The Kallanon Scales (57 page)

Torrullin
never drew his sword. As the battle raged, with Abdiah stalking
protectively nearby, he watched for weakness. He threw pulses out
when danger came close, but did it absently.

Even in her
rage, Abdiah marvelled at his calm. He was not afraid to die and he
was up to something; she resolved to keep him safe until he was
ready.

Unmoving in
the centre of the shifting chaos, he began to murmur, the words
below hearing. From the centre, Mysor started to disappear, ever
quicker, and then whole areas cleared.

Soon Vannis
and Taranis searched for an enemy to engage, and Phet and Caltian
swung around in consternation. The Kallanon swallowed their
fire.

The Mysor were
gone.

The Dragonne
Queen watched Torrullin. A strong man, a powerful enchanter.

“Where did
they go?” Vannis demanded, eyes black and alight with battle
lust.

“Under your
feet,” Torrullin replied with evident satisfaction.

There they
were. Hundreds of tiny, innocuous harvestmen, long-legged spiders.
Enemy to only the bugs and moths of their world.

“Ah, you
removed the enhancements,” Abdiah murmured, pleased by his
cleverness.

“More than
that, I think,” Caltian spoke up. “It has been generations since
they were that small.”

Torrullin
murmured again and pointed south. As in a hive mentality, the
spiders gathered to veer south.

They ran into
the waiting ocean and that was the end of them.

Shall we
return with it

Or shall the
Dark Dragons

Follow to
annihilate its

Glow?

~ Kallanon
Prophecy

Atrudis

T
he Murs attacked five times more,
every time with deadlier intent, and were repulsed.

Abdiah lost no
more Dragons and Torrullin lost none of his team, although scrapes
and bruises were unavoidable, as were burns.

Morning
brought gritty exhaustion, and respite.

They moved
inland, alternatively walking and transporting, laying in the
process trail hard to track.

The Murs came
in number to the wilderness.

Bartholamu
used the intervening days well, teaching succinct counter measures,
and these were put into practise unashamedly.

The
ages-learnt attack strategies of Golden Force did not disappoint
either, and thus it was a combination of sorcery, Force strategy
and Lumin Siric countering that held the bulk of the Murs force
engaged through the night.

Morning
brought exhaustion, but no respite.

With the
coming of visibility, Bartholamu was beset upon. Immediately
recognisable as Siric, he fought off wave after wave. Grim, dirty
and bloodied, he gave no quarter, with each successful attack and
countering garnering ever more respect and awe from Force and
Creed. He motivated them and thus more Murs succumbed.

Quilla, tiny
as he was, without the Song - which required multiple voice -
fought with iron will, tiny hands blurred motion, endlessly
energetic, and the Kallanon - disguised as Valleur - were amazed,
for they employed the technique and saw now where it
originated.

They fought
hard, using the same method and Quilla, without revealing them,
knew them for what they were, and found he was glad they were
there, glad, too, to know the Kallanon fought for the Light.

The day wore
on, battle after battle. Abdiah sent word that the Atrin Lenter
could employ Dragon forms if they deemed it wise. They did, and
unexpectedly eighteen huge reptiles beat the air with massive wings
and unleashed unholy retribution on their attackers.

Force fell
back, Creed cowered, and then old prejudices surrendered and
everyone fought together with triumphant glee, hysterical
determination.

As night fell,
the Murs fled, beaten.

The war
spilled over from the wilderness, smacking down onto the institute
of truth studies. When Torrullin attempted to contact Krikian, he
encountered dark silence. His concern was great and he dispatched
Phet to investigate. When the birdman returned, it was to bring the
terrible news of blackened ruin.

Phet
discovered a number of Brothers cowering in the nearby forest, but
they did not know of their off-world visitors. Phet’s bright eyes
were sorrowful and his grief reflected in all those who knew the
Xenians, Skye and Krikian, but the worst was the guilt over what
happened to Lowen.

Skye’s
disappearance cut Torrullin deep and he pushed it deeper, hoping it
would not impede his thoughts. The face of the feisty Xenian,
however, kept intruding. He dared not dwell on it.

Night came
again, quiet and without Murs.

A makeshift
camp was set.

Lowen, Cat and
Skye stood accusingly before Torrullin behind closed eyelids. He
knew he would not sleep and sat before the screened fire, eyes
wide.

As the rest of
his team slept and even the Kallanon bowed to the situation of
enforced rest, he attempted to contact Tristamil. Biting back the
curse that sprung to his lips in his failure, he raised his gaze to
find Abdiah wakeful, watching him.

He desired to
find his son and she saw it in him, quietly telling him there was
nothing to fear, that Tristamil came to no harm, and she was so
certain he was forced to be content. Her quiet tone stirred nothing
in the silence of the night.

She, in
private, tracked Tymall, anxious over what he would throw into the
stewing pot, but came up empty. She said not a word.

Torrullin, she
realised, had not attempted to reach his other son, and that could
prove dangerous.

Morning arrived
cloudless and cool and Torrullin contacted his war leader.

Camot
endeavoured to secure passage over the Middle Ocean, had skirmished
numerous times with Murs and Mysor as they continued the hike down
the ruined coast of Atrin.

Three of his
depleted troop was severely wounded. A unit of Mysor engaged them
in a battle that did not appear promising. He could not transport,
for his wounded would not survive the rigours.

Torrullin
again dispatched Phet, telling him to stay until the situation
changed.

Abdiah
dispersed her Lenter, Tunin required protecting. One by one, the
cities burned, including Invin. In the far north avalanches
thundered down to obliterate old forests, bury watercourses and
chase the northern Valleur from their homes into the waiting arms
of Mysor sport.

Grim, the team
comprising Torrullin, Abdiah, Vannis, Taranis and Caltian set off
under cover of the forest.

Murs and Mysor
changed tactics, engaging in guerrilla warfare.

The days wore
on and the men often vanished to enjoin battle elsewhere. Abdiah
set up camp to await their return. Phet appeared periodically,
frequently finding only the Dragonne Queen.

Finally,
Abdiah dug her heels in, saying the camp would become an encampment
until Torrullin was prepared to move forward with full
concentration. He did not object.

Phet and
Abdiah gathered intelligence and in that occasional contact between
the two, while Phet waited for Camot’s soldiers to heal for
transport and Abdiah waited for Torrullin to find his way again,
they commenced a friendship that defied all norms.

Neolone did
not say a word and made no move.

On the tenth
day after arrival on Atrudis, the tenth day of war, and the third
of Abdiah’s encampment, Camot came with his battered troop and that
day Torrullin remained in camp.

He healed and
Abdiah was amazed, muttering she had not before witnessed such a
powerful gift. After the task was complete, leaving Torrullin
weary, he listened to Camot’s accounts of what transpired on Atrin,
and his visage grew ever grimmer.

He heard later
from Quilla and Bartholamu - the two joining the team - how the war
in the wilderness fared. Many succumbed on both sides, including
Levin.

Force and
Creed, along with the remaining Overlords scattered to various
points to bring relief to those areas heavily in dispute. The rest
of the daylight hours and most of the night heard accounts of
battles, skirmishes, atrocities and death.

Atrudis could
not hold out. Food was scarce and clean drinking water almost
impossible to find. Shelter was non-existent and the living were
fewer than the dead. Cities were abandoned, and people fled to
high-lying regions for cleaner air. There they were Murs targets,
and death came in many guises. Nowhere was safe, there was no
escape. The Valleur again faced extinction.

The time had
come to finish it.

The next
morning they left for Grinwallin.

The ruins are
ancient.

~ Atrudisin
truth

Road to
Grinwallin

T
hat mysterious ruin laid a hundred
sals to the east in a direct line.

Their way
would be a winding one by foot.

Grinwallin was
not to be seen as a gathering place, and was not to be revealed by
their movements, lest their enemy occupy it before them.

The ruin
itself was an enigma and it was deemed unwise to transport in.

They would
approach with subterfuge and stealth, as unobtrusive as was
possible in a war zone, and they would hark to the currents,
changes therein, as Grinwallin potentially sensed their coming. The
Dragon would now vanish, skirmishes abandoned and all trace of
sorcery expunged.

It would take
days to reach Grinwallin - days of continuing hell for Atrudis.

Day one saw
Caltian question the Dragonne Queen until she laughed, appreciating
both his temerity and change of heart.

As they
walked, she launched into a monologue to answer his many questions,
summarising the lengthy history of Dragons and Dragonnes.

Halting, she
added, “The Kallanon occupy many worlds and not one remains whole.
There are no creatures left. Trees are rare, malformed, and
grassland is non-existent. We shall no doubt starve if war comes
again. The Light shines and there is peace, but the Light is feeble
and peace will ever be fragile. We have not banished the Dark, we
have merely subdued it for a time.” She fell silent and continued
walking. “Ages of war. It is a miracle we yet survive.”

“Is that why
you came?” Caltian asked. “To seek aid for the Light?”

She stopped again, forcing the company to halt with her. “We
seek not aid in war. There is
nothing
you can teach us. We seek
the Light in its ultimate brilliance and that is what we hope to
return with, the Light that will blind the Dark
forevermore.”

“Forever is a
tall order,” Torrullin murmured.

“For an
Immortal time has no meaning.”

“You are
immortal?” Caltian asked.

“No, though I
shall live long, longer even than the longevity of the Valleur.”
Her eyes flicked to Torrullin. “Your Vallorin is immortal.”

“My Lord?
Immortality is forbidden to Valleur.”

Torrullin’s
lips tightened. “I am not wholly Valleur.”

Caltian looked
to Vannis. “Are you immortal, my Lord?”

“I was,”
Vannis blandly returned.

“It can be
reversed?”

Taranis
drawled, “In the entire universe only at a certain Temple on
Valaris.”

Torrullin knew
what was on Caltian’s mind. “I am reincarnate; I cannot reverse
immortality.”

“Reincarnate?”
The Valleur’s mouth hung open.

“Another
time.”

“That,”
Caltian gestured, “is not your birth body?”

Torrullin
shrugged, turning away. “This is my birth body.” He walked on.

“We do not
understand it either,” Vannis muttered and followed his
grandson.

“The One,”
Abdiah stated. “The Light.”

Torrullin
swung. “Majesty, do not be fooled by my pretty face.”

Abdiah’s lips
tightened, but her gaze was sympathetic. “I am not fooled,
Enchanter, I know what you are. You have, however, the power of
choice and when the blue sword clashes with the green, you will
find that choice before you. One son. One side. One nature. One
destiny.”

She frowned at
the denial she read in him and stalked her irritation, letting it
carry her past without a further word.

Day two became
the battle of father and son.

It began with
a remark from Vannis.

An overcast
day made for easy travel and around midmorning Vannis murmured to
Caltian, “Tunin is remarkably similar to Valaris and this feels
much like the quest when we sought the Darak Or. The parallels are
awakening.”

“Except it was
high summer and my son was a human called Rayne and Saska was …”
Taranis faltered there.

Torrullin
halted, legs apart, braced with arms folded. In the gloomy light he
appeared menacing in his black garb and it was evident he waited
for this confrontation and meant to see it through.

“Finish what
you were saying.”

It was evident
to Taranis as well. “I am not doing this.”

“You are
peeved at me for not telling you Saska is in Tennet.”

“I am,
yes!”

“
Why?
”

“You always
withhold …”

“That is not it!” The others moved away as if prompted by
that emphatic denial, but the two men were oblivious. “Saska is not
information, and was not withheld. She is the most important person
in my life!
My
life! You share everything else, but this you cannot, not
ever, and I have no duty to inform you.”

“We are
worried for her! Decency …”

“Horse dung with decency! Why are you angry? Because I refuse
to include you in what is sacred to me? Or because you still love
her?” Torrullin untwisted his arms and pointed. “What would you do
with the
information
, Taranis? Heckle me? Accuse me? Rescue her, your
lady-love?”