The Sleeper Sword (10 page)

Relative, for
Galilan could never be quiet. Children kicked a ball, couples
ambled hand-in-hand, a number of families enjoyed a picnic and had
been there most of the day judging by the disarray around them.

Samuel
approached one such group to ask directions to the Electan’s
offices. They looked at him askance, but assisted.

On the other
side of the city. Galilan was huge. He would be falling about in
the dark soon.

Then he had
another stroke of good fortune.

As he entered
the broad thoroughfare that was the city’s main road, he happened
to glance behind to see an official-looking carriage turn in. The
Electan’s private transport.

He halted and
drew his courage close to step into the centre of the road,
standing deliberately in its path. The driver would have to bring
his team to a stop, for both sides were too congested with people,
horses and stalls to allow a way around the madman in the middle of
the way. Or he would be trampled.

Around him
jeers erupted, and many shouted warnings. The driver, closing in,
stood on his board to holler and gesture, but when the man refused
to budge he brought his team to a standstill, handling them
beautifully.

A query came
from within, which the driver answered with an angry scowl at
Samuel.

Samuel
approached the window, ignoring the crowd and the driver. The
latter was ready to move on with the way cleared. He had only
moments. “Electan!”

A dark, curly
head peered out. It was Marcus Campian.

“Are you the
one causing this ruckus?” Marcus demanded “Stand aside! Driver
…!”

“I apologise,
Electan,” Samuel said hurriedly as the driver touched reins to the
horses and the carriage began to move. “I need to speak with you
urgently!”

“Young man,
there are systems …”

“Mr Campian,
I’ve been told to make contact with you and Mr Morave.” Samuel had
to step fast to hold pace with the carriage.

Byron’s white
head popped out. “Indeed? Why is that?”

“I have a
message for Tannil …”

Both heads
withdrew in shock and then Marcus barked at his driver to stop.
Byron opened the carriage door.

Samuel bent
over, hands on knees.

“Who told you
this?” Byron asked.

“A voice … I
know! It sounds …”

“No, it
doesn’t.” Byron pushed the door wide. “Get in.”

Samuel
clambered in and knew something bizarre was happening.

The carriage
went on its way.

Mitrill and
Vania returned to the Palace in time for the evening meal.

The two women
were on School Island all day to assist with the move. Teroux
accompanied them and erupted into the dining chamber with exuberant
energy.

“Caltian?
Caltian!” The boy jumped into waiting arms. He did not call him
Grandfather, for the Valla bloodline did not permit it, but
Caltian, to the four-year old, was indeed his grandfather. A
sentiment the two shared like co-conspirators.

“Teroux!”
Caltian hugged the lad close and stood him up to look at him. “Time
to measure you again, hmm?” He winked. “How much? Two fingers?”

“I’ve grown at
least four!” Teroux claimed.

Caltian pursed
his lips. “Want to bet?”

“Yes,” Teroux
said seriously. A wager was serious business. “If I win you must
read to me from the Oracles … for a week.”

A week was a
long time, almost a whole year. Teroux crossed his arms and looked
at his grandfather, wondering what reward he would demand.

“Fair, fair …”
Caltian muttered. “All right, if I win, you must take me
sailing.”

Teroux’s face
split into a huge grin. “Deal!”

“Deal, then.
Now go and wash up, young man,” Caltian said and winked at the
grinning boy.

Vania
approached. “Good to see you again, Caltian.”

“And you, my
dear.” Caltian kissed her cheek and smiled as she led Teroux away.
He turned. “My lady wife, you look well.”

Mitrill stood
beside him. “Caltian. You’re in good spirits.” She smiled. “You’re
corrupting Teroux.”

“Bull, no
matter what, he still wins.”

“Exactly,”
Mitrill muttered.

Tannil
laughed. “Teroux loves nothing better than a sail - by the way,
Caltian, you’re going to lose. He measured himself two weeks ago,
he tells me.”

Caltian
groaned. “So I get to read the Oracles … what a disaster!”

There was
general chuckling and Mitrill excused herself to refresh after the
long day. Caltian covertly watched her. No animosity yet.

Caballa and
Kismet were in attendance, as were Buthos and Quilla. Tannil sat at
the head of the oval table with Vania and Teroux taking seats right
and left of him when they rejoined the company. Mitrill returned
soon after, sitting at the other end with Caltian and Fay flanking
her. The four guests filled the belly of the table.

“Father,”
Teroux called, and father and son put their heads close. “I want to
sail with Caltian, but I know he’ll lose.”

“Don’t worry,
son, he’ll want to go whether he wins or not.”

“That’s good.”
Teroux happily tucked into his meal.

Tannil grinned
over the bent head and looked up to find Mitrill watching him.
“What, mother?”

“Did you plan
this?”

“What do you
mean?”

“Me,” Caltian
murmured around a mouthful.

“Oh, for …!”
Tannil glanced at his son and moderated his tone. “I didn’t and I
certainly don’t require your permission to do so. Your husband,
mother, is welcome in
my
Palace anytime.”

“Why is he
here?”

“Ask him; he’s
present,” Tannil growled, causing Teroux to look up. “Grown up
nonsense.” Teroux nodded, returning concentration to his food. “If
you seek to get into an argument, do it in private or have the tact
to wait until these little ears have left the table.”

Mitrill nodded
expressionlessly and commenced eating.

Caltian
acknowledged that his stepson had more clout with his wife than he
did.

“Caltian, when
I saw you last on Luvanor, you and Key-ler debated …” Quilla said
and Caltian’s lips tightened. “Is something a-miss?”

“Key-ler died
two days ago.”

Quilla dropped
his cutlery. “Goddess, how?”

“He was busy
with the clean-up on Kish - a virus; something either so ancient or
so new nobody knew how to prevent its malignance.” Caltian rubbed
at his face. “His death helped me decide to return to Valaris.”

“I am sorry,
Caltian,” Quilla murmured, knowing how close the two men were.
“Key-ler was exceptional; he will be missed.”

“Were you with
him?” Fay asked.

“Yes. He died
peacefully.”

Buthos rose
and held his glass high. “The Siric have a tradition and as I knew
Brother Key-ler I believe it fitting. Raise your glasses, my
friends. This isn’t a toast; this is an acknowledgement of a
departed spirit. Share something, anything you feel will release
him to his new journey. Shall I begin?”

Everyone
followed the Siric’s example, standing with glasses raised, except
Teroux who looked about wide-eyed. Tannil ruffled his hair and
nodded confirmation.

Buthos
murmured, “Key-ler, you argumentative man, I tell you I was wrong.
Bullari was a better writer than Keche and I can admit it now
because, old friend, I know you can’t crow your triumph!” Buthos
grinned, knocking his wine back with a flourish.

Vania laughed,
understanding the exercise, and said, “Key-ler, you once told me
there were no bad writers, that everyone had something of value to
impart. You said there was indeed bad grammar and a decent editor
could fix that, and I agreed because I was in awe of your
reputation. But, Brother, I wholeheartedly disagree! I have found …
ah, well, pity, we could go on and on.” She smiled and drank more
decorously.

Tannil stared
at her.

Fay spoke
next. “Key-ler, I’m going to miss you.” She sipped at her wine.

Caltian raised
his glass. “I’ve already said it all, my friend. Thank you.” He
drank.

Caballa was
next. “A work of great renown has been distributed throughout the
universe and we all know you were the driving force behind it,
Key-ler. Thank you, friend, for making his tale known. Go in
peace.” She hesitated a moment longer and then sipped, glancing at
Kismet.

Kismet said,
“I too thank you for the tale and add I shall remember our debates
with fondness always.”

Quilla cleared
his throat. “I have nothing to say I have not already told you to
your face, learned friend, for we spent many happy hours together
over the last centuries. What I would like to
ask
is that
you go forward. Do not look back and if you happen to come across a
few familiar faces on your journey, send on our greetings.” The
tiny birdman gave an introspective smile and supped from his
goblet.

Mitrill said,
“You were a learned man, an honest man and I think, Brother
Key-ler, you missed your true calling. You should have been a
psychologist, for you could see … you saw.” She fell silent, was
thoughtful in her silence, and then lifted her glass.

Caltian looked
at her and she returned his gaze steadily.

They then
looked to Tannil at the head of the table.

“The Siric
have an admirable tradition.” The Siric dipped his head and Tannil
continued, “Key-ler, as Vallorin I tend to steamroll on without
adequately giving thanks where it is deserved. Here, now, I seek to
give you that thanks; my grandfather Torrullin appointed you and
you served him well until I came of age, and then you served me
well. I soon saw what Torrullin had. You were a true friend to two
worlds.” Tannil raised his goblet and paused. “And you argued until
you were blue in the face. You and Quilla must’ve had some real
gems!” Tannil laughed and tossed back his drink.

Everyone
laughed and Quilla muttered, “The Brother was a quiet man,
generally, but he could sure use words like an artist when he had a
point to make.”

Caltian
laughed aloud. “Oh, the man could twist you into knots!” He raised
his glass to Buthos. “Thank you.”

Marcus grilled
Samuel over another dinner, with Byron a silent spectator.

“What were you
doing in Menllik in the first instance?”

“I told you,
Electan; my father died and I allowed my horse to go where he
wanted,” Samuel said for the tenth time.

“To Menllik?
Surely you heard the tales?”

“Yes, and I
turned away, but eventually I was also intrigued. I’d never been
there before.”

“And you went
into Linir? Gods, why?”

“Curiosity, I
suppose.”

“’Curiosity’
he says,” Marcus said, glancing at Byron. “Why are you so
silent?”

Byron leaned
back in the ornate, velvet chair. “Marcus, you’re overreacting;
leave the man in peace. He’s telling you as much as he can.”

Marcus
pounced. “You also think he’s holding back!”

Byron
shrugged. “He’ll tell the Vallorin.”

“I’m not going
to Valla Island!”

“Ah, that’s
the problem,” Byron murmured. He smacked his hands on the laden
table - silver, porcelain and the best of fare - and said, “Now let
me put this as bluntly as possible. The same entity spoke to Samuel
and to the two of us. This thing has been doing dastardly deeds
universe over, including our homeworld. The long peace is at an
end, can you not see that? It wants us to go to Tannil and we must
do this within seven days. Something is about to happen. It
involves us humans, it involves the Guardians and it certainly
leads to the Valleur. If we ignore this and something awful
happens, you and I and Samuel will be directly responsible. We’ll
go to Valla Island and we’re leaving for Emerald Sound on the first
train come morning.”

He smacked his
hands on the table once more and glared at Marcus.

“The Valleur
…”

“Stuff you,
Marcus! Take your blinkers off! The Valleur were our friends once!
Valaris flourished with them here! Their Enchanter - ours too, if I
may remind you - sacrificed himself to prevent another war on this
world, but we had to see him, and therefore them, as the aggressor,
and we were wrong. I say the reason this happens now is because
we
did a terrible thing,
we
propagated a silent war …
and now
we
have to choose. Either we continue to fight the
Valleur, thereby dividing them into two fronts, or we stand with
them to fight together whatever threatens our world!”

Marcus rose in
a rage, threw his napkin onto the table and stalked out.

“Hear, hear,”
Samuel murmured.

Byron gave a
laugh. “Thank you. He tends to wind me up.” His eyes narrowed.
“Marcus is an excellent leader, make no mistake, but he’s
fanatically opposed to anything Valleur, and in that he has the
support of the majority of Valarians. Still, I think he’ll do what
is best for us and maybe learn a few things along the way.”

“The majority
underscores his position.”

“Indeed.”

“How are you
open-minded?”

“Sorcery,
young man. Most of what we learn has roots in Valleur magic. Then
there are visions of what was; I can’t think of the Golden as the
enemy, not ever.”

“You have
visions?”

Byron was
silent and then, “They can be induced. It’s stressful, for it isn’t
natural for us.” He paused and then asked, “Have you had
visions?”

Samuel’s eyes
slid away. “Dreams.”

“You’re an
enigma, Samuel. I’m willing to wager before your father died you’d
have championed the Electan, not this old sod’s ideas. Now you’re
prepared and desire to see the Valleur and would fight even your
leader to do so. Am I right?”

Samuel was
shamefaced. “Yes.”

“What changed
your perception? A voice in a Valleur temple should’ve sent you
running scared and as you ran you should’ve been reminding yourself
of the old propaganda.”