The Dagger of Adendigaeth (A Pattern of Shadow & Light) (110 page)

“Of course.” Björn stood and motioned Ean toward the balcony, whereupon the raging storm suddenly waned. As if with the waving of the First Lord’s arm, the rain faded from a downpour to a faint pattering, and by the time Björn escorted Ean out of doors, only a humid wind remained.

***

Ean followed Björn outside into the nascent calm, while within a different storm yet raged. The rain had stopped, and the late afternoon felt a tomb beneath low, smothering clouds. The air clung heavy and humid to Ean’s flesh, yet too it felt…clean, as though the storm had exhausted itself in violent lovemaking and now lay panting against nature’s breast, its demons momentarily exorcised.

Gazing in silence at the First Lord, knowing it was him who’d calmed the storm, Ean imagined that all of the books in the known world wouldn’t contain the knowledge Björn van Gelderan possessed in his little finger. Yet he would have
Ean
make this choice?

How can I decide when every choice I’ve made so far has led to disaster
?

His answer came from an unexpected quarter.
‘Players make their moves at will,’
the zanthyr’s remembered words broke through the cacophony of doubts rampaging in Ean’s head,
‘reassured only by their own resolve, facing dire consequences, protected by no one, and shielded by nothing but the force of their conviction.’

Phaedor’s words resonated with a deep chord of truth, one Ean couldn’t deny. He reflected that he really hated the zanthyr sometimes for always being
so
right.

“My lord,” the Prince said then, breaking the silence that had lengthened as they walked, “what if this choice…what if I choose poorly?”

Björn turned with a compassionate look, his gaze acknowledging the validity of Ean’s problem. “There are countless choices that will be made in the coming days,” he replied, clasping hands behind his back as they walked side by side. “With each new choice, the balance of the game could shift—but this is the challenge of the game itself, Ean,” he added with a lightness in his tone, his very blue eyes searching Ean’s for understanding. “Your choices are but drops within the sea, your role one among many, my friend. These paths are ever changing, ever fluctuating. The future is always in motion.”

Ean exhaled a troubled breath and looked up at the smothering clouds. He felt somehow connected to the slumbering storm, as though the First Lord’s presence becalmed him but momentarily as well—long enough to attempt what he’d originally come to do.

“My lord,” Ean managed then, feeling as if a part of him was still battling the three-headed demon of guilt, “I want to give you my oath.”  

Björn drew up short. He looked Ean over in silence then, and the prince endured his inspection uneasily, for it was never comfortable bearing the probing gaze of the Fifth Vestal—it was rather like staring too long into the sun.

“Thank you, Ean,” the First Lord said after what felt an interminable assessment wherein each touch of his scorching gaze fell as sunlight upon burned skin. “But I do not doubt your fidelity.”

“Then…you will accept my oath?”

Björn shook his head slightly. “No.”

It was given in the kindest imaginable tone, but still Ean felt shattered by his refusal.

The First Lord placed a hand on his shoulder. “Never imagine I don’t want and need your support,” he said in a low voice, his tone revealing of an endearment so heartfelt that Ean trembled with the enormity of what had been lost between them.

“Then…why?” Ean managed, finding his voice suddenly a barren landscape scoured raw by the winds of their forgotten friendship.

Björn looked deeply into his eyes. “Because I sense you are as yet uncertain what this oath entails.”

“It doesn’t matter what it entails, my lord!” Ean insisted, suddenly desperate to convince him to accept his oath that he might divest himself of the ever-growing chasm of its absence. “Whatever you require, I will give it!”

Björn drew in a deep breath and let it out again evenly, and all the while his deep blue eyes seemed to see Ean’s many lives passing through the ages, each one dedicated to but a single purpose. After an uncomfortable moment of this, he asked, “What is an oath, Ean?”

“A promise,” the prince returned tightly. “A binding promise.”

“But what binds it?”

Ean clenched his teeth. He saw where the First Lord was going with this now, and he didn’t like it one bit. “Honor, my lord.”

“Honor,” Björn repeated with a solemn nod. “When all the trappings are stripped away, an oath is bound first and foremost with honor.”

“But is it not honorable to give an oath?” Ean pressed, still wishing he might persuade him to accept his, for his need to give it was acute. Whatever part of him had known the bond of this oath before now missed it painfully. 

“If an oath isn’t given to someone else does that make it any less of an oath?” Björn posed in return. “Why must something be said to another before it becomes binding? Should not the force of our own conscience dictate our purpose and be damned if it should matter whether or not another has heard it?”

Ean dropped his gaze, for there was no disputing this truth.

The First Lord took Ean by both shoulders. “You have never needed another’s approval to act as your conscience dictates, my old friend,” he noted with a look of soft amusement. “I dare say you needn’t start now.” 

Björn drew Ean close then, friend to friend, brother to brother; and in his embrace, all feelings and frustrations and despair vanished. Ean knew only the balm of understanding and forgiveness…while it lasted.

Releasing him, Björn gave him a look of encouragement. “I will see you again, Ean,” he said with a squeeze of the prince’s shoulders, “whatever your choice.”  

“
Rad nath
, First Lord,” Ean murmured obediently, eyes downcast. It was an unexpected response—the phrase had just come to him.

But Björn seemed pleased by the expression. He nodded farewell, and a moment later, Ean found himself standing alone.

The moment reminded him unhappily of a similar parting, the one in his dream, where a battle had raged and good men had died, where he’d carried a blood-drenched Merdanti sword and said goodbye to the First Lord on the broken stones of a shattered dome. He knew now that this battle had taken place in the Citadel on Tiern’aval, where Arion was thought to have died.

Then, as now, Ean-Arion had been surrounded by friends who would’ve given their lives for him; but then, as potentially now, it was Ean’s life that was forfeit to Fate’s whim.

Death’s path might be walked by all men, but never more than one man at a time.

Ean felt a strange duality in this recognition, a renewed connection to the person he’d once been. Ever had he walked with an army of the truest friends at his back, and ever had he walked alone.

***

Björn returned to the room in silence, his expression unreadable, and a few minutes later, Ean arrived. Raine saw sadness and determination both reflected in the prince’s gaze.

“I will go after them,” Ean announced to the room at large.

“Then you’d best go at once,” Ramu advised, “for surprise will be in your favor.”

Dagmar agreed. “They won’t be anticipating you for another many days—no doubt the villains expected it would take that long for their ill-begotten missive to find its way to you.”

Isabel went over to Ean and kissed his cheek. She murmured something in his ear, and he nodded, but his expression grew even more tormented than before. “Go and prepare,” she said quietly. “I will join you soon.”

Looking gravely conflicted, Ean glanced to the others by way of farewell and departed.

When the prince was gone, Raine murmured through a frown, “I should go with him.” 

Isabel turned him a grateful smile. “And you would serve my true love well,” she replied, “but my brother needs you here, Raine.”

Your talents will be needed elsewhere, friend of my heart…

Raine couldn’t tell if she’d given him the thought or if he’d plucked it from her consciousness—in any case, she’d wanted him to hear it.

“I gather you intend to follow Ean into the fray, dear sister,” Björn said drily, but concern clouded his gaze.

She looked back to him. “Unless you have someone more qualified in mind,” and she arched one delicate eyebrow in inquiry.

Björn stood and took her by the shoulders. “None,” he whispered and kissed her upon the forehead. But he did not release her. Instead, he looked into her blindfolded eyes,
exhaled a sigh and shook his head. “So long as you are clear where the line between Isabel and Epiphany’s Prophet is drawn, sister of my heart.”

“As certain as you are on the boundaries of Balance, dear brother,” she returned with a
tart little smile.

Björn gave her another kiss and released her.

“Isabel, I confess I am troubled by what else to divulge to Ean,” Ramu admitted as Björn was retaking his chair. “He just missed hearing my earlier report of Trell, but I vow he will not well receive the news that his brother and companions both are in dire peril.” 

“You mean you think he’ll try to save them all,” Raine amended.

Ramu turned him a telling look that confirmed this had been his thought exactly.

“Trell walks upon his path,” Isabel answered Ramu. “It is too soon for his path to cross Ean’s.”

Ramu nodded at this.

“I will go now to help him prepare,” Isabel announced. “Might you join us in our departure, Ramu? There is much of your knowledge Ean would benefit from.”

The Lord of the Heavens bowed deeply. “I would desire nothing else, my lady.”

She nodded gratefully and took her leave.

When Isabel was gone, and all in the room seemed diminished for want of her, the rain started again, rubbing salt in the wound of her departure. Dämen observed then, “First Lord…I mislike this course of action.”

“And I as well, Dämen,” the First Lord agreed. He sat slouched in his chair with chin resting in hand. “But you must argue with my sister upon the matter. It was clear from the moment of her arrival here tonight that their departure was imminent.”

The Shade seemed not to take his point or else to ignore it. “Ean has just been returned to you,
ma dieul
, and yet he now heads into an obvious trap employed by a wielder in the service of the Prophet Bethamin. What reassurance have we that ‘tis not your enemies behind this venture, who even now plot his end?”

“If that is his path, Dämen, he must walk it,” Ramu returned in blunt censure.

“It is his choice to go, Dämen,” Björn pointed out more gently. “We are neither his masters nor his jailers—I would that you kept this in mind.”

“But a mere word from you would change his mind,
ma dieul
,” the Shade urged.

Thunder sounded close, rattling the windowpanes. Raine thought it a fitting accompaniment to the general mood in the room.
Björn shifted in his chair and rested chin in hand, frowning at his Lord of Shades. “We’ve presented Ean’s path to him twice before, Dämen, and you saw where that took us. The farther we tried to influence him, the deeper he sank into the rut of past mistakes. Should we allow Ean to forge his own path, perhaps he won’t be bound by the same pattern of error.”

“It is a grave risk you take, First Lord,” Dämen grumbled.

“Is it?” Björn glanced to Raine before settling his gaze back upon the Shade. “Or is it application of the Fifth Law?
A wielder is limited by what he can envision.
If the path is dictated to Ean by another, then he’s restricted by their knowledge, foreknowledge, or lack thereof. Yet were we to leave the path open before him—not showing him the way, merely giving him a light by which to see…then Dämen,” and here Björn’s eyes grew bright with possibility, “
then,
left entirely to his own devices, protected by no one, bound to nothing but his conviction…
then
when necessity calls, might Ean make a different choice which would otherwise be against his nature? A
new
choice. One
they
do not expect? Balance, Dämen,” Björn concluded. “It is ever our guide.” 

Björn rose and walked to the doors, and his gaze drew their collective attention to the storm, which raged once more as if it had never broken. “Of all the paths that spread before us,” the First Lord observed then, “Ean’s pulls him inexorably forth. He is as bound to it as he is to my sister, and she to him.” Glancing over his shoulder at the rest of them, Björn admitted, “I have often wondered if theirs was not somehow the same path.”

“I have wondered that as well, First Lord,” Ramu confessed. He bowed then, and his gaze gave farewell to all as he murmured, “If you will permit me, I shall join them as they depart.”

Björn nodded quietly, and the
drachwyr
left them.

“And I must prepare the node,” Dagmar observed, adding with a nod of farewell, “
Brothers.” 

As Dagmar was leaving, the Shade bowed deeply, as if burdened by the weight of his contrition. “Your pardon, First Lord, I will depart to my tasks.”