The Kallanon Scales (59 page)

The Q’lin’la
possessed the gift of Song. The Song of Healing, the Song of Joy,
the Song of Lament, more, and also the Song of Destruction. Each
melody required a number of birdmen for harmony, and now they were
only two, and Torrullin.

Gradually the
angelic melody arose on gossamer wings, weaving its way into the
melee overhead, the tone insidious.

The Murs
hovered in uncertainty.

The Song was
not strong enough to destroy, but did cause immense distress.
Moments after it began, the Murs screamed and wove erratically, to
surrender to the inevitable minutes later. They left the scene
hurriedly. The music ended.

“Song of
Veils,” Quilla said, and the three launched into a different
melody, one that would hide them and their subsequent path to
Grinwallin.

The Veil was
haunting, and long, and when it ended the entire company
sighed.

“Excellent,”
Abdiah murmured. “I would that you teach me that, Q’li’qa’mz.”

“Forgive me,
but the Q’lin’la took an oath never to teach a Kallanon again.”

“I think I
like that you know not everything, Your Majesty,” Phet added,
grinning.

Abdiah did not
take offence. “Well, I grant you there will always be enmity
between our races.”

“Indeed,”
Quilla murmured. “Nothing personal, of course.”

“Of course,”
Queen Abdiah said and turned away, to Torrullin. “How is it you
know the music?”

“A long
tale.”

“And we need
to go from here,” Vannis said, studying the skies.

Day seven
brought fog so dense they walked in grey soup.

The going was
slow, but had the Murs by some miracle pierced the Song of Veils
they lost their quarry in it.

Long before
midday they stopped - the impenetrable gloom became too perilous
for travel. Huddled where they sensed a level area, they could
barely see each other, their voices disembodied.

“Lord
Vallorin?” Caltian murmured. “Your wife …”

“I am not
discussing my wife.”

“Easy,” Vannis
murmured.

“It’s not
that, my Lord. I have heard tell of the Lady of Life and I wondered
if she is the same one.”

“If Saska is
the Lady of Life,” Vannis jumped in, “then she would be the latest
in a long line of Ladies.”

“Vannis!”

“Quiet,
Torrullin. We are not discussing Saska, but the legend of the Lady,
and that is no great secret.”

Torrullin
lapsed into silence.

“The Lady of
Life is a responsibility passed down the ages from woman to woman.
Some take it on for a brief period only, while others do it for
centuries. Some are like us, recognisably humanoid, while others we
would struggle to label. She is akin to the Immortal Guardians of
the Dome in that she watches over the universe, but where the
Guardians are alert to evil, danger and catastrophe, hers is the
task to nurture life and seek the good in the most unlikely places.
Her gaze is eternally bent to the Light, her back ever to the Dark
…” and Vannis paused, as the import of what he said became
clear.

“I met her
once,” Torrullin said. “A long time ago. She was incredibly sad …”
His voice trailed off and he thumped his knee. “Never did I expect
to meet her again, and not like this.”

In the
unseeing fog blue kinfire sparked briefly and no one said more.

It was days
since they had eaten, finding only water along the way. Not only
were they hungry, but also constantly cold as the weather continued
its unpredictable slide into winter. Caltian earlier predicted it
would snow within a week, ten days at the outside.

Winter would
be short and intense, a further reason to deal with all enemies
swiftly. Atrudisins would require aid to endure the cold without
shelter.

Toward
evening, the fog thinned and they made haste until darkness caught
them. Where they halted for the night - a stand of trees between
two low rises - they encountered good fortune to compensate for the
delay. They discovered a rudimentary shelter, rough planks covered
with old gorse, and within a fireplace made of mud.

A fire burned
bright that night.

The new
morning, day eight, brought a further surprise. A decrepit apple
tree sported wrinkled, sunburnt apples, and each was eaten to the
last pip.

In the higher
branches Phet discovered an empty beehive, the honey hardened, a
sweet, chewy treat as they trudged along.

“All right,
Abdiah, I am going to ask about the swords,” Torrullin muttered
after an hour’s walk.

The Dragonne
ruler patted his arm. “Good for you.” She sobered, staring ahead.
“I have to admit that not one among the court sages realised the
swords would go to the sons of the One. It caused us to rethink
strategy. We nearly chose to aid the Murs.”

“Pardon?”
Bartholamu blurted.

“Do not judge
too quickly, Siric. Our main priority was Neolone and still is. If
the Murs stood the greater chance of reaching the Taliesman, then
we would aid them in it.”

“The claiming
of the swords changed that?” Torrullin said.

“What changed
us was that the One knew the claimants. We realised aiding the Murs
would have no true bearing on the result. It lies in you and your
choice. Your choice is what we are after. It determines our future
in the Kallanon realm.”

“My choice,
where have I heard that before?”

No need to
beat an old horse, Enchanter.

“And the
swords?”

Abdiah glanced
at Quilla. “Q’li’qa’mz?”

Quilla
shifted. “Ah, we come to it.”

“You knew?”
Torrullin’s eyes were cold.

“It is not for
me to reveal tellings, Enchanter, you know that.”

“This is
different.”

“On the
contrary, my dearest friend, this is no different from the
prophecies that shaped your extraordinary life. If I told you,
somehow you would have found a way to protect your sons from this
destiny. You attempted to do so because of what was seen in their
scrying.”

“Not so.”

“You loved
both, deferring the choices you knew needed to be made until they
came of age. You hoped your love would alter the future. Perhaps
that was meant, for in your deferment you drove the one thing away
you considered your Light, and thus she found her destiny.”

Torrullin
whitened. “You knew that, too?”

Quilla raised
his small hand in a calming gesture. “No. Her destiny is linked to
the universe, yours to all realms, and the Q’lin’la deal in
multiple, not singular.”

Vannis
growled, “Will someone get to the point?”

Abdiah laughed
and pointed to the birdman.

“The prophecy
you unearthed on Valaris is a near perfect copy of a Q’lin’la
foretelling, ours far older. It tells of a battle between Light and
Dark, as our Queen here has eloquently coined. A battle fought by
identical twins. Their swords from a race immersed in wars of good
and evil. Do you see the parallels? Scrying and prophecy.”

“I told you
the day after their naming.”

“I was
hard-pressed in my choice even then. Friendship versus duty. No
matter, choices cannot be unmade, and there was little by way of
it. Where was I? The colour. Colour is important. Light and Dark is
not white and black as one would assume, on the contrary. White is
the absence of colour, black the amalgam thereof …”

“You are
rambling.”

Quilla bent an
eye on his tormentor. “Fine, blue and green. Both are restful,
conjuring images of tranquillity and harmony - true, yet that is a
conditioning of the link between sight and soul, an ingrained
response to our surroundings. In Q’lin’la sorcery, excluding Song,
every colour has an absolute meaning, primary, secondary, every
shade. You already know this, Enchanter; when you reach for an
enchantment of our world, you reach for the colours that form
it.”

“There are
infinite shades of both blue and green.”

“Of course,
and each paints a different picture, but as a whole blue
signifies?”

“The sacred
and the spiritual.”

“Indeed, and
Tristamil’s name implies worthiness.”

“And green
signifies the sins of spite.”

“Cheating,
spying, envy, jealousy, to covet …”

“Shut up,
Vannis,” Torrullin said.

“Those swords
were forged soon after the first Dragon war,” Queen Abdiah said,
taking up the tale. “Symbols of victory, beautiful craftsmanship.
The colours came later during the discovery of sorcery. There was a
showdown between two Dragons in the ballroom. The swords were on
permanent display and, to show his newfound mastery, one Dragon
pointed at the blade closest to him, shouting that whoever wielded
it would know his rage. By the time it hit the ground it glinted
green. Not to be outdone, the second Dragon did the same, but
repented before it reached the floor, whispering his horror at the
never-ending cycle of violence, and then he murmured that the
second blade would be the foil for the first and whoever wielded it
would be desirous of peace - the blue sword. Thereafter the two
weapons were returned to the wall and nobody touched them, until
the court came to Tennet.”

She gave a wry
smile. “And that only happened because the swords started glowing
and uncanny thoughts entered the minds of all would-be travellers.
It was disturbing and a few refused to accompany me on this quest.
I have no doubt, had we left the swords on display, they would have
found a way to come.”

“Mind
boggling,” one of the soldiers murmured.

“There was no
telling? Yet you grabbed my sons from under the noses of the
gathered sorcerers on Atrudis.” Torrullin shook his head.

“That took
much courage! No, there was no telling, but we nevertheless
prepared a chamber for the swords, and when they began to glow one
after the other, of their own volition after ages of dullness, we
knew the blades had sensed their masters, and a messenger was
dispatched to each.”

Torrullin
glared at her. “You removed the twins to a different reality before
that.”

“That was not consciously done, Enchanter. We knew not the
ancient Q’lin’la prophecy, nor Neolone’s, not then. You must
understand we came to find the One as per a telling about
you
, not Neolone. When
we settled the convex mirror into position in the cave it clouded
over and revealed all to us, and we could only watch as it
unfolded, past and present, and dared not prevent its course. We
also began to comprehend the fastidious nature of those close to
you and how bound they were, where their duties and loyalties lay,
and thus could only watch as your sons were taken to begin their
destinies. Those destinies are theirs, but still linked to you.”
Abdiah paused to frown. “I had the distinct feeling an outside
force manipulated the mirror into revealing knowledge we needed in
order to choose direction wisely.”

Torrullin said
nothing, but his eyes hooded.

“Grinwallin?”
Vannis said.

Abdiah raised
her head to the skies thoughtfully, and shook her head. “Grinwallin
is a mystery that requires solving; this force knew what it was
doing.”

Vannis was as
thoughtful, but chose to move on. “Then you brought the twins the
swords.”

“I had them
brought to the chamber where the swords were, but I cannot say
more.” Abdiah glanced at Torrullin. “A choice lies before you. You
know whereof I speak.”

“I have already chosen, Abdiah. I have only one son.”
Did Elianas prompt Abdiah into aiding us? How is
that possible?

“You have not
chosen with logic, Torrullin.”

Torrullin
bared his lips. “I tell you I have only one son.”

“Your heart
and your hurt speak for you, Vallorin, and it is the heart of one
nature. You will choose with your soul, with both natures. You
must.”

Torrullin
stomped away.

Day nine was a
muddy trudge.

They climbed
steadily and the view behind was breathtaking, or would be if not
for the dark scars on the land. They were high enough to see the
ocean to the south with its parallel swathe of desert. Looking
north, the mountains seemed ever smaller, on a level with them,
ice-capped cold.

Ahead the
plateau was a dark line; it appeared impossible to reach and yet
their steps quickened as they sensed journey’s end.

That night
they camped under the ridge.

It was
massive, rising sheer, seemingly endless in both directions.

Day ten.

They rose
early and in the pre-dawn stood before the immense rock face.

Ascent would
not be easy. Handholds there were, but for every one found, a
stretch of smooth rock daunted. The weather, however, was the
greater concern.

The rain held
off, but for each dry minute elapsed, the ominous gathering of
moisture seemed to lower. It was only a matter of time before it
released and wet handholds were treacherous.

Torrullin
rubbed at his cheek, filled with doubt.

“Transport,”
Bartholamu said.

“Not wise,”
Phet said.

“We fly,”
Torrullin muttered, looking significantly at the Siric’s wings,
shifting his gaze then to the two birdmen.

Abdiah spread
her
wings.

Then, by all
the fates, the storm threatening since dawn decided to greet the
world with fury.

A massive bolt
of electricity struck earth. The Siric was the lightning rod.

Bartholamu’s
knees crashed into the ground. Wisps of smoke erupted from the top
of his head. He had not the presence of mind to reach for the
altering of location and therefore relied on the strength of his
glorious wings, and the contrary gale took him in an upward eddy,
away from the plateau. About him lightning flashed wickedly. He
could do little to fight for level flight, never mind seek high
ground.