The Sleeper Sword (60 page)

She smiled. “I
think I can see that, young man.” She put him down and her smile
included Torrullin. “My Lord, we are honoured by your presence. I
am Vania and this is Curin, and that clever young man is
Tristan.”

Torrullin
kissed her cheek and then held her at arm’s length. “Vania, it is
good to meet you at last.” Releasing her he drew Curin closer to
kiss her cheek. “And you, Curin.”

“It’s good to
meet,” she returned, reserving judgement. He liked her
instantly.

“Tristan.”

The older boy
had been masked by light behind him. He approached warily. Blond
like his mother, grey-eyed like his father.

Torrullin drew
a deep, hopefully hidden, breath that seared right through him.

Like me. This boy is my youthful double. And already, because
he knows he is part Valleur, his blood is rising. He is torn at an
early age.
Torrullin met those
eyes.
Perhaps not. He has equilibrium
missing for his father.

“Enchanter, my
father speaks highly of you.”

They were
speaking Valleur, even Curin who had no bond to aid her. “I shall
speak highly of your father,” Torrullin replied.

Gods. Fate
stalked this space. This boy would not judge him, ever. This boy …
this one would steal his heart as thoroughly as Tristamil had.

Tristan
smiled, melting a little. “He’s a great guy.”

“That he is.
How are you faring? This must be strange.”

“No. I’ve
dreamt this many times.”

Bugger. His
road was bound to be fraught with obstacles. “I would like to speak
to you about that sometime.”

“Tris? You
never said anything,” Curin said.

Tris.
Dear
god
.

Torrullin drew
a shuddering breath and turned on his heel to stumble from the
room.

Samuel glanced
at his son, his wife and Vania, and hurried after him.

“What?” Curin
asked. “What did I do?”

“You called
him Tris,” Vania said.

“His son was
Tris, mother,” Tristan said. “Tris was the only person he ever
loved fully.”

“How can you
know that?” Curin wailed.

“He feels it
inside,” Teroux piped up. “It’s in all of us.” The two boys locked
gazes and then as one returned to their chess game, leaving Curin
to stare at Vania.

“Accept, Curin
dear. You’ll never hold it back. They are all Valla,” Vania replied
to the unspoken plea, her voice filled with sympathy. “At least
your husband loves you. It will be easier.”

“Torrullin,
I’m sorry. Curin spoke …”

“I’m fine,
Samuel. Please.” Torrullin halted somewhere along the dark passage
he stumbled into. “I have to get a hold of myself. Emotional
wreck.” He inhaled … “Gods, this place stinks!”

Samuel said,
“Mould, mildew, rat and bird droppings, bats. Teroux gave me a
complete rundown and there’s more, but my stomach will turn
speaking of it.”

Torrullin
laughed as he passed a hand over his face. “He is a precocious
child. Very smart.”

“Too smart. He
gives us grey hairs. Tristan is able to control him most of the
time.”

“Has he
changed?”

“Tristan?
Since coming here? Oh, yes. Mitrill spent a lot of time with him
when she was here. I think she gave him insight into his heritage,
more than I was able to. He was a child before; now he’s so
self-possessed he’s almost a stranger to me.”

“He has
accepted, Samuel. When you do, you will understand him again.”

“Yes, well
…”

“No one is
going to force you. Please, get me out of here … someone should
clean this place!”

Samuel burst
out laughing. “It has been cleaned!”

Torrullin
snorted as he followed his kinsman into another passage, this one
cleaner and fresher, although dimly lit. “Better. Where does this
go?”

“There’s a
stairwell to the ramparts …”

“Let’s.”

Samuel led the
way. Above, the heat hit like a sledgehammer and the drone of
insects blotted out other sounds. “It will rain later.”

Torrullin did
not respond. He turned full circle and the view was the same from
every angle. A uniform green.

“I don’t like
this place. Too closed, too fertile, as if it will supplant you the
instant you relax your guard.”

“We all feel
that way.”

“What do you
want to do? Stay here or come with me? I’m not asking you to choose
between family and duty. I ask what you want to do.”

“I want to
come with you.”

“But?”

“I don’t like
leaving them here.”

“Despite what
I said, it’s safe here. The jungle plays tricks on the psyche, but
physically you and yours won’t come to harm.”

Samuel
shrugged. “I know, but …”

“Anywhere on
Luvanor is safe. This place is merely added protection. Would you
feel better if I moved them to another location?”

“Of course,
but they are already so uncertain. Maybe it’s better to leave them.
Another move could further upset the boys.”

“Tell you
what. I have something that needs done. Speak to them. Ask what
they would like to do, and when I return in a few days we can take
it further.”

“Thank you.
Yes, that helps.”

“Does Tristan
dream often?”

Samuel looked
away. “Since he was very young. I used to go to him at night to
still his thrashing. We decided to keep it from his mother, for she
thought there was something amiss, and we’d talk. The dreams were
good, if you know what I mean; it wasn’t as if he had nightmares.
They were merely so real that he’d become involved, start
thrashing, making sounds …”

“And now?”

“Now he keeps
it from me also, but I can read the signs. He’s listless after a
dream and can’t concentrate.” Samuel looked at his feet, a gesture
of defeat. “I think the content has altered and I worry he holds it
in. I don’t know how to approach him without sending him into a
shell.”

Torrullin was
thoughtful after that admission. “Fetch him up here.”

Samuel was
about to protest and then thought better of it. And yet he did not
move.

“I dream,
Samuel. All I want to do is ease it for him.”

A moment more
and Samuel went, leaving the Enchanter to wonder what new future
built in the forms of Teroux and Tristan. There was one.

Tristan
preceded his father onto the worn ramparts and halted before him.
Torrullin raised his gaze to Samuel. “Leave us.” There was an
unmistakable tone of command in his voice and, reluctantly, Samuel
left.

“Surely you
should be speaking to Teroux? He is the heir.” Tristan’s voice was
confident, his gaze steady. For a ten year old it was
remarkable.

“You have been
told how it works.”

“I’m more
human anyway; that would disqualify me.”

A smile. “I am
half human, Tristan. It never disqualified me. You are Valla, a
part of the Valleur future now.”

“Still, Teroux
is a trueblood …”

“He is not,”
Torrullin interrupted. “The only trueblood is Mitrill.” He
shrugged. “Admittedly, Teroux is close. But I did not ask to speak
to you to delve the intricacies of our blood. You are a dreamer and
that is why we should talk.”

“The way I see
it only another dreamer will understand,” Tristan challenged and,
when Torrullin raised his brows, said in a small voice, “Oh.”

“Indeed, and
thus we lay out our common ground. I don’t have the time to help
you unravel the mysteries of your symbolism, but you need to know
this. Rely on your instincts above all. Don’t look away. If your
instincts leave you feeling uncomfortable, trust that, and speak to
someone. Nobody among us will denigrate a dream, Tristan. The
Valleur subsist on them, we see the future in them more often than
not, and we know they have value. Always. If there is no one else
to speak to but Vania, do so. I don’t know her, but she is Valleur,
she knows dreams are often more.”

“It’s not easy
to relate things seen.”

“And it
doesn’t get easier with age or experience, but you are too young to
discern between a prophetic dream and a personal one. At this stage
even your personal ones need help to unravel until you learn to do
so for yourself. Do not keep them in. They have a tendency to recur
and with greater impetus each time and that can be upsetting.”

“I know,” the
young boy admitted, looking at the ground.

Torrullin
raised his chin. Where their skin made contact, blue fire sparked.
“Tristan, you’re flung unprepared into a Valleur morass, but I
sense you’re strong and brave and, more importantly, I feel you
like who you are. That is more important than all the other things
people say we should strive for and, in liking yourself, you know
who you are. Trust your instincts, okay?”

Tristan nodded
and smiled. “Okay.”

“Good, and
please set your father’s mind at rest, will you? He thinks he’s no
longer good enough for you to confide in him.”

Tristan’s
mouth worked. “It’s not that. It’s that he doesn’t understand.”

“Not yet. He
will and maybe the time will come faster if you include him.”

Tristan faced
forward again, a hopeful gleam in his eyes. “You think?”

“I know.”

“Okay. Can I
go now?” When he received an affirmative he headed back to the
stairwell. Reaching it, he stopped. For a moment he debated, for he
shook his head and then nodded, to Torrullin’s private amusement,
and turned. “Lady Mitrill said I look like you as a child, or she
imagines you were much like me at my age.”

Torrullin’s
amusement vanished. Mitrill had no right to place that kind of
pressure on a child new to it. Everyone knew the blood resurfaced
time and time again, and a descendent with like features was often
forced to carry a heavier load. Tristan would become aware of it
and fret. He looked like the Enchanter; what expectations would
that place on him?

“A little,”
Torrullin murmured, making light of it.

“Well, your
eyes, I don’t see why she thought …”

“My natural
colour is grey. Like you, like your father. My sons had grey eyes,
but I … well, that’s not important now.” He cursed himself for
saying more than intended.

Tristan
studied him. “You changed to seem more Valleur? Can I do that?”

Goddess, I
hope you never find yourself in that place.

“It’s merely a
facet of my power, Tristan. I could have chosen any colour, but can
you imagine me with pink eyes, hmm, or purple or something neither
of us can think of?”

Tristan
giggled. “Maybe stripes or squares?”

Torrullin
laughed along with him. “Go, cheeky boy! And send your father up to
me, will you? You’ll probably find him on the stairs.”

Tristan
laughed, waved and skipped from view.

A good kid,
Torrullin thought. Serious the one moment, childlike the next. He
was at that stage where he began to realise there was a place for
him, that he would have to find it, and fortunately he had good
grounding, solid parental guidance and the example of a loving
mother and father. He would be fine.

Torrullin
sighed and leaned on the old rampart wall.

Samuel
returned. “Tristan seems almost happy again. Thank you.”

“A good
kid.”

“Yes. He’ll
make an outstanding man.”

“Like his
father.”

Samuel
inclined his head.

“Before I go.”
Torrullin delved his right hand into his breeches and brought forth
his fist. Holding whatever was inside close to his chest, he said,
“This was Tristamil’s. I want you to have it.”

He lifted his
fist to his mouth, touched his lips to it, and held it out to
Samuel, uncurling his fingers. In the palm of his hand nestled a
smooth oval stone, an opal so perfect and flawless it was
spectacular in simplicity.

“He found it
when he was four years old in the Gosa Desert and carried it with
him always.” Torrullin’s voice was soft with memory. “It’s not
magic, it’s merely … it’s very special, very personal, and if he’d
lived he would have given it to Skye’s son. I want you to have
it.”

Samuel’s hand
shook. He was speechless. The opal was warm. He held it up and
closed his hand around it and drew a breath. “I will treasure this.
Thank you.” He lifted his fist to his lips, mimicking Torrullin’s
gesture of respect and love, because it was right. Then, holding
the precious gift close, he asked, “Are you sure you can part with
it?”

Torrullin’s
face twisted, was naked. “It was in his pocket as always the night
he died. He never did anything of moment without first rubbing it,
drawing comfort from it. His talisman, his treasure … gods, I loved
him more than anything. He was the reason I took Margus away; I
wanted to give him a chance at a proper future. Too late I realised
the destructive symbiosis, too late to change the course of a
stupid sacrifice. If I could do it again, I would rather war with
the Darak Or for eternity if it means Tris is at my side. I can
never forgive Margus for the death of my son, as I can never
forgive him for using Tymall the way he did, despite how it seems
between us. He will pay and Tymall will pay, somehow, and it will
change nothing. That stone is more my son than the heritage he
bequeathed Tannil and it should have gone to the first Tristan. He
loved Skye … but to answer your question. Yes, I can part with it,
because I force the past into those dark recesses where it belongs.
A hopeless task, I think, but I try. Take it without guilt, Samuel,
for I have him in my heart always.”

“You’ve had it
with you all this time?”

“It hasn’t
been long for me.” Torrullin looked up at the blue heavens and
grimaced. “It’s yesterday, Samuel. How do I come to terms with it?”
But that was a rhetorical question and he waved a hand to signify
no answer was required. “This is my destiny; to live with past,
present and future as one.”