“I am not discussing it with you,” Torrullin growled. “Tristan and Tian can stay with Teighlar and Sirlasin. Allow me to bring Lowen and …”
Loud pounding sounded.
Tymall laughed again. “Oh, this is precious! I helped that stupid fuck Bannerman raise his desert citadel to bring all players there. To expend yourselves on walls resistant to all magic, see? But, here, now, all come to me!” He swallowed his mirth. “Bannerman seeks entrance. The enemy is inside and outside and you now have nowhere to run. Father, I thank you for the manipulation that brought us here; seems it has been to my advantage after all.”
He flicked a wrist. The creaking of a gate swinging open sounded and the unmistakable noise of it swinging shut followed.
Seconds later Bannerman strode in.
Enclosed space
THE WALLS WERE COARSE and uneven.
It meant they were below ground level in either a dungeon or grotto. The floor was wet and potholed. It meant they were lower than a chamber for cold storage would be. There were no windows and there was no exit, although the latter could be hidden from touch in the roughness of the space. There was no light, not even ambient, to employ to that end.
The air was foul.
Sabian muttered under his breath, “Feels like a realm antechamber.”
“I hope not,” Caballa said. “Lowen, where are you?”
“Here. Seems Tymall warded for every eventuality.”
Again Sabian muttered, “The Warlock is not as complacent as in the past.”
A rustle of paper. “W-what n-now?” Cranckshaw stuttered.
“We wait, unfortunately,” Sabian said.
Crucible
IN ANOTHER CAVERN, one with light and sound and fresh air, fingers pressed against glass.
A face hovered in the ghostly vapour, indistinct, and then lurched forward to squash against the transparency, eyes wildly moving left, right, up, down. A mouth opened and moved; words no one heard, a demand unanswered.
Silent minutes ticked by and everything stilled inside the vaporous tube. Eyes came to rest, fingers relaxed.
Then, a smile.
The light of calculation in tawny eyes glowed.
Main chamber
BANNERMAN SMIRKED AT the gathering around two injured men. Fortunes, clearly, had altered. “I like it, Tymall.”
“It suits me as well,” Tymall laughed.
Bannerman pointed. “We wondered how to exit this space.” His finger targeted Torrullin. “And there it is.” His finger shifted to Tianoman and then to Teroux and Tristan. “And you have the leverage to force his hand.”
Tymall grinned and slapped at his thigh in appreciation.
“You will eat your toes before this over,” Tianoman said to Bannerman, arms crossed, legs braced. “And know this, if you do leave this place and reassume your position amongst your own, Mr President, every ally of the Valleur will have warships parked in Beacon space. You have little by way of future left.”
Tristan came to stand beside his cousin. “And the Dome.” He, too, crossed his arms. “Bannerman, it might be time to switch allegiance.”
The man stared at Tristan. “To whom?”
Tymall hissed.
“How can I trust any of you?” Bannerman added. “Do I bow before the Kaval and hope for a second chance? Do I bow before the Valleur and hope they nurse no grudges? My God, man, we nuked Menllik!”
Torrullin stepped forward. “You have burnt your bridges. There will be no second chance.”
Tymall laughed as Bannerman threw his hands up.
“However, your son has a future worthy of Beaconites of good standing,” Torrullin went on.
Bannerman blanched. “Leave him out of this!”
“As you have left mine out?” Torrullin snarled and marched up to the man.
Elianas dragged him back. “Direct your anger at me if it requires outlet.”
Torrullin slapped those detaining hands away.
“I know all of it, Torrullin,” Elianas murmured, “but you need think clearly.”
Tymall laughed again and Torrullin jerked back to slap him hard. “Make you move, Warlock, for I am weary of games.”
The Warlock stepped back, his expression frozen. A red handprint blossomed on his cheek. “Fine. Endgame, it is.”
“About time,” Teighlar muttered from the floor.
Outside
HORATIO STOOD ARMS akimbo before the gates, and smiled. Not even a mouse could now escape the fort unnoticed. This situation was far more to his liking.
Overhead lightning flashed.
Moments later the clouds burst.
Horatio lost his smile.
Chapter 57
Clothes are unimportant, you say. Really? Are they not your armour against the judgements of others? Are they not the tangible means to confidence? Clothes are unimportant only when you are secure in whom you are. When you are whole.
~ Offis of Fortani, designer ~
Shadow Wing Fort
ELIANAS, AFTER SENDING Torrullin a venomous look, kneeled beside Teighlar. Torrullin’s thoughts were clearly in disarray. He did not blame the man, but right now he also needed to do something to take him away from those watching eyes. To that end, Elianas chose Teighlar as distraction. He dragged his tunic off and proceeded to tear it into strips.
“Sit up, Emperor.”
Teighlar, groaning, did as bid, and lifted his tunic. “The worst wound,” he muttered.
A jagged cut had parted skin to reveal rib bones. Blood flowed freely.
Elianas’ lips thinned and he leaned in to start wrapping.
“I do not think you have ever been this close to me,” Teighlar said.
Those lips relaxed and a reluctant smile appeared. “I do not bite.”
“Ha! I think perhaps you do.”
The smile became a grin. “I will not bite you, promise.”
Teighlar theatrically sniffed at Elianas’ armpit. “Man, how do you not pass out from that?”
An elbow lifted to swat the Emperor’s head aside. “Behave.”
“I get it, you know.”
“You get what?” Frayed black material went around and around.
“Why you are the way you are.”
A pause, and Elianas started knotting. “And how am I, in your opinion?”
“Clever, a goddamn genius at reading others. Quick. I have never known anyone able to say the right words at the right time as fast as you can.”
The dark man shrugged.
“You watch, Elianas, you listen, you act and react, but you are not always involved. You hold your true self back.”
“In your opinion.”
Elianas moved back to hoist the Emperor’s leg. Two holes; a bayonet affixed to a rifle in amateurish hands. Teighlar was lucky neither had pierced an artery. He started wrapping again.
“I asked myself why,” Teighlar murmured as he drew his tunic down, wincing as he did so. “The immediate answer was appearance.”
Dark eyes lifted to blue and then dropped back to the task at hand.
“Seems I was on the right track,” Teighlar said. “You were a beautiful child; a glorious youth and every shred of that beauty accompanied you into adulthood. Did they cosset you? Or did they regard you as a weakling?”
Silence, and then, “Both.”
“You proved your detractors wrong by being stronger, but it meant you had to stand on the outside looking in.”
Elianas tied a final knot and sat back. “Self-evident, Emperor.”
“That is what I thought and thus it was not being stronger that made you, was it? You sought, above all, to get away from being cosseted.”
The dark man gripped a final strip of cloth and lifted Teighlar’s arm. Again he proceeded to wind, this time slowly, as if the action required serious time.
“Cosseted is the wrong word. Fawned over. Constantly summoned to stand there being looked at … and touched. Most were kind, many were not.” The bandage was in place, but long fingers rested
there and Elianas stared at his hands on the Emperor’s arm. “I stand aside to remove myself from the proximity of others, the likelihood someone may reach out and touch.” A swift frown, and those fingers lifted.
“Except Torrullin.”
Dark eyes lifted. “Yes.”
“Why?”
“He did not judge me on appearance.”
“He saw only your mind, is that it? My friend, he would have to have been goddamned blind to see only your mind.” Teighlar lifted a shoulder. “But I agree, he would not judge on appearance alone. Still, you exempted him because he refused to touch, not because he did not judge.”
Elianas scowled. “Maybe.”
“Drove you bonkers.”
Dark eyes crinkled at their corners. “After a time, yes.”
“And now he touches - oh, come, it is clear as daylight. Now he touches, and I wonder how long you can endure it before the crutches of the past are with you once more.”
“We shall see, will we not?”
Teighlar reached out and gripped Elianas’ shoulder. Fingers dug into naked skin and he instantly felt the instinctive withdrawal. “Feel that, my friend? You want to run. Is it only men who do this to you?”
Elianas was unmoving. “No.”
Teighlar lifted an eyebrow and intensified his grip.
“Fine. Men, yes, but there have been women who sent me running for cover.”
“You are not alone in that!” Teighlar laughed, removed his hand and smoothed his fingers over the indents left behind. Elianas flinched. “Most men do not need to touch another man, Elianas, and when they do it is about brotherhood and fellowship, no more.”
Elianas closed his eyes. “I hear you.”
“Good.” Teighlar leaned in. “Forget the crutches. Live for now.”
Dark eyes opened. “You are fine with Torrullin being my …” A pause. “Gods, I cannot even say it.”
“Man, you are messed up inside.” Teighlar pushed gently against the dark man’s shoulder. “Walk it off.”
More silence, and then Elianas moved to rise. He found movement curtailed as Tristan sank to his haunches behind him. The man who looked like Torrullin braced a hand on his shoulder and leaned over it to Teighlar.
Only Teighlar saw the expression of alarm on the dark man’s face.
TRISTAN MURMURED, “From your state of undress and those bandages, I assume healing does not work here.”
Elianas sat unmoving under that hand. “No. How fares Sirlasin?”
“Not well.” Tristan squeezed his shoulder, released and stood. “Time to get undressed.”
Elianas’ head jerked up.
“What?” Tristan said. He lifted his tunic over his head. “What did I say?” he added as he emerged from it.
“Nothing,” Elianas muttered, and rose to walk away.
As Tristan began shredding his tunic, Teighlar said, “Be more circumspect with your words around him, Tris. There he goes, having done a good deed. He tore his clothes to stem blood flow and he did it because it needed done, but now he goes off feeling particularly undressed in a room full of men. And men, after all, are what caused most of his bias and fear. Watch him; see how skittish he gets.”
Tristan stared after the dark man. His gaze shifted to his cousin Teroux. He instantly headed in that direction, having marked something less than healthy in his cousin’s eyes, dropping his half-torn tunic on Tianoman as he passed.
“Use it for Sirlasin,” he said, and walked on.
Tianoman stared after him nonplussed.
TORRULLIN RETREATED AFTER hitting Tymall.
He did not regret the action, but understood anger could overpower reason. His anger was directed at uncertainty, the knowing he could lose Elianas at any time and then be forced to await his return. After the waiting that led to the healing of Titan’s Disease on Avaelyn, he knew how debilitating the state would be.
Standing in the shadow of a pillar, he watched Elianas help Teighlar, and noted how intense the conversation became. He also accurately gauged Elianas’ subsequent vulnerability when he left after Tristan joined them. And he noted Tristan’s actions; Teroux was about to explode and it had everything to do with Elianas’ semi-naked presence.
Stupid kid. Ever ready to blunder in, even if he did not understand every dynamic.
Torrullin moved then, setting aside the revelation of death for another time and place. As the dark man headed to a space unoccupied, he set off after him. His focus narrowed to include only that form and thus he did not notice Teroux tear at his hair.
He did not notice Tristan reach out and grab at air as Teroux stalked Elianas, coming at him from a different angle.
TYMALL, HOWEVER, DID NOTICE.
His lips pulled inward; for an instant he felt compassion for the young Valla, understanding as he did the prejudice that drove Teroux. Then he smiled to himself; how Torrullin and Elianas would react to fresh accusations was of more import than any sense of empathy.
He told Bannerman to cease prattling; he needed to hear whispers. His attention focused on the four forms converging near the great doors.
Lightning flashed and the clouds burst. Darkness invaded the space and a deluge pounded the roof above.
Tymall swore; the storm would mask the words of confrontation. He moved in after telling Bannerman to stay where he was.
ELIANAS TURNED. HE HALTED and lowered his gaze to the offering Torrullin extended towards him.
The man’s tunic.
He lifted his gaze. “That makes it worse.” He raised his gaze some more. “Teroux will know why you offer and why I accept.”
Torrullin glanced back over his shoulder, and swore.
A laugh erupted from the dark man. “Give.” He took the tunic and then stared at the item in his hands. He threw it back. “I cannot. Smells like you.”
Torrullin caught it, held it against his chest. “What did Teighlar say to put you in this state?”
“I am always in this state, you idiot.”
“No, usually you are the most self-possessed presence in any gathering. This is not you.”
“It is. Usually I hide it better.”
Teroux barged past Torrullin. He stopped, heaving between them, and grabbed Torrullin’s tunic from him. He hurled it at Elianas. “Put it on!”
Torrullin shoved Teroux aside, ripped the article from Elianas instinctive grab and tore it. He threw the two pieces aside and turned to brace before Teroux, his body a shield for the dark man behind him.
“You will behave, Teroux.”
An intense yellow stare impaled him. “Rose told me I would be needed, told me to get to Avaelyn to be there, but it was not for you, Torrullin. She told me Elianas would need me.” Blink. “When I saw how pissed off you were after awakening, I thought Rose was right. He would need a buffer. Taking the events on Echolone into account, one could admit he chose the only path to help you recover, and thus did not deserve your rage and accusation.” Pause. Blink. “But it is hard. I feel now I need protect you from him.”
“Because he wanders in this loaded space without a tunic, Teroux? Why? When I wear none, and Tristan suffers a similar state of undress.”
“The problem lies in attraction,” Elianas said, moving that final step to set him at Torrullin’s shoulder. “His.”
Utter silence.
Then Teroux snarled and his fingers curled into claws.
Torrullin stiffened for that instant of silence, his gaze on his grandson, and ice flowed into veins when Teroux reacted. “My god,” he said, and could not move.
“A womaniser, didn’t you say, before he met Rose? And Rose is so damaged by her past she was perfect for him, the perfect foil, the perfect smokescreen,” Elianas said, his voice toneless. “He loves her, none here doubt it, but attraction is another matter entirely.”
Tristan shifted his head and searching eyes to his cousin, and pinched the bridge of his nose. Enlightened, he finally understood the dark depths of prejudice that had ever roile
d in Teroux’s mind. He understood the often strange reactions in usually normal situations.
One could ever rely on Teroux to act otherwise in a social gathering, whether it was chasing the most popular skirt at the time or getting roaring, falling-down drunk when only men gathered together. Everyone had trusted to Teroux’s immaturity and believed he would outgrow his crazy youth, but, now, looking at it from a different perspective, the real nature of those actions came to the fore.
Act immature, and most would not ask real questions.
“Cousin, it’s all right,” he said.
“Indeed,” Torrullin managed, although unseen his fingers became fists behind his back. “No one here will judge you.”
Teroux snarled again.
“But turn your fucking attention on someone else, hear me?” Torrullin snapped.
Elianas sighed. Long fingers rested on the fists visible to him.
Tristan’s eyes jerked to Torrullin. And then further. “Tymall, this isn’t your business!”
Tymall, Warlock and Valla, had come to rest behind Elianas.
Before any could react he placed his hands on the dark man’s naked shoulders and ran those hands along Elianas’ arms. Elianas froze.
As Teroux hurtled forward and Torrullin turned, Tymall murmured, “The dynamics in this family are eminently suited to nuance and therefore change. How useable you all are.”
“Take your hands off,” Torrullin said, eyes glittering.
Tristan gripped Teroux in a stranglehold. “Stay the fuck out of it, cousin,” he said in his ear, “or I will beat you to pulp right now.”
Tymall smiled lazily. “Relax, father. I merely seek to diffuse this explosive situation.”
A low murmur rolled from his tongue and as it did Tymall lifted his hands to caress Elianas’ shoulders. A black, body hugging tunic wrapped over the man’s skin, and Tymall stepped back.
“See? I have removed temptation.”
A moment of terrible silence reigned again.
Lore of Sanctum Omnibus Page 180