The Dagger of Adendigaeth (A Pattern of Shadow & Light) (92 page)

Ramu pressed him back through the hall with a sequence of strong over-handed blows that shuddered through Ean’s arms and shoulders
. He felt like he was trying to stop an oncoming galleon ship with his body alone, such was the unyielding force of Ramu’s attack.

Slam!
Slam! Slam! Slam!

Each blow clanged violently in Ean’s head,
and the Merdanti hum had started reminding him now of the Whisper Lord’s virulent screech. He soon labored to draw breath in his lungs, his arms ached deep in the bone, and blood soaked his shirt and side—and still Ramu pressed him relentlessly. He had no time to form his own advance, no time to think, only react, for the
drachwyr’s
pace in battle was so furious as to truly lead the charging avalanche down the mountainside.

A powerful blow suddenly made Ean stumble
. His ankle turned, his hold upon his weapon slipped, and Ramu’s blade took him. Fire erupted in his chest, and Ean cried out, diving and rolling desperately away before the next round of that circling blade claimed more than a bit of flesh.

It was then, as he stumbled back to his feet
looking for his sword, that he knew that Ramu
would
kill him, that whatever the General’s intentions for this battle, they led unequivocally to this truth.

Seeing Ean’s defenses waning, the
drachwyr
lunged, his blade a bolt aimed for the prince at its bull’s-eye. Time seemed to slow in that moment. Ean saw the blade coming for him. He knew the heat of its kiss, and feeling only the dread of encroaching disaster, he thought of Isabel. It was naught but a split-second flash, but within it was all of the guilt and anguish of having failed her already too many times. Just as the blade met with the cloth of his shirt, just as he knew this would be his end and he would fail her again, Ean finally pierced the veil.   

Multiple patterns flooded into his mind, and with them
elae—
but it was no longer a passive presence. He knew instinctively how to wield it in this battle, how to channel
elae
into the force of his intent, how to mold this formless power to his will.

Diving into an
elae
-fueled roll that would’ve been impossible to manage only seconds before, Ean swept up his sword and narrowly deflected Ramu’s weapon. The
drachwyr’s
Merdanti blade still ripped into his tunic and his flesh besides, but its touch might’ve been far more deadly.

Elae
channeled into Ean like the returning tide…

He
launched into the
cortata
, sensing already which part of the pattern they were upon—for all of this time Ramu had been performing the
cortata
sequence, yet only in that moment did Ean finally recognize it. He met Ramu’s blade with his own, and they fell into the dance.

Now Ean knew the motions exactly
. Now he knew before Ramu’s blade came toward him where he must go to meet it—or avoid it altogether. Now he understood the intricate footing, the slight shifts of balance, the twisting spins that took one beneath the guard of his opponent or out of harm’s way. Now he saw the pattern working, channeling into him, through his weapon, and directed into the force waged in each blow of his sword, and he remembered how to wield the
cortata
in pieces, even non-sequentially, without losing the entire pattern.

As fast as they moved now in the sequence, Ean did not tire
. He was merely a conduit, the lifeforce passing harmlessly through him and into his blade, the weapon then becoming the channel to direct the force of the inexhaustible power that was
elae
. Ean lost all track of time—indeed, there was no time, there was only the
cortata.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, they came to the pattern’s end.

Ramu stepped out of Ean’s reach, swept up his blade before him in an elegant gesture, and bowed.

Gravely,
Ean returned his regard, feeling odd and out of sync with time, with the world around him…and yet wholly more
himself
.

Through the restoration of the
cortata,
elements of the man he’d once been had found their place now in this, his new life. More pieces had found their way back onto the King’s board, even ones he hadn’t known were lost.

Ean stood holding the dark-eyed gaze of the Lord of the Heavens
. He understood now that the
cortata
had been his to command once—indeed, he’d known its dance for decades—and having it restored to him was indescribably meaningful. His wounds were afire, his tunic was shredded and soaked in blood, but Ean knew only gratitude. Staring at the
drachwyr
at a loss as to how to communicate such thoughts, he managed, “Thank you.” 

Ramu nodded in reply, his gaze alone bespeaking all that need be said
. He swept his sword before him, focusing upon the blade, and Ean heard a hiss and saw smoke release from it as Ramu sheathed it in the scabbard on his back, cleansed now of blood. Whereupon, the
drachwyr
offered, “Shall we break our fast together? I believe there is one who would tend to your wounds,” and he nodded toward the far end of the room.

Ean turned
to look over his shoulder, his heart suddenly quickening in anticipation, yet it was not Isabel who waited at a round table set with a meal, but another. Ean’s eyes widened.

“
Ma dieul
,” Ramu greeted, calling pleasantly to Björn. He motioned Ean onward, and the prince limped to join the First Lord at a table draped in white linen.

Ean wondered where the table had come from, for he was certain none of this had been there when he first entered the hall
. Not that there hadn’t been time while he battled the Sundragon to cart in a table and set it with a meal, but that he’d noticed nothing of this happening was a little disturbing.

Björn looked Ean over as
the prince hobbled near, and his raven brows lifted. “You went easy on him, Ramu.”

“I dared not incur
the Prophetess’s wrath, my lord,” Ramu returned, flashing a twitch of a smile.

“I applaud your excellent judgment,” Björn complimented, but Ean looked to the
drachwyr
feeling unnerved. That had been going
easy
on him? “Ean, come,” Björn beckoned then. “I would that you not remain in this state—unless it pleases you to do so?”

“No…thank you
, I would rather not,” he answered, still looking uneasily at Ramu.

Björn stood to place his hands
to either side of Ean’s head, and the prince closed his eyes. This shared pose seemed too familiar suddenly, as if he had assumed it many times before. He soon felt warmth suffusing him, and only moments later his wounds started tingling.

This
Healing felt very different from Alyneri’s ministrations. Her touch was the kiss of moonlight, while Björn’s was the scalding desert sun. Yet it was not unpleasant so much as unsettling, for Ean knew that what he was truly sensing was the difference in the amount of power Alyneri might draw at her most desperate compared to what Björn held readily available.

When
Björn withdrew, only moments later, he pointed Ean toward a marble urn and washbasin. Ean tore off his ruined shirt and used the unsoiled parts to clean away the results of the morning’s sparring.

“I thought you might have need of this,” Björn said when Ean was finished, and he
held out a tunic of heavy grey silk worked all over in thread-of-silver. Ean gratefully accepted it, surprised and touched by the First Lord’s consideration.

Therein
did they break their fast together.    

Dining with the First Lord was always a pleasant experience, for the man was interested in everything under the sun and seemed to know equally as much
. He and Ramu spoke idly but at length about the history of the long-dead kingdom of Gahanda, which had been absorbed by the Empire of Agasan in a vicious and bloody war while Björn still held the Alorin Seat. Ean found it both thrilling and strange to listen to events that had occurred upwards of five centuries ago being spoken of through personal experience. To know these men had lived so many lifetimes…being himself a moon short of ten and nine, Ean couldn’t even imagine it.

It wasn’t until the meal was finished and he was following Ramu back toward the center of the hall to continue their training that he began to wonder why the First Lord had come to eat with them
. He’d mentioned nothing of dire importance to their training…

That’
s when Ean realized the truth, and the chilling realization brought him to a standstill. The only logical reason for Björn van Gelderan to have attended his training that morning was if Ramu had injured him so grievously that Björn’s skills alone might be needed to restore him to life.

The enormity of this realization—that these men would do
anything
, including nearly killing him, to restore to him whatever power and skill he once possessed…Ean could barely process such a staggering truth.

Ean
hardly noticed that he’d stopped walking. He pushed one trembling hand through his hair and kept it hovering there. This conflict might be cached in the guise of a game, but clearly its players were not cavalier about their roles.

In the First Lord’s game, p
eople truly played to the death.

Ean might’ve
reached this conclusion already, having himself passed that demarcation three times—but those had been other men’s lives. He could not easily embrace the same gritty reality as was maintained by those who’d been playing the game unendingly for eons.

The world still seemed new and
fresh to Ean, his road ahead full of prospects and adventures, and this concept of being eternally bound to a single quest had been rather glibly accepted until it slapped him painfully in the face—which it seemed to be doing repeatedly ever since arriving in T’khendar.

Rousing from these thoughts, Ean saw that
Ramu had already reached the center of the hall, and he jogged to join him.

The
drachwyr
said as Ean neared, “You noticed, no doubt, how the use of a talisman in the
cortata
was of benefit.”

Ean nodded as he came to a halt before Ramu
.

“Now we will explore the use of the
cortata
and our talismans in a practice that is much closer to the requirements of actual battle.”

Ean welcomed the challenge
. He felt that anything he could learn from Ramu would be of value, and the practice would be a worthy distraction from the underlying and inexplicable sense of guilt that was relentlessly tormenting him—he didn’t seem able to retrieve any part of the man he’d once been without also compounding that feeling of guilt.

Ramu drew his weapon with one fluid sweep of his arm and leveled it before Ean
. “In battle with other Adepts, one is most likely required to wield numerous patterns at once. Now we will perform the
cortata
while also working the fifth. You must apply the Laws as required to counter my working. Begin.”

At once Ramu launched into the
cortata
with no less ferocity than he had exhibited earlier, only this time Ean easily found the
cortata
as well. They flowed into the Dance of Swords, and
elae
began pooling around them. This time it Ean easily fell into the focused and meditative state of the
cortata
even while fending off Ramu’s earth-trembling blows. While working the
cortata,
his energy, like
elae
, seemed boundless.

And then it began to rain.

At first, Ean just admired Ramu’s ingenuity and skill—between his obvious knowledge and strength and his incredibly gallant manner, it was hard not to stand in awe of the Lord of the Heavens.

Ean maintained the
cortata,
spinning and thrusting, side-stepping and turning, his blade flashing in exact timing to parry Ramu’s blows, but this came easily to him now, calling as he was upon the lifetimes of practice that he had now regained.

Without missing a step, he began considering how to counter the
drachwyr’s
working. In a moment when their eyes met over clashing blades, Ean formed his first pattern, molding it around his intention. A heavy wind came screaming through the hall after he cast the pattern, but all this accomplished was to send stinging rain into his face. He released the pattern and let the wind blow itself out while he decided upon another tactic.

Ramu’s rain
soon had him drenched. The stone hilt of his blade became slick in his hands, and it finally occurred to him to shift the structure of the air to protect himself from it. He held this shield happily for a long time, relieved to be free of the constant barrage of water against his head, but as they completed one section of the
cortata
and immediately launched into the next, Ean realized this was not the type of response Ramu was seeking from him.