The Nemisin Star (2 page)

“What,
Pretora?”

“A face like
thunder? We are in for it, Kismet. Quiet now.”

Both men
glanced at Caltian, a stranger from another world, and searchingly
at Saska, but were themselves under scrutiny and did not react.
Whatever emotion lay behind those faces, all of it spelled
trouble.

“My Lord,”
Pretora murmured, bowing. Kismet wordlessly did the same.

“Pretora, did
Camot return from Atrudis?” said Torrullin.

“Yes, my
Lord.”

“Send for him.
Where are the Q’lin’la?”

“At the
Temple, my Lord.”

I am on my
way, Enchanter,
Quilla sent before he could be contacted.

Torrullin
grimaced. All gods, he wanted to sleep forever.

“Lord
Vallorin?” Kismet said.

Torrullin
looked at him.

“My Lord,
there are Dragons here.”

Torrullin sat
forward, eyes sparking. “Yes?”

“They arrived
on the cargo traveller with many Thinnings aboard.”

“They were
guised as Xenians,” Pretora added.

“Where are
they?”

Pretora put
his hands together. “We have incarcerated them.”

“Goddess!”
Torrullin snarled. Alongside him heads were shaken. “Did you not
tell Quilla or Krikian? Release them immediately.” He rubbed his
eyes and drew breath. Her Majesty Abdiah, Kallanon ruler, Dragonne
Queen, would have a few succinct words about this. Fortunately she
harked to diplomacy.

“Abdiah
planned ahead,” Vannis muttered nearby, his voice on the edge of
amusement. She clearly sent the two Dragons as forerunners,
suspecting the battle for the Light would come to Valaris. Abdiah,
as Torrullin once remarked, was her own advisor.

Kismet ran
out, leaving Pretora clutching his robe.

“Thundor was
successful, thank Aaru,” Taranis murmured. “If duped.” Thundor
saved the Thinnings in the Forbidden Zone from Murs annihilation.
Great foresight, but he might have brought his brethren to new
disaster here.

Torrullin did
not respond.

“Lord
Vallorin, what is wrong? We thought you were able to …” Pretora’s
voice petered out when his ruler swung a silvery gaze to him.

Quilla
appeared and instantly read the situation. He frowned at Pretora.
“Leave, Elder; all will be explained. Prepare the bedchambers and
order up …” He glanced at the bunch around the Throne. “… food and
wine.”

“We have no
time to drink, birdman!” Vannis snapped.

Quilla ignored
him. “Go, Pretora, and better put some sedatives in the food.”

The Elder
stared at him in horror and then noticed twinkling eyes. He made
himself scarce. The birdman had a calming influence on the
Vallorin.

Quilla swung
back serenely to the group of marauders; their reputation had
reached Valarian ears also. He had not believed a word of it and
now wondered if he was wrong. He looked them over critically and
his gaze fixed on Torrullin. “You had a hard time of it, obviously,
but there is no call to frighten your Elders and retainers. You
need them.”

“They have
been lax.”

“They have
not. We ourselves only returned two weeks ago, Torrullin. We found
Valaris secure, as you will no doubt recognise when you open your
eyes. They do not know the full tale and are unaware of new
dangers, but they are prepared as if mindful of every facet.”

“But they know
the Dragon is gone.”

“That was,
after all, the point.”

Caltian
swallowed. He killed the creature and thus fulfilled his
destiny.

“Where have
you been?” Torrullin asked.

The birdman
studied him calmly as he said, “We were on Atrudis. Much fear arose
with the re-emergence of Teighlar and, despite the documents you
prepared, insufficient Valleur believed in you to take you at your
word. We stayed to smooth matters and that took some doing.
Eventually the charisma of the Emperor himself won hearts, but it
meant we were delayed in returning. What would you have us do,
Enchanter? Leave that world to a different war. A civil war?”

Torrullin
rubbed his eyes again. “You did well and I am sorry.”

Quilla
smiled.

“Grinwallin?”
Saska whispered.

Grinwallin was
a mighty city in the eastern region of Atrudis’ Tunin continent; a
city built of stone set atop a great plateau. It delved the
mountain behind it as well as stepping in tiers down to the
plateau. Grinwallin, when they attained it in search of the
Taliesman, was in ruin, but the ruins were odd for a city ninety
million years abandoned - it seemed as if it fell into disrepair a
mere century before. Magic kept the spirit of a fair city alive,
proven when its resident Emperor, Teighlar, rose from ghostly form
to become real.

Teighlar and
Grinwallin were gifted a second chance. The team left the city
before it arose in splendour, before Teighlar’s people, the Senlu,
awakened with him.

The birdman
gazed up with wonder upon his angelic face. “I am not one for
cities and many people, but I would happily change my ways for
Grinwallin. She is beautiful, simply entrancing.”

In leaving
they gifted the Senlu their second chance without the strife a
Darak Or would unleash. It was decidedly a point of light.

Saska
smiled.

Quilla
transferred his gaze to Torrullin. “Her architect was a genius.
Grinwallin was conceived with heart and soul. You would–”

“What?” It
came out as a warning.

Quilla heard
it and sighed inwardly. Perhaps the Enchanter knew the truth about
Grinwallin. “… be proud, Torrullin.”

“Why would
I
be proud?”

“We were part
of her renewal, Enchanter. We should all be proud.”

Torrullin’s
silvery gaze moved away.

Quilla
prompted, “Is he here?” He meant Margus.

“We think so,”
Taranis replied when his son did not.

“Full circle,”
Quilla murmured. “We deal with it. For the present, you bathe and
rest, eat. Leave the rest to me. I shall see the sites cloaked
immediately and that Camot is ready.” He quirked his head. “You are
home and amongst your own, and we shall aid in carrying this
burden. Take some time to find your good humour before you speak
again.”

The birdman
turned and exited the chamber.

“A breath of
sanity, our Quilla,” Taranis murmured.

“Yes,” Vannis
agreed, and left. Back home now, the death of his beloved Raken was
again new.

Tristamil, his
face expressionless, followed. He wanted desperately to see Skye,
and knew it would be hard for them.

“Well, we are
a cohesive unit,” Taranis said, and strode the carpet into the
courtyard. He ignored the few curious retainers outside and bounded
up the outer stairs to the suites.

“Matt, show
Caltian to the guest area.” Torrullin waved after Taranis, and the
two left without a word.

“I assume I
may still claim a place in our suite, husband?” Saska asked. Her
emerald eyes were cold and simultaneously challenging.

He stared at
her. “You are my wife.”

“I am a
stranger to you.”

“Gods, I
cannot do this now. The suite is yours; I will find somewhere
else.”

Saska stood
before him. “You have sucked all the joy from me and treated me
like the enemy. Do not humiliate me as well, Torrullin. It is our
suite and you will join me in it.”

“As you will,
my Lady.”

She nodded and
left.

Torrullin sat
for many hours. A gentle prompting by Kismet to eat went unheard
and Quilla came and went, but he merely left the Enchanter to his
thoughts. None of them realised it was more than introspection,
more than strategies that kept him there, although those were
factors.

The Throne
held him, asking questions, receiving answers, without conscious
thought. A communion, for the ancient sentient seat needed to know
what was new and what was changed. One day the sentience would gift
the kind of answers that would completely destroy Torrullin of the
present, to remake him, but that day had not yet arrived. For now,
the communion was mutual and satisfying. It, more than anything
else, told him he was home.

It was dusk
when he finally stirred, standing like an old man. He felt old. He
felt guilty.

He wanted to
sleep forever.

Saska was
upstairs and arranged food and drink for him.

He looked at
her, silently sat, and ate slowly. He did not speak and she did not
interrupt. She watched, waiting for a sign of something more than
enmity, but he revealed nothing. He was far away. He was also
clearly exhausted.

“I have drawn
you a bath,” she said, when he eventually pushed his plate
aside.

Nodding, he
entered the bathroom, closing the door. Sighing, she sat on the
bed. He eventually emerged bathed and shaven, wearing a dark blue
robe, and halted in the doorway. There was a spark in his eyes and
her heart tripped. Whatever it was, it would be better than cold
anger.

“This is my
fault, Saska. How do I deal with this?”

“I have no
answer, Torrullin.”

He came to sit
beside her. He smoothed her hair from her face, the first tender
action since she appeared to him on Atrudis, and then dropped his
hand and looked away. “Forgive me.”

She gazed
towards the window, taking a breath. “Sleep. I shall keep
watch.”

“There are
many watching. Come, sleep.” He peeled the covers back. “We need to
rest now.”

She studied
him a while and moved to her side. Together they climbed in, lying
stiffly until she turned to lay her head on his shoulder, pushing
her hand through the flaps of his gown to lie upon the skin of his
chest. He stiffened and then drew her close.

Gradually they
relaxed, and sleep came.

They were
home.

News of
arrival, when wished for and hoped for, spreads swift and requires
no magic.

~Book of
Sages

The Keep

B
y
morning the Throne-room was full.

The Elders had
gathered, war leader Camot was there with his troops stationed
inside and in the vicinity of the Keep. During his absence in the
Forbidden Zone his deputies increased troop complement
significantly, and he stepped back into authority well pleased.
Having been there when Margus’ resurgence was revealed, he wondered
now if he had sufficient soldiers.

Skye, Cat, and
Lowen came. The two Xenians stayed with Skye in Luan until Matt’s
return. Cat and Matt were brother and sister, the navigator and
pilot respectively that took the ship to Atrudis, and Lowen was
their young niece. The Dalrish family reunited earlier. Skye was
Torrullin’s goddaughter and happy to see Matt well, relieved he
survived the rigours of journeying with Torrullin. She was relieved
also that Torrullin was home, but wondered how he was. The terrible
thing Margus did in infusing Tymall - it hurt her, and therefore
had to suffocate her godfather.

Caballa, the
blind seer, attended, self-contained as ever. Thundor perched
impishly on a side table near the Throne, grinning at anyone who
happened to glance in his direction.

Gren, the
Sagorin leader, towered over his neighbours. The entire Q’lin’la
contingent gathered near the front, and beside them, dwarfing the
massive chamber, the two Dragons sent by Abdiah in guise.

The Siric were
conspicuous in their non-appearance; Declan last sent word seven
weeks back that they followed a lead on the Murs which escaped the
Forbidden Zone. They would be absent a long time. Bartholamu, the
Siric leader, would not cease until every Murs had paid with their
lives for the damage done to Atrudis and the Valleur there.

Taranis and
Tristamil moved among the gathered, greeting friends and exchanging
pleasantries. Tristamil and Skye orbited each other, not talking,
but aware of where the other was. Matt chatted to Cat, and Caltian
introduced himself to the Elders, the Atrudisin bright-eyed agog.
Krikian, the dream expert, answered Caballa’s penetrating
questions.

Saska entered
and silence fell.

She left
Valaris and her husband before the mission to the Forbidden Zone,
because her life was in danger, as it often was in those days.
Tymall attempted to kill her many times, and she chose to go. In
doing so she discovered her destiny. She became the Lady of Life,
and while she was aware Torrullin respected that, she also knew her
new status drove another wedge between them.

Many watched
her with a mixture of anxiety and curiosity, but she did not mind,
making her way to the Throne.

Moments later
Torrullin followed. He walked swiftly to the seat of power to sit,
and surveyed the great chamber.

Vannis came
next with Valaris’ human leaders, engaged since early, ferrying
them in. They needed to hear what would be said. He glanced at his
grandson and received a nod of approval.

There were a
number of guests at the Keep from other worlds. Some came to see
Torrullin and some to see the magical Throne-room, while others
whispered about the power of the Valleur Throne, and Caltian
watched it all in awe, listening to every nuance.

Another
individual flitted in, making an entrance in full Centuar
regalia.

“Belun!”
Torrullin rose with a wide grin.

Caltian did a
double take. What, in gods’ name, was that? It was not a Dragon or
a birdman, it looked like a horse … what was it? Did it talk?

Torrullin!
Belun laughed, stamping a rhythm on the floor.
Cannot have this kind of gathering without a Centuar to keep you
on the straight and narrow!
Belun used mindspeak in Centuar
form, but all heard him clearly. The talent was his.

Torrullin
laughed and the cares receded for a time. “It is good to see you,
old friend!”