The Kallanon Scales Read Online Free PDF

Tristamil inhaled, exhaled. “You are about to
uncloak the Valleur Throne.”
    Tymall
stilled. “Is this so?”
    Torrullin
found his voice. “Yes.”
    Tymall burst
out, “You left it there deliberately not to know us! Is it our
Coming-of-Age? You think we won’t tell the truth?”
    Torrullin
paced forward. “I know you will not tell the truth. Life will
continue in this netherness.” He came to a stop. “Perhaps I have
loved you too well. I blinded myself.”
    “It was and is the only constant in our lives. Do not ever think you did wrong
in that!”
    By all gods,
it was good to hear. “Thank you, Ty.”
    “One of us
learned to love you, father,” Tristamil said.
    Torrullin
stared at that son. “Truth?”
    “Absolute
truth.”
    “Tymall?”
    “My brother
speaks true.”
    “I am
blessed,” Torrullin said. His eyes fixed on Tristamil. “Tell me
who, son. Please, so I may recognise this great gift.”
    “I cannot,”
Tristamil whispered, looking away.
    “Ty? Surely
you can see the freedom in knowing?”
    “Forgive me, I
cannot,” Tymall murmured.
    “I do not want to discover the truth on my Throne!”
    “You hope for
clarity before you sit on it,” Tristamil muttered, running a hand
though his hair. “Where is the urgency?”
    “Sit, and
listen,” Torrullin said, crunching broken glass underfoot. A strong
smell of brandy wafted. With a muttered oath, he waved the debris
away. The smell remained. He sat. “Before I begin, do you agree
your word is your honour?” They nodded warily. “The Darak Or had
honour. Did I tell you that?” They nodded again, even more
cautious. “Thus, if I ask for your word, no matter the state of
your souls, you would be honour bound.”
    They glanced
at each other.
    “Say it!”
    “Our word is
our honour.”
    “Thank you.” Grey eyes bored into twin sets of grey. “You
will give it to me now, without reservation, or I give my word I shall maim the
one who does not, irreparably, and continue to love him
unconditionally.”
    “Yes, father,”
they chorused.
    “Promise me you will never harm your mother in any form.”
    They looked at
each other as if for guidance.
    “ Now !”
    “You have my
word,” Tristamil said.
    “Tell your
mother.”
    Tristamil rose
and approached Lycea. “Mother, I promise to never harm you.” He
held his hand out to her and she took it.
    Torrullin not
only saved her life, he saved her from herself. He gave her time to
rebuild bridges without having to wonder what lay in wait around
corners. She did not find herself in the same untouchable position,
and now he engineered it for her, using that strength.
    “Tymall?”
Torrullin prompted. “Do I have your word?”
    Tymall sighed.
“Yes, I promise, mother, I will not harm you in any way.”
    Torrullin
nodded his appreciation, while Lycea said, “I thank you, Tris, Ty.”
She glanced at Torrullin, eyes saying what her voice dared not.
    “I prepare to
receive my Throne in the chamber downstairs tomorrow. It has
nothing to do with your Coming-of-Age,” Torrullin said, ignoring
their white faces. “It does, however, concern the two of you.
Listen now, no more interruptions. Kylan - yes, the Herbmaster -
uncovered a telling. It is recognisable from what I saw over your
scrying bowls at your naming. Origin is obscure, but it is Valleur,
and my instinct has leapt into overdrive.”
    Torrullin
leaned back and related the tale, studying their faces as he did
so. He noted Lycea watch them, and this sign of renewed courage
pleased him.
    “The poem is obscure, but the twenty-fifth anniversary is
pertinent, dragon is a Valla symbol, and there is mention of a dragon
taliesman in the Oracles, fashioned by a priestly sect of the
Ancient Valleur.”
    Tymall
muttered, “What if we ignore it?”
    “It will not
ignore us. It has begun to unravel. I prefer action.”
    “Therefore,
Throne,” Tymall said.
    “I desire my
power at my fingertips, as soon as possible. We shall prepare as
best we can for