The Sleeper Sword (73 page)

“Is that what
you want?”

“
No
!
Yes
! Gods, I don’t know! I want you to listen to me! I want
you to hear me!”

“I’m
listening.”

“And you’re
hearing your anger. I can’t talk to you, husband, because we have
nothing in common besides our son. We merely exist to one another
and that’s very sad. Is this what you wanted for yourself?”

Tannil looked
away. “I loved my first wife, and when she died I knew I could
never go through it again.”

Vania closed
her eyes. “That is the first time you’ve been honest about your
feelings.”

Tannil focused
on her. “I’m sorry.”

She threw her
hands in the air. “I knew we weren’t a love match, but what of
friendship? Why never that? Someone who would listen, be there to
help you, just be there. I care about you, but I have not the right
to sit at your side and advise you as your wife other than on
matters relating to our son. If we had that, we would’ve learned to
love each other, maybe not with great passion, but there would be
comfort. Is that wrong?”

“No.”

“Am I
attractive to you, Tannil?”

“Yes.”

“And you to
me, husband. But you don’t know me; you’ve never given me a chance.
Do you know I like to go fishing? Do you know I have begun to
catalogue the wild herbs of this region? Do you know I can’t wait
for the first snowfall so I may learn to ski? Do you know I write
poetry? Do you know anything about me?”

“I know you
like to teach.”

“I hate it! I
did it to be away from the Palace and your sight daily.”

Tannil pinched
the bridge of his nose, feeling a tension headache build. “I’m
sorry.”

“Don’t say
that! Say you want to know me, as a friend. If you can say it with
sincerity and follow it up, we have a chance, if you want that
chance.”

“I don’t know
what I want. My mind gets in the way.”

“Well, tell it
to bugger off for a while!” Vania paused and took a steadying
breath. “It’s autumn here; by the time the leaves have fallen, I
want an answer from you, one way or the other. Yes, Tannil, this is
an ultimatum. I no longer want to exist, I want to live. Am I
making myself clear?”

“Yes,” he
said, staring at her.

“If you’re
unaware of the time, I shall come to you. An answer I shall have.”
She returned his stare with deliberate calm and left the room.

The only
thought that came to him then was he enjoyed fishing also.

Samuel took
control of the two boys, sensing his wife wanted to speak to Saska
in private.

They shared
that bond, knowing each other’s needs without having to voice them,
and thus he urged the boys ahead. They needed no encouragement.

“You love him,
Curin,” Saska stated.

Curin glanced
at her. Saska’s reputation preceded her, as the Lady of Life, quite
apart from being the Enchanter’s wife. “I do, my Lady.”

“Saska,
please. I’ve had a fill of this ‘my Lady’ business.”

Curin giggled.
“Some of the Senlu call me,
me
, that … my connection to
Samuel to the Enchanter - please, me?” In a stage whisper she
added, “It’s kind of novel, though.”

Saska laughed.
“Yes, I know. At first it gives you a glow of pleasure, but believe
me, the charm fades. Soon you want people to remember you have a
name.”

They smiled at
each other and then Curin was serious. “Saska, I need to ask you
something. May I?”

“Your husband
is playing it casual for you, isn’t he? But you want the
truth?”

Curin
nodded.

“And he knows
you’ll ask. Perhaps he thinks you’ll better understand if you hear
it from another woman, particularly one who isn’t Valla or
Valleur.”

“You know
people, I see.”

“Thousands of
years of experience. He’s a good man, your husband. He loves
you.”

“Yes, he does
at that,” Curin said, her gaze on the laughing figure ahead. He
teased the boys and they squealed in mock anger.

“Samuel isn’t
lying to you. He doesn’t understand it yet, and can’t therefore
explain it properly. To be frank, I don’t know him well enough to
judge his state of mind, but I think he suffers under the thought
he may lose his humanity if he surrenders to his Valla blood.
Unfortunately, until he does so, he won’t comprehend the
intricacies of this situation. He’s in quandary and neither of us
can aid in that. Torrullin has spoken to him, but again, the choice
is Samuel’s alone.”

Curin
swallowed. “I thought so. He’s said nothing about an inner
struggle, but I’ve seen Tristan grapple with it.”

“Your son
knows he is Valla first.”

Curin stumbled
and came to a halt. “I’m losing them.”

“They’re
changing, but they will always be a part of you.”

“Will I be a
part of them?”

Saska leaned
on the parapet overlooking the lower tier.

“I witnessed
the transformation from human to Valleur, and then saw the pain
than went along with being
the
Valla. I nearly did lose him,
for I couldn’t accept how his blood called. I felt pushed aside,
rejected, though I knew how much I meant to him. You already have
more. You are his wife, you have a child together. I could never do
that, and I wed Torrullin only after the twins were born, and then
stood in the background while he raised those boys. I thought there
was nothing left for me, and I was wrong, but you don’t have to
live with that kind of uncertainty, ever. Let me tell you this,
Samuel’s blood is passionate and he will love you more than you can
begin to suspect once he overcomes. Be afraid for his safety, yes,
for he’ll place himself in danger, but never be afraid of losing
his love, or that of your son.”

Curin covered
her face with her hands and whispered through her fingers, “I don’t
know if I can be happy with …”

“You’ll wish
for normality every day of your life. A normal husband and son, a
nice comfortable home, a steady income, no surprises. You can be
happy like that, but it’s gone and you have to accept it. That’s
your struggle and you have to try hard to not accuse your husband
of destroying your life. It won’t be easy, but you need to
remember, as you had no choice, he didn’t either.”

“You
contradict yourself.”

“Not really.
Everything is different, whether Samuel chooses his blood or not.
And, honestly, I don’t think he has much choice even there. The
Valla heat is a powerful lure even for a mild man.”

The two women
heard Samuel call out to Tristan and turned to find the boy
nearby.

Curin put her
hand to her heart. “Tristan?”

“Mother, you
need to tell my father it’s all right or he’ll struggle against
this heritage. Then you will lose him, because his mind will bend.
He fights because he thinks you want the man he has always been.
Tell him it’s all right because you love him no matter what. The
Valla part is stronger, mother, and denying it will do him
harm.”

“Tristan?” she
whispered, stricken.

“Tell him
soon,” the boy murmured and turned to run back to his father.

Curin leaned
heavily against the low wall.

There was
nothing more Saska could say. The young-old Valla boy had explained
it clearly.

She drew Curin
into her arms and stroked her fair head as the woman started to
cry.

Chapter
64

How comforting
the unchangeable past is.

~ Truth

He hunkered on
the turf.

There was no
sign, not even the slightest mound or depression to show Neolone’s
mortal remains lay buried in the level plain that was Grinwallin’s
plateau. He was there; the place was forever etched into
memory.

Torrullin
touched his chest, an unconscious gesture from the past when the
Dragon was the symbol of leadership. He missed the creature.

Sighing, he
rose. It was ephemeral. If Neolone, millions of years old, did not
survive, how could anyone expect to? Even the Immortal Guardians
were now gone, but for one Centuar, one Siric and the Q’lin’la. Of
the Ancients only the birdmen, Declan and the Senlu remained, the
latter because they had re-risen two thousand years ago. The only
true Immortal companion he could expect to be with him into
eternity was Teighlar. There was no one else.

He turned to
study Grinwallin in the moonlight. Paper lanterns lit the streets
and courtyards in pools of colour. Faint sounds of laughter came to
him, the occasional neigh of a horse, the bark of a dog. Peaceful,
romantic, beautiful. A city to experience joy in, to grow old
in.

Teighlar was
blessed.

“Ephemeral, my
friend,” the Emperor’s voice sounded behind him. “They are not
immortal, my Senlu. They live and die, love and argue, and in their
mortality they are happy, but I see and feel from a distance,
knowing they are but breaths in the breeze. One day my beautiful
city will be without its soul again and I shall be alone. That is
why I dare not leave, in case I return to find it gone before I am
ready to let go.”

“Will we see
it cease, I wonder.”

“If we were to
think on that, we do the present and all presents to follow, a
great disservice.”

“But we live
for the future.”

“No, my
friend, we live for others’ future. For us it is the now that
counts. It is the best we can expect. What we do now may determine
a future when we are not alone.”

Torrullin
turned. Teighlar squatted on the grass, chewing a stalk, staring at
the dark ground.

“The faces
will change; there will be no …”

“What do you
want, Torrullin?” Teighlar asked, looking up. “A continuation of
the old guilt? In change is our salvation, my friend. Every time we
release someone to another realm, we have the opportunity to start
afresh and, while bidding farewell to a loved one or a way of life
or an epoch may be hard, it becomes the past. The only way we shall
find the strength to go on.”

“Fatalistic.”

“Are we not
that?”

“I have no
right to tell them what to do, have I?”

“Protection is
one thing, cocooning quite another. Let them go, for it will free
you also.”

“Death could
follow.”

Teighlar
nodded and rose with a sigh. “Yes, and then you grieve and move
on.” He closed the gap. “Change is upon you - are your eyes not
proof of that? Never mind - I realise you won’t answer.” Putting a
hand out, he prodded at Torrullin’s heart. “You love too much. A
painful road lies ahead for you, but it’s love that will save you
from yourself. I didn’t see it until too late, and look what I did
to my people. You are the one blessed, my friend.”

“I cannot kill
my son, Teighlar.”

Teighlar
caused the deaths of his sons, along with thousands of Senlu.
Looking up at the heavens, he murmured, “You are a better father
than I was, and a better man.”

“That does me
no good, for how do I hope to end this?”

“You have the
answer inside, even if you don’t recognise it. Unfortunately it’s
your quest. I can’t help you, for to each of us the answer is
different. Mine was not only different, but wrong.”

A short
silence and then, “Keep the boys here no matter what happens. Even
if they have to grow up here before assuming leadership.”

Teighlar
inclined his head. “I swear it to you, but why here
specifically?”

“The
enchantment around Luvanor is old enough now to subvert. It won’t
be easy to undo, but Tymall is a mature sorcerer, if not a mature
man.”

“You’re not
answering my question.”

“Grinwallin is
a word of power, older, I suspect, than the Senlu. Every time it is
thought, spoken, touched, travelled to, the city, which is the
word, renews its strength and its protection. That you and your
people are still here proves that.”

Teighlar
sighed eloquently. “You are a better Enchanter also.”

Returning well
after midnight, Torrullin found Saska on the flat roof of the house
Teighlar gifted the boys and their mothers.

A low wall
surrounded the expanse and potted trees grouped artistically to
create a private balcony garden.

Saska laid
swinging in a hammock strung between two pillars - remains of an
old portico - and a bright paper lantern swung with her. She was
sound asleep. He stood over her and wondered how much time they
had.

It was time to
speak to her about Cat. The Xenian’s ghost hovered like a tangible
threat to happiness; to move forward unencumbered that particular
presence had to be laid to rest.

He put his
hand out to still the swaying and called out softly. Everyone else
was asleep, except Tannil roaming the streets with his mind in
turmoil. As Saska awakened, a smile of welcome there, Torrullin
bent and claimed her kips. She wound her arms around his neck and
he lifted her to him, prolonging the kiss until her feet touched
ground.

Then, breaking
the delicious contact, he asked, “Did I wake you?”

She laughed
and kissed him again, her hands working their way under his tunic.
Bending her head back, she murmured, “I see you want to talk, my
love, but it can wait a little while, can’t it?”

He chuckled.
“Indeed,” and lowered his mouth to hers again, his hands finding
the gap between breeches and tunic. Somehow they managed to fit
into the hammock without falling out and made love slowly, spooning
together afterward in silence while beating hearts stilled to even
rhythm. Semi-naked, they drew warmth from each other against the
chill of an autumn night.

“Torrullin, we
have to talk about her.”

He snuggled
closer to her back, his arm tightening around her. “This is too
nice to disturb with talk.”

“Then just
listen,” she said, and was glad he could not see her face. He
kissed her neck and said nothing, and thus she continued, “I didn’t
realise how much she loved you until I saw how bad it got for her
after your ‘death’. She could see it no other way, I’m afraid, her
time too short to know it as something else. She was distraught and
… well, you must know by now how it was. As for …”