The Nemesis Blade (52 page)

A white palace
sat on a rise in the centre of this circular reclamation, sprawling
and impossibly high. A massive moat encircled the gigantic edifice
and a wide bridge spanned the trench to a portcullis through which
a hundred men could walk abreast. The building was blinding in its
whiteness, with great halogen lights lit around the perimeter.

“The Warlock
Palace,” Torrullin murmured. He untied the rope, did the same for
Tianoman, who was nerveless and paralysed and simply stared. He
tapped the young man’s chest. “Breathe, son.”

Tianoman took
a great, gasping breath. “Oh, my god.”

“This one
building compares to Grinwallin in size,” Torrullin said. “It is,
in fact, a self-contained city. Come.”

“How do we get
in?”

“We walk
through the entrance.”

Tianoman was
on his heels, too afraid to let his grandfather gather even a step
between them.

They crossed
the bridge unhurriedly, ignoring the strangeness of others upon it.
At the portcullis a host of guards eyed them, but as they neared
all bowed.

One
straightened, a burly man with the thickest beard in the universe.
“Welcome, Elixir.”

Torrullin
inclined his head and moved through with Tianoman gaping behind
him.

The mighty
building was a series of walls before the actual palace reared into
the heavens, and each wall was hundreds of feet thick, containing
within a warren of chambers and quarters.

They crossed
the first expanse; this one choked with guards, and then went
through an arch that was the first ‘wall’ and into the next. Here
another type appeared dominant. Men dressed in dark clothing,
turbans about their heads, faces obscured, and glinting daggers and
sabres at their waists. Some practised with those daggers, while
others worked their mounts, an animal akin to a horse.

One detached
from a nearby nook in the wall. “Elixir, you have returned.”

Torrullin
halted and smiled. “Still in charge, my friend?”

The man bowed.
“The Warlock values my services.”

“I am glad. Is
he in residence?”

“He is. Do you
require a guide?”

“Thank
you.”

The Tracloc,
for that was what these darkly clad men were, bowed and glanced at
Tianoman. Only dark eyes showed. “Is this young man my master’s
son?”

“He is,”
Torrullin murmured. “Lead on.”

The Tracloc
took the hint and swung away. They followed him until they entered
the largest space thus far, a huge chamber able to hold a crowd of
a thousand, perhaps more. It was hard to find perspective in such
vastness.

Torrullin
called a halt. Here he laid down the law to the Magus Caste,
thereby ensuring Tymall’s continuing reign as Warlock. He asked,
“Are they still as prominent?”

“The Magi?”
the Tracloc snorted. “They think they are and it suits my master to
allow them to labour under that belief.”

“Good.”
Torrullin glanced at Tianoman and noticed how pale the young man
was. “Can you go on?”

“I have to.”
His voice was barely audible.

“You are
fortunate, my Lord Elixir, in your timing. The palace is quieter
than usual this last week. The young man has not to deal with the
host of this place.”

“A raid?”

“The Mor Feru
are a thorn in my master’s side. He sent half his army and most of
the rabble to subdue them again for a time.”

“And the
Magi?”

The Tracloc
grinned. “They went along to learn humility, I believe.” The grin
was in the man’s voice, for the turban hid physical movement.
“Shall we go on?”

Torrullin took
Tianoman by the shoulder and they walked on. “Be yourself when you
see him, and don’t be afraid.”

They came to a
concealed doorway, hidden in that it lay in the shadow of the
overhanging palace, and guards stood twenty deep before it. The
Tracloc spoke and the ranks opened. All bowed as Torrullin and
Tianoman walked through.

Beyond, in a
spherical chamber large enough for the Keep to vanish into, stood a
circular tube, black. It clambered through the volume of space and
ended in the ceiling ten storeys above. The Tracloc approached,
found a panel, pressed digits and a door slid into the wall of the
tube. An elevator. The Tracloc bowed and stood aside.

“It leads
directly to the Warlock’s chambers, my Lord Elixir. As you see,
there are no stops along the way.”

Torrullin
gripped Tianoman, who was reluctant under his fingers, and spoke
his appreciation. The Tracloc stood by as Torrullin dragged
Tianoman into the black space inside the tube, and then pressed a
digit. The door slid shut on him and all else. A faint red light
came on, a faint hum.

“I can’t do
this,” Tianoman gasped. “Please, can we go back?”

Torrullin took
a hold of his face and stared into his eyes. “You have come this
far. You will regret not taking this final step for the rest of
your life. Do not surrender to fear now.”

Tianoman
blinked and blinked again. “You are right.”

“Good lad.”
Torrullin let go and deliberately ignored his grandson, giving him
time to recover composure.

There was no
sensation of moving, but when the door slid away again it was
obvious they were no longer at ground level.

They exited
into a wide corridor with a set of double doors set into it,
directly opposite the elevator. Twenty guards lined the walls, most
of them Tracloc. All bowed and then straightened to stare into the
distance.

Torrullin
knocked. Tianoman cowered behind him.

One side of
the double doors opened and a wizened woman peered out. “You don’t
have an appointment.”

“I do. It was
made twenty-five years ago,” Torrullin said.

Her little
eyes widened and she pulled the door wide. “You!”

Torrullin
stepped through.

Tianoman
followed, cold and uncertain.

“Where is he?”
Torrullin asked.

The woman
pointed and vanished muttering into a side chamber.

Another set of
double doors lay before them and Torrullin gripped a handle, opened
and stepped through.

Tianoman
hurried after.

Until now
everything was featureless, even the outer room where the old woman
received them, but now the first indications of who Tymall was
became evident. It was different from what was there on Torrullin’s
previous visit.

Then
everything was black with touches of red, a gothic, depressing
style; now there were subdued colours, yet vibrant in the mixing of
blue, green and plum. It should have jarred, but fit together. It
was minimalist without being empty and lifeless. Comfortable
couches and armchairs, glass tables, many books - a reception
room.

Beyond was a
staircase to the smaller space Tymall lived in. Torrullin passed
under the far arch, climbed beautiful, carpeted and spiralling
stairs to the upper level. With Tianoman at his heels, he found the
smaller sitting room.

It was as
tastefully decorated, but with more disorder. A lived-in space.
Books were open on a low coffee table, writing materials were
scattered there also, and two half mugs of coffee perched
precariously. One armchair hosted a fat, ginger cat, which opened
one wary eye and then ignored the intruders.

He knew where
the kitchen was, the bedrooms, study, library, and knew Tymall was
in one of them, somewhere … and could not move.

“Torrullin?”
Tianoman whispered.

“I am probably
as stressed as you,” Torrullin murmured.

“Who’s there?”
a voice demanded. “Min, I told you not to allow …”

The voice fell
into silence as the form followed it into the sitting room - from
the kitchen, by the look of the heaped plate.

The plate
blindly found a place to rock upon.

“Ty,”
Torrullin said.

Tymall gazed
at his father and then gazed long at Tianoman, and then he strode
over and Torrullin went to meet him. They met and gripped each
other fiercely, wordlessly.

Tianoman
swallowed. There was the streaked auburn and gold hair, the clear
grey eyes. Just like Samuel. Samuel had been the genetic equal to
Tristamil and Tymall in every way. It was strange, like seeing
Samuel again, and yet not so strange. He felt … prepared.

Father and son
parted and there was wetness on both sets of cheeks.

“Father, I
wasn’t expecting you for another month, Valaris time.”

“Surprised?”

“Pleasantly.”
Tymall found the courage to look at Tianoman. “How did you name
him?”

“Tianoman.”

“Tianoman,”
Tymall tested. “A good name.” He smiled. “I guess most call you
Tian.”

A nod.

Tymall glanced
at his father, who inclined his head to the right. Ah, yes, the
library. Comfortable, private and neutral. Tymall closed in on his
son, his heart beating as erratically as Tianoman’s. He halted.

“You are like
your mother.”

“You are like
Samuel.”

Tymall closed
in some more. “How was your Coming-of-Age?”

“Successful,”
Tianoman managed.

Tymall stood
close. “Son, I have been waiting long to hold you in my arms again
… please, may I hold you, for a little while?”

Tianoman flung
himself into those waiting arms and held on for dear life. Tymall
choked on his tears as he enveloped his son.

Torrullin
moved diplomatically away. Father and son would not reach the
library. He moved through to the kitchen and heard them begin to
talk.

Good. Better
than he hoped.

He sat
somewhere, drawing in air.

Torrullin
reckoned he left them alone long enough.

It was a
fraction of the time they needed, but he was also aware Tianoman
could be overloaded. The young man needed time to think now.

He entered the
sitting room bearing a tray with coffee and snacks discovered in
the kitchen.

Tymall
listened attentively to Tianoman speak of Samuel’s farm, how the
three cousins had enjoyed it there, but Tianoman broke off when he
saw his grandfather.

“I’m
parched.”

“Thought you
might be.” Torrullin set the tray down as Tymall pushed books
aside.

“Thank you,”
Tymall murmured. His father would know what that was really
for.

Torrullin sank
into an armchair. The stool in the kitchen was hard.

“You all
right, Torrullin?” Tianoman asked.

A grin. “Hard
kitchen stool.”

Tymall handed
Tianoman a mug and then glanced at his father. “It’s written all
over you.”

“Tension?”

He passed a
mug to his father, took his in hand and leaned back. “Yes. What’s
on with this Three Kingdom nonsense?”

“Did Tian tell
you?”

“No. We are at
year six.” Tymall smiled at his son. “I want to know
everything.”

Torrullin
waited.

“I have
standing orders for incomers to be questioned,” Tymall explained.
“Key words earn an interview with me.”

“And someone
mentioned Three Kingdoms?”

“And singing
stones, Akhavar, and I hear Lowen vanished.”

Tianoman
looked from one to the other. “Singing stones?”

Tymall was
still looking at his father. “I sent the five oval stones.”

“You have
surprised me.”

Tymall
grinned. “I know.”

Tianoman
sipped at his coffee, deciding to listen only. He would learn more
if they forgot he was there.

“Where did you
find them, Ty? They were missing millions of years.”

“Grinwallin.
Around the time I slipped through Agnimus’ seal around
Valaris.”

“You did not
get in, you said.”

“I lied.”

“I thought as
much,” Torrullin muttered, and went on. “Teighlar could never find
the stones. In fact, he does not know I am aware they exist. How
did you know?”

“I didn’t. The
presence under Grinwallin gave them to me to give to you when the
time was right.”

“He hid them.”
Torrullin said.

“I assume so.
When I heard the rumours of singing stones, I sent them.”

“Tian found
them.”

Tymall was silent and then, “
You
were meant to.”

“But I have
too much on my mind and Tian desperately sought an appropriate gift
for the ceremony. Ty, I have them and that is what matters.”

“What are
they?” Tianoman interrupted.

“Luvan
stones,” Torrullin informed. “They possess magical properties. And
they are as priceless as I revealed yesterday.”

“Why do you
need them?” Tymall asked.

“I don’t yet
know.”

Tymall lifted
an eyebrow, but did not push the issue. “What’s this about
Lowen?”

“Do you
care?”

“I care about
you, yes.”

“She
disappeared into Time.”

“Gods, how?”
Then Tymall understood something. “You brought Tian’s ceremony
forward to hasten the choosing of a Vallorin. You are going after
her, and it’s realm travel. You can’t leave the Valleur leaderless
for … what, a thousand years, two?”

“What?”
Tianoman choked on his coffee.

“Gods, you
never were tactful, Ty,” Torrullin said.

“I am on the
mark.”

“Yes.”

“What realm
travel?” Tianoman demanded. “You can’t! One of us as Vallorin will
need you, and the other two to overcome disappointment! You can’t
leave now!”

“One of you
will have the power of the Throne and the other two are strong,
mature men, Tian. You do not need me.”

Tianoman
snapped his mouth closed, and Tymall laughed. “He sounds like
me.”

Torrullin
smiled. “Often.”

“Which realm?”
Tymall asked.

“A new one. To
me, at any rate.”

“And Lowen is
there?”

“Yes.”

“I assume
Quilla’s going.”

Torrullin
laughed. “You never will like him, will you? Yes, Quilla will
accompany us.”