The Kallanon Scales (40 page)

“They are good
men. They would risk much if they understood what they were doing,
and why they were doing it. It isn’t reward, Torrullin, which makes
them function. It’s their hearts, their ideals - even Xenians have
ideals.”

“I will speak
to them.”

“Your father
should. He is Lord of the Guardians and Xenians know him.”

“I see. It
would be me they are afraid of. I will ask Taranis to talk to
them.”

“Thanks.” She
rose. “I’ll be off then.”

He allowed her
to reach the door. “Cat, I know you are hurting …”

She released
the handle and swivelled back. “You have no obligation to make me
feel better. I was the stupid one and now I’m paying for it.”

“You were not
alone in this.”

She fled,
leaving the door ajar.

“Oy, Enchanter.
What a knack you have for upsetting the balance.”

“Trespassing
again, are we?”

“Me, trespass?
You invited me, as I recall.”

“Well, you are
here, let us get to it.” Torrullin threw the door closed.

“I am all
ears.” Thundor bounced once on the rumpled bed and sat with a
studious expression.

“I need your
help.”

“Do go
on.”

“I need you to
contact your kind in the Tennet system.”

“I can do
that. What am I to ask of them?”

Torrullin sat
in the chair Cat vacated. “Ask if they have seen a woman with
bluish hair. She may or may not be a prisoner. I want to know where
she is.”

Thundor
studied the Enchanter. “I know of only two women with blue hair to
have come to Valaris. One is Infinity, and we know what happened to
her, and the other is your lovely wife.”

Torrullin
sighed, an exhausted sound. “Yes, Thundor. Saska. I need to know
where she is.”

“You suspect
she is in the Zone?”

“I know she
is.”

Thundor sighed
also and nodded. “I shall do what I can.”

“Thank you.”
He looked intently at the Thinnings. “The others do not know and I
would like to keep it that way.”

“Very well,
but they could help.”

“I do not
require more misplaced pity.”

Always watch
the sky!

~ Brother Al,
Academia of Truth

Atrudis

T
he Academia of Truth was a hive of
activity.

Clerics
bounded up and down worn stone stairs without regard for another
and Golden Force patrolled the perimeter with focused pacing. Force
were in evidence everywhere, individuals stationed at every exit,
every stairwell, where they were in the way. It was a mite
overpowering.

Key-ler stepped from his cubbyhole and a young apprentice
laden with scrolls nearly upended him. The young man uttered an
apology and hurried away, heading for the catacombs where they
stored sensitive material. No doubt they dumped all in an untidy
heap, and who would restore order after? Key-ler thought, watching
him go.
Me, always me.
He chuckled, admitting he trusted no other to make a decent
job of it.

“You are
amused on this seemingly terrible day, Brother Key-ler.”

Key-let swung around to find
him
leaning against the wrought-iron
railing, hands resting on the top. Around the man was a blur of
movement as apprentices, novices and clerics alike scurried, most
laden with books and scrolls. Key-ler considered ignoring the man
and then thought better of it. In this ordered disarray, he was
likely the one who knew what happened

“A private
joke, Honourable Brother,” Key-ler murmured as he closed the gap,
dodging people. “And is it such a terrible day?”

The man’s eyes
crinkled and he faced the courtyard, looking up at the heavens
rather than the insane bustling below. “It is a glorious day.”

It was indeed.
Calamity and tragedy only happened on stormy, bleak days in romance
novels, not that he read anything of the like! He was likely to
lose an eye if caught with such subversive material.

The heavens
shone benignly warm on this early autumn morning, softening the
grey stone of the old building into mellow fawn, lighting the
hundreds of paned windows with a subdued golden glow. Even the
riotous creepers changed colour and seemed almost friendly. No
pruning held them in check, and it was forbidden to remove a
growing plant from the earth unless for sustenance.

The man gazed
into the courtyard at the frantic activity. “That will not
help.”

Brother Blular
beat an apprentice with a wooden rod for dropping a precious tome
into the fishpond. Father Moshal paced around the huge bronze
sundial, pausing periodically to study it closely before resuming.
Force Justice Tarrant watched all.

“Right now
they need believe what they are about is important. They trust the
written knowledge of the Academia is of ultimate …”

“It’s not?”
the stranger butt in, looking at Tarrant.

“It is,”
Key-ler retorted. “But to us, not to our nemesis.”

Tarrant lifted
little eyes in a jowled, ugly face, to the two standing peacefully
amid the chaos on the second floor and, even at this distance, they
discerned his displeasure. Key-ler stifled a revealing grin when
his companion waved casually.

“Aaru, don’t
fire him up!”

“He deserves
it, the bumbling idiot, and I enjoy when his face gets blotchy with
anger.”

Key-ler turned
his back to the courtyard, lest Tarrant see his delight. Tarrant
would not hesitate to drag him down to Force Quarters for a private
little … chat. “I do not suppose the two of you will make
peace.”

The man’s face
darkened. “With that? Never.”

Tarrant made
his existence a nightmare for two days, holding him in a cell
without food and drink, questioning him repeatedly, shouting,
screaming and hissing when the man gave no answer. Then it got
worse. Key-ler knew the man’s arms - covered now - were a mess of
cuts and blisters, for he went to Force Quarters to inquire after
the stranger, where he found him under Tarrant’s brutal care. He
created such a stir that the stranger was released forthwith. The
poor man had to be carried to the infirmary. Now the two, man and
Force Justice, were mortal enemies.

As his
companion made light of the situation, he followed that lead, but
Key-ler doubted not the Force Justice would find himself sometime
soon at the end of a simmering anger that would show no mercy.

The man
straightened and faced Key-ler. “You are not rushing about.”

“As you said
yesterday, it will not be today.” The man came to inform them of a
truth - was that not what this institution was about - yet few took
his warnings seriously.

They
scurried.

The Honourable
Brother appeared a week ago at the huge old, iron gates and
enquired as to the leader of this establishment. The Foot on duty
was confused and then suspicious.

Everyone knew
that Father Superior Bree was entrusted with the day-to-day
responsibility of the Academia, and said so, but the stranger said
he desired to speak with Father Superior Bree’s Overlord, and did
the Foot know the Overlord’s name?

Key-ler was at
that time attempting to instil order yet again from the
uncontrolled growth spurts of the blue creeper on the southern
walls, and sensed trouble brewing. The Brothers deplored
aggression, and thus he rose from aching knees, glad of the
respite, and approached the gate.

The stranger
stood in the gloom of the great arch and he peered into that
shadow. “May I be of service?”

The man closed
in, his careful tread barely disturbing the grey gravel. He
proceeded to welcome the man in, something that fool Tarrant later
accosted him over, and told him the current Overlord was
Villinar.

A tall man,
lean, muscular. He spent much time outdoors, and his attire
emphasised that. Dark hair was not unknown among the fair people of
Atrudis, but it was the stranger’s eyes that set him apart. He had
not the yellow of the Valleur, but a lovely grey.

He smiled
wryly at Key-ler’s astounded gasp as he left the shadow of the arch
for the sunlit courtyard.

Key-ler wanted
to ask a hundred questions, but found he was uncommonly bound to
silence by the sense of expectancy surrounding the man. The
singular question he finally put, once they climbed the stairs to
Villinar’s chamber, was an enquiry after the stranger’s name. He
received no reply, and still did not know. No one knew.

If a man was loath to reveal his name, perhaps he had more to
hide, and his words, however eloquently expressed, were not to be
trusted. Still, there
was
a hive of activity.

Overlord
Villinar claimed to be the instigator, but this man opened that
particular hornet’s nest. The morning after his arrival and after
Tarrant claimed him, the ancient prophecy was reverently laid
before Villinar - Key-ler’s friend on the council told him later in
a nervous whisper - and by mid-morning clerics, novices and
apprentices began to scurry and still scurried.

Force
reinforced their deployment, the latter a further reason for
Tarrant’s attentions. The Justice needed to justify the expense to
his superiors.

“No,” the
stranger smiled now, “not today, but soon enough.”

He spoke of
the Dragon-man. Atrudisins knew the day approached when one would
arrive bearing a Dragon on his chest. Yet, after long waiting, it
seemed more legend than fact.

The man of no
name said he came to remind of the prophecy and travelled their
world to stir up remembrance, to force preparation. It was no
legend, he claimed, and the time was near. He revealed he was
Creed, and Villinar lost it then, according to Key-ler’s source,
and bellowed for Force Justice Tarrant to take the man away, to
make him talk.

Creed.

Keepers of the
Taliesman.

Although the
tale of the Dragon-man was known, and was the continuing reason for
maintaining the Murs-Mysor presence, the truth of the taliesman had
almost vanished.

That was pure
legend … only not. Not after the Brothers heard the stranger speak
to the kernel of recall Valleur carried within.

Villinar
ordered the Academia’s knowledge hidden, because he could not
afford to be wrong. His recall, and the prophecy, bade him cover
himself, but proclaimed that the stranger was a fraud, that it
would transpire as nothing more than a hoax. The man merely smiled.
Whether Villinar trusted or not was of no consequence.

He looked at
Key-ler. This Brother heard and believed. If there was to be a war,
hiding the scrolls was ineffectual, but if they at the same time
watched the sky, the road and the plains, his duty here was done.
Key-ler, now he was interesting. Was he the individual he sought,
or was he simply someone with intelligence who could be relied upon
to keep the current momentum going?

“Our Overlord
refuses to acknowledge that the Brothers feel the prickles of first
fear,” Key-ler murmured. He gestured. “Look. It is as if they think
it will happen today, and that concerns me.”

The stranger
studied the passing people. Few, he noticed, looked their way. “And
if nothing happens today or tomorrow, they may return to their
…”

“… lethargy,”
Key-ler finished.

His
companion’s thoughts moved from speculation into enlightenment.
“Then, Key-ler, you must keep it going.”

“Me? Nobody
listens to me! I am a lowly Brother.”

The man
laughed. “You can do it.”

“Maybe,”
Key-ler nodded. “I would need authority. I mean not as in title or
position, but something that would make them hear. Does that sound
fanciful?”

The man’s eyes were again interested. Perhaps this
brother
was
the
one. He certainly had the courage. “Not at all, and I am able to
help you with that. But not here. Your Force Justice would string
me up from the nearest tree. Here he comes now.”

Key-ler turned
the other way to see Tarrant walking purposefully along the covered
walk.

“Meet me
outside the compound at the bridge tonight, shall we say
midnight?”

He grinned at
Key-ler’s look of dismay and melted into the crowd before Tarrant
reached them.

The Valleur of
Atrudis had a healthy fear of the hours of darkness.

It was not
always so, but the initial self-imposed exile necessitated it.

The Siric
came, and the exiles had to hide well to escape those clever
beings, and after them came the humans, who walked the night with
strong handheld lights and could go anywhere.

The exiles
were not discovered and, after the humans left, the Murs arrived
and with them, the Mysor. They remained to this day, a barrier
knowingly placed between the Valleur and the Dragon-man. No Valleur
doubted why the Murs were in Tennet - they desired the
Dragon-man.

No, Key-ler
thought, creeping down the stairs in the dead of night, they wanted
the Taliesman first.

The Valleur
were not debilitated by dark, but respected it for the perils it
brought. A greater danger than all else befell them in the past -
the genius of the Valleur arrived one night to upset everything.
Other Valleur, the main core of the race, came to Tennet, not to
join the exiles, but to settle, ignorant of their brethren hiding
in deep places, hiding from their own kind.

That was a
strange time according to the tales, where Valleur stalked Valleur,
both sensing souls in the dark. A fair few of the visitors were
captured when there was no way to avoid them, and that resulted in
many a manhunt. The prisoners were inducted into the priesthood,
swiftly recognising the wisdom of remaining silent and hidden. No
Valleur would knowingly kill another Valleur.