The Sleeper Sword (23 page)

Feel the
blood.

Torrullin, if
you can hear me out there, then know I cannot do this without you.
Tannil is right; I have been aiming at this all my life. I insisted
on naming my son Tristan and did not then understand the strange
look that passed over my father’s face. He knew and wondered if I
did, I realise now. I must have known, deep down, for this blood,
your blood, your son’s blood, is undeniable. It sings of ancient
times. It sings of the Dragon Neolone, of Nemisin, of you. I shall
hold out my hand, Enchanter, and I shall not falter, I swear on my
son’s life, but I need you to meet me halfway … I need you to be
real …

Gradually the
Keep arose again, no longer ethereal, but stone by precious, real
stone.

Slow,
collective breaths accompanied the painstaking and magical
rebuild.

Three
minutes.

Three minutes
remained of the star’s joining and if the Keep rebuild was the
first step and needed to be completed before the rest followed, it
was not nearly enough time.

And time
slowed. And ground to a halt.

Q’lin’la
sorcery.

Samuel rose
and held his hand out, palm up.

On my son’s
life, Enchanter. I shall not falter.

Chapter
25

Every desert is
special, for in its lifelessness it contains the secrets to
life.

~ Book of
Sages

She sat up,
propping herself on one arm while the other hand wiped
inefficiently at the perspiration on her face.

Hot was not
the word. Hellfire furnace. Yes, that said it better. A stiff
breeze sprang up, but made unbearable conditions worse. A devil’s
wind, his fiery breath. She rose lethargically to move into the
shadow of one of the rock pillars stationed at the edge of the
plateau, taking her water bottle into the shade with her.

Strange how
the ancient sentinels remained, teetering on the brink of not only
the plateau, but collapse, never quite reaching that point. How old
were they - a billion years? Whoever fashioned them knew the art of
building. All signs of other structures had been scoured into
obscurity by the devil winds and baked to blackened pebbles by the
harsh sun. The pillars were a mute testament and perhaps that was
why they held on. When they toppled there would be no evidence.

She waited for
the sun to arc its way behind the mountains at her back, not
thinking anything, just waiting. With the sun blocked by the
incredible megaliths she would move.

No longer
questioning the incessant prompting that drove her to this long
dead world, she no longer fought it. It would not help, she was
here, and it was too hot to reflect on much. At first she thought
it was due to her recent accomplishments on other sterile planets,
renewals well done, but then knew it had to be something else. Her
calling as Lady of Life had been passed to another and while it was
not long back, the promptings began after.

Her gaze
lifted to the far dun smudges on the horizon, indecipherable in the
swimming heat. No answer yet, but it was bound to come and if not,
well, she would return to her successor to present her with the
challenge of this world.

Moving again,
she following the shortening bar of shade. Soon the sun would
zenith and there would be no hiding. Fortunately the rock overhang
behind her would shut it off soon after. A few minutes and the
megaliths would take over, plunging this face of this mountain into
gloom.

She dozed and
started awake and was caught in the merciless glare directly
overhead. Her lips blistered. She scuttled into the thin sliver of
shadow against the cliff and then the overhang intruded between her
and the orb. Sighing relief, she wet her lips from the bottle, took
a single swallow, swirling it about in her mouth before doing
so.

As the sharp
black shadow advanced towards the plateau’s edge, she moved forward
until she perched there, staring at the cracked desert below. How
long since this world knew water? There was once - it had
atmosphere and there were old floodplains and watercourses - still,
it had not rained in a long time.

She looked up
at the pillar on her left, pushing bluish hair off a sweaty
forehead. It was tall, tapered towards the top, had round and
square building blocks. She dared not touch it, afraid to do so
would be the catalyst to its final destruction.

It was burnt
to dark sepia, smooth where the winds scoured away markings, pocked
where sand missiles assailed it. Markings there were once, she saw.
A faint unnatural indentation here, a curl out of place there.
Nothing that could tell the tale; it was too long ago. She moved to
the one on her right, but found nothing there.

Giving that up
as a waste of time, but searching for a sign, she turned to study
the cliff wall, but it told her nothing either.

It occurred to
her - what would be marginally more protected from the extreme
elements but the underside of a rock overhang? Grinning at her
cleverness, she craned her head upward to discern something not
natural, but the lack of light was now her enemy. Cursing, she
flicked a flame onto her fingertips and floated up to
investigate.

An hour later
she stamped her foot in frustration.

Maybe she was
in the wrong place. She stalked over to her water bottle and having
snatched it up transported to the far desert below.

Night, deep,
dark and bitterly cold, found her muttering and huddling over a
small sorcerous fire. What an utter waste of a day. She wondered
anew over the purpose to this side step. She was en route to Yltri
when she allowed for this. She could be before a real blaze with a
goblet of mulled wine and intelligent conversation to keep sleep at
bay.

She would give
this misadventure until dawn, no more.

Cold,
shivering, she dozed, head on arms, and over-balanced. Jerking
awake, she noticed the moon had risen, a three-quarter globe, but
whether it waxed or waned she could not be bothered to work out.
Her gaze scoured the surrounds, but all was still. Of course it
was, she thought.
Not a thing lives here.
Yawning wide, she
lowered her gaze to the ground of the immediate vicinity.

A dull flash
of something metallic caught her eye and then disappeared. Moving
her head in slow increments until she duplicated the line of sight,
she marked the spot, rose and crossed to it.

Again creating
a flame she hunkered to move the tiny light slowly over the area.
Black, grey and brown stones and flints and not much else. She
persevered, straining her eyes through the meagre light. There!

An amber flash
caused by the little flame bouncing off an object. Definitely
metallic.

She knelt and
used her free hand to gingerly touch the blackness on the ground.
Ouch! She sucked at her fingertips. Hot. Or perhaps so cold it felt
hot. Finding a distinctive rock, she placed it beside the object
and returned to her fire and pack. Rummaging within, she brought
forth a pair of gloves and lifted a faggot from the fire. Thank
Goddess she had the foresight to bring a few pieces of wood - even
a sorcerous fire needed a basis for burning.

Returning to
the spot, she propped the faggot against the rock and pulled the
gloves on. Before attempting to touch the object again, she first
bent to study it in the better light.

Round, baked
near black. A scratch on one side, perhaps made by her boot
earlier, revealed the metal below. It appeared to be gold, but in
the amber light it was difficult to judge.

She blew on
it, dislodging layers of fine dust, but that only obscured it.
Cursing again, she waited for the dust to settle. After a while,
she reached out, touched it, and then swore aloud. It burned
through the gloves!

Stomping to
the fire, she found her plate and a fork and returned to sweep the
object onto the plate without again touching it. Retrieving the
faggot, she went back to her camp.

Muttering
about crazy mysteries, she dropped the whole before the fire and
sat to study it. A flat, round coin with indentations, but layers
of hardened dust lay between her and a clearer picture. It needed a
dunking in cleaning fluid, and she had nothing like that with
her.

She sat
looking at it a long time, knowing this object was why she felt
called. It needed finding.

Evidence of a
lost civilisation? The one that flourished here before water dried
up forever? Likely, probable, but what prompted her? And why?

She sighed,
realising no answers would be forthcoming until the object was
clean enough to get a good look at. Reaching a decision, she placed
her tin cup over it and up-ended the whole until the coin was
inside the cup. No way was she touching it again, not until she
knew more. Finding her tin of tea in her pack, she threw the leaves
out and then placed cup and coin inside. Securing the tin, she
placed it in her pack. There.

Time to
go.

Five minutes
later she shook the dust of that world from her feet and left.

Nemisin’s Star
flickered from Valaris’s heavens, never to return.

FLATLAND

Chapter
26

Day One:
Discovery

2000 - 1800
years ago

A matter of
hours had elapsed between the horrifying destruction of Torrke and
therefore their physical selves, and new wholeness, between the
blankness of memory loss and total recall.

Who would have
thought the two of them, Enchanter and Darak Or, arch enemies,
would rely on each other, a temporary symbiosis. No black and white
now, merely shades of grey.

Initially
Margus whined, starting a list of complaints the moment they set
foot to the road that would lead them to the nearest town, and
Torrullin let him ramble on, for once finding comfort in the Darak
Or’s voice, using the monologues to himself discover
equilibrium.

The town, when
they came upon it late afternoon, was pretty. It nestled
comfortably into a valley showing the promise of coming spring
glory.

They entered
mindful of the warnings they had earlier, but there was no sign of
the law, although neither knew what form the law took.

It was a
village really, akin to others in other realms. A postal service, a
butchery, a general dealer, the mainstays of most villages, and
neat houses on either side of one road, with larger residences on
the hillsides. There were a variety of large trees, some
blossoming, others evergreen, and others sporting their winter
guises. It was quiet.

A woman
entered the post office clutching envelopes and both butchery and
dealer had a few patrons. Other than three old men strolling
further along, there was no bustle. Birds twittered in song, one
enterprising fellow calling boisterously from the centre of the
road.

The two
strangers for a brief instance believed themselves mistaken, and
back on Valaris.

That changed
when the woman left the post office, empty-handed, and caught sight
of them.

“Brigands!”
Her hysterical cry echoed through the settlement.

They expected
to be swamped by crowds or law enforcers, but every figure vanished
from view, including the distraught woman, retreating into the
postal building. Businesses were boarded up from the inside in a
blink, so swiftly done it had to be practised.

Obviously the
brigands paid more visits than these folk cared for or
deserved.

Margus started
laughing and Torrullin cuffed him. “Shut up, will you? We’ll find
nobody prepared to talk to us if you scare them with typical
marauder behaviour.”

“Did you see
those three old men pumping stick legs? Funny!”

“How old are
you, for god’s sake?” Torrullin hissed and did not wait for a
reply.

He did not see
the dark flush that crept over his companion’s features and would
not have cared - Margus’s age was a sore point … for Margus.

Torrullin
strode through the town, ignoring boarded buildings, knowing no
help would be forthcoming there, and headed towards the house the
three old men stumbled into. He hoped they would be easier to
convince into speech.

“Where are you
going?” Margus asked, following.

“I aim to try
those three. You will stay outside.” Torrullin halted before a
cottage set back from the road amid a garden setting. “Keep an eye
out for the authorities.”

“I don’t have
to listen to you.”

“Margus, we
have no power here. Someone must keep watch.”

He considered
that. “Fine.” Margus leaned against a trunk and theatrically began
to look left, then right.

Wondering how
long he could stomach such behaviour, Torrullin left him to it and
ambled up the garden path. He held his arms away from his body,
palms upward to signify his lack of weapons, and reached the front
door unchallenged.