The Sleeper Sword (31 page)

“From
what?”

“From the
Dark, Tial.”

Tial stared at
him.

Lazar gave a
wry shrug. “Not Deorc, I know. I know now.”

“What
Dark?”

“All I know is
that dark forces will gather and the Enchanter will return to push
them away. That is their tale, however; you and I, we need concern
ourselves with this one, here on the Plane. You see,
my-soon-to-be-ally, there’s a flipside to the Enchanter. He may be
the Light, but he also brings the Dark.”

“And Margus
has his power again. Yes, I see.”

“Do you?”
Lazar shrugged and concentrated a moment on the craft. They crossed
into gloomy territory and immediately a sense of heaviness
oppressed.

“What do you
mean, Numer?”

Lazar did not
answer for a moment as he toggled the controls. The little craft
picked up speed.

“We’ll be there in an hour,” he murmured and straightened to
face the Deorc. “What I mean is, Torrullin
is
the Dark. Just as he garners the
sons and daughters of the Light unto himself, so too does he those
of the Dark. He walks two paths.”

“He said
something like that, yes. I didn’t know what he meant.”

“None of us can fully understand it. Suffice to say, due to
duality, he inhabits the grey area between those two forces, and in
the past he gave the Light supremacy.
Beware the Pathfinder
the legend
tells, and does that not say it all? Nobody can ever be sure of the
force that will ultimately rule him.”

“Shadowlands.”

“A veritable
Path of Shades, yes.”

Tial frowned.
“Why should he change? You said yourself everyone expects him to
save them again.”

“Ah, there’s the rub. That’s as far as known prophesies go.
This vaunted resurrection is the end of the line of all tellings
and Torrullin never does what’s expected. That future will be
written
after
him
and right now he is filled with revenge and hatred. The Enchanter
is his own breeding ground for his dark side. The greatest battle
of the future, as I see it, is the one nobody will witness or hear
told, and that is the one he will wage upon himself.
Alone.”

Chapter
32

Day Seven:
Transformation

800 - 600
years ago

In the early
hours of the morning when night was at its darkest and stillest,
after hours of sleepless anxiety for those who waited, the battle
was enjoined.

Tial stood at
the porthole of his chamber, allotted to him by a surly Enforcer
attendant the night before, and stared despondently over an even
gloomier land, when the dirty heavens erupted in a kaleidoscope of
colour.

He swore,
caught off-guard, and bellowed for Brenn and Zual. The two entered
from an adjoining chamber, both sleepless and alert, and together
the three bore witness to the awesome display of two sorcerers
engaged in a light show war.

Lazar did his
part in the preceding hours, having convinced a large contingent of
moderates that the danger they faced lay in the person of the Darak
Or, and it bore fruit. A fair amount of the bolts were lasers and
aimed at Margus. Unfortunately, in the same short time as Lazar,
Margus stirred the crucible, and the majority of the laser beams
were pointed at Torrullin, a crisscross of tracers that soon lost
meaning to the watchers.

The night lit
in surreal flashes, illuminating the host that was the Enforcer
army. Deadened eyes were feral and alight and eager, and it was not
long before they turned on each other also, needing the solidness
of broken flesh to appease the hunger. Terrible screams penetrated
the soundproofed shell of the enclave.

When the
greying light of day finally arrived, it was to half lift a veil
from a bloodied, apocalyptic battlefield. Hundreds, thousands, lay
dead and dying in twisted, scorched heaps. Severed limbs scattered
the red mud of a blood-bathed earth like the spoils of vultures.
And still they fought on.

The watchers
were nauseated, but unable to tear themselves away.

Somewhere in
that tangled mess the Darak Or and the Enchanter continued. Their
bolts flashed ever fiercer, unmistakably brighter than the lasers
and the colours altered so frequently and swiftly that they were
indivisible.

Tial heard
Lazar commenting that the colours signified strength and intent,
but could not discern which meant what. Lazar and two others joined
the three Deorc soon after the light show commenced, perhaps to
draw comfort from the presence of folk unlike the combatants
outside. All were pale, all were horrified, and not one suggested
venturing into the fray- that was certain death. Even the black
skins of the Deorc were transformed into pasty grey, a statement of
their turmoil.

Unexpectedly
everything ceased.

Sight. Sound.
Movement.

Ebony dark
descended to drown the almost-light of the region, obliterating
everything like the judgement of angels and devils alike. The
frightening dark crept into the watchers chamber, into the entire
enclave, and was so sudden and so complete, they thought they were
blinded.

Cries of
dismay erupted, scuffling sounds. In the corridors shouts were
heard, each a thing of fear.

Long, eternal
minutes went by.

A flame
flickering on Lazar’s fingertip proved the dark possessed an
external source and, while relieved, they wondered who had brought
it upon the land. Darak Or or Enchanter?

Tial hissed at
Lazar to extinguish his meagre light, fearing exposure to whatever
waited in this lack of all things. Lazar swore and the light went
out.

Time ticked by
in the expectant void.

A shaft of
yellow light appeared in the distance.

A beam
switched on, a bridge between heaven and earth.

Indrawn
breaths.

Thin, wavering
at first, then strong, sure, the shaft broadened imperceptibly
…

… noticeably,
it pulsed, spread and became encompassing.

“Merciful
Mother,” Tial whispered, invoking the universal deity in awed
wonder, a sentiment echoed by those watching.

Nobody
remained on the battlefield of horrors, except two solitary figures
bathed in the impossible light.

One was bent
over, retching, and the other stood with arms raised high, head
thrown back.

“The Enchanter
won,” Brenn pointed out needlessly. The triumph was
unmistakable.

“They’re all
gone,” Lazar croaked in shock. There was not a soldier
anywhere.

Tial fell to
his knees. For him, for all Deorc, for all those hounded by
Enforcer might, it was a gift unparalleled. No innocent would now
be again hounded in the Falcon Isles.

Zual slapped
Brenn hard on the back and Brenn laughed.

There was more
and it unfolded before them, and this was welcome.

The stygian
gloom vanished, a puff of smoke.

In its place …
paradise.

The impossible
light was the benign glow of the sun.

It was utter
transformation.

Torrullin
stood in the tiny cell watching the feverishly tossing form on the
hard bunk.

He felt no
pity. The Darak Or had given and it had not been enough.

He will
recover in time, but not this day.

I can relax my
vigil for a few hours.

Torrullin
turned and left in silence.

Behind him the
cell clicked shut, imprisoning his old adversary.

There was no
escape.

Torrullin
entered the plush sitting area and paused within the threshold.

Conversation
ceased and the six men rose and bowed.

He frowned as
he spoke. “I am not your king and this is not my kingdom. Do not
bow to me.”

“You’re
different,” Zual murmured.

Torrullin
looked at him. “I sent fifty thousand men on to other realms, and
one day that may return to haunt me. Of course I am different.” He
looked to Tial. “The Deorc need fear no more.”

Tial
approached and raised his hand to the man’s shoulder as if about to
touch broken glass. His fingers settled there and gripped firmly.
“The Deorc thank you, my friend.” Such extraordinary tension.

“I am not
proud, Tial,” Torrullin whispered.

“You had to
stop them.” He was asking forgiveness, Tial realised, and thus he
gave it freely.

Torrullin
clasped the hand on his shoulder and stepped away. He faced Lazar.
“They turned on each other. I could not stomach it.”

“I
understand,” Lazar returned, and he did. The first emotion he
experienced in seeing the denuded battlefield was relief the horror
was removed.

“I ask that
you hold him until I find a way to toss him to the
netherworld.”

“Of
course.”

Torrullin
stepped further into the plush space. He seemed uncomfortable, out
of place, not quite present. His gaze went to the windows.

Blue sky,
green fields, rolling hills, trees. Soon the birds would come, the
insects, the sounds of nature’s celebration.

He smiled.

“What now,
Enchanter?” Lazar asked and Tial could have kicked him for
diffusing that single moment of togetherness.

“Now we speak
of the tear, Lazar, and the sorcery to negotiate it safely.”
Torrullin turned his back to the view.

“What of the
Plane?” one of Lazar’s companions enquired, an older man who had
seen enough war to last ten lifetimes.

“This is
yours. You must find your future.” He locked gazes with Lazar. “I
shall close the doorway from the other side. New entrants will know
from the outset this is the end of the line. With acceptance comes
peace.”

“Torrullin, we
need someone like you to …”

“No, Tial, I
have another destiny. Besides, I would soon rule by fear.”

“You are a
king. We need a king.”

“I am no
longer a king - my grandson is Vallorin now. And, Tial, if you
really need a king, which I think is a bad idea, you do not want
me. I know Lazar filled you in on a few salient facts, my friend, I
saw it in your eyes. Be honest and tell me if you can live with
that and still be comfortable with the future.”

Tial pinched
the bridge of his nose and looked away. “No.”

Torrullin
smiled sadly. “No.”

Chapter
33

Day Eight:
Exhilaration

600 - 400
years ago

“You have to
be certain, Torrullin,” Lazar said.

He finally
found the gumption to call the Enchanter by name.

“You won’t
have a second chance.”

They were in
the massive Enforcer conservatory and Torrullin blew through his
nose in frustration. “How? Surely there is a way to check?”

Lazar drew
breath to answer. “I could do it for you.”

Torrullin sat
back, eyes alight. “Yes!”

Lazar held a
hand up. “It has been fourteen centuries on your world; it may not
be easy.”

“Understood.
Can I not accompany you?”

“You may have
the power to draw another along; I certainly do not.”

Torrullin’s
shoulders slumped. He was ready to leave. To sit here and know
himself thwarted was frustrating. He would not die in the tear as
Lazar kept insisting, but he could be dumped into another realm or
an alternate universe and those may prove even harder to escape
from.

He had decided
to take Margus with, this despite the promises made on both sides,
for Lazar confirmed the shadowy presences of other portals in the
etheric tunnel, although Lazar had not dared investigate.

If the worst
came to pass and there was no entrance to the nether realm, Margus
would land up in another place. The man was finally broken; he may
never return. That presented future risk and he, Torrullin, would
be looking over his shoulder into eternity.

Still, Margus could not be left here, broken or not, for the
man could change his spots overnight …
and
I want to go.

Tial entered
with a tray, set it on the beautiful stone and mosaic table in
their midst, and sat with a beatific smile. “You two should venture
out, it be a changed world. There are Deorc and many others and all
amazed at the sights. I’ve never seen so many smiles. My heart
sings!”

Torrullin
smiled. “I am happy for you, Tial, truly.”

Lazar was more
serious. “It’s a good day, yes, but I find I’m somewhat saddened.
The loss of my authority bothers me none, but the time has come to
stand proxy to Enforcer evil. I shall not shirk the duty, but how
do I explain it, how do I atone? That is what saddens me, for there
can be no atonement, not really.”

Tial looked
away, hearing a hopeful note in Lazar’s voice.

It was
Torrullin who spoke. “Atonement works only when forgiveness is
forthcoming, and redemption is something you need find in yourself.
Until Tial, and others who lost at your hands, offers forgiveness
of their free will, until then you can do naught but wait and in
the meantime prove you deserve it.”

“How?”

“By your
deeds. Do not attempt reconciliation with words, not yet. That time
will come and likely a lot sooner than you think.”

Lazar nodded
miserably.

Tial murmured,
“Your first deed is in assisting Torrullin home.”

Lazar
brightened. “Indeed! All I need is a bit of history, Torrullin, and
I shall find your link.”

“Meaning?”
Tial asked. The speech about forgiveness and atonement had touched
something and he realised he was closer to releasing the past than
he believed yesterday, in itself a day of transformation.

“Lazar is
going to Valaris,” Torrullin said.

Unspoken then
was the issue of trust. Torrullin watched Tial study Lazar,
wondering how he would react, hoping his natural compassion would
step forth. He was not disappointed.