The Kallanon Scales (21 page)

“Why are you
here?”

“Impulse, I
guess. Matt says I’m too headstrong, do before I think.” She was
close now and put a hand out to touch his chest, tracing the Dragon
as he had earlier.

He drew breath
and his right hand lifted to still hers, trapping it against his
chest. “Don’t do that.”

She looked up
into his eyes, hers dark and questing. “I’d like to stay with
you.”

He wanted her
to. “I am married, Cat, and I love my wife.” Then why had he not
denied Caballa?

“Where is
she?” She leaned forward and kissed the hand over hers.

Good question.
“Not here.” His hand dropped to his side, fingers deliberately
casual.

Cat stepped
back. “It’s okay, I’m not offended, but anytime you change your
mind.” She backed up to the door.

“She left me,”
Torrullin murmured, and Cat paused. “Will she come back? Only if I
fetch her and I need to find her first.”

“Do you want
to?”

“Very much.”
Torrullin dragged a hand through his hair. “But not today. She is
safer wherever she is. Come sit.” He gestured at two armchairs
before the open windows. Talk, yes, that he could do. Perhaps sleep
would find him after.

Cat complied,
while Torrullin searched for his tunic. “Leave it off. If I’m not
to touch, let me at least look.”

She was not
beautiful in classical terms, but had a sexy body and her
personality made her desirable. “Don’t do that. I may forget my
good intentions.”

“Goody.”

He shook his
head in mock severity and sat opposite her. “What keeps you from
rest?”

“Second-guessing. I tend to triple check my work and lying there in
the dark I have these figures marching before me. What is your
excuse?”

“Second-guessing.”

“You don’t
sleep much, do you?”

“Generally
not, no.”

“Afraid you
will miss something?”

“All I have is
time. No, I am not afraid of missing something.”

“What is it
then? Are you afraid of your dreams … ah, I see, nightmares. You
have those.”

“Yes, I have
those.”

“I know them.
My big nightmare is that dome disintegrating, gasping for air,
exploding in a vacuum.” She clutched at her throat.

“You are safe
here.”

“I’m waiting
for my life to start, to feel, to love, to touch, and to know.”

His grey eyes
bored into hers. “I am old, Cat, and …”

“…
experienced? Complex? Dangerous? Married? Fickle? All of them?
Alive, Torrullin? Do you feel life in your veins?”

He bit back an
oath and looked away.

“Do you?” She
flung from her chair and kneeled before him. “Are you alive,
Torrullin, or are you biding your time?” She put her hands on his
legs, smoothing the fabric, feeling the heat, and his hands gripped
hers.

Leaning
forward, he said, “How dare you ask that?”

“I want to
know how it feels.”

“You are not
to trust me. And, gods, I do not need this complication.” He
dragged her up, standing with her. “I like you and, yes, I could
happily sleep with you, but we have a long road ahead. Let it
go.”

She stood
unmoving in his painful grip and he saw what was in the darkness of
her eyes. He flung himself away. “You are like her.”

“Who?”

“My wife.” He
turned and launched onto the bed to lay there with crossed arms
over his eyes. “Please go.”

He waited to
hear the sound of the door clicking as she left and heard instead
the sound of lights switching off. He drew an unsteady breath and
lowered his arms. She stood at the foot of the bed and only the
lamp in the far corner was lit. He realised he had in some way
issued an invitation.

“Cat, you have
no idea what you could be getting into.”

She bent to
remove her boots, her jeans and clambered onto the bed, dark eyes
absorbed. He said nothing further, the fires lurking close. He
propped onto one elbow and reached out to bring her closer. She
groaned as he tossed her under him. He wanted her to fight him off,
so that she would leave, and knew he did exactly what she wanted of
him - he pushed her beyond the point where she had control.

He gripped her
tunic at the neck and tore it open, fingers splaying over her silky
skin, and she lost control, dragging his mouth down to hers,
devouring him. He lost himself.

Unlike with
Caballa, this coming together was swift and intense, the pleasure
sharp and hurtful, and left both knowing they would seek it out
again.

In the
aftermath, they stared at each.

“Like seeks
like, Cat,” he whispered, eyes raking her. “Beware, for I am
stronger than you.”

She slid off
the bed, dragged her jeans on and found his tunic to pull over her
torn one. As she bent to retrieve her boots, he pulled her to
him.

“You are
mortal, Cat. Never expect anything of me.”

She gripped his hair. “I didn’t expect this, Torrullin, nor
did I come hoping for it, but
I
warn
you
.” She kissed him hard and
withdrew. “See how far you can run.” She dragged herself free and
headed for the door without looking back. It clicked as she
left.

Torrullin hit
the bed in frustration.

Would he never
learn?

“Not good,
Enchanter,” Thundor’s voice piped up, and he clambered-climbed onto
the rumpled bed. “Lots of trouble for you.”

“How long have
you been here?”

“Long enough.
She is rather sexy, no?”

Torrullin
heaved a disbelieving laugh as he commenced putting his bits into
place. “I am not discussing this.”

“Fine, but
remember Caballa is older and wiser.”

Torrullin
snorted. “You know about Caballa also?”

“Remember whom
you love.”

“She left
me.”

“She is in
your heart. You are hurting her and two wrongs never did make a
right. Fine, I will keep quiet.” Thundor sat, lost in the covers.
“We have communicated with the Thinnings of Tennet … has a nice
ring to it, don’t you think? Anyway, confirmation returned as to
Murs, but our brethren are not certain who exactly is in control.
Sometimes Mysor seem to have the upper hand and at other times it
is Murs. Shall we assume they have an understanding, something
likely to the benefit of both disgusting races? Strange bedfellows,
but stranger have been known, not so? Now, to answer the
provocative question, our brothers have not physically seen others
beyond rare prisoners, intruders, you understand? They heard things
over the years that point to someone other than Mysor and Murs in
the Tennet system.”

“Any
descriptions?”

“You cannot
describe what you haven’t seen, but they have formed an image, one
garnered from whispers eavesdropped upon over many
generations.”

“Well?”

“So easy to
get a rise,” Thundor murmured and squeaked indignation when
Torrullin thumped the bed, causing him to lose his perch and bounce
into the air. “All right! This is an impression only, remember
that. It appears we must concur with your suspicions. Tennet’s
Thinnings speak of a golden race, which would probably be
Valleur.”

“If for no
other reason, that is why we go.”

“There is
more. Both the Mysor and Murs are afraid of them. They seem only to
surround them, and there is often talk of skirmishes. They, our
brothers, have witnessed Mysor reappear with missing limbs, and
some never return. The Murs too have lost over the years.”

“Music to my
ears, Thundor.”

“It is
hearsay, not gospel.”

“Someone once
told me to follow my instincts and I have lived by that.”

“Didn’t seem
that way on this bed just now.”

“And maybe
that was precisely what I was doing.”

“Sorry. You
were saying?” Thundor murmured.

“They are
there, the lost Valleur, and they fight for freedom.”

“And thus you
will bring to them the war that will release them.”

“Yes, a just
war.”

“Have you paused to consider? They fight perhaps to prevent
being swallowed by Mysor and Murs, but do they fight hard enough?
You are thinking with your emotions. Put that aside and use your
mind, Enchanter. If they are Valleur, they could win freedom, even
if they number few. They are
Valleur
…
think
.”

Torrullin
said, “They choose to remain surrounded, but not because they want
it. They believe they need it. They have the taliesman and they
know the prophecy. They have to keep it in, in bondage, and
everyone else out. They prevent the taliesman and Dragon meeting.
Yet they should be aware that the Vallorin carries the Dragon. Why
would they mistrust the Vallorin?”

“Either they
no longer know the tradition of the Valleur Dragon or the Vallorin
that exiled them proved untrustworthy. It is entirely plausible
they believe the Vallorinship no longer exists or has become
something else. We know how time twists facts into legend.”

“Maybe they
were banished deliberately to hide the taliesman, maybe they left
in ignorance. A veil to hide the truth, as the Arcana legend hid
the Valleur from humans. A veil to protect that tool of
treachery.”

“Yes, and only
you can end it.”

“Either
control the Dragon or destroy the taliesman?”

“Right.”

“To do so I am
forced to bring the two together. I may have to fight my own
kind.”

“No longer a
just war, is it, Lord Vallorin?”

“This evil
must not pass to my sons. They cannot fight it, neither would
survive.”

“You are the
Keeper of the Dragon, Enchanter. The choice is yours.”

“There is no
choice, Thundor. Fate has caught up with me.”

Logistics, the
bane of planners in every field

~ Beacon War
Manual

The Keep

“
W
e need a
ship for at least one hundred and fifty,” Torrullin
stated.

Matt’s mouth dropped open. “Wow! What
are
your intentions?”

“Can it be
done?”

“There are
military transports.”

“We have to
appear innocuous.”

Matt scratched
at his head. “Of course there are passenger ships, but no way will
you lay your hands on one of those in a hurry. They are privately
owned and make their owners a load of money.”

“If we offer
enough?”

“With a
guarantee of safe return? Then, no. A heap of hard currency, and
you would still be waiting this time next year.”

“Other
options?”

“A cargo ship.
The holds can be remodelled into quarters, but a cargo traveller is
slow and it requires a lot of fuel.”

“The Blue
Dom?”

“She is under
contract to a hauling company. Once again, we’re talking serious
currency and serious guarantee. We need to find another on a launch
pad somewhere, but it will either be old or broken, and we would
still have the fuel problem.”

“Why is fuel a
problem?” Taranis asked.

“Fuel is heavy
and for a lengthy journey we’ll need to stockpile, if we find that
much. That is the other problem, availability. Can we gather
enough? If we do so, can we pay for it? If yes, will the ship lift
with the heavy load?”

“What of newer
ships?” Torrullin asked.

“Good luck is
all I say.”

“But would it
work?”

“It
could.”

Torrullin
turned to Quilla. “Are the Beaconites still in Gasmoor?”

“Due to leave
tomorrow.”

“The Beacon
ship is too small,” Matt interrupted, thinking of the one at the
landing site.

“They have
crystal propulsion. From cargo to launchers,” Cat spoke up. “Great
craft. Would they let you have one?”

“I doubt it.”
Torrullin stroked his chin. For this morning meeting they were
again in the dining chamber, twins on time, and he found he was
able to look Cat in the eyes. She too was bland of expression. He
fell asleep quickly after Thundor left, but his dreams filled with
thighs and nails. A better sleep adventure than was usual, but
disturbing.

“I overheard
the Beaconites at the twins’ day. They discussed taking delivery of
two vessels bound for the long haul to Dishnar. Logging, I
believe.”

“Big bucks,”
Matt murmured.

“And they do
not need the money, do they?”

Vannis started
laughing and slapped at his thighs. “You know what you need and
where to get it. Some gall, Torrullin! When do we go?”

“As soon as
the Beaconites are in the air,” Torrullin grinned.

Taranis
started to laugh. “Are you serious?”

“What?” Tris
and Ty said together.

“I do believe,
boys, your father aims to appropriate a ship,” Cat murmured.

Torrullin
wiggled his eyebrows. It was out of character and the twins were
shocked and then amused.

Quilla was
horrified. “Enchanter, you cannot do this!”

Matt was
equally aghast. “Jesus, man, do you have any idea how much crap you
will be in?”

The others
laughed more, even Krikian. Gren and Bartholamu shook their heads.
They handed thieving criminals of this calibre to authorities; as
Guardians, they were occasionally called upon to act as
policemen.

Shep Lore
belatedly realised his Vallorin was serious. “Theft?”

The others
sobered, struck by his tone.

“Yes, Shep, it is theft. I cannot afford to wait,” Torrullin
said, his tone firm. “Listen to what Thundor sprang on me last
night.” He proceeded to explain the possibility of war with the
Valleur, the protection mechanism the Murs and Mysor afforded them
and the likelihood of misconception. “
I
cannot allow it to continue. I
will not wait a year or two to find a craft; I would rather
transport in and suffer the consequences.”