Aislinn and Sirlasin glanced at each other and barely prevented a bout of laughter.
The colourful individual dragged the housekeeper with him until he knelt before Aislinn, and there she released to stand with her lips pressed, exuding disapproval.
“My Lady, please, this sorry creature desires to speak with you,” the man murmured, and looked up at her with twinkling grey eyes, a smile of mischief on his face.
She could not help it. She smiled back at him. “It is all right, Meredith, I will talk to him. But you have two minutes only, young sir. I am expecting guests any moment now.”
The housekeeper bowed stiffly and left the chamber.
Obviously the man was an itinerant and probably sought royal patronage. Aislinn would listen, but she would not be fooled into something silly. There were too many tales in the Oracles that spoke of masks.
“Sirlasin, will you fetch our guest a drink?” She spoke to the young man as the Elder half-heartedly moved to the cabinet in the opposite nook. “And what is it you want to say to me?”
Still smiling, he glanced over his shoulder and then rose. “Only this. I need you to come with me.”
Her smile vanished. “Excuse me?”
His hand clamped to her wrist. “Now.” An instant later, before Sirlasin had even reached the cabinet, they were gone.
Moments after, the Elder raised the cry.
The queen of the Valleur had been kidnapped.
Elsewhere
THERE WERE SOUNDS AT the door, and Tianoman prepared to attack whoever entered, holding a lamp stand aloft.
The door opened and a woman stumbled through, pushed from behind.
He froze and ice entered his veins.
As the door slammed shut, he hurtled across the space, dropping his weapon. “Aislinn!”
Terrified eyes focused on him. “Tian?”
“All gods, what is going on?” he said in a rush and then had her in his arms. “Lunik! Is Lunik safe?”
Aislinn clutched at him, tears in her eyes. “I don’t know! I left him at the Keep … I was in Menllik …”
“Hush.” He kissed her forehead and soothed her. “Hush, my love.” She shivered. “Calmly now. What happened?”
In halting speech she told him of the colourful young man who lulled her and Sirlasin with eye-catching clothes and a ready smile, only to take her away the instant the Elder turned his back.
He pulled her close again as she finished. “A disguise. And he could not enter Torrke, thus waited until you left. Lunik is fine. Aislinn, hush, Lunik is fine.” She sobbed on his shoulder.
Tianoman continued soothing until she was in control. All the while his blood boiled. Fire and ice now; someone would pay for this affront.
It occurred to him he had wished for Aislinn and here she was. The someone who would pay could read his every thought.
It did not sit well.
Valaris
The Keep
THE VALLEUR ELDERS of Valaris, Luvanor and Akhavar gathered at the Keep, an impromptu and imperative conclave.
It was now known Tianoman was missing also.
The first decision, made swiftly, was to protect foremost, without delay, Lunik, heir to the Throne. To that end, four swathed the toddler in sorcery and vanished with him.
The second decision, made after careful deliberation, was to inform Tristan Skyler Valla of the situation. It meant, literally, the Kaval of the Dome would be mobilised to find the Vallorin and his queen.
It meant Tristan would become a demon of purpose much like his legendary grandfather Torrullin was in the past. The Elders counted on it.
Caballa had been summoned to conclave. Not only was she once a celebrated Elder herself, but she was close to Tristan Valla and would know best how to share the appalling news with him.
She faced the gathered Elders in the courtyard, noting how there was no food or drink present. This was not about gathering; it was about decisions. Everyone milled, some in robes, others in breeches and cloaks; there was no seating either.
“How did this happen? How can anyone possibly get to the Vallorin?”
“We suspect he was snatched in transport,” Vanar said, rubbing her face convulsively.
“The Throne should prevent that!”
Silence ensued, and then Yiddin murmured, “Our Vallorin has been edgy with the seat after the power it displayed on Echolone. We think there might be a separation in place.”
Caballa’s jaw dropped. “You cannot believe that. Worse has come to pass between Vallorins and that chair, and never has it separated from the ruling house.”
The Elders glanced at each other, listening well, and Yiddin swore under his breath. Beckoning to Vanar and Caballa, he headed from the busy courtyard into the Throne’s presence. Some matters should not be discussed publicly. He and Vanar were charged with oversight; it meant they were privy to the greater secrets, and also possessed the right to determine who knew about what.
It was telling, Caballa mused as she trailed behind Vanar, that the space the Throne resided in remained unoccupied even during conclave. Not only the Vallorin was wary of the seat of power. The intimate space, once a sitting room, appeared overwhelmed by the golden chair, and it also possessed an air of abandonment.
“Separation is a way to explain it, Caballa, for the nation to balance heartache and uncertainty against the need for answers.” Yiddin stepped closer and murmured, “The real suspicion is too terrible a thing to share.”
Caballa frowned, her heart thumping. “And that would be?”
“The Throne grapples with its conscience, and is thus less than attentive.”
Caballa glanced at Vanar and saw in the woman’s tight yellow gaze the same belief. She was about to deny it, when she paused to think. Strange as it was, there was logic in there. Yiddin could be right. By all gods.
“You believe the Throne feels guilty over what it did to Torrullin. And because it attempts to come to terms, it was not watching Tian closely enough. He, after all, was on Valaris, and considered safe.”
Nods from both Vanar and Yiddin followed.
Yes, there was logic there. Caballa stared for a moment at the golden chair on its ebony dais, and headed back to the exit for the courtyard. “Tristan will have heads rolling for this, you do understand that? And I shall help him achieve it.”
She called to Sirlasin from the opening and, when he joined them, drew him inside and asked him to describe exactly what happened to Aislinn.
Before the hapless Elder could formulate a reply, a golden glow erupted around the Keep, from nothing to reality in an instant.
Sirlasin, facing the dais, understood first. The Throne blazed from within and projected the light outward. It appeared almost alien. It felt otherworldly.
“It has taken on presence,” Yiddin whispered. “It is Vallorin right now.”
Sirlasin slammed to his knees. “Tarlinn.”
Nemisin, at the site of confrontation on Echolone, called to the Throne, naming it Tarlinn. It was the first indication the seat possessed an identity separate from Valleur infusion. It meant, many ages ago, Nemisin had harked to something within the creation of this magical device’s longevity, and named it.
A true name set one free, after all.
“Gods,” Vanar said, and slowly sank to her knees.
In naming it that night, had Nemisin set the presence within free?
Caballa glared at the Throne in a fury. Now it chose a show of strength? After its goddamned inattention lost the Valleur their Vallorin and then his wife? She did not care what it was named; it was to blame for this situation.
When the Lorinin returns, bring him to me.
All three there heard the words, and those words had only one source. The Throne, for the first time in the long history of the Valleur, had actually communicated directly with someone other than a Vallorin.
Caballa wanted to kick it, she was that furious.
Caballa, bring Torrullin to me.
Only she heard that communication.
She noticed the others were staring at each other trying to decipher the first message. Goddess, had the entire universe gone mad? And how would she manage that, for pity’s sake? Torrullin no longer knew who Torrullin was, never mind her getting past Elianas.
He is Lorinin, Caballa. Tell him to bring Elianas; tell him I am able to heal the deeper scars.
How is this possible?
I am not inattentive. My attention is centred where it belongs. A sliver of the Lorinin resides inside me, Caballa. Bring him to me.
She drew a slow breath. It meant, all gods, Torrullin was about to stand forth. The universe would have to deal with a vengeful Tristan and Torrullin. All gods help the one who saw fit to interfere in Valla affairs.
She kneeled. My Lord.
You begin to understand.
And Tarlinn - for it was Tarlinn, not Throne - withdrew.
Chapter 5
Prepare for change, friend. Know you will not emerge unscathed.
~ Awl ~
The Dome of the Kaval
JONAS TAPPED AWAY AT the latest addition to the Dome’s arsenal, a high-tech computer.
He enjoyed gadgets almost as much as he enjoyed a challenge, and this device proved a mind-boggler. Computers were varied in the universe in present time - anything from an abacus to light podiums - and thus every one that made its way into the Dome was a new challenge and his task to overcome.
This particular contraption came from Beacon, a human world technologically advanced, and he had problems with the security commands that permitted or barred entry. If he was successful, the Dome would have an array of light sensitive sensors at their fingertips, always welcome when reaction time was paramount.
Matters had been quiet now for some while regarding Kaval missions, thus was he in no rush. Haste made a fool of the taskmaster.
Elsewhere Belun bent over a manual. Like to Jonas, he enjoyed a challenge, but his were of the more mechanical kind, and he currently studied the workings of Xen’s new C-class terra-transport. The Dome’s members had no need of mechanical transports and yet his interest in the subject had never waned.
Only the two of them were in the magical enclave. The rest of the Kaval were either on downtime or investigating minor criminal activities somewhere. There was presently little requiring attention, and certainly nothing that needed the full complement of the Dome.
Belun sighed as that thought strayed in and broke his concentration.
The Centuar relished action and admitted he merely marked time with study until said action flew in. Ruefully, he thought he had better be careful of what he wished for. In the past, when such thoughts assailed him, Torrullin would breeze in and turn the entire universe upon its mighty head.
He sighed again. Damn, he wanted Torrullin to breeze in.
Jonas glanced his way with vague eyes and he waved the man back to his task. Jonas had not known Torrullin the way Belun knew him. Belun had known him since the days of Rayne, thousands of years ago. Jonas would not understand his desire to have Torrullin come in to upset the proverbial applecart.
Torrullin, however, was beyond their reach, and it would do well to forgo this wishful thinking.
Belun heaved another breath. Right. As if he would sit back and allow that to remain unchallenged.
“Centuar?” Jonas muttered.
“Nothing. Just chafing.”
“We need peace in this present.”
“Aye,” Belun said. “Pity.” Jonas, luckily, did not hear the latter.
There was a saying … if one spoke of the devil …
An ogive chimed, and Belun could not help himself. Wishing for action, he held his breath as he looked up, and Tristan wandered in.
Tristan was not Torrullin, but he was identical to the man in appearance. The same fair hair and grey eyes, lean strength and forceful personality. Tristan came a close second in Belun’s wishful ways. Tristan, too, had a way of stirring matters.
“Belun. Jonas.”
Jonas nodded in his vague way and Belun smiled. “Tristan, I hope you have a task to keep me occupied.”
Tristan grinned. “Sorry, my friend. All is peaceful.”
“Damn.”
The Kaval leader headed to the console of lights, the array of colours that blinked in recognition of a new entrant into the magical space, capable of ferreting out an intruder or impostor. He waved his right hand over the lights and it burned with a steady glow. A light would dim or darken when it sensed wrongness in the Dome.
Tristan then leaned upon the long marble table to study the Centuar. Belun maintained humanoid guise for ease of movement in the Circle and was, as ever, his flamboyant persona, his mane thick and lustrously gold. He was also huge.
“Bored?”
“Terribly,” Belun muttered.
Tristan stared at him. “There are plans roiling about in your mind, though.”
Belun swirled his tongue in his mouth and said not a word.
“Belun, I hear you are bothering the Dalrish for plans of their terra vehicles.”
“So?” Mighty shoulders lifted and fell.
“It occurred to me last night, when a Centuar gets intense, he is up to something. I think you are planning to use a modified version of what Xen invented to move through Elianas’ barriers.”
Belun said not a word and Jonas raised his head to stare their way. He pushed back from the computer to listen in.
“Bad idea, Belun,” Tristan said. “Elianas is stronger than all of us combined.”
“Elianas uses sorcery to hold us away! He won’t expect a land incursion.”
“He will sense you the instant you decide to go in. Do not be foolish.”
Belun glowered. “Are we to do nothing?”
A moment of silence elapsed before Tristan murmured, “No, but we will not be incautious either.”
Jonas rose and ambled nearer as Belun’s face lit up. “You have a plan?”
Tristan straightened. “Not yet. Let us just say I am in consultation with … folk.”
“Who?” Jonas queried.
“Yes, who?” Belun echoed.
“If I could say at this point, I would. Know we are not forgetting, nor are we to be idle much longer.”
Belun grinned.
Jonas muttered, “I don’t like the sound of this.” He pointed a finger at the Centuar. “And I worry when he gets fidgety.”
Tristan laughed. “I do, too.”
“When are we doing something?” Belun demanded.
“Soon. I am off to Luvanor to speak with Teighlar tomorrow. Yes, he wants to be part of this. Perhaps after that meeting the Kaval will be summoned for a formal gathering in the Circle.”
Again Belun smiled.
Tristan fixed him with a stern stare. “You are to leave off whatever you aim to do and, for Aaru’s sake, stop pestering the Dalrish of Xen.”
“For the time being,” the Centuar muttered.
Tristan looked to Jonas. He noticed Jonas appeared thinner than usual. “How is the computer coming?”
The man grimaced. “Those bloody Beaconites know how to confound with their technology.”
Tristan raised an eyebrow. “And who said he needs no manual?”
Jonas sighed. “Yes, yes.”
“Take a break from the Dome, Jonas,” Tristan murmured. “You spend too much time staring at screens.”
“One would think I would be much fatter from all the sitting,” Jonas grinned. “I have the thin gene, though, much to my brother’s disgust.”
Tristan laughed. Jonas had regaled them with stories of Minos’ tea and cake paunch.
Another chime sounded then and the three turned in the direction it indicated.
The ogives were magical entrances dedicated to specific Kaval members, and the ogives were also the vaulted arches upon which the Dome depended for solidity. Amunti’s had chimed, and he headed directly to the console of lights.
Amunti was from the Drinic Homewo
rld, an exiled immortal due to a revolution some time ago on that world. The situation had quietened considerably and Amunti had been visiting his mother on Drinic. His mother Amdel was an expert in doorways and shifts and the like, and he came into the Dome with news on the very subject.
“Ah, my lord Tristan,” he said, and nodded spurious greeting at the other two. “I am glad to find you here. I heard disturbing news on Drinic.”
Tristan greeted him, and waited. Belun’s gaze sharpened; it seemed action was in the offing and the Centuar was not displeased in the least. Jonas, on the other hand, huffed. So much for the computer. So much for a spell at the hot springs on Lintusillem.
He went on, “Apparently the library back home is in the process of restoration due to Quilla’s campaigning and stern threats made by Titania’s academics. Books, parchments and old documents have been moved around recently and something interesting was uncovered.”
Amunti moved in closer as if imparting a special secret and the others leaned forward as if in conspiracy. They dealt in secrets, after all, and were not immune to dramatics.
“Fortunately the man who uncovered it is a friend of my mother’s; he is well-known to me also and I trust him to a degree, although I doubt he will hold his tongue in the long run.” Amunti sighed over that and then continued. “He found a scroll dating back to the original Drinic race, concerning portals.”
Belun leaned back. “Nothing new, Amunti.” He sounded disappointed.
The Drinic wagged a finger. “Unknown tellings are always new, Belun.”
Jonas rolled his eyes.
Tristan frowned. “Unless it affects Torrullin, I am not particularly interested. I have other concerns.”
Amunti inclined his head. “Then you are going to be interested.”
“Oh, excellent,” Belun murmured, reversing disappointment and earning a look of censure from his leader.
“Speak, Amunti,” Tristan said.
“The telling is incomplete, the document being partly torn and partly moth-bitten, but the legible words reveal a reality portal …”
Lore of Sanctum Omnibus Page 133