Chapter 1: The Drowned Throne

 

An ancient seat has the power to destroy

 

From the cesspool of Silas Island into the underworld of Two Town, the battle continues. As epic storms batter the continent, men, women and children succumb to soltakin touch and darkling blade.

It is time to reveal the hidden half-race from under the sands of the Vall Peninsula; Valaris needs soldiers as much as she needs hope. It is time also to face Margus in his lair and throw down the gauntlet.

Arrayed against his might is the small team of defenders, among them Taranis of the Guardians, Vannis of the Valleur, and Torrullin, a man with a dual nature, who as often fights the darkness rising within as he fights to protect his world. Visions plague Torrullin; he struggles to find himself when fate appears omnipotent, and love ever beyond his reach.

The extinct Gosa volcano erupts as sacred sites implode, creating earthquakes and tidal waves. A monster surge races to the site of an epic confrontation before an ancient and powerful golden seat.

The Valleur Throne is about to assume ultimate status. Will it save or conquer their world?

Chapter 1

 

 

“Froth and waves, this is the citadel of knaves!”

~ Tattle’s Blunt Adventures

 

 

Northern Valaris

Silas Island

 

SILAS ISLAND POSSESSED one town; the land was now a gigantic city that spread from coast to coast in all directions. Silas Town was Silas Island and vice versa, a windswept, cold place, the mood ever surly and unwelcoming.

The buildings were sturdy affairs, buttresses against wind and cold, most many centuries old. Once Silas was a remarkable place, the city planners did well, and it stood Silas in good stead to this day. There were few shanties, but sewerage and refuse removal was non-existent; slop was thrown into dark alleys. Rain tanks in a state of unsanitary disrepair caught drinking water, drowned rats the least of the floaters in murky depths.

What did not kill in Silas made strong.

People were thin, but wiry, deceptively resilient, street smart, and complained ever of stomach trouble. Food was imported and paid for with stolen loot.

Unless one counted lonely, rubble-strewn beaches, open spaces were non-existent. The ocean was so polluted the strongest constitution dared not eat from it; the beaches, considered too unstable for building, were therefore convenient dumpsites.

Silas believed in street justice, a pretty name for murder and revenge killing, and there were gallows in almost every public square, entertainment in all weather. There was no ruling council, no sane voice; one survived by being stronger, smarter and quicker. One could hoard a fortune, and lose it the next day, as one could go to sleep hungry one night and steal one’s future in the morning.

Silas harboured the worst of Valaris.

 

 

Little Paradise

 

RAKEN’S SHIP, LITTLE Paradise, hung out of immediate sight of the infamous island. Although she was a regular to Silas, as a pirate herself, she was wary. She borrowed Kylan’s telescope and studied the harbour with misgiving.

“I like it not, Mr Tassel,” she said to her helmsman. “Too many ships this time. The storm sent them scurrying to anchor.”

Silas possessed a deep and protected harbour, the best on Valaris, and it lay in the hands of criminals.

Raken passed the telescope to Mr Tassel, who accepted it and mimicked his captain’s actions, only to gasp when the faraway harbour suddenly appeared close enough to touch. To his credit, he did not take it from his eye to stare at the other end; he used it well.

“Not an honest pirate about, Captain,” he affirmed. “I see Old Yell’s stinking ship. His crew will steal our beauty from under our noses, lazy as they are.”

“What do you suggest, Raken?” Torrullin asked as Belun joined them at the rail.

“I can’t risk my ship in there, Torrullin, safe water or not. Not only won’t we get a berth, but also, if Paradise isn’t stolen, she’ll be burning to the waterline by nightfall. I suggest we go north again, find a sheltered beach and, under cover of darkness, row ashore. Mr Tassel can take the ship to Sheshi and await our signal.”

“Captain? What signal? We’ll be too far away.” Mr Tassel was clearly confused.

“Have no fear, Mr Tassel; Torrullin will contact you.” Raken grinned at her loyal helmsman, who thought better of asking how.

“Aye, Captain.”

Torrullin grinned at Raken. “You are a different persona aboard. Even I am afraid of you, but only a little, mind.”

Raken’s laughter pealed out. “Music to my ears!”

 

 

VANNIS TURNED A sullen look on the two laughing together at the rail, causing Taranis to chuckle. They sat comfortably in the shade of the helm’s awning reading from Raken’s store of interesting books; a pleasure Vannis particularly enjoyed.

A day and a night had passed since the Mystic Island and its terrors and losses. Everyone else was below deck, slumbering the heat of the day away.

“Ah, Vannis, now you have an inkling how I feel.” Taranis gestured with a book in one hand to Raken and Torrullin. The two had grown close, often together to discuss evasive strategy on the water if beset upon. “There is nothing there, don’t worry. The stunning Raken has eyes for no one but you, despite my attempts at warning her, and as for Torrullin …” Taranis shut his mouth and buried his nose in his book.

“I do not care where Raken looks,” Vannis said.

“Then why the bad mood?”

“Don’t, Taranis. Women are pretty packages of trouble. I have no need for them.”

“You’re not a monk, as far as I know. And that, my friend, is one volatile package.”

Vannis studied Raken over the top of his book.

He watched as she directed her helmsman to turn about, watched her share a joke with Belun, and watched her with his grandson, noticing the easy camaraderie between the two, not remotely sexual, and was relieved.

She was as stunning as Taranis said and was indeed an impulsive personality, but he sensed she was not a woman to enjoy casual encounters. She would give all when she fell in love. He wondered if she had loved like that, and the thought irked him. What had Taranis said? She had eyes only for him. Was it true?

Despite better judgement, his blood stirred.

He was a man familiar with female attention, having always had them at his will and whim. They fawned over him even after he wed Mantra. Millennia of incarceration had damaged the memories, though, until he thought of sex as no more than irritation. It dampened his drive, and he felt no envy of Torrullin for pointedly garnering attention. He pitied his grandson the frustration.

He, Vannis, never suffered a strong sexual and emotional pull to any woman, not even Mantra, and could not fathom the physical magnetism, although he grasped it intellectually. There was a crash and burn episode as a youth, thereby discovering the meaning of the green hue to his changeable eyes, but that was a youth’s folly, and never befell him again.

With Raken, however, he felt it on meeting her, and squashed it. He did not seek the complication.

And she is mortal, fool, he admonished, catching a few erotic thoughts chasing around his mind.

“I don’t want ‘volatile’,” he muttered.

“Took you long enough to say that,” Taranis remarked.

Torrullin sauntered over to share Raken’s decision. He sat and stretched. “It makes us less conspicuous anyway.”

Taranis mused, “In the dark? On Silas? Conspicuous or not, it is not a comforting thought. I wonder how much impact the soltakin have in that cesspit.”

“They are a wily lot. No doubt they avoid this hole like they avoid water. Darklings on the other hand blend easy as long as they hide their faces. I am sure they have left their mark,” Torrullin murmured.

“Tell me again why it is we go there,” Raken said as she approached.

Torrullin peered at Vannis’ shifting eye colour. He sent a startled look at Taranis, who managed to grin on the sly.

“Because Margus will think twice about sending his army this way,” Vannis replied.

“Yet we dare,” Raken remarked.

Vannis shrugged.

“And how do we blend in?”

Torrullin laughed and lifted her long copper plait. “We smear ash into this and mud on your face and force you to wear old garments.”

Raken pouted. “You insult me, dear Torrullin. I don’t have anything old!” She leaned over and pecked him on the cheek, ruffling his hair, and went below deck. “I’m off to see a man about dinner!” she called over her shoulder.

Torrullin studied Vannis, who clearly tried to control his temper. “Ah, grandfather, she has got you, hasn’t she, down to your smallest Valla toe! I knew she would; I saw it in Two Town.”

Taranis grinned.

“No,” Vannis snapped.

“Leave it, son,” Taranis murmured.

“Why?”

“She is mortal,” Taranis said.

Vannis made a choked sound, and his eyes were abruptly emerald, the colour signifying fear … or desire.

 

 

TORRULLIN AND TARANIS locked gazes in understanding, with Taranis comprehending Vannis’ violent denial of his green eyes on Mara Isle. Vannis closed them and kept them that way for a time. Torrullin knew well he could not point out the question of mortality had not stopped him and Saska, or that immortality would only complicate it further.

Vannis was his own man … and Taranis would be the one listening.

 

 

BEFORE IT WAS too dark, Mr Tassel and the First Mate found a landing area. Raken confirmed his choice.

The ship lay at anchor while they enjoyed a meal before venturing into the underbelly - sustenance there would be scarce.

Torrullin laid healers’ hands on all, removing residual injury. The Dragon on Vannis’ chest appeared to snarl at him when he touched the Valleur, which shocked him, but Vannis said not a word, and he preferred to leave that subject untouched. He admonished them to be careful and alert, saying he could not resurrect the dead. He was not a god.

They dressed in dark clothes and kept gear to a minimum. The women’s long hair tucked under seamen’s woollen caps, as was Vannis’ golden glory and Torrullin’s fairness.

The Centuar was a problem; no clothes fit, and his golden skin and hair and shining silver eyes would be a beacon of light in the darkness.

“All right,” Belun growled. “I’ll change, but I can’t make myself smaller!”

They were amazed as his skin darkened to an even tan and his hair dimmed to grey.

“And your eyes,” Taranis prompted.

Growling, the Centuar’s eyes changed from silver to brown.

“That’s better,” Taranis laughed.

“Boring, if you ask me!” Belun roared.

“Fantastic,” Raken breathed, and Lanto’s head nodded on a puppet string.

Raken found a blue robe to fit the Centuar - it covered the essential bits - and McSee settled for a robe and over-tunic, being only marginally smaller. McSee’s red hair hid under a cap.

“I feel like a girl!” Belun shouted.

McSee laughed. “You’ll get used to it. It can be quite, er, liberating.”

Raken gave final orders to her crew, and they went ashore. It was the fifth night of New Moon.

 

 

Silas Island

 

THEY BARELY CRESTED the dunes, stepping over filth years old, when they came upon the first buildings, and from there it was never-ending. It was after midnight, but Silas never slept. They drew attention immediately.

“We’re too big a crowd,” McSee muttered, and palmed one of his techno-stars. On Silas, a weapon was imperative.

“We must separate,” Taranis confirmed, hand on the hilt of his sword.

They earlier agreed on a meeting place in the event they parted or accidentally separated. Raken owned a warehouse in Silas Town proper, guarded by a fierce individual called Feathers. The apartment was above the warehouse, and she said with confidence they would be safe there. They would lay low there as well. Margus, Darak Or, would not find them where the presence of encompassing criminality was a signature that masked all.

“McSee and I travel together,” Belun murmured. “Paired we attract less attention.”

Taranis nodded and the two peeled off after hurried good wishes. A rough young man followed, but Taranis doubted the two would have much trouble. Dogs barked at their heels and when Belun hissed at one before vanishing from view, causing it to yelp, Taranis grinned. They would be fine.

“Kisha and I together,” Kylan stated. He refused to part from her again, after what happened to her in the clanlands.

Torrullin nodded. “Take Lanto with you.”

The three nervously, Lanto with huge eyes, disappeared in another direction.

“Will they be all right?” Taranis questioned, not as sure they would go unmolested.

“Lanto has a strange presence,” Torrullin murmured. “It keeps evil from him, even this home-grown kind.”

“He was hurt most on the island,” Lycea frowned.

“Exactly; in a battle the opposite would be true.”

There were six left, and they delayed undecided. From an alley to their right cutthroat youths appeared, knives glinting.

“Use no sorcery,” Taranis warned.

“We must go,” Vannis frowned.

“Saska and I will travel together,” Torrullin said.

She said nothing, looking at the slimy ground. Taranis looked from one to the other, Torrullin meeting his gaze head-on, and inclined his head without a word.

“Very well,” Vannis murmured. “Then the four of us will go our way.”

Lycea appeared about to protest, but Taranis took her arm, and they left as the youths approached. The youths stopped nearby, chose the easier prey of only two, and closed in. There was no time for explanations, warnings or the words of safe journey.

 

 

SASKA SAID, “DO you want to fight these?”

“No, they’re just kids. Let’s go.” Torrullin grabbed her hand and they sprinted away to the sounds of jeering and catcall.

Once they left the gang behind, they slowed to a walking pace.

“I’m worried about Kylan’s group,” Saska muttered.

“Do not underestimate Lanto; he will surprise us yet.”

They walked in silence a while, overwhelmed by the stench of Silas, narrowly escaping a deluge of slop. An old hag cackled at the sight of their disgusted faces. Dogs barked and snapped everywhere, reed thin.

The narrow, twisted alleys were a wet and stinking mess of living and dead matter. The ghettos of hell. Saska shuddered, wishing there was an easier way.

“Why?” she asked after a time. “After what you said about us having no future?”

“Because of what you said in answer.” His voice and face was expressionless.

She pondered that. What had she said? Oh. That she would never go to Taranis if she loved Torrullin as much as she wanted him, then she foolishly admitted she loved Torrullin more. It made sense then to leave her in Taranis’ company, there being no way she would reveal feelings to Taranis … except … Lycea would be here now and that did not bear thought.

“You should’ve taken Taranis with you.”

“Too late.”

“You made a statement, Torrullin.”

“Yes.”

“To Taranis? Are you trying to hurt him?”

“No to both.”

“Torrullin.”

“I haven’t thought it through.”

“You’re angry.”

“Only because I am glad you are with me.”

She swallowed. “Vannis was glad to have Taranis with him.”

“He did not want to be alone with Raken, and Lycea would encourage them.”

“Vannis and Raken? How did I miss that?”

He glanced sideways at her, smiling.

She smiled back. Of course, too self-involved.

Hours later, they found an empty doorway and sat to rest. Silas had quietened somewhat, and the alley was obviously not as frequented.

She rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes. It was the first time they had been completely alone.

“Do you love me at all?” she whispered, and felt him tense. Immediately she wished she could take the words back.

“I think I have told you how I feel.”

“You haven’t said much.” Well, she made the mistake already, may as well push it further.

“I cannot express what I cannot feel.”

“Your actions say you don’t love me.”

“Why would that have changed?”

“Because you have.”

“Nothing has changed.”

She sat up and pulled his head to face her. “Are you forcing me to walk away?”

“I am saying it, for it is the truth.”

“I wonder if you’re even aware how little sense you make. During the battle on Mystic Island, you came to my defence first, and in the heat of it, you held me.” There were tears in her eyes. “I said your actions deny me, yet I’m not so sure. You are not sure.”

“You belong to Taranis; he could not come to your aid.”

“Liar!”

He smiled at that.

“You do love me.” She stared into his eyes; he stared back. “You are a hypocrite. You brought me along when it could easily have been your father, and then you state I belong to Taranis. You try to decide what hurts you less - hurting your father or losing me.”

He shook his head.

“You use duality to excuse your contradictory actions.”

“Unfair, Saska.”

“Then what? Why pull me near and push me away simultaneously? If you care about Taranis’ feelings, I shouldn’t be here at all.”

Torrullin stood and pulled her to her feet. “Someone’s coming.” He moved to go, and stopped. “We are always surrounded, you and I, and that interferes with choice. Mine.”

A flurry of footsteps drew every closer. They did not move.

“You have a choice? When you say Taranis’ sanity will come to mean more?”

“Saska,” he whispered, leaning close, “I have my sanity to consider. Remember what you said about ownership? I feel the same, I want you wholly mine, and it has nothing to do with sex, or love. It is obsession, it hurts and, so help me for admitting this, I like it. I asked you to come to lay a spectre to rest … or not. At the end of this filthy journey, I part from you either because I find Taranis means more to my future or because I can do so without reservation. Therein lays my sanity.”

Coarse, drunken swearing sounded, closing in.

“It matters not what I feel?” Saska whispered.

“If we do this right, your choice will be simplified.”

“You would deny yourself this obsession?”

“As you should. The problem, of course, lies in whether I can deny you.”

She was about to reply when a call went out. Glancing over her shoulder at faces that leered at the sight of a clean woman, she said, “Gods, they look none too friendly.”

 

 

THEY SPRINTED IN the opposite direction and the cutthroats, seven in all, gave chase. Corner after corner, and still they came, shouting crude endearments promising Saska the time of her life. Perhaps the lateness of the hour and slim pickings caused their pursuers not to give up on their quarry. Whatever it was, both Saska and Torrullin quickly realised they would not be ignored and released, and they could not outrun their pursuers.

There would be no help from anyone either; in fact, people deliberately tossed obstacles in their path when they caught sight of the hunted and their hunters - an old crate, a rusted bucket, and one woman tossed boiling water from above, the splashing liquid scalding their calves as it landed behind their fleeing backs. The sound of raucous laughter accompanied that one.

“We can deal with this,” Saska gasped as they rounded another corner.

“They have the entire population on their side,” Torrullin muttered, ducking a deluge of rotting vegetable peels. “No sorcery; too traceable.”

“I can’t run much …”

Saska slipped on a slime trail, but Torrullin lifted her without breaking stride.

“Then they cannot either, drunk as they are, they will give up soon.”

It did sound as if the chase lagged, but luck deserted them. They ran into a blind alley and suddenly the hunters were too close for comfort. The far side was a ten-foot brick wall and the hunters crowed when they found their prey trapped.

“Up.” Torrullin indicated an open door on their left.

Saska sprinted in without stopping.

The sights and smells caused them to gag, but the gloom thankfully hid most of the visual stomach churners.

The stairs were old and treacherous.

“Roof,” Torrullin heaved.

How many storeys, they did not know, but certainly more than four. They were halfway up when they heard one of their pursuers go down, tripped up, cursing as he went rolling down. By the sound of the resultant shouts, screams and curses, he took his comrades with him.

Saska and Torrullin continued upward and burst onto the roof. The sound of pursuit died away.

“They will be waiting if we go back down,” Saska gasped, holding her sides.

“Then we find an alternative route.”

“Rest a minute, will you?”

Torrullin laughed, chest heaving with exertion. “I haven’t run like that since Rayne was a teenager.”

“I’ve never run like that; I used to swim away.”

They peered over the roof edge. It was a long way down. There was an open square below; buildings like the one they were on hemmed it in. It was too dark to see what purpose the square had in daylight.

“I’ll warrant it’s not for rest day picnics.” Saska muttered.

Torrullin studied the rooftops, thinking there might be the way down, but they were either too far for a leap or so much higher.

He discovered an old water hawser, threadbare and useless, but long enough to reach the ground below. A rope of sorts. He tied one end around the rail at the top of the stairs and tossed the other end over the edge. He gave it a dubious look.

“I don’t know, Saska.”

She giggled. “What use sorcery, when we have this?”

He grinned at her. “You go first, you’re lighter.” Torrullin’s grin widened when that wiped the smile off her face.

She sent an ashen look over the edge. “I don’t know,” she said, echoing him.

“No choice, my sweet! Away with you!”

Gingerly she clambered backward over the edge, gripping the hawser. It tore slightly and her heart hammered in her mouth. Inch by inch she went safely down.

He discerned her pale face in the dark below and his heart constricted. She appeared terribly vulnerable down there alone in the shadowy, deserted square.

Torrullin was halfway down when the hawser gave. Cursing and muttering, he released his grip to slide down, burning his hands in the speed of descent. He landed with a painful thump and cursed some more when the entire length rained down upon him, including in the ignominy a piece of stair rail.

“Are you all right?” Saska whispered, frantically pulling at the mess.

“Never better,” he returned, sending her into another fit of giggles. “Let’s get away from here,” he snapped, and dragged himself out.

Walking across the square, they discovered why the place was forsaken in a city that seemed never to sleep.

It was a gallows.

Even cutthroats would steer clear, except on the day of actual hanging when all came to gawk like barbarians.

She shuddered, mirth gone. “There is nothing beautiful here.”

“Come,” he said, putting his arm around her and leading her away.

THE DROWNED THRONE