The Kallanon Scales (55 page)

It was dim,
but he discerned a lump on the single bed near the window.
Torrullin did not say a word and there was no hesitation in his
purpose. He grabbed the snoring form by the neck, one-handed,
hauling it up to toss onto the wooden floor. Whoever it was became
fully aware in the rude awakening and hurtled to his feet muttering
foul curses.

“Who are you
to come in here?”

Tarrant!

Torrullin hit
him flat-handed, sending him sprawling onto the bed. “Grab your
sword.”

Caltian
retreated to a corner and let his Vallorin have his way with the
traitor.

Tarrant
noticed the movement. “Caltian. I should have known, you
lily-livered imbecile!”

Caltian smiled
and gestured at Torrullin.

“Your sword,
traitor.” Torrullin was deceptively mild.

Tarrant swung back and all the while his hand searched
blindly for the blade on the far side of the bed. “The Dragon-man!
Well, this is a stroke of luck. If I cannot give them that stupid
coin, I will go one better!
You
!” He located his sword and
sprang up, holding it in a two-handed grip.

“The Murs?”
Torrullin waited until Tarrant was ready before drawing his
blade.

“Who
else?”

They squared
off. “Thank you for implicating yourself before a witness. You must
know what we Valleur do to a traitor.” Torrullin grinned when
Tarrant snarled.

The space was
small, the battle would be short in it. Two swords lifted,
Torrullin’s right hand blurred and Tarrant was against the far wall
with his blade in his gut. Tarrant’s clattered from nerveless
fingers. Caltian drew an awed breath.

Somewhere a
door slammed.

“I do not have
time to waste on you,” Torrullin said. “The Murs come again. Now
their source of intelligence dries up.”

“Who are
you?”

“I am Vallorin, Tarrant, of
all
Valleur, and you are aiding in
the murder of
my
people.” Torrullin withdrew his sword and the man crumpled
clutching at his stomach. Torrullin leaned over to wipe his blade
on Tarrant’s sleeve before returning it to its scabbard.

“B-but the
Dragon …”

Torrullin
whipped open his tunic, scattering buttons. “This? A drawing only,
unless I am dead. You stupid man.” He strode towards the door. He
did not attempt to cover the Dragon as he passed Caltian, whose
gaze drew magnetically to it.

Caltian’s eyes
flicked back to Tarrant when the man whispered, “Forgive me, my
Lord.”

Torrullin
continued walking. “Too many have died.” He walked down the stairs
and out of the door.

Caltian
whistled. Not a man who forgave easily. He glanced again at the
Force Justice, but Tarrant was dead. He left as heads popped out
into the passage.

“Wait!” he
called out as Torrullin headed for the indistinct surf line. The
roar of the waves was loud in the silence of the dawn, drowning out
the alarm behind them.

On the wet
sand Torrullin stopped. As Caltian neared, he said, with and eyes
weary, old, “My greatest mistake on Valaris was in trying to
manoeuvre for advantage, waiting for the right time to strike. Many
died while I dithered, not yet knowing my powers.” He shifted his
gaze into the whitening fog, silent for a time, motionless. “Never
again.” He faced Caltian, eyes darkening. “I shall destroy the
Taliesman.” The Dragon snarled. “And I shall hound every last Murs
…”

“My Lord,
beware!”

Torrullin
inhaled deeply, and his eyes became silver. Always silver after
black, as if in purging. Then they were grey once more, and the
Dragon was quiet.

“I am sorry.
You do not know much about me. The person you now glimpsed is
Destroyer, part of me.” He rubbed his face. “I killed someone,
Caltian.”

“He deserved
it.”

“He deserved
to die slowly, but I am not that kind of killer.”

“The
authorities will do a house to house soon.”

“Already they
forget our faces, have no fear.”

Caltian
nodded, out of his depth.

“You and I are
bound. Your destiny is to kill this Dragon, and mine is to release
it where you can do so without harm to yourself and others. I wish
I am the one to kill him, but I am chained to it and, by god, the
day I learned his name I knew I would find it hard. You must be
with me every step of the way. Can you do this?”

“I am glad to
know the truth of my scrying. Yes, my Lord, I am with you,
whatever, whenever, wherever, however long it takes.”

“Not long at
all.” Torrullin smiled and touched the Valleur on the shoulder. “We
go to Grinwallin.”

“Surely that
is last resort?”

“Every time I
hear or say the word I grow cold. Instinct, and I follow mine. A
cursed place where no one dares go, hemmed by sacred sites. Perhaps
a place where a Dragon can die?”

“In a strange
way that makes more sense than anything has until now. Fine,
Grinwallin, but what of the Taliesman? Oh.”

Torrullin
smiled. “Maybe. The answers lie there.”

The Murs came,
as predicted. Invin suffered a strike and elsewhere on Tunin light
attacks commenced.

They herd us
, Torrullin realised.
Once they suspected Tarrant’s demise, the strength of assault would
intensify, Tarrant also reasoned the coin was somewhere on Atrudis’
smallest continent.

His death
would increase war for Tunin, but the creatures no longer possessed
advantage.

He vowed it
was the last time the Murs struck without counter attack.

Mitrayl

In a deep
cavern, the Kallanon court gathered around a giant convex
mirror.

The mirror was
of ensorcelled platinum and weighed the sum of three Dragons,
brought from their homeworld, carried laboriously by no less than
six.

They stood in
a rough circle and shuffled to form a perfect orb, and wings joined
overhead to form a circular canopy. An infinite variety of colours
glittered, skittering over the rough cavern walls. But for the deep
rumbling of the nearby unstable volcano, it was silent.

Queen Abdiah
trundled around the outer circumference of the Dragon circle,
checking the completeness of the seal and could find no fault. She
ducked under a wing and stood before the mirror inside the
circle.

Around her
huge scaled feet moved sideways to touch to their neighbours, and
the seal thus enjoined on the ground also. Her eyes flicked. There
could be no mistake and there was not.

The time had
arrived to become involved. The Kallanon had not left their realm
to sit the proverbial fence.

Queen Abdiah
looked up at the cavern ceiling, gathering her power. The final
decision was hers, for the court divided into equal camps. She knew
all would abide by her word and act upon it.

Two factors
decided her. One was that Kallanon and Valleur spoke the same
language, a parallel that bespoke the origin of ancient races. That
could not be denied. In the end, however, the young war-god decided
for her. His belief in the Light far outweighed his brother’s
spasmodic Dark. The young man had a beautiful soul.

The first
battle was won in the Star Chamber, and set Kallanon feet on a
path.

They would not
aid the Murs and they would aid the Valleur of Atrudis only by
extension, for she chose to help the One. He now carried the Dark
with him, and the Light. His victory would throw light into dark
corners, and in that spirit the Kallanon could return home.

There were
variables, hidden agendas, and the One could choose another road,
whether by choice, circumstance or force. Queen Abdiah stared into
the mirror. She would not second-guess.

On one side of
the mirror, she saw Murs amassing. They prepared to release
reserves, a push to annihilating victory. There also were the
Mysor.

She twitched
the picture to the convex curve at the top where she could see it
no matter where she stood in relation to the mirror.

Once Murs and
Mysor were in motion, five of her number would destroy every
bleaker bulb in the Tennet system, leaf, stalk, root and seed. Any
Mysor that made it off Atrudis would either starve or be forced to
leave Tennet forever.

She viewed the
spaceship on Lucan and the tiny forms aboard waiting for the crew.
Two Kallanon would fly the traveller back to Valaris. The Thinnings
were going to a new home. They would not see Dragons, rather they
would see the guises of the human captain and one of his crew. The
two were to remain on Valaris, once there, in the event the war
here became more.

Abdiah trusted
in hedging her bets.

She turned
attention to images of destruction, a morbid fascination, she
supposed. She saw this great wasting on Kallanon homeworlds, but it
was a long while since she saw first-hand the horror visited upon
those without sorcery.

Cities lay in
ruin, rich farmland burned, and old forests sent plumes of dense
smoke into the atmosphere. Everywhere the dead. Those alive
wandered aimlessly.

She shook her
great head and looked to the four areas where life was more normal.
One would reveal the One.

The equatorial
forests resisted burning and not many lived there. Humidity was
extreme and life a struggle. She watched carefully, both the Atrin
and Kantar forests, but there was no signature.

The Grenle
Archipelago in the south was largely ignored, as if unimportant. If
the islands remained overlooked, Atrudis retained the means to
recovery, Grenle being the fruit basket of the planet.

The third
untouched region was the Atrin wilderness. Much signature there,
but not the one she sought. A dangerous situation brewing - that
tract of land hid Atrudis’ sorcerers and the Murs would strike
before too long and do so with mighty force. She understood the
reasoning, but their game was up. Half the remaining court would
inveigle there in the guise of Valleur sent by the Vallorin. She
hoped they would be enough to turn the Murs and wished they could
go as Dragons. Their power would be the greater. Alas, at this time
it served no purpose to alienate.

The rest of
the court would be with her, and that was the final purpose of this
circle - to find the One on Tunin, his exact location, and decide
upon their guise.

She paced the
convex and each step reflected a new view. There was the new mound
of sand that had earlier been a desert city. She stepped back,
catching something on the edge of sight, south Kantar. A fleet of
sailing ships. She turned to the circle and pointed out two
Kallanon, commanding them to go forth and protect those ships. It
meant two less for Tunin, but she desired passionately now to
preserve lives.

Tunin was in
view, the light fading, but that suited her. Not only had they
cover of darkness to arrive in, but also sorcery’s signature was
more visible in the mirror.

Behind, a
Dragon hissed with a faint plume of smoke. Abdiah’s gaze flitted to
the topmost curve. Dragon’s beard, they were moving. A night
assault. She hoped for a few more hours.

“Tunin
Lenter.” A Lenter was a strike unit. “We go as Dragons. The One
will know us true.” She sensed the silent agreement wash over her
and bent to the task of finding him who would know them.

“Majesty.” A
convulsive prompting. The Murs were airborne.

There! A tiny
signature, a residue. He was cloaked and limiting sorcery.
Excellent! If she had trouble finding him, thus would the Murs. She
studied the location a moment longer, ignoring the heightened
tension. No time to err in now.

“Ready?” she
asked and did not tarry for confirmation. She stepped back into the
circle and they made space for her.

They commenced
the enchantment - the cavern was empty, save for the huge mirror,
now leaden opaque.

We shall leave
our haven

In search of
this sentient

To bask in the
light

~ Kallanon
Prophecy

Tunin

T
hey hiked as light faded, with
basic gear supplied by Hallari.

Two hours
later Torrullin called a halt under a twisted seathorn, for Phet,
who lagged.

“Is something
wrong, Phet?”

The Q’lin’la
seemed surprised. “Why?”

“You are
slowing us.”

The birdman
looked around, clearly astonished, and said, “Forgive me, I was
deep in thought and did not realise. I am fine.”

Torrullin
folded his arms. “We are stopping. What is it?”

“Enchanter, it
is too easy, and that bothers me.”

“Likewise.
And?”

“Tunin has
drawn us. It alone seems ignored.”

“It will not
be ignored much longer, but I get your point. It is as if we were
herded.”

“Yes. Why? By
which enemy?”

“You assume it
is an enemy?”

“You
don’t?”

Torrullin
looked around as well and then, “I am not certain, to be
honest.”

“Grinwallin?”

“Perhaps. I
begin to think the prophecy speaks of that mythical place and
perhaps an ancient mystery is on our side.”

“And maybe
not, Enchanter.”

Torrullin
inclined his head. “Keep thinking. Sit. We rest for ten minutes.”
He ambled back to Vannis and Taranis.

They barely
sat when Phet’s feathers quivered. “The Murs come!”

Torrullin
gazed upward, unseeing. “All of them, and this time they bring the
Mysor.” This small usage of power enabled Queen Abdiah to pinpoint
the One.

“It gets
worse,” Caltian muttered. “A night attack now.”

They were
exposed on the coast with dunes on one side and ocean on the other.
The only cover was the lone seathorn. Nobody suggested a transport,
that would be downright idiotic.