The Kallanon Scales (29 page)

He had not the
strength to fight. He drew his tunic roughly off and tossed it onto
the table, before sitting stiffly with arms tense upon the surface,
fingers steepled. Then he did ask. “Why?”

“Hush.” Her
fingers were on his shoulders, a cool touch, and began questing for
muscles. “Too tense, my Lord.” She brought forth a vial of amber
liquid. When she unstoppered it, his nose crinkled. “It is a
relaxant, that is all. Be still, this will help.”

“I do not need
…”

“You don’t
know what you need. This will help you think.” Her voice was firm,
and she poured liquid into her palms and commenced massaging his
shoulders and back.

“Caballa, I
have matters to …” He yawned.

“It will be a
short rest, as well as detoxification. You will feel refreshed in a
while and able to cope with the pressure and your grief.”

“You have no
right …” He sank down, head on arms, and was asleep.

Maybe not, but
someone needed to do this for you.

She fetched a
pillow and a coverlet and gently inserted the softness between his
head and arms, throwing the covering over his naked shoulders. She
brushed his hair back with sensitive fingers and kissed his cheek,
and left.

Sleep well,
proud Torrullin.

I had never
seen eyes so blue.

~ First line from
Beacon’s
Star
, a popular novel

Xen III

L
owen sobbed when her father told
her and cried more when she was brought upstairs to formally meet
Matt.

Krikian came
to the rescue. “Lowen, do you know of which race I am?”

The girl
sniffed.

Moss subsided
into an armchair. He drew his daughter with him, holding her close.
She refused to look at him and tears continued to fall.

Poor thing,
Matt thought.
She is like a homeless waif despite her opulent
surroundings.
Thin, extremely pale, her
dark hair spiked. Moss said she was thirteen, but she seemed more
like ten, breasts unformed, limbs gangly. There was definitely the
promise of beauty, particularly when one looked into startling blue
eyes, fringed with dark lashes. Her lips were full, even if
currently pinched and colourless. Wholesome food, some sun, a good
grooming, and she would blossom.

“I am
Valleur,” Krikian continued. “Have you heard of us?”

Lowen shook
her head.

“Shall I tell
you a tale? About magic and a golden race?”

She nodded and
wiped her eyes with the back of a hand.

“Come sit with
me.” Krikian patted the couch. “Your father and uncle can complete
their business while we are on a magical journey.”

She looked at
her father, who smiled encouragingly. “It’s all right, honey, it’s
not yet time.” She nodded and sat wide-eyed beside Krikian, on her
hands.

Moss sent the
Valleur a grateful look. He gestured to Matt and the two left as
Krikian began.

“Where do I
start? One should always start at the beginning, shouldn’t one? I
will tell you of the time the universe was empty and the Mother was
saddened to see it so …”

They were off.
Tears were forgotten.

Dall Mossen
smiled as he preceded Matt down the spiralling staircase. “The
Valleur are good people. Come, I have three of the crew you asked
for at another location.”

‘Another
location’ meant negotiating the underground storerooms into the
tunnel for a long walk until they reached a steel door at the
opposite end, guarded from both within and without. It led into a
dingy area and that led into a larger and dirtier chamber crammed
with shelves and storage cartons.

Three men
shuffled there, not yet outright afraid. That changed the instant
they caught sight of the crime lord.

“I will leave
this to you,” Moss said and vanished through a side exit. Matt
caught a glimpse of a huge man before the door clicked shut.

“Matt? What
are you doing here?” one of the three men asked.

They were a
motley trio; Matt trusted them with his life. He explained the
forthcoming mission, watched their eyes grow round on hearing the
destination, and went on to offer the reward Torrullin promised. As
expected, all three accepted with alacrity.

Dall Mossen
returned and led them through the tunnel and into his home. Matt
glanced over his shoulder to see the huge man go the other way.

Again, there
were the round eyes, this time on seeing the interior of the
stronghold. “This is the only time you are permitted in my home,”
Moss growled at the three men. “If you ever attempt to enter here
again, you will not live long. You are here only because Matt
requested it.”

They nodded,
eyes flicking to Matt, wondering what the connection was.

“Jack! Show
these gentlemen to a guest suite.”

“You are
scaring them,” Matt grinned as Jack complied.

“The point,
cousin,” Moss murmured.

They repeated
the process twice and Matt had his complement of eight.

Jack prepared a
farewell feast.

The crew ate
in their suite as Moss, Lowen, Matt and Krikian prepared to suffer
a sad occasion. Lowen asked that Jack join them, she wanted to say
good-bye to him also.

The bodyguard,
butler, trouble-shooter and chef extraordinaire had also been
nursemaid and companion to the girl, and she adored him, as he
clearly returned her feelings, for his eyes misted up whenever he
glanced her way.

He prepared
her favourite dishes, but the atmosphere was stilted.

Krikian
relieved the silence by remarking on Jack’s fare, most
complimentary, and eased the tension by relating an amusing tale of
a farewell dinner he was forced to attend.

Dall Mossen
scowled, but when Lowen spluttered into laughter, his face
lightened. When Matt jumped in with a joke even Jack found funny,
he relented.

The Valleur
was right, his daughter should have one fond memory to look back on
and know her father knew how to laugh. After that, dinner was
light-hearted, with every story more outrageous than the last, and
even Jack condescended. Lowen laughed until tears ran. Her colour
was high, her eyes sparkled, and she was beautiful.

Finally Moss
drew her to her feet and led her to bed, but neither slept, their
soft murmurings heard the remainder of the night.

The henchman
returned to lead the crew through the tunnel. Matt had mentioned
they needed be away from reinforced walls.

Jack emerged,
dour-faced and watery-eyed, to give Lowen a convulsive embrace,
before again vanishing. Lowen stared after him, her expression
set.

Krikian and
Matt negotiated the passageway, where the forklift trundled with
its load of weapons. A few minutes later Moss and Lowen followed,
with Lowen lugging a bulging cloth bag, her father a huge
suitcase.

In the dirty
storeroom, Krikian eyed the extra load, but said not a word about
it. “I need to call two others to assist with transport,” Krikian
murmured into dead air.

“Do it,”
Mossen barked.

Krikian closed
his eyes and reached out to both Pretora and Kismet. To his great
relief they replied.

The Elders
appeared and glanced around in curiosity, which swiftly became
disgust.

Krikian
forestalled words of judgement. “Eight crew, one crate and
travelling gear. I will take Matt, the girl, the gear and the
crate. If you could …”

Pretora
frowned, not liking the attitude. “The girl?”

“Now is not
the time, Elder. Forgive my presumption, but I will explain
later.”

Pretora turned
away, motioned for four of the crew to approach, and bade them
clasp hands. Admonishing them not to release each other, he laid a
hand on the nearest shoulder and vanished with them. A muttering
Kismet followed suit with the other four, and Krikian deflated.

Matt winked
and turned to Moss. “I guess introductions will come another
time.”

Moss glanced
at Krikian, noting the pale line above the Valleur’s lips. “I
should be prepared for criticism. Thank you, Krikian.”

The Valleur bowed. In silence he sent,
No words are required, Le Moss Mar Dalrish. It has been an
honour.

Dall Mossen
blinked and bowed. “The honour is mine, Krikian of the
Valleur.”

Krikian smiled
and retreated to the crate, placing Lowen’s gear atop it, leaving
the family alone.

Matt cleared
his throat. “Time to go, cousin.” He briefly clasped Moss to him.
“Till we meet again. You know where to find me.” He gave a lopsided
smile and joined Krikian.

Father and
daughter stared at each other. “No more words, sweetheart.”

They hurtled
into each other’s arms and held on for long moments. Eventually
Moss found the strength to push Lowen firmly towards the crate.

Eyes stricken,
sneakers squeaking protest, she ran and vaulted up, where she
grabbed at Matt’s hand to hold on. “I love you, daddy.”

“I love you,
sweet girl.” Moss swallowed hard. “Please, Valleur, go … now.”

Krikian took
Matt’s arm and took them from there.

Le Moss Mar
Dalrish stood alone in the unkempt room, frozen. Her bright blue
eyes swam before him, he recalled her arms around him, her voice,
and her laughter, her sense of fun, her innocent devilry, and
gradually sank to his knees on the dusty floor. A clear footprint,
a sneaker.

For the first
time in his life, he wept.

Fortitude is
the most terrible of all virtues.

~ Book of
Sages

Tower of
Stairs

T
orrullin awakened from Caballa’s
induced sleep a few hours into darkness.

He was
refreshed, stronger in body and mind, and grief was a duller
ache.

He washed and
donned fresh clothes, strapped his sword on, and stepped outside as
the Xenians materialised with Pretora and Kismet.

Pretora looked
for his Vallorin, but Torrullin waved him on, not wanting the Keep
and Throne leaderless. There was a tightening of Pretora’s lips,
but he did as bid, gesturing to Kismet. Torrullin wondered what sat
on the Elder’s back, but had other matters to consider.

Vannis
approached the bemused crew and Torrullin left him to deal with
them. He saw Caballa further along and saluted her, sending her the
image, and smiled when she did. Taranis, he noticed next, sat with
legs dangling over the edge facing the arena.

“You look
better.” Taranis said when Torrullin lowered next to him.
“Caballa?”

“She tricked
me.”

“Good for her.
I see the Xenian crew is here, a right disparate group.”

Torrullin
looked them over. Shadows filled the light and from this height, it
was impressions only. Vannis handed them to Camot, who barked
orders.

Two men were
short, one thin, one fat, another was tall with red hair, one was
an emaciated old man and the others were average, two dark, and one
fair, one with a shaven scalp. All wore jeans, boots, and each wore
a different tee proclaiming something. All came gearless.

“I am sure
Matt knows what he is doing.”

“You trust the
Xenian?”

“I sense
resolve in him. He needs this. There are devils driving him away
from Xen, him and Cat. He will lay down his life for this mission;
this is his redemption.”

The crate
arrived then and Camot pounced on it.

Camot, I
suggest you do not open it. I believe those are weapons.

The war leader
retreated as if burnt. Torrullin grinned, shaking his head.

Krikian, Matt
and Lowen came next, arriving on the arena floor amidst the
others.

Torrullin rose.
Krikian?

Krikian
touched Matt’s arm and pointed up. He transported to the central
tier, leaving Matt and Lowen to approach by conventional means.

“Welcome back.
Report.”

“Thank you, my
Lord.” Krikian drew breath and launched into an abridged version of
events. His disillusion with Xen was evident in every word,
although he forbore to describe it.

Vannis and
Camot joined them, listening intently.

Cat ran down
the stairs from above. Brother and sister waved at each other,
Lowen kept her face hidden in Matt’s chest, slowing them on the
upward journey, but still Matt reached the group around Torrullin
ahead of Cat and as Krikian was about to explain Lowen.

Cat flung her
arms around her brother, who hugged her clumsily with Lowen
sticking to him.

Brother and
sister stood grinning and Lowen stared up, eyes moving between the
two.

“Krikian, I
will have the tale from Matt,” Torrullin said. “Please assist Camot
in quartering the crew. I expect a detailed report later. Well
done.”

Camot moved to
leave, but Krikian hesitated. “My Lord? If I may speak?”

Torrullin
inclined his head.

“It is about
Pretora and Kismet, my Lord. I am afraid I angered them earlier and
…”

“Thank you,
Krikian. I shall bear that in mind if and when they seek to
denounce you.”

“Yes, my
Lord.” Krikian withdrew. He and Camot hurried away.

Lowen’s eyes
latched onto Torrullin and Vannis reflected with amusement that, no
matter what their age, women would always be entranced by his
grandson. Torrullin winked at her.

“Vannis,
Taranis, tell everyone to meet in the circle in one hour.”

The two men
found themselves dismissed.

Lowen
disengaged from her uncle, although she remained close.

Torrullin bent
his gaze to the girl. “What is your name, young lady?”