Ce’Aret finished her recitation, stepping from the dais with the brisk movements of one half her age and disappearing behind me. She would be standing before Ven’Dar, splaying her fingers across his face, using her power to carve an image of his soul upon her mind. And soon after, she would transfer that image to me. An intrusive rite for the one whose image was being taken, exposing emotions and convictions one might prefer remain private. I was happy she was not probing my soul at the moment. All I had to do was read what she gave me and reflect my response to it. I shoved my murderous cravings aside and tried to unclench my fingers, which threatened to break the ancient wood of my chair, and focus on the rite.
Small hard hands settled on my shoulders. In an instant, I was infused with the image of Ven’Dar, not merely his physical aspect, but his essence: the joy that permeated every moment of his life, his love for our Way, for our land, for me.
“Is this the one you have named, D’Natheil?” Ce’Aret’s voice was as clear as a brass trumpet. “The one who will follow your steps onto D’Arnath’s Bridge, whose hands shall serve the people of Avonar and all of Gondai, leading us and guarding us with their skill and power?”
“This is Ven’Dar, my friend, my mentor, my heir,” I said.
Ce’Aret removed her hands, and the image dissolved.
Mem’Tara brought me another image of Ven’Dar, this time the sounds of his voice, rich and clear in its timbre, honest and gentle in its tenor, powerful in its articulation of the words that were his life. She gave me the image of his eyes that could see so far beyond the moment and so deep into the past, and his hands that had calmed my anger as skillfully as they smoothed and shaped rough bits of wood into articles of use and beauty. She brought me his laughter, and his raucous baritone, singing a bawdy song. “Is this the one you have named, D’Natheil? The one who shall assume your place in the life of this world when your span of days is complete?”
“This is Ven’Dar, my friend, my comforter, my heir.”
Then it was Ustele’s turn. Slowly, leaning on a wild-wood cane, he hobbled from the dais and passed by me without meeting my gaze. I wasn’t worried about Ustele. The ritual was strict. He could refuse to participate, and I would remove him from the Preceptorate, appointing another person of my choosing to his place. But if he wished to retain his position as my counselor, he could only do as the ritual prescribed, take the image and present it to me.
My bones ached. A chill draft made me shudder. When had I last slept? My gritty eyes stung, and I rubbed them, causing a moment’s shift in the light, smearing faces and colors… red… green. The hour was speeding by. I flinched when Ustele laid his cold, bony fingers on my head.
“Is this the one you have named, D’Natheil?” The old sorcerer’s voice quavered in my ear, filled with bitterness. “The one who shall wield the sword and the power of D’Arnath and be privy to the innermost secrets of the Dar’Nethi? Is this the man to whom you would entrust the fate of the worlds? Consider well, for with your word will your successor be proved.”
Even dull-witted with exhaustion, I knew this one thing was sure and right. “This is Ven’Dar, my friend, my brother, my heir.”
But no sooner had I spoken, delivering the future of Gondai and the Bridge into his hands, than I glimpsed the flaw in the image that lingered in my mind. Ven’Dar, yes, his courage in battle, his unyielding devotion to justice and truth. In all things honorable. Yet, behind the image, lurking in the midst of everything I expected to see… what was it? A shadow. A scar. Alien. A flash of gold, a glimmer of ruby, of amethyst, of blue-white diamond… and familiar horror…
“No!” I slapped Ustele’s band away and burst from the chair, whirling about to see Ven’Dar’s eyes grow cold and his smile harden.
“First friend, then brother, then heir. I’m dizzy from coming full circle - for I believed myself to be your heir to begin with. Family, yes, but not brother. And never friend. Most confusing. And even more so for these others who cannot see what you see or know what you know. Tell them who I am, my lord Prince. Tell them who will reign in Avonar in three heartbeats from this moment, when their mad Prince lies dead on the floor. Say my name, and let them shudder and curse your failure.”
It was impossible, but there was no mistake. “Gerick!”
“No, no, good Father. Call me Dieste.”
CHAPTER 31
Seri
Bareil had given me a square of glass through which, by some magical mechanism, I could view the morning’s events while remaining hidden myself. I’d watched the ritual in the same state of heightened expectation I’d experienced since waking to see Karon’s rose.
Play the part that only you have ever been able to play. Follow the Way… What did he mean? He thought I’d understand. He had been rushed, pressed for time. But my message had told him that I knew what he was planning, at least the result of it, and he had come to tell me… what? Fragile hope held my soul together, but despair picked and jabbed relentlessly.
The sole bright spot of the morning had been finding Paulo in the antechamber. But before he could tell me where he’d been since Calle Rein, Paulo had raced off in search of the missing Roxanne, hoping that she was only hiding and would emerge if she saw his familiar face.
And then the ritual fell apart…
“No!” Karon’s cry of outrage pulled me to my feet, the magical glass held even closer to my face. But it was impossible to see anything once chaos erupted in the council chamber.
How could Gerick be here?
Shouts and curses. The unmistakable sliding clangor of swords engaged. As I strained to see, the door of the antechamber burst open, and several of the Dar’Nethi poured through it, reminding me that the chaos was only steps away.
“Cover your face, my lady,” whispered Bareil as the first rush of refugees fled through the outer door and others began to crowd in from the council chamber. “Perhaps we should withdraw.”
Play the part… Follow the Way…
To follow the Way meant to accept whatever came and fit it into the larger context of the universe. But I had never been able to accept whatever came, not until I understood the truth of it. That took time, and everything was happening too fast. But, of course, Karon had even less time than I to unravel the truth of these events, and he couldn’t always control his reactions, not with D’Natheil’s emotions confused with his own. Was that what he wanted from me? To stay close to him through everything? To watch and listen no matter how painful the event? To look for the truth and hold onto it?
“No, Bareil. I think I need to be here.”
I shoved my way through the fearful crowd into the council chamber. By the time I stepped past the door only a few observers remained in the room: the three Preceptors, the enigmatic Men’Thor, and four or five stalwarts in sober military garb, who I guessed were Karon’s field commanders, bound by honor and duty to stay beside their prince. Gerick was nowhere in sight. But Karon and Ven’Dar were engaged, swords in hand, Ven’Dar’s sleeve already bloodied from their first closing. Now I understood…
“Stay back!” shouted Karon to one of the Dar’Nethi who stepped forward, sword drawn, ready to enter the fight. “He’s mine!”