The Sleeper Sword (85 page)

“I’m staying
at your side.”

“No, Declan,
not for this, not yet. Our time as a team comes later.”

The Siric
heard it ring true inside him. “What are you going to do?”

A mechanical
smile. “I shall step past cowardice into the abyss and then I shall
return.”

Without a
further word or gesture Torrullin was gone.

Declan stared
at the vacated space.

The dream.
Another realm.

Walker of
Realms in truth.

Chapter
74

Absence is not
missing.

Presence has
more to it than being present.

~Awl

The Enchanter
appeared everywhere over the next few days and only those who knew
him could know the difference.

Tymall,
glamoured like his father and in his image and his name, caused
pain, death, destruction, doing so with greater and greater
glee.

The ice field
of the Vall Peninsula in midsummer decimated the population in that
region. Valleur reached out to them and died also, until Caballa
and a number of Elders summoned from Luvanor could reverse the
killer enchantment.

Seeing Valleur
die with them, Valarian survivors took them to their hearts, but
Torrullin was viewed with increasing suspicion. The higher the
pedestal, the harder the fall, and this was no different.

Darklings
returned on occasion and terror intensified. They did not attack
and their passing was marked each time with another catastrophe.
The darklings heralded death, and Torrullin was accused.

How easy to
fool those already fooled.

Fires erupted
in major centres visited by darklings. Suburbs burned to the
ground, food stores went up in flames. The Valleur summoned rain
but nothing could douse the blazes, and thus they ran their course,
leaving the centres black, places of ghosts and grief.

Summer
solstice came and went uncelebrated. Dark Moon came and with it
greater fear. The month of Fainscan, hottest month of summer, and
usually a period of time off, rolled in with Dark Moon, but never
was rest further removed from reality.

Again
darklings came, cackling glee, and every animal bred for food was
slaughtered. Fowl, goat, fish, sheep and cow. Farmers stood in
helpless disbelief. Winter would see only starvation. Fists were
raised to the Enchanter - it was easy and popular to lay every sin
at his feet.

Starvation
stared Valarians in the face, raising a spiteful finger, for the
oceans were poisoned. Edible fish, crab, lobster, eel, squid and
more floated to the surface, washed out by the tides. Food
poisoning caused many painful deaths before caution prevailed.
Grain and cereal rotted overnight in the fields. Ripe for
harvesting one day, not a single seed could be saved the next.

Within a week,
starvation was not only a spectre due with the cold season; it was
hungry hardship in the present.

Saska came to
Valaris, bringing with her a host of Luvanor’s Valleur, each
carrying a burden. To hell with the appearance of an invasion, this
was critical aid. They brought food, water, healing talents and all
manner of supplies. And were made welcome.

The word went
out and supplies were ferried in from elsewhere. Beacon, Xen,
Pleses, Yltri, Dinor and many others, the ambassadors of each world
bringing word of a willingness to aid in all things …except war. No
offworlder remained for longer than it was necessary to offload
supplies.

The Valleur,
numbering many thousands, went about their tasks grim-lipped, not
responding to the wild accusations of treachery against their
beloved Enchanter. Any refute would be turned on them as well, and
Valaris would suffer more.

Fainscan’s New
Moon went unnoticed in the night sky, a sliver of blue that should
lead to joyous dancing and feasting. Dancing then would have been
dancing for the dead only and feasting was beyond even the richest
merchant. Food was a luxury. Life fast became as well.

In the third
week, the Horde attacked.

“Come
on
, Samuel!” Lucan shouted. “You
can
! It’s inside
you!”

“I sense
nothing
!”

“You
told
me you could feel your blood change - why is this
hard?”

The two were
out in the low hills beyond Saswan, having left the dark,
nondescript cottage - home for the past few weeks - for the feel of
the sun on their backs. Stifled within, sick of hiding, both hoped
the fresh air would aid progress.

Progress was
non-existent. Lucan taught Samuel the theory, told him how to put
theory into practice, but this Valla had not found the spark that
set the magic on fire. Until he did, his signature could not be
used to track Tymall’s.

Both knew they
were out of time, Valaris was in trouble, and Tymall took full
advantage of the fact his father was missing, but once Torrullin
returned it would change. Tymall would retreat to begin the next
stage and they needed to be ready.

Samuel stared
at Lucan. It was no use. He was useless.

“Maybe I’m at
fault,” Lucan said. “Teaching is not something I have experience
in.

A loud chuckle
paralysed both.

“Did your
mothers and teachers instil nothing? Did they not tell you that
patience is a virtue?”

An old and
bent woman sat on a boulder, a crooked staff in one hand, the other
picking delicately at a flared nose. Her thin form was shrouded in
a shapeless and dusty robe, a threadbare scarf draped about her
head, both articles washed-out grey, wrinkled feet peeped bare and
scuffed from under the hem of her robe. Brown eyes in a wizened
face twinkled.

Not a
darkling, thank the Goddess.

Lucan found
his voice first. “Old Mother, why are you here? It’s dangerous to
be alone.”

“Your mother
taught you some manners at least. Manners are important, yes,
particularly in chaos. Why am I here? Shall I tell you? Yes, I
believe so. A question politely put deserves a response.” She
winked. “I heard how impatient you are, and I thought to
intervene.” She fell silent and looked at Samuel.

He said,
“Patience is time, and time is something we no longer have. Do you
live nearby and have we disturbed you?”

“I live
everywhere, for I am the muse of the wind, the voice of the forest,
the soul of the skies,” the old woman replied, and chuckled when
her words were met with disbelief. “You believe me not. Ah well, I
am accustomed to that. Now. You have wasted precious time in trying
too hard. Put aside the pressure for one day, forget all, and bend
your minds to the task at hand. One day such as this will buy you
ten of your current frustration.”

“No offence,
but it’s not that simple.” Lucan murmured.

She stood,
swaying a little. Waving away assistance, she approached. She was a
smelly old hag, her teeth stained, her fingers gnarled around her
staff. Halting before Samuel, she lifted the staff and touched the
well-rubbed head to his chest.

“Your world is
dying, young man. Every day more succumb to poisoned food, eaten
because there is nothing else. Aid comes, but it comes too slow,
and it will cease when the battle is raised to a new level. The One
has his own battle to fight first, before he may return to be all
he was meant to be. He thinks he delayed too long, but the time was
not fortuitous until now. Unfortunately his absence also gives evil
freer reign.

“You are a
bridge between those two, in this time, for another will be his
bridge in the future - that is another tale, and not for you. You
are the bridge now, you who are the essence of another. You have
inside the twin’s genetics and you are as vital to the struggle as
is the One, more than you trust yourself to be. You brought him
back to us, our beloved Enchanter, and you return to him something
precious lost, but above all, you are also the new Priest.”

“Who are you?”
Samuel croaked.

Lucan realised
they were in the presence of something ancient and magical.

“Did you not
hear? No one believes anymore, nobody but the One. He came to me a
long time ago. I shall not reveal whereof we spoke, but I shall
tell you I swore to aid this world, my world, yours, his. I am what
I said. Will you listen?”

“Yes.”

“You have the
son’s powers within you, Samuel, son of Benjamin, son of Torrullin.
Your heart has never been marked by the Dark. You are more innocent
than Tristamil was in the end; you are his inheritor. The new
Priest. Know that and your signature will come, a thing of purity
from which the other cannot hide, ever. He does not yet know how
important you are.”

“Priest?”

“Yes. The kind
to carry the Light into dark places. You can reveal the Warlock to
the One, and in revealing he will find … ah, but it is not yet
time. I am done here, I believe. Patience now, and believe in
yourself.”

Samuel bowed,
words escaping him.

The old woman
turned to Lucan. “Your blood oath will not protect him, but he will
need it. Soon. Beware the hurt, young Lucan Dalrish. He will hurt
you in the taking.”

Lucan
swallowed. No words came.

The old woman
stepped away and then transformed into a beautiful young woman,
changed again into a bird, snowy-white, pure of form, and with a
glad cry she took to the skies to become one with the heavens.

Samuel moaned,
entranced. “What was she?”

“Is,” Lucan
said after a time. “She is the planet.”

In that moment
he knew he would not return permanently to Xen III. He would live
out the rest of his life here, hoping to see her again.

“She is the
sentient soul of all we see, touch, feel, hear, sense, know, guess
and desire. She is first and she will be last of this holy ground.
What a privilege you and I were witness to this day, Samuel.”

Samuel stared
up at the blue sky. Priest.

“Lucan, we
have work to do.”

Mitrill and
Caltian were interred in an empty crypt and many smaller crypts
were erected with due reverence to receive the mortal remains of
the Valleur who succumbed on the ice field.

It was the
first interring since Taranis’s death two thousand years ago, and
the casualties of the Dinor battle in the city.

They waited
for Torrullin and then could wait no more.

When the
mourners left, only Tannil stood before his mother and her
husband’s final resting place, and beside him, Saska.

“Teroux and
Vania should’ve been here.”

Saska did not
respond. Both knew it was too dangerous.

“Taranis has
been gone long, but Torrullin misses him still. Does it get
easier?”

“He took that
death hard, but it’s easier now. Of course, his memories remain
fresh, but he copes.”

“I was harsh
with him, Saska.”

“He is often
harsh with you, Tannil. He understands.”

“Where is
he?”

“I don’t
know.”

She had told
him of the dreaming, about Tristan, about Rosenroth’s deciphering.
The abyss Torrullin mentioned to Declan before leaving was a direct
reference, but where it took him and to which mysterious woman, she
did not know. She feared for him, but pushed it aside. There were
some things she could not share; her fear was therefore
selfish.

“What now?”
Tannil asked, bereft of certainty.

“Now we help
Margus unleash his little monsters on the Horde.”

Saska watched
Tannil head up to his suite.

He was caught
in a cycle of grief and anger, but only time would heal that
affliction. He would have to find his way, or bow under the
pressure.

Tannil also
missed Vania and Teroux. If only it was safe for them to come to
Valaris. They would help him heal. A child’s laughter and innocent
questions could do much to sway a burdened mind to life, away from
death, away from the past. A loving partner could ease burdens in
another way.

She missed
Torrullin. A loving partner could ease burdens … gods.

Partners could
also create new burdens.

She went up
those same stairs. It was early, but darkness had fallen. She would
not sleep yet, but perhaps quiet time would be restful on the
spirit. And mind.

Their suite
was in darkness when she entered, and she lit a candle, preferring
soft light to globes. She carried it to the seat at the window,
placed it on the sill. Pushing the leaves wide, she sat and allowed
the cooling air to waft over her. The candle guttered, but did not
go out.

It did not
matter if it went out.

She thought
about Tannil. Truth was she did not believe he could cope. Tannil
was a good man, but not as strong in resolve as the Valleur
thought.

The man lived
a sheltered existence in the Western Isles and was seldom tested
with calamity and intricacies. She understood how the many years of
waiting for Torrullin’s words to come to pass was a kind of
testing, but she wondered how far that very state took a toll on
his mind.

He waited, he
saw it happen as foretold, and now he was on the outside looking
in. Part of it was Torrullin’s fault, but part was also Tannil’s
lack of self-worth. And now he
was
being tested.

The Elders
needed to keep close watch on him, without raising alarms. It was
the best she could do at this point.

Best she could
do. That meant doing almost nothing. It did not rock the boat and
cause waves. The last time she held the boat steady, two people
died. Best she could do. Do nothing.

Saska stared
into the dark.

She did
nothing, and two people died.

One day soon
that would be revealed.

And she would
lose Torrullin.

The candle
guttered, and snuffed. It felt like an omen.