The Kallanon Scales (58 page)

“Bugger
off!”

“Saska is my
business.”

“You let her
go, you fool!”

“She left!”
Torrullin took a menacing step forward, then stopped and inclined
his head. “You believe you have greater freedom to approach
her?”

Taranis
swallowed. “My god, is that what you think? Is that why you said
nothing? How dare you think that of me? And of Saska! Do you truly
think that she would even for a moment turn to me after having
loved you?” Taranis’ horror surrendered to fury. “You, the golden
Enchanter!”

“It has
nothing to do with my power.”

“You fool
yourself.”

“Envy,
Taranis?”

Taranis glared at his son. “Time for truth? I am sick to my
stomach of your holier-than-thou attitude. It is not envy, I don’t
want your life. It is amazement at your cavalier attitude. You ride
roughshod over feelings; you throw that temper of yours up like a
screen. We dance to your tune, hoping for a kind word. We give, you
take. Like fools, we come back for more. That is what attracted
Saska …
yes!
The
obsession you two share has everything to do with what your power
makes you, for she gives and gives and you take and take, and it
suits you. Less about love, more about control. I do not have the
magnetism you possess, and never did, nor do I want it! You drove
her away.” Taranis stopped and added, “She could not give
more.”

Torrullin was
white. “If you were not my father, I would kill you for that.”

Taranis was as
ashen. “If you were not my son and I wasn’t atoning for abandoning
you, I would have killed you a long time ago.”

There was
deathly silence under the trees.

Vannis was
transfixed.

“You have no
need to atone, Taranis.”

It could mean
Torrullin told his father atonement was unnecessary, or it could
mean he said his father did not have a real drive to.

Taranis closed
his eyes and when he opened them again, he brushed past and walked
on. Ahead, Quilla turned to continue path finding, shaken by the
enmity.

Torrullin
remained rooted, watching his father’s retreating back. He was
beyond furious and wanted to leave it that way. It was pure
contrariness, but his conscience prodded. He hastened after Taranis
to lay a detaining hand on his arm.

Taranis
shrugged it off and came to a stop, stepping away.

Vannis told
the team to continue, while barely moving.

Torrullin
glanced back along the path. They had a few minutes before Camot
appeared.

“Anger causes
hurt, Taranis, and we both said things we cannot be proud of.”

Taranis
nodded.

“For years we
have pussy-footed around the real issues.”

The muscles in
Taranis’ face relaxed.

“I have a
terrible temper and it gets in the way, but I do not take without
giving.”

“I know.”

“Our issues
cannot be fixed in one conversation.”

“No.”

“I would have
the real truth from you, without anger. If you are willing.”
Torrullin drew breath. “It would be a start.”

Taranis ran a
hand through his dark hair. “Very well. I do love your wife. I
probably always will, as I continue to love your mother even in
death. Because I care, I like to know what becomes of her, but I
have no intention, nor shall I ever, of approaching her in your
stead, going where the way is cleared. Saska and I never got beyond
friendship, mostly my mistake, but then she never loved me the way
she does you, and I have accepted that. I thought you acknowledged
the past is gone and you understood I am not a man able to turn
love off, yet it lies between us. Torrullin, how can I ever be a
father to you if you refuse to confide in me?”

Torrullin
nodded. It was no news to him how Taranis felt about Saska; he knew
since the first time he kissed her. “I cannot accurately explain
why I said nothing. You are an honourable man and you deserve more
from me.”

Taranis did
not reply, but grey eyes flickered.

“I realise you
believe we are drifting apart and you are not wrong. Saska isn’t
the source, she is the symptom, the excuse to explain it. It isn’t
you who has fault in this. The problem lies with me.” Torrullin
looked down the path on hearing a noise, to see Camot and his troop
come into view. “Let us walk.”

They fell in
side by side and ahead Vannis lengthened his stride.

“You have been
different for a while now,” Taranis murmured.

“It’s the
Throne. Ever since I sat on it, I am loath to share, particularly
my feelings. The Vallorinship is a solitary existence and that seat
brought it home. No Valleur ruler can be seen needing counsel. He
can be emotional, but the emotion is Valleur, temper the sign of
greatness. I am trying to come to grips with that force and shy
from the time I must sit on it daily.” Torrullin held a finger up
when Taranis opened his mouth. “Perhaps I need to accustom myself
to it, I don’t know, but there is more to it than I thought likely.
It calls, pulls, and prompts. It attempts to tell me something and
it is doing so now, even with this great distance between us.” A
flash of a dark-haired man came to him, and he squashed it
ruthlessly.

“I understand.
Finally I see the root of Valleur arrogance. Masters of the
Universe.”

“They
were.”

Taranis sent him a skewed look. “Yes, they
were
. What does the
Throne whisper to you? That they can be again?”

His son forced
calm. “The Valleur are too few now to find the same illustrious
past, and too surrounded by others. What you are really asking is
where my loyalties lie, with the Valleur or with humankind.”

“I guess
so.”

“I do not see
why it should be a question of loyalty. I have worked hard for all
races to be regarded as equal.”

“And you have
done an excellent job.”

Torrullin
swore. “So it’s personal. Fine. I grew up Valleur despite being in
a human world. Mother ensured I knew my roots, my bloodline, my
heritage. Everything I did after was due to the abilities of that
blood and heritage. I am Valleur, for the Valla blood is dominant,
and those human incarnations were mere shadows of my true self,
even Rayne.”

Taranis’ mouth
pulled askew. “Truth? It hurts to see you turning from what is
mine. That is why we drift apart.”

“I know, but
loyalty is more than blood. I am not going to turn my back on
humankind purely because I regard myself Valleur.”

“That is you,
the man within, speaking. You would like all races to live in peace
and while that is noble, my son, it does not answer the question of
how you would choose in a war.”

“We are at
war.”

“A war between
human and Valleur. How would you choose?”

Torrullin was
silent for a few beats of the heart. “I cannot answer that
truthfully.”

“Because it
would hurt me?”

“Because I do
not know.”

Taranis did
not believe that. “I struggle to equate Valleur with humanity.”

“Humanity is
not exclusive to humans.”

“Of course
not, but it is a concept borrowed from us, learned about, built
upon, although, admittedly, the inherent state existed in raw form.
It seems to me, looking in from the outside, that humanity is
something recently acquired by the Valleur.”

“Is this the
real issue between us?” Torrullin’s temper rose and Taranis’ lips
tightened in response. “Gods, you are here on a wholly Valleur
world, do you not see humanity? In Caltian? In Key-ler? In those
poor souls we have encountered thus far, lost, homeless, and
helping the man worse off beside him? Did you stop to think whether
they had compassion before you gave of yourself, before you went to
war for them? Who gives you the right to judge? Do I judge the
entire human species on the events of long ago?” Torrullin halted,
spoke calmly, but anger glittered behind hooded lids. “Are you God,
Immortal Guardian?”

“Are you,
Torrullin?” Tight-lipped, Taranis stared at his son. “It must feel
that way, surely, holding as you do the gift of Light in one hand
and the curse of Dark in the other.” He laughed. “And you say your
power has naught to do with you and Saska!” He began to walk away
and then jerked back. “And what of the Xenian woman? How do you
explain that to your wife?”

“It is none of
your concern.”

“Why do you
get upset when she is mentioned?” Taranis leaned in close. “You
fool yourself, my boy.”

Taranis was
right, something about Cat dug sharp claws into him, but he did not
need to hear it, especially not from his father. He snapped, a hand
whipping out to clutch Taranis at the throat. “Shut up! Do not
speak ill of the dead! Who I sleep with when my wife abandons me is
my business!”

Taranis swiped
the hand away. “Wake up, Torrullin! You abandoned her a long time
ago!”

“Untrue.”

“Gods, yes!
Your sons were more important.”

“Saska will
ever come first.”

“You delude
yourself.”

Camot, within
hearing then, held a detaining hand aloft. He glanced from one to
the other and privately thought this confrontation was overdue.

Ahead, Vannis
made to interfere, but Quilla stopped him, the birdman having
tracked backward in concern. Vannis’ gaze moved ceaselessly from
one to the other, hoping they would not come to blows.

“Taranis, step
down,” Torrullin warned, and Taranis blinked and retreated.

“You live in
that make-believe world you have created there in your head. See if
you can reconcile it to the reality of meeting your wife again. You
slept with Cat? How stupid are you?”

Torrullin
growled, hand to his sword.

“
Enough!
”
Vannis roared. “What good is this affair if we cannot maintain
peace in our own ranks?”

Torrullin
turned on his heel and strode away, taking point for the rest of
the day.

Three days
passed in near silence, for rain arrived in icy torrents.

Wet, hungry,
miserable and tense they slogged on, and the only mercy was that
neither Mysor nor Murs put in an appearance.

The band of
trees swung due south and they were forced to abandon its cover,
striking out in a north-easterly direction. They travelled a time
on the ninth leyline and felt it lend wings to their feet, and then
it vanished, not to be found again. Caltian said something about
Grinwallin knowing, maybe withdrawing it, and no one argued.

The inclement
weather did much to cloak their passing as they crossed scorched
fields and slid down inclines into dells choked with felled trees
tossed there in Murs spite.

They came upon
piles of rotting carcasses. Cattle, horses and sheep lay
decapitated like twisted boulders in blackened pens and stables. A
tiny girl clutched at a dilapidated scarecrow, her final comfort,
days dead.

The weather
worsened. They stumbled often onto something in their path. A dead
puppy, its jaws clenched to the half-gnawed leg of its sibling. Old
and new graves desecrated with piles of man and animal waste. Small
things, designed to lower morale, but also pure malice. Rich
farmland smouldered and all was quiet.

In the three
days in the open, they found not one living soul, no person hiding,
no animal in search of sustenance, not a flower, not a bird.

Disheartened,
the company turned east and soon the mountains of Grinwallin
appeared.

Day six dawned
with clear skies, and a decided bite to the air.

“Winter
comes,” Caltian muttered, blowing on his hands. “The seasons are
short on Atrudis.” As they prepared to take the trail, he
stiffened. “I think someone attempts to reach me.”

Vannis swore.
“The Murs will track it.”

“Do you
recognise the presence?” Quilla asked.

Caltian was
silent as he attempted to establish a point of reference, while
Camot studied the skies. “It’s Key-ler! He is alive! I cannot
…”

The danger was
now fact and Torrullin said, “Give me your hand. Use my
strength.”

Caltian took
the offered hand and jolted at the rush of clarity. “Lord,” he
gasped inadvertently and then Key-ler’s thoughts raced at him.
“Key-ler is in trouble, many Mysor, too many, the Xenians …”

Torrullin’s
blood pounded.

“I will go,”
Taranis said. “It will be good to aid humans again.”

Torrullin
stared at him, and asked Caltian, “Where?”

“Close to the
Academia.”

“Tell Key-ler
help comes and break contact,” Torrullin commanded. He released the
Valleur seconds later. “Camot, you and two others accompany
Taranis.”

“Yes, my
Lord.”

Torrullin’s
face was expressionless as he looked at his father. “Careful
contact when you are done.”

“Yes, my
Lord,” Taranis mocked, saluting. He vanished. Camot and the
soldiers followed.

“We will have
another set of problems soon,” Vannis said.

They come,
Enchanter.

Torrullin
jumped the river to sprint northward, seeking to hide their true
destination, finding shadows.

The Murs
hounded them all that day. They ran at first and then stumbled
along, halting to fend off attacks. Bartholamu’s dour face set into
grimness and he fought with silent determination that knew only one
result - death to Murs. Abdiah flew screeching into the air,
clawing at pale forms and scattering bright feathers across the
landscape. However much they countered, no matter how many fell and
disintegrated, more came, hounds to the Dragon scent.

Mid-afternoon
saw Quilla and Phet stand together and commence a slow hum.
Torrullin left off his own attack to join them, picking out the
tune and adding to the harmony.