The Nemesis Blade (40 page)

They grinned
at each other and by morning would be turning Grinwallin inside out
in their search for Luvan records.

Chapter 30

He comes!
Hide!

~ Ornery’s
Fairy Tales

Akhavar

P
rima found Saska in the great space
that was Nemisin’s Throne-room.

It was midday
and the heat was evident even inside the mountain enclave.

“Ah, Prima.
You’ve brought news?”

Prima, formal
as ever, bowed. “I have, my Lady.”

She gestured
him closer. “Is he coming here?”

“Yes,
soon.”

She swallowed
and her hands visibly shook. She avoided Samuel’s funeral, knowing
he would be there, and now he would turn the tables on her. “How
soon?”

“My Lord
Elixir has gone to Grinwallin. Once he has completed his task
there, he will come.”

She nodded. It
was an answer and yet it was not an answer. “Has Lowen been
found?”

“No, my Lady.
We believe she may have disappeared from here.” Prima hoped she
would not see how much he pitied her.

“So, he comes
for Lowen.” She glared at the Kaval man, while knowing the fault
was not his. “She was here, by god?”

Prima bowed
again. He said nothing.

“Forgive me.
You had better give me the whole sorry tale, if I’m permitted to
hear it, that is.” She could not keep the bitterness from her
voice.

“I was sent to
warn you, my Lady, and thus must tell all.”

Saska gave a
nod. “Then let us do so in comfort.”

She led the
way from the airy space.

The Dome

Quilla paced
the confines of the Dome, muttering.

Eventually
Belun lost patience. “Damn, Quilla!”

The tiny
figure paused in mid-mutter. “I need to think.”

“Then do it
elsewhere.”

“It is
freezing outside, Belun.”

“Go to the
villa.”

“Sabian is
there.”

Belun
straightened. He bent over a range of tools and drawings, the
beginnings of Dome repair. “What is it with that clown?”

“Sabian is
Agnimus.”

Belun dropped
a wrench with a clang.

“He is Agnimus
in new guise, personality and purpose, and I shall not trust him.
Even if the console passed him. He went back in time - no, not like
Lowen. He delved and it gifted him the ability to change. Clever
bastard.”

“Torrullin
trusts him?” Belun demanded.

“I doubt
it.”

“Yes, our
Torrullin is hard to fathom these days. He’s been hard to get
through to for years now.”

Quilla
sighed.

“What’s wrong
with him, really?”

“You mean
besides Lowen? Besides Saska?” Quilla paced closer to peer at
Belun’s drawings. “Longevity, maybe?”

“We all have
long years behind us, particularly you.”

“And sometimes
I withdraw,” Quilla returned. “We all do.”

“Not like
Torrullin.”

Quilla
shrugged. “I think it may be the Throne; it calls to him
continuously.”

“I wonder if
it calls to Agnimus.”

“Do not even
think
it,” Quilla snapped out. “Gods, we do not need
that complication also.” He pointed at a drawing. “Belun, that does
not look right. This seal requires more magic than physical
repair.”

Belun looked
down and hissed through his teeth. “I missed that … thanks.” He was
soon lost in reconfiguration.

Quilla moved
away. Yes, he needed to think, away from Sabian, away from
everyone. The Dome was not conducive, for the Centuar’s energy
disturbed tranquillity, and yet he did not want to venture far in
search of peace. He did not want to be too far from Sabian.

How to handle
that one? The man was no angel and yet he passed the console, was
therefore not quite the demon he once was. Who was Sabian, really?
And what did he want from this? Was it simple immortality for his
new guise? Or was there something more profound?

Quilla paced
away, this time with minimal movement not to draw Belun’s
attention.

Sabian was not
the reason he needed to think. No, it lay in the tale of the
stones, a tale Torrullin was not ready to listen to. He had to
listen, he had to hear, and the sooner the better.

“Belun?”

The Centuar
lifted a frowning countenance. “What now?”

“Are you able
to dedicate one of your screens to Sabian?”

Belun thought
and then nodded.

“Can you do it
now? I need someone to watch him.”

“Declan …”

“No, someone
he is unaware of.”

Belun ventured
over to the screens near the console. “Fine. I assume this means
you’re leaving?”

“I need to
speak to Torrullin right away.”

Belun stared
over at the birdman. “You know, Quilla, sometimes you’re even more
secretive than Torrullin.”

Quilla
dimpled. “Thank you.”

Belun rolled
his eyes. “Go. I’ll have Sabian in my sights within a minute.”

Quilla grinned
and left.

An ogive
chimed.

Sanctuary

It was the
time before dawn, bone-chilling cold, but Declan could not
sleep.

First
Torrullin said they - Declan, Sabian and Quilla - would accompany
him to Grinwallin, and then changed his mind. It had something to
do with what Quilla had not revealed, he suspected. He did not like
the void of ignorance it created, as he did not like the fact he
played nursemaid - again - to Sabian.

Biting out an
oath, he rose from the warmth of his bed. Bugger Sabian; he was
going to Grinwallin.

Sabian, it
seemed, had the same thought. The man was fully dressed and waiting
in the passage.

“Are we off to
Grinwallin?”

Declan stared
at him. Why not? Why not take him along, when it would mean he was
not derelict in his duty.

“Yes,” he said
and paused. He looked Sabian over. “I hope you are what you claim
you are, my erstwhile enemy, for Luvanor does not permit darak
fallen to penetrate the atmosphere.”

Sabian smiled.
“Shall we put it to the test?”

The Siric
laughed. “Absolutely. Follow my signature.”

A moment later
both were gone, and Belun’s dedicated screen beeped warning.

The Dome

The Centuar
looked up, saw Grinwallin growing large in view, and Sabian with
Declan.

Nearby he
noted the birdman staring at them open-mouthed … and then the
screen darkened as the sensors lost track.

He shrugged
and returned to his task, working better alone.

It would be
light soon and then he would have to put up with his well-meaning
helpers Jonas and Erin.

Grinwallin

Torrullin swore
under his breath.

He hoped to
turn Grinwallin inside out first and here they were. He muttered as
much to Teighlar as they climbed the steps to the portico. The sun
clambered into the heavens, the day ever warmer.

Teighlar
squinted at the three new arrivals. “Who is that with them?”

“Sabian.”

Teighlar came
to a dead stop. “Here? He got through?”

“Apparently.”

“Gods,
Torrullin, do not trust him.” Teighlar started climbing again,
calling greetings to Quilla and Declan and both replied
sombrely.

When they met,
Torrullin lifted a brow without saying anything.

“We need to
talk,” Quilla said.

“I am of no
use lolling in the villa,” Declan muttered.

Torrullin
glanced at Sabian, who said, “The Siric wanted to come, I assumed I
had to.”

Declan did not
refute it.

Torrullin
spoke introductions for Sabian and Teighlar. The Senlu Emperor was
barely civil. “I know who you are. Beware, Master Historian.”

Sabian gave a
smile. “There are larger creatures to cook than Grinwallin, my Lord
Emperor. Your fair city is safe from me.”

Teighlar
answered with a thin smile. “But are you safe from Grinwallin?”

Torrullin
gripped Sabian’s shoulder and manhandled him out of hearing range.
“I suggest you watch your mouth.”

“You have no
hold over me. Lose the tyrant thing, please.”

Silence
ensued, a period in which Torrullin - Elixir - knew he had to show
exactly who controlled whom and who had hold over what.

He watched a
smile spread over Sabian’s face … the next instant the fair man
gripped his throat.

“Counter!”
Torrullin snapped.

Teighlar,
although realising how necessary the gesture was, was afraid of how
the city would respond. Then, contrarily, while Sabian gulped for
air, he thought it might not be a bad thing to know whether the
city would do something and what exactly it could do.

Quilla
wondered something similar. Declan was not so relaxed. “Sabian,
don’t do anything!”

Sabian dropped
his hands and willed the silencing spell away. An instant later he
grinned again …

… Torrullin’s
expectant smile caused his blood to run cold.

He jerked
around; saw anxiety etched on the Siric’s face, curiosity on the
Emperor’s and a kind of anticipation on the Q’lin’la’s.

He clutched at
his throat again and this time he was not alone in his dilemma. He
noted others suffer a similar fate, including Senlu, but not
Elixir.

Torrullin
leaned forward. “I am a true immortal, ancient one. It means while
Grinwallin intensifies the silencing spell, without targeting
anyone specific, it cannot affect me.”

Sabian could
not answer.

“I feel the
lack of air, of course, but so what? It will not kill me; it will,
however, kill you.” Torrullin straightened. “At this point I need
your - shall we say, status? Thus …” He gazed up at the mountain
and, “Release the enchantment, please.”

It felt as if
nothing could halt death and then blissful fresh air flowed into
beleaguered lungs.

Torrullin
sketched a bow. “Thank you, fair Grinwallin.”

“Damn it,
you
did it,” Sabian muttered, although without a hint of
attitude.

Teighlar gazed
up at the mountain, astonishment written on his face. “She did it,
she actually did it.”

“Sabian, I may
be many things, but would not unnecessarily cause suffering,”
Torrullin murmured and glanced to his left. “There stand three of
my dearest friends; I had no call to harm them. Watch your mouth in
this place.” He ambled over to Teighlar and said, “She is not very
objective, is she? A threat from one is a threat from all.”

Teighlar drew
breath. “We must be careful.”

Declan glared
at Sabian. “You are a bloody idiot.”

Quilla gave a
rueful grin. “Well, now we know.”

Teighlar
frowned. “How many times have we not thrown spells here? Remember
the attempt on the boys? That was the realm of darak, and she did
nothing. Why now?”

Quilla leaned
in. “Have you been discussing Grinwallin recently?”

“Yes,”
Teighlar frowned.

“She heard.”
Quilla pointed a finger at Torrullin. “She listens more than you
think.”

“Then she
should be more objective,” Teighlar said.

“Omnipotence,”
Declan said. “A point to be made?”

“How
uncomfortable,” Sabian muttered. “Yes, yes, for me also. I shall be
careful.”

Teighlar
glanced at him. “Perhaps your presence grates her.”

Sabian glanced
up and was unable to mask his disquiet.

Declan
laughed.

“Torrullin, we
need to talk,” Quilla said. “It cannot wait.”

“Very well.
Teighlar must hear it, too.”

Quilla pulled
a face.

“The stones,
Q’li’qa’mz?” Torrullin prompted.

Teighlar
paled. “Not here, for pity’s sake. The chamber of paintings is more
fitting.”

“Indeed, and
Quilla can see them. Declan, you and Sabian stay here.”

Torrullin did
not wait for a response, but headed into the Great Hall with
Teighlar behind him and Quilla trailing.

Declan sighed.
Nursemaid again.

Quilla was
wordless in his wandering along the walls of the great chamber.

He halted
before the painting of Tunian, glanced at Teighlar; he stared
open-mouthed at the oil rendition of Torrke; he paused before
others, touched some reverently, and said nothing.

Torrullin
wandered also, while Teighlar stood head bowed in the centre of the
space.

Quilla and
Torrullin met up at the far wall. “I understand now,” Quilla said.
“He must hear about the stones also.”

“Before we get
to it; what do you think of this?”

“It is
Luvan?”

“Yes, by
royals and priests, and other imagers beyond that.”

“Prophecies,
Torrullin.”

“Agreed.”

“Your, um,
events are here.”

“I know.”

“And his.”

Torrullin
nodded.

“He is a true
Ancient, is he?”

Torrullin
inclined his head.

“Does he
know?”

“He begins to
see.”

“Do you?
See?”

Torrullin drew
breath. “I begin … like him.”

“Good. Then my
tale will be easier to accept.”

Torrullin
called to Teighlar.

When the man
joined them, averting his gaze from the paintings, Quilla said,
“What do you know of singing stones? Teighlar?”

The Emperor
wandered to the likeness of Tunian. He pointed.

“Tunian, first
king of Luvanor, a great man. Had he ruled eternally Luvanor would
today be filled with cosmopolitan, clever and confident Luvans, all
five continents. He had the gentle touch, the firm tongue and a
soul to match. Unfortunately Tunian believed all others were like
him and was thus duped by the Brotherhood, an order of magicians
and priests …”