The Dreamer Stones (81 page)

“Come,” he
said. “I was about to have a bite to eat. Join me and tell all
news.”

The Senlu were
in evidence everywhere.

Watchful at
corners, unobtrusive under trees, pointedly up on rooftops. A house
on every tier was war-room, barracks and arsenal.

Torrullin
noted the state of readiness. The Senlu were soldiers. Men and
women. Dress suited to combat replaced loose robes. What they
expected was difficult to discern, but it was nonetheless soothing
to find preparedness in evidence.

Torrullin
halted in the entrance to the cul-de-sac where Fay’s home was,
hesitated, and decided to head to the stables first.

Upon arriving,
he found it deserted. Employing the sight, he quested until he
found the horses. They were in the forest along Grinwallin’s
northern perimeter in ordered ranks. Cavalry. Teighlar took no
chances. He wondered how aware Fay was.

Fay. Tymall’s
nemesis. How fitting. He and his son were not that dissimilar.

Torrullin
headed for the great gate that led onto the plain. The gate was
open and well manned. He thought the plain would be empty or nearly
so. A few horses put through paces, a number of games. He did not
expect what he found.

He laughed
aloud.

A figure left
the mass below, waving a hand in greeting.

Kismet. And
behind him, the largest Valleur host since the time Vannis took his
people into battle against humankind twelve thousand years ago.
There were at least two hundred thousand Valleur men and women upon
the plain, all fitted to war, and so silent it spoke of complete
readiness and perhaps even willingness to fight to the death.

Kismet grinned
when he joined Torrullin at the head of the great stairway. “The
Luvanese army, my Lord. There are two hundred and fifty thousand
here and a further fifty thousand at the bottom of the
precipice.”

“You did this,
Kismet?”

“No, my Lord.
As much as I would like to take the credit, no, they came to me and
I did not turn them away. Neither did the Emperor. He is as ready
for a showdown as these troops are, I see.”

He prepares
to defend against Grinwallin’s rising,
Torrullin thought.
There is a huge difference.

Aloud he said,
“We may need them, Kismet. Gods help us, we may need them all.”
When the Elder’s face grew sombre, he added, “Agnimus brings more
draithen through as we speak. In less than fifty hours he will
strike.” He faced the Valleur Elder. “I shall not again do what I
did, I swear. Torrke is now ready to counter on its own, but it
means this army may be the defence we are forced to employ.”

Kismet nodded.
“Will you address them, my Lord Vallorin?”

Vallorin.
Briefly Torrullin wished that was all he was. “Of course. Shall
we?”

He descended
the stairs with the Elder a pace behind. When he was within hailing
distance, he came to a stop. For a long while he stood studying the
host before him. Mostly golden, and a number of reds and browns.
The new Valleur. The only Valleur, he thought, for on Valaris only
Krikian held the flame for the Golden now. He did not want them
hurt and he did not want to see even one die. Given half a choice,
he would place them in an unbreakable cocoon to be delivered after
Tymall, Agnimus and other evil was long outdated. He desired
eternal peace for them, longevity, happiness, security.

They gazed
expectantly back at him, a few craning for a better view of their
Vallorin. Many, most, had never seen him before, but all knew him
and his history. To the last, each would die for him. A number of
smiles were irrepressible.

“Thank you,
Valleur,” he said, throwing his voice. “I do so love you.”

A loud cheer
shook the plain.

“Dear gods,
Kismet,” Torrullin whispered, “I feel like bawling like a
baby.”

Kismet
chuckled and then cleared his throat.

Torrullin
turned to look at him and saw two wet lines across the Elder’s
cheeks. “That helps,” he murmured, a smile in his eyes.

Kismet wiped
at his cheeks and grinned.

Drawing a deep
breath, Torrullin raised his right hand. Silence returned. “I shall
not lie to you. I did not expect to find an army ready. I did not
expect I would ever conscript one. If it were my choice, Valleur, I
would send each of you to safety.”

Dead
silence.

“I shall not
insult you or the long history of our race by denying what you
offer of your own free will - your hearts, your souls, your bodies,
your magic, your hands, your trust, your faith, your weapons, your
will, your last breath, for freedom from oppression. Not from the
Murs Siric, the Dragons we once suspected, not even from the humans
we denigrated. We know our enemy now. Our enemy is that which the
dark is supreme within. It may be within a human, Ymirian,
Pilanese, even a Valleur among you - you will know your enemy, for
in you the light is supreme. That is an enemy we shall fight
eternally, but today our foe has a name and we prepare to go to war
with him and his army. I did not ask you to come, I may never have
asked, but I am beyond glad you did.”

Another cheer,
but it was swiftly stilled with a raised hand.

“Prepare,”
Torrullin said, his tone serious and grim, “to transport to
Valaris. Your enemy is Agnimus and his draithen. If we do not stop
them Valaris will become a wasteland.”

“When do we
go?” someone shouted.

“Tomorrow. At
first light.” Silence. Torrullin gazed at them, wishing it could be
different. “May the Goddess keep you all safe.”

“And you, Lord
Vallorin,” a young Valleur woman in the front ranks said.

He smiled.
“Thank you. Now, I appoint Kismet as war leader. Send your unit
leaders to confer with him.” A pause and then, “I shall see you on
Valaris.” He turned away. “Kismet, I entrust strategy to you.”

He walked off.
There was not much more he could say, not without showing how very
angry he was with the situation, the one that called for more spilt
blood, and not without entering the realms of rhetoric, it being a
way to hide. Hide in words. Gods.

“My Lord,”
Kismet called, following.

“Elder, you
have run defences for Tannil for a long time, and before that you
were there when Margus caused havoc. You’ll know what to do, where
to deploy. Just remember to guard the sacred sites.” Torrullin
slowed, but did not stop.

“It’s not
that,” Kismet said. “It’s the rumour about Tymall being in
Grinwallin.”

“He’s with
Fay.”

“Is that
wise?”

Torrullin
stopped and turned. They were now far enough away from the Valleur
host to be out of earshot.

“It’s
foolhardy. I have no doubt there’s a storm approaching created by
my son as legacy for his, but, mark this, he is still my son and he
has a mere few hours remaining in this reality. Digilan has
dispatched an emissary to retrieve him. We cannot reverse the call
and Tymall cannot escape him. His time is up, Kismet, and as a
father I grant him these final hours with his wife. It’s what I
would want were I to go away, possibly forever.”

Torrullin
stared up at Grinwallin Mountain, capped in liquid gold, a sentinel
to the dying sun.

“It could get
out of hand. Who can blame him for wanting to hold onto this life,
compared to what awaits him? When you’re done here, I could use
your eyes and ears.”

In the
gathering dark Kismet’s nod was a sensed thing, and then he left
calling out names.

Torrullin left
him to it.

Chapter
Sixty-Four

Every plan
feels like the best strategy, but every plan has an alternative and
each can twist out of control. The best-laid plans refer to those
sketched in brief, ever allowing for the unforeseen.

Book of
Sages

It was dark by
the time he knocked on Fay’s door.

A low moan
answered him.

Fay was in
labour and no one would hear his summons.

He entered,
found the front room deserted, a single candle burning on a low
table, but the room beyond was lit. The bedchamber. Another moan
sounded.

Taking hold of
himself and his emotions, he entered the bedchamber. It was stuffy
and close and the brightness overwhelmed. The first person he saw
was Tymall petrified against the drawn drapes opposite, and then
his gaze moved to find Fay writhing on the huge expanse of a
messed-up bed. She was sweating, her cheeks reddened and her eyes
bright. There was no one else present.

Tymall
swallowed, staring at Fay.

“Ty.” The
younger man jerked as if he had seen a ghost. “It’s labour, son,
not an infectious disease. Open those drapes and let the night air
in, then pinch out at least half the candles. Ty!”

Tymall focused
and then nodded. Relieved to be doing something, he did as bid.

In the
meantime, Torrullin approached the bed. Fay stilled, eyes tracking
him.

As he sat on
the bed, she whispered, “Do not harm my baby, I beg you.”

Torrullin
closed his eyes. Gods, how far they had fallen. “I swear I shall
not harm him,” he murmured, opening his eyes. “Will you permit me
to examine you?”

“Torrullin …
I’m not all bad …” Fay whispered, her voice tortured and
frightened.

“I know, Fay,”
he murmured, leaning closer to her. “None of us can claim
perfection.”

She smiled
with difficulty and then glanced at Tymall busy snuffing candles.
“Why is he here? Teighlar let him come, he said, but I don’t
believe him.”

“Fay, let us
get this baby born first, then we can delve into all that.”

She gripped
his hand. “Is he here on the sly?”

“He is here
with permission.”

She sighed and
let him go. Lying back, biting down on a spasm of pain, she
murmured, “He has come to say goodbye. Gods.”

Pity, even for
these two. “Then it’s fortuitous your son is to come now, not so?
Concentrate on bringing life, Fay. Will you permit an
examination?”

She moaned and
clutched her stomach. Biting her lips as it passed, she nodded.

“Ty, get
towels, water, soap,” Torrullin said, and heard his son exit. “Now,
let me …” He lifted Fay’s clawed hands from her stomach and undid
the small buttons of her frock.

“Torrullin, if
only it had been you.”

He smiled. “We
were not bad enough, I think.” He moved the cloth aside to expose
her rounded stomach.

“You weren’t,”
she sighed, “and now you are. I should have waited for you.”

In some
convoluted way, he knew she told the truth. Had she known he would
become as he had, she would no doubt have waited. A strange call,
this blood-to-blood obsession.

“Live through
this, Fay, and you may hound me after, all right?”

His hands
trembled as he prepared to place them on her stomach. Kinfire would
spark bright and, given her state of mind, he would feel the call
of the blood. It could be disturbing and it could be intensely
satisfying. He was not sure which caused him the greater
turmoil.

Her next moan
removed those thoughts. With steady hands and a clear mind, he
placed his hands on the roundness. Kinfire did spark, bright and
unmistakeable, but he ignored it to concentrate on receiving a
sense of the baby’s health.

“Is she all
right?” Tymall murmured, returning with an armful of white towels,
and a dish of water in which a bar of perfumed soap slithered. He
stood on the opposite side of the bed, holding everything, his face
creased with anxiety.

“Put it down,
Ty, and relax. She’s fine and so is your son. She has already
dilated. I believe you are about to see your child enter this
world.” Torrullin removed his hands and drew Fay’s frock closed.
“Hand me a towel to absorb her water …”

“What?” Tymall
asked.

“Never mind,
just give me a towel … Fay, lift up …” Towel in place, he faced his
son.

Tymall was
pale, but his silver-grey eyes were also alight with inner joy. He
stared at Fay as if his life depended on her.

It was a
feeling his father could relate to. “I’ll leave you now.”

“No! What if
something should go wrong?”

Torrullin
grinned. “Millions of women give birth every minute, Ty. Fay is
fine …” Fay, of course, moaned loud and long then, and scratched at
the covers. “That, I assure you, is normal.”

“Don’t go,
Torrullin,” Fay whispered. “If time is little … it is, isn’t it?
Then you can’t afford to leave … Ty wouldn’t want you to.”

“You told her?
Now?” Tymall accused.

“I did not
have to.”

“I’m not
stupid, Ty,” Fay snapped.

“Fay …”

Fay looked
away from him. Her eyes bored into Torrullin’s. “What did you do to
him? He’s different.”

“He hasn’t
told you?”

“Told me …
whaaa …” This time the moan was a small scream. “Told me what?”

“Ty?”

“I can’t.”

“Very well,”
Torrullin sighed. “The only way Ty can remain in our reality is to
remove every Valla. Including me. Another realm for me. With sole
claim to the Valla blood and therefore the Throne, Digilan will
relinquish its hold over him. In effect, he’d hold Digilan and this
reality, a master of two. Something worth killing for. Not only the
ultimate revenge, but also great power. The Vallas were taken out,
one by one, leaving …”

“Me and the
baby,” Fay whispered, biting back another moan.

“Yes. He had
to make a choice.”

“Us, or
himself,” Fay whispered again. “How did he choose?”

“I think
that’s obvious.”

“Is it? What
did he choose before he came in and found me in labour? Before he
was presented with the process of his child being born?”

Torrullin
glanced up to see Tymall at the window, staring out at the starred
heavens. “You said yourself he’s different. He chose to return to
Digilan. He wants his son to know life.”