The Nemisin Star (57 page)

She had
already revealed to them what she believed would occur within the
human psyche on the mainland, and a decision was taken to remain
indefinitely in the west until either Torrullin returned or their
new Vallorin decreed otherwise.

Whatever it
would be, time was now against them, and thus the rights and
privileges to the sites would be removed from the humans. Naturally
that would serve to speed prejudice, but so be it.

Caballa lifted
her gaze.

The Lifesource
Temple came earlier, brought by Vannis and Quilla. The humans
inside for safety were told it was no longer a viable sanctuary and
were taken elsewhere via Q’lin’la magic.

They were in
no danger, although they did not know that. The Temple appeared
incongruous in its new space, made smaller without the might of the
mountains and the thunder of rushing waters. Smaller, but certainly
not less. She silently thanked Torrullin for his foresight in
having it brought west; it and the Throne would aid them well.

Caballa had
seen the strangeness in Vannis’ eyes when he spoke with them after
delivering the Temple, almost as if he, too, said farewell. Vannis
would remain at Torrullin’s side, far into the end. Vannis, she
understood, would not return.

She could not
speak further and allowed the tears to come.

A number of
Elders rose and stumbled away.

The Keep

“How did it
go?” Torrullin questioned, biting into a tasty omelette prepared by
Dalrish.

“Easier than
envisioned,” Vannis replied, eyeing Torrullin’s plate with envy.
His omelette sizzled in the pan and his stomach growled.

“Dalrish, this
is excellent,” Torrullin mumbled, causing the Xenian to grin.

“I had not
realised the Temple could be moved,” Quilla put in. “But, with
hindsight, I recognise it must be akin to our homeworld.”

“Exactly,”
Vannis remarked, and grinned when his plate was filled. “The
Lifesource is part of us and the planet. It goes with us.” He said
no more until his plate was thoroughly emptied, gesturing
eloquently with his fork at the chef.

Dalrish
bowed.

Saska brewed
coffee and Lowen fried bacon and sausage; they ate disjointedly,
but it was delicious.

“Tris is
taking his time,” Vannis murmured. “Well, scratch that; it cannot
be easy.”

They sat
around the table drinking coffee after everything was consumed -
even Cat, who finally deigned to join them. Between her and Saska
there was an uneasy truce, for confrontation would now solve
nothing, but Cat was also sullen. She did not put voice to what
churned in her mind, although it was clear it would not take much
to set her off.

Torrullin
glanced from her to Saska, meeting her amused gaze, and shrugged.
His mistakes coming home to roost.

He decided to
tackle the issue of Cat and rose in his seat …

“Well, well,
most cosy!”

… he whirled,
trapped by his seat, caught wholly off guard.

Margus leaned
casually against the doorjamb, blue gaze raking everyone.
Chuckling, he straightened and entered. “Another convert to your
cause, Torrullin?” he asked, approaching Dalrish.

“Bugger you,
Margus.” Torrullin sank back into his chair.

Dalrish drew a
wary breath, hands inching towards his pistols.

“If you shoot
me, stranger, be sure to turn them on the Enchanter also,” Margus
murmured in amusement. “We are bound for death together. Someone
must have informed you.”

Dalrish lifted
his hands. He angled his body protectively towards his
daughter.

“What do you
want?” Vannis enquired.

“To talk,” the
Darak Or responded, and drew up a chair to sit beside
Torrullin.

“You are
pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?” Vannis said.

Margus ignored
him and turned his head to the Enchanter. “The Valleur are
gone.”

“Naturally.”

“You have
decided to take up my challenge.”

Torrullin
reached for an unused mug, poured coffee into it and placed it
before Margus. “Milk and sugar,” he said, indicating the centre of
the table.

Margus was the
one off guard then, if only momentarily. He curled his fingers
around the mug. “This is a first.”

“We are about
firsts. Yes, I aim to take up your challenge, with a tweak or
two.”

“Interesting.
You aim to win?”

“This time I
aim to lose.”

Margus lifted
the mug. “Naturally,” he echoed and drank.

“Shall we
choose a time?”

“Why not?
Easier all round,” Margus drank again. “Good coffee. Saska, did you
make it?”

“I did.”

He grinned at
her, “Let us see … the Kallanon should be here sometime tomorrow
afternoon …”

Torrullin
barked a disbelieving laugh. “That was your mysterious errand, by
god. Not just killing sorcerers, were you?”

Margus was
pleased. “Intelligence, Enchanter, thank Aaru. Yes, I went to put
the word out.”

“Why?”

“Dragons make
powerful friends and powerful enemies. They come for the Light as
prophesied and I hope to present them with the Dark.”

“Are you
suggesting the Dragons would enter this realm afterward?”

“You seek to
read between the lines too hard, Enchanter. They have their realm
and the chance of them spilling into this one remains slim, as
ever. I desire that they take home the message that the Light was
not strong enough. A side benefit, a stirring of that particular
pot.”

Torrullin
stared at him. “Nasty.”

Margus
shrugged.

“You
understand they would not interfere in our business.”

“I know. They
are witnesses,” said Margus.

“Torrke is
sufficient for you, Margus?” asked Torrullin.

“The Valleur
are in exile once more and that is sweet, but, no, Torrke is not
sufficient.”

“My sons,”
Torrullin stated.

“It will not
be long now.”

“Yet not quite
what you wanted.” Torrullin was expressionless.

Margus put a
finger to his bottom lip, and rubbed it. “I admit to having a
different goal in mind, one that would see Tymall stepping into my
place, but your orchestration and meddling achieved an acceptable
result.”

Torrullin
lowered his head to hide his fury and Margus laughed, realising it.
He replaced his mug on the table and rose. Looking around at the
other faces reflectively, he put a hand on Torrullin’s
shoulder.

Margus leaned
in and drew the Enchanter’s fringe back with his free hand,
whispering in his ear. “Such a pity, Torrullin, isn’t it? You will
not see these folk again, at least not with your eyes. Still, I
envy you. You are the type to inspire folk to follow to the nth
degree and you do not have to try too hard. I have learned much
from you.” He released Torrullin and stepped back. “Our date with
doom is set for dawn the day after tomorrow.”

He strode
out.

Dalrish, ex
crime lord, exhaled. A dangerous man, this Darak Or, despite his
effeminate features. Those eyes were soulless mirrors of pure ice
and if he was indeed a sorcerer …

“An enchanter,
Dalrish,” Torrullin said.

Dalrish nodded
and found he was not surprised to find his thoughts read. Was magic
so strange, after all? He felt it familiar already, on this world
recently entered, as if ancient memories were being unlocked.

Torrullin?
Your sons?

Tymall will
kill himself, Quilla, sooner or later.

A profoundly
shocked silence entered Torrullin’s mind from the birdman and then,
Goddess, this is unacceptable. Can you not release him to
prevent that?

And release
another Darak Or?

Torrullin rose
to forestall further questions. He left the now sombre kitchen,
striding purposefully away, but was in fact absolutely without
purpose and there was nowhere to go. In the past he came to the
valley for renewal and now the valley was the trap. He was on
quicksand and sinking fast.

There was
nowhere on … he paused in mid-stride.

And
vanished.

White
Palace

How long
before his food was consumed, even eking it out?

Water? He was
not a creationist as his father was.

You will all
suffer for this affront!

I swear this
on my unholy soul!

Near
Galilan

The hut near
the Galilan River was abandoned when evacuation commenced.

Margus found
it neat, warm and well stocked, and moved in for the final days.
The last hours would now be spent in preparation. All else was
done.

And, honestly,
none of that mattered.

He did not
care if Valaris thrived or failed. He did not care if there were
other glorious worlds ripe for the taking. Tymall could live or die
as he chose. The Lady of Life had no influence in the realms beyond
and thus was beneath his notice. Point of fact, he did not care if
the Light won. The Kallanon could get stuffed every which way as
far as he was concerned. He wanted Torrullin with him into
eternity, and that was what mattered.

Thus he
prepared.

Sitting at the
window overlooking the snow-clad landscape, Margus sipped from a
mug - the coffee was not as good as Saska’s - and cleared his
mind.

He brought
every emotion under control and delved into the spaces that opened
the doorway to the etheric, to know the way unerringly.

Unknowingly,
he gripped the mug so hard it shattered.

What is this
strange power? Men call it science. The study of atoms and DNA
should lead to proficiency in the realms of magic, should it not?
Why is it different for them?

~ Krallin of
Yltri

The Keep

W
ith
Vannis and Saska whispering together and Lowen carrying on a
monologue with Cat, Quilla finally had Le Moss Mar Dalrish to
himself.

He asked that
the Xenian accompany him. They headed for the battlements where the
beauty of the hidden valley unfolded for them.

“It never had
a name, this valley, until Torrullin named it formally to receive
the Valleur Throne, and that was less than a year ago. No one ever
lived here and the only visitors made welcome were the Valleur
dead.” Quilla pointed out the Graveyard site on the opposite rise.
“You see, Dalrish, the valley was sentient - still is, I suspect -
and by sentient I mean it had the power to judge a man’s worth. The
reverence afforded the dead made then eminently worthy and thus
they were not expelled.”

The birdman
paused to study the Xenian’s absorption. Good. “This valley is a
place of incredible contradiction. You have the barren beauty of
the Arrows on the one side and the permanent snow patches of the
Morinnes opposite, and the two are certainly not far enough apart
to offer up an explanation.”

Dalrish
murmured, “It
is
strange.”

“Within the
valley you have the gentility of fragile flowers, streams, waving
grasses, and you have the knife-edged harshness of rock, crevasse,
and predatory birds. In one day the conditions can alter from a
subdued spring morning to the ferociousness of an extreme storm,
and yet nothing harms nature here. When Valaris is in the grip of
freezing winter, Torrke is a white fairyland; when the continent is
shuddering under gales, Torrke sports a mild breeze. And when
summer heat prevails, bringing drought, it is a slumbering spring
here, with water gurgling from the rock.

“Sentient and
magical and Torrullin was first to come and then leave again
unharmed. That he did so proved beyond doubt he was the Enchanter
the Q’lin’la were waiting for. In the past, you must understand,
anyone who dared within was either repulsed … or worse. Documented
fact, Dalrish. This land has never seen a draught animal or felt
the bite of a hoe. No tree has suffered the terror of an axe.
Twenty-seven years ago an army of soltakin came to destroy the
sacred site, yon Graveyard, and they died to the last and it was
the valley that issued forth destruction. Not one evil creature,
however, sullied the purity of this earth.”

Quilla paused
again and leaned against the wall. “Torrullin loves this place, he
communes with it. He asked permission to plant shrubs not
indigenous to the valley; he begged for shade for the crypts, he
took rock for the Keep and road only with Torrke’s blessing.
Hand-in-hand, never taking this magical place for granted.”

“Incredible,”
Dalrish breathed. It was, particularly for someone accustomed to
dome life.

“More so,
because it is unique to the entire universe, as is our Enchanter.”
Quilla grimaced then as he continued. “Two weeks ago Margus held
the Keep hostage, in particular Saska and Taranis, Torrullin’s
father. Torrullin called upon the valley to permit a storm to rage,
the kind that would not usually be granted supremacy here, and it
was given. As the Enchanter harks to Torrke, thus Torrke harks to
the Enchanter. Now that magic has withdrawn.”

“Because the
Darak Or entered?”

Quilla sighed.
“I do not know, but I have surrendered attempting to understand the
mysteries here.”

Dalrish
pressed his fingers together. “I cannot restore magic.”

The birdman
smiled. “We know that and ask it not of you. Besides, this sentient
entity will do as it deems best and even Torrullin cannot alter
that. No, we need restore nature, life, the balances after
destruction, and that is where you come in.”

“This kind of
contradiction may be hard to balance.”

“We must try,
Xenian. Valaris is a world of nature and beauty, not industry and
barrenness. No tree is felled without a
very
good reason,
and deliberate destruction calls for major restoration or we would
soon kill this glorious planet. Nobody should ever be that
selfish.”