The Sleeper Sword (62 page)

Teighlar
motioned to Quilla and the two moved away. “What will Torrullin do
now?”

“He will heal
Declan first, I think, and then get the full tale from him. After
that? I don’t know. He does things now out of character to the
person he was before. And I cannot follow his signature
anymore.”

“Ah, that’s
why he wanted to know if I sensed him coming to Grinwallin.”

“And did
you?”

“Well, yes,
and thought it strange he should ask.”

“Thus he is
aware he is hidden. This is not good.”

“He is not
hidden from me.”

“No. Now why
is that?”

“I am an
enchanter,” the Emperor shrugged, saying it without arrogance.

Quilla nodded.
“I wonder if Margus can track him. I think not.”

“And
Tymall?”

“I don’t know.
I know so little!”

“Are you all
right, my friend?”

Grief-filled
eyes squeezed briefly shut. “I knew some of them for thousands of
years. They were colleagues, fellow soldiers and they were friends.
They were family!”

“Time, that’s
all,” Teighlar murmured. His soul ached. Buthos had been a regular
visitor to Grinwallin and was a friend, as was Declan and
Belun.

“I am very
afraid time will not be on our side. More grief comes.”

“You must not
think like that.”

“Never mind
me, I am … well, time, as you say.”

Teighlar
glanced at Fay. “Quilla, I think Torrullin will use her as
bait.”

Quilla
twittered in new agitation, giving the beautiful woman a strange
look. “Gods, I hope not. Why were they in the crucible?”

“He refused to
divulge even a hint.”

Lips thinned.
“I’m sick of this.” The birdman stalked to Fay and stood there arms
akimbo. “Fay, why are you here? Why did Torrullin take you to the
crucible?”

She barely
left the misery she was in. “I can’t tell you.”

Quilla’s arms
dropped. “Fay, you are playing with fire!”

“We all are,
Quilla! No one is safe!” She rose and smiled over-brightly at
Teighlar. “Emperor, I thank you for your hospitality.” Abruptly she
was gone, but her signature was clear. She returned to Valaris.

Quilla
swore.

Teighlar
pinched the bridge of his nose. “Shall I come to Valaris?”

The feathered
head jerked up. “Why would you offer that?” Quilla, like Torrullin,
knew what that cost.

“Rearguard.
Torrullin will need one.”

“And you can
track him, which is useful. He would forbid it.”

“He turned me
down, yes.”

A pause, then,
“If the worst comes to pass, Grinwallin may be the last node of
power to hold out against a fearsome Warlock. If he can do what he
did today, he may surely find a way to breach Luvanor’s circle of
enchantment. You, Teighlar, and your Senlu, may yet be our last
hope. We need you here.”

“Dear god,”
Teighlar whispered. And then he was all business. “Grief is real,
my friend, but at present it is also a luxury. Find the Vallas and
bring them to safety within these walls. Bring Declan and Belun;
bring anyone who requires Senlu protection.” He cleared his throat.
“If it is to be a last stand, we stand as one or die trying.”

Exactly what
Torrullin said about human and Valleur. Where in the end would they
stand and fight unto death? “Goddess help us,” Quilla murmured.

He watched the
Senlu Emperor striding out to the arches.

A moment later
Grinwallin sprang into action.

Prepare for
defence.

Prepare for
siege.

Prepare for
survival.

Chapter
56

Wake, friend.
Open your eyes. Please.

~ Lament

Belun hovered
over Declan, who lay as if dead on a pallet beside the console.

In the Centuar
roiled such hatred as he had not thought he had capacity for, and
next to it laboured fury. He was distraught, for he had tried
everything to bring the Siric back, to no avail. He even attempted
to restore awareness by placing the cold lifeless hands onto the
ancient symbols of the console in the Gatherers’ Circle, but,
although the light for Recognition shone, the others - Knowledge,
Communion and Sorcery - remained mute.

Declan could not respond. If the Siric died hatred would take
him. For the first time Belun understood,
really
understood, the emotion that
drove Torrullin. It required, by god, it required
outlet.

Quilla came
earlier and went searching for Torrullin after one glance at
Declan. The Siric was near death, and not even the Q’lin’la could
save him.

Belun lifted
his head when the Dragon ogive chimed.

Thank the
gods.

The Centuar
sat hard on the smooth white floor and passed a hand over his
humanoid face. There was relief, then, but anger and hatred
remained. He looked up to see Torrullin kneel without a word beside
Declan to lay hands on him.

And then
removed them.

Declan was
still dying.

Belun was
accusing in his fury.

Torrullin
snapped his fingers to silence the Centuar. “I’m not giving up on
him.”

“What are you
waiting for, then?”

The Siric was
wounded by very old and evil sorcery. It was absorbed into every
cell, every gene, and every atom. “This is no task for a healer,”
he said, touching Declan’s forehead.

Cold. Death
was near. And evil was so strong he wanted to snatch his fingers
away and run.

“I won’t let
him just die!”

Torrullin met
his gaze. “Neither am I. Go to Grinwallin, Belun, and wait for me
there.”

“No!”

“Destroyer
must bring him back,” Torrullin said expressionlessly. “Unless you
seek to join the Guardians in the afterlife, you must leave.”

Silvered
humanoid eyes were guarded. “Are you sure?”

“You use up
valuable time.”

A moment
longer Belun delayed and then he walked to his exit. In the arch he
turned. “Torrullin, is this safe?”

“Destroyer
listens to me now, Centuar, and he will bring Declan back.”

Belun nodded
and turned …

“Belun? The
Dome may not survive this extraction, know that.”

… a hiss of
dismay and then the ogive chimed as the Centuar exited.

The Dome did
not survive.

Five minutes
after Belun departed it blew up and the exploding magic released
under the intense inward pressure tore at the fabric of the vacuum
around it.

In that rent
floated Destroyer and in his arms he cradled the soul of the last
Siric in the universe.

In the Great
Hall of Grinwallin the Senlu came to a simultaneous halt. All eyes
turned heavenward. The Dome was millions of light-years removed,
but the awesome destruction reverberated through the spaces to be
felt, seen, heard and touched by every creature everywhere that
possessed even the slightest trace of magic.

Belun fell to
the rounded hardness of Grinwallin’s cobbled streets and his loud
cry pierced the atmosphere.

Vania gripped
Teroux to her and Tristan flew into his father’s arms, eyes wide
with shock. Curin, ignorant, looked on in consternation.

Luvanor’s
Valleur froze and shivered in dread.

Valaris’s
Valleur drew deep of their inner resources. The Dome had been
nearer them in place and heart.

At the Society
of Sorcerers Fay and Caballa clutched each other, both mumbling
incoherently. About them human sorcerers fell to their knees to
pray for their souls. Byron Morave closed his eyes tight, there to
see the destruction of something ancient and wonderful, and
wondered if anything could ever be the same.

In Galilan
Lucan looked up in horror.

On Xen the
Dalrish clan reached out to each other with mind, spirit and
body.

Elsewhere, on
every world, creatures great and small were paralysed and waited
for a reprieve to come after such destruction. If it did not
materialise, hope would fly on gossamer wings, away, and despair
would enter.

In Torrke,
Tannil’s wail of denial rose.

Mitrill and
Caltian prayed.

Far away the
darklings cackled in glee even as they cowered in fear.

Margus lifted
from his bed and could not move. Dark dread overcame him. If that
was Destroyer, then all gods’ help this universe. He wondered that
he should care.

Saska screamed, “
Torrullin!
”

Tymall sat in
his tower chamber, polishing his sword. He felt it, saw it, heard
it and tasted it on his tongue, but was not cowed. Astounded, a
little fearful, but not cowed.

Ah, father,
how they love you. How they will fear you.

And another
sighed. At last. Now the Warlock would finally listen.

Let the games
begin.

In the rent
Torrullin gazed over the entire universe and he saw it was
surpassingly beautiful.

He smiled and
Destroyer looked with him without sneering. Already he receded,
while seeing with the Enchanter’s soul.

Behind, in the
rent, laid the view of another universe and it was lovely beyond
description. He turned to study it and then knew he could not
impose on them something not of them.

Destroyer
receded and was gone, and he bent his mind to the good that was
magic, and sealed that place away. Perhaps some other future
time.

He looked then
upon the thing in his arms. Beautiful. A soul without stain. He
would trust and cherish this soul forever. Tears stood in his eyes,
for he doubted there were many as unmarked as this one.

Declan was
true and he need never doubt him, ever.

He blew on
it.

Slowly it took
form.

The form
discovered solidity and straightened of its own volition and opened
its eyes.

Pain, grief.
Wonder. “Enchanter, I’m alive?”

Tears rolled
over cheeks. “Yes, Declan.”

“What is it?”
Declan whispered. “Why do you cry?”

“You are pure,
my friend, and it hurts.”

A cautious
smile. “Nobody is pure, Torrullin.”

“You are.”

A shiver
inside. The Enchanter looked at him as if he had discovered
something entirely alien. It was frightening.

He looked
around to break the intensity of the spell. “Where am I?” And then
he knew. Eyes wide with shock, he faced his saviour again. “Dear
gods, the Dome was destroyed so I may live.”

The altering
in the vacuum would be evident for a long time. “Yes.”

The Siric
floated in silence, his eyes never leaving the Enchanter’s. In them
he read what passed before and Torrullin’s gaze never wavered. He
allowed Declan full access, as he had never given another, and
would not again soon.

Finally the
Siric spoke.

“Am I worth
this?”

“Yes.”

“Torrullin,
you have within you the power to destroy us all.”

“I do.”

“So has your
son. He is what you have denied supremacy.”

“Yes.”

“You love him
still.”

“Yes.”

“And he knows
that.”

“Unfortunately.”

“He trusts the
love you bear him will also protect him.”

“Yes.”

“And he drives you to what was employed here. Between you,
you finished all that is of the Guardians. It is his revenge on
what is good in us … and you. And if he succeeds, you
will
protect
him.”

“Yes.”

Declan sighed
and maintained the connection. “Thus, the Darak Or. You hope Margus
will choose for you. You hope Margus will choose you.”

Torrullin did
not reply, but he did not look away. There was also a chance Margus
would join the duo, for Margus had already chosen him. It would be
a triplet of Destroyers.

Declan saw
that. “Goddess help us now.”

Torrullin gave
the slightest of smiles. No Goddess could help.

The Siric
closed his eyes to break away and when he opened them he smiled.
“So be it, my Lord Enchanter. We shall fight it, for the promise
you also carry is worth all tribulation. We shall stand with you
into the darkest corners and we shall keep Destroyer at bay. Let us
in.”

Torrullin
smiled, a real gesture. “You are already in, Declan. Nobody else
has come close, not even Tristamil. You are the very last of your
race and thus you deserve to know everything. Belun, too, will be
granted access.”

“Why?”

“The Light
requires it.” Torrullin gestured at the evidence of destruction.
“In the wake of this blackness the Light demands restitution.”

“I am
extremely happy to hear that, but I don’t understand why you allow
me in.”

“You are pure,
Declan, and I made a promise to the entire universe, but Light
cannot be seen where no shadows fall. I need you to tread on those
shadows, you who are alone now, and others like you. You will
recognise the shadows, understand the shades of grey, for you see
that place in me. I cannot do it alone, I know that now.”

“You have
never been alone, Torrullin.”

“I have always been alone. Always.”
Elianas. Have I always been alone?
“That changes, but …”

“… only those
who see the realm of shadows.”

“Yes.”

“Even if we
triumph, there is no peace.”

“No.”

“Why do it?”
Declan cried.

“Because it is
beautiful, Declan. This universe is a wonder, filled with life and
diversity, and if the best we can hope for is peace for others, it
will be enough.”