The Dreamer Stones (65 page)

Torrullin
sighed and breathed in and out for a few heartbeats and then looked
to the Siric. “Declan?”

Declan
clambered to his feet, stretched.

“The shift is
Drinic in origin and is manufactured. Being physical, a tangible
science, it can also be dismantled, either for transport or, in our
case, as marked for destruction. We’re talking building blocks, one
on either side of the space one seeks to create, and continue in
the same vein until one acquires required height. From there one
fashions angles and curved stones to form the desired arch
overhead. The shift is that, exactly. Eight blocks high, adding up
to sixteen identical, seven for the curve above, two, two, two and
the one unique piece, the centre stone. It all hinges on the centre
stone and is true for a quarried arch or something less tangible.
Before we get to that, I must dwell on the differences.”

He paused to
see if he had their complete attention. He did.

“First we have
the accepted solid ground principle versus any space imaginable.
Therein lays the beauty of this creation. The shift can be erected
on water, in the air, against solid rock, in spaces too small to
accommodate a crouching man. Of course, the smaller the space the
greater the risk to those travelling back. Generally, the Drinic
were concerned with the outward bound, therefore the space in which
the shift was brought forth was of no real consequence to them. The
second difference lies in the nature of the building material. One
can’t suspend solid rock in the air. Well,
we
can, but the
Drinic had not the talent. They were nomadic, believing continuous
movement aided the search for truth and enlightenment, thus their
portal had to be both lightweight and portable.”

He paced back
and forth.

“They are of
paper. Paper blocks. Light, collapsible, a small burden to nomads.
Insert them, folded, into any saddlebag. How can paper form a
shift? What sets it apart? The Drinic were not magic users, after
all.”

Declan came to
a halt and stood in the centre of the chamber staring at them.

“Symbols,
Torrullin. The strength, the purpose, the nature of their creation
lies in the symbols inscribed upon pieces of parchment.” Torrullin
inclined his head and Declan swung around. “Excellent, novel,
bloody genius. No magic, but the symbols of magic! They didn’t need
the talent - they merely had to place the blocks in the correct
order and dismantle in reverse.”

“And these
symbols change as per destination?” Tymall.

“I’m getting
there. The symbols remain unchanged. Every block has something
different written on it, thus it is the
order
of placement
that determines conditions - for the wet, so; rock face, so …”

“That does not
denote destination,” Tymall interrupted again.

“No, it
doesn’t,” Declan declared, ignoring him. “And we’re back to the
centre stone.
It
is the destination; it alone changes
symbol. How many centres they carted around is subject to guessing,
but that’s where it lay. They’d sometimes travel for years, the
shift under the auspices of a select and strict priesthood, and
then something would happen to cause it to be brought out.
Documented in one instance was a rain of fire in the northern
heavens, an omen the priesthood declared. War was coming, and out
comes the paper blocks. All but two left that time, the remaining
pair entrusted to warn others and to begin the tradition anew.
Strange race and I do wonder where they went that time …”

“Declan,”
Torrullin prompted.

“Yes.” The
Siric faced his leader. “Amunti is descendent from Drinic in a
roundabout manner, and his race was obliterated. Why, Belun and I
asked ourselves. We reviewed his tale and hidden in there is the
little fact that a sealed, disused chapel dating back aeons was
broken into fifty years back, the start of Amunti’s troubles,
although neither he nor his kind realised it at the time. This
draithen probably murdered them once he was certain he had what he
required to reach his creatures beyond.”

“One
survives,” Torrullin murmured, “so no tale is lost to us.”

“Right. And
Agnimus miscalculated as to technology. The information is out
there on the microscopic highways.”

Some inner
instinct warned him to say nothing of the Syllvan, and when he saw
Torrullin’s eyes, he was glad he listened to that inner voice.

“The symbol he
used to dial in was either trial and error, or he already knew
exactly where they were.”

“He knew,”
Tymall said.

“You’re a
soothsayer now?” Declan muttered, glaring at his tormentor.

“Ty?”
Torrullin prompted.

“The draithen
are of Digilan.”

The one window
in the study that overlooked the courtyard seemed to darken, the
glimpse of blue sky beyond the balcony eclipsed and vanished.

Saska bit at
her knuckles, eyes on her husband. Lowen closed hers, listened
instead, not liking Torrullin’s face. Samuel turned in his seat and
stared at Tymall. Krikian, Caballa and Kismet silently joined for
battle. Declan froze, forcing himself to remain outside of what was
a father-son precursor to full-scale war.

Torrullin rose
and stepped out from behind his desk. His silvery eyes never left
Tymall.

Tymall rose as
well. “You want to fight now? Why not? Let us change
everything!”

“You
knew?”

“No, I didn’t
know! We call them Mor Feru in Digilan, the creatures that are two,
yet one. I never saw darklings or soltakin or what they became
together, you know that!” Tymall shrugged and glared. Torrullin
came to a stop two paces from him, face inscrutable. “Believe me or
not, but I never heard the term draithen until you said it, and I
hadn’t thought it possible for those creatures to leave Digilan …
gods, if I’d known, I would’ve brought them under
my
command.”

“And now it
occurs to you,” Torrullin murmured, spreading his hands
expansively.

“Forgive my
stupidity, but it seemed strange Agnimus would want my cloak and
staff … and why not? The Mor Feru fear it! He who wields it,
controls them. Gods, I saw him eye it and never suspected.”

“Tymall, did
you tell Agnimus of the … Mor Feru?”

“Yes.” His
voice was rough.

“When did you
know?”

“Last night.
When I saw them.”

“And you said
nothing.”

“I needed your
help.”

Torrullin
nodded. Time passed and as everyone thought the danger was over, he
moved. A blur so fast it was as if time stopped and started for
others, and when they realised what was happening it was to find
Tymall pressed up against the bookshelves, his father’s one hand at
his neck.

“A warning,
son,” Torrullin said, his voice low and savage. “Do not think you
can create a shift in Digilan or here on Valaris. I swear to you I
shall set the Sentinels of Reaume upon you and I shall freely hand
over every last essence of my power as their reward, do you hear?
You will die a thousand times over!
”

Then he
stepped back. Flexing his fingers, he turned his back and walked
away. He ignored the ashen faces around him and sat.

“Please pick
my books up,” he said, glancing at Tymall.

Books lay
scattered, flung out by the force of the shove. Tymall breathed
raggedly and bent to retrieve a book, then another. He replaced
them haphazardly, but picked all up. When he was done, he ambled
over to the desk and leaned there.

“How you keep
your people loyal is entirely beyond me.”

“And you will
never understand.” Torrullin’s tone contained a trace of pity.
“Sit. Declan is not done.”

“Er …” The
Siric was completely off track.

“Destination,”
Caballa prompted. No one looked at Tymall.

The Warlock,
who now did not seem dangerous, made a sound of disgust and
retreated to his seat.

“Yes,
destination. Centre stone. To rid us of these pests we need decide
where we want to send them …”

“They go back
from whence they came,” Torrullin murmured.

“Good. Easier
then to dupe them. The problem lies in the symbol.”

“No, it’s
already in place.” This from Lowen.

“True,” the
Siric murmured, somewhat surprised he had not thought of it. “Fine.
Once they are beyond, we must move fast. First we change the
centre, replace it with an alternate destination - like the
netherworld. No escape from there, portal or not. Thereafter we
remove the paper blocks in random order.”

“What if your
random order results in something else?” Saska asked.

“It isn’t that
intricate, this shift. Erect it thus, dismantle reverse. Anything
else and it’s void.”

“Siric, there
can be no surprises,” Torrullin said.

Declan was
quiet for a while, his expression thoughtful, and then, “Jonas
works on this. I’ll check before I return to find the shift.”

“Jonas, Amunti
… appears the Dome has new occupants,” Tymall mused, studiously
studying the book titles on the shelf to his right.

“Something as
noble as the Guardians does not cease because some evil wanted to
end it,” Declan snapped.

“Was I talking
to you?” Tymall taunted, lowering his gaze to the Siric.

“You have
something to say?” Torrullin butted in. “Fine, stand up and say
your piece.”

Tymall smiled
and rose. Coming forward he deliberately bumped into Declan as the
Siric headed for his seat, and Caballa reached out and dragged
Declan down next to her. Laughing, Tymall turned on the balls of
his feet and faced the room.

Throwing his
arms out theatrically, he declared, “Behold! The prodigal son has
returned!” Lowering his arms, he glared. “And where is his welcome?
Nothing but taunts, threats and ill will! Shame on you all!”

As Torrullin
roared, “
Tymall
!” Saska jumped from her chair and slapped
him across his cheek, leaving four red welts there. She then
returned to her seat shaking with anger.

Torrullin’s
low chuckle sounded. “Bravo, Saska. Humiliation is more effective
than threats.”

They grinned
at each other.

“Well, I see
you two still live in each other’s skins,” Tymall murmured and
bowed. “I shall behave. Well, let me tell about Ag …” His head
lifted and he froze. Then, “Unseal the chamber! Agnimus is on the
move! They’re all moving!”

Torrullin was
on his feet waving a hand. Already shouts of warning issued from
outside.

“Go!” he
shouted at Tymall.

As Tymall
rushed from the chamber, vanishing from the balcony in the blink of
an eye, his father followed, his face strained.

Chapter
Fifty-Two

All together
now … deep breath …

Music teacher
to young students

Thump!

The earth
shook as one million draithen feet stamped down as one.

Thump!
Thump!

Dead acorns on
bare boughs tumbled to the ground.

Thump! Thump!
Thump!

Seedpods burst
open. Squirrels scurried from their holes to bolt into the
undergrowth. Insects crawled onto giant boulders.

Thump! Thump!
Thump! Thump!

Pebbles
rattled in the streams. Boulders shifted.

Thump!

Cracks in the
mountains. Stones skittered down in small landslides.

Thump, thump,
thump, thump,
thump! Thump!

Thump!

Torrullin and
Tymall were transfixed side by side.

The slopes of
the Morinnes and Arrows were no longer foothills and gullies and
steep ascents, no longer crevasses and cliffs and sheer faces.

Stairs. By
Warlock power.

One million
draithen climbed, steadfast, rhythmic, an army reaching for the
summit.

Within the two
entrances, west and east, those who needed not climb stamped their
feet in tandem. Thump, thump, thump!

The earth
trembled.

“Raw power,”
Tymall whispered.

“Indeed.
Enough to send the valley’s sentience into retreat,” Torrullin
responded.

“Take the
cloak and staff from him! Now, before they crest.”

“Barely two
hours have passed since our agreement. When do you think I had the
time to find a way?” Torrullin frowned. “Beyond that, an army on
the move like this grows its own momentum. They will not now be
stopped.”

“We are to do
nothing?”

“Did I say
that?” Torrullin frowned again. He glanced behind him as Declan and
Caballa alighted on the spur of rock. “Declan, you and Saska must
leave now.” He flexed his fingers and the Dragon Taliesman nestled
in his palm.

“Is that
…?”

“A replica.
Take it and go.” Torrullin relinquished the coin, relieved to be
divested of its presence. He watched Declan leave while holding
firmly onto a struggling and furious Saska. His wife would have
something to say upon her return.

Thump!
Thump!

“They’ve
crested in the south,” Caballa murmured.

“What do they
say about open hands, Caballa?”

“The image of
open hands wards against evil, that one?”

“That one.
Spread the word.”

Nodding,
Caballa descended to the valley floor employing her farspeaker
skills. Gods, surely it was not enough, she thought, and then dared
not doubt. Believe, she told herself, just believe.

Thump! Thump!
Thump! Thump!

And all was
still. One million draithen waited just beyond the barrier of the
furthest reaches of Torrke’s influence.

Standoff.

The advantage
was theirs.

“Open hands?”
Tymall hissed. “What kind of nonsense is that?”

“Faith is the
antidote to fear, Ty. If folk below believe it will help, their
fear diminishes. They find inner strength, hope even - it’s
stronger than magic and I hope Torrke will respond.”