The Sleeper Sword (50 page)

“And when
done? What then? What if he stays? He clearly states Torrke belongs
to him and he is Immortal. How long before that longevity alone
forces rulership upon him?”

Lucan nodded.
“I understand. I can’t answer that and I doubt the Enchanter could
at this time, but right now we need to concentrate on the coming
tomorrows. Already many have witnessed the changes uncloaking the
sites have wrought, all of it good. Now allow them to get
closer.”

“I’ll sleep on
it.”

Lucan smiled
and lifted his glass again. “To new beginnings.”

“Yes, yes, as
long as they don’t bite me,” Marcus muttered, lifting his glass
also. “To new beginnings.”

After the
impromptu toast, Lucan asked, “Why have you not been to
Torrke?”

“Why haven’t
you?” Marcus countered. “After that first day you began travelling
the continent, which has been good for us, but you seem to avoid
the Keep.”

“I’m not
avoiding it. I am waiting for him to call.”

“Are you
saying he’s avoiding you?”

“That’s
exactly what I’m saying. When he’s ready, I’ll go to him.”

“Why?”

“Personal.
Your turn, Electan.”

Marcus looked
down at the table and twirled his glass. “I’m afraid of him. He’ll
see right through me. If I’m honest, I don’t want him here, I don’t
want any of this. I wish for things to return to the way they were
before the unexplainable incidents.”

“
My ears are teased with the dread
of what was foretold,
” Lucan quoted.
“There is no going back, Marcus Campian. Go to Torrke and lay your
fears to rest.”

Marcus sighed.
“How did a young man become so wise?”

“My parents
taught me well.”

Chapter
48

How many
gamblers does it take to play a game of chance? One, only one.

~ Tavern
Lore

Saska said
nothing when Tymall entered the tower room.

“Stepmother, I
have a surprise for you. A little something I managed to lay my
hands on a couple of days ago.” Tymall grinned and stood aside.

He came
fettered hand and foot, his fair hair matted, dirty, streaks of mud
and blood upon sculpted cheeks. But those blue eyes glittered
bright, and she went cold.

“Margus?”

He did not
react, other than with his eyes, and stood unmoving as if his
spirit was broken beyond repair.

“The Darak Or,
stepmother! Seems my father had not the wherewithal to finish with
this piece of dirt! Makes one wonder, does it not? Has he grown so
compassionate in his dotage he won’t kill even this? Or is the dark
claiming him?”

Margus began
to cackle, and hopped crazily. The fetters tumbled him to the floor
where he thrashed and laughed maniacally. “Father, father, mother,
mother, sister, sister,” he recited with spittle flying.

Saska
retreated and Tymall burst out laughing. He aimed a vicious kick at
Margus that landed with a sickening thud, and then backed to the
door.

“A gift, step
mama. You take care of this trash now, hear? He’ll be company in
the lonely hours.”

And, giving
another bellow of laughter, Tymall slammed the door shut. She heard
his boots clattering down the stairs.

Margus
continued to cackle and she continued to stand frozen, but when the
sound of Tymall’s footsteps died away, so too did the insane noises
from the floor.

“I’m going to kill him,” Margus said in his normal voice, and
propped into a sitting position. “Come, Saska, did you really think
I’d let
that
break me?”

Saska raised a
hand to her cheek. “How did this happen?”

“I needed to
find him and thus allowed capture, and I needed him to regard me as
worthless and pretend insanity. He believes it, for he tried hard
to achieve it. He is vicious. In this I am not the enemy.”

Goddess, this
was too much. “Is he lying?”

“About
Torrullin?”

She
nodded.

“No. The
Enchanter came through, and I came with him.”

She drew a
steadying breath. “Why?”

“His very
disturbed son, Saska. I am eminently qualified for the task, no?
Already I have won two victories over him, but he is so cock-sure
he doesn’t see it. He is blinded by arrogance and hatred and
therein lays the key to overcoming him.”

Saska nodded.
“Yes, I’ve seen that.”

“Excellent.
Now, will you help me sit more comfortably?”

She
approached, frowned and hurried closer. “They are normal
chains.”

“He thinks I’m
too far gone to require sorcery, but still I find I am unable to
free myself.”

“I can’t
believe this,” she muttered, and took a clip from her hair and bent
over him. “This has no effect on the door, but maybe a chain lock
…”

She inserted
the clip and moments later unravelled the chain from his feet. She
knelt behind him to release his hands and, rubbing, he stumbled up,
and then doubled over clutching his ribs. Tymall kicked him hard,
but she was wary of a trick and stepped away. When he groaned, she
could not help it - she aided him to the bed, marvelling at
herself.

“Lie down, let
me have a look.”

“The creature
has no rules of engagement.”

“And you did?”
She lifted the dirty shirt to expose not only the fresh bruise on
his ribs, but others less fresh and not merely on his ribs. She was
horrified. “Tymall did this?” This was no ruse.

“And any
number of darklings, and I always bore the rules in mind, Saska.
Every action I took was calculated, but never deliberately vicious.
Well, once I met your husband - his son does it purely for pleasure
and spite.”

She fetched a
basket filled with tinctures and herbs. A boon from Tymall, saying
he wanted her well for his father. She recalled the time Margus
captured her and Taranis in Torrke. Margus prevented Tymall raping
her. Taranis died that night, Tymall’s doing. Torrullin should have
killed his son then.

“Turn onto
your stomach,” she said and gently rubbed a soothing tincture into
his skin shoulders to waist once he managed it. He sighed as the
pain receded to a dull throb. “Now turn over again.” He did so and
she hesitated.

“Strange,
isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she
said and proceeded to massage his chest.

Thankfully he
closed his eyes to spare her. Gods, here she was helping, for
pity’s sake, the Darak Or himself. It was beyond strange; it was
downright unnerving. She finished.

“There’s a
basic bathroom through there …” She moved to gaze through one of
the apertures.

A moment later
he rose and entered the cubicle.

Dear god, what
now? Did Tymall intend to leave him with her?

It was
stifling in the tower chamber, the heat entering through the
unglazed slots. As hot as it was during the day, so cold it was at
night. A discomfort, no doubt, Tymall enjoyed inflicting. Still,
the bed was comfortable and warm at night, and the table and chair
were precisely in the centre of the space, bolted down, where it
would be coolest during the day. She had running water, hot and
cold, ablution facilities, books and three meals brought with
regularity. A chest of clothes, cosmetics and toiletries stood near
the door and she had the medicine kit.

All in all,
not bad for a prison cell. But it was a cell. The door was at least
a foot thick and the lock defied her. The walls were two feet of
solid stone and the apertures too narrow to squeeze through had she
dared the immense height. She tried to transport out, to no avail,
and the holding he used was new to her, therefore unbreakable
…temporarily. She would not give up.

She heard him
and turned. Margus leaned in the doorjamb of the bathroom, watching
her. His hair was wet, his face and hands clean. His blue eyes were
intense.

“He nearly
came for you, but I persuaded him it would be a mistake. He sent me
to find you.”

“The Medaillon
tells him where I am.”

“No, it’s
useless until Torrullin has it again.”

“Tymall left
it on the table in that tin; I thought to bring his father. He
hasn’t touched it.”

“He
cannot.”

She attempted
to figure it out. “He thinks it works.”

“And that is
why he left it, thinking to lure his father. He must by now be
wondering if he underestimated.” Margus smiled. “Idiot. He should
be more careful.”

“There was a
thread.”

“Manufactured
to ensnare you.”

“I don’t
understand. He hides here, yet wants his father to find him?”

“You’re not
thinking like a son bent on revenge. He hoped Torrullin would barge
in after you. He was ready for that.”

“Well, he’s
not stupid either. He must have worked it out.”

“All he knows
for sure is his father thinks before action. He cannot know the
Medaillon isn’t calling.”

“Torrullin, in
other words, doesn’t know where I am.”

Margus spread
his hands.

She looked
away, feeling bereft. Thoughts of her husband coming kept her
strong, gave her a feeling of belonging. It hurt. And it was
stupid, for had he come he might be the one trapped. He might have
been hamstringed simply by her presence. She knew it - she had
prayed he would be wise and stay away, and she had prayed he would
come quickly.

“It is better
this way,” Margus murmured, reading her well. “Saska, think. The
likelihood exists you would now be dead …”

“I get it. I
just didn’t understand about the Medaillon.”

“I don’t think
you do understand. If anything happens to you, Tymall would have a
pathway opened for him, one that forces Torrullin into
Destroyer.”

“Torrullin is
not easily cowed. He would have beaten him.”

“There is one
little fact everyone overlooks,” Margus muttered. “Strong and
invincible the Enchanter might be, but Tymall is still his
son.”

“I can’t
believe Torrullin will choose Tymall’s life over …”

“Yours?”

“Mine,
Tannil’s, all the rest of them. Valleur, human, innocents.”

“Agreed, but
he won’t simply strike him either, not at first. He may never fell
him. Had he come haring in here, and you were killed or hurt -
Saska, Destroyer would have second thoughts as well. Tymall is his
son.”

Comprehension
dawned. “This is why you returned with him.”

Margus sighed.
“Partly.”

“And you
prevailed on him to stay away, not that he knows where here is -
where are we anyway?”

“You tracked
the thread.”

“I don’t know
this place.”

“And my
knowledge of your universe is scratchy at best.”

“Just
dandy.”

“The darklings
mask this place, an en masse veiling. Even the Guardians are
stumped.”

She squared
her shoulders. “I thought the darklings were destroyed.”

“Obviously
not.”

“How many are
there?”

“I would
estimate we have a new Horde on our hands.”

She paled.

Margus
smirked. “Valaris will feel the bite before long.”

“And here you
are as trapped as I am.”

“A condition
of the moment. I hope to lend both of us enough strength to survive
Tymall whole. Torrullin will come when the time is right.”

Margus
sauntered to the table to stare at the tin. How he had wanted what
was inside. With it, the Enchanter would have lost. An ace Tymall
sought to employ to the same end.

He flipped the
lid. The coin glinted, lying at an angle. It was beyond him now.
Gods, not only was he bound to the Enchanter, but he was incapable
of wielding it against that man, and it had nothing to do with
power or fear.

Margus glanced
up, sensing her gaze, and said, “Tymall believes it works and we
must foster the illusion. His father’s restraint will unsettle
him.”

“If Tymall
learns the thing is inert until its master handles it, he’ll take
it.”

Margus nodded.
“The greater danger, indeed. He could lay it on a surface without
need to touch and commence warping the Valla magic.”

“That takes
time.”

“He is Valla,
Saska. He has advantages.”

“Dear god. He
thinks you’re insane, he won’t watch closely. Can you make it
shiver or something when he looks on it?”

“And thus the
illusion. I’ll think on a way.”

Silence
descended then, not exactly oppressive, yet not entirely
comfortable either.

For Margus it
was the strangeness of sharing an intimate space and situation with
the Enchanter’s wife, and for Saska it was the contrary twist of
fate that brought the Darak Or into her orbit without having to
flee from him. She could not flee, but she did not feel the need to
either and it was surpassingly strange.

“Will Tymall
leave you here?”

“As long as I
pose no threat. I’ll hear him coming and will revert to insanity.
You must convince him the chains are unnecessary and ask for
another bed. We may be here awhile.”

“He’d probably
enjoy thinking of us on one bed.”

“I’ll sleep on
the floor or we’ll take turns.”

“Wary of our
gaoler’s twisted sense of humour?”

“Wary of your
husband’s retribution.”

Saska laughed.
“This is mad. I’m having a conversation with a previous enemy … oh,
Mother.” She sat and laughed harder. “And the really weird thing is
I think you’re on my side!”

“It has
nothing to do with you, Saska. I am here for the Enchanter.”

“What, in
god’s name, happened in the invisible realm to herald such
loyalty?”

“Nothing.”

“You’ve
changed.”

“I haven’t
changed - I have merely recognised how very dangerous your husband
is. He is my superior. I shall give in order to learn.”

“Too
simplistic.”