“It is too late,” Torrullin said, avoiding Teighlar’s gaze. “Reaume needs our assistance.”
“Torrullin …”
“Caballa, I know you have a new vision - I can feel it radiating off you - and I know it isn’t good, but I have had one also, and mine shows Reaume sundering. Whatever the danger to us beyond, it is now less than that to all here waiting. We cannot do nothing, not anymore. There are five Syllvan left and the line between what we know and chaos is about to be breached. We have to go in.”
Elianas asked, “When did you see this?”
“Last night when you dreamed of danger to my person.”
The dark man lowered his head to his arms on the backrest of the chair. “You looked?”
“I did not need to. You are different.”
“Dream or vision?” Caballa frowned.
“Need you ask? Five Syllvan now pit themselves against eleven Dryad, akin to saying five thousand fight eleven thousand. For the Syllvan the odds grow short.” Torrullin glanced around the table. “It is now unavoidable.”
“A noble purpose,” Quilla whispered.
“Nothing noble about it,” Torrullin snapped. “That requires sacrifice and I intend sacrificing nothing.”
Caballa bit her tongue to prevent a cry about dying being sacrifice. Tristan, beside her, trembled as he forced himself into silence. Elianas did not lift his head.
Torrullin’s gaze sharpened as he became aware of the quality of silence. There was sacrifice due. Gods, what form? He did not ask.
“Do not concern yourself with guarding the crucible after we leave, Emperor. Without form there is no open portal and we probably will not use it for exit. Once in Reaume we can leave from any point.” He leaned forward. “If another ship falls inexplicably from the sky, ground all ships. Use your Enchanter powers if necessary and, Quilla, use the Kaval to enforce it.”
Tianoman said, “The black box proved false reading, as you suspected.”
“The lines go haywire and could worsen. Quilla, I loosed a dose of Elixir six hours ago - it should hold back another void for at least two years - but this is what you must do if those two years go by without return.” Torrullin placed his fingertips on the birdman’s tiny wrist, finding the pulse, and pressed lightly. He closed his eyes. “These are the words you must use. Gather fourteen and say it as a chant for seventy-two hours.” He sent the words. It was a complicated string of power, which was why he transferred them via pulse touch.
“I have it,” Quilla said.
Torrullin released and opened his eyes. “Just being careful. It may take only a day.”
Everyone, including Elianas, stared at him, not believing it for an instant.
Torrullin did not believe it himself. He stood. “We go tonight.” He tapped the table, frowning.
Teighlar rose. “Take a horse from my stable, my friend, and get lost for the intervening hours.”
He did not mention the fact it was snowing, that only white landscape would be seen, for it was not about a cold horse or a view. It was about silence and not having to say farewell for an entire day.
“Thank you.” Torrullin turned to Elianas. “Will you come?”
Elianas had been asked to share the silence. He nodded. They bumped into each other as they walked towards the arches. Cloaks swirled as they stepped out and flapped crazily as they went down the stairs.
Like wings, Teighlar thought, his heart tightening with both dread and pity. Just like wings.
Chapter 58
The past is with us always. We are the product of experience.
~ Book of Sages
Luvanor
Tunin Continent
FEW SENLU WERE OUT, cold and the early hour keeping them a-bed.
The city was white with fresh snow and all was quiet. The sun hid behind snow-laden clouds.
Elianas hiked his gloves higher, but did not remark on the conditions. He strode down the tiers in silence; Torrullin had to speak first, if he was so inclined.
Torrullin held his peace.
They reached the stables on the lower tier. The grooms fed and watered shivering animals. Fires were lit to dispel the cold. They chose two mares, both chestnut, and saddled them personally. A hand to the flanks ensured they would cope with the temperature. They mounted and ambled out the side gate, down the path through the trees and then onto the plain. Snow lay inches deep.
Torrullin took them south to a narrow path leading off the plateau and into the low hills and farmlands of Senlu territory.
They jumped rushing streams and ducked heavy snow-decked branches. Smoke from many breakfast hearths lay still in the frigid air. They wandered further south into the lower forests and exited Senlu territory into Valleur Tunin. The land barely changed, nor did the farmsteads.
Depth of snow increased and decreased according to the lay of the land. Sometimes they walked carefully and sometimes they broke into a sal eating canter. Neither spoke.
Silence was precious.
Around midday they called a halt in a clearing. A shrine sat in lonely isolation in the centre of the space, and was the only alteration in the whiteness.
Elianas watered the horses, gave each an apple, scratched behind their ears and then left them to wander among the bare trees. Torrullin wiped snow from the shrine to see what lay beneath. Elianas closed in and halted when Torrullin wiped frantically.
A horse snorted, an owl called.
Elianas peered closer to read the writing Torrullin uncovered. He straightened in understanding. A memorial to Tristamil, Priest to the Valleur, beloved son to a father standing in an empty clearing in winter. A silvery-grey gaze turned on him.
He looked away, finding it too unsettling, and wandered into the trees.
THEY SET OFF AGAIN soon after and began the return journey.
Grinwallin’s mountains loomed in the east. The horses nickered periodically as if in private conversation. Snow came down in earnest, obliterated paths and reduced visibility to a few feet. They gave the horses free rein, knowing the sure-footed animals would find their way home.
As night approached they were at the bottom of the great cliff wall that was Grinwallin’s greatest protection. The winding, upward path was daunting covered with snow. Dismounting, they led the horses. Battling for traction with every step, it took close to an hour to level off. Once safe, they remounted, setting off at a snail’s pace across the plateau.
Lights were on in the city; fairy world beautiful.
It was dark by the time they found the path to the gate in the city walls. The gate itself was open, a lantern lit to guide them in. They reached the stables, handed the two weary mounts over after thanking them with quiet words and firm strokes. Weary, wet and cold, they commenced the long climb up to the portico and the Great Hall.
Neither had said a word the entire day.
Grinwallin
TEIGHLAR SAW THEM enter and met them as they passed beyond an arch.
“Eat or sleep first?”
“Sleep,” Torrullin said.
Elianas nodded.
“This way,” Teighlar said, and led them to a passage beyond the library. It led through a set of private rooms and a flight of stairs led upward. He pointed up.
“Guest quarters. It is empty and there is hot water. Shall I wake you in …?”
“Five hours,” Torrullin said.
“I shall send dinner up at the same time.”
“Thank you for today, my friend.”
Teighlar looked them over again. “You exude peace. Good. Sleep well.”
He left them there, and they climbed.
THE SUITE WAS sumptuous and warm.
A massive bathroom was flanked by two huge bedchambers and an intimate sitting area. A fireplace hosted a merry fire.
Elianas headed directly to the bathroom and within minutes water flowed into a round bath. Torrullin hunkered before the fire, removing wet clothes. When he heard a sigh as Elianas clambered into the embrace of steaming wa
ter, he collected his clothes, drying them with a word and headed for the nearest bed, a huge affair. He climbed in, pulling the covers close for warmth. He was soon asleep.
HALF AN HOUR later Elianas - bathed, dry and robed - stood at the side of the bed. He stood a long time and then returned to the sitting room, where he hauled a couch to the fire. Lying down, he stared into the flames. Sleep, when it came, was restless and filled with images.
TORRULLIN WAS AWAKE before the five hours expired, and headed to the bathroom. By the time a servant entered bearing a covered tray, he was dressed. He told the man to set it down, thanked him, and went to wake Elianas.
There he stood, unable to move. Elianas was one of those rare breeds of men almost entirely without body hair, and yet not in the least feminine. He did not need to shave and his legs were smooth, his skin shining. One arm was flung backward and pulled the robe askew. A long leg bent up, firelight dancing on amber skin, and his chest was half uncovered.
It was not desire that rooted him there, looking down. It was melancholy. When Elianas moved, covering himself, he looked into dark unreadable eyes, but could not answer the silent question. He sank down, putting his face in his hands.
Elianas pulled his legs away and swung them off. He sat up, pushing hair from his face. Minutes ticked by, and then he rose and went to get dressed.
Torrullin sat on, unmoving.
The dark man returned, checked the tray, and brought it over. He set it down on the couch between them.
“Eat,” he prompted.
Torrullin ate, tasting nothing.
Elianas flung his fork down and rose to pace the sitting room with his hands laced behind his back.
Torrullin gave up eating also and made a move to find his cloak. When he left the bedroom Elianas waited for him, braced, frowning, arms crossed.
“Talk to me.”
Torrullin swung his cloak on, secured it. “There is nothing to say.”
“Your silence now is different.”
Torrullin looked away. “Come; it is time. Where is your cloak?”
“Torrullin, no, not like this.”
A beat, two and then, “What are you most afraid of, Elianas?”
A blink. “I told you once.”
“Tell me again.”
“That when you fracture I will not be able to bring all the pieces together.”
Torrullin nodded. “Start preparing for it.”
Elianas moved, closing in. “No, it has not got that bad - has it?”
Torrullin refused to meet his eyes. “Of course not. I am being melodramatic.”
Elianas drew breath. In a strangled voice, he asked, “What are you most afraid of?”
Torrullin met his gaze. “Not being able to find you.”
“I am not going to get lost.”
Torrullin put a hand to Elianas’ cheek. “But I may lose you.” He took his hand away and moved on. “Let us go.” He headed for the door and was gone.
Elianas found his cloak and followed, fighting to contain a rushing of contrary emotions.
THE ROSY LIGHT picked out the circles on the walls between the columns and highlighted tense faces.
They stood around the crucible depression with the cage lifted. Now, at this point of parting, words could not do justice.
Torrullin studied every face as if committing to memory, and stepped into the depression. Elianas was in a heartbeat later. Tristan pulled Caballa briefly to him and joined them.
Torrullin sent his thoughts out to the magical circles to lower the coppery cage.
Teighlar sighed. “Good hunting, brothers.”
Quilla murmured, “Be careful.”
Belun muttered, “Just don’t take too long about it, hear?”
Tianoman said, “Bless you.”
Caballa shouted, “Tristan, I love you!”
Elianas gave a lopsided smile, Tristan stared at Caballa and Torrullin bowed over his hands.
The cage was empty.
Part V
LETHE
Chapter 59
Time to light the match; those fireworks won’t shower magic in the heavens otherwise.
~ Tattle
Transfer to Glare
TORRULLIN USED THE crucible to locate the portal on Glare - a small moon orbiting the planet Entor - as Krikian had marked on his map.
It was a swift connection, yet not swift enough to take them from the crucible without the viewing of emotion outside of it.
To those watching the crucible was empty, but to the three men inside perspective was different.
Tristan saw terror on Caballa’s beautiful face. Tianoman’s depth of sorrow shocked him. It was obvious they did not expect to see them again soon, and perhaps even expected someone would not return. He realised it meant him. Both Tianoman and Caballa thought they had lost him. He tried to shout, but it was evident they could neither hear nor see. He dragged his gaze away when Caballa convulsively turned and Tianoman tried uncomfortably to soothe her.
Torrullin saw Quilla close his eyes, and the pathos in the tiny figure caused him to wish he had asked what form sacrifice would assume. Belun stared at the birdman and raised one of his huge hands to wipe his face, a nervous gesture. For Belun, strong man, it was most telling.
Elianas could not look away from Teighlar, Senlu Emperor. Teighlar had solidity of presence, but the man himself always seemed somewhat ethereal, as if stretched too thin. Reincarnation could do that, Elianas thought; the bridging of time was too vast. Teighlar’s eyes were unreadable, yet for an instant he was otherworldly, particularly when he raised his palm out towards the crucible. He dropped it quickly and turned away.
After, Elianas would wonder a long time whether that was a benediction or curse.
Then the crucible chamber faded out and a rushing sound assailed them.
A moment later a tear in the thin atmosphere of Glare was visible, and a moment after it loomed large … and swallowed them.
Chapter 60
Sweet lord and lady of the swirls! Where am I? Where is this? What is this?
~ Tattle’s Blunt Adventures
Lethe
UNDERFOOT WAS SPONGE, like to Titania, but this was saffron in hue. Above streaks of cloud like strata, red and purple.
There was nothing else, anywhere.
Tristan retched. The portal shift upset his equilibrium, and now alien colours completed the biological disturbance.
There was more. The air was not benign.
Torrullin gripped and hauled him up. “Look at me; I am breathing. Connect with your added biology. Do it now.”
Tristan swallowed bile, tried to breathe, doubled over again, tearing through the grip meant to hold him up.
Elianas, while finding internal control, whispered, “Do it for him. We are exposed.”
Torrullin hauled Torrullin up again, gripped his face in two hands, and began to murmur. A moment later Tristan drew a ragged breath; it seared through him like fire, but he could breathe.
“Sorry. I panicked.”
“The first time is the worst. Come; let us move from this point.”
Torrullin started walking, going where there was no direction. He drew his sword and glanced around constantly. Elianas fell in on the right, blade out as well, and often looked back. Tristan took the left, eyes moving ceaselessly. His mouth tasted sour and his lungs laboured like a failing engine. The hand that held his sword shook.
“Is this Lethe?” he asked after a few minutes.
“Do not speak,” Torrullin murmured. “Our presence has been marked.”
Tristan’s eyes jerked even faster from side to side, the tension hard and brittle inside him.
“Eleven o’clock,” Elianas whispered. “Horizon.”
There was a smudge in the distance and it grew rapidly in size.
“Gods, it’s moving fast,” Torrullin said. “Stand firm.”
A strange creature hurtled ever closer, a rolling fur ball, and it issued a low rumble as it approached. The
three men braced for certain impact, swords raised.
The fur ball, a mottled green and hairy affair, squealed loud and then lost momentum to trundle to a dead stop inches beyond a blade’s reach. Two eyes the size of melons blinked and watched.
Elianas boldly sheathed his sword and threw his hands out in a gesture of non-aggression. He stepped forward.
“Hey, buddy, what are you?”
Tristan swallowed and tightened his hold on the hilt, palms sweating. Torrullin was unmoving, but his sword dipped. He watched Elianas, marvelling anew at the man’s bravery.
The sponge shook and then undulated; the fur ball exploded in a shower of needle sharp feathers; a mighty wail rent the fabric of the directionless realm, and the three went sliding into a massive funnel, which suddenly gaped open in the ground to swallow them, herded into a chute that fed them downward at a pace close to the speed of light.
Tristan barely managed to hold onto his weapon.
They landed hard in an oval space that smelled and looked like the inside of an egg.
Elianas swore and stood up with a gigantic bruise on his forehead.
“What’s happening?” Tristan asked.
“No idea,” Torrullin muttered.
“If I ever catch that bloody fur ball, I will stick his feathers where the sun doesn’t shine,” Elianas said. He looked to Torrullin. “Tell me if the healing works.” He touched a hand to his forehead.
“It works.” It was a relief after the hell of the Shades.
Elianas nodded, and wandered the oval space, hand on hilt. He stopped, peered closely at the ‘wall’ and abruptly punched through. Cracks appeared.
Lore of Sanctum Omnibus Page 113