The Sleeper Sword (24 page)

He knocked.
“I’m not here to hurt anyone; I’m no brigand, my oath on it. I am a
stranger and simply seek directions. Please open the door.”

Long minutes
passed, but he waited patiently. He saw the twitch of a curtain
from the corner of his eye, knew he was being scrutinised. Let them
see a tired traveller, unarmed, waiting without rancour as if time
was of no account.

His patience
paid off.

A bolt slid
back noisily, then another and another, and finally the door was
pulled ajar, cautiously. As an old man’s head craned around,
Torrullin gave an encouraging smile. It allayed the man’s fears,
for he drew the door wide and called over his shoulder,

“I think he
tells the truth!”

“Huh! You’re
too trusting!” someone yelled back, but two shadowy figures joined
the first.

Torrullin
suppressed a grin.

“What do you
want, stranger?” the same yelling voice demanded from the gloomy
interior.

“I need to
find someone and I need directions.”

“Who are you
looking for?” the third member of the trio asked.

This was the
part that could have them clam up on him, but there was no other
way. “I don’t know her name, but I hear tell of a witch. I’m
looking for her.”

The door began
to close, pushed by the two at the back, and before Torrullin could
make a detaining gesture, the first old man shoved them back.

“Stop it! Give
him a chance!”

He stepped out
of the doorway onto the patio. The door slammed shut behind him as
his companions heaved against a counter balance no longer there.
Loud curses were heard inside. The old man ignored the fracas.

“Come; those
two will give you no hearing now.”

He led the way
to a damp bench under bare trees and sat. Torrullin lowered next to
him, after checking if Margus was in place. The old man glanced at
the fair man near the road, shrugged and looked to the stranger at
his side. An inquisitive and intelligent blue gaze swept over him
and Torrullin was amazed at the degree of trust, the risk he took,
and said so.

“I fear two things, stranger. One is brigand scum and the
other is enforcer filth. I don’t know which is worse, but I do know
you are neither
and
I have nothing against witches.”

Torrullin
smiled. “Then I thank you for opening the door.”

The old man
bobbed his head and smiled too. “My pleasure. Now, I take it you’re
trying to find Madri. She’s the witch in these parts, although
that’s an enforcer label, for she has no magic.”

It was not
magic he sought, but information. A witch without power here was
once a witch with power elsewhere; natural instincts did not die in
death.

“Follow the
road through town over the footbridge beyond; about a mile further
is an old chestnut - it’s the only one, you can’t miss it. A path
branches left into the hills - it’s a distance in, but you’ll find
her cottage at the end of it.”

Torrullin
rose. “Thank you.”

“May I ask why
you seek her?” the old man asked, also rising.

“I prefer not
to get you into further trouble.”

“Pish! As if
anyone would actually listen to me!”

“You have been
of help, friend.”

“Madri is a
difficult soul, stranger. She may not speak to you.”

Torrullin
checked on Margus and said, “I … we search for a way out.” He
needed to find the way back to Valaris and had to start the process
now and while he searched he would deal with Margus.

The old man
was serious. “I assume you refer not to Bluebell County. You’re
searching for a way off the Plane.”

“Yes.”
Torrullin’s heart thumped. “You know of this?”

“Do I know we
inhabit the flatlands, that it’s an unnatural state? Yes, but I
hail from a world worse than this, and I choose to remain here. If
that means hiding from enforcer and brigand, so be it.”

“I met others
who knew nothing of globes and stars.”

“Only those
who come fresh to the Plane know and they quickly realise to speak
of it brings enforcers. We’re rare now. Most folk you encounter
will be born of this place, and maybe that’s not a bad thing, maybe
the enforcers will relax their vigil with time.”

“Is Madri from
beyond?”

“Round land
born.”

“A witch
once?”

“That is
uncertain, for the enforcers brand folk with names in the call of
their misguided duty. She won’t know how to exit, stranger, I can
tell you now. She can tell you what to ask, who to ask it of, and
where.”

Ah. “And you
never asked?”

“I told you I
prefer it here; that information is something I can do
without.”

“And this
Madri, she chooses to remain as well?”

The old man
sighed. “It’s the time factor. Madri has been here eight years, but
back home …”

“… between six
and eight hundred thousand years. I understand.”

“I see that
you do. Leave now before someone shouts for the authorities. Stay
away from them if you can help it, know there are informers
everywhere, and anything can bring an enforcer down on you.”

Torrullin
nodded and was thoughtful. “Tell me, do the enforcers know the way
off the Plane?”

The old man
gave a grin. “Why else do they capture any who speak of the round
lands? Ignorance aids them. If they can eradicate all knowledge of
beyond …”

“… they would
control everything. Tyrants, with a source of wealth beyond the
Plane.”

“Thus it
seems.”

“Thank you for
your help,” Torrullin said, beginning to move away.

“Stranger,
don’t hope too much. A few days at most, then resign yourself to
this realm.”

“Never,”
Torrullin replied and the old man shook his head, watching him
go.

Torrullin led
the way to Madri’s cottage in silence Margus could not break.

He tried, but
a curt, “I’m thinking,” caused him to hold his tongue.

The enforcers
know, Torrullin mused as they walked. Some must be entrants, not
Plane-born. Why keep it close? Was it as simple as a source of
wealth to aid tyrants?

Why choose to
stay when they had the means to leave? A tyrant can be a tyrant
anywhere, after all. What were these enforcers hiding or
protecting?

Thoughts along
those lines kept him closed-mouthed as they crossed a picturesque
footbridge over a gargling stream, its banks a wild display of tiny
flowers in every imaginable hue.

The old man
reminded him anew time was of the essence, and that aspect
continually intruded upon his thoughts.

This was the
first day in the invisible realms, this curiously familiar
flatland. No great and startling revelation, but by the time the
sun rose on their second day tomorrow, two centuries fled by on
Valaris.

The Cèlaver
Priestess told him of the time warp and it suited his needs. If, by
some terrible miscalculation, he let Margus slip through his
fingers and Margus managed to return to Valaris, time would dim
memory of him there and his terror would be less startling.

Valaris and
loved ones would have years of peace, and that was worth any price.
Of course, he had no intention of failing, but it meant he would
return in their future, and it suited him. They needed the
perspective of time, for he was weary of his pedestal.

Yet he battled
the inexorable clock and no doorway loomed on the horizon. And
Margus had to be dealt with.

He would give
this misadventure ten days and if there was no answer by then,
swore to break every rule, taboo, restriction and law to break out.
Even if it meant a trail of destruction in his wake.

As they turned
onto the little-travelled path indicated by the gnarled chestnut,
Torrullin glanced sidelong at his companion.

Margus kept
pace, a healthy glow on his usually pale face, interestedly
studying their new surroundings. While the natural world was not
strange to either of them, it was the first time Margus had looked
… and seen. Margus was given the gift of respite. As he believed
himself under no immediate threat, he was not constantly on alert.
Margus was happy, in a sense.

It was
difficult to hate an innocent-looking man and it would be harder to
kill him in a defenceless state, if only because of his sense of
fair play, but Margus needed to die here.

I know you,
Darak Or; I know what you’re capable of behind that angelic mask.
You killed my son and you are to pay for that.

Thank the gods
the man had stopped whining.

“What dark
thought plagues you, Enchanter?”

Torrullin
smiled. “Guess.”

Margus
laughed. “Not unless I get to you first, Torrullin!”

Torrullin
merely quirked his brows and looked ahead.

Margus would
not get physical. They were evenly matched, as they discovered in a
room in Galilan’s hospital, and thus a brawl would be long fought
and patently useless. Margus may sink to underhanded means, like
poison, or ratting him out to the enforcers, but Margus had to know
that would only slow his enemy, not kill him. It would not happen
yet, for Margus needed the Enchanter to find the way out; with his
power absent, his self-confidence had taken a severe blow as
well.

This mutual
reliance would hold for now.

“Where did
Vannis go, do you think?” Margus asked.

Silence and
then, “I do not wish to discuss Vannis with you.”

Margus laughed
and continued walking.

This morning,
Valaris realm, Vannis died with them in the destruction of
Torrke.

Vannis allowed
his mortal choices to determine his afterworld realm. Gods, he
hoped Vannis found the right place and the one person he wanted to
be with on the other side - his beloved Raken. Anything else was
too terrible to contemplate. Vannis, the man he revered and loved
most in the entire universe. Vannis, eternally moved on.

He had to find
a way to deal with that loss also.

The cottage
came into view; a haphazard wooden affair without cohesion, as if
extended as need arose. A huge waterfall saved it from total
ugliness, a broad expanse of foaming white falling into a deep pool
behind the cottage, framing the white-washed house in frothy lace.
The falls were a distance away, for the roaring tumble was muted,
melodic and pleasant. Ferns grew in profusion about the cottage,
thriving in the damp, misty enclave between hills and forest.

A woman waited
for them. Large, ugly as sin, as the old saying went, with
virtually no hair, her eyes and mouth lost in the jowls that was
her face. She wore a tight red dress emphasizing every wobbling
roll. Small dark eyes studied them patiently, resignedly, well
acquainted with the first impression she made.

Margus, to his
credit, remained expressionless and Torrullin approached with a
smile. “Madri?” he asked, coming to a halt a few feet away.

“Yes,” she
returned, her gaze flicking from one to the other. “What do you
want here?”

Torrullin
cleared his throat. A difficult soul. “We’re hoping you may be of
…”

“You are
strangers to the Plane? And you seek the way off? Did someone tell
you I could help you?”

“Yes.”

She wheezed a
laugh.

“Why, why,
why? So very dangerous and foolhardy! Why want to get off when
you’ve just arrived, why, when you shouldn’t yet know enough to
want to escape? Hmm, what secret lies here before me? Never mind,
I’ll tell you what I know, but I warn you it isn’t much.”

She turned
ponderously, like a softened dragon, and made her way to the front
door of her cottage. As she reached it, she turned back.

“Someone
must’ve told you I don’t like to help people; I’ve never done so
since the enforcers bound me to this place. Do you know why I help
you?”

Her bright
gaze went from one to the other. “You two are the first, ever, not
to flinch at the sight of this rotting body.”

Chapter
27

Day Two:
Tribulation

1800 - 1600
years ago

The science of
the Plane was contrary to norm.

It was a flat
realm and yet the sun rose every morning and set in the evening as
for any round land. Seasons came and went with satisfying
regularity. It should be impossible.

Morning came
bright and filled with promise. Yesterday Torrullin and Margus were
lost and separated, without memory, confused, and then reunited.
The day before that saw the death of a beloved son - this day,
Torrullin hoped, would prove less wrenching and more
informative.

Margus’s gaze
was upon him as he stretched into wakefulness. A smile appeared
when he noticed Torrullin was aware of him.

“Who’d have
thought? You and me, sharing a roof? And a room! Trusting each
other enough to actually drift off to sleep?”

“A temporary
glitch, Darak Or,” Torrullin muttered, sitting. “Don’t get used to
it.”

“I slept
well,” Margus grinned, not put out. “You?”

A smile tugged
at Torrullin’s mouth. “Surprisingly, yes.”

Margus rose
from his bed. “What now? Madri didn’t tell us much, did she?”

The woman was
a horror that required merciful culling, as far as he was
concerned, but he said nothing, and had not betrayed his disgust.
Madri served the worst meal ever eaten, had the social skills of a
troll and at one stage actually winked at him! Ugh! Yet she
revealed what she knew and that had been the point, and then
offered them beds for the night.

The real rest
that followed was the only reason he would not seek an excuse to
come back and put the witch out of her misery.

“She told us
enough. We need to get in with the enforcers, infiltrate their
stronghold and find the Numer.”

Torrullin held
the trace of bitterness in check. He wished he had a valid excuse
last night to banish Margus from the conversation; the idiot now
knew too much.