The Dagger of Adendigaeth (A Pattern of Shadow & Light) (85 page)

“Ean val Lorian owes a debt to the Prophet,” Işak answered tightly while his mind continued that desperate search for the missing piece of the puzzle called his past. Frowning beneath his hood, Işak looked to the Lord Captain, who seemed slightly more pliable now that he’d been effectively blo
odied. 

“So your middle prince survived Raliax’s best efforts, it would seem,” Işak posed, relieved to note his voice carrying such cool dispassion, for surely he was straining to accomplish it, “and we shall soon have the youngest in our grasp. But what
of the other prince. The firstborn. What of him?”

Rhys spat blood onto the earth. “Dead, of course,” he grated through swollen lips. “Our Prince Sebastian was killed by Basi assassins eight years ago—”

Işak’s entire consciousness exploded with pain.

The pattern he wielded against Trell instantly dissolved as Işak tumbled into blinding, unimaginable agony—it was Dore’s working all over again! He staggered away, unable to think, unable even to breathe...

“Get him!” someone yelled at the same time that Işak barely heard another man shout, “Raliax!” but he could only grab for a near tent pole and cling to it, gasping, as a suddenly freed Trell stole a sword and attacked Raliax at the camp’s shadowed edge. To Işak’s ravaged consciousness, they seemed demons battling in the night.

The two fought fiercely while the Saldarians stood stunned, apparently wondering whether or not to interrupt. The prince was winning, and might’ve claimed Raliax if the latter hadn’t shouted urgently for someone to grab the damnable man and pull him off.

In fact, it took five Saldarians to subdue the prince. The smartest of the bunch finally knocked him unconscious with the hilt of his sword. They dragged him back to the fire and bound him with stout rope that time.

The Lord Captain was
laughing in a low gurgling wheeze. “Would’ve killed you,” he rumbled happily, eyeing Raliax.

Joss went over and kicked him, but Işak could still hear the Lord Captain laughing even as he bled into the dirt.

...killed by Basi assassins eight years ago…

Iş
ak’s own reaction baffled him. Why had those words so shaken him? What untold working upon his consciousness had the words disturbed?

Raliax stalked up to Işak, pushed his nose inches away and snarled, “Y
ou gimp-legged bastard! What were you bloody thinking, letting him at me like that?”

Işak collected himself quickly then and focused upon the face accosting him. “Your tone is somewhat lacking for respect, Raliax.” He recaptured the pattern he’d just used on Trell and released it onto Raliax instead.

The Saldarian swore an oath and grabbed Işak by the collar of his cloak. “Get it
off
me!”

“Or what?” Işak whispered, low and dangerous. He made the pattern more solid, and Raliax gasped. He clutched at Işak as he fell to his knees, but the pattern had him firmly. “You forget your place,” Işak warned, looking down coldly upon the man, whose face was twisted now in agony and pressed deeply into the earth. “Shall I leave you to consider our varying roles, or can you behave?”

After a moment, Raliax’s hand twitched, which Işak took as an affirmation. He allowed the pattern to dissipate as the collected energies of
elae
gradually exhausted  themselves. Raliax sucked in a shuddering breath.

“Come inside,” Işak growled. “We need to talk.” He turned his attention to the
men and ordered in a voice loud enough to be heard by all, “Secure the prisoners and break camp! At dawn we ride.”

Işak ducked inside his tent and pushed back his hood as he walked to pour himself a drink. It appalled him to see his hand shaking upon the
task.
What is happening to me?

“Do that again in front of my men and I’ll gut you in your sleep.” 

Işak turned a look over his shoulder to find Raliax standing at the tent’s entrance. “Give me a reason to think you might, and I will bind you to my will with the fifth,” he lied. Dore never would’ve given him such knowledge, but Raliax didn’t know that. Işak looked back to his hands and willed them to stop shaking. “Tell me…” he said, laying a fourth-strand truth pattern upon the Saldarian, for he would not believe anything Raliax offered willingly. “What is the story behind your failed assassination of Trell val Lorian?” 

Raliax glared at him as Işak moved to sit in a folding camp chair near a glowing brazier. He’d hoped its warmth would soothe the ice spreading through his soul, yet he barely felt its heat. As the brazier’s light fell upon the left half of Işak’s face, casting his scarred right cheek in shadow, Raliax’s eyes widened. Işak missed this change, for he’d focused his attention on ensuring the ma
n didn’t see how troubled he was by the night’s events.

“The real story now,” he said as he settled in, “if you please.”

Raliax just stared at him.

Işak interpreted his look as defiance. “I
can
make it hurt.”

It took a moment, but the Saldarian moved slowly inside the tent and let the flap close behind him, pinning Işak all the while with a razor-edged stare. “I don’t know why they wanted the prince killed,” he finally answered, resentful and belligerent. “I only know hal’Jaitar hired me to take care of i
t.”

“Viernan hal’Jaitar? Wielder to Radov?”

Raliax nodded confirmation, albeit unwillingly.

Işak drank wine from his pewter cup, grateful that he’d finally gotten his hands under control, even if his insides still writhed. He eyed the Saldarian leader over
the rim. “What else?”

Raliax shrugged. “There wasn’t much to it. Take the
Dawn Chaser
off the coast of M’Nador. Question the prince to see what he knew. Kill him. Fire the ship…we did all of that. The royal family assumed the
Dawn Chaser
foundered in a storm.”

Işak stared wordlessly at him. There was just no questioning it. Gydryn val Lorian could not have blamed him for Trell’s death. Işak was already in N’ghorra when Raliax did the deed. Where then had such an idea come from? 

Işak pushed away these confusing truths, which seemed to be accompanied by a blinding pain in his head and an ill feeling of foreboding in his stomach. He refocused on Raliax to find the man staring at him. “Where has the prince been all this time?” he wondered aloud.

Raliax shrugged. “Where he’s been ain’t as important as where he’s going. I’ll make sure he’s dead this time.”

Işak arched a brow. “I rather think that a mistake of grave proportion.”

“
You
think—” Inexplicably, Raliax exploded on him. “
You
can barely ride a horse with that gimp leg! What do
you
know of a
man’s
work? I’d like to see you in a real battle—I’ll bet you can’t even swing a blade!” He looked Işak over with malice in his dark eyes. “
You’re
naught but a madman’s plaything. What makes you think you’re better than me?”

Benumbed and confused by the Saldarian’s sudden attack,
Işak yet leveled Raliax a chilling gaze, for his words sheared close and cut deeply. “The prince has been
somewhere
for the past five years,” he pointed out to the fractious man. “Who has he told, and what has he told them? How many others know Prince Trell val Lorian walks among the living? An assassin whose marks mysteriously return from the dead is not long for this world.”

“So I should kill him now!” Raliax declared as if to prove his own point.

“You could, you could,” Işak agreed, marveling at the man’s unusual rancor. “But how many of Radov’s enemies know Trell val Lorian lives? And what will Radov say when he inevitably learns of it? I hear the ruling prince is not a trusting man. Think he'll believe you when you claim you killed the prince a second time?”

Raliax frowned. It would seem even a man such as he could see this truth. Or perhaps his fear of Radov’s infamous paranoia was enough to give him pause. “So you’re saying what? I should take him to Radov?”

“I would think so, yes, and in somewhat of a condition to answer the prince's questions.”

Raliax glowered at him. “You mean alive.”

“I mean alive and unharmed. It is not up to you or I to decide the fate of Trell val Lorian now. That boon lies in your master’s hands.”

Raliax clearly saw the benefit in this notion; laying blame at the feet of another was ever the coward’s comfort. The Saldarian shoved hands in pockets and paced, muttering for a while. Then he stopped and glared at Işak again. “
What will you do?”

“Continue on as planned.” 

“So I travel hundreds of leagues overland while our Nodefinder takes you north in a matter of days?”

“There was a Nodefinder among their party,” Işak pointed out. “If he lives, he could be of use to you. I recommend sending a man to Tal’Shira at once, that they might gain the capital before the Adept dies. Radov will surely send another Nodefinder back for you to claim such a prize as your miraculous prince.” When Raliax said nothing, Işak offered, “Or if you w
ould prefer our roles are reversed and I take Trell val Lorian to present to Prince Radov instead—”

“I’m not saying that!”

Işak opened palms placatingly.

“Should’ve left you to rot…” the man muttered acidly under his breath.

“What was that?”

He shot him a
venomous glare. “I
said
, Dore Madden should’ve left you to rot in…wherever he found you.” He spun on his heel and stormed from the tent.

Would that he had,
Işak thought as he sat in his chair feeling worms crawling through the tatters of his soul. In N’ghorra, he’d at least been his own man—or so he liked to believe. The truth was he remembered too nearly those punishing years and too distantly the man who had endured them.

N’ghorra was but the first level of hell,
Işak lamented as he stared at his empty goblet,
and I have since come to know them all.

Dawn saw overcast skies and the illicit troop ready to be off. Most of the prisoners had spent the night tied to stakes near the horses, while the prince had been kept at the edge of camp under constant w
atch. When Işak emerged from his tent, pulling the cowl of his cloak low over his eyes, he saw the prince sleeping with his back to his guards.

The man compelled his interest. Işak had barely been able to get his mind off of him, in fact. Leaving the Saldarians to break down his tent, Işak approached Trell. As he neared, he grew certain that the prince was alert, though for all purposes he seemed soundly asleep. “Go find Joss,” Işak told the two mercenaries guarding Trell.

They headed off without a backward glance—all the better, for Işak felt unusually ill at ease that morning. When they were alone, Işak told the prince, “You’re being taken to Radov.”

After a moment of silence, Trell asked, “Why? Because he tried to have me killed?”

For reasons unknown even to himself, Işak confirmed this by answering, “So it would seem.” He peered curiously at the prince then, seeing only a sleeping man in the dim shadows of dawn. He laid a fourth-strand truth pattern upon him as he asked, “Tell me…how did you survive?”

Af
ter a moment’s pause, the prince answered, “A god took pity on me.”

Though it was an outrageous claim, Işak believed him—even had the fourth-strand pattern not resonated, there was an element of such naked honesty in the blunt, if improbable, answer that h
e could not but trust to it.

Would that your benevolent god had seen fit to spare me as well, prince of Dannym.

It was a strange thought that came so suddenly…another’s man’s thought. He had been another man once, before N’ghorra, but he no more remembered that man than he understood why Gydryn val Lorian had sent him to the mines—

Immediately that shattering headache burst through his consciousness, throbbing and fierce, bringing a painful sharpness to his thoughts.

Why?

What could be happening to him t
hat certain thoughts were accompanied by these pains, as if to ward him away from following their memory too deeply, from tracing them to their core? If not for his sure certainty that bindings of the fifth could never be broken, Işak might’ve speculated that Dore’s patterns were coming undone.

But hope had long abandoned Işak, and he never wondered.

Joss’s scuffing boot-steps preceded him through the quiet dawn. “You wanted me, Işak?”

Işak kept his eyes pinned on Trell as he ordered, “Take five men and fi
nd Fynnlar val Lorian. I want to be well on our way to Saldaria by nightfall.”

Joss nodded and headed off.

“Saldaria,” Trell murmured. “Where you plan to lay a trap for my brother?”

Işak wondered why he felt so compelled to interact with this prince, his p
risoner, a man who should already be dead and likely would be very soon.

When Işak said nothing, Trell turned his head to look up at him.