The Sleeper Sword (11 page)

Samuel did not
reply.

Byron gave a
chuckle. “Fine, keep your secrets for now. Come, let me lead you to
one of the guest cottages.”

“I was
wondering if I could get a message to my wife.”

“Well, you’re
welcome to use the telephone … no? No instrument back home, huh? I
hate them myself, I must confess - intrusive things. Very well,
write a message, there’s ink and paper in the cottages, and I’ll
relay it via the Society’s communication system … no, not magic, a
staged mail route. Good enough?”

“Thank you,”
Samuel said in relief. “Gods, what do I tell her?”

“The
truth.”

Samuel looked
away. “I can’t do that; she’ll think I’ve lost my sanity.”

“Young man, a
sorcerer will be knocking on her door. I suggest you tell the
truth.”

Chapter
13

Listen to the
inner voice.

~ Truth

Quilla led
Tannil through the Lifesource Temple, choosing chambers that would
engender peace and acceptance.

Tannil, to his
mind, was burdened by something beyond recent revelations and this
was borne out when Tannil did not demur when he made the offer.

His burden
detracted from this Vallorin’s powers of concentration, reasoning
and objectivity - therefore this seemingly aimless wander. He once
led Torrullin in this manner, until Torrullin no longer required
leading.

The chambers
had the power to heal and reveal, to soothe and clarify and much
else. It was Q’lin’la magic, a gift instilled during Quilla’s long
sojourn. The Lifesource was more Q’lin’la than Valleur in present
time, and had been for some while, but was still and would always
be a Valleur sacred site.

Finally he
called a halt in a pale blue chamber and sank into one of two
armchairs, gesturing to Tannil to make himself at home in the
other.

“The Enchanter
created these for us to converse in comfort,” Quilla remarked.
“Time has no meaning here. Two millennia on and the chairs are as
new now as then.”

Tannil rubbed
his hands over the rests. “You never told me before. Which one did
he sit in?”

Quilla smiled.
“You’re in it.”

Tannil leaned
back and closed his eyes. “Am I like him at all?”

“Comparisons
are never a good thing.”

“I take that
as a no.”

There was a
pause and then Quilla chose to speak. “You can be as impatient as
he was and you also allow thoughts of family to sway you, but,
Tannil, you don’t want to be like him.”

Tannil opened
his eyes. “Because he was Destroyer also?”

Is
Destroyer
, Quilla thought, and said, “Torrullin was a
complicated individual dogged by prophecy. He often didn’t know
where it ended and he began. He was unhappy, volatile, dangerous,
frequently confused, which made him angry, and he was a loner. As
an Immortal he dared not get too close to anyone and when he did
so, foolishly in my opinion, he ended up hurting.”

“You make him
sound like a loveless man.”

Quilla smiled,
remembering. “No, he was not that.”

Tannil nodded.
The subject of Torrullin drew him like a magnet and thus he forced
himself to retreat. “And my father, Quilla?”

“The glorious
Tristamil. You are most like him, although in looks you are almost
exactly like Vannis, another incredible man. In temperament you are
the goodness of your father.”

“Did Torrullin
love his son as much as they say?”

“Yes.”

Tannil frowned
and straightened. “I hear something negative in there,
birdman.”

“He loved
Tristamil to the exclusion of everyone else and in the end it was
not enough. I have no doubt Torrullin carries an enormous guilt for
that failure.”

“Was it
failure?”

“No, but he
will regard it thus.”

“You’re saying
he loved my father too much.”

“I have never
been a father, Tannil - how dare I judge?”

“Was my father
happy?”

“In Torrullin,
yes. Those were trying times.” Quilla did not reveal towards the
end of his life Tristamil was very like his Enchanter father -
hounded, angry and filled with sorrow.

The trying
is about to commence anew
, Tannil thought. Quilla had presented
him with an opening, the real reason he agreed to this night-time
wander. “Quilla …”

The birdman
focused, hearing in that tone gravity.

“… do you know
the meaning of my name?”

“Of
course.”

“Do you know
the words my name refers to?”

Quilla sucked
at his cheeks. “Obviously not what everyone assumes.”

Tannil leaned
back to close his eyes. “I hate studying; I’ve yet to finish the
Oracles. Is it not amazing no one remarks on the disparity?”

“Which words,
Tannil?”

“Four
sentences. The fourth I know since the visit to the Gates, but the
other three have shaped my life.”

“A
prophecy?”

Tannil opened
his eyes. “Not in the sense prophecy is understood, yet, for me,
there has been a sense of known fate.”

“A terrible
state to be in. Can you tell me?”

“That is why I
agreed to this … sojourn.”

“Ah,” Quilla
said, enlightened, and was at a loss for words.

“I can tell
you of three,” Tannil continued, “and then you may understand the
strain I’m under, and perhaps, given your legendary powers of
deduction, you may guess at the fourth. Know in advance, I’ll
neither confirm nor refute suspicions you choose to air.”

Quilla nodded
wordlessly and Tannil rose and then changed his mind to perch on
the edge of the chair.

“The majority
of the Valleur leave for Luvanor and it’s good, both in view of
space constraints and what is happening. I don’t want what I’m
about to say to become common knowledge.”

“Why not?”

“They won’t
leave.” Tannil looked around him and then evidently decided to leap
into the breach. “I refer to Torrullin’s words. Two sentences are
from the Oracles, Torrullin’s eleventh volume, and haunt me. Those
are my final thoughts at night and generally first in the
morning.”

“’
We shall
battle for Valaris again
’,” Quilla quoted.

“Yes! And that
appears imminent.”

The birdman
chewed at his lip. “I admit those words are never far from my
thoughts either, but to call the battle imminent? Tannil, while the
incidents are worrying, they do not announce war.”

Tannil rested
a serene gaze on him. “And the signature was traced to Valaris.
Something contrary wakes us to dire matters, for we’ve grown
complacent. So complacent, we don’t see it as an announcement to
war … or don’t want to.”

“Touché,”
Quilla murmured. “Go on.”

“Then there’s
the second set of words. ‘
It appears I shall never be done.
’
That is a prophecy couched in simple language if ever there was
one, and he wrote them just before the Oracles were sent west. I
believe the Elders were surprised to discover an additional
volume.”

“He was an
enigma.”

“I saw that;
it’s in his words, his writing, his hand. Those words were penned
directly after he tells us we are to fight for this world again. He
holds it close and then chooses to warn us. It’s a prophecy written
by a man dogged by them.”

“My poor
Enchanter. Where is his peace?”

“He promised
to return, Quilla - verbally, and in those words.”

“I know,
Tannil.”

Tannil
inhaled. “The reason I say the battle is imminent is Torrullin also
told me
when
he would return.”

Quilla slid
off his chair. “He told you? When did he say this? In a dream? How,
for Aaru’s sake?”

Tannil smiled.
“Now do you see why I say nothing. Why I ask you not to repeat
this?”

Quilla wanted
to shake the Vallorin. “Tannil!”

“You know he
promised two thousand years.”

“But do you
have specifics? How do you know?”

“He told me
that morning he recognised me at the Keep. He told me a number of
things, mostly about my heritage and my father, and he told me he’d
return before my son’s fifth birthday.”

Quilla
released an explosive breath. “Teroux will be five in mere weeks.
No wonder you are …” Quilla paused and approached to touch Tannil’s
knee in understanding. “This is why you delayed having a
child.”

“True, but
Teroux is not Torrullin reincarnate and he wasn’t born to herald
this return. And Torrullin hasn’t waited it out somewhere until I
got my act together enough to father a son. It’s simply so and
Torrullin merely indicated a time. It is a prompting to his
prophecy, I’d say.”

“I see. We are
to prepare for trouble.”

“He returns
because there will be this danger and he needs us to help him
overcome it.”

“And it could
be any day.” Quilla’s eyes shone. “I know war in any form is
terrible, but …”

“… Torrullin
comes,” Tannil whispered. “I know, Goddess, I know.” His eyes were
bright also. Sharing it felt exquisite.

Quilla raised
a finger, immediately more practical. “These incidents must be
investigated anew, from a different perspective. They certainly
served one purpose - we are here, Buthos and I, and no doubt Belun
will be along shortly. Caltian is back, Kismet and Caballa refuse
to leave. Tannil, we are gathering.”

“All we need
now are a few worthy or ‘called’ humans and a Dalrish sorcerer,”
Tannil muttered.

“And Saska,”
Quilla murmured.

Chapter
14

Froth and
spittle, what is it with men and women? How could the Creator set
such disparity together?

~ Tattle’s
Blunt Adventures

“Why did you
come?” Mitrill asked as Caltian closed the door on their private
chambers.

“For Fay, and
to either end it between us or start afresh. I’ve had enough of
wandering and this unwholesome relationship.”

She watched as
he sat on the bed to remove his shoes. “Why now?”

“I told you at
dinner. Key-ler’s death forced me to rethink.”

She sat beside
him. “Fine, I accept that, and it’s good, but there’s more to this.
What else brought you here?”

“That is
personal.”

He threw his
shoes across the room into a corner, knowing it would irritate her,
hoping she would show fire. He did not see her blanche at his cold
tone.

“I am your
wife.”

“You are a
woman I married a time ago and mother of my daughter. My wife you
haven’t been in a while.”

She drew a
breath and nodded. “I deserve that.”

He glanced at
her. How to shake her from self-possession? “I haven’t been an
ideal husband either, Mitrill. We’re both at fault.”

“What do you
really want, Caltian? From us?”

“Goddess help
me, Mitrill, I love you still. In an ideal world I would that we be
husband and wife, and most important in our relationship would be
honest companionship. This, however, is not an ideal world. You
obsess over memories of the Enchanter, you obsess over the Valla
bloodline and I can’t compete with that, and I don’t see you’re
going to change enough to cause me to put my doubts aside. We
should not have to change, not you, not me, but for this
relationship to have a chance that’s exactly what it requires. I
don’t want to compete for you anymore, Mitrill. I want to end this
farce of a marriage.”

He looked at
her steadily and she was unflinching.

“Very well,
Caltian. We shall declare it before the Elders.”

He closed his
eyes briefly and barked a laugh. “Not even a suggestion of a fight,
my wife? Is there nothing left?” He shrugged when that elicited no
reaction. “Fine, my dear. Shall I sleep in the dressing room or
would you prefer I vacate to a guest suite?”

“A guest suite
would be better.”

He rose
without a further word and entered the dressing room, returning
with an armful of clothes. She had not moved. “You’ll arrange to
have my things sent?”

“In the
morning.” She did not look at him.

Caltian
slammed out.

Mitrill
collapsed onto the bed and beat at the covers with impotent
fists.

He kept
throwing Torrullin in her face, because she was once honest with
him, and yet he was the one who could not see her through the
Enchanter’s shadow.

Caltian
suffered from monumental guilt - he had intruded too intimately
into the Valla family. He felt Torrullin silently accused him of
attempting to usurp his memory.

And could not
see it.

Key-ler, dear
man, had known.

Caltian
stalked to the guest wing and chose a random suite.

He dumped his
clothes and clenched his teeth to prevent him screaming his fury.
He had not realised she cared so little.

After
searching for his shoes, he remembered he removed them in his
wife’s bedroom. His wife’s bedroom - he could no longer claim
occupancy. He should have taken a different approach.

Would it have
mattered, in the long view? She did not love him. He could not live
like that.

Finding guest
slippers in the closet, he slipped them on. He slammed out of there
as well.

Too angry to
sleep. Too hurt to think. Too irritated to sit still.

He pounded
down and entered the darkened Throne-room from the guest wing. No
longer the family wing. Well, that said a lot.

“Caltian?”

Buthos. He
turned to find the Siric standing before the wooden throne. Buthos
was once Bartholamu, and chose to reassume his true name after
dealing with the Murs. “I didn’t see you there.”

“I’m looking
at this chair. Nothing wrong with it, any monarch would be honoured
by the beautiful craftsmanship, but it isn’t the golden
Throne.”