The Nemisin Star (31 page)

“Am I your
daughter, my Lord?”

Tristamil lost
all colour.

“You are
Dante’s daughter, Mitrill. Dantian’s brother Dante.”

She shook her
head.

“Rillinon
saved your life on Ardosia and to protect you from Margus he
adopted you as his daughter, telling no one. It worked until that
day in the city.”

“The twins
were born that day and the Crystal Round flowed at last and I was
thirsty. I found the square where the fountain is,” she whispered.
“I met you, my Lord Vallorin, and told everyone about it. I
remember how strained my father seemed when he heard I called you
Torrin.”

A breath.
“Yes. You dreamed about me.”

She released a
breath. “And you dreamed about me. I forgot. Somehow we connected
the two Valleur nations.”

Torrullin
nodded. “And I knew the only possible kin left had to be from
beyond the Rift and put the rest together.”

“Why say
nothing?” Tristamil demanded.

Torrullin
looked him in the eyes. “Because one of my sons would have hurt
her.”

“Oh. I am
sorry, Mitrill.”

She was losing
poise.

“I had your
father bring you to safety when we left for the Forbidden Zone,”
Torrullin continued. “I was, after all, taking my heirs into danger
and there was a chance they would not return. This may sound cold,
but you are of the blood and if anything had happened to my boys,
you would be mother to the next Vallorin. Your father would have
chosen a mate worthy of our line to ensure it.”

Mitrill drew a
breath and pushed past both Vallas. She was running by the time she
reached the arch, which Quilla hastily unsealed.

“Bloody
Tymall,” Tristamil whispered, turning to watch her go.

“I caught your
thoughts. You are not to bed her, do you hear? Not for an heir and
not for me.”

Tristamil
stared at his father in silence. The link of kin was far enough
removed to make a union likely, if not welcome. Distant kin.
Dante’s daughter. “It is not your decision to make.” He left his
father there. He did not go after Mitrill, but went to Skye, his
heart heavy.

Everything
is spiralling out of my control,
Torrullin thought,
even my
son.
He twisted when he heard a footfall behind him, but it was
Quilla.

The birdman’s
words were not soothing. “I remember now how twisted in knots you
were about the fair child beyond the Rift. She has more claim to
the Valleur Throne than you do, Enchanter. Be very careful.”

Torrullin was
the next one to stride out in anger.

Lowen was
nowhere to be seen and had probably followed Mitrill.

Tristamil and
Skye, had moved into another chamber and could be heard murmuring
together, their voices overlapping.

Torrullin
paused when he saw Cat was alone, and frowned. “Cat, forgive me,
but there is too much happening. I do not know what to say to
you.”

“I’m not
demanding anything. Seeing Mitrill go fleeing, Tristamil looking
like the dog ate his breakfast, and you all over the place, it’s
obvious things are heating up. I’ll stay a while longer, but I’m
not one to run from danger, so hark to my situation soon, hear? The
reason I waited to speak to you is to tell you I am a friend also
and a friend comes in handy. If you need me, I’m here.” She
shrugged and added impishly. “For now anyway.”

“Thanks.” He
touched her cheek. “Tell Tris I have returned to the Keep.”

Only in
absence is togetherness appreciated.

~ Truth

The Keep

T
he
storm lashed down with malevolence when Torrullin alighted in the
courtyard.

Shutters
slammed without rhythm, doors crashed closed and the huge tree at
the head of the mosaic pool swayed dangerously, almost smashing
into the balcony nearest it.

Four men
attempted to close the heavy Dragon doors and a branch came
hurtling over the roof to splash explosively into the pool.

A black cat
meowed pitifully from a niche under the stairs, unable to gather
courage to attempt a dash to safety. The Keep’s retainers ran
helter-skelter to tie things down, drag hardier pot plants indoors
and fasten shutters.

Something was
wrong.

Torrullin
halted to examine the state of the valley. Never had a storm
impacted in this way, not in this valley, not naturally. Frowning,
he was deep in thought as he strode over to the stairs, barely
acknowledging the greetings he received.

Rescuing the
sodden bundle of fur from under the stairs, he clasped it firmly to
his chest, pacifying it absently as he strode along the
balcony.

He stumbled
inside, fought the door closed and rested against it. Saska was at
the window watching the perverse energy outside and turned quickly,
relaxing soon after against the wall, eyes watchful.

“What happened
here?” Torrullin asked, pushing bedraggled hair from his face. He
was wet and shivered involuntarily, and remembered the sodden
creature, feeling a sudden kinship with the poor thing, and handed
it to Saska. “It is wet and scared.”

She accepted
the cat, smiling inwardly. Sometimes her husband was kinder to
animals than people. She enveloped the shivering bundle in her
woollen shawl and stroked it patiently until it was calm and
purring under her fingers.

Only then did
she begin to formulate an answer, looking up to find him tossing
wet clothes everywhere like someone familiar with not picking up
after himself. He was usually tidy. “Nothing happened per se, but
since last night there has been a definite decrease in the valley’s
power.”

“It is
completely gone,” he said, digging in his closet for dry clothes -
all black, but for a subdued robe or two, and a green cloak. “Has
Margus been sighted?”

“Indeed, yes,”
Saska murmured, gently rubbing between the feline’s ears. Torrullin
paused in the act of drawing on a clean pair of breeches. “He has
ensconced himself in a private ward at the hospital in Galilan.
Shep Lore says his singular patient holds the staff hostage until
someone fixes his nose.”

“Really?”
Torrullin stuttered out. “He is actually …?” He burst out laughing
and continued dressing. “Well, surprise, surprise. The vanity of
the man, and, boy, his nose must be hurting by now.” Saska murmured
noncommittally. “He is still there?”

“Cocksure,
demanding, and with two black eyes.”

Torrullin
shook his head in amazement and reached for another pair of boots
in the bottom of his closet.

“Torrullin,
it’s no laughing matter; sick people had to evacuate.”

“Has his nose
been worked on?”

Saska raised
her brows. “The doctors are too terrified.”

“And he dare
not force them or they botch the job.”

“Will you
go?”

“I am going
right now. Where is Vannis?”

“Where do you
think?” Saska muttered in resignation. “He left the valley for
this.”

Torrullin
swirled his tongue in his mouth. The valley would protect no one
now anyway. “Saska, gather the Elders. Timing may be an issue, but
aim for early evening.” He strapped on his sword, found his grey
rain cloak on the hook in the bathroom, and headed for the
door.

“That is it?
No, how are you Saska, or even , I’m sorry to rush off, or anything
in that vein?”

He stopped. “I
apologise, my wife. You have my word we shall talk tonight,” he
said formally, expressionless, and slammed out.

She nearly
strangled the cat.

Galilan

The city was
deserted due to the ferocious storm, which was bad indeed, and a
harbinger of worse to come.

There was not
a soul on the eerily howling streets, but lit windows signified
that all was well. Of course, the folk of Galilan had to know who
was in the hospital; storm or not, and the streets would empty
anyway. No doubt serious debates were in progress whether to stay
or leave the city.

Heading to the
hospital, wet about the legs again, Torrullin searched for signs of
life. The building was silent as the grave and the only lights were
on the third floor. He entered the deserted darkened lobby and
jumped into a waiting elevator - Shep Lore’s must-have technology -
and jabbed the button for that floor.

He found
Vannis sitting disconsolately on a chair in the darkened section of
the corridor, watching nurses and doctors come and go a hundred
feet from him. They moved as normal, or thus it seemed until one
realised how frightened they were and how silent.

“Vannis,”
Torrullin whispered.

Vannis sighed
long and hard. “Gods, I am glad to see you.”

“Why are you
sitting here?”

“This is the
only way out and in, but the bastard has erected a shield, cannot
go further, and they cannot leave. It is a small area he has
shielded, so it is pretty strong. I have tried everything.”

Torrullin laid
a hand on Vannis’ shoulder and squeezed. “And Shep?”

“Go-between,
but he leaves only rarely. I attempted to use his slipstream to get
in, but no go.” Vannis rose, stretched mightily, yawned widely and
asked, “How did it go?”

“Nothing to
say; a matter of my word.”

“Ah, so there
is nothing and no one there, is that it?”

“You catch on
real fast, grandfather.”

“At least I
still have a mind,” Vannis muttered, gesturing in irritation at an
invisible barrier.

“Did you
ask?”

“To go in? Why
would he allow that?” said Vannis.

“To gloat. He
would not have let you go, though.”

“How do you
want to handle this? Ask?”

“He would
enjoy that too much.” Torrullin put his hand up, took a step closer
until he felt the resistance. As Vannis said, it was strong. “What
about the exterior?”

“Windows,
walls, roof, the works.”

As expected.
“Have you seen him?”

“No. That door
there markedly unattended, that is him.” Further down on the lit
side of the barrier there were a total of eight doors, four on
either side. The one Vannis indicated was second to last on the
right and, as he said, while the others experienced traffic that
one was steered clear of. “Only Shep dares go in,” Vannis added.
“He is there now.”

“Dear Shep,
hates Margus so much that he actually does not care what the man
could do to him.”

“Know the
feeling. I hated that bloody Murs over Raken, but this one? It
extends far beyond even that.”

Before the
doors was a nurses station, left of the corridor, and opposite a
small waiting area with a counter for dispensing medicine. There
was activity on both sides, but Torrullin was sure they duplicated
chores to remain occupied. He estimated there were eleven nurses
and two doctors.

“Vannis, that
Murs puts me in mind of Teighlar and his cavern of magic. Hand
patterns on the wall - hand patterns on a barrier. I am going in.
The second I am past, the shield will drop. I will head for Margus;
you get them out of here.”

“Go to
it.”

Torrullin
shrugged his cloak backward and put his hand out. He pushed against
the resistance, added his other hand, that one moving randomly
while the other remained steady. The steady hand started to glow,
drawing the attention of two nurses, and Vannis quickly held his
hands up and then put a finger to his lips. They nodded and
cautiously drew their companions attention to Torrullin - whose
hand was now a bright white light. His arm shivered with the effort
of pushing against the barrier and then, abruptly, he stumbled
through.

Recovering
swiftly, he ran towards the Darak Or’s room, trusting Vannis to see
to the others. He slipped into Margus’ presence before a sound
behind him could give the man warning.

Shep Lore,
ever in purple, stood with his back to the door and stared out into
the storm. It was so dark out it appeared as night. Margus sat in
bed fidgeting with a pack of cards and he looked up. As Saska said,
both eyes were black and his nose was bloody wreckage.

“Ah,
Torrullin, good of you to drop in,” he said nasally, and swept the
cards to the floor.

Shep turned,
clapped his hands and would have said something, but was
forestalled.

“Go, Shep.
Now.” The man waddled out without looking at Margus. He closed the
door.

“You sundered
the shield, Enchanter. I am impressed. I knew if anyone could do
it, it would be you.” Margus patted the bed. “Come sit.”

Torrullin
lifted an eyebrow and stood at the foot. Leaning on the low rail he
looked Margus over. “I reckon it will not kill you, but if you have
any hope of getting your pretty features back, you cannot afford to
wait much longer.”

“These mewling
mortals are easily cowed.”

“This time
your face is known.”

“You can heal
me,” said Margus.

“Indeed, but
why would I? I rather like the rough new look.”

“Bugger off,
Torrullin.”

“Pleasure,”
and Torrullin sauntered to the door.

Margus growled
and the door erupted in flame. Torrullin halted. A showdown,
then.

And maybe the
time was right;
do it now before Tristamil does something
stupid.
He lifted his hand and drew the fire to encompass all
four walls, converting the green sorcerous flame into the amber,
golden and red of real fire.

Instantly
dense smoke patterns formed crazily on the ceiling and it was
suffocating hot. Margus screamed, jumping from the bed in his
hospital gown when the pillow behind him caught fire.

“Frightened,
Darak Or? Does this recall the Pillars of Fire?” Torrullin taunted
as sweat beaded his forehead.

“I was already
dead, idiot!” Margus snarled. He flung his hand up and the flames
seeped into the walls and vanished. Only scorch marks and smoke
smudges remained. “Have you gone completely crazy?”