The Kallanon Scales (43 page)

Tarrant had
years of Force behind him and stood aside for no man. “How?”

“I was scried
at birth.”

The Force
Justice was satisfied. He nodded and stood back. To Key-ler, that
was a great astonishment.

Caltian faced
the Overlord. “We need be sure the Dragon-man is indeed aboard
before we spring the trap.”

“Is it being
done?”

“As we speak.
We should have an answer by nightfall. Creed is on alert, ready to
take up position. Will you be ready?”

“I am ready
now. What about you?”

“Do not
concern yourself, Overlord, I’m aware of my destiny.”

Villinar
nodded. “Be careful.”

Caltian’s
mouth twisted and he turned on his heels, gripped Key-ler’s elbow,
nodded once at Tarrant, and left the audience chamber, dragging
Key-ler with him.

He marched the
Brother to his cubbyhole on the second floor, not granting Key-ler
opportunity to say anything.

He pushed him
inside and shut the door.

The cubbyhole
was both workspace and bedchamber. The Academia had so many members
that space was premium.

“I could have
sent a messenger, Key-ler, or contacted Villinar by other means. I
came for you. Pack.” Caltian’s gaze roamed the small space. A bunk
along the back wall, lifted away on brackets during work hours, a
laden desk, a stool, a narrow closet.

Key-ler
squeezed a scroll shelf above the desk and a lamp stood amid the
clutter on his desk. Caltian waved over the lamp, lighting it.

“Why?” Key-ler
found his voice.

“You are
coming with me.” Caltian went to the closet, pulled the door open
and tugged out a holdall. “A change of clothes, your bedroll, that
is all. Food and drink we can find along the way.” He threw it at
Key-ler.

“Along the …?
Why?”

“Key-ler,
your
name
. Have you not
wondered?”

“Key Keeper? I
do
carry the keys around here.”

“How many
learning institutions on the planet? Five hundred? More? And in not
one, except here, right next to the wilderness, is one entrusted
with all keys and nowhere is there another with your name. You have
been training unknowingly. Three weeks ago I was not only warning
Villinar and the other Overlords, I searched for someone special. I
searched for you, but only understood that after I left. Your
destiny links to mine.”

Gods.
“Destiny?”

“Not here.
Trust me when I say some welcome the Dragon-man, some desire
full-scale war. We need go right now.” Caltian lunged at the bunk,
stripping off the bedroll. He threw it at Key-ler and the Brother
bounced into action.

He was ready
four minutes later. When his fingers hovered uncertainly over his
desk, Caltian shook his head.

“What you know
is inside.”

“What of the
Overlord?”

“Villinar
already knows I must take you away. He is Creed. It is Tarrant I am
worried about. Had I the time I would sniff him out, but as it is,
at this urgent hour, he has his uses and will be left until
after.”

“After?”

“Let us go, my
friend.”

He pulled the
door open and stepped boldly onto the walkway, looked around and
gestured for Key-ler. The man’s urgency communicated and they
hurried down the corridor, the stairs, across the courtyard.

A shout
sounded behind them and Caltian took hold of the Brother and took
them away.

Hark to
instincts

~ Truth

Lucan

L
ucan appeared contrived.

Torrullin
frowned as he set foot to the damp earth. “Something is wrong with
this place.”

Vannis’ head
lifted to the surrounds. He stepped away from the craft with its
contraction noises, sniffing the air. Taranis went the other way,
doing the same.

Torrullin
walked straight ahead.

Enchanter.

Quilla came
down the ramp on wobbly feet. Phet followed.

Torrullin did not turn, eyes roaming the countryside.
Quilla, do you feel it?

Something I am
unable to identify.

Phet?

No sentient
presence, but there is …

“… holding
magic,” Vannis murmured, returning. “Very old.”

“It’s not
strong,” Taranis said, rejoining them. “Been around for millennia,
I would say. We are sensing the remnant.”

Torrullin
nodded, but was uneasy. “Valleur.”

“A good sign,”
Phet murmured.

“The Valleur will resist most,” Quilla said. “I hesitate, at
this point, to describe their leavings as a good sign. Still, the
residue
is
old,
no doubt the reason the Mysor and Murs left Lucan
alone.”

“The real
question is why was it abandoned?” Vannis mused. “We are down, we
keep our eyes open and we make the best of this interlude.”

“All clear?”
Matt called from the top of the ramp.

Torrullin did
not answer immediately, swivelling instead in a slow circle,
probing.

“Come on
down.”

The crew
descended, with Cat, Skye and Lowen following. At the rear of the
traveller, another ramp shuddered down and Camot led his troops
out, all brightening as they set foot to solid ground. Krikian
exited a while later with Matt.

“Where is
Bartholamu?” Taranis rasped.

“Here.” He
stood at the head of the ramp, pale eyes traversing the gentle
landscape. “I do not like this,” he stated and spread his wings and
took to the sky, winging away into the distance.

Excellent,
Torrullin thought, and
called to Camot, giving the war leader orders to set up
camp.

Matt set them
down whisper-light near one of the lakes.

The Xenian
thought like a seasoned strategist, for he chose a place with
water, cover under an evergreen forest, and four rounded hills
formed a barrier to one side, with the lake a deterrent on the
other. Between lake and hills was a maze of ravines the most
adventurous intruder would hesitate to traverse. The fourth side
was a vast field of grass, to reveal unwelcome guests sals
away.

The air was
mild, with a gentle breeze bringing the singsong of birds. Tennet
was a benign presence now, and clouds scudded across the sky.

According to
the sensors, Lucan hosted a variety of animals great and small, but
the bigger game concentrated on the vast southern plains; they
would probably not have to contend with carnivores.

The camp
progressed well when Bartholamu returned. “Torrullin, I like it
not.”

“For old
magic, it is dedicated, yes.”

“And in grid
formation.”

“How
widespread?”

The Siric
shrugged his wings back into their folds and rubbed his chin. “I am
going on pure instinct.”

Torrullin’s
pricked as well. “I understand. How widespread?”

“Lucan in its
entirety.”

“A trap?”

Bartholamu
turned to face the plain as Torrullin did and set to probing from a
stationary position. Torrullin waited without interrupting and
finally the Siric released a perplexed sigh. “Difficult to
say.”

“We treat it
as one.” Torrullin returned to camp and the Siric followed. “Camot!
Tight perimeter!”

“Yes, my
Lord!” The war leader barked loudly, and the soldiers jumped into
formation six feet apart about the growing campsite.

“Matt, if you
will, ask your crew to continue setting up. We will all help.”

Matt quietly
told his crew to take over and they did so without grumbling,
passing each other uneasy looks.

“Torrullin?”
Cat queried. Lowen stood beside her with huge eyes.

“Just a
precaution.” He glanced at Lowen and drew breath. He had not seen
her since they were discovered in the hold, and he was not
particularly kind then. She was afraid of him. He sank to his
haunches, but had to look up from that position. It was already
clear she would be tall as an adult. He allowed her the power in a
superior position.

“Lowen, listen …” She shook her head and he knew the fault
was his. “I am sorry. My anger was never directed
at
you, at any of you. I
was merely scared
for
you.” He reached out and brushed her cheek with his fingers.
“I still am.”

She
nodded.

“We may be
safe here, but matters change, so if anything goes wrong and it
gets to where you feel you must run, head for the ship. We will
come for you, do you understand?”

She bent a
thoughtful look on him. “I am not a baby. Go where it’s safe and
stay there.”

He stared up
at her. No, not a baby, not a child, a teenager with the purpose of
an adult; all she needed now was to grow physically into the state.
Still, she was cloistered most of her life. “I will not talk down
to you again, promise.”

Her blue eyes
were unwavering. She lifted her thin hand, and laid it against his
cheek. “My father is like you. He is good in his heart and everyone
is afraid of him. He is also terribly unhappy, like you.”

Torrullin’s
lips twisted and he laid his hand over hers. “I would like to meet
your father.”

“I know he’d
like to meet you, he told me.”

Torrullin
squeezed her hand and rose. “Vannis, how do we hide the
traveller?”

“I say let
Bartholamu cloak it. The Guardians have experience in that
field.”

“Consider it
done!” the Siric called out from somewhere.

Dark fell
suddenly and absolutely.

There was no
moon to light the star-filled heavens. The forest blocked the stars
overhead; it was disorientating, but would also obscure low fires.
The night filled with howls and screeches as the nocturnal
population emerged.

Torrullin’s
instincts whispered unabated. Bartholamu had his as well, the Siric
covertly studying every shadow, head cocked in a listening
attitude.

The Xenian
crew slept, their schedules had been hectic and they made good on
lost hours. Nobody begrudged them.

Matt was up,
sitting with his thoughts, winding down after weeks of tension and
wariness. There was more to come, but now the responsibility passed
from him.

Lowen sat
between Cat and Skye near the main fire, head drooping, but she
refused to climb into the tent, afraid to be alone. Torrullin
smiled at her and a friendly grin rewarded him.

There was a
sense of waiting.

The trees were
akin to the pines on Valaris, with greater density and thicker
girths, and needles lay in a thick, fragrant carpet, choking out
undergrowth, springy and comfortable. The fires flickered in a
swept area, the ground hard and damp below, ringed with smooth
stones.

Erected in a
rough circle, the tents bunched due to the perimeter maintained by
Camot, the soldiers beyond facing the impenetrable dark. They would
see nothing approach, it was that lightless.

They should
discuss forthcoming action, yet were content to wait.

An enemy could
be seen in daylight; in the darkness of Lucan hearing counted for
everything.

“Matt, how long
will it be dark like this?” Cat whispered.

“Four left, I
think. Never has a night felt so long.”

“We’re going
to lie down,” she said and rose, supporting the sleepy girl.

“I’ll come,
too,” Skye yawned.

They did not
go far - directly into the tent behind them. Cat was in the act of
pulling the zip down, when she froze, staring into the dark.

Torrullin was
the first to snap around.

An apparition
lurched into the central area. Emaciated, filthy, stinking, and
with red welts marking its skeletal form. Long matted hair and an
unkempt, dirty beard. Cracked, swollen lips released wracking
breaths. Naked but for a torn, vomit encrusted remnant of breeches.
Broken feet, swollen joints.

Bloodshot
eyes.

Nobody had
raised the alarm.

Scraping
metal, drawn swords.

Torrullin
twitched. “Sheath!” He stumbled forward. “Tymall?” His voice was
spine-chilling.

Hairs on skin
rose.

“Swords away,”
Camot said.

The apparition
swayed into the clearing and Torrullin caught him as he buckled,
with Vannis and Taranis erratic behind him.

“Father,”
Tymall croaked with the final reserves that brought him to this
place, lapsing thereafter into unconsciousness.

Torrullin’s
entire being focused on his wounded son.

When Cat and a
weeping Skye made to leave their tent, Taranis barked at them to
stay put, and Krikian, Matt, even Phet, were rapidly scarce. The
two Valla men bent intently over Tymall, unaware of anything else,
and Taranis hovered, coldly furious.

Torrullin
infused the unconscious man with enough vitality to keep him alive.
Too much now and his heart would fail.

Vannis swore
as he peeled away soiled breeches. At the sight of the severe rash
around the young man’s private parts, the purple welts around his
penis, he squashed emotion. Over him, Taranis hissed his
horror.

Torrullin’s
anguish was a living thing. As Enchanter, he was capable of
healing, but as a father, he shook so much his fingers made
spurious contact with his son’s skin. His gaze flew from the
ravaged face to the damaged manhood, touched on the terrible
bruises, the weeping sores, the rotten feet.

Somewhere
someone sometime would pay for this atrocity in blood, he vowed,
and was calm.

He checked
Tymall’s pulse again, fingers steady. Life was strong, deep
within.

“Water, soap,
towels. None of this filth is to penetrate.”