The Kallanon Scales (45 page)

“Why?” A
heartfelt confusion. “Answer me that.”

“Yes, you
deserve that. You are not a sorcerer, Key-ler, but in you are
generations of an infusion of locks, bolts and the like, and the
means to open and shut them. Your father was Key-ler and his father
before him. Do not look shocked, it is not magic, merely a state of
being.” Caltian rose and looked out over the empty landscape. “We
are creating a prison cell here tonight, my friend, and you are the
one who must lock it.”

“Me? How?”

“By doing what
you always do. You search for the key, the one perfect key, and
when you find it, it will be done.”

“How will I know? I have
nothing
in my hands!”

“It is in your mind! Generation to generation.
You will know!
”

Key-ler
swallowed. He did not like the situation one bit and felt the great
tension in Caltian. “And you, Caltian?”

“Me?” A
twisted smile, visible even in the weak light. “You are to lock me
in with him.”

“Beast
Breacher,” Key-ler murmured, far beyond aghast.

“Exactly.”

Elsewhere

There was an
audible inhalation of many breaths - the blue sword showed a touch
of life - and then there was an explosive release.

The sword
glowed steadily.

Queen Abdiah
stood ponderously, her great weight causing her movements to appear
slow, awkward and without grace. “Sinar. You know what to do.”

Sinar stood,
flicked his tail and left. His gait was anticipatory, his was the
better task.

Queen Abdiah
waited until the doors closed on the second messenger and gazed
over her gathered councillors. Dragons and Dragonnes finally as
one. If she had more freedom in her muscular movement, facially,
she would have bitten her lips in uncertainty. All they saw was her
resolve.

“Prepare the
Chamber,” she said, and her tone was as expressionless as her
features.

Karakan

On Karakan, the
Murs were in uproar. Accusations, threats, and recriminations flew
without basis in reality.

There, too, a
gathering of leaders and they were furious. The whole thing went
beyond them. All efforts at keeping Dragon and Taliesman apart
would soon be for naught. They should have the Taliesman by now!
They should have annihilated the Valleur! Why had it not
happened?

Who was to blame? Maybe they should blow Atrudis out of the
skies around it! The Mysor were useless idiots! There were other
Dragons in the system, how had
that
happened?

Someone should have foreseen it. What was the power emanating
from Atrudis? Yes, they should consider total destruction! There
was a Siric on Lucan, a
Lumin
Siric! Did anyone comprehend what that
meant?

Outside the
caves, a contingent of Mysor stood meekly waiting.

The arachnids
had no interest in the volatility inside; they would follow orders,
as soon as someone saw fit to relay them.

Atrudis

Compare Atrudis
and Lucan and similarities would be found.

There were
rolling hills in common, fertile expanses, fresh water and friendly
forests. Lucan, however, was a world waiting to come into its own,
had been left fallow, while Atrudis thrived, alive and vibrant.

From the staid
centres of learning to the colourful bustle of cosmopolitan cities
and from the untamed wilderness to the gentility of fertile
farmland, Atrudis was a shining example of the influence of the
golden Valleur.

Nine came and
nine began a new race, maintaining initially the old ways. Before
sorcery was deemed unsafe, the sacred sites were erected with all
that implied – Atrudis’ Valleur absorbed that magic daily, while
being unaware of the irony.

The trap, in
the form of a web, had its beginnings when Creed formed, after the
Nine were no more. Always a few trained sorcerers protected the
Taliesman, but with the arrival of Murs and Mysor, it was fallible
magic. Creed hid the Taliesman so well that later members were no
longer sure where it was. With the Taliesman safe in the obscurity
of history, Creed’s attention turned to a means of holding the one
who would bring the Dragon. Eyes turned to empty, inviting Lucan.
The bringer would err on the side of caution and halt somewhere to
scout the lay. When someone remarked on the similarities of the two
worlds, the notion of a web transposed on the other was born.

Once done,
Creed saw the need for a protecting army and thus, the Golden
Force. The general populace regarded Force as protectors against
the invasive Murs. In reality, they were the force for the future.
They grew in strength and influence over the generations, but only
a small number of Atrudis’ leaders were aware of their true
role.

A mere five
hundred years ago, eight Overlords had precisely the same dream.
Creed then discovered the one factor overlooked. They had not given
thought to a safe means of holding the Dragon-man. How would they
kill him? The dream, eight times over, held the key. Creed held a
final meeting, thereafter they splintered to keep the result
hidden.

One man would
be born to the task of slaying the Dragon. A suicidal hero. He
would not prevent the foreseen war, but would prevent the
unleashing of an evil unknown in the universe.

His name was
Caltian.

Caltian was
born into a family of the old ways.

They were not
Creed, Force or Web. They were the caretakers of the fourteen
sacred sites.

Birth scrying
was outlawed, but practised by some in secret. Caltian’s father
reeled over the scrying bowl, but a scrying did not lie. Thus his
name was called, in a whisper.

Beast
Breacher, scorned, taunted and ostracised, and Caltian grew into a
silent and dangerous man. His tool of mutiny against his peers was
a thorough mastery of the realms of magic. When he attained the
beginnings of proficiency, his mind and soul expanded, his world
became greater than the sum of his detractors.

It was not
long before he came to the attention of Creed, and Caltian accepted
the duty his birth imposed.

And Key-ler? A
long line of key keepers, a part of the eight’s vision. It had
always been Caltian’s responsibility to bring the key keeper to his
purpose, and Caltian left it to the last hours, not wanting the man
to think, to rebel, to be afraid.

The one who
would lock the Dragon-man in had to care when he needed to care, he
had to feel the duty with his soul and not his conscious and
frightened mind.

Key-ler cared,
and that would make the difference.

Farmers snored
in their comfortable beds, wives tucked under warm arms.

In cities,
even the most restless found oblivion. Children dreamed and animals
snuffed. All was calm. Atrudis slept.

Except two
hundred Overlords, among them Tarrant.

Except
fourteen Creed, one for each site, at each site, and they stood
silent in the dark, waiting upon Caltian’s signal. The fourteen
were the universal number that would garner the power into a living
force to spread to each point of the Web.

As one, all
two hundred and fourteen would toss the Web to Lucan, they would
then instantly bring anyone on Lucan back to Atrudis.

Golden Force
deployed within each square formed by the Web to snatch arrivals in
their sectors.

All prisoners,
Overlords, Creed and Force would transport directly to the
wilderness where Caltian baited his trap.

He was the
bait. The Web would force the Dragon-man to ground on Atrudis and
Caltian would summon him. He was certain the Dragon would not
resist the lure.

Caltian
signalled his readiness, smiled at Key-ler, and sat to wait.

The time is
now.

~ Glint of the
Sagorin

Lucan

Q
uilla was anxious as Lucan’s short
night progressed.

Although it
was again calm - disregarding Tymall’s unseen presence - he could
not allay his fears. A whispered conversation with Phet and
Bartholamu revealed similar misgivings. Something gathered
force.

The birdman
glanced at Torrullin and wished the Enchanter would pay attention.
Taranis and Vannis were no help either, hanging as they were onto
Tristamil’s every word.

The young man
had an interesting tale, drawing even him in, causing his attention
to wander from the vigil. A desert Valaris - it fit, for the young
man was fertile ground.

Everyone was
awake, the pandemonium of earlier ensured it. The Xenian crew, with
Matt and Krikian, around one fire, and the two women with young
Lowen, in front of their tent. Camot stood near Quilla, eyes moving
from Tristamil to the birdman, to gauge his reading of danger, and
Quilla was glad of it. All listened to Tristamil while appearing
deaf.

Phet and
Bartholamu were watchful in the shadows, but Quilla noticed Phet’s
gaze more than once sliding over to Torrullin. He had a special
bond with him, stemming from the days he sat on Torrullin’s
shoulder as Falcon. He would be feeling somewhat of what Torrullin
attempted to squash, and Phet would have no qualms about tearing
Tymall apart. Phet, bless him, knew no grey areas.

His attention
wandered again.

Then there was
no space for attention or inattention.

The danger had
come.

In the form of
a high hum that drowned all sound. In the form of a vast net of
light that arose from the ground and descended simultaneously from
the air.

Lucan vanished
out from under them.

There had been
no time to react.

Atrudis

The Web
deposited them in the centre of rich farmland, the smells of damp
night earth.

All went black
as Force pounced and took them from there.

Except
Torrullin. Caltian’s call took him south to the wilderness.

He could not
prevent it - Neolone took control.

Wilderness

Caltian
murmured inaudibly and Key-ler was afraid.

The symbol the
man earlier paced on the ground started to glow and hum, an eerie
sound, and Key-ler saw it was the stylised shape of a Dragon.

The symbol of
the Taliesman. Bars of light rose from the ground … oh! Key-ler
began to fumble with non-existent keys in his hands … and could
feel them.

Torrullin
snarled it was a trap, but Neolone would not listen.

It happened
too fast for reason, and he wondered if he possessed sufficient
power to ultimately control Neolone.

He fell to
ground and bars of light snapped over him. The Dragon shrieked,
seeing the symbol on the earth, seeing it rise into bars, knowing
itself thoroughly duped.

Torrullin
stilled to make sense of the situation. He saw a man sitting calmly
inside the cage with him and not far away a round man, eyes firmly
closed, fingers dancing in mid-air, and understood.

Lucan baited,
Atrudis the prison.

A trap to hold
the Dragon.

A trap not yet
shut.

He stared at
Key-ler, watching those fingers. Searching for the one key, and too
slow in his nervousness. He made to rise, to step from the cage of
light, and paused. His gaze moved to the still man.

“What are you
to do?” he asked in Valleur.

“Kill the
Dragon.”

Key-ler’s eyes
snapped open, and his fingers stilled, clutching the important key.
Both Caltian and Torrullin understood at the same time.

“Go now!”
Caltian whispered urgently to Key-ler.

Torrullin did
not move.

Key-ler
dropped the mythical bunch of keys and fled from the cage of light.
He squeaked and swung back, horrified, but the bars were solid.
There was no door. He locked the cell. He doomed a friend.

“Caltian,” he
said, misery etched on his face.

“You did
right, Key-ler,” Caltian said, not looking at him. He said to the
Dragon-man, “You could have left, my friend was a bit slower than
expected.”

Torrullin
tapped his chest. A fresh tunic. “He could not resist your call
despite my warning. I could not control him - better to keep him in
your prison.”

Caltian was at
a loss. They were not in league? He was about to protest the
strangeness when the wilderness erupted in sound and movement. The
Overlords had come and, behind them, Force with their prisoners in
black sacks.

“Erect the
prison!” an Overlord bellowed, and a huge cage came into being.

“Nicely done,”
Torrullin murmured.

The
cage-prison was another sorcerous invention and one the captives
would not easily escape from. Once it was up, moments only, Force
bundled their hostages inside and retreated without removing the
sacks. A sorcerous door slammed shut.

The first
sound from there was a bellow. Camot extricated himself to rush
willy-nilly at the bars, only to land on his behind with scorched
palms and out of control anger.

“Camot!”
Torrullin called. His cell faced the holding pen and he knew his
war leader would cause trouble. “Enough! See to the others!”

Camot blinked
and bellowed in renewed rage on seeing his Vallorin a prisoner.

Camot. If you
value my life, shut up.

Camot
swallowed, shook his head like a great bear, and lumbered to his
feet. He nodded at Torrullin and went to assist the others.

The light from
the sorcerous bars lit the surrounding landscape in a surreal
imitation of full moon and that landscape crawled with life. Force
formed a four deep perimeter around the whole. Tarrant resumed
command of his unit and barked orders, which caused a dissatisfied
muttering from Camot. The overlords gathered in a semi-circle
before the two cells, and sat.