The Nemisin Star (45 page)

“You realise
Margus is reincarnate and Margus realises you are as well. Enter
the reason for Cèlaver. You return and heal him, and that leads to
the Plague, which allows him freedom to attack sorcerers. His
reason for that is speculation at this time. And, of course, the
two of you set the destiny of a battle in a realm not of this one.
As a Walker you may enter, but he cannot simply follow. Thus,
death, as you revealed. A great death, one that will take your from
this world, and force him with you. Darkness all around.”

Torrullin made
to speak.

“Wait.
Darkness all around. For no one wins, or no one is seen to win. You
have forgotten one factor, perhaps the most important, and that is
why you wonder what is missing.”

Torrullin did
not speak.

“Before this
began it was about the Light, Torrullin. Remember what Queen Abdiah
said on Luvanor?”

“She searches
for the Light in all its brilliance to take it home. She needs it
for lasting peace.”

“And so do
we.”

Torrullin
glared at him. “I have not that kind of power.”

“You do, my
friend.”

“Quilla, I cannot gift the Light
and
enter the darkness.”

“Duality has
its limitations, even for you. Thus Tristamil must put his feet
back on that path. He will restore enough balance, thereby enabling
you to give the least we require. Achieve that and there will be
peace until you return.”

“Ah. And how
do I make my son see this?”

“Tell him the
truth.”

“He knows the
truth. That is why he stepped off your touted path.”

“Then lie to
him.”

“I will
not.”

“Torrullin,
you will have to lie to him before the end, or you will not go
through with this great event you plan.”

“Maybe.”

“Because you
love him, my friend.”

Torrullin
closed his eyes. “He will never forgive me. I am abandoning
him.”

Quilla moved
to stand at the wall and gazed upon the grove below. All was so
quiet it was frightening. “There is one more factor.”

“Well, do not
hold back.”

Quilla sent
him a level look. “No need for that. Fine. Torrke. Why has it
withdrawn? I think there is an answer in there, the kind of answer
that will aid your every decision if you could but grasp it.”

“Do you
know?”

“Some things
have moved beyond everyday understanding.”

“And that
drives you crazy.”

“It does.”

Torrullin
smiled his amusement and said, “I ponder Torrke all the time.
Hopefully it will be made clearer.”

“Sometimes
this learning process is an irritation.”

“What does
that mean?”

“We learn
every moment we are alive, my friend, but sometimes the learning is
unnecessarily complicated.”

Torrullin
sighed. “I hear you. By god, I do.”

Vannis stood
before the dais staring at the Throne.

He felt
displaced. He no longer belonged.

After
millennia of war he brought his four thousand Valleur to Valaris, a
final opportunity to restore their birthright in this universe. The
rest chose realm exit and settled on Ardosia. Contrary to every
expectation, on Valaris he discovered life without war.

He found
peace. For the first time he knew how it felt not to look over his
shoulder. He wed Mantra and for a time was contented.

Then
humankind, the bane of Valleur existence, came to Valaris as well,
and terrible conflict ensued. Mantra left through the Rift to
Ardosia because she carried the Valleur heir. For too short a time
he belonged. Valaris, his home, was torn apart, and he would never
see his son grow up.

Mantra bore
twins. Nemis and Millanu. Nemis’ line led to Dantian, the Vallorin
Margus used against them here, and to Dante, Mitrill’s father.
Millanu’s line led to Torrullin, who was more like the son he never
knew than a grandson.

Finding
Torrullin led to a renewed sense of belonging. It also led to
Raken, the fiery lady pirate he married after Margus was dealt
with.

Raken, his
heart and soul. His reason for living. And now Raken was gone,
murdered by the Murs to protect the legend of the Valleur
Dragon.

Everything
changed that day. He entered the fray on Luvanor to avenge her,
which led to the return of Margus. Without Raken he had no purpose.
Torrullin was his own man now and was no longer sufficient reason
for longevity. Fighting a Darak Or was no reason. Torrullin did not
need him to end that conflict.

Vannis stared
at the golden seat. Once it was a familiar. He had not been as shy
of it in his heyday as Torrullin now was. It belonged to him and he
belonged to it. The occasions he sat on it during times of peace
were few, and most of those here, on this world. It was sentient,
and he wondered now what it thought of the current situation. He
could not know, for it had transferred its loyalties to Torrullin,
the current Vallorin. Did Torrullin hear it? Did he listen as he
once listened?

The universe
had moved on during the long years of his entombment, and only
Raken gifted him the normality he required to remain rooted. He
smiled. Normality. That was not a word anyone would use to describe
his pirate. But it was his kind of normality. All gods, he missed
her.

He heard a
footfall behind him and turned.

These days he
hated being in a crowd, he was irritated by the closeness of
others; in short, he desired to be left alone. Torrullin was the
exception … and so was this man.

“Tris, you
seem thoughtful.”

“As do
you.”

He did not
mind admitting his wanderings to Tristamil. “I was thinking about
Raken.”

Tristamil gave
a nod that was much like his father’s. “You miss her.” Tristamil
stared at the seat as Vannis had, and came to a halt beside the
golden man. “I never had the chance to know her. I wish I had.”

“Raken
understood the situation.”

“She had a
huge heart. She was much like my father in how she treated Tymall
and me. No distinction, no favouritism, no judgement. She treated
us exactly the same. I, for my part, adored her. I really wish I
could have told her that.”

Vannis put his
hand on Tristamil’s shoulder. “I think she knew.”

“That is
good.”

Vannis removed
his hand. “To love someone so much is a gift and a curse. In life
one has everything one’s heart desires, but in death? There is
nothing left.”

“Raken would
want you to be happy.”

Vannis
snorted. “No, she would not. She is cursing her fates
somewhere.”

Tristamil
gaped at him.

Vannis
shrugged. “We were meant for each other. Apart we are not whole. I
curse that she is gone and I know well she curses that she was
forced to leave.”

“Gods.”

Vannis eyed
the young man. “You love Skye like that.”

“I will never
know.”

“You know. Why
did you abandon her?”

A moment’s
silence. “Whatever has happened would have come to pass anyway. I
am not permitted to marry outside the Valleur blood.”

“Maybe, but you do love outside of it.”
As I did, as your father does. You are not so unique,
son.

“I do not want
to talk about this.”

“Do you love
the fair Mitrill?”

“In my
way.”

Vannis clapped
his hands in sarcasm. “How nice for her.”

Tristamil was
furious. “I do not have to defend my choice of wife.”

“So
defensive.”

“Are you
looking for an argument?”

Vannis pointed
a finger. “There is the fire I saw on Luvanor. What happened to
you?”

Tristamil
deflated and sat on the edge of the dais. “Gods, it has gone to
crap. I don’t who I am anymore. I don’t know how to act, what to
say. Why do I see the need to act, for Aaru’s sake? I don’t know
how I will cope without Skye, when we were close to finding a
solution, and now it is too late.”

Vannis sat
next to him. “Told you, you love her as I do my Raken.”

“I do, yes.
Does my father love Saska …?”

“They cannot
be explained. It is different for them.”

“But he does
love her?”

“Oh, yes.”

“And?”

“It is
complicated. Ask him.”

“I dare
not.”

“There is an
answer in that.”

Tristamil
snorted. “You are right.”

Vannis elbowed
him. “So, what changed?”

“Needs
change.”

“Absolutely
they do. How did it change for you?”

“I can give
you many reasons, and most of them will be nonsense. The real
reason I cannot share yet.”

“Give me one
to explain why you have not gone to Skye despite getting
married.”

Silence again.
“Trebac.”

“Ah.” Vannis
rubbed at his face. “No need to say more.”

Tristamil
grinned. “Wild imaginings? I hope not about Mitrill.”

“Gods,
no.”

Tristamil
burst out laughing. “Liar!”

Vannis laughed
as well. Mitrill ambled in at that moment. Both men were mortified
and blushed root red. She stopped and studied them.

“I hope you
were talking about me,” she said saucily, and walked on past to
vanish through one of the arches.

Vannis
collapsed into laughter and Tristamil tried to silence him.

A Ridge

Morinnes
Mountains

Winter had
taken the world.

It was icily
cold and the wind whistled through every crack in the rock around
him, buffeting him. He drew his cloak closer as he stared into the
valley the Enchanter called Torrke. A beautiful place. Contrary.
Wild. And also tranquil. The magic was gone. Torrullin’s one great
protection was missing. Why?

When he
entered that night with Tymall as guide, Margus sensed the magic,
the sentience residing below every blade of grass. It would have
repudiated him as it murdered the Darkling Horde he sent against it
twenty-odd years back, but it did not, because the Enchanter asked
it to tolerate the evil in one of his sons.

Tymall had not
understood that, but he knew it the instant he set foot over the
boundary. When he fled later with a broken nose, he also understood
he would not be allowed to pass again.

Now he could
hike in at his own pace and be safe. Or would it come forth to
assail him? Kill him? Perhaps it was an illusion of withdrawal. If
so, how diabolically clever. A trap within traps. He expected no
less. Thus he simply stood on the ridge.

The Keep was
small from this height, but beautiful in simplicity.

Tymall
revealed his father built it stone by stone. Love was evident in
every clean line, in the rose-tinted windows, in the mosaic pool in
the central courtyard, in the friendliness of the battlements.
There was nothing militaristic about it - it was a home.

Torrullin
built it after sending him to his death with those Voices. Perhaps
he expunged his horror in the building? Yes, that sounded like
Torrullin. It was easy to read a man who dealt in emotion. He would
have been horrified by the results of the Voices. Torrullin
possessed a moral core.

It was time to invade the Enchanter’s home. First he needed
to break through the enchantments keeping Tymall protected. Why
exactly was Tymall
protected
? Surely the magic
surrounding him should bind him? To prevent escape? He was
thoroughly confined, but also sheltered, as if there was danger …
ah, assassins. And this son had to live, or the other would die
also.

A Valleur son
had murdered blood kin, and thus was considered worthy of only an
assassin’s blade. How ruthless. How loving a father was.

Margus smiled.
It was insight that could be used. Certain finer points of revenge
became clearer with time.

He turned away
and no one knew he had been there, watching.

Let the leaves
lie for a time, friend, for the brew to infuse with taste and time,
and effort also.

~ Awl

The Keep

H
er father always said a good cup of
tea could cure most ills.

Dear Rillinon,
how she missed his bluffness.

Mitrill smiled
as she prepared a cup in the kitchens.

Maids watched
her, but did not offer to do the chore. Everyone knew there was a
divide between her and her father-in-law. They were not refusing to
help because their loyalties lay with the Vallorin; they sensed she
was doing something about it. Most knew the lore of a simple cup of
tea. How they knew it was for Torrullin was beyond
comprehension.

In fact, one
young girl relatively new to the Keep, walked by and suggested she
squeeze a little lemon juice into the brew. Mitrill looked up,
grinned, and thanked the girl as she reached for a fresh lemon.

She balanced
the cup and made her way back through the Throne-room. Tristamil
and Vannis had moved on. They had definitely been talking about
her. She regarded that as a good sign. She made her way across the
courtyard and up the stairs.

The stairwell
doors to the battlements gave her some difficulty, but finally she
stepped out into the fresh air above. Well, fresh was not quite the
right word. Cold, more like.

Torrullin was
still pacing. She wondered why he came up here so often to pace.
Mindless movement aided thought, but why up here?

The view was
spectacular, but she doubted he saw anything when he was that deep
in thought. She would pace in the comfort of a chamber with a
roaring fire on such a blustery day. His circuit turned and he
began to pace her way. A moment later he saw her and stopped.

She smiled and
approached to hand him the cup of tea. “It is cold up here. I
thought you could use some warmth.”