Wandering along a cobbled path, following the signs, he eventually came to the statue.
Elianas started laughing.
It was huge and pretty impressive in design, and the craftsmanship required to cut such an intricate shape was remarkable. It sparkled in the sunlight and would no doubt capture every lamp lit in the park at night.
Torrullin would hate it. When did he ever go around thrusting his sword into the air like a hero from old tales? When did he ever sit astride a dragon? Of course it was meant to reflect the man’s history … but still.
Shaking his head, Elianas moved on.
Red Cloaks flooded the park. In the blink of an eye they were simply everywhere. Elianas froze, hand on his sword, eyes marking every movement. All gods, did Rivalen already know he now possessed the real Medaillon?
Screams of terror erupted beyond the immediate screen of shrubs, then shrieks of horror and agony.
Twisting his head, flexing his fingers, Elianas prepared to wade in.
Agony lanced through his skull.
Blackness descended.
The Dome
THE SENSORS, YEARS AGO, were calibrated to keep watch on Valaris.
Tristan and Belun were in the Dome when an alarum sounded. Quilla had requested a private meeting, and they now waited for him.
“Valaris!” Belun shouted, running for the view screen.
He punched at a keyboard and the view homed in on Valaris in general, then to the site of alarm. Galilan came into view, recognisable from the great river flowing through it. The view narrowed to the Prism Park.
Swirling red cloaks dominated the screen.
“My god,” Belun whispered.
Various weapons danced in the appalling view, severing arms and heads, slicing through torsos, jabbing into backs. Blood exploded as clouds of horror.
A Red Cloak hacked at the prism statue until it toppled.
Nearby, two dragged an inert man away.
“That is Elianas!” Tristan blurted, and raced for his ogive. “Get the Kaval to Galilan, Centuar!” A chime revealed he was gone.
Belun, pasty-faced, send the commands, and watched his leader stride into the fray around the toppled statue. Gasping for breath an instant later, he saw Tristan felled also.
“Torrullin!” he screamed through the spaces.
BELUN TROD THE WHITE tiles at the Dragon ogive.
When Torrullin stepped through, he simply dragged him to the screen. “They have both Elianas and Tristan.”
Kaval swung swords and sorcery in the melee now, but the Red Cloaks far outnumbered them. Belun stared at Torrullin, waiting for guidance.
“Withdraw the Kaval,” Torrullin said, his tone expressionless. “Prepare for an invasion of Millwold.” His gaze remained fixed on the screen, watching as Elianas and Tristan were viciously secured with vulci. “The Luvanese host is yours, Belun. Take them in, however many soldiers you need. You are now war leader, understood? Rout that place. Go in at nightfall. You will find the host gathered on Grinwallin’s plateau.”
“It will be done.” Belun sent out new orders to the Kaval. One by one, most bloodied, they disappeared from the on screen view.
Trussed and gagged, Elianas and Tristan vanished as well, in the grip of Slayers. Torrullin closed his eyes.
“The Dome will wink out when I leave,” Belun murmured.
“Never mind. It can be recalled as needed.”
“What are you going to do?”
Torrullin glanced at him. “I intend to end Rivalen’s reign.” He strode for his exit. It chimed a moment later.
The Centuar looked around him and then ran for his ogive.
Moments later the Dome vanished from view.
Grinwallin
TEIGHLAR WAITED ON THE portico steps.
“What do you need?” he asked without preamble?
“Four of your best trackers,” Torrullin stated.
“Give me five minutes.” Teighlar strode into the Great Hall.
Torrullin turned to regard the plateau below, keeping his hand over the Lumin Sword’s pommel to hopefully hide its presence from the Emperor. It was a complication he did not now desire to explain.
Many Valleur already stood in ranks. He had sent out the summons from the Dome already. As he watched, more arrived, and then the Kaval came, with Belun gesticulating.
He inhaled. Belun was not the best strategist, but Chaim would temper his impulsivity. Fuma would suggest the most creative moves to best an enemy.
All gods, this night many would die, friend and enemy alike.
Teighlar was behind him. “The trackers are on their way. What do you intend?”
Torrullin pointed. “The host will keep the Red Cloaks distracted while your men find Rivalen for me. I intend to cut the head off the snake.”
“He has both Elianas and Tristan. Will he hurt them?”
“He will hurt them.” Torrullin glanced over his shoulder. “How did you find out so fast?”
“Is that suspicion I hear?” Teighlar pointed in turn. “When ten thousand men suddenly make an appearance on my doorstep, I make it my business to find out why.”
Torrullin shifted back to the view. “How many do you estimate there are now?”
Teighlar stepped down to stand beside him, eyes narrowed. “At least sixty thousand.”
“More than the Slayers,” Torrullin murmured. “Perhaps numbers will do it.”
The Emperor glanced at him. “I hear they are brutal.”
“Very.”
“If you need more men, call on us.”
“Thank you. Let us hope we can end it swiftly.”
“Ah, here they are.” Teighlar beckoned four men closer.
All were dressed in forest hues.
Torrullin nodded to each and looked them over critically. Their dress would suit Millwold’s rural colours; excellent. “Lose all gear,” he said, referring to the packs on their backs. “We shall be moving fast.”
As they shrugged off their packs, he watched their eyes. All were men of even temperament. Excellent. He needed those who would not panic in a crisis or run from danger.
“You are calm, Torrullin,” Teighlar murmured.
Torrullin sent him a look.
The Emperor grimaced, understanding calm was outward only. Fury seethed below. Perhaps that was why Torrullin wore two swords.
“We go to Akhavar first,” Torrullin said to the men.
“Good luck,” Teighlar said, placing a hand over his heart.
The four Senlu bowed to him.
Torrullin and Teighlar clasped arms and the space vacated.
Teighlar heaved a sigh and then hollered, “Dechend, alert the army!”
Akhavar
Mountain City
THE GUARD HAD TRIPLED on the ledge and were spaced around the perimeter of the Throne-room.
More were in evidence along the passages leading away from the great space. Tianoman was taking no risks.
“Wait here,” Torrullin told the Senlu, and strode off to the royal apartments.
Tianoman paced like a madman in the antechamber with two Elders waiting on his word. He jerked to a halt when Torrullin strode in. “What is happening?”
“We take Millwold tonight. The host is being prepared as we speak.”
Tianoman waved the Elders out, and approached. “This time he will do more than smack Tristan around, Torrullin, and there is no telling what he will do to Elianas.”
“I am aware,” Torrullin responded, his cheeks taut. “Tian, you stay here, understood? You can send every Valleur fighter in if you wish, but you stay here.”
Tianoman inclined his head.
“I will have your oath on this, Tian.”
“No.”
Torrullin gripped his tunic and hauled him in. “Right now I do not care that you are Vallorin. You are my grandson and your first duty is to your son. You stay here.”
“Swear it, Tian,” Aislinn said from beyond her husband. “For us. Please.”
>
Tianoman deflated. “I swear.”
Torrullin released him and then gently smoothed a hand over his chest. “Sorry.”
Aislinn hooked herself into her husband. “He understands,” she smiled.
Torrullin kissed her cheek. “He is lucky to have you.” Then he looked Tianoman in the eyes. “I am taking Teroux with me.”
“Are you insane? Why?”
“He has spent more time with Rivalen than any of us have. I need what he knows. Where is he?”
“Here, and willing to help,” Teroux murmured as he entered. He wore Valleur leathers and had a sword strapped on.
“Teroux!” Tianoman exploded.
Teroux ignored him.
“For Elianas?” Torrullin asked.
Teroux was unblinking. “For the Vallas.”
Torrullin jerked a nod. “Excellent.” He then nodded to Tianoman and Aislinn, and headed out. “Come. I have Senlu trackers with me. We need to discuss how we can get in without being marked …”
Teroux sent his cousin a lopsided grin and followed Torrullin.
Millwold
FIFTY YEARS AGO DROUGHT in the southern region laid waste to large tracts of land.
All vegetation succumbed and every water source dried up. When fire swept through to finish off what nature’s cycles had begun, the entire area was abandoned.
It had recovered since, but few returned to take up residence. A series of guard posts along the coast was ever manned, though, in the event the sea blockade became a land invasion. With regularity cannon fire swept in to test their presence and thus a presence was maintained.
Torrullin, Teroux and the four Senlu materialised in a copse of trees roughly two sals from the coast. No one saw them. No one raised the alarm.
Instantly the trackers crouched to send feelers out. After ten minutes one rose. His name was Kene.
“This area is uninhabited, my Lord. For safety’s sake, we should keep to the trees.” He pointed at a meandering tree line. It probably followed the local river as it wended its way through the landscape. “If we pace ourselves, we should attain the outskirts of the southern habitats as night falls.”
Torrullin nodded. His senses had picked no one up either. “Lead the way.”
He gestured to Teroux to precede him
Grinwallin
BELUN FROWNED AT CHAIM.
“Time?” he snapped.
Chaim had been tasked with keeping track of Millwold’s day. They would move in as soon as dusk enveloped the continent.
“A few more minutes,” the old man murmured.
They waited. Twilight settled over Tunin continent after a spectacular sunset to the west.
“Now,” Chaim said.
“We go!” Belun roared.
The plateau emptied, but only for a moment.
The Senlu army poured onto it in their stead.
Chapter 53
Glittering coin makes fools of even idealists on occasion
~ Le Moss Mar Dalrish ~
Millwold
“STRIP THEM,” RIVALEN COMMANDED.
Vulci bit through cloth into flesh as it was crudely removed. Lengths and scraps were tossed aside to lie there twitching. The dark rope was able to function even in the absence of flesh to torment; the Slayers who removed the sorcerical bindings wore gloves. Clearly they were not immune to its nasty properties.
Sawdust clogged nostrils and eyes as the captives were roughly rolled over and over, and filled weeping wounds to burn and itch terribly. Sawdust absorbed spilled blood.
As the last of the vulci vanished, broad leather cuffs snapped over both wrists, first Elianas, then Tristan. Cold studs bit into flesh and veins, but whether it was metal or stone they could not tell. It possessed presence, however. While it did not exactly hurt, the sensations roiling at their extremities became most unpleasant.
Tristan groaned as four men tore his clothes from him. His boots thudded into a wall opposite, his sword and scabbard skittered into a corner and buttons popped off to find random places to hide.
Elianas bucked and kicked, refusing to allow anyone near him after the ropes were removed. He clawed at the cuffs, but they were immovable. In fact, they bit in more. What were these goddamn devices? They were certainly not ordinary cuffs.
Three deep, Red Cloaks surrounded them. Most had knives and daggers to hand, and some held swords loosely clasped. Next to Rivalen two men waited with loaded crossbows. Laser pistols and handguns were also in evidence.
Tristan fought, fists launching from the ground to connect with any part of a body in sight. His head snapped sideways as someone kicked him in his jaw. Lights out and limp, he could not prevent them stripping him of the last of his clothes. All he wore when they were done was his loincloth and the two cuffs.
“Hang him,” Rivalen said.
Heart hammering, Elianas vaulted to his feet.
Before he was able to wade in, two gripped him from behind, while another came at him from the front. With his arms pinioned, he lashed out using his legs, connecting with the Red Cloak as he bent to remove Elianas’ sword, sending him flailing back. He then muttered under his breath, a chant to paralyse everyone around them, but nothing happened.
Four others rushed at him and he levered up, using the weight holding his arms …
… a dagger pressed against his throat.
“Move an inch and you are dead,” a voice whispered into his ear.
He doubted immortality covered a throat slice. Elianas did not move.
“That’s better,” the voice went on. “Strip him now.”
From the corner of his left eye, Elianas noticed normal ropes wrap around Tristan’s chest. At this point in the game it would not be a neck hanging, thank the gods. This was about torture, not death. Not yet.
He then gave thought to the treasure he wore against his chest. Rivalen would soon possess the real Maghdim Medaillon. He bent his will to incapacitating Red Cloaks and again nothing happened. His power was as nothing, as if it functioned in dead space.
In that moment he understood what the cuffs were for. The devices subdued those with sorcery running through their veins. It appeared escape would be more challenging to engineer than he had thought.
His sword flew into a corner over the heads of the Red Cloaks. His boots went next. Every jerk from his assailants meant the blade at his neck pressed in deeper. He felt the first trickles of blood there.
Breeches went next and then rough hands assaulted his upper body. The knife retreated somewhat to allow them to divest him and he launched into attack immediately.
“Gods, he is one man!” Rivalen roared. “Subdue him and string him up!”
Elianas vanished under the weight of many bodies. Leaving him his tunic, they wrapped him with rope also. He heard Tristan groan as their captors shunted him upward and his feet left the floor. Then it was his turn. Yanking at the rope, many hands hauled him into the air.
Moments later both men swung from the rafters.
Rivalen’s smirking face came into view and Elianas closed his eyes, not wanting the creature to read his own satisfaction. No one knew the Medaillon hid under his tunic.
“Well, now,” Rivalen murmured, closing in. “I get two when I expected only one. I do love surprises. Welcome to Millwold, Elianas.”
Elianas said nothing.
“You may speak. In fact, I hope you will soon be singing,” Rivalen grinned. “Have you figured out what the cuffs are for yet? Of course you have; no one can label you as stupid.” He glanced over his shoulder. “In the thigh, I think. Let us take our time.”
A high velocity bolt flew across the space and tore into Elianas’ right thigh. He grunted. The impact swung him wildly for a few minutes. It was utter agony, but he would not give the white creature anything. He gripped the rope above his head to still the worst of the swaying.
“Speak, Elianas,” Rivalen prompted.
“What do you want from us?”
“Better. This is how c
ommunication works. From the Kaval leader, I want nothing, although he has now become leverage. From you? I want you to tell me a secret.”
“Really? Let me see, which secret? Ah. You are a secret Valla.”
Fury erupted on Rivalen’s face. “Take his foot!”
A bolt smashed through the bones of his left foot, exiting on the other side, tearing a hole through his flesh. The spent arrow thudded into the wall behind.
Elianas groaned as fire erupted in that limb. “Your father was Jacastu …”
“Skyler will feel my wrath,” Rivalen snapped.
Elianas shut up.
“Now you understand. Tell me, Elianas, do you know of the world known as Danaan?”
Elianas blinked.
“I see that you do. Have you been there?”
“Not recently. What has Danaan to do with … oh.”
Rivalen gripped his torn foot and squeezed. “I want what you took away from there.”
Gritting his teeth, Elianas could say nothing.
Rivalen released. “Tell me!”
“I have no idea what you are talking about,” Elianas said.
“I was there. I saw the pedestal. I smelled you. Where did you take it?”
Swinging in the rope grip, Elianas squinted down. “What is it with you? You have an ancient bloodline and you choose this?”
Rivalen stared up in silence, and then, “OUT!”
Nobody moved at first and then there was a concerted rush for the door. A barn door, Elianas noted. Rafters, sawdust, barn door. This was an old barn, the kind raised during olden times. He drew the knowledge close. A barn was easier to escape from than a metal warehouse. Or a cell.
The Red Cloaks feared their new leader. Even the crossbow men had left. If only he could remove the cuffs.
Rivalen waited, head hanging.
Tristan jerked into awareness to curse and flail. “Elianas!”
“Calm, Tris. Conserve your energy,” the dark man murmured, his attention on Rivalen.
Tristan spat a curse at Rivalen and then stared in astonishment when the creature simply lifted an eyebrow at him. His curse achieved not even a whiff of sound, never mind movement.
Lore of Sanctum Omnibus Page 235
