The Kallanon Scales by Elaina J Davidson Page A

were present. The Dragon had spoken.
Nemisin. Torrullin. Finally together. It was as it should be.
    Torrullin
smiled. “Come. Sit.” He vacated the Throne and gestured.
    Taranis knew
the Valleur tales of death to intruders, and sat before he could
think too much. Torrullin commenced a soft enchantment, but he was
deaf to it, feeling the power in the seat under him, understanding
at last the magnetism of the Vallorin, sensing how his abilities
increased.
    It was warm
and welcoming. It soothed and agitated simultaneously. It revealed
and opened. It gave, led, strengthened, and corrected faults and
the whole was so comforting one never wanted to leave its
embrace.
    No wonder the arrogance of the Valleur, this was real power.
Goddess, he felt alive.
    “Taranis.”
Torrullin’s voice recalled him.
    He blinked and
stared up at his smiling son. “My god, Torrullin.”
    “Indeed.”
    Taranis drew a
breath. “Can I get up?”
    “Do you want
to?”
    “No.”
    The lure. Once
experienced, never forgotten. Torrullin gave his hand to his awed
Guardian father, and Taranis grabbed it, a lifeline to sanity, and
pushed reluctantly free of the addiction, surprised at the host of
contradictions.
    “It will
accept you now, any time.”
    Taranis turned
to the Throne. “A craving, son, I could well do without.”
    “You will be
fine, your heart is in the right place.”
    “I hope
so.”
    They stared at
each other with a new level of understanding, a greater connection
than in years, and then Torrullin ran a hand over the seat like a
benediction, and Taranis shivered.
    “Please, can
we leave?”
    Torrullin led
the way off the dais. Over his shoulder he said, “Think on your
dreams now.”

Chapter
6
     
    When in doubt,
act. Action frequently leads to decision.
    ~ Book of
Sages
     
     
    Torrullin’s
Valley
     
    C abin fever drove him
outdoors.
    He needed to
delegate to go forward and thus called a midday meeting beside a
river where the Keep was out of sight.
    In addition to
the Valla men, there was Taranis and Quilla, Raken and Lycea.
Torrullin requested the presence of Shep Lore from Galilan, and
Krikian, a Valleur from Menllik versed in dream symbolism.
    Shep Lore was
the sole survivor of the half-Valleur of the Vall Peninsula. Margus
sent his symbiotic Horde onto the wastelands of the north and
destroyed the race living below the surface in their technological
habitat. Lycea once lived there, but her life took strange turns,
keeping her from it until near the end, and thus Shep was the true
living memory of that time below ground. He appeared attired as
always in a voluptuous purple robe. Shep would paint the world
purple if it let him.
    Krikian, regarded as young in Valleur terms, was nine
centuries old, born on Ardosia, the Valleur world beyond the Rift.
That Valleur habitat Margus too destroyed, and a mere three hundred
and sixty escaped. Those few survivors came to Valaris after the
Darak Or’s defeat. Krikian meant Dream-catcher ; he was excellent with
symbolism and dreamers often appeared on his doorstep.
    The man
reminded Torrullin of Augin, the Palace Guard from Ardosia who
became like a brother to him when they together went to Pendulim
for the warding of souls.
    Krikian
possessed the same youth, the same certainty.
    How he wished
Augin could do this new mission with him, Augin, unfortunately,
drowned three years ago while swimming in the stormy Western Ocean,
a dare that went wrong. Four Valleur lost their lives that day.
    Raken’s face
showed fine lines and she no longer moved as quickly, but her
glorious copper hair was undimmed. Her fiery emerald eyes flashed
challenge. Torrullin wondered if Vannis would simply follow her to
the grave when the time came.
    Lycea had
packed a picnic lunch and laid it out on a chequered cloth
    “Torrullin,
when will it be smooth sailing?” Raken demanded. “I hoped, with the
boys become men, Vannis would remain home and we would spend the
last years wrapped up together.”
    “I