The Sleeper Sword (19 page)

Instantly and
unmistakably, blue fire sparked. Trebac, the mark of Valla kin.

Tannil
stumbled back. He stared at his hands, lifting accusing eyes. “You
are Valla, by god!”

“Yes!”

Everyone was
frozen.

“How?”

“Tristamil is
my ancestor.”

“Impossible,”
Mitrill breathed, shaking her head as if emerging from a
trance.

Samuel fixed
her with an intent stare. “Her name was Skye. She was the
Enchanter’s goddaughter.”

Mitrill stared
back at him and nodded. “Yes, I suspected he … when he took her
home that final time.”

“She never
said anything,” Quilla frowned.

“Would you
have, after what happened?” Belun murmured.

“It was passed
from their son, father to son, to me. My father told me the night
he died.” Samuel’s anger was gone, replaced with a sense of loss,
not only over the death of his father, but the loss of what he held
true. It was evident in his wistful tone.

“I need a
drink,” Mitrill muttered, walking out. Caltian followed her,
concern etched in the new lines on his face.

“Sweet god,
Samuel, you’re part of this farce in the west?” Marcus blurted.

“For pity’s
sake!” Byron shouted. “Marcus, control your mouth!”

As Tannil and
Samuel watched each other, from somewhere Larkin’s amused chortle
sounded.

Chapter
21

Blood is
thicker than water.

~ Earth
idiom

Samuel
received his private audience after that.

Tannil drew
him away, waving everyone aside with eloquent aggression. He
preceded Samuel into the extensive ground floor library and slammed
the door shut on them.

In the
Throne-room the others milled in confusion and Fay said, “We go to
Linir tonight. I suggest we ready ourselves.”

Gradually all
dispersed, the three Immortals leaving together, and Kismet,
without firmer orders, took Byron, Marcus and Larkin upstairs to
the guest wing. He had their belongings transferred from Danak.

In the library
Tannil turned.

“Your father
tells you on his deathbed you are descended in a direct male line
from Tristamil, therefore Torrullin, and you believed him?”

“No, not then,
but he made me swear I’d go to Torrke the following day; he said
I’d experience visions to prove his claim.”

“Are you prone
to visions?”

“No.”

“Therefore it
would have more impact.”

“I didn’t
believe it, but I had given my word, and I was curious.”

“Ah.” Tannil
waved at an armchair in the centre of the chamber. “Sit.”

“I think well
when I stand.”

Tannil smiled,
the first friendly sign. “As do I.” He dropped into another
armchair and sat with his head bowed. “Samuel, I’m sorry I allowed
fear to guide me. My treatment of you leaves much to be desired.
The blood is not a measuring tool - Valla or not, I am sorry.”

“I understand.
We’ll say no more on it, and I am a Valla.”

Yes, you
are, and how wonderful. Strange.
Tannil leaned back with his
eyes closed. “Kinfire cannot be denied. You are indeed of the
blood. Were you frightened, standing in the entrance to
Torrke?”

“Petrified.”

Another smile
flitted across Tannil’s features. “Torrke has great presence.”

“It’s
beautiful. Untamed and yet serene.”

Tannil opened
his eyes. “Did your father die of natural causes?”

Samuel opened
his mouth, closed it and then, “Gods, I hope so.”

“The
coincidences of the past days tell me otherwise.”

Samuel sat
heavily opposite Tannil. “Dear god.”

“It cannot now
be undone; let it go.”

“But …
why?”

“An instrument
needs energy and you, I suspect, have more than your father
did.”

A slow nod.
“Yes, that’s true. What does it mean, this instrument thing?”

Tannil
straightened. “Many things, but usually it, he or she is a conduit,
a link, between two poles.”

“Meaning?”

“I’m not yet
sure. Talk to me some more.”

Samuel frowned
and rose to pace. “These are now strange times.”

Tannil barked
a laugh. “Indeed, and it has blinded me to a man’s worth. Exile has
made us here in the west wary. We need to relearn trust and
reliance.”

“You’re not
alone in that mind-set.”

Tannil was
silent for a beat. “Do you think our two races can work
together?”

“I think we’ve
little choice but to make it so, but it won’t be an easy road.”

Tannil looked
away. “I sneak in sometimes and wander the silent ways of Menllik.
I hike the valley, visit the site of the Keep and wish it was
different. The rest of the universe cohabits in peace and tolerance
and they have the Enchanter to thank for it, but here? Oh, we have
peace, but it’s tenuous at best and the only factor that prevents
confrontation is Valleur sorcery - our fear we will cause harm and
yours that we will use it. There is no cordial relationship; no
interaction and both races are equally guilty. Why should that be,
I ask you? My grandfather sacrificed himself to prevent pain and
death and sorrow, war, hardship, and he is vilified for it,
sometimes even by the Valleur. We hate exile and yet most of my
people have left for another world - which is why Danak is empty.
All we want is Torrke and Menllik, the right to our sacred sites
and real peace.

“There is
intrinsic tension in our psyches, yours and ours, and the wariness
and mistrust that results leads us astray.” Tannil returned his
yellow gaze to the human. “If it transpires the Valleur may again
freely claim title to Menllik and Torrke, we wouldn’t desert the
Western Isles. Like us sharing space with you, we would open these
islands to all. No more selfishness. Can it be?”

“You dream
big, Lord Vallorin.”

“Ah, an answer
that is no answer. We Valleur are big dreamers, even in
adversity.”

“Nobody can
foretell the future.”

Tannil
snorted. “Wrong. It’s been done time after time accurately. Nobody
can control thought and emotion and therein lays the problem.”

“Or
salvation.”

A silence and
then, “Maybe.”

Samuel studied
the Vallorin. In his lifetime he had not seen a Valleur before
Kismet, and this golden man lived up to expectation. Tall, lean,
strong. Shoulder length golden hair, straight and sleek. An
aristocratic bone structure, dark-fringed, yellow eyes. His skin
had a marked golden flush, an outdoorsman, but Samuel knew it was
part of Valleur genetics and did not pale even in the dead of
winter.

Tannil wore
red woven breeches, leather boots and an embroidered blue tunic,
the sleeves pulled up to his elbows. The cloth was priceless, the
tunic studs solid gold. He wore no jewellery and the long-fingered
hands lay open on the arms of his chair, a sign of return to
calm.

“How does it
feel?” Tannil asked out of nowhere. “You went to Torrke and there
you had visions of the past. You must have, being a Valla. It comes
to me when I go. Disbelief becomes belief, however reluctantly, or
perhaps welcome, I don’t know. How does it feel? Everything has
changed, surely?”

Samuel
pondered, his turn to look away. He sat. It was an insightful
question. It was also dark out, he noticed, and time was running
out.

“In the space
of a few hours my life turned inside out, everything I thought I
was became a half-truth. Worse is I was unable to share it with my
wife and I am to share it with my son only when he is much older.
It will drive a wedge between us, as it must have for my parents
…”

“Samuel, stop
there. This is the time old secrets were bred for and after the
Enchanter’s return not one among us will need to hold to the last
two thousand years. Tell your wife everything.”

Samuel gave
such a brilliant smile, Tannil’s gaze turned wistful. A happy
marriage. The human was a lucky man.

“This is such
a release,” Samuel whispered from his heart.

“She may not
believe you at first.”

“Curin is an
imaginative person; she’ll relate far easier than I did.”

“She has a
beautiful name. That is Valleur for
Willow-water
.”

“I didn’t
know. It describes her.”

“It will take
time to find your way through this,” Tannil remarked, leaning
forward.

“I feel as if
it’s not me finding my way, but my blood finding me, laying out the
path and leaving me little choice but to follow.”

“The Valla
blood has that fatidic tendency. It will get stronger the more you
acknowledge it, until eventually it is ascendant.”

“My genetics
are minimal after all this time.”

“It isn’t mere
genetics, kinsman; it is an ancient sorcery. You need but the
tiniest sliver of code and the fact that you are so much like my
father proves that.”

“I am to lose
what is human in me?”

“Not really,
but you’ll be more and more Valleur, particularly in thought.
Finally you’ll be at a crossroads and forced to choose. My
grandfather had to, although choice was foisted on him rapidly and
he had a large sliver of that code. Don’t look glum, it’s not that
bad being Valleur.”

“It’s not that
bad being human.”

“Hmm.”

Samuel grinned
at the lacklustre response.

There was a
hesitant knock at the door.

“Come!” Tannil
called out.

The door
opened and a yellow head peeped around. When he saw it was quiet in
the library, he stepped through more confidently.

“Teroux, come
here. My son Teroux.”

The boy
bounded across to hop onto his father’s lap. He whispered, eyes
flicking inquisitively at Samuel, “There’s a man outside, but
nobody wanted to interrupt you.”

“So you’re the
brave one?” Tannil asked in amusement. He glanced at Samuel. “It
must be Lucan Dalrish. Will you bring him in?”

Samuel moved
to the door while Teroux launched into an account of his
bravery.

Lucan Dalrish
was of average height, appearing short among the tall Valleur.

Cropped dark
hair - colouring common to the Dalrish - and dark, unreadable eyes.
He wore a purple mandarin shirt, black denim pants and comfortable
black leather boots. A heavy rucksack draped over one shoulder,
skewing him.

He watched the
door when Samuel came through. A number of Palace guard were
unobtrusive nearby.

“Lucan
Dalrish?” When the Xenian nodded, Samuel approached him. “I’m
Samuel Skyler.” They shook hands.

“You’re a
Valla.”

“Recently
realised,” Samuel returned, and was surprised by the boy’s
insight.

“I sense the
inner struggle. Don’t fight so hard.” His voice was deep and
beautiful, the tones of a mature man, but Lucan Dalrish was a youth
of no more than eighteen. He smiled and it lit his sombre features.
“Sorry, I still need to learn tact.”

Samuel
returned the smile and gestured at the door behind him. “The
Vallorin is expecting you.” As he turned to lead Lucan into the
library, he noticed Mitrill in the shadows near the throne. She
watched him, her expression full of suspicion.

“I want to go!
I want to see the star!” Teroux’s childish tones rang out as the
two men entered the library.

“Not tonight.
Next year, I promise, but not
this
night.”

“That’s
unfair!” Teroux howled. He stamped his foot, standing red-faced
before his father.

“Teroux! You
will behave!”

The boy turned
to run out, brushing past the two men. His tawny eyes were bright
with tears and he was soon calling for his mother.

“Lucan.”
Tannil rose and waited.

“Lord
Vallorin,” the Xenian responded, bowing low. “It’s an honour to
finally come to Valaris, and I bring greetings from my family.”

“We are happy
to welcome you. Please, shed your load and take a seat.”

Lucan shrugged
his rucksack off and placed it on the floor. “Books,” he murmured
to no one in particular, explaining the weight. Flexing his
shoulder he chose an armchair next to Samuel. He glanced around,
drawn to the thousands of tomes upon ornate shelves. He whistled
before returning his attention to Tannil. “My Lord, you know why I
requested this audience?”

“I do, but our
timetable has hastened forward - allow me to explain.”

Tannil
launched into a concise presentation of what he knew, who was
present and what had been discussed to date. Samuel was surprised
the Vallorin was not put off by the Xenian’s youth and reflected
Tannil himself would have been an accomplished sorcerer at the same
age - he understood the state. He did not realise he passed the
final test. The Dalrish came to find the source and had it indeed
been sitting near him he would have known. Tannil in no way
revealed it was on his mind. Samuel listened intently to Tannil’s
account, hearing the Valleur side for the first time and was
astonished by how precisely Tannil related news he heard recently
amid fear and suspicion.

When done,
Lucan nodded. “Yes, it appears orchestrated to bring us together.
Whoever is behind it knows the Enchanter’s prophecies and is
further aware of the time of his arrival. They are connected in
some way, I think.” He paused then to give Tannil an opportunity to
react, but Tannil said nothing. “What do you expect to find or
achieve at the temple tonight?”

“You must
accompany us, Lucan, for if the source is there as we suspect, you
are able to recognise it faster. As to what we expect?”

Tannil lapsed
into silence and then looked at Samuel.

“Samuel is the
instrument to the Enchanter.”

He paused
again, although not for effect, and then the words were torn from
him.

“I expect to
greet the Enchanter this night.”