The Sleeper Sword (56 page)

“The crash
somewhat changed things, Kate. We are welcome where before we
expected to maintain a low profile, but we have no intention of
invading your cities and towns. We come only when invited.”

“At least you
won’t get stoned out of your territory,” Lucan quipped.

Kate turned to
him. “That’s a bit unfair.”

“Yes, Lucan,”
Torrullin said, amused.

Kate showed
the back of her head to Lucan. “My Lord, Valarians would not stone
anyone.”

“I know. And
yet my friend Lucan makes a good point. The Valleur need not hide
anymore and we regard it as a good sign.”

“We didn’t
know the difference before.”

“And laying
blame achieves nothing. The past must go where it belongs - never
forgotten, learned from, but past.”

“You’re very
understanding.”

Torrullin
smiled. If only she knew how impatient he was with all of it. He
leaned forward. “If you have been alive over eight thousand years,
would you not agree that the only absolute is change? And to deal
with change you should learn the lessons of the past, sometimes
many times taught before understanding comes. To fight it only
makes your life impossible and why would you want to put yourself
through that, when change, good or bad, will find you anyway?”

“I hear that,
but such a long life I find hard to imagine, if I’m honest.”

“Honesty is
good and consider yourself blessed not to have to live that long.”
Torrullin smiled his charismatic smile that could draw out the most
reluctant individual. “At your tender age, Kate, you believe you
will live forever anyway, and that is a good thing. This is your
time to shine, to embrace change with confidence.”

She smiled.
“We do okay.”

One of her
friends approached, perhaps comforted by the apparent ease he
witnessed. “Kate?”

She turned to
him and gave a brilliant smile. Obviously far more than friends.
“Keen!”

“Pull up a
chair, Keen. We have a few more minutes with our coffee, and then
we’ll be on our way.”

The young man sat, taking his girlfriend’s hand. “We
overhead, my Lord, but you never answered Kate’s question, did you?
Why are
you
in
Galilan?”

Torrullin
suppressed a sigh, sitting back in his chair, one hand wrapped
around a coffee mug that appeared hot and aromatic before him
without him realising the proprietor returned with their order.

Lucan grinned
and paid the man and quietly did justice to the brew, while
watching the interaction before him with interest. He was surprised
Torrullin was comfortable in these surroundings, as well as open
with folk who had no bearing on the present. They were not movers
and shakers, after all.

Torrullin
glanced at him, winked and spoke to the young man.

“My friend
here wonders at my ability to relate to young people …”

“Who is your
friend?” Kate asked.

“Lucan,” Lucan
muttered as Torrullin grinned challenge at him.

“And I am
Kate, art teacher at a day-care centre and I was born and raised in
Galilan,” Kate said. “Your name tells us nothing.”

“Should
it?”

“Well, fair is
fair,” Keen murmured.

“Enchanter?”
Lucan appealed.

Torrullin
laughed. “Ah, Lucan, such a small measure of how it feels and you
would bow under the strain?”

Lucan grumbled
and then said, “I’m Lucan Dalrish … from Xen.”

Keen’s eyes
grew round and Kate exclaimed, “No wonder you are with the
Enchanter! The Dalrish are sorcerers, right?”

“Right, and
will you tone it down?”

Torrullin
burst out laughing and took control of the conversation again, to
Lucan’s relief.

“Lucan in some
ways understands what it is like to walk in an altered world. Xen
has no phobias about magic and the like, and thus he can wander
those streets with ease. Here it is less accepted, although the
Society tries hard to circumvent that. I, too, walk an altered
world, yet I am able to relate to Galilan and its people largely
with ease. Why, how, you ask? I lived in this city once and I
recall clearly a time when Valleur and human coexisted in harmony.
It remains the ideal I understand and strive to achieve again. I
relate to youth here as I do to Valleur youth, for you are not so
different.”

“What of the
older generation?” Keen queried. “Notoriously hard to get them to
the youth’s way.”

Lucan nodded.
“Right on.”

“It’s a matter
of thinking as they do and finding the middle road, my young
friend. You are able to teach them new things, but always remember
they are able to teach you the old things, and most of those should
never be lost.”

“I guess,”
Keen muttered.

“I relate to
the old, the stubborn, the crazy, yours, mine and alien, by placing
myself in those shoes.” Torrullin winked and added, “Not that I’d
want to stay there.”

All three at
the table laughed.

The entire
coffee shop had taken on a relaxed air and virtually everyone
eavesdropped on the conversation at the Enchanter’s table.

“My Lord, why
are
you in Galilan?” a youth asked from
somewhere.

He would not
escape it. And maybe it was the right time and opportunity to put
these youngsters on their guard, for they would not live forever
and not all change was good and safe. He raised his voice.

“I was asked
to Galilan today to put to use this talent I have for relating to
various personalities. Marcus Campian requested I address a
gathering of offworld ambassadors, all of whom were fearful of the
implications of the traveller disaster. And, before you should ask,
it was an act of terrorism, not an accident.”

“Who would do
such a thing?”

“A third
party. I won’t say more at this point, but details will be
forthcoming from your Electan’s office before long. Suffice to say,
the ambassadors required calming. They choose, however, to
temporarily leave Valaris and we agree it is in their best
interest.”

There was loud
silence.

Kate was the
one who asked the obvious question. “This terrorist threat is not
over?”

Torrullin’s
expression was carefully friendly and neutral. “It is about to
escalate.”

Another
silence and then Keen asked, “How bad?”

Torrullin rose
and gestured to Lucan, who hurriedly swallowed his last mouthful
before rising also. “We’ll attempt to stop it before there are
greater disasters, but some minds cannot always be reasoned with
and we are not able to predict where such minds may go. Galilan may
never bear the brunt ... and it may find there is real trouble
soon.”

“What must we
do?” someone asked.

“I’d say be on
guard to strangers, watch for suspicious actions, but that
disadvantages my people - by their newness to the mainland,
strangers, and by their difference, suspicious - I won’t recommend
that. Yet, be aware, but the best defence is to prepare mentally.
Do not be complacent.” He glanced at Lucan. “It is time to go.”

“Where
to?”

“Valla
Island.”

“Right behind
…”

“Is this
threat the reason the Valleur were granted permission to return to
the mainland?” Keen asked.

Torrullin
gazed down at the young man. The Valleur had not needed permission.
They could simply have invaded, but chose the route of negotiation.
He laughed at himself. Right, as if he gave Marcus Campian
choice.

“It is the
reason the Valleur are among you, yes.”

“Good god,”
someone muttered.

Kate said,
“We’ll fight any terrorist.”

“I hope it
won’t come to that,” Torrullin responded.

A young man
climbed onto a table near the back of the shop. He seemed an
earnest kind. “We thank the Valleur for coming to aid us,
Enchanter.”

Torrullin
bowed. “The Valleur thank you for that.” He glanced again at Lucan.
“Now.” He raised a hand to the folk in the coffee shop … and
vanished.

Lucan grinned
at the astonishment left in his wake. “It can be taught, you know,
that nifty trick.”

Everyone
stared at him then and he laughed and vanished, wishing he could
see their expressions in the aftermath.

They did not
expect a human to do so as well.

Chapter
52

The dead do not
speak. The living put words in their mouths.

~ Arc, Poet

The island was
quiet, but not deserted.

A number were
charged with the defence of the Western Isles, a presence on each
island, and a small team of retainers remained in the Palace.

Torrullin did
not enter the Palace and when Lucan arrived it was to find him
striding towards the shrine in the garden. Upon his orders the
shrine remained untouched, all the memories left to a later time.
He took with him only the legendary sword.

He stood
before the shrine’s doorway as Lucan strolled closer and to the
Xenian seemed reluctant, and then he ducked inside, to return a
moment later with Taranis’s diary under one arm. He did not look at
it, merely tucked it in.

Comfort? Lucan
wondered, beholding only a book, not the value of it.

“My father’s
diary.”

Lucan mentally
cursed. He forgot what the man was capable of.

Torrullin
indicated the beach visible through the trees. His intention was
clear, thus Lucan trailed him in silence, guarding his thoughts.
Both halted as they reached the sand to remove boots before
stepping into the coolness. The sensation was refreshing and
relaxing.

“Don’t do this
often enough,” Lucan murmured.

“Likewise.”

They walked a
while in companionable silence - a guard materialised unobtrusively
on the grassy verge - and then Torrullin sighed and Lucan knew the
time had come to talk about Cat. Torrullin sat on the moist beach,
arms loosely clasped about bent knees, ankles crossed.

“Tell me.”

Lucan threw
himself down onto his side, head propped in one hand. “I’m not sure
where to start.”

“Then allow me
to tell you what I know. She never leaves Valaris and she dies not
long after the destruction of Torrke.” Torrullin stared fixedly
into the ocean. Inky black water; there was no moon. “Before you
add to that, I want to know how you came by your information.”

“I did
research. I came prepared, for I knew you were coming. The tale I
spun about tracking the source of the incidents, although real, was
the excuse I used to be in place for this.”

A silence and
then, “How did you know?”

Lucan was then
silent.

“Lucan?”

“A blood-oath,
Enchanter.”

Torrullin
turned his head in surprise. “You’ve lost me.”

Lucan gave a
smile. “Matt’s oath. I inherited it.”

Real
astonishment, and then misgiving. “That was unnecessary of
Matt.”

“Not to him.
He never had the opportunity to act on his oath, so he passed it
on. My brother was already Peacekeeper when our father died,
therefore the responsibility of fulfilment came to me.”

“I’m willing
to release …”

“I stand by
it.”

“Why would you
want to?”

Lucan sighed,
a mature and tired sound. “I hadn’t meant to blurt it out quite
yet; it was meant for the day you tried to send me back to Xen, but
here it is. I can’t answer the why in a way that would satisfy you,
or any other for that matter, except to say it fits. It is. If you
tell me to let go, you’d be asking me to stop breathing. I am
…”

“Lucan. I am
with you. Some things just … fit.”

“Thank
you.”

“I wish you
had chosen a different fit.”

“It chose me,
my Lord,” Lucan smiled. “This means you are my liege.”

“The oath is
to the Vallorin.”

“No, Matt
swore to you.”

“And I made it
clear he would owe his loyalty to my successor.”

“He never
swore to that. Semantics, I know, but he dared any Valleur to tell
him otherwise.”

Torrullin
grinned. “I can see him doing that, yes. Did he speak with Tannil
about this?”

“Matt was no
fool. He dropped the bombshell when Tannil was only twenty and
somewhat inexperienced.”

“And not yet
of age,” Torrullin murmured, shaking his head in mock exasperation.
“And thus the ever-so-smart Matt exacted from him what he wanted.
The Elders allowed that?”

“Twenty years,
Enchanter; not long enough for grief to pass. Most of them probably
felt the same way.”

Torrullin
inclined his head. “And you sensed my return due to this oath?”

“It was not
sensing exactly, more like a connection. Again, one that simply
fit.”

“Ah.”
Torrullin returned to his perusal of the dark ocean. “Now tell me
about Cat.”

Lucan pushed
himself erect to sit facing the sea. “She wouldn’t heed the
warnings. They told her to stay away from Torrke. Moss did, Lowen
apparently begged, but she wouldn’t listen. Saska tried to stop
her. I think only Matt would’ve prevailed over his sister, and Matt
was heartbroken when he heard years later … anyway.” Lucan drew
breath, but Torrullin interrupted.

“Did Matt
assign blame?”

“Himself
mostly.”

“Continue.”

“Cat was
beyond grief-stricken and she went to Torrke before attempt was
made to begin the renewal.”

“Dear
god.”

The Xenian did
not dare look his way or show sympathy. He went on in a flat
tone.

“There was no
radiation, but the destruction was extremely otherworldly to
someone like her. Nothing hurt her there, but nothing could
convince her you survived what she beheld. The realms beyond were
impossibly remote, a fantasy spun by bards and poets - strange
really, for she was raised believing in life after death. Well,
there it was, and she was by all accounts devastated and couldn’t
trust the Enchanter would return. Who knows what went on in her
mind, but physically she began to waste away …”