The Dreamer Stones (33 page)

Lowen sensed
it and began to relax. This was like to returning home, for
Grinwallin had a big place in her heart. “Thank you, my Lord
Emperor. And, believe me, I’m as astonished as …” She froze. Then,
“Who is that?”

She stared
past Samuel, who watched her in utter amazement.

“Lucan,”
Torrullin replied. The Xenian approached through the small gates
from the plain. “I told you about him.”

As Teighlar
glanced between the two, she said, “Yes, but … gods, he looks like
Matt. Younger.” She had a hand to her breast and her eyes were
suspiciously bright.

Matters were
crazy from there.

Lucan took one
look at Lowen, and knew her. He barely greeted Torrullin before
launching into an intense questioning session Lowen countered with
many of her own, leaving the others breathless in the pace they
assumed, the two kin having millennia to catch up on.

Then Belun,
Centuar, sauntered closer with Declan at his heels.

The word had
evidently gone out, as these things were wont to, for moments after
the Siric there was Caballa and Kismet, their faces sombre and
filled with the strain of grief. There were purple shadows under
both sets of eyes, which Torrullin noted, but had no opportunity to
address. He greeted them and was then drawn into something else.
The two Elders glanced at each other, caught Teighlar’s thoughtful
gaze, and retreated from the craziness to await an opportunity to
speak.

Everyone
exclaimed, questions hurtled, mostly unanswered in the growing
melee, and Krikian accosted Kismet, who gripped an old friend in a
bear hug, for a brief time able to function normally.

There was not
much sense in the many words, and even Lowen tried, laughing, to
make herself understood.

Caballa
remained silent, her gaze on Torrullin, hating that his return
would be marred. He seemed freer, less burdened. Her heart nearly
ceased - dear god, how would he react?

Torrullin
turned a questioning gaze her way, sensing something of her
thoughts, but not enough. She averted her eyes.

She wished
now, fervently, they had waited.

Teighlar stood
in the midst, bombarded from all sides, and started to laugh
helplessly.

Quilla came
next, but contented himself with the side-lines. His usually
cherubic face was pale and still, although his eyes keenly flitted
from one face to another, pausing with longer interest on Lowen
before moving on. He nodded twice, once to himself on seeing the
Xenian seer with Torrullin, and once to Torrullin in silent
greeting.

There was much
laughter. There was tension also. Things were unsaid as connections
were reforged.

The secret, if
ever it was one, was out.

Tristan and
Teroux barrelled into the oval with Curin in tow, all three
breathless. Torrullin grinned at the sight, a grin that left when
Saska appeared at his side an instant later.

She paled in
shock upon seeing Lowen in the full-throated crowd. She did not
even greet her husband. “Cat?”

Lowen turned,
sensing something was amiss. Much was wrong in this gathering, as
if waiting to explode, pain, grief, but this was personal. She
paled also, staring at Saska.

The coldness
overcame Torrullin again. He thought he divested himself of it on
the lip of the Abyss and, in the sense of quiet engendered by Lowen
and Saska, he could not say anything as he struggled to set it
aside. He had to have a clear head.

Teighlar,
bless him, came to the rescue.

The Emperor
spoke into the lesser noise. “My ears are deafened and my throat
completely dried out. We need refreshment. Shall we repair to the
Hall?”

Torrullin
mentally shook dread aside. He did not look at Lowen. “Yes,
excellent. Saska, shall we?”

He presented
his arm to her and vanished from the oval with her as soon as her
fingers connected.

“She’s the
woman you went to see?” Saska demanded as they alighted in the
coolness of the Great Hall.

“Yes.”

“She’s like
Cat.”

“She’s not at
all like Cat,” Torrullin denied, his face a mask.

“Don’t lie to
me!” Saska hissed, her paleness giving way to an angry flush.

“I tell the
truth.”

Then the
others were there. Curin, laughing, transported between the two
boys. Tristan had mastered the art, and father and son impressed
each other equally in their new prowess. Teroux, naturally, learned
it in the cradle.

Teighlar went
into action, issuing orders, and not long after they were seated
about a huge circular table outside in the pleasant shade of the
vine-covered portico. A feast fit for ten kings lay spread before
them.

The boys
needed no encouragement.

Teighlar and
Torrullin sat opposite each other, with Lowen on the Emperor’s
left, while Saska sat in sullen silence on her husband’s right.
Teighlar saw a problem and although he did not suspect Torrullin of
a roving eye – again - he could understand Saska’s fear. Lowen was
Cat, not in person and features, but certainly in memory, and thus
he temporarily separated the problem.

The Skylers
sat as a family with Teroux wedged close to Tristan. The two
appeared to embark on an eating contest.

Opposite them
there was Quilla, Belun, Declan and Kismet. Caballa took the empty
seat to Torrullin’s left, while Krikian stood and surveyed the
autumn beauty that was Grinwallin. He drank in familiar sights like
a buried man who has again seen the sun. Such was Cèlaver, and the
castle had not belied it. A seat waited for him beside Kismet.

Torrullin
stared at his plate. He was hungry and placed wedges of fruit
there, but found he could not eat. The Syllvan were a presence
still too close for comfort, his stomach churning at what he
learned.

He pushed his
plate aside and lifted his wine glass instead, but one whiff of the
brew and he was nauseous. It was in his mind also, he realised.
There was too much to say and to hear of, to enjoy this excellent
fare. He replaced his glass untouched and glanced around the
table.

Lucan came
belatedly, sitting now beside Lowen, the two again in
conversation.

Teighlar
surveyed all with indulgence, yet there was an underlying tension
in the man, a sense of waiting. Maybe it had something to do with
the intruder, the unnamed entity that tracked him to the castle
before he entered the realm leading to the Abyss.

Perhaps it was
something else.

Teighlar
glanced his way and he looked into those eyes. They were unreadable
and yet a cast to his cheeks suggested sympathy.

Torrullin’s
heart thundered. Something terrible had happened, something of
intensely personal meaning. Teighlar looked away, for it was not
his place to reveal what that was.

Conversation
flowed, except for Caballa, isolated in silence, and Kismet, who
seemed to have a hard time forming words. And Saska, propped up in
silence akin to a cocoon.

Torrullin
stood. The boys did not look his way, giggling as they filled their
mouths, but the others did, expectantly, except Caballa and Lowen.
The latter he understood, but Caballa had something on her mind,
for even in sightlessness she had always looked at him.

Should he
settle matters with Saska first? It would be easier then to
concentrate on the rest … but no. She might upset him also. Should
he address Caballa’s burden, one Kismet shared? He glanced at her,
and decided to address what took him away. They knew he went in
search of a dream’s closure and possible answers to the dilemma of
Tymall. They had to be informed.

“Krikian,
please take your seat.”

He waited
until the Valleur did so. He gazed at the boys before continuing.
He considered this affected them also, whether they grasped it or
not, and should therefore hear it. Curin’s enquiring gaze - she
really was a wonder with the young ones - drew a smile from him and
a shake of his head.

Torrullin
inhaled and started speaking. “Tymall’s days are numbered. I
discovered there are qualifications we can employ against him. One
of those states he has to be the last Valla to grab the prize of
this reality. Tymall’s revenge is more personal than that, yet it
is part of the reason he targets us.” Torrullin leaned forward,
hands on the table. “The Vallas will enter deeper hiding; do this,
and even if the rest sit back and do nothing from this moment on,
he will be stopped. The realm he inhabited in death will draw him
back and he cannot reverse it. It will be over.”

He
straightened when both Caballa and Samuel moved to speak.

“Hear me out.
That is one choice, and I take it with both hands. The blood will
survive and his end will draw near. In the interim we thwart him at
other strategies.” He gazed around the table. “I know what you
expected of me, yet I could not do it, cannot do it. Tymall is evil
that must end, yes, but not by his blood on my hands, not by giving
the command to another - the blood would still be on my hands. I
sought atonement for the deed, an alternative was presented and I
shall
use it.”

There was only
silence.

“Full
explanations will be given. Right now I tell you all Vallas will go
into hiding where Tymall cannot discern signature. The way was
given to do this.”

“No.” Samuel
shook Curin’s distressed hand off. “Now hear me. I’m glad to hear
you don’t have to do this terrible deed …” and he glared around the
table before bringing his gaze back to Torrullin. “And if the
alternative is workable, I’m for it, absolutely. However, and we
can go into the detail in due time, know now I can’t and will not
go into hiding.”

“Samuel, this
is not time for obstinacy.”

“I know what
Tymall aims better than you think. It’s the reason I must remain
visible.”

The
undercurrents now roared for release. “Before I put my foot down,”
and Torrullin was as grim as he stared back at Samuel, “perhaps I
should hear what happened here.” He withdrew his gaze from the man
and glanced around the table. “In my ignorance I may tackle the
wrong end of the …”

“… pig?”
Teighlar murmured helpfully, and diffused the tension.

Torrullin
relaxed. “Make fun at your peril, you impertinent Senlu.”

“I’ll not
interrupt again,” Teighlar smiled, and now sympathy was
full-fledged in his eyes.

The tension
was back immediately as Torrullin asked, “Where is Tannil?”

It was bad. He
noticed Teroux’s fixed expression. The boy listened, but his eyes
suggested he merely sensed the shift in the atmosphere; he did not
know.

Torrullin sat.
Hiding Vallas could wait. News of Digilan could wait. Samuel’s new
authority could wait. His heart constricted. Only death would cause
this quiet, and not a kind death. The empty vessel filled
unmercifully. Torrullin drew breath.

He was a grown
man - Teroux a mere child.

Kismet
half-clambered to his feet, glancing at Caballa, and Torrullin
caught the movement. “Sit. Wait.” Kismet sank down and would not
look at anybody. Beside him, Torrullin felt waves of sympathy from
Saska, and on the other side, he sensed Caballa’s growing fear.

“Just wait,”
he repeated. “Teroux, come sit with me, please.”

Tannil had
passed on, of that he was now certain. He smiled encouragingly as
Teroux, feeling all eyes on him, climbed off his chair and rounded
the table. Torrullin pushed his seat back and took the child onto
his lap.

“My mother is
in Aaru now, grandfather,” Teroux murmured as he nestled in. Bright
eyes peered up at Torrullin. “Has my father gone to be with
her?”

Vania as well?
Merciful Mother. He should have stayed to … but that, he knew, was
the road to perdition. “I don’t know, Teroux,” he said, stroking
the child’s golden curls. “Let us find out together, all
right?”

“All right,”
Teroux said.

Saska
swallowed a sob next to them, covering her face in her hands.

Curin,
stricken, watched the little boy on the fair man’s lap.

He looked up.
Caballa, Kismet and Quilla knew. Belun and Declan suspected.
Teighlar was aware something terrible came to pass. The others had
no idea, not even Saska. They knew Tannil was dead, but not the how
of it. He turned in his seat, Teroux in his arms, to Caballa. He
raised his brows.

It was not a
question- it was a threat.

She could not
meet his eyes, but her face was tragic. She concentrated on the
boy. “Yes, Teroux, your father has gone to join your mother in Aaru
…” She swallowed over the mistruth; no one could begin to guess
where Tannil’s soul was.

Teroux slumped
against Torrullin, who tightened his hold. Yellow eyes filled with
tears. “He didn’t say goodbye!” he cried out, knives in Torrullin’s
heart. “He left me alone! I want my mother!”

Caballa could
only stare at the child, tears coursing over her cheeks.

“Be strong,
Teroux,” Torrullin whispered, pulling the little body closer to his
warmth. “It hurts when we’re left behind and sometimes we don’t get
the chance to say goodbye. It doesn’t mean your father didn’t want
to and I’m sure he tried …” His voice broke as Teroux burst into
noisy sobs.

Torrullin’s
whole body shook as he absorbed the child’s grief, adding it to his
own. Moments later Teroux closed his eyes under the comfort of the
enchantment, slipping into dreamland.

“I’ll take
him, Torrullin,” Curin said from beside him.

He raised a
ravaged face. “You’re his mother now, Curin. Take care of him.”

She nodded
tearfully and leaned over Torrullin to take the sleeping child to
her. Before she straightened, she stared into Torrullin’s eyes. “I
wish someone could take away your pain as you did for this child.
I’m sorry.” She straightened and began to walk away. “Tristan,
come, son …”