The Sleeper Sword (57 page)

“Did she kill
herself?”

“Not
intentionally, but her refusal to live again was construed as a
form of suicide.”

“What about
the baby?”

Silence, and
then, “They said you didn’t know.”

“Of course I
bloody knew … who do you think I am?” A deep breath. “I’m sorry,
Lucan. Go on.”

The Xenian
swallowed. “She miscarried three months in. She was so thin and
didn’t realise until she started … bleeding. I’m making a hash of
this.”

“You weren’t
going to tell me about the baby.”

“The Dalrish
thought to spare you pain, my Lord.”

“And
Tannil?”

“Was too
young. He wasn’t born when this happened, and after wasn’t made
aware of the nuances.”

“Mitrill
knows.”

“The Elders
decided it would be better forgotten.”

Torrullin made
a sound far beyond fury, and then, “I guess they omitted her from
the tales.”

“And the
Oracles.”

A long silence
and Lucan knew it was so the man could regain a hold on tenuous
calm … and temper. “What happened after she miscarried?”

“It was the
last. She couldn’t forgive herself and thus …”

“Enough.”

Lucan nodded
and sat on in silence without looking at the man beside him.

“I want to be
alone.”

Lucan nodded
again and rose to make his way to the echoing Palace.

Hours later
when dawn was a presence on the eastern horizon, Lucan returned to
the beach after a sleepless night wandering the quiet halls of the
Palace.

The guards
were largely invisible, although someone asked whether he wanted
something to eat or drink; he had declined.

The Enchanter
sat as he left him.

“My Lord?” he
dared when his presence elicited no reaction.

“I loved her,
Lucan, and never told her. Maybe it would’ve sustained her, maybe
she would’ve felt the baby and …”

He rose, a
Torrullin filled with fury, in a flurry of movement to send sand
flying.

“It is too
late and regret is a soul destroyer.” He drew breath, smiled,
bearing teeth without warmth or sincerity. “I thank you for telling
me the truth. Before I go from here - did Saska know about the
child?”

“Yes.”

Torrullin
raised his brows with significance.

“Only Lowen
knew her reaction. She never told.”

“How do you
know this?”

“Lowen’s
journal … with a blank space after she wrote she went to talk to
Saska.”

“That bad.”
Torrullin bent to lift Taranis’s diary from the sand. With
exaggerated care he dusted it off. “Why write words that are
painful? When is anyone completely honest?” After a time he looked
up. “You are a wise young man; I believe you will understand why I
ask you to stay away from Torrke temporarily. I do not like this
about myself, but my judgement skews …”

“I understand,
my Lord.”

Torrullin
nodded. “You did excellent work with the Electan in opening the
sites to Valaris’s inhabitants; the Valleur thank you. Use your
talents now to speak to the youth in the cities, start telling them
trouble is brewing, without mentioning his name, for that could
disadvantage the Valleur. I shall send for you soon.”

He vanished
then between a word and a thought and Lucan was left staring at a
pair of abandoned boots, a symbol of loneliness that brought tears
to his eyes.

Fay accosted
him as soon as he touched ground in the courtyard.

“Not now!” he
snarled, and stalked to the dining chamber. “Tannil!”

“He’s
sleeping! The sun has barely tipped, for Aaru’s sake!” Fay hurled
out from behind him. “What has gotten into you?”

“Why are
you
awake?”

“I could not
sleep, idiot.”

Torrullin sat,
head in hands, at the table.

“Torrullin?”
she said, coming closer.

“Don’t touch
me.”

She snatched
her hands back, about to lay them on his shoulders. “Because it’s
me?”

“No, because I
cannot bear to be touched,” he stated, face hidden in hands.

She sat. He
was more like her than she had guessed.

He said,
raising his head, “Don’t look at me like that.”

“You’re worse
than I am.”

“Probably.”

“In my case
the exception to the touching rule is Teroux and my father. Who is
yours?”

“Not
Tannil?”

“Sometimes,
and you’re avoiding answering.”

He leaned back
in his chair. “They are all dead.”

She released a
breath. “Gods, this must be hard for you.”

“You have no
idea.”

“What of
Saska?”

“What of
her?”

“Touching.”

He looked
away. “I don’t know.”

She stared at
him. “You’re in deep trouble.”

He grinned,
somehow feeling better in sparring with her.

“Let me help,”
she offered, surprising herself.

“You don’t
even like me, Fay.”

“Then I’d be
ideal.”

“How do you
figure that?”

“I won’t be
soft-soaping you, for one.”

He smiled,
with a touch of warmth, and looked away. “This is my burden.”

“Then go to
the Lifesource.”

“Absolutely
not. Those chambers intensify memories.” He rose. “I have a few
things to organise, then you and I are off to Luvanor.”

“Luvanor?”

“To reinstate
the Valla connection in secret.”

“Fine, but
Tymall will sense this.”

“He will be
otherwise occupied, trust me. Tit for tat. I am going to kill me
some darklings.” Around the edges of his eyes the dark of Destroyer
crept in and he banished it. “He will not expect it and come to the
fray.”

“You aim to
confront him?”

“No, we’ll be
on our way to Luvanor by the time he gets into the skirmish. Don’t
pack anything.”

He left
without saying a further word, and she saw him climb the steps with
deliberate precision.

She thought he
looked ready to kill darklings. Whatever caused this pain in him
also brought on a killing lust and he would not turn from it.

A dangerous
man, as she thought even before his return.

Torrullin was
like a whirlwind after that.

He awakened
Tannil without apology and told him to organise a broadcast through
Anton, telling Tannil to begin preparing the general populace.
Tannil, Marcus, Kismet and Caltian were to confer on wording and
content and whatever they decided would be fine, to not involve
him. He was sick of diplomacy.

Next he woke
Mitrill, more gentle with her than with her son, and asked her to
take control of the rescue operations up north in entirety, but to
be sure to surround herself with guards alert to kidnapping. When
she asked what of Fay, he told her he would ensure her daughter’s
safety and, no, he would not explain.

He efficiently
diverted queries as to his immediate plans, and then contacted
Quilla, finding the birdman with two burn victims at the
Lifesource. He informed him he was heading after darklings as a
diversionary tactic, but refused to say more. Quilla, as ever,
insisted, and was told to cease his interfering.

Torrullin then
found Fay again and told her to go to the Society’s training
facility, to wait there for him with Caballa, to say nothing.

Standing in
the courtyard, right hand on sword’s hilt, he looked about him as
if he expected never to return, and left.

“Fay,” Tannil
said, turning a sleep tousled head to his sister, “what now?”

“How should I
know?”

“Don’t play
games, daughter!” Mitrill said.

“Games are
over, mother; the war has begun.” Fay pointed into the centre of
the courtyard. “Torrullin is done waiting.”

“You do know!”
Tannil accused.

She stared at
her brother. “I gave my word,” she said by way of an answer, and
then she too vanished.

Chapter
53

Play with fire
and you get burnt.

~ Earth
saying

The Dragon
ogive chimed.

Belun looked
up and smiled. Finally the Enchanter had come.

“Belun, you’re
alone?” Torrullin said, striding out from under his personal
arch.

“Hello to you,
too.”

Torrullin
shrugged. “Sorry.”

“Something
amiss on Valaris? We heard about the traveller accident.”

“It was no
accident. It was Tymall.”

“Yup,
suspected something like that.”

“I need to
take him away from Valaris.”

“Darklings?”

“Quick as
always, my friend,” Torrullin returned, smiling for the first
time.

“You’re in
luck then. We’re co-ordinating an attack on Dinor at the moment. It
seems the Dinor enjoy their confrontations with those creatures,
something our darklings aren’t taking to at all. They return to
Dinor frequently and every time in greater numbers. We’ve lain on
some bait.”

“Perfect.
Tymall will be unable to resist. What bait?”

“A so-called
gathering of the Dinor clans, ostensibly to discuss the progress of
what they are calling a war. True, but every man and woman there
will be a warrior and armed to the teeth, while appearing unarmed
and vulnerable. The Guardians will be glamoured to fit in.”

“A risk.”

“Darklings are
not known for their intelligence.”

“True.”
Torrullin leaned onto the console of lights, which began to wink on
and off, and craned his head backward. “It’s changed.” Transparency
now took the place of ancient artwork overhead.

“Yes, and the
Dome has changed inside also. Not physically, but in days gone by
this place would have been crowded with strategists while the rest
were on the battlefield, and now only one at a time can be spared.
Me, in this instance.” There was a wistful note in the Centuar’s
tenor.

Torrullin did
not reply to that. No words would now change anything. Instead he
said, “Belun, I have something to ask of you, but this is between
us only.”

Belun perked
up. “Ask away.”

“Does the Dome
have the ability to track Immortals other than Guardians?”

The Centuar
did not answer immediately. He was thoughtful; here was a mystery.
“Yes; if an anomaly, and don’t blame me for that silly word, is
picked up, we can track and trace.”

“Can you scan
for such anomalies? How far, if so?”

“It’s a wide
universe. Usually it’s pure chance and happens rarely. In fact, the
last Immortal we traced was your father. You had no Immortal
signature to track when born, and you still don’t.”

“I didn’t know
that. Interesting. My other signatures, sorcery, they reveal
me?”

“No signature,
Torrullin. Nada. Zilch.”

Raised brows.
“Really? That will help. Always?” The last word was with some
surprise.

“Think so. I
was checking up on you - yes, yes, I can’t help it, I’m curious -
and couldn’t find you. Buthos double-checked. Nothing. To all
intents you’re invisible.”

“Quilla
reaches me.”

“Quilla
guesses, Enchanter. He cannot track you anymore.”

Torrullin
smiled. “Excellent.” He let it go, to return to the subject of
tracking Immortals. “If I were to ask you to find someone for me,
what would you need?”

“A starting
point.”

“She wouldn’t
have known then,” Torrullin muttered to himself. Where would she
have gone to disappear, where, where …? “Can you scan Cèlaver?”

“You’re
kidding, right. Nobody walks on the surface there; someone would
have to go in.” Belun inclined his head, his leonine mane of golden
hair falling to one side. “Who are you looking for?”

“I’m not sure
I am, it’s a hunch. Keep your eyes open, though. I’ll go to Cèlaver
myself when I get time.” Torrullin folded his arms.

“Whoa! I won’t
delve, but, boy, it’s good you’re back; things are real interesting
again.”

“Interesting?
An understatement, Centuar. Peace did not agree with you?”

“I know this
is crazy, but peace is boring.”

The Enchanter
did laugh then, full-throated. “Now I know why I love you so much,
Belun! You make it acceptable - a gift I wish I had!”

Thus it was
that the darklings revealed the Enchanter to his son, screaming out
over the spaces that they were ambushed by the Dinor, the Guardians
and the Enchanter.

With a snarl
of rage, for his father was unpredictable, Tymall left Valaris to
confront his personal demon.

In the thick
of a bloody battle, untouched, untouchable, Torrullin unobtrusively
departed.

“Feel better?”
Fay asked.

She eyed the
drawn sword significantly.

“Much,” he returned. Sheathing the sword he turned to
Caballa.
You like it here.

I do.
She rose from the rough wooden
table set with steaming platters containing meat and vegetable and
smiled at those around her. “Our farspeakers, my Lord.”

“You are
ready?”

“Yes.”

“Well done,
Caballa. Well done to all of you. When I return in a few days I
shall speak to each of you; right now I am out of time.” He turned.
“Fay?”

“Whenever
you’re ready.”

“Now. Take my
hand.” She looked at his hand doubtfully and noticed the goading
expression on his face. With a sweet smile she clasped it and he
took them away.

Byron rushed
in.

“He’s gone,”
Caballa said, “and something’s brewing …”

The seasons of
Luvanor followed each other rapidly.

When Quilla
left to return to Valaris with Buthos it was early spring on both
worlds. Now, while Valaris moved towards summer, Luvanor was caught
in the grip of a mid-summer heat wave.