“Would you say a strike against Axel Red and his mountain will negate smaller units elsewhere?” Torrullin enquired.
Jimini smiled. “Absolutely.”
“Jonas, would strikes set the nukes off?”
“Nukes go off when armed, my Lord.”
Torrullin focused on Chaim. “This Red character must be negated.”
The old man gave a toothy grin. “Already on it.”
“Keep me informed.”
“Excelsior needs to be browbeaten,” Amunti said. “Selling nukes is no joke.”
Torrullin considered. “Give that one to the Dalrish. Xen knows the results of nuclear wars.”
Amunti nodded. “I will set it up.”
“Suggest to Max Excelsior could make reparation by tracing the bombs and dismantling them. However, no radioactive material is to be left on Lax. That crowd of misfits would probably eat it.”
Amunti laughed and agreed.
Torrullin speared Jimini with a silvery stare. “Were you hurt?”
“No, my Lord. It was strange, but I was safe.”
He studied her a moment more and then, apparently satisfied, spoke to Prima. “The opposing force may be true - what of the prophecy?”
Prima clambered to his feet and clasped his hands before him. “I conferred with Caballa and she revealed I need delve the Three Kingdoms of Orb prophecy. Declan and I discovered a man named Sabian with Caballa. I am aware you know of him - this is for the benefit of those here.”
“Tell us about Sabian.”
Prima inclined his head. “Sabian is Xenian by birth, orphaned young and sent to Beacon. After, as a youth passionate about learning, he was granted permission to transfer to Titania. He studied there for twelve years before broadening his horizons with travel. At present Titania employs him in the respect of tracing lost and stolen material. He is honest, well spoken, well read, and is a master historian. His area of expertise is Ancient lore and cultures, and that expertise extends to prophecy.”
Torrullin lifted a brow. “I would like to talk to this paragon.”
“He possesses what is termed a eidetic memory, remembers everything he reads, and has done duty with investigative strategies, and collation. He admits most of his understanding is for ancient cultures - prophecy is a hobby. He recalls, but frequently without comprehension.”
A nod from Torrullin. “Most of us cannot comprehend them either.”
Amunti spluttered laughter.
“Sabian, I assume, knew the Orb prophecy.”
Prima nodded. “Indeed, my Lord.”
“How old is it?”
“Some claim five thousand years; others place it nearer twelve thousand. Yet others say it is far older.”
“It speaks of war?”
Prima bowed his head. “It does. It mentions forces.”
Torrullin leaned over the console. A pause followed and then he looked at Ignatius. “You were charged with the history of Sanctuary. What of Three Kingdoms?”
Ignatius rose. “There were once three kingdoms on Sanctuary, yes.”
“Ah.” Torrullin paced back. “Prima, I will hear the prophecy after the history.”
Prima sat.
Ignatius - known as Iggy in the Dome - tapped his fingers on the slab. “It’s difficult to separate my report from Shedo and Gal’s. It seems Sanctuary and Luvanor are linked by an inundation.”
Torrullin gave a sigh. “Of course they are.” He glanced at Quilla. “When a birdman is so quiet I know he has dire news. Do the stones sing of Sanctuary, Quilla?”
“You must hear the rest first, Torrullin.”
“Iggy, the bare facts,” Torrullin said.
Ignatius bowed. “This world was called Orb by the ancient people, and recently the new. There’s a ten thousand year history here, but it is modern and isn’t applicable to the connections we attempt to bind this day. Orb’s folk now have no idea of a time before, but there were a number of those, and each epoch was separated by an inundation - Gal will have more on that.
“At first all knowledge was lost in flood, but a time came when knowledge of a previous time was secured for those who survived, until warning came of a final annihilating inundation. It proved the final flood for an ancient people, but again knowledge was secured.
“One lone biological ship lifted from the planet and on board was the last hope of a race facing extinction. Five hundred men and women, in prime of life and child bearing age, were sent out to found a new civilisation on a new world, one where the threat of floods wouldn’t again be reality. Among those five hundred was the last royal son of an ancient lineage.”
Ignatius gestured to Shenendo, who rose.
“Five hundred men and women landed on Luvanor in a crashed biological ship four years after Iggy’s time frame,” Shenendo said. “The years are estimated to journey, not time.”
“And the last son of an ancient lineage was called Tunian,” Torrullin filled in. “Tunin continent was named after him. Gods.”
Shenendo nodded. “Orb’s ancient people were known as the Diluvans, the people of the floods. It is no stretch of the imagination to correlate the term Luvan to that. It probably means something like people without flood.”
“People above water,” Torrullin murmured.
“How enlightening,” Fuma remarked. “Isn’t it amazing how the past has effect on the present and future?”
Torrullin chose to ignore that. “Iggy, the Three Kingdoms?”
“Triplets were born on Orb to the royal line. Always title passed to the eldest son, and thus that particular set of heirs gave no clear successor. Orb was divided, by consensus and referendum, into three regions. It worked exceptionally well, for three men were able to divide duties, issues and problems also. Orb prospered and so did the Diluvans.
“And then came the next flood and in the aftermath there was great suffering. The royals survived, but only one man stood forth to institute measures that were harsh at first, yet proved to relieve suffering. Folk wanted him as High King and thus the trouble started. The kingdoms were kept intact, but there was then a High King and two lesser Kings; a few years into rebuilding the wars began.”
Prima rose. “My Lord, may I speak?”
Torrullin waved a hand.
“This is a quote from Sabian, my Lord. Power should always be clearly pointed to, for triplets are never sufficient precedents. That is of Luvan origin, a proverb warning about division.”
Torrullin stared at the older man. A precedent he set anew in three Valla heirs. “Thank you, Prima.”
Ignatius went on. “The wars continued throughout the epoch until the new flood. In the aftermath one royal remained. It is suggested foul play was enacted.”
“Which king survived?”
“The High King, who else?” Ignatius muttered.
“Who else indeed?” Torrullin echoed. “How many years per epoch?”
“All different, but the average works out to roughly a hundred million years.”
Torrullin rubbed at his face. “Long time. Shedo, how long back did the Luvans settle on Luvanor?”
“Roughly six billion.”
Gods. Teighlar possessed a truly ancient lineage. “There is a mighty gap between Diluvans and present day Orb, Iggy. How do you explain that?”
“Others came and suffered the floods. Knowledge was lost repeatedly.”
“The last inundation was ten thousand years ago?”
Galarth spoke up. “Eleven thousand.”
Torrullin gave a laugh. “It feels unsafe now on Sanctuary.”
Galarth grinned. “We have about ninety million years left.”
Ninety million years. The length of time the Senlu of Grinwallin were in abeyance; was there another parallel?
“Prima, the prophecy.”
Shenendo and Ignatius both subsided back into their seats as Prima cleared his throat from a seated position. “It is of Orb, probably Diluvan, and that puts it into an older time than Sabian could confirm.”
He proceeded to quote.
“The Curve creates Three anew
The Vacuum of Time to be overflowed
Kingdom Thrice will arise
The Force of Myth heralds the Force Real
The Creator is the Link
The Four of the Suns must solve
High King is the One … that is a common tongue translation, my Lord.”
Torrullin stilled.
The Kaval stared up at him.
Torrullin moved then. He gripped the hilt of his sword, fingers bone white.
All eyes fixated there.
“We will take a break; Gal, you are next with inundation.” Torrullin paused and looked at Declan. “I want to speak to Sabian now.” Declan rose and headed to his ogive. “Quilla, you had better be at this confrontation.”
Quilla stood more slowly. “Confrontation, Torrullin?” He stretched mightily.
“Yes, a bloody battle,” Torrullin snapped back and stalked off, still gripping at his sword.
Declan came to a stop in mid-stride and eyeballed the Q’lin’la as Torrullin’s ogive chimed his exit. “Quilla?”
The birdman sighed. “The Diluvan prophecy.”
“What of it?” Prima demanded.
“He spoke it, that is what. Torrullin spoke it on the Great Curve. And begins to remember.”
The Kaval was dead silent.
Quilla whispered, “Imagine how he feels, then.” He ambled away.
Declan closed his mouth and ran for his ogive.
Jonas put it well. “My god, the devil of Fate.”
Chapter 20
Yes, the devil of Fate.
~ Truth
Sanctuary
TORRULLIN STRODE INTO HIS home.
He headed directly to the only other presence in the house - Sabian, in the library.
Torrullin stood framed in the doorway; it was a few seconds before the man became aware of him, a few seconds in which to form a first impression.
He forced himself to relinquish his hold on the blade at his side.
This man was not his nemesis, but he had the distinct feeling he might lead to that one.
Sabian reached up to slide another book out and noticed the figure in the doorway. He pushed the tome back before turning to face Elixir.
Torrullin entered, and behind him was Declan and Quilla.
Sabian smiled. “My Lord Elixir, it is an honour to meet you. You have a lovely home and a wonderful collection of books.”
Torrullin closed in and Sabian’s smile slid away.
Quilla asked, “What is it you want to do now?”
Torrullin was not talking and not about to either. He came to rest before the fair man and scrutinised him, every detail from head to toe. He walked around him to do the same from behind.
“Torrullin, you cannot blame the messenger,” Quilla murmured.
Sabian swallowed. “Declan, what is wrong?”
The Siric was expressionless. “Your Orb prophecy made some waves.”
“It is not mine - I merely repeated it.”
“Look at me,” Torrullin commanded, standing before the man. “Know I shall read you.”
Sabian blinked once and then steadied his gaze to Torrullin’s. He did not blink again and Declan silently applauded that act of bravery.
Quilla sank into an armchair to watch and was the first to sense how deep the probing of Sabian was. He gave the man full marks for stamina.
Torrullin stepped back.
“My Lord, I read the telling … I …”
“What is honour, Sabian?” Torrullin interrupted. He stood legs braced, watching Quilla.
Declan murmured, “I suggest you answer.”
Sabian cleared his throat. “My honour is a code of conduct, a set of morals.”
“That is all?”
Sabian drew breath and let it go. “Honour lies in how one acts, the deeds that underscore one’s beliefs and morals, and honour is also in one’s word. Perhaps it is most in one’s word.”
Quilla’s eyelids flickered.
“Explain that,” Torrullin prompted.
“If a promise is made it is the same as an oath, and as binding. Breaking it reveals lack of honour; keeping it, even in adversity, proves honour.” Sabian’s voice was controlled.
Torrullin still watched Quilla and gave a tiny smile when the birdman’s eyes swivelled to him.
“Torrullin, he sounds like …”
Torrullin inclined his head and spoke before Quilla went further. “I know. He sounds like Margus.”
Sabian appeared confused, but Declan paled. “It cannot be.”
The fair man shook his head. “The Darak Or? Elixir, you think I am the Darak Or?”
“I think you are his brother.”
“Gods,” Declan groaned.
Sabian paced forward, his expression one of honest consternation. “My Lord, I am Xenian by birth - there are records! How can I be Margus’ brother? Please, I do not know what brought this on, but you must believe me.”
Declan thought to interfere, for the man sounded truthful. “Torrullin, maybe …”
Torrullin held his hand up towards the Siric without looking his way, and Declan retreated. “Sabian, I may be wrong, I admit; allow me my doubts.”
Sabian deflated. “Anything, my Lord. I will earn your trust; I shall prove my worth.”
Quilla spoke from the depths of his armchair. “Stranger, is it your considered word you are not Margus’ brother?”
Sabian glanced his way. “How could I be?”
Declan sucked at his teeth. Sabian had not given his word - he deflected a question with a question.
Torrullin glanced at Quilla. “Perhaps I was hasty. The shock of prophecy, hmm? Ever has it unbalanced me, not so?”
“Perhaps,” Quilla affirmed. “You should not go about scaring folk, damn it. Next time hold your tongue until certain.”
Declan looked from one to the other, utterly confused.
Torrullin laughed. “My conscience, the Q’lin’la!” He faced Sabian. “Forgive me, I have acted in haste. I have probed you, I have looked at you and I have tested your concept of honour. You have the physical features Margus had, but then so have millions. Fair hair and blue eyes is not unique.”
Sabian was pale, but he shook his head.
Declan was more confused than ever. Torrullin never backed down. What was he playing at? A glance at Quilla gave him no insight either.
Torrullin extended his hand. “You are a guest in my home and until otherwise proven I shall greet you as a guest.”
Quilla smiled.
Declan understood with lightning bright clarity.
Sabian stiffened. “My Lord, if I am not welcome, perhaps I should rather leave. Perhaps you should first be certain.”
Torrullin smiled. “You are welcome.”
Sabian stared at the extended hand.
Torrullin’s smile slid away. “Are you trying to insult me?”
Blue eyes lifted. “Of course not!”
Silver eyes of ice. “Then shake my hand.”
Sabian did not move.
Torrullin stepped forward. Sabian stepped back.
Quilla sighed.
Declan moved then. In a blur of movement he was behind the man, holding him. “Shake, or pay the price, Sabian.”
Sabian wrenched at his hold, discovering the Siric had immobilised him. “Let me go!”
“So you can transport out? I think not.”
“I cannot transport!”
“I think you can.”
Torrullin stood before the man. With deliberate slowness he reached up to touch Sabian’s face and laid a hand against a quivering cheek.
For a brief instant nothing happened and then a blue flame licked out from under Torrullin’s palm.
“Gods,” Declan muttered. “He duped me.”
Torrullin smiled. “Well, well, well. Greetings to you, Agnimus.”
Sabian growled.
“Come now,” Torr
ullin murmured, “all can be hidden, much can be altered, we both know that. But Valla kinfire will never be subservient.”
Sabian wrenched free and slapped his hand over Torrullin’s. The blue flame leapt into fire. “Greetings to you, too, Torrullin. Kinsman.”
Declan swore aloud and moved …
“Relax,” Torrullin said. “He won’t flee.”
Sabian gave a grin.
“You see, Declan, Agnimus has become Sabian. He has new thought process, an altered personality, even a different system of beliefs. Sabian was once his true name, and a true name sets a soul free. Sabian was Margus’ brother, and the original Sabian trusted to honour and word, as Margus did. Sabian became a soltakin at his brother’s hand, a soul without a body, and that soul is now released in naming itself true.”
“His name was Michael,” Sabian said. “My brother’s true name was Michael.”
Declan moved away. How did this change the situation?
“How did you do it?” Torrullin asked.
“Delving strata,” Sabian said, and noticed a shiver in his old adversary. “Back to the time before darkling miasma. A choice lay before me - either Mor Feru into eternity or the reclaiming of my soul, Sabian’s soul.” A grimace then. “Michael did what he did to me out of love, you told me that yourself, and I discovered I needed it to be true.”
“You chose humanity.”
“Yes.”
“Agnimus is still part of you, Sabian.”
“I am aware of that.”
“What does it make you?”
“Agnimus was not whole. He was and is parts. I have retained his memories, but without the shuttering dark. I function without the disability of pain and suffering.”
“What of the vengeance lying between us?”
Sabian smiled. “It is muted.”
“Is it?”
Sabian shrugged.
“You are Valla also.”
“As you said, it cannot be made subservient.”
“Who are you inside?”
“You probed deep, Enchanter. You tell me.”
Torrullin gave a rueful laugh. “Part human, part Valla, like me. And you have full duality.”
“The Path of Shades, yes.”
Declan, near the window, groaned.
“You are mortal,” Torrullin said.
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