The Sleeper Sword (69 page)

“Tymall,”
Saska called out. “Take Fay from here. She needn’t see this.”

Fay shook her
head. Tymall turned to flick a glance her way before turning
attention to Saska.

“Fay is
strong, she needs not your protection, and she isn’t as innocent as
you presume. This is a part of the price she will pay, either
way.”

Then, ignoring
both women, he crossed to the table, reached for the tin and tipped
the Medaillon onto the smooth surface.

“This thing is
inert; you had me fooled. I underestimated you, Saska.”

He was about
to say more when an unearthly amber light penetrated the apertures.
Cursing, he crossed to see where it came from. He whistled an
anticipatory sound.

“Fire. A
simple diversion, easily achieved, but destructive, particularly on
an army, and my darklings are no exception. Seems I must leave
you.” He headed for the door and looked down at Fay. “Stay here,
and talk to her all you want, but reach your decision fast, my Fay,
for my father is here.”

He stepped
through the door.

Saska’s eyes
shone.

“Forget the
fire!” Tymall cried as he alighted in the courtyard. “Find the
Enchanter!”

“There was an
oil fire in the kitchens, Warlock,” the darkling leader said,
panting as he came up. “I checked - it was an accident.”

“And it spread
this quickly? Burning what as fuel? The walls?”

The darkling’s
ugly countenance blanched. “Find the Enchanter!” he roared as he
hastened away.

“Too late, my
obtuse slave,” Tymall murmured. “He has you by the short and
curlies already.”

He stilled and
set his senses to find his father’s signature.

Saska took
unsteady steps to the closet.

Trembling
hands pulled the door open … she stumbled …

Fay’s arms
steadied her. “What did he do to you?”

“This time he
confined it to a beating.”

Fay knew what
that implied. “He has … you know …?”

Saska managed
a chuckle. “He tried.” She reached into the closet. “I must get
dressed to curb Torrullin’s fury.”

Fay sobbed out
loud and sank to the floor. “What am I to do?”

Saska leaned
her forehead against the cupboard, sighed and then lowered to sit
next to her. “The choice is simple. Good or evil. You know who is
what.”

“I’ve fallen
for Tymall.”

“The gods help
you, my dear, but you’ve seen only the physical manifestation of
his evil. How will you feel when the Warlock raises his staff?”

“It’s possible
to love someone even as you hate them.”

“Don’t I know
that, but …”

“… but I may
prevent him killing Vallas, Saska, by remaining at his side,” Fay
stated, squaring her shoulders.

“You’d be
killing yourself, slowly.”

“I deserve it.
I can live with it.”

Saska sighed
and her green eyes bored into the yellow beside her. “Be sure, for
Torrullin won’t have the element of surprise to return for you; in
fact, he may override your objections even now.”

Fay inhaled
and leaned forward. “I’ve decided. Leave the Enchanter to me. Now.
You’re right to lessen his fury. Tymall counts on him being beyond
mad … come, let me help you …”

Tymall could
not read his signature - Torrullin sensed an unsuccessful questing
- but he went one further in drawing the runes of invisibility.

Tymall could
not see him either. The two factors would take him into the western
tower.

He needed
another diversion to keep his son occupied. He needed time.

A sandstorm
built beyond the bowl of mountains. He set it up a while ago and it
gathered momentum. All he needed to do was bring it in. He did
so.

Sprinting
through the first gusts of gritty wind, Torrullin headed for the
tower. The darklings guarding the ground level doors did not see
him slip past. He pounded up the stairs as the walls shook under
the onslaught of tons and tons of stinging sand.

He studied the
sorcerous lock. Briefly calling to Destroyer he touched the door.
It and its magic disintegrated.

Time was
paramount now, and yet, for a moment, he hesitated. Saska had been
parted from him for two thousand years, while he remembered his
wife of a few months back. How much had she changed?

He entered and
the chamber was a swirling mess of red dust. He could see nothing,
but heard coughing. Margus, Fay … and Saska.

The apertures
sealed and the dust evaporated.

Three red
apparitions stood in various poses of confusion and turned towards
the door.

He saw no one
else as Saska stumbled forward into his arms. They wasted precious
minutes locked into a profound embrace that went beyond touch and
words.

Fay’s heart
hammered as she watched. Gods, Ty would destroy this meeting
between a husband and wife soon.

Margus sighed
in evident satisfaction.

Tymall
materialised, his gaze drawn to the pair and his lips curled.
“Welcome, father,” he said, holding his staff aloft.

Saska
stiffened and clutched at Torrullin.

He lifted her
face, looking into her eyes, and saw through the dust and make up
to the bruises old and fresh. That and her fear told him what he
needed to know.

Margus, take
her to you.

The Darak Or
stumbled closer and Torrullin’s eyes narrowed. Margus was recently
beaten. There was no time for healing. He glanced at Fay, saw she
was unmarked.

Disengaging
from Saska and passing her to Margus, he turned to face his
son.

“Let them go.
This is between you and me.”

“You’ve
imprisoned them further,” Tymall laughed. “They can’t transport
through your sandstorm and particularly not in their
condition.”

Torrullin said
nothing.

Two thousand
years ago the Throne gifted him ultimate power, the kind requiring
no words or gestures, masked his signature and allowed him to
consciously choose an invisible realm.

Twelve hours
ago it boosted that power. He used it now.

Tymall flew
back through the door to cartwheel into the circular depths of the
tower. The Enchanter launched after him. Halfway down Tymall
arrested his backward spiral to alight on the stairs. With a
contemptuous flick of his staff he destroyed the stairs above him,
effectively stranding the three in the chamber.

Tymall slammed
up against the wall and then through it as Torrullin hovered before
him in deadly calm, without using even his eyes to cause power to
flow. Sand poured into the breach and Torrullin flew into it,
following his son.

He met
resistance. The staff was a terrible tool. He crashed into the
sharp-edged roof of the castle and slid down its sheer expanse,
arresting his fall as he reached solid gutters. Pushing away into
swirling red sand, he sensed Tymall perched like a monkey on the
parapet to the left. He sent him head first through the thick roof
trusses, tiles and ceilings to crash to the hard flagstones of the
castle inside.

And
followed.

Tymall
crouched, bleeding, grey eyes feral, and launched a power pulse as
his father entered the breech and was satisfied with the result as
Torrullin collapsed onto the floor, but satisfaction was
short-lived, for his father threw both hands out with a pulse to
each and simultaneously froze him to the spot.

Rocking back
in the twin blasts, Tymall move the staff and it staff absorbed
most of the energy and turned it back upon the source.

Whistling in
surprise, Torrullin ducked and then launched up and over the
returning pulses to land behind his son. He held the paralysing
enchantment, but an instant later Tymall was free of it and
attacked anew.

It was a
battle of titans from that point on. They were evenly matched and
in the confined space of a small antechamber, squinting through
obscuring sand, they attacked and defended with equal ferocity.

A long while
later, exhausted, tricks depleted, both knew there would be no
death strike. Tymall had long-range plans, and Torrullin could not
do it.

Heaving, they
faced each other. Bruised and bloody, streaked with dust and sand
and sweat.

No darkling
had interfered, although a few shoved their heads in to have a
look, only to withdraw with alacrity. It remained to be seen
whether darklings now lingered in the castle.

“I cannot kill
you.”

“I know,”
Tymall said triumphantly.

“You cannot
kill me,” Torrullin murmured, grey eyes shining silver through the
dust. The sun had risen, a beam piercing through the hole in the
roof.

“It would toss
you into another realm,” Tymall coughed. “Thereby achieving
nothing.”

Actually, it
would not; the choice was his to make, not a result of physical
death. Tymall, clearly, was unaware of how immortal he was.
Well.

“I’m leaving
now with those I came for.”

“Fine, but Fay
stays.”

“I think
not.”

Tymall laughed
and then coughed again. “It’s her decision, Enchanter, not
mine.”

Up in the
tower Margus and Saska attempted to transport out with the
encircling sorcery now annulled, but their powers were leeched by
that bewitchment and the sandstorm thwarted.

Fay’s golden
gaze moved between them, amazed by the level of reliance. She
assumed captivity made friends of even the worst enemies. She
waited and soon they surrendered to their loss in power and waited
with her.

The sandstorm
petered away, leaving behind the weightless dust that took days to
settle. The sun rose, strengthened.

Saska glanced
at Margus.

“They’re
evenly matched,” he answered her unspoken question. “They will stop
when there’s no advantage forthcoming.”

“That’s why he
needs you,” Saska said. “You are his advantage.”

“Fat lot of
good I am now. Besides, any advantage I bring will be matched by
Tymall. Another stalemate.”

“Those
darklings are easily defeated.”

“Not in
number, and he has other things waiting in the wings.”

Saska paled.
“Like?”

Margus looked
away. “I didn’t see - just felt the disturbances.”

“What if he
uses them now?”

“The sandstorm
will frustrate even Tymall. Besides, I doubt he aims to send the
Enchanter on his merry way quite yet.”

“His eyes are
grey again,” Fay said. “It frightens me that he has so much
control.”

“He is not the
enemy,” Saska snapped.

Fay raised a
troubled gaze. “Not yet.”

They walked
through sand laden corridors together.

“Why did you
choose this place?” Torrullin asked.

“It was
deserted but for a few darklings. The rest were scattered, and I
brought them together and renovated this castle.”

“Surely you
expected this stalemate?”

Tymall
considered and then, “No.”

“Saska.”

“And the
Medaillon.”

“Useless to
you.”

“You have too
many on your side. Saska and Margus tricked me into believing that
stupid coin created the link.”

“The link is
between a father and a son, Tymall. If you held it, even taking the
risk of a burning, I would have known where you are.”

Tymall walked
on. “Obviously I don’t know enough of the Valleur.”

“Therefore do
not underestimate us.”

“Do not
underestimate me.”

“I don’t, but
I wonder if your power lies in that staff or your mind. It’s easy
to break a staff.”

Tymall halted
and held it out. “I dare you to break it.”

Torrullin
halted a pace or two distant. He studied the long silver rod with
the gem at its head and then turned his attention to Tymall. After
a time he shook his head.

“It is merely
a diviner and conductor; the power lies in the stone on your
brow.”

Tymall gave a
little bow. “Very good, father. Breaking it will achieve nothing,
for I could simply bind it again.”

“A stone can
go missing.”

“Not this
one.”

“And the
cloak? A mantle of prowess? You earned them in the invisible realm,
but it was hard-won, and made you what you have become. Not only
evil, but without scruples, no adherence to the laws which govern
sorcerers, and without a shred of honour. Is it worth it?”

“Who are you
to judge?”

“I never raped
a woman or murdered innocents for being in the wrong place, and I
never tried to get a leg over another man’s wife. I certainly did
not sodomise my enemy for pleasure. I have never harmed a child.”
Torrullin stared unblinkingly into Tymall’s soul. “You are a
monster, my son.”

“Bugger
you.”

Torrullin
raised his brows. “Yes, I think you’d stoop even that low.”

Ignoring the
hiss of fury, he turned on his heel and strolled towards the tower.
Entering the unmanned doors, he looked up. No stairs. He
transported up into the circular chamber.

Saska flung
into his arms. Cradling her, he whispered, “Time to go home, my
love.” He felt her nod and sob against his chest, and held her.

“Tymall?” Fay
whispered, searching behind him.

“Here,” his
voice came, under control once more. “Fay, time to make your
stand.”

Not daring to
look at Torrullin, she said, “I’m staying.”

The flare of
triumph in Tymall’s gaze was disconcerting, but the fire of desire
that followed enveloped her. She crossed the room and stood beside
him, and when he drew her close she did not resist.

Torrullin’s
eyes bored into hers. “What do I tell your mother and your
father?”

Tell them I
seek to save their lives.

He blinked,
but did not give her away. “Do you have no words?” he asked.
Do
you not trust me to do that?