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  Torrullin rose and bowed. “As my Lord Emperor commands.”

  “Please, Emperor of what? You are the real master of Grinwallin. I am no fool.”

  Torrullin, in the act of leaving, paused. “Grinwallin is yours, Teighlar.”

  Teighlar threw his napkin on the table and rose as well. “Have you heard the stones sing to you in the mountain?”

  Torrullin blanched.

  “Ah. I heard it once, but no more, not since you came. What does that tell you? She heard it when she was here, I suspect, for she is not the idle type. A mystery required solving and Lowen cannot leave stones unturned … stones! Stone and rock - that is Grinwallin. Gods, you have so much, including freedom - just go, before I damage a friendship I hold dearest in my heart.”

  Teighlar scowled into the amazing view over the continent Tunin. Grinwallin possessed a mighty vantage point.

  A brief, self-debating silence ensued, and then Torrullin was gone.

  Sanctuary

  BACK IN HIS DARK bedchamber Torrullin was dissatisfied, restless and angry.

  Moreover, there was foreboding.

  In one brief visit with Teighlar the spectres of Lowen, Saska, Samuel and the mystery that was Grinwallin had risen from the ashes of a deliberately damped fire, and he could not ignore them.

  He paced, hand straying often to the hilt of his sword. His nemesis at his hip. Would he need it? Was it time for its namesake to put in an appearance?

  A beam of light pierced the eastern window and he regarded it in astonishment.

  Dawn, sunrise, a new day. The Valleur would regard that as an omen. Into the dark of his heart had now come light, chivvying action from inaction, stirring emotions from behind defences.

  Torrullin gave a mirthless smile. Fine.

  It was time to confront Lowen.

  Chapter 2

  Shudder and shave! There’s the blade!

  Sharpen it!

  ~ Tattle’s Blunt Adventures

  Valaris

  Western Isles

  Valla Island

  TRISTAN RECENTLY CELEBRATED his thirty-fifth birthday, and it was the last he shared with his mother, for Curin passed away a week later, without warning.

  He remembered her smile, her joy for life, her love, but already her features failed in memory, and he hated that memory proved ephemeral, when it should not, not for a Valleur.

  Valleur and Valla. He grimaced as he wandered down to the beach. To discover he was Valleur had proven an astonishing challenge, but knowing he was Valla also proved as difficult. And it helped not a whit in recalling his mother’s face.

  The sand was waterlogged. The tide was in and it rained continuously. Booted feet sank to ankle depth in the swirling mini currents, but as he was already wet it did not matter.

  He stared over the darkening ocean. A storm approached from the south, which was unusual, and when it made landfall it would be an event seldom seen this far north. Ice lay in the strengthening wind.

  His father had locked himself away on their farm near Linmoor. Samuel, bless him, took Curin’s death hard, and this son understood. They would talk about her soon, once Samuel was prepared to face the world again. He missed his father, however, and needed to ask if Samuel could bring his mother’s face to mind …

  Tristan swore. Futile thoughts. Of course he would recall; he was, after all, Valleur. Valla. This current failing spoke of grief.

  A blast of frigid air slapped at him and he headed back to the Palace. The storm was forecast two days back; every preparation to endure its fury was in place. His staff now waited on him in order to secure the final entrance into the building.

  Gods, he would rather be out here amid fury and elemental temperament than sit in the manufactured warmth of a Palace he could not regard his own. Damn it, he wished his father was with him.

  Tristan trudged up to the great entrance and noted all but a small space rolled down and secured, and noticed too the relief in his retainers when they saw him approach. Ah, well. If he stayed outside all kinds of alarms would sound and he would face the irate council of Elders over it.

  Sometimes pandering to duty and expectation was the simpler of choices.

  He entered, heard the door close behind him, the bolts slide home, and headed up to his suite. He trailed water across the tiled floor and up the stairs as he walked, but did not care.

  If he could not have privacy outside, he would command it inside. He told his valet he needed no help as he entered, and watched the man leave.

  The storm unleashed. Lightning forked against black sky and thunder pealed out in rolling waves. Rain drummed loud on the roof. Tristan dragged sodden clothes off, drew on a warm robe and stood before the uncovered windows. It was vicious, worse than forecast. It would also be short-lived. A southern storm could not long maintain intent in the north.

  Tristan gazed upon the flattening palm trees in the garden. They would survive, but the shrubbery in general would require restoration. As he watched, a rose bush uprooted and went cartwheeling north.

  His domain, he thought. The Western Isles were the testing of Tristan Skyler Valla, oldest heir to the Throne.

  He clambered into bed, snuggling into the warmth and comfort there, hopefully to forget for a time how uncertain his future was.

  Valaris Mainland

  Menllik

  TEROUX LORDED IT over a gathering of his closest friends at the Valla home in the city of Menllik.

  He was twenty-nine years old and enjoyed life to the full. Every moment of every day had to be filled with laughter. It did not mean he neglected his duties as second oldest Valla heir, but he preferred the company of friends to the formalities of the council of Elders.

  Five years ago the Elders decided to give each heir a region to control under their auspices. When the time for formal ascension of a new Vallorin arrived, the choice before the Throne would be made simpler.

  Tristan took on the Western Isles, Teroux received the city of Menllik, and Tianoman, youngest heir, the Vall Peninsula in the north.

  By right of ascension, the male line, Teroux was heir-apparent. His father Tannil was Vallorin before the current state of limbo. However, the Throne would decide, for it was more than a golden chair, and its choice would be based on factors other than the unbroken line.

  Teroux generally forgot about the issue of ascension. He was raised in awareness of it, but also understood from an early age it might not be his fate to rule the Valleur. Both Tristan and Tianoman were as qualified. Of course, it might transpire he would be Vallorin, but he preferred to deal with it when the time came.

  Sitting now amid his cronies before a blazing fire as the storm raged outside, he sensed Tristan’s grief. It was more than telepathy, for the storm leeched that power; it was closeness akin to brotherhood. Tristan was Teroux’s idol, a man he loved like a brother, respected as a Valla, and a childhood friend.

  The two boys grew up together under Samuel’s tutelage, close, and that did not change when Tianoman was old enough to form a threesome of Valla heirs. Tianoman was not exactly an outsider, but they were wary of him.

  Teroux listened to his friend Cormarin explain the wonders of a woman’s breasts, grinning like to the others, but his thoughts were on Tristan. Tristan lost his mother and then Samuel sequestered himself. Tears pricked at Teroux’s lids, for he would miss Curin and so would Tianoman. She was special to all three. She was mother to all of them. He wondered how Tianoman coped.

  His thoughts turned to Tianoman’s Coming-of-Age. The youngest heir would be twenty-five in less than a month, and Teroux swallowed hard, realizing how close change was. Once Tianoman came of age it would be time to choose a new Vallorin.

  Who would it be? Himself, by virtue of his father, or Tianoman, by virtue of the legacies left by his father, or Tristan, Samuel’s son? Tristan, who was less trueblood, yet would be the better Vallorin?

  Sipping from his drink, he hid behind the mask of sociability. The future was uncertain and he li
ked it not.

  He did not want to be Vallorin; being Vallorin killed his father.

  Northern Valaris

  Vall Peninsula

  TWENTY-FIVE YEARS ago, before Tianoman was born, the Vall Peninsula experienced major upheaval.

  First there was the crash of a Beacon ship, which killed thousands and razed part of the city, and then came ice sheets to decimate the survivors. In the aftermath the Vall was declared a disaster zone. Few remained, and little infrastructure. The spaceport was shut for five years, and it seemed the northern region would revert to a cold wasteland.

  It would have happened had it not been for two factors. One, the sacred Valleur site and, two, it was once Valleur land. As dual rulership of Valleur and Valarian took over in the void left by the Enchanter and his son Tymall, and was seen to work, a compromise was reached.

  The Vall became Valleur territory once more and they were charged with rebuilding and renewal. It would become one of three Valleur territories on Valaris, but Valarians now lived there also and thus it became a dual Valleur-Valarian settlement.

  It worked. The Valleur sacred site spread benign influence, aiding the rebuild; the Valleur were pleased to do justice to historical land; and the humans who fled from disaster were satisfied it was safe to return. In the present it was a mixture of Valleur and human and offworlders.

  It was also challenging to govern, and Tianoman, at age twenty, acquitted himself well. Now, almost twenty-five, he was respected as a leader.

  Perhaps the council of Elders felt it necessary to test him most.

  He was, after all, Tymall’s son.

  TIANOMAN PACED THE audience chamber.

  The storm severed communication. It had not trekked this far north, but it broke the link to Menllik and Valla Island. He needed to confer with Tristan and Teroux without delay.

  He asked his advisor, Elder Sirlasin, “How long before the storm passes?”

  “An hour, two at most.”

  “Will the Beaconite hold his tongue that long?”

  Sirlasin grinned. “We shall make him, have no fear.”

  Tianoman nodded. “Fine, then we must wait.”

  “Will we take him to Menllik or Valla Island, my lord?”

  “My cousins will come here, Elder.”

  Sirlasin bowed. A blunder. “Of course. I merely thought it might contain the man more efficiently to remove him from his friends.”

  Tianoman frowned and looked away. “You may be right. After I have spoken to my cousins I will know what to do. In the meantime keep him under surveillance.”

  Sirlasin bowed and left the audience chamber.

  Tianoman paced to the massive arched windows and looked onto the square outside. It was paved in red stone and was usually attractive to visitors, but now sported winter’s mantle. The trees were bare, the fountain shut off and it was deserted. Snow would return a measure of prettiness, but it was so cold on the Vall, almost always, not even snow descended to the ground here. Ice did.

  Gods, he could do with a warmer climate for a while.

  Tianoman watched Sirlasin scurry across the empty expanse, the man pulling his overcoat tight, and hoped warmer climes would come soon. Perhaps after the Throne made its choice.

  He could not now think on it, not yet. Right now he had to decide what to do about the Beaconite and his rumour spreading tongue.

  Samuel would know, but Samuel had shut himself away over Curin.

  Tianoman swallowed.

  He missed Curin.

  Chapter 3

  Rumour begets secrets, often off the mark.

  ~ Awl

  Valla Island

  INSISTENT TAPPING AT his mind awakened Tristan.

  He sat up, having slept longer and deeper than intended. Night approached, and the storm had either passed on or petered out.

  Tristan!

  Ah. Tian. Tianoman had awakened him and sounded urgent.

  What is it?

  Are you sleeping your life away, damn it?

  Tristan grimaced. Caught in the act, he was. And what if I am?

  Never mind. Tristan, I have stumbled into a problem and need your counsel.

  I am in bed. Come here, we will talk.

  There was silence on the other end, and then, On my way, but I am not coming alone. I suggest you get dressed and meet us in the library. I am asking Teroux to join us also.

  Sounds serious.

  It may be.

  Fine, I am getting dressed now. Tristan severed the link. He stumbled from his bed, found clothes and boots, washed his face, and headed down.

  In the large space that was the audience chamber, ballroom, banquet hall - depending on the occasion - and was once Throne-room - he found Tianoman engaged in a shouting match with a human.

  Sirlasin paced around the two.

  Teroux arrived with shiny cheeks and eyes, and Tristan hastened down the stairs - Teroux had been at the drink, obviously. Lucky sod.

  “… political nightmare for you!” the human shouted.

  “Try it!” Tianoman yelled. “Beacon will be on the losing end!”

  Beacon? A Beaconite? What was Tianoman thinking? Tristan hurried over. Teroux, he noted, came to rest beside Sirlasin and viewed proceedings with amusement. His cousins acted like children sometimes; challenging Beacon was no light matter.

  Tristan came to a stop. “Excuse me, may I say something?”

  Sirlasin was relieved. The level-headed Valla.

  Tianoman turned. “Cousin, good of you to join us.” His brown eyes flicked the other way. “And you, Teroux.”

  “Shut it, Tian, you’re causing a scene,” Teroux said.

  Tristan held a hand aloft before an outburst could follow. “Shall we move to the library? I am certain our guest could use a drink and the warmth of a fire.”

  He gave the Beaconite a considering look, and the man bowed, evidently deciding to put his case in the more even atmosphere on offer.

  The four men preceded Tristan into the library adjoining the audience chamber.

  “Shall I add something to eat, my lord?” a retainer asked.

  Tristan grinned. “Do that, Exem.” He wiped the grin off, entered with a serious face and closed the door. “Tian, will you present your guest?”

  “Guest? He is … oh, fine. This is Kris Westlake, recently arrived on the ship Circular.” Tianoman held his temper with difficulty. He was out-manoeuvred and liked it not. “My cousins Tristan and Teroux.”

  Kris Westlake sketched another bow at Tristan and then one for Teroux. “My lords, it is an honour.”

  “Beacon is ever welcome,” Teroux said, digging at Tianoman’s behaviour.

  “Please take a seat, Mr Westlake,” Tristan said, sitting himself.

  Sirlasin retreated, taking a perch removed from the gathering. He was advisor only, not decision-maker, for the Vallas were permitted to make their mistakes unimpeded; if trouble arose the council would step in.

  “Tris, we have a problem,” Tianoman said, but sat.

  Teroux, grinning, balanced near him, obviously intending to temper his hot-headed cousin’s outbursts.

  Tristan gazed at his youngest cousin. Tianoman was hot-headed, yes, but they were all that way once. Something was definitely wrong for him to lose his cool before an outsider.

  “I hear you,” he said.

  Tianoman subsided, hearing in that tone trust in his judgement.

  “Shall we allow Mr Westlake to speak first?” Tristan prompted.

  “Yes,” Teroux said. “Mr Westlake, please.”

  The Beaconite was a tall man with unruly brown hair and laughing brown eyes. A good-looking man, and never had anyone seemed less dangerous.

  “My lords, thank you, and please call me Kris. The Mr Westlake thing makes me feel old and staid and married, and I’m not close to any one of those.”

  Teroux laughed, Tristan smiled and Tianoman scowled.

  Ignoring Tianoman, Kris continued, speaking largely to Tristan.

  �
��My partners and I are of Beacon Farm and we secured the privilege to trade ideas about a genetically engineered grain with Valaris’ Farmer’s Union.”

  Beacon Farm was the agricultural world annexed by Beacon.

  “Our papers are in order, if you would like to see them?” Tristan made a gesture with his hands. “I thank you for your trust, my lord. We landed two days ago, having travelled with the trade ship Circular and took up lodging in the big hostel near the spaceport on Vall.” He shrugged. “There isn’t much to add, except to say we are meeting your union tomorrow and we have been, er, partying until now.”

  He shrugged again and glanced significantly at Tianoman.

  Tristan’s grey eyes followed him there. “Tian?”

  “I acknowledge the man’s credentials, his intentions, and agree he has enjoyed Vall’s entertainments since arrival. Nothing wrong there, but he has a loose tongue. Sirlasin can confirm.”

  “Now wait a minute!” Kris burst out.

  “Mr Westlake, you had a few too many too often,” Tianoman snapped. “You may or may not be aware of the trouble you caused, I see that now.”

  The Beaconite opened his mouth, closed it. Then, “Yes, well, I do have gaps in my memory.”

  Teroux spluttered into laughter.

  Tianoman glared his way and spoke to Tristan. “It may be innocent, but this man said things, and it was heard by others who like nothing better than to feed the rumour mill.”

  “What did he say?” Tristan murmured.

  “He expounded on the idea the Kaval is a Valleur tool. He implied we, the Vallas, seek to rule the universe, our grandfather uses the Dome to prepare our places. The three of us will each receive a kingdom in the future and Elixir will ensure we hold them.”

  There was silence and then Kris spluttered, “I didn’t say that!”

  Teroux spoke, “You do not remember saying it, but these thoughts are not new to you, are they?”