The Kallanon Scales (53 page)

Hallari
nodded, and dropped his hands.

Torrullin
stepped away.

“You
are
an
Enchanter,” Caltian breathed into the silence.

Torrullin sank
exhausted into a chair before the desk.

Hallari
continued to stare at him. “You are the Dragon-man.” His eyes
shone.

“I am.”

“Thank
you.”

“I could do
nothing for Atrudis … at least this.” Torrullin leaned forward,
head in hands.

“A day of
infamy.”

“Who did this
to you, Dean Hallari?” Caltian demanded.

“Force
Just…”

“Tarrant?”
Caltian bellowed, balling fingers into fists.

“Ah, you know
his mind, then.” Hallari rose smoothly and touched hands and face
in surprise. “You took it away. Thank you.” He bowed to Torrullin.
“Now, Caltian, please introduce your companions.”

Caltian
forcibly ignored his fury. “Dean Hallari, may I introduce my Lord
Vallorin?”

“A Valla?”
Hallari clapped his hands. “Of course!” Usually a man of few words,
he started babbling. “A Valla, a Vallorin! Dragon-man, pah! We
equated the Dragon with evil, therefore the host. But, not so,
passing only to good …”

“Hush,
Hallari,” Torrullin said. “Allow me to introduce my grandfather
Vannis.”

Hallari gaped.
“The last Vallorin.”

Vannis smiled.
“No longer.”

“We based the
legend of the Zone on what you did with the Arcana.”

Vannis’
eyebrows rose. “Interesting.”

“My father
Taranis,” Torrullin went on. He needed rest. He needed
oblivion.

“Lord Taranis
of the Guardians,” Hallari breathed. “You keep august company these
days, Caltian.” His gaze shifted from Torrullin to Vannis to
Taranis. “You are a family. That is strong magic, magic Atrudis
needs. Well met. I am deeply honoured by your presence.” He bowed
to each in turn.

“And this is
Phet,” Caltian said.

Hallari
studied the birdman. “Well met, Phet. Forgive me, but I do not know
your kind.”

Phet grinned.
“Q’lin’la.”

“A newish
race, then?”

Phet
chuckled.

“Older than
the Valleur, Hallari,” Torrullin replied. “Originally from another
reality, the one the Dragon hails from.”

“Ah. How
practical of you.”

Vannis burst
out laughing.

The Dean was
mortified. “I am sorry, I presume.”

“Not at all,”
Torrullin murmured. “Caltian?”

“Dean Hallari,
we are here …”

“… to find out
about the Taliesman, I see that. Tarrant, curse him, was after the
same, and I must tell you as I told him that I have no idea where
it is.”

“We know you
have it not,” Vannis said.

“Why come to
me?”

“Caltian
believes you may point us in a direction that could lead to
discovery,” Taranis put in.

Hallari
clammed up.

“Trust is
earned,” Torrullin said. “I understand that.”

Hallari hung
his head. “After what you did for me, I am ashamed.”

“The gift of
healing need not be repaid. It is unselfishly given or cannot
work.” Torrullin gestured at Caltian. “Do you trust this man?”

“Fully.”

“I trust my
Lord Vallorin,” Caltian said. “Tell him what you know, Dean.”

“You have
bonded yourself?”

“My life
belongs to my Lord Vallorin.”

Hallari
nodded. Caltian as a young and untried man struck him as a soul
with wisdom and that would not now desert him. “May I see it, Lord
Vallorin?”

“No.”

“I
apologise!”

Afraid,
Enchanter?

“Not now,
Neolone,” Torrullin said, and cursed his stupidity.

Hallari was
not dean for nothing. “Neolone is the Dragon. You can talk to
him.”

“You can talk to him?” Caltian echoed. “He can
hear
us?”

Gods.
The time, clearly, had arrived
for truth. Setting aside the need for rest, Torrullin began to talk
and thus a tale spanning ages unfolded.

Outside, the
eerie silence of graves.

“Tarrant must
be stopped,” Hallari said later.

They sat on
his spacious balcony overlooking a small courtyard of old palms and
young peacocks. It was cooler with the sun down.

The old man
opened his heart and home to the travellers from afar. They had
bathed and eaten, sleep approached and with it a few hours of
forgetfulness.

“Where do you
think he will go next?” Vannis asked, eyes drooping.

“Probably
Tunin.” Hallari stared into his glass of iced tea before looking
up. “Do not allow him to reach Grinwallin, and especially do not
let him lead the Murs to it.”

“What is it
about Grinwallin?” Taranis asked.

“A feeling,
Guardian, that is all. Does that make sense?” Hallari set his glass
down and moved to the railing to peer into the darkening
courtyard.

“I learned
instinct is a powerful tool,” Torrullin said.

“Is there a
sacred site near Grinwallin?” Phet asked.

Hallari
glanced at the birdman. “There are three, one on each side, with
the fourth impassable mountains.”

“You sought to
hem Grinwallin?” Vannis said.

Hallari nodded
with his back to them. “We did not trust it; we could not unravel
the mystery. We closed its influence. I wonder now if that wasn’t a
mistake.”

Who shall have
power to

Lead light
over dark to

Overcome it
eternal

~ Kallanon
Prophecy

Atrin
Continent

C
amot took a stand around a
defenceless hamlet.

They deflected
the bolts of destruction them, managing to return fire. That was
their undoing, the hamlet and its inhabitants survived, but Camot
lost half his troop.

They now
numbered eleven, and Atrudis was an extremely hazardous place to
traverse.

He grimaced in
the dark, taking point. It was late and they were exhausted. They
needed rest, or the morrow would see the remaining boys die on him.
He called a halt when he saw the light of Prost, a port city on
Atrin’s east coast. A city aflame, no succour there. He whistled to
bring his ten in and bade them make camp, fireless, within a stand
of trees. He would take first watch.

Camot watched
Prost burn and heard on the night breeze the sounds of suffering.
Elsewhere it was the same. The Murs were an avenging force and it
was the Dragon’s fault. Blast Nemisin, dealing with the devil.

He saw this
kind of destruction on Ardosia, beyond the Rift, when the Darak Or
unleashed his soltakin on that world. Many died there, a world’s
inhabitants annihilated. Many were dying here; how long before they
were gone and their world destroyed? The Murs were akin to soltakin
in implacability, but Murs could be killed with sorcery. He would
do some of the killing.

Valaris saw
Valleur die. The war with the human settlers, the annihilation of
the half-Valleur, the latter again at the Darak Or’s bidding. The
Valleur fled to another universe to escape persecution, and died
there. Valleur settled on Valaris, a last opportunity to renew old
ways, and died there. Nine fled into the Zone, began a sibling
race, and now died here.

Were they
cursed as a race?

It was futile
to wander those paths, but Valleur lived long and possessed longer
memories. Camot may not have been there when Vannis’ father was
struck down, but knew it as part of him. He may not have witnessed
the black rage Vannis became thereafter, emotions that led to a
nine thousand year incarceration, but understood the desperate
desire.

Vannis wanted
the Valleur to live and thrive, and he failed, and succeeded. He
failed, because some three hundred purebloods were left, Camot
among them, the scatterlings of destroyed Ardosia. He succeeded,
because of Torrullin, who brought them together to harmony and an
understanding of others.

Torrullin.
Like to his grandfather, powerfully emotional and never to be
trifled with. A man loved and feared. Torrullin was an enigma and
in his soul purely Valleur.

At the time of
Ardosia’s destruction Dantian was Vallorin, a good man, much loved,
and he, Camot, would have laid down his life for that Vallorin, out
of love, yes, but also out of duty. For Torrullin, this Vallorin,
he would die out of adoration, reverence and awe, and would
cheerfully murder anyone to protect him. Augin, bless him, would
understand how it was.

On Valaris, there were more than three hundred scatterlings
today, but Atrudis had millions
. In truth,
these dying people are the Valleur of the universe.

He was still
thinking when his Vallorin touched his mind and told him to lead
his troop direct to Grinwallin. Tarrant, apparently, was likely on
Tunin. As Torrullin withdrew, Camot pondered that man. How could a
Valleur in a position of power justify the misuse of that power?
Since when did Valleur betray Valleur?

Camot sighed.
Their guide deserted them at the hamlet, and now they had need of
him.

To Tunin. We
shall prevail.

Academia of
Truth

Cat was in a
towering rage.

Atrudis was a
male dominated society and the Brothers caused her to feel
invisible, talking around her to Matt or Krikian, or one of the
crew. They did it to Skye, but she did not mind, preferred being a
wallflower. Lowen, on the other hand, had the run of the place.

The Murs
attacked and, well, she could shoot with the best of them and ran
up to the battlements, to meet stony glares.

Thank God, the
Murs ignored the Academia.

She sat beside
the fishpond muttering dire curses on men.

Hearing
footfalls, she ignored it. It was either a Brother or it was her
own idiotic brother, and she cared not to acknowledge either.

“It does not
work, you know.”

She looked up,
nearly pulling a muscle in her neck. “Tristamil?”

He smiled and
sat next to her. Dragging his boots and socks off, he placed his
feet in the water, giving a pleasurable sigh. “How can you be sure
I am Tristamil?”

Cat drew
breath, thoroughly disconcerted. “I know folk could never tell you
apart, but you are different from the man I met at Torrke. What is
inside is outward, if you know what I mean.”

“I know what
you mean. Thank you.”

“How come you
are here? We thought you had been kidnapped again.”

“That is done
with. Why are you out here threatening all men?”

She blushed
and was glad of the darkness. “Men are stupid.”

“I have to
differ, for obvious reasons,” was the amused rebuttal, before he
was serious. “Atrudis follows the old system, Cat. You will need to
be patient and forgiving.” Tristamil trailed fingers through the
water. “Not that I agree with such an old-fashioned notion.”

“Thank God for
that.” She took her boots off to dangle her feet in the water. It
did feel good. “So, what doesn’t work?”

He laughed.
“Threats. Actions speak loudly.”

“Tried that
and made a fool of myself today.” She grinned, bad mood
evaporating. “Are you okay?”

He did not
reply immediately and she did not press him, did not know him well
enough for that. He nodded eventually. “Finally, I am really fine.
I am me, not the other half of a whole.”

“Yeah, I know
how that feels.” She drew her feet out of the water, pulling her
knees up under her chin. “I had a twin sister. Her name was
Milianna and she died of rheumatic fever when we were seventeen.
God, I hated her. Always lumped together, always dressing the same,
going to the same schools, parties, functions, never apart. She
wasn’t bad or anything, it’s just we were seen as two parts of one
person. And then she died and I cried for weeks. I miss her.”

“I am
sorry.”

“Old history
now, but thanks.” She added, “Matt never speaks of her. He thinks
it will hurt me, but I think it hurts him. One day we must talk
about her, let her rest.”

“I will not
miss Ty, alive or dead.” His tone was absolute and she stared at
him. He shrugged, sensing it. “I tried, to the last possible
second, to get him to cross that line drawn between us. I can do no
more. I am exhausted. No, I will not miss him.”

“I’m sorry,
Tris. Where is he?”

“Goddess
knows, but definitely stirring trouble. We haven’t seen the last of
him.” Tristamil unconsciously touched the scabbard dragging on the
flagstones next to him. “He is the enemy now, Cat. Remember that if
you lay eyes on him somewhere, and warn Skye.”

“She
knows.”

“I guess it
was pretty obvious after Lucan.”

“No, she knew
before.”

Tristamil was
silent. “She told my father, did she? Did she think he would help
her? He must have warned her, probably had to hurt her. She loves
my brother, the gods help her.” He glanced at her.

“I’m not
blind.”

His eyes
hooded. “Where is my father?”

“I don’t
know.” Cat frowned. “Maybe Krikian does.”

“Why are you
angry with my father?”

She cursed,
unwound her legs and splashed at the water.

“I see.”

“You do
not!”

“You are
transparent.”

“Yeah? So tell
me.” She faced him cross-legged challenging.

“Do you really
want me to expose a wound?”

“So
gentlemanly of you.”

“Well, whether
it is love or lust, my father is an Immortal. Even if he was free,
in his heart, he would not …”

“Spare me. I
have heard it, thank you, from your father. You are right, shut up.
I shouldn’t be discussing this with his son anyway.”

Tristamil
snorted. “I can see … never mind.”