The Dreamer Stones (32 page)

Someone
moaned.

Nobody could
stop it now. It was too late even for regret.

The ugly
keening reached fever pitch, where one instinctively sensed the
crescendo, and ceased there.

Dead, utter
silence.

Wide,
horrified eyes.

Tannil flew
from the seat, thrown, expelled, rejected, to land in an untidy
heap on the dais. His nose started to bleed and he breathed hard,
great gasps of breath.

“
No
!”
Caballa cried out, rushing forward.

Quilla was
already there, a tiny form filled with only sadness.

Kismet was
stone, staring at the Throne.

“He is hurt
badly,” Quilla said. He looked up and glared at the frozen
gathering. “What now? Do you let him die?”

Tannil stopped
breathing.

“
No
!”
Caballa screamed again, turning him and commencing
resuscitation.

“He cannot be
revived,” Quilla said. He rose and stood a while watching Caballa’s
fruitless efforts, and turned and walked out of there.

In the
courtyard he fell to his knees to pray to his deity, to all
deities, begging for peace for Tannil’s lost soul.

Chapter
Twenty-Six

Repentance,
the state in which forgiveness is asked, in which regret is sincere
and the soul releases its monsters.

Absolution, to
be granted forgiveness, where the sin is both sincerely forgiven,
akin to a second chance, and where the sin is also, more
profoundly, forgotten.

Dictionary,
Titania Edition

Time wound
round the curve and the two divergent paths again merged.

It was four,
closer to five, weeks since Torrullin and Lowen entered the realm
that led to the Syllvan, the latter three of which Krikian spent in
abject terror.

Lowen said two
weeks and then he was to begin recall, and he did so, to the
minute, and nothing happened. She said no matter how long or short
time was on the other side, two weeks was the absolute
deadline.

He
methodically did exactly as she trained him. He took the twin ring
out after drawing a circle on the floor, using his finger to do so,
for it was not a visible thing, and murmured the words three times
in succession. According to Lowen’s teachings, her ring would feel
the pull, taking them to the doorway he created. Strange words.
Cèlaver words.

A doorway
glimmered briefly and then snuffed out. To him it seemed as if the
snuffing was deliberate, and that was the terror filling his every
pore.

The musty
walls of the equatorial castle closed in. The air smelled dank,
which was partly due to fear - nonetheless, it felt as if he would
suffocate and nobody would ever know. In that trying time all
thought of his immortality left him. He felt old and mortal,
unhappy, and terrified he failed not only his best friend, but also
his beloved lord.

He dared not
leave the chamber, stale air or not, and dared not renew the
recall.

Thus it was
that when they returned, without need of a portal, one moment
absent, the next simply there, without warning or fanfare,
unexpected, he at first thought his mind played tricks on him. He
slumped forward, choking on his relief.

Then he was
livid and his fury directed at Lowen.

“Gods, you
said two weeks! You said it would work! I’ve been going insane
here!”

Krikian bit
down his wrath and clambered unsteadily to his feet.

Lowen was mute
and could only swallow.

“Hush,
Krikian,” Torrullin soothed. “The circumstance were extraordinary.”
He looked the Valleur over. “I see the wait has been difficult, my
friend, but in the end neither Lowen nor I were in control,
therefore less so for you, here. It’s over now, done, and we thank
you for the loyalty that kept you at vigil.”

Krikian heaved
a great sigh. “I’m glad you’re back, my Lord, very glad.” He
glanced at Lowen. “Why does she not speak? She always has something
to say.” Torrullin did not look too healthy either.

“Our leaving
was abrupt. She’s assimilating the shift. Do not fear. How long
were we absent?”

“I hazard
close on five weeks, my Lord.”

“Gods, too
long.”

Out of the
corner of his eye, Krikian caught Lowen’s surprised movement, and
then she turned with a resigned gesture and wandered into the
adjacent chamber, not bothering to take a candle into the
gloom.

He wanted to
ask if there was more to her withdrawal, but could not.

“I’ve been
away from Valaris too long,” Torrullin said. “I suppose you haven’t
picked up on news?”

“No, my
Lord.”

“Is it day or
night?”

“Day, my
Lord.”

“Good, we
could do with sun on our faces.”

Torrullin drew
breath, released it, and then gave an almighty spine-cracking
stretch. He yawned wide, stretched again, and colour seemed to come
back into his face. He smiled and was again Torrullin,
recognisable, charming.

“We go to
Grinwallin from here to confer with Teighlar, and then we make
haste for Valaris.”

Krikian forgot
about Lowen. “I’ve been waiting to return home a long time.” His
golden face was radiant and the last few weeks of terror
evaporated.

Home.
Home
is where I love most.
Torrullin returned the grin and swatted
Krikian’s arm. “Nearly there, and what tales you have to
share!”

The Valleur
laughed. “Indeed!”

Torrullin
glanced at Lowen, to find her gone. His grin vanished. “Krik, will
you give us a few minutes?”

“Of course.”
The Valleur headed for the door, worry etched anew on his
expressive features.

“Lowen,”
Torrullin called, entering the adjoining chamber.

“I must go
elsewhere now. I have completed my task,” she murmured from the
shadows opposite.

The windows
remained covered against prying eyes, thus no daylight entered the
seedy room. Krikian had been vigilant. The only light was from the
muted glows next door.

“Leave? Why?
It begins now, in earnest.”

“Not for me.
After what I’ve seen and heard, I realise …” She fell silent.

“You know me
now and it frightens you, the terrible person I am?”

“I’m not
frightened of you, and what I saw were your burdens, and you are
more than the sum of those. No, I realise I’m not qualified for
what comes next. What do you expect me to do? Lift a sword? Throw
fireballs? I can do neither; my field of expertise is realms. Gods,
now I know I merely scratched at the tiniest surface. You knew more
going in; you know a damn side more coming out than I ever thought
I knew.”

“You are more
than the sum of the years of preparation that led to this.”

“Maybe, but
what? An artist? A seer? Even if you need me around to advise on
realms, you do know more
and
you were advised to stay
away.”

“I rarely
follow advice.”

“Go to hell -
you don’t understand.”

“I’m probably
the only one who does. I’ve been forced to start over a number of
times. Lowen, I need you at my side. Your brand of honesty keeps me
focused on what is important.”

“Your analyst,
Enchanter? You’re being selfish.”

He inclined
his head and advanced deeper into the shadows. “Yes. I do not
apologise for it. I want you on my …” He paused and then finished
his sentence. “… on my Kaval. I ask that you join me.”

“Kaval, is it?
What happened to cabinet? Too commonplace for the mighty Elixir?
Surely you need give this more thought?” Her voice rose.

“No.” His
added shadow obscured her features completely. “In my vision of you
I had to recognise something. I did. Turning my back now, allowing
you to go on to who knows where, is an emphatic denial of
that.”

There was
silence. She would not demand what he recognised, for she did not
think she could face the truth.

“You’re asking
me to remain immortal. You demand that I be the handmaiden to
your
future, not mine.” Her voice was devoid of
expression.

“Perhaps our
futures are one.”

She drew
breath, but did not otherwise react.

He moved away.
“The choice must be yours.” Torrullin turned and headed out of the
gloomy chamber. “The offer is not retractable,” he threw over his
shoulder, “and you are qualified in ways you do not comprehend. I
await your answer and will accept only on due consideration on your
part.” He vanished through the doorway.

When she
emerged a few minutes later, it was to find him and Krikian deep in
war talk.

Teighlar
frowned.

The sound of
clashing swords grated on his nerves and he was about to snarl at
the two combatants, Samuel training with a Senlu Swordmaster, when
he caught sight of movement beyond the oval.

They were on
the lower tier, the opposite end to the stables, and this was
Grinwallin’s training area, with sturdy barracks around.

Despite the
peace of recent times, the Senlu maintained a force of warriors.
Unlike in their eventful past, they were prepared. The warriors
pitted their wits and sharpened their skills on hard hunts and
every fifty years a tournament between Senlu and Valleur took place
on the great plateau outside the city gates. Presently the Senlu
were two wins in the lead; they were as ready as a fighting force
could be.

The movement
was beyond the small crowd surrounding the oval, all having come to
watch Samuel come to grips with a weapon. They came daily and were
impressed. The man did well, for the mind was a great
motivator.

Teighlar rose.
Ah, yes.
Now it begins, but before it does there will be
pain.

He called out,
“Samuel!”

Clanging
blades silenced. “Did I do something wrong?” Samuel called back,
standing with his sword dragging the ground and heaving for
air.

Teighlar
glanced significantly at the ground before Samuel’s feet and the
blade lifted swiftly.

“No,” Teighlar
said, his voice carrying. “He has come,” and he pointed to the fair
man descending the narrow steps between the barracks.

A Valleur was
at his side and behind the two of them came a dark-haired
woman.

Samuel
expertly sheathed his sword and was stepping forward as Torrullin
arrived at ground level. The two grinned at each other and
embraced.

“Nice to have
you back, Enchanter!” Teighlar drawled as he sauntered over.

Torrullin’s
smile vanished and he appeared uncertain. Then, “It is Elixir
now.”

Teighlar’s
smile dissipated like mist before the sun’s rays. “Ah. Of course it
is, my friend.”

Torrullin
scrutinised the Emperor’s features. “You knew?”

“It has
crossed my mind.”

“Do you know
what it means?”

Teighlar
shrugged. “I learned a thing or two in ninety million years of
half-life.”

Torrullin
barked a sombre laugh. “Perhaps you can tell me sometime, for I
find I am mystified.”

“We’ll
talk.”

Torrullin’s
eyes narrowed. “I get suspicious when folk are so … blasé.”

A fleeting
grin. The Senlu gestured at Samuel. “Did you note his form?”

“Seeing form
is as natural as magic to a Valleur, you know that,” Torrullin
said. He grinned at Samuel.

“Well?” Samuel
asked it anxiously and then demanded firmly, “Well, how do I
fare?”

Torrullin’s
grin widened. “Typical Valla! Why say please when you can demand?
Relax, Samuel, I merely tease. You are swift on your feet, your
eyes track your opponent accurately, your agility makes up for lack
of strength - wrist strength. You have grasped the play of the
blade. Impressive.”

“But?”

“Exercise your
wrists more and tighten your shoulder muscles. Do that and you’re
able to wield a sword. If, however, you seek to be master, hear it
sing to you, make it an extension of your arm, and play with it.
Make it dance.”

“Swordplay is
like dancing,” Teighlar affirmed. “Your partner is your blade, not
your opponent.”

“And practice,
practice, practice,” Torrullin laughed.

“Tomorrow,”
Teighlar said. “Now other matters will take our attention.”

“True.”
Torrullin looked at Samuel. “I’m surprised to see you far advanced
in training. Why are you doing this?”

Samuel was
warm from the praise, but sombre as he replied, “That would be one
of the matters for attention.”

Torrullin
waited a beat and then nodded. He turned to the Valleur at his
side, who stared at everything at once. “Teighlar, you remember
Krikian.”

The Emperor
indeed recognised the Valleur. “Well met again, Krikian. Welcome
back to Grinwallin.”

“Thank you, my
Lord. It’s good to see this wondrous city once more.” Krikian
sported a broad smile.

A small frown
creased Teighlar’s pale brow. “You are immortal.”

“Temporarily.
I needed to ensure I’d live to see my Lord’s return.” Krikian
sighed. “It’s good to be in the fold.”

“And Valaris
beckons?” Teighlar teased.

“Indeed!” The
Valleur’s gaze shifted to Samuel. He had marked the remarkable
resemblance to Tristamil and Tymall. “You must be Samuel, the
Samuel I heard a fair bit about.”

He held his
arm out for the ritual Valleur clasp and Samuel stepped into
it.

“I have heard,
in turn, of your exploits,” Samuel murmured, looking the Valleur
over in amazement. “Never thought I’d actually meet you.”

“Sounds as if
my meagre contributions gained wings.”

The two
unclasped and Torrullin brought the attention to Lowen.

“Lowen,”
Teighlar said. “I certainly didn’t expect to see you again, my
dear. We heard rumours of your disappearance, but I hadn’t quite
figured out you’d undertake the Ritual. Naturally, for you the
gates of Grinwallin are wide and welcoming.” He smiled that
brilliant smile of unqualified acceptance.