Page 1000
Gillil, a red Sylmer, bright red
tail and hair, his eyes as blue as the daytime ocean, also glowing, surfaced,
powerful arms holding Saska horizontal on the bouncing ocean. She was still
unconscious, but seemed not to have suffered from the dunking.
“It’s too rough out here!” he called
out. “We’ll go around to the long island.” He vanished into the water briefly
to come up under Saska, using his back as a raft for her still form. His arms
wrapped backward about her, and he used his powerful tail to propel them
forward.
Stirri said, “Enchanter, you have
extra biology within; you are able to breathe water, did you know? No? Well,
now is not the time to learn. Put your arms around my waist.” He turned his
back to Torrullin and, once Torrullin complied, set off just below the surface
to pull his burden along with powerful strokes.
Page 2000
TYMALL HUDDLED ON
the dais. He was bound with Valleur rope that had none of the properties of
vulci, but nevertheless held him. In truth, he could have freed himself upon
regaining consciousness, being Valleur, but had chosen not to. He would have
succeeded, although not easily, not with four guards over him. Tymall was
fatalistic, his anger dissipated.
Torrullin approached with
a measured tread his son knew well. His father attended to his emotions before
he lashed out. When he attained the platform, he halted. “Did you hurt
Taranis?”
Tymall was confused. It
was not what he expected to hear first. “Ask him.”
Torrullin placed one foot
on the dais and leaned forward on it to stare into his son’s grey eyes. “I
cannot. Taranis is dead.”
“I did not touch him.”
“You lie, Tymall. His
injuries were internal, a ruptured spleen, collapsed kidneys, broken ribs
pierced his lungs, put pressure on his heart, his liver was torn, and his
intestines were as liquid.” Torrullin was silent for a beat. “A pulse at short
range, Tymall, with venom, and exacerbated by sustained kicking.”
“I did not kick him.”
“Then you hit him with
intent to cause as much harm as possible. Margus may have thought it necessary
to subdue Taranis, and Taranis would have fought, I know, but Margus prefers
direct death when time is an issue. Vulci achieves imprisonment once the pain
barrier is too great; Margus would not have used a pulse.” Torrullin
straightened and stepped onto the dais. “My father was also hit about the head.
Slapped. Spat on. Viciously gagged.” He hauled his son roughly to his feet and
stood him up. “Look me in the eyes and tell me if you caused your grandfather
harm.”
Page 3000
Millennia back Beacon laid claim to
a sister world in its solar system, a world that became a hungry nation’s
breadbasket. Known as Beacon Farm, it was sparsely populated, as available land
was relinquished to farming. Farmers rotated through the system and permitted
no casual emigration from Beacon to Farm. Still, produce from Farm was
insufficient and imports were of paramount importance. It seemed to work;
Beacon was a clean, well-governed world with no poor and hungry. But there was
a dark side.
Manufacturing was done under license
on other, less congested worlds, with no qualms about pollutants and no
compassion for those exploited. Beacon’s powerful business cartels strip-mined,
denuded forests, and quarried with no thought for the future. They paid high
prices, yes, but left nothing but sterility and poverty behind, and moved on to
the next proposition. Beacon was hated by other worlds.
Spacefaring for eons, they were also
arrogant and superior. What was once regarded as a survival necessity, those
pathfinders to other worlds, transformed into greedy business practice. The
might of the cartels respected only two other human worlds; Valaris, for
limiting Beacon to normal, healthy trade, and Xen III, for denying them access
to long dormant minerals and ores after the domes were brought down.
Page 4000
KNOWING A NETWORK of sites existed meant it could be felt. There were now faint tugs at the subconscious, although without definition and direction; on Ceta also, a world chosen from a proverbial hat for a showdown, and thus they transported to a statue of an angel in a forest.
“Cetans were more comfortable with religious
figures,” Elianas said. He frowned at the angel, not liking it. He always felt
statues of angels and cherubs were no more than a soothing device. Akin to a
lie.
“Likely,” Torrullin said, and moved away.
“There is nothing to learn here.” He did not like the angel either.
“Has our focus changed? We intended to track
history of others; are we now tracking the net?” Elianas demanded.
“Gods, how can we not?”
Lowen now knew of the ancient connection
between worlds. “It seems to me early history will have a Valleur connection -
any world.”
Page 5000
Elianas raised an eyebrow, the first
sign of underlying emotion. “If that is how you prefer looking at it.”
“That is what I prefer, yes. So
bloody what if you are Warlock. So what if Lowen has mighty Wings. So what if
we stepped over lines in that nowhere place; it did not translate to here,
unless we reveal results.”
“Crap. I am Warlock here and Lowen
does possess her shadows. It translated.” A thread of frustration now weaved
into Elianas’ speech.
“But no one knows.” Torrullin tapped
the table, frowning.
“You are fooling only yourself.”
Elianas’ eyes narrowed. “You have had a vision or visitation or something like
it, haven’t you, something pretty enlightening. This is why you regard our
issues as small; it has nothing to do
with the reality of death and destruction.” Elianas’ hand whipped across the
table to grip Torrullin’s wrist. “What changed for you?”
Torrullin suffered the grip without
complaint. “Tarlinn.”
Elianas removed his hand with a
snort of disgust, before muttering, “What happened?”
Torrullin smiled inwardly. Now they
could talk. The man’s curiosity had been aroused. The Throne’s involvement
meant questions and answers they had not before considered. “I revealed all.”
Page 6000
Hunkered on the bank of the Lare River,
exhausted after the night’s ferrying, but relieved they had found everyone that
needed finding, Karydor watched the water gradually turn to sludge. Pulling his
cloak’s hood further forward to afford him breathing room, he swore
soundlessly.
When Echayn’s long legs appeared in his field
of vision, he snorted. “Lord Sorcerer could probably have done something about
this.”
“Perhaps,” Echayn murmured.
“That’s a mighty secret you kept from me,
Echo.”
A sigh sounded first, before the Valleur
spoke. “Way back, in Lorin time, sorcery was untamed and that meant signs and
prophecy was rife; even the less proficient among the Valleur could read
images. When your son was born, certain women of a certain caste understood how
important he is. He was and is needed for the cycles, for the then and for the
now, and especially for the time the circle is opened, and time is made new.
They saved him by placing him with parents genetically identical to you and
Cylene. Rebirths? Yes and no. The genes speak of a rebirth, but his mother and
father have not been either you or my sister, nor will they be in this cycle.
It’s complicated. Even Elianas would not be able to explain it.”
Page 7000
Torrullin
glanced at Elianas. “We need the Kaval.”
“And
we have no time to waste,” the dark man nodded. “I will accompany Nefilim to
Sorison, and aid in delaying the event, while you go to the Dome.” Reaching
out, he gripped Torrullin’s forearm. “Already you are sifting through likely
containment fields, something Elixir excels at, but be careful. Let this not
harm you.”
“I’ll
be careful,” Torrullin murmured. “Elianas, you get the hell away if that weave
shows sign of eruption, hear? If you vanish into the netherworld, I am coming
after you. Reaume cannot deal with what I will do to extricate you.”
Elianas
smiled. “I’ll be careful, promise.”
“Then
go. I will come to you.”
“Shall
we, Nefilim?”
The
massive dragon lumbered to hindlegs. “Follow my signature.”
He
dissipated, and Elianas, after sending Torrullin a brash grin, followed.
Torrullin stood and paced to the edge to stare down into the darkness filled
with nightlife of the natural order, and inhaled a shuddering breath. Change
cannot be avoided, he mused. Change now bites me in the arse.
Saluting
the world, he vanished.
A Golden bloodline through the Ages. Indeed, for the Valleur
are also known as the Golden, the race of Master Builders ruled by the mighty
House of Valla. From then to now, into the future and back, the Vallas
transform not only Time but also alter the dynamics for all civilisations.
Nemisin is First Father, or so he believes. Vannis is known
as the last Vallorin … until Torrullin Valla steps forth. He changes
everything; the House of Valla will never be the same as Torrullin battles
darklings and dragons, a Darak Or and a Warlock, witches and soul takers, a
Timekeeper and the evil lurking in his own family.
House of Valla brings together 17 volumes in
the Vallas’ history. Prepare for the long haul, for this is a mighty tale …
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