The Dreamer Stones (63 page)

Why?

Agnimus lifted
his prizes high and shouted in unusual glee.

“See! Cloak
and staff! Mine! Ours! We take on the Warlock’s power!”

Amid rustles
and whispers, he swung the cloak with its astronomical symbols
about his shoulders and it settled over his black garb. He hoisted
the staff, rapped it soundly to the rocky ground, and then moved
his hand up to rest upon the gem, which felt warm in the frigid
night air.

Upon
reflection, it was the only thing that bespoke difference. He hoped
for a tangible sign of otherness.

His draithen
bowed, not realising a lack.

Use it
,
a silent voice prompted.
Test it and know what you are able to
do.

He bears the
cloak, he must use it. He holds the staff, he must test it. Or it
will ever be adornment.

He has not the
blood for this.

Agnimus glared
around him, but the voices were in his head.

His hand
trembled. He had the blood!

Agnimus glared
into space.

He rapped the
staff, and pointed.

A section of
the mountains crumbled to dust, without sound.

He swirled the
cloak, and issued the command.

Sound erupted.
Roaring klaxons, pealing thunder, tuneless iron bells, crash of
giant waves, loud, strident, deafening.

His draithen
for a sal around fell to their knees holding burst ears and
wailed.

He has the
stomach
, the first voice came.

And the
blood,
came the second.

Everything
quietened except his wailing draithen, and Agnimus smiled.

Indeed.

Kismet first
witnessed the mountain collapse.

A whole
section as wide as a marble quarry disintegrated into dust.
Soundlessly. That was the scary part. Mountains did collapse,
undermined perhaps for centuries by bad weather, which the Morinnes
often saw, but not in silence.

Then to be
followed moments later, like the delayed reaction where sound
travelled slower than light as in a thunderstorm, by sound,
incredible and entirely manufactured.

Not the
crumbled implosions of falling rock. Magic sound.

The fine
golden hairs on the back of Kismet’s neck rose.

Into the
unnatural quiet that ensued came Torrullin and with him Tymall.

The
Throne-room was enveloped in the strange silence.

Tymall
withdrew from his father’s arms and lifted his nose to sniff like a
bloodhound. “He used cloak and staff.”

Torrullin
forced himself to ignore the fading warmth of Tymall on his body
and concentrated. “He tested it and succeeded.”

Tymall stepped
off the dais, gaze flicking over the small chamber. “Even watching
me he should not be able to wield it.” His intent gaze focused. On
the courtyard.

Saska.

Torrullin
watched his son watch his wife. Then Tymall’s words penetrated. He
drew breath and fitted the giant piece of puzzle Vitto gifted him
and pushed it home. Agnimus was able to wield staff and cloak
because of who he was. Torrullin whistled soundlessly.

Saska entered,
having noticed the glow of his arrival. She smiled in uncertain
welcome, before noticing the other. She was confused and saw what
she wanted to see. “Tris?”

“No, step
mommy, not Tris. Never again Tris.” Tymall did not smile or taunt,
but the flatness in his voice revealed his checked anger.

Her gaze flew
to Torrullin. “You brought
this
here?”

Tymall
laughed, but left it to his father to answer.

“Ty needs to
be here and it’s better he is with me.”

“You trust
him? Are you mad?
Why
?”

Torrullin’s
lips tightened, but he would not give Tymall the pleasure of seeing
him round on his wife. “It’s not a question of trust. It’s a
question of necessity. Trust
me
.”

“Now we deal
with the devils. Are we that far off the path, all of us?” Her
voice was resigned.

Torrullin did
not answer. Instead, he turned to Tymall.

Saska turned
on her heel and stalked out.

“Stay close,
Ty. A few hundred Golden are in the valley and they may kill you
and suffer my wrath after.”

Tymall
inclined his head, watching with satisfaction his stepmother’s
discomfort as she climbed the balcony stairs.

A few
surprises were in store for her, no doubt, and he smiled to
himself.

The only
certainty in life was change.

Nothing
remained stagnant for long, even when it appeared to do so. A man
tending his flock may think his life a constant, until drought,
illness, or the loss of a dear one. His own death signified change,
for others, for himself.

Small changes,
no great influence on the grand design, occurred with regularity
until they went unacknowledged. Such was life. Everywhere.

The great
things caused one to sit up, breathe, feel life, feel death, and
acknowledge the uncertainty in things taken for granted
yesterday.

Torrullin,
next to a glowering Kismet, with Tymall nearby, pondered the nature
of change. A mountain changed. Tymall was on Valaris openly.
Agnimus infiltrated Scortas to steal the Warlock cloak and staff. A
siege in situ. Yesterday, in the horror of the dead and dying, in
itself terrible change, none of these things were expected.

The draithen
could pierce the seal. No glow to reveal his travel offworld.
How?

Opening his
mouth to share that, Torrullin’s thoughts were interrupted.

My Lord. We
have to talk. In private.

Caballa. She
had something to impart Tymall was not to hear. More change.
“Kismet, Tymall is under your protection until I return.”

The Valleur
Elder nodded and Tymall faced his father. “You’re leaving?”

“To talk to
someone. Stay here.” Torrullin vanished.

Tymall and
Kismet eyed each other, circling, until Tymall chuckled. “Gods,
Kismet, I won’t do anything until I retrieve my things. Relax, will
you?”

“I’d love to
slit your throat.”

Tymall cocked
his head. “Did you not know, Elder, my father will follow me in
death so none of this happens again? Kill me and you will lose your
Vallorin.”

Kismet paled,
the withdrawal of colour clear even in the uncertain light of the
small fire.

Tymall
laughed. “Ask him yourself.”

And, satisfied
he was safe with this particular Valleur, he lowered to the gravel
next to the fire and sat there, eyes closed to concentrate on the
presence of Agnimus, which was absent, but not so his magical
accruements.

“Caballa.”

Startled, she
glanced up from another fire.

Fires were lit
a few minutes ago, a ploy used against the besiegers. They would
now see as well as sense the alert state of Torrke and its
inhabitants. The only good thing to come of this current situation
was the survival of those outside the valley. Fires lined both
ranges, glowed in the two entrances and dotted the entire space of
the valley, the latter more camp than watch fires, although it was
also a fact those sheltering under Valleur protection were equally
sleepless and watchful.

“You did
call.”

Caballa
smiled. “Yes, but seeing as you have your son with you, I thought I
might wait a time.”

“He’s not here
as my son,” Torrullin chided and sat next to her.

“Then you must
be pretty heartless.”

He stared at
her. “Touché.”

She looked
away. “Be that as it may, it’s not the reason I need to speak with
you.”

“A
vision?”

Staring into
the meagre blaze, she said, “A chain of men, if that’s what they
were. A white-haired male, like us, yet not. He bled from a cut in
his wrist, blue blood, like the darklings and probably the
draithen. Yet he was neither, he was true flesh. Then a fair-haired
man, human, with blue eyes, very fair of face. He changed as if in
pain and all went dark around him. He shivered as if cold and he
screamed. Another, a form in the mist, a man with golden hair, but
no face, nothing else. He lifted his hand and laughed, and it
wasn’t comforting. A private amusement others would suffer for.”
She shrugged. “Generally my visions are not so cryptic.”

“Yet you think
it has to do with Agnimus.”

“Yes, the blue
blood, I think. I may be wrong.”

Torrullin
sighed. “It’s his lineage. The three who created him.”

She did look
at him then. “How can you know that?”

“Vitto,
strange boy, with an obscure past, he overheard a conversation. In
summary, Agnimus told his deputy to heed him, for he was the Darak
Or’s blood as well and he had to know what that meant. What it
means exactly, I can only guess at, but there’s a connection, and
it allows him to wield Tymall’s things. He said ‘as well’, Caballa,
as if there were more.”

“Now you
suspect three after what I’ve seen.”

“Yes. I need
to see this creature. More, I need to speak to him. We have to find
some clarity.”

“What’s the
problem? Surely Tymall can find him now.”

“It’s not a
question of find anymore.”

“Then what, my
Lord? He cannot harm you and the valley won’t permit him and his
creatures entry in your absence.” Caballa frowned. “Gods, you think
he can? Harm those inside?”

Torrullin’s
gaze was steady. “A siege, Caballa. why? A show of strength is one
thing, but why entrench? He has to know Torrke can provide our
needs. A siege cannot force us out, not in the manner other sieges
elsewhere would succeed. Therefore, why? Has he something to
subvert the magic here? Dare I leave to confront him, and am thus
distracted long enough to put his plan into action?”

“You are
Elixir.”

“Elixir must
not function here. Elixir protects the innocent among other …
things … and who on Valaris, besides the very young, is wholly
innocent? Two millennia of curses, evil thought, ill will heaped
upon the Valleur, and who are they, these Golden, you, Kismet and
all the others, but those closest to my heart? Elixir will exact
due payment, for that is how he works. Pay your dues!” Torrullin
drew breath and passed a hand over his face. “I dare not take the
chance.”

“Are you
saying if you rise against the draithen, the humans will suffer the
consequences also?”

“Maybe. I
don’t know enough of this new identity.”

“Your
instincts are generally correct.”

“I’m not
infallible.”

“No,” Caballa
murmured and smiled. “Thank Aaru.”

Torrullin eyes
glinted in the firelight. “More human?”

“More
real.”

“Hmm,”
Torrullin murmured and looked into the darkness containing a
million draithen. “So real, Agnimus has the upper hand, while mine
are both tied.” He rose. “I need to sleep, although I hate wasting
time. Tymall is with Kismet …”

“Rest, my
Lord. We’ll watch him.”

“Thank you.
You are worth all the men in my kingdom to me, do you know that,
Caballa? Watch yourself; I need you.”

Caballa
blinked, looking up with wide eyes. “I’m going nowhere, I
promise.”

She drew a
ragged breath as he vanished and two tears rolled over her smooth
cheeks.
I need you.
Those three words made her longing for
what she could never claim worthwhile.

I need
you.

Yes, that she
could live with.

Agnimus
wandered alone in the dark.

The rotten cur
came to retrieve his own. His gullible father healed and then
brought him into the refuge. It was so smooth, his insidious
planning, that neither of them saw the trap.

He halted and
folded his arms under the starred cloak. Soon.

Soon.

Chapter
Fifty-One

Time is
intangible … and time touches all.

Unknown

Morning dawned
bright.

An impossibly
blue sky hurt the eyes and not a cloud was in sight. It was
unbearably frigid, as if snow lay thick on the ground everywhere.
Birds greeted the sun with joyous song and a number of squirrels
hopped the bare branches with abandon.

Saska, first
awake, nudged Torrullin. “It’s a beautiful day, husband.”

Muttering
about women in general, he awakened. Glancing through the window,
the drapes open as was their custom, he said, “Snow weather.”

“Fairyland,”
Saska said, still sleepy.

Biting off a
retort about there being no such place at present, he clambered
from the warmth of their bed. Goosebumps swelled on his skin.

“God, it’s
freezing!” As he headed for the bathroom, he said, “Mark my words -
snow by late afternoon.” He disappeared and a moment later the hiss
of the shower.

Saska smiled
and snuggled under the soft covers. If only every morning could be
this normal.

Half an hour
later both were having breakfast, the first decent meal Torrullin
had in days, and with them was Tymall, eating as if there was no
tomorrow.

For a moment
Saska thought she saw an indulgent look in Torrullin’s eyes, but
then thought she imagined it for he snapped, “Is it possible to
recall the cloak and staff to you?”

Tymall threw
his pancake onto the plate. Chewing, he said, “I tried last night.
No, not from Torrke’s protective barrier.”

“I thought as
much. We then have a problem.”

“I know.”
Tymall lifted his coffee and sipped.

“I can
retrieve them,” Torrullin said.

Tymall
replaced his mug and leaned back in his seat.

Torrullin
sucked at his teeth. “He will get to you when you step outside the
barrier.”

Tymall
grinned. “Rather obvious this morning, aren’t you?”

“Don’t test
me. What do you know of this claim Agnimus makes of blood to the
Darak Or?”