The Nemesis Blade (19 page)

“No, you
returned my son to me and it is a great gift. Tell him his mother
loves him and tell him all is well and I am safe. Tell him I
understand why he did as he did, and I thank him.” Another hand
squeeze and then Amdel rose. She found a tea towel and wrapped a
fair share of the biscuits into it. “Give him this. They were
always his favourites.”

“It will be a
pleasure.” Erin took the parcel, leaned over to peck Amdel on the
cheek, and left.

Valaris

Quilla rose
stiffly from his meditative pose and stretched.

He went to
wash his face and then prepared something nourishing to eat.
Thereafter, he returned to his meditation.

There were, he
discovered, many singing stones in the universe, each with a
different tale to tell. The trick was to find the right tale, the
one that slotted neatly into the mystery at hand … hopefully.

Quilla settled
and concentrated anew.

Lintusillem

His bladder was
fit to burst with too much tea.

Jonas stumbled
from his brother’s cottage and managed to get his breeches open
before he wet himself.

As a mighty
arc steamed in the cold air, his mind was a confused tumble of
information.

Igneous rock,
sedimentary rock, metamorphic something or other, stratified rock,
granite into gneiss, shale into slate and reversing, stratigraphy
and epochs, eras and cosmic years …

Gods, when had
Minos learnt this stuff and how did he know what was what?

“Jonas, are
there volcanoes on Sanctuary and Luvanor?” Minos called out.

After tucking
back in, Jonas went indoors. “I believe so.”

“I need you to
get me lava rocks, brother, from both worlds.”

“Why?”

“Have you not
been listening?”

“I have
tried.”

“Look, this is
a stratigraphic column, like a yardstick used to date geological
events.” Minos waved the drawing around. “See here …” and he jabbed
at a dark layer near the bottom, “… this looks like obsidian, which
means it’s igneous rock …”

“Whatever.”

“Cooled and
hardened magma, idiot. To compare, I need lava rock and then I’ll
know which world. See?”

“Lava is on
the surface, Minos, and recent. How do you compare anything?”

His brother
threw his hands in the air. “To explain that would take too much
out of your deadline. Go get me samples.”

Jonas sighed.
“On my way.”

Grinwallin

It was a huge
cavern, perfectly square, flawlessly smooth walls ceiling to floor,
and every space on each expanse was taken up with paintings.

Some were
small, others large and imposing, and each was a thing of
magic.

Torrullin sank
to his knees in the centre of the cavern, his eyes moving. “My god,
I see now why you hid this.”

“Frightening,
isn’t it?” Teighlar murmured, trying not to look.

“Yes … and
inspiring. Such a wealth of information.” Torrullin rose and walked
to an image in a frame. “Sweet gods, Lowen painted one like this on
Cèlaver. It is the cage before the Hounding.” He swung to Teighlar.
“The dream that took me to the Syllvan, remember?”

Teighlar
nodded.

“Here? How is
it possible?” Another rendition caught his eye. He stared at it and
then pointed. “The Pillars of Fire on Valaris.”

Teighlar
swallowed. “Goddess, really?”

Torrullin
stared, moved, stared and then something drew him like a magnet.
“Is this you?”

“Read the
inscription,” came an uneven reply.

“’
Tunian,
first and last king of Luvanor.’
”

“Tunin was
named after him.”

“Tunian and
Teighlar. Both mean
New Path
, am I right? First and last.
Are you Tunian reincarnate?”

Teighlar gave
a harsh laugh. “Does it matter?”

“It
matters.”

“I do not
know.”

“But you do
know you are Luvan, don’t you?” Stillness inside, as Torrullin
finally grasped that.

Teighlar
closed his eyes. “Yes.”

“The royal
line of the Luvans - it includes you. Gods. Grinwallin was created
by your blood, it endures by your blood. How did I overlook
that?”

Teighlar took
a breath. “The singing stones today can be heard only by Ancients,
Torrullin. How have you overlooked that you, too, are one of those?
You, me and Quilla. The only three left now.”

Torrullin
stared at him. “Do you know what you are saying?”

“I do, but do
you hear me, old friend? Oh, and Agnimus - fourth Ancient. I nearly
forgot him, and suspect you will find him somewhere in these
paintings also. You will certainly find Quilla and perhaps even
yourself.”

“No.”

Teighlar gave
a wry smile. “Now you begin to see why I kept this from you. You
are in denial. As I may be also. Am I Tunian? I am petrified to
know that to be true.”

They stared at
each other and then both turned to the paintings.

A new and
painful unveiling commenced.

One cannot
wander old paths without finding them altered.

~ Book of
Sages

Valaris

C
aballa alighted on the winter lawn before the
Palace.

She shivered
in the biting air and could not control it. She was acclimatised
now to heat and had not dressed for this weather.

It was after
midday and seemed closer to evening, the heavens were that gloomy.
She sniffed the air. Month of Blizzird, cold, snowfall due soon,
and she was no longer accustomed to it.

She missed it
with an ache that was a void.

The weather,
the people, her people, this world, she missed it all … and she
missed Torrullin.

Tristan came
out to meet her and her heart nearly froze in position eternally.
Dear god, Torrullin’s face. The traitorous organ jumped and hurtled
into motion. No, it was Tristan, but, by god, how alike could two
men be? She had seen it in Samuel - a dead ringer for Tristamil,
that one - but this was spooky.

Tristan came
to a halt and smiled. “Caballa, I remember you.”

A hand went to
her heart, rested there. “Tristan, you are all grown.”

The smile
broadened. “Hopefully wiser, too. Come, you are cold.” He gave her
his arm and she took it.

“You look
exhausted,” she murmured as they walked towards warmth.

“A hard
night.”

“Did Rose
come?”

A nod.

“Watch
yourself with her.” They entered the spacious throne’s chamber,
which was now more gathering place, and Caballa pulled to a stop.
“It’s the same. Only the wooden seat is gone.”

Tristan gazed
around, seeing it with her eyes. Empty, he thought, impersonal. “It
is unlived in.”

“You live
here, don’t you?”

“It is not
mine, Caballa.”

She nodded.
“It remains Tannil’s.”

“As the Keep
is Torrullin’s.”

Another nod
and then, “Where are your cousins?”

“Suffering
Elder judgement. We subverted a site yesterday.”

Her hand
pulled from his arm. “You did what?”

“It was a
diversion to contact you.”

“Tristan,
subversion of a site …”

“… is
considered treason, yes. We know, loudly and clearly from the
Elders.”

“You were not
judged?”

A laugh.
“Therefore the hard night passed.”

She did not
laugh. “Who did it? Was it Tianoman?”

“It was, but
do not look for the worst in him because he is Tymall’s son. Tian
has a good heart.”

She let it
pass.

“Caballa, is
Saska on Nemisin’s world?”

“She didn’t
want to come and we should give that planet a proper name. Now,
where’s Rose? I must deal with her first.”

“Upstairs, and
I’m afraid Vanar and Yiddin got to her last night.”

“How so?”

“She won’t
say.”

“Miss drama
queen,” Caballa muttered and headed for the stairs. “Which
room?”

“Green. Yours
would be the same as before. I took the liberty of bringing in warm
clothes.”

Caballa smiled
over her shoulder. “Thank you. We will talk later. Go get some
sleep meanwhile.”

Tristan
watched her go, his gaze unreadable.

The evening
meal was set in a small and private chamber upstairs, for
three.

A fire roared
and candlelight dispelled the gloom. Rose was lovely in a white
gown, her hair demurely tied, and was quiet and withdrawn. Caballa
wore a flowing yellow gown, her hair loosely plaited. Tristan
considered himself honoured and had also dressed more formally.

The meal was
tasty, the wine good and conversation was light until the final
dish was removed and coffee served.

“Rose tells me
Vanar tapped into our conversation yesterday,” Caballa said.

Tristan
nodded. “I thought she might. She is good, that one.”

“Rose also
admits she uncovered the background to the conversation. She knows
about the rumours, the visit to Torrullin, even the subversion of
the Gates.”

Tristan’s gaze
flickered to Rose. She sat at the table, head bent. “Rose is good,
too.” Her head lifted and a quick smile came and went, and then she
looked down once more.

“What we need
determine,” Caballa said, “is whether she is now in possession of
privileged information.”

“Common
knowledge.”

Rose sighed
and looked up.

“You are a
farspeaker, Tristan, and that makes Rose a threat to you,” Caballa
said.

“Why?”

“She
channelled to you, therefore future communication between you and
another is within her reach.”

“I wouldn’t
listen in!” Rose was mortified.

“I know,
sweetie, but you could be used against Tristan.”

“By whom?”
Tristan demanded.

“Whoever is
behind the rumour, whoever has stirred the Kaval into concerted
action, whoever nabbed Lowen,” Caballa said. “You were right, you
do need me, if only to prevent you walking into a trap.”

“I have
nothing to …”

“Of course you
have. A Three Kingdom rumour, which, by the way, fits in too neatly
into a Three Kingdom prophecy. You and your cousins are definitely
involved, if not in immediate danger.” She pointed a finger at him.
“Do not go off half-baked like yesterday again.”

“Where did you
get that?”

“You,” Caballa
grinned. “I am a farspeaker too.”

Tristan was
not amused. “What are you saying about Rose?”

“Vanar wants
her in Menllik under Elder protection and I believe that is
best.”

“Rose?”

She shrugged.
“Whatever you decide.”

“You could
stay here.”

“No,” Caballa
said.

Tristan mulled
it over and then, “Fine. Menllik. At least Teroux will be
thrilled.”

“I suggest you
have her taken now, before you and I talk on other matters.”

Tristan loosed
a snort of displeasure, but held his hand out. “Atkir potters
around somewhere. I will have him transport you out, Rose. Vanar
has probably already made arrangements for your stay.”

She nodded
unhappily, took his hand and went with him.

He was not
gone long; Atkir had been nearby.

Caballa
watched him assume his seat again, marvelling anew how much like
Torrullin he was in appearance, and said, “Tell me of his
dreaming.”

“He didn’t
actually say. The feeling is mine.”

She nodded.
“How does he seem?”

“I don’t
really know him, do I?”

“Tristan, you
are neither stupid nor blind. You formed an impression.”

“Answer me
first, did he know you were on Nemisin’s world?”

She did not
flinch. “Yes.”

“And
Saska?”

“Yes.”

“Why does he
not …”

“I told him I
would return when ready … me, myself, not anyone else. He continues
to respect that.”

“What happened
between you two?”

“It’s not like
that; it is more complicated.”

“Won’t you
tell me?”

Her hands
clasped in her lap. “Why do you need to know?”

“Maybe I want
to understand him.”

“Not likely.
All you’ll understand is me … if I tell you.”

He smiled.
“Then it’s up to you.”

She stood and
approached the window. “The destruction of many Valleur, at his
hand, twenty-five years ago caused me to doubt his goodness. I
realise he had little choice, but what of the next time choices
were absent? Will he again lift his hand against his own, without
discriminating?”

“Are you
saying you do not trust him?”

She did not
reply, no longer sure of her reasons.

“He left
Valaris, Caballa, to prevent anything like to that event
reoccurring.”

A lift of one
shoulder. “Which means he does not trust himself.”

Tristan was
silent and then, “You have to face him sometime.”

“I know.” She
paced back to halt beside him. “You look like him.” She lifted a
finger, touched his cheek and then dropped it to return to her
seat, and Tristan understood.

Caballa loved
Torrullin. Perhaps it was more than a lack of trust that kept her
away; perhaps it was fear of her feelings.

“He seems
distracted,” he said into the silence, “and confused. These are
symptoms of dreaming and he acted almost irrationally, started
talking like someone who could not keep pace with his thoughts. He
mentioned rock and time - dream symbols, I suspect.”

“And the Kaval
are commanded to act on that dream. For Lowen.”

“She left him
a long time ago,” Tristan murmured. “How are you sure she really is
missing?”

Caballa stared
at him. “How long ago?”

“Ten
years.”

“He would not
wait ten years. She is missing. Gods, ten years? And Saska
continues to wait? He won’t divorce her, he will not let her go, he
does nothing but play this waiting game. What is the matter with
him?”