The Sleeper Sword (3 page)

“Is my mother
…? Of course, she is where she is. Never mind; go.”

Kismet
retreated as Tannil realised his mother no doubt prepared the
gathering below. She was regent until he came of age, and the
lessons learned then were with her still. She should have been a
man, for she was an astute ruler and negotiator, except in her
marriage.

Tannil,
Vallorin of an exiled people, straightened his tunic and made his
way out of the reading room. Murmurs from the Throne-room came to
him the moment he stepped into the corridor, and he faltered.

Was it right
to ask them to leave? Torrullin’s words spoke of another battle. He
leaned against the wall. His grandfather whispered to that babe in
the womb he would return … before his son’s fifth birthday.

Tannil wed
late, delayed a child due to those frightening words. His first
child was a stillborn daughter. His wife died in childbirth with
the little girl and he waited a long time before marrying again.
Until his mother forced the issue, telling him in no uncertain
terms the bloodline was at stake unless he did something about it,
and there was Fay to consider, his deeply troubled sister. He
married, but it was not a love match, and his lacklustre attention
to marital duties delayed pregnancy year after year. But, in the
end, tactics were for naught.

His son’s
birth did not herald the Enchanter’s return, as the readiness to
come back had not resulted in the Valla heir. It would happen
because the time was right, because all things were in place.

The Valleur
would head to Luvanor and Teroux would accompany them. He would be
in danger here, as would his people. Soon.

Teroux would
be five in six weeks.

Chapter 4

Trust your mind
to reveal the truth. See it, feel it.

~ Book of
Sages

In the end
Samuel did not return to Linmoor.

He camped
roughly two sals from the old city for the journey to the valley to
be accomplished swiftly with the coming of dawn. Sitting at the
fire, he stared at the city aglow in the moonlight. No lights shone
from windows and no sounds comforted the night.

Menllik was
the name the Golden gave their city. A golden city and a Golden
city. It was beautiful, even now.

What an utter
waste. Once the Golden were friends and taught Valarians much. How
had that changed? Humankind did the changing, not the Valleur.

We pushed them
away - what have we lost because of it?

After the
destruction of Torrke, a continuing source of terror for Valarians,
the Valleur returned to Menllik. Not all, but the complement
required to aid in the restoration of the valley.

With them was
the scientist from Xen III, the one who then returned to his
homeworld to restore there the balances - Le Moss Mar Dalrish, who
brought the domes on Xen down and became Peacekeeper of a brand new
world. Xen III was friend to Valleur, but not any human here.

The leaders of
Valaris met the Valleur in the city and gave what aid they could in
the restoration. Those leaders were intimate with the Golden in
those days. The Lady of Life was a major instrument in finding the
balances of Torrke. The Q’lin’la came, and many others besides.
Menllik rang with the babble of many tongues for quite a time, for
it took years to renew the valley, and there was both sorrow and
rejoicing.

They came
because of the Enchanter’s gift.

Gift
,
Samuel thought.
Yes, and today we see it as a curse, while the
universe regards his sacrifice as the Gift. I always thought we had
it right, for such destruction is surely a curse, but it heralded
the extraordinary arrival of the Light. There has been peace
throughout the universe for two thousand years. The Enchanter won
and we, his people also, we scorn him and call his sacrifice a
curse.

Samuel lowered
his head in shame. He had not entertained these kinds of thoughts
until the words of his father and he was not to blame for mistakes
engendered by others, and yet he knew with abrupt insight, an
epiphany, present day Valarians perpetuated the mistakes of the
past. They did so generation after generation, perhaps compounding
what was merely initial distance.

We turned on
the Golden and made life untenable for them on the mainland. They
could have hurt us with sorcery, lashed out over insults and
curses, and they left meekly. For we are the Enchanter’s people
also.

Samuel came to
a decision.

He rose,
kicked the fire closed, and saddled his horse. He rode into Menllik
in the dark and was not afraid. There was no evil; there were no
whispers. He ambled, leading his horse, and looked into empty
homes, temples, theatres, squares, shops, schools and ornate
mansions.

The city
waited. Like the valley, like the buried Throne, like the hidden
sacred sites. That was why it appeared as if it was built
yesterday. It knew there would be a return, and life and laughter
and light would find a way back.

When the time
was right and a legend arose anew.

Each step
Samuel took - and he took them carefully and with great thought -
brought understanding and clarity. In the shadows of the expectant
city he discovered belief. As had his father before him, and his
before him, all the way back to Tristan, the first keeper of this
secret.

He halted
before Linir, the Place Where Stars Meet, and knew it as a sacred
site, even cloaked as it was. The kernel was small, and it was new
to him, but it was there.

Tristan,
beloved son of Skye.

Tristamil’s
son.

He, Samuel,
was descended in a direct male line from Torrullin himself.

Buthos, Dome
Leader, arrived in Grinwallin, furious the Q’lin’la had not
attended to a Dome summons, until Quilla informed him they were on
a rescue mission beyond the Rift.

Ardosia, a
once Valleur world now inhabited by a half-simian race, came under
annihilating fire. It took weeks to extinguish the blaze, and
Quilla stated it was not natural. Quilla spoke of deliberate
sorcery.

Buthos said,
“This is what was revealed in the Dome. Canimer was attacked two
weeks ago, Pleses a month back and in both instances there was no
obvious instigator. Recently the Dinor declared an internal truce
to investigate incidences of violence not of their doing. No trace
of cause found. Two days back an ethereal dome dropped over
Shanghai Metrop on Xen - they’re still investigating. Beacon’s
power was mysteriously severed for nine days. It’s currently harsh
winter and seventeen people have died. What links them is the
blatant lack of how, who, why or what, and each incidence speaks to
the greatest fears. Beacon will certainly succumb without power,
Canimer can’t absorb the shock of an attack from the water, and Xen
has an understandable horror of returning to a domed
existence.”

There were
other signs Buthos was unaware of, both in and outside of the
Forbidden Zone, and he and Quilla’s discussions lasted most of the
night.

In the
morning, Buthos requested an audience with Emperor Teighlar, but
Teighlar laughed their claims off, saying the incidents were
isolated and it stretched the imagination to assume they were
more.

“I, too, feel
these alarming disturbances,” Quilla murmured to the Emperor.

“Quilla, you
see a threat behind every bush,” Teighlar returned, raising perfect
eyebrows. His ascetic features were amused.

They sat in
comfortable armchairs in the dappled sunlight of the portico.

Behind them
were the arches that gave entrance into the mountain. First beyond
those arches was the Great Hall that was the Throne-room, meeting
chamber, ballroom, games room and so forth, and beyond were the
intricate abodes of a city in a mountain, the larger portion of the
whole.

Before them
lay the magnificence of Grinwallin, the external habitat, fairest
of all cities, and beyond was the broader glory of Tunin continent.
It was spring on Luvanor and life was exceptionally good.

“Nothing amiss
here?” Buthos snapped.

Teighlar gave
the question due consideration. “Not what I’d call one of your
incidents.”

Buthos
pounced. “What happened?”

Quilla leaned
forward and his eyes were intent. The Q’lin’la had been absent from
Luvanor for many weeks.

“It is of no …
fine, if it will put an end to this silliness,” Teighlar muttered.
“We lost some of our spring newborn - animals, for Aaru’s sakes,
not people!” This quick comment was due to the horror on his two
companions’ faces. “There was a cold spell. I say again, you two
search for non-existent problems.”

“Do the Senlu
fear losing their food source?” Buthos asked, not to be put
off.

Teighlar
frowned. “Of course. Any nation would, but we didn’t lose farm
animals. Wild creatures only, and it
is
worrying. The animal
population remains sparse after the Murs’ wholesale extinction, but
it doesn’t fill us with unprecedented fear. Why are you two
convinced these are signs of coming trouble?”

Buthos looked
to Quilla, who stared into the distance as he answered, “Maybe you
are right, Emperor. Maybe we read too much into a gathering of
isolated incidents. After all, there is no proof. We know the
Enchanter will come back to us when there is reason. Perhaps we
want that reason, selfish as it may be, because we hope it means he
comes at last.”

Teighlar
nodded, understanding. “Ah, yes. And the time frame fits, doesn’t
it?”

Quilla sighed
and nobody said anything for a time. They sipped at wine and
nibbled on snacks.

Then, “Tannil
was here. We spoke of many things, but most important was his wish
to bring the majority of Valaris’s Valleur to Luvanor.”

Quilla was
surprised. “That is somewhat contrary to his previous
position.”

“Tannil has
realised they are too numerous for the islands. I believe the court
will remain on Valaris along with a small Valleur complement -
mostly men, he said. Perhaps he feels if they all leave the Valleur
lose their claim to that world, and there is the matter of the
Throne.”

“And?” Quilla
prompted.

Teighlar
shrugged. “I get the feeling he knows something. A reason other
than the Throne causes him to hold on there.”

Buthos and
Quilla glanced at each other. “Perhaps it’s time to visit the
Enchanter’s grandson,” Buthos said, and Quilla nodded.

Teighlar
frowned. “You may disturb the man’s peace of mind for no
reason.”

Quilla rose
and bowed. “My Lord, be that as it may, I ask to be excused.”

“Now?”
Teighlar blurted. He looked to the Siric, also standing. “Obviously
you two believe these incidences have serious undercurrents. Yes,
yes, go.”

Siric and
Q’lin’la vanished.

Teighlar
gasped a laugh and then frowned.

The animals he
told them of were all Senlu and their genetics originated from
ninety million years back. They reappeared when the Senlu were
awarded their second chance, and were a symbol of the renewal of
this land.

To lose them
would be an extremely bad omen.

Tannil
awakened in the dead of night, sweating profusely and shaking
badly.

He put his
hands to his face in the dark and drew a shuddering breath. He
could not recall the dream, but knew it was another bad one.

Sleep fled, as
it often did, sometimes night after night for weeks on end. Careful
not to disturb his wife, he padded into the next room, drawing the
door closed. Vania would attempt to medicate, or whisper words that
had no meaning to him. She did not understand how debilitating his
night-time visitations were.

He slid the
sliding door wide and stepped onto the darkened balcony. The sound
of the ocean was louder at night and it was also rhythmic and
soothing. He stood a while, cooling the sweat on his body until he
shivered.

Something
hounded him, and it did so only on Valaris when he slept.

There was an
awareness of it subconsciously, something he could not acknowledge
in waking hours. It was something as linked to this world as he
was.

A wry smile.
In the morning Fay would demand why he was red-eyed and he would
spin another tale. He was not about to discuss it with his sister,
for she needed not this burden. His beautiful half-sister, a Valla
who was not a Valla, appeared outwardly calm, but demons roiled
inside; he would not add to her woes.

His wife did
not care. In the morning Vania would wake early and leave for the
far island where she taught language at primary level and he would
see her again at the evening meal. They hardly said ten words to
each other in a day, and it suited them. They shared the same bed
to keep up appearances, and that was it.

What a crap
life.

He wondered
what went on inside her head. He made it clear theirs was a
marriage of convenience in the weeks before their nuptials and she
accepted it, although then he questioned her about how she felt.
She answered it was not exactly what she foresaw for herself, and
hoped time would allow them a closer relationship. It had not
happened, and now he wondered if her hopes were the same.

The crests of
the waves glowed and the moon shone on the water. Inviting.

He drew back
and returned indoors. Slipping back into the bedroom, he wandered
through to the dressing room to feel by touch for clothes. Donning
them in the outer chamber he smiled at his choice - blue breeches
and a plum tunic, not his usual combination. He found a pair of
boots on the balcony, closed the sliding door and left their
suite.

The Palace was
silent. The Throne-room echoed his careful tread, but nobody hailed
him. The guards were familiar with his nocturnal meanderings. One
would be shadowing him, but he never caught them intruding.