The Echolone Mine (79 page)

Someone sought
to keep them from reality.

Why?

Who?

There was a
way out. The path lay before them. All they had to do was step onto
it and discover the why and who, and tweak
it
to kingdom
come.

He shifted and
chewed more.

It was not
Tymall, but Tymall was a factor now to herald disaster on an
entirely new level. Tymall back in reality meant an agitated
Digilan … unless Digilan wanted him out. If that was so, Tymall
would be an issue no matter what. His son could not remain where he
could start a new war. The Warlock of Digilan needed war and
attrition to feel whole.

It was not
Elianas. He did not need to examine that further.

Of everyone he
could think of with the power to move mountains in this way, there
was no one able currently alive. Except Nemisin. And maybe Sabian.
And Sabian, according to Tristan, was the means to return. Sabian
earned trust when he took Nemisin away, but Nemisin, well, he was a
cockroach in the ale. As was his daughter.

He frowned
over that.

Cassy
controlled a universal net and employed it recently. Nemisin was
aware of the net. What if its power transcended realms and planes?
What if Cassiopin, Nemisin’s daughter and Elianas’ wife, was bent
on revenge despite her words of forgiveness and contrition? And
what if she could reach out to her father wherever he was … or he
knew how to reach back to her?

Step one would
be to trap Lord Sorcerer and his apprentice.

Step two would
be to unleash a Warlock on his father … no. The greater impact
would be setting a Warlock onto Elianas. Nemisin would believe Lord
Sorcerer’s hands tied.

And step three
would be returning to assume the mantle of the One.

Torrullin
whistled under his breath.

There was no
proof, and yet the bells pealed in tune.

Nemisin would
never go quietly into the night.

He focused on
Tristan.

Tristan said,
“You suspect you know the culprit.”

“I know the
culprit, but suspect is right. Nemisin.”

Tristan
thought that through before responding. “Cassy’s network.”

“Right first
time. She could be involved as well.”

“I can’t get a
hold on her, but that’s no reason to suspect her. Tian reckons she
is a model citizen.”

“The Cassy we
saw on Echolone was not model anything. She is hiding her true
feelings.”

“It doesn’t
make her evil.”

“It could dupe
her. Nemisin wants above all else to be the One.”

“Gods,
Torrullin.”

“It is
suspicion only.”

“Will you
mention this to Elianas?”

“Yes.”

“To
Tymall?”

“I have
to.”

Tristan
muttered, and then, “We have about eleven hours left.”

In eleven
hours I must get under Elianas’ skin.
“Whatever happens now,
stay close. If the portal opens, you need be nearby.”

Tristan stared
at him, paling. “Gods. You mean …?”

“Oh, yes. Two
fucking witnesses. No offense.”

“None taken.
Hell, Torrullin, no one can, well, function in those
conditions.”

A grim smile.
“A huge dilemma. At least it isn’t a matter of ultimate and binding
choice. Merely intention.”

“Hard.”

“Very.”

“Will he fight
it?”

“Of
course.”

“Will you
fight it?”

“Yes.”
And
that is enough to set us on the path. If only we could achieve this
in private. Gods, I would give anything for privacy.

“Torrullin.”

Elianas’
voice, behind him. The man always possessed perfect timing.
Torrullin looked up. He knew his final thoughts would be nuanced in
his gaze. It was a starting point.

Elianas drew
breath as his gut lurched. He shifted to Tristan. And was
wordless.

Torrullin
clambered to his feet. “We must talk.”

Elianas’ voice
was hoarse. “I am not going anywhere with you right now.”

“They need to
stay close for the portal. We are not going anywhere.”

Elianas’ gaze
jerked back to him. “Absolutely not. Tristan I can accept, but not
him.” Elianas jerked his head to indicate Tymall wandering and
muttering below the rise.

“Yet this is
the way of it.”

“I would
rather stay here.”

“I believe
Nemisin is behind this. Will you allow him free reign?”

Elianas was
silent as he worked it out. Then he shook his head. “You are
accusing Cassy also.”

“Nemisin could
be using her.”

“Sabian would
not let him get away.”

“Gods,
Elianas, Nemisin pulled the veils over the entire Valleur nation
when he invaded Orb. Sabian would be child’s play. Cassy would be
the simplest of all.”

“For pity’s
sake, do you have to make it so complicated?” Elianas stalked
off.

Tristan
sighed. “You have a twisted mind, Torrullin, do you realise that? I
am not sure whether that is a good thing or not, but I can no
longer see you as a grandfather.”

Torrullin
blinked. “I am sorry.”

“I begin to
understand why folk fear you while revering you
simultaneously.”

“That is a
pedestal.”

“Yes, and it
will remain no matter what.”

Torrullin was
silent, and then he murmured something about talking to Tymall.

Tristan
watched him go. Twisted, yes, and it would not get easier. Ixion
sprung a few surprises and one day he would have to share what he
learned from the sliver.

He was glad it
was told him. Elianas and Torrullin were not ready, not yet.

In as few words
as possible, and after telling Tymall to merely listen, Torrullin
told his son what the situation was.

He explained
the suspicion about Nemisin and he explained the path Sabian
opened. Then he explained the line, and what would need to happen
to activate it.

Not far away
Elianas waited, watching. He could not hear the words, but he was
aware of body language.

Tristan,
leaning against his tree, watched also.

Tymall started
laughing. “Well, father, now I have heard everything! Nothing you
will do after this will ever surprise me again.” He sobered. “You
cannot be serious.”

Torrullin did
not deign to answer.

Tymall swung
to the side and charged Elianas.

Elianas
braced.

Then they were
at each other’s throats.

Tristan
hurtled to his feet, and he and Torrullin rushed headlong into the
fray.

Fists
connected, hair flew, knees discovered tender areas, and then
Tristan had a hold of Elianas, pulling him away, and Torrullin
gripped Tymall, dragging him aside. The two strained against the
restrictions and the brawl almost escalated into two new
fights.

Torrullin
roared, “
Enough
!”

Tymall pulled
from him and stood with hands on knees, heaving. He glared hatred
at Elianas, who calmly loosened Tristan’s hold and sauntered up to
Tymall to slap his face.

“You are like
a child,” Elianas said. “Give over, for pity’s sake.”

Tymall
straightened, touched a bleeding lip, and murmured for Elianas’
ears alone, “I am going to kill you. Touch him, and I promise you
will not live to see the sun rise again.”

Elianas smiled
lazily. “You are the mortal one.”

“We shall see
who kills who, then. You forget I possess power close enough to
yours to be telling in a real confrontation.”

Elianas lifted
a shoulder. “Bring it on, Warlock. Please.”

Tymall bowed.
“Clearly you desire the return of your wings.”

Elianas
inclined his head. “For this it will be worth it.”

Torrullin
approached.

Tymall
whispered to Elianas before his father joined them, “You know what
happened the night Taranis died, don’t you? You meted out
punishment on his behalf.”

“You killed
his father. You deserved it.”

“You will pay,
Danae.”

Then Torrullin
was there. Before he could say anything, Elianas murmured, “He says
if I dare touch you he will kill me.”

Torrullin’s
gut lurched as Elianas’ had earlier. He knew that tone.
Brinkmanship had again entered. This time he had no choice but to
push back. They needed to escape, and time counted down.

“Really? And
you desire to test it, of course.”

Elianas
swivelled his head to look his way. “You know me.”

“So test
it.”

“Father!”

“Shut up,
Tymall. Test, Elianas.”

Tymall moved
to stand between them. He was livid. “You will not degrade yourself
in this manner!”

Torrullin
glanced at him. “I do not see it as degradation.” His gaze returned
to the dark man over Tymall’s shoulder.

Elianas closed
in and moved as if to reach for Torrullin beyond his son, Tymall
snarled and whirled. “You dare!”

The dark man
laughed. “Child. You have more experience in buggery than I
do.”

Torrullin
hauled Tymall away just in time.

Elianas
murmured, “Seems you are going to have to make another choice here
this day, brother. Me or him.”

Torrullin
shunted Tymall aside and strode into Elianas’ space. “I do not see
that.”

“You do not
want to. Think it through.” Elianas stepped closer. Thighs touched,
chests, arms, hands … and he sighed, a sound that travelled along
Torrullin’s spine like a livewire. “Or do not think - act.
Now.”

Grey eyes
silvered. “Is this a challenge?”

A laugh.
“These days I do not seem to keep my word long.”

Tristan
shouted warning, Torrullin ducked, Elianas shifted sideways, but
not fast enough to avoid the blow Tymall wielded, sword to hand. It
slapped across Elianas’ shoulders, driving him down, knocking
breath from him, and then Tymall shifted his clasp and brought the
point to bear.

Elianas rolled
back, drawing his blade at the same time, and sprang to his feet a
few paces away. Dark eyes glittered. “Bring it on, Warlock.”

Tristan
gripped Torrullin’s wrist as he moved to draw his sword as well.
“Don’t add to it.”

“Elianas is
too good with that blade.”

“Excellent. He
will teach Tymall a lesson, without being hurt himself. Let it
ride, Torrullin. You cannot always run interference for
others.”

Torrullin
stared at him, and then nodded. “The voice of reason.”

Tymall, it
soon turned out, was brilliant with a blade as well. Digilan’s time
was lengthier and thus he spent longer years practising, a fitness
regime serving also to dissolve frustration and tension. Elianas
had not done much work with his in recent times.

Their blades
connected, sparked, rang and flashed and the dance was intricate,
aggressive and beautiful. Neither made a sound, not even to
grunt.

Torrullin and
Tristan watched in growing fascination.

It was soon
evident there could be no clear victor. The deciding factor would
be accident or distraction, such as a misplaced rock underfoot or
interference from either one of the others. Neither dared.

Something
entirely unexpected brought everything to an abrupt halt.

Arrows
whistled through the air and smacked loudly into flesh. Both Tymall
and Elianas fell to their knees, swords clattering onto trampled
grass.

More arrows
felled Torrullin and Tristan.

Small men ran
up the rise and surrounded them.

Silence
descended.

Sturdy wooden
clubs lifted and the lights went out.

Delirium isn’t
oblivion, but it can feel that way to the healthy mind.

Book of
Sages

A cell

E
lianas regained consciousness.

He groaned and
opened his eyes into dim light and concrete walls. It was a cell.
Three walls were clean concrete and the fourth was bars. Beyond
nothing moved in an empty space.

Torrullin was
thrown into a corner and lying at an angle, blood on his face, and
Tymall and Tristan were bundled together in the opposite
corner.

He was closest
to the bars, and they were all on hard floor. There were no beds
and there was nothing to determine state, age or captors.

Elianas
crawled to Torrullin and shook him. As the man returned to
awareness, he examined the wound on his head. Surface, nothing
serious, although it would hurt - as his was. He touched to heal
the wound, but nothing happened.

No healing. It
meant there was no means to deal with the arrow wounds. Torrullin
had three in his shoulder, he had four, and, glancing back to
Tristan and Tymall, they had a fair few bristling upward. The
shafts had been snapped off.

Torrullin sat
up groggily and touched his head and then glared down at the broken
shafts. “What happened?”

“Arrows,
pygmies, and a cell that looks far too modern and unused for men
who trust to the bow. And I cannot access my healing powers.”

Torrullin
reached out to touch the wound on Elianas’ head and nothing
happened. “Gods. We are in deep shit now.”

Elianas
grimaced. “Tymall will be the one worst off.”

Torrullin
viewed the dim shapes. “Have you tried calling for someone?”

Elianas shook
his head and crawled over to the other two. He laboriously
separated them and by the time he was done they were waking, and he
bled profusely.

Torrullin was
beside him. “Don’t move so much.” He put an arm around the dark
man’s middle and urged him to a seated position with him, leaning
against the wall. Elianas passed out with his head on Torrullin’s
shoulder, the one free of arrow shafts.

Silence
descended again.

Sometime later
there was movement in the outer room.

Four men
wielding spears stood guard while one unlocked the cell from a
bunch of keys, allowing access to eight women with medical
accruements. Two per prisoner.