The Sleeper Sword (79 page)

Saska sipped
at her coffee, saying nothing. She sensed Curin was not
finished.

The woman rose
and peered out into the early dawn streets. It was quiet, but a
number of brightly clad Senlu were about tasks. An industrious
people. She watched them a while and turned.

“I want to go
home. Grinwallin is nice, much better than that musty castle, but
it’s alien to me. I feel I can accept the new status quo easier on
our homeworld. Is there a chance, do you think? Can you intercede,
ask Torrullin? Samuel won’t allow it unless he agrees.”

“I’ll ask, but
I can tell you now it won’t happen too soon.”

“Why? Is it
any less dangerous here?”

“It’s safer,
believe me.”

“What, this
magic thing? It’s not real!”

“It’s very
real.”

Curin drew a
ragged breath. “I trust not in magic.”

Saska rose and
took their mugs to the basin. “I suspect you’ve seen little beyond
a transport or two. Perhaps you need witness it in person. Would
you like me to organise a showing?”

“No, that’s
like staging a play.”

Torrullin
entered bare feet, half-dressed, hair in disarray. He made his way
with an incoherent greeting to the coffee pot and then turned.

“Atmosphere.
What’s going on?”

Saska smiled
at him, her eyes warming over the state of undress, but she
shrugged and inclined her head at Curin.

Torrullin
studied his wife a little longer, reading the promise there,
enjoying it, and turned to Curin. He raised his brows at her,
pushed hair away from his face.

Smoothing hers
self-consciously, Curin murmured, “Saska suggested I familiarise
myself with magic, to trust it more.”

Torrullin
inclined his head. “A good idea.”

“Not if it’s
staged.”

“What would
convince you?” he asked, and Saska hid a smile. Curin was in for an
impromptu show.

“This?” He
snapped his fingers and the small kitchen table groaned under a
weight of food. He snapped his fingers again and the food vanished.
“No, too tame. What about this?” He waved his hand and the kitchen
disappeared to be replaced with a riverside glade. Curin put her
hands to her mouth, her eyes wide. “Or this?” The glade was
replaced with a cave, stalactites and stalagmites glowing in rosy
candlelight.

The kitchen
returned and Torrullin said, “Tricks, Curin, temporary illusions
unless they are rooted. They prove nothing, mere mastery over
illusion. I can wow with all manner of legerdemain, which is an art
and
magic, but there’s no reality in it. My point, sorcery
cannot be staged, not the kind Saska speaks of. However, if you
need to see more, we require a safe area and we would have to warn
others …”

“I get it now.
Really, and I don’t need proof.”

Torrullin
poured coffee and added milk before saying, “I think you do.” He
raised his mug to his lips, drank, waited.

Curin sighed.
“All right, I do.”

“But?”

“I suppose I’m
more frightened it will be proven.”

“It’s natural
and sane to feel that way.”

“Is it?
Everyone else is comfortable with it, Tristan included, even
Samuel. Why should it bother me?”

“Because it
means you will have to accept Luvanor and Grinwallin as your
haven,” Saska spoke up.

Torrullin
studied Curin. “You want to go home? Put that thought aside.
Valaris is not safe for anyone at this time, but particularly not
for the Vallas and those around them. You are married to one and
therefore you are leverage, a means to exact compliance, not only
from Samuel, but from me. I cannot allow it.”

“It’s
unfair.”

He was
sympathetic. “Bear with us; this won’t last forever.”

“Why are you
not out there fixing …”

“Torrullin,
Tannil is pacing the sitting room, go talk to him,” Saska said,
glaring at Curin.

Grinning at
his protective wife, Torrullin left, carrying his coffee.

“Curin. Give
him a break, will you? He’s here for Tristan as you surmised, and
he’ll return to Valaris soon, too soon …”

Tannil stared
out of the window.

He did not
react when Torrullin flung into a seat.

Torrullin set
his mug down. “Tannil, we have to get past this.”

No movement,
but Tannil spoke. “You and I head for … something. I think in
opposition.”

Torrullin was
silent only for a beat. “I don’t agree.”

Tannil turned.
“How not? How often haven’t we been at loggerheads?”

“The issues
cause tension, but it doesn’t mean we sit on opposite sides of the
road. You are Vallorin and I am Enchanter, and together we face
what’s coming. Disagreement is natural, and necessary.”

“Are you
certain I haven’t driven a wedge between us?”

“Yesterday was
yesterday, Tannil. I understood why you did what you did, and do
not fault you the sentiment, but I could not stand by and allow you
to kill yourself either. This is no wedge, grandson; it’s simply
action based on love.”

Tannil’s
shoulders lifted in a huge sigh and he came closer, sinking into a
crouch before Torrullin. “Yet I hurt you in another way, did I
not?”

“Any hurt came
from within me. I am the one who has not let go.”

Tannil looked
up into Torrullin’s face for a long while and then rose with a
groan to sit opposite.

“I didn’t know
my father like you did. To me he’s a figure from the past, seen
with Valleur sight, but never known or touched. I can’t begin to
understand what draws you to him, for Teroux is too young now for a
profound bond to be clear to me. A mother-son bond, I think, is
somewhat different.” He paused and then went on in a rush. “You
weren’t meant to find me in the crucible. Maybe I meant to die
before discovery, I don’t know. Still, I was selfish in not seeing
a doorway would present other opportunities for all of you. Forgive
me.”

Torrullin
grimaced. “The hurt comes from knowing, anew, I am never to see him
again. Or Taranis and Millanu.”

“Declan
explained. I didn’t know that realm is forbidden.”

“We learn as
we go.”

Another
silence, for words were too weak.

“May I ask why
Vannis and Raken would not be there?” Tannil’s voice was toneless,
yet curious.

Torrullin shot
him a look. Curiosity was a step in the right direction. “Vannis is
guilty of much that cannot be forgiven, as is Raken.”

Tannil
frowned, trying to understand. “Taranis was guilty.”

“Yet he
qualified.”

“Where is the
difference?”

“I guess
Taranis had compassion, even for the bad.”

“Raken did
not?”

“Hers was a
single transgression …”

That was not
true, for she also murdered the man who raped her, something she
never felt regret over, but Tannil needed to understand the
nuances, not grasp the reality of just desserts.

“… and she
asked for and received a second chance, but, like Vannis, in her
heart of hearts, she could not ask forgiveness and mean it. Taranis
could and did. Vannis and Raken were in the Light and yet both knew
the Dark. Eternal Bliss was therefore beyond their reach.”
Torrullin shrugged and met his grandson’s gaze. “Let this be a
lesson. Never do something so terrible you cannot be forgiven.”

“I hear you,
but it limits me.”

“No, it frees
you. Now you know without doubt what lies waiting beyond and how to
get there. You have a goal, attainable, and that is freedom, son.
You are fortunate.”

A smile spread
over Tannil’s face.

“Is it
beautiful?” The words were ripped from Torrullin before he could
prevent them.

“A fairy tale
land where all is perfect, where every creature lives in harmony
with all others. No sadness, no strife, no hunger, no regret.”
Tannil looked away. “It is so perfect it … rankles. Can you believe
that?”

Torrullin
laughed, composed once more. “Of course. You’re not ready for that
kind of peace, you still need arguments and change and frustration
and the rest of it. That is how you measure yourself, how you know
you’re real, learning, and it’s how you grow and prepare yourself
for beyond. Very human of you.”

Tannil snorted
and then grinned. “I’m not crazy?”

“No,”
Torrullin laughed. “Now go and wake Vania and tell her everything.
Everything. If you want this marriage to have a chance, hold
nothing back.”

“You think?”
There were many unspoken uncertainties in those words.

“Trust me on
this.”

Tannil drew a
deep breath and rose. “Thank you.”

Torrullin
waved him off and watched Tannil exit with a carefree step.

The man was
fortunate indeed.

Over
breakfast, late and far too much on offer, Torrullin declared, “I’m
headed to Ymir for a time with Saska and Lucan. Samuel, would you
like to accompany us?”

The man looked
about to come apart and required diversion.

Samuel looked
up from his plate of eggs and toast, barely touched. “Yes.”

“I want to
go,” Tristan said.

“And me!”
Teroux added.

“No,”
Torrullin said. When both were about to protest, he added, “I have
spoken.”

“Boys,” Tannil
interrupted, as epic storms brewed in young blood, “Torrullin is
right. Ymir is no place for children.”

“But …”

“Teroux! I
have spoken also.”

“What’s in
Ymir?” Mitrill asked. She had been studying Vania covertly - her
daughter-in-law was red-eyed from crying, yet seemed more contented
than usual - but now she turned her attention to Torrullin.

“Rosenroth,”
Saska muttered around a mouthful.

“Which is?”
Tannil enquired.

“He interprets
dreams,” Declan said. He and Belun had joined the Vallas over their
late breakfast. “Who dreams?”

“I do,”
Torrullin said.

“That’s why
you asked after Krikian,” Mitrill murmured.

Tannil
frowned. “Why such lengths? At the Academia …”

“I require
objectivity,” Torrullin said, his tone indicating it was not up for
discussion.

“When?”

“After I’ve
seen Teighlar. Tannil, will you attend the dinner for Marcus
tonight? He returns home with Kismet tomorrow.”

“Of course.
We’ll all go.”

At that moment
Lucan bounded in, smacking his lips on seeing the fare.

“May I?” he
asked, and began tucking in without awaiting an answer. “I hear
we’re going today, right? To Ymir?” His words were barely
intelligible around the copious amounts of food he shovelled in.
“Delicious,” he groaned. “Starved … need the energy to cope with
Ymir …”

Curin sat in
silence, staring with huge solemn eyes at her husband.

Chapter
70

An oasis in the
desert isn’t always a blessing.

~ Arc, poet

Ymir was an
old planet, its civilisation dating back to ancient days.

It was a
planet of oases. Cities of rock and mud clustered about wells and
springs of clear water in an otherwise featureless landscape. Each
city was circular in design, concentric circles where every area of
habitat alternated with a region for cultivation. Ymir did not
import food or water and for a waterless world it was an astounding
achievement.

Ymirians were
proud and quick-tempered. Humanoid, they were pale-skinned, another
anomaly for a sun-baked world, with a decided ridge separating brow
from eyes. Their skins were rough with enlarged pores, and hair
began at the back of their pates, straight, so brightly red it hurt
the eyes. Their eyes were colourless as if burned of colour by the
harsh sun. The men were tall, strong and muscular, the women curvy
and big-breasted. Clothing was suggestive, designed to be alluring,
for Ymirians thrived on sex. It was their passion, an all-consuming
pastime, and had long back entered the depths of depravity.

Children were
kidnapped and sold as sex slaves. Men slept with men, boys, little
girls, with women low on the list of preferred choice. Women slept
with anything, their methods perhaps worse than the men. It was not
a strange sight to find an orgy consummated in an open square; it
was not strange to witness the watchers fondling themselves with
abandon. Elaborate theatre plays were scripted and performed where
the main ingredient was sex in its sickest form.

Many worlds
closed their doors to Ymir. Others had their people kidnapped to
vanish into the underworld of Ymirian depravity. What Ymirians had
to be proud of was beyond normal comprehension.

Of course
there were exceptions, areas where farming was the mainstay, a
source of contentment, where people were honest and hardworking,
disgusted by what others did. Where children had to be guarded as
the most precious commodity and vigilantism was pure
self-preservation. Had it not been for these, Ymir would
starve.

Saska took
them into one such area, explaining it was one of the safer
regions. Despite her assurances, Torrullin and Lucan were guarded
and wary, with Samuel following suit.

They were in
one of the outer circles of cultivation, an area ten sals wide and
a massive four hundred sals about the city. On either side were
city walls containing within the residences and businesses of a
million Ymirians. At intervals, huge gates, closed and guarded. The
farmland sported clusters of homes roughly every sal, each group
surrounded by high chain link fencing, and here guards were alert
to trouble. Children played behind further fencing.

To such a
cluster Saska headed and long before they were close, weapons were
levelled. It was skin-blisteringly hot.

“Saska, are
you sure this Rosenroth character is here?” Lucan asked.

“This is where
I last met him. Don’t worry; they’ll know where he is.”