The Nemisin Star (11 page)

“He is an
innocent. He was chased by marauders!”

“The devil
lies,” Torrullin said.

There ensued a
pregnant silence and into it there arrived the sound of running
feet.

“More Golden!”
someone further back bellowed and Thumpheart shouted, “Fight!” and
blew an almighty blast on his bone horn. It curdled the blood. Many
horns answered ecstatically.

Movement was a
confused blur.

“Take these
inside that odd building!” Thumpheart boomed, pointing at men to do
his bidding. Four hauled Camot and Krikian up the steps, while
others charged at Torrullin and Tristamil.

Torrullin
nimbly vaulted up to join Tristamil and his eyes lit. He had been
sideswiped by disobedience, but it was too late now for
recrimination. The fight had come and he was ready for it. “Time to
use your sword, son.”

Tristamil
responded with a tense grin and swung the blue light in an arc
about the Dinor manhandling Camot and Krikian, while Torrullin
muttered. The trussing about the two Valleur split and Krikian
staggered up, sword to hand, but Camot lay senseless.

With
full-throated growls the Dinor swung into action, scimitars raised.
Krikian’s wavering blade went flying and he ducked desperately.
Tristamil cleaved his attacker.

“Get Camot
into Linir!” Tristamil shouted, and Krikian scrabbled down, barely
keeping his head attached to his shoulders, and got a hold of the
war leader. Trusting to his companions, he dragged Camot’s dead
weight towards the entrance.

He deposited
the man within and turned at bay to find Torrullin and Tristamil
had retreated with him, swords slashing, slicing. Tristamil tossed
a scimitar and Krikian caught it and launched in.

Scimitars
broke upon the blue sword repeatedly, and soon the nearby Dinor
were cautious, and a space developed between the attackers and the
three before the temple door. The stairs to the platform hampered
an all-out assault and thus wariness prevailed, but elsewhere in
the city battles raged on many fronts.

Dinor roared
and whistled, horns blew, Valleur uttered war cries, metal clashed
and screams sounded. Fifty Valleur were pitted against hundreds,
perhaps thousands, but the battles did not sound too one-sided.

“Are the
humans so deep in Valleur pockets that they choose to fight for
them?” Thumpheart demanded, standing with scimitar raised paces
from Torrullin. “If that be so, you are fair game.”

Torrullin held
his sword ready. “I have no quarrel with the Dinor, Thumpheart.
Call your men off. This is unnecessary bloodshed.”

“We have sworn
to avenge on the Valleur. The ancient oath was renewed only days
ago and we will not now turn from that. You and your companions may
leave if you swear to stay out of this.”

“I cannot do
that; these are my people.” Torrullin flexed his shoulders.

Thumpheart
started to laugh, a great wave of sound that began deep within his
massive chest. Spluttering, he asked, “The Golden now permit the
short-lived to rule them? Maybe they are no longer so
formidable!”

“You
misunderstand.”

“Your fight is
with me, Dinor,” Vannis’ voice intruded, and he appeared in the
space at the top of the stairs.

Torrullin
twitched. Vannis was supposed to be well out of it. “What are you
doing?”

Vannis loosed
a regal smile and pretended fury. “You would speak to me like that?
I shall have your head, upstart!”

“Who are you?”
Thumpheart roared.

Vannis turned
away from the speechless Torrullin and bowed. “I am Vannis.”

“Vannis? Ah,
the last Vallorin!” Thumpheart crowed in delight. “
Dinor
!
The Vallorin has come!”

Ragged cheers
sounded.

Vannis shifted
to Torrullin. “Their information is old, but it will not last. You
must get away from …”

Thumpheart’s
horn summoned, a chilling call to arms, and Dinor came hurtling in
from all over.

A great wave
of sound rippled out, horns, roars of approval, and then it was
war.

There was no
opportunity to fathom Vannis’ ploy, for the worst of the fighting
now concentrated around him.

Torrullin
would not exit the field during that kind of situation, and neither
would Tristamil. Father and son bullied their way to Vannis’ side
with Krikian’s scimitar chopping like an axe in their wake.

Camot erupted
from the temple in a rage and had the strength of twenty he was
that peeved.

The word went
out. Beleaguered soldiers on the fringes sent desperate messages to
their comrades elsewhere on Valaris and the news of the fighting in
Menllik spread like wildfire. Before long hundreds of Valleur
soldiers joined, fresh, angry, and then men, women and boys from
the evacuees transported in from Two Town, from Torrke, and fought
for what was theirs.

Too soon the
fighting was no longer simply hand-to-hand combat; fires erupted
from Valleur lightning bolts and were fuelled by the summoning of
the winds. Sorcery came into play and power bolts lit the skyline.
The Dinor did not hold back either, they called on the elements,
snow, hail, and it rained balls of fire.

Peaceful
Menllik transformed into an apocalyptic nightmare.

There was
fire. There were twisters. Buildings exploded. Hail cracked skulls.
Blood flowed. Limbs were severed. And there was scalding rain.
Melted snow ran red. Burning water scorched holes into pelts,
leather and skin. And everywhere there was screaming, cursing,
shouting, roaring, horns, war cries, metal tearing at metal,
pounding feet, racing hearts, dying.

Torrullin lost
his sword and his fingers curled into claws of death, pulsing his
colours of destruction. He chose dark violet, and did not hold
back.

Tristamil
cleaved his blade into the enemy, burning them with Light, killing
them with metal.

Thumpheart
fell screaming and lay wide-eyed, and was soon trampled into a
bloody mess.

The fighting
entered Linir, and Camot and Krikian had the advantage of close
confines to ricochet bolts off the walls, and bodies piled high;
the wounded screamed and whimpered. Camot fell and Krikian gave a
curdling cry and fought, in one hand Camot’s sword, in the other
the bloodied scimitar.

The two
Dragons issued from the valley and breathed fire to target only
Dinor, and they were petrified of the strange creatures and fell
back.

The Dragons
could not be everywhere.

War raged.

Gren, the
green giant, appeared in the mess of Linir, and next to him in full
regalia the vengeful form of a Centuar. Neither would stay out of
it longer. Instantly the pressure around Vannis eased, and he
slapped Belun in grateful relief and managed a grin. Belun neighed;
Gren laughed.

Despite
reinforcements, it was evident the Dinor headed to victory.

In those
moments of dubious calm Vannis gripped Torrullin. “You must go,”
Vannis hissed, and bent to retrieve Torrullin’s sword. “Here!”

“I am not
leaving you to this. Why are you taking the brunt?” Torrullin
snatched the sword and glared at Vannis.

“Think! Who
does Tymall hate more than you and his brother? Where will he take
Margus next, while we are well delayed here?”

Torrullin
stumbled.

“I will hold
the Dinor,” Vannis said more calmly. “GO! Take Tris.”

Torrullin
grabbed at his grandfather. “Get Tris away elsewhere when you can.
Keep him safe. Vannis, no one,
no one
, must touch
Tymall.”

“Why?” Vannis
was grim, reading it wrong.

“Just heed!”
Torrullin shouted and vanished.

Tor Island

Earlier

Caltian
studied the imposing Square Pyramid.

The white
marble edifice glinted amber in the setting sun. It was a sacred
site Vannis uncloaked to show it to him, and to boast a little.
Vannis was proud of the sacred sites.

“I have seen
the Throne, the Graveyard, I have heard about the magical
Lifesource and the challenging Tower of Stairs, and now this
marvel.” Caltian glanced at Vannis. “Atrudis has fourteen sites,
but they do not compare.”

Vannis laid a
hand on the warm stone, stroking it. “Atrudis is glorious, Caltian.
Perhaps she did not require ostentatious sites.”

“Valaris is
spectacular,” Caltian pointed out.

Vannis
grinned. “I know.”

Caltian was
thoughtful. “Remember the three sites built to hem Grinwallin?”

Vannis ambled
around the Pyramid to the recessed entrance, and Caltian fell in
beside him.

“Raised to
protect Tunin from what we believed might be a curse,” the
Atrudisin murmured. “Wrong, of course, and it would not have
stopped Grinwallin had there been a curse, I think.”

“What is your
point?”

“One site is
the Wishing Well and I always thought it mighty strange that a site
suited to the young and their daydreams should be situated so far
away. The other night I had an epiphany. Teighlar wished with all
his heart and soul for Grinwallin renewed. A Wishing Well fit right
into that.”

Vannis came to
a halt and studied the man. “Go on.”

“The second
site is a shallow pond filled with goldfish - note, only goldfish -
and over it is an ornate cage, wrought iron painted gold. We call
it Fortune Fishpond, and it is the kind of place the very young
would adore. Once I made the connection to the Wishing Well, I
started thinking. Vannis, the crucible in that magic chamber inside
Grinwallin is a dish with golden treasures and a cage over it to
protect those treasures.” Caltian swallowed. Where Neolone, Dragon,
died. “I ask, did we hem Grinwallin, or did Grinwallin allow
certain nuances?”

“You are
making far-reaching statements, my friend.”

“I am aware of
that, but it is the third site that will have you agreeing with
me.”

“Convince
me.”

“It is a
sundial; an odd feature hidden in a grove few know exists. Creed
knew, and only Creed could cloak and uncloak it. I saw it once; it
never saw sun, Vannis, not even a slanted ray. And it is wood, not
metal, wood so dark one would battle to find the appropriate shadow
to mark the hour had the sun reached it. It is round and plain, set
atop a twisted tree stump and, while there are the marks that point
out the hours around the edge and a slim rod in the centre to throw
shadow, it is the carved words that are astounding. Valleur call it
simply Sundial, but Creed has another name. Catalyst.”

“Gods,” Vannis
breathed.

“Exactly.
Teighlar foresaw a man who would be the catalyst, the harbinger of
Grinwallin’s freedom. Torrullin.”

“And the
carved words?”

Caltian
whispered, “
The Lifegiver is the Architect.
”

Vannis said
not a word. He was incapable.

“Right, that
was my reaction,” Caltian said. “The sites do not control that
city, because the city was conceived by …”

Vannis gripped
Caltian’s shoulder. “You will not tell him this!”

Caltian
blinked.

“Torrullin
already questions whether or not Nemisin actually created the
Throne. He has linked Nemisin’s runes to Teighlar, and the Valleur
tongue links the Kallanon to a far past. If you tell him there is a
sacred site that states he built Grinwallin, I fear we may lose
him.”

“I do not
follow,” Caltian whispered. He moved uncomfortably under Vannis’
tight hold.

Vannis swore
and let go. “You tell him that and you are saying he is as old as
time. Caltian, it will push him over the edge. He is not
ready.”

“Gods, you
believe he
is
as old as time.”

Vannis sighed,
“I would not like to put it to the test.”

Caltian sucked
thoughtfully at his teeth. “If there is truth to any of this, he
will find out eventually.”

“And then he
will be ready. For now, allow him his illusions.” Vannis strode to
the Pyramid’s entrance and entered, forcing Caltian to follow, his
mind a-whirl.

Inside were
the Retrogressive Spheres. These were globes containing animated
pictorials of Valleur history - they activated by a finger pointed
upward to summon spheres from the ceiling. Vannis did so
immediately to still Caltian’s tongue. As suspected, once Caltian
saw what the Spheres were, he was so entranced he forgot about the
sundial and where his thoughts led him.

Not for
long.

The Spheres
were recently updated, and now included the creation of Linir, the
Place Where Stars Meet. Caltian unluckily beckoned to that
particular globe, and within Torrullin could be seen overseeing the
building process. Perhaps it was not about luck - perhaps fate
intervened.

“Torrullin
designed this temple?”

Vannis peered
over his shoulder. “Linir. Yes.” Vannis paled. “It was created
according to the visions in the twin's scrying bowl.” He jabbed at
the Sphere. “That image is in both their futures. Gods. Catalyst,
all right. He unknowingly prepared the way. Architect, for certain
- he had his hand in
every
detail. And he linked the far
past to this present - Nemisin’s star.”

Caltian stared
at him.

“Tonight is
the night that star shines. Tonight is the only night it will shine
for another year. I am willing to wager you my Palace that tonight
the twins meet in Linir with swords in hand.” He rubbed a hand over
his chest. “Tonight is about destiny, and he wants to keep me out
of it.”

“Why would he
do that?”

“Because I
welcome death.”

Caltian
blinked.

“Wishing Well.
Gods, the Wishing People.” Vannis gripped Caltian by the shoulders
again, both hands this time. He shook the man. “You were sent this
night, my friend, with your life-altering ideas. When we world
hopped we were briefly on the homeworld of the Wishing People, and
they swore an oath against the Valleur. If Margus followed us, he
found an army ripe for the picking.”