The Dreamer Stones (37 page)

It accorded
Saska and Torrullin’s encounter a bittersweet flavour. It was,
suddenly, necessary. Proof of love.

In the blink
of an eye, they vanished from that kitchen to reappear entwined in
the forest where earlier they walked, and it welcomed them,
cushioned them upon its moist and leafy carpet.

Torrullin drew
the invisibility runes.

He needed to
remain anonymous throughout the encounter. The only person who
could read his signature was the Senlu Emperor, and he would not
breathe a word.

Even the
faithful Senlu had to be duped, for only then would Fay have faith
in the accounts. She was not isolated from news; she merely
presented a front of privacy.

Torrullin
walked behind Curin and the two boys as they wandered down to the
stables, an established habit, a routine, it would be whispered, to
keep the little one busy. They were halted periodically and he
halted with them, by calls from youngsters the boys spent time
with, and occasionally by an adult who approached to have a quick
word, the latter particularly kind to the new orphan. It gladdened
the silent watcher’s heart to witness how loved Curin and the boys
were.

Tristan
glanced over his shoulder as if aware of Torrullin’s invisible
presence, but he gave no indication. Bless his intelligence.

Teroux
awakened naturally an hour back, refreshed and calm. While he was
aware of his father’s death, it was now unreal to him. It had as
much to do with his young age, but the enchantment played a
continuing role.

Was it fair to
blunt his trauma? An older child would require and demand honesty,
yet it was a fact Teroux was younger, and not only in years. Yes,
this way was kinder. The truth would seep through over the
forthcoming days, enabling his young mind to come to terms with
terrible loss without debilitating shock. Youth would ever be
resilient.

Yet Teroux
held Curin’s hand as if she was his lifeline, and was unusually
quiet. He was lucky in Curin - she had taken him to her heart as
her own and did not attempt the silly and useless gestures designed
to make an adult feel better, not a child. Tristan maintained the
chatter, raising a smile now and again.

They reached
the stables in good light and Torrullin noted no less than five
horses free in the corral - four mares and one older, trained
stallion. They were quiet, but a nervous horse was an unpredictable
creature, and nervousness was never far under the surface. Five
were very unpredictable. The degree of belief would soar.

The unbroken
stallion Saska mentioned stamped in evident irritability in an
adjacent enclosure. Part of his training was to observe other
horses in proximity to accustom him to their general sense of
wellbeing and acceptance. It would continue for some days before
someone attempted to place bit and halter upon him.

Torrullin
halted as Curin and the boys approached the fence, to study the
stallion with a professional eye. A wild one. If that creature was
let loose he would do serious damage. Fantastic for this half-baked
plan, but dare he risk it? Teroux’s little form would not long
withstand an assault from the nerves and panic of such a one.

He noticed
Teroux hurry forward, step lighter than before.

Ah, not only
horses, but also a boy’s own pony, part of his family in his small
heart. Curin, he saw, was agitated, but he dared not reach out to
her and willed her without contact to remain calm. His gaze
returned to Teroux.

The pony was
stabled for the night already, and Teroux headed for the building
away from the enclosure. Tristan called him back, pointing out a
sedate mare and held a shiny red apple to the younger child. Teroux
stopped, hesitated, and then smiled and ambled back. He accepted
the apple and climbed the fence. The two boys perched atop like
professionals, both clucking to the horse.

It was the
perfect opening. Spook the horse, and that would set the stallion
back there off, and the resultant noise alone would be sufficient
proof of a terrible event. Physical injuries would result, injuries
the Enchanter’s healing hands would be called upon to restore,
injuries even those hands, ostensibly, would be powerless to
reverse. It was a plan that could engender life-threatening injury,
and would if Curin, Tristan and Teroux were betwixt the horror of
uncontrolled creatures.

The plan
seemed now too dangerous. His instincts screamed. There had to be
another way.

He opened his
mouth to inform Curin she could relax, and closed it. If the next
‘accident’ were to be believable, he could not now make his
presence known. She was tense. That alone was enough to set a horse
to bolting.

And then it
all went insane.

Teroux rode
the fence, apple offered up on his small palm.

He was intent
on the approaching, sniffing mare. She lifted her nose, sniffed
elaborately, and Teroux pealed out laughter, Tristan joining
in.

The younger
boy abruptly hurtled into the air, high, startling the horse and
every watcher. The next instant, without having cried out - it
happened that fast - Teroux landed. He landed flat on his face,
hard, on the trampled earth inside the enclosure. He bounced once
and lay still. The shiny fruit rolled from nerveless fingers. He
was unconscious.

Torrullin ran.
Curin screamed. Tristan hurdled the fence to go to Teroux’s aid,
and an invisible force slammed forcefully into his back, tossing
him senseless to the ground not far from Teroux.

Curin was
hysterical and clambered over the barrier.

Torrullin came
to a halt, senses in full questing alert. Invisible eyes narrowed
as he studied the developing catastrophe and the surrounds, and
faces everywhere. He tested the air.

Another caused
this ‘accident’. Someone who overheard or listened in? Someone who
read his intention? It was someone who did not care if all knew the
hand of sorcery stirred the cauldron into vengeful fury. Someone
who clearly knew the boys’ routine.

He scried
vital signs. Alive. No immediate danger. The horses, while
restless, had not panicked, thanks to Aaru.

Was it merely
a lesson, a warning, a challenge? Were the boys meant to die?

Gods,
there
, a sense of … and then Curin screamed like a crazed
person, and he lost concentration.

She was inside
the corral, hands bunched in fists against either cheek, eyes round
with fear. In some way she realised this was not his doing and real
fear was present. She charged inward, tearing her dress on a nail
in the fence, screaming, and horrified cries from the Senlu running
in from all directions added to the confusion …

The horses
panicked. The unbroken stallion reared, kicked the fence to
smithereens, and charged at full gallop into the frenetic
situation, releasing crazed neighs of unadulterated terror.

Torrullin ran,
forgetting all else. Into the enclosure he leapt. The stallion was
screaming now in unnatural pain - induced suffering. As Torrullin
landed on his feet on the other side of the fence he saw Curin
flung up, her gown splitting open under the impact of a hoof to her
chest. He did not see her land, but her cries stilled.

The sounds
assailing him now were those of terrified animals and the shouts
and screams of Senlu who clambered in to stop the escalating
catastrophe, now likewise under attack from six maddened creatures
and tossed around like old and useless rag dolls. Dust rose, clods
of packed earth sailed through the air like missiles. Wild,
frightened horses screeched.

Into the mess
he went and preservation prevented him revealing his presence. He
was not afraid for himself, he was afraid Curin and the boys would
be killed before he could get to them. His hands would then be
useless.

Cursing
himself for thinking it, this situation could be used to their
advantage. Long term, this show of dominion could well save the
Valla blood if he kept a cool head. The targets had to appear dead,
or as near as, and the one behind it had to back off thinking the
deed done. Only then could healing hands be employed. It was a fine
line.

He searched
through trampling forelegs, stomping hind quarters, dust, confusing
sound, searching for Curin, Teroux and Tristan …

The horses
froze.

Utter
silence.

Torrullin
straightened. What new trickery …?

Teighlar and
Quilla strode closer, their faces masks, and behind them Declan and
Belun, both expressionless.

They paralysed
the horses. Gods, why had he not thought of that earlier?
Because you take the longer view,
his little voice
muttered.

The fence
beyond the carnage mended magically and the four sorcerers
transferred the transfixed creatures into the smaller enclosure
before reanimating them. They bent, snuffling peacefully, seeking
grazing as if the preceding two minutes never happened.

Even the wild
stallion was calm - an aided calm.

Groaning Senlu
attempted to rise. Others were unconscious or worse. Amid them,
face up, eyes closed, Curin lay bruised and torn. The two boys lay
unnaturally, great dirty hoof marks on their vulnerable backs.

“Where’s
Torrullin?” Teighlar asked as they knelt among the injured.

The Emperor
was rattled, extremely so, or he would know how close he was.

“Here,” he
said a moment later, after ensuring there was no alien signature in
the surrounds. He knelt beside Teroux first.

Quilla, tiny
hands probing Tristan, raised his head. “Invisible, Torrullin? This
was staged?”

“No,”
Torrullin returned, throwing off his concealment. Anyone watching
would think he had transported in.

He bent over
Teroux. Alive. Enough time. Just. He moved over to Tristan.
Stronger pulse. More time. Curin gave a moan and that was
heartening. Untended they would die, but … and he raised his
head.

“Listen,” he
whispered, “whoever did this must believe he or she was successful.
I won’t heal them here.”

Teighlar
understood. “Then rise now and start ranting against evils of all
kinds.”

“Where will
you take them?” Torrullin asked in an undertone as he rose as if in
deep shock.

“Healers
Chamber,” Teighlar muttered, waving his hands as if to calm an
angry man.

“Don’t play
this too long,” Declan warned. “They can’t hold out.”

Torrullin gave
an outstanding performance. Not one who saw him then could doubt
even for the tiniest second his overwhelming grief, as well as his
great fury. He was good, eminently so, utterly believable.

Yet it was no
show, not for him.

In that
performance he vented what was swallowed earlier over Tannil.

Quilla bent
his head low, knowing too well it was no act. The man’s pain was a
living presence.

Then Torrullin
vanished. It was entirely in character, but he did not go to lick
wounds in private - he transported into the Healers Chamber,
thanking whatever fate ruled him for an untraceable signature.

When the
wounded arrived, he did his incredible magic, restoring order to
chaos.

Two Senlu were
beyond his powers. The healed ones were sworn to secrecy and asked
to spread the tale of Curin’s demise and the boys’ terrible deaths,
and they left with sombre expressions. Within an hour nobody would
dispute the veracity of the evening’s events.

With Curin,
wide-eyed, sitting on a bed, a boy to either side, Belun spoke
another truth. “You need bodies, Torrullin, to see this ruse
through.”

Curin jerked
as if someone slapped her.

“Replicas will
be ready by morning,” Torrullin said. He would create bodies that
looked, felt and smelled like the living they were meant to
represent. It was a ghoulish task he did not relish, but recognised
the wisdom.

The replicas
would be ferried to Valaris to be interred in the Graveyard at
Torrke, and the boys would be safe elsewhere.

Curin, sombre
and haunted, followed the silent and traumatised boys as Belun and
Declan led the way further into the mountain, down to the
crucible.

Outside Samuel
ran like a man possessed, in his burgeoning grief forgetting
transport training.

Teighlar
remarked to Torrullin, “It wasn’t Tymall who did this thing. It was
the other, the one who quested after you before.”

“I begin to
wonder who really pulls the strings. Tymall, Digilan, us or this
other?”

Ahead, Declan
glanced over his shoulder.

Teighlar had
no reply.

An hour later
Torrullin had visited the Syllvan, taking with him the three he
charged to their care.

The boys,
resilient and recovering, regarded it as a grand adventure, but
Curin was scared witless. He left them there. The Valla blood would
be temporarily removed, and held in trust in the Maghdim Medaillon.
The boys would be impossible to trace if their continued existence
was speculated about.

Leave-taking
was brief, but he was able to set their minds at ease. They would
not remain in the grotto - the Syllvan would transfer them to a
place of peace.

Returning to
meet Samuel’s miserable gaze as the man stood staring into the
crucible that had taken from him his wife and son, Torrullin said,
“Samuel, it’s time for your circle.”

Chapter
Twenty-Nine

Seeing is
believing. Sometimes, yes, that must be the way of it, for matters
alien to perception are difficult to comprehend without the proof
of sight. Be wary, however, of following the tenet as gospel.
Sometimes on needs take certain matters on faith alone.

Scroll of
Wisdom

First there
was ignored babe.