The Kallanon Scales (56 page)

They could
burrow and hide, wait it out, or they could brazen it out in the
hope they remained unseen. They could fight.

The decision
was unanimous.

Vannis drew
his sword. Vannis stood it point down into the sand. “Any Mysor or
Murs who dares this way, dies.” He stood behind it and watched the
darkening sky. Already a few stars winked on.

Taranis flexed
fingers, a familiar gesture from their battles on Valaris in the
past, one that generally preceded Saska checking her laser strap.
Torrullin closed his eyes and looked away.

Caltian
loosened the restraint on his sword.

After a few
minutes of silence, his thoughts wandered back to the morning’s
revelations.

In Alders,
Torrullin had spoken of the Dragon, beginning with the symbiosis
and ending with the meeting in the wilderness, bare facts only.

After
returning to Hallari’s home in Invin, to find breakfast waiting,
Caltian asked the questions to flesh out the tale.

“Did you know
what the Dragon was, Lord Vallorin, when you received it from Lord
Vannis?”

Vannis did not
like it. “Question time, is it?”

“Let him ask,”
Torrullin said and went on, “I had no idea what this Dragon was. I
believed it merely a symbol of rulership. Once taken on, every
Vallorin knew it as a burden.”

Caltian was
dissatisfied and it showed.

Taranis
offered a more definitive reply. “My son tends to underplay the
passing of the Dragon. It’s done after the Throne accepts the new
ruler and …”

“The Throne
prepares the way,” Vannis interrupted.

“How is that?”
Taranis’ eyebrows lifted at Vannis.

“You are
spoiling for a fight, Guardian.”

“No Vallorin,”
Torrullin said, talking over the two, “would bear the Dragon
without the Throne’s power. He would simply not be strong
enough.”

“What?”
Taranis asked, forgetting Vannis. “Even you?”

Torrullin gave
a twisted smile. “You have no idea, father.”

“That is
terrible,” Caltian whispered.

Hallari said,
“Is that the same Throne Nemisin created? I seem to recall it went
through generations at least until the Taliesman Priests
absconded.”

“The same,”
Taranis muttered. “Typical Valleur, hanging onto everything.”

“Of value!”
Vannis growled. “What is your problem?”

“Nothing,”
Taranis shrugged.

“Nemisin
created the seat before he was Vallorin?” Hallari prompted.

Vannis nodded.
“It gave him credibility to format a new system of rulership.”

“Debatable,”
Torrullin muttered.

“What is?”
Caltian asked.

Torrullin
tugged at his ear. “Credibility?”

Vannis glared
at his grandson. “Are you suggesting Nemisin did not create the
Throne?”

Torrullin
stared back. “I am saying it is debatable.”

Caltian asked
a new question. There were explosive dynamics within this family
nucleus. “Do you have a Palace, Lord Vallorin?”

Torrullin gave
a strained smile. “Vannis is the one enamoured of bold statements.”
He fell silent when Vannis paled. He leaned across the table and
touched Vannis’ hand. Blue flame flickered. “Forgive me - that was
thoughtless.”

“I shall raze
it to the ground,” Vannis stated.

Many
complications, many undercurrents. In the wilderness these three
men, Torrullin, Vannis and Taranis, appeared united, and were when
it counted, but there were personalities at war.

“I did not
mean to cause pain,” Caltian said.

“You are not
at fault,” Vannis said.

“I hope I am
not making matters worse, but I thought I saw a blue light there
where your hands came together?”

“Trebac,”
Torrullin murmured.

“Valla
kinfire,” Hallari breathed. “I thought it a myth.”

“It didn’t
appear before,” Caltian frowned.

Vannis gripped
Torrullin’s hand hard, the blue fire sparked and danced. “Usually
we control it.” The fire snapped out. “Tension can negate
control.”

“Or compassion
brings it to the fore?” Hallari suggested.

Torrullin
smiled more easily. “Yes.”

“Incredible,”
Caltian whispered. Taranis’ knuckles, he noted, were bloodless. He
wondered if Torrullin knew that his father was explosive, and found
his Vallorin looking his way.

My father
believes I lose my humanity. To his thinking I am too Valleur and
he loses me.

Is he
right?

Maybe.

“Mind games,
Torrullin?” Vannis said.

“A private
conversation.”

“You and Phet
…”

“Caltian,”
Torrullin snapped. “Not everyone here abhors telepathy,
grandfather.”

“The Valleur
consciously …”

“Do not give me that ancient crap. I am not
all
Valleur, am
I?”

Caltian noted
Taranis’ faint smile.

Hallari, the
peacemaker, at that point offered coffee and the conversation - the
seething undercurrents - were put on hold.

Caltian jerked
from reverie, sensing new tension.

It was fully
dark and into that dark came the flapping of heavy wings.

Vannis brought
his sword to hand. Taranis spat and pulled his blade out, holding
it two-handed, Caltian drew his with a soft metallic slide.

Huge dark
shapes moved overhead, blotting out large constellations. They were
silent but for those massive wings.

Enchanter!
The birdman was
afraid.

Hush, Phet.
Torrullin held his hand
on his hilt and stepped out from under the seathorn. He walked
forward, wary, unafraid. “Do nothing.”

Caltian’s hand
shook.

Sixteen dark
shapes landed, shuddering the ground, and surrounded the small
group near the lone tree. One stepped forward.

“We are about
to meet the Kallanon.”

Not only
Caltian’s sword rattled in his hand, faintly he heard Taranis still
his.

Enchanter!
Phet was
frantic.

Trust me, my
friend.

You cannot
trust a Dragon!

“You are he
who was prophesied?” A booming, hoarse voice.

“That would
depend on the prophecy.”

“Goddess,
Torrullin,” Taranis snarled.

“Stand
down!”

“You know us?”
The huge form came to a halt a few paces away.

“You know
me?”

“We are the
Kallanon. You are the One.”

“Then we do
know each other.” Torrullin closed in further. “I knew this day
would come.”

“Then we come
as no great surprise.”

Torrullin
laughed. “Not to me.” He waved his left hand and a muted glow
suffused the area. “If the Murs see this, so be it. My sword and my
mind hungers for Murs blood.”

The great
shape shook with laughter. “As do ours!”

They were
massive, and the colours! Glittering scales, huge wings of every
hue imaginable. There was great intelligence in those eyes, grace
in those limbs. Their lizard-like mouths were smooth, the colours a
play of light and dark.

“Sit,” the
huge creature said and fifteen Dragons sat, and it was not so
strange after all. Huge heads swung as they in turn studied the
puny forms within their circle.

Torrullin
approached and bowed to the great female Dragonne inside the circle
with them. “I am Torrullin.”

“I know who
you are,” she said, modulating her voice to suit the sensitive ears
of men, and the single birdman. It was strange to see a legend
alive in that tiny form. “You are Lord Vallorin. You are the
Enchanter. You are Destroyer. You are Keeper of the Dragon. You are
the One. You are father to the twin war-gods and husband to the
Lady of Life. We know you.”

Torrullin
turned to stone.

Taranis made a
sound.

“What in my
words has caused you pain?”

Torrullin
found his voice. “How do I address you? I would do so with
respect.”

“Ah, a
gentleman. We shall get along fine, for I do like manners. I am
Queen Abdiah, eighty-sixth Dragonne ruler.”

“Your Majesty,” Torrullin murmured and bowed again. Lady of
Life?
Lady of Life?
He straightened. “The Dragonnes won?”

“The Light
won. We are Dragons and Dragonnes together now.” Queen Abdiah
looked around her. “I confess surprise you would know of our
wars.”

Caltian’s
sword had fallen point first into the sand.

Torrullin
indicated Phet. “I have the tale from the Q’lin’la.”

“Ah! They
follow you now?”

“They are unto
themselves as ever. They aid where they believe to be
goodness.”

“The forces of
goodness need to be together, yes. That is heartening. Now, my new
friend, what in my words caused you pain?”

Torrullin
stilled. “Will you let this pass?”

“Enchanter, I
told my court you would know us without seeking confrontation,
because I pay attention to detail. Details are important,
particularly now. Will you answer?”

“You spoke of
my sons, Your Majesty, and I am concerned for them. I am concerned
for my wife.”

Caltian’s
attention centred.

“Tristamil is
a son to be proud of.”

“You took
them?”

“They are
free. Tristamil makes his way to Grinwallin. Tymall? I do not
know.” Abdiah’s voice was sad. “We attempted to instil the Light.
We were unsuccessful.”

Caltian’s
whole body twitched. An evil son?

Torrullin
bowed his head. “I appreciate your efforts, Your Majesty.” His eyes
lit. “Tristamil remained firm?”

“Indeed, and
there is no doubt. He has his sword of scrying. The blue
blade.”

“The green
sword has been presented also?”

“Indeed, for
all time is now. Neolone is Timekeeper and this is the final battle
at hand, when your sons must fulfil their destinies in its very
midst. As will the Lady of Life.”

The words
destiny
and
final battle
were lost to Torrullin as he again confronted the
Lady of Life. “Are you telling me my wife is the Lady?”

“I am.”

“The time has
been too short. Surely you are mistaken?”

Abdiah eyed
him. “The time is immaterial, Enchanter, you know that.”

Torrullin drew
breath. “I know she is here. Can you reveal where?” He felt Taranis
behind him and sensed his father’s tension.

“I cannot
reveal that.”

“Forgive me, I
mean no disrespect, but I need to know.”

“Lord
Vallorin, your wife is unaware of the Taliesman, Neolone, the
Kallanon, and your presence here. She has a destiny and I may not
influence it by revealing her whereabouts.” She fell silent to
watch the struggle in his eyes. “You are fortunate indeed to love
another so much.”

Taranis snapped. “You
knew
, Torrullin? You know Saska is
here and you said
nothing
?”

“She is
my
wife!” Torrullin whispered, and Abdiah, witness to the
exchange, shook her head.

“Quiet,”
Vannis said, closing the gap. “Torrullin, douse the light. The Murs
come.”

A guttural
command issued from the Dragonne Queen and her Lenter reacted by
shuffling positions, doing so with grace, until they positioned in
five-pointed star formation, facing outward.

Torrullin took
note and approved. An ancient strategy, highly effective.

Quelling
churning emotions, he told his companions to each take a point of
that shape, and put out the light. As it dissipated, he saw Taranis
staring at him, and shrugged it off. In the dark, he joined Abdiah
at the fifth point.

She welcomed
him with, “You employ instinct where you lack training, and it is
effective.” She gazed skyward. “The Kallanon have ever been at
war.”

There was no
time to respond. A bolt struck the centre of the star, illuminating
it briefly, meant to test strategy only, for it harmed nobody.

The battle
engaged.

It was short.
Brutal. The pentagram lit with necroglow, drawing all bolts to it
to return them in tenfold strength, Murs screamed and died. Every
Murs met doom by his own hand. Five minutes after it began, the
remnant force wheeled aside and vanished into the distance.

“Stand firm,”
Torrullin said into the respite. “The Mysor are on the
perimeter.”

That battle
enjoined and it was longer and deadlier. Sorcerously enhanced and
genetically bred, the arachnids were harder to kill, although rash
enough to advance when instinct should bid them retreat.

They came with
exoskeleton scrapes, incomprehensible, sucking chirps, and reared
up to spit poisonous globules of foaming saliva. It stank and
burned and Kallanon reared in agony; the perimeter was
breached.

The Mysor
scratched with needle-sharp claws, each prick a dart of venom. They
were clumsy, but huge, matching the Dragons. The Kallanon were
beset upon and two Dragonnes were dragged down. Others drove the
arachnids off, but those two did not rise again.

Queen Abdiah
screeched her rage and fought like ten demons. She spat back,
infusing her spittle with toxin, slashed with her powerful
forearms, and breathed explosive fire onto every spider within
reach.

Taranis and
Vannis fought back-to-back, right hands wielding swords, searching
for tender areas, such as bulbous eyes, and left hands dispensed
fire and force pulses that toppled the arachnids. A Mysor on its
back could not rise and was killed without mercy.

Phet took note
and rose gleefully above the enemy, tipping them over from behind.
He and Caltian formed a partnership, Phet did the tumbling, Caltian
wielded his blade.