The Sleeper Sword (77 page)

Dechend
studied the Electan for a while and said, “The Centuar has a valid
point, Mr Campian, if you’d forgive my bluntness also. The people
of Valaris, especially those in positions of leadership, ought to
be made aware of Valleur history, which includes the races they’ve
touched along the way, and those races that stand solidly behind
them to this day, such as the Senlu. You see, our lives are long,
and events in what is to you far past remain part of daily
memories. It affects the present when humankind has long forgotten
the reason.”

Marcus
replaced his glass on the covered table. “Do you have any idea how
hard it is to get someone to talk to us? We hear the tales of
heroism and patriotism, but beyond politics and issues of trade and
security, there’s little else. There’s a universal conspiracy to
keep us humans in ignorance.”

“I disagree,”
Willas said. “Your abridged life spans aid forgetfulness and change
comes swift for you - you must move on without first understanding
what brought you to the point of change.”

“I guess his
point is valid then,” Roddevic interrupted. “Why tell a human
anything, when you know the next generation won’t be born with the
knowledge?”

“Granted,”
Willas acknowledged.

“Is there a
way to lengthen life, I mean generally?” Marcus asked.

“That took
courage, I think,” Dechend smiled.

“You have no
idea,” Marcus grinned. “Is there?”

“Every human
would have to be a sorcerer, Electan, and from there it would be
painstaking evolution to longevity. There’s no quick fix. The
Valleur, oldest race of this universe, learnt the secrets over
millions of years, and so did we. Others will tell you the same,
and they’ll also tell you the Valleur are the masters. Their life
spans average approximately four to five millennia, while we
achieve, on average, two.”

“That’s akin
to immortality.”

“Lord, no,”
Roddevic denied. “Aaru forbid.”

“You don’t
want to live forever?”

“Personally I
couldn’t imagine anything worse,” Willas muttered.

“Speak for
yourself,” Dechend grinned.

“The
foolishness of youth,” Leximas murmured.

“How old are
you?” Marcus asked of Dechend.

“All of seven
hundred years,” Dechend smiled, “and a youth, no less.”

“And you?”
Marcus queried, turning to the oldest man at the table.

“I am two
thousand one hundred and nine,” Willas said, “and finally nearing
the end.”

“That’s if we
don’t take into consideration dormancy,” Leximas added, and grinned
at Marcus, aware of how the human would react. “I won’t be so rude
as to force you to ask the question, Mr Campian. You see, those of
us over two thousand years are of another epoch, one that thrived
on Luvanor ninety million years ago.”

“Impossible,”
Marcus breathed.

“True, I
assure you,” Willas said. “I was born here in Grinwallin over
ninety million years ago, although the intervening years are
non-existent to memory.”

“Goddess,
how?”

Willas and
Roddevic looked at each other and Dechend said, “Do you want the
man to understand or not?”

“Roddevic is
the storyteller,” Leximas murmured.

Willas sighed
and nodded at Roddevic, who said, “I was born in that long ago
epoch, but the use of the word
thrived
is misleading for
that time.”

He had the
human leader’s undivided attention.

“The Senlu
were warlike and probably fought more than most races ancient. We
had a tribal system, and it was extended compared to parallels you
may draw from your history, Marcus. Emperors came and went,
assassinated as each tribe warred for supremacy. We were loyal to
our own, but would murder our rivals without thought, we raped
their women, burned their fields and worse, for in those days the
entire planet was ours. We had the space to live peaceably, yet we
degenerated into the chaos of instinctive evil. The point of no
return lay within each of us, and was near when Teighlar became
Emperor.”

Roddevic
paused, his gaze faraway, and then, “Somehow this man fell through
the cracks to be tolerated by most tribes. He was the eighth son,
and all his brothers were Emperor before him, each murdered in turn
as a menace to this tribe or that, along with their sons, but
Teighlar survived almost in anonymity and came to power without too
much ill will from anyone. I admit it may have been expedience, for
he was the last, and the royal line was a tribe in its own right,
the tribe with the unenviable task of rulership. Although every
tribe desired supremacy, still the fear of annihilation kept the
royal line in place, if often on the brink of extinction. Teighlar
had no sons at the time and, thus, we think, he was allowed an
almost peaceful reign until sons could be birthed and raised. He
used that time well, for he was a rare creature for those times -
he hated war. No doubt a further reason he was left alone - he was
no threat. He sired many children, among them seven boys, but while
these children grew up, Teighlar ruled without too much fear of an
assassin’s blade, and in that time sought out those who were
against war. There were more than suspected.

“Before long
he had an army for peace and gradually he drew them into
Grinwallin, fortifying the city. What was most astonishing was that
his army transcended tribal loyalties. No tribe could touch him,
because there was the unwritten law you never warred on your own.
For a long time Grinwallin went unchallenged and it grew prosperous
and incredibly beautiful. Grinwallin became a shining example to
the benefits of peace, and it spread. The man who fell through the
cracks reached out to the majority, and tribal rivalries ceased.
The Senlu downed their weapons, picked up hoe and spade. It was a
good time.”

Roddevic
paused to smile sadly.

“But the
majority isn’t everyone, is it? Teighlar sent his sons and
daughters out from Grinwallin, charging them each with the task of
reaching out, and the daughters succeeded admirably, marrying into
tribes where once men thought only of war. The sons were another
matter. There was another alliance that transcended tribal lines,
one that spoke of war on Grinwallin, but it went unheard for a long
time, grew in secret, and this was where those seven boys found
their niche. They sought not to change hearts - they became instead
the leaders. It grew too large, too strong, and when unleashed, it
came so swiftly Teighlar and Grinwallin were unprepared.”

Roddevic
looked at his hands.

“His sons,
Marcus, were the generals who instigated and led the attack. Seven
strong men each with a heart blacker than the Darak Or you know
from your history, and their father was powerless against them.
Grinwallin’s gates tumbled in smouldering ruin and the atrocities
began. Men, women and children, fowl and four-legged creature, not
one spared. Houses burned, trees were uprooted in spite, water
poisoned, pitch poured into the streets. The dead piled high and
there was blood and the stink of burning flesh, the smells of
terrible decay. We fought back, but were forced to retreat until
the mountain embraced us. The guards were gone, all men able to
wield a weapon … and evil bayed at the door.” Roddevic swiped a
hand across his brow and stopped talking.

His breathing
was erratic.

Willas took up
the tale.

“Teighlar was
seen as mild-mannered, no threat, a weak man who chose peace
because he didn’t have the stamina for war. It couldn’t have been
further from the truth. He was a sorcerer of exceptional prowess,
could wield any weapon like a master, and had that duality that led
directly to enchanter. He advocated peace, but, if pushed, was
capable of extreme violence. I was his advisor in those days - I
saw it all. By the way, Marcus, our life span in those days was two
hundred years. We think dormancy gifted us greater longevity, but
it wasn’t always so, and I tell you this, so you may understand
Teighlar had little time to change the psyche of a nation, but did
it nonetheless. His greatest regret was in not reaching his sons.
He never thought they’d do as they did. They couldn’t abide each
other, but stood together long enough to breech Grinwallin and then
stood before the sealing of the Great Hall, ready to execute their
father and all that was beautiful in the world. He knew they’d turn
on each other once Grinwallin fell, and the evil he managed to turn
aside would resurface, and there’d be no one left to deflect it
again. Four thousand were sealed within the mountain; the last of
hundreds of thousands, and only Teighlar and two guards had
weapons. We were doomed.”

Roddevic took
over.

“They broke
the seals and we stared death in the face. We were not afraid of
death, but it was terrible to know all we had gained would die that
day also. Our Emperor, bless his soul, realised he couldn’t allow
his sons to rule after him, not if he loved his world and his
people as he’d shown he did. Their deeds of terror would annihilate
the Senlu in short order and Luvanor would die a slow death … and
nobody would care
!”

Roddevic
paused and leaned forward to stare into Marcus’s face. “And thus he
did the only thing he could, Marcus. He killed us all.”

“What?” Marcus
burst out.

“And there you
have the reaction of all who hear the tale. And none of you were
there to know the reality. It wasn’t mass suicide, Electan; it was
an encompassing annihilation of evil. He killed himself, the four
thousand, his sons, and every soldier in Grinwallin. It was the
only way to prevent the destruction from spilling over into the
rest of Luvanor. Teighlar didn’t die physically, not that day, but
he died nevertheless in all the ways that count. The royal line was
sundered and he never again took another woman. Evil was halted at
the eleventh hour, by an act of evil, and while the spillage hadn’t
ended, the strength was removed. The Senlu outside the city gates
continued to war and eventually brought the planet to the point of
sterility. Those who could yet think for themselves finally left
Luvanor, never to return.”

Willas
murmured, “Luvanor was empty of life for a long time, but for a
wandering and Immortal Emperor and the echoes of four thousand who
went into dormancy, awaiting our second chance to make Grinwallin
shine anew.”

The hairs on
Marcus’s neck and arms stood up.

“It was a
terrible sorcery, but Teighlar had Light in his soul and, thus, two
thousand years ago we arose to our second chance. Teighlar and his
four thousand.” Roddevic smiled.

“Dare I ask
what this sorcery was?” Marcus whispered.

“You may ask,
but we may not tell,” Dechend said.

“And how did
the second chance come about?” Marcus asked. Not for an instant did
he doubt the tale. Marcus Campian was learning, fast, there were
events so great, even an unbeliever could not deny truth.

The four Senlu
glanced at each other and Roddevic answered, “A fair man came to
Luvanor, a powerful man, and he brought his son the warrior priest,
and he brought the Taliesman. He changed everything.”

“The
Enchanter?”

“Indeed. We
owe him everything,” Willas said.

“Dear god, no
wonder …”

“Now you begin
to understand,” Dechend murmured. “Everything is linked.”

“Saddest of
all is that history has a tendency to repeat, for Torrullin finds
himself confronted with the issue of an irredeemable son. Can he do
what Teighlar did or will he choose another path?” This from
Willas.

“Surely there
is no other way? Tymall must be stopped.”

“The Emperor
wakes in the small hours of the night, sweating and pale, and all
he can say is he murdered his blood. To live with that is beyond
our ken, and we wouldn’t wish it on Torrullin, ever. We hope
there’s another way, for the sake of the Enchanter’s soul.”

The words were
from Leximas, but it was obvious the sentiment came from all.

Marcus
retrieved his glass, his hand shaking a little. Torrullin already
admitted he could not kill his son, and who could blame a
father?

How would this
evil then be stopped?

Chapter
68

The road to
heaven is boring, some say.

~ The universal
joker

Under usual
conditions the realm named as Aaru, Nirvana, Eternal Bliss and a
host of others telling of peace forever, was accessed only in death
and accessible only to those considered deserving.

As in all
things, there were exceptions.

Tannil found
one. The crucible was more than a melting pot for sorcery or a
vessel to secure the tools of magic; it was a portal to the realms
beyond the physical and tangible of present reality. The doorway
opened when the enchanted circles were quickened together. Tannil,
following his heart, wishing for it with every fibre of his being,
stumbled upon, into and through.

And could not
leave. He did not want to leave.

In moments his
physical self would surrender the struggle and he would not return.
A choice made in life, not death.

His presence
in the crucible held the shift between realities open; access
depended on the breath of life remaining in the entrant. It could
be opened again, employing the enchanted circles, but would come
too late to bring Tannil back.

Teighlar had
little time. If he reached Tannil after the doorway closed, there
was no return. In his case the soul would be trapped to wreak havoc
in the realm Eternal Bliss.

The Emperor’s
form rolled into the depression to be halted by Tannil’s now
silent, kneeling body. It was only his body stopped there, for in
Aaru the Emperor rose and looked about him with the kind of awe
that comes with rapture.