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

by Melissa McPhail

Tanis summoned his courage and channeled it into a boldness he didn’t feel. “You’ve no claim on either of us, Sinárr.” He hoped his voice had sounded firm. His stomach felt like worms were writhing in it.

  Sinárr’s arms and legs molted smoke like blades new from the forge. “Where I come from, dear boy, one’s claim and what one can claim are synonymous.” The Warlock halted a few paces before Tanis’s shield while his eidola fanned out, quickly and quietly encircling Tanis and Nadia.

  There was something truly dreadful about the desire in the Warlock’s gaze, as if he was already far along in his contemplations of a mutual bond with Tanis. Sinárr lifted his open palm to the lad and smiled meaningfully. “I think there’s little question of my ability to claim the both of you. Come to me—”

  But he bit the words into a curse and spun his head, doubtless distracted by the same cause that hit Tanis like a wave of disorientation.

  The firmament shifted again, this time angling in what the lad sensed was a fortuitous direction.

  Tanis grabbed Nadia’s hand and bolted down the slope of Balance’s capriciously tilting floor, while everything around him erupted into chaos.

  ***

  Pelas lost his blade as he fell beneath Shail’s weight, but before his brother could take hold of him, he made a rope of the fifth and yanked himself from beneath Shail’s form. Shail’s arms closed around empty air. He growled a curse and launched up after him.

  Pelas rolled backwards onto his feet, called his sword through the air into his open palm, and turned and bolted for Tanis. All around him the eidola were falling into chaos.

  Fast in chase, Shail shouted at him in a voice like a mountain’s angry growl. “Pelas! What have you done?”

  Pelas shot a grin at him as he dodged the milling eidola, some of whom had begun attacking one another. They were vicious creatures without a Warlock’s bond to compel their thoughts. His working couldn’t sever Sinárr’s bond with them, but it went a long way towards momentarily disrupting it.

  Pelas spun Shail a glance over his shoulder and called back to him as he ran, “Do you think you’re the only one who forayed into Shadow?” Verily, what Shail thought he knew about elae hardly compared to what Pelas actually knew about deyjiin.

  He ducked beneath an eidola as it made a mad swipe for his head and then dodged around another that was attacking its nearest companion; far across the hall, still the lightning of his working continued lancing from creature to creature, a violet incandescence dancing among the deeper shadows.

  Shail cast a blade of deyjiin at Pelas’s head. He felt it sizzling on the currents and dodged left; it exploded in the chest of an eidola. The force catapulted the demon off its feet and spun it, flipping head over heels, in an arc over its brethren.

  Ahead, beneath the tall stone baldaquin, deyjiin flashed in rapid cadence. Despite Pelas’s working to disrupt the creatures that fueled him, Sinárr still had enough power to threaten Tanis.

  Hang in there, little spy!

  Pelas dodged another bolt of deyjiin cast by his brother and increased his speed. He was going to have to ask Tanis to show him his pattern for timeweaving once they were safely away. It would’ve been a handy card to play right about then.

  Pelas cleared the last of the mad sea of eidola and saw the lad fending off Sinárr beneath the baldaquin. As he rushed up the stairs, he saw the currents swelling towards Tanis. His eyes widened with understanding.

  By Chaos born, Tanis!

  Just behind, Shail snarled an explosive curse. “This isn’t over, Pelas!”

  Pelas threw the fifth behind him and launched himself forcefully through the air—

  ***

  Tanis had hoped to make it to the steps, but the eidola were too thick surrounding the baldaquin, and now they were all in a fury. A violet static had seared from creature to creature, and they’d seemed to be dazed and then erratic. Some merely stood immobile now, but most clawed and rattled and climbed over one another wildly. Tanis found his escape blocked by a raging sea of madness that he dared not drag Nadia into.

  With nowhere to run, he pulled Nadia into his arms and put every effort of his will into holding his shield of the fourth in place. Sinárr threw deyjiin at him in rapid bursts and moved in a circle around the shield, trying every angle for a weakness. It was truly awful watching the Warlock work this dark power so effortlessly and meticulously, with his golden gaze focused and intent and his brow narrowed in concentration.

  Tanis gritted his teeth and pushed back against Sinárr’s attacks of deyjiin, but every time that searing energy exploded against his shield, it felt like being hit in a helmet with an iron spike. The force reverberated all the way into Tanis’s toes. He was sure his teeth would’ve broken if he hadn’t had them clenched so tightly.

  Again and again deyjiin burst against his shield. With every breath, Tanis felt it growing weaker—felt himself growing weaker. The fourth wasn’t meant to withstand deyjiin.

  Nadia clung to him. She seemed not herself, and Tanis worried Shail had done something to her.

  Power flared again in a static sheet around them, sending an electric shock arcing along Tanis’s bones. He clenched his jaw and held Nadia protectively close. He had to do something—and fast.

  Think, damn you!

  He scanned desperately through everything he’d learned from his parents—

  Suddenly one of his father’s journal entries seemed applicable. ‘Give them one pattern and let them extrapolate the rest…’

  Tanis realized he had a pattern he could use—or rather, one he could extrapolate to his own use. He’d seen Shail push deyjiin through a fifth-strand pattern to produce his thunder without sound. Tanis imagined he could compel the fourth and second strand together through that same fifth-strand pattern to cause a similar effect.

  Or not use any patterns at all.

  It was the First Law of Patterning—Know the effect you want to create. Tanis knew what he wanted to cause—a charge so heady that the bronze baldaquin would shatter into a million shards and take out everything around them. He might just have enough time in the confusion to escape with Nadia. Then again, the temple itself might come crumbling down and they would all perish together. But taking their chances in the Returning was surely preferable to an eternity bound to a Warlock of Shadow.

  A particularly nasty blast of deyjiin hitting against his shield nearly knocked Tanis off his feet and elae from his grasp. Recovering his footing, Tanis barely held off a pressing sense of panic. He’d have one chance to do this right.

  He closed his eyes and opened every part of his awareness. Then he summoned elae forth—like opening the floodgates to the river. It was instinctive, this summoning; any Adept could summon his own strand. But as the lifeforce surged in massive waves towards him, Tanis realized with a shock that it wasn’t just the fourth he was calling upon innately.

  Even so, he grabbed every strand as it rushed to him, concentrated on the effect he needed to cause, and released the lifeforce along with his intention, impelling the strands—propelling them—forth together.

  A tidal wave of the second strand merged with a similar wave of the fourth and exploded in a concussion that cast Tanis and Nadia both off their feet.

  Everywhere stone exploded. The chamber exploded. Light exploded—Tanis felt like his head was exploding.

  He lost his hold on his shield as he flew through the exploding air with Nadia screaming and his brain on fire, fighting desperately to regain his bearings before they crashed into something deadly and—

  A force struck him from the side—

  And they tumbled into darkness.

  Sixty-Four

  “Cowards dream of failure. The brave, only of victory.”

  – The Agasi wielder Markal Morrelaine

  Trell woke in a massive ebony bed draped in diaphanous silk. He blinked, inhaled deeply and looked around, instantly recognizing the ornate furnishings of the Mage’s bedchamber—and across the room, sitting at an elega
nt desk littered with books, the man himself.

  Trell pressed a palm to his forehead and then drew it down across one sand-filled eye. “This seems…familiar.”

  Björn looked up from the book in his lap. “You do seem to be making a habit of nearly dying at my sa’reyth.”

  Trell managed a rueful grin. “And they call me the conscientious so—” But the phrase lodged in his throat, impeded by a sudden staggering realization.

  Trell sat up forcefully. The world spun—not from the vertigo of injury but of shock. He turned a vivid look upon the Mage. “I remember.”

  Björn was smiling softly at him. “I imagine that you do.”

  Trell pushed palms to his temples as if his hands alone might prevent the memories from escaping his head again. His incredulous eyes saw not the Mage but the river of his life leading all the way back to his youngest years. He could pluck a memory from the waters and examine it, recall every moment of it, even reach other related experiences associated with it…

  His memory had been restored.

  Trell’s heart thudded in his chest like a device that fueled his smile. Both heart and smile revealed an overpowering elation.

  Björn rose and set down his book on the desk. “A truthbinding from Raine D’Lacourte is not easily broken…they tried, those men who invaded your ship in the Fire Sea.” He came across the room towards Trell. “The questioning you endured would’ve driven a weaker mind to madness. Considering the stipulations of Raine’s truthbinding, coupled with the trauma of a near-drowning, it’s no wonder your memory fled.”

  Trell had to summon his breath back to form words. “…And now?”

  Björn shrugged. “I removed the truthbinding. I don’t believe I’ve betrayed my oath-brother’s confidence in freeing you from its hold. Doubtless he would’ve done the same, were he here.”

  Trell didn’t know whether the emotions threatening to explode out of his chest urged laughter or tears. “Thank you.” The words seemed such a dreadful understatement. Twice this man had saved his life—more than twice, if he took all events into account—yet they’d never even formally met. But introductions seemed unnecessary now, even insulting, for the Mage had known him from the beginning, and Trell had come to understand so much more of him in turn during the intervening months. He’d told Phaedor in Rethynnea that he would’ve given the Mage his oath, and he’d meant it.

  Björn seemed to hear every sentiment Trell couldn’t find words to express. His eyes sparkled as they held his gaze. “You’re welcome.”

  Trell exhaled forcefully and dropped his eyes, shaking his head in wonder. How looping his path seemed—circles upon circles—each one taking him far and away and back again to some point of beginning. What seemed but hours ago, he’d thought he was staring death in the face while rounding the apex of a circle that began in the Fire Sea, looped through the Akkad and slung him right back into the clutches of Viernan and Taliah hal’Jaitar. And now…well, now he found himself at the ending of an entirely different circle, yet somehow right back at what felt like its beginning as well.

  “Is everyone’s path so convoluted?”

  Björn chuckled. “Our paths are rarely straight, but I admit some astonishment at how many coils yours has made. But the three of you are like that. Even when your paths circle wide, you somehow turn them back to cross again.”

  “The three of us.” Trell had the distinct impression the Mage was speaking of him and his brothers, but Sebastian—

  It came to him on a flood of memory—a face and voice in the Kutsamak that he couldn’t recognize then, but could and did recognize now that Björn van Gelderan, Mage and First Lord, Fifth Vestal of Alorin, had returned his memory to him. Remarkable how many graces the man had bestowed upon him…how much he owed him in return.

  Trell’s eyes flew back to Björn. “Sebastian—”

  “He lives. Freed now of the compulsion that dominated his will. His is a story as convoluted as yours, even tracing a similar trail as yours.”

  A laugh burst out of Trell. He pushed hands through his hair for lack of any other way to show his desperate joy and stared, seeing only the binding threads of wonder. “My brother lives.”

  “More importantly, he lives free. In no small part, thanks to you.”

  Trell blinked. “Me?”

  Björn cast him a knowing gaze. “I’ll let you dress. Then perhaps you’ll join me in breaking your fast?”

  “Of course, but—”

  “I imagine you’ve some questions, also, which I’ll do my best to answer.” He placed a hand before his heart, bowed his head in a grace of parting, and left Trell to ready himself.

  Trell nearly jumped from the bed.

  But then he just stood there, locked suddenly in the gorgeous miracle of it all, feeling choked by gratitude and relief, his throat tight for the first time with freedom instead of fury.

  For a moment, he let himself experience these feelings, intense and wonderful and overwhelming—

  He was standing there as a free man.

  He knew himself.

  His life and the world were an open canvas before him.

  It seemed too incredible to be believed. What had he ever done to deserve such grace? For a moment, he merely stood there. Then he dropped his chin to his chest and acknowledged the many people to whom he owed a grave debt. The Emir, Graham, Istalar, the Mage, Vaile, Loghain, Balaji, Carian vran Lea, Yara, Náiir…

  Trell pressed a hand to his heart. I promise you—all of you—somehow I will repay you for your kindnesses.

  It was a singularly odd experience getting dressed in front of the Mage’s massive mirror again, this time with full recollection of who he was—indeed, it was as if his memory had never been taken from him at all!

  Every time he had a thought, it still surprised him to be able to connect it to something old, something understood, some deeper belief that he’d always held true. It was so odd standing there looking at his face for the first time and truly knowing who he was. Odd also to once again find clothes set out for him, and his sword—

  His sword.

  Alyneri.

  Oh gods, Alyneri!

  Trell pushed a hand through his hair and sat down abruptly on the near chair. Alyneri, who had made it to the sa’reyth against all odds, who’d bought his freedom with her courage, who’d doubtless had a hand in saving him from whatever ill-conceived craft had been worked upon him in Darroyhan.

  Alyneri…who he’d barely thought about since being taken hostage.

  Trell dropped his hand and slumped back in the chair, heart racing with sudden recognition and guilt.

  He knew his initial circumstances had made it hard to think of anyone or anything but the pain they were inflicting on him; and later he’d eschewed thoughts of Alyneri for fear of tainting her memory with the pain or disgust he was experiencing.

  He supposed many men would’ve turned to thoughts of those they loved to give them the strength to endure. But he’d shuddered at the idea of bringing Alyneri into those tortured moments. He’d purposefully avoided thinking of her to keep her disassociated from Taliah, so as not to confuse his mind later with unwanted correlations or connections.

  Still…he felt a sudden extreme guilt in having done this, for he knew without a doubt, without even asking her, that she had not stopped thinking of him.

  And oh, the tortures he’d undergone during their months apart. Trell thought of the many indignities he’d suffered at Taliah’s whim, of the rapes and depravities she’d inflicted on him and what she’d made him give in return for ameliorating the pain.

  He’d refused to feel the shame Taliah had tried unceasingly to engender, but the thought of speaking about her to Alyneri…of confessing what he’d done and endured…of the compromises he’d made to survive…that would shame him.

  Letting out a slow exhale, Trell pushed from his chair and finished dressing. At the last, he belted on his sword feeling a renewed sense of ownership that resonated quite poignant
ly with him. So many times he wished he’d had the weapon at his side during his torturous adventure. How relieved he was to find it safely returned to him now. And how grateful to Alyneri for ensuring it would be so.

  Yet in conceiving of the coming conversation with Alyneri, he felt suddenly as if he was staring out across a wide swamp full of hidden pitfalls. Somehow he was going to have to find his way through that morass, and in that adventure, he knew his sword wouldn’t help him at all.

  When he walked from the Mage’s bedchamber, Trell almost expected to see Balaji, Vaile and Loghain in conversation again. That the sitting room stood empty felt a slight disappointment. But the thought fled as soon as it had come, for the world held a brightness that Trell hadn’t experienced in a long time—too bright for any shadows to linger.

  So he’d quite recovered his smile by the time he pushed through the next set of drapes and ran into Balaji.

  He Who Walks the Edge of the World had just entered from the other side of the room, but he drew up short upon seeing Trell. Then he threw open his arms and grabbed him into an embrace.

  “Ah, my friend, it is magnificent indeed to see you again!”

  “It’s magnificent to be here,” Trell murmured. Anew, that sense of marvel beset him, bringing a sudden joyful dampness to his eyes.

  Balaji released him only far enough to take him by the shoulders. He looked him over, full of admiration. “How far you’ve come since last we parted. How much you’ve gained in experience and understanding.”

  Trell lifted brows resignedly. “Not all experiences I would choose to endure again.”

  Balaji nodded in acknowledgment of this. “Yet, if it cannot be avoided, at least let us find a way to make experience useful to us, for all experience is worth having to those who can become its master instead of its slave.” He cast Trell one of his sharp smiles upon this idea, the kind of smile that always gave Trell the impression of a dragon’s needle-toothed maw superimposed over Balaji’s white teeth. “I know you are such a one, my friend. But, oh—the others will be so pleased to see you up and about when they return! So also your cousin, Fynnlar—though he’s strayed further from our pleasant field with your friend, the pirate Carian vran Lea.