He found Torrullin there, drinking coffee. Sitting carefully, he asked, “When do we go?”
Torrullin studied him. Washed, dressed, and with a pounding headache.
“Have something to eat first.”
Tianoman nodded and then swore, holding his head.
“Come here - I need you clear-headed.” Tianoman rose. “Kneel.” He knelt with difficulty. Torrullin laid his hands on that fair head. “There. Now eat. God knows what Digilan has to offer.”
Tianoman moved his head experimentally. “Gone. Thanks.”
“First and last time, my friend. You want to get that pissed, you suffer the consequences.”
Tianoman laughed. “Fine by me.” He proceeded to eat a hearty breakfast. “Where’s Teroux?” He had, of course, discovered Tristan snoring beside him, both of them spattered with vomit. Not a pleasant sight, or smell.
“He found his bed eventually.”
“Gods, what a party.”
Torrullin laughed and drank his coffee.
“Where did Saska sleep?”
The mug slammed onto the table. “You really should have some tact, Tianoman.”
The young man was instantly contrite. “Sorry.”
Saska, in fact, chose to room with Caballa, but he was not about to expound on it to Tianoman. Bloody child. “Forget it. Is Tristan still sleeping?”
“He was when I left.”
“Eat up. We leave in a few minutes.”
Torrullin rose, left the room and made his way to Tianoman’s room where Tristan was indeed still fast asleep. He shook the man.
“Tristan!”
When that had no effect, he muttered an oath and was forced again to use his power to bring about lucidity.
Tristan struggled up and sniffed. “What’s that smell?”
“You,” Torrullin said. “Never mind that. Tristan, what happened to Trezond?”
“It’s at the manor. My father stated in his will to return it to you. I forgot, I’m sorry.”
“I need it now.”
“For Digilan?”
“Among others, yes.”
“What happened to Elianas?” Tristan glanced pointedly at Torrullin’s swordless waist.
“It has moved on,” Torrullin said. Instantly Elianas was in his mind.
“Well, let me clean up and …”
“That won’t be necessary. I simply require your permission to retrieve my sword.”
“You have it.”
“Thank you.” Torrullin held his hand out, palm up, and Trezond, sword of the Valleur, nestled upon it. Tristan gaped. “This was my first blade; we are connected.”
He tilted the sword, took it by the hilt, and as he moved to slam it into a scabbard, a scabbard settled about his waist. The sword slid home without a sound.
“I wish I could do that.”
“Practice.” Torrullin headed for the door. “Tian and I are leaving now. Hold the fort.”
He was gone, leaving Tristan staring at the open doorway.
THEY TRANSPORTED TO the farmland west of the Eastern Mountain, where the region was unpopulated.
Here Tymall entered from Digilan and left again with the Tracloc. It was not where Torrullin left Digilan from, but he would not put Tianoman through that kind of realm travel; he would use the thinning in the fabric where a portal once existed.
“Tie this around your waist.” He handed Tianoman a length of rope. “There’s mist on the other side and we cannot afford to be separated.” He tied the other end off around his own waist. “Are you ready?”
“I guess.”
“Do not talk or make a sound until I give the signal. There are creatures in the mist and most of them are more bloodthirsty than the Mor Feru.”
Tianoman nodded.
Torrullin faced east and sketched the outline of a doorway with both hands. A patch of white appeared and tendrils of mist escaped into the sunshine of Valaris, evaporating instantly. Tianoman drew a sharp breath and Torrullin put his finger to his lips. He stepped through and Tianoman followed the tug of the rope.
They were in cloying, thick, blinding mist, and the doorway behind them was gone.
This was Digilan.
Chapter 38
There are no rules for the heart.
~ Truth
Digilan
THERE WERE TERRIBLE SOUNDS in the cloying white, slobbering, tearing sounds, and Tianoman was afraid.
He hauled on the rope until Torrullin’s comforting presence was under his hands. He held on to the man’s shoulder. They could not see each other. Torrullin wrapped fingers around Tianoman’s wrist and started walking. To Tianoman it seemed they walked in a weaving pattern, although he could not be sure. He concentrated on holding the rope with one hand, Torrullin’s fingers around his other, and blocked out the terrible sounds.
Was it minutes or hours before the mist thinned? He would never know. He only knew relief was tangible.
The thinning vapour gave way to grey light and they stepped out into a hole in the heavens, or thus it seemed. They stood upon muddy ground, treeless and stinking, and a leaden sky was a perfect circle in the encircling mist. There was no sunlight; this was the natural state of Digilan.
A white palace sat on a rise in the centre of this circular reclamation, sprawling and impossibly high. A massive moat encircled the gigantic edifice and a wide bridge spanned the trench to a portcullis through which a hundred men could walk abreast. The building was blinding in its whiteness, with great halogen lights lit around the perimeter.
“The Warlock Palace,” Torrullin murmured. He untied the rope, did the same for Tianoman, who was nerveless and paralysed and simply stared. He tapped the young man’s chest. “Breathe, son.”
Tianoman took a great, gasping breath. “Oh, my god.”
“This one building compares to Grinwallin in size,” Torrullin said. “It is, in fact, a self-contained city. Come.”
“How do we get in?”
“We walk through the entrance.”
Tianoman was on his heels, too afraid to let his grandfather gather even a step between them.
They crossed the bridge unhurriedly, ignoring the strangeness of others upon it. At the portcullis a host of guards eyed them, but as they neared all bowed.
One straightened, a burly man with the thickest beard in the universe. “Welcome, Elixir.”
Torrullin inclined his head and moved through with Tianoman gaping behind him.
The mighty building was a series of walls before the actual palace reared into the heavens, and each wall was hundreds of feet thick, containing within a warren of chambers and quarters.
They crossed the first expanse; this one choked with guards, and then went through an arch that was the first ‘wall’ and into the next. Here another type appeared dominant. Men dressed in dark clothing, turbans about their heads, faces obscured, and glinting daggers and sabres at their waists. Some practised with those daggers, while others worked their mounts, an animal akin to a horse.
One detached from a nearby nook in the wall. “Elixir, you have returned.”
Torrullin halted and smiled. “Still in charge, my friend?”
The man bowed. “The Warlock values my services.”
“I am glad. Is he in residence?”
“He is. Do you require a guide?”
“Thank you.”
The Tracloc, for that was what these darkly clad men were, bowed and glanced at Tianoman. Only dark eyes showed. “Is this young man my master’s son?”
“He is,” Torrullin murmured. “Lead on.”
The Tracloc took the hint and swung away. They followed him until they entered the largest space thus far, a huge chamber able to hold a crowd of a thousand, perhaps more. It was hard to find perspective in such vastness.
Torrullin called a halt. Here he laid down the law to the Magus Caste, thereby ensuring Tymall’s continuing reign as Warlock. He asked, “Are they still as prominent?”
“The Magi?” the Tracloc s
norted. “They think they are and it suits my master to allow them to labour under that belief.”
“Good.” Torrullin glanced at Tianoman and noticed how pale the young man was. “Can you go on?”
“I have to.” His voice was barely audible.
“You are fortunate, my Lord Elixir, in your timing. The palace is quieter than usual this last week. The young man has not to deal with the host of this place.”
“A raid?”
“The Mor Feru are a thorn in my master’s side. He sent half his army and most of the rabble to subdue them again for a time.”
“And the Magi?”
The Tracloc grinned. “They went along to learn humility, I believe.” The grin was in the man’s voice, for the turban hid physical movement. “Shall we go on?”
Torrullin took Tianoman by the shoulder and they walked on. “Be yourself when you see him, and don’t be afraid.”
They came to a concealed doorway, hidden in that it lay in the shadow of the overhanging palace, and guards stood twenty deep before it. The Tracloc spoke and the ranks opened. All bowed as Torrullin and Tianoman moved through.
Beyond, in a spherical chamber large enough for the Keep to vanish into, stood a circular tube, black. It clambered through the volume of space and ended in the ceiling ten storeys above. The Tracloc approached, found a panel, pressed digits, and a door slid into the wall of the tube. An elevator. The Tracloc bowed and stood aside.
“It leads directly to the Warlock’s chambers, my Lord Elixir. As you see, there are no stops along the way.”
Torrullin gripped Tianoman, who was reluctant under his fingers, and spoke his appreciation. The Tracloc stood by as Torrullin dragged Tianoman into the black space inside the tube, and then pressed a digit. The door slid shut on him and all else. A weak red light came on, a faint hum.
“I can’t do this,” Tianoman gasped. “Please, can we go back?”
Torrullin took a hold of his face and stared into his eyes. “You have come this far. You will regret not taking this final step for the rest of your life. Do not surrender to fear now.”
Tianoman blinked and blinked again. “You’re right.”
“Good lad.” Torrullin let go and deliberately ignored his grandson, giving him time to recover composure.
There was no sensation of moving, but when the door slid away again it was obvious they were no longer at ground level.
They exited into a wide corridor with a set of double doors set into it, directly opposite the elevator. Twenty guards lined the walls, most of them Tracloc. All bowed and then straightened to stare into the distance.
Torrullin knocked. Tianoman cowered behind him.
One side of the double doors opened and a wizened woman peered out. “You don’t have an appointment.”
“I do. It was made twenty-five years ago,” Torrullin said.
Her little eyes widened and she pulled the door wide. “You!”
Torrullin stepped through.
Tianoman followed, cold and uncertain.
“Where is he?” Torrullin asked.
The woman pointed and vanished muttering into a side chamber.
Another set of double doors lay before them and Torrullin gripped a handle, opened and stepped through.
Tianoman hurried after.
Until now everything was featureless, even the outer room where the old woman received them, but now the first indications of who Tymall was became evident. It was different from what was there on Torrullin’s previous visit.
Then everything was black with touches of red, a gothic, depressing style; now there were subdued colours, yet vibrant in the mixing of blue, green and plum. It should have jarred, but fit together. It was minimalist without being empty and lifeless. Comfortable couches and armchairs, glass tables, many books - a reception room.
Beyond was a staircase to the smaller space Tymall lived in. Torrullin passed under the far arch, climbed beautiful, carpeted and spiralling stairs to the upper level. With Tianoman at his heels, he found the smaller sitting room.
It was as tastefully decorated, but with more disorder. A lived-in space. Books were open on a low coffee table, writing materials were scattered there also, and two half mugs of coffee perched precariously. One armchair hosted a fat, ginger cat, which opened one wary eye and then ignored the intruders.
He knew where the kitchen was, the bedrooms, study, library, and knew Tymall was in one of them, somewhere … and could not move.
“Torrullin?” Tianoman whispered.
“I am probably as stressed as you,” Torrullin murmured.
“Who’s there?” a voice demanded. “Min, I told you not to allow …”
The voice fell into silence as the form followed it into the sitting room - from the kitchen, by the look of the heaped plate.
The plate blindly found a place to rock upon.
“Ty,” Torrullin said.
Tymall gazed at his father and then gazed long at Tianoman, and then he strode over and Torrullin went to meet him. They met and gripped each other fiercely, wordlessly.
Tianoman swallowed. There was the streaked auburn and gold hair, the clear grey eyes. Just like Samuel. Samuel had been the genetic equal to Tristamil and Tymall in every way. It was strange, like seeing Samuel again, and yet not so strange. He felt … prepared.
Father and son parted and there was wetness on both sets of cheeks.
“Father, I wasn’t expecting you for another month, Valaris time.”
“Surprised?”
“Pleasantly.” Tymall found the courage to look at Tianoman. “How did you name him?”
“Tianoman.”
“Tianoman,” Tymall tested. “A good name.” He smiled. “I guess most call you Tian.”
A nod.
Tymall glanced at his father, who inclined his head to the right. Ah, yes, the library. Comfortable, private and neutral. Tymall closed in on his son, his heart beating as erratically as Tianoman’s. He halted.
“You are like your mother.”
“You are like Samuel.”
Tymall closed in some more. “How was your Coming-of-Age?”
“Successful,” Tianoman managed.
Tymall stood close. “Son, I have been waiting long to hold you in my arms again; please, may I hold you, for a little while?”
Tianoman flung himself into those waiting arms and held on for dear life. Tymall choked on his tears as he enveloped his son.
Torrullin moved diplomatically away. Father and son would not reach the library. He moved through to the kitchen and heard them begin to talk.
Good. Better than he hoped.
He sat somewhere, drawing in air.
TORRULLIN RECKONED HE left them alone long enough.
It was a fraction of the time they needed, but he was also aware Tianoman could be overloaded. The young man needed time to think now.
He entered the sitting room bearing a tray with coffee and snacks discovered in the kitchen.
Tymall listened attentively to Tianoman speak of Samuel’s farm, how the three cousins had enjoyed it there, but Tianoman broke off when he saw his grandfather.
“I’m parched.”
“Thought you might be.” Torrullin set the tray down as Tymall pushed books aside.
“Thank you,” Tymall murmured. His father would know what that was really for.
Torrullin sank into an armchair. The stool in the kitchen was hard.
“You all right, Torrullin?” Tianoman asked.
A grin bloomed. “Hard kitchen stool.”
Tymall handed Tianoman a mug and then glanced at his father. “It’s written all over you.”
“Tension?”
He passed a mug to his father, took his in hand and leaned back. “Yes. What’s on with this Three Kingdom nonsense?”
“Did Tian tell you?”
“No. We are at year six.” Tymall smiled at his son. “I want to know everything.”
Torrullin waited.
“I have standin
g orders for incomers to be questioned,” Tymall explained. “Key words earn an interview with me.”
“And someone mentioned Three Kingdoms?”
“And singing stones, Akhavar, and I hear Lowen vanished.”
Tianoman looked from one to the other. “Singing stones?”
Tymall was still looking at his father. “I sent the five oval stones.”
“You have surprised me.”
Tymall grinned. “I know.”
Tianoman sipped at his coffee, deciding to listen only. He would learn more if they forgot he was there.
“Where did you find them, Ty? They were missing millions of years.”
“Grinwallin. Around the time I slipped through Agnimus’ seal around Valaris.”
“You did not get in, you said.”
“I lied.”
“I thought as much,” Torrullin muttered, and went on. “Teighlar could never find the stones. In fact, he does not know I am aware they exist. How did you know?”
“I didn’t. The presence under Grinwallin gave them to me to give to you when the time was right.”
“He hid them,” Torrullin said.
“I assume so. When I heard the rumours of singing stones, I sent them.”
“Tian found them.”
Tymall was silent and then, “You were meant to.”
“But I have too much on my mind and Tian desperately sought an appropriate gift for the ceremony. Ty, I have them and that is what matters.”
“What are they?” Tianoman interrupted.
“Luvan stones,” Torrullin informed. “They possess magical properties. And they are as priceless as I revealed yesterday.”
“Why do you need them?” Tymall asked.
“I don’t yet know.”
Tymall lifted an eyebrow, but did not push the issue. “What’s this about Lowen?”
“Do you care?”
“I care about you, yes.”
“She disappeared into Time.”
“Gods, how?” Tymall understood something. “You brought Tian’s ceremony forward to hasten the choosing of a Vallorin. You are going after her, and it’s realm travel. You can’t leave the Valleur leaderless for, what, a thousand years, two?”
Lore of Sanctum Omnibus Page 39
