The Sleeper Sword (39 page)

“I’ll watch
over her, my Lord.”

“Thank
you.”

Byron nodded,
bowed at Tannil and Torrullin and hastened out. He did not look at
the accusatory Marcus Campian.

“Electan?”
Kismet prompted, holding out his hand. Marcus glared at it and
clasped it. They vanished from the Throne-room.

“Well!”
Caltian said and clasped his hands. “In mere minutes you bend the
Electan to your will. I like it!”

“Caltian, some
decorum,” Mitrill snapped.

“Stuff
decorum, my lady wife! We’re going to the mainland!”

Tannil and
Torrullin locked gazes.

Torrullin
spoke first. “It wasn’t time until now, Tannil.”

“I know,”
Tannil responded, and Caltian could have bitten his tongue out.

“All right,
enough talk,” Mitrill said. “Torrullin, when last have you had a
bath or a change of clothes? I thought as much. Go, all of you,
eat. Torrullin, come with me.”

“Yes, ma’am,”
he said and followed her as she created a path among the retainers
on the outskirts of the gathering, and when she scowled at them
they fell over themselves to get ahead of her.

“The Signet
Suite.”

Caltian
watched her go, his gaze unreadable.

Fay’s hand
crept into his.

Chapter
39

To dream is to
know life.

~ Awl

After
overseeing a bath drawn to exacting standards that had two women
lifting their eyes heavenward, Mitrill shooed everyone away with
commands about food and drink.

Finally she
had him to herself. This was the final testing of her love for
Caltian.

He stood in
the centre of the airy sitting room, watching proceedings with
gentle amusement, until she closed the door on the last of them.
Flustered, she faced him, looking everywhere but at him.

“I’ll fetch
clothes from Tannil’s wardrobe, the man has more to wear than most
women in the Palace, something will suite you, hopefully. Later, we
can get tailors in from Danak …”

“Mitrill,
hush. You’re driving yourself crazy. I’m quite able to see to
myself, but thank you for all of it.”

“Sorry, I’m
nervous. Our last parting wasn’t exactly normal.”

He looked
away. To remember clearly she had thought about it for two thousand
years. “I know.” They kissed at that parting, an arousing kiss.

“I love
Caltian, Torrullin.”

He smiled
again and looked at her. “I’m glad. You deserve to be happy.”

“And I am,
finally.”

“Good.”

She turned for
the door. “I’ll return with something to wear.”

It was a while
before she returned, for she could not decide what of Tannil’s to
offer.

There was
nothing in her son’s wardrobe that emulated the Enchanter’s
familiar black garb, thus she eventually gripped a large selection
of each garment, leaving it up to him to choose and stumbled under
the resultant weight to his suite.

The Signet
Suite was in the family wing, was the largest, and had been
designed with the Enchanter in mind.

The sitting
room was decorated in neutral colours and was airily comfortable,
with a dining area as well as a cluster of couches for relaxation.
Huge windows looked out onto the best view from the Palace - the
ocean cliffs and the gentle sweep of the palmed garden.

To the right
of the sitting room was a small study - wood and leather - and to
the left a massive bedchamber. The bedroom was finished entirely in
white and was dominated by a freestanding bed in the centre. Huge
sliding doors gave onto a private balcony screened from the bright
sun by delicate emerald creepers. To the right of that chamber was
a dressing room and to the left the bathroom.

It was quiet
when she entered, no sounds of water, and she noted food and drink
had arrived in her absence, placed on the table beside the window.
It was untouched, but she nodded satisfaction.

She entered
the bedchamber with her burden, and stopped in the doorway.

No wonder she
heard no sounds. He was fast asleep, lying on his stomach, head
buried in the mountain of pillows.

Drawing
breath, she stepped in, placed the clothes on the chest at the foot
of the bed, and then noiselessly took up a cover from a nearby
armchair. She stared down at his naked form and then carefully
threw and settled the cover over him, not daring to touch. He
smelled damp and fresh after the bath and appeared so vulnerable
her heart constricted.

She stood over
him, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of relaxed breathing. She
stood long, her thoughts both near and far, and then sighed
inaudibly, leaving as silently as she had entered.

Out in the
corridor she informed the guard to ensure nobody disturbed his
rest. Turning, she saw her husband at the far end of the corridor
where it turned for access to their suite. He was watching her,
waiting, his face unreadable. A mask until he knew how to
react.

She approached
and came to rest before him.

Looking into his eyes, she said, “I feel like his mother now,
Caltian, as if he needs caring for. I love
you
.”

Caltian closed
his eyes and reached out blindly to hold her close. He believed her
at last, for she finally believed it.

Thank you,
Lady Goddess, thank you.

The Enchanter
dreamed.

He climbed
old, worn steps of stone winding up a grey hillside and he carried
something, something light and alive. He looked down to check what
he held, terribly precious, was safe and warm. A tiny pink face
peeked through the gap in the swaddling, little black eyes
blinked.

Satisfied, he
concentrated on placing his feet properly on the smooth steps,
slick and dangerous in the encroaching mist. Soon it would envelope
all, block out sight and sound. He hurried up cautiously, mindful
of his little cargo.

His
destination was the modest stone temple perched precariously on the
summit of this lone hill in the Plains of Medinor before his
pursuers plumbed his purpose, and he thanked the Goddess for
sending the mist to obscure his trail through the ever-present dust
below. A tribute, a sacrifice, was what he bore. For him to live
beyond this day, it had to die.

He looked
again, but now the white swirls were so dense the tiny face was
indistinct. He was glad he could no longer see her; what he had to
do was hard enough.

Weary, so very
tired of running. Lifetimes of hiding. He could no longer go
forward always looking over his shoulder, wondering when they would
find him, snare him for the beast they thought him, cage him until
they had enough sport.

He stood
poised on the final step, lost in a world of choking white, but
knew the shortest side step would plummet him and the babe he bore,
his salvation, into the sharp rocks far below, the result of an
ancient landslide.

Those rocks,
this hill, the only landmarks in a featureless dust plain that had
no beginning and no end. Before him the slight shadow that was the
shrouded temple.

He stepped
forward and the baby squirmed.

The Enchanter
awakened.

Cold with
dread he rose from the bed.

It was
starting again.

Chapter
40

Let us play in
the dark.

~ Unknown

In the
Throne-room, cleared of retainers and barred to onlookers, and
while the celebration of a lifetime took wing and soared outside,
the team minus the two Elders and the two humans held
conference.

“Margus is
bound to him,” Tannil said, opening the not so impromptu meeting as
his mother and Caltian joined them. He was glad the Enchanter had
not come down; it gave them an opportunity to find their feet.

“From what
Samuel and I witnessed this morning, it appears he takes his orders
from the Enchanter,” Quilla added.

“You don’t
like it,” Tannil said.

“I can’t trust
that pretty face,” Quilla acknowledged.

“Few will,”
Belun murmured.

“Is he at the
Keep?” Mitrill asked.

“Torrullin
commanded him to stay,” Quilla responded, “and he listened. Thank
heavens the building is empty at present.”

“Nothing to
steal?” Belun grinned.

Quilla
shrugged.

“Did Torrullin
say anything on the subject?” Tannil queried.

“Only that the
Darak Or knows Tymall,” Quilla replied. He was afraid of what could
be read into that.

“Surely
Torrullin would know his son,” Mitrill frowned.

“I doubt
anyone knows Tymall,” Lucan Dalrish said and when they glanced his
way, added, “Tymall wasn’t absent for a mere ten days, was he? He
was gone possibly twice our time, so he’s no longer the boy he was.
I think the only one who knows Tymall is the man himself.”

Buthos, pacing
behind everyone, stopped. “Lucan has a point. And I’ll tell you
this, that creature’s darak signature screams out where Margus’s
was a subdued call.”

A loaded
silence.

Tannil started
pacing also. “We have decisions to make. Practical
considerations.”

“I suggest you
leave Margus to the Enchanter,” Buthos put in. “Not one of us could
understand the nature of a binding between those two, and if
Torrullin has orchestrated such a thing, with him needing vengeance
on Margus, then we must respect that.”

Tannil nodded.
“Thus it will be, but it will be hard to put this past the
Valleur.”

“Let him
explain it,” Fay muttered.

He brother
glared her way. “I shall discuss it with him.”

“Remember you
are Vallorin, brother.”

“Fay!” Caltian
snapped.

Mitrill butted
in before the meeting degenerated into a brawl between brother and
sister. “Leave that, hear me? We have practical issues to discuss.
Tannil, we should send the children and their minders to Luvanor.
They won’t argue now.”

“Agreed.” He
found Caltian. “I estimate we have about five hundred men and women
capable of battle. Too few. Will you go to Luvanor?”

Caltian was
neutral of expression, but those who knew him, knew he was
displeased. He wanted to remain in Torrullin’s orbit. “Of course.
How many?”

“Another five
hundred, and have the Elders ready a reserve.”

“It will be
done.”

“I’m going
with Caltian,” Mitrill said. “I need to check on our children.” She
met Samuel’s eyes. “I’d be happy to take a letter for you.”

Samuel bowed
his head. “Thank you, my Lady.”

Tannil stared
at his mother, attempting to fathom the purpose behind her going,
but as usual her self-possession stymied. “Fine, and while you’re
there bring Teighlar up to date.”

“Lord
Vallorin, I feel I must point out,” Lucan murmured, “by bringing
more Valleur in, you create additional targets for a man bent on
revenge.”

“All the more
reason to have them here. They’ll guard each other.”

Lucan
acknowledged that with an eloquent shrug, then added, “If they were
all gone …”

“… Tymall
would have clear shot at Valarians,” Buthos finished
matter-of-factly. “Tannil is right.”

“You make it
sound as if we’re about to face an enemy of thousands,” Fay
muttered. “He is one man, and alone. Torrullin has come for him and
has even brought the Darak Or to aid him. It’s their fight, let
them square off while we get on with our lives. Gods!”

Mitrill was
the one most aghast. “Fay, I can’t believe you said that!”

“It’s true,
isn’t it? There’s only Tymall, no hordes as Margus invaded with,
and yet we react as if he has. Why?”

Quilla paced forward, quivering with indignation. “Tymall is
a symbiotic twin who discovered the means to separate from that
very profound symbiosis through death. He died physically and then
diverged body and soul … and
remade
himself
! Free of symbiosis! He brought who
and what he is into form again. He is not a reincarnate; he is a
creature of sorcery, profound sorcery. He found the power to do all
this and that makes him …” Quilla clamped a hand over his
mouth.

“… an
enchanter.”

All
swivelled.

Torrullin
stood on the stairs. He descended, barefoot, dressed in dark grey
breeches and a white shirt. He was very pale and the difference in
dress caused him to appear younger.

“Tymall, by
virtue of his time in another realm has become an enchanter. He
reeks of creationism.” Torrullin halted at the outskirts of the
gathering. “I am able to fight him alone, Fay, but he has an
advantage over me I may find impossible to overcome.” He approached
to stand before her. “He knows what that is, for he knows me better
than I know him. This …” and Torrullin swept a hand around the
chamber, “is planning for battle, is it not? Why, you ask?
Unconsciously, every person here knows of my dilemma and thus they
choose to aid me.”

“I don’t
understand.” She was as pale as him, but did not retreat.

“You cannot,”
he whispered for her ears alone, “for you sundered the Valla
connection. You feel the Valleur past, but your Valla blood should
have recognised him for what he is, as well as my reaction to
it.”

Her face
twisted. “All true, but it doesn’t explain the advantage.”

Torrullin
retreated. “I dare not voice it.” He glanced at Tannil. “Please
continue.”

Tannil threw
his sister a sympathetic look and went on, “Let us look to the
practical. A skeleton force will remain here to protect the Isles.
Kismet and Caballa are already engaged in necessary tasks, and
Kismet will stay at the Electan’s side as ambassador to smooth the
transition.”

Caltian
smirked. “He won’t be happy.”

Tannil ignored
that. “Buthos, the Guardians?”