The Nemesis Blade (28 page)

“
People
above water,
” Torrullin murmured.

“How
enlightening,” Fuma remarked. “Isn’t it amazing how the past has
effect on the present and future?”

Torrullin
chose to ignore that. “Iggy, the Three Kingdoms?”

“Triplets were
born on Orb to the royal line. Always title passed to the eldest
son, and thus that particular set of heirs gave no clear successor.
Orb was divided, by consensus and referendum, into three regions.
It worked exceptionally well, for three men were able to divide
duties, issues and problems also. Orb prospered and so did the
Diluvans. And then came the next flood and in the aftermath there
was great suffering. The royals survived, but only one man stood
forth to institute measures that were harsh at first, yet proved to
relieve suffering. Folk wanted him as High King and thus the
trouble started. The kingdoms were kept intact, but there was then
a High King and two lesser Kings; a few years into rebuilding the
wars began.”

Prima rose.
“My Lord, may I speak?”

Torrullin
waved a hand.

“This is a
quote from Sabian, my Lord.
Power should always be clearly
pointed to, for triplets are never sufficient precedents.
That
is of Luvan origin, a proverb warning about division.”

Torrullin
stared at the older man. A precedent he set anew in three Valla
heirs. “Thank you, Prima.”

Ignatius went
on. “The wars continued throughout the epoch until the new flood.
In the aftermath one royal remained. It is suggested foul play was
enacted.”

“Which king
survived?”

“The High
King, who else?” Ignatius muttered.

“Who else
indeed?” Torrullin echoed. “How many years per epoch?”

“All
different, but the average works out to roughly a hundred million
years.”

Torrullin
rubbed at his face. “Long time. Shedo, how long back did the Luvans
settle on Luvanor?”

“Roughly six
billion.”

Gods. Teighlar
possessed a truly ancient lineage. “There is a mighty gap between
Diluvans and present day Orb, Iggy. How do you explain that?”

“Others came
and suffered the floods. Knowledge was lost repeatedly.”

“The last
inundation was ten thousand years ago?”

Galarth spoke
up. “Eleven thousand.”

Torrullin gave
a laugh. “It feels unsafe now on Sanctuary.”

Galarth
grinned. “We have about ninety million years left.”

Ninety million
years. The length of time the Senlu of Grinwallin were in abeyance;
was there another parallel? “Prima, the prophecy.”

Shenendo and
Ignatius both subsided back into their seats as Prima cleared his
throat from a seated position. “It is of Orb, probably Diluvan, and
that puts it into an older time than Sabian could confirm.”

He proceeded
to quote.

“
The Curve
creates Three anew

The Vacuum of
Time to be overflowed

Kingdom Thrice
will arise

The Force of
Myth heralds the Force Real

The Creator is
the Link

The Four of
the Suns must solve

High King
is the One
… that is a common tongue translation, my Lord.”

Torrullin
stilled.

The Kaval
stared up at him.

Torrullin
moved then. He gripped the hilt of his sword, fingers bone
white.

All eyes
fixated there.

Then, “We will
take a break; Gal, you are next with inundation.” Torrullin paused
and looked at Declan. “I want to speak to Sabian now.” Declan rose
and headed to his ogive. “Quilla, you had better be at this
confrontation.”

Quilla stood
more slowly. “Confrontation, Torrullin?” He stretched mightily.

“Yes, a bloody
battle,” Torrullin snapped back and stalked off, still gripping at
his sword.

Declan came to
a stop in mid-stride and eyeballed the Q’lin’la as Torrullin’s
ogive chimed his exit. “Quilla?”

The birdman
sighed. “The Diluvan prophecy.”

“What of it?”
Prima demanded.

“He spoke it,
that is what. Torrullin spoke it on the Great Curve. And begins to
remember.”

The Kaval was
dead silent.

Quilla
whispered, “Imagine how
he
feels, then.” He walked slowly
away.

Declan closed
his mouth and ran for his ogive.

Jonas put it
well. “My god, the devil of Fate.”

Yes, the devil
of Fate.

~ Truth

Sanctuary

T
orrullin strode into his home.

He headed
directly to the only other presence in the house - Sabian, in the
library.

Torrullin
stood framed in the doorway; it was a few seconds before the man
became aware of him, a few seconds in which to form a first
impression.

He forced
himself to relinquish his hold on the blade at his side.

This man was
not his nemesis, but he had the distinct feeling he might lead to
that one.

Sabian reached
up to slide another book out and noticed the figure in the doorway.
He pushed the tome back before turning to face Elixir.

Torrullin
entered and behind him was Declan and Quilla.

Sabian smiled.
“My Lord Elixir, it is an honour to meet you. You have a lovely
home and a wonderful collection of books.”

Torrullin
closed in and Sabian’s smile slid away.

Quilla asked,
“What is it you want to do now?”

Torrullin was
not talking and not about to either. He came to rest before the
fair man and scrutinised him, every detail from head to toe. He
walked around him to do the same from behind.

“Torrullin,
you cannot blame the messenger,” Quilla murmured.

Sabian
swallowed. “Declan, what is wrong?”

The Siric was
expressionless. “Your Orb prophecy made some waves.”

“It is not
mine - I merely repeated it.”

“Look at me,”
Torrullin commanded, standing before the man. “Know I shall read
you.”

Sabian blinked
once and then steadied his gaze to Torrullin’s. He did not blink
again and Declan silently applauded that act of bravery.

Quilla sank
into an armchair to watch and was the first to sense how deep the
probing of Sabian was and he gave the man full marks for
stamina.

Torrullin
stepped back.

“My Lord, I
read the telling … I …”

“What is
honour, Sabian?” Torrullin interrupted. He stood legs braced,
watching Quilla.

Declan
murmured, “I suggest you answer.”

Sabian cleared
his throat. “My honour is a code of conduct, a set of morals.”

“That is
all?”

Sabian drew
breath and let it go. “Honour lies in how one acts, the deeds that
underscore one’s beliefs and morals, and honour is also in one’s
word. Perhaps it is most in one’s word.”

Quilla’s
eyelids flickered.

“Explain
that,” Torrullin prompted.

“If a promise
is made it is the same as an oath, and as binding. Breaking it
reveals lack of honour; keeping it, even in adversity, proves
honour.” Sabian’s voice was controlled.

Torrullin
still watched Quilla and gave a tiny smile when the birdman’s eyes
swivelled to him.

“Torrullin, he
sounds like …”

Torrullin
inclined his head and spoke before Quilla went further. “I know. He
sounds like Margus.”

Sabian
appeared confused, but Declan paled. “It cannot be.”

The fair man
shook his head. “The Darak Or? Elixir, you think I am the Darak
Or?”

“I think you
are his brother.”

“Gods,” Declan
groaned.

Sabian paced
forward, his expression one of honest consternation. “My Lord, I am
Xenian by birth - there are records! How can I be Margus’ brother?
Please, I do not know what brought this on, but you must believe
me.”

Declan thought
to interfere, for the man sounded truthful. “Torrullin, maybe
…”

Torrullin held
his hand up towards the Siric without looking his way, and Declan
retreated. “Sabian, I may be wrong, I admit; allow me my
doubts.”

Sabian
deflated. “Anything, my Lord. I will earn your trust, I shall prove
my worth.”

Quilla spoke
from the depths of his armchair. “Stranger, is it your considered
word
you are not Margus’ brother?”

Sabian glanced
his way. “How could I be?”

Declan sucked
at his teeth. Sabian had not given his word - he deflected a
question with a question.

Torrullin
glanced at Quilla. “Perhaps I was hasty. The shock of prophecy,
hmm? Ever has it unbalanced me, not so?”

“Perhaps,”
Quilla affirmed. “You should not go about scaring folk, damn it.
Next time hold your tongue until certain.”

Declan looked
from one to the other, utterly confused.

Torrullin
laughed. “My conscience, the Q’lin’la!” He faced Sabian. “Forgive
me, I have acted in haste. I have probed you, I have looked at you
and I have tested your concept of honour. You have the physical
features Margus had, but then so have millions. Fair hair and blue
eyes is not unique.”

Sabian was
pale, but he shook his head.

Declan was
more confused than ever. Torrullin never backed down. What was he
playing at? A glance at Quilla gave him no insight either.

Torrullin
extended his hand. “You are a guest in my home and until otherwise
proven I shall greet you as a guest.”

Quilla
smiled.

Declan
understood with lightning bright clarity.

Sabian
stiffened. “My Lord, if I am not welcome, perhaps I should rather
leave. Perhaps you should first be certain.”

Torrullin
smiled. “You are welcome.”

Sabian stared
at the extended hand.

Torrullin’s
smile slid away. “Are you trying to insult me?”

Blue eyes
lifted. “Of course not!”

Silver eyes of
ice. “Then shake my hand.”

Sabian did not
move.

Torrullin
stepped forward. Sabian stepped back.

Quilla
sighed.

Declan moved
then. In a blur of movement he was behind the man, holding him.
“Shake, or pay the price, Sabian.”

Sabian
wrenched at his hold, discovering the Siric had immobilised him.
“Let me go!”

“So you can
transport out? I think not.”

“I cannot
transport!”

“I think you
can.”

Torrullin
stood before the man. With deliberate slowness he reached up to
touch Sabian’s face and laid a hand against a quivering cheek.

For a brief
instant nothing happened and then a blue flame licked out from
under Torrullin’s palm.

“Gods,” Declan
muttered. “He duped me.”

Torrullin
smiled. “Well, well, well. Greetings to you, Agnimus.”

Sabian
growled.

“Come now,”
Torrullin murmured, “all can be hidden, much can be altered, we
both know that. But Valla kinfire will never be subservient.”

Sabian
wrenched free and slapped his hand over Torrullin’s. The blue flame
leapt into fire. “Greetings to you, too, Torrullin. Kinsman.”

Declan swore
aloud and moved …

“Relax,”
Torrullin said. “He won’t flee.”

Sabian gave a
grin.

“You see,
Declan, Agnimus has become Sabian. He has new thought process, an
altered personality, even a different system of beliefs. Sabian was
once his true name, and a true name sets a soul free. Sabian was
Margus’ brother, and the original Sabian trusted to honour and
word, as Margus did. Sabian became a soltakin at his brother’s
hand, a soul without a body, and that soul is now released in
naming itself true.”

“His name was
Michael,” Sabian said. “My brother’s true name was Michael.”

Declan moved
away. How did this change the situation?

“How did you
do it?” Torrullin asked.

“Delving
strata,” Sabian said, and noticed a shiver in his old adversary.
“Back to the time before darkling miasma. A choice lay before me,
either Mor Feru into eternity or the reclaiming of my soul,
Sabian’s soul.” A grimace then. “Michael did what he did to me out
of love, you told me that yourself, and I discovered I needed it to
be true.”

“You chose
humanity.”

“Yes.”

“Agnimus is
still part of you, Sabian.”

“I am aware of
that.”

“What does it
make you?”

“Agnimus was
not whole. He was and is parts. I have retained his memories, but
without the shuttering dark. I function without the disability of
pain and suffering.”

“What of the
vengeance lying between us?”

Sabian smiled.
“It is muted.”

“Is it?”

Sabian
shrugged.

“You are Valla
also.”

“As you said,
it cannot be made subservient.”

“Who are you
inside?”

“You probed
deep, Enchanter. You tell me.”

Torrullin gave
a rueful laugh. “Part human, part Valla … like me. And you have
full duality.”

“The Path of
Shades, yes.”

Declan, near
the window, groaned.

“You are
mortal,” Torrullin said.

“Yes, until we
retrieve Lowen Dalrish.”

Dead
silence.

“Torrullin,
you heard the prophecy. You need me.”

“You sent her
into Time,” Torrullin growled.

“It was not
me. You have my word.”

Quilla,
somewhere, gave a surprised whistle.

“Who?”
Torrullin demanded.

“I do not
know. The someone preparing an army? The same one laying on thick
rumours of three kingdoms? Come, you sent Declan to find me, and I
came. True, I would have preferred to remain unmasked until I was
in control of the situation, could use it to my advantage, but I
came because I saw as you did. I also read the prophecy.”

“Why does he
keep harping on that bloody telling?” Declan demanded.

Torrullin
paced away and then flung down into an armchair. “
The Four of
the Suns must solve
. We are dealing with times long past,
perhaps as far back as the Epoch of Dancing Suns. Yes, Nemisin’s
time, Agnimus’ period of creation, rock strata in dreams; they fit
into each other like a puzzle.”