The Dreamer Stones (73 page)

An enigma, he
realised, he would need to examine.

It spelled
disaster.

He rolled
sideways, bringing her up onto him. She did not resist, her mouth
playing with his.

Then, before
it could go further, she disengaged. Still on him, she sat up,
resting warm fingertips on his chest.

“This is done,
Torrullin. It is time to face the real world again.”

A moment, and
then, “I know.” There was no regret in his voice and she wondered
if the night meant as much to him as it had to her. He sat, held
her on his lap, putting his lips to her throat. “It meant
everything,” he said, and she shivered in his arms, realising how
easy it was for him. “There’s nothing easy about you, Lowen,” he
murmured with a laugh.

She climbed
off him. “How do you feel?”

He left the
bed. “I feel. Was that not the idea?”

“It was more
than that.”

Finding his
clothes, he asked, “What more did you see? Was this a onetime
event, or are we to repeat this madness until we drive all those we
love away from us?”

She swallowed
and clambered off the bed, holding a sheet about herself. “Was it
madness?”

“This is the
last thing that should have happened, and you know it.” His voice
was toneless in deliberate masking.

“Wrong. But,
yes, there is viewpoint. And you haven’t answered, was it
madness?”

He dressed
slowly, saying words that mended rent cloth where necessary. That
evidence of ‘madness’ caused him to answer truthfully. “It
is
madness.” He flicked a glance at her. “Exactly the kind
that gets under my skin.”

She did not
dare respond.

He
straightened doing up his breeches. Again his gaze flicked over
her. “Are you hiding from me now?”

She began to
get angry, realising as she did so it was what he intended. He gave
her the means to part into the day with greater ease. She dropped
the sheet and stood with one hand on hip, eyes challenging him.

He laughed.
“Good for you. Unafraid.”

That was so
far from the truth, she shivered.

His eyes
narrowed and then he reached for her, his mouth on hers, kissing
her as if it was the very first possession. Her hands dug into him,
drawing him close.

He let her go,
a strangled sound in his throat.

“What is it?”
She wrenched her neck to track his urgency.

He pulled
boots on with shocking roughness.

“Samuel and
Tymall … last night. Dear god, while I was bloody entertaining
myself.”

It hurt. “Just
go. I’ll come when I’m done.”

He was
dressed. He stood before her, eyes hooded. “Forgive me.”

For what
happened in the night, for leaving now in this manner, for not
saying more, for what was yet to follow? “Go, Torrullin.”

His lips moved
in the semblance of a smile, and then he was gone.

How furious
would he be when he knew he was kept away from the battle between
Samuel and Tymall?

Please, Lady
Goddess and Lord my God, let Samuel have heard me when I warned
him, for I knew these two events would come simultaneously. What
was I meant to do?

Feeling
bereft, Lowen got dressed.

As she left,
the sun topped the darkened land to the east.

There would be
no snow that day.

Torrullin went
first to Linir and found it deserted.

He paced the
interior and could sense nothing of a battle.

A sound. He
turned and almost collapsed in relief. “Declan. You overcame the
creature?”

The Siric
shrugged. “A temporary solution to get away from him. I doubt I
have anything to stop him, or not for long. Why are you here?”

“Checking
something. How did he get to you?”

“The
Taliesman. He was able to track it. I wonder if Tymall knew
that?”

“Where’s the
Taliesman now?”

“I left it at
the Palace. I’m afraid it will need some renovation … the Palace,
that is.”

Torrullin
shrugged. “Not my problem. What of the shift?”

“Changing the
order of the blocks will render it void without opening another
doorway, if it’s done before reverse dismantling. The blocks cannot
again be used, nor can the same doorway be opened with new blocks.
Good news.”

“Yes.”
Torrullin watched the Siric. “And?”

“What do you
want me to say, Torrullin? I heard - it is done.”

Ah. That. “One
or the other, Declan. I chose Torrke.”

The Siric
sighed and moved closer. “My Lord, it is done. We move on.”

“No
recrimination?”

“What good
would that achieve? Nobody would dare, besides.”

Torrullin
looked away. No, nobody would dare.
I can do whatever I like and
no one will dare. Gods.

Except
Saska.

Saska.

The night’s
betrayal settled heavily into his gut.

“Saska?”

“She went to
see the Lady. No word yet.”

“It appears we
don’t need the Lady.”

“Shall I
arrange for her to be called?”

“No. She needs
to deal in life at present. Let her be. We must remove the seal as
soon as possible.”

“Not yet.
Agnimus gathers more draithen.”

“Yes, yes,”
Torrullin frowned. He appeared distracted. “How long do you surmise
it would take to bring enough of a host through to form a
worthwhile force?”

“Depends on
how many and how wide the shift is. Certainly a number of days; at
best, for us - two.”

“Two days,”
his leader mused and then appeared to come to a decision. “It’s
time to meet Agnimus, without his army.”

Declan nodded,
in full agreement, but put up a finger as if preparing to add
something and then thought better of it.

“Spit it
out.”

“I know things
have been, er, busy, but have Caballa or Lowen delved for his
bloodline yet?”

“No. Why?”

“I saw him,
Torrullin. He’s a mixture, a potent mixture, more than darkling and
soltakin.”

“And you
suspect what?”

“He’s at least
part human. Were not Margus’s souls previously human?”

“Yes.”

“It has
translated in a physical manner.”

What Agnimus
looked like had no bearing. It was the matter within that would
tell the tale. “Agnimus claims to be of the Darak Or’s blood.”

The Siric
raised brows. “How is it possible?”

Torrullin
began to shrug and then was still. The connection clicked into
place. “Margus’s first reaped soul was that of his own brother. His
oldest soltakin, the one bearing the most hate and evil, having had
to wait long for freedom.”

“Gods, why
would he do that to his brother?”

“Margus didn’t
start out bad, Declan. In the beginning, it was good intentions. He
thought to save his brother until he could find a way to reverse
the calamity that befell their homeworld, which, we know now, never
came. Did he deliberately forget who his first soul was or did that
soul escape unknowingly? Who knows?”

“He never
mentioned it?”

“The one
subject he shied from.”

“Sometimes I
think you liked the Darak Or,” Declan muttered.

“I did.”

A moment of
astonishment and then the Siric cleared his throat. “There’s more
to Agnimus. He is part-Valleur also.”

“Agnimus?”
Torrullin was incredulous.

“Yes. I don’t
know how, but it’s definitely there.”

“Impossible.”

“I saw it,
Torrullin.”

Astonishment
surrendered to grim humour. “Why not, after all? This entire sorry
mess has bits and pieces of our previous confrontations over
Valaris, so why not the latest instigator with bits and pieces of
the combatants? Gods, what next? Next you’ll tell me he is kin …”
Torrullin blanched.

A tense
silence ensued, one the Siric dared not interfere with.

He saw a
terrible certainty overcome his Lord; a new dread for the man
before him settled into his heart.

Torrullin’s
pupils contracted to pinpricks and then he spun on his heel,
shouting, “Tymall!”

Samuel met him
on the steps into the Temple as he left the gloom of Linir.

Relief flooded
through both men.

Then,
“Tymall?”

“He’s
offworld.”

In
self-disgust Torrullin said, “Everyone can get in and out now? No
Taliesman, no Throne? Who the hell is pulling what here? Gods, who
is in control - me, Agnimus or my son?” He strode down the steps
into the road, which was wet from recent snow … and spun around.
“What happened last night?”

“We decided to
wait for you,” Samuel said.

Silence.

Declan left
Linir, coming to a halt at the top of the stairs.

Then Torrullin
smiled. A thing of great beauty, that smile. He moved quickly to
Samuel, gripped his upper arms and pulled him nearer to place a
kiss on the man’s cheek, releasing him again with that smile still
in place.

Declan
swallowed. The man was so mercurial, and had huge capacity for
emotion.

“Thank you,
Samuel,” Torrullin murmured, eyes bright.

Samuel was
happy, but bemused. How had Torrullin changed overnight? The
deadened soul of yesterday was gone, not just pushed aside, not as
in wearing a mask, but gone. It was no act, the light in those
eyes.

“I shall
return in half hour. Wait here for me, you and Tymall. He’s bound
to be here soon. Tell him I have gone to retrieve his cloak and
staff from Agnimus.” He was gone.

Declan came
down the stairs and asked Samuel to tell him the truth of the day
before.

Lowen returned
to the Keep, finding Caballa forlorn beside the mosaic pool.

The pool was
as sad, green and murky. Caballa was alone and looked up when she
sensed she was no longer so.

“Where are the
others?” Lowen asked.

Caballa looked
her over in silence, and then, “More to the point, where were you
last night?”

Lowen did not
look away. “Busy.”

Caballa’s lips
tightened. “Watch your back, Lowen; Saska isn’t stupid.”

Lowen drew
breath and then decided to say nothing. Instead she asked, “Did
Samuel and Tymall fight?”

Caballa
shrugged. “I’ve seen neither since dusk yesterday. Only Krikian and
Marcus are here.”

Lowen muttered
and left the Valleur Elder there.

She went to
Linir.

Samuel was
whole and unmarked.

There was no
sign of Tymall and she wondered what that meant. Declan, she noted,
was around also, pacing down the road with a massive frown on his
face. For an expressionless Siric, it was mighty indeed, such an
obvious sign of emotion.

“Samuel?”

“We waited,
Lowen. Something stayed both of us.”

“Thank
God.”

Samuel chewed
at his lip. Something was off-kilter. “What delayed him,
Lowen?”

“Delayed? Who
delayed?”

“Torrullin.
Why did he not come last night? He said he would.”

“Er … he was
probably busy.”

“He always
keeps his word.”

She sighed.
“Samuel, please. You saw him yesterday after the draithen and there
was nothing there, like he was dead inside.”

Samuel
nodded.

“He needed to
find himself, that’s all, and couldn’t come to you here.”

He stared at
her. He did not want to know, yet he asked, “And you know all that,
because you were with him?”

She lifted her
chin. “I was. I tend to be in his orbit.”

Yes. True. And
he was not going to dig out more. He would be ignorant when Saska
looked his way. Tymall mentioned sacrifice, something of a personal
nature - was it Saska?

Samuel shook
his head and sat on the steps, trying his best to think of
something else.

Chapter
Fifty-Nine

Bloodline,
descent from a common ancestor, parental lineage, family
relationship, kinship, racial or national ancestry, direct line of
descent, strain, pedigree

Titania
Dictionary

Instinct took
him to the Palace and when he entered he found instinct served him
well.

Agnimus
scrambled about on the upper floor looking for something in the
debris. He straightened and turned when he heard fingers snap
behind and below him.

“Looking for
this?” Torrullin enquired, holding the replica Taliesman in two
fingers. “Sorry,” he added as the coin absorbed into his skin.
“Come down here. Let us talk.”

Agnimus
vaulted down into the Throne-room strewn with shattered bricks,
chips of marble, wood from the banisters and chucks from the
destroyed throne. Mortar dust lay over everything.

“We meet at
last.”

“At last.”
Torrullin cocked his head and smiled. It did not reach his
eyes.

Agnimus
released an equally expressionless smile. “You can try your Elixir
tricks on me, if you like. They will not work. Go on.” He spread
his arms wide.

“Not here.”
Torrullin strolled closer. “The Valla enchantments here mute
powers.”

Agnimus looked
around pointedly. “If you say so.”

“This?” A
mirthless laugh. “What did you use? Did you not intend to kill
Declan? And the worst that happened was the shattering of a chair
and stairs. I would say so, yes.”

Agnimus’s
arrogance faltered and then was back. “Ah, that explains it. The
Siric was a mite off his game, I thought.”

Torrullin
circled the draithen. “If I were to remove the protection …” He
came to a halt. “Shall I do so?”

“It is of no
concern to me.”

“Excellent.
Let us then level the playing field, shall we?” A moment elapsed
and there was a discernible altering in the air, a shiver, and then
it passed. “There. Now nothing can hold us back.”

Agnimus held
his hands palm up. “You can’t harm me.”