The Nemesis Blade (18 page)

Teroux lifted
a brow. “Seems we are the only three who didn’t know that.”

“Yes, well,
but even knowing where she is does not mean she would heed us,”
Tristan explained. “The Dalrish allowed us the use of his
farspeakers …” The Elders nodded again. That information was passed
on also. “The young woman we brought back with us is a farspeaker
and she made contact with Caballa. Thus, we found where she is and
we have spoken to her.”

“None of this
explains the Three Gates,” Rissoni, of Teroux’s four, said.

“Diversion,”
Tianoman said. “We did not feel free to search for Caballa and we
knew she would not hark to us with you fourteen listening in.”

“Subversion is
treason, Tianoman,” Vanar, charged with overview and the only
female Elder, snapped. “Your reasons may be good, which is open to
debate at this point, but reasons will not excuse treason.”

Tristan
stepped forward. “Then charge all three of us, Vanar.”

“The Valleur
will remain leaderless far into the future if you do so,” Teroux
pointed out.

Tianoman
frowned at his cousins. “Stop it. This is my responsibility and I
will assume the responsibility.”

“Tian, think.
Torrullin will come down on this like a mountain of stone,” Teroux
frowned. “Nothing is to interfere with the Throne’s decision. We
stand or fall together.”

The Elders
glanced at each other. The spectre of Torrullin’s wrath was not to
be taken lightly; Teroux had spoken the truth.

Vanar sighed.
“You chose a remote site for diversion and you selected an early
hour to ensure it would be unoccupied. These are mitigating factors
and as no harm, except panic, was done, we choose to put it behind
us. However, another such event, and no reason will hold
water.”

The three
Vallas nodded, all secretly relieved.

“This does not
mean you are to go unpunished,” Atkir murmured.

“Gods, they
treat us like kids,” Teroux muttered.

“You are
fortunate we are not treating you like criminals,” Selenten snapped
out.

Cowed, Teroux
said, “Sorry. We will accept your judgement.”

Vanar looked
to the second Elder charged with overview. “Yiddin?”

Yiddin was an
imposing Valleur. Big and brawny, he was also clever and a good
administrator. Added to that, he was one of the few ugly Golden,
for his features did not quite meld into uniform pleasantness. He
took over Caballa’s position twenty years ago when it became clear
she was not returning in a hurry.

He spoke in a
deep, bass tone.

“My lords
Valla, you have been judged guilty of subversion. This is, as
explained, a treasonous offence and carries with it the penalty of
death. However, there are mitigating factors and none here dare
forget whom you are descended from. Thus the judgement has been
muted to disturbance of the peace. This is your punishment,
Tianoman. You will give eighty hours of your time to the poor of
Gallipoli, starting with daylight tomorrow.”

Gallipoli was
a tourist town nestled in the fold of the Stairs Mountains. Busy in
the winter season, it also hosted a large number of poorer folk who
hoped to make coin off richer patrons. Gallipoli, probably the
coldest town in all Valaris.

It would not
be a pleasant task, but Tianoman bowed without qualm. “I accept
your judgement.”

“Teroux, you
will present yourself to the ambassador from Beacon tomorrow. I
believe the man has a few thoughts on the advantage of toilet paper
manufactured from reconstituted seaweed and needs an ear to bend.
Canimer is his marked culling ground, thus your diplomacy skills
will need vie with extraordinary patience.”

Teroux
groaned. “Gods, I would rather go to Gallipoli.”

Yiddin
grinned.

“Yes, fine,
toilet paper here I come,” Teroux muttered.

“Tristan, you
will give twelve hours to the spaceport at Two Town. You are to
pick over every cargo manifest and inspect all incoming goods.”

That would be
pure frustration and hard manual labour. Tristan sighed. “I accept,
but we do have a guest, Elder Yiddin.”

“She will be
entertained until you are freed of your duty,” Vanar murmured. “Why
is she here?”

“Caballa bade
her come. As farspeaker she knows too much.”

“She is
therefore your prisoner?” Selenten frowned.

“Not at all.
We are being cautious. Caballa will sort her out when she
comes.”

Silence, and
then, “Caballa is coming?”

Tristan
nodded. “We think some time tomorrow.”

Another
silence and then Yiddin spoke, “If Caballa sees fit to return now,
then something is off-kilter. The fact the Kaval dogged the Electan
and Sirlasin today underscores that.” He glanced at Vanar, who
nodded imperceptibly before he continued, “Caballa is welcome here
always, but she may be fearful of recrimination. One of you needs
to be here to set her at ease.”

Yiddin glanced
at his colleagues and received confirmation there also.

“Tianoman,
your judgement stands, as does yours, Teroux. Tristan, I suggest
you get your twelve hours in this night to be here for Caballa
tomorrow.”

Tristan
inclined his head. “Agreed.”

“Two ships
from Beacon in the next hour, one from Xen at three and another
from Ceta around five in the morning,” Atkir murmured. “A busy
night for you, my lord Tristan.”

Teroux
laughed.

Tristan sent
him a look. “I would rather lift heavy bales than die of boredom
under the Beaconite’s watchful gaze.”

There was
general laugher and then, from Vanar, “Go now to your respective
duties and homes. Yiddin and I shall remain behind for your
guest.”

No doubt they
intended to pick her brain.

Tristan gave
his cousins a wry grin and left.

Soon the
chamber was emptied, leaving only Vanar and Yiddin standing
together in it.

They stared up
the stairs.

“Something
nasty is a-foot, Vanar.”

She nodded.
“Shall I talk to her or do you want to?”

“You do
it.”

She moved
towards the stairs and stopped with her foot on the first step.
“Yiddin, has the watch over Tianoman been set?”

“Yes. Gods, I
wish the waiting was over, so we know where we stand with that
one.”

“Do you think
there is a chance the Throne will choose him?”

Yiddin
shrugged. “It chose Torrullin, didn’t it? There is no telling what
that seat will do.”

Beacon

Fuma and Amunti
presented themselves at the consulate of Valaris on Beacon.

It was a small
building set amid rows of identical buildings, the consulates and
embassies of different worlds. Beacon was a giant city-world and
the fact that these buildings were a mere three storeys high were a
continuing wonder to Beaconites, as was the curiosity of the
landscaped grounds they were situated in. Beacon had harked to
others’ preference for wider spaces and view, but tenants of these
particular buildings paid premium rent.

Kris Westlake
did not add much over coffee, but gave them the name of the one he
heard the rumour from.

Fuma and
Amunti were on Beacon to look at the population register to find
Marvin Forlang, an importer of vegetables from worlds other than
Beacon Farm. Consulates and embassies had access to that register,
a transparency treaty. Beacon was seldom transparent.

The register,
when the Consul granted them access, gave an address in the
warehouse district of southeast Beacon. The man had no criminal
record, paid taxes and import duties regularly and seemed a model
citizen.

Good; it was
easier to talk to someone with nothing to hide.

The district
was crowded, noisy and frenetically busy.

It took four
hours to find the right warehouse and then a further two for Marvin
Forlang. Unfortunately the man could tell them nothing. He heard it
‘somewhere’.

As they left
the warehouse of
Marvin Imported Vegetables,
Amunti stumbled
over a sleeping form huddled before bales of cotton stacked outside
the neighbouring business.

The man looked
up blearily and mumbled something about everyone wanting to be a
king suddenly. He was clearly in his cups, but the remark spoke
directly to the rumouring.

A drink or two
later and the drunk ran at the mouth.

Yes, folk
talked about the golden boys who wanted to be kings and, yes, he
heard of a mighty army that would crush resistance to the new
kingdoms. Oh, where had he heard it …? Well, he had to think on
that one a bit …

Another drink
and he suddenly remembered.

Ah, yes, April
told him … she brought him food, you know, great gal, and she heard
it from Pretty Polly, who worked for Benjamin Torres over at the
Metal Yard … now Torres was man to be afraid of, a finger in every
steaming pot …

Everyone knew
the Metal Yard and everyone knew Benjamin Torres.

The yard dealt
in scrap, not only the metal kind, for scrap included information.
Benjamin Torres was a swarthy man, heavyset and yet light on his
feet, with a marked, swaggering walk. A big king of a small
domain.

He would not
talk to them, and thus they forced him to and left him blubbering
abuse when they absconded.

Benjamin
Torres had something interesting hiding in his deviant, criminal
mind.

It seemed they
needed to get to Lax. As with Chaim, Fuma and Amunti required
Jimini’s particular talents for infiltration.

“Jimini is
with Chaim on Xen,” Belun barked when they put in an appearance in
the Dome.

To Xen III
they went and fell in with the plans underway.

Drinic
Homeworld

Erin gave Amdel
the full story of her son’s responsibilities to the Kaval and heard
in turn how the rabble of Drinic rose against the Immortals,
priests and known supporters.

Amdel suffered
much, but the fact that her son ‘died’ eventually led to her being
left to her own devices. The purging was not over, although
incidences of violence were fewer as time wore on and priorities
shifted focus. She could not fathom why it began in the first
instance, but shrugged philosophically and moved on to the reason
Erin came to see her.

“You look for
time portals, my dear? What makes you think I would know?”

“I merely hope
you can help, Amdel.”

“Well, I say
we need tea and biscuits before we go on. Come, let us sit in the
kitchen, it is sunnier there.” She rose and went off.

The kitchen
was brighter and smelled wonderful. Erin grinned her pleasure as
she entered and was waved to a table under a window where the view
was of roses, daffodils, carnations, primroses, petunias, snow
balls, lilies and all manner of flowers. A riotous paradise of
colour. And the scents were heavenly. Bees buzzed from flower to
flower and butterflies danced, flirting with tiny red
ladybirds.

“Oh, it’s
glorious,” Erin breathed.

Amdel smiled
as she approached with a huge pot of tea and a tin of home baked
biscuits. “My little world.” She set her burdens down and then
brought over mugs, sugar, milk and teaspoons. “Help yourself,
Erin.”

Erin did so.
The tea was divine and the biscuits absolute temptation.

Amdel drank
her tea delicately and did not speak again until she emptied her
mug. With a sigh of pleasure she set it down. “Now I am restored.
Why time portals specifically?”

“Someone is
lost to the past, Amdel, and it’s a barrier we can’t simply pull
away.”

“An
accident?”

“Oh, I hope
so.”

“Are you not a
sage yourself? I sense the depths in you.”

“I see
nothing, I’m afraid.”

Amdel pushed
the biscuit tin closer. “Have another. You are looking at this the
wrong way. Complicating things.”

“Meaning?”
Erin’s mouth was full.

“What is a
portal? It is a door between two places, one that can either be
opened or shut. That goes for a door in this house or a door
between times, so do not over-complicate it.”

“Which door
and where? How will I know it when I see it? And how can it not be
complicated when folk die to see a door, or reincarnate, or use
magic, trance or symbols of power?”

“And a door is
still a door. Simple. You have seen the Rift? A mere door, if large
and irregular. You say someone is lost; retrace those steps and
walk in those shoes to the point where there are no footprints to
follow.”

“That may be
far harder than you would expect.”

“Perhaps, but
the door will be there and the fact that it passes through to
another time is immaterial. You will know it and feel it. Of
course, it is getting back which could prove difficult, and whether
it leads to the same time as your lost friend is open to
interpretation, yet it will be the portal you seek.”

Erin nodded.
“I’m asking the wrong questions. I shouldn’t be asking what a time
portal is or where to find it, I should be asking how I am to
determine the time beyond, how to alter that time if necessary, and
how do I find this present again from the other side. Right?”

Amdel
smiled.

“How?”

“I have heard
of technological drones able to send images …”

“And what if
it’s just sand on the other side? Images of sand will reveal
nothing, not even place.”

“Then you need
a Walker of Realms, my dear.”

Erin gave a
wry smile. “Elixir.”

“The mighty
Torrullin, indeed. Take him to the doorway and leave the rest up to
him.” Amdel took Erin’s hand and squeezed it. “You follow the
events that led to this disappearance, that is all you can do.”

Erin sighed.
“I’ve wasted your time.”