The Sleeper Sword (17 page)

No cheer
sounded; this was Valleur territory and everyone was nervous. The
aid of one was not necessarily the aid of all.

A dark-haired
man strode the pier towards them. Kismet vaulted over the rail and
met him further up and, after a brief discussion, the two
returned.

Samuel,
meanwhile, studied the city.

It reminded
him of Luan on the mainland, rather than Menllik. Simple lines,
sand, beige, cream and white. Multi-storeyed with flat roofs and
many balconies. Palms soared over the tallest buildings and bright
tropical creepers adorned walls, grew in profusion in earthenware
containers and open spaces.

His wife would
love it. Emerald foliage peeped from shadows and out of every crack
in the paved streets. From his vantage he could not see how the
roads wound apparently without order among the buildings and stairs
went up and spiralled down randomly, and yet the feeling of light
within space came to him across the water. Small cobbled squares
adorned the confluence of numerous paths, each set with sturdy
tables and benches for outdoor gatherings.

A pristine
white beach gave way to rock pools and stumpy date palms threw
patterned shade. Gazebos dotted the shoreline. His son would adore
it.

A city near
deserted. At this hour sound should ring across the water.

“Samuel,”
Byron whispered, approaching stealthily to not alert Marcus, who
leaned over the rail intent on the approaching figures. “Listen up,
will you? Let Marcus take the lead from here, or he’ll never
forgive the slight to his office.” The big man’s eyes pleaded.

“Of course,
Byron; I wouldn’t have it otherwise.”

“Thank you.
Marcus is a good man, but highly opinionated and it occasionally
leads to unnecessary confrontation.”

“I gathered
that,” Samuel grinned. He pointed at the city. “Look; does it not
seem empty to you?”

Byron turned
to study Danak. “Something’s going on here, a city that size means
many Valleur. I think we’re going to be surprised by how much these
people already know.”

“Indeed,”
Samuel murmured and both men gave their attention to the two coming
aboard.

The
dark-haired man stood easily on deck and gazed about him before
formally bowing to Marcus. “Electan, Tannil welcomes you to the
Western Isles and hopes it will be convenient for you to meet with
him this evening. He has asked me to escort you and your party to a
guesthouse in Danak where your every need will be met.”

A gratified
Marcus bowed as formally. “Thank you. I am Marcus Campian and this
is Byron Morave, leader of the Society of Sorcerers.”

Byron bowed
and smiled, filled with curiosity. A Valleur with dark hair and
grey eyes, how - his heart thumped as he glanced quickly at Samuel.
Like young Skyler.

“Mr
Morave.”

“Byron, by
god!”

“And this is
Samuel Skyler, a jeweller by trade,” Marcus continued, and the man
turned to Samuel.

And paled
considerably.

He glanced
frantically at Kismet, who shook his head.

Marcus’s alert
gaze picked up the exchange, but he said nothing.

“Samuel
Skyler.” An uncertain tone. The man did not bow.

Samuel smiled.
“Pleased to be here in the west, I must admit. It’s
spectacular.”

“It is, isn’t
it? It still astounds me after all this time. I am Caltian and you
have met Kismet, an Elder to our Vallorin’s court.”

“Caltian?”
Byron muttered and then smiled. “You’re the Vallorin’s
stepfather?”

Caltian
inclined his head. “I am, and surprised you know.”

“I’ll regard
that as a compliment,” Byron grinned.

“This is
Larkin,” Kismet murmured. “Captain of this sound vessel. He says
they rode the Pentac deliberately.”

“Merciful
Mother, why? We keep our ships well away.”

Larkin bowed,
cap in hand. “We had good reason, my lord.”

“And I’d love
to hear it,” Caltian returned. “Later. Captain Larkin, if you’ll
request your crew to remain aboard? Supplies and refreshments will
be brought them. I would that you accompany our guests.”

No doubt
afraid the man will haul anchor and vanish before they are
satisfied, Marcus thought, and blanched when Caltian looked at him
with raised brows. Gods, he better watch himself. Mind readers. He
bit the inside of his cheek when Caltian’s grin widened for no
apparent reason.

“Electan?”
Larkin prompted.

“Naturally you
must accompany us,” Marcus said. “See to your men and then join us
on the platform.” He looked to Caltian. “Shall we? I admit to a
hankering for dry land.”

Caltian led
the way off the ship.

Periodically,
as they went, his gaze strayed to Samuel, to that calm and familiar
exterior.

Tannil paced
his Throne-room waiting for Caltian and Kismet.

Already he had
shouted at a young serving girl who called him to tea with his
mother, sending her sniffing from the room.

“Tannil,
you’re not to treat my staff in this manner,” Mitrill accused,
entering from the side arches giving access to the entertainment
chambers.

“I didn’t mean
to.”

“What’s the
matter?”

“A ship with
the Electan and First Sorcerer in Danak.”

“They came
here? The situation …”

“I know!”

She fell
silent to study him. “Relax. Who went to meet them?”

“Caltian.”

“Excellent
choice. He will bring news soon. Now sit and let me get you
something stronger than tea to drink.” She did not await a reply,
exiting to return moments later with two tumblers half-filled with
amber liquid. “Here,” she ordered and he accepted her offering.

Sipping, he
sank wearily into the wooden seat.

“Only those
two?” Mitrill asked after a time.

“One other
Caltian couldn’t place.”

“You sent him
spying?”

“You
disagree?”

“On the
contrary.”

He snorted.
“You surprise me.”

“I’m glad. And
you’ve surprised me recently.”

“Really?”

“Tannil, don’t
underestimate yourself. You’re a good leader and a good
strategist.”

He was
inordinately pleased. “You’re biased.”

“Only partly.
Ah, here’s Caltian.”

Caltian strode
in and Tannil demanded, “Well?”

Caltian came
to a stop. The issue of Samuel caused him disquiet, and yet he did
not know how to explain it to this man. He began with the
expected.

“They are
safely ensconced with Kismet as babysitter. No trouble, but asking
a lot of questions as to why Danak appears empty.”

“They’re not
fools, then,” Mitrill murmured.

“What did they
tell you about purpose?”

“Nothing
besides the Pentac grip was deliberately achieved to get here in
time, but for what I cannot say. They will reveal the full story
only to you.”

Caltian
shrugged, was silent, and then looked at his wife. She would read
him. She would ask the question and then he could answer.

She did sense
his disquiet. “What is it, husband?”

Still he
delayed. He scratched at his face.

“Just say it,”
Tannil prompted.

“I had the
captain brought ashore also, honest by the looks of him, name is
Larkin, and Kismet reckons the man is an outstanding seaman …”
Caltian bit his words off. “That’s not it. It’s the other one.”

Tannil’s eyes
narrowed. “He concerns you?”

Caltian
inhaled and dared not look towards his wife. Instead he locked
gazes with Tannil. “His name is Samuel Skyler, and that means
exactly nothing and rings no alarm bells, and yet …”

When the man
paused again, Tannil was forced again to prompt him.

“He gave
Kismet quite a turn, and I nearly fainted.”

“What?”
Mitrill bit out.

Still Caltian
did not look at her. “Tannil, he is the image of Tristamil, I swear
to you.”

Tannil’s glass
crashed to the floor.

Mitrill was
turned to stone.

Tannil
growled. He hurtled off the seat and gripped Caltian by the throat.
“Who is he? Did you probe him?”

Caltian swore
and pushed his stepson aside. “I’m not the enemy!”

“
He
could well be!
Did you probe him?
”

Caltian rubbed
his neck. “No.”

“Stupid! Get
the guards and contain him right away, then bring him here!”

Caltian turned
on his heel and strode out shouting at the top of his voice. By the
time the guard answered his aggressive summons, Tannil’s agitation
had rubbed off and Caltian barked commands out sharply.

“Tannil!”
Mitrill said. “What, for god’s sake?”

Tannil,
breathing like a man possessed, turned to her. “Mother, Torrullin
returns because of his son.”

She paled.

“Not
Tristamil, mother, not my father. He comes for Tymall.”

She started
shaking. “Goddess help us all.”

He started to
laugh. “No! Torrullin help us all!”

Caltian and
ten guards burst in and gripped Samuel roughly and vanished with
him.

Byron roared,
rounding on Kismet.

“I have no
idea.” The Elder was clearly flabbergasted.

“Then find
out!” Marcus shouted. “Or, better yet, take us to the Vallorin
right now! There will be hell to pay, I promise you!”

Kismet was
uncertain.

“NOW!” Byron
roared again.

Kismet’s
expression closed. “I must confer with my Lord first.” He retreated
to a corner, stared unseeingly and then nodded. “My Lord Vallorin
commands me to bring you to the Palace forthwith.”

“Stupid
Farspeakers,” Marcus muttered.

“Hold your
tongue, Electan. This is Valleur territory and you’d do well to
take that to heart.”

“How…!”

“Shut up,
Marcus!” Byron growled. “How are we to get to the Palace,
Elder?”

“Transport.”

“I’ll have no
part in sorcery!” Marcus squealed.

“Shut
up
!” Byron growled again and held his hand out to the
Valleur. With the other he gripped Marcus vice-like.

Kismet touched
hands with Byron.

They
vanished.

Chapter
20

We played
tricks on our elders, my twin and I. It was fun when we were
children, but evolved into a serious manipulation when we were
older.

~ Anne of
Beacon, on the subject of her incarceration

The
Throne-room was pandemonium.

Guards stood
two deep around the perimeter and Samuel hung limply between two
tough individuals in the centre of the crowded chamber. He was
unconscious. Four guards stood solidly behind him.

Caltian paced
and retainers milled in confusion, having come to see what the fuss
was about only to be caught within when the guard closed ranks.
Caballa, Fay and Mitrill stood beside the throne and Quilla, Buthos
and Belun wandered among the throng - in Belun’s case it was
stalking.

Nobody knew
for sure the source of the agitation. Samuel’s hanging form drew
the attention, but the why escaped them. They trusted Tannil would
get to the bottom of it.

The Vallorin
himself slumped on the wooden seat, eyes burning, ready for the
first sign of danger. He had his sword to hand and he rarely did so
within the Palace.

Into this came
Kismet with the Electan and First Sorcerer, and it heightened the
tension. Kismet deposited his charges before Tannil, sending a
searching gaze at his Vallorin, and withdrew.

“What do you
think you’re doing?” Marcus shouted.

Tannil rose.
He placed his sword on the seat before speaking.

“Electan, I
have no gripe with you and I sincerely apologise for the
inconvenience. I shall certainly attempt to reinstate cordial
relations between our two peoples, but we have something to be
cleared away forthwith.”

Marcus
swallowed anger as the diplomat surfaced. He bowed. “I thank you
for your kind words, Lord Vallorin, and I too hope to reinstate
cordiality. However, young Samuel is of our party and therefore
under my protection.”

“I realise,
and will make reparations if I am at fault here. It occurs to me
this man may have duped you and your companion Morave, and would be
quite capable of such deception if he were who I suspect he may be.
Please afford me the opportunity of proving one way or the other to
all here.”

Marcus paled
and turned to Byron. “I told you he had a secret.”

“Shut up,
Marcus,” Byron said, not caring who heard. “Samuel is a good man
and I won’t think anything to the contrary.”

Tannil stepped
away from the throne. “Mr Morave, I know who and what you are, and
I’d suggest to you your power isn’t sufficient to make that kind of
unequivocal statement.”

Byron bowed.
“Lord Vallorin, it is indeed an honour to meet you. I have looked
forward to this moment since the day we realised we needed to come
west, and I’ve hoped for it since I was a young man. I wish it were
under pleasant circumstances and while I do not wish to make a
tense situation worse, I tell you, power or not, Samuel Skyler is a
kind and generous man. He has a traceable lineage on Valaris and an
excellent reputation, years in the making, as a solid citizen and a
remarkable craftsman. I refuse to believe he has managed to dupe
everyone for forty years; nobody is that good at subterfuge. Please
afford him the opportunity to allay your fears.”

“He will have
that,” Tannil said.

He pondered.
Was he allowing his fears to make judgements for him? It was not
beyond the realm of possibility, he had to admit. Still, this human
looked remarkably like his father and while he had never seen the
man, his mother’s drawn face was testament enough. As was Caltian’s
constant and searching glances.

“Thank you,
Lord Vallorin,” Byron said, bowing. “That is all we ask.”