The Kallanon Scales (73 page)

“All I want is
time with him!”

“Before that
may happen, you must deal with this.” Torrullin was casual as he
drew the pendant from his pocket. He held it up nestled in his
palm. “The Taliesman, Murs.”

There was
utter silence.

“The Dragon is
dead, Vallorin. It has no power.” Paularith’s voice contained a
quaver of uncertainty.

“Here, take
it, and test the truth of your claim.” Torrullin proffered it.

Paularith took
a step back. “No!” He glanced about and his gaze alighted on Jinio.
“He bluffs, Jinio - you take it.”

“Me?” Jinio
backed away, terrified. “Not me!”

Bartholamu
started laughing, thoroughly enjoying himself. Torrullin’s lips
twitched, but he maintained a solemn expression.

“You would
laugh at a Murs?” Pentas snarled, and grabbed the Taliesman.

A loud,
tearing, drawn-out growl erupted, enveloping, physical, and the
plateau shook violently, throwing countless Murs to the earth.
Screams silenced in the overpowering presence of an otherworldly
sound.

Pentas flared
red, skin, hair, feathers, clothing, and then he was gone.

The Taliesman
glinted dully in the trampled green grass, innocuous.

The silence
was absolute.

Bartholamu
retreated cautiously from the small device.

Torrullin bent
to retrieve it, turning it over in his hands before holding it
aloft.

“That was a
singular touch, Murs! Imagine your terror if I launch it at you! In
motion it has thought! How long before it chooses to rest? Do any
here dare risk the power of the Dragon?”

No sound
answered him.

Torrullin
lowered his hand and bent his will to Paularith alone.

“You are
fortunate indeed you did not encounter it before me. You and yours
would now be extinct. Under no circumstances would you have
controlled the Dragon, not dead, nor alive. This little coin is
protected by an enchantment known to Neolone and to me. It
travelled time dull and powerless and was useless to you, and now
that it is active it is still useless to you. Murs, I am the
Dragon’s power now.”

“What do you
want?” Paularith whispered.

“You have
initiated a confrontation between you and Bartholamu. He accepts
the challenge and I accept the situation, and both hold you to it.
You will stand as guarantee to your kind, although the result for
them will be immaterial. They may leave, flee, find haven where
they will, and I shall let them go. You stay, they go, or I employ
the Dragon’s power.”

“With that you
are able to annihilate them as they flee.”

“I aim to
destroy it - your choice whether I do so after using it here or
after they are gone.”

“It cannot be
destroyed.”

“It can, Murs,
by me.”

“What prevents
my kind coming back to finish what has begun here?”

“In
destruction of the Taliesman the First Vallorin’s power will be
released and it will blanket Atrudis. Your kind will be incapable
of breaching this world.”

“And then you
go after them.”

“Not
interested. The Lumin Siric may find them wherever they go, for
that is not in my power to prevent.”

“I must confer
with my deputies.” The Murs leader gestured with restrained
violence for his deputies to follow. They moved out of hearing
range.

The Siric
glared at the gesticulating group. “You do realised he is trying to
find a way around the Taliesman and a way to destroy Grinwallin,
us, and Atrudis even now?”

“I expect no
less,” Torrullin said. “Will he stay, do you think?”

“If he thinks
he has advantage.”

“Are you
prepared to battle him?”

“Even if it
means death.”

Torrullin
retreated to Neolone’s side. After a moment, Bartholamu followed.
The height of the prone Dragon towered over their heads and
Torrullin ran a hand over the glittering scales.

“The Valleur
are ancient, Bartholamu, and no one can put a name to the time
passed. Neolone was already old in years when he left the Kallanon
realm and then travelled back to Nemisin’s time. Can we even
imagine how much he has seen and how much he knew of this universe?
This,” and Torrullin prodded the Dragon, “is a primordial relic,
the last ancient creature of this universe. What a great loss his
death is.”

Bartholamu did
not react, sensing the Enchanter spoke to himself. He understood it
was personal grief. New balances had to be found and often they
were built upon the old, for such was the nature of a soul.

Torrullin
laughed. “Then there is Quilla. Another relic of bygone ages.”

“There is
that.”

Torrullin
glanced sideways at the Siric and his gaze was thoughtful. “I did
not know Llettynn well, not as I know you, but even so you instil
greater confidence, are you aware of that?”

“Thank you,
Enchanter.”

“One can reach
you and you anger, you laugh, and you smile. Llettynn was, forgive
me, a taciturn man and not easy to relate to.”

“I knew him
well and do agree, but why tell me this?”

“You are not in competition with a dead man’s deeds. You are
neither better nor worse than he is, you are different. Therein
lays
your
strength.”

Bartholamu
stared at the man he regarded as a friend. No words could convey
the pleasure those words gave him, and thus he smiled, a gesture of
appreciation. “I feel I owe you an explanation. A long time ago, in
the Dome, you spoke my true name and I was devastated, do you
remember? Today I need not ask how you knew, but then I burned with
questions.”

“You need not
explain, my friend.”

“I want
someone, particularly you, to understand my wrath for this
Paularith. His father, Paularith the First, was leader of the Murs
and my mother, Kiiltoniath, was leader of the Lumin, and he
murdered her. He murdered his mate.”

“Paularith the
First was your father also. This one is your brother.”

“Yes. Llettynn
took over leadership after my mother and changed my name to protect
my identity from my father. Llettynn killed him before the Murs
were routed into exile, but he warned me to keep my name close, for
time has a strange way of bringing unfinished business full circle.
This day is full circle.” Bartholamu glanced over his shoulder at
the gesticulating knot and shook his head. “He has not made the
connection.”

“Do you want
him to know?”

“I do not
know, Torrullin, but a blood tie will not stay my hand. That is an
evil I no longer desire to live with.”

“I am
sorry.”

Bartholamu
shrugged. “You know the way, my friend. Our roads will never be
easy, for the longer we live the harder it becomes to forgive.
Immortals know not the meaning of tranquillity.”

“I hear
you.”

“Vallorin!”
Paularith’s voice intruded.

The two sides
met.

“My people
refuse to leave without me.”

Bartholamu
snorted derisively. “You lie, Murs! They would abandon you in a
heartbeat to save their miserable skins. You tell them to go or
they die here an if you comprehend honour, you stay as their
guarantee. Understood?”

“He has no
honour,” Torrullin said so softly that only the Siric at his side
heard, “and he aims to flee with the others- it is in his
eyes.”

“I thought not
- that makes this easier.” Bartholamu pounced in a movement so
rapid no one saw it happen until after he had Paularith in a
vice-grip. “Move, Murs, and you expend your last breath.” Paularith
did not move. Bartholamu raised his voice, “You have a reprieve!
Flee, little birds, and do what you can to hide, for soon I come
for you also! Flee now and put as much distance between yourselves
and this place!”

Nothing moved
on the darkening plateau for a time, as if time came to a stop.

Torrullin
withdrew the Taliesman.

Wings beat
desperately at the air and moments later three remained on the
plateau, along with the remains of a mighty Dragon.

They remain
indivisible.

~ Torrullin’s
belief

Grinwallin’s
Great Hall

T
he atmosphere was charged and
joyous when Torrullin and Bartholamu returned to the mountain with
their prisoner.

Torrullin
pretended an involvement he could not feel, accepting an embrace
from Tristamil and congratulations all round, smiling, nodding and
saying nothing.

Bartholamu
spoke enough for ten anyway.

Torrullin
allowed them their joy - it was not often a huge army was sent
packing without further bloodshed.

It started to
snow, but the event went largely unnoticed. The air was frigid and
no one cared. It was gloomy, but inside the hall the festivities
created light that drove the dark into far recesses.

Abdiah
eventually drew him aside.

The Kallanon
celebrated - and how not with tactile evidence of the Light driving
out the Dark - but Abdiah knew in her heart it would be
short-lived. Torrullin had not brought the Light, he merely shone
it in a small space and, sensing his discomfort, she had an excuse
to focus on serious matters without spoiling it for anyone
else.

“Torrullin,”
she murmured in her modulated voice, “you are not enjoying
yourself.”

“Neither are
you, Majesty. I see you growing impatient.”

“There is much
unfinished. I do not like being caught unaware.”

“We understand
each other then.”

She studied
him. “I like you, Enchanter, but I know now you cannot appreciate
the victories. Your mind is filled with the next affair and until
it is complete you will not know what you have wrought here.”

“What have I
done, Abdiah? Another killed the Dragon and today I merely
threatened to use an ancient tool of magic. It does not take an
Enchanter to achieve these things.”

“Are you
seeking praise, Torrullin? Vindication? Someone to tell you these
are great deeds? No? Then what do you want?”

“You would not
understand my answer.”

“Try me.”

He put hands
on hips and swivelled in a wide circle. “Look at them. Happy, for
the most part. They do not see it isn’t happiness that drives
us.”

“Agreed. What
does drive us?”

“Knowing who
we are and making a difference. Feeling complete.”

“And?”

“Love?”
Torrullin squinted up.

“No, beautiful
man. Love is manifestation of self, not an end in itself. Tell me
what it is you really want; therein lies your riddle.”

“Death.”

“What of
death?”

“Knowing we
have so many years, months, days and hours give or take in a guess
in which to be complete, to know ourselves. That is what I
miss.”

Abdiah sighed. “I hear you, Enchanter, but I also hear you
say you miss it, meaning you know it isn’t there. I do not hear you
say you
want
it.
Do you?”

“It does not
matter.”

“Like the
Senlu Emperor, immortals do die. Yet you do not see it for
yourself.”

“Do you?”

“Not
easily.”

Torrullin
nodded. “Why is that?”

“You seem
removed, as if you are upon a familiar road. Is that because you
are reincarnate?”

“It is
absolutely because I am reincarnate.”

“I read well
between lines, Enchanter, but I am not receiving what you tell
me.”

“I am telling
you I must move on now. Margus awaits.”

“Now you
side-step.”

“Until I
finish with that Darak Or, I cannot see the Light here.”

She was quiet.
“It is here, in truth.”

“Thus I must
leave it to shine undimmed. I must take the darkness
elsewhere.”

“Perhaps you
are right.”

“It is not yet
bright enough for the Kallanon.”

Abdiah’s great
shoulders lifted and fell. “I think we expected to see it reign
everywhere after Atrudis. I know now we were wrong. You have not
chosen and your sons’ destinies are unfulfilled. Perhaps this was
the beginning and the skirmish is won. Now the real battle is
due.”

“How many
times have I not heard that? Where does it end?”

“It ends when
you choose.” Abdiah lifted a claw hand. “I know no more than
that.”

He angled his
head upward, but not to look at her. “It ends when I choose. Is
that choosing a son, Abdiah, or is it the choice that awaits my
wish and will in the future?”

She stared
down at him. “I cannot answer that. You must.”

“I think you
can, but your lines are illegible also,” Torrullin said, finding
amusement from somewhere.

She chuckled.
“Torrullin, before you go I would ask a favour of you. I would ask
permission to inter Neolone in the Kallanon manner.”

He released an
inaudible breath. “Nothing would give me more pleasure. Whatever he
was, I cannot do other than revere his presence, his antiquity and
power. It would be wholly wrong to banish his mortal remains into a
netherworld of nothingness. You have my blessing. It will be a form
of closure.”

Abdiah dipped
her head. “Once more we understand each other. Thank you.”

“You are a
great Queen, Abdiah. I hope you live long.”

“I shall have
my moments, I think.” She glanced into the worsening weather. “It
is snowing and is bound to get worse soon. If you have no
objections, I would like to take my court to the plateau and
prepare the ground for Neolone’s final resting.”

“Do what must
be done. I would appreciate being present at the final moment.”

Abdiah, with
infinite gentleness, touched his shoulder. “I shall call.” She
ambled around him, summoning her court. With a mighty beat of
wings, the Kallanon exited the hall.