The Nemisin Star (48 page)

“He is
preventing you hiding the Throne.”

“He wants to
use it against me.”

Vannis
shrugged. “We have been here before. I really thought he would come
forth with something more original this time.”

Torrullin
flashed a grin and both men dematerialised.

The Keep

Ten minutes
later Torrke was deserted but for the three Valla men and
Saska.

There was
little doubt Margus sensed the shift in the balances of this hidden
valley. He would come, sooner or later. He would be wary, but he
would come. He saw in black and white.

“Maybe Torrke
lays a trap,” Saska murmured, evidently thinking along similar
lines.

“I don’t see
it,” Tristamil said. “Torrke is too conservative for that kind of
creative planning. There are no shadows in its soul.”

“Tris is
right. Torrke will not harm the idiot if he comes now,” Torrullin
murmured,

Vannis kept
tally. “Only the Two Town site left.”

Margus did not
touch the Two Town sacred pool. Instead, he appeared in the
courtyard of the deserted Keep. “Torrullin!”

Torrullin
casually strode from the Throne-room. “Margus, how nice to see you
again.”

Margus
grinned. “I have completed my little errand and here I am.”

“Killing
sorcerers. Very enterprising of you.”

“Ah, you
heard. They did not have much to share unfortunately.” He closed in
until he and Torrullin came to a halt in direct opposition. “I hear
tell
you
had your hands full. I hope that did not cut too
much into the time you needed.”

Torrullin was
expressionless. “I shall manage.”

“I hear you
also
managed
the Dinor. How enterprising, Enchanter.”

“Always have
eyes on trade, I say.”

Margus shook
his head. “I would not know. I simply take.”

“How
inventive.”

“I agree,”
Margus laughed. “Ah, the young heir, now formally declared.” He
bowed to Tristamil as he came to stand near his father. “And I hear
you are a married man. I offer my congratulations. I am sure Tymall
will be happy for you.”

Tristamil
folded his arms across his chest, but did not otherwise react. It
was the right tact, and Torrullin silently lauded him.

“Ah, Saska. It
is good to see you supporting your beloved as always.”

“Margus.” She
inclined her head and said nothing further.

Margus
returned his attention to his main opponent. “I will not attack
your precious Throne, Enchanter. I know you are able to get to it
faster.”

“Welcome
news.”

“Torrullin,
are you not going to play?”

“I am all
grown up, Darak Or.”

Margus lost
some of his brightness. “A low blow, but I guess that is part of
the game.” He brightened again. “You are playing!”

“I guess I
am.”

“My time spent
with Tymall has prepared me for your Valleur tricks. Not only am I
able to cloak and uncloak your precious sites, even the new ones,
and those altered after our last confrontation, but they no longer
have the power to cause me suffering.” His blue eyes twinkled. “I
know you have Vannis in there waiting for the opportunity to cloak
your Throne; despite assurances, you desire it removed from the
conflict.”

“You cannot
uncloak the Throne.”

“I know.
Tymall was of little help there, I am afraid. However, there are
worse things I
can
do.”

“Indeed.”

Margus peered
theatrically over Torrullin’s shoulder. “Is it in there? I hear the
Throne-room is pure magic and quite magnificent.”

“Get to it,
Margus.”

The Darak Or
pouted. “So impatient.” He held a finger aloft, ostensibly
thoughtful. “You know, Torrullin, I do not quite understand this
obsession the Valleur have with a throne. You are a man of the
present; surely you see how old fashioned the notion is?”

Torrullin
lifted a shoulder. “There is much power in tradition. Why mess with
it?”

“Why,
indeed?”

Torrullin
shivered.

Margus wiggled
the finger he had in the air. “I am thinking we should have serious
fun now. What say you? I suggest a race, Enchanter. I shall head to
the sacred pool and uncloak it, thereby gifting you the opportunity
to take your silly little
tradition
out of the game - it
is
what you desire, after all. Shall we see how fast you
really are? All the sites will be uncloaked, and
there
is
your opportunity, but are you able to hide it before I again bring
the sacred pool back? Can you prevent the resultant catastrophe?
Or, Torrullin, are you too staid, too traditional now? Dare you
take the risk?”

“I choose not
to take the bait.”

“Pity.” Margus
shrugged. “I aim to present you with the opportunity anyway; call
it a learning curve, Enchanter. I am curious to know how far you
will actually risk life and limb.” With a cheery wave the Darak Or
vanished.

Torrullin
stared at the empty space and then hurtled indoors, Saska and
Tristamil hard on his heels.

Vannis said,
“He has uncloaked the sacred pool.”

“He was fast,”
Saska huffed, coming to a stop.

“Too fast, too
prepared,” Torrullin returned, slowing. “Why?”

“I would say
do not touch the Throne.”

“Saska is
right,” Vannis murmured. “It takes too long.”

Torrullin
stared at the golden seat with the great Dragon carving in the
backrest. For once he was at a loss. “I do not understand. He is
being obvious.”

Vannis rose
from the position he had taken on his knees in preparation for
cloaking. “Torrullin, it is time to act, not react.”

Torrullin
sensed Tristamil at his shoulder. A solid presence. He drew comfort
from that. “He plays; yet it is not the same game plan. Does he
want us to think the game is the same, or is he pushing us to
recognise the changes?” He glanced at Saska. “Is he aware of your
promise to the Valleur? How far am I prepared to risk life and
limb, he asks. I do not think he means mine.”

She stared at
him. If that was so, it changed everything.

“He takes a
new path,” Vannis said. “You have to be on it before he walks it
too far.”

“Often the
most obvious is the only sensible path,” Tristamil said.

Torrullin
gazed at his son as the young man paced forward and stopped to gaze
at the golden seat. “You mean the Throne?”

Tristamil
murmured, “I do not know what or how or even why, but I think he is
telling you it is about this chair. Your sons, your loved ones,
your people; add to that the one other entity that defines
you.”

“He mocked it
earlier,” Saska said.

“Part of the
play,” Tristamil responded.

Torrullin
nodded. “The most important move. I need to out-think him.”

Saska drew
breath and laid a hand on her husband. “I change my mind.” He
turned to her. “Do it,” she said. “Cloak it.”

“Gods, Saska,
we are talking nuclear here! How many would die?”

“That is why I
am here. Call his bluff.”

Vannis stomped
off the dais. “Can you resurrect mountains, Lady of Life? Can you
restore murdered soil? Can you bring the magic of Torrke’s
sentience back into being? Look me in the eyes, my Lady, and if you
say yes you can do all this, I shall stand with you and say let the
creature see and feel the wrath of the Vallas.”

“He knows
about the promise,” Tristamil said, and swore thoroughly.

“Saska?”
Torrullin prompted.

She was
defeated. She drove a wedge between herself and the man she loved
with her offer, and now it was as nothing. It had all been for
nothing. “I cannot remake a changed landscape. I cannot recall an
ancient, independent magic. I cannot make it the way it was. I can
coax life back into a sterile environment and I can raise the dead,
but that is all I can do.”

“An
extraordinary gift,” Tristamil said.

She smiled at
him. “Thank you.” Her gaze shifted to her husband. “It isn’t enough
to reverse what the Throne can do, is it?”

“No, my
love.”

Her face
twisted and she walked away.

“And thus I
lose even the Lady in this cat and mouse game.”

“Who is the
cat, Torrullin?” Vannis asked.

Torrullin gave
him a nod. “Point taken, but know a cornered cat is still very much
a cat. I aim to win this.” He stared hard at the Throne.
Part of
the play. The
most
important move.
Very well.
Let us
play, Darak Or.
He headed out into the courtyard, calling,
“Kismet!”

The Elder
appeared from the city. “My Lord?”

“Re-cloak the
sites and double the guard. Add Mortimer’s Shield in the
enchantment.” Torrullin walked away.

Kismet’s mouth
hung open.
Mortimer’s Shield?

Vannis said,
“Stop gaping, Elder. He has it right. It will give warning at
least.”

Kismet rapidly
headed for the administration offices.

“Mortimer’s
Shield?” Tristamil questioned.

“A shield that
creates sirens around a zone, one developed loudly by a lizoid
known as, yes, Mortimer. It will not stop anything, but the
universe will hear when a site is tampered with.”

“Ah.”
Tristamil watched his father head up the stairs. “Still, Margus can
simply bring us to this point again. No doubt he knows how to shut
a siren down. Are we not delaying the inevitable?”

“Nothing is
inevitable where your father is concerned, son.”

“We should
wait until Margus leaves Two Town and then cloak this seat.”

Vannis gave a
humourless smile. “Tris, foolish boy, you stirred the pot. There is
no way your father will cloak his chair now, don’t you see? The
gauntlet was tossed down and the Enchanter picked it up.”

As Vannis
walked away Tristamil felt the icy prickles of foreknowledge
descend down his spine.

If anybody had
asked him then what it was his father intended, he would have told
him or her, accurately, like an accomplished seer.

Dream well,
sweet child. Sleep tight. I love you.

~ The universal
mother

Valaris

T
he
occasion of the moon’s reappearance in the nightly heavens was
generally a cause for celebration on Valaris.

In the past
Dark Moon was regarded with superstition and dread, and therefore
the moon’s return was merrily welcomed. Not much had changed.
Superstition was dampened, but fears were not genuinely
allayed.

This New Moon
marked a sombre staring up at the skies.

As the blue
coin in bare crescent was sighted there were sighs across the land,
and then the cold watchers hurried indoors and bolted themselves
and their families in, and prayed for deliverance to their various
gods.

Lifesource
Temple

That same
night in the Lifesource Temple, Lowen stood beside the silent and
reverent Q’lin’la as they greeted the symbol of renewal in the dark
open sky.

She watched
their still faces and was entranced by their spirituality, so much
so that when she went to sleep she was thinking about the journeys
of souls across and through the spaces of worlds.

Thus she
dreamed.

She shared a
chamber with Cat, Skye and two other women; they got on well,
managing to live together in a small space without tension.

That night she
thrashed her bedding apart and made whimpering noises that awakened
her companions.

Try as they
might, they could not wake her from the nightmare. As the minutes
ticked by the four women grew fearful. Lowen was ashen and
sweating, clutching at her bedclothes, and still she did not wake.
Her eyes suddenly popped open to stare fixedly upward and one woman
crossed herself superstitiously as Skye shouted for Quilla.

When he came
shuffling through awakening women and children occupying every
available space, Skye grabbed his hand and hauled him to their
chamber, shoving him before her, pointing. Behind her a curious
crowd tried to push in to see what the fuss was about and she told
them in no uncertain terms to mind their business.

Quilla put his
cool hand to Lowen’s forehead and snatched it back. She was
burning. At least five women in the vicinity thought about the
recent plague, and backed away.

“Quilla,” Cat
whispered. “She is all I have!”

“She is not
ill or in danger, I give you my word. It looks bad, but this is a
temporary manifestation.”

“What is the
matter?” Skye queried, seeing the thoughtful and interested gleam
in the birdman’s eyes.

“She is in a
vision.”

“Nonsense!”
Cat burst out. The two women who shared the room with them crept
out, mortally afraid of the tense atmosphere.

Quilla
meanwhile turned to the Xenian woman and looked at her without
speaking. He then shook his head and bent over Lowen.

Skye reached
for Cat’s hand and drew her aside. “Cat, I know how you feel, but
trust Quilla. I have known him my whole life and he doesn’t lie. If
you had grown up surrounded by sorcerers the way I have, you would
know. Caballa has them so often she doesn’t need sleep to bring
them on.”

“But …
Lowen?
”

Skye sighed.
“Lowen is special, surely you’ve noticed? Quilla talks to her all
the time, and Torrullin … well, I have seen him react to things she
is said to him. Even Taranis …”

Lowen screamed
long and hard, a blood-curdling, fear-filled sound that froze the
blood, and then she hiccupped as if swallowing the scream and
started to sob uncontrollably.

Quilla touched
her forehead again. “Lowen, come out, little one … it is over
now.”