The Dreamer Stones (25 page)

Dark Suit
relayed the information to headquarters and the team changed
positions, nine left now, three having become too visible.

The chapel was
the destination and by the time Fay and Ty took the first step up
into the raised garden that fronted it, four men were inside, and
one swept the path with a matted broom, having borrowed a coverall
from the janitor’s hut in a corner of the garden. He nodded and
smiled when Fay and Tymall passed him to enter the chapel.

“Dressed like
that they’re definitely here to be married,” Sweeper murmured.

“Quiet! Hold
your position,” Dark Suit snarled.

The interior
of the chapel was dim, lit with a row of candles near the pulpit on
the far side. The pews were empty but for a man crying with great
shaking sobs to the right.

The priest, a
bent, little man, fluttered helplessly over him, attempting to
help, doing nothing. He looked their way when they entered,
shrugged eloquently and indicated they were to go towards the
pulpit.

Crying man was
a member of Dark Suit’s team and he gradually lessened his
outbursts, sending the priest up to the couple. The shadow then sat
as if frozen, staring at his hands and appeared unable to move. The
organist had been replaced, and the priest was hard put not to show
his surprise and even harder was not to show the wedding couple his
trepidation.

The third and
fourth men were behind the door that led to the priest’s apartment
at the rear of the church.

“Something’s
not right,” Tymall murmured, gaze lingering on the frozen man in
the pews.

“We’re just
nervous.”

Dark Suit
listened to the communiqué, standing outside the chapel door. He
paled and was so white before long that Sweeper laid his broom
aside and came over. Dark Suit said, “Dear God, now what?” He
listened again, and then whispered, “I can’t do that to my men …
yes, yes … but no guarantees … crap.”

“Boss?”
Sweeper asked.

“The only Fay
and Ty recorded for Valaris are the Vallorin’s sister Fayette and
Tymall the Enchanter’s son. Crap.”

“The same
Tymall who … oh, man.”

“Well said,
Gary. We are to delay them, capture them …”

Sweeper – Gary
- pursed his lips and shook his head. “How? We’d be dead in
seconds.”

“My point
exactly.” Boss lifted his lapel close to his mouth and issued a
dispersal order. He would not risk his team, a good team working
together for years. This was his task.

Unfortunately,
there were four of his men inside who could not simply leave.
“Gary, that building opposite, commandeer it. We may have to get
the others out …”

Gary nodded,
removed the coverall and sprinted across the road. Three others
from various points followed him.

Within the
chapel Tymall watched with a frown as the man in the pews rose, his
frown clearing when the man headed for the door.

A soul in
trouble. Not that he gave a damn; he merely wanted nothing to mar
his wedding day.

Turning to the
priest he said, “Father, please begin.”

The old man
nodded. “Yes, of course, young man. May I see your papers?”

“Papers?”

“Um, you need
permission …” The old priest wrung his hands together.

Tymall closed
his eyes. For serenity, and to create the necessary documents. A
moment later he drew them from an inside pocket, smiling at Fay’s
relieved expression. He handed them over, saying, “Father, my bride
and I have plans - please, may we get to the ceremony?”

The priest
smiled. Maybe the law was overly suspicious - they were wrong in
the past.

“It will be a
pleasure.” He waved at the false organist and hoped the cop could
at least play a decent tune, and then looked at the papers in his
hands. As the music, thankfully, swelled, he paled.

There was
nothing wrong with what he had in his hands, except … the names.
The names were not those given by the young man on a previous
visit. He looked up.

“Father, I
know, but it was to protect our privacy. I assure you nothing is
illegal here, and I’ll make it worth your while,” Tymall said, an
edge to his voice.

“I have no
need of money, my son.”

Tymall saw red
at the words ‘my son’, but Fay laid a hand on his arm, smiling at
the priest. “Father, please, we mean no offence, but we’re both
over the legal age, our documents are in order and we sought to
prevent busybody friends and family spoiling our special day. We
kind of eloped.”

He stared at
them and then smiled. “Fine, my dear. Shall we begin?”

Outside Dark
Suit rubbed his chin. Music floated through the open doors. A voice
chirped into his earpiece and he paled more; a bloodbath was in the
offing.

He asked for
reinforcements … and paramedics and fire fighters.

Frozen Man
stood next to him. “Owen?”

“The Valleur
are coming and so is the Vallorin. Here. To this bloody chapel on
our beat. To take or kill Tymall.”

“Oh. Bloody
hell.”

“Indeed. And
when he hears the fuss out here, he’s going to erupt. Crap and
bloody bugger, and me due to retire soon.”

After his
conversation with Tymall, Margus went directly to the Keep.

With the storm
as accompaniment, he told them what transpired at the Pillars of
Fire. The Elders in residence were aghast, and then appalled that
they believed the
Darak Or
.

Not entirely -
one went north to investigate.

Margus spent
the rest of the day attempting to convince them they needed to
recall Tannil to Valaris, but his words were ignored … at
first.

The Elders
explained about mourning, the period required, but Margus grew
insistent, and as the Full Moon of the month of Fainscan rose in
the east, the Elders sent the call.

When he came,
Tannil was in a thunderous mood, shouting he was spending time with
Teroux, and Elders quailed before him.

Margus had no
compunction - he raised his voice above Tannil’s, yelling the
Pillars of Fire were extinguished and Tymall played an elaborate
game, and Tannil had better listen or lose everything.

Tannil stared
at him, quietened, and listened.

Thus it was
Tannil was at the Keep when Beacon’s message to the Electan’s
office was relayed via farspeaker to the Vallorin’s ear.

“Tymall is
where? Doing
what
?” he burst out, and grief retreated into
the background. “What is the matter with her?” He rose and could
not be reasoned with. “I intend to be on Beacon in five minutes.
Your choice whether I do this alone or not.”

Reluctantly,
knowing it was a confrontation they could not win, ten men
transported out with him.

Margus, after
a moment’s indecision, followed.

“We are
gathered here this day to join this man and this woman in holy
matrimony,” the priest intoned.

A muttered
curse sounded from behind the door beyond the pulpit. A crash
followed. Then silence.

The priest
winced; the ‘organist’ stumbled on a note, glancing over his
shoulder.

Tymall drew
breath and leaned forward. “Father, I don’t know what your game is,
but I suggest you hasten to the important part.”

The old man
nodded. “Do you, Tymall, take this woman as your lawfully wedded
wife, to have and to hold …”

“As long as we
both shall live, yes, I do,” Tymall interrupted, staring fixedly at
the priest.

“Um, do you,
Fayette, take this man as your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do, until
death us do part,” Fay murmured.

Old, formal
words, a human ceremony, but it was real and the ideal was no
different to those words used in a Valleur ceremony. Tymall was
right; this was binding, legal. Her heart did happy tumbles, but
she also knew the day turned sour.

A perfect day
marred; something was wrong. Someone hid in the back room and the
priest was too nervous.

It was real
now.

She felt her
husband take her hand, slip a ring on and she looked at it, then at
him, but he stared intently at the priest.

“By the powers
vested in me I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the old man
said.

He omitted the
bit about kissing the bride, somehow feeling that the time for that
passed when those bumbling fools knocked something over in his
apartment.

“Sign,” Tymall
snapped, drawing a new document from his breast, this one not a
forgery. A formal Valleur wedding certificate. He held it and a pen
out.

“Ty …” Fay
began.

“Tannil comes.
We must hurry.”

She paled and
could not think. She stared at her wedding band. It was an
intricate lovers knot with tiny rubies set in old silver. A
beautiful piece, but the day had definitely lost its lustre, and
she could not appreciate it.

Her brother
was coming and he was defenceless.

She could not
bear the thought of him dying, particularly not on this day.

“You mustn’t
hurt him.”

Tymall glared
at her as the priest signed with a shaking hand.

“Not this day,
our day.”

Tymall
snatched the signed certificate from the priest, looked at it.
“Very well, Fay. Not this day.”

“Thank
you.”

Tymall headed
to the organist and stood over him. The undercover lawman signed as
witness, saying not a word. He had not attempted to make music
again; their target was aware the game was up. Tymall stared down
as he secreted the document and then bent over to snatch the hidden
communicator from the man’s lapel.

He held the
tiny device between thumb and forefinger, and snarled, “Tell your
colleagues to clear a path outside, or you’re dead, friend.”

Tymall threw
the thing down and went to the door behind the pulpit. Jerking it
open, he hauled the two lawmen out, dumping them next to the other.
Then, turning his back on them, he returned to Fay.

He drew her
close and kissed her.

“What are we
to do?” she asked when he lifted his mouth.

Tymall
retrieved the signed marriage certificate and passed it to her.
“Hold onto this as proof of our binding. My wife, you must go to
Luvanor with Tannil. Let him think he rescued you.”

“No.”

“I don’t want
you to, but it’s perfect. You tell him your tale of misfortune,
retain his protection and you’ll be safe there.”

“Did you plan
this?”

“No, I swear
to you.”

Her stiffness
eased. “I don’t want to leave you.”

“It has come.
Tannil will not stay his hand. You place our future at risk in
fighting me now. Let me slip away as he arrives, abandon you,
unfeeling as I am, and play the game for your brother. He will
believe you. He will believe he did a good deed today.”

“They’ll say
we came here willingly,” Fay murmured, indicating the priest and
the three lawmen. Three sets of professional eyes darted, seeking
advantage.

“No, they
won’t,” Tymall returned.

She paled
again, bit her lip and then nodded. She felt Tannil nearby … and
began to scream hysterically.

“FAY!”

She swung
around. “Tannil! He … he … he … oh, dear lord,
help me
!”

“Excellent, my
love,” Tymall murmured and swung away.

It was a blur
from there.

In an instant
the four men - lawmen and priest - lay prone, still, and the chapel
shuddered under the onslaught of raw sorcery, and Fay screamed like
a crazed woman.

“He forced me,
he duped me!”

She felt like
a traitor, to both her husband and her brother, but she had her
son’s future to consider.

Tymall had not
slipped away; Tannil did not give him the opportunity.

He was locked
in mortal combat with an angry Vallorin, husband of Vania, son of
Mitrill, stepson of Caltian, and brother to Fay.

Righteous
anger lent great strength, for Tannil was more focused than Fay had
seen, although she did not understand where it came from. Not so
defenceless;
he is a driven man.

Tymall fought
not only Tannil, but ten strong Valleur also, and because he gave
her a promise not to harm Tannil, he was not having an easy time of
it. Power pulses of every hue hurtled about the small chapel,
rebounding off the ceiling, crashing through the coloured windows,
tearing gashes in the concrete of neighbouring buildings.

Tannil’s face
was a rictus, Tymall’s smooth, his eyes glittering.

Fay lay flat
on the floor, her head under protective arms, moaning, frightened.
She lifted her head once - to see Margus lounging in the chapel’s
doorway, a strange smile on his face. And then a pulse smacked into
the stone near her and she cowered.

Outside,
lawmen, paramedics, fire fighters, passers-by and onlookers hurled
likewise to the ground as all windows in the vicinity exploded in a
lethal rain of glass. Occupants of those buildings fell to the
floor not daring to look upon the spectacle, curiosity superseded
by fear.

Two Valleur
crumpled. Tannil snarled in renewed anger, stepping up his attack
as even Fay’s safety vanished from his mind. Kill. Kill. Tymall had
to pay for Vania, Mitrill and Caltian, Teroux’s pain …

Tymall cried
out, lurched, and gripped his neck.

Again he cried
out, stumbled back, Tannil pressing forward, and Fay lifted her
head, searching …
Ty? TY
?

I am fine, but
he will kill you by accident in this rage, so we must end this. An
act, my Fay. I decrease his onslaught to get away. Or I must kill
him and be done?

No!

Tymall cried
out again and stumbled, landing on one knee.

Fay screamed
as Tannil pressed forward and her scream was then for her safety.
Tannil was too close with his pulses.