Destiny
stalks the twins
Margus and Torrullin are the two faces of a coin. No matter how opposite they are, they remain equal, except Margus has no qualms in using Torrullin's twin sons against him; an agenda he knows causes his enemy suffering. To negate their destiny, desperately seeking release from their symbiosis, Tymall and Tristamil must fight until only one remains standing.
The Forbidden Zone is behind them; the wars
of attrition return to Valaris. In a golden city waits a temple raised from a
vision, and one night in every year a star shines through the aperture overhead.
This is a connection to the world of Nemisin, the first homeworld. In this
place where stars meet Torrullin must choose life and death for his sons. The
scythe, however, forever silences someone dear to him; is he paying for his
choice in the temple?
As the universe searches for the Light in
all its brilliance, seeking peace, Torrullin begins to see himself as a prince
among demons and therefore decides to change the rules. Death, after all, is
not an end.
Too many lives have been lost.
Too many hearts have been broken.
Sometimes the only way to find peace is to
lose oneself.
CHAPTER 10
Never can another truly
know your soul. You could name this as a defence against the unscrupulous, but
the real truth is this, no one will know your true self.
~
Unknown
The Keep
THE KEEP WAS silent - particularly after Menllik - but not empty. The same ranks of folk there in support before the transport to the city was in place, but their silence now possessed an eerie quality. Torrullin halted mid-stride. Everyone looked at him strangely, significantly, and he knew it had nothing to do with his bloodied appearance. He noticed Skye appearing almost catatonic near the far wall.
“Where?”
He asked it of the kitchen cook rolling her eyes at him.
She
pointed one finger up, shielding her hand with her body. He lifted his gaze
upward and faded into the shadows. His people had not revealed his arrival;
hopefully that translated as Margus remaining ignorant of it. He swiftly and
silently removed his boots. Holding his sword tight against his thigh, he
padded up the courtyard stairs.
Nobody
moved or spoke and for that he was grateful. It was more than fear that
paralysed them, as it was more than support; they were entranced into silence,
and that was to his advantage, more than Margus trusted it was to his.
He
entered the western stairwell, the one adjacent the Dragon doors. Those doors
reached the full height of the Keep so that the balcony wrapped three sides
internally, and the doors were shut, with all three massive bolts dropped into
place, the first time ever. Margus wanted to prevent anyone from entering and
everyone at the Keep from leaving. It was about control.
Torrullin
paused on the stairs inside the well to push matted hair from his face and tuck
loose strands behind his ears. The battle in the city had been hard fought and
he suffered the results.
What
trickery was in place here to trap him? It had to do with Saska, of that he was
certain, but how was she positioned to force his hand in this game? He should
have smote Margus in Linir, and banished Tymall.
How
had Margus breached the magic of the valley?
A
long time ago he asked the sentience of the resident magic to grant him a boon,
to accept the presence of one son despite his evil intentions. It was granted
and this night Tymall used that to enter, bringing with him a greater evil.
There upon the stairs it occurred to Torrullin that Torrke knew the identity of
the evil son a long time ago and, had he desired to know, all he needed do was
ask. He never asked and had, by inaction and cowardice, brought this new and
old hell revisited on the same people.
The
game changed tonight.
He
listened.
Nothing.
He
padded up and thanked all gods the door at the top was ajar. Listening again,
he stepped into the deep shadow of the wall. There he hunkered and meticulously
scrutinised the battlement walk ahead. The starlight was too dim to shed
illumination, but deeper shadows and forms would be visible if one looked
carefully enough.
Nothing,
and not a sound.
He
crept forward, keeping low, moving in a crouch until he attained the southern
well. The door was closed, and he halted to watch and listen.
No
sound.
Movement.
Near
the eastern stairwell.
He
shivered from the sweat of recent labours cooling in the cold night air, and
forced calm. If he moved closer, he would be seen and would lose the element of
surprise. The shivering ceased and his hammering heart beat back into an even
rhythm. Nothing would be gained from rushing in. He chose to wait them out.
Sometime someone would say something or become impatient, make a mistake or
move in such a way that action became necessity.
With
infinite care, he unbuckled his scabbard and with equal caution laid it away
from him to prevent inadvertent noise. Slowly he withdrew his sword, keeping
the telling movements from line of sight behind the well. The keenest ear would
hear nothing. Holding the blade in his left hand, he slid into the recess the
closed door formed and waited there with an unwavering gaze. Why had Quilla,
his all-seeing mentor, not warned him?
It
had been a long night and that after days of tension and sleeplessness, which
followed months of world hopping and weeks of ducking on Luvanor. He was
beaten, bruised, cut, and every nerve screamed for relief. Weary, he stood with
unusual calm and patience.
He
waited. And did not wait long.
In
the back of his mind he must have wagered on Tymall’s inability to remain still
for long, for it was Tymall’s voice that came to him faintly after a time.
Although whispered, the words were clear in the quiet, as was the impatient
tone.
“He’s
not coming, Margus.”
A
soft hiss was Tymall’s reply. Torrullin compressed his lips. Now he knew with
certainty they were both on the battlements and that he was, in fact, expected.
The Dinor were a diversion and they waited upon him to see through the ruse.
Thank god for Vannis, quicker to realisation than he was.
A
soft groan, quickly muffled, and Torrullin went cold. Taranis.
He
wondered in passing where his father was, but had not remotely entertained the
thought that Taranis would be snared. His father could be real slippery and he
would have thought him engaged in a rescue operation somewhere nearby, or even
in Menllik despite saying he would stay away.
Taranis
was badly hurt. He dared not probe, but he sensed life flickering, not life
aflame. His father probably deliberately put himself in harm’s way to aid
Saska. He could not afford inaction much longer.
Was
Saska there? She was the one Tymall came for, not Taranis. Tymall hated his
stepmother with unreasonable passion. Taranis was simply a bonus. To have Saska
in his power would give him no little pleasure.
Torrullin
gritted his teeth. This was his son, but this night he could cheerfully snuff
his life. There had to be a way to negate his baleful influence permanently without
harm coming to Tristamil, but now was not the time to ponder options.
He
renewed concentration. How unnerving silence could be.
Tymall
spat, feeling it, and leaned over the wall to stare into the silent crowded
courtyard. His form was unmistakable. Margus hissed again, but Tymall paid him
no heed.
Then
Margus made a mistake. “If you do not control yourself, little snake, I shall
not permit you your sport with the delectable Saska. I am a man of my word,
believe me.”
Blood
rushed through Torrullin. Nearly he made the grave error of charging out in
challenge. Heat turned to ice a moment later.
Son, you would take my wife? Intention is as bad
as the act. Margus is right; you are a little snake. A poisonous, vicious,
slippery critter that deserves to be squashed underfoot. I shall quash you
somehow and your brother will survive it. I promise you this, and I too am a
man of my word.
Tymall
did not respond to Margus’ threat, but he retreated.
The Darak Or has learned a
thing or two, Torrullin mused, including
how to hold sorcerers. He was now more than the kernel of waiting awareness
within Tymall all those years; somehow he had attained freedom that permitted
travel, if only in the etheric. That was where the knowledge lay if one knew
how to look and see and take unto oneself. Margus was no longer the arcane
sorcerer he was twenty-six years ago; he was more, and he hopes I make the
mistake of equating him with what he was then.
Wrong, Darak Or. I know
you.
HE HELD THEM in bonds of corrosive vulci,
pliable strands of twisted metal that burned when applied and sealed. Entirely
a tool of the kinless, it therefore caused particular pain when employed upon
disciples of the Light. Only darak enchanters could call upon it and Margus was
such a one; neither Saska nor Taranis had hope of undoing the binding, and they
had tried. Their wrists and necks were charred and raw with weeping welts where
they strained against their bindings; they together and separately attempted to
escape by using magic, but that agony proved the greater. Tethered to the
apertures in the stairwell, there was enough free play for them to sit or
stand, helpless, weaponless.
Margus
placed an enchantment of silence upon the Keep and that included the stone of
Torrullin’s hard and loving labour, not that Saska or Taranis were aware of the
distinction. Nobody could help them. It felt as if the whole universe had
fallen silent, destitute before this Darak Or.
Like
to Margus, they waited on Torrullin, and hoped he would stay away. This Darak
Or was not the one of the past. He was cleverer, more powerful, more heartless,
and bent on revenge. And they hoped conversely Torrullin would come, to end
their suffering.
Margus
was extraordinarily patient. He waited without movement and expression, as if
he had not a care in the world. The only time he displayed ire was when Tymall
chafed. Tymall might doubt that his father would appear, but he was convinced,
and waited.
Saska
found, painstakingly, a seated position that allowed her to rest without too
much pain, as long as she remained dead still and breathed shallow. She was
numb from sitting motionless, but was prepared to endure it rather than give
the creature the satisfaction of seeing her discomfort. The creature being
Tymall. Gods, she thought, I had not known I have it
in me to hate this much. I hate you, I hate you.
She
reflected on the complacency that got her and Taranis ensnared.
Earlier
TORRULLIN’S STUDY WAS the one place entirely his and she felt closer to him there, and thus, after Torrullin and Tristamil left for Menllik, she wandered in.
There were no feminine
touches and there was no opulence. The chamber was simplicity that reflected
his internal search for peace. Plain dark carpets, a large square desk, and
comfortable easy chairs in dark fabric; the simple and practical counter where
he kept a few bottles of wine and spirit, but never drank much of. Clean lines.
The décor would be overly masculine had it not been for his books, and they
said much about the man.
He was clever, always in
search of new knowledge and not merely in the realms of magic. Books on
philosophy, history, ancient religious treatises, nature tomes from varied
worlds, mathematics, art, music, building manuals, too many to mention, formed
an eclectic collection.
Saska wandered the
shelves, reading a title here and there, amazed by the variety. There were new
ones; her absence and the recent mission had not hampered his thirst for knowledge.
In the far corner near the bottom, she discovered a bulky leather-bound book
and thought at first it was a volume of the Oracles, but the Oracles were not
displayed in plain sight, and she was intrigued.
She hefted it to his desk;
it was a book of prophesies. That would be because of the mission to Pendulim
before the twins were born, when he spoke long to a charmsmith who dealt in
foretelling. This was a large collection and not one Valleur. The predictions
were from races and worlds far-flung and near, known, and some she had never
heard of. The universe was massive, eternal, expanding, a fair excuse for not
knowing everyone in it, but not so Torrullin. He was weary of surprises,
particularly of prophecies that tended to leap out at him. There were literally
thousands. Engrossed, she did not hear Taranis enter.
“I see you found that
book.” His voice, lightly amused, startled her. “He pours over it much as you
are now.”
Relaxing, she smiled.
“Interesting reading.”
“Indeed. Note how the
tellings with the word One have been circled, and anything that smacks
of twins, Dragon, Golden, etcetera.”
“I saw that. Some have
been crossed out - fulfilled or nonsense?”
“Both, I would think,”
Taranis shrugged. “There is trouble in Menllik, the western skyline is aflame.”
She straightened. “No, Saska. He will send …”
“… for the Lady, yes, I
know.”
“That bad?”
“Worse.”
“I am sorry.” She waved
her hand dismissively and Taranis continued in a different vein. “Belun, Gren
and the Dragons have entered the city, as have the majority of the Valleur in
the valley. I heard from Kismet that Vannis showed here briefly, sized matters
up and left again. I assume he is there.”
“And you?”
“Torrullin will have my
head; he told me specifically to stay away. And I stupidly agreed.”
“You follow his orders to
the letter now?”
“That’s unfair. You did
not see how he was before he left.”
“Oh, I saw him,” Saska
muttered. “I saw him with Cat.”
Taranis stilled. “Um, it’s
not …”
“… what I think? How so,
Taranis?” She rounded the desk in quick steps. “You knew?”
Taranis inhaled. The
minefield was not his.
“You did know. Well? Are
they lovers?”
“Saska, please talk to
Torrullin.”
“Talk to Torrullin,” she
mimicked. “How? He has closed himself to me.” She smacked her hand on the desk
and leaned into it, glaring. “For Aaru’s sake, will you tell me?”
Taranis’ gaze slid away,
but when she hissed, he looked at her. “He barely talks to me either, Saska. I
do know he loves you.”
“That is not what I want
to know.”
Taranis spread his hands.
“You ask me to interfere in the relationship between a husband and a wife. One
is my son, and the other a dear friend.”
“It’s not interference.
It’s truth, which I am probably alone in not knowing. Have it your way. I will
confront Cat.” She moved to leave.
“Don’t do that, please.”
She inhaled deeply and
crossed her arms. “You would spare her. Why?”
“Because she, like you,
hurts - and it isn’t her fault. She had no idea what she was getting into or
how hard she would fall for him. Stupid Torrullin. I cannot believe he is still
pursuing this.”
Saska looked away. “To be
honest, it seemed as if he simply used her to release tension. She was like a
frightened rabbit. What kind of man is so cavalier?”
“An angry one.”
“And I am the source of
that anger; yes, I am, trust me. Maybe our relationship will not survive this.
Did he sleep with her?”
Taranis looked away.
“Yes.”
“Well, we both know
Torrullin. He only takes from what attracts him. My god, I …”
“Saska.” Taranis was firm.
“Don’t. He is a man, and you weren’t there. Let it go.”
“I thought you would
understand.”
“I do. I flipped on your
behalf, ask him, but I still understood.”
“And drove a wedge between
you and him?”
“For a time, yes.”
“You need not defend me.”
“Someone has to make him
see reason.”
She laughed, a little
hysterically. “Do you know what would really hurt him? You and me, together.”
Tears formed in her eyes. “Maybe I should, to get back at him.”
“You say that after what
happened before? Remember what one foolish kiss did? You do that, you hurt me,
him, but mostly you hurt yourself. You come to me Saska, and I shall deny you.”
She was miserable. “Maybe
I should sleep with her sexy brother. An eye for an eye.”
Taranis sighed. “Don’t
even think it. Matt already carries too heavy a torch for the Enchanter’s
wife.”
“Perfect. It will not take
much to lure him into a bed, would it?”
Into that emotionally
charged atmosphere came Margus and Tymall. Before they were even aware of the
intruders, Vulci bonds wrapped around wrists and necks. Both stumbled to the
floor howling pain.
Tymall stood over Saska,
leering, eyes alight. “Stepmother. How nice to see you again.” He ran his hands
suggestively down her writhing body, with evident pleasure. “Hmm,” he murmured,
and the excitement in his eyes was a physical force. “No wonder my dear father
enjoyed you. My turn now …” and he began to undo the fly of his breeches.
A tin soldier about to
plunder and pillage. Taranis screamed at him in spite of his pain, but Tymall
grinned and thrust a gag into his mouth, stuffing it in hard. Taranis’ eyes
bulged and his face reddened, and Tymall moved his attention back to Saska.
“You, however, I would
enjoy hearing scream and beg. And I am aroused by the very idea of defiling you
before my father’s father; heightens the pleasure …” Tymall kneeled over her,
pushed her robe up, up, his free hand sinking into the flesh of her thighs, his
breathing erratic, excited. Taranis writhed through his agony and kicked out.
Tymall growled and smashed his fist into Taranis’ face, and then he released himself,
stroked himself, tore at Saska’s underwear, lowered, his breathing harsh, his
eyes like coals.
She jerked her knees up,
he slapped her hard, elbowed Taranis again, and lowered his mouth to hers, all
the while stroking himself in ecstasy.
Margus dragged him off.
“Not now, imbecile! When we have dealt with the Enchanter you can have her.”
Tymall stood there
breathing fast and saw the threat in Margus’ eyes. He drew breath and pushed
himself with difficulty into his breeches, and looked at Saska again. “The
pleasure will be sweeter if you have time to think of me. Imagine me deep
inside, Saska dear, deep inside.”
Saska hawked and spat. It
cost her the skin on her neck, but was worth it. He laughed and shoved a gag in
her mouth. Dragging her roughly to her feet, he held her body tight to his. She
felt how aroused he was, and struggled, but the vulci was too much to bear and
she lost consciousness.
MARGUS DRAGGED TARANIS
up, who was not about to go forth without a struggle. He lashed out with his
legs, used his shoulders like a ram, and head butted, gritting through the
terrible thwarts from the vulci, and paid dearly. Margus blocked the attempt
and calmly pushed the rope deeper until Taranis screamed.
It would have been
sufficient, but Tymall did not regard it as enough. Holding Saska, he released
a short sharp pulse of power that connected with the vulnerable region of the
body below the ribs. Taranis’ insides curled and twisted, ruptured and boiled.
Margus shouted at Tymall
to cease, and gripped Taranis. He snapped at him to control his temper, or he
would suffer worse, and frogmarched Taranis out the door and to the
battlements.
Taranis went stumbling and
whimpering. By all gods, he would hold on until Torrullin arrived. He would die
before he allowed the nefarious Tymall to have his way.
TYMALL FOLLOWED,
hoisting Saska over his shoulder, carrying her with leering pleasure. He
giggled, until Margus told him to shut up. They were then tethered to the
stairwell and their ankles bound. Tymall slapped Saska about the face until she
regained awareness and instantly tried to scream through her gag.
“Be still!” he hissed. “It
will hurt less.” He ran a finger down her cheek and neck, continuing down to
her chest where he stopped at one nipple. He pinched hard. Saska flinched and
her head smacked against the wall. She moaned.
The Darak Or stared at
Tymall, saying, “Control yourself.”
Tymall glanced sidelong at
Taranis. His grandfather was in agony, and it was more than the results of the
vulci. His smile widened. It felt good; he always despised the conservative
nature and goodness of Taranis Agripson, father of his father. For years he had
not dared, but wanted to hit his grandfather, spit on him, and now he did far
worse. Revenge could be so sweet, Margus was right about that. He stepped up to
Taranis and loosed a hard fist into his face.
Taranis’ head snapped back
and then he righted himself to glare at his grandson. He spat the gag out. “And
you call yourself a man.”
Tymall snarled and
delivered double fists into Taranis’ gut and watched his grandfather crumple.
“I do not care what you think,” he said, dragging the injured man up. “Shut
your mouth!” He hit him repeatedly.
Margus said, “Leave him.
We are not here for your particular pleasure, Tymall. Quiet. I cannot hear
anything.”
Tymall inclined his head and left Taranis alone.
No comments:
Post a Comment