The Sleeper Sword (75 page)

He paused and
noticed Tristan studying his hands with great attention and
Torrullin covertly watching the boy.

Well, now he
knew why they were here. He drew breath and delved into the inexact
science of external dreams.

“Those without
magic are unaware of the power of the ether and don’t realise all
is connected by that invisible force. A dreamer on Pilan, one who
believes himself both unique and alone in the universe, may dream
one night of, say, a Centuar, and on waking won’t know he made a
connection to the encompassing power of the ether. Either he’ll
declare he had a godly visitation, an acceptable explanation for
him and his people, or he’ll believe it a hallucination, possibly a
nightmare, and will shy away.

“In this way,
shamans of ancient peoples used hallucinogenic substances to enter
the realm of the ether to see visions, and exit without a clear
understanding of what was seen, calling it symbolism, unravelling
it to fit known reality. To move on - external dreams emanate from
that place.

“There are
three main types. Images from other worlds, images from other times
and the symbolism of sorcerers, the latter hard to explain, and a
combination of any two is frightening for an untrained or
unprepared mind. Again, one isn’t limited to nocturnal hours - one
may not even be asleep.” Lucan paused. “My Lord, you could’ve told
him this.”

“Not when I
dream as he does.”

“Ah. Well.
Then, to proceed, I need more - this is why I’m here, right?”

“Objectivity
is an aid, as is your age. You sit between us, so to speak.”

“I don’t
understand,” Tristan spoke up. “You said magic is internal and now
Lucan says the dream is external, but it feels like symbolism.” He
shrugged, not able to find the right words.

“The boy is
sharp,” Lucan murmured.

“There are
always exceptions, Tristan, in all things, and this is one.
Understand this, internal magic allows one access to the external,
and vice versa. It’s the internal that understands it, or at least
knows where it comes from.” Torrullin shrugged and added, “It
stumps me.”

That admission
of imperfection did more to set the young Valla’s mind at ease than
a show of confidence. He smiled, straightened his shoulders and
asked, “So what next?”

“We’ve
established, I think, we deal here with external,” Lucan said.
“Based on what you reveal, we ascertain whether it’s images from
another world, another time, or symbolism.”

“Are you a
dream interpreter?” Tristan interrupted.

“It isn’t my
speciality,” Lucan admitted. “But mind images form part of advanced
training.”

“You’re a
sorcerer?” Tristan asked, grey eyes round.

Torrullin
smiled across the round fireplace. “Lucan is very good.”

“Like
you?”

Lucan shook
his head. “Not even close.”

“Let us
concentrate on the reason we’re here,” Torrullin said. “We need no
distraction at this point. Tristan, relate your dream, including
your feelings. Now.”

The last word
was said in a hypnotic voice. The boy blinked and launched into his
account, doing so subconsciously. He told Lucan what he told
Torrullin and blinked again and was silent.

“Relax now,”
Torrullin murmured. “It’s my turn.” He drew breath and, while his
imagery was a duplicate, there was more.

“As I run with
the babe in my arms, I have flashbacks of a time I was caged like
an animal, taunted with the sharpness of spears, spat on,
ridiculed, starved near to death, big men with no faces climbing
into the cage wielding viciously spiked maces, my bones crushing,
knitting together painfully. I think I was cripple for the initial
flight across the plain. I hear them coming for me, horses, but
don’t actually see them, and I know it’s not just the babe, it’s me
they hunt. I have overcome and they don’t like that. Then the fog
descends, a saviour, a haven, the coolness a blessing, and I begin
to hope. I know the way to the rise, to the temple, and in the
blind I stumble up those worn stairs, my life, my very soul
dependent on my success. One misstep and all will be lost, but she
is beautiful, tiny, perfect, my heart breaks, my resolve crumbles
and I cannot do it. I stand within the doorway of the temple and I
clutch the warm bundle and I cannot move, and behind me the unseen
men with their war clubs clamber up the hillside, cursing, in a
hurry … and I force myself to wake up.”

In the ensuing
silence Tristan looked at Torrullin, sharing the fright of an
unwelcome visitation, knowing the older man had it far worse. His
was silent sympathy and Torrullin smiled his appreciation, before
both looked at Lucan.

“I’m out of my
depth,” the Dalrish muttered after a while. “I can’t decipher that.
Gods, I could give the totally wrong kind of answer.”

“Give us your
first impressions.”

“First
questions, more like.”

“Fine, then
ask them.”

“How long have
you been dreaming, Tristan? I assume this is recurring?”

“About two
weeks, every time I close my eyes.”

“My Lord?”

Torrullin rose
to pace the small section beyond the fireplace. “Since the night of
my Immortality Ritual.”

“Dear god,
eight thousand years?”

Torrullin’s
mouth twisted. “Just over six thousand from where I stand, and it
was not nightly or even regular. It came only in times of great
tension or turmoil. I judge about fifteen hundred years since the
last time.”

“And now
recently?”

“The day after
I returned, and since then, like Tristan, every time I close my
eyes.”

Lucan nodded
once. “It fits. I’d suggest Tristan prompts you to find the
solution, seeing as you ignored it until now.”

“Agreed, and
perhaps ignoring is to our detriment. I need answers, Lucan.”

“I’m not the
one you should be asking.”

“Questions,
you said questions,” Tristan prompted.

The Dalrish
looked his way, again surprised by the boy’s sharp mind. “I did.
Did either of you hear them speak?”

“Just
whispers, far away,” Tristan said.

“Pig,
murderer, whoreson, human waste, devil, and many other insults
while caged.”

“Language?”

Torrullin
halted and sank to his haunches. “Now why did I never ask that?” he
murmured, deep in thought. “Common tongue.”

“Makes it a
hundred times more complicated.”

Torrullin
nodded, but Tristan wanted to know why. “Because everybody speaks
it. Language tells us nothing specific.” He smiled at the boy.
“We’ve gained one thing here, though, and that is you’ll dream less
after this, and it won’t be long before it’s entirely gone.”

Tristan’s
earnest face, so like Torrullin’s, revealed sympathy. “While you’ll
dream more, right?”

“Yes, but
don’t be afraid for me, Tris …” Briefly he swallowed over the name.
“My mind is trained to accept.”

“I
suppose.”

“Lucan - a
dream interpreter. Where will I find one?”

“Here, on
Luvanor. Your people are well versed in dream analysis. At the
Academia of Truth alone …”

“Not
Valleur.”

“Surely they
can get it fast?”

“That’s what
I’m afraid of. Until I know what I’m dealing with, I want this
under wraps, and that goes for you two as well, understood?”

Lucan inclined
his head. “I’ve heard of an Ymirian.”

“Oh, swell,”
Torrullin muttered. No one liked Ymirians much.

Lucan grinned.
“Pretty good, I hear tell.”

“I want to go
with you,” Tristan spoke up. “To Ymir.”

Torrullin
said, “It’s no place for a child. Besides, Tymall will sense
you.”

The boy’s
mouth set in a resolute line, but he said nothing more.

Trouble,
thought Lucan, and did not want to be in Tristan’s shoes when the
Enchanter unleashed his authoritarian aspect on the boy. He would
need to, to prevent him doing something stupid. He noticed
Torrullin study Tristan a moment longer and knew he thought along
the same lines.

“Time to get
back,” Torrullin said and unsealed the doorway.

It was night
out.

They were in
the chamber an entire day and it felt like an hour.

Chapter
66

Wishful
thinking can be destructive.

~ Truth

Tension in the
Valla household was thick enough to cut like butter, and Tristan
retreated from it with a gasp, knocking into Lucan on his heels,
with Torrullin bringing up the rear.

Curin,
white-faced, lunged at her son. “Where were you? I’ve been out of
my mind, you stupid boy!” She burst into tears and gripped Tristan
to her, hurting him in her relief.

“He was with
me,” Torrullin said.

The storm came
right away. “How dare you, without word? My son’s life is in danger
and … you’re selfish and cruel … and …”

“Hush, Curin,”
Samuel said, coming up behind his wife to lay hands on her
shoulders.

She shook them
off. “Don’t tell me how to feel, Samuel Skyler!”

“Mom, please!
You’re embarrassing me!” Tristan wailed and twisted away to run
into the house beyond. A door slammed.

“I am sorry,
Curin,” Torrullin said. “We lost track of the time. It won’t happen
again.”

She slumped
against Samuel. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lose him. Where were
you?”

“Nowhere
particular. We were in the city.”

She drew
breath to deny that - they searched all afternoon - but Mitrill
interrupted, “Enough, Curin. Vania and I told you he was with
Torrullin, and safe. Let go.” She strode over to stand before the
man. “Now, Torrullin, I need to know if
my
son was with you
today. Where is Tannil?”

“What?”

Vania gasped,
sat in a slump, covering her face.

Mitrill was
tougher, but she lost the ability to speak.

“Tannil is
missing?”

“He’s
somewhere, no doubt,” Lucan shrugged. “I sense no evil around.”

“Tannil is in
the crucible,” Teighlar said, appearing in their midst. “He asked
for privacy, but I grow concerned. He’s been there too long.” He
noted the strained faces. “Seems it has been a tough day on all.
Shall we postpone dinner with the Electan?”

Grateful
nods.

“Fine. Belun,
Declan and my Senlu entertain him at present; he’ll be content, I’m
sure. Now.” Teighlar crossed his arms over his chest and looked
everyone over. “The kind of panic you displayed today helps nobody,
least of all yourselves. The boy was with the Enchanter as you were
informed, and had anyone thought to ask me about Tannil, I would’ve
had no choice but to give a straight answer. Both mysteries solved.
Please, I’m not your overlord, but I am a friend, and as a friend I
ask that you contain unnecessary panic. My people become nervous,
and I am
their
overlord, with their welfare in mind. You
don’t have to do anything alone here, so ask. Understood?”

Again the
nods, Torrullin amused.

Teighlar
smiled and then, his tone serious, “The crucible chamber isn’t for
amateurs. I ask you to be patient now and trust Torrullin and me to
bring Tannil out. Agreed?”

Clearly they
were unhappy, but Vania and Mitrill nodded.

“Lucan can
come,” Torrullin murmured, turning to leave. “And I want
Declan.”

He strode out
with Lucan behind him.

Teighlar
sucked at his teeth, stood a moment longer and looked to Vania.
“The crucible can be exhausting, Vania. Prepare a quiet place where
he may sleep undisturbed. In this instance nature’s sedative will
be more beneficial than healing hands.”

He turned and
left.

“How long has
he been there?” Torrullin asked as he studied his grandson sitting
lotus position in the depression under the cage.

“He came last
night,” Teighlar murmured. “Note he activated every circle. He
keeps them stationary by will alone. The man has will.”

The four men -
Torrullin, Teighlar, Lucan and Declan - stood within the inverted
triangular entrance, not yet stepping over the threshold into the
living magic created in the chamber. It was a vast subterranean
space paved in opal and topaz, worn smooth in antiquity. Grey
marble pillars were carved bas relief, ancient symbols and glyphs
of a bygone era, set a foot apart to surround the perimeter. The
circles Teighlar referred to were set in each space between those
pillars, from the floor to a tall man’s head height, each space a
series of circles, some small, others a breath away from contact
with the marble on either side. Every circle was unique in colour
and purpose.

Each circle
glowed and hummed faintly, which was not right.

“They’re
enchantments,” Lucan whispered and, for a first visit and after
only a moment or two, it was remarkable insight. “They must be
activated by touch,” he continued, “and the order determines the
enchantment. Wow.”

Teighlar
glanced his way. The youth was no fool.

“Are there
still Senlu sacred tools in the crucible?” Torrullin asked.

The crucible
was a midnight black depression in the centre of the cavern covered
with a beaten copper and silver cage in the shape of a cone. This
was where Tannil sat in meditation, and where the Senlu tools of
magic were stored for safekeeping.

While they
were not in evidence, it did not necessarily mean they were not
there. That could prove a danger to Tannil.

“I took them
out to study them,” Declan murmured. He glanced at the Emperor.
“Unfortunately they were destroyed with the Dome.”

“Perhaps that
is a good thing,” Teighlar said.

Magic trapped
in objects was no great matter in wise hands, but if others wielded
those objects, if only in ignorant curiosity, the dangers were of
an extreme nature. Quilla always claimed no magic should be
contained in an object. Thus had the Taliesman proven, the Ruby of
Entrances, the Valleur Key … and the Maghdim Medaillon.