Lore of Sanctum Omnibus

by Elaina J Davidson

  “Would you rather he hadn’t come? You waited long.”

  Saska pulled at her hair. “I should have let you call him.”

  “Really?”

  “No!” Saska blurted. “Shit.”

  Caballa laughed. “Women!”

  Saska leaned forward. “You love him, don’t you? How was it when you saw him for the first time?”

  Caballa paled, flicked a glance at Tristan to see him looking at her, and she snapped, “That’s not fair, Saska.”

  “He welcomed you into the fold.”

  Caballa licked her lips and then, “I saw him over Samuel’s dead body. Oh, god, I am sorry, Tristan.”

  Saska, too, was ashamed. “Me too, Tristan.”

  He rose to sink onto his haunches between the two women.

  “I’m fine. Caballa did see Torrullin over my father’s body, Saska. Whatever lay between them was wiped out by the grief of that moment. You cannot hold an easier reconnection with him against her.” He glanced at Caballa and then spoke to Saska again. “She is not his wife.”

  Saska stared down at him. “How like him you are.”

  A grimace. “So I hear.”

  Caballa’s fingers reached out to caress his cheek. “You do not have to speak for me, but I thank you.”

  Tristan did not move, feeling those fingers on his face, and then he put his hand over them to take them into his own. A moment later he retreated.

  Saska was wide-eyed.

  Caballa laughed.

  Saska glanced significantly at Tristan, who had turned his back and stared blindly at the books on the shelves, and then raised her eyebrows in a question.

  Caballa shrugged.

  “They say women can communicate without words,” came Tristan’s voice, “and do so without magic. What are you saying to each other in this silence?”

  Saska stared at his back and burst out laughing. “Good, Tris, very good!”

  “We are saying maybe we should let Rose sort you out,” Caballa said.

  Tristan turned, a gleam in his eye. “Rose? Really?”

  Saska bit at her lips to stop another burst of laughter. It was a blatant taunt, one meant to put a fire under Caballa.

  It worked. She hurtled to her feet. “Shall I send for her, my Lord? Perhaps you would like a tumble in the grass with your sexy Rose? Perhaps she would even accommodate you!”

  Saska cleared her throat. “Um, Caballa …”

  Tristan strode forward. “I would not want to be ‘accommodated’, Caballa. That I can get anywhere.”

  She glared at him. “Poor Rose.”

  He looked deep into her eyes. “Yes, poor Rose, who is no more than a child, and who brings out protective instincts.”

  “And more!”

  Tristan considered. “Yes, and more, but it would be like holding a helpless kitten over the edge of a cliff and dropping the poor mite.”

  Caballa swallowed.

  Saska stared up at Tristan, feeling the heat radiating off him. Dear god, he was more like Torrullin than he even knew. She glanced at Caballa. Was Caballa falling for the likeness of Torrullin, or had this man ensnared her?

  “Nothing to say?” Tristan whispered.

  Caballa shook her head.

  “I did go to Rose in the dead of night as you let slip to Torrullin, and do you know what happened?”

  “I don’t want to know.”

  Tristan smiled. “I was drawn to her and then I realised she was not interested in me. It is a game to her, all of it. I could be anyone - a street sweeper, a king - it did not matter. I did not matter. Now, Caballa, strike me dead with a feather, but no man finds that attractive for long.” He touched her face. “Do you hear what I am saying?”

  She blinked. “I hear.”

  Tristan moved away and bowed. “I shall now leave you ladies to … talk.” He grinned at Saska and left the library.

  They heard his steps across the expanse beyond and then heard them head up the stairs.

  “Goddess,” Saska breathed. “I nearly jumped him.”

  Caballa rounded on her.

  Saska laughed. “Relax, I have my own problems.”

  Caballa slumped in her seat. “Gods, Saska, I have known him only days and he has crept past all my defences.”

  Saska nodded. “Torrullin was like that. In fact, he did it in all of five minutes.”

  Caballa gave a wry smile. “Right.”

  Chapter 36

  Maturity sucks.

  ~ Tattle

  Valla Island

  THE NEW DAY HERALDED the new month of Snostirl, third month of winter, and the month instantly lived up to its name.

  By the time the Palace began to stir, and Torrullin and Tianoman arrived back, snow fell thick and fast. Within an hour drifts crowded the trees in the garden and grew before the doors.

  Tristan, coming down bleary-eyed to the dining chamber, remarked, “I have never known it to snow in the Isles.”

  “It’s worse on the mainland,” Tianoman said around a mouthful. “Even Torrke’s getting some.”

  Teroux, already at table, remarked with a smirk, “You’re going to shiver in your little toga at the ceremony.”

  “Bugger you,” Tianoman said good-naturedly.

  Tristan grinned in his direction. “Got your humour back, I see.”

  “Yeah.”

  Torrullin said, “We are moving to the Keep this morning, so eat up and gather your things.”

  “Where will we stay after the coronation?” Teroux asked.

  “That would be your decision.”

  “Should the Vallorin not stay at the Keep?” Tianoman asked.

  “Again, the decision is yours.”

  “The Throne’s there,” Teroux pointed out.

  Tianoman murmured, “The Keep is Torrullin’s.”

  Teroux skewed his mouth. Torrullin, is it?

  “The Keep is mine,” Torrullin said, helping himself to more juice, “but it is also for my family. The Throne is there and it makes sense to have Vallorin and seat together, but no one needs be constrained by the geography of the Throne. It can be moved and you can live wherever you feel comfortable.”

  “I kind of like the Keep,” Tianoman said.

  Teroux nodded agreement. When Tristan did not add his preference, the cousins looked at him.

  Tristan stared into his coffee. “It occurs to me a Vallorin would need to wed sooner rather than later and hopefully produce strong heirs. If it were me, I would choose to live in a place without so much, well, history.”

  His cousins stared at him.

  Torrullin smiled.

  “Wed?” Teroux was aghast. “I hadn’t thought of wed.”

  Torrullin spluttered into laughter.

  Tianoman glanced worriedly around the table. “I don’t want to get married yet.”

  “Relax,” Torrullin said with a grin. “There is time enough for that part of your future.”

  “Thank the gods,” Teroux muttered.

  Then the two women joined them and the conversation moved on to safer topics.

  The Keep

  THE MOVE TO THE Keep was accomplished, and there the Elders nabbed the heirs.

  Caballa and Saska took the opportunity to go into Menllik to visit the local seamstress and from there they went to Galilan to visit the resident jeweller. Big occasions deserved perfect outfits and accessories. They were not alone in this quest.

  Torrullin commenced a brief round of talks with ambassadors, also went to Menllik and Galilan, and paid a visit to the Vall Peninsula.

  He spoke to every Elder in private, speaking to them about Valaris, Sanctuary and Luvanor. Akhavar was also discussed, as was the issue of resettlement. Valaris was not to be abandoned and Akhavar was to be settled slowly, so as not to upset the delicate balance of nature there.

  Not once did he mention a coming journey, or Elianas, and refused to be drawn on either the subject of which heir he thought best as Vallorin or how matters stood between him and his wife.
>
  Nobody mentioned Lowen.

  By nightfall snow lay many feet thick. Also by nightfall Vanar had her list of potential Elders and presented it to Torrullin in his study. The list contained eighteen names and he knew most of them.

  He crossed two out, asked about three others and told her to have them ready for interviews in the morning.

  HOSTS OF VALLEUR DECORATORS, caterers and florists swarmed in to prepare the Keep for Tianoman’s Coming-of-Age.

  A temporary tent city sprang up outside the Dragon doors - the beds for guests and dignitaries. Those soon started trickling in as well.

  The heirs retreated to their chambers.

  Sixteen potential Elders waited outside Torrullin’s door as the sun rose, eight of them from Valaris, the rest from Luvanor. Nine were women and seven were men.

  Torrullin started the process, which Yiddin and Vanar had a part in, and the questions were penetrating; each potential Elder had to bare his or her soul.

  It took most of the morning and then the candidates were dismissed for lunch. Over a meal in the study Torrullin, Yiddin and Vanar conferred, and eliminated two of the hopefuls. Those two were called in, thanked and sent home.

  The remaining fourteen were prepared for the swearing-in ceremony that night.

  Evening saw that commence, with the fourteen from Valaris and the fourteen from Luvanor attending, as well as the heirs, ambassadors, and Saska, Caballa, and Valleur from both worlds. It was a smaller gathering than the one expected for the morrow, but the courtyard was nonetheless crowded.

  Torrullin, as current Vallorin, heard their spoken oaths and then a muted celebration followed. Tianoman begged off early, anxious over the next day’s event, and was excused. The fourteen were dispatched to Akhavar soon after, bid to return for the coronation.

  That night, as all settled into a semblance of silence, Tianoman was sleepless and found Torrullin equally so.

  They spent the night in conversation.

  THE DAY DAWNED BRIGHT and clear, the sun slanting welcome.

  It was a good omen and Tianoman heaved a sigh.

  He was tired and yet felt prepared for the coming ceremony. Having Torrullin talk him through the formalities helped more than the promptings of Elders thus far.

  His cousins were soon with him, forcing him to eat a hearty breakfast, food laced with many wisdoms gleaned from their ceremonies, and Tianoman was swiftly full of everything. He was relieved when the manservant arrived to begin the dressing process, thereby shooing Tristan and Teroux away.

  Dressing started with a loincloth, a beaded stretch of material designed specifically to make the wearer ill-at-ease, the thought being that the penitent would be still during the ceremony, or fidgety, and fidgety was not good.

  Tianoman instantly understood why his cousins warned of loincloth torture. After his groin was decently and uncomfortably covered, the manservant proceeded to linen wrappings. These were bound in a traditional crisscross design from the arch of each foot, up legs, thighs, over hips, stomach, chest, until they were tied together over the shoulders. This wrapping was to aid posture and to give an inkling of the restraints of maturity; coming of age curbed the impulse of childhood.

  After that was a short sleeveless robe - the toga Teroux joked about - and a wide gold cloth wrapped about the waist. Next were leather slippers. Tianoman slid his feet in, unsmiling, his heart erratic, and sat on a high stool for the final touch, his hair.

  All the Valla heirs had fair hair, with Teroux’s most golden and Tristan the lightest. Tianoman’s was somewhere between and he wore it at shoulder length, they all did.

  The valet started plaiting into tiny spirals, ending every rope with a golden bead. Then he was done and only the ceremonial dagger was left to don and leather strips about each wrist. The man stood back to check his handiwork and pronounced himself pleased.

  Tianoman thanked him and was finally alone.

  He was alone for five minutes, for his cousins burst in, stopped and whistled.

  “Man, he looks like a pretty boy!” Teroux pronounced.

  “Bugger off.”

  Tristan took a critical turn around him. “You look good. You have the build to carry this off.”

  Tianoman sent him a grateful look.

  “Meaning I didn’t?” Teroux demanded.

  Tristan laughed and teased, “Teroux, you had a little spare flesh there about the midriff at this age …” He launched forward. “Let’s see if you still have it!”

  “Go dig a hole somewhere, Tris!” Teroux howled, fending his cousin off.

  “Boys!”

  All three snapped around to see a smiling Torrullin in the doorway. “Or should I say men? Not when you act like that.”

  More laughter followed and then Torrullin was serious. “Leave him now. Go down and tell them we begin in fifteen minutes.”

  Tristan and Teroux wished their cousin good luck, and left.

  “How are you feeling?” Torrullin asked, checking Tianoman over.

  “Better now.”

  “Good.”

  “Whom do I look like?”

  “Your mother. She was extraordinarily beautiful.”

  “Like Caballa?”

  “Yes, like Caballa.”

  Tianoman nodded. “I think Tristan … never mind.”

  “Caballa? I have noticed.”

  “Is that all right with you?”

  “Why shouldn’t it be?”

  “Well, we sort of heard you and Caballa …” The younger man’s voice petered off.

  “A long time ago, and we are good friends now. Caballa is free to love where she wants.”

  “And Tristan? Is he free to love where he wants? Am I? Is Teroux?”

  Torrullin grimaced. “The bloodline demands certain standards, but it is my hope you will fall in love with a woman suitable to be queen also.”

  “Is Caballa suitable?”

  “Tian, now is not the time. Concentrate on yourself.”

  “It helps, you know, talking of other issues, as if in understanding them I am better able to judge for the next hour or so.”

  There was convoluted wisdom in there.

  “Caballa would make any man an excellent partner, but she may not be an obedient wife. I am not saying we expect our women to obey us, on the contrary, but the Valleur expect certain standards and Caballa flouts the rules. Besides, she would hate to be queen.”

  “Tristan could not marry her if he was Vallorin?”

  A sigh. “Probably not.”

  “Poor Tris.”

  “Is it as serious as that?”

  “At this point it’s all in their heads, I think.”

  “Ah.”

  Tianoman frowned. “Is that bad?”

  Torrullin inclined his head. “It depends on your point of view.”

  “Meaning?”

  “You are too young …”

  “Try me.”

  Smiling briefly, Torrullin said, “You are as demanding as your father was, always with the need for answers. Fine. Relationships that last long begin in one’s head, not with that other part of you. If Tristan has Caballa in his head, well, it may take a long time to turn away, if ever.”

  It was clear Tianoman could not fathom it. “Were you and Saska like that?”

  “We still are.”

  “Then - why?”

  “I prefer not to talk about it.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t …”

  Torrullin came closer to draw Tianoman into an embrace. “Youth is impetuous, and we love that it is so.” He let go and looked deep into Tian’s brown eyes.

  The boy was confused, confused because someone had not answered a question. He was the kind of person who required answers. Even uncomfortable answers to ill-advised questions.

  Torrullin stood back and said, “Saska and I have problems other than attraction.”

  “Lowen?”

  Eyes flickered. “Among other issues, yes.”

  “Is Lowen in your head?”
<
br />   Oh, dear god, would the man stop asking now? “Yes, Lowen is in my head.” And in my blood, god help me.

  Somehow Tianoman understood he asked too much. “Thank you for being open with me.”

  Torrullin clasped his face. “My pleasure. Ready?”

  A confident nod answered him.

  “Give me a minute to find my place downstairs, then come down.”

  “All right.”

  Torrullin gave a final pat on Tianoman’s cheek, and left.

  A DAIS WAS ERECTED beside the mosaic pool and an ornate chair sat in isolation upon it.

  At the foot of the dais was a long wooden table with ten chairs facing the gathered, and before the table was a simple wooden chair, and beside it a golden urn. Tianoman’s name was carved into the backrest.

  The gathered - Elders, Valleur, ambassadors, Valarian leaders and guests - sat on bright cushions on the courtyard cobbles; there was no room for seating. The courtyard itself was bedecked with bright hangings, and flowers were everywhere. Many Valleur and guests watched from the balcony. The feasting would commence after; the chambers adjacent the courtyard held enough food and drink to feast ten thousand for ten days.

  As Torrullin descended it was noted he donned the dark golden cloak with the blue dragon emblazoned on the back. He last wore it at his sons’ Coming-of-Age.

  Yes, the knowing whispered, this young man was a son of one of those sons.

  It was also noted he wore no sword; many wondered about it.

  He waited at the foot of the stairs and not long after Tianoman commenced the lonely walk to his place in the proceedings.

  Torrullin smiled as he stepped to ground level and then preceded him along a carpeted aisle through the gathered. At the wooden chair he halted. He clasped Tianoman’s shoulder - the young man had to remain there, standing - and made his way to the dais to turn before the ornate chair. He nodded at Yiddin, who climbed onto the platform with a tall staff.

  Yiddin rapped with it three times, calling, “All gathered! Hear the thrice welcome!”

  Valleur responded in one voice, “We hear, oh Elder!”

  Yiddin smiled. “We are gathered to welcome Tianoman Valla into his future. Do you agree he is ready?”