The Kallanon Scales (16 page)

“Krikian, I
want to accompany you to the landing site tomorrow.” Torrullin
looked around, avoiding Vannis. “All of you remain within these
walls. Fine, let’s clear our heads.” He began walking down the
aisle and stopped besides Skye. “Will you come with me, please?” He
preceded her out into the courtyard, waving the sealing away.

The others
dispersed, each thoughtful, until Quilla, Vannis and Taranis were
left to wander out.

“Quilla, what
are you hiding?” Vannis asked. “You communicated with him in
there.”

“I cannot
answer.” Quilla tucked the parchment under his wing and hurried
away.

“Torrullin
knows something he is not telling us,” Vannis muttered. A farseer.
Gods. Did his grandson know what lay ahead? “Quilla, too.”

“Something
isn’t right,” Taranis murmured.

“Say what,
Guardian?”

“I mean other
than this Zone thing.”

Vannis drew a
hand through his hair. He cut it during the night, a sure sign.
Both Valla men had cut their hair. In the old days they sheared it
off before battle; cutting it was a compromise in these latter
times, but the act eloquently stated a battle approached.

“Atmosphere is
strange,” Vannis said a moment later.

Taranis
nodded. “As if something watches, as if we are about to go to war
unprepared.”

Vannis said
nothing.

How to refute
an instinct he carried as well?

Gather your
chickens together now!

~ Mother
Goose

The Keep

O
ver the next hours a number of
meetings ensued, well into the night.

Shep and Gren
sought audience after completing their search. Shep discovered a
drawing of the taliesman and Gren knew it for the one he saw on the
cleric. They found Torrullin with Skye.

He attempted
to instruct the bemused girl in basic protection rituals. After
imparting their news, Shep suggested he take over. Torrullin agreed
with alacrity, and Gren and Shep led her away, to her relief
also.

Another
meeting was one Pretora requested. The Elders decided four would
rotate responsibilities - himself, Kismet, Darian and Maseé.
Torrullin pronounced himself pleased. Pretora and Kismet would
occupy the Keep if he found it necessary to leave, and this too met
with approval. His Vallorin informed him he would be leaving soon
and small details were now Pretora’s concern.

Then came
Rillinon, as bid, and Torrullin sealed the study.

“Sit,
Rillinon.” Torrullin leaned forward. “I suspect you know why you
are here.”

A nod.

“I allowed you
to keep your secret, because of my boys. Her time is now at
hand.”

Rillinon said
nothing.

Torrullin leaned back. “Dantian, the fourth Vallorin of
Ardosia, had a younger brother Dante, and Dante had a daughter and
her name is Varelie. She is three years older than Tris and Ty and
in the convoluted thing the bloodline is, she is my cousin a few
generations down the line. With Dantian in the Darak Or’s clutches
and her father dead in the annihilation, Varelie would eventually
have carried and birthed the Valla heir. She was the blood that
would gift to the Valleur the next Vallorin on Ardosia. You took
her in when the Valleur scattered before Margus and then you
brought her here as your daughter Mitrill when those scatterlings
made Valaris their new home. You knew I was Vallorin, with the
ancient symbol of the Dragon. You also found Vannis, a living
legend,
and
you
discovered I had already conceived an heir.”

“At first I
was not sure of her welcome,” Rillinon said. “I was one of those in
the birthing chamber when the twins were born and I saw the
potential disaster, not only generally, but to Mitrill specifically
as a Valla. An unrecognised twin can be an awful thing, forgive my
bluntness, and thus I kept her a secret.” He paused. “Augin told us
of your dreams, of your search for Mitrill on Ardosia. When you
said nothing, I assumed I …”

“You did right
and have no doubt saved her life, then, beyond the Rift, and
unknowingly many times here. Let us move on. A Valleur babe
remembers, Rillinon; surely she knows without you telling her
so?”

“My Lord, I
changed her memories.”

“Again, you
did the right thing. She is safer in ignorance.”

“How did you
know her, my Lord?”

“Trebac,
Elder, unmistakably. When the boys were born I took a few minutes
of privacy at the Crystal Round, and a little girl wandered in. I
was alone, thank the gods, and I took her onto my lap. Imagine my
surprise when the blue fire erupted. And then she told me her
name.”

Rillinon
blinked. “I remember that day.” He sighed. “I overlooked
kinfire.”

“You could not
have stopped it, only a Valla can do so. I warded it then. She is
safe.”

Rillinon bowed
in acknowledgement. “You are a great man, my Lord.”

“I was
petrified my boys would realise my worst fears. I needed a Valla
waiting in the wings, as barbaric as that sounds.”

Rillinon
sighed. “What do you want of me now?”

“Nothing at
present, but I am giving you this,” and Torrullin removed a rolled
document from a drawer. It was waxed with the dragon seal he wore
on a ring no one had seen, could not see. “This states Mitrill is
Varelie Valla. It presents her ancestry and her true name and her
right to regency along with the Elders until a male heir is born.
Hold onto it, hide it well, as you have done with her.”

Rillinon
accepted the document, stared at it without unrolling it, and
looked up. “Why?”

“At the
meeting today the underlying concern was the bloodline. If I die
and my sons cannot return, then that document proves the line. Keep
it safe, keep Mitrill safe, and when I return I shall bring both
her and you into the Valla household. She will be protected, you
have my word on it, and she will know her value, as you will be
honoured for selfless behaviour. Thank you, Rillinon, you may go
now.”

The Elder
bowed as he rose. Twenty-five years of peace, a drop in the ocean
of time, and now it was about to explode anew. He would light a
candle to the Goddess tonight.

Torrullin was
allowed a few minutes before Tymall burst in.

“For Aaru’s
sake, Ty, where are your manners?”

“The valley
repels intruders!”

Torrullin
vanished and his son followed the signature.

Torrke

He transported
to the Graveyard, a good vantage under cover to watchers.

Tristamil was
prone under a bush and Tymall came, to hug the wall of the nearest
crypt.

It was too
stormy and dark to see. The wind whipped trees to further obscure
view. It was too noisy to hear. This was a perfect night for a bent
mind to invade a stronghold.

Tymall was
right, the valley repelled intruders. Someone employed the storm’s
cover.

Who? How
many?

Were they
after those who knew of a map?

“Stay here
under cover,” he growled at his sons and stepped out, hand on the
hilt of sword.

He needed to
see. He needed to hear. He strode down the decline and began to
isolate the interferences. He removed wind, the scraping foliage,
removed rushing water and pounding rain from auditory senses.

Enchanter.

Protect the
Keep, Quilla.

Quiet came for
him, and he heard a thin wailing, intermittent, close to the
ground, as Torrke disintegrated the unwelcome before they dared
soil this precious earth. He ran, and the closer he came, the
louder the wailing. Even with enhanced vision, he could distinguish
only indistinct shapes.

Many, and
vanishing fast.

He had to get
one before Torrke completed its task of protection.

If he ran as
fast as two legs could move he would be too late.

He attempted
to commune with the valley’s spirit, but it was too intent on its
task to heed.

He transported
and achieved a small hop, the result of the storm’s leeching.

Torrullin
halted and found calm. His lips flattened. If the twins had minded,
and he had no reason to think otherwise, they would be safe from
this sorcery. He issued the sibilance of the Fleeing Voice, a short
burst.

He felt
someone or something flee in terror greater than anything the
valley was capable of instilling, and followed.

Beyond the
Morinnes Mountains

Torrullin flew
into the fury of the storm over the Morinnes, devastating on the
other side, and caught a glimpse of two indistinct forms erratic
ahead.

Instantly he
hissed the Delaying Voice and had the satisfaction of witnessing
the two plummet towards earth, where he knew they would be rooted.
No one could escape the Voices.

His stomach
churned. Terrible sorcery. Yet he had to know who these were and
what they wanted, what they protected.

He descended
and found the two twisting on their feet. Extending his left hand,
he held them with traditional sorcery. Only then did he release the
Delaying Voice.

The forms
stilled. Harsh breathing, terror-filled gasps.

It was too
dark.

He tossed a
globe into stationary orbit, revealing them while remaining himself
in the shadows.

They were
humanoid, but whether male or female he could not tell. Small in
stature with folded wings. They glared through colourless eyes
hooding in anger as terror fled. Hair was close-cropped,
feather-like in appearance, skins pale. They wore pale-grey
outfits.

“Release your
wings.”

They did not
react, stared balefully and were ready to bolt the instant he erred
in his holding.

“Your wings!”
Torrullin commanded in Siric.

Their wings
soared out. Glorious colours, scarlet, sapphires, emeralds and
sparkling silvers. The beauty of the Siric lay in their wings.
Bartholamu’s suspicion had ground.

Look at their eyes.
Not even Margus
possessed that kind of evil.

“Who are
you?”

Their wings
folded away and they stared over his head.

He needed only
one. Lifting his right hand, he blew the left figure into oblivion.
The other hissed. “You will pay for that! She was my mate!”

“Answer me now
or you are next.” He lifted his hand.

“Siric!”

“That I
already know,” Torrullin murmured. His fingers glowed.

“Murs!” The
Siric’s eyes searched for an opening.

Torrullin held
him firm. “Why are you here?”

“I cannot
reveal …” the Murs began and Torrullin’s hand was a blur as he
burned a line along the creature’s arm. He felt only detachment as
it screamed. Lycea died, Raken suffered far more. “You have made a
new map! We cannot allow that!”

Torrullin’s
face was expressionless as he asked, “What are you hiding in the
Forbidden Zone?”

Eyes flickered
and he clutched his burnt arm. “You have to die, you know too much
already. Kill me, human. Others will follow.”

Torrullin gave
a cold smile. “You think I am human?” This Murs did not know
everything. He, and those like him, merely erased the trail of the
map. Foot soldiers too long exiled to be aware of how much the
universe had changed. “You are useless to me. Say your
prayers.”

Presented with
imminent death the Murs discovered it was not so blasé. “Wait! We
can deal!”

“You are an
ant doing another’s bidding, Murs. What could you possibly know
that I may find enlightening?”

“I can tell
you who sent me.”

Torrullin
sensed the presence of his sons behind him. Although they were in
shadow and further obscured by the viciousness of the storm, the
Murs shuddered and he felt its flinching shock in his holding of
it.

“I told you to
stay put,” he said over his shoulder.

“We were
concerned,” Tristamil said.

“Who are you?”
the Murs burst out.

“It
is
a
Siric!” Tymall breathed.

Torrullin
ignored the twins. “Why are you concerned, Murs?”

“
Twin war gods come to their
father
,” the Murs quoted, eyes rolling
back.

“
Seeking magic to eliminate the
monsters of worlds
,” Torrullin quoted in
return.

“You are not
human,” the Murs said. “You must kill me, deal or no deal.”

Torrullin
murmured, “You are not to warn anyone.”

“You are the
Enchanter.” Resignation. “After so long, it has come.”

“What do you
mean?” Tymall demanded, stepping into the circle of light.

The Murs drew
a ragged breath. “Beware your sons, Enchanter!” He bit down on
something in his mouth, a jaw-snapping crunch.

Torrullin
cursed, released his hold and darted forward. Poison. It chose its
moment of death, rather than have the scythe brought down upon it.
Torrullin caught the creature before it hit sodden earth. He stared
into filming eyes and whispered, “What is out there?”

“You will see,
go soon, must choose,” the Murs gurgled.

“Choose?”

“Choose one
son.” There was a final challenge in its gaze and it was dead.

Torrullin
breathed through clenched teeth, furious, shocked. He lowered the
body and closed those accusing eyes. He rose and faced the
twins.

“When I give
an order, you heed! You are adults! Had you listened, it may have
revealed more!” Torrullin grunted, biting off words that would
reveal there had been a different revelation made here, one more
profound. He hoped they had not heard those final words, and stared
at them. No, they had not heard. He cursed and looked on the body.
“Bring him to the Keep.”