The Nemesis Blade (47 page)

Isaiah Kronig
grinned. “No problem. They helped out on that grain issue and I
sure could use them to sniff out other underhanded deals.”

The two Kaval
had not left when Vanar started shepherding ambassadors out, and
Torrullin gestured them over, seconding them to the Electan’ s
staff. With tact he then made it clear the Electan had to leave,
citing reasons of family.

As the man
left, bending Amunti’s ear, he took Fuma one side.

“Stay until
after a Vallorin is chosen, but keep Valaris under surveillance.
Fuma, the Kaval will be leaderless for a while. Belun is to go on
as Dome leader and I want you to take over as mission
controller.”

Fuma sucked at
his teeth. It was an honour, but he wished he knew what lay behind
it. “As you will, my Lord.”

“Watch Akhavar
as closely.”

“And
Sanctuary?”

“The Dome must
remain grounded there, for now.”

Fuma’s eyes
narrowed. “How long an absence are we talking?”

“Difficult at
this point. If there is no danger after ten years, lift the Dome
back into space, but keep her close to Sanctuary, in orbit is
preferable.”

Fuma whistled.
“What is going on?”

“It is better
nobody knows, my friend.”

“What of the
prophecy, Lax, Lowen, all of it?”

“You keep Lax
controlled, deal with Excelsior, keep the Dalrish of Xen in the
loop, appease Beacon - those are practical problems. The rest of it
I take with me when I go.”

Fuma gave a
wry smile. “But you are not sure, for we need to keep the
watch.”

“Clever. You
will be a good controller.”

“Anything I
can do now to help?”

“No, Fuma,
thank you. Take Amunti away from here. He has a big mouth.”

“Don’t I know
it,” Fuma muttered and then bowed. “Until we meet, my Lord
Elixir.”

“Until we
meet, Fuma.”

Fuma followed
Amunti and Isaiah out.

Saska was at
his elbow. “The question should be put to you - are you all
right?”

“I feel as if
I am burning bridges again.”

She touched
his arm. “This time you will not have it so easy, for I will be
there, nagging away.”

It was the
first touch, other than the hasty grab he launched at her in the
mountain. It was familiar, while being entirely new. He looked
down. “I know nothing is resolved between us and I hate to put you
in danger, but I am glad to have you at my side.”

“And
twenty-five years just went up in smoke.”

He wanted to
say more, but Tristan called. “Duty calls.”

“Go.” She
watched him wander away, wondering how they would work it out.
Lowen’s spectre hung over every word, far more than Cat’s ever had,
and Lycea was a pussycat compared to both.

Nearby,
Caballa looked away. It was obvious how much they loved each other;
what had she expected? She looked directly into Tristan’s eyes …
and then Torrullin was with him.

She studied
them. Apart, one saw the likeness they shared; together, one noted
the differences. They were equally tall, and Tristan definitely
inherited the Valla leanness, as well as the grace.

Seeing them
move away, she realised Tristan moved more like Vannis, with an
internal self-confidence, a sense of innate arrogance; Torrullin
moved like a hunter, neither slow nor fast, just indifferent to his
prey, until he acted.

Of course,
there were physical differences. Tristan’s fair hair was shoulder
length, while Torrullin’s fairness was shorter. The ever-present
recalcitrant too long fringe fell over his face, and Caballa
smiled. So sexy, that lock of silky hair, and Torrullin knew it.
Bloody man.

Then there was
the way they dressed; Torrullin would always favour the black,
while Tristan shied from it, probably because he would then be
mistaken for his grandfather.

They headed
her way. She noted something else. Lines. Tristan was slightly
older physiologically, and had more lines around his eyes. She
smiled inwardly. Tristan laughed more, and that was good.
Torrullin, of course, was ageless, his skin smooth and clear - less
lines at the eyes, true, but care lines were etched from nose to
mouth.

Eight thousand
years compared to thirty-five, and maybe far more than eight
thousand. Torrullin’s age was in his eyes, and also in his
disillusioned attitude.

“Caballa,”
Torrullin said as they halted before her, “what is it you thought
to tell Tristan upon your return? Everything, I hear.”

“Sorry,
Caballa,” Tristan murmured.

“He deserves
to know,” Caballa said, looking at Torrullin. Who was her heart
beating for?

“
You
do not
know,” Torrullin said. “You will confuse him. He does not need it
now.”

“Gods,
Torrullin, he’s slipping away in the dead of night to visit Rose, a
very accomplished farspeaker, hoping she will tell him, and if
anyone can confuse him, trust me, it’s Rose.”

Tristan
cleared his throat as Torrullin asked, “Is this true?”

“That she can
confuse? Oh, yes.”

A huge grin
spread over Torrullin’s face and then he burst out laughing.

“Bloody hell,
the acorn didn’t fall far from the tree,” Caballa muttered.

Torrullin
laughed harder. “I would like to meet this Rose.” He gestured to
Teroux and Tianoman to join them. “However, Tristan - a
farspeaker?”

“She couldn’t
help much, except for the Lax scenario.”

Torrullin
sobered. “Do not mention that aloud again. Lax is a delicate
situation.”

Tristan
nodded. “Fuma explained.”

“Probably
because Amunti couldn’t keep his mouth shut,” Torrullin
remarked.

Tristan burst
into laughter. “Poor Fuma, guarding a big mouth also!”

Torrullin
grinned. “Good men and a great foil for each other.”

Then Teroux
and Tianoman were there, and Saska drifted closer.

Torrullin
called to Vanar, Yiddin and Presario. He shrugged at Saska. “May as
well say it only once.”

She
smiled.

When all were
gathered around, he said, “List of extra duties, I am afraid.
Vanar, you and Saska need to discuss Akhavar …”

Vanar frowned
immediately.

“Nemisin’s
world,” Saska supplied.

The Elder’s
brow cleared.

Torrullin went
on. “Akhavar needs a caretaker as Saska is leaving; a council of
Elders is preferable. I want a list by tomorrow night and
interviews to follow. They will be sworn in and on their way the
following morning. Saska is aware of skills needed.”

“You are
reclaiming Akhavar, my Lord?” Yiddin asked.

“The Valleur
reassume a birthright.”

The Elder
smiled. “Excellent.”

“We wondered
when you would make the decision,” Presario remarked.

“It is made
and it is my final command as Vallorin.”

The three
bowed.

“Next point of
duty, coronation preparations must be complete before Tian’s
ceremony.”

Vanar shook
her head. “Three days?”

“Why?” Yiddin
asked.

“After he has
successfully spoken for maturity, I am taking him away.” Torrullin
faced Tianoman. “I am taking you to your father.”

Tianoman,
already suffering, could take no more. “I cannot cope with that as
well!”

Silence and
then, “Leave us.”

Everyone
melted away, leaving the two confronting each other.

“What scares
you most?” Torrullin asked.

“Stupidity,”
Tianoman replied.

A sage nod. “I
often have that. What lifts you most?”

The young man
stared at the ground. “It was Samuel’s smile. Now nothing.”

Ah, it was
grief. Tianoman’s father figure would not be present for two of the
most important events of a young man’s life, especially in this
Valla’s life. Tianoman needed the one person who loved him his
whole life.

“I miss him,
too,” Torrullin said.

Tianoman
looked up. “How can I face my father? How?”

Torrullin
studied him for a moment. “It is time we talk about him.”

Tianoman
paled.

Torrullin
murmured, “In private.”

“Now?”

Torrullin
considered and then called out, “Vanar, who is resident at the
Keep?”

She called
back, “Staff only at present, my Lord.”

Tianoman would
not want his emotions witnessed. He suggested, “It’s quiet at the
Graveyard, and, yes, now.” When the young Valla nodded, he called
out again, “We shall be back by morning. Saska, will you be all
right?”

“Stop singling
me out.”

Torrullin took
Tianoman’s arm and as he walked past his wife, he said, “You just
made it worse.”

He carried on
walking and he and Tianoman transported from outside the
Palace.

Chapter 35

Sorcery is
about degree. Magician, sorcerer, witch, warlock, enchanter, titles
of degree, some purely traditional. Having said that, here is a
qualification, for Enchanter and Warlock. Note the capitalisation.
Why? Because in our recent past two men have risen to the fore and
changed the manner in which sorcery is perceived. The Warlock
Tymall and his Enchanter father Torrullin.

~ Codicil to
Steps of the Magical Condition

Valaris

T
he temperature was bearable in
Torrke, the ground without snow.

The valley was
generally milder than the rest of the continent, but it was not
exactly warm, and both shivered.

“It was the
solstice yesterday,” Tianoman remarked.

“I know. And
tomorrow is solstice on Sanctuary.” He chuckled. “It means now it
really gets cold.”

“We haven’t
had much snow.”

“It’s
coming.”

“Did my father
like the cold?” Tianoman asked.

“Do you?”
Torrullin countered.

“No.”

“Neither did
Tymall.”

“And you?”

“I prefer
colder weather.”

“Samuel did,
too. And Tristamil?”

“Tian, you
cannot prove genetics with climactic preferences.”

“Did Tristamil
prefer the cold?” Tianoman asked.

“No, he
enjoyed sunshine. In that my sons were very alike.”

Tianoman
seemed relieved. He nodded and wandered over to the nearest crypt.
It was the one Torrullin opened for his mother Millanu’s remains,
and there his father Taranis joined her. His mother and father,
together in death. Tristamil’s urn, too, rested within.

Torrullin
always gravitated towards it when transporting to the sacred
Graveyard and this time was no different. Now he watched Tianoman
halt before the stone door, watched him run seeking fingers over
the inscription as he had himself done many a time.

“You knew your
father,” Tianoman whispered.

No, I did not
, Torrullin thought,
and said aloud, “I had the privilege of a few years with
him.

“Did you love
him?”

“I hated him
…”

Tianoman was
astonished.

“… once, and
then loved him dearly.”

“How do you
change how you feel?”

Torrullin put
his hand to the names there. “You try to understand their choices.
Taranis did not abandon me, yet I blamed him for it, and for most
other ills, until I began to understand the fates of his life. In
the end I loved my father very much.” He took Tianoman’s shoulders
and held him at arm’s length. “Do you hate your father?”

Tianoman
pulled away. “How can I hate someone I have never met?”

A sigh. “I
did.”

Tianoman
stared at him. “Yes, I hate him.”

A nod.
“Good.”

“Good?”
Tianoman blurted.

“It is easier
to hear the truth about someone you hate, than of someone you love.
If I were to begin expounding now about Samuel’s complicated life,
you would deny what you hear, but I am able to say anything about
Tymall and you will listen.”

Tianoman
pounced on one thing. “Samuel … complicated?”

“Very, but we
are not here to speak of him.”

Tianoman bit
his lip and nodded. He changed direction. “How come I can see you
in darkness?”

“A trick of
mine.”

“Are you all
they say you are?”

“We are not
here to discuss me.”

Tianoman
squeezed his eyes shut and then sat, head on knees, arms loosely
clasped. “You must think I am a coward.”

Torrullin sat
with his back to the crypt, legs stretched out. For a moment he was
reminded of another time, sitting back to stone with Cat. Pregnant
Cat, but she had not known. He pushed the memory away; when he
thought of it, he also thought of hurting Saska.

“You are not a
coward, Tian.”

“I am. Tell me
about my father.” He did not lift his head.

“I will put it into perspective for you, Tymall was
unrecognised in the womb. I discovered the error too late and my
hope was love would change the fates. I loved him and there was no
distinction in my heart between him and his twin. Love was not
enough. Tymall came to his Coming-of-Age and was unmasked. Today I
understand love
would
have been enough …”

Tianoman’s
head lifted.

“… had he not
been inhabited by the Darak Or before he was born. Another mistake
on my part. I should have searched for Margus’ essence longer and
with greater insight.”

“You were new
to being Enchanter.”

“That is an excuse. I should have done more and paid more
attention to the twins’ mother. Unfortunately that time came and
went a long time ago and the tale has unfolded. Tymall, as host to
Margus, could not be swayed and Tymall, separate from Margus, chose
the one who
had
recognised him and became a Darak Or in training. He denied
me, admitted what he did to Saska, and I could not forgive, and
thus Tristamil became the son I always wanted. Tymall hated me for
that and hated his brother. He tried to rape Saska and he murdered
Taranis, which I cannot forgive. I had him incarcerated and he
chose suicide as his revenge on us.”