The Nemesis Blade (56 page)

Inwardly, he
was relieved. In the past he almost lost control of this power; now
control was wholly his. It had the power of choice, not control.
This seat saw in more defined ways.

He opened his
eyes.

A
non-reflective black dais lay like a void at his feet. The Throne
was warm under him, solid and reassuring.

Vanar, Yiddin
and every Elder shouted out, “Thrice welcome to the Valleur
Throne!”

Welcome
returned as a wave of ecstatic sound that went on unabated for many
minutes. Dignitaries and guests shivered at the power in that
sound. Every nerve tingled for Tristan, Teroux and Tianoman.

Torrullin
rose. “Welcome to this very special occasion …” More cheering
drowned him out. It was a while before he could speak again. “This
day a new Vallorin will be chosen. I stand before you to freely
abdicate, as is just.”

Silence.

“It is time
for a new era, Valleur. Do you confirm?”

The cheering
came, but now without elation. Choosing a new Vallorin meant losing
the current one, and they adored him.

“I am saddened, and yet my heart tells me this is right.
Right for me and for you. Do not begrudge me quiet retirement …” As
Torrullin grinned, general laughter followed. “I
am
the retiring
type.”

More laughter,
and then he was serious. He stepped to the edge of the dais to look
upon his three heirs.

“The Elders
have decided you will ascend in order of age, and I have agreed.
Tristan has been waiting longest and should therefore take his seat
upon the Throne. No choice will be forthcoming until after Tianoman
has risen.”

Silence.

“Tristan, come
forward.

Tristan
inhaled and stepped up, looking neither left or right. His gaze
slid from Torrullin to the golden chair with the engraved Dragon on
the back.

They practised
this with a wooden chair of similar size and thus there was little
fumbling as he stepped towards it, and lowered. He placed his hands
splayed wide upon the armrests, for the seat to read his genetics.
It felt warm. He leaned back and closed his eyes and sat that way
for a full five minutes, the period agreed upon.

He felt
nothing but the inherent warmth, and was surprised. By all
accounts, particularly gleaned from the Ancient Oracles, he should
feel the vibrations of power, Valla magic.

Perhaps it
needed to choose first.

Yes, that was
it.

He
relaxed.

Yiddin called
the time.

Tristan rose
and stepped off the dais, carefully not looking at Torrullin. There
would be no eye contact at this point with the current Vallorin,
for it could influence proceedings.

“Teroux, come
forward,” Torrullin said.

Like to
Tristan, Teroux found it easy to manoeuvre into position. He felt
warmth and wondered whether it was his, Tristan’s or the seat
itself. Then he started to think of his father and what this seat
did to him. His five minutes were not relaxed and when Yiddin
called time, he was relieved to rise in one piece.

“Tianoman,”
Torrullin murmured.

Tianoman was
nervous and he stumbled as he tried to sit, his sword clinking
against the chair. He stared wide-eyed at his cousins, but they did
not look at him. They were not permitted to. Finding nervous
courage, he leaned back and closed his eyes.

Five minutes
felt like forever. There was warmth and there were thoughts on
tradition, a long lineage, his father, Samuel, Curin, Torrullin …
round and around. He wondered whether he damaged his chances with
frantic thoughts and his inability to concentrate on this important
moment in history.

“Time!” Yiddin
announced.

He almost
leapt away, and took his place alongside Vanar.

Torrullin
spoke. “One of you must now come forth as objective listener,
Valleur. One of you must sit upon the Throne to hear the choice
spoken.” He smiled into the silence. “No harm will befall you, I
promise; you will be briefly deputised for this task.” He stepped
forward. “The Elders have status that negates objectivity and I am
too close to this to choose. One of you must do this. Politics
remains, always, politics, and thus were you not forewarned and
therefore not forearmed.” He waited a beat and then, “Nominations,
please, or someone will be randomly singled out.”

Nobody said a
word.

Torrullin
laughed. “Very well. Max Dalrish, where are you?”

A stir in the
crowd outside. “Here!”

“Join me,
please.”

“Honoured to!”
The friendly face of the Peacekeeper Le Maximillian Dalrish entered
the chamber and then he was on the dais. The two men clasped hands.
“What do you want of me, Torrullin? This is most unusual.”

“How would you
know what is unusual today?” Torrullin grinned.

Max boomed
laughter. “Point taken!”

“Pick a face
in the crowd, Max.”

“Really? Me? I
am truly honoured.”

Torrullin
shook his head. “Enough of the sugaring, Max. Pick someone.”

Le Maximillian
closed his eyes, turned on the spot and then pointed blindly.

Presario
announced, “Sophi of Luvanor!”

“Thank you,”
Torrullin grinned at the Xenian.

“It’s on your
head, remember,” Max laughed and stepped off the dais.

Presario,
meanwhile, collected a bemused and frightened young woman. A face
in the crowd. Someone happy to be present at this event; now not
so. The Elder brought her forward and bade her halt beside
Vanar.

Torrullin
asked, “You are from Luvanor?”

“Yes, my Lord,
from Atrin. I am a seamstress and I teach young children to sew. My
name is Sophi, my father is Antan, a horse master by trade, and a
blacksmith.”

“Have you met
the three claimants to the Throne?”

She swallowed.
“No, my Lord.”

“Are you
prepared to complete this task?”

She glanced
apprehensively at the Throne. “No, not really.”

A ripple of
laughter.

“You will do
fine, Sophi,” Torrullin murmured. “Come up here.”

She glanced at
Vanar and stepped onto the dais.

Torrullin
extended his hand. “I must deputise you. Please give me your
hand.”

She did so.
Her hand trembled uncontrollably.

Torrullin
murmured over her and then led her to the golden seat. “I leave you
here now. Take your time and then sit. Open your mind to hear. It
may be overwhelming at first, but a name will come to you clearly.
Once you are certain, stand. Understood?”

She nodded and
Torrullin retreated. He deliberately turned his back, as did the
Elders.

Only the heirs
were unmoving, staring beyond her.

The silence
possessed a quality not felt that day. It was laced with fear, and
it was for how the Throne would react to the young woman. Many in
the gathering recalled what happened to Tannil. Tannil, his mind
twisted by loss, no longer recognisable to the Throne; Tannil, who
was flung off to die on the dais.

Sophi was as a
frightened doe confronted by a panther and yet she adored the
Enchanter Vallorin - she sat.

A stunned gasp
erupted from the crowd, and all those who could see leaned forward,
while those who could not tried hard to.

Minutes
passed, Sophi clutching at the armrests, terror written all over
her, and then she relaxed. It soothed her, and it was so obvious to
the watchers, a collective sigh breathed through the Keep. She sat
on another minute, closing her eyes, a small smile on her face.
This she would never forget, and her years would prove to be
extraordinarily long.

Finally she
rose, her fingers reluctantly leaving the armrests.

Torrullin
swung around. Ah, yes, the addiction. He went to her, firmly
steering her away.

“Dare not
touch it again,” he murmured, looking deep into her eyes and using
will to make it unassailable.

She nodded,
and a mighty round of applause erupted. Sophi blushed and then
bowed, causing whistles and cheers to sound. A moment of glory, and
the Valleur loved her courage.

The Elders
faced the dais again and Sophi stood before them.

Torrullin
gestured and one by one they came forward to lay a hand on her
brow. In that manner they would have the name and then confer
together. If all received the same, it would be spoken to
Torrullin.

Valleur,
guests and dignitaries held their breath.

Vanar was
first and her shock at what she received was palpable. White-faced,
she made way for the next Elder. Sophi was unfazed, and perhaps she
did not know the identity, perhaps the Throne had communicated she
had an answer and could rise.

Torrullin met
Vanar’s gaze and she understood then he already knew. He knew
before the ceremony. She drew a ragged breath and met the eyes of a
fellow Elder, saw there his dismay.

By the third
hand to brow all knew something was amiss, even the heirs. They
lost all semblance of objectivity as they stared at Sophi and then
at each other.

By the sixth
communication the silence was filled with tension.

Torrullin
lifted a hand. “Enough.” The Elders stopped and stared up at him.
“Yiddin, please test her.”

Tianoman
groaned and his cousins swung to him.

Yiddin left
Tristan’s side and stood before Sophi. He put his hand to her brow
and concentrated. A moment later his eyes flew to Torrullin and
then to Vanar. She met his gaze stoically. Yiddin withdrew his hand
and did not know what to do.

Vanar opened
her mouth, closed it. She glanced at Yiddin, who smiled wryly.
Thus, it was his to do.

He squared his
shoulders and gazed steadily out at the gathered and then dropped
it down to the three stiff young men before him.

“Tristan,
Teroux and Tianoman, this is the Throne’s pronouncement.” He paused
to take a breath. “It has not chosen.”

Shock on three
white faces.

Astonishment
on the faces of those gathered.

Yiddin raised
a hand before a thousand questions could erupt.

“Torrullin,
Lord Vallorin, remains as chosen. BUT!” This last was shouted as
noise threatened. “His position is secured by default. It is
temporary.” Yiddin swallowed. “That is everything I received from
the young woman.”

“Vanar?”
Torrullin queried.

“Likewise, my
Lord.”

Torrullin
nodded. “Thank you; you may step down.” He transferred his
attention to his grandsons. “It came to me recently that the
Valleur committed a crime, which had a ripple effect on others
throughout the ages.”

There was
silence, from all.

“The sentient part of our universe demands redress. That,”
and he pointed at the Throne, “has become the conduit of an ancient
plea. Help us, make this right; that is the plea. It may
not
choose a new
Vallorin and therefore begin a new era until we have righted this
wrong, and therein lays the default Yiddin mentioned. Status quo is
in effect until we have resolved the situation, and in this you
three will participate.”

The questions
began then, but the three cousins were wordless, and Torrullin
ignored all but them.

“Your
participation will prepare you for the ultimate choosing of a new
Vallorin.” Noise threatened, and he spoke over it. “I embark on a
journey and you must come with me.”

Tianoman found
words first. “Realm travel? You told my father it was realm
travel.”

Now there was
silence as the gathered sought to hear the conversation.

“Yes, it is of
that nature.”

“Gods,” Teroux
muttered.

Tristan said,
“You knew.”

Torrullin
nodded. “The Throne needed to confirm for all here to hear.”

“You knew
yesterday,” Tianoman gasped, “when you went all weird.”

“It came to me
then, yes.”

“This was a
farce,” Tristan murmured.

“No, it needed
done. All had to hear it here; the Elders needed to find out in a
manner that cannot now be denied, and thus leaders will go home
unperturbed. Status quo translates as no immediate changes; they
will be happy with that.”

“You remain
Vallorin,” Tianoman accused.

“Yes, but what
does it mean? I have not been much of a Vallorin in recent years
and will be less so after today.”

Teroux had
been looking behind him, and turned back. “It seems to me the
Valleur are content with status quo also. Look at them. They are
shocked, but are they unhappy? I don’t think so.”

Tristan and
Tianoman looked.

“See? If they
could choose a ruler, they would choose the Enchanter.”

“The Enchanter
does not want it.”

Yiddin cleared
his throat. “My Lord Vallorin, I believe you need elaborate on this
ancient crime. As Teroux said, they are not unhappy to have you
remain in power, but a crime? It will not go down well.” He lowered
his voice. “Something like that leads swiftly to revolution.”

“I am aware,
Yiddin, and shall now address it. Restore calm, please.” As Yiddin
raised voice and staff, Torrullin bid the heirs stand with him.
“The truth I tell them now is the same I would give you.”

They stood
beside him as silence returned laden with curiosity.

“Valleur, I
have a tale to tell. A long time ago during the Epoch of the
Dancing Suns a man stood forward and claimed unassailable power. He
did this because he possessed a dual nature. He was a master
sorcerer and enchanter, and he fashioned a golden seat as symbol.
He entered a symbiosis with a dragon. His name was Nemisin.

“Now, Nemisin
was not a bad man, on the contrary, for he was a great ruler,
benevolent, and took his people to great heights, and yet he was
also frustrated, and frustration led to doubt.”

The silence
had a bated breath quality.