Lore of Sanctum Omnibus

by Elaina J Davidson

  “What?” Tianoman choked on his coffee.

  “Gods, you never were tactful, Ty,” Torrullin said.

  “I am on the mark.”

  “Yes.”

  “What realm travel?” Tianoman demanded. “You can’t! One of us as Vallorin will need you, and the other two to overcome disappointment. You can’t leave now.”

  “One of you will have the power of the Throne and the other two are strong, mature men, Tian. You do not need me.”

  Tianoman snapped his mouth closed, and Tymall laughed. “He sounds like me.”

  Torrullin smiled. “Often.”

  “Which realm?” Tymall asked.

  “A new one. To me, at any rate.”

  “And Lowen is there?”

  “Yes.”

  “I assume Quilla’s going.”

  Torrullin laughed. “You never will like him, will you? Yes, Quilla will accompany us.”

  Tymall sat forward. “Who else?”

  “You do not need to know.” Torrullin lifted a shoulder.

  “Actually, I do.”

  “Why?”

  “Let’s say I have heard things. Maybe I can help.”

  Torrullin glanced at Tianoman, who muttered, “I’m an adult now.”

  His lips moved into a smile and then it was gone. Torrullin said, “Declan.”

  “Obviously,” Tymall murmured. “Belun?”

  “He stays for the Dome. Saska …”

  Tymall sat back, his face unreadable. “You are together again.”

  “In a manner of speaking.”

  “Lowen is better for you.”

  “You don’t even like Lowen.”

  “I like Saska even less.”

  They glared at each other before Tymall murmured, “Forgive me.”

  “Fine. Saska, Declan, Teighlar, Quilla, and a man known as Sabian.”

  “You’re pissed at me,” Tymall muttered.

  “You have that effect.”

  “I am sorry. By now I should know your wife is out of bounds, especially to me. I do know, but her name always brings it back.”

  “We’ll let it go, son.”

  “Good.” Then, “Teighlar? Teighlar?”

  Torrullin grinned. “Finally going on a journey, yes.”

  “Well, well, then the doorway is in Grinwallin.”

  “Astute of you.”

  “Grinwallin stones. Sabian is Agnimus, right?”

  “Gods, you are well informed.”

  “What?” Tianoman blurted.

  They forgot he was listening. “Tian, you can’t repeat this,” Tymall said.

  Tianoman was not about to allow his father to tell him what to do; they did not have the necessary history.

  “Tian, your father is right,” Torrullin murmured.

  Tymall sucked at his teeth, realising his son listened to his grandfather before others. Well, what did he expect? To walk into the role of father with every privilege?

  “How long are you staying?” he asked Torrullin.

  “Two days.”

  Tymall closed his eyes. “Too little.”

  “Already too long for Digilan.”

  “I know, I know. God, I know.”

  Tianoman rose from his seat and paced away. “Torrullin, I need to ask a favour of you.”

  “Ask.”

  “I know you’re tactfully trying to avoid an overload of emotions and information, but I would like to spend time with my father alone. I’m sorry, I know you are his father and you …”

  Torrullin stood. “Ty and I know each other. It is all right, I promise.” He said to Tymall, “Dinner? You’re cooking, of course.”

  “Tian and I can do it together.”

  “Good; we’ll talk then. What’s this about subduing the Mor Feru? I thought I would have a look.”

  Tymall pinched the bridge of his nose. “Ask your Tracloc friend to guide you, and, for god’s sake, don’t kill all of them, will you? They come in handy for those bloody things in the mist.”

  Now Tianoman really gaped.

  “I will leave a few,” Torrullin grinned.

  “Torrullin, you’re going to fight?”

  “Tian, we’re kidding,” Torrullin said, and simply vanished, thereby avoiding further explanation.

  “He’s not kidding, is he?”

  Tymall sighed as he found a biscuit to nibble on. “He is pissed at me, he is full of tension, he hates that he is here, hates that he has to leave again - oh, yes, Elixir will bloody his sword.”

  Tianoman sat down hard. “You know him that well?”

  A wry shrug. “I do.”

  “Doesn’t it worry you, killing Mor Feru?”

  “No. I love you, I love my father, and that puts me in the grey world of ifs and buts, but I am Warlock. Killing is part of the game.” Tymall paused. “He sprung the legacies before they could affect you, didn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  Tymall smiled. “Good. You have a better chance than I ever did.”

  “You don’t want me to be like you?”

  “No, son, not this, not for you. Your mother was right; you deserved a fair chance and all the love you can hold close.”

  A tear rolled down Tianoman’s cheek. “Tell me about her.”

  Chapter 39

  There are no rules in a fight.

  ~ Truth

  Digilan

  THE TRACLOC WAS NEAR the elevator when Torrullin stepped out.

  The turbaned man said, “Follow me.”

  As they walked through the city of walls, neither spoke. When they reached the Tracloc enclave Torrullin’s companion secured two mounts and, speaking for the first time, told Torrullin to handle the animal as he would a horse.

  That proved true, with a few nuances.

  From there they rode out. Across the bridge and right, travelling at an angle to the encircling mist. A point of entry was chosen, the mist like soup. Unlike elsewhere in the white blindness, only silence was heard here. Even their mounts made no noise.

  They travelled in that manner for an hour; it was silent, a listening, expectant silence. After an hour the mist thinned and then cleared entirely, and they entered another circular island of grey sky.

  Torrullin drew his mount to a halt.

  Shale underfoot, leaden sky.

  Fighting. Tracloc, Warlock soldiers, Mor Feru and others, among them Magi and creatures defying description.

  Noise. The terrible clamour of desperate battle.

  “Why?” the Tracloc asked.

  “Curiosity,” Torrullin murmured, taking in the waves of fighting, the pockets of close combat. It seemed no one had clear advantage.

  “Will curiosity extend to the sharp edges of your sword?”

  “It may.”

  “Elixir, years ago you said I had a name and I denied it.”

  Torrullin looked at him.

  “You called it a pet name, something that meant something to someone. You were right.”

  Torrullin looked away, still saying nothing.

  “My name is Maple.”

  Torrullin nodded.

  “You knew, of course, but it would be an honour if you would call me by my name.”

  Torrullin looked at him again. “The honour is mine.”

  Maple inclined his head.

  “You are of the current Lady of Life’s tribe. Your eyes are like to Lily’s.”

  Maple looked away. “Lily is my second cousin.”

  “Why are you here? What did you do to deserve this?”

  “I killed my sister.”

  Torrullin blinked his surprise.

  A rueful laugh. “She had a child’s mind, a birthing accident, and she had a woman’s body far too soon with all the … needs. She wanted to use me to sate them and I - I killed her to end it.” He glanced at Torrullin. “I feel no guilt over the killing; I reserve that for what went before.”

  A good man, a wrong turn, an unforgivable sin, and Digilan took him. “How did you die?”

  “Sui
cide.”

  Ah, double Digilan. “Pity. Your talents would be useful in our realm.”

  Maple laughed. “No judgement?”

  “I am no saint, Maple.”

  “Thank you.”

  By way of changing the subject, Torrullin pointed, “Who is that man with the red hat?”

  Maple squinted. “Magus Ser.”

  “It seems to me he fights his caste, not Mor Feru.”

  Long minutes passed as Maple studied the man in question. As they watched, Magus Ser felled another in the white robes of their caste and then strode through the field to engage another.

  Maple hissed. “The Warlock has doubts about Ser.”

  “He is right. Shall we?”

  Maple grinned, and kicked his mount into motion.

  TYMALL AND TIANOMAN sat at the dining table, waiting.

  Both were sated with words, but stomachs growled, particularly knowing how much went into the meal.

  “Let us eat, Tian,” Tymall said eventually.

  “You’re not worried?”

  “He will be here when he is done. I’m starving.” Tymall started dishing up, acting casual. Inside he was furious at his father for adding tension into an already overwrought situation.

  Tianoman shrugged, too inexperienced to read body language, and helped himself.

  Both ate with relish and were soon laughing and talking again.

  Tianoman cleared away; Tymall placed his father’s share under cover on the kitchen counter.

  He could bloody warm it himself.

  IT WAS ANOTHER TWO hours before he showed up.

  Torrullin found them in the library pouring over books and laughing together. They did not notice him and he watched with a pleased smile. Yes, despite everything, the two had bonded.

  Tymall loosed a mighty guffaw and leaned back to let it out, and his mirth was instantly gone. On his feet, he shouted, “Where have you been?”

  Tianoman jerked around, eyes widening.

  Torrullin’s clothes were torn, his face, hands and hair dirty and bloody.

  “Not mine,” Torrullin said. It was of no help to the boy to pamper him. “Ty, we have to talk. Now.”

  Tymall’s eyes flickered, reading something in his father’s gaze, and he nodded. “Tian, please excuse us.”

  Tianoman looked from one to the other and left.

  Torrullin called as he went, “See if you can find some wine, Tian!”

  The young man huffed.

  “What happened?” Tymall demanded.

  “A timeous intervention, that’s what. We found Magus Ser murdering his colleagues under the guise of Mor Feru brutality.”

  Tymall hissed, “I knew that bastard was up to no good.”

  “He put up quite a fight when he saw me,” Torrullin said, “and rallied a whole host of creatures to his aid.”

  “Did you kill him?”

  “No, the Tracloc have him. That is why we took long; the bloody man is no coward and put up a fight all the way.”

  “Anything on his reasons?”

  “A new challenger, by my reading.”

  Tymall’s eyes hooded. “Sixth one this year alone. Am I losing my grip?”

  Torrullin withdrew his sword and put it on the table. Tymall opened a drawer and passed a cloth. As he cleaned his blade, Torrullin said, “This is your dominion, but I have warned you before about instincts. You say you knew Ser was trouble; if you had listened, it would not have got away from you.”

  “Of late you occupied my thoughts. I let it slip.”

  Torrullin turned the blade and wiped slowly. “It is time to make an example, Warlock.”

  “Ser?”

  “Yes. You want to show you do not know the meaning of mercy.”

  “I don’t,” Tymall said with a peculiar smile.

  Unfortunately Tianoman heard that, standing in the doorway with a bottle of white wine.

  Tymall swore.

  Torrullin went on cleaning his sword. “Digilan is not a pleasant place, Tian. Come in.”

  “I couldn’t find glasses.”

  Torrullin smiled.

  Tymall cleared his throat. “In the cabinet near the fireplace.”

  Tianoman put the bottle down and withdrew to find glasses.

  “He has your strength, Ty. Don’t worry so much, and do not pamper him.”

  “I don’t want him touched by this.”

  “He is already touched in another way.”

  “Meaning?” Tymall growled.

  “He subverted the Three Gates recently and yesterday cloaked four sites simultaneously. Besides myself - and you - he is the only one who can do that.”

  “My power?”

  “Indeed.”

  “Damn it. He won’t be Vallorin, then.”

  Of course Tianoman heard that, returning with the glasses. He froze in the doorway.

  Torrullin pretended he was unaware of his grandson. “Actually he has the greater chance at being Vallorin.”

  Tymall watched his father and realised the subterfuge. He looked up at Tianoman, and asked, “How?”

  “Come, Ty, the Throne sees in planes of grey, the smoky areas, and it will choose a ruler according to how it reads the future.”

  “And no future is simple black and white.”

  “The particular future ahead will not be easy.”

  Tymall ostensibly cleared his throat. “Ah, you found the glasses.”

  Tianoman entered, markedly silent. He set the vessels down. “I heard.”

  Torrullin smiled. A truth-teller, this one. Excellent. “It’s all right.”

  Tianoman sat. “Did you fight a lot?”

  “Quite a bit.”

  “Are you fine?”

  “I am.” Torrullin finished his cleaning and replaced the sword in its scabbard. “But I am disappointed I missed a meal my grandson cooked.”

  Tianoman grinned. “We kept you some.”

  Torrullin ruffled his hair. “Then I am going to get cleaned up and enjoy it.” He left the library, winking at Tymall.

  Tianoman smoothed his hair - which had Tymall hiding a grin - and said, “It couldn’t have been easy growing up with him as a father.”

  “He made it easier than I deserved. My problems really surfaced as an adult; that was when I felt the weight of his shadow.”

  “He said he turned from you for a time.”

  “As I did from him. He told you that?”

  “And lots of other stuff, good and bad. I had to understand, he said.”

  “And do you?”

  Tianoman considered. “In a way.”

  “Do you forgive the evils I committed?”

  Tianoman fingered a glass and the silence stretched before he answered. “That was then; this is now.”

  “That, son, is a sidestep.”

  Tianoman laughed. “I know, but what am I supposed to say?”

  “Yes or no.”

  Tianoman was miserable. “No.”

  Tymall smiled. “Give me your hand.” He took the proffered hand. “Release trebac hold.” A moment later blue flames played about their fingers and palms. “Kinfire. Feel the blood we share and know you chose right, and I understand your choice. Tian, beloved son, I do not forgive myself; how am I to expect that you do?”

  “Really?”

  “In your presence I speak only truth.”

  TIANOMAN EVENTUALLY FELL asleep, and Torrullin and Tymall sat on.

  Time was an issue; therefore mundane activities such as sleep could wait. It was unlikely father and son would see each other again soon. They set to discussing truth and detail, skirting only the subject of Saska.

  Torrullin revealed much of his personal difficulties over the last twenty-five years and Tymall also spoke candidly, knowing his father would not be shocked by the atrocities of Digilan. In a sense, it was an unburdening.

  They also discussed Tianoman - or Torrullin spoke and Tymall listened - and Tristan and Teroux, and the forthcoming coronation.

  AS T
HE HALF-LIGHT of Digilan broke, Tymall excused himself to contend with Digilan business.

  When he returned he came bearing fruit and eggs – from an inner conservatory - and proceeded to make breakfast. The smells awakened Tianoman and the three-way conversation was light and easy at table.

  Later Tymall took Tianoman on a tour while Torrullin caught up on sleep.

  THE TRACLOC PUT ON a show of horsemanship and staged mock battles, which the Warlock and his guests attended, as did the depleted Magus caste.

  Tianoman murmured to Torrullin, “I find it amazing that some things here are normal.”

  “We cling to certain traditions and standards no matter where we are.”

  “This has been educational.”

  Torrullin smiled. “I doubt it not.”

  After the show they joined the Tracloc in their enclave to enjoy a feast, which included whole roasted boar and turkeys the size of ostriches. A potent milky drink brought on a swift state of drunkenness, to which Tianoman - intrigued - fell afoul.

  He was garbling deliriously by the time Maple hoisted him over one shoulder and carried him up to the Warlock’s quarters.

  “HE ACTUALLY HAD A good time,” Tymall grinned. “Who would have thought?”

  “The Tracloc are different.”

  “They are. I sometimes think they do not belong here.”

  “I guess even Digilan requires balance.”

  Tymall was exhausted from lack of sleep and it showed, but he had not yet gone beyond the intuitive line. “What is on your mind?”

  “I have a suggestion. I am not certain it would be wise.” Torrullin placed his goblet somewhere and leaned back to close his eyes.

  “Concerning Tracloc?”

  One eye opened in amusement. “You always were quick.”

  Tymall was not humoured. “What of them?”

  “One Tracloc, not all of them.”

  “Ah, your friend.”

  “He is yours also.”

  “The only individual in this realm I trust.”

  “I thought as much.”

  Tymall leaned forward. “What about him?”

  Torrullin rose to pace. “This could prove a spectacular mistake.”

  Tymall watched him. “We fix it, if need be.”

  Torrullin swung to a halt. “I would need your word on something. Can I trust you have learned the meaning of a promise?”