  “Ah, and a fine teacher she is. What is it you’re learning?”

  “Swordplay.”

  Balaji’s knife stilled. “Is that so?” He started chopping again, and after a moment he looked up at her under his brows. “Has she taught you the cortata?”

  Alyneri nodded.

  “You’ve crossed blades together?”

  She nodded again.

  He stopped chopping, spread his hands and pressed them against the table. His eyes of pale wheat settled upon her while an odd stillness settled across the day. “Alyneri, daughter of Jair…has she given you her swords to use in your practices together?”

  Something in the way he looked at her, in the sudden silence of the world as he asked this question…Alyneri’s heart began fluttering. “Well…yes. She has me practicing with them.”

  He arched a brow and returned to his chopping. “Is she teaching you other things?” That time he aimed a sidelong smile her way, but it didn’t banish the threads of tension that rippled through the air now.

  She pressed her hands between her knees. “Some.”

  “Patterning?”

  Alyneri swallowed. “Yes.”

  Balaji scraped his knife across the table, sweeping the cut vegetables off into a bowl. He reached for a bunch of tomatoes as he inquired idly, “And is she teaching you the fifth?”

  Vaile had every right to teach her, and Alyneri had every right to learn it, yet suddenly she felt as if they’d been upon some illicit craft.

  Stop it! You’re being so foolish! Balaji was only being kind in making conversation. Nothing in his manner held the least reprimand or disapproval.

  Alyneri straightened her shoulders and tried to recall her composure from where it cowered at the far edge of the meadow. “She’s taught me patterns from several strands, including the fifth, but we’re still at the beginning of this instruction. Patterning is more complicated than I ever imagined.”