The Nemisin Star (17 page)

Tristamil was
horrified. “You cannot keep him there that long.”

“If it must
be, Tris, it will be.”

“Why do you
protect the little killer?” Vannis demanded.

“For Tris. The
brothers are bound. If Tymall dies, Tris dies.”

Vannis was
speechless for at least a minute. “The bond of twins? That
deep?”

“The bond of
my duality. It is not physical; it is in the nature of souls. It is
what Tris would inherit if Tymall dies and the other way also. It
may be a few days, but the force of Dark that Tris would receive
from his brother will overcome him. Likewise if Tymall takes on the
Light. They have not my duality to cope with both.”

Vannis shook
his head, “Surely it’s not that present?”

Tristamil
said, “It is, in every breath. To live I must allow my twin to
live. What Tymall is, is a mere hair’s breadth away from me, and it
will kill me as surely as we killed Dinor this past night. My
father held the two swords here in Linir, lit both with his
duality, and thus proved it to us. We are the two parts of our
father. We exist together or we die together. Truth.”

“Gods.” Vannis
stared at Torrullin. “You chose last night. You chose both of them,
for in you they are one. You chose to fully acknowledge your
duality.”

“Yes, without
regret. And now I begin to pay, starting with the life of my
father.”

“And he gets
away with murder,” stated Vannis.

“For now.”

“You will have
to be open with the Guild, Torrullin.”

He made a
face, “Yes.”

The Assassins
Guild was a traditional institution dating back to older times;
they were no longer assassins, rather they were consultants in the
finer points of Valleur law, but part of their training was, even
to this day, stealthy killing.

“Perhaps it is
physical also,” Tristamil murmured.

“No.” His
father was decisive.

“Tris has a
point. If you keep him locked up …”

“It is not
physical,” Torrullin repeated, and from his expression they knew
they would get no more from him.

“Was he
happy?” Tristamil asked.

“Any happiness
experienced was short-lived,” Torrullin snarled, and then harnessed
himself into control. He rubbed his face and drew a short, sharp
breath. “I’m sorry, you speak of Taranis.”

“Yes,”
Tristamil whispered, having realised that his brother came within
an inch of dying … at his father’s hands. “I know you said he was
happy with Millanu, but was he really fine?”

Torrullin was
distraught. “It hurts, son, it really hurts, but Taranis was at
peace with his beloved by his side. For him it was only ever about
Millanu.”

“Then we must
be happy for him,” Tristamil said, rising. “We must respect his
wishes.”

“Somehow,”
Torrullin managed, and father and son were in each other’s
arms.

Little spider,
how do you know where to attach your little web?

~ Tattle’s
Blunt Adventures

Menllik

S
couts
were sent out to discover where the Dinor went, and how they
came.

The slow
process of making Menllik habitable began and in this the returned
Valleur had a hand, as well as those humans remaining in the city.
The Dragons were everywhere lifting, moving and carrying, making
most tasks easier.

The Dinor
fallen were laid with care in one building to await word from their
comrades. No item of clothing or weaponry was removed, and found
weapons were placed alongside the bodies; nobody desired to commit
what might be considered sacrilege.

The Valleur
were similarly laid out in another building and with them the human
fallen, awaiting due burial and cremation.

The long day
dragged on.

The Keep

Torrullin
returned to the Keep late afternoon and went directly to Saska. He
found her sitting in bed looking healthier.

“You are the
Lady,” he said without preamble. “There are hundreds dead in
Menllik. Will you help?”

She gazed
sadly in his direction. “It doesn’t work like that.”

He almost
hated her then. “You said you would raise them.”

“No, I said I
would raise the deserving after … after …” and she was silent,
looking away.

“Only when I
am the killer will you raise the dead, is that it?” His voice held
a note of warning.

She turned an
impassive face back to him. “If that is how you choose to see
it.”

“That is what
you imply.”

“War is part
of the universe Torrullin, and people die, guilty and innocent.
Every moment on this timeline there is a battle raging somewhere,
great or unimportant. How does one add up the dead then? Which
moment should the Lady choose to alter the outcome of which battle?
How does she tell who is worthy of new life? Does she choose sides,
Torrullin? Nobody has that kind of power, or that kind of
judgement, and I especially do not have it. I cannot intervene
every time someone dies.”

“You would
have for Taranis.”

“No, I would
have for you.”

“I did not
kill him.”

“You love him,
Torrullin. I wanted to spare you the pain of losing him. Besides, I
knew his soul.”

“And you know
these people, Saska, for Aaru’s sake!”

She stared at
him, even more expressionless. “And do I then raise the Dinor also?
Or are they considered less because they are the enemy? Are there
not among them also the innocent, the coerced, perhaps, family men
who want nothing more than to return to their loved ones? Do you
ask that I draw distinctions? If you ask that, Torrullin, then I am
not worthy of this responsibility. And if you ask, nay, permit me
to raise friend and foe alike, then I am interfering. I
cannot.”

“It could
prevent further bloodshed. It would be an act of good faith.”

Saska looked
at her hands. “I understand that.”

“Then why is
it different for me? Do you not see this hell?”

Raising her
head, Saska said, “This Darak Or has to be stopped.”

“Like this, by
god? I stopped him before, and it wasn’t Destroyer and it wasn’t
the killer residing in each of us. It was done out of need, by the
real man I am.”

She held her
hands out to him. “Please, come here, closer. I need to see your
eyes clearly.”

He complied,
sitting on the bed facing her. She took his hand and gripped it
hard. “Margus is not the same Darak Or.”

“I know
that.”

“You don’t
understand. He is a reincarnate Immortal. Like you, death becomes a
time to pause in, learn, and then he re-emerges.”

“It was not
like that for me.”

“I think it
was. How long did transfer take? Moments? Yes, but in the etheric
moments are an eternity. You may not remember, but every time you
reawakened you knew more. Right?”

He inclined
his head.

“And I speak
really of the reincarnation that gifted you your original form,
this you that is your born self, which Margus found the means to
achieve also. That is a power no other can duplicate and he is an
Enchanter, like you. You have an advantage over him in that you
have the Light as well, but then his advantage lies in an utter
adherence to darak. For nigh on twenty-seven years that creature
travelled the etheric realms of darkness, and you know how time is
distorted there, as it was for you in mere moments. Twenty-seven
years equals how much? Twenty-seven thousand years? He does not
need the Dinor, or even Tymall. He is alone and dangerous in that
state. Tymall was merely the means.”

“So, he
learned. I know that.”

“Yes, but
unwittingly you robbed him of the sweetness of revenge. You denied
him your incredulity of knowing him anew in Tymall; you denied him
in Linir, didn’t you? You denied him your pain in saving me and he
didn’t see your agony when your father died. He didn’t even see
what it did to you to repudiate one of your sons. His revenge has
seen no rewards. He knows it has to be so, but it is academic. He
is a powerful enchanter, immortal, with a personal vendetta, and he
will not rest until he has taken from you. Me, Tris and Vannis.

“And if you
continue to deny him satisfaction, what is left? The Valleur. And
Valaris. And thus I give you the freedom to do what is required to
stop him. Consider this: revenge drives him now, and assuming he
succeeds, what is left? A hollow vessel, no equal adversary,
nothing but rage that he will not know how to contain. And then all
gods and goddesses everywhere help the innocent.”

Torrullin
gripped her hand. “It does not make sense, Saska. Why this dubious
freedom if I cannot kill him anyway?”

“Because he
will kill, Torrullin! To anger you, to humiliate you, to demoralise
you, to remove the taste for war, because it is revenge! You must
fight fire with fire and you need to show him, above all else, that
whatever he does, firstly you can do better and secondly that you
do not care. You take away his satisfaction and you anger him in
turn, humiliate him, and somewhere he will make a mistake.”

“He knows you
are the Lady.”

“He cannot
know that I shall undo what you sow and that is a further reason I
dare not do so this day.”

Torrullin
stared at her, “What terrible webs we weave.”

He threw
himself backwards and lay staring at the ceiling.

Graveyard
Site

Torrke

The new day
saw the fallen interred.

While human
funerals were conducted across the land, the Valleur were entombed
in the Graveyard of Torrke. The ancient crypts were sealed with
great ceremony, and a day of mourning and feasting according to
Valleur tradition declared.

Taranis was
laid to rest there, beside Millanu’s mortal remains. In deference
to Torrullin’s human blood that ceremony was simple.

Later that
same day a memorial service was held for Raken, Lycea, Kisha, and
Kylan - they who were hastily buried at the start of the mission to
Luvanor.

In drunken
sadness Valaris darkened into night.

There is
always a third path.

~ Awl

The Keep

H
e
could not sleep.

Nothing
diverted his attention from grief. This anguish was a double-edged
sword. On the one hand the loss of his father and on the other the
loss of his son. The book of prophecies was open on his desk. Was
he hoping for a sign, a way to deal with Tymall? Torrullin swore
and pushed it away.

Thundor popped
up then and he could have kissed the little man. A diversion, thank
the gods.

“Hear ye, hear
ye, there is a Thinnings on board!”

“This is not a
ship, Thundor,” Torrullin muttered, sitting back with a sigh.

He was ogled.
“I know that, Enchanter, I am not stupid. It sounds good. And I
bring news.” Thundor took a seat on the open book and studiously
crossed his hands over his round stomach.

“No theatrics.
I cannot deal with drama as well.”

The little man
nodded. “Of course not. The Thinnings feel the loss of a good man
also.”

“He was a good
man, wasn’t he?”

“Taranis of
the Dome will be remembered for a long time, Enchanter. His name
conjures legacies. He will be missed.”

Torrullin
squeezed his eyes shut. “He will be missed indeed.”

Thundor
decided to change the subject. “Enchanter, you sent scouts to
discover the Dinor hideout and they returned without concrete
sighting.”

Torrullin
opened his eyes. “This is your news?”

“Yes. The
Dinor have left the planet. I am not certain exactly where they are
now, but they watch from somewhere. Before they left we overheard
them talking - this was south of Menllik hours after the battle -
and the first fact we garnered is the ceremony surrounding their
dead. Apparently - I was not the one doing the listening - they
wait to see how you deal with the fallen. This is why they watch.
Rumours of the horror the Darak Or has had them rethinking a mite,
as well it should, the idiots, and they then decided if you deal
well with their comrades they might regard you as honourable. They
would be prepared to give you a hearing before launching a new
assault.”

“Excellent,”
Torrullin murmured. “That is more than I had hoped for.”

Thundor nodded
sagely. “But Enchanter, I do not know if anyone can be expected to
dispose of the dead in the manner they do. Maybe they do not quite
expect it to the letter, maybe as long as you deal reverently with
the burials.”

“You heard the
how of it?”

“A mark of
respect is what they call it. They decapitate their dead and put
the heads on display beside the battlefield on metal spikes higher
than the tallest building or tree or whatever, so that nothing
impedes the view of these trophies.” Thundor was disgusted. “The
bodies are placed on a communal pyre and burned amid wailing and
keening.” He shuddered and was silent.

“Are you sure
of this?” Torrullin queried, already considering who he could ask
to perform this grisly task.

“I heard some
of that myself.”

“Do we want to
talk to them? Some might not like a negotiated settlement.”

The Thinnings
stared up at him.

A sour smile.
“Relax, little man. As my wife points out, they may be family men
innocent of the grand scheme and feeling coerced by an ancient
oath. We must prevent further bloodshed. Margus used them ill and
nobody deserves that.”

The little
man, despite huffing over that very description, nodded. “This
Darak Or has no conscience.”

“Darak Ors are
psychopaths. He is not unique.”

Thundor raised
a tiny finger, “He is unique. Why? Because he can change strategy,
he thinks before acting, and somewhere in his past he was, well
…”