The Dreamer Stones (18 page)

Hanging in the
ether vacuum that was the place in transit between the point of
departure and arrival, Tymall pondered those differences. With
prejudice. Were his plans to see final success, only the purebloods
would be permitted. But it was not yet time for that.

He smiled,
suspended there. A beautiful world with an abundance of land, game,
features. Only Fay knew his plans. How he would surprise them
soon.

His smile
vanished. They were in Grinwallin.

Grinwallin was
the thorn in his plans; the greatest of challenges, more so than
Valaris. Grinwallin too was in the future. For now it was
sufficient to lure his next victim from that city.

He had to
break through the protection barrier first.

It had
arrived, the opportunity to prove his belief the Nemisin-Neolone
barrier could not deter him. He would need to be careful; it was
not time to tip his hand. A minute entry point, one that would not
set the alarms ringing, one to let him in, and out, undetected.

He circled the
planet and noticed the strength of the charm was greatest closest
to Senlu territory. Noted also there was a stretch of no-man’s-land
between Grinwallin and the rest of Valleur Tunin. They relied on
the barrier to keep unwanted visitors at bay and did not watch the
skies with great attention, Valleur and Senlu alike, and the region
was sparsely populated - ideal to hide, to lure someone to, then to
vanish from, and nobody the wiser.

Tymall hovered
and checked the region with caution. An hour passed, then two, and
only then was he satisfied.

He extended
his staff, murmured succinct and powerful words, and a replica of
the Dragon Taliesman plopped into his free hand, the object of
ancient sorcery that created the protective enchantment two
thousand years ago.

It did not
have the powers of that other Taliesman. Pity - he could do
incredible things with
that
at his command. This one would
hopefully allow him to pass through the barrier unnoticed. Or the
great words he spoke would come to haunt him.

Staring at the
tiny golden dragon set in a circular band, he thought his father a
potent man to have borne the true Dragon, and to deny Neolone
access to the Taliesman. Always his father revealed himself as
first fatidic and then more than mere prophecy. The One. The
Enchanter.

Tristamil was
comfortable with that, able to live in his shadow while enveloped
in his glow, a contradiction that did not seem strange to him, but
he, Tymall, had not borne the shadow well. It was not right that
the father be more than the son. The son should prove the greater
and the father proud he raised a son like that. How does a son
compete with the One?

Grim, he
closed his hand over the replica.

By becoming
equal in another way, in another realm, and bringing it back to
chuck in his face.

Vania sat with
her eyes half closed under the tamarind tree in the public square a
block away from their house, absently watching the boys play with
Senlu kids of the neighbourhood.

The compounded
leaves of the old tree shut off harsh sunlight, making her drowsy
in cool shade, and the tropical smell from the red-striped yellow
flowers filled her with peace.

Grinwallin was
somnolent in the late summer heat and also quiet. All but restless
children were either asleep or relaxing in some manner indoors. She
did not mind being the sole adult outside; she enjoyed the lack of
pressure and social interaction. This was her way to spend a hot
summer afternoon. Just her, the tree, and the children playing in
the fountain.

She dozed,
trusting in Tristan to keep an eye on Teroux.

Did she dream?
She was not sure, but she awakened with a raging thirst.

Vania frowned,
swallowing around a thickened tongue. Stroking her parched throat,
she rose, called out to Tristan, but no sound came. She slept
longer than intended - glancing around, she noticed the light
changed.

The summer
glare was absent, replaced with a sulphur-like gloom, thick like
soup. That could not be right, she thought, but could not imagine
why. She noticed the boys still splashed in the water, their backs
to her. They were fine, whatever the light did, and she needed a
drink. It did not occur to her to cup her hands into the water jet
spurting from the old toad’s mouth, the fountain’s source.

No, she needed
real liquid, the kind no fountain could satisfy.

She wandered
further and further away and the children did not see her go,
involved as they were in play. She left the square, wandered
through the deserted streets of Grinwallin, passed their house but
did not recognise it, continued in search of nectar from the
flowers outside Grinwallin, the kind when need was great, as hers
was.

The flowers
would help her, would slake her thirst, and would satisfy this
unusual craving. Then she would be fine and return to the boys.
They would not miss her and Tristan, bless him, was a responsible
child.

Vania blinked
on the great stairs of Grinwallin. The plateau shimmered hazily in
the sulphurous light, seemed close, touchable. A smile lit her
sombre, thirst-crazed features. Beyond were the flowers. She
descended the stairs, slowly at first, then ever faster until she
flew down.

When she
reached the golden summer grasses of the plateau she did not stop
or pause, she ran like a young girl to her lover, with stars in her
eyes.

When she
reached the precipice, it was without awareness of self or her
surroundings. She plummeted and believed she floated to the giant
beds of magical flowers.

Vania landed
with the smile on her face. On her back.

And life
ceased.

In the early
dawn of Valaris Tannil awakened filled with foreboding and a
pervading sense of loss.

The Keep was
quiet - brooding. He flung from his lonely bed and hurtled down the
stairs.

He found
Luvanor’s Elders in the courtyard. White-faced, he approached.
“Tell me.”

One Elder
stepped forward, a clever man named Selenten, and said, “My Lord,
it’s about your wife. She had an accident during the siesta …”

“Is she
hurt?”

“She didn’t
survive, my Lord.”

Tannil’s heart
ceased and he clutched at it. “How?”

“We think she
walked too close to the plateau’s edge, and fell. It must have
happened fast and caught her by surprise - there was no time to
correct her fall. I’m sorry, my Lord.”

“Dear gods,”
Tannil whispered, drawing breath to restart his heart. It beat
unevenly, hard, soft, hard, soft. “Teroux?”

“He’s
fine.”

“Was he with
his mother?”

“He was with
Tristan and a number of Senlu children. He hasn’t been told, my
Lord.” Selenten stepped back to stand with his sombre
companions.

Tannil
stumbled and then turned away. “Give me five minutes.”

Teighlar was
in a fury when Tannil appeared in the Great Hall, shouting
obscenities at his Senlu for sleeping their lives away, inattentive
to the responsibility they had to the Vallas in their care.

Cowed, his
advisors, administrators, and court sorcerers did not dare
contradict him.

Behind Tannil
the three Luvanor Elders were silent and grim, with wary eyes on
their ruler. Tannil’s calm was a cause for concern, but perhaps he
needed it for his son.

Teighlar
paused in his tirade, drew a breath, and dismissed his people.
Alone, he approached Tannil.

“My Lord
Vallorin, my deepest sympathies. Anything you need …”

“Thank you, my
Lord Emperor. I need to see her before I go to my son.”

“Of course.
We’ve laid her out in our Preparations Cavern - follow me.”
Teighlar turned and headed for the exit at the far left of the
Great Hall.

Tannil
motioned for the Elders to remain and followed with measured tread.
His heart was dead, a lump of nothing. Having recently discovered
how much he loved his wife of years, he now had her taken from
him.

A steep, cool
flight of downward spiralling stairs, and Teighlar and Tannil
entered a small round cave with smooth walls and muted lantern
light.

A man, a
red-haired Senlu, bent over a desk, a huge parchment book open
before him, a quill and ink to hand. One finger underscored words
as he read and the other absently dipped the quill. He looked up,
hearing footsteps. Then he jumped up, nearly spilling ink over the
book. Fumbling to prevent the calamity, he muttered ashen-faced to
his Emperor.

“My Lord,
forgive me.”

Teighlar
raised his brows. “Yes, Grihan, of course. This time. But if you
ever place that parchment in danger again you’ll be demoted to
sewerage duty. Understood?”

The Senlu
Grihan nodded. His gaze went to Tannil and filled with sympathy.
“My Lord Vallorin, I …”

“Yes, thank
you,” Tannil said. He glanced at Teighlar. “I take it she’s through
there?” With his head he indicated an arch behind Grihan’s working
space.

Teighlar
sighed. “Yes. We prepare our dead for burial or cremation from
there. Unsure of your traditions we thought …”

“Thank you,”
Tannil interrupted and stepped closer, pausing at the desk. He
glanced at the book and saw rows and rows of spidery Senlu runes.
Lists. He looked up at Grihan.

“The Book of
the Dead,” Grihan whispered.

Tannil looked
away. “Is her name there?”

Grihan cleared
his throat, glanced at his sovereign and said, “I was searching for
a precedent when you entered, my Lord.”

“Meaning?”

“No non-Senlu
is entered in the Book, as far as I can tell,” the red-haired man
answered.

“Vania was
under our protection; enter her name,” Teighlar said and came
closer to draw Tannil through into the cavern beyond.

It was a huge
space, onyx walls smooth as silk, reflecting in the shiny expanses
the myriad fragrant candles lit in wall sconces. The floor was
polished, the predominant colour being white with swirls of grey,
and the overall effect was one of light and airy cool. Plain white
slabs rose from the floor in concentric rows, with passages
radiating out from the central circle. Only two were occupied and a
man bent over one, applying the death-mask to a young Senlu
male.

He
straightened, but was waved back to his task.

Vania lay
shrouded in the second inner circle.

Teighlar hung
back as Tannil negotiated his way through the stone labyrinth. He
perched on an empty slab, looking at his hands.

Tannil stopped
beside the body and drew the veil aside.

Vania was pale
and lovely. Her eyes were closed and she was unmarked. Tannil
stared down at her for a long time and then reached out and touched
her cheek. Feather light. But it was enough to know.

He covered her
again. And fought to control his fury.

The undertaker
was looking at him.

“The Valleur
bury their dead; the Elders will come for her shortly.”

The man nodded
and Tannil turned away, unable to say more. Vania would go to
Valaris to be interred in one of the crypts in the Graveyard, but
this man did not need to be told that. He could not have said it;
it was too final.

Teighlar led
him out, both ignoring Grihan as they passed.

Back in the
Great Hall Tannil conferred with the Elders and then watched as
they headed for the entrance into the lower levels. Only then did
he face Teighlar.

“What do you
know?”

“She watched
the boys playing in the fountain and then left, but no one, least
of all the boys, saw her go. What drove her out of the city remains
a mystery. Apparently she wandered too close to the precipice, and
fell.” Teighlar pursed his lips and then, “I don’t believe it.
There has to be more.”

Tannil nodded.
“She was led, and then murdered. It’s meant to appear either
accidental or suicidal.”

“Who would do
such a thing? I swear to you no Senlu harboured …”

“It’s not your
fault. No one could have prevented it. He waited for the right
moment and lured her beyond Grinwallin’s protection.”

“Torrullin’s
son?”

Tannil
shrugged and turned away. “Who else? It’s a direct attack on me,
for Vania was Valla by marriage only. His goal is to disable me
emotionally, making me unfit to rule.” Tannil’s lips drew back. “I
know I stand in line, but I swear he’ll pay for this.”

Teighlar
sucked at his teeth. The Vallorin was not near all right, and it
went beyond grief. “Tannil, put that aside and look to your son. He
needs you, and he requires protection, the kind that comes from
telling him the truth.”

Tannil
narrowed his eyes. “I don’t need to be told how to see to my boy.”
He squeezed his lids closed. “He’s only five, Teighlar.”

“He is
Valleur.”

Tannil barked
a laugh. “Unfortunately.”

Teighlar took
a breath and stepped forward to face Tannil head-on. “Vallorin,
heed me this once. We know each other and I know you can read me
pretty well. I can read you also and I see you’re not only
grief-stricken, but disheartened. What is this for, you ask? You’re
losing those you love, and for what? Let me tell you …”

“No. Let
me
tell
you
. For my august grandfather to retake that
Throne as Vallorin, so the stage is set for father and son to
engage in their long overdue battle, and we are pawns to that end.
We are moved and manoeuvred beyond our control by two titans who
don’t give a crap as to the effect they have on others. Don’t give
the speech about good versus evil, about making the universe safe
from the Dark as it has been for two millennia. I’m sick of hearing
that. That’s gone, and it was a precarious ideal at best, a waiting
game that has now ended. We’re headed for checkmate, and it’s not
for us, with us, or even because of us. It’s because my grandfather
made a blunder and we now suffer for it.”