The Sleeper Sword (35 page)

Tial hovered,
out of his depth.

Fear.

Tymall sowed
fear like seeds in the wind and they found purchase everywhere. The
Enchanter closed his eyes and countered it, sending the Light into
the round lands. An orb of conciliation, of assistance, of
prompting. Soothing, aiding. The incidents occurred so rapidly all
over his universe he had no time to encounter surprise at this new
and incredible talent able to transcend realms. He simply acted on
instinct.

He opened his
eyes, saw that Lazar had joined Tial, and both watched him with
evident concern. Relegating the orb’s doings to a subconscious
level, where it would continue to function on his behalf, he
straightened.

“We go now. Darkness has reared his head, and he is on
my
world.”

Without
waiting for reaction, barely noticing the blanching before him, he
strode to Margus’s cell.

“Get up. We’re
leaving now.”

The expectant
figure on the bunk rose and Torrullin waved the ensorcelled bars
into oblivion.

“Tymall has
reformed.”

“Ah,” was the
only reaction as Margus fell into step behind the Enchanter. Tial
and Lazar followed, not daring to question anything, as Torrullin
headed for the door that led to the cave.

Many corridors
later they stood before it. Torrullin frowned at the guard directly
in his path, who hastily stepped aside, and pushed it wide.

They were
through, but going down the stairs, Torrullin stumbled and swiftly
sat.

Torrke.

It called now,
pulled and prompted. He opened his mind to it and saw the lonely
figure of a man being raced along the fawn road to the site of the
long-gone Keep. He drew breath and held it in shock. Tristamil?
But, no … it was the one descended from that beloved son. He
released his breath.

His link. The
bearer of Tristamil’s essence.

“Enchanter?”
Margus murmured. The rough-hewn stairs were too narrow for the
three to pass the seated, seemingly paralysed form.

“Wait,”
Torrullin growled. He watched the figure turn on the empty rise and
heard him ask for a vision … and granted it. It was his mind’s
image that crossed the ethereal courtyard to the flesh and blood of
the man.

He reached
out, touched, spoke to his son’s likeness, and in the darkness of
the small cave the three watching men saw the sparks of blue on the
Enchanter’s hand, although only Margus realised what it meant.

Lord God
, Margus mouthed, praying to
the deity from his faraway childhood,
this
man is beyond all I can ever know. Help him, Lord.
Margus closed his eyes briefly, ashamed by the
regression, and then curiously uplifted.
What is happening to me?

Torrullin rose and his eyes were shining, twin golden beacons
in the dark.
Samuel. Feel the blood,
Samuel.

He hastened
down, calling for light - it came instantly - and set the orb to
work subconsciously on Samuel’s behalf. “My link is established,
Lazar,” he said, turning to face the three men as they reached the
miasma in the centre of the rocky space.

“How? We need
to … never mind.” Lazar shook his head in awe.

“You’re
leaving now, Torrullin?” They had spoken of a last dinner
together.

“Yes, Tial.
Matters are reaching a point beyond; I cannot tarry longer.”
Torrullin stretched his hand out. “Thank you, my friend, for
everything.”

Tial ignored
the hand and drew Torrullin into a fierce embrace. “Take care,” he
croaked as he stepped back.

They looked at
each other a moment longer, and then Torrullin’s gaze shifted to
Lazar. “My thanks to you also, Lazar. I hope you and Tial will find
consensus. Stay well, friend, and prosper.”

“Go well, and
my eternal thanks, Torrullin.” He did not attempt to tell Torrullin
what to do. He sensed the Enchanter had already mastered the magic
of the tear.

Pointedly,
nobody greeted Margus, nor wished him well.

He gave a
twisted smile.

“Your hand,
Darak Or.” Torrullin said, holding his out. “All things are in
place. We are going home.”

They linked
hands. They faced the veil.

The tunnel
formed.

A hand wavered
in it from the other side.

Lazar and Tial
stared in speechless wonder.

“Farewell,”
Torrullin said without turning again, and reached out, curled his
fingers around that offered hand.

Brightest blue
flame lit the corridor.

It
vanished.

All. Tunnel.
Veil. Darak Or and Enchanter. Even the cave.

Tial and Lazar
stood in a depression open to the night sky. Behind them the stone
stairs led up to an arch, lit and inviting. Night flowers opened
and the trickle of water was heard, the sound calming and musical.
There was a pond at their feet.

They looked at
each other in even greater wonder.

“My god, what
incredible power,” Lazar whispered.

“An incredible
man,” Tial murmured, “and a wonderful friend. I count myself
eternally blessed to have known him, to have been part of his life.
I shall miss him always.”

“Amen,” Lazar
said.

They smiled at
each other and then climbed the stairs together into their brand
new future.

CATHARSIS

Chapter
36

The invisible
realms, where invisibility refers to the unseeing state of mortals
commonly, and included are the majority of the Immortal races. The
invisible realms, where time is eccentric, and frequently not
measured in linear fashion … and when so measured has no bearing on
the physical planes of reality. The invisible realms, where nothing
is as it seems, or everything is precisely as it appears.

~ Titania
Dictionary

It was cold in
the tunnel, blue and alien.

It felt like
those times he relinquished one body for another during rebirth,
although that was of short duration, forgotten as soon as the babe
opened his eyes. This was longer and did not disperse.

Yet it was
mere seconds and he knew it consciously, but all senses screamed
they were forever, lost, trapped.

He gripped the
hand swirling in the ether before him firmer, felt an answering
response.

Not lost, not
trapped. Simply exceedingly strange. It would be over soon.

His other hand
gripped his companion. Craning his head at an odd angle, he
attempted to check on Margus, but could not move sufficiently, and
suspected he would see nothing, only the shimmering blues and
greens of a wormhole.

There were no
rules here.

An expanding
oval of grey light in the distance pierced the blue.

Starlight.

His heart
hammered - it was real in this alien environment - and he knew the
end of this short, eternal journey neared.

Samuel’s hand
glowed with kinfire.

He felt the
pressure of fingers, a warm palm, but could see nothing beyond the
blue sparks. His heart hammered as hard, kicking unevenly.

The Enchanter
approached.

I shall not
falter.

An ethereal
hand materialised about his, its long fingers curled, and he knew
it would be soon, the arrival.

Around, the
night was silent and expectant. The bated breath of the sentient
valley became an added pressure.

All eyes were
transfixed on that clasp, one real, the other gradually
solidifying, and about both the unmistakable flame of the Valla
blood bond.

The Keep
continued to rise stone for stone, ever quicker. Already the towers
were in place, the pool, the balcony …

Keep and
valley, Torrke, rebuilding to welcome the Enchanter.

It too was
great magic.

Tannil dropped
to his knees, praying to the Mother to aid Samuel, to aid his
grandfather.

Tymall stood
unseen in the dark, impervious to the valley’s magic, and watched
those joined hands.

He had not
come to confront his father the instant he stepped into this
timeline.

He was there
to see his father.

The oval of
starlight stretched, expanded, until it was large enough to admit a
man’s form.

All movement
ceased, or the sense of a journey. The connection had bridged time
and space and the hand he held onto was real, warm and welcoming.
He felt the blood of kin flowing strong under his questing
fingers.

All that
remained to do was to step out into the starlight of Valaris.

He sensed
rather than saw Margus move up beside him. Still joined at the
hands they stood and looked through the portal into the round
land.

It was a
pivotal moment for both of them.

Samuel felt
the waiting pause at the ends of his fingers.

He knew there
had arrived a sudden reluctance on the other side of … nothing.
There was nothing to see. How very strange this was.

Then, a tunnel
appeared. Blue, green, little scarlet darts danced along its curves
and it stretched into infinity.

Dear god.

Indrawn
breaths all around, except his own. He dared not breathe.

Two figures.
Featureless.

Goddess, there
was abruptly a terrible uncertainty in him. Had he reached out to
the wrong person, found a different two instead who had no business
on Valaris?

No, Samuel.
Doubt now, and you will lose him.

He set his
mind and held on.

Tymall
stiffened.

Margus. Well,
well, well. Both his old mentor and father come back to him. And a
binding between them.

Well, well,
well.

What had his
father become?

Torrullin
could see them, yet he ignored them to concentrate on the man whose
hand he held onto.

Dear gods, but
he was Tristamil’s double. Older, less Valleur, but still
Tristamil. Mantra was right, bless her foresight.

It was time to
step out.

Gripping
Margus, he used Samuel to pull himself and the Darak Or forward to
the very edge, and then stepped over, hauling Margus with him.

The tunnel
winked out and closed forever.

He stood and
breathed the fresh night air. He looked behind him, a final check
on the portal. Gone.

Before he
turned back he knew something within himself.

All doorways
were open to him, finally. From this moment forth there were no
boundaries. A Walker of Realms, not merely in theory and suspicion,
but also in fact.

He turned …
and locked gazes with Samuel.

Samuel
swallowed.

Yellow eyes.
He had expected grey.

“Torrullin?”

The fair man
smiled and the yellow eyes lit. “Yes, Samuel. Well done, kinsman.”
He drew Samuel to his feet, realised he held Margus and let go to
grip Samuel in a two-handed clasp.

His eyes
travelled over the countenance before him.

“You are so
like him, Samuel.”

Tymall
shuddered in disgust.

Bugger him,
then.

Chapter
37

We looked up at
the reptile and we were afraid, but the gentleness in those alien
eyes gave us pause. We listened and we were amazed. And when the
Dragon brought forth the mighty yellow sword, we believed also.
Mother Universe must be inordinately proud of her son.

~ From an
account In the Dignitaries Diary after the visit of Queen Abdiah,
Dragonne Ruler, to Beacon

The moment
came for all of them.

The first
sight.

Lucan Dalrish
grinned and then his gaze shifted to the other. His grin
vanished.

Marcus Campian
stumbled forward, frightened. Humans laid so much blame at this
man’s door he feared for the future of his kind. Dear god, he saw
it with his own eyes, a legend no longer a legend. He had no idea
who the second man was; in fact, he was not entirely sure which man
was the Enchanter until he spoke to Samuel.

Byron Morave
nodded, unaware of the Electan’s discomfort. He knew exactly who
was who, and the one did not detract from the other. It was a great
night. It was the greatest moment of his life.

Buthos smiled and barely controlled an impulse to bound
forward like a child to pound the Enchanter’s back, to embrace him,
to … Goddess -
Margus?

Belun did not
bother to hold back. He assumed full Centuar regalia, neighed and
lifted onto his hindquarters to paw the air.

“Torrullin!”
he shouted as he reverted to humanoid form to regain his voice.
“Welcome back!”