The Kallanon Scales

By Elaina J Davidson

An ancient map points the way ...

... as well as a strange prophecy, and anyone who dares speak of either, dies.

A new enemy enters the Valla arena, but this one is as old as time and seeks a forbidden place. The terrible source of Valla power is uncovered. As friends and family are murdered, Torrullin reveals the truth about the Valla Dragon. He hurtles into battle when his twin sons are kidnapped, and takes with him into danger a pilot, a navigator and an innocent girl - they are the Dalrish seeking escape from Xen III.

Another truth rears up, the tale of the Nine who fled into the Forbidden Zone with a strange taliesman in the shape of a dragon. Quilla knows who the fire creatures are; the Q’lin’la fled them in ancient time. They are the Kallanon, the Glittering Darkness.

“There are dragons in my future,” Torrullin once tells Quilla, and that future is now.

War erupts on a world no more than a circle on an ancient map. There Torrullin discovers who his sons really are, Taranis of the Guardians confronts his inner demons, Bartholamu of the Siric faces his arch-nemesis, Q’lin’la and Kallanon are thrown into the same melting pot, an ancient emperor speaks again, the new Lady of Life is born, the Dalrish have a profound effect on Torrullin, and Vannis seeks revenge.

The Kallanon Scales is an epic journey into the realms of time and legend, and forever alters the future.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elaina J Davidson
• Release date: Aug 6, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311464835

Elaina J Davidson

Elaina is a galactic and universal traveller and dreamer. When writing she puts into words her travels and dreams, because she believes there is inspiration in even the most outrageous tale.Born in South Africa, she grew up in the magical city and surrounds of Cape Town. After studying Purchasing Management and working in the formal sector as a buyer, she chose to raise and home-school her children. She started writing novels around 2002, moving from children’s stories, poetry and short stories to concentrate on larger works. She lived with her family for some time in Ireland and subsequently in New Zealand. After returning to South Africa, loving the vibrancy of Africa, she upended her life again and moved back to Ireland, her soul-home.Come and get lost with her!

Book preview

Prologue

THE ACADEMIA OF TRUTH was a hive of activity. Clerics bounded up and down worn stone stairs without regard for another and Golden Force patrolled the perimeter with focused pacing. Force were in evidence everywhere, individuals stationed at every exit, every stairwell, where they were in the way. It was a mite overpowering.

Key-ler stepped from his cubbyhole and a young apprentice laden with scrolls nearly upended him. The young man uttered an apology and hurried away, heading for the catacombs where they stored sensitive material. No doubt they dumped all in an untidy heap, and who would restore order after? Key-ler thought, watching him go. Me, always me. He chuckled, admitting he trusted no other to make a decent job of it.

You are amused on this seemingly terrible day, Brother Key-ler.

Key-let swung around to find him leaning against the wrought-iron railing, hands resting on the top. Around the man was a blur of movement as apprentices, novices and clerics alike scurried, most laden with books and scrolls. Key-ler considered ignoring the man and then thought better of it. In this ordered disarray, he was likely the one who knew something.

A private joke, Honourable Brother, Key-ler murmured as he closed the gap, dodging people. And is it such a terrible day?

The man’s eyes crinkled, and he faced the courtyard, looking up at the heavens rather than the insane bustling below. It is a glorious day.

It was indeed. Calamity and tragedy only happened on stormy, bleak days in romance novels, not that he read anything of the like! He was likely to lose an eye if caught with such subversive material.

The heavens shone benignly warm on this early autumn morning, softening the grey stone of the old building into mellow fawn, lighting the hundreds of paned windows with a subdued golden glow. Even the riotous creepers changed colour and seemed almost friendly. No pruning held them in check, and it was forbidden to remove a growing plant from the earth unless for sustenance.

The man gazed into the courtyard at the frantic activity. That will not help.

Brother Blular beat an apprentice with a wooden rod for dropping a precious tome into the fishpond. Father Moshal paced around the huge bronze sundial, pausing periodically to study it closely before resuming.

Right now they need believe what they are about is important. They trust the written knowledge of the Academia is of ultimate …

It’s not? the stranger butt in,

It is, Key-ler retorted. But to us, not to our nemesis.

The man straightened and faced Key-ler. You are not rushing about.

As you said yesterday, it will not be today.

The man came to inform them of a truth - was that not what this institution was about - yet few took his warnings seriously.

They scurried.

Our nemesis comes, though, Brother.

Despite the glorious sunshine, Key-ler shuddered, hearing only truth in that statement. The ages of hiding in a forbidden place would now end. How to deal with that? It meant war. It meant death.

Part I

MAPS AND MYSTERIES

Chapter 1

We are formed in our present, actively and emotionally. And we are formed of our pasts, personal and historical.

~ Malin Drew

Valaris

The Valley of Torrullin’s Keep

Graveyard

SUMMER’S HEAT HAD sprinkled layers of fine sediment upon the fawn stone of the ancient crypts. Saska traced an arrow into the dusty deposits beside the arch of an empty chamber, and entered the mote-filled space. A marker perhaps, to call to her husband Torrullin, to declare I am here.

Her thoughts being on Torrullin, distracting her, she thus did not see him until it was too late. His shadow loomed inward, and she whirled, blood pounding. In her introspection she had placed her life into his hands.

She trapped herself.

A perfect situation for a psychopathic sorcerer.

His striking face ugly with hate, he laughed like a devil from a child’s horror nightmare. His expression and his actions rooted her, paralysed all thought and action. The next moment was the one that would mark her death. No, he would kill her, but the next moment was meant first for utter degradation. She realised how aroused he was.

She had to defend now. Lifting her hands, she swiftly cast a shield of protection, but he countered easily, his face twisting in delight. He wanted her to fight, she understood. She staggered back into cold stone, fingers spread in desperate resistance, but she possessed no magic able to stop him, or anything to distract him long enough for her to flee.

He lifted a slim black whip, shook it in cold calculation, and then cleaved it to her repeatedly, spittle flying. She screamed once before placing her energy into surviving instead. Her gown split. She stumbled. Blood flowed, dripping to the sandy floor, and he thrust her viciously down, the whip’s handle hot at her throat. His free hand clawed at her bodice. She fought him with nail and tooth, causing him to laugh anew.

As he kneed her legs roughly open, his twin hurtled into the speckled space with murder in his eyes. Without saying a word, he attacked his brother, tearing at his hair, splitting his lip. Dragging him out, he struck him repeatedly, and hurled him against the crypt stone.

The brothers fought for long silent minutes, without quarter, coming within a breath of death.

Despite her relief, and a desire to see her tormentor dead, Saska whispered enough, thinking more of the agony Torrullin would suffer than her own, and they ceased. Heaving, beaten and bruised, they glared at each other.

She crawled slowly into sunlight.

Looking up at her persecutor and her saviour, she realised he had already altered his appearance to fit that of his twin. She could not tell them apart. She could not win, not then, not now, not ever. She knew the next encounter would be even more brutal, and he would engineer it for when his twin was absent. Neither brother apologised, for there could be no words.

Torrullin’s Keep

SHE HAD TO LEAVE or die here. Their love would die. She hated it here now, and thus spent her time elsewhere when the boys were in residence. They pretended respect for their father’s wife, but one was a liar and the other desired her dead.

At age five it was a deadly scorpion, a week later a lethal snake. At six, her horse spooked riding the ridges of the Arrows. Immortal she might be, but she could survive only to a point. The twins turned seven, a bad year. Poison, crossbow, and an attempt on her body while her mind roamed. At eight, after stabbing Nessie the cook, they left her alone for a while. No, he left her alone.

Quilla advocated years ago that she absent herself when they were in the vicinity, exactly when Torrullin needed her most. Now she did precisely that and it drove a wedge between her and her husband.

Yesterday’s terror made her decision final.

Saska went to Quilla at the Lifesource Temple for healing. His reconstruction was not as complete as Torrullin’s could be, for red welts remained on her arms, but no matter. Quilla, dear friend, had been sad. She saw the brothers earlier, both healed. What tale they spun their father she could not know, but Torrullin took pity again.

A screech filled the air and she looked up in time to see a hawk capture a smaller bird in mid-flight.

I am that little bird.

Saska!

She leaned over the battlements and saw Torrullin in the courtyard below. She waved, and then moved out of view. When she looked again, he strode through the great Dragon doors together with his sons Tristamil and Tymall. It was Millanu’s Naming Day and they were on their way to the Graveyard to pay their respects.

The last place she desired to be.

Wandering to the north-western side, she watched them and had to admit they looked good together. Three lean and fit men, the one fair, the other two with gold and auburn streaks. The Vallas. Glorious in their beauty, terrible in their power.

Torrullin looked back, angling his head upward, and she discerned disquiet. He knew something brewed, but he also chose to go on walking.

She lifted her gaze to the next rise, to the Graveyard. She noted Vannis’ stance in the distance, and Raken, his wife. Lycea, the twins’ mother, was there also. Both women had aged in the twenty-five years since she met them. Unlike me. I do not age. Yet today I feel truly old.

The boys lived at the White Palace with Lycea, occupying their own wing in Vannis and Raken’s home. Raken quietly informed Vannis the first time something happened between her and one of the boys, and Vannis gave both such a beating she dared not say anything thereafter. Vannis respected her silence, knowing how close he came to losing himself in violence.

Poor Torrullin, Saska thought. A virtual recluse, afraid of accusations he imagines in the eyes of friends and family. He is particularly shy of Vannis lately, Vannis, who at their birth twenty-five years ago told him to ensure the unrecognised babe did not take a first breath.

Going below, she wandered the Keep, recalling happier times. There were many. Making love anywhere, as the mood took them. Their wedding. Filling the empty rooms of the newly built Keep with treasures … yes, for a while they were truly happy.

Then the boys turned three and remembered their time in their mother’s womb. Valleur babies were aware before birth and thus the father needed to cradle, speak and sing to the unborn. Recognition and commitment entrenched before birth. Unfortunately, Lycea carried twins and one babe hid behind the other, and therefore remained unrecognised until labour commenced. He entered his world with hate infusing every atom, and only his brother knew him. They even sounded the same.

Inhaling a sense of grief, for happy times were no longer a sufficient foundation to build a future on, she went upstairs next.

Their personal suite comprised of a small sitting room, Torrullin’s select library, a bathroom and their bedroom. The whole was a haven as life after the Darak Or progressed into parenthood and rulership. Recently it became Torrullin’s retreat as he withdrew from social graces. To her it was a prison, the walls enclosing, and conversely it was also the only place she felt safe. No retainers were permitted, and neither were her stepsons. Torrullin found their bed slashed to ribbons one night, and instituted the rule the following morning.

Nothing I want here; too many memories.

She lay down, gaze touching on the little wooden Buddha from Beacon, the large jade shell from Canimer, her homeworld, and other arresting items on display. Too many memories indeed.

Shifting her gaze, she watched the pale woven hangings move in the breeze …

TORRULLIN’S TREAD ON the stairs awakened her. She started dragging a sleeved tunic on to cover the welts, and jumped from her skin when his warm hand arrested her attempt at concealment. She emerged from the item to look into his grey eyes.

Panic. Hers, and his.

Tossing the garment aside, she went to the window, staring blindly over the beautiful valley.

Saska? Torrullin’s voice was behind her, close. Is this why you didn’t come?

He took her hand and ran his fingers up her arm, his breath in her neck. She snatched it back. He would want to heal the evidence away and she did not wish him to. She needed the motivation.

What happened? he asked. Why could you not come to me for help?

It doesn’t matter, Torrullin. It is done.

He moved away then and she turned to see him sit heavily on the bed. A troubled gaze speared her.

The boys?

No, one boy. One man. I am fine, do not worry.

If he knew which son, Saska doubted not the young man would beg for his life this night. It was in his eyes, the need to punish.

How? He undoubtedly realised her injuries lay behind the beating they inflicted on each other yesterday. What did he use?

A whip. She swallowed and went to him when he paled, kneeling on the carpet to take his hands. My love, leave it.

He will kill you. It was the first time he admitted it aloud. I will send them away. He meant it, but his expression was bleak.

That will solve nothing. Saska took a steadying breath and loaded it with all the courage and conviction she could muster. Tightening her grip on his hands, she said, Torrullin, look at me. His expression was distant, in retreat, but he focused. "I shall be leaving."

I am accustomed to that now.

A knife twisted in her heart. I am leaving permanently.

He yanked his hands free to clench them into fists. Saska, no, I will not allow him to drive you from your home, from me. We can get past this.

She placed her hand on his knee. As we got past others? The next one may be my swansong.

He inhaled. They will be gone in two weeks.

She stood with determination and returned to the window. This marriage has suffered enough. Silence answered that statement, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to rise. I deserve never to look over my shoulder. Please understand.

"You are not coming back … ever?"

She swung around, and froze. It was as if someone bled life and colour from him.

I will fight this, he whispered.

Her heart lurched, gladdened by his willingness, but it was now far beyond that. Her voice failed her, and she swallowed and tried again.

I leave because I fear for us. She crossed the space once more and drew him close. I love you more than life, you know that.

He held her to him, face hidden in her chest. Don’t go.

All his power, and yet this he could not change. That power was hers alone. I must do this.

Torrullin released her and stood. He paced, and each step brought anger closer. His eyes darkened with every step. She did not want him angry, but maybe that would make this parting easier.

I cannot do this alone! he blurted.

You already are. No one can help you with those boys. They drive what is good away from you. Soon there will be no place for me.

Never! He came to a halt.

You’re lying to yourself. Do you want me to say I will return when you have dealt with the twins? Do you want an ultimatum? How long do I wait? I love you too much to ruin what is left.

They faced each other, breathing hard.

Just like that? he demanded, disbelieving.

No, not just like that. I thought long and delayed this moment many times. She reached up to touch his face.

He flinched, and then hauled her into his arms. When?

Now.

A shudder passed through his entire body. "Goddess, not now. You have thought; I am shattered in moments. Please, my love, not this moment. One more night. You and me against the world."

His hold tightened and his heart thudded against her cheek.

A minute longer made leaving harder. A whole night might undo her completely.

Give us a chance to say good-bye. I am begging, by god.

It would change nothing, except to hurt more, but she could accept added pain, yes, to say farewell. Tears coursed over her cheeks. It was all right now to let him see them. They had one more night.

One more night, she whispered into his ear.

He sagged with relief, in hope, and pulled her even closer.

SASKA LEFT AT dawn, leaving Torrullin in dreamless sleep, her last sight of him a man peaceful, the lines of strain smoothed over, a small smile on his lips. He thought to hold her longer, but the tenderness and connection of the night would change nothing in the days to come.

She abandoned the Keep for another life, somewhere else.

Chapter 2

Feeling numb isn’t quite the same as being dead, friend.

~ Tattle

The Keep

TORRULLIN SAT IN his study, feet propped on his empty desk, watching storm clouds gather. They promised a show later.

Torrullin.

Go away, Vannis. I am not in the mood. He did not look away from the darkening heavens.

Enchanter.

Quilla, Torrullin growled. Leave me alone.

We need your help, Vannis said as he entered. He was dressed for inclement weather and his golden hair was tied away from his face.

Not interested.

Vannis approached the huge oak desk. Snap out of it, kinsman. This dark mood isn’t healthy.

Torrullin turned grey eyes on him. Why?

To live again, my friend, Quilla said, approaching also. The tiny bird creature projected sympathy.

To what purpose?

For Aaru’s sake! How can you go after her if you don’t get off your self-pitying butt and sort your problems out? Despite Vannis’ tone, his changeable eyes were blue, which entirely belied his words. Blue, the colour of sadness.

Torrullin saw the paradox neatly packaged for him, and lowered his legs to stand. I await the Coming-of-Age. Maybe who and what my sons are will be clearer. He rounded his desk, heading for the drinks cabinet, and his visitors saw he had his sword strapped on. He shrugged, seeing the direction of their focus. Did she tell you what they did to her? Matters come to a head; I do not trust my sons.

Only one, Quilla pointed out.

I don’t know that.

Lift your Throne, the birdman murmured.

For someone who saw the Valleur Throne as a threat in the magical realms, it was thus a major suggestion, and captured Torrullin’s roving attention immediately. He put his back to the cabinet, to stare at the tiny being. Quilla preferred it submerged, yet now advocated he use it. Why?

The seat remained underwater in the Sound after the battle with the Darak Or as Torrullin desired life to find normality without its influence. Later he was reluctant to cope with the enigma. When Vannis once intimated the Throne would aid in piercing the veils surrounding his sons, he exploded. He would not subject a child of his to that kind of test.

Vannis said, Your stubborn nature cost you your wife. Stop fighting this; it goes nowhere. Anyway, you will need that seat for an entirely different purpose.

Torrullin’s eyes narrowed. Meaning?

You had better sit back down and listen, Vannis murmured.

Torrullin stood in the centre of his study, surrounded by books, object d’art and paintings. His favourite chamber, barring his small library, and it was now a prison. He slept here, if one could call nodding off to jerk awake, sleep. Here he picked at his food and, for a place usually busy with life at the Keep, it was a silent zone, with only a woman from the kitchen bringing meals at designated times. He shunned life, and life retreated to give him space. Not even his sons put in an appearance.

Although he would fight the Throne issue, perhaps it was time to re-engage his mind. He moved back to his chair, sitting carefully.

Dragging me back into the world is clearly not your sole mission this day. Lay it out.

Quilla motioned to Vannis, who took a seat before the desk, giving Torrullin a considering look, as if to gauge his attentiveness. Quilla paced, feathered head cocked.

This is potentially explosive, Vannis said. You are aware Kylan seeks to uncover the mystery surrounding his parents, with Kisha’s support. He asked what you knew a few years back, remember?

I couldn’t help him.

Kylan told me after, how you had this look, one that was meant to warn him off.

Torrullin murmured, while wondering what Kylan could possibly have to do with raising the Throne, His parents were murdered. I sought to spare him. He found out?

He used the Mantle signet ring, the one that gives him unlimited access to the archives.

Briefly, Torrullin closed his eyes. He discovered the reports.

Vannis nodded. Now he wants to know why.

The trail is dead, especially in view of the floods. You think the Throne will assist? You ask that I go through that, for this?

Quilla ceased pacing. Wrong conclusion, Enchanter. The Herbmaster uncovered clues. It is what he found that brings us here. Talk to him.

After sending his gaze from one to the other, to read in both an underlying disquiet, Torrullin sighed and said, You have my attention.

Go to Kylan, Vannis responded. You do not want it within these walls.

Torrullin shared his attention between his tormentors again, this time frowning. Can it wait until after the boys’ Day?

You cannot afford to wait.

Vannis, I have enough on my mind. If you want me to leave the Keep, maybe on some fool’s errand, I need more. Spit it out, or get out.

The Valleur straightened in his seat. Quilla stood behind it, marginally taller than the backrest. Dread settled cold in Torrullin’s stomach, on seeing their expressions.

Vannis kept his voice low. This information speaks of a twenty-five-year anniversary, and it could be sheer coincidence, granted. He raised a hand when Torrullin snorted. There is something else and this cannot be. I speak of a blue and green sword.

Torrullin’s chair toppled as he hurtled up. He leaned over the desk. Where?

Not actual blades. On paper, in black ink.

He straightened, wondering what that meant. A letter? A scroll? Prophecy? A sighting? I need more than ‘on paper’.

Vannis inclined his head. Not here, Torrullin.

How long have you known about this?

Since this morning. We came directly to you, Quilla said.

Torrullin, say no more on it. Go to Kylan, Vannis added.

Gods, unexpectedly the future sat hot and heavy on his doorstep, if he read the undercurrents correctly. Alarming, and simultaneously welcome, for the present could not be borne in current guise.

He is at the Well, Quilla murmured.

Shall we?

Torrullin vanished.

The Great Forest

DURING THE TIME of Margus, the Well of Crystal Sound in a clearing in the Great Forest was a place of meet and strength. The water in the Well rejuvenated and concealed from evil then, and retained the magic to this day. Kylan built his and Kisha’s home on the edge of the clearing. Young when they fought alongside Torrullin, the childless couple were now middle-aged.

Torrullin arrived alongside the Well to find them seated at a table near their rustic home. He dipped his hands in the water, feeling instantly the frisson of corrections, and gazed around.

There the old grave, covered with forest flowers; the mortal remains of gruff McSee. There he, Aven, McSee and Lycea exited the Forest that first night, the start of Infinity’s game of Universe.

He mentally shook it aside. Memories like that invariably led to the Pillars of Fire.

Strolling nearer, he still found it strange to see Kisha and Kylan age while he was not a wrinkle older. Many lives I have had, and now it is different. These are true friends, and one cannot bear the thought of losing them.

Kisha. Kylan.

They looked up. Kisha’s blond hair was paler, her face showed laugh lines, and it was lovely. Kylan’s hair was streaked with grey, but his green eyes were undimmed.

Kylan said, Welcome. It’s been a while. He gestured to an empty seat after shaking Torrullin’s hand.

Forgive me, I have meant to come.

Don’t fret, we understand. Kisha crinkled her attractive violet eyes at him, kissed his cheek, and then moved to fetch a pitcher from the patio.

The Herbmaster was serious. We’re both sorry about you and Saska.

Thank you.

Kisha rejoined them and poured three glasses of iced tea, saying, There is a storm brewing and I’ll be glad when it breaks; this heat drives me crazy.

Torrullin wondered where Vannis and Quilla were, before realising they would come when he called, allowing him to now reach his own decisions without their influence. Right; time, thus, to discover what this was all about.

Tell me.

Kylan cleared his throat. I understand now. There is pain and loss in our past and you felt I didn’t need this also.

Torrullin nodded.

Once I knew it was murder, I wanted to know why, and Kisha agreed with me. Kylan held his hand out and she took it.

Torrullin’s heart constricted. Twenty-five years later they were still a team.

We turned the old Mantle archives upside down and then moved on to the Society of Sorcerers. There is not much we haven’t paged through, and what a wealth of information, despite floods and fires. In all that Kisha found a letter from my mother Merle to Thane, the one who was your predecessor at the Mantle, the one who went on sabbatical.

And stole the Medaillon.

Yes, him. This letter was dated when Thane was still in Galilan with the Mantle. My mother feared for my father’s life because he found something dangerous not only to the Mantle, but also to Valaris. There was another letter six months later in which she explained my father Cressel had a map and a key, but she scratched out the word ‘key’ and replaced it with ‘talisman’, and there had been another attempt on his life.

Torrullin frowned. Where was she writing from?

Farinwood.

Before you were born?

The first letter, yes, but by the second I was three months old.

Around the time Thane goes on sabbatical taking the original Medaillon with him. It is likely he went to help your parents and was murdered also.

That is what we figured, Kisha agreed.

Cressel was murdered in Farinwood, Torrullin said, and Merle fled. The Mantle didn’t know of the baby, she clearly tried to protect you. She stayed on a farm between Farinwood and Galilan for a few months.

Did she die there? Kylan asked. That was not in the report.

She was found on the way to Galilan.

How were they killed? Kisha asked.

Cressel was trampled by a horse. He survived the mauling by two days, telling the authorities it wasn’t an accident. He had no idea who did it.

Kylan swallowed. And my … Merle?

Torrullin stared at the table. Her throat was slit and she put up a mighty fight. He lifted his head. I am sorry.

No wonder you said nothing. Kylan forced calm upon himself.

How do you know this, Torrullin? We found nothing of that, Kisha said.

The authorities closed the files, but the Mantle went on with it. Eventually we admitted defeat. Those deeper reports form part of the inner archives.

Where are they? Kylan demanded.

I studied them after you asked about your parents, Kylan, and that is all there is, I promise. Torrullin shrugged when Kylan continued to stare at him. At the Keep.

You still keep secrets.

Part of who I am.

You will want to study them after I tell you the rest.

Torrullin shivered. You may be right. What of this map your mother mentioned?

I couldn’t make it out. M-something-something, O and R. We looked for mention of strange maps, actual maps, and redid stuff we already waded through. Eventually we found another letter, from Ugarth of the Society after the Drasso fiasco. Ugarth wrote to his daughter about a glimpse of a map Shannon had in his possession …

Ugarth and Shannon were first rank sorcerers, Torrullin interrupted. "I seem to recall Shannon told a tale of another race and possessed a map to prove it. But, Kylan, a long time passed between Shannon, Ugarth, and your parents."

I would agree, but Ugarth mentioned the Mysor, which fits with Merle’s spelling. I’m not saying it’s the same map, but it could be. It was lost and maybe Cressel found it. Did Shannon die of natural causes?

Torrullin released an explosive breath. Shannon was found in a ditch with eyes gouged.

There must be a link, Kisha stated.

You suggest a millennia old conspiracy, Torrullin frowned.

Older. There is more on this map, further back.

Torrullin rubbed at his face and waited. They would get to the part that brought him. He needed to understand the process, the background, and they knew that. Besides, he was not in a hurry. He felt better for being outdoors.

We found Father Rees’ diary in Gasmoor, Kylan said next.

Rees of Round Temple fame?

The same. His dates run 256 a.s. to 329 a.s. and we assume that to mean ‘after settlement’, Kisha said.

Dropped around year 500, Torrullin confirmed.

Father Rees spoke of a map, but was unsure, called it a treasure map, an astrochart, and further down, ley lines. He also called it a Mysor map, Kylan said.

Kisha added, Somewhere, somehow, there is a mysterious chart that causes trouble.

Torrullin nodded. Most odd, but I doubt this is why you called. Murders old and ancient are one thing, no offence, and strange indeed if committed over a map, but carries no urgency.

Urgency lies in the connections, Kisha murmured.

A key is mentioned in an anonymous poem we found last night, Kylan said. We called Vannis this morning because it’s in Valleur.

Torrullin blinked, feeling dread build within him. Do you have it?

Kisha went indoors to return with a folded square, handing it to him. Recycled paper, treated, as the Valleur did in the old days.

Where did you find this? Torrullin asked.

Aven’s papers, Kylan said.

Aven, passed on twelve years, was teacher and mentor during Torrullin’s time at the Mantle. He was also surrogate father, and missed dearly. Lycea said so a few days ago at the Graveyard, for she was Aven’s ward, rescued off the streets of Galilan.

Lycea gave Aven’s stuff to us, Kisha said, when Kylan expressed a wish to work on the history of Valaris.

Torrullin turned the square over in his hands. I read the book you published on the Ruby Debacle. He glanced at Kylan. Well done.

Pleased, Kylan smiled. I’m tackling Drasso now.

Torrullin’s eyebrows climbed upward. Good luck.

Taranis is helping, Kisha laughed.

Torrullin inhaled. Taranis, his father, had been here, but had not been to the Keep recently. As able researchers, would you say this, and he wiggled the square, is the end to your findings?

Kylan shrugged. Besides the actual map, we think that may be it, yes.

Why did you need Vannis? You read Valleur, Kisha.

It has both Mysor and a description of the key in it, and you once mentioned a blue and green sword in the twins’ future, she said.

Were you afraid of me?

I told Kylan to run it by Vannis first. It wasn’t a question of fear; we didn’t want to trouble you unnecessarily.

Forgive me.

Kisha leaned over and touched his hand. We understand.

You are stalling, Torrullin. Kylan pointed at the paper.

Absolutely. Torrullin placed the square on the table and stared at it. You know what it says.

It doesn’t make sense, Kisha said.

Puffing his cheeks, only to deflate them explosively, Torrullin rose and walked away, leaving the paper on the table. He wandered the edge of the clearing in deliberate, measured paces, running hands though his hair. Saska’s leaving utterly unsettled him; he found even simple tasks a burden, and this, obviously, had nothing simple about it.

Kisha and Kylan waited. Overhead the sky darkened.

After a second circuit, Torrullin returned and lowered into the bench. Cressel Finnian found a map of the Mysor, which Merle saw and possibly inherited when her husband died, or she inherited the responsibility for it. Both died, as did Thane for involvement in the conspiracy. Moreover, this map is mentioned as early as three hundred years after settlement. This piece of paper, and Torrullin tapped it savagely, speaks of the Mysor in Valleur. It is older than Rees’ entries. He vacantly glanced at them. The paper proves antiquity. Either penned in the Valleur settlement of Valaris, for Vannis vetoed writings after the humans came, or it was brought with them. Vannis is ignorant of this and that could be a surprise we need to deal with. It further appears this and the map go together. He focused. I am wary of this thing.

Kisha nodded immediately.

Kylan said, If Vannis’ reaction is anything to go by.

Hush, sweetie.

Danger to whom, to what, Kylan? Torrullin demanded.

Kisha and me, firstly, Kylan said.

Kisha laid a hand on her husband’s arm and faced Torrullin across the table. Matters haven’t been easy for you.

That is an understatement. Torrullin pinched the bridge of his nose. Yet I am what I am and cannot hide from that. Quilla would say my fate is my choice and, as always, I choose to know.

He reached out, lifted the paper and flapped it open. Four words to a line in lyrical format leapt out at him. A goddamn poem? He read it without expression and then tossed it down.

Staring at the couple, he translated, as if hearing the words in the common tongue would diffuse content.

"Time’s timekeeper never sleeps

Forever telling the tale

Of twin war gods

Come to their father

Seeking magic to eliminate

The monsters of worlds

And in the telling

Remind of a taliesman

Fashioned in purest gold

A cavorting little dragon

A key, a truth

A legend, a king

The Mysor of old

Dragons once, hidden now

Hold in their palms

A glorious green sword

A beautiful blue sword

The magic that will

Slay the old monsters

A father must choose

Remember eternally the anniversary

A coming of age

Number five and twenty

Time’s timekeeper is awake."

He lapsed into silence and remained that way for some time. Drops of rain fell and he moved to cover the paper.

Eventually he made eye contact. There must be a map, pointing to the place of fulfilling. We have to find it. The Coming-of-Age ceremony is days away and I will not allow anything to mar it. I need to know what I am dealing with. He paused. Throne. I need the information you found, where you found it, and I need Aven’s papers. Torrullin ran a hand over his face, sighing. Perhaps Aven did not know what it was that he had, it was in the Ancient Tongue after all. He fixed the two before him with a stern gaze. No heroics. You stay put, you keep quiet and don’t over-think anything. The Forest will protect you.

They nodded. "So, it is dangerous?" Kisha said.

"Monsters of worlds sounds pretty grim to me."

Kylan barked a laugh.

We will figure it out.

You are taking it well, Torrullin, Kisha murmured.

A façade. Torrullin got to his feet. Vannis! Quilla!

The two appeared immediately.

What are your conclusions, Enchanter? Quilla ventured.

Conclusions, Quilla? A bit early.

The birdman lifted an eyebrow. Something stuck.

Torrullin stared over his head. I will be lifting the Throne forthwith.

Vannis appeared forbidding. Good. The seat will gift you insight. This situation points to you and the twins, and it’s big.

A prophecy, and this time I am forewarned.

Vannis asked, Do you remember the Mysor?

Torrullin said, The soulless arachnids from the Forbidden Zone.

Kylan snapped his fingers. Llettynn told us. The Siric captured one to test the transmutation.

Wonderful, Kisha whispered.

I wish Llettynn was here right now, Torrullin said. A treasure map, an astrochart, ley lines. He glanced at Quilla and Vannis. We need that map.

Chapter 3

"I caught a glimpse of it only, Shannon was most reluctant to share, and what I saw convinced me there was something to his tall tale."

~ Excerpt from Ugarth’s letter to his daughter

Dated after Drasso

The Keep

THE VALLEUR THRONE was the seat of power not merely in leadership, but in sorcery and secrets. Hidden for nine thousand years while holding captive the immortal Vannis, it renewed to glory to thwart Margus, but later, when Margus sought to undermine it, Vannis again sent it into the depths of the world. Margus unseated the balances, resulting in tidal waves and earthquakes, and when all had subsided, the Throne lay not only in its magical netherworld, but also submerged with no solid ground to return to. For Torrullin to recall it, he needed to uncloak it and thereafter move it after having prepared a place for it.

Saska did not push him into completing this final sacred site, even understanding it would solve his dilemma with the boys. Now he wished fervently he had, for she would be beside him. He missed her; her wisdom, her strength, her faith. He gave his boys twenty-five years, never showing favouritism, which worked both for and against him, but their futures were due. The time had come for Torrullin to be husband and lover, and now she was no longer with him.

What would Saska advocate now? He tapped his desk with a slender finger, deep in thought. Would she tell me to hide this renewal from the boys until after the fact? Would she advocate I do so with their full knowledge?

Quilla.

The birdman, paging through books, looked up.

I am unable to reach Taranis. Do you know where he is?

Glorium. There has been another birth. The Sagorin now number nine.

That is excellent news. I appear somewhat out of touch.

You are a hermit, yes, Quilla murmured.

Did Taranis give a date of return?

The twins’ ceremony.

Three days. He needed his father’s counsel now. What do I do?

Quilla replaced a book and approached the desk. Tell them. Perhaps it will bring a revealing without the Throne.

They will believe I am using the Throne against them.

Not if you tell them now.

Torrullin inclined his head.

Quilla studied him. You have to bring it, you know that.

Bring? You mean, here?

You are not fooling me, Enchanter. I saw you eyeing the receiving chamber downstairs.

Torrullin’s lips quirked. It did make sense. His valley, his Keep, his Throne. The valley would accept a second sacred site within its confines. When he built the Keep he envisioned a separate building for the Throne; a royal abode, away from his private place, but there was no time for that. It would now come here, for he had not the will to commute between it and his dining table.

He stared through the window. There would be changes within himself, his sons, and Valleur perceptions. The Keep itself would be under the aegis of a sacred site. Prophecy would take on new significance. So much to do now. He thrived on change and perhaps in this he could lay his ghosts to rest. The enigma of his sons, Della’s Three Voices … Margus. Perhaps even an explanation for the visions of the dark-haired man.

Torrullin sighed and looked at Quilla. Lycea needs to come. Will you fetch her before this storm contains us?

OMINOUS RUMBLES filled the early evening air. The twins would likely relax their grips on their minds, for the storm’s interference would shield them, according to their thinking. Correct, but the shielding would not exclude him.

Quilla showed Lycea in and retreated as the heavens opened. He muttered about the weather calling for libation.

Torrullin? Is there a problem? Lycea queried, coming closer, dressed in old boots, breeches and a huge coat. She grimaced. I was outside checking the grounds against the storm, found two kittens half-drowned in the fishpond.

She still did things herself. Some things would never change.

How are you? he asked.

We spoke the other day. What is wrong?

Many things.

She drew breath. I’m sorry about Saska.

He rose to lead her to an armchair at the fire, snapping the waiting logs into blaze. She was lovely, her dark hair bright, picking up the fire in its wavy depths, and her amber eyes sparkled with life. Fine crow’s-feet crinkled when she smiled, the only sign of approaching age. Fifty-eight in human years, she would not age as rapidly as her human counterparts, being also half-Valleur.

Nothing to say? Then why send for me?

I have a lot on my mind. Forgive me, he said.

That’s true. How are you really?

Lost without her.

She leaned forward and took his hands. You still love her.

Torrullin smiled, squeezing her hand, withdrawing his a moment later. He leaned back, closing his eyes. Unlike him, she put a wall up between herself and her boys. She lavished love on her babies until they were three, showered them with affection and time, but that gradually changed. The wall went up stone by stone after each incidence of violence, insubordination, lack of respect and repudiation, until she chose not to think of them.

The boys? she prompted.

Partly.

Why? I have no authority over them.

I shall announce I aim to raise my Throne.

She paled. "Before their Coming-of-Age?"

He told her, leaving nothing out.

It’s somewhat tenuous, don’t you think? Old letters, a poem, a missing map. Why do you need the Throne? Lycea frowned.

I’d agree if it wasn’t for the deaths that mark the discoveries. And that poem is a prophecy. It’s also a warning. Therefore the Throne.

She rose and poured a glass of wine with shaking hands. She took a gulp and stood there with her back to him. He understood it meant she needed to take her courage in both hands and look into the eyes of the son she repudiated.

Why do you need me here? You know how I feel … what could happen.

You need to know. Even if it brings you pain.

She swung around, her fingers white on the glass. I can take the pain, Torrullin; that I have lived years in. It’s atonement that scares me.

I, too, shall have to atone.

You loved him, both of them. I cannot claim that.

They coped differently and there was no right or wrong in it. However, he could hope for forgiveness, whereas she might never receive it.

I have to call them now.

Taking a breath, she returned to her seat, sipped at her wine, and stared into the fire.

LIGHTNING FLASHED, accompanied by roaring thunder. Rain pounded the Keep and the temperature dropped. There was no howling wind to add impetus, though; it would be over by morning, but tonight it contained them where they were. No one in the Keep could transport through its energy. The boys could not run. He could not have chosen a better time. Torrullin relaxed in his armchair and closed his eyes.

Tristamil.

He sensed his son snap into awareness and saw where Tristamil was - alone in his bedroom, tinkering with a broken radio Shep Lore gave him. Technology intrigued Tristamil, but he seemed to get nowhere. Unfortunately, from the radio’s point of view, he relied on sorcery.

Father?

Your mother and I require your presence in my study.

Something wrong?

I shall explain once you are here.

He saw Tristamil frown and replace a part on his bed, before preparing to rise. Withdrawing from that son, he quested for the other, to find Tymall in the dining chamber eating vegetable soup, a book open on the side.

Tymall.

Tymall’s spoon clattered into the bowl, splashing broth over the pages. With a muttered oath, he reached over to wipe it clean with his arm.

Father?

More concern over the book than his father’s unexpected communication. Torrullin could not help smiling. He instilled in his sons a love of learning.

Your mother and I await you in my study.

A family conference, is that it? Is Vannis there? This should be interesting.

Torrullin severed the contact. It was rare that the four of them were in the same space together. Tymall’s remark had been derogatory, but that was normal in this dysfunctional family. Should he summon Vannis as Tymall’s comment suggested? No, better not. Vannis would still their tongues.

Father?

Enter, Tristamil.

He came inside, as tall as his father, and as lean and strong. He, like his brother, inherited Torrullin’s physique. His skin was golden, his hands broader, more like Taranis’. Their hair set them apart, from not only filial blood, but also Valleur norm. A dark auburn - their mother’s - streaked with bright gold. The gold was Valleur, and the contrast was arresting.

Tymall appeared, and Torrullin bid him enter. They were identical but for dress. Tristamil’s nose was slightly longer, his cheekbones more prominent, while Tymall’s were broader; differences unnoticed upon casual inspection, and when both were in motion one would not tell them apart.

Come.

They approached and glanced at their mother. She stared into the fire and did not acknowledge them. Torrullin wanted to shake her, but common sense prevailed. Nothing he said now would alter the years passed, and parental disunity at this critical point would not help.

Tristamil wore blue, his brother grey. Both donned knee-high black leather boots and had a sword strapped on. The scabbards were identical, a gift from their father, with similar silver hilts protruding. The blades, too, were a gift. Lycea was aghast the day he gifted those, and it led to one of their rare arguments.

His gaze lingered there. Remove your swords.

Both swiftly set them aside. Torrullin rose and divested himself of his, sliding it out of reach across his desk.

Pull those chairs closer.

Torrullin sat, and waited. He noted how nervous they were. They thought it was about Saska.

The four of them soon sat in a rough semi-circle about the amber blaze. Outside it was dark with intermittent flashes of brilliance.

The stage is set, Torrullin mused. Greet your mother.

Lycea turned to look at her sons. Tris. Ty. You are well?

Thank you, yes, mother, Tymall replied for both of them, as Tristamil nodded.

Neither actually greeted her, yet Torrullin let it pass.

Is something the matter? It came from Tymall. He pushed streaked hair from his face.

Tristamil murmured, Father, about Saska …

Torrullin raised his eyebrows.

Tristamil cleared his throat. We are sorry she left.

It took a summons before you could express sympathy?

Tymall said, We didn’t know what to say. We are sorry.

Or fear, Tymall? I know what happened.

They merely stared at him.

Fear kept them away. One day soon we shall address the subject of my wife, and I shall have reparation for what happened. That is not why I called.

Both slumped.

Something else is wrong, other than in my own household. This morning I heard tidings to alter our lives in a profound sense. Before I can begin, however, I need tell you that I love you. I erred when you were in your mother’s womb.

Looks of alarm flitted across the two younger faces, as this was the first time he broached the subject.

Father …

"Tristamil, allow me to finish. We have skirted the issue since the day of your third birthday. I have avoided it since the day you were born, and for either of you to come forth with the truth meant a revealing neither of you were prepared to endure. I do mean neither of you, for this day I understand it is exactly so. You are twins. You exist together; you fall and win together. I now acknowledge that the mistake was mine. I should have recognised both of you. My excuse has been that I fought for the survival of our world, it was an accident, one babe was behind the other, and it was impossible to know. Lies, for I am the Enchanter …"

Unfair, Torrullin! Lycea spoke. Being Enchanter was new, and you weren’t as entirely Valleur as you are now.

Tristamil said, You are more Valleur than Vannis most of the time.

Conservative, Tymall murmured. Very Valleur.

Do not side-track me. I assume responsibility. Furthermore, I let it be, compounding, thereby, the original mistake. I should have sat you down before to thrash this out.

Is that what we’re doing? Tristamil queried.

Because of Saska? Tymall asked.

No, Ty, not over Saska, but know this - she told me nothing. Had she come to me the day you two crawled home at death’s door, I would have finished the job. One of you will prostrate himself at my feet. The other I shall thank for saving the life of the woman I love.

Silence reigned. The twins were expressionless.

This discussion is not to thrash out what should have been, although I hope for a measure of the truth. Torrullin paused to scrutinise those impassive faces. It is proper that the truth be known, given what comes next.

Baring the soul is a double-edged sword, Tymall murmured.

Yes, Tristamil agreed. Your candour is noble, but you hope for more than a measure of the truth this night.

He needs to know unequivocally who wields the power of darak, Tymall clarified.

Because greater evils approach, Tristamil added.

Torrullin rose, seeking immediate distance. He lifted the decanter of brandy from the counter, and paused. He swung around then, smashing it to the floor.

Saska was right, one of you knows evil.

Of course she was right, Tristamil said. You should’ve listened to her.

Are you trying to goad me?

I am trying to understand what is happening here. Tristamil rose, ignoring his brother’s warning glance. The question is, why now? You need us revealed. You apologise for an error compounded twenty-five years. Why? Why now?

To bring one of us into the fold? Tymall said.

Torrullin drew breath and let it out inaudibly.

No, idiot, Tristamil said to his brother. That would result in the denial of the other. Even if we know nothing else, there is one thing we can rely on. Our Enchanter father loves us. Is not that the reason one of us pretended? One of us needed that unconditional love. He does not want to deny you or me, for he loves us both.

Tymall and Tristamil locked gazes. Lycea retreated to a corner where she listened in foreboding. Torrullin had frozen. Never had he heard this honesty from them.

Tris, you are wrong in assuming only one of us needed it. He gave us what a father should, and for one of us to turn traitor on a brother would eventually have lessened one of us in his eyes.

Tristamil whispered, Is ours a symbiosis?

Yes, and the riddles will go on until we are revealed.

Tristamil murmured, glancing at his father, That is why we are here, for this is easier. Tristamil inhaled,