Torrullin stared at him. “I merely attempt to cope.”
“With his rage,” Elianas added.
Tristan left, returning to the Kaval.
“Torrullin, Rivalen now understands the concept loyalty, even if he cannot know how it feels to have it.” Elianas shifted. “Dress me.”
Lifting both hands, Torrullin ran them along Elianas’ arms. The dark man was swiftly dressed in the black. Tossing the extraneous boots aside, Elianas buckled his sword on.
“Do not underestimate Rivalen’s wrath. This creature is worse than Tymall ever was and he is Valla also. He may act as Tymall did, only he will achieve it with far less personal debate.”
“He will go after the Vallas,” Torrullin stated.
“And everyone close to them. He will seek to sunder the bonds loyalty has created. Even his puppet Teroux returned to the fold and if someone that weak is able to do so, then the others require culling if he is to reign without Valla thorns ever in his side.”
Torrullin stared at him. “I am weary of all this.”
“As I am.” Elianas laid a hand on his shoulder. “Soon we vanish, Torrullin.”
“I hear you.” He moved away to pace and think. “First priority is Tianoman. Will you go? Put whatever is needed to protect Vallas in place.”
Elianas nodded. “And you?”
“I intend summoning the Red Cloaks.”
“You will need the Medaillon.”
“And you will bring it.”
Elianas sighed. “You do not want it back.”
“No.” As Elianas prepared to leave, Torrullin gripped his arm. “Those measures of protection? Apply them to yourself.”
“He will not catch me off guard again, I swear,” Elianas murmured, and left.
Torrullin headed into the discussion the Kaval were engaged in.
Chapter 54
All are afraid of sustained torture.
~ General Horatio ~
Millwold
MANY HOURS LATER A massive heap of bodies created a mountain of flesh in the field beyond the habitable south of Millwold. The dominant colour was red, from cloak and blood.
“Burn them,” Torrullin commanded.
Lit rush torches started an enormous blaze and everyone retreated to the emptied mills and cottages. Despite the distance, the stink of burning flesh reached them.
In a large public space, where a broken fountain assumed centre stage, Torrullin conferred with the Senlu army’s commander. The result of their discussion was a perimeter of alert soldiers and the entire Kaval arrayed in a semi-circle beyond the fountain.
Torrullin stood on the low wall to spread his arms wide. In silence he spoke words of containment into the public space. Whoever now appeared, wearing red, would be frozen in position until released. It did not affect either Kaval or Senlu soldiers and would not do anything to Elianas when he arrived. Unless Elianas wore red; Torrullin smiled inwardly. It was most unlikely.
He then sent a call into the spaces.
Torrullin summoned every Red Cloak in the universe to attend a gathering upon Millwold.
Slayers answered to no one. They came for training and, if they survived it, took payment for jobs offered. Of course there was a sense of unity among brothers, but they would also murder a rival without a second thought.
Torrullin thus entwined the summons in an offer for employment, the kind that would make someone truly rich. A special assignment, one they needed to compete for on Millwold, and the winner could name his price.
Was the lure great enough? Would they come?
Those questions were answered within four minutes, with the arrival of two Red Cloaks. They froze the instant they appeared, in the configuration of landing. One was bent forward, while the other seemed about to break out into dance. Their cloaks flapped in the breeze, but that was the only movement.
Seconds later more appeared, also to freeze into odd contortions.
Torrullin waited an hour, in apparent patience upon the wall. Only when twenty added minutes had elapsed without the appearance of another Red Cloak did he deem the call answered.
There were twelve thousand men crowded into the space, elbow to knee, butt to groin.
Elianas was right. The battle of the night had not ended their reign. It was sobering to see so many assassins return to the fold. Twelve thousand assignments in the same time frame? This was a frightening thought. Much evil flourished in the universe. Perhaps he should reconsider Elixir’s shroud.
Torrullin waved a hand over the gathering and, as one, all straightened into the pose of a soldier. Somehow they now seemed less threatening than their contortions had made them appear.
He then called to Elianas.
The dark man came after a teeth-grinding delay, materialising before Torrullin. Gazing around, he whistled, and stepped onto the low wall.
“Where were you?” Torrullin asked.
“Checking the Palace Guard with Tian. Man, so many?”
Torrullin grimaced. “Finishing them off will not end the evil out there.”
“No, but those bastards will find it difficult to employ an assassin for some time. Let us do this and be done with it.”
Drawing breath, Torrullin commenced the show. “Last night a great battle was fought here and your brothers did not survive it!”
Many eyes blinked back at them.
“You know who I am, and I tell you your leader Rivalen brings you only death. Has he paid you for assignments? No! He commanded you to plunder, did he not? You are no longer stealthy assassins taking pride in a job well done. Now you are seen and heard, and the day comes when no one will offer you work! What did Rivalen promise? Fame? Follow the power of the Medaillon and all will know you and quake in fear?”
Torrullin gazed into individual sets of eyes, personalising his message.
“All will know you indeed! And you will starve here, for no one will hire you anymore. Death requires anonymity, not fame!”
Many of those eyes blinked rapidly, as if in agreement.
Torrullin lowered his head as if in deep thought. When he lifted it, he lifted a finger into the air as well. “Rivalen has lied to you!” He wiggled that finger, an admonishing gesture. “And you believed him!”
Beside him, Elianas undid his tunic studs and pulled it open to reveal the Maghdim Medaillon.
A silent gasp swept through the space.
“Rivalen dupes you with a copy!” Torrullin roared. “I will now return to you motor function. If you behave, movement remains yours. If you do not, you will be frozen anew and the soldiers behind you will end your lives one after the other. You will join your brethren burning on the field yonder!” He threw his arm backward.
He waited a few beats and then flicked fingers over the gathered.
Animation was instant, as was sound, a roar of it, filled with questions and exclamations. None made a threatening move.
“How do we know that it not a copy?” someone demanded.
Torrullin smiled. This was exactly what he had hoped for. Most of these here gathered would not survive the day, but some would live in order to pass the word to Red Cloaks still out there in the beyond. Not all had answered the summons; some assignments could not simply be abandoned.
“Do you know the lore of the Medaillon? Are you aware it burns an unknown hand?” he demanded.
“We know,” a few responded.
Torrullin opened his arms expansively. “Test it. Is someone here brave enough to come forward? Will someone touch it?”
Silence.
Elianas’ cheeks tightened. The idea of that kind of proximity filled him with dread.
Torrullin reached out and lifted the Medaillon from his chest and clasped it. “Either this is a copy and cannot thus burn me, or I am one able to touch it. Who will stand forth to test which claim is correct?”
Chaim of the Kaval strode around the fountain bowl. “I shall prove it.” He faced the gathered. “I am Chaim of the Kaval and I shall hold the Mag
hdim Medaillon.”
Torrullin leaned forward and whispered, “Chaim, it will really hurt.”
The old man gazed up at him. “My Lord Elixir, I am not afraid of a little pain.” His voice carried. He winked then.
Releasing the Medaillon - it thudded against Elianas’ breast bone - Torrullin gestured.
Elianas, hands tightly clasped behind his back, braced.
Chaim reached up and swiftly gripped the golden coin.
A moment later he howled at the heavens and stumbled back. With tears in his eyes, cradling his hand with the other, he faced the Red Cloaks and held a hand up clearly and horribly burned, through skin and tendons right down to the bones. A smoking red hole was all that was left of his palm.
The nearest Red Cloaks gasped and stepped back.
Chaim stumbled to his knees as agony overtook him.
Torrullin jumped off the wall and helped him up. “Old man, I told you it would hurt.” Muttering about stubbornness, he took the man’s hand into his and gently healed the burn away. “But I thank you for your bravery,” he whispered.
Chaim winked again and returned to the Kaval, who looked at his hand as if it would bite them, even Tristan. No one had yet seen what the Medaillon could actually do. Now rumour was made fact.
“A trick!” a Red Cloak hollered.
Torrullin vaulted back onto the wall. “Maybe it is and maybe it isn’t. It is up to you to test veracity!”
From the left someone shouldered forward. “I’ll do it, you lily-livered wussies,” he shouted as he emerged from the throng. “A little burn won’t kill you!”
Torrullin murmured to Elianas, “Only the one will dare. When they see his reaction, no one else will come forward. Can you cope with just this one?”
A muscle jumped in the dark man’s one cheek. He could only nod.
The Red Cloak stood before them. He was a big man, a strong man, and clearly feared no one. He also possessed the coldest eyes. This one had no conscience.
Torrullin, looking down, understood this one needed to die this day. “Your name?”
“Does it matter?” the man asked.
“No. Go ahead.”
Elianas braced even more.
The big Slayer lifted his right hand only slightly, he was that tall, and then paused. Shifting, he raised his left hand instead.
Laughter rippled through the gathering.
Roughly, he scooped the golden device into his palm and closed his fingers tight over it.
Elianas rocked, but held his perch. He closed his eyes.
Silent moments passed.
The man screamed. He opened his fingers to shake the Medaillon loose, but it stuck to his palm. Screeching agony, he lifted his right hand to pry it loose and screamed louder.
Red Cloaks retreated in a rush, leaving a greater space before the fountain and the enactment.
“Get him off,” Elianas gritted out.
Torrullin, ashen, reached in and lifted the entire mess of fingers from Elianas’ chest and jerked the Red Cloak’s hand free. Then, ignoring him as he collapsed to double over hands that were blood and bone, howling and sobbing simultaneously, Torrullin covered the coin with both of his hands, closed his eyes and murmured.
When he released, it rested sterilised of all red matter against Elianas’ heaving chest.
“It is clean,” Torrullin whispered.
Elianas abruptly sat on the wall, head hanging.
Jumping down, Torrullin approached the man in the dust, his own stomach heaving. This day was the first time he too had seen what the Medaillon could truly do to one not known to it. No one would doubt its power after this, though. What happened here would spread to all corners even if only one Red Cloak survived to tell it.
Every Slayer knelt.
“Rivalen lies!” he roared. “Will you still follow him?”
No one said anything, but their answer was obvious. Rivalen had just lost his army.
“All those with the letter X in their names, step forward.”
They turned heads to look at each other in consternation, but eventually fifteen men came forward.
Fifteen would do nicely. Enough to spread rumours; too few to cause damage.
“Into the fountain,” Torrullin commanded.
The fifteen did so, clearly confused. The Kaval moved to create a tight perimeter around the fountain. Elianas stood and walked away. He and Tristan locked gazes briefly, and then Elianas vanished.
The Slayer at Torrullin’s feet was now whimpering only. Great shudders tore through his large frame. The burn, if unattended, would in fact eventually kill him. Infection would do the trick.
Torrullin withdrew his sword and settled the point in his neck. Shoving the blade in, he said, “This will end your suffering.” When he jerked his weapon out, the man toppled sideways, dead.
Every Slayer had a weapon to hand in an instant.
“Commander! Animated or not?” Torrullin shouted.
“We prefer a fair fight, Elixir!” a voice came back at him.
“Then they are all yours!”
From beyond the gathered the first clashes began, and thereafter it was an all-out battle. Many rushed at the Torrullin and the Kaval, but he had waved a shield into place and they fell senseless to the ground, soon trampled into pulp.
Torrullin stared into the fountain bowl filled with X men.
“The Slayers are finished,” he said. “You live only to tell this tale. Know you are marked. The moment you lay a hand on your weapons, any weapons, you too will die. It may be in your best interest to divest yourselves of them right now.”
Hastily, fifteen men disarmed. An array of deadly devices lay at their feet in the cracked bowl.
“Excellent. When this is over, you are free to leave.”
IT TOOK ABOUT AN hour before silence fell over Millwold.
Torrullin lifted the shield and the fifteen surviving Red Cloaks ran for their lives, most too horrified after watching their Slayer brothers felled to the last to find the wherewithal to transport out and away.
The clean-up commenced anew.
Tristan stood before Torrullin. About to say something, he frowned instead and placed his hands on his hips.
“You are wondering how I could give the command to kill almost twelve thousand men,” Torrullin stated.
Tristan crossed his arms. “Yes, I am wondering.”
“Did they deserve life?”
“Not all of them deserved death.”
“We will have to differ there.”
Tristan sighed. “It’s just … well, it does not seem to affect you.”
Torrullin took hold of Tristan’s shoulders. “It does. I merely know how to wear the mask. In times past too many used what they read on my face to manipulate me, and I had to learn how to guard my reactions.” He gently squeezed those shoulders. “I think you are asking when will you be able to hide your emotions as well as I do.”
After a moment, Tristan grimaced.
Torrullin retreated with a twisted smile. “It is my hope you never reach this kind of point.”
Looking away, Tristan inhaled and exhaled, and then moved to the Kaval. “Let us help the Senlu rid Millwold of this mess.”
Left alone at the fountain, Torrullin gazed skyward.
All gods, he was exhausted, but Valleur still required his healing hands elsewhere.
He left that place of death in search of life.
Chapter 55
Healing becomes a vocation filled with Love
~ Master of Herbs – Volume II ~
Luvanor
Tunin Continent
Torrkan
NINE THOUSAND VALLEUR died on Millwold.
Five hundred more succumbed to wounds on Luvanor.
Round figures made it somehow easier to bear, although it could never sit well, not these deaths. Valleur, however, had fought for the power of Lumin; they were proud less than a sixth succumbed against the darak fallen of Millwold.
In the c
ity Torrkan on the eastern coast of Tunin Continent, outside of Senlu territory, Torrullin wandered the old cobbled streets. Here was Luvanor’s chief Healers Enclave and there the wounded were brought.
More than a thousand were still in mortal danger.
After Tristan’s accusation that murder sat just fine with him, this needed doing. Tristan had not, of course, accused him, but he had now taken it on board as such. Succour would alleviate the burden of guilt.
He entered under the great stone arch into a hive of activity.
Lofty spaces were crowded, pillars and intricate ceilings resonating with the hum of voices, groans and screams. Valleur healers moved with intent from bed to bed, most appearing grim. Senlu naturopaths weaved among them; while they smiled to maintain a positive state among the wounded, most were paler than usual.
Inhaling, Torrullin stared into a frantic world shifting between life and death. By all gods. This had come to pass due to a command he gave. He was guilty indeed.
“My Lord?” A young woman drew his attention, a Senlu with arms overloaded. Bandages. Splints. Thread.
Torrullin swallowed against the nightmare unfolding in his mind. “Where am I most needed?” he asked.
“I’ll show you,” she smiled, and led him out from under the main arch and preceded him across a small cobbled courtyard towards an outer building where the worst cases were apparently in care.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
She bobbed her head and returned with her load to the larger enclave.
Entering the old stone structure, he almost turned on his heels again. Here death was a presence. The men and women awaiting succour here already stared at the horizon between realms.
The silence was unnerving. Healers whispered and the wounded moaned, but it was a void of silence after the sounds he had encountered beyond the main arch.
Bright red hair caught his attention. Alik. She saw him at the same time and placed a hand over her heart as if to thank him for coming. Right; he needed to earn her gratitude.
Nodding, he handed his swords in over a counter. Behind a young man seated there, he noticed recesses for personal possessions. Many swords already rested against the far wall, belonging to the wounded hoping and praying for the opportunity to claim them once more.
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