The Dreamer Stones (90 page)

Torrullin
interfered, breaking the fragile truce. Barging in, the strange
atmosphere halted him, the total lack of reality and sincerity in
the room.

As they stared
at him, both fervently hoping he would say nothing to end the
colluded silence, he barked a laugh. Both women flinched.

For Torrullin
time was short, the time he had remaining before he took the helm
in the Dome. He would be brutally honest in all the moments left to
him on Valaris.

“Do you think
to hide anything when that sentience is nearby? Who are you fooling
or do you admit it is only each other?” He pointed at the golden
seat and then, lowering his hand, snarled, “Get real!”

A vortex of
emotions. Inescapable.

“You’re a fine
one to judge!” Lowen snapped, ire overcoming judgement. “Who
pussyfoots the most? You!”

“Really?”
Torrullin drawled. “And who did I ask to help me when I returned
from Digilan, Lowen, when I knew exactly what I asked?”

“Jesus,
Torrullin, and now you seek to punish me? Saska just arrived!”

“I know,” he
stage-whispered, “and yet I asked. Was that not a truth?”

Lowen was
incapable of words, but Saska found her tongue. “He asked for help,
did he? Implying you helped before …” Her eyes narrowed. “What was
it he wanted from you?”

Lowen
straightened, a prelude to battle, and eyes flashed fire.
“Sometimes your husband falls so deeply into another reality he
can’t see this one, feel this one …”

Nearby,
Torrullin drew a sharp breath, stunned by the depth of her
understanding, but Lowen ignored it.

“… he appears
cold, emotionless, without his senses, he has to be wakened, made
to return, made to feel …”

“
How
?”
Saska screeched, her heart nearly ceasing in uneven beating before
setting out upon a crashing rhythm that caused her to breathe in
tiny gasps.

“Intimacy,”
Torrullin murmured and started to laugh helplessly.

Saska jerked
in his direction and then glared at the heaving Xenian. “You
screwed my husband.”

“I’d say it
was the other way round,” Torrullin chortled.

“What is wrong
with you?” Lowen shouted. “You’re acting like a lunatic!”

“Oh, Lowen,
Lowen, I just realised!” Torrullin spluttered and made an effort to
control himself. “Of course you can reach me; of course I sensed
you were alive when I returned from the flatlands. I know you, I
recognise you, I feel you … because you are like me.” He passed a
hand across his brow and then pointed it at her. “Tell me I am
wrong.”

All levity was
gone.

“No.”

“What do you
mean?” Saska demanded. “Because she is like you, you slept with
her? What do you mean, like you? I’m going to kill both of
you.”

“No, no,”
Torrullin said, wagging a finger her way. “You’ve been a naughty
girl, wife, roundabout the same time I fell into bed with my
nemesis.”

Saska stepped
back, a hand to her throat.

“My lady wife
fell into the arms of another man, and did far more than enjoy the
feel of those arms around her,” Torrullin murmured, his silvery
gaze spears of wrath.

She quailed
and then stumbled blindly from the room.

Torrullin
glared after her and made no move to follow.

Lowen’s head
moved from one to the other. She saw Saska stumble to the mosaic
pool, kneel there, and then settled her gaze on Torrullin. “You
have no right to judge her.”

“No, that
biased I am not.” His voice was quiet. “And maybe it’s a good
thing.”

“Meaning?”

“There is
someone there for her.”

“Oh, balls!
She loves you!”

He swung to
face her. “Shall we speak of this thing you kept hidden, Lowen? I
would like to know why.”

“It’s not set;
I can reverse.”

“No, my dear,
this you cannot change.”

She paled
more. “No.”

Drawing
breath, he shook his head and headed into the courtyard.

“Torrullin?”

“The host
arrives, Lowen, and the amulets are about to come into their own -
another time.”

Chapter
Seventy-Two

A shiny
circle, really? Are you insane?

Tattle

Night fell,
the temperature plummeted.

Biting wind
whistled around corners and howled across empty spaces. Survivors
wondered if they would see the sun again, and those with hope
wondered if they deluded themselves.

Then, across
and along every path, into every home and sanctuary, within every
hiding place, under every mound, above every peak, the unicorn
amulets pounded against icy chests, grew warm, and began to glow.
The metal felt alive, strong, and magical and every wearer gasped
and then smiled. A few laughed. Many wept with relief.

Only one could
do this and he had now come. The Enchanter. This night the unicorn
symbol of purity would protect from all sorcery, from a grain to a
mountain.

The sun would
rise in the morning.

There was more
and it was a wonderful sight.

The beautiful,
inspiring Golden landed in their thousands, their golden skins
attracting even the most obscure light, causing them to appear
god-like. It was a trick the Valleur used to strike fear into their
enemies and instil hope in the victims of evil, and it worked
extraordinarily well. They came, swords drawn, and working
sorcery.

Valarians
cheered and the draithen snarled, and enjoined battle.

Valarians were
safe; the amulets would now protect them, and thus was the war
between draithen and Golden.

It was as wars
were universe over. Bloody, horrible, with death and maiming on
both sides. The darkness lit with bolts of power and skittered as
swords threw terrible sparks into every shadow. Screams, grunts,
curses, words of magic shouted or whispered in desperation. In
Galilan they fought, in Gasmoor, Farinwood, Winnish, every city. In
Moor they fought, in Barrier, every town. In Two Town they fought,
on the Vall Peninsula, every spaceport. And upon each path, in each
river, upon every lake, in every forest and upon each mountain.
Where there were draithen, there too Valleur, and where there was a
Valleur, the draithen found him.

The Valleur
were outnumbered and fought an added disadvantage in that fresh
draithen poured through the shift every minute, but they fought
with tenacity and strength.

It could not
last and as the new dawn approached, it lightened the land on the
Golden retreating in all centres and the draithen crowing delight
as they sensed victory.

There was no
sun and it was almost poetic. Valaris greyed in its new day and the
war raged on.

Declan threw
aside the protection of the unicorn to enter the fray unencumbered.
He fought tooth and nail in Galilan and morning found him crippled
and with his fury unabated. He would not surrender - only death
would stop him.

Krikian fought
in the north on the Meth and discovered immortality was a decided
advantage. Otherwise fatal cuts left him bleeding but alive.

Kismet rallied
troops tirelessly, with a word for every soldier, and fought any
draithen too close. By morning, his left arm dragged, but his right
wielded sword and sorcery with amazing dexterity. He screamed
curses, fought like a demon and shouted the Valleur rallying cry at
every opportunity.

For their
part, Valarians, having realised they were wholly protected, took
up weapons as well, only to find the amulet did not permit
fighting. The unicorn symbol ruled over all evil, any war, even
defence. Humankind retreated from the fight and took up another
oath, that of medical, succour, guides and terrain specialists. A
daunting and imperative duty.

Saska left the
Keep to battle, and Torrullin let her go knowing the days and hours
of protection were of the past. She acquitted herself well, having
learnt survival tricks as the Lady of Life.

Lowen needed
to throw herself into the defence of Valaris, but here Torrullin
put his foot down. She was not a soldier and had not taken up
weapons for this kind of battle. He understood, being what she was,
she could not get hurt, but would not subject her to the atrocity
of war. She demurred, and that battle of wills was epic, and short
given the issues of time. Thus, together, a team in divide, they
left Torrke for Galilan where, despite the deserted state of the
city, the heaviest fighting took place.

Morning, grey
and gloomy, found them dirty, exhausted and unharmed.

In a looted
material shop, Torrullin and Lowen took a breather, and he took the
time to take stock of progress.

As he hunkered
closing his eyes and slowing his breathing, Lowen prowled the
shattered racks, stepped on torn, dirty cloth and wondered what lay
ahead.

A figure slunk
into the shop …

“Christ,
Declan, you scared the daylights out of me!”

Walking like a
maimed man, he came closer. “Where’s Torrullin?”

“Further back,
meditating.”

“I have to
talk to him.” Dragging his tired body around a leaning set of
shelves he went in search of Torrullin, who lifted a bleak
gaze.

“We’re
losing.”

“I know. You
must do something.”

“I swore not
to allow Elixir here again, no, don’t press me. Another way, there
has to be.”

Declan
swallowed, his throat parched. “What of the Lady of Valaris?”

“She will heal
the land. She has no power beyond that.”

“Lift the
seal; bring the Kaval in.”

“If we lose,
the draithen will be free to go elsewhere.”

“We need
something to force them back to the shift and, as I see it, that
means they must believe they are in danger.”

“Suggestions?”

The Siric
lowered to the littered floor, pressing his lips together to
prevent a cry of pain. “If I did, I wouldn’t be here.”

“The draithen
are at full strength. Perhaps it’s time to play the Valla
card.”

“Agnimus?”

“Yes. Menllik,
I think.” Wearily Torrullin got to his feet. “Give me your
hand.”

“Save your
energy. I’m in no danger.” Declan grinned up and winced. “I’ll use
my injuries as an excuse to take a break.”

Torrullin
stared down at the Siric and then nodded. “You are a good man; this
world owes you.”

“Go. Do what
you must,” Declan said, turning his head away.

Torrullin
left, taking Lowen with him.

Menllik was
silent.

Torrullin
smirked as they wandered through the expectant streets. “Agnimus
planned this.”

“Seems like
it. Is he here?”

“Not yet, but
someone is.”

“Enchanter!”

“Ah, Anton,
you stayed?”

“Safest place.
My wife and son are with me.” Anton came to a panting stop. “The
draithen leader said …”

“Agnimus was
here?” Lowen questioned.

“Yesterday.”

“Menllik is
the final show,” Torrullin said. “Poetic.”

“Um, he said I
should be there at the end.”

Torrullin
fixed the quailing human with a speculative stare. “Why would he
say that, do you think?”

“Something
about me being a storyteller.”

Torrullin
glanced at Lowen. “Agnimus aims to win this.”

“He’s almost
there already.”

Torrullin
paced away. “Yet this, and with a witness. Why?”

“Family,
Torrullin. The Blood.” Laughing, Agnimus landed before the
three.

“What’s he
talking about?” Lowen asked.

Glancing at
Anton, Torrullin said, “He is Valla.”

Lowen stared
at the draithen leader. “That thing is Valla?”

“This thing,”
Agnimus hissed, “is more than you can ever be, Xenian!”

“Hell’s
bells,” Anton muttered, retreating.

Lowen glared.
“Well, excuse me if I stick to what I am!”

Agnimus
ignored her. “Torrullin. What next? Which words to use now? What
evil will you bring upon your birth world?”

Torrullin was
silent so long Anton, the witness, wondered if he should prompt
someone.

“You can
choose a new path, Agnimus.”

“The Valla
way?” the draithen sneered.

“Is that so
far-fetched? The blood was there before Margus, before the Drinic;
it is your first instinct, rules everything you do. If you were to
acknowledge …”

“Like Tymall?
He turned from the Valla way, was thrown aside.”

“Briefly, that
is true, but he is yet Valla.”

“You accepted
him into the fold? Please, I am not a fool.”

“No, you are a
clever soul.
Soul
, Agnimus. When you end, you move on. You
can choose now, take another route. Tymall returned to the path
long enough for us to reach an understanding; it can be the same
for you.”

“You forgave
him?”

Torrullin took
a breath. “He is my son.”

“And I am
nothing to you!”

“You are of
Nemisin and that is an illustrious claim. The Valleur would herald
you as an Ancient. You become …”

“… famous?
Forgive me, but that I have already.”

However, there
was need in the draithen’s eyes, the need of blood, and Torrullin,
recognising it, breathed slowly.

“Infamy is a
far cry from celebrated fame, Agnimus. I would personally guarantee
your safety.”

Agnimus
snorted. “Elixir guarantees? Does not engender security,
kinsman.”

“As Vallorin,
draithen.”

“A nice
thought, but you can’t trust me.”

“A bargain
then, one to display trust, from both of us.”

Another long
silence, one Anton did not consider breaking, and neither did
Lowen. She held her breath, prayed, and hoped.

“What have you
in mind?” Agnimus asked.

“The Valleur
will gift you Nemisin’s world.”

“A dead
planet!”