The Nemisin Star (7 page)

“You are
playing your own games again.”

“It is my game
to play. If you are going to argue with me at every turn, you will
leave Valaris until this is over.”

Matt
diplomatically backed out and disappeared.

“Valaris is my
home, you arrogant twit! You cannot tell me to leave!” Taranis
spluttered. He strode over and placed knuckles on the desk, leaning
on them. “I will argue! You are not always right.”

“I appreciate
your help, Taranis, but this is for me to do.”

“You won’t let
us in, will you? There, in that head of yours. You would force all
of us to leave if you could.”

“Naturally.
That way you would be safe.”

Taranis
straightened. “I guess that is exactly what I want for you.”

“I will be
fine.”

“Yes, well,
it’s not your physical body I am worried about.” Taranis approached
the drinks counter and poured a stiff one. “Does Vannis know? No,
and you won’t contact him. Are you going alone?”

“My boys will
battle tonight …” Torrullin sank into his chair rubbing his eyes.
“Pour me one, will you?”

Taranis
decanted a measure and brought it over. “Their destiny?”

“Indeed.”

“Nemisin’s
night.”

“Across the
ages, the connection.”

“Damn.”

“Will you stay
away?”

Slowly Taranis
nodded.

“Thank you.
Margus will be there.” Torrullin knocked the drink back in one
gulp.

“They are two,
then.”

Torrullin eyed
his father. “You do not seem surprised.”

“It makes a
whole lot of sense, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, and it
makes it easier.”

“Two are
easier?”

“For me. Less
guilt.”

“Ah.” Taranis
swirled the liquor around in his glass and sipped. “How is Tris
coping?”

“Remarkably
well. He is sleeping, can you believe that? I never could before a
confrontation.”

Taranis
grinned. “Not unless I was dead exhausted, dead drunk or dead!”

Torrullin
laughed. “Aye!”

“What of
Saska?”

“What of
Saska?”

“Is she going
to Linir?”

“As my wife or
the Lady, Taranis?”

“Both.”

“She is up
north. There was an avalanche.”

“She doesn’t
know.” Taranis sucked at his teeth and decided not to probe. He
wondered who his son had to confide in, doubting even Quilla, most
likely the one, would know all of what went on in that head. “Matt
and I will be here until this night is done. Shout if you have need
of us.”

“Bless you,
Taranis.”

Taranis smiled
and headed out. Torrullin rose and went for another drink.
Unlikely courage,
he thought, and nearly dropped the goblet
when a voice murmured behind him.

“My Lord?”

“Caballa!”

“I startled
you, my Lord?”

“You did it on
purpose, Caballa, admit.” She was bright and beautiful in an
intricately embroidered gown in the colours of autumn, her long
golden hair plaited into many ropes, swinging as she moved. Her
sightless eyes stared directly at him.

“I admit.” She
sat gracefully in the chair before the fire. “How are you?”

“I have been
better,” he said, sitting opposite her. “You never come without a
purpose.”

“I hear you
expect Tymall tonight and that Tristamil is to meet him in
battle.”

“You heard
right.”

“He will not
come alone, Torrullin.”

“Margus will
be there.”

“They are two,
yes, but I meant the Darak Or will not come alone.”

He suffered a
shiver of foreboding.

“The Darak Or
will use the destiny of the twins to mask his doings this night,”
she continued.

“Who, or what,
does he bring?”

“I do not
know, only that you must beware.”

Torrullin
slapped his thigh in one-handed frustration. “Always the
complications.”

“My vision
follows yours, my Lord. If you had stayed with it longer you may
have seen more.”

“It upsets
me.”

Caballa
nodded. “I will leave you now.” She rose and paused there. She,
too, wondered who he confided in. “Take care to listen to your
inner voices tonight.”

He mulled
that. “There is more than the twin’s destiny and Margus’
surprise.”

She inclined
her head and left without further word. She dared not say more, or
she would tweak the future out of proportion.

He sat on for
a time and then sent for Camot and Kismet.

It grew
dark.

Snow began an
hour before sunset, short-lived, but the valley was white. The
heavens cleared and the first stars winked on. In the courtyard
many waited in silence. Elders, retainers, friends and guests were
there to lend passive support.

It drove
Torrullin crazy. He was tense and on edge.

“Come away
from the window,” Taranis said. He brought nibbles, but his son
could not eat. He did not blame him given the situation; his
stomach would be clenched too.

Torrullin
jerked away from the courtyard view. “I am heading up. Tell
Tristamil to meet me there.” He strode to the door, and paused. A
cold shiver passed through him as he sought to leave his father’s
sight; it was unclear, but he had for a long time now relied on
instinct. “Taranis … I …” He frowned, aware he did not know what it
was he needed to say, or why.

His father
smiled. “It’s all right, son. Sometimes the intention is
sufficient.”

Torrullin drew
a ragged breath. “I love you, I hope you know that.”

“That I do
know, yes. Go. I will find Tris when it is time.”

Torrullin
nodded. “Thanks.” He went up.

Cat leaned
against the curve of the western stairwell looking out, as he
intended until it was time. What had Taranis said about intention
being sufficient?

“Cat, you
startled me.”

She did not
look at him after a nervous glance over her shoulder. “Sorry. I
meant to watch from here. I’ll leave.”

As she moved
to go, he said, “There won’t be anything to see.”

She stilled.
“I’ll watch anyway.”

“Do all
know?”

“The twins,
the Darak Or and Menllik, tonight? I think so.”

“Every thought
will help.” That was true, even if it drove him insane right
now.

She retreated,
and sighing he leaned against the wall, almost feeling her warmth
in it. He wondered how long she had been up here in the cold.
Hearing the sigh she halted and turned. She wore a woollen jumper
over breeches, shapeless, paradoxically feminine.

“Are you okay,
Torrullin?”

The dark of
her eyes were pools of ink in her pale face and her hair lifted
slightly in the breeze.

“Please go,
Cat,” he said.

She touched
his hand and moved to leave. He twitched as if shocked, and gripped
her hand. She drew a quick breath and remained still.

“This means
nothing, do you understand?” he whispered and when she nodded his
mouth came down to claim hers. He pulled her around until she was
against the stairwell and his hands slid in under her jumper, to
feel warm, real, shivering skin …

“Torrullin.”

He froze and
lifted his head. He swore. Cat sidled out from under him and ran.
Pushed away from the wall, he said, “My wife, I was not expecting
you.”

“Obviously,”
Saska whispered.

He burst out
laughing. “Obviously! Gods, I am a mess!” The mocking laughter
turned into gasps for air.

Saska closed
the gap, drew him up and swiftly loosened his tunic. “Breathe deep
slow breaths.” He gasped great gulps and only gradually
rediscovered equilibrium. “Sit Torrullin, relax, clear your
thoughts.”

“Too many.” He
clutched at his heart.

“Well, do it
or surrender now. Margus will have the field with you in this
state.”

He laughed; a
more normal sound. “That is telling me.”

She stood away
from him, arms akimbo. “It has come to a head, I realise, and those
are your boys there tonight, but you need to focus.”

“I know, don’t
shout.”

She snorted.
“Who is shouting? Sexual frustration, husband?”

“Something
like that,” he murmured, standing. His gaze was unreadable.

“Get over it.
Do you want to weaken yourself?”

“Maybe.”

That shut her
up a good few seconds. “Torrullin, you can’t. You must be
focused.”

“Do not
concern yourself so, Saska. I will be composed.” He was calm. He
was going mad.

“Good. Then I
will leave you to your scattered … wits. Are you departing from
here?”

“Yes.” He did
not look at her.

She grabbed
him with both hands, slamming him into the wall. “You will pay for
that little scene, make no mistake!” she whispered into his face,
and released him.

“I look
forward to it,” he returned.

Gods, why had
that avalanche not been bad enough to keep her occupied for
days?

Be wary of
words uttered in haste. It will be difficult to retract.

~ Scroll of
Wisdom

Menllik

M
enllik
was a ghost town, eerily quiet.

The snow-clad
ways muffled their footsteps as they warily approached the temple.
An hour remained before Nemisin’s star would be overhead. There was
no moon.

Past beautiful
homes, past theatres, indoor pools, father and son walked in
silence drawing strength from each other, until finally they stood
before Linir. The city was strange without its people.

The stairs
leading up to the entrance were pristine, not a footprint in the
light covering of snow, but Linir, despite appearing un-assailed,
for the first time was an ominous place.

Destiny was in
play and was never comfortable. Both breathed easier when they saw
no evidence of intrusion, and climbed swiftly, entering within.

Tymall was
already there.

He was not
alone.

Tymall
unfurled a yellowed parchment scroll, smiling to himself.

He did not
look up, seemingly intent on his task. At his side a green sword
dangled as if mere decoration.

Tristamil
approached hand on hilt, nerves attacking him.

Torrullin
gazed upon his other son. The last time he saw him was in the cage
on Luvanor, a dark snarling figure in the background, with matted
hair and dressed in what he pilfered.

This young man
was self-assured, his streaked hair longer than his brother’s, and
dressed in a wine-red uniform, like a soldier. He was healthy,
unafraid and composed. The snarling young man was entirely
subservient.

Torrullin
forced himself to look away, to find the real enemy in the
chamber.

Margus, Darak
Or. His nemesis.

Angelic blue
eyes speared the gloom. Those eyes haunted his dreams for almost
three decades, but he had forgotten how beautiful the man was.
Margus, curse him, always relied on that to further the purpose of
evil. The man stood at ease outside the white star, similarly
garbed in uniform, and watched him with an amused expression.

Torrullin
sketched a laconic bow. “Margus.”

The amused
expression widened into a smile. “Torrullin.”

Torrullin
circled around Tymall - who did not look up - and approached the
Darak Or. He was intensely aware of Tristamil coming to a halt
beside his brother, and also that Tymall ignored him. That was a
sham. He knew this son. Tymall forced an uncaring attitude.

“I see you
have not lost your sense of humour, Enchanter.” Margus touched his
nose, laughing.

“I see you
have a tendency of turning up like a bad penny.”

“Surprised?”

“Admittedly.”

“I do enjoy
honesty.”

They circled
each other, scrutinising. It was very familiar.

“You still
wear the black?”

“Are you a
general tonight?”

Margus
laughed. “Effect, Enchanter.”

“You knew we
would come.” A laconic statement. Clearly Margus planned for
this.

“As you knew
we would, yes.”

“No blazing,
Margus?”

“Our time will
assuredly come. First there is this niggling destiny. Shall we
watch the show?”

Torrullin
halted, aware that both Tristamil and Tymall now looked their way.
“I want your word you will not interfere.”

“Ah,
Torrullin, you robbed me of great satisfaction on Atrudis. I assume
that happened because your other son knew before I was ready to
unmask. How can I forgo this pleasure? A son versus a son? The
expression on your face will be my reward. You have my word. Young
Tymall has been under my wing for some time now; he will be a joy
to watch.” Margus smiled. “Of course, I shall have your word
also.”

“You have it,
Darak Or.”

Margus
shivered theatrically. “I do love it when you call me that,
Enchanter.” He saluted mockingly. “Excellent, we are agreed.” He
retreated to the wall behind him and became watchful, a living
statue.

Torrullin
rolled his neck, wondering if he should pre-empt now and be done.
However, he knew not what foulness Margus enticed into the fray
this night. He had sensed no unfamiliar presence on the way in, and
sensed nothing now; he had to be temporarily patient. He retreated
to the opposite wall and hunkered there.

Then it was
all Tristamil and Tymall.

Tymall grinned
at his twin.

“Do you know
what this is, brother?”

The familiar
voice beat against Torrullin’s eardrums. He squeezed his eyes shut
for a moment to regain control. Gods, his emotions were everywhere
and that was distracting.

“I am sure you
will tell me, brother,” Tristamil returned. “But first, why here?”
He swung in a wide circle while looking up at the ceiling where a
number of pinpoint stars were evident in the aperture.