The Sleeper Sword (64 page)

Mitrill’s eyes
closed and she nodded.

“I’m sorry,
Mitrill, but she’s headstrong, opinionated and difficult to
control. The choice was to help her or wash my hands of her.”

“Then you did
right,” Mitrill whispered, looking at her husband.

“By god, how
can you say that?” Caltian spluttered.

“Fay is Fay,
Caltian.”

“Mother!”
Tannil accused.

Mitrill
ignored both irate men. “Tell us everything, Torrullin.”

He could not
tell them everything. He spoke of Tymall’s attempt to use Fay,
having been drawn to her by the enmity between them, and Fay’s
subsequent reaction to the knowledge she was lied to. He told them
of the meetings thereafter, the staged arguments. He did not reveal
her blood sang again or that he could track the singing, and he did
not tell them Fay was as attracted to Tymall as he was to her. He
did not add he thought she was a danger to the Vallas.

“Do you know
where they are?” Tannil demanded.

“Not yet.”
Torrullin lied with a straight face.

Caltian stood.
“Enchanter, you have your reasons, as does Fay, for this terrible
thing, but I’ll never forgive you if she’s hurt.”

“I accept
that.”

Caltian
inclined his head, and then, “I apologise for my words
earlier.”

Torrullin
merely nodded.

Mitrill stood
beside her husband. “Is she attracted to Tymall?”

“Mother!”

“Hush, Tannil.
A man like Tymall won’t come again and again for a woman merely
because she’s a link to his father, whatever the situation between
father and son. Tymall isn’t blind and Fay is beautiful, and also
mixed-up enough to be particularly interesting. And Tymall is
himself glorious to look at, and Fay isn’t blind. I am now asking
if my daughter returned his interest.” She stared at Torrullin.

“He did not
touch her, Mitrill.”

“That is not
the answer I seek.”

He stared
back. “I’m sure I don’t know.”

Caltian
growled and stalked out.

Mitrill came
to stand close. “Torrullin, the truth, please.”

He looked
away.

“Dear god.”
Mitrill went to find Caltian.

Tannil was
apoplectic. “How dare you insinuate that? And, Tymall was here and
you knew
and
let him get away?”

“I want to
save my wife.”

“At the
expense of my sister? Do you despise her so much?”

“You
underestimate her.”

“You
underestimate your son. Enchanter.” Tannil jerked to his feet and
left in a fury.

Torrullin
sighed. “Samuel. Your turn.”

Samuel cleared
his throat. “Fay could be playing a double game.”

Surprise. “It
has occurred to me, yes. I am astounded you see it.”

“She isn’t
what she appears as. You need to be wary.”

“Wary, yes,
but she is Valla. Misguided, but not evil.”

Samuel chose
not to refute that. “What happens now?”

Torrullin sat,
drawing the coffee pot nearer. “Now we wait.”

There was one
thing that begged doing and it had to be done before he brought
Saska, Fay and Margus home.

Tymall’s fury
would spill over when he foiled him in taking from him the object
of his hate, the object of his desire and the object of his
ridicule. He would lose all aces, power and face, and reprisal
would be swift.

Excess fury
would spill over onto Valaris.

The planet and
its people needed added protection.

It was time to
raise the Throne.

Chapter
58

How enamoured
we are of shiny things. A delusion worth losing wealth and reason
to. Strange.

~ Tattle’s
Blunt Adventures

When Torrullin
cleared the Keep of retainers and visitors alike that afternoon,
without explanation, all knew something brewed.

Thus they did
not leave; they congregated outside the Dragon doors and as
daylight gave way to evening, rumours flitted through the city and
elsewhere, swelling the watchers.

They waited in
patient silence and Torrullin was frustrated.

He wanted no
witnesses to the approaching event, for event it was, and would
have denied even Mitrill, Caltian and Samuel, and here he was,
swamped by spectators. The massive doors could not keep
secrets.

The Valleur
were free to follow their instincts and their instincts had stayed
them at the doors.

With outward
calm he called them together.

Tannil,
Mitrill, Caltian and Samuel, and moments later Quilla was there and
with him Declan and Belun. He had not asked them to attend and was
baleful.

Belun shrugged
and met that stare. “We should be here.” The Centuar, as one of two
remaining Guardians, had lost his previous sense of humour and
playfulness to become a serious creature, often given to rages.
“Quilla told us of this.”

“Of what?”
Mitrill demanded.

She was
ignored. Torrullin flicked his gaze to the birdman. “Now you
out-guess me.”

Quilla folded
his hands. “It is time.”

Declan said
nothing and was not singled out. There was a bond now between
Enchanter and Siric that required no words.

“What are you
planning?” Mitrill said.

Although she
heard Torrullin’s reasoning about Fay and appeared to accept with
greater equanimity, she was angry her daughter was used.

Torrullin
glanced over his shoulder and shrugged.

Tannil passed
a hand across his brow. “The Throne.”

Torrullin
nodded. It was, indeed, time.

Mitrill paled,
moving closer to Caltian. The pair gazed at each other.

Logically,
intrinsically, they knew as Tannil did, the Throne was necessary to
the protection of Valaris. They understood something hastened
Torrullin’s need of it and could not deny he would be more aware of
currents. Not yet knowing the full truth about Fay, they could only
speculate. Yet its raising could make or break a Vallorin and that
was terrible to contemplate.

Tannil should
be granted opportunity to prepare.

Mitrill said
so.

Torrullin
denied it. “It is done or not. Tannil, if you had time to think,
you will think too much. Feel and act, is what that seat
requires.”

Mitrill loved
her son, and Caltian did also. It was Caltian, in fact, who denied
the need. “Do we have to do this? We have got by until now.”

Declan
murmured, “Getting by is not sufficient.”

Silence.

Tannil stepped
forward. “Is it time?”

Torrullin
dipped his head. “It cannot be delayed. Tannil, it cannot be
postponed now anyway. The seat knows we talk about it. Walk away
now and you will never be its Vallorin.”

“Torrullin!”

“Mitrill,
trust me on this.”

Tannil gave a
wry smile. “Well, honestly, have we not procrastinated long enough?
Fear is no excuse. Mother, when has fear
ever
been an
excuse? We need the protection of this final sacred site to close
the circle that is fourteen. Even one day will create barriers
until now weakened by procrastination. We need those barriers to
survive.”

All present
knew those facts, and all present understood he said them aloud for
inner equilibrium. He faced a trial. He faced judgement.

Tannil drew
breath. “The Throne has been our diviner and for two millennia we
ignored its will …” Torrullin was about to speak, but Tannil raised
a hand. “No. All see it that way.”

Torrullin
stilled, and Tannil gazed over his shoulder at the closed Dragon
doors and there was majesty in him.

“I need to
know where I stand, and they need know it also. Let them in.”

Torrullin
forced himself to silence.

Tannil turned
back to face his grandfather. “Know I am prepared to step
aside.”

“Know I do not
want rulership.”

Quilla stepped
forward. “All assume the seat will recognise only Torrullin and it
is a natural assumption considering its stubbornness in returning
for Tannil. However, I say this, it will know your hearts and, I am
certain, will factor it into its recognition.”

The birdman
looked at no one, looking instead into the dimness of the
ceiling.

“Tannil is
prepared to step aside, an unselfish gesture that speaks highly of
his desire to do what is best - the Throne will know it makes
Tannil a worthy Vallorin. In the same way it will know Torrullin’s
reluctance to assume the mantle of ruler once more, and, of course,
it means he will be a worthy Vallorin also. In the final analysis,
I believe, the question will be - what is best for the Valleur? Is
the seat not part of the Golden? Does it truly desire an Immortal
Vallorin, when it must know the Valleur would stagnate without the
impetus of change? I admit, we cannot guess and we may not assume,
but I do feel the Valleur Throne will choose what is best for the
Valleur. No one here needs fear otherwise.”

As Tannil and
Torrullin looked at each other, Mitrill said, “Open the Dragon
doors.”

Declan moved
his hand and the doors swung wide. The Valleur entered.

Mitrill left
Caltian’s side, turning to face them. “Valleur, we raise the
Throne.” A loud, sustained roar of approval answered her words. She
turned away, tears pricking under lowered lids.

Caltian
gripped her hand.

The Throne lay
directly beneath the sitting room, far down and in a form
unrecognisable to sentient eyes.

Once Torrullin
created an inspiring Throne-room around the seat, employing
Q’lin’la Song to bring forth great space and form where now an
intimate sitting room had pride of place. In those days Torrullin
was Vallorin and proud to have the Throne gleaming in its magical
setting.

That space
contained too many memories. Some painful, some not so. The twins’
Coming-of-Age, Taranis sitting on the Throne, Vannis staying
deliberately away from it, Matt Dalrish swearing his oath of
loyalty, Tristamil and Mitrill’s wedding, Cat watching him from the
crowd, Skye suffering over Tristamil, young Lowen and her too-wise
eyes, and the crowds, foreign and domestic - Valleur, human, Siric,
Sagorin, Centuar, Dinor, Beacon, Kallanon, and many more.

The
Throne-room was a hive of activity, a place to hear good tidings
and bad. It had seen celebration, death, plague, destruction. The
place where he said farewell to his father’s mortal remains, where
he beat his son to within an inch of his life, where Saska, Lady of
Life, offered the deal of demons.

Such a place
he no longer desired. Never did he want a duplicate revisited to
this Keep.

It was not
merely the area created for the Throne that held memories, it was
the Throne itself. It bore silent witness to pain, joy,
frustration, grief, laughter, anger, love, confrontation, illness,
terror and much else. It knew the Enchanter’s inner soul.

Torrullin was
wary of the honesty.

There was no
Dragon to pass on, even had Tannil come of age in his grandfather’s
presence, for that symbol of sovereignty was nullified the night
Neolone was defeated in Grinwallin’s crucible chamber. Thus, unlike
the past, where the Dragon was recognised as a passing of reign, by
the Throne also, there was no clear handover when Tannil was ready
to rule.

As the only
Valla male at the time, he was naturally regarded as ruler, but
without affirmation from the Dragon and without acknowledgement
from the Seat of Vallorins. He was a good ruler, but it was an
issue of continuity; he was loved, and yet the Valleur needed the
ancient proof.

Would the
Throne, therefore, assume Torrullin was Vallorin? Was that the
reason it refused Tannil’s calling?

All this and
more went through Torrullin’s mind. He bent his thoughts back to
the final time he sat on the seat, the incredible fusion that
altered his eye colour. He also remembered meeting Elianas in the
etheric … and Elianas telling him the time to meet would be near
when his eyes reverted to grey.

Let it not
happen now; he was not ready for the force behind the enigma.

Tannil could
be Vallorin in every way this night, freely affirmed by the seat,
and hopefully he would remove it from the Keep to Valla Island to
replace the wooden throne. Hopefully he would choose to rule from
the Isles, for he, Torrullin, desired the peace of Torrke for
himself.

Maybe it was
as simple as he could not bear to see the seat day after day … and
have to avoid it.

It would arise
at the back of the sitting room.

The Valleur
crowded closer, their joyous acclaim dying away to silent
anticipation. It was stifling.

Tannil was at
his side and together they surveyed the space.

Easy chairs,
low tables, artworks and the like, the things that made a sitting
room a place of comfort was intrusive now, out of place. As one, in
unspoken agreement, the two Vallas lifted their left hands, and
furniture and ornaments vanished.

Kismet,
arriving belatedly and pushing his way to the fore, saw the twin
gestures and lifted his hand to recall the goods from the ether.
Gently he settled it upon the balconies, knowing both Torrullin and
Tannil would overlook the need to recall, and thus leave the goods
out there to wreak unconscious havoc in the narrow realm of
vanished things. He was further afraid some entity would find
something and use it as a taliesman against the Valleur in the
future.

Nothing
happened then. Nobody moved. Tannil waited for Torrullin to
commence the process, while Torrullin hoped Tannil would make the
first move.

A faint
whisper of disquiet ran among the waiting Valleur.

Torrullin lost
his temper.

He whirled to
face them. “How dare you stand in judgement?” he cried out, his
voice carrying to those beyond the doors as well.