The Kallanon Scales (68 page)

Torrullin said
in a strangled voice, “I would know.”

“It is a loop,
Torrullin, one giant loop. You do not know because you must again
find the path you already walked.”

“This is
interfering with my concentration. I cannot do this now.”

Caltian stood
behind Torrullin, wonder coursing through him. A Walker of Realms?
That was a legend, like the Lady of Life, a Lady who was on Atrudis
and this man’s wife.

“You are not
to repeat this to anyone, Caltian,” Torrullin said without looking
at the Valleur.

“I swear, my
Lord.”

“How far,
Teighlar?”

“You cannot
hide from it, you know,” the Emperor murmured.

“These are my
demons, not yours. How far?”

“A few more
turns. Are you that keen?”

“Lead the way,
Emperor.”

They left the
cavern and as they entered a wide passage Teighlar said, “We are
now deep and this is the final habitable level. Below are catacombs
and tunnels used for general storage, granaries and meat lockers,
also weapons. The industrial city.”

“Dark dungeon
pits?” Caltian muttered.

“The Senlu
enjoyed their work, do not insult us. No one lived below, true, but
the conditions were pleasant.”

“Why
underground?” Torrullin asked.

“Theft. Work
was one thing, but to have it stolen out from under you? Many feuds
began that way until one of my forefathers brought industry to a
safe environment.”

“Warlike
thieves,” Caltian muttered.

Both Torrullin
and Teighlar turned. “What is the matter with you?”

“You are
rude,” Teighlar added.

“Psyching. I
do not need to like anything at the moment.”

“Ah,” Teighlar
murmured, “yes. Understood. Not at my expense, however.”

A reluctant
smile tugged at Torrullin’s lips. “Of course, Emperor, he is right
- warlike thieves.”

Teighlar
continued walking. “Not all were like that. Yes, we coveted and
stole, but more desired peace and safety, a good day’s work, a hot
meal and kids to put into warm beds at night. The problem lay in
the strength of the hatred among feuding factions, the stupidity of
the tribal system; they were stronger in their intent.”

“What about
your guards? Could you not have policed your people?”

“Look where it
got me.”

Torrullin had
nothing to say.

“I think I
will be peeved at the Dragon now,” Caltian muttered.

Teighlar
laughed.

A number of
chambers later he pointed. “There. Our destination.”

A dark
triangle loomed, its point to the floor. The corridor leading to it
was unadorned, the first space to seem empty.

“Ready?”

“No,” Caltian
said.

“Lead on,”
Torrullin issued.

When it goes
awry, look to the circles.

~ Senlu
saying

Crucible
Chamber

I
t was a vast subterranean chamber,
paved in opal and topaz, with grey bas-relief pillars around the
perimeter, a foot apart.

In each space
created by the distancing were a series of circles, floor to head
height. Each was a different colour, from white through the
spectrum to ebony; there were hundreds, causing the cavern to
appear decorated as if for a carnival.

In the centre,
a metal cage in the shape of a cone covered a black depression.
Rosy light flooded the chamber as they entered and a blue glow
settled on the cage, highlighting its presence. There was nothing
else, but for an identical triangular exit opposite. It seemed
small and far away.

“This is where
the Senlu worked their magic. Magic was more than a tool of the
mind. It was a science researched and studied, something that could
be altered and manipulated. Here they attempted new spells, and
here we kept our sacred tools.” Teighlar pointed to the depression.
“It is a crucible filled with all manner of devices.” There was
nothing there and he stepped further in, turned in a slow circle to
make a sweeping motion with both arms. “The dots are the mechanisms
of this chamber. As well as being spells in their own right, they
reveal and cloak what is contained in the crucible. One needs know
the codes.”

“What we seek
is in there?” Caltian asked, heart hammering. He had decades to
prepare the wilderness trap and in this, merely a walk through a
mountain.

“Indeed.”

“No one would
have found it,” Torrullin murmured. “Not even me.”

Teighlar
inclined his head.

“Neolone has
not reacted,” Torrullin remarked, and wondered at that. In fact,
after his joyful ruckus on entering the external city, Neolone had
been markedly soundless. Perhaps he saw the result of his
impetuousness - an entire army come for him - and opted for silence
as a form of cloaking.

Or the
creature prepared.

The contact
between them had been minimal for many days, missing entirely on
the road to Grinwallin, and he assumed the Dragon was content with
a waiting game. Perhaps he had sensed the Taliesman sooner than its
location now revealed. Maybe he prepared his strategy to possess
it, while they still searched. This silence was downright
disturbing.

Torrullin
glanced at Caltian. “Be ready. I think we are to be caught
off-guard.”

Caltian’s
fingers flexed. “How do you mean?”

“Neolone may
be readier than I think.”

“Gods.” His
right hand settled on the hilt of his sword and Caltian moved away
to give his blade the necessary reach.

“How do you
want to proceed?” Teighlar asked.

“How do I get
to the Taliesman?”

“I enter the
codes to lift the cone.”

“How long to
enter the codes?”

“A fair few
dots not all in one place.”

Torrullin
pondered. “Get to the point before revealing and I will be ready at
the crucible edge. Caltian, stay close.”

Teighlar moved
off, heading for the far left wall of columns and circles, and
Caltian followed Torrullin towards the cone.

Halfway there
Torrullin came to a stop. His hands flew to his chest. “Something
is wrong.” He stumbled forward with Caltian white beside him. “Have
to be faster …”

“Teighlar,
go
!” Caltian yelled.

Torrullin
stumbled to a halt again.

Teighlar
slapped the wall and bounded towards the far right.

“My Lord?”
Caltian asked, helping Torrullin to the crucible.

“He wants to
be free before it lifts,” Torrullin rasped and stumbled again.

“Shall I stop
the Emperor?”

“No. He will
be weak initially, time enough to grab the coin, just get me
there.”

Caltian
murmured a prayer and staggered forward with the Vallorin in his
grip.

Torrullin
stopped again.

“Let go,
Caltian.” He straightened. “The game is on, Dragon. You want it
like this, then do it.” He allowed his hands to fall to his
sides.

Caltian
shuddered.

“Get that cone
lifted.”

“Teighlar!”
Caltian shouted.

“I am on it!”
He was heard smacking three times in rapid succession.

Torrullin’s
tunic burst open under immense internal pressure.

“All gods,”
Caltian whispered, hand to his sword.

Somewhere
Teighlar swore. The sound of slapping sandals echoed.

Neolone leapt
off Torrullin’s chest.

His host
doubled over, convulsively grabbing at chest and stomach, expecting
entrails, hands tingling for healing, head spinning. His tunic was
in tatters around his shoulders and arms, threads hanging from his
neck, and his skin was unblemished.

Neolone left
no trace of himself.

Had it been
another host, the man would be dead.

Unmarked was
not unscarred.

Deeply shocked
by the separation and the residue, Torrullin straightened.

“My Lord!”
Caltian’s frantic horror communicated and he forced himself from
the overpowering grief. He swung to the voice of … Beast Breacher …
and for an instant hated the Valleur. How had it come to this?

Caltian, sword
to hand, prowled, circling … what?

Where was the
Dragon?

There. A tiny,
childlike creature, transparent, and it capered about, twisting
away from Caltian, its mouth wide and soundless. The malevolence it
projected was crushingly sinister, and began to sap at strength and
will.

Clever.

“Keep it busy,
Caltian,” Torrullin said and scampered for the cone. “Teighlar, get
this up!”

“Two more!”
the Emperor shouted back.

Neolone was
small enough to fit through the bars of the cone cage. If he did
not get the Taliesman first, Neolone would slip through and take
it. The Dragon had known it was there. Freed as a small, ephemeral
entity, Caltian could not touch it.

Genius.

Torrullin
stumbled to the ground, sprawled.

The sapping of
strength.

Neolone
already drew on the proximity of his contained power.

Caltian
groaned, sword clattering down, knees smacking to the ground. “I
cannot move.”

Torrullin grit his teeth and crawled forward, a mere
inch.
I have not come all this way to be
bested by a ghost!

He peered over
his shoulder to see Caltian down, face drawn as he fought the
enchantment, and Teighlar running towards the entrance. The Senlu
halted to the right of the entrance, hand lifted, and paused to
study the situation.

The tiny
Dragon cackled soundlessly and pranced towards the cage. He ran
joyously around it, ignoring the inert forms nearby.

Torrullin! Get
up!

…
cannot …
no motor function …

Teighlar swore soundlessly in Torrullin’s mind, and then he
sent the image of enlightenment.
Wait. I
am coming to you.

Wait for what?
Torrullin wanted to scream out in fury, and watched the tiny
Dragon. Any moment now it would have the Taliesman and the dark
would descend. Margus would fall by the wayside … and Tymall.

He noticed
Caltian’s fingers convulse, and then the Dragon moved like
lightning. One moment it scarpered and the next it hurtled at the
cone, and bounced back, issuing a soundless screech, and rolled far
from target.

Teighlar
smacked the final circle twice and ran with the rats of nether
tunnels at his heels.

Torrullin kept
an eye on Neolone.

The cone began
to lift.

Neolone ceased
rolling.

In the
crucible gold glittered.

Neolone was on
his feet.

The cone
lifted higher.

The Senlu
Emperor had Torrullin by the seat of his breeches and hurled him in
a sliding toss towards the crucible.

Caltian
groaned.

Neolone grew
in size. Neolone ran.

Torrullin slid
into the crucible, lay there, staring at the growing Dragon.
Approaching Dragon.

Teighlar
turned at bay and hurtled back to the entrance to reverse the
code.

Neolone’s
first solid sounding hiss whistled out, full of hate and spite, and
massive Dragon talons pounded the floor.

Caltian raised
his hurting body with great weariness.

The cone
slapped back into position.

Torrullin lay
motionless and items of gold, silver, copper, pewter, steel and
iron materialised around and under him.

Teighlar’s
harsh breathing filled the cavern.

Neolone
continued to attain size, still ethereal, but with a reality of
presence that was terrifying. He came to a halt beside the cone and
stared into it, beyond rage. Massive eyes glared into Torrullin
with malicious intent.

Caltian
clambered to his feet, swayed. His sword dangled from one hand. He
could not lift it.

Neolone looked
up and laughed. “You cannot touch me yet, mortal.” His voice was
thin and reedy.

Caltian
collapsed face down and the blade skittered out of reach.

An
impasse.

Caltian was
down, Neolone could not breech the cone and Torrullin had not yet
moved. The Taliesman was there, but the Dragon sapped strength and
will.

Teighlar
remained unaffected.

Why was that?
Thoughtfully Teighlar weighed the options. He alone was untouched
by the rampant sorcery - what was different? Neolone was surely
aware of him; he brought the Dragon here. Unless, and Teighlar
frowned, thinking.

He whistled
experimentally.

Neolone’s head
flew in his direction and stared unseeingly through him.

Ah! The Dragon
relied on the sensory, he could ‘see’ them and place them, but his
memory lagged. He possessed long memory of Torrullin, therefore
‘saw’ him, and knew Caltian long enough not to forget, but he,
Teighlar, was too recent.

Teighlar
smiled. Forgotten, the paralysis overlooked him.

He wondered if
Neolone realised it would happen when he made his bid for ethereal
freedom without the physical Taliesman in his host’s hand. He
probably chose to assume the risk.

“Who is
there?” Neolone demanded, proving the reasoning. His voice sounded
far away.

Caltian
stirred and his gaze flicked to Teighlar, to Neolone, to Torrullin.
He heard Teighlar whistle, saw Neolone jerk again, a look of angry
confusion on its reptilian face, and understood. He whistled and
threw the sound to come from everywhere, elsewhere, and Neolone
swung his great head away and then snapped back and forth.

He released a
mewling sound that did not negate the wrath in it.

“Do not play
games, mortal!”

“Bugger you,
Neolone!” Caltian said. “You have been playing games with the
Valleur for aeons.”

Torrullin
stirred. Neolone swung in his direction to glower. Obviously, the
blindness did not extend to the Enchanter. They knew each other too
well. ‘Seeing’ was actual seeing, or went beyond anything sensory.
Neolone growled, and Torrullin slumped senseless once more.