The Sleeper Sword (37 page)

“Good god,
Tannil, he brought Margus,” Mitrill said, watching the fair man
vanish into the nearest stairwell.

“He has good
reason, no doubt,” Belun said. “Leave him be, for pity’s sake!”

The Centuar
stalked off.

He heard the
footsteps, heard them approach and knew certain things had to be
faced before they would leave him alone long enough to breathe the
air of his home.

Tannil.

Without
turning, he said to his grandson, “Nemisin’s Star is gone. It is
tonight, is it not?”

Two thousand
years ago it was winter and now it was spring. He smelled the
difference, felt the change in his gut, and knew it was out of sync
for a ten-day absence, and yet welcomed it … and knew exactly which
night it was on the Valleur calendar.

Tannil was
unaware of the power in those perceptions. “Yes. Tymall said it
would vanish as you came back. Something about …”

“I know why,”
Torrullin murmured.

“I don’t,”
Tannil rasped.

“I wonder who
will bring it.” Without clarifying, Torrullin turned to gaze on the
profile of his grandson. “I am sorry, Tannil.”

A muscle
worked in Tannil’s jaw. “For what? Tonight? Samuel’s time frame
caught us unprepared; I am the one who must beg forgiveness.”

“
Man of Words
is what I meant. How many times did you turn them over in
your mind? I beg forgiveness of you.”

Tannil turned
his head. “That was a different life. Tonight everything is
new.”

Torrullin
doubted anything was new. “I expected only Samuel on the rise.”

A brief
silence and then, “Tymall brought us together.”

“Ah. My son
has become a player.”

Another
silence. “Did you return over him?” There was a trace of pain in
that query.

How honest was
he supposed to be without hurting those he loved? “Partly. Most of
my reasons lie in family and most is you, son of my son.”

“And Samuel?”
There was need there.

Torrullin
inhaled and then, “You are a direct link to Tristamil and are
therefore more precious to me than any other, and yet I seek to
separate you from your father to know, truly, my grandson for who
he is. This will take time, Tannil.”

“Yes,” Tannil
nodded, but there was a smile on his lips. “And what of
Samuel?”

“If I seek to
see Tristamil’s face, I should look at his twin,” Torrullin said,
“but Tymall cannot ever be his brother, not to me. Samuel is my
link to … I cannot explain it, I’m sorry.”

“I am the
blood and Samuel is the essence, and together we are the son you
lost.”

Surprise.
“Yes. You put it well.”

“Neither of us
can be that son, my Lord.”

Greater
surprise. Tannil was perceptive. “I know.”

Tannil
nodded.

“What is his
name?”

Tannil smiled.
“Teroux.”

“A precocious
name.”

Tannil
grinned. “Suits him.”

“Why did Fay
choose the way she did?”

“She desires
to wed for love.”

“Ah.”

“Elusive.”
Tannil shrugged.

“Love?”

“Yes.”

“I’m
sorry.”

Tannil barked
a laugh. “Such is life.”

“Such is our
choice, I think. Love I had in abundance and as often as not I
trampled it.”

“She left the
day after Torrke’s renewal was complete.”

“Ah.”
Torrullin faced forward once more. He had hoped Saska would be here
as well. Star filled night. Valaris’s glittering heavens. “The
magic has resurfaced here.”

“For you,
tonight. Torrke was waiting for you.”

“I know.”

Silence.

“Ask it,
Tannil.”

“Very well.
Why did you bring the Darak Or?”

“Do not be
offended, but I cannot answer. Know this, he is bound to me. He
will act upon my command. He is not the enemy now.”

Silence.

“Tannil, allow
me this night to think. I shall join you at your Palace in the
morning.”

“There is
nothing to eat or drink here …”

“I have no
need of anything except a few hours to reconnect with this world
and to do so without the overriding awareness of time hurtling by.
Ten days was near eternity out there, and here. Gods, it truly is
good to be home.”

Another tread
sounded on the stairs, hesitant. Caballa.

“Till morning,
grandson.”

Tannil bowed
and left, passing Caballa on the stairs. He was about to inform her
of Torrullin’s wish to be alone when Torrullin called to her.

Caballa came
to a halt where Tannil stood and looked over the darkened valley.
“Torrke is beautiful again.”

He looked
also. “Was the destruction bad?”

“It was an
utter altering. We could find no trace of you or Vannis, not a
stone of the Keep, nothing.”

“There was
nothing to find. Vannis took himself away and the rest I took with
me.”

She nodded.
“Strangely, that makes sense and it explains the Throne.”

“It is still
here.”

“Yes.”

“Not now,
please.”

Silence and
then, “My Lord, thank you. For understanding and for offering to
reverse … this.”

“The offer
remains open, Caballa. Anytime.”

“I am off
balance and I cannot grasp my power, but time will return
equilibrium.”

A wry smile.
“Yes, that is my hope for myself.”

She smiled
also. “We’ll survive.”

He
laughed.

“My Lord?”

He gazed
askance at her. “You know me too well to ‘my Lord’ me at every
turn, and I am not your Vallorin.”

“You will
always be my Vallorin.”

He should
rebuke her, but knew she intended no disloyalty to Tannil. He
inclined his head.

“Torrullin, he
proved mastery in healing my blindness. I want you to know
that.”

Torrullin gave
a grim shake of his head. “It is not healing when there is no
injury, Caballa. You were perfect.”

“And now I am
imperfect?”

“I did not
mean that.”

“I know,
forgive me. I-I should go.” She nearly ran to get away from him,
and herself.

And then
Quilla was there. “I am not intruding to question you, Enchanter,
although I admit I am agog. I see you need to be alone, I want …
ah, Torrullin, I missed you, and I need to see your face to
reassure myself this is no fantasy.”

He had been
missed as much as he longed for loved ones, and they had two
thousand years of it. “I missed you, old friend. I could have used
your counsel on the Plane.” Torrullin withdrew from that.

As Tannil
said, that was a different life.

The birdman’s
hand came to rest on Torrullin’s arm and felt the quivering tension
there. “Come to the Lifesource, now, tonight.”

“No, I need it
all to keep me alert.” He squeezed Quilla’s tiny hand. “Thank you
for caring.”

A moment’s
study. “I’ll send them away, but I’m downstairs if you have need of
me.”

“Samuel
stays.”

Quilla pursed
his lips. “He is not Tristamil, Torrullin.”

“He is of
him.”

“Two thousand
years, Enchanter.”

“I don’t need
a lecture now.”

Quilla sighed
and left.

Samuel and
Quilla held vigil in the courtyard, periodically noting the
ceaseless pacing on the battlements.

Margus’s
tandem return marred what should be joyous celebration and Tymall’s
intrusion tainted the miracle. And timing caught them - he was too
great a surprise to accept with equanimity.

Looking up,
Quilla thanked Belun in silence for his showmanship and Kismet for
his doubtless loyalty. Those two acted as themselves and thus
lifted the occasion.

Margus came
out once the others departed, his gaze drawn aloft, but he made no
attempt at conversation and offered no explanation as to his
presence. There was an unreadable expression on his face, however,
which caused Quilla intense disquiet.

The grey of
pre-dawn encroached when Torrullin returned to the courtyard.
Exhausted, Samuel moved to rise from an uncomfortable position on
the hard ground, but was waved back. Quilla was watchful with his
legs dangling in the empty mosaic pool, and Torrullin paused to
study them … and then walked on.

“Margus.”

The Darak Or
ambled nearer. “Feeling better, Torrullin?”

“Yes.
You?”

“I paced and
stared this new night away and, yes, it is better now. I hadn’t
realised how our bodies and minds require the tides and the
turning.”

“Until it is
taken away.”

“Perhaps now
you have a glimmer of what it was like to have a sun taken from a
world. I have no doubt if you were trapped on the Plane, you would
have become much like me.”

“The
Pathfinder would become the Dark, yes. Lazar was too frightened to
reveal that ending.”

Margus smiled.
“I wish I could have seen you fall into that.”

Torrullin
shrugged. “I’d never give you the satisfaction.”

“We’ll
see.”

“You will be
hounded this time.”

“Perhaps. It
is of no matter. Where am I to stay?”

“Here, with
me.”

“Excellent.”
Margus bowed and retreated indoors.

Torrullin
turned. Samuel - confused; Quilla - markedly neutral.

“Here?” Quilla
asked.

“This is my
home.”

“Margus,
Enchanter. Don’t be obtuse.”

Torrullin
lifted a brow.

“Folk will
talk.”

“Let
them.”

“It’s not a
good idea.” Quilla glared.

Torrullin
lifted a shoulder. “I want him here. I need him here.”

“Why?”

“He knows
Tymall, but it is not open to discussion.”

“Already the
secrets.”

A short
silence. “Always.”

Samuel
grimaced. “This will give the Electan a heart attack.” He stretched
aching muscles. He could not remember when last he slept a night
through.

“The short man
none too pleased to see me.”

Samuel
grinned. “That would be him. Marcus Campian.”

“I guess there
is a tale there. You all have a tale.” Torrullin paused and then,
“Samuel, I am not the enemy.”

Samuel paled
and gasped, “I don’t think that!”

“You are
afraid of me this morning.”

“I guess it’s
what you said to Margus.”

Torrullin cast
his mind back, frowning. “What did I say?”

“You did not
set him straight when he suggested you could be like to him.”

Quilla raise
his brows, wondering how the Enchanter would answer to that.

“I also said I
would not give him the satisfaction.”

“But it
means…”

“It means the
Dark doesn’t offend me.”

“I’m
sorry.”

Torrullin
grinned and gripped the man’s shoulder. “Ask me anything, anytime,
and I’ll answer with truth, as hard as it may be.”

Samuel was
relieved. “Great.”

“Now, this
Marcus Campian. I assume he is anti-Valleur?”

“I’m afraid
so.”

Torrullin
laughed. “And he is about to be invaded.”

Quilla was all
twitters. “Enchanter, don’t start that.”

“Quilla,
Tymall is not interested in the islands. He is in the continent.
The land, the people, the nature, all of it, for this is his
birthright. He will prey on the weak, prod old fears and god knows
what else. Anti-Valleur sentiment will assuredly aid him also. We
need the Golden back on the mainland, starting today.”

“Tannil sent
most of your people to Luvanor.”

“His people,
Quilla. He is Vallorin. And I am glad to hear they are out of
harm’s way, but a fair few reside in the west. I feel them. They
will be back in Menllik shortly, whatever Marcus Campian thinks
about it.”

Samuel
grinned.

Chapter
38

“…
beware
the Pathfinder …”

~ Plane
Prophecy

In their suite
Caltian sat with his head in his hands.

“Ten days,
Mitrill, my god! We moved on, gained distance, but he lives in that
past.”

“Hush,
Caltian. It was his choice.” Mitrill ceased pacing the bedchamber
to lower beside her husband. Gently she stroked his hair. “He is
strong, my love, he will cope and he will adapt to this new
time.”

“We thought he
was learning new things, gaining new insights. I don’t know, I
thought with time on his hands, he’d find peace, study, maybe delve
into the nature of things.”

“Torrullin, a
philosopher?”

Caltian
groaned, buried his face deeper. “It was what he needed. He always
thinks too much, I thought it would help him - this is unfair!”

“I think he is
able to deal with Tymall this way. His mind didn’t settle into
academics.”

Caltian
dropped his hands and took a breath. “He will need help in coming
to terms with the history he bypassed.” He rose, decisive. “I need
to get my thoughts in order for that. Man, Teighlar will do his
nut!”

“Caltian, what
about Fay?”

“What about
Fay?”

“She’s not
exactly enamoured of the Enchanter.”

“Maybe that’s
not such a bad thing,” Caltian muttered, then seeing his wife’s
face, relented. “She was frightened of what he meant before she saw
him. Give her time to adjust.”

“She
challenged him, and too soon. You should talk to her.”

“Me? For … I
don’t … all right!” Seeing the stubborn look. “I’ll talk to
her.”

“Now, my love.
He will be here soon.”

Caltian shook
his head in exasperation, but noting the anxiety in Mitrill’s eyes,
left to find his daughter.

He found her
contemplating the wooden seat that was the symbolic throne.

One hand
rested on an arm crossed over her chest, fingers tapping. He saw
she was troubled.