The Nemesis Blade (22 page)

Torrullin
groaned. To leave now was to insult Samuel’s memory. To leave was
to hurt his grandsons beyond repair.

“My Lord?” It
was Vanar.

He
straightened. “Elder.”

“My Lord, a
late supper is set in the dining room. Perhaps you should eat
something.”

He stared at
her, but was not seeing anything. “I am not hungry, thank you. Has
Caballa returned?”

“Not yet.
Shall I send her to you when she does?” Vanar’s tone was
diffident.

Torrullin
frowned. What had she asked? What was she saying? He cleared his
throat and rose. “I am going to the Keep, alone. Tell the boys I
will see them tomorrow and, Vanar, please inform me of Saska’s
arrival.”

Stoically, she
nodded. “And Caballa?”

He managed a
smile. “Caballa will do as Caballa sees fit, as ever.”

Vanar inclined
her head, retreated, and moments later Torrullin alighted in the
courtyard of the deserted Keep.

The moon hid
behind clouds, stars were darkened, the valley was shrouded in
silence and the Keep was a ghostly presence in the night.

It was empty,
without a heart, without a soul.

In the last
twenty odd years it had seen life rarely.

Tristan’s
Coming-of-Age pulled the building from long slumber and thereafter
it remained accessible and was maintained by a small staff,
although they resided in the city, not on the premises.

The swearing
in of new Elders followed, twice, Teroux’s Coming-of-Age, Kismet’s
burial, and recently Curin’s. And now it was Samuel’s turn.

He returned
only for the Coming-of-Age ceremonies, for this place of stone held
more memories than he could bear. It was as well, by morning, it
would fill with staff and Elders preparing for the funeral, for
living voices would mute the calls from the past.

Yet he came
now to hear them. Samuel’s call, Saska’s, Tristamil’s, Tymall’s,
Taranis’, Vannis’, Kismet’s, Matt’s, Cat’s … many, many others, not
least of which was the voice and presence of Lowen.

Strange how
death brought the past back, a state of mind enabling the ghosts to
wander through again in another time. Unwelcome, and yet the desire
to listen existed. Sentience would never fit neatly into a box.

Memories
squeezed at him, driving breath away.

Saska
laughing, her emerald eyes alight with mischief; Taranis roaring
like a wild man on the battlements, smacking his chest in summer’s
heat and then laughing helplessly at his son’s astonishment; Vannis
serious as he bent over a chessboard … and Vannis hated chess; Matt
Dalrish goggle-eyed over the Dragon doors; Cat Dalrish gazing into
the distance sadly; Lowen Dalrish a child giggling with Kismet and
Krikian; Lowen the woman, her blue eyes an enigma; Tristamil and
Tymall fighting; Tristamil curled over a book, lost to the world;
Tymall galloping away on a horse, eyes wild with glee; Saska
slinking away, trying to hide injuries from her husband; Lycea
smiling, Lycea frightened, Lycea withdrawn … and on and on it
went.

The Siric,
Centuar, Sagorin, Dinor, Sylmer, Beaconites, delegates from Ceta,
Yltri, Ymir, Merrix - Merrix and Sinsen, Saska’s lover. Seasons,
weather, people, emotions - the Throne. Death and life. Hate and
love.

“Torrullin?”

Caballa,
beautiful, talented, honest Caballa. Returned to him at last. It
was not love - although he did love her - it was more complicated.
Caballa knew him,
knew
him.

“Memories?”
she asked.

“Yes,” he
managed, inordinately glad she came.

“For me
also.”

“I had not
realised you were back on Valaris.”

“Yesterday.”

A beat.
“Why?”

“Tristan.”

Another beat,
this one accompanied by a frown. “Why?”

“He asked …
and told me you were dreaming.”

A slow
exhalation. “He saw that?”

“He is much
like you.”

“I
noticed.”

“I was going
to come to you soon and then fate brought you to me.”

Fate. Yes. “Is
the past in the past, Caballa … our past?”

“Yes,” she
said.

“And the
future?”

“I believe I
am needed at your side.”

“Good.”

A smile in her
voice. “I brought something to eat. Hungry?”

“I could
eat.”

“Then make us
light, Torrullin, and let’s find a room that doesn’t smell too
musty.”

A grunt, and
then he had light in the courtyard. Together they headed to the
dining room, Torrullin taking the basket from her. At the doors he
touched here, there, and then pushed them open.

It was not
that musty. More light, this in the guise of candles, and Torrullin
set the basket on the table and returned to close the doors against
the invading chill.

As Caballa
unpacked, he strode over to the fireplace and snapped a bright
blaze on. It was not long before warmth seeped into chilled bones
and Torrullin discovered he was not only hungry, he was
ravenous.

“I saw Declan
and Prima yesterday,” Caballa murmured around a mouthful.

“They came to
confer with a famous seer?”

Her eyes
crinkled at the corners.

“And?”

“Tristan made
contact, and I came here.”

“You had
nothing to tell them?”

She reached
for the coffee thermos - too cold for wine - and said, “They told
us some, Lowen, rumours and all that, and I gave them something
also, but what I know is little.”

He pointed at
his mug and she poured for both of them. “What could you give?”

“To Prima, the
Three Kingdoms of Orb prophecy, and to Declan? I told him Agnimus
has changed both appearance and personality. He has to look beyond
the obvious.”

“I thought Orb
would come into it, but Declan’s task is virtually impossible.”

“We had a
master historian with us on Nemisin’s world, a man called Sabian.
He is expert in ancient lore and knows the precedents to dupe using
glamour. Declan will no doubt pick him clean.”

“Never heard
of him.”

“Titania has
records. He is trustworthy, I believe, and by now Declan has tested
him further.”

“The console,”
he murmured.

She frowned,
not privy to the Dome’s workings. “What of Lowen, Torrullin?”

He set his mug
down. “I heard her in a dream, recurring. Lost to Time, but how,
why, where and when? Currently under investigation.”

She stared at
him. “I meant, what about Lowen and you?”

He stared
back. “Unfinished.”

She dropped
her gaze and said nothing.

“How is she,
Caballa?”

“She copes.
Saska has always been strong.”

“Has there
been anyone else?”

“You don’t
have the right to ask.”

“Was
there?”

“After Sinsen?
I don’t know.”

“Or won’t
say.”

“I don’t know.
Saska keeps that part private, but I don’t think so. Nemisin’s
world took all her attention.”

Torrullin
wanted to ask more, he wanted to ask about a world renewed and how
it was and what they discovered there, but knew it would unlock the
guards about his heart or, more likely, about guilt.

Caballa knew,
for she changed the subject. “I hear the Dome is to be taken down
onto Sanctuary. A bit iffy, don’t you think?”

“Belun will
either find a way or tell me it is impossible. The Dome is
safe.”

“What is going
on, Torrullin?”

He looked at
her under lowered lashes. “What have you seen?”

She bit at her
lip. “I saw Declan would come and I felt the Orb prophecy resonate
and, when Sabian arrived unexpectedly, I saw he holds vital
information in that mind of his. As for Agnimus, I sensed him
undergo changes, but it was vision not reality; I have not sensed
him in a place, form, threat or power. I haven’t felt Lowen’s
dilemma, but I have felt yours and I have seen you trapped in rock
- the dream?” He nodded and she sighed and went on. “Last night I
had the clearest vision I have had in many years, and this is why I
tracked you here tonight.”

“Ah.” His tone
was expressionless, for he already guessed. As Caballa knew him,
thus he knew her.

“It concerns
Tristan. The danger to him is yours, purely because he will be
mistaken for you,” she said, and held a hand up. “Hear this, today
I exacted a promise from him to remain on Valaris until after the
Throne’s choosing, hoping the delay will keep him ignorant.”

“Thank the
gods for you,” Torrullin murmured. “You did well. Now tell me
more.”

“A Walker is
needed to retrieve from Time. You know this, Lowen knows this and
no doubt your Kaval does. However, another knows this and he aims
to set a trap for you, he needs something from Time also, and
Tristan may fall into that trap.” She paused and then, “I think
it’s Tymall.”

He rocked
back. “That I cannot believe.”

She did not
break the contact between them. “I saw Digilan, land of mists, and
I saw Mor Feru and I saw Tracloc.”

“Did you see
Tymall?”

She gave a wry
grimace. “No, but who else, my Lord?”

“Someone aware
of a promise I made my son,” Torrullin said, and answered her
unspoken question, “I promised to take Tianoman to meet his father
in Digilan after his Coming-of-Age, a deal struck that gifted us
the Tracloc to destroy the draithen twenty-five years ago.”

“Then Tian is
in danger also, but how would Tristan be the one trapped in your
stead?”

“Was he
alone?”

She closed her
eyes, and then, “There is another, a fair man, indistinct, but
Tristan seems to trust him.” She opened her eyes.

“Perhaps the
trap is specifically for Tristan.”

She frowned,
looked away, allowing her eyes to roam a while before bringing them
back. “I don’t feel that.”

“Give me your
hand. Let me see the vision.”

Never had he
asked that of her. Always he trusted her words. “Do you distrust
me, my Lord?”

“No, Caballa,
but I am not getting a clear picture, and it may be because you
cannot understand what it is you view. I need to see around what
you have told me. Please.”

She reached
out and gripped his fingers. She closed her eyes and found the
vision inside and transferred it to him. A moment later his fingers
withdrew from hers and she opened her eyes to find him staring into
the fire, a frown on his face. She did not interrupt, giving him a
chance to work the images into cohesiveness.

“It is Tristan
and there is a fair man. He isn’t known to me and I can’t see his
face. My first instinct would be Margus, Darak Or, but that is now
eternally impossible. The trap, as you surmised, is in Digilan and
it is a Walker they are after. Has Tristan shown inclination in
that direction?”

“I wouldn’t
know. Ask Vanar.”

“You are
right, they think they have Elixir and Tristan does not correct
them …” Torrullin focused. “He does it deliberately. He attempts to
take my place - why?”

“To save you?”
He saw more, she realised.

Thoughts raced
through his mind. “Is it safer to keep him ignorant here or
ignorant with me? Or should he be told all, to avoid the
situation?”

“He should
stay here.”

“Then you
should stay with him.”

“I need to be
at your side.”

“I would like
nothing more, but this task is eminently suited to your talents.
Besides, Tristan won’t question your presence and he seems to trust
you already. You can guard him unobtrusively.”

He was
right.

A smile in his
voice. “A temporary task.”

“Very
well.”

“I wonder if
the fair man isn’t Agnimus,” Torrullin mused then.

“What would he
need from Time?”

“Identity?
Proof of identity? Revenge on someone from antiquity, such as
Nemisin, perhaps? Or power to add to his, like from bloody Neolone?
Agnimus has good reasons to step back. It’s more imperative than
ever that Declan finds him. What of this Sabian? A fair man, is
he?”

Caballa gaped.
“Yes, and blue eyes, like Margus. Actually, now that you stir the
pot, he reminds me of Margus and did from the first moment, only I
couldn’t pinpoint it.”

“A fair man,
one with ancient lore? Convenient.”

“I sensed no
evil.”

“Yet you say
Agnimus has changed form
and
personality. Perhaps he altered
the taste darak power leaves?”

“Damn, it’s
not unlikely.”

Then Torrullin
was the one frowning. “But Agnimus would know the difference
between Elixir and Tristan.”

“Unless, in
removing the aftertaste of darak, he lost the ability to taste
himself,” Caballa whispered. “And Tristan uses it.”

“Agnimus, who
looks like Margus, because he is also Margus’ brother.” Torrullin
rose. “I need to find this character.”

“Agreed, but
your first priority now is your grandsons. They need you, and if
you leave …”

He sank down.
“I know. Fine, after the funeral, and you, meanwhile, make yourself
indispensable to Tristan.”

She nodded and
they continued eating in silence, minds filled with ifs, buts and
maybes.

Tristan, Teroux
and Tianoman arrived together at the Keep to find it busy and
filled with life.

Retainers
entered with sunrise to clean, air and prepare guest chambers, and
others were engaged in funerary preparation. A number of Elders
were in evidence, of Valaris and Luvanor.

The three were
dismayed. The last thing they desired was a crowd.

“Up here!”

Heads up, and
the three saw Torrullin silhouetted against the eastern sun up on
the battlements. On the first floor balcony they encountered
Caballa.

“Good
morning,” she said. “He’s up top.”

“Thanks, and
thanks for …”

“Not
necessary, Tristan. Go on up, talk to each other.” She slipped past
them and went down into the courtyard.