The Nemisin Star (63 page)

The Keep

D
alrish
wakened in the early dawn.

Entranced by
natural light, he made his way to the battlements. It was misty and
cold, the valley a bright haze. He found the Enchanter there.

Torrullin
murmured, “You are up early.”

“You haven’t
slept.”

“So little
time left.”

Torrullin and
Tristamil spent the night talking, but not about issues or the past
and the future, Tymall, nothing like that. They spoke of life and
love, nature and exploring, religion, secret wishes, the personal
facets that constituted personality. It had been a good night.

“I know
nothing of magic, Torrullin,” Dalrish said, “but I do know you will
be at a disadvantage if you are tired.”

A shrug.

Dalrish wisely
abandoned the subject and instead spoke of himself. Certain matters
had to be shared with this particular man. “I killed the
Peacekeeper - I murdered my father. I do not know how to live with
that.”

Torrullin
would not judge, addressing instead the subject of who would suffer
most. “Do not tell Lowen yet.”

“You knew. Yet
you accept me into this?”

“Reni was not
a good man, but I do not have to tell you that. He deserved his
fate, although it is indeed unfortunate it was by your hand. Moss,
from where I stand nobody appears to have had the courage.”

“Courage?
Vengeance is not courage. And I caused him to suffer first.”

“I have done
things I am not proud of, but I trained myself to look at the
bigger picture. Not easy, I grant you, but keep it in mind. To
dwell on this is the road to insanity.”

“Fratricide,
Torrullin. It is evil.”

“I am a
kin-slayer Dalrish, if only be default, but I know it was
just.”

“How do you
live with it?”

“Minute by
minute at first, then day by day, and one day you realise a week
went by without you having experienced the despair. Time, Dalrish.
Only time brings distance. A platitude, yes, but one containing
only truth.”

The Xenian
leaned on his hands. The stone was icy under his fingers. It felt
fantastic and real. On Xen there were no seasons to cause vagaries
in temperature. “I am not sure his successor will be any
better.”

“Not your
problem.” Torrullin tucked his hair away. His eyes glowed in the
strange morning light, still yellow.

“Xen will
always be my problem.”

A twisted
smile. “Ah, yes, one’s homeworld, for better or worse. But if I may
advise, leave it. Allow Xen time to forget your crime or understand
what you did, and then return, with Matt. He will be a good
sorcerer and with him at your side, armed with what you learn here,
you have a greater opportunity at affecting lasting change.”

“Good
advice.”

“You are
concerned Matt will not return.”

“I guess.”

“He will
succeed.”

“Truly?”

“Clearly the
others have filled your head with the dangers of his training, but
they cannot know. Not one went through it. I did, to a degree,
during my time as Rayne; it’s stressful, it hurts, and it can be
dangerous, yes, and I was so unwilling I caused most of the danger
myself. Matt, on the other hand, wants to learn, and wants above
all to fulfil his oath of loyalty. He will be a full Valleur
subject after completing training and that is a powerful incentive.
Most tellingly, he is a good and brave man. He will be fine, trust
that.”

“You like
him.”

“Very
much.”

“High praise,
indeed.”

Torrullin
grinned. “Some would dispute that.”

Saska
underwent similar training, but he was not going to tell Dalrish
that. As a young Sylmer she almost died to achieve the level that
permitted immortality. Let sleeping fish swim on.

“What of the
oath? Surely Matt will be required to stay with the Valleur?”

“Loyalty is
not about geography; the choice is Matt’s.” A small and easy
silence followed, before Torrullin asked, “Can you aid Torrke?”

“A small
measure of creativity and willing hands and minds, and, yes, it can
be done.”

“Excellent
news.”

“I am finally
to see it at work. Another learning curve.”

“For Xen?”

“Absolutely.”

“Tell the
Elders I requested a force placed at your disposal when you choose
to go back. Not a force for war on your people; a force of
scientists to aid you in bringing those damnable domes down; a
force able to protect your back, if necessary.”

Dalrish stared
at him. “Thank you.”

“And now you
wonder whether they will grant the demand.”

“Yes!”
Laughter spilled from the Xenian.

“The Elders
will hear you. My words are in your mind.”

Dalrish
sobered. “Again, thank you.”

“It is my
redemption also.”

Another
silence ensued, this one less easy.

“Why Cat,
Torrullin? You obviously love your wife.”

“I cannot
explain it.”

“Try.”

Torrullin sent
the man a heavy-lidded stare.

Dalrish
shrugged. “I am prying, but I have to handle her in the aftermath.
I think she will take some handling. Maybe if I get the why, I’ll
see the way.”

Torrullin
faced outward again and after a moment started talking. “She will
need her family.” A pause as he collected his thoughts. “I turned a
blind eye to Saska while my boys grew up; in a sense I abandoned
her and a distance developed. She then abandoned me in reality and
I could not forgive her or myself, and thus the distance widened.
Short and sweet? It was not so short and it was definitely not
sweet. She returned as the Lady and I found that hard to accept.
The Lady of Life, Dalrish, is no ordinary being, and Saska is
extraordinary to begin with. I suspect she will go from elation to
the depths of despair, and I cannot stop that. More distance. She
offered me a terrible gift … but that is another story. All of it
together brought about a deep rift close to unbridgeable. I am to
say goodbye tomorrow, but I said it a while ago.”

“But you love
her.”

“Always
will.”

“It’s a
terrible situation, Torrullin, for a man and a wife to be in, but
how does this help Cat? Did you sleep with her to get back at your
wife?”

“No.”

“That is what
Saska thinks.”

“I wanted her
to; it was easier to deal with her anger. Cat needs to know the
rift was in place before she came into my life, that I did not use
her, and she needs to understand she is not the cause of the
deepening of that rift after Saska returned.”

“Sounds like a
bunch of excuses for sleeping around.”

Torrullin
imparted a glittering stare. “I am aware of how it sounds. Cat
needs to know we were all three of us victims of extreme
circumstances, and now I would prefer to drop this subject.”

“Of course.”
Dalrish turned to look over the valley. The mist was lifting,
promising a clear day. It would be cold, for winter was far from
over, but the air had the quality that bespoke far vistas as if he
could see into the ends of time.

“Beautiful
Valaris,” Torrullin murmured, his feelings similarly entrapped.

Dalrish
concurred. “Yes, she is. Strange how swiftly I have become
accustomed to nature.”

“Genetic
memory. Magic. You are aware of the marvels despite having been in
domes for generations.” Torrullin gave a laugh. “That was a point I
attempted to convince someone of recently. I told her you would
know the light even if you had never seen it.”

Dalrish
nodded. “A common denominator.”

“For the
majority of races. For others fertility is poison and, luckily,
that keeps them at bay here.”

“By God, I
wish I had the time to pick your brain.”

Torrullin
grinned. “Likewise. Quilla will welcome questions and if he cannot
answer he will make it his business to find out. Thank the Goddess
for Quilla.” He yawned.

“You should
rest.”

“I hear
you.”

Torrullin
considered where to go for a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. He
hated surrendering even a moment of awareness, but the Xenian was
right, a tired man was automatically at a disadvantage. There was
only one place no one would think to look for him, even though he
did not feel comfortable with the idea of returning there.

“Do me a
favour; ask Vannis to come for me at the White Palace when the
Kallanon arrive. Oh, and do not disturb Tris. My son is exhausted
and on the brink of hopelessness. Let him sleep.”

Dalrish
inclined his head and then found he stared at vacated space.

Valaris

Queen Abdiah
of the Kallanon entered Valaris’ atmosphere and pitched into what
she could only describe as an enveloping blanket of fear.

It was
concentrated to the one landmass, but tendrils reached out beyond
the ken of ordinary sentience. There was a sense of dread, and
slow-burning anger and frustration.

She pushed
through and felt tainted by the shadows. As she neared, with her
courtiers trailing at a respectful distance, she noticed few people
were about, and it a calm day of sunshine; those who were scurried
and looked around them with fearful and watchful eyes.

Valarians
are hiding,
she thought,
and they are afraid. The Dark is
here.

She had come
to the right place. It was not war that constituted the Dark;
rather it was the psyche of an entire nation. By their fear they
propounded it. By their anger they aided it. It would need but one
to point an accusatory finger, one person to stand forth and
declaim, and war would ensue. She had seen it come to pass
countless times.

Gliding on her
mighty wings, she flew over deserted farmland. It was incredibly
lovely. The snow was pristine. How fortunate for the Enchanter to
have been born in a place where all was balanced and true unto
itself.

A group of
farmers looked up and their faces mirrored horror; a moment later
they shouted suspicious imprecations.

A spark. All
it took was one single spark.

She had to be
more circumspect or she would be the one holding the burning torch.
Signalling, she veered to fly out over the ocean.

White
Palace

Abdiah knew
the One’s signature now and headed directly towards it.

She flew east
over a deserted city and landed with her court, six of them, before
the gaping gates of an empty palace. The entire region had been
evacuated, she realised.

Here the Dark
was in supremacy.

He felt her,
of course, as she knew he would, and came out from under the gates,
eyes bloodshot exhausted. He had been sleeping and not near enough
to drive the devils of weariness into their recesses. And now,
naturally, he would not sleep, not too soon.

She
experienced a brief qualm over waking him when he clearly required
longer oblivion, and then knew - as he would - that there had been
little choice in the timing.

Torrullin
raised his gaze to her, yellow Valleur eyes, a changed man. In his
eyes were shadows of sorrow, an expectation of more to come, and a
fatidic gleam that would no longer search out a divergent path.

Torrullin
carried the Dark; not alone, but he definitely carried it.

She dipped her
head in mournful greeting.

The hunt for
the Light was on.

Below, Tymall.
Above, Abdiah.

Tymall, he
suspected, was the easier to deal with. “Your Majesty,” Torrullin
bowed.

“Lord
Vallorin,” Abdiah returned.

They sized
each other for some time, attempting to read nuances of expression.
Both were, as ever, difficult to decipher.

“Did you
return home, Your Majesty?”

“For a while.
The peace is precarious and grows ever more unsteady. I fear we are
bound for another war.”

“Unless you
find the Light? Have you found it?” he asked.

“You are it,
Torrullin, although I do not at present detect it anywhere near
you.”

He barked a
laugh. “Thank the Goddess for your honesty. You reinforce my
thoughts, despite what others have been telling me. But where are
my manners? You have come a long way; please enter, Majesty.”

Abdiah fell in
beside him and her court followed in silence. “Where is your
staff?”

“Gone, but
this is not my Palace. I came only to sleep.”

“I sense an
exhaustion in you that goes beyond the physical.”

“Observant and
straightforward as ever.”

“There is no
time left for games.”

“How right you
are. Are you thirsty, hungry?”

“We have no
needs currently, thank you. This is a lovely building; who does it
belong to?”

“Vannis.”

“Yes, I see
him in this space.”

“He will not
come here again.”

She glanced
sidelong at him. “Because of the evil incarcerated below?”

A short
silence. “That would be Tymall.”

“You bound
him. It will affect your other son, but you know that now, I see. I
am sorry.”

Torrullin had
no words.

“You chose,
Enchanter. One son being both and each a part of you; you chose
yourself. You chose right, I am happy to report.”

“It has
changed nothing.”

“It has
changed everything; soon it will be clear.”

“I no longer
trust in the future, Abdiah, so save it.”

She nodded her
head ponderously and made no comment. Instead she asked, “What is
happening to your world?”

“The fear?
They know the Darak Or.”

“And?”

“And they
begin to think I am to blame.”

“You are.”

“Yes, well, I
think so too.”

“You were born
for this. It led here because of you, but know this; it is not
personal, for it is beyond you and this Darak Or. If it were not
this one, it would be another, as Neolone was one.”