The Sleeper Sword (46 page)

Her beloved
called.

She retrieved
the coin and replaced it in the tin, watching for change in the
thread’s behaviour. It remained in place. Sighing in relief,
trepidation, anticipation and no small amount of nerves, she
clutched the tin …

… and followed
the thread.

The Keep rang
with household sounds and the noises of moving in.

Torrullin
frowned, distracted by the business around him, cursed, and stalked
through the Dragon doors into the valley in search of quiet.

As soon as it
infused him, he slowed. It was morning and Torrke was blissfully
peaceful.

It was as if
he never left.

He berated
himself for expecting to hear Tristamil call out, Taranis laughing,
Vannis losing his temper or Saska giggling somewhere. He gripped
his head.

Everything is
different.

Lifting his
gaze to the rise opposite the Keep, he looked to the cloaked
Graveyard. There was proof of Taranis’s death and there was
Millanu’s last resting place. His father and his mother. Yes,
Tristamil had earned a place alongside them.

He transported
to the low rise and murmured the words of uncloaking. The ancient
crypts shimmered, and then solidified. The shady trees he asked the
valley to allow rustled over the old stone.

Nothing had
changed.

Everything was
different, on a personal level, yet nothing had changed.

I did my worst
in this place. It was utterly destroyed. Liquid, black hellfire
into impenetrable black glass, a melting unparalleled, yet all is
normal as if it never happened, as if the last ten days on the
Plane is no more than a dream.

The sheer
contradiction was overwhelming. Le Moss Mar Dalrish worked
incredible science and the Lady of Life called to the wellspring.
Between them they restored Torrke and then it lay in silence and
waiting. The magic returned the night he did, the valley paying
homage as he had paid it.

Torrke was
whole and therefore everything in it was whole also. His Keep and
the Graveyard and, somewhere below, the Throne was expectant.

A shadow fell
in beside him against Taranis and Millanu’s crypt.

Margus.

“Enchanter,
something happens.”

Torrullin did
not move. He studied the inscription on the tomb. It had not been a
dream. Taranis would never again walk this earth and neither would
Vannis or Tristamil.

“What is it?”
he asked after a time.

“The Maghdim
Medaillon.”

“I know, I
felt it. This is why Nemisin’s Star will not shine for Valaris
again. The Medaillon was the link between this world and that, now
severed.”

“That’s where
you hid it.”

“To keep it
from you, yes.”

“Ingenious. Do
you know who found it?”

Torrullin did
move then, turning his head. He found blue eyes studying him. “I
suspect.”

Margus nodded.
“She would know. And now you think she will bring it here.”

“You do
not?”

“Torrullin,
your head is too full. You are not thinking. Do you consider it
accident she found it now?”

“Not accident.
A parallel.”

“A known
phenomenon.”

“You think
it’s something else.”

“I know him,
remember? Torrullin, he worked it out or he felt it as you did on
entering this reality. Whatever it is, he put it together.”

“He cannot
influence it.”

“But you did,
Enchanter, and she heard that calling.”

“And she will
bring it here.”

“Maybe, had he
not engendered a thread to it like the one I followed. It is not a
real thread, but sorcery she believes a link to you.”

“Are you sure
of this?” Torrullin’s flesh suddenly puckered.

“I am.”

Torrullin’s
eyes darkened. “Do I have time to intercept her?”

Margus turned
to gaze over the valley. “Perhaps, but it depends on what you want
to happen next.”

“Gods, I never
thought I’d take counsel from you. Explain my options.”

Margus did not
put his back to the view. “You could go off half-cocked to rescue
her and maybe you get to her in time. You will battle immediately,
not for supremacy over your son, but for her life. Perhaps you are
victorious, but I would not wager on it at this junction and you
should not risk her or risk your sanity. He will run and you will
have the ashes of a beloved to show for it.”

Torrullin
ground out, “I follow your reasoning.”

“He will taunt
her, torment her, because he will enjoy playing a psychological
game, but he won’t do more at this point. The day will come when he
will do worse … and you will be there before he goes that far.”

“She has
already given all! Two thousand years as the Lady? How much is left
in her to resist that will?”

“Answer for
her. Will she resist?”

Bleakness. “Of
course she will. Goddess help her.”

“She is strong
and she will survive until you get there. He won’t harm her while
he believes he is able to conquer the Medaillon.”

“Why is he
doing this?”

“It is manifold. One is purely an opportunity to rule the
Maghdim; the other is a chance to best his hated stepmother. He
seeks to destabilise you, and that is the path to Destroyer. The
foolish pup does not yet understand there is no pleasure in
creating Destroyer. If
you
don’t know what happens, where is the
gain?”

“He was always
one dimensional.”

Margus lifted
a brow. “In some ways, you do know him.”

“Find him for
me.”

The Darak Or
turned to study his erstwhile enemy. “I may leave Valaris?”

Torrullin
nodded. “Go.”

This was
trust. “I shall not fail you, Enchanter.” He vanished.

Torrullin
closed his eyes.

Tannil rose as
his grandfather entered the dining chamber.

It was a
shambles still, but a beautiful oval table and twelve simple chairs
took pride of place in the centre.

One look at
the ravaged face and Tannil asked, “What has he done?”

Torrullin came
to a standstill and focused on Tannil. “What did you say?”

“Something is
wrong,” Tannil stated and led Torrullin to a chair. “Sit. I’ll
rustle up coffee.”

“Stronger,”
Torrullin muttered as Tannil strode to the arch leading ultimately
to the kitchens.

“Mother always
says …”

“I don’t care
what Mitrill says.”

Tannil
hollered into the spaces beyond the chamber. Moments later a
flustered young woman entered with a tray; a selection of glasses,
at least ten bottles, everything from wine to burning brandy.
Tannil thanked her and waved her off, but added before she was out
of earshot to follow with coffee.

When he turned
back to Torrullin, he saw his grandfather had claimed the brandy
and poured liberally. He disapproved, but let it go.

Torrullin
decanted the fiery liquid into his throat, spluttered, and banged
the glass down. “My son has designs on my wife and he plans to use
her against me, and I can do nothing about it.” He lifted the
bottle to slosh more into the glass.

Tannil reached
over and removed it, but Torrullin merely raised eyebrows and
lifted the bottle to his lips.

“That will not
help you.”

And you have shown spark at last.
Torrullin slammed the bottle down. “Perhaps Mitrill is
right.”

Tannil raised
his eyes heavenward. “Are you sure Tymall plans this?”

Torrullin
started laughing. “No, I’m not sure! But it makes a whole lot of
sense!” He cut the laughter off and leaned forward. “He tried to
rape her once.”

Tannil was
shocked. “No!”

“Yes, and do
you know who stopped him? Margus!” Torrullin’s head sank into his
hands. “I hate to admit it, but I owe the Darak Or.” His head
lifted. “If Tymall hasn’t kidnapped her yet, he will soon. She is
already closer to him than to me. She cannot avoid him.”

“How do you
know?”

“Margus
brought it to my attention.”

“And you trust
him?”

Torrullin
stared at his grandson. “Yes.”

Tannil did
not, but he let that go as well. “Can we not …?”

“Too late.
Even if I was foolish enough to react to his manipulation, I
wouldn’t get to her in time.”

“I’m
sorry.”

Torrullin
smiled, a bleak, cold thing. “He will pay, make no mistake.”

“Isn’t that
what he wants? To anger you?”

“I cannot
change what I am.”

Tannil sighed.
“She is strong.”

“She was, but
her duties as the Lady …”

“She
relinquished that a while ago.”

Torrullin
toyed with the bottle, his gaze faraway. “Is that good news, I
wonder? You’ve heard the tales. The Lady passes her duties to
another only after disillusionment assails her and she has no
strength to go on. Has she enough to fight Tymall?”

Tannil was
thoughtful. “Saska hasn’t been to Valaris for fifteen hundred
years, but the Guardians watched over her. In the long peace
nothing was taken for granted, thus were her renewals regarded as
added blessing. There were exceptions, but they were rare. While I
don’t doubt the obscure process of coaxing dormancy to fertility is
taxing, Saska has had a smooth reign.”

“Also the
longest,” Torrullin murmured.

“Granted, but
she didn’t surrender her calling over disillusionment. She is
immortal and knew it was time for new blood.”

“You know this
for certain?”

Tannil chewed
at his cheek. “No, but Declan spoke to her some time ago. He
reported she was calm, in control, if quiet.”

“Declan seems
to be in the right place and time often.”

“I’m
sorry?”

“Never mind.
Thank you. I hope she is as strong as your words suggest.
Unfortunately, until Margus returns, that hope is all I have …” He
elaborated. “I sent him to find my son’s hideaway.”

A planet in
the distance.

Ambers and
gold. Tawny. A dry world, and the thread led directly to it.

It did not
fit, but she was beyond reason already, her heart hammering so loud
it drowned all else.

Moments later
her transport ended. She was at the gates of a monstrously large
fort. Two high towers rose from the ramparts east and west. It was
old and dirty, camouflaged by the rough ridges rising beyond it,
set amid a tumble of ancient rock. From the northern mountains,
blued by distance, the fort would be invisible. It was invisible a
lot closer also.

This was
wrong. No lord in residence left his gates open or unattended, not
even the Enchanter.

Retreat! Flee!
Her mind screamed warning.

A figure came
into view, indistinct, male, his cloak swirling behind as he strode
the enormous courtyard to meet her. He had elements of Torrullin,
yet not.

She clutched
the tin, needing to draw comfort, finding instead real treachery.
Not the tin or the Medaillon, but her heart. Love blinded her,
therefore it betrayed her.

Saska moved to
retreat, but it was too late. A pair of compelling grey eyes
impaled her and she lost the ability to move, to think
rationally.

He came
closer, stepping from the dark shadows thrown by the thick
walls.

“Welcome,
stepmother.”

She knew him,
did not for a second confuse him with his twin. “Tymall, what a
surprise.” Finding her voice, she was pleased to hear it was even
despite her shock and inner turmoil.

“Isn’t it?
Please, do enter.” He stood aside theatrically, bowing. “I have
prepared a guest suite for you. You were expected.”

She could only
go forward. He was strong in power, stronger than before. “How did
you know the Medaillon was on Nemisin’s world?” she asked as she
passed him. How did you trap me, she meant, but would not give him
the satisfaction.

“It occurred
to me it was surpassingly strange no mention was made of the bright
star shining annually in the heavens of Valaris before my father’s
time. I put the pieces together, dear Saska. Am I not clever?” He
smiled as he fell in beside her.

“Very,” she
murmured. She held the tin out to him. “I suppose you want
this?”

“Why don’t you
hang onto it?”

She inclined
her head and turned away. He could not touch it … and his next
words belied that.

“My father
will find you easier if you have it with you.”

She turned,
shock in her eyes … and hope. She stared at him mutely, for words
would not come.

Tymall dipped
his head. “The Enchanter returned two nights ago. Good news, I am
sure.”

She closed her
eyes. Not even this nasty creature’s laugh could dispel the warmth
within.

It was the
greatest news.

“Tannil,
before you go,” Torrullin said as the man headed for the courtyard.
“Tymall will be in possession of the Maghdim Medaillon
shortly.”

Tannil paled.
“How? That device was destroyed, by you!”

“I did not
destroy it, mostly to spare Vannis. And the how is now immaterial.
Tymall is unable to wield it.”

Tannil, not a
stupid man either, put the pieces together.

“Nemisin’s
world.”

“Seems I
wasn’t so clever back then.”

“He may not be
able to wield it, but I, for one, would be on my guard.”

“Absolutely.”

“Dear gods,
this gets worse and worse,” Tannil stated, stalking out.

It hasn’t
started yet, grandson.

Chapter
46

Silver fish and
yellow snake swam together in the pond. What odds, friend? Who will
eat who ... and when?

~ Tattle’s
Blunt Adventures

Fay found
Menllik claustrophobic, a mental projection of her uncertain
position, but stifling nonetheless.