The Dreamer Stones (7 page)

“It’s not that
simple,” Lowen said from behind.

She joined
them at the table. She listened to Torrullin relate his dream - it
took courage to join them as if nothing was said. Inwardly she
shivered, knowing how close the images painted with words were to
the images in oils.

“Tymall has
proven able to move through doorways.”

“You mean he
needs to be stopped in the beyond, like Margus?” Krikian asked.

Torrullin
smacked the table. “No, he must be negated in this space. Tymall is
no expert in reality shifts; I’m not too concerned about him
returning at a later date.”

“Then I don’t
understand,” Krikian muttered.

“This time the
threat must be seen to be solved, witnessed, told, retold.
Therefore it must be done here, but it’s the manner of the doing
that escapes me. Everyone says to kill him, but he is my son. I
refuse to murder blood of mine.”

“Ah. The
answer is a power thing.”

“No, it’s
about love.”

Lowen paled.
“Innocence.”

Torrullin
groaned. “Dear gods, the abyss will be deep.”

“I don’t
understand,” Krikian said.

“I don’t
either,” Lowen croaked.

“And that
makes us three fools,” Torrullin laughed. “We go tonight. I’ve
lingered overly long. We’re needed back on Valaris. I hope to get
back before the darklings attack and Margus releases his
creatures.”

Krikian
muttered, “Fine, fine, I’m awake, I think alert and I know what’s
expected of me. There’s no need to go over think it.” The latter
was said to Lowen. “The only question is - where?”

Both men faced
Lowen, who said, “The choice should be yours, Torrullin.”

“We need a
place where I’m able to wait undetected. Private,” Krikian said.
“If I’m taken away from your point of exit, you may not find your
way back.”

“No doorway is
closed to me.” Torrullin glared at Lowen. “Why do we need Krikian?
What are you not telling me?”

“Time. We want
to return to this time.”

“Ah. Tell me
about the time factor.”

Lowen looked
away. “Hard to say from this end.”

“I can’t
afford to come back in a century, Lowen.”

She rose and
paced. “No more than two weeks will pass here, and in those two
weeks Krikian will prepare to pull us out - he knows how, he’s been
through it a million times - but we may exit earlier and without
aid, if we’re finished on the other side. I know you are a Walker,
but Krikian is our failsafe in the event we’re bamboozled by time.
See?”

“Yes, I see.
Very well.” Torrullin reached out and clasped the Valleur’s
shoulder. “Thank you.” His hand dropped away and Lowen was under
fire again. “Now tell me more about the time factor.”

“I told you
…”

“You have
suspicions.”

She ceased
pacing. “I’ve seen into the void, yes, but I didn’t get accurate
impressions. It felt like seconds, but could be longer.”

“Educated
guess. This is a task you undertook. You are why I am here, because
you took the time to learn. Tell me.”

“I prefer not
to speculate.”

Grey eyes
bored into blue. “How long?”

She swore, but
was under his influence and could not look away. “Years, perhaps a
century. It’s diametrically opposite to the Plane.”

“Just great.”
He broke the contact, leaving her reeling in the aftermath.
Gods, that long alone with Lowen?

Krikian
meanwhile had been thinking. “What about one of the sacred
sites?”

“What?”
Torrullin snapped out.

“To wait.”

“No, not
Valaris. There are darklings.”

“The
Lifesource would be safe.”

Torrullin and
Lowen did not look at each other, but both said no at the same
time.

“Luvanor has
sacred sites,” Krikian said, eyeing them.

“No, we’d have
a host of interfering site guardians,” Torrullin said.

“Luvanor is
perfect,” Lowen said. “But not Grinwallin - too much power.”

“There’s a
castle belonging to the Vallas. Private, although not particularly
friendly.” Torrullin glanced at the Valleur. “You will need
supplies.”

“I have my
list ready. Need half hour to gather it.”

Lowen was in
motion again. She strode towards the passage. “We leave in one
hour.”

“She’s going
to destroy the paintings,” Krikian muttered, staring after her.
“Have you seen them?”

“Briefly.”

“She says it
is you, my Lord, in them.”

“It is.”

The Valleur
sucked at his teeth. “How?”

Torrullin
shrugged. “She is a seer.”

“That’s not
what I meant.”

“I know.” He
would say no more.

“I assume
we’re not returning here.”

“No.”

“Do we say
farewell?”

“Let those who
may have seen me come believe I am still here.”

“We sneak out.
Fine.” The Valleur left Lowen’s suite for his own to gather his
things.

Torrullin
stood in the centre of the emptied room. He brought nothing, except
his sword. He was encumbered only by his thoughts and he liked them
not.

The smell of
burning turpentine assailed him, and he sprinted down the passage.
Bursting into the room where the paintings were, he saw Lowen had
set fire to them on the walls as they hung.

Cursing, he
extinguished the small blazes.

“The fumes
will kill you! There’s no ventilation in here.”

She sobbed in
the middle of the choking space. “You do it then!”

He closed his
ears to her pain and proceeded to methodically incinerate the
images, a cold, fireless disintegration, doing so without looking
at them.

“You didn’t
even try and change my mind!”

He flicked a
finger to ensure the annihilation would be complete.

“There is one
more.”

“Where?”

She pointed to
the unfinished painting, the one that resisted her attempts at
change. A cloth draped haphazardly over it. “You should look
first.”

“No.” He
lifted his hand and it exploded.

“That’s it
then. Centuries of layers, colours, emotion, gone in an instant …
so much of me … of you …”

“We are more
than that.”

She rounded on
him. “Shut up!” Her blue eyes blazed.

He left the
room.

Chapter
Six

Let us play
with the snakes. Lovely little creatures. They do no judge.

Tattle

The dank
castle on the edge of a lake in the centre of Luvanor’s Kantar
continent was deserted of guards, retainers and caretakers.

It was not,
however, empty; there were birds, snakes, bats and insects the size
of a man’s fist, all of whom reclaimed what they regarded as their
territory. Bat droppings stank up the place, feathers hung
suspended from thick spider webs. Squeals of newborn chicks, mostly
raptors, echoed through the dark, empty halls and passageways.
Brightly coloured, dangerous snakes slithered out to find warmth
according to their biological instincts and rats skittered away at
the sight, fearing to become dinner. In a short time the jungle and
its creatures had retaken the stone habitat.

It was not
habitable and Krikian wrinkled his nose. “You’re not serious.”

“Perfect,”
Lowen uttered, while looking around nervously.

“We’ll clear a
section,” Torrullin said. “And it is perfect. Nobody comes
here.”

He led them up
dark, slippery stairs to find the chambers the Valla women and
children used. They were now in Grinwallin. The chambers were
cleaner, if marginally.

And he was
dismayed. It was not right to leave Krikian in these conditions -
it was akin to punishment. Whatever haste determined, it was not
this.

“It will be
light soon. We clean up and then rest.”

“Agreed,”
Krikian said, dropping his load.

“You’re
delaying,” Lowen accused.

“I would not
leave my worst enemy in this hellhole. And we need a full night’s
sleep. We get this place habitable in daylight, and then we
go.”

She had an
ancient carpetbag with her and she set it down with great care.
“Fine.”

They cleared
out unwanted inhabitants, including two fat snakes.

Waste and
jungle debris was swept out and spider webs were taken off on
Lowen’s insistence, and a fair few hairy monsters were evacuated
with them.

Fresh water
from the lake was brought up, the cisterns set to work, wood cut,
carried and stacked next to the huge fireplace in the main chamber.
Bedding was aired and Krikian remarked it was as if they intended
to move in.

Neither
Torrullin nor Lowen replied to that.

By nightfall
they were exhausted. They took turns showering - cold water, for
they could not get the old water heater to work - and Torrullin
created a nourishing meal, the only low-level magic they
employed.

It was good,
with tired, light-hearted banter, and then they rolled into bedding
beside the blazing fire.

All windows
were carefully covered against escaping light.

In the small
hours Torrullin opened his eyes.

Krikian was
deeply asleep and Lowen, while under, breathed erratically as if
dreaming.

Whatever had
awakened him, it was not one of them.

He sat up,
casting the net of his mind out.

The trouble on
Valaris came to him with faint echoes - food shortages, panic,
death - but was not what set urgency to his blood. He reached out
for Tristan and found him in dreamless slumber in Grinwallin. It
was not the boy, and it was not the Vallas in Grinwallin.

A sound of
stone grating, moving, heavy.

He
concentrated on it.

Mitrill and
Caltian laid to rest in the Graveyard.

Well, he knew
they could not wait for him, but it did not feel right. Something
about time niggled there, as well, as if it was off-kilter already,
but that was not the cause for his wakefulness.

Lowen moaned
in her sleep and he looked in her direction. She was a faint shadow
in the embers of the dying fire, yet he saw how uncomfortably she
lay.

Someone
touched his mind, and he moved away from thoughts of Lowen.

Another
touched his mind.

Two searched
him out in this dark. One he knew not, but the other was a
friend.

Teighlar?

Ah, Torrullin,
I thought it was you.

Did you sense
the other?

Yes. Who is
it?

Torrullin
frowned.
I have no idea.

I piggybacked
him to you. He is not on Luvanor.

Definitely
male?

I believe
so.

Tymall?
Torrullin asked it, but already knew the answer.

No. Someone
new. Someone not as kind as Tymall.

Someone not as
kind as his son, when his son was everything except that. What was
a-foot now?

Teighlar, can
you track him away?

No. He is
aware we sensed him - he left swiftly. Why are you hiding in that
ugly castle?

A trip I must
make. Tell no one I am here.

I wouldn’t
interfere, you know that. But, Enchanter, they need you on Valaris.
All hell is loose there.

I’m aware of
that. I aim to do this as quickly as it will permit.

Silence and
then Teighlar sent,
Take care, my friend.

Hopefully.
Keep the watch fires burning.

Always.

The contact
ceased and Torrullin sat on.

Someone new
had stepped onto the boards, and that someone played a secretive,
possibly supporting role. Was he with Tymall or awaiting the
opportunity to step forward from the shadows? Since Tymall’s
return, a return that preceded his by a fair few weeks, he caused,
created and orchestrated all manner of ills, including capturing
Saska, murdering the Immortal Guardians, and now starvation and
pestilence on Valaris, and Teighlar called that kind compared to
this new entity?

He needed to
get back into it.

Lowen moaned
again. He rose and padded over to her side. Kneeling, he put a hand
to her brow. She was slightly feverish. It was not mere dreaming.
He set aside thoughts of the intruder to concentrate on healing
…

… her fingers
curled around his wrist and pulled his hand off her brow.

In the meagre
light her eyes were luminous and fixated on him.

His breath
shallowed. She was still asleep.

She took his
hand, placed it over her mouth and smelled it without taking her
eyes off him.

How to wake
her without causing fright, and embarrassment?

He wiggled his
hand and she let go to reach up and grip his ear. He went with her
hand as she exerted pressure to bring his head down; either that,
or have his ear torn off.

And then
exerted backward pressure. She intended to kiss him. Bugger the
ear.

Wake her!

As he dragged
himself away she came with him. Another moment and he would be on
his back, Lowen on top of him still attached to his ear.

“Lowen!” Too
soft for Krikian to hear, but loud enough to penetrate the barriers
of sleep.

She blinked,
the action froze and then she pulled away from him. “What are you
doing?”

“You were
dreaming and grabbed my ear when I tried to wake you.”

“Oh.
Sorry.”

“No matter.
You’re feverish; let me take it away.”

“I’m fine. My
temperature rises when I receive visions. Go back to sleep.”

He nodded, not
caring if she could see the gesture or not, and rose, but instead
of returning to his bedding he went into the next chamber, where he
stood head bent, hands on knees, taking deep breaths. Gods, a
vision. Would she tell him? And, that was too close.

“Torrullin.”

He
straightened. “Go away, Lowen.”

“What is the
Animated Spirit?”