The Dreamer Stones (47 page)

“
Fulmar
,”
he said, causing Samuel’s head to lift. The Sword settled into
Torrullin’s hands, as if it had come home. He held it out. “Here,
take it.”

“But …” Samuel
retreated.

“I shall take
it from you before it causes harm. Take it. You need to believe me.
Mostly, you need to trust me.”

“I trust
you.”

“You say it,
now you need to know it. Here.”

Samuel stared
at the blade. He had not meant to become confrontational within
minutes of returning to Valaris, yet he felt adrift, as if the
blade had uprooted him. Now here it was, presented to him, and he
was afraid of it. It was an innocuous blade, a length of sharp
metal folded to precision. And he had been warned to leave it
alone.

He looked away
and noticed the silent spectators lining the balcony. Saska now
stood at the head of the stairs, her face unreadable. Margus was
smiling, and it was not pleasant.

Samuel stepped
forward and took the blade by the hilt.

Torrullin let
go and stood back a pace.

Nothing
happened.

“Wield
it.”

“It’s not a
good idea,” Lowen’s voice came floating down, but both ignored
her.

Samuel glanced
up again and met Lucan’s gaze. He grinned at the young man and
swung the sword aloft in a two-handed grip … and the next instant
the Keep, people and surrounds, simply vanished.

A murky world
of dank cloud, he was blind, gods, there were things in the murk, a
path of interlaced stones beckoned to hell knows what … he opened
his mouth to shout, such fear, where …

“
Fulmar
!”
Torrullin’s voice came from a great distance.

Samuel,
gasping, his mouth wide in a soundless shriek, found he cowered on
the cobbled ground.

He drew
breath. Clean air, by god. He looked up. Torrullin held the Sword,
an enigmatic look in those eyes.

“What was
that?”

Grey eyes
hooded, a twist of fury on that fair face. Torrullin bent and took
hold of one of Samuel’s hands forcibly and placed it around the
hilt of the Sword. He slashed at some invisible foe, saying, “What
was that, Samuel? Come, I’ll show you what that was.”

“No,
Torrullin!” Saska’s voice came, but already at a distance.

The murky
world was back, the overlapping stones, and Torrullin was at
Samuel’s side. Silver eyes were lights in the gloom.

“This is the
Path of Shades, in one of many guises. Do you like it? No? This is
my road and here I function every moment of my long life.” The
Sword was there, a fluid thing of fire in steady hands. “I am able
to use this in darkness, in pure light, and in every shadow that
may lie between. I have the strength to hold all the power it has,
as you do not.”

Samuel
whimpered.

They were back
in the courtyard.

Silence, and
then, “Forgive me. My anger overcame reason.”

Samuel was
mute.

Torrullin
swore.

And Samuel
said, “Forgive me, my Lord. I didn’t understand before.” Then he
whispered, “God, how terrible for you.”

Torrullin
leaned in close. “But that’s just it, Samuel; it’s not terrible,
not to me.” His voice was soft, intent and for Samuel alone. “All
possibilities lie in the shadows, don’t you see? Light, dark, good,
bad, choices, mistakes, past, present, future, this reality and any
other. I can step in any direction from there; choice and fate, one
and the same.”

Samuel stared
back. “I should be horrified by that, by you, and I’m not.”

Torrullin gave
a twisted smile. “Beware. It’s an addiction.”

“I don’t want
it.”

“Then you
cannot wield the Sword.”

Samuel’s eyes
dropped to the blade in Torrullin’s one hand. “No, and I’ll not ask
again.”

“The summoning
word has been changed. I do that not because I believe you will go
behind my back, but because it’s too dangerous to have it summoned
by anyone who may have heard.”

Samuel nodded.
“How come it was used to reinforce the Light before, and doesn’t
now?”

“The tricky thing about this blade forged from two natures is
it can be anything at any time. It
is
the Light, have no doubt, and
Abdiah of the Kallanon believed it so completely it never failed
her. Now, I hold it, as dual natured as what it was formed from.
Gods, Samuel, you could pick it up when I am calm and find it
fights for you, and then you could do so not knowing how angry I am
and it will turn on your every ideal. You cannot trust it. Do you
trust me?”

“Yes. Gods,
how strange. More than before.”

Torrullin
smiled. “The shadows intensify certain … ideals. You cannot speak
of this to anyone.”

“I won’t.” A
beat, two. “I’m sorry. I knew in my heart you wouldn’t lie to
me.”

“Sometimes I
lie by omission. I’ll be more forthcoming, I promise.”

A shrug, and
Samuel found the strength to laugh. “I guess words couldn’t show me
that.”

“In your hands
the Sword can also be too much light. It blinds and brings the
dark. Had you held it longer, there would be no shadows. Tymall
knows this and hopes you will be incautious enough to wield the
blade.”

“I would be
like him.”

“No, but you
would be in the same place as he is, and he knows the way
well.”

“What happens
if he wields it?”

“The opposite,
and then you would be the one knowing the way.”

Torrullin
muttered a strange word and it sounded like Valleur, yet was not
known to Samuel. The blade vanished. Torrullin grinned at the man’s
consternation.

“Vallorin’s
Valleur, kinsman. It will hide the blade. The dialect cannot be
remembered, read, written or spoken by anyone other than a
Vallorin.”

A rueful
laugh. “Well hidden.”

“Yes, now
come, time to reforge …” Samuel winced and Torrullin laughed. “…
relationships!”

The others
descended to the courtyard and as greetings ensued, Margus asked
Torrullin, “What happens if I wield the Sword?”

“You would
drown in Light. You would fight it and lose. Even if you were
passive in curiosity only, you would not have the courage to accept
what your senses experience. If you emerged I doubt you would be
sane.”

“Oh.”

“Indeed.”

“Pity.”

“Rather. It
would be nice if it could have reverted for you.”

“That is not
the ‘pity’ I refer to,” Margus growled.

Torrullin
smiled. “I know.” He smiled wider when Margus strode off.

“You taunt
him,” Lowen murmured at his side.

“Let nobody
think we are friends,” he returned and moved away from her.

He called to
Samuel to join him on the battlements.

“What happens
next?” Samuel asked in the cool stillness above.

“Looking back
to the past as parallel, a number of likely events occur. Each is
symbolic, and a taunt, each shows power and mastery, a challenge.
Either the sacred sites will be attacked, or Menllik will be
compromised. The latter would be to clear the way to Linir and the
battle Tymall expects to re-enact with you. He may attempt to
undermine the Throne to bring on the destruction it heralds, which
is unlikely. He doesn’t want to destroy Torrke - he wants it as his
own. He may do something entirely unpredictable.”

“We must make
the first move.”

“Agreed, but
he’s in hiding. Without Fay’s signature I cannot find him.”

“Compromise
Fay.”

A mirthless
smile. “I have considered it, believe me.”

“And?”

“I am no
monster.”

The answer
pleased Samuel, although he realised the drawbacks. Then, “Tymall
is on Valaris. I sense him.”

A slow turn.
“When did you sense him? Now?”

“No, and maybe
sense is too strong a word. It’s more like instinct and I felt it
before the Dragon doors earlier.”

“It fits with
my instinct. I suspected as much when the Q’lin’la were murdered.
He was proving the Throne is not all-powerful and to do so and
commit that foul deed while I sat on it, well, he had to be close.
Soon after he was in the Lifesource.”

“If he’s here
I could find him.” Lucan’s voice, behind them, heading out of the
stairwell.

“Not unless he
does something,” Torrullin denied. “There’s no signature.”

Lucan was
stubborn and insistent. “I could find him if you helped me.”

Both Vallas
turned to look at him.

“Between the
two of you, you have enough in common with him. Blood, DNA,
sorcery, instinct. You have the Sight, my Lord, and you have the
Light, Samuel. We could corner him, like finding coordinates on a
map with longitude and latitude. It won’t be specific down to the
actual hole he’s in, but we could get a sense of the general
region.”

Silence.

“Look, it’s a
long shot, but if you want to make a move that isn’t reaction to
his, then we should at least try.”

“Why haven’t
you mentioned this?” Torrullin queried.

“Samuel wasn’t
here,” the Xenian said. “And before Samuel had not the Light like
now. And, honestly, neither of you had quite the purpose.” He
raised his brows, daring them to contradict,

“He has a
point,” Samuel murmured.

“Yes, and I
hate it when humans are clever,” Torrullin teased.

Lucan grinned.
“So you’ll do it?”

“What do you
need of us?”

Lucan pulled
his mouth askew. “You’re not going to like this.”

Both men
waited him out.

“Okay! Christ,
it’s hard to get a real rise out of anyone here …”

“Lucan!”

“Sorry, my
Lord. I’ll need blood from both of you, one bled while using the
Sight …” Torrullin hissed at that. “… the other bled in the Light.”
Samuel groaned. “And I’ll need something that was once Tymall’s and
a detailed map of Valaris.”

“A Wiccan
Scrying?” Torrullin said.

The Xenian was
defensive. “It’s been known to work - and what have you to
lose?”

“Blood?”
Samuel drawled.

Torrullin
looked at him and both started laughing helplessly.

“I assume
that’s a yes,” Lucan muttered.

Kismet
unearthed a detailed map of Valaris - in Galilan from Marcus
Campian - and it was now spread out on Torrullin’s desk.

Kismet
lingered when he noticed his Vallorin, Samuel and the Xenian bend
over it in interest, and was shooed out and told to tell the others
this was a private meeting. It smacked of collusion and the Elder
was displeased.

Lucan withdrew
two glass tubes from an inner pocket, both with stoppers. “I made a
detour to the hospital,” he explained on seeing their faces. He
added a bag of cotton balls to the tubes, placing all on the
map.

Torrullin was
laughing again. “I don’t believe I’m doing this. It’s fiction,
Lucan, a human invention in the imagination.”

Lucan shook
his head. “I read up on the old magical tricks when I was younger
and it seemed to me there was something in it. Like the ring Lowen
has in her pocket, you know?”

“You see too
much, my young friend.”

“Would you
prefer I stop?”

“No, we’ll
give it a try.”

“Good.” Lucan
was all business again. “Did you manage to find anything of
Tymall’s?”

Torrullin
rounded his desk without a further word. From a drawer he extracted
a book. He sat on the edge of the desk, staring at it. It was a
book of poetry. A moment passed, two, three, and then he opened it,
or it fell open when he allowed it to do so.

There were two
locks of hair between the pages, each bound separately with a
thread of gold silk. Both Samuel and Lucan understood immediately
whom those locks belonged to. A father’s treasure.

Torrullin
looked up. “So many years later I am no longer certain which is
which.”

Samuel
swallowed.

Lucan said,
“One may work, the other will not. I can try both.”

“Do that,”
Torrullin responded. He handed the book, closed, to the Xenian, who
placed it near his growing pile of scrying tools.

“Now I need
blood.” Samuel pulled a face as Lucan withdrew a needle and tube.
“This will go into the vein, this end into the tube …” Lucan waved
everything about.

Samuel
grinned. “Relax, I know how it works.”

“Okay, sit
there. Samuel, you need to do something to bring the Light and
while …” Lucan stumbled to a stop.

Samuel reached
out and took the needle contraption from the younger man. He
flicked a forefinger at the veins in the crook of his other arm,
bringing a vein to a swelling. Quickly he inserted the needle -
blood swiftly reached the tube and Lucan hastily readied a glass
tube to catch the flow.

He stared in
amazement at Samuel, who grinned. “I once spent a summer working at
Galilan General.”

“Good for you.
Er …”

“The Light is
ever-present,” Torrullin said from the desk. “Look at the silver
rings in Samuel’s eyes.”

The Xenian
looked and, by God, yes, it was there. “Very, very good.”

Samuel winked
and a moment later withdrew the needle from his arm. Lucan passed
him a cotton ball to stem the blood flow and stoppered the glass
tube and put it aside.

It was
Torrullin’s turn.

The man was
less amused than earlier. “The Sight is no plaything.”

“A brief look
only,” Lucan said. “The needle thing will be ready - quick, I
promise.”

Torrullin sat
in the chair Samuel vacated and allowed a vein to be found, a tube
held ready, the needle at the point of entry.

Samuel and
Lucan did it together and then waited.

Torrullin
leaned his head on the back of the chair, closing his eyes. He drew
breath, let go, drew breath, let go, and fingers clutched at the
armrest.