The Sleeper Sword (7 page)

“Just sit,
will you?”

Byron grinned
and sat. “This place is atrocious.”

“Yes, but the
food is surpassing,” Marcus grinned back.

“Really? Oh,
good … waiter!”

A nervous
waiter approached - not Benny, for his shift was over. He took the
new arrival’s order, eyes widening. Byron had a healthy appetite
and ate with unapologetic gusto. He was a big man.

“So …” when
the waiter was finally allowed to leave, “what’s happening in this
one-horse hamlet?”

Marcus fixed
his childhood friend with a stern gaze. “Now listen here, Byron,
this is serious. Keep your voice down or you’ll frighten these good
folk.”

Byron ogled
him. “I think you’re the one scared witless.”

“Whatever,”
the Electan snapped. “I mean it.”

“Fine, I’ll
behave.” Byron took his voice down to a more normal pitch and the
few curious fellows at the bar returned to their drinks.

Marcus told
him what he knew and then left the matter in his friend’s hands. He
sent Rene home earlier, knowing Byron would get nothing
constructive done with that pretty face at the table; the man was
incorrigible.

Looking at his
friend now, as Byron lapsed into thought, he acknowledged he was
glad Byron chose the path he had. The two of them in politics
together was a recipe for disaster, but more than that, he could
rely on this man and his talents when matters went askew. There was
no other he could rely on more.

Byron’s first
dish arrived and he tucked in, but his eyes remained thoughtful and
his meal was unaccompanied by the usual bantering. He took some
time to finish and Marcus was on his third cup of coffee when he
pushed his final plate aside.

“Surpassing,
as you said. The décor is quite forgiven. Marcus, first, nobody
makes up a story like that. Second, dreams don’t tend to linger in
this manner. This man saw what he saw, and it is up to us to
determine whether it was a vision or an event. I’d put aside
vision, for the man is not only old, but has no history of them …
right? I guess you didn’t think to ask.”

“Rene appears
honest. She’d have mentioned it.”

“Then it’s an
event and we must now determine how true he saw. A shadow in a
corner isn’t necessarily magic - the intruder could’ve slipped in
while the old man was asleep. However, the mode of his leaving, now
that’s interesting. It’s entirely possible fear duped the old man
into thinking the intruder vanished, the mind playing tricks.
Still, the threat is about the house, not its occupant, and that is
strange. Someone wants that house empty and ensured it would be.
Vanishing would lend credence … and that is sorcery.”

Marcus nodded.
“We can concern ourselves with why later. Focus on facts.”

“A transport
would leave a trace, hopefully. It depends on how versed the user
is.” Byron waved the waiter closer to order coffee, and leaned onto
the table. “Marcus, the Society doesn’t practice transports.”

“I know, but
…”

“You don’t
understand. We don’t know how. If it was a transport, it wasn’t
human … or not Valarian human.”

“Valleur?”
Marcus whispered.

“We’re now
leaping to conclusions. The Valleur are able, but because they are
doesn’t mean they did.”

“You were
always soft on them.”

“They were
given a raw deal, but let’s not get into that.”

Marcus looked
away. “Fine.”

“All I’m
saying is, we need be prepared to find someone other than a
Valarian. It may be Valleur or it may be someone none of us know.
The universe is filled with malicious spirits, old friend.”

“This was no
spirit.”

“But maybe
malicious purely for the sake of stirring trouble.” Byron’s coffee
was placed before him. “No ifs and buts, all right? After I’ve had
my brew, you and I can go over to the house, check it out.”

“Me?” Marcus
squeaked.

“Us. I didn’t
come all this way to have you chicken out on me.”

“How could I
help, for Aaru’s sake?”

Byron lifted
his cup and grinned over the rim.

Marcus gave a
long-suffering sigh.

Chapter 9

Bricks and
mortar do not a home make, nor stone and thatch.

~ Shadof
saying

Valaris’
smaller towns had no streetlights and when night fell the darkness
was complete.

Moor would
probably never warrant general lighting, thus when Marcus Campian
and Byron Morave made their way down that road they found the
blackness unnerving. House lights were on, but that somehow only
intensified the inkiness on the road.

Marcus almost
convinced Byron to leave the tracking to morning - and daylight -
saying they had to remember there was a threat in place also. He
almost made his point when Rene spoiled his plans.

Her voice came
out of the night and both men jumped.

“I wouldn’t
enter now if I were you.” She sat on a bench in front of her unlit
house.

“Rene!” Marcus
whispered, heart hurtling. “We didn’t see you there.” He and Byron
cautiously trod towards her.

“Watching.”

“For us?”
Marcus queried.

“No,” she
said, making space on the bench for them.

There was
silence and Byron leaned over his friend to introduce himself.

“Thank you for
coming, Mr Morave.”

“Suddenly I
wish I was far away!” Byron boomed.

“Idiot, keep
your voice down,” Marcus hissed. Next to him the young woman drew a
steadying breath. “You’ll get us all killed with your loud
mouth.”

“Marcus, old
friend,” Byron said, “you’ve been lying to me.”

“I have
not.”

Byron
chuckled. “Ah, but I think so. You already believe there is sorcery
at work here.”

Marcus did not
reply. Byron was right - he did believe it - but his friend was
unaware of the tales heard from various ambassadors, and had not
made the connection between those unexplained incidents and others
on Valaris, particularly of the past week.

Like the
ghostly pirate ship that plied the waters around Silas Island for
two straight days - tourism already dropped there. The roiling in
the depths of Emerald Sound, the explosion in the basement of
Galilan General Hospital and, scariest of all, uncanny lights in
the Forest, an hour every night, always after midnight. This would
be the fourth if it came again.

Marcus was not
about to enlighten Byron at this point, not with the young Sirlan
woman in their midst.

His mobile
rang shrilly and, cursing, he fumbled to switch it off.

“You fell for
that gismo?” Byron asked in amusement.

“I find it
practical.”

“Farspeakers
are better.”

“Except we
have none.”

“The Valleur …
never mind, I won’t argue the point now. Marcus, if Taranis’s house
blows up or something and it is sorcery, it won’t be good magic.
The Valleur will need to be told.”

“And if it is
Valleur in origin?”

“You still
don’t get it, do you? They would be incapable of the dark power it
takes. If the house stands in the morning and I find trace of
transport, we need to contact the Valleur. They ought to know about
this. Taranis was …”

“I know who
Taranis was to them,” Marcus interrupted stiffly. “But what occurs
here on the continent is not their concern. And perhaps it has
nothing to do with Taranis.”

Byron snorted.
“It’s about the house, Electan, and the only tale that would ever
elevate that sorry jumble of brick and mortar is that of its famous
occupant. It has stood the test of time in this backwater because
of whom it still belongs to. If someone wants to destroy it, it is
someone with a grudge against the late, revered Taranis.”

“I agree,”
Rene whispered.

“Thank you,
young lady. At least there are two intelligent minds on this
bench.” Byron was only slightly amused.

“A two
thousand year old grudge?” Marcus uttered.

“Easily,”
Byron returned. “Tannil is that old and considered a young
man.”

“Infinity bore
a grudge for longer than that,” Rene murmured. “Their concept of
time is different to ours.”

“Precisely,”
Byron agreed.

“Nobody hated
Taranis that much,” Marcus said.

“Infinity
did,” Rene remarked. “Look what happened there.”

“The young
lady makes my point for me,” Byron said, and was not in the
slightest amused. “Marcus, get with it, man. Someone hated Taranis
and in doing something to his house, a physical reminder of his
life, is trying to send a message.”

“Ah,” Marcus
pounced, “it’s not really about Taranis then. Sending a message, as
you suggest, smacks of another party. Like the Valleur.”

Byron was
silent and then sighed. “You have a point. But the Valleur can’t be
the aggressors. Someone may be trying to get their attention.”

“Or someone
may be trying to get our attention,” Rene murmured.

Both men
looked at her, Byron leaning forward to see her past Marcus. “You
are a clever young lady, Miss Sirlan.”

Marcus held a
hand up. “We’re jumping to conclusions. There may be nothing in
this.”

Nobody said
anything to that, for nobody believed it.

The three sat
on in silence and pondered the incredible intricacies that could
develop, and Byron was of a mind to amble down the road and test
the strength of possible residue, even if Marcus balked. He was a
man of action and wanted to get to the bottom of the situation.

The dark was
filled with muted sounds, making them jumpy, but the sounds grew
comforting after a time. The snort of a goose on the dam, the slam
of a door, laughter from the inn, a flap of wings, a child crying
and, close, a heated argument between a man and a woman.

Byron leaned
forward again. “Marcus, I can’t just sit here.”

“We’ll wait,”
the Electan snapped.

“I give you
five more minutes,” Byron warned and addressed himself to Rene. “Is
there a young man in your life, my dear?”

Marcus
snorted.

She laughed.
“I have too much to achieve for a relationship to assume
priority.”

“And what is
it you want to do with your life?”

“Fly.”

The two men
did not disparage that. If she dreamed it, wanted it enough, she
would one day fly.

Marcus
remarked, “You’ll need to go offworld for training.”

“Xen’s
Navigational School.”

“Good
choice.”

“Pricey,”
Byron murmured.

She shrugged,
an eloquent motion half seen. “I have property in Gasmoor.”

“And you live
here?” Marcus was aghast.

“My father is
here.”

“Ah, yes, the
bonds.”

Byron snorted
louder. “What do you know about bonds, Marcus?”

“Stuff you,
Byron.”

Rene
giggled.

A scream
sounded further down the road. Near Taranis’s house. It was the
excuse Byron needed - he was already striding towards the
sound.

Rene gripped
Marcus’s arm as if to hold him back, her nails digging into him. He
did not feel it. Muttering a curse, he set off after Byron with the
young woman clinging to him.

The terrible
sound shut off and the silence was stifling and filled with …
something. A woman ran towards them, her eyes wide, the whites
showing in the dark. She barrelled into Byron and screamed again.
He clamped a hand over her mouth and held her. She was too
petrified to struggle.

“We’re here to
help. Tell us what’s wrong.”

She shuddered
and went limp.

“Helena?” Rene
whispered, and released Marcus to go to the woman’s aid. She nodded
at Byron and took hold of the nervous creature. “It’s Rene, love.
Come, stand straight and tell us what happened. Come on, there’s a
dear.”

She was good
under pressure, Byron thought with admiration. Pity Miss Sirlan had
not decided to be a sorceress.

“Rene?”

“Yes. These
are friends. You can tell them.”

The woman
shook her head, her eyes stark first to Byron and then to Marcus.
She was about ten years older than Rene, but obviously less
self-confident.

Marcus stepped
forward. “I am Marcus Campian, Helena, and this is Byron Morave.
Miss Sirlan called us in about her father’s house earlier today. We
are here to help, although we have no idea how we’re needed. Now,
did something happen in, near or around that house?”

Helena stared
at Byron. “He spoke in my head.”

Byron hissed
through his teeth. “Tell it from the beginning, if you will.”

She must have
sensed urgency, for she nodded. “There was someone inside the house
when I walked past - my god, Rene, where’s your father?”

“Safe,” Rene
pacified. “At my place and sleeping.”

Byron cleared
his throat.

“Yes … it was
a shadow really, but the shadow was lighter than the darkness
inside and it turned to me as if sensing me looking … oh, lord, it
smiled, like a gaping thing …!”

Byron infused
his voice with calm. “And then what happened?”

“Such a
terrible smile,” Helena whispered. “I heard him speak in my mind …”
She broke off and sobbed.

“What did he
say?” Byron quickly re-engaged her attention.

“If I value my
eyes I should flee, run … so I ran …”

“You’re safe
now,” Rene said, but wondered how true that was.

“Marcus, I’m
going in.”

The Electan
stared at the big man. “Rene, take her to your place and stay there
whatever happens.”

Without a
word, she led the distraught woman in the opposite direction.

“Is this wise,
Byron?”

“Foolhardy,”
Byron snapped, heading towards the source.

After a moment
the Electan followed. “Can you exorcise it?”

“Probably not,
but I want to know who or what we’re dealing with.”