The Nemisin Star (13 page)

“You did know.
Well? Are they lovers?”

“Saska, please
talk to Torrullin.”

“Talk to
Torrullin,” she mimicked. “How? He has closed himself to me.” She
smacked her hand on the desk and leaned into it, glaring. “For
Aaru’s sake, will you tell me?”

Taranis’ gaze
slid away, but when she hissed he looked at her. “He barely talks
to me either, Saska. I do know he loves you.”

“That is not
what I want to know.”

Taranis spread
his hands. “You ask me to interfere in the relationship between a
husband and a wife. One is my son, and the other a dear
friend.”

“It’s not
interference. It is truth, which I am probably alone in not
knowing. Have it your way. I will confront Cat.” She moved to
leave.

“Don’t do
that, please.”

She inhaled
deeply and crossed her arms. “You would spare her. Why?”

“Because she,
like you, hurts - and it is not her fault. She had no idea what she
was getting into or how hard she would fall for him. Stupid
Torrullin! I cannot believe he is still pursuing this.”

Saska looked
away. “To be honest, it seemed as if he simply used her to release
tension. She was like a frightened rabbit. What kind of man is so
cavalier?”

“An angry
one.”

“And I am the
source of that anger; yes, I am, trust me. Maybe our relationship
will not survive this. Did he sleep with her?”

Taranis looked
away. “Yes.”

“Well, we both
know Torrullin. He only takes from what attracts him. My god, I
…”

“Saska.”
Taranis was firm. “Don’t. He is a man and you weren’t there. Let it
go.”

“I thought you
would understand.”

“I do. I
flipped on your behalf, ask him, but I still understood.”

“And drove a
wedge between you and him?”

“For a time,
yes.”

“You need not
defend me.”

“Someone has
to make him see reason.”

She laughed, a
little hysterically. “Do you know what would really hurt him? You
and me, together.” Tears formed in her eyes. “Maybe I should, to
get back at him.”

“You say that
after what happened before? Remember what one foolish kiss did? You
do that, you hurt me, him, but mostly you hurt yourself. You come
to me Saska, and I shall deny you.”

She was
miserable. “Maybe I should sleep with her sexy brother. An eye for
an eye.”

Taranis
sighed. “Don’t even think it. Matt already carries too heavy a
torch for the Enchanter’s wife.”

“Perfect. It
will not take much to lure him into a bed, would it?”

Into that
emotionally charged atmosphere came Margus and Tymall.

Before they
were even aware of the intruders Vulci bonds wrapped around wrists
and necks. Both stumbled to the floor howling pain.

Tymall stood
over Saska, leering, eyes alight.

“Stepmother.
How nice to see you again.” He ran his hands suggestively down her
writhing body, with evident pleasure. “Hmm,” he murmured, and the
excitement in his eyes was a physical force. “No wonder my dear
father enjoyed you. My turn now …” and he began to undo the fly of
his breeches.

A tin soldier
about to plunder and pillage.

Taranis
screamed at him in spite of his pain, but Tymall grinned and thrust
a gag into his mouth, stuffing it in hard. Taranis’ eyes bulged and
his face reddened, and Tymall turned his attention back to Saska.
“You, however, I would enjoy to hear scream and beg. And I am
aroused by the very idea of defiling you before my father’s father;
heightens the pleasure …”

Tymall kneeled
over her, pushed her robe up, up, his free hand sinking into the
flesh of her thighs, his breathing erratic, excited. Taranis
writhed through his agony and kicked. Tymall growled and smashed
his fist into Taranis’ face, and then he released himself, stroked
himself, tore at Saska’s underwear, lowered, his breathing harsh,
his eyes like coals.

She jerked her
knees up, he slapped her hard, elbowed Taranis again, and lowered
his mouth to hers, all the while stroking himself in ecstasy.

Margus dragged
him off. “Not now, imbecile! When we have dealt with the Enchanter
you can have her.”

Tymall stood
there breathing fast and saw the threat in Margus’ eyes. He drew
breath and pushed himself with difficulty into his breeches, and
looked at Saska again. “The pleasure will be sweeter if you have
time to think of me. Imagine me deep inside Saska dear, deep
inside.”

Saska hawked
and spat. It cost her the skin on her neck, but was worth it. He
laughed and pushed a gag into her mouth.

Dragging her
roughly to her feet he held her body tight to his. She felt how
aroused he was, and struggled, but the vulci was too much to bear
and she lost consciousness.

Margus dragged
Taranis up, who was not about to go forth without a struggle. He
lashed out with his legs, used his shoulders like a ram, and head
butted, gritting through the terrible thwarts from the vulci, and
paid dearly. Margus blocked the attempt and calmly pushed the rope
deeper until Taranis screamed.

It would have
been sufficient, but Tymall did not regard it as enough.

Holding onto
Saska he loosed a short sharp pulse of power that connected with
the vulnerable region of the body below the ribs. Taranis’ insides
curled and twisted, ruptured and boiled.

Margus shouted
at Tymall to cease and gripped Taranis. He snapped at him to
control his temper or he would suffer worse, and frogmarched
Taranis out the door and onto the battlements.

Taranis went
stumbling and whimpering. By all gods, he would hold on until
Torrullin arrived. He would die before he allowed the nefarious
Tymall to have his way.

Tymall
followed, hoisting Saska over his shoulder, carrying her with
leering pleasure. He giggled, until Margus told him to shut up.
They were then tethered to the stairwell and their ankles bound.
Tymall slapped Saska about the face until she regained awareness
and instantly tried to scream through her gag.

“Be still!” he
hissed. “It will hurt less.” He ran a finger down her cheek and
neck, continuing down to her chest where he stopped at one nipple.
He pinched hard.

Saska flinched
and her head smacked against the wall. She moaned.

The Darak Or
stared at Tymall, saying, “Control yourself.”

Tymall glanced
sidelong at Taranis. His grandfather was in agony and it was more
than the results of the vulci.

His smile
widened. It felt good; he always despised the conservative nature
and goodness of Taranis Agripson, father of his father. For years
he had not dared, but wanted to hit his grandfather, spit on him,
and now he did far worse. Revenge could be so sweet, Margus was
right about that. He stepped up to Taranis and loosed a hard fist
into his face.

Taranis’ head
snapped back and then he righted himself to glare at his grandson.
He spat the gag out. “And you call yourself a man.”

Tymall snarled
and loosed double fists into Taranis’ gut and watched his
grandfather crumple. “I do not care what you think,” he said,
dragging the injured man up. “Shut your mouth!” He hit him
repeatedly.

Margus said,
“Leave him. We are not here for your particular pleasure, Tymall.
Quiet. I cannot hear anything.”

Tymall
inclined his head and left Taranis alone.

A young soul
cannot distinguish between a lesson and an insult.

~ Book of
Sages

Battlements

H
ow
long ago was that?

Taranis was
gravely injured and for that reason, rather than her predicament,
Saska prayed for Torrullin to come. One of these two subdued him
with a power pulse, which meant Taranis fought back initially, but
it was Tymall’s heartless fists that achieved what the pulse
started. It was complacency - Torrullin in Menllik, therefore the
danger in Menllik - that brought on this horror of a situation.

Where was
Torrullin?

She raised her
head. Her eyes smarted, but she blinked them clear. Margus leaned
motionless against the wall beside her, and she had the notion he
protected her. She could feel the heat off his legs and marvelled
at that. She sensed his essence on Atrudis and here he was now,
living, breathing, was flesh.

He was a
reincarnate, like Torrullin, and it was truer Immortality, for
physical death was likely not death eternal. Torrullin was the
same; if he fell in battle he could arise again in the future. How
did one rid oneself of someone who refused to die?

Margus knelt,
facing her.

She gazed
back; what else could she do, really?

Torrullin was
striking, strong, lean, fair, with his incredible eyes, volatile,
dangerous, magnetic … and so was Margus. Yet he was more, in the
innocence of his features, and less, in that his eyes, wondrously
blue, were dead. The sensitivity of Torrullin was lacking, the
capacity to care and love.

He leaned in
and whispered, “You are an extraordinarily lovely woman and I
admire beauty. Pity; if you were less I could perhaps spare you.”
His breath was warm on her skin and she shivered. “But you are the
Lady of Life and cannot be allowed to see another dawn.” He leaned
back to study her eyes again and she looked on impassively. Moving
to rise, he then paused to incline his head - an actor on a stage -
and added, “Torrullin is a beautiful specimen also and despite our
enmity I find I am loath to kill him. He is incredibly clever, I
could learn from him. Perhaps there is a way to bind him into
eternity, keep him as my pet, such a pretty pet. It would be no
hardship to look upon him from time to time.” He looked at her
quizzically, but she remained expressionless. He rose then and
resumed his stance.

Now what did
that mean? It had nothing to do with sexual attraction, of that she
was certain. Margus was asexual; a being of the mind rather than
the body, but there was a message there. Margus knew by now there
were no binds to entrap and imprison a dual nature, so what had he
meant? How serious was this wish?

Beside her
Taranis moaned. He was in agony, but could not sit. The cramped
position compressed his torso. His arms were crossed across waist
and chest, which had to hurt, but seemed to ease his breathing.

Periodically
Tymall would come to rest before his grandfather, grinning
maniacally. Taranis opted to keep his eyes closed and stood now in
his dark world, in limbo, and it was only her presence that
prevented him from surrendering.

She raised her
gaze to find Tymall leering. He sat on the outer wall, one leg bent
atop it, the other swinging on the inside. Like a child, she
thought, and knew with sudden clarity he was an immature soul who
would not truly grow up.

His hate,
reinforced recently by Margus, forever stunted him. His moments of
maturity were rare and insufficient to see beyond the present. Yet
he dragged past hatreds with him as personal affronts and that made
him unstable. While it was true Margus was also here due to the
past, his was a broad perspective and he planned ahead. Not so
Tymall. Torrullin was his goal and for him it ended with his
father. All his present moments included Torrullin and when it did
not happen as he wanted right away, he grew frustrated and ever
more unbalanced.

I do not
know what Margus promised you, Tymall, but I know you will end here
one way or the other, soon. You have no future. I think you do not
want a future …
and with another rush of clarity, one that left
her breathless with insight - she closed her eyes, lest he see -
she realised he wanted it to end here.

He wanted his
father to stop him.

He does not
know it himself and would surely deny it, but he wants Torrullin to
put him out of his misery. He hates himself.

He loves his
father.

Then she did
look at him, with pity and understanding.
Gods, you are truly in
hell, are you not?

His leer
vanished and he stared back, not quite comprehending, but knowing
in some way she had changed towards him. He shrugged and licked his
lips suggestively, and she looked away.

A slight
movement caught her attention as she did so, a barely seen shift in
the shadow of the western well. She hooded her eyes and saw nothing
more. She could have sworn …

Torrullin. It
had to be him.

Oh god … a
diversion.

No. She must
do nothing to draw attention to him, for that would reveal him
before he was ready. She must do nothing to draw attention away
from him, for that would serve to make their gaolers wary.

She breathed
out slowly and sat on, forcing calm.

A faint tinge
of grey touched the eastern horizon.

Not long until
dawn. Torrullin reached in and called upon Destroyer. Margus would
not feel the signature. He drew his dual personality out, and when
he sensed him ready for ascendancy, paused and held him there.

It was a novel
experience and he felt as if he could talk to that other side of
him. It was something to explore at a later date; perhaps there was
a way to attain a better understanding of his duality.

Currently
there was no time for such introspection. He put it aside and
commenced a litany in silence, one that would herald the elements
and bring them under his influence. Weather would shield him and if
done subtly Margus would not realise it was manufactured.

A darker
darkness formed in the east and gradually it spread to blot the
stars. It was a frustratingly slow process, but also essential to
appear natural. With Destroyer shielding his signature he could
afford to take the time. He apologised to the inherent magic of his
valley, for he intended to unleash a storm of a magnitude rarely at
home in it or, more correctly, never allowed destructive power on
the earth itself in this place.