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

by Melissa McPhail

  Silence followed, and Tanis’s urgency grew, fed by that sense of impending doom that threaded like smoke through the room. Mingled with fear, it crystallized the air into shards, so that every breath Tanis took held a cutting edge, making his entire chest ache.

  I know only shadows of their plan, the avieth finally answered. She spread her wings tetchily and resettled. Her thoughts resonated with the same suffocating fear that thrummed within Tanis. They want Adepts for the Danes’ war and they plan to take them from the Sormitáge.

  Tanis swallowed. He asked her, “How?” but he was thinking, Who is ‘they?’

  I do not know. A diversion of some kind, a way to collect many into one place.

  “When?”

  Soon.

  Thirteen hells…Tanis pushed both hands through his hair and pressed his lips together tightly. He had to tell the High Lord about this, only—well, who would believe it?

  He looked back to the avieth. “How can I help you? Perhaps…” the idea just came to him. “What if I take you with me?” He had no idea what he’d do with an avieth that couldn’t fly, but maybe if she took her human form...

  She seemed to understand his thoughts, or perhaps her avian eyes read the uncertainty on his face, for she confessed, to his horror: He has bound me to this form, bound me to him. I’m beyond hope, for… He heard the catch in her mental voice, the despair …elae has left me.

  Tanis stared wordlessly at her. This terrible truth stole the icy air from his lungs.

  You must go. If he finds you here, he will make you eidola like the others, a stone shadow of yourself.

  “Eidola.” Unease fluttered in Tanis’s belly. “What’s that?” Yet even as he asked, an image came to mind, bestowed by the High Lord when they’d arrived in port: the tortured and twisted travesty of a man with necrotic flesh.

  Abruptly the avieth flapped her wings and cawed a raucous protest. He comes! RUN! HE COMES!

  Tanis bolted.

  He sprinted through the laboratory, dodging floating patterns like bees, and emerged through the illusion that concealed the room only to come to a sudden, jarring halt—whereupon that sense of impending doom collided with the present in a moment of screaming alarm.

  Shail stood in the middle of the hallway holding Felix by his collar. The young Nodefinder looked both aggravated and chagrined; he didn’t understand that the fingers clenching the scruff of his neck were actually the teeth of a tiger wearing silk clothing.

  Seconds after his feet embarrassingly planted themselves, Tanis’s heart skidded to a stop in his throat. He felt it lodged there now, making breath difficult.

  Shail’s lips spread in a slow smile.

  Tanis’s memory of the man’s face had blurred since their meeting at Niko van Amstel’s estate, but as he recognized the Malorin’athgul—with his deep-set eyes, angular features and imposing stance—that same instinctive fear of him returned tenfold, for now he lacked Pelas’s protection.

  “So, Tanis…we meet again without the trappings of our mutual artifice—face to face, as it were, in the truth.”

  Trying his best to avoid the dry-mouthed panic beating down the doors of his composure, Tanis managed guardedly, “What truth is that, sir?”

  Shail’s dark eyes held a threatening gleam. “I shall be asking the questions.” He squeezed the back of Felix’s neck by way of emphasizing his point, making the boy cringe. “What have you told my brother? Tell me how you’re contacting him.”

  Tanis fervently wished it might’ve been true—he would’ve given anything to reach Pelas. Instead, he strained his wits trying to guess the ramifications of admitting himself to be Pelas’s spy versus denying it, weighing each of his options against the odds of survival in the few heartbeats Shail gave him to form an answer. Finally Tanis landed, as usual, at the truth.

  “I’m…waiting for him to contact me, sir.”

  “Then Pelas knows nothing?”

  “I can’t say what he knows, sir.”

  Shail grunted. He looked Tanis over critically, his eyes as blades knifing along the lad’s flesh. “You’re quite the accomplished truthreader already, aren’t you? ‘Drink intemperately of another’s thoughts; speak only what is required in return.’ That is the motto of the fourth’s children, is it not?”

  “I don’t think those are the words exactly, sir.”

  Shail flashed a sharp smile. “My phrasing captures more accurately the essence of the truth.” He squeezed Felix’s neck again, eliciting another grimace. “Ah…how ripe this moment. Once again, providence has shown its true colors. Ever does fate shift the paths of others to fulfill my need.”

  Tanis regarded him grimly. “You speak as if our meeting was a foregone conclusion.”

  Shail’s dark eyes bored into him. “My brothers and I are gods in this realm, little pawn. Fate bends to our will. Now…” he shook Felix by the neck and received a black glare in return. “What of this Phoebe who came to see me today? Was she meant to be a diversion while you searched my apartments?” One corner of Shail’s lip curled deprecatingly upwards. “Did you really think I would leave my home unprotected?”

  Tanis kept a straight face and his mind empty, too afraid to think of Nadia in any capacity lest Shail somehow learn her true identity through his carelessness, but Felix growled, “Phoebe? My cousin Phoebe? If you’ve hurt her—”

  “Be silent.” Shail’s fingers clawed into Felix’s flesh, and this time the boy’s knees buckled and he sucked in a gasp. He grabbed awkwardly for Shail’s wrist. The literato looked down upon him with barely veiled contempt. “The only reason you’re standing, Felix di Sarcova, is because I have no desire to carry you.”

  Felix clung to Shail’s wrist with his face twisted in a dreadful rictus of pain. The sight of him bled Tanis; sympathy welled as his composure waned, and fear swelled everywhere in between.

  “Whatever her role in connection with you,” Shail said then, shifting his gaze back to Tanis, “my servant will take care of her.”

  These words made Tanis physically ill. Anger rolled in to fill the hollow place in his belly that fear was carving out, and every curse he knew stormed through his mind, all of them aimed at himself.

  Something hardened inside him then—determination? It felt more like righteous fury that he suddenly held clenched between his teeth.

  Shail traced one forefinger along his lower lip, his eyes dark as they assessed Tanis. “I look forward to our getting intimately acquainted once my matters are concluded tonight. Until then…a little time in Shadow’s void will no doubt free your tongue for our discussion.” His eyes licked over Tanis again, and a cruel smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “That is, if it doesn’t drive you mad. Come—” Shail reached for him.

  Instinct flamed like a wielder’s lamp, fueled by the zanthyr’s training.

  The lad pivoted. His foot caught Felix forcefully in the side, sending the boy sprawling out of Shail’s hold, and he caught Shail’s arm in his hands as he spun beneath it. Tanis twisted violently then, pivoting his own body to become a fulcrum as the zanthyr had taught him, and flipped the larger man over his back. Shail grunted as he hit the floor.

  Tanis grabbed Felix by the collar and hauled him up, and they sprinted down the corridor. If he’d had time to think about it, Tanis might’ve been amazed that the maneuver had worked just like the zanthyr claimed it would, but all the lad could think about just then was reaching the leis.

  They were nearly there when thunder without sound lifted them off their feet and propelled them through the air. They landed in a jumble of arms and legs just shy of the leis and escape. Tanis heard Shail running after them and knew his fury would be immense.

  “Felix!” Tanis shook the other boy. Felix must’ve hit his head on a chair as he fell, for his eyes looked dazed. Tanis struggled to get him up in his arms.

  Shail rounded the corner in a billow of crimson silk, his expression murderous.

  Tanis hugged Felix to his chest, looked Shail defiantly
in the eye and skipped them into the future.

  Time slowed. He saw the Malorin’athgul’s hand inching higher, a word forming on his lips…

  Tanis threw himself backwards across the leis, pulling Felix with him—

  The boys hit the dome beneath the blinding late-afternoon sun.

  Then they were skidding, falling, the golden dome’s smooth sides slipping past as they spun on their backs toward and over the gilded edge and—

  Landed in a painful tangle on the walkway encircling the dome’s base.

  Felix groaned.

  Tanis disentangled himself from Felix’s limbs and pushed unsteadily up to rest his back against the dome’s gilded tiles. His muscles felt like a piece of meat after one of Madaé Giselle’s overly enthusiastic poundings, while his stomach churned in a sickly tumult.

  Felix rolled onto his back and exhaled a long moan of protest. “Bloody hells, Tanis.” He pushed the back of his hand across his forehead. “Even I had the sense not to fight him.”

  Tanis turned him a look. “That’s only because you don’t fear him enough.”

  Felix’s fingers gingerly probed the bruised lump rising on his forehead. “I take back what I said about you needing a better sense of adventure.” He winced and then pushed up on one elbow to aim a frazzled look at Tanis. “You’re bloody insane.”

  Tanis pressed palms to massage his aching temples and gazed off through the wrought-iron railing. All around he saw peaked and gabled roofs and the sparkling domes, spires and towers of the city that called itself the Sormitáge University. Somewhere among that labyrinth of buildings, an unnamed menace was stalking Nadia.

  Anticipation and dread ached in every inch of bone—but necessity stabbed even more forcefully than these. He opened his mind and sought Nadia.

  A bond, unlike a binding, was limited by distance. He prayed she wasn’t already too far out of reach. Nadia…

  A moment later, he heard her mental reply. Tanis!

  Her tone held happiness and relief but also apprehension. Still, these were better portents than the alternative, which would imply Shail’s ‘servant’ had already gotten a hold of her.

  Tanis, I’ve been trying to reach you, but it was like—

  Where are you? his concern for her safety overrode all else.

  Heading towards the Quai game with a group of Maritus. I… Uncertainty surged into fear. He could almost see her looking over her shoulder as she walked. I think someone is following me.

  Stay with the group. We’re coming for you.

  Tanis grabbed the railing and surged to his feet. “Hurry, Felix.” He spun the boy an urgent look. “Nadia’s in trouble.”

  But as Felix was slowly getting up and muttering obviously uncomplimentary things in his native tongue, Nadia’s words struck Tanis anew.

  Oh, gods…

  His fingers tightened on the railing. Suddenly the avieth’s confession returned with a clarity of understanding: ‘…A diversion of some kind, a way to collect many into one place…’

  Tanis clapped a hand to his forehead. “The Quai game!”

  Felix observed Tanis’s expression and his cat-eyes narrowed. He paused, halfway to standing. “What about it?”

  Tanis let out a tremulous exhale. “Shail is planning to kidnap Adepts for the Danes’ war. I think he means to do it tonight at the Quai game.”

  Felix glowered at him. “Forthcoming much?”

  “I only just realized it myself, Felix. What’s the fastest way to the amphitheater?”

  The Nodefinder eyed him doubtfully. “This way.” He turned and headed along the walkway towards the dome’s east-facing horizon. “And how’d you learn of N’abranaacht’s plans then?” he grumbled. “I don’t suppose he just had them written in some secret journal like what you’re always reading.”

  Tanis gave him a look. “No.”

  Whatever Felix saw in Tanis’s gaze seemed to wither his indignation. “How’d you even get us out of there?” It wasn’t really a question, and Tanis hadn’t intended to answer it even if he’d had an answer to offer. Felix darted a look over his shoulder, uncertain now. “You’re a wielder, Tanis?”

  Tanis clenched his jaw. His urgent thoughts were split between finding Nadia and trying to imagine a way to stop Shail, but even had he thought upon it, the question had only one true response.

  He cast his colorless gaze towards the forest and the distant amphitheater. “I am my mother’s son.”

  Fifty-Five

  “Beware, beware the tunnel’s light. Tis a dragon’s hungering eye.”

  – Excerpted from The Varahunaiya, a famous Kandori legend

  “Isabel van Gelderan…”

  Isabel woke in darkness. She felt the whisper of his breath cold upon her neck, but the knife was colder still.

  A circular room came into focus…wide, with windows overlooking bleak mountains, broad strokes of charcoal and white. All the world seemed twilit and colorless, without even a hint of gold from the sun’s radiant departure.

  “Isabel…” His voice in her ear made her jump, but she quickly stilled with a sharp inhale, for he drew the point of his knife lightly down the side of her neck and along her collarbone, scratching a whiter than white trail across her skin.

  She realized she was bound. As awareness returned to her fully, she looked to find her arms and legs spread apart and a particular silver rope binding ankles and wrists to a pair of gold poles. She’d been stripped of her fighting clothes, of everything save her blindfold and a short linen shift…but she hadn’t gone into Ivarnen wearing that. It must’ve been a gift from him.

  “Can you see me, Isabel? Even with that fold of silk across your eyes?”

  She scanned the tower room, for she’d felt him moving away, and saw an ornate bed, a table, a hearth. He was leaning in what passed for a corner in the circular room, one shoulder braced against a window’s frame.

  “Pelas.”

  He had his arms crossed before his chest and a Merdanti dagger in one hand, and his eyes were very, very dark.

  She’d known it would be him even before he spoke her name…even before she walked unarmed to meet his brother. She’d known she and Pelas would meet again, but not the manner of it. She never imagined it would be like this.

  Isabel swallowed and looked down at the shift protecting her modesty. Then she looked back to him.

  He shrugged. “Out of respect for you.”

  “And the goracrosta?”

  He smiled. “Out of respect for your ability.”

  An ache in her stomach and another in her head warned her she’d been unconscious for some time…a day or more perhaps. She turned her attention to the window before her. These were no mountains she’d ever seen. “Where are we?”

  He straightened and wandered along the curving wall. As he walked, he trailed his dagger behind him, scraping an uneven line. Reaching the window, he bent his head and peered out. “My best guess is Myacene. There’s naught but what you see out there for hundreds of leagues. Such lifeless emptiness appeals to my brother.”

  She managed a dry swallow. “And this tower?”

  He opened his arms. “This beautiful tower is a gift to me.” He started walking the rim of the room again, tracing his dagger’s uneven line. She saw thin ones and deep ones drawn across plaster and stone. Hundreds of lines encircling the room.

  “A quiet place to ‘ponder my disobedience’…somewhere away from distractions, where I might learn to reform my ways. He promised to check on me again in another century or so.” Pelas shot her a bitter smile over his shoulder as he continued his slow tracing. “Being that I need neither food nor water to survive, Darshan considers this a suitable arrangement.”

  Isabel breathed in sorrow, for the air was thick with it. This was not the same being she’d met in Tal’Afaq—yet the darkness she now perceived in Pelas had been lying across his path even then. “What did he do to you?”

  He shot her a look of fire and fury, of torment and agonized despai
r. “He took away my power.”

  She stared at him. “But…that’s impossible.”

  He barked a caustic laugh and threw open his arms. “And yet here we are!” He plunged the dagger back into the wall and scraped a deep fissure as he dragged it behind him.

  If she’d been talking to the same man that had faced her so calmly in Tal’Afaq, Isabel might’ve tried to reason with him, but she sensed that this version of Pelas had abandoned reason some time ago. And could she blame him, when no reasonable answer could possibly be found?

  She watched him making his slow circle dragging his dagger, a predator chained in a cage. A god chained to mortal form.

  “Why am I here?” She knew the obvious answer—that this is where her path had brought her, but why it had taken her there?

  Pelas turned abruptly, tossed his dagger into his other hand and started dragging it back in the opposite direction.

  “Why are you here?” He eyed her over his shoulder, and in that brief moment she saw something very dangerous in his gaze. An austere smile flickered and was gone again from his lips. “You’re a present for my good behavior. Darshan’s idea of sport.”

  Feeling a little light-headed, Isabel tested the goracrosta at her wrists. The cuffs were tightly bound and had been artfully woven. Another piece of the enchanted rope connected each cuff to the metal poles. She couldn’t free herself unless he gave her his dagger, which seemed…unlikely.

  “But why you specifically, why here, like this…?” Pelas waved an airy circle with his dagger in a casual manner much in contrast to the acrimony in his tone. “You’re here, Isabel, because you’re a powerful Healer, and I…” Suddenly he dropped his chin and shot her a look so rapacious and hungry that her heart nearly stopped in her chest. “Thanks to my dear, sweet brother’s compulsion, I’ve developed a particular taste for Healers.”

  She caught her breath.

  Even in Tal’Afaq she’d perceived that Pelas hadn’t been wholly himself. This compulsion then had been what she’d sensed, why he’d kept moving away from her…why she’d instinctively distanced herself.