‘Your grace,’ Senefex said, hurrying towards her. ‘I sent Captain Lorca to explain the situation to you. It is dangerous for you to be here. I’ve arranged for you to be sent to safety.’
‘I know all about your arrangements,’ Tatrini said. ‘It was thoughtful of you, Senefex, but not needed. You act from reflex – what you suppose is best for a woman. I don’t need to remind you conditions have changed.’ She marched towards his desk where a map was laid out. ‘Apprise me of the situation in the city at once.’
She could tell that a large percentage of the men present were unhappy with her arrival but, as she was now an elected member of the Chamber, they could not voice their complaints. Tatrini also took note of the fact that none of the princes were present, nor the emperor himself. What had she broken up here?
‘Frenzy has broken out,’ Mordryn said, the first to respond to Tatrini’s request. ‘The people who call themselves Dragonards, who are acting under Palindrake’s name, though most of us believe without his blessing, have chosen to rise up and make a noise. ’
‘They must have some organisation behind them, then, to reach this far into our sanctuary,’ Tatrini said. ‘Also, from what I observed on the way here, they are making rather more than just a noise.’
Senefex made a dismissive gesture. ‘They have agitated the citizens in certain areas and have set fires. It looks worse than it is. The militia is currently dealing with the crisis.’
Tatrini was not deceived by his apparently unconcerned attitude. ‘How have they managed to become this prepared without the Fire Chamber being aware of it? I presumed we had an effective network of agents to sniff out such circumstances.’
There was a rumble of murmurs, but Mordryn stemmed them with his loud voice. ‘Your criticisms are justified, your grace. We have been taken unawares, but the situation is now in hand.’
‘How exactly?’
‘Grand Mage Alguin has deployed the Cathedral Guard.’
Tatrini choked off a laugh. ‘Alguin? Are you mad? How can you let him loose on the city? He will make it a religious crusade and no doubt add to the chaos.’
‘We have no alternative. Rebellious factions must be contained and eliminated.’
Tatrini experienced a moment of pure psychic intuition. She realised that the fires had not been started by the rebels. She would discover the truth of events for herself in time, but now considered that perhaps Alguin’s ‘containment’ methods involved the suppression of individuals who might not be guilty. Alguin was a man who would make examples. Mordryn and the others must feel extremely threatened to let him have full rein. But perhaps this was part of their plan, a secret plan, known only to the inner cabal of the Chamber. It was extreme, if it was just to discredit Valraven further.
‘You are right, we must take action,’ she said, ‘but I can perceive beneficial results from tonight’s events. The old order is being shaken up. The Malagashes must now show the people of what we are made. Stagnation must be burned away by fire. I take it plans to march on Caradore are in hand?’
Mordryn regarded Tatrini with a severe gaze. ‘That is the gist of our strategy,’ he said, carefully, for him.
Tatrini was aware she would be saying things that undoubtedly these men had muttered to one another many times, but she wanted them to know how their efforts to exclude her had been pointless. ‘Palindrake must be brought back to Magrast, in the hands of the Malagashes. If he is dead, his body should be displayed on the city walls. If alive, he must be punished publicly for treason. We can only suppose the Dragon Lord’s son has been taken to Caradore. He too must be reclaimed.’
‘Figureheads are a difficulty,’ Senefex said.
‘I perceive implications in your words,’ Tatrini said. ‘Young Rav is not a difficulty. He is my grandson and Malagash blood runs in his veins. Having foresight, I have trained him myself while he’s been in Magrast. We must look upon his disappearance as abduction. Once he’s returned to me, you will have your tame Dragon Heir once more.’
The men were regarding her with a certain amount of suspicion. They did not like to hear she’d been ‘training’ Rav. She was pleased to note they were wary of her power, but in some eyes she saw a grudging respect. They wanted her strengths. They wanted Leonid back, someone who would be decisive and optimistic, who was confident in their own right to rule. This night, some of them, for the first time, would behold a woman with clear sight.
‘The army will be deployed to Caradore within the week,’ Senefex said.
‘Will Rufus Lorca and the Splendifers be part of it?’ Tatrini enquired.
‘Under the circumstances, no.’
‘Prince Bayard should lead the army,’ Tatrini said. ‘He knows Palindrake well and has fought beside him. He knows the Dragon Lord’s strategies, and, it must be said, will not be affected by torn loyalties.’
‘Are you suggesting any of our officers might turn traitor?’ one of the generals asked coldly.
‘Not at all,’ Tatrini said, ‘but I doubt there are many among them who would relish leading an assault on Caradore.’
‘And Prince Bayard would relish it?’ Mordryn asked.
‘He would do his duty and succeed,’ Tatrini replied. ‘You need a strong figurehead, because the men will not be comfortable with the Splendifers’ exclusion. That simple decision says so much. Soldiers are trained to obey, but they are also men of instinct, otherwise they would not survive. They should have their emperor among them. Almorante should not skulk here in Magrast while Caradore is vanquished. Leonid spent far too much time dong that at the end of his life.’
‘Some would question the wisdom of sending both Almorante and Bayard into battle at this juncture,’ Senefex said. ‘We do not yet know what the army will find in Caradore.’
‘You should not fear defeat,’ Tatrini said.
Before she could offer more persuasive arguments, Mordryn interrupted her. ‘We do not disagree with your suggestion and neither do we fear defeat. Senefex means we have to do what the people see is right. Sending Malagashes en masse might be interpreted as panic. Also, Almorante himself might be against it. He is not a man of battle, your grace. His wars have always taken place behind closed doors.’
Tatrini uttered a scornful laugh. ‘Since when has the emperor’s own desires impeded yours? I am sure you can persuade him. I will help you do so, for I also intend to go to Caradore. And before you bluster your objections, allow me to decide what is right in this matter. It is time you accepted how seriously I take my role within the empire and how dearly I uphold it.’
‘No one has ever doubted that, your grace,’ Mordryn said, somewhat dryly. ‘If you wish to ride with the army, we will not prevent it. However, I hope you are fully aware of the strictures of military travel. It will be no easy journey.’
‘I am aware,’ Tatrini said. ‘You look upon me still as a mere woman, but my presence in Caradore will ensure you get what you desire.’
Chapter Thirty-One: Ships From the North
Valraven surveyed the progress his artisans were making with the main entrance to the old domain. Much of the rubble had now been cleared, and dozens of builders were already intent on rebuilding the sagging walls. Within them, a shanty village had formed in the main courtyard, while the servants and working folk of Caradore cleaned out and repaired the buildings around it. Only the ground floor of the keep was fit to live in, as the upper stories were unsafe, and here Everna and Pharinet had set up their household, along with the Leckery women.
A week after their arrival, Rav had come back to them, along with his company of guardians. While the women wept and laughed over the boy, Garante and Tayven told Valraven all that had happened in Magrast. He remembered what Foy had told him as he’d floundered in the ocean. He had acted upon her words, but perhaps part of him had never fully believed them. Now, it was incontrovertible. A dark cloud, shot with bloody flames, was massing on the far horizon, and soon it would surge north. He tho
ught of Varencienne, how he had failed her, how he might die and be unable to prevent the deaths of all those they loved, without her ever knowing that he’d searched for her.
When he met Sinaclara in the flesh, he felt he knew her already, although she had no recollection of meeting him in visions. He respected her honesty in this, because she could have so easily pretended otherwise. Still, it was strange to feel familiarity with a stranger. Pharinet and Niska were not greatly enchanted by Sinaclara. They did not like the way the red-haired sorceress was so proprietorial with him. Pharinet said she thought Sinaclara looked down on them and who did she think she was? Sinaclara appeared oblivious to this hostility, but Valraven noticed she spent little time with the women. Tayven was her closest friend.
Valraven observed the dynamics of his people with bewildered perplexity. Saska had been told that Tayven was a friend of Khaster’s, and naturally wanted to question him extensively. Valraven had told Tayven to be careful with the Leckery matriarch and not to say anything upsetting to her. Tayven commented dryly that Khaster’s mother’s attitude had no doubt greatly contributed to his fear of love between men, which Valraven could not dispute. Pharinet regarded Tayven with a kind of morbid curiosity and clearly found it difficult to equate the man she had married with the stories she heard about Taropat. She would have liked to get to know Tayven better, but it was difficult for her, because Tayven was rarely without Sinaclara by his side.
Valraven liked Tayven and made sure he sometimes had the man’s company alone. But it was clear to him, from various comments Tayven had made, that he was becoming increasingly tense. When Valraven asked him why, he said that he felt sure Khaster would come to them. Valraven had gone over the story of the Crown Quest several times with Tayven, who insisted that the Brotherhood of the True King should be reformed. But Tayven was afraid of it too.
One night, Valraven dreamed of finding Varencienne and telling her to come home. In the dream, he had asked her to bring Khaster and Shan with her, as if she was the one who had kidnapped them, rather than vice versa. The dream had been so vivid, Valraven went to tell Tayven about it as soon as he awoke. Once he’d heard it, Tayven become even more restless. ‘They are already on their way,’ he said. ‘The dream is a sign.’
Valraven had more than family problems to deal with. His employee, Garante, was a tormented soul, who felt he was forsaking his god and his country, but who recognised an instinctive loyalty to the Dragon Lord. He wanted to discuss the matter in great depth, with which Valraven had little patience. The man was either with him or not and that was the end of it.
The whole situation frustrated Valraven. Everyone around him was wrestling with personal dilemmas, when they should be focused upon what was about to happen. They would need all their strength for it. Only Sinaclara seemed unaffected and confident. She looked upon him with a fierce and determined gaze and told him that all was as it was meant to be. He should not worry. He was the true king, the Man of Silence. The Crown was his by right and he was destined to crush the Malagashes. Occasionally, a spark of hope would ignite within Valraven as he listened to Sinaclara’s impassioned words, but he was concerned that everyone was so unprepared. Ironically, he only possessed power over his dreams because he was no longer asleep. His eyes were wide open. It was as if his life before had been the dream, where he’d floated like a ghost with no true will of his own. He’d had no awareness of the dilemmas and feelings of anyone around him. It was hard now to endure the cacophony of so many voices crying out for silence. Sinaclara told him in a portentous tone that silence derived only from the soul light of an heir to the absolute. He did not consider this to be helpful information.
In the cold twilight before dawn, when the ocean held the fragile land in its relentless fingers, Valraven walked the battlements, thrashed by wind. He could hear only inevitability in the crash of the waves below. Nothing endured forever. In the end, everything would be washed away by time. Time devoured mercilessly, just as the ocean tides could extinguish the most ardent flames. Despite these melancholy thoughts, an instinct whispered that victory was possible, but something was missing. Something. He could not believe it was simply the Brotherhood.
The old castle felt startled to Valraven, as if it had been woken abruptly from a deep slumber: awoken or resurrected. He yearned to sense Ilcretia’s presence near, as a spiritual guide to encourage and direct him, but even her ghost was absent. Mother. Where are you?
Every day, while Everna, Oltefny and Saska drank tea in the main hall, as if trying to cling to their lives as they had known them, Valraven and Pharinet explored the ancient passageways beneath the castle. During these dank excursions, a sense of intimacy revived between them. It felt different now, cleansed by tears. They could hold each other’s hand without guilt. At the end of time, there is no room for shame, but they resolved they would not touch each other in love until the future of Caradore was secure. Perhaps they were gambling with fate. Valraven thought that, like he did, Pharinet secretly hoped to find in the Caradorean underworld miraculous aid for their situation: a magical artefact, an informative vision, supernatural allies, some undreamed-of truth. They found nothing but damp and cobwebs and the marks Niska and Valraven had made upon the walls last time they’d been there. What they could not speak of was the fact that the combined might of the Caradorean families who supported them might not be enough to hold off the army of the empire.
On the way north, Valraven and his twin had visited together every noble house along the route. Most were willing to send men to the old domain, even though they must have suspected in their hearts they might be sending their relatives and faithful servants to certain extinction. Valraven was not sure how many of these potential soldiers would arrive. It would have been better to take them along from the start, but first he wanted to put the old castle in order and organise supplies. There was no point in taking a huge company, if there was no way to feed them. It would take Magrast some time to mobilise its troops, but they would come eventually.
After nearly a month, the first recruits began to trickle in. Representatives from the House of Doomes and Darthenate arrived, galloping over the causeway amid a forest of banners. Then Galingale, Ignitante and Rook. They brought supplies, men and weapons with them, along with a strange dreamlike enthusiasm, as if they could not believe what they were doing and that flags could not possibly be flying from the craggy towers of Old Caradore once more. These were not young men, though. They weren’t the flower of Caradorean youth. Men who were not infirm, mad or retired were in active service for the imperial army, and no doubt most of them had recently been posted far overseas as a precaution. Valraven surveyed the ranks of staunch, elderly men and their life-long servants. He saw younger men who were veterans of battle, some with missing limbs and ravaged faces. It was like a company of the dead, revenants hauled from the grave to re-enact an ancient war. Part of him felt like a deceiver as he walked among them, his mouth speaking words intended to inspire and inflame. What could he offer them, really? Would Foy arise from the deeps to breathe icy breath over the enemy?
Communal evening meals were taken in the great hall. They were like a memory of a far earlier time, men ripping meat like barbarians with their teeth and daggers. After the meal, some of them, who had once been in Magrast and who had long memories, would ask Tayven to sing for them. This, to Valraven, was slightly indelicate, as he was sure Tayven had no desire to be reminded of certain aspects of his past, but he complied without complaint. His was no silvery boy’s voice now, but in many ways more poignant. It was often difficult to tell what he sang about, for the words made no sense. The feelings conjured by the songs, however, could make the hairs rise on a man’s neck. Sometimes, Valraven would stare at Tayven in the firelight and think, ‘Are you to blame, fundamentally, for Khaster’s madness, for Varencienne’s disappearance? If you had never existed, how would it all have been?’
And sometimes, Tayven would catch Valraven’s eye in return and
there was no smile between them, just a bitter knowledge. Once, Tayven said to him aloud, across the heads of dozing men, ‘I am your Bard.’
And Valraven knew that no one heard those words but him. He said, ‘I know.’
At night, Valraven prayed in a small chapel to the Dragon Queen, which he and Pharinet had found at the end of a corridor filled with rubble and desiccated vines. He knelt before the cracked altar, his sword held before him, point against the gritty flagstones. Sometimes, he was touched by moonbeams and his ears roared with the song of the ocean, but there were no messages for him, no sense of presence. At these times, he felt utterly alone.
One night, as he prayed, he leaned his forehead against the pommel of his sword. ‘Great Foy,’ he whispered, ‘I once believed I saw you with my living eyes, that you bore me from the sea. The mark of fire has been scourged from me. Speak to me now. What must I do? Have I been brought to this place for a purpose? Is it right? How can I inspire the hearts of men if my own is fearful?’
There was, as he’d expected, no response. The tide was low and the sound of the sea was distant, a mere murmur. Valraven closed his eyes, tried to calm the chaotic tide of thoughts in his own mind. He was angry with Foy, thinking she’d abandoned him. This was the way it must be: he would be king alone. Perhaps he should be thinking about building boats and taking his supporters east to Cos. At least, then, his family might be safe. He wondered about Merlan for the first time in weeks. Had he discovered the whereabouts of his wayward brother and Varencienne? Perhaps Merlan was dead, taken by an assassin’s knife. As for Darris Maycarpe, it was unlikely he would survive the disorder, if he wasn’t already dead.
For a moment, Valraven remembered a winter festival at Caradore Castle. He could smell the pine logs burning in the great hearth, mingled with the aroma of spiced wine and roast beef. He heard the laughter of women, the chink of glass and then saw his sister’s face, full of mischief. How long ago had that happened? Were Khaster and Ellony in this picture?
The Way of Light Page 44
