The Nemesis Blade (53 page)

Tymall sat
forward. “Who else?”

“You do not
need to know.” Torrullin lifted a shoulder.

“Actually, I
do.”

“Why?”

“Let’s say I
have heard things. Maybe I could help.”

Torrullin
glanced at Tianoman, who muttered, “I’m an adult now.”

His lips moved
into a smile and then it was gone. Torrullin said, “Declan.”

“Obviously,”
Tymall murmured. “Belun?”

“He stays for
the Dome. Saska …”

Tymall sat
back, his face unreadable. “You are together again.”

“In a manner
of speaking.”

“Lowen is
better for you.”

“You don’t
even like Lowen.”

“I like Saska
even less.”

They glared at
each other and then Tymall said, “Forgive me.”

“Fine. Saska,
Declan, Teighlar, Quilla and a man known as Sabian.”

“You’re pissed
at me,” Tymall muttered.

“You have that
effect.”

“I am sorry.
By now I should know your wife is out of bounds, especially to me.
I do know, but her name always brings it back.”

“We’ll let it
go, son.”

“Good.” Then, “Teighlar?
Teighlar
?”

Torrullin
grinned. “Finally going on a journey, yes.”

“Well, well,
then the doorway is in Grinwallin.”

“Very astute
of you.”

“Grinwallin
stones.”

“Any
help?”

“Sabian is
Agnimus, right?”

“Gods, you are
well informed.”

“What?”
Tianoman blurted.

They forgot he
was listening. “Tian, you can’t repeat this,” Tymall said.

Tianoman was
not about to allow his father to tell him what to do; they did not
have the necessary history. “Tian, your father is right,” Torrullin
murmured.

Tymall sucked
at his teeth, realising his son listened to his grandfather before
others. Well, what did he expect? To walk into the role of father
with every privilege?

“How long are
you staying?” he asked Torrullin.

“Two
days.”

Tymall closed
his eyes. “Too little.”

“Already too
long for Digilan.”

“I know, I
know. God, I know.”

Tianoman rose
from his seat and paced away. “Torrullin, I need to ask a favour of
you.”

“Ask.”

“I know you’re
tactfully trying to avoid an overload of emotions and information,
but I would like to spend time with my father alone. I’m sorry, I
know you are his father and you …”

Torrullin
stood. “Ty and I know each other. It is all right, I promise.” He
said to Tymall, “Dinner? You’re cooking, of course.”

“Tian and I
can do it together.”

“Good; we’ll
talk then. What’s this about subduing the Mor Feru? I thought I
would have a look.”

Tymall pinched
the bridge of his nose and nodded. “Ask your Tracloc friend to
guide you, and, for god’s sake, don’t kill all of them, will you?
They come in handy for those bloody things in the mist.”

Now Tianoman
really gaped.

“I will leave
a few,” Torrullin grinned.

“Torrullin,
you’re going to fight?”

“Tian, we’re
kidding,” Torrullin said, and vanished.

“He’s not
kidding, is he?”

Tymall sighed
as he found a biscuit to nibble on. “He is pissed at me, he is full
of tension, he hates that he is here, hates that he has to leave
again … oh, yes, Elixir will bloody his sword.”

Tianoman sat
down hard. “You know him that well?”

A wry shrug.
“I do.”

“Doesn’t it
worry you, killing Mor Feru?”

“No. I love
you, I love my father and that puts me in the grey world of ifs and
buts, but I am Warlock. Killing is part of the game.” Tymall paused
and then, “He sprung the legacies before they could affect you,
didn’t he?”

“Yes.”

Tymall smiled.
“Good. You have a better chance than I ever did.”

“You don’t
want me to be like you?”

“No, son, not
this, not for you. Your mother was right; you deserved a fair
chance and all the love you can hold close.”

A tear rolled
down Tianoman’s cheek. “Tell me about her.”

Chapter 39

There are no
rules in a fight.

~ Truth

Digilan

T
he Tracloc was near the elevator
when Torrullin stepped out.

Both of them
came to a stop and then the turbaned man said, “Follow me.”

As they walked
through the city of walls, neither said anything. When they reached
the Tracloc enclave Torrullin’s companion secured two mounts and,
speaking for the first time, told Torrullin to handle the animal as
he would a horse.

That proved
true, with a few nuances.

From there
they rode out. Across the bridge and right, travelling at an angle
to the encircling mist. A point of entry was chosen, the mist like
soup. Unlike elsewhere in the white blindness, only silence was
heard here. Even their mounts made no noise. They travelled in that
manner for an hour; it was silent, a listening, expectant silence.
After an hour the mist thinned and then cleared entirely and they
entered another circular island of grey sky.

Torrullin drew
his mount to a halt.

Shale
underfoot, leaden sky.

Fighting.
Tracloc, Warlock soldiers, Mor Feru and others, among them Magi and
creatures defying description.

Noise. The
terrible clamour of desperate battle.

“Why?” the
Tracloc asked.

“Curiosity,”
Torrullin murmured, taking in the waves of fighting, the pockets of
close combat. It seemed no one had clear advantage.

“Will
curiosity extend to the sharp edges of your sword?”

“It may.”

“Elixir, years
ago you said I had a name and I denied it.

Torrullin
looked at him, saying nothing.

“You called it
a pet name, something that meant something to someone. You were
right.”

Torrullin
looked away, still saying nothing.

“My name is
Maple.”

Torrullin
nodded.

“You knew, of
course, but it would be an honour if you would call me by my
name.”

Torrullin
looked at him again. “The honour is mine.”

Maple inclined
his head.

“You are of
the current Lady of Life’s tribe. Your eyes are like to
Lily’s.”

Maple looked
away. “Lily is my second cousin.”

“Why are you
here? What did you do to deserve this?”

“I killed my
sister.”

Torrullin
blinked his surprise.

A rueful
laugh. “She had a child’s mind, a birthing accident, and she had a
woman’s body far too soon with all the … needs. She wanted to use
me to sate them and I - I killed her to end it.” He glanced at
Torrullin. “I feel no guilt over the killing; I reserve that for
what went before.”

A good man, a
wrong turn, an unforgivable sin, and Digilan took him. “How did you
die?”

“Suicide.”

Ah, double
Digilan. “Pity. Your talents would be useful in our realm.”

Maple laughed.
“No judgement?”

“I am no
saint, Maple.”

“Thank
you.”

By way of
changing the subject, Torrullin pointed, “Who is that man with the
red hat?”

Maple
squinted. “Magus Ser.”

“It seems to
me he fights his caste, not Mor Feru.”

Long minutes
passed as Maple studied the man in question. As they watched Magus
Ser felled another in the white robes of their caste and then
strode through the field to engage another.

Maple hissed.
“The Warlock has doubts about Ser.”

“He is right.
Shall we?”

Maple grinned
and kicked his mount into motion.

Tymall and
Tianoman sat at the dining table, waiting.

Both were
sated with words, but stomachs growled, particularly knowing how
much went into the meal.

“Let us eat,
Tian,” Tymall said eventually.

“You’re not
worried?”

“He will be
here when he is done. I’m starving.” Tymall started dishing up,
acting casual. Inside he was furious at his father for adding
tension into an already overwrought situation.

Tianoman
shrugged, too inexperienced to read body language, and helped
himself.

Both ate with
relish and were soon laughing and talking again.

Tianoman
cleared away; Tymall placed his father’s share under cover on the
kitchen counter.

He could
bloody warm it himself.

It was another
two hours before he showed up.

Torrullin
found them in the library pouring over books and laughing together.
They did not notice him and he watched with a pleased smile. Yes,
despite everything, the two had bonded.

Then Tymall
loosed a mighty guffaw and leaned back to let it out, and his mirth
was instantly gone. On his feet, he shouted, “Where have you
been?”

Tianoman
jerked around, eyes widening.

Torrullin’s
clothes were torn, his face, hands and hair dirty and bloody.

“Not mine,”
Torrullin said. It was of no help to the boy to pamper him. “Ty, we
have to talk. Now.”

Tymall’s eyes
flickered, reading something in his father’s gaze, and he nodded.
“Tian, please excuse us.”

Tianoman
looked from one to the other and left.

Torrullin
called as he went, “See if you can find some wine, Tian!” The young
man huffed.

“What
happened?” Tymall demanded.

“A timeous
intervention, that’s what. We found Magus Ser murdering his
colleagues under the guise of Mor Feru brutality.”

Tymall hissed,
“I knew that bastard was up to no good.”

“He put up
quite a fight when he saw me,” Torrullin said, “and rallied a whole
host of creatures to his aid.”

“Did you kill
him?”

“No, the
Tracloc have him. That is why we took long; the bloody man is no
coward and put up a fight all the way.”

“Anything on
his reasons?”

“A new
challenger, by my reading.”

Tymall’s eyes
hooded. “Sixth one this year alone. Am I losing my grip?”

Torrullin
withdrew his sword and put it on the table. Tymall opened a drawer
and passed a cloth. As he cleaned his blade, Torrullin said, “This
is your dominion, but I have warned you before about instincts. You
say you knew Ser was trouble; if you had listened, it would not
have got away from you.”

“Of late you
occupied my thoughts. I let it slip.”

Torrullin
turned the blade and wiped slowly. “It is time to make an example,
Warlock.”

“Ser?”

“Yes. You want
to show you do not know the meaning of mercy.”

“I don’t,”
Tymall said with a peculiar smile.

Unfortunately
Tianoman heard that, standing in the doorway with a bottle of white
wine.

Tymall
swore.

Torrullin went
on cleaning his sword. “Digilan is not a pleasant place, Tian. Come
in.”

Silence, and
then, “I couldn’t find glasses.”

Torrullin
smiled.

Tymall cleared
his throat. “In the cabinet near the fireplace.”

Tianoman put
the bottle down and withdrew to find glasses.

“He has your
strength, Ty. Don’t worry so much, and do not pamper him.”

“I don’t want
him touched by this.”

“He is already
touched in another way.”

“Meaning?”
Tymall growled.

“He subverted
the Three Gates recently and yesterday cloaked four sites
simultaneously. Besides myself - and you - he is the only one who
can do that.”

“My
power?”

“Indeed.”

“Damn it. He
won’t be Vallorin, then.”

Of course Tianoman heard
that
, returning with the glasses. He
froze in the doorway.

Torrullin
pretended he was unaware of his grandson. “Actually he has the
greater chance at being Vallorin.”

Tymall watched
his father and realised the subterfuge. He looked up at Tianoman,
and asked, “How?”

“Come, Ty, the
Throne sees in planes of grey, the smoky areas, and it will choose
a ruler according to how it reads the future.”

“And no future
is simple black and white.”

“The
particular future ahead will not be easy.”

Tymall
ostensibly cleared his throat. “Ah, you found the glasses.”

Tianoman
entered, markedly silent. He set the glasses down, and then, “I
heard.”

Torrullin
smiled. A truth-teller, this one. Excellent. “It’s all right.”

Tianoman sat.
“Did you fight a lot?”

“Quite a
bit.”

“Are you
fine?”

“I am.”
Torrullin finished his cleaning and replaced the sword in its
scabbard. “But I am disappointed I missed a meal my grandson
cooked.”

Tianoman
grinned. “We kept you some.”

Torrullin
ruffled his hair. “Then I am going to get cleaned up and enjoy it.”
He left the library, winking at Tymall.

Tianoman
smoothed his hair - which had Tymall hiding a grin - and said, “It
couldn’t have been easy growing up with him as a father.”

“He made it
easier than I deserved. My problems really surfaced as an adult;
that was when I felt the weight of his shadow.”

“He said he
turned from you for a time.”

“As I did from
him. He told you that?”

“And lots of
other things, good and bad. I had to understand, he said.”

“And do
you?”

Tianoman
considered. “In a way.”

“Do you
forgive the evils I committed?”

Tianoman
fingered a glass and the silence stretched before he answered.
“That was then; this is now.”

“That, son, is
a sidestep.”

Tianoman
laughed. “I know, but what am I supposed to say?”

“Yes or
no.”

Tianoman was
miserable. “No.”

Tymall smiled.
“Give me your hand.” He took the proffered hand. “Release trebac
hold.” A moment later blue flames played about their fingers and
palms. “Kinfire. Feel the blood we share and know you chose right,
and I understand your choice. Tian, beloved son, I do not forgive
myself; how am I to expect that you do?”