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what she cannot have.”
    “Which
is?”
    “A husband,
Tris, in you.”
    “You are
saying I may not marry her?”
    “Not unless a
Valla heir is born to the line.”
    Tristamil
glowered.
    “If she
requires a piece of parchment to prove your love for her, son,
perhaps it was not meant to be.”
    “That is
unfair. She is not meant to be someone’s mistress.”
    “You are not
just ‘someone’, and if she cannot see that then she should be
another man’s wife.”
    “She is your
goddaughter, for pity’s sake.”
    “And I love
her as a daughter and would wish to see both of you happy, but she
is not Valleur.”
    “Saska is not
Valleur!”
    “Your mother
was.”
    Tristamil
retreated, face white. He strode away, exiting through the Dragon
doors into the valley beyond.
    Torrullin
watched his son go, filled with sadness.

Chapter
5
     
    Mark the
auguries! Curses and Cures!
    ~Tattle’s Blunt
Adventures
     
     
    White Palace,
over the scrying bowl
    Naming Day,
twenty-six years ago
     
    T he images came immediately, bright flashes of the
future.
    A beautiful
valley. A throne. A blue sword. A dark cloud. A multitude. A
temple. A war. A blue breastplate. Runes on a wall. Kneeling
crowds. The blue sword again.
    The bowl
cleared and was still. Torrullin sat back while maintaining contact
with his son. Varied images; it would be difficult to conceive of a
clear future.
    “ A
warrior,” Vannis offered. “There will be war in his
future.”
    “ Blue is an
important colour in his life. As are crowds. Runes, a temple,
kneeling. A priest of some sort?”
    “ I will
agree with that,” Vannis confirmed. “A throne,” he added, “but not
Valleur, and the image was hazy, as if he was leader not ruler, or
it is a spiritual position.”
    Torrullin
nodded. “Both warrior and priest?”
    “ Agreed.”
That particular paradox had historical precedence.
    Torrullin
turned to the assembled, his hand still resting on the baby boy.
Until he was named the contact was not to be broken.
    “ His name
is found! I name my son TRISTAMIL! Warrior priest!”
    It was a good
name, a strong name. A strong future.
    Torrullin
wiped a tear from his son’s face. “Welcome, Tristamil,” he
whispered, his heart full, and broke the contact. The babe lay
still and watched him.
    He turned his
attention to his other son to the right of the bowl.
    The images for
this baby too were bright and rapid.
    The Valleur
Throne in all its splendour. A city of light. A star. A green
sword. There was similarity and that was a good sign. A dark cloud.
The same temple as his brother’s. A scroll. A crown.
    The bowl
smoothed over, reflecting only the glowing light of the courtyard.
There was no repeated image, unlike Tristamil’s. What that meant,
only time would tell.
    Torrullin and
Vannis again began the process. It seemed obvious this child would
one day be Vallorin.
    Vannis cleared
his throat. “Your eventual heir.”
    “ Seems that
way, but a city, a star?”
    “ Cryptic, I
grant you. Both have obscure images; I have never seen it quite
like this. And this one fights also, like his twin. There is the
temple again, yet for him I do not feel the same priestly
connection.”
    “ A warrior,
a builder, maybe the city? Patron of a temple, of his brother’s
spirituality? Vallorin. A man of many guises.”
    Taranis leaned
closer and whispered, “Many skills, many paths.”
    “ Yes!”
Torrullin flashed a smile at his father. “Potent skills, capable of
changing his environment, or change according to his environs.
Vannis, the Skilful One?”
    “ Agreed.”
Vannis slowly nodded. It was his duty to affirm before a name was
broadcast, but he was not entirely certain of this one. Taranis was
right - many paths. That, however, was probably a good thing, for a
Vallorin was multi-facetted. “Yes,” he said again, and meant
it.
    Torrullin
raised his gaze to the gathered.
    “ His name
is found! I name my son TYMALL! The Skilful One!”
    Torrullin
gently gathered