The Dreamer Stones (78 page)

Tymall drew
his sword and snapped at it loudly with a finger. “Face this.”

Torrullin
turned.

Samuel looked
from Torrullin to Tymall, hand hovering near the hilt of
Trezond.

“Tristamil and
Tymall, blue and green, as it was written. A new chapter unfolds,
Samuel and Tymall, the Lumin Sword. So it must be.” Tymall’s voice
held challenge, although his eyes revealed little.

Samuel opened
his mouth …

… the Lumin
Sword lay balanced upon Torrullin’s open palm.

Samuel closed
his mouth. What was there to say, after all?

“Trezond isn’t
good enough for you, Tymall?” Torrullin asked. He approached and
threw the sword into the air, catching it easily by the hilt. “Or
are you more wary of my old weapon than of this manufactured
thing?” He levelled the blade, pointing at Tymall’s chest. “Do you
really want to wield this?”

“No, I want
Samuel to use it.”

“Are you
crazy? I tried it already.”

Tymall drew
breath and his head swung as if in slow motion towards Samuel. “It
frightens you?”

“Hell,
yes.”

“Then you do
know. Pity. Of course, you do know Tristamil would take it?”

Samuel shook
his head. “No way.”

“You don’t
know my brother.”

“And neither
do you.”

Torrullin
interfered, seeing that path lead to real battle. He reversed the
blade and held it out to Tymall. “Samuel wants it not and thus, by
default, it’s yours. Take it.”

Tymall forgot
Samuel. He stared at the yellow blade.

“You two are
at stalemate. Either walk away or …”

“… change the
rules,” Tymall snapped.

Torrullin
studied each man in turn and then nodded. A moment later he raised
his clasped hands high over his head, muttered a word and drove the
Lumin Sword deep into the floor of the temple, splitting the
radiating star into hairline cracks. A loud sonic boom sounded.

Only the hilt
and two fingers of the blade protruded from the floor.

“Gods, and
now?” Tymall snarled.

“Change. Both
of you at personal crossroads, and I find I am weary of this. If
you’re prepared to stand by your beliefs the sword cannot harm
you.”

“What, like
the ancient Arthurian legend?” Tymall scoffed. “One of us must pull
it from the stone?”

Torrullin
smiled. “That was no legend, son, and, no, neither of you are able
to remove it - only I can do that. Name your belief, here, aloud,
shout it out to the very heavens if you will, grasp it and leave.
Simple.”

“Where’s the
catch?” Samuel muttered.

“If you’re
indecisive or afraid, I suggest you walk out. To touch is to know
harm.”

“You’re
effectively preventing battle,” Tymall accused.

Samuel
smiled.

“No, Ty,
there’s a battle right here before you, psychological.”

“The Lumin
Sword fights the battle for us,” Samuel murmured.

“It’s
defeatist. We already know where we stand,” Tymall said.

“Then there’s
no problem.” Torrullin quirked a brow.

“The bloody
thing is the Light. It will harm me no matter what.”

“No. First, it
is not the Light - it was merely employed to prove the Light.
Second, it tests the truth of your beliefs, not your nature.
Agnimus could touch it now if he truly believes he is as evil as he
claims.”

“It’s not the
Light?” Tymall whispered.

Torrullin
leaned forward. “It’s akin to that blade at your side, all shadows
and deceptions … in the right hands.”

“Your
hands.”

“Yes, my
hands.”

“Gods, why did
you have to be my
father
?” Tymall howled. “I’d have
respected you for the power you are, bowed before you, followed
your commands, had you been another’s father!”

Torrullin
blanched and held himself still. “The blood chooses, Ty.”

“It’s
unfair!”

“It is as it
is and I’ll never regret the years before this cycle of
madness.”

“How much more
can I hate you without disappearing?”

“Tymall, grasp
the sword and be done.”

“You’re
testing us! The game goes your way!”

A smile. “I’m
a fence-sitter, remember?”

Tymall’s gaze
dropped to the blade and he inhaled slow breaths, one after the
other, until he was in control. “You never played on the
side-lines, not ever, even when it seems that way. You are the
master manipulator, the universal magician, and every breath you
take is a new instruction in something useful. There are no bored
moments in your life, but then, there are no peaceful times, are
there? You change the rules and you interfere, as you did the night
Tris and I stood here. You are the Enchanter and I expected no
less. I know this, but I also know myself. Samuel knows himself.
Why test us further?”

Torrullin
brushed his hand over the sword. It vibrated, drawing both Tymall’s
and Samuel’s alarmed gazes.

“I am testing
you
.” Silvery eyes bored into grey. “I know Samuel; I
witnessed the Light enter him. There is no doubt, no indecision. He
needs not proclaim anything. Samuel, please grip the sword.”

His gaze
remained on Tymall, who turned to watch Samuel approach the
weapon.

“Samuel
prefers to settle this without bloodshed, for he is in the Light,
and despite the harm you caused he sympathises with the man inside
that shell you carry. Samuel, please.”

Tymall’s eyes
narrowed as Samuel bent and gripped the hilt.

Nothing
happened.

Naturally,
there were unseen and unheard influences, for Samuel smiled
strangely.

“Samuel.
Remove your hands.”

Samuel did so.
He wanted to leave then, making his exit a statement, but was also
curious. He settled for a casual stroll into the shadows where both
Lowen and Declan were transfixed by developments.

There would be
no physical battle in the Temple of Stars that day.

There was only
silence.

Not a sound
inside; not a sound outside. No one gestured or moved. The patience
of waiting.

Tymall
approached the sword and halted within touching distance.

“I am Tymall,
son of Torrullin. I walked and ran with the Darak Or and became
more. I am Warlock. I know no compassion or regret. I have killed,
tortured, maimed, and raped. I have destroyed and destructed. This
is who I am and I do not apologise. I do not intend to walk away
from the battle or have any desire to revert. I accept what I am
and thus this Sword holds no sway over me. I shall take it unto me
and when I hold it high I shall fight Samuel unto death.”

Samuel
paled.

Declan
whistled in grudging admiration.

Lowen merely
watched.

Torrullin’s
form held the most tension, although he did his best to conceal
it.

“Ready,
father?”

“If you are …
son.”

Tymall
blinked. “Do not trick me.”

Torrullin said
nothing and looked pointedly at the blade between them.

Tymall bent at
the waist, reaching out with both hands to make a bold
statement.

An inch from
the metal, he froze.

Not a
sound.

He
straightened. He glared at the sword, at his father, at the shadows
where the three indistinct forms watched, at the ceiling … and
again at the offensive blade in the floor. His booted foot was a
blur of movement as he unleashed a kick. It connected. He swore,
retreated.

The sword had
not moved.

Tymall paced
in great fury and halted finally before his father. “Fay and my
boy,” he snarled. “A small part of what I am!”

“Enough, son,”
Torrullin said. “It is enough.”

Tymall’s hand
rose and descended flat-handed to slap. Instead, his fingers curled
at the last; when faced by his father’s unflinching features he
found he could not do it. His arm still in the air, he stood like
that, paralysed.

The fingers
uncurled and settled on Torrullin’s shoulder, twisted there, and
Tymall pulled his father to him, wrapping his other arm across
Torrullin’s back.

His words were
muffled as he said, “I understand now.”

Torrullin held
his son. Yes, Tymall finally understood a father’s love meant more
than any and all other considerations. No matter what came to pass,
it could not die.

The bond was
unassailable.

An eerie
silence hung thick in the angled chamber, pierced by an equally
silent beam of light, skewed and weak, from the narrow hole
overhead.

Samuel
shuffled his feet.

Torrullin and
Tymall parted.

Lowen frowned,
but was not sure whether it was for Samuel’s unwitting interference
or for the image of father and son together.

Declan said,
“I assume I can leave now.” He did not await an answer, leaving as
the words hung in the air.

“We’re all
leaving,” Torrullin said, although the Siric was gone. In apparent
disapproval.

“Wait. There’s
something I need to say.” Tymall retreated into the shadows
opposite Lowen and Samuel. “In private.”

“Leave us,”
Torrullin said.

Samuel did so
without a word, but Lowen approached. “Is this wise?”

“Loose ends,
Lowen. Go; I’ll be fine.” He did not look at her.

Lowen was made
of sterner stuff and the only thing she was afraid of, barring the
terror of the day before, was growing closer to Torrullin. That had
happened and now there was only Saska to face. “Am I a loose end,
Tymall?”

“Not mine,
no.” Tymall laughed. “You shouldn’t sell yourself like that,
Lowen.”

“Meaning?”

“Watch your
mouth,” Torrullin said.

Tymall laughed
again. “So defensive.” He entered the weak circle of light. “I
meant, Lowen, you shouldn’t infer that you are a loose end. Loose,
maybe …”

“I’m warning
you,” Torrullin growled.

“Relax. Lowen
has nothing to fear from me. I simply bait her, but time is short
and best spent wisely.”

“Lowen,
please, wait outside,” Torrullin said after a moment.

She glared at
Tymall and turned on her heel.

“Time for
truth. Final announcements. Right? Then why treat her like the
child she was when you knew her first?”

Lowen paused
and turned, eyes narrow with suspicion. “What are you up to?”

“I want him to
tell me how he feels about you, the real truth. Actually,” and
Tymall put his head to one side, “I think it may help. All I will
have are memories, many so skewed I am not sure whether they are
real. I don’t know how it will be in Digilan this time, but perhaps
…” He fell silent, shrugging.

“Oh, you’re
good,” Lowen muttered.

“Truth,”
Torrullin declared, drawing their gazes. He looked at Lowen,
watched her pale and felt cold himself. “Lowen is my conscience, my
advisor, the person most likely to disagree with me, and I respect
her gift and admire her strength.”

“Cut the
crap,” Tymall said. “You slept with her last night, I smell her on
you. It’s the reason you were absent and why she warned Samuel not
to fight - she saw this. How do you feel about her? No,
for
her, and I don’t mean description of her value.”

He could
refuse to answer or he could lie. He could curse and walk away, but
did none of that. Torrullin stared at Lowen. “There’s no simple
answer.”

Tymall cocked
his head. “Are you refusing?”

“No, I’m
saying there’s no simple answer.”

Lowen drew
breath. “Love me, hate me. One or the other, surely?”

“Neither.
Both. Mostly I fear you.” There, he admitted it, to her.

“Fear me?” she
echoed.

“Well, well,”
Tymall murmured. “Why?”

Torrullin
dragged his attention in Tymall’s direction. “Lowen was right; you
do not need this in Digilan.”

“
I
want
you to explain it,” Lowen said.

Torrullin
snapped around and stalked closer.

“What do you
want of me now? To bare my soul? Shall I tell you I saw you as you
are today a long time ago? That I knew you lived through two
millennia because of me? That I came looking for reasons beyond the
realms? And those reasons? That I saw you in my arms as you saw it?
That I am attracted to the powers of prophecy, that I self-fulfil
because I like it? Enjoy the helpless ecstasy? Do you want me to
tell you I love you? For reasons that make a madman appear wholly
sane? Oh, all true, doubt it not, but now is not the time for this.
However. Let me send my son away with this, let me appease his
macabre curiosity and tell you I am frightened of you. You hold
power over me no one wields, you see inside, you do not shy away,
you come closer boldly to touch your soul to mine when anyone else
would run. Lowen, I enjoy that fear and that is the simple
answer.”

They glared at
each other, both having forgotten Tymall.

“Somewhere,
tiny within me yet, dark wings unfold,” Lowen whispered.

Torrullin
jerked as if she had slapped him and then, “I know.”

“You fear that
most and like the thrill of fear. Damn you.”

He said
nothing more and a moment later Lowen turned to head for the
sunlight, needing to see light - real, unhampered light.

“She can hurt
you, I think,” Tymall said and there was compassion in his tone.
“Your nemesis, perhaps.” Like Fay, he wanted to say, and did
not.

“Enchanter’s
nemesis,” Torrullin muttered. “Elixir thrives … never mind.”

“And
Saska?”

Torrullin
sighed. “Please don’t pretend you care.”

“No, I don’t
care if she gets hurt. Forgive me, but I can’t change how I feel
about her.”

“I have
accepted it.”

“Accept this
as well, and I tell you this not because I want to hurt her - I do,
but …”

“What,
Ty?”

“Saska knew
Cat carried your child before she died. I overheard her confess it
to Lowen.”