The Sleeper Sword (68 page)

“I’ll stand
against the Enchanter when he comes. I’ll resist all attempts at
rescue.”

Tymall barked
a laugh. “I must believe that?”

“You have to
decide if you want to take the chance.”

“You waited
until your Valla blood was unmasked here before telling any kind of
truth, and it has been three days. In doing so your actions and
your silence speaks for the Enchanter. I am now unprepared.”

“No, you’re
not. I’ve seen the fortifications.”

“And he now
has the Throne. Take that and add to it he could be here in an
instant, and I am unprepared. You’re on his side.”

“Are you not
hearing me? Torrullin and I can’t abide each other. I’ll not follow
his dictates! The reason I held back was that I was unsure of you,
and I’m afraid for my family.”

“I won’t
guarantee their safety.”

She closed her
eyes and withdrew her hands from under his. Folding them under her
armpits, she said, “Then you must do what you will, but I can no
longer be used to scry them out. At least I won’t have it on my
conscience.”

Another
lengthy silence. “You won’t stop me?”

“How can I?
But I’ll attempt to change your mind.”

“Well, that’s
honest. More than anything else you’ve said, it sets my mind at
rest … for now.” A loaded pause, and then, “I’ll permit you the
freedom of the castle, but until I know exactly where your heart
and loyalty lies, you’ll be under guard. They will prevent you from
nothing, but report your movements to me. Agree to that and you
live beyond this night.”

“I agree.”

“This isn’t
over, this little discussion, my Fay,” he said, leaning in close,
his tone threatening and furious. “I don’t enjoy being duped and
particularly not by a Valla. You’ll live, but whether I take you
and trebac to bed remains to be seen.”

She shivered
under his intense stare. “I understand.”

He stepped
away and turned to walk back to the castle.

She released a
pent-up breath and flowed, calling out, “What now?”

“Now?” he
threw over his shoulder. “Now I must alert my minions and then I
must harm my beloved stepmother. And claim the Medaillon!”

A time came in
every man or women’s life when waiting for a better moment, hour or
day was just plain foolish.

Sometimes the
best moment was lost in indecision.

That was how
Torrullin felt when he left the Keep on the night of Tannil’s true
coronation.

He intended to
head for Cèlaver, the world where people lived inside the planet,
but some shiver in the telluric currents drew him directly along
Fay’s outgoing path to the point where she found ground to walk
upon.

It had not
been eight days, the week he set her and himself as goal, nor was
there activity to suggest she was in trouble, yet something was out
of tune with the rest of the universe.

Fay was likely
in danger or Margus was being manipulated or Saska was about to be
hurt … or had been hurt.

Or the
Medaillon was screaming out, and he could hear the echo.

Whatever it
was, the Enchanter was at the proverbial and literal gates.

Chapter
60

Whisper to the
elements. Natural magic is ever more efficient.

~ Awl

As Tymall
headed back to the fort, to the north, hidden in the foothills,
Torrullin sat in watchful silence.

His gaze raked
the physical fortifications and senses probed the unseen kind.

His son chose
well. An army of seasoned commanders would spend themselves on
these walls. It was not entry that concerned him - it was the
leaving. He was able to come and go undetected, but with three
freed prisoners in tow, two possibly handicapped and weakened, his
anonymity would avail them nothing.

First he had
to find them.

A crunch of
loose shale told him someone approached. He shrank into the
shadows, eyes swivelling left.

A
darkling.

He whistled, a
sound that would not carry, but would certainly lure one close
enough to hear.

The crunch of
stalking footsteps came next and then the tell-tale hiss of a drawn
blade. As the transparent face with its pulsing blue veins peered
into the shadows, Torrullin rendered him senseless and caught him
before the heavy thud of his body revealed the act.

He did not
require the creature’s conscious co-operation; he needed the bond
of skin. The darkling would not remember it was unconscious for a
time. After reinserting the sorcerous blade into its scabbard to
cover the unearthly yellow glow, he placed a hand on the thing’s
forehead. Despite appearances, a darkling felt normal. Then,
keeping his physical gaze trained for danger, he delved into the
creature’s mind.

There was not
much. A pervading need for revenge, dark evil that could not be
redeemed. Memories of sorties to other worlds to wreak its brand of
havoc, forays searching for food, often unsuccessfully, and the
hungry frustration that accompanied it. A few murders - his own
kind. Glimpses of the dark interior of the castle, the countless
numbers of his comrades. It existed to eat and kill, for there were
no memories of relaxation. It was what it was, no more. How they
procreated was a mystery, for every darkling appeared male.

He probed past
the surface to the memories of individuals. Fay’s arrival caused a
stir - this creature liked it not. Tymall was feared - there were
hazy scenes of vicious killing and torture.

Tymall
realised to lord over them he had to prove he was more, and
appeared to have achieved that. Torrullin felt sick and nearly
broke the contact.

The western
tower. Tymall and his female companion - had to be Fay.

He searched
for Saska, using his power to recall her specifically.

She stood
outside the gates, uncertain, and her posture changed. She realised
her mistake. The next memory the creature had was of ascending the
eastern tower bearing food, and that was all. The connection was
clear, however. Saska was held in the opposite tower to the
Warlock, from where, no doubt, he could exert his control
easily.

An eruption of
glee in the creature’s terrible psyche. Margus being worked
over.

This one
played no part other than to watch, but Torrullin saw the torture
many of his companions inflicted on the Darak Or. It was a
continuing source of pleasure to this one, which was why the focus
was clear. Tymall bending over the bound, prone and gibbering form,
his face demonic in its enjoyment. Tymall flicking the barely
conscious Margus over, removing his breeches to sodomise the Darak
Or.

Good god.
Torrullin grit his teeth and looked past that to find his
whereabouts.

The eastern
tower. Tymall incarcerated the insane left-over of the Darak Or
with Saska.

He broke the
contact and breathed. It would help no one if he gave vent to his
fury now.

Long minutes
passed and then he laid the darkling out as if it had taken a nap,
and with great stealth vacated his hiding place.

Below, Fay
caught up with Tymall as he re-entered the manned gates.

“Do you have
to hurt her?”

He stopped.
“You’re crossing the line. She is not Valla. Stay out of this.” He
walked away, leaving her to stare after him.

As she entered
the grounds the darklings swung the great gates closed. The sound
was like a death knell and she wondered if she would survive. She
watched as Tymall headed east towards the other tower, knew then
where Saska was.

Of Margus not
a word was breathed, not that she cared one way or the other.

Tymall was
waylaid halfway across the courtyard, but then she realised he had
called to the darkling leader and told him to prepare for possible
attack. Moments later he proceeded to the tower, while harsh
commands issued from the darkling’s excited throat.

Not wanting to
be caught out in the open if it transpired as Tymall’s sense of
urgency implied, she hastened across to the door they used earlier.
She noted with displeasure two darklings fell in behind her.

Inside it was
controlled chaos and the eyes of the darklings bespoke their
anticipation. This was why they existed.

In disgust Fay
headed for the tower, but there was no way to open the doors. The
guards did not acknowledge her, not did those set to dog her every
footstep know of an alternate unlocking device.

Everything
for a reason.
She now had an excuse to follow Tymall to the
western tower.

Turning on her
heels ignoring her shadows, she stalked through the interminable
castle, thanking the gods for her excellent sense of direction, and
stepped out into the vast courtyard once more.

It was
deserted. Deadly quiet reigned.

The hairs on
the back of her neck rose.

If Torrullin
were nearby, he would not hurt her; drawing her courage close,
knowing it was bravado, she headed for the other tower, keeping
close to the walls.

Behind, the
two darklings hissed, unhappy to be out in the open under the
current alert, but she ignored them and continued.

Entering the
castle again, she allowed intuition to guide her through the warren
of passages to the entrance of the twin tower. Guards stood before
a set of doors, also metal, but pushed them open when she waved
imperiously. They had no orders to the contrary and her two shadows
shrugged, implying they knew of no impediment.

It was dark
inside, but moonlight picked out the shadows of a spiralling
staircase that went up to the top without landings. In this tower
there were no levels, no chambers. Just the staircase - a
death-trap - and the one chamber at the top.

“Stay here,”
she commanded.

The two shook
their heads. “We have instructions.”

“Where am I to
go, but up? This stairway doesn’t look strong enough to hold three
of us.”

Without
waiting to see if they would heed, she started climbing, infused
with a sense of urgency. She did not look down again, but heard no
footfall and assumed the two darklings opted to remain at the
bottom. She was relieved, but could not dwell on that.

Step by
careful step she climbed. There was no sound but her harsh, nervous
breathing. Even her footsteps were quiet, deliberately so she
realised with a start, and wondered where exactly her loyalties did
lie.

Finally she
stood on the small landing before a door and took slow breaths to
still her pounding heart. She put her ear to the barrier, but could
not hear a sound. Perhaps Tymall had not come after all.

She was
indecisive, thinking hard, and knocked. Saska would not be able to
open it, but they could at least communicate.

The door
jerked open.

Back-pedalling
in fright, she nearly tumbled over to certain death and would have
fallen had not Tymall reached out to arrest her fall.

“What are you
doing here?” he said, pulling her upright.

“I-I … can’t
unlock the doors to our tower,” she whispered, afraid of the manic
look in his eyes.

He closed
them. He swore aloud and hauled her into the circular chamber,
slamming the door. “Well, you’re here. You can bear witness.”

She was
paralysed by the scene.

Margus bled on
the floor on the far side, eyes wide spilling intense hatred for
Tymall. She gasped at the physical presence that hatred assumed and
put a hand to her throat. She looked away and found Saska huddled
on the bed to the left of the door, her clothes torn, her nose
bleeding. Old bruises marred the beauty of her face.

“Saska?”

“Fay? You’re
Tymall’s lady friend? Dear gods, why?” Saska hauled herself off the
bed with great difficulty and attempted to stand.

“Shut up,”
Tymall snarled. Slapping her, he pushed her onto the bed.

Fay gasped and
retreated to stand with her back to the door, shaking her head in
continual denial.

Tymall tuned
to her. “Know what I am, Fay. I hate. I am evil. I do not apologise
for it. This woman took my father from me. She is the reason he
beat me nearly to death. She led me to the suicide that brought me
to where and what I am.”

Saska started
to laugh. “Is that what you think, you misguided, self-deluded
imbecile?” She rose from the bed to stand proud. “Your father beat
you because you murdered his father! Your grandfather! Or have you
forgotten that very important fact? You caused your own destiny,
Ty.”

He crossed to
her again.

“No!” Fay
screamed. “Please don’t!”

On the floor
Margus started to laugh. Tymall jerked around and stared at
him.

Margus propped
himself up and sat resting against the wall.

“Oh, Ty, you
stupid, stupid boy, you forgot, didn’t you? Until Saska mentioned
the departed Taranis, you forgot you were responsible for his
death. Is your memory selective or did the invisible realm alter
your recall?”

Tymall smiled,
standing easily. “Darak Or, you’ve played me. How astute.”

Margus
inclined his head, wincing when it hurt. “I learned a thing or two
over time.”

“Indeed.”
Tymall snapped his fingers and an instant later his Warlock cloak
settled over his shoulders, his staff slapping into his right hand.
The gem circlet appeared glowing on his forehead. “Sane I do not
trust you, Darak Or.”

“You
compliment me with your need for accruement,” Margus taunted. “I
suggest you save your strength for the Enchanter.”

“I have enough
for both of you.”

The Darak Or
laughed. “I doubt that.”

Tymall snarled
and lifted the staff. Margus slumped senseless.

Fay huddled on
her haunches near the door. She willed silence to herself, afraid
she would know the Warlock’s wrath also.