The Nemisin Star (9 page)

“You changed
the rules as well.”

“The Dinor?
Please, Torrullin, you knew something would be added.”

“You left the
field, Margus. Therefore the nuances are altered.”

“I give you
that, but it was not intended.”

“I thank you,
however. I am presented with a window.” The blue sword lay dull and
mute in the midst of the four players. Torrullin gestured. “Touch
it; I will not move.”

“Tris, you
surrender your weapon? How stupid of you.” Tymall eyed the blade
warily.

Margus’ gaze
was intent upon Torrullin. “You are different. You have more
confidence, and many more secrets I think. I like it not.”

“You flatter
me. As I recall you never backed away from a challenge.”

“And here is
the challenge? Why?”

“If you are
able to touch that piece of metal, Darak Or, I shall step back into
the shadows and cease my interference here, but if you cannot, I
earn the right to talk to both my sons without your meddling. What
say you?”

Tymall’s eyes
flickered.
Both.
He lowered his blade to look at Margus.

“You desire
simply speech with your sons? Come now, I am not that
gullible.”

“And you are
not a father. This is what I want.”

“Why should I
grant you what you want?” Margus folded his arms.

“You owe
me.”

“Indeed, and
it is known as revenge.”

“You stole my
son and, revenge or not, I am now owed.”

Silence
reigned. “What are these swords?” Margus demanded of Tymall.

“One is for
the Dark to wield and the other the Light,” Tristamil said.

Margus sneered
at Torrullin. “And you believe I cannot lift a relic of the
Light.”

“I know you
cannot.”

“You lie,
Enchanter. You are not convinced and this window of yours allows
you the opportunity to gauge me, to see how far I have come in
twenty-six years.”

Torrullin
inclined his head. “That is a bonus. I want to speak with my
sons.”

“Master, this
is a game,” Tymall said. “Be careful.”

Torrullin’s
face tightened.

“Of course it
is a game. Fine, Enchanter. If I am able to touch it, you get to
speak with Tymall,” Margus said expansively, as if the whole
scenario was his idea.

Torrullin said
no more, simply waiting.

Margus stepped
closer and kneeled before the blue blade. He took a quick sharp
breath and reached out. His left hand hovered there; he hesitated
and glanced at Torrullin, who shrugged.

An innocuous
piece of metal, but both knew well the power that could be infused
into an object, no matter how large or how tiny.

Margus drew
back. “I say we make it fair.” He gestured for Tymall to pass his
sword and laid it alongside the other. “Same deal. If we are both
able to touch, the deal stands.”

Torrullin
kneeled opposite Margus without equivocating. “Come now, Darak Or;
you know what I am. This presents no problem for me.”

“Father, no,”
Tristamil’s tone was anguished.

“Your son does
not see it that way.”

“My son is
afraid I shall touch the blue sword.”

Margus clapped
his hands. “Interesting.”

Tymall
approached to stand at Margus’ left shoulder. He was pale.
Tristamil took up position at Torrullin’s right. In his pocket the
scroll rustled to remind of the potential confrontation
outside.

Margus said,
“Why do you need to talk to them? Every action has an underlying
motive.”

“Why should it
matter to you?”

“I am
curious.”

Torrullin
shrugged and was truthful - to a degree. “Tymall got you here, and
it is already a vengeance I feel to the marrow of my bones. It
hurts as you intended. I desire an opportunity to stop the madness,
I want to sway him. He is my son. Is that so strange?”

Tymall inhaled
and the twins looked at each other. They wanted nothing to do with
each other. Never did they want to co-exist in the same space.
Tymall dropped his gaze down to his father. He did not know what to
think, for this man had cut him away.

Margus
ruminated for a while. “Not so strange, I guess, but certainly
misguided. It is too late, can you not see that?”

“I would
try.”

“And in your
failure I would find another kind of revenge, one almost as sweet
as denying you the opportunity. Very well. You first.”

“Both
swords?”

Margus
laughed. “Why not?”

Torrullin’s
expression stilled. He closed his eyes and then snapped them open,
gazing directly into Margus’ blue orbs. His own were black -
without iris or pupil, just black. Margus’ smile vanished and
Torrullin snatched up the green sword in both hands and squeezed
it, causing blood to flow.

Tymall
shuddered and ice enveloped Tristamil. There were three darak
entities inside Linir.

Torrullin
dropped the sword and held his hands out, fingers splayed. They
were unmarked.

“Impressive,”
the Darak Or drawled.

Torrullin
lowered his head and stared up from lowered brows. His eyes were
still black. “I could take you now.”

“Or you could
join me.”

“What of
revenge?”

“It would be
the greatest of all revenges, Enchanter, to have you walk over to
my side.”

Torrullin
laughed. “Too easy, then.” His eyes cleared to the otherworldly
silver that ever followed Destroyer. “Your turn.”

Margus was
shaken, but he idly retrieved the green blade and dropped it as
casually.

“It comes down
to the blue. Do you see now why I am not to touch it? The Dark is
ever-present.”

“Indeed,”
Margus murmured. “What a waste, Enchanter.” He stared at the
offending blade. “If neither touches, it is a draw. No deal.”

“Oh, I shall
touch it.”

Margus sucked
at his teeth. “Fine. Allow me.” He reached out quickly, and
withdrew his hand as he was about to touch. “Wait,” he snarled. He
closed his eyes, sat in silence, and then reopened and reached out
once more. His fingers hovered above the blade with microns to
spare. The moments ticked by and his hand simply could not descend.
“A little pain, that is all,” he murmured. “A second, miniscule, a
bluff, no pain. Little pain or no pain.” He rocked back and took
his hand away, staring balefully.

Torrullin
leaned in to stroke the sword and withdrew. Nothing happened.
Behind him Tristamil sagged in relief. Tymall was still pale. It
had been no bluff.

“I offer you
another chance,” Torrullin said.

Margus cursed.
“I knew it was a ruse.” He extended his right hand this time -
forsaking previous caution - and grabbed the blade.

Yelling, he
reeled back, the force of burgeoning pain sliding him back a fair
few paces.

Tristamil
smiled.

Margus bounded
to his feet holding his hand, doubled over as a spasm shook
him.

Tymall was
frozen.

Torrullin
laughed and rose. “Get you to the dark corners, Darak Or.” He
leaned to retrieve Tristamil’s sword and held it out. Tristamil
gripped it, but his father did not release it to him. “Put your
hand over mine.”

Tristamil’s
hand closed over his father’s on the hilt and the sword burst into
brilliant sapphire light.

Margus
skittered to the wall and Tymall backed away.

“Tymall.”

“Leave me
alone!”

“Pass your
sword, Tymall,” Torrullin murmured, his voice insidious.
Reluctantly Tymall bent to lift the blade. “Hold it by the hilt and
come closer.”

Tymall did as
bid.

Torrullin
grasped the sword with Tymall’s hand under his, ensuring his
fingers made contact with the relic as well. It erupted into light,
an effervescent emerald. Tymall screeched and would have released
had not his father held on.

“Look!”
Torrullin shouted. Both young men flinched. “This is the power of
Light and Dark! Notice, be
aware
, of how they blend, until
you cannot distinguish where one ends and the other begins! This is
who I am! Light and Dark in one body, one spirit, one soul! You are
the two parts and I am both of you!”

Both swallowed
and could not speak. They did not dare.

Margus
commenced muttering in the background.

“I cannot
function with one nature alone,” Torrullin continued more softly.
“Understand this; I am in continual symbiosis and it lives also
through you. Do you see it? Do you believe it?”

Other than
Margus’ almost inaudible muttering, there was not a sound. If he
attempted to counter, it had no effect.

“Answer
me!”

“Yes, father,”
Tristamil said.

“Yes, father,”
Tymall said, quieter.

“Good, for now
I shall reveal what this night means.” Torrullin released his hold
on both swords simultaneously. They clattered to the floor and lay
there.

Utter darkness
ensued.

During the
time of Vintari (205
^th
Vallorin) a
peace settlement was sought between the Valleur and the mud people
of Dinor. At first it went well, for the adversaries were weary of
the lengthy war. Fighting had become pointless and starvation a
stark reality. Two Valleur generations passed peaceably enough, and
then the 7
^th
Dinor ruler since the
settlement rose up against the accord. Vintari, although nearing
the end of his reign, went to war again, and that time he showed no
mercy. But for a small kernel of resistance the Valleur put an end
to the mud people. The Dinor swore they would one day find a way to
revenge the terrible insult.

~Excerpt from
the 2
^nd
volume of the Valleur Oracles

The Place
Where Stars Meet

A
semblance of dim light returned and with its coming they noticed
Margus was gone.

It did not
matter.

The focus had
shifted.

“You were
brought together in this place, this night, to force from me a
choice,” Torrullin said in a voice that was almost normal. “I was
warned that this would come. Choose one son they told me.”

Tymall hissed.
Tristamil remained calm.

“They were
wrong. Mark me, it remains about choice, but it isn’t one of you I
need to separate from the other. This night I understand the only
choice available is the one in which I select myself. I choose now,
without further doubts, both of you, for in me you are one. I
choose myself, which is one, and therefore both. Do you
understand?”

“No.”
Tristamil shivered.

Tymall said
nothing.

“It isn’t
complicated. Both of you have lived the symbiosis since birth.”

“We are no
longer protectors of each other,” Tristamil said.

“Not in hearts
and souls, but the symbiosis exists in your minds and cannot be
sundered. If you fight and one loses - it matters not who - the
other fails as well. If one dies, thus would the other die. If I,
in blind stupidity, chose one of you before the battle, I would
have lost also. For like to you I exist because of two.”

“What are you
saying? That we cannot ever end it between us?” Tristamil
frowned.

“If you choose
life.”

“Again, our
illustrious father,” Tymall remarked. “All the cards.”

“Tymall, you
have no idea what you are talking about,” said Torrullin.

Tristamil
ignored his brother. “What now?”

“I have
chosen, but I cannot choose for you.”

“What does
that mean?” Tymall frowned.

“It means,
brother, our destiny remains unchanged. We can fight and nothing
changes in our father. He will remain in symbiosis, but we could
both lose, or die, if we battle it to the end. Our symbiosis will
carry us into the netherworld.”

Tymall
snatched up his sword. Tristamil did not move. “You believe all
this? Why not put it to the test?”

“Father has
never lied. I choose to live.”

“I want to
fight you!”

“Then you will
strike an unarmed opponent and go to your death dishonoured.”

Tymall
breathed in and out, scowling. “When do we get to be free?”

“Walk away,
Ty,” Torrullin said. “Go elsewhere and live without these
pressures, and you can find that freedom.”

“And he
stays.”

“Yes.”

“I hate both
of you.” Tymall strode from the temple.

Overhead
Nemisin’s star shone, reflecting off the white star on the floor
unnoticed.

“To live,
Tymall cannot fail,” Tristamil said. “His evil will strengthen with
time.”

“I know.”

“I will never
be rid of him.” Tristamil looked at his father and saw him clearly.
“This suits you.”

Torrullin
sighed. “To be Enchanter, I must be all things. What would you have
me do? Deny my power? Our people need it now, you must know that.
Do you want me to say I would choose you?”

“No, but you
are glad he lives.”

“He is my son
and part of what I am. I am equally glad you live.”

Tristamil
retrieved his sword. As he slid it home, he asked, “How were you
able to wield both blades?”

“I am the
Enchanter.”

“Margus
received quite a scare.”

“Excellent. He
may retreat for a while.”

“Or conceive
of something really terrible.”

Torrullin’s
expression said it. It would be something worse than terrible. He
gestured towards the exit. “Shall we?”

Tristamil drew
breath. “There are probably Dinor outside.”

“Let me see
that scroll.”

It was handed
over and Torrullin perused it swiftly. “The original. I wonder how
Margus convinced them to part with it.”

“Does it
matter?”

“It confers
power, Tris, and we now hold it. Right now, however, I do not know
how to use it to our advantage. Yet.” Torrullin snapped his
fingers. The scroll vanished to his study at the Keep. “Until then
we fight.”