Lore of Sanctum Omnibus

by Elaina J Davidson

  Returning to Akhavar, he found sleep further out of reach.

  He wandered the darkened halls like a ghost and prayed for morning to come.

  THEY HAD A LEISURELY breakfast, for morning on Akhavar was night on Valaris.

  They spoke of nothing stressful. Even Tianoman was calm. Torrullin’s obvious withdrawal went unremarked.

  After the meal they separated to their own thoughts and mental preparations. A valet delivered the formal attire, and not long after the process of dressing commenced.

  On Valaris thousands gathered in expectation.

  From Akhavar the Elders transported to their places in the proceedings, murmuring good wishes as they left.

  Tianoman was formally clothed in grey and blue - his father’s colour s- with a dark blue cloak pinned from his shoulders.

  Teroux wore a subdued gold and red - his father’s colours - and a red cloak.

  Tristan donned dark green - not Samuel’s colours, they were personal - and his cloak was blue also.

  All three wore their swords; this was one ceremony where ceremonial blades were out of place. Newly crafted scabbards of the finest silver were gifted to each to mark the occasion. They had their hair trimmed and no plaits were in evidence. They were Valleur men, and wore their hair loose.

  Torrullin found them on the ledge, quiet and sombre and as formal as their attire. He did not remark on it; the time for formality had arrived for them.

  He wore black and the cloth was richly embroidered and hugged his frame. He had the royal cloak on and Trezond nestled at his hip. A simple golden half-crown sat on his brow, and the heirs stared at it.

  “In the past,” he said, “the Throne would indicate a successor and then the passing of the Dragon would commence.” He touched his chest where once that Dragon resided. He missed it still. “A new way has come for a new era. Today only the Throne chooses and once its choice is clear, this crown and this cloak will be passed on. Wear them well and may all that is good give flight to your future.”

  Three heirs bowed, and then it was time to leave.

  Chapter 41

  When a choice lies before you, be as objective as possible. And be firm in your decision.

  ~ Awl

  Valaris

  Torrke

  WAVES OF SOUND RESOUNDED and rebounded about Torrke.

  The Valleur sang traditional songs and chanted from their hearts. Deafening applause and cheering greeted every song’s ending.

  The four Vallas arrived on the battlements and were seen. Loud cheering marked their arrival.

  Torrullin was cold. This was a lie in this game he played. He adored his people and hated lying to them, especially on this day. Yet, for certainty’s sake, he would play. In order to convince his grandsons, he would say nothing. They would discover the future and then accept it was the way of it.

  They strode through the throng and a path opened. Down the northern stairwell onto the crowded balcony where Vanar and Yiddin waited. There were no greetings. Vanar and Yiddin simply led the way down to the courtyard. There they halted, for it was not yet time.

  Tianoman fidgeted with his new scabbard. Teroux gazed on the crowds in awe. Tristan was expressionless. Torrullin thought he would burn. Cold, hot.

  Saska was next to him. “Something is amiss.”

  He did not answer.

  “Torrullin?”

  “Find your place, Saska; we are about to begin.”

  She frowned and moved away.

  He murmured to Yiddin, “Clear a path to the doors.”

  The Elder bowed and they followed him to the point at the Dragon doors where the blue carpet began. Nobody stood on it, but they crowded thick on both sides.

  Vanar and Yiddin took up position first, then the three claimants to the Throne; Torrullin was next, with forty Elders now of three worlds arrayed behind him. A trumpet sounded, a cheer raised the sky, and Vanar and Yiddin paced forward.

  The rest of the entourage followed, no one looking right or left.

  By the time they entered the chamber, the witnessing Valleur were hysterical in their joy. When the last Elder entered the space of the Throne’s reappearance, absolute silence fell and breathless waiting took on form.

  They fanned out to take up position in a semi-circle, and the three claimants stopped. Vanar and Yiddin flanked them.

  Torrullin walked on in the empty space. He stared at his grandsons. “It is time.”

  Utter silence.

  The ground shivered, the Keep rattled and a wail rent the air.

  The Throne was coming.

  Torrullin had no need to speak the words of uncloaking; it knew he was there and waiting and thus it came.

  Light erupted in the empty space, spreading out into the chamber and then beyond. The Valleur went wild with elation.

  Torrullin smiled for the first time. It was twenty-five years since he last sat on his Throne and in the intervening years it had not ceased calling. Now there was Elianas … and this very powerful addiction. He had forgotten how the seat could lure. He had forgotten how he enjoyed it.

  He raised his right hand. Sound died. The light subsided to a gentle throb to highlight the overcast day. He sat and as he did so the Throne rose to meet him.

  Torrullin shut them out, closing his eyes, and sent his senses to embrace the Valla seat. He welcomed it, as it welcomed him. Yet, and it did not surprise him, it was different. Oh, the addiction was there, the power, the knowing, but it was less personal.

  Elianas became the personality of the Throne; the sentient part of an ancient symbol. What remained was instinct. It was not less or more; it was what it once was, and it was new.

  Inwardly, he was relieved. In the past he almost lost control of this power; now control was wholly his. It had the power of choice, not control. This seat saw in more defined ways.

  He opened his eyes.

  A non-reflective black dais lay like a void at his feet. The Throne was warm under him, solid and reassuring.

  Vanar, Yiddin and every Elder shouted out, “Thrice welcome to the Valleur Throne!”

  Welcome returned as a wave of ecstatic sound that went on unabated for many minutes. Dignitaries and guests shivered at the power in that sound. Every nerve tingled for Tristan, Teroux and Tianoman.

  Torrullin rose. “Welcome to this very special occasion …” More cheering drowned him out. It was a while before he could speak again. “This day a new Vallorin will be chosen. I stand before you to freely abdicate, as is just.”

  Silence.

  “It is time for a new era, Valleur. Do you confirm?”

  The cheering came, but now without elation. Choosing a new Vallorin meant losing the current one, and they adored him.

  “I am saddened, and yet my heart tells me this is right. Right for me and for you. Do not begrudge me quiet retirement …” As Torrullin grinned, general laughter followed. “I am the retiring type.”

  More laughter, and then he was serious. He stepped to the edge of the dais to look upon his three heirs.

  “The Elders have decided you will ascend in order of age, and I have agreed. Tristan has been waiting longest and should therefore take his seat upon the Throne. No choice will be forthcoming until after Tianoman has risen.”

  Even rustles were silent.

  “Tristan, come forward.

  Tristan inhaled and stepped up, looking neither left or right. His gaze slid from Torrullin to the golden chair with the engraved Dragon on the back.

  They practised this with a wooden chair of similar size and thus there was little fumbling as he stepped towards it, and lowered. He placed his hands splayed wide upon the armrests, for the seat to read his genetics. It felt warm. He leaned back and closed his eyes and sat that way for a full five minutes, the period agreed upon.

  He felt nothing but the inherent warmth, and was surprised. By all accounts, particularly gleaned from the Ancient Oracles, he should feel the vibrations of power, Valla magic.

  Perhaps it need
ed to choose first.

  Yes, that was it.

  He relaxed.

  Yiddin called the time.

  Tristan rose and stepped off the dais, carefully not looking at Torrullin. There would be no eye contact at this point with the current Vallorin, for it could influence proceedings.

  “Teroux, come forward,” Torrullin said.

  Like to Tristan, Teroux found it easy to manoeuvre into position. He felt warmth and wondered whether it was his, Tristan’s or the seat itself. Then he started to think of his father and what this seat did to him. His five minutes were not relaxed and, when Yiddin called time, he was relieved to rise in one piece.

  “Tianoman,” Torrullin murmured.

  Tianoman was nervous and he stumbled as he tried to sit, his sword clinking against the chair. He stared wide-eyed at his cousins, but they did not look at him. They were not permitted to. Finding nervous courage, he leaned back and closed his eyes.

  Five minutes felt like forever. There was warmth and there were thoughts on tradition, a long lineage, his father, Samuel, Curin, Torrullin, round and around. He wondered whether he damaged his chances with frantic thoughts and his inability to concentrate on this important moment in history.

  “Time!” Yiddin announced.

  He almost leapt away, and took his place alongside Vanar.

  “ONE OF YOU MUST now come forth as objective listener, Valleur. One of you must sit upon the Throne to hear the choice spoken.” Torrullin smiled into the silence. “No harm will befall you, I promise; you will be briefly deputised for this task.” He stepped forward. “The Elders have status that negates objectivity and I am too close to this to choose. One of you must do this. Politics remains, always, politics, and thus were you not forewarned and therefore not forearmed.” He waited a beat. “Nominations, please, or someone will be randomly singled out.”

  Nobody said a word.

  Torrullin laughed. “Very well. Max Dalrish, where are you?”

  A stir in the crowd outside. “Here!”

  “Join me, please.”

  “Honoured to!” The friendly face of the Peacekeeper Le Maximillian Dalrish entered the chamber and then he was on the dais. The two men clasped hands. “What do you want of me, Torrullin? This is most unusual.”

  “How would you know what is unusual today?” Torrullin grinned.

  Max boomed laughter. “Point taken!”

  “Pick a face in the crowd, Max.”

  “Really? Me? I am truly honoured.”

  Torrullin shook his head. “Enough of the sugaring, Max. Pick someone.”

  Le Maximillian closed his eyes, turned on the spot and then pointed blindly.

  Presario announced, “Sophi of Luvanor!”

  “Thank you,” Torrullin grinned at the Xenian.

  “It’s on your head, remember,” Max laughed, and stepped off the dais.

  Presario, meanwhile, collected a bemused and frightened young woman. A face in the crowd. Someone happy to be present at this event; now not so. The Elder brought her forward and bade her halt beside Vanar.

  Torrullin asked, “You are from Luvanor?”

  “Yes, my Lord, from Atrin. I am a seamstress and I teach young children to sew. My name is Sophi, my father is Antan, a horse master by trade, and a blacksmith.”

  “Have you met the three claimants to the Throne?”

  She swallowed. “No, my Lord.”

  “Are you prepared to complete this task?”

  She glanced apprehensively at the Throne. “No, not really.”

  A ripple of laughter sounded.

  “You will do fine, Sophi,” Torrullin murmured. “Come up here.”

  She glanced at Vanar and stepped onto the dais.

  Torrullin extended his hand. “I must deputise you. Please give me your hand.”

  She did so. Her hand trembled uncontrollably.

  Torrullin murmured over her and then led her to the golden seat. “I leave you here now. Take your time and then sit. Open your mind to hear. It may be overwhelming at first, but a name will come to you clearly. Once you are certain, stand. Understood?”

  She nodded, and Torrullin retreated. He deliberately turned his back, as did the Elders.

  Only the heirs were unmoving, staring beyond her.

  THE SILENCE POSSESSED a quality not felt that day. It was laced with fear, and it was for how the Throne would react to the young woman. Many in the gathering recalled what happened to Tannil. Tannil, his mind twisted by loss, no longer recognisable to the Throne; Tannil, who was flung off to die on the dais.

  Sophi was as a frightened doe confronted by a panther and yet she adored the Enchanter Vallorin - she sat.

  A stunned gasp erupted from the crowd, and all those who could see leaned forward, while those who could not tried hard to.

  Minutes passed, Sophi clutching at the armrests, terror written all over her, and then she relaxed. It soothed her, and it was so obvious to the watchers, a collective sigh breathed through the Keep. She sat on another minute, closing her eyes, a small smile on her face. This she would never forget, and her years would prove to be extraordinarily long.

  Finally she rose, her fingers reluctantly leaving the armrests.

  Torrullin swung around. He went to her, firmly steering her away.

  “Dare not touch it again,” he murmured, looking deep into her eyes and using will to make it unassailable.

  She nodded, and a mighty round of applause erupted. Sophi blushed and then bowed, causing whistles and cheers to sound. A moment of glory, and the Valleur loved her courage.

  The Elders faced the dais again and Sophi stood before them.

  Torrullin gestured and one by one they came forward to lay a hand on her brow. In that manner they would have the name and then confer together. If all received the same, it would be spoken to Torrullin.

  Valleur, guests and dignitaries held their breath.

  Vanar was first and her shock at what she received was palpable. White-faced, she made way for the next Elder. Sophi was unfazed, and perhaps she did not know the identity, perhaps the Throne had communicated she had an answer and could rise.

  Torrullin met Vanar’s gaze and she understood then he already knew. He knew before the ceremony. She drew a ragged breath and met the eyes of a fellow Elder, saw there his dismay.

  By the third hand to brow all knew something was amiss, even the heirs. They lost all semblance of objectivity as they stared at Sophi and then at each other.

  By the sixth communication the silence was filled with tension.

  Torrullin lifted a hand. “Enough.” The Elders stopped and stared up at him. “Yiddin, please test her.”

  YIDDIN LEFT TRISTAN’S SIDE and stood before Sophi. He put his hand to her brow and concentrated. A moment later his eyes flew to Torrullin and then to Vanar. She met his gaze stoically. Yiddin withdrew his hand and did not know what to do.

  Vanar opened her mouth, closed it. She glanced at Yiddin, who smiled wryly. Thus, it was his to do.

  He squared his shoulders and gazed steadily out at the gathered and then dropped his focus down to the three stiff young men before him.

  “Tristan, Teroux and Tianoman, this is the Throne’s pronouncement.” He paused to take a breath. “It has not chosen.”

  Shock erupted as whiteness on three already pale faces.

  Astonishment bloomed on the faces of those gathered.

  Yiddin raised a hand before a thousand questions could erupt.

  “Torrullin, Lord Vallorin, remains as chosen. BUT!” This last was shouted as noise threatened. “His position is secured by default. It is temporary.” Yiddin swallowed. “That is everything I received from the young woman.”

  “Vanar?” Torrullin queried.

  “Likewise, my Lord.”

  Torrullin nodded. “Thank you; you may step down.” He transferred his attention to his grandsons. “It came to me recently that the Valleur committed a crime, which had a ripple effect on others throughout the ages.”

/>   There was silence, from all.

  “The sentient part of our universe demands redress. That,” and he pointed at the Throne, “has become the conduit of an ancient plea. Help us, make this right; that is the plea. It may not choose a new Vallorin and therefore begin a new era until we have righted this wrong, and therein lays the default Yiddin mentioned. Status quo is in effect until we have resolved the situation, and in this you three will participate.”

  The questions began then, but the three cousins were wordless, and Torrullin ignored all but them.

  “Your participation will prepare you for the ultimate choosing of a new Vallorin.” Noise threatened, and he spoke over it. “I embark on a journey and you must come with me.”

  Tianoman found words first. “Realm travel? You told my father it was realm travel.”

  Now there was silence as the gathered sought to hear the conversation.

  “Yes, it is of that nature.”

  “Gods,” Teroux muttered.

  Tristan said, “You knew.”

  Torrullin nodded. “The Throne needed to confirm for all here to hear.”

  “You knew yesterday,” Tianoman gasped, “when you went all weird.”

  “It came to me then, yes.”

  “This was a farce,” Tristan murmured.

  “No, it needed done. All had to hear it here; the Elders needed to find out in a manner that cannot now be denied, and thus leaders will go home unperturbed. Status quo translates as no immediate changes; they will be happy with that.”

  “You remain Vallorin,” Tianoman accused.

  “Yes, but what does it mean? I have not been much of a Vallorin in recent years and will be less so after today.”

  Teroux had been looking behind him, and turned back. “It seems to me the Valleur are content with status quo also. Look at them. They are shocked, but are they unhappy? I don’t think so.”

  Tristan and Tianoman looked.

  “See? If they could choose a ruler, they would choose the Enchanter.”