The Kallanon Scales (27 page)

He gazed
around, not long, for he felt the pull of gravity, and looked upon
Valaris without the Sight. What a wondrous planet, such incredible
beauty and diversity. How he loved this world of his birth, through
every change. He stared south in the direction of the Keep and
could see and sense the activity there. He felt Torrke, the
sentient presence, acknowledge his gaze. He drew breath, feeling
lost.

Torrke, a friend as no other, but not human, not Valleur, no
tangible, beating heart.
Where are you,
Saska? Where are you, my love?

He turned
before loneliness overcame concentration, but had the presence of
mind to do so in infinitesimal degrees until he faced the downward
spiral. For an instant, his gaze fixed on the faraway arena floor
and he understood how the downward view influenced the descent.

Regaining
control, he pasted his gaze to the stairs. He attempted to ignore
his pounding heart, but that was not as easy with blood pulsing in
his ears. He descended.

He could not
do this with the entire Valleur nation hanging onto his every move;
their expectations alone would debilitate. Thundor was right. He
was certain Vannis achieved this feat in private. He would ask
sometime.

Torrullin came
to the point where the stairs took on every aspect of normality,
and realised he had succeeded, the up and the murderous down, and
ran to the bottom.

A tinny
clapping of hands marked his remarkable achievement and he laughed
aloud. Thundor danced a merry jig on the arena floor.

“Very well
done, Enchanter!”

Torrullin
slapped the side of the Tower in glee. “Got your measure now!”

Thundor
appeared on the step at eye level. “You have courage, Enchanter.
The Thinnings revere that.”

Torrullin’s
hands slid from the cold rock. “My little friend, courage isn’t
everything.”

“I was not
talking about courage alone,” Thundor demurred. “I meant we revere
you.”

“I do not
deserve it.”

“Humble also?
It doesn’t suit you. It is as it is. Of course, the Thinnings do
understand that your tale is yet to begin, but …”

“Begin?”

Thundor chewed
at his lips. “Me and my big mouth.”

“There are
Dragons, Thundor?”

The Thinnings
looked at him sideways. “Is this a test?”

“I have no
idea.”

“I hate tests,” Thundor muttered, looking everywhere but at
Torrullin. “Every examiner seeks a difference answer. What
are
you
looking
for?”

“A simple yes
or no will suffice.”

Thundor sighed
deeply. “Yes, Enchanter, there are Dragons.”

“As I
suspected.”

The Thinnings
knew something was confirmed that had less to do with the actual
existence of Dragons than an inner something.

Torrullin
shrugged and paced away, his mind in renewed turmoil. It was time
for Quilla to come clean. No more stalling. After a while, he began
counting paces, realising what use it would be to Matt and thus
could set aside thoughts of Dragons. He set aside the achievement
in ascending the Tower; it was not important.

He did not set
aside Thundor’s inadvertent comment about his journey having yet to
begin.

A while later
he entered his chambers, snapped a fire into flame.

It was
spacious with a main reception room, a library, three bedchambers,
a bathroom, a kitchen and dining area.

All was of
natural materials, wooden beds, rush mats, leather cushions for
seating, rough tables and chairs. Everything was of nature’s tones,
tan, brown, fading green.

The kitchen
was bare and he was hungry. He sent to the Keep, bringing in
supplies. Rummaging through the overly large trunk that appeared,
he was gratified to discover the kitchen staff packed wine. He
uncorked a bottle and carried it and a prepared platter onto the
tier ledge.

There he found
Thundor with a little scrap of cloth spread beside him and on it a
miniscule vessel containing tiny sandwiches, and a tiny bottle of
wine. Torrullin smiled. Very different and much the same. He
lowered next to the Thinnings, careful not to disturb the little
man’s meal. They toasted each other in companionable silence.

Night found
the two sprawled into the huge leather cushions. They consumed too
much, particularly Thundor who begged from Torrullin’s stock, the
two laughing uproariously over the complicated action of pouring
from a large bottle into a tiny one. They talked for hours before
passing out in a rare state of relaxation.

Vannis and
Taranis arrived during the night, putting their heads in and,
finding the two thus, retreated to a neighbouring suite. Taranis
privately decided to dog Vannis, the Valleur vulnerable to
depression.

Caballa and
Skye came next, preferring to transport north in the dark, and
Vannis led them to the neighbouring suite. All arrived loaded with
gear and food.

Silence
descended over the amphitheatre as they settled into sleep and the
moon rose full in the east.

The red ring
around it went unnoticed.

Forsooth, man,
everything and everyone possess an aura. Colours! And each tells a
tale. Admittedly, only adepts are able to read the colours, but
only a fool denies existence.

~ Anna of
Beacon, pagan

Morinnes
Camp

T
ristamil hurt in every
muscle.

Even the
ligaments in his fingers and toes ached. He glanced at Tymall
asleep on the bunk beside his and envied him. To sleep like that? A
miracle.

A groan
opposite drew his attention and he grinned at the Valleur trying to
find comfort for aching muscles. The fourth member of their tent
went out to relieve himself, nearly crying when he rose to do
so.

Camot was a
hard taskmaster, the worst. And the best. In forty-odd hours,
everyone improved on skills. Tymall could hit target with his
crossbow at two hundred feet and he, Tris, found the longbow a joy.
Both increased in agility at swordplay. Camot made them run, duck,
sprint, hide, jump and dodge, tired, yes, but soon new fitness
would set in, as well as the ability to act on instinct.

The troop was
a full one hundred and in the morning would move to the Tower.
Better to rest, however elusive - Camot did not endure shirkers.
The man knew how to flay the skin off one with his tongue.

Tristamil
staggered into the warm night air, passing his returning tent mate.
The man gave a sickly grin and stumbled inside.

Waddling over
the parade ground, he looked up. Full Moon, he noted, and frowned,
coming to a halt. Was there a ring around the moon? That was not
strange, but this ring appeared red. Unusual. He shrugged. The
Valleur and their portents.

He sensed a
presence then and froze, probing. Whoever it was saw him crossing
the parade ground in bright moonlight and opted for silence. He
needed to discern whether this was friend or foe.

Nothing came to him one way or the other, merely a waiting,
as if the presence expected something …
expected something?

He cared not
whether he was right or wrong. Rather be a fool than be dead.

Opening his
mouth to sound the warning, Tristamil knew only the deepest
darkness.

Tymall
stretched awake, wincing, and rose to answer the call of
nature.

He was in the
flapping doorway when the incongruity struck him.

His two tent mates snored …
in broad
daylight?
No way would Camot permit that.
Where was Tris?

He crouched,
immovable, listening to the eerie silence.

Something was
off-kilter. He shuffled back and awakened the other two with a hand
over their mouths, putting a finger to his lips. When both nodded,
he cupped his ears and had them listening as well … to dead
silence. Both glanced at the roof of the tent where the sun was a
bright glow barely diffused by the canvas.

They crawled
after him as he headed for the tent flap.

Tymall stuck
his head out when the breeze flapped one side wide and withdrew. He
sat a moment, frowning.

Realisation
hit. He bounded out of the entrance in a rolling dive and the other
two backed him, all three coming to rest under the tree alongside,
using the shade as cover, lying prone.

Not a tent,
not even a footprint in the sand.

“What is this?
A test?” Vicke whispered. “Where is everybody?”

“They left
without us,” Renar returned.

Tymall
murmured, “No way we slept through the move.” He stared at the
pristine circle. “Not a smudge from our fires? Nobody cleans up
that well.”

Renar cursed.
“Camot wouldn’t abandon you; may want to teach us lazybones a
lesson, but not the Vallorin’s son.”

“I am not so
sure about that.”

Vicke grinned
and said, “Renar’s right. Your father would have his hide.”

They rose to
stand uncertainly in the shade. The sun beat down, merciless. On
the breeze a faint whiff of … decay?

“Is anybody
there?” Tymall shouted.

His voice
echoed back.

“Ty, don’t,”
Vicke said.

“Father! Where
are you?” Tymall burst out. Something was wrong, and he was
unprepared, and vulnerable. He called to his father again, aloud,
and then mind to mind. He needed his father, he would make this
right.

Torrullin did
not answer.

He could not
answer.

Tristamil came
to, a miniscule point of light in the distance growing rapidly,
rushing at his eyes, blinding.

The sun,
Goddess, it was bright! He shaded his eyes with one hand and sat
up.

They left me here?
No, Camot would
know his life was forfeit. Where was Ty?

He noticed the
lack of markings. Something had happened and he needed to find out
what.

Father!
He shouted mind to mind,
probing for his father.

A cold shiver
of dread washed over him. His father was not there. His father
could not hear him. He stood, shaking off the lethargy of fear.

I am completely alone.
Not for long,
he thought, and transported over the ridge into Menllik, the
populated and busy Valleur city.

It was
gone.

Everywhere he
looked there was desert.

Endless, hot,
thirsty and sterile desert.

The only
absolute is change

~ Truth

Tower of
Stairs

G
ren arrived, bringing
Cat.

He
appropriated the vacant chambers next to Torrullin’s and installed
Cat in the one next to his. Dawn was not far off and Cat was wide
awake.

Sunrise found
her on the ledge staring in fascination at the high mountains, the
snow. She had to get up there, lie in it, roll in it …

“Falling in
love?”

Torrullin
watched her from the doorway to his suite. His grey eyes were
reddened, but he was alert.

“I hope you
mean the snow.”

He was about
to answer when Quilla and Phet appeared. He flashed a grin and
moved to greet them. Quilla and Phet opted for chambers immediately
below his and vanished to unpack.

By the time
they left Vannis was about and Caballa cautiously felt her away
along the tiers. Cat sighed and returned to her suite.

Bartholamu
came next and moments after him Shep Lore made his presence known
in subdued purple. The Siric moved in with Gren, while Shep was
invited to take one of the empty bedchambers in his Vallorin’s
suite. The poor man was as proud as a new mother, and Cat,
overhearing, knew a clear signal was sent … to her.

The first
soldiers started arriving and, at their head, a cursing Camot. He
vanished back and forth many times, instilling discipline, and
pointing out barracks. He started erecting tents on the arena
floor, but Torrullin put a stop to it.

The floor was
for the ship and its renovations. Camot could use the other side
for training and what-have-you once the ship was down, but the
soldiers were to be quartered equally on the topmost tier and the
lowest one, spread to encompass the entire circumference.

Camot cursed
more, and changed his orders. The Valleur soldiers jumped and the
frantic activity was soon put to rest.

Finally the
war leader stood in the great empty circle and his golden face
became ashen.

“Where are they
quartered?” Torrullin asked, alighting next to him. He peered at
the Elder. “Camot, where are they?”

“My Lord, I
assumed they were somewhere in the confusion, yet now I know I have
not seen them this morning.” Camot turned tawny eyes on his
Vallorin. “I was told to treat them no different.”

“Quite right,”
Torrullin returned, placing a comforting hand on the man’s
shoulder. “They are about, probably hoping to escape a report to
me.”

He overlooked
them, missed them in the frenetic move, but the twins possessed
arresting heads of hair. Camot’s smile slid away. He had not seen
them and it was no oversight.

“They could be
at the Keep fetching gear they simply cannot do without.”
Torrullin’s tone was fond, if exasperated.

“If that is
so, my Lord, I hope I have your permission to discipline them?”

“I would have
it no other way. Take two men, check the parade ground, and then
the Keep. Report when you return.”

Camot, glad to
be doing something, called out two names and the three left.

This was not
the time for games. Torrullin ignored his disquiet - often felt
when the twins were not with him - and ambled over to join Quilla
near the Tower.