The Sleeper Sword (84 page)

“Samuel has a
valid point,” Lucan murmured. “We need to get him waving
enchantments to check it out; it could work.”

Torrullin
sighed. Another Valla was about to go beyond the call of duty. “If
you are willing, Samuel.”

“I am.”

“Yes!” Lucan
crowed.

“Caballa, will
you help in this?” Torrullin asked.

She nodded.
“Although I’m not sure how long it will take.”

“Samuel, you
realise you may present yourself to Tymall?”

“If it helps
make Valaris safe for Curin and Tristan, I’m in,” Samuel
murmured.

“Fine. Lucan,
Caballa, go ahead.”

Happy with a
new challenge, the Xenian asked of her, “A private chamber?”

She lifted her
shoulders and dropped them. “And just this morning I thought I was
at peace with myself. Fine, come with me.”

Torrullin
watched them go, his gaze unreadable.

“It’s never
simple, is it?” Mitrill said and took Caltian’s arm. “Come,
husband, let us rustle up something to eat.”

Torrullin
glanced at those remaining. “Expect disaster this night.
Appearances are deceiving.”

He turned,
striding back the way they came. Let Margus do the creating - he no
longer had the stomach.

“I’ll be in
the library.”

Chapter
73

Come forth,
friend and enemy, and feel the bite of the cold.

Friend and
enemy are one.

~ Arc, poet

Hunger making
him restless, Torrullin contemplated heading out to see how Margus
fared and how Byron coped there, when Lucan’s ashen face preceded
the Xenian into the library.

A fire was
lit, and still the young man’s pallor was unmistakable.

Torrullin
dropped the book he paged through. “Lucan?”

“You said to
expect disaster and it has come. Tymall is here, in the
facility.”

His heartbeat
slurred. “Where?”

“His signature
is pervasive. I don’t know.”

Move
.
Do something
. “Account for everyone, while I pin him down.”
Torrullin strode out.

Finding his
son was the last thing on his mind when he stepped beyond the arch
into the stone passageway. He drew up, and then ran.

Behind him
Lucan gave a gasp and pounded on his heels.

Caltian weaved
along the draughty passage, fingers covering his heart. Blood
pumped between those white fingers in great spurts. He stumbled
into Torrullin’s arms.

“Help Mitrill
…” he managed, eyes glazing over.

“Caltian, stay
with me.” Torrullin lowered the dying man to the floor.

“I made my
peace, Enchanter, even with my love for you,” Caltian said, hands
falling away from his chest.

Torrullin put
his hands on his friend, willing healing, willing life.

Not soon
enough.

Caltian,
husband to Mitrill, surrogate father to Tannil, father to Fay,
Beast Breecher and true friend, was dead. His blood spurted for a
short time and then that too ceased.

Lucan ran for
the kitchens and, his face ravaged, Torrullin rose to stumble after
him. He could not help Caltian, but perhaps Mitrill.

Please god,
let her be alive.

They found her
after minutes of fruitless searching, lying in a pool of blood. It
was too late for her also.

“No,” Lucan
croaked, so pale he seemed on the verge of crossing over.

Torrullin rose
from Mitrill’s side, fingers blood-smeared. He gripped Lucan’s
shoulder. “Where’s Samuel?”

“W-with
Caballa … I-I came for water, sensed-sensed …”

Torrullin took
the Xenian’s face in his hands. “Look at me, Lucan.”

A slow
re-focusing.

“That’s
better. Listen now. We cannot help Caltian or Mitrill, but we can
help Samuel. Focus. This evil leaves a mark. Use it to find Tymall.
Now!”

Lucan’s head
shook in Torrullin’s hands. “He’s gone.”

“Are you
certain?”

A swift nod,
without doubt.

“Are you all
right?”

“No.” A voice
filled with pain.

Torrullin
sighed and removed his hands. “You did well.”

With
deliberate calm he stepped over to the stove and removed the
bubbling pot from the heat. Mitrill’s last duty to this realm,
never to be shared. A black despair overcame him then, but he
pushed it aside. He had to face Tannil.

“Gather the
others in the library.” Give the shocked man something to do or he
would crumble. “Go,” he said. “Leave Margus to his devices.”

Lucan turned
away like an automaton.

Torrullin
looked down on Mitrill. Her golden hair laid spread like a halo
around her lovely face, tawny eyes staring up. Tymall had surprised
her and Caltian at the stove. Perhaps they laughed over the pots,
or kissed, or were too involved in discussion. Whatever it was,
they had not sensed him until it was too late.

Sword slashes
to the neck, heart and gut. Hands cut to ribbons where she
attempted to cover vital organs. Death coming too fast to cry for
help. Caltian had lived longer, came looking for the man he hoped
could save his wife, without the strength to send a call through
the spaces.

A terrible way
to die.

His son had
been merciless.

Yet Caltian
was unafraid of the journey ahead, had spoken of peace made, a life
accepted, a death embraced. Mitrill, lovely self-possessed Mitrill,
lay looking upward with only serenity in her sightless gaze. She,
too, was unafraid of the coming journey.

Torrullin
closed his eyes, wondering if they were not the lucky ones.
Somewhere, right now, these two reached out, hands touching, and
walked together, this reality and its current terrors a fading
memory. Yes, they were the lucky ones.

He bent and
gathered Mitrill to him and lifted her. Carrying her with as much
tenderness as if she was still alive, he took her to her husband.
He laid both of them out on the warm carpet of the library and
covered them with a throw from one of the armchairs.

“I’m sorry,”
he whispered, and had no more to give.

Tannil’s face
riveted attention.

He stood over
the shrouded forms, his face like alabaster and as unmoving.

Torrullin was
in the shadows on the opposite side of the chamber, amid the
mustiness of old books, and had not the strength to go to his
grandson. He was about to, despite that, when Tannil swung
around.

“I wonder if
my darling sister knows what her lover has done this night.”

He was
white-hot furious and required instant outlet. He swiped up a
marble sculpture from a nearby table and threw it into the nearest
bookshelf. Books fell hard and fluttering to the floor and the
sculpture rang dully as it came to rest.

Nobody
interfered.

Torrullin, in
the shadows, thought anger was better than debilitating grief, and
let Tannil be.

Then, not yet
able to assimilate grief and horror, more piled into the
crucible.

Caballa cried
out.

Tannil glared
at her and then his eyes changed. “Is it Teroux and Vania?” He
looked around, searching for Torrullin.

“No,” Caballa
croaked.

Torrullin
stepped into the firelight.

She steadied
as Tannil slumped, and sought Torrullin also, eyes bleak. “The Vall
Peninsula has iced over. People freeze literally where they stand
and babies die in their cribs.” She paused as if listening. “They
say this is your doing, my Lord, elemental defence against the
darklings. They confuse darkling with soltakin.”

Defence
inherent in the elements was known, but it was effective only
against the soltakin army brought to Valaris. Nobody would remember
the distinction.

“They say they
saw you weave the enchantment,” Caballa added.

Tannil growled
low in his throat, his anger boiling anew.

“Tymall
glamoured to look like you,” Declan murmured.

“Cease
talking,” Torrullin said. “Words here, now, mean deaths up north.
Caballa, I need you to go there and reverse the enchantment, then
do what you can for anyone that can be saved. Take the Valleur
outside with you.”

She glanced at
Tannil and then at Samuel and was gone. A moment later a subtle
shift in the atmosphere told of the Valleur absenting from the
facility.

“Samuel,
Lucan, you two continue with what you proposed earlier. A secret
location and tell no one - not even me.”

Both men could
only stare at him.

“This must not
happen again. It’s imperative we find a manner of tracking. Set
aside emotion and find the way. I don’t want to see either of you
again until you either succeed or know you have failed. Go!”

Tannil spoke
in a monotone. “Samuel will be unprotected alone.”

“Not if Lucan
gets him away while Tymall focuses on ice and death. You two are
wasting time, go!”

Lucan gripped
Samuel’s arm and vanished with him.

“Is that
wise?” Declan murmured.

Torrullin
glared at the Siric. “Can you find them?”

A surprised
look. “No.”

“Lucan is no
fool. They’ll be fine.”

“What can I
do?” Byron asked.

It occurred to
him the Valleur were a highly emotional people, more than humans,
but this night he could also see how hard they were beyond that.
Here was grief, terrible and complete, and they functioned, as if
they could compartmentalise, which few humans were able to do
well.

“Is there a
farspeaker here?”

“Yes, my Lord.
She was deemed not ready …”

“She is now.
Use her to liaise with Kismet and Marcus.”

Byron inclined
his head. “I must recall key personnel to co-ordinate rescue
operations, liaise with the Electan’s office, the media and your
people.”

“Do so,”
Torrullin agreed. “But don’t send them north. They may be needed
for the south soon enough.”

The
white-haired man uttered an oath and bowed out from the
library.

Only Tannil
and Declan remained with him. He inclined his head at the Siric,
who knew what that meant.

Declan went
into the passage, but did not go far. He came to rest in silence
around the corner, where he could hear what was said.

Why he needed
to be there he could not explain, but knew it had something to do
with these two very personal deaths … and a bond between the two
Valla men alone in a room with their corpses.

Silence
reigned.

Firelight
flickered.

The dead lay
shrouded.

“They would
find each other on the other side, would they not?” A plea from
Tannil.

“Without a
doubt.”

Tannil turned
a ravaged face to his grandfather. “How does it work? What of my
father waiting for my mother? Where does that leave Caltian?”

Torrullin took
a deep breath and released. “I don’t know how it works, but suspect
the rules are different there. Earthly bonds cannot be the same as
heavenly ones, and yet I think where love was great and real, a
matching of souls into eternity, then such love cannot be undone in
death.”

“Where does
that leave Caltian?”

“He is with
your mother, Tannil. Tristamil’s great love was Skye; there is no
conflict for them.”

Tannil
swallowed. “That is good.”

“Forgive me,
son, for I could not save them.”

Tannil stilled
and looked away.

“I came too
late and I wish I had …”

“Quiet!” A
stony face turned back to Torrullin. “It’s not your fault, yet all
of it is to be found under your feet.
Your
past,
your
choices,
your
son,
your
duality. Do not ask
forgiveness of me if you can’t stop a hell of your making!”

It hurt badly
… for it was the truth. “Let me help you.”

“Do not lay
hands on me!” Tannil snarled. “I need no sedative.”

Silence.

“Allow me to
help you take them to the Keep,” Torrullin said.

“The Keep?
Why? That is not their home.”

“You cannot go
to Valla Island with them.”

A muscle moved
in Tannil’s jaw. “I shall see to my mother and my heart’s father as
I
see fit. No one touches them now.”

He turned from
Torrullin’s intense gaze and sank to his knees beside the bodies.
His shoulders began to shake.

Torrullin
understood the angry grief of losing those who birthed one, raised
one. He knew how it hurt and how lonely the grieving was, for such
deaths were a part of oneself torn away. He closed in on Tannil and
looked down onto the golden head, his own gaze bleak. Words were
immaterial, sympathy was misplaced, and grief could not be shared
soon after the fact.

“Tell me what
you want of me now, Tannil.”

Tannil slowly
raised his head. Vannis’s face stared at him.

“Nothing, my
Lord, for me. I want you to stop your son before he gets to mine.
Leave all this, this … leave this to us, to others, and concentrate
all you are on what you loosed on us.”

Tannil rose, a
fluid movement that forced Torrullin to step back, flinching.

“Later I may
understand you, Enchanter, but it’s not this night. Stay away from
me. And leave them alone.” A finger jerked downwards and Tannil
turned and stalked out.

He strode
unseeing past Declan, and the Siric slipped into the library,
brought up short by the desolation on Torrullin’s face. The
Enchanter’s popularity had begun a downward slide, even in his own
ranks.

“That was
grief talking, Torrullin.”

A mental shake
and the shutters came down. “Yes. I know how it feels to lay blame
where it is close. Leave him, and help him while I am gone.”

“Now is not
the time to leave.”

A wry smile.
“Even so, I must, if only for Tannil’s peace of mind. Besides, my
presence changes nothing. It’s true I am the aggressor. You do what
you do, as you have for two millennia without me, and let me do
what I was born to. Alone.”