The Sleeper Sword (54 page)

He saw the
Enchanter … and then he rushed back to himself.

Swallowing,
Torrullin checked first on Fay. She had turned back.

Enchanter?
Quilla’s was an anxious
call.

Who am I,
Quilla?

The One,
Torrullin.

Torrullin breathed deeply.
What is
the One?

There was a
pause in the sending, a mysterious, loaded period of debate.

Never mind,
Q’li’qa’mz. I begin to see.

Quilla
withdrew as if afraid of what he would inadvertently say.

Torrullin
laughed. Gods. Immortality was a curse.

He focused on
what he learned as Tymall. His son would not back away from this
fight and he would hound every Valla. And Tymall was attracted to
Fay, as a man was to a woman.

He would use
her, but he would not kill her, not too soon.

Fay was back
on the deck, sand on her feet.

“I hate being
used,” she declared.

He said
nothing.

“As a child I
was used by the other kids to get certain privileges. As a teenager
girlfriends used my beauty to gather boys around and ended up
picking who they wanted. The boys were users also, using my friends
to stay close to me. As a woman I was used by a man who desired
only wealth and status; he never did love me. My mother uses me as
her deputy, number two Mitrill. I love her dearly, but it grates.
My father used me as an excuse to see his wife. He loves me, but
didn’t come just for me during those long, relentless years of
their separation. Tannil is a good man, a great brother, but he
tries too hard to be my friend. He tells me his secrets, his
problems, and thus I am his confidante. He thinks he helps, and is
genuinely unselfish, I know it, but I feel used. The sounding
board, the mirror, that’s what I am. Of course, our people use me
to get to Tannil, but I understand and cannot hold anything against
them.”

She drew
breath, exhaled. “You are the first, ever, not to use me. You spoke
your mind from the first and didn’t pretend after to be someone
else. I appreciate it, I respect that; somewhere deep inside, I
even like you for it.” She managed a smile. “And I don’t like
you.”

He returned
the smile.

Her eyes darkened. “You spoke the truth from the first, why
doubt you now? Tymall is using me. Another user! And this time the
dangers and consequences are far-reaching.” She paused, drew breath
and shouted, “
I hate being
used
!”

He still said
nothing. She was not done.

Fay closed in
and sank to her haunches before him. Deliberately she placed her
hands on his thighs, and looked up into his face, an open gesture,
as if she needed him to read every nuance in her. “I want you to
use me against Tymall.”

His hands
gripped hers and he pulled them both up to stand nose to nose.
“No.”

She accepted
his hurtful grip. “You can mask the bond.”

He was quietly
violent. “Gods, no! He would …”

“… kill me? I
think not too soon and I’m not afraid to die, Torrullin. I can’t
allow him to murder my family. Two innocent boys? How dare he?”

Torrullin bit
back words to think. He released her wrists and stepped away. How,
in god’s name, would he change her mind? She was stubborn and she
thought she needed to do this terrible thing. It was a terrible
thing.

He groaned,
for he discovered his mind already schemed how to employ this to
his advantage. “No, this is insanity.”

“And useful,”
she said, seeing him waver.

“I don’t want
to be another user, Fay, by god.”

Tears sprang
into her eyes. She laid a hand onto his shoulder. “You mean that
and I thank you, but I’m granting you permission to do so.”

“It’s
dangerous.”

“Torrullin,
you could follow me. I can twist him around my little finger. I am
beautiful and he is still a man. I could go with him, a recruit to
his cause and you could follow all the way to Saska.”

He paled and
presented his back to her. Hyperventilated. Such a gift, such
hope.

She pulled him
around, nails digging into him. “You track me and you find Saska,
even Margus. You find his hidey-hole. You could even scatter the
darklings. And all I have to do is go with him.”

He stared at
her. “You’re using me now.”

She blinked
and then grinned. “I guess I am.”

“Why?”

“For all the
reasons I gave you. I want to make him pay. I believed him.”

He understood
something else. “You’re attracted to him.”

“Yes,” she
spat, “and he is to me. That is how I can twist him.”

Dear god. “A
very dangerous game, Fay.”

She released
him. “The mysterious Fay, Torrullin, such an enigma. If those
closest to me feel that way, Tymall will be easy. And I shall
finally earn my keep.”

“You don’t
have to earn anything.”

“Not from you,
I know. You are the only one who sees me, but yet I feel that I do.
I really want to do this.”

He closed his
eyes, saw Saska there, and opened them. “Hypothetically, for I have
not agreed, you’d have to reinstate your Valla blood.”

She paled.
“Would that break the conduit?”

“Yes.”

“I thought it
could not be done.”

“I can.”

She swallowed.
“Very well.”

“You would
also have to tell him I tried to change your mind about him - he
expects it.”

“Agreed.”

“Hypothetically, the two of us will need to stage a convincing
fall-out, the kind that appears forever irreparable. You need a
real humdinger of a reason to accompany him. And, Fay, you cannot
touch him until he can no longer turn back.”

“Why?”

“Trebac.”

She closed her
eyes and then nodded. “Stringing him along will be an excellent
ploy.”

“This is
madness!” Torrullin burst out. “He will want to sleep with you, he
will eventually demand it! I cannot judge how long it will take to
come and get you.”

She gave a
lopsided smile. “My mother once confided how it was with her and
Tristamil. Maybe now I shall discover for myself.”

He drew back.
“You cannot mean to succumb?”

“If I have no
choice, I’d prefer that to rape. Torrullin, sex does not bind me to
another.”

No, but she
could not comprehend the addiction of trebac. He passed a hand over
his face. As much as Tristamil loved Skye, he returned to Mitrill
again and again … and not only to beget an heir.

“Are we going
to do this?” Fay whispered.

“I need to
think.”

“Don’t think.
He has you by the balls; this is your chance to squeeze his. I
won’t be the reason my brother and little Teroux get hurt. Nor
Tristan. In those words is your truth, Torrullin. I could mistrust
anything else you say, but your voice, your face when you said the
boys are in danger - I heard you. You want them safe and I do too.
I may never like you, but you’re not a liar. If you intend to come
for me, I know to expect you, and I shall survive until you do. We
can do this.”

“We could both
regret it.”

“True. Is it a
go?”

“All gods help
us, yes.”

Mitrill paced
the Keep’s sunny courtyard when they returned.

About to
remonstrate, she froze. There was new complicity there and she
liked it not. But before she could confront either of them, Caltian
strode into the courtyard.

“There you
are, Torrullin. The Electan asks after you. Hello, Fay.”

Torrullin
raised a brow. Well. “Where is he?”

“Galilan.”

“The
ambassadors?”

“A host of
irate, overweight men,” Caltian grinned.

“He wants me
in Galilan?”

“Even Marcus
needs help sometimes.”

A grin.
“Right. Fay, stay put. No impulsive behaviour.”

“I’ll be
good.”

Caltian’s
brows flew up and he hid a grin. Torrullin was getting through to
her.

Mitrill,
though, was less than happy. “Are you all right, daughter?”

“Just fine,
mother.” She headed indoors.

Mitrill closed
in on Torrullin. “I don’t like this sudden and underhanded bond
between you two.”

“Smart woman,
but I’ll explain later.” Torrullin turned to Caltian. “Shall we
go?”

Chapter
51

I wish I was
blind, deaf and dumb. Then I would feel nothing.

~ An inmate
call

Galilan.

City of
beauty. City of his past. City destroyed, submerged, rebuilt.
Rayne’s city.

Here he came
to find Lycea amid destruction and pain. This was where he began
the journey to Tristamil and Tymall, where he came to recognise his
son, believing there to be one not two, and thereby setting in
motion the evil they now lived with.

City of
memories.

The smells,
the noise, the vibrancy hurt, overwhelmed. Changed, the same. He
turned a distraught face to Caltian.

“Get me out of
here … gods, I remember too much …”

Caltian had
followed him to the busy, thriving heart of Galilan, and now took
him away to the Electan’s home where memories would be less. He
should have known Galilan would do this to him, knew the history,
but he had followed the Enchanter’s lead.

“I’m sorry,”
he murmured as the appeared in the ornate hall of Marcus Campian’s
huge mansion.

“Not your
fault. I thought I was beyond all that.”

A flustered
man erupted out of a nearby office, froze, mouth agape.

“Jackson!”
Marcus’s strident voice shouted out from another chamber. “I need
those papers!”

The frozen man
animated and hurried away.

“Jackson, I
presume,” Torrullin said with a smile. “Leading us to the
illustrious Electan.” Grinning, he headed for the chamber Jackson
vanished into.

“Where are
your manners, for pity’s sake? Don’t leave him out there!” Marcus
roared and then swallowed his words when Torrullin appeared in the
doorway. “Enchanter, I apologise …”

“Please,
Marcus. The last few days make ceremony unnecessary. Personally I
think Jackson was more worried about what you would do to him.”
Torrullin grinned at the man, who smiled back.

“MJ, my Lord.
Everyone calls me MJ. It’s an honour to meet you.”

“Thank you,
MJ. Now, Marcus, where are the recalcitrant ambassadors?”

“In the
boardroom … cowards!” Marcus snapped. “One little …” He paled and
shook his head. “I suppose it was not so little.”

“Did Southwell
inform you of what we decided?”

“Yes,” the
Electan muttered, “and made it clear he was listening to you, not
me. I want them to remain here, Enchanter.”

“Let them go
while they are prepared to do so without fanfare. We can prevail
upon their guilt to bring succour, if it gets that bad. Far better
to have twenty worlds coming with supplies when we need it, than
have them stay away over what they could regard as an act of war
against their nationals.”

“I hadn’t
thought of it like that.” Sighing, Marcus rose from behind his huge
desk. “You’re right, and I apologise for seeing only the
present.”

“Stop
apologising; we’re here to help each other. Is Kismet with
them?”

Marcus nodded.
“He’s an excellent diplomat … for a Valleur.” And Marcus grinned to
show he made a joke.

Torrullin
smiled. “There’s hope for you, Marcus Campian.”

Blushing, the
Electan preceded the others from his office. “MJ, will you bring
refreshments into the boardroom?”

Three hours
later, ruffled feathers smoothed, egos stroked, the ambassadors
filed out, having agreed to leave quietly, to offer rides to other
outsiders with great discretion and to stand in readiness with aid
… should it come to that.

Southwell had
a final private word before he followed his colleagues.

“You should
bring the Kallanon in to protect your skies, Enchanter. No darkling
will get past them.”

“They have
their own problems, but I hear you.”

“They would
come if you asked, whatever their internal situation. I believe
Abdiah lives, although she is no longer Queen.”

Torrullin
inclined his head. “If it comes to that.”

Southwell
smiled. “You know best; who am I to give advice?”

“A friend to
Valaris and we appreciate it.”

Southwell
looked away. “Then why do I feel like a traitor?” He shrugged,
brought his gaze back. “Call on us if you need anything, even an
army.”

Torrullin
stilled. “You did not present that to the meeting.”

“I dared not;
the others would be horrified. The offer stands and I’ll be
campaigning for it the moment I set foot to Beacon.”

“You are
playing with your career, my friend.”

Southwell
shrugged. “So be it. Certain things need to be stood up for, and
this is my stand. Don’t concern yourself about me; know you can
call if needs here overcome abilities anytime.”

Torrullin
clasped the man’s arm in ritual Valleur greeting. “You are truly a
friend, and I thank you.”

Southwell gave
a lopsided smile. “Paul Sheffield, the Navigator, was an ancestor
of mine, did you know? Maybe adventuring is in my blood, after
all.”

And with that
he retreated, leaving Torrullin to stare after him.

It was night
over Valaris when Torrullin and Caltian left Marcus’s house.

They wandered
along the broad thoroughfares of the wealthy neighbourhoods, past
great homes showing squares of light to the world. All was quiet,
although not silent. A burst of faraway laughter, a dog barking,
the rustle of new leaves. The sound of carriage wheels on gravel,
the clomp-clomp of horses’ hooves, the occasional neigh.