And what of the new emperor Almorante, who at the very least was a dark and reluctant general? Tatrini could tell that his mind was turning with a thousand strategies. He did not want to be here and although he had said little, she guessed he disagreed with the campaign. Something had changed him, but she didn’t know what. He rode in silence among his personal guard at the head of the army, his hair dark down his back, his tall black horse slicing through the morning mist. He was a beautiful man, Tatrini thought, an enigmatic stranger. For a brief moment, she imagined how it might be if Almorante was allowed to be emperor. It was as if the future breathed on her neck. In another world, they would not be marching on Old Caradore now. In that world, Palindrake would be at Almorante’s side.
But we are not in that world, Tatrini told herself. We are in this one and I have made it to my liking.
General Leatherer rode just behind the emperor. Tatrini knew he did not relish the task ahead either, but Leatherer was a career military man, who had been close to Leonid. It was in his nature to follow orders, however much his heart might flex in discomfort within him.
Caradore drenched them all in a scent of pine. Crows circled round them, calling hoarsely for meat. Anyone watching from shuttered windows or forest hides, would see the tall tasselled banners of Madragore heading north, the horses of Magrast claiming the old Lord’s Road for its emperor.
As they rode, they saw the smoking remains of fires on every hill. The country had mobilised to alert Valraven of the encroaching threat. That was something his ancestor, Valraven the First, had lacked. That was the difference this time.
In the old domain, the walls had been repaired as well as possible, given the lack of time and resources available. The only real problem had been the shattered main entrance, where the walls had originally been breached. A large section had been destroyed along with the gate and its arch. The Hamagarids showed the Caradoreans how to construct barriers quickly from carefully woven withes. The walls looked flimsy, but they were very strong. They bristled with hidden spikes that any pressure would coax forth at speed. While this was in hand, the Caradoreans dug out the old moat and filled it with more spike traps.
The main entrance was to the north, on the opposite side to the approach way. The narrow causeway that led across the gorge would expose any attacking army, but the Magravandians would no doubt erect their siege engines on the forest side, beyond the range of the Caradorean archers on the battlements, and try to starve their enemy out, while simultaneously pounding the walls. Valraven knew that no military commander worth his wage would try to assault Old Caradore without first trying a political solution to the situation. The Dragon Lord would be asked to surrender. When he refused, the Magravandians might well decide just to sit it out. Valraven knew that was what he would do in this situation. A well-constructed fortress could enable a small handful of men to hold off a horde in combat.
Valraven now had a large company to think about. They’d stockpiled supplies, and had wells of fresh water within the castle, but food would not last indefinitely, and neither would the walls against Magravandian cannon, should they elect to employ them. The Hamagarids had brought similar weapons with them, but they were not as powerful as those forged in Magrast. As a possible last resort, Valraven had the causeway bridge booby trapped so that it could be destroyed from the castle. This, however, while keeping the enemy on their side of the gorge would cut off the Caradoreans as well. Also, to the west, men could climb slowly through the crags to reach the castle. Valraven knew how big and powerful the Magravandian army was. The best he could hope for was that whoever was in charge would believe Old Caradore would be easy to take and therefore wouldn’t bring a vast number of troops along. If Bayard led the army, they’d be in for a tough fight. Valraven had fought beside the prince on numerous campaigns and couldn’t fault his strategy, his courage or his skill as a warrior. Bayard was not the kind of general who skulked behind his men. He liked to get blood on his hands. If he had been fired up by all the rituals his mother had been performing, he’d be almost reckless in his attack. But within recklessness would lie that cold steel mind and the old issues it sought to avenge.
Within days of the Hamagarids’ arrival, the castle had come to resemble a functional fortress once more. Valraven was pleased these practical cheerful men had come to join him. Without them, he and his supporters would have had very little chance of victory. Once the army had disembarked, the Hamagarid fleet had sailed round the coast to conceal the boats in the honeycomb of coves along the shore. It would be best to obscure their presence from the Magravandians.
Niska and Sinaclara tried to speak to Valraven constantly about magical plans for the forthcoming conflict, but he was too preoccupied with earthly preparations and didn’t want to hear it. ‘You plan it. Get Tayven and Khaster to help you,’ he’d say.
Sinaclara was the most offended by his attitude. ‘Don’t you know what you are, great lord? Will you not take on your ordained role?’
‘I’m doing it,’ he said. ‘All the rituals in the world won’t help, if Magravands are pouring in through the walls or watching us starve.’
‘And while they are, who do you think will be working in the background, investing all of their life energy into raising true power?’
In the end, Valraven agreed that as soon as the beacon fires were lit, he would go with his Brotherhood and the Sisterhood of the Dragon to the Chapel of Foy, where Sinaclara would conduct a rite. Until then, they weren’t to bother him about it.
Tayven had explained that they had the power of Foy and Paraga with them, exemplified not just by Rav and Tayven, but Varencienne, Valraven himself, and the Caradorean and Hamagarid peoples. With obvious difficulty, Tayven had related how the dragon daughters had inspired him to pass the power of the elements to Bayard. Valraven, who despite everything still had more trust in a sword than a nebulous entity, was not as angry about this as Tayven clearly expected.
‘I am loath to trust anything that Misk, Jia and Thrope do or recommend,’ Valraven said. ‘They are minor spirits, mischievous. I cannot imagine Bayard being a magical threat. Remember, I’ve seen him in action with the dragon daughters before. He lacks the discipline for true concentration of the will. There is plenty more to fear about him than that, believe me!’
Tayven said nothing, but his expression informed Valraven he thought he was wrong.
Valraven had not been pleased to learn that his son had been given magical training by Tatrini. He considered Rav too young for such things. Varencienne was equally annoyed by it. Still, Ellie had picked up quite a few strange ways herself in Hamagara. It was odd to watch the twins together now. They were clearly confused about the changes in each other and were trying to rebuild their relationship as siblings. But old behaviours had gone and this sometimes led to arguments.
One evening, as Valraven talked with the Hamagarid generals and his own, including Shan, a frantic call came from the yard. Valraven went out at once and climbed to the southern battlements, followed by his closest aides. Just to the west, where stark primordial mountains were black against the setting sun, the sparks of a dozen fires could be seen on the rocky slopes. Beacon fires.
‘They come,’ said Shan, his voice tight.
‘They have reached New Caradore,’ Valraven replied. ‘I doubt they will travel north tonight. Our men must rest now. No alcohol. See to it. And double the sentry watch as a precaution.’
Shan bowed his head, muttering, ‘There will be few who’ll sleep this night.’
Valraven headed back to the yard, where the army had gathered, anxiously awaiting his word. Standing on the steps, he raised his arms. ‘Hear me, people of Caradore and Hamagara. The beacon fires are lit and soon our enemy will be upon us. Prepare yourselves and pray to your gods. I shall go now with the priestesses and invoke the power of Foy and Paraga, who will stand beside us in the coming conflict. We must be staunch, my people, and know that we are reliving an ancient time.
We are about to change history. We have the power! We have the wisdom of silence, but also the thrashing power of the storm and the inexorable might of the waves! We are the ones who will quench the fire of Madragore!’
At once, the entire army began to cheer and stamp.
Valraven turned to Shan, who was just behind him. ‘Come with me. You must be part of this.’
As Valraven passed among the men, many reached out to touch him. He clasped many rough hands, faces a blur before him. Now that the hour was nearly upon him, he had gone automatically into combat disposition, and the time for doubts was past. He had become a focused beam of intent, thinking neither of victory nor defeat, only the conflict. His words of inspiration had not come from beliefs of his own, but had been designed simply to uplift and encourage his troops. The original battle of Old Caradore had been fought with the hands of men. This would be no different. He was sure even Ilcretia had known that. The training she had imparted had given him self control. He could rely upon himself and it was folly to hope that some great magical force would intervene to save them. Still, the ritual had its place if it gave his people courage. He could see the importance of showing them he was a part of it.
Sinaclara and the Sisterhood were waiting for him in the main hall of the keep, along with Khaster and Tayven.
‘It is time for you to do your part,’ Valraven said to them. ‘Lead on.’
Ellony and Rav began to follow the adults, which prompted Valraven to pause. ‘No,’ he said to them. ‘You must remain here.’
Ellony stepped up to her father. ‘It is our birthright to be present.’
Valraven stared down into her determined face. Rav came to stand beside her, his expression equally fierce. ‘We are coming too, Papa. Isn’t it what I’ve been trained for?’ For the moment, the twins had closed ranks.
Valraven glanced at Varencienne, who gestured to indicate the choice was his. She was smiling.
Valraven regarded his children sternly. ‘Very well, you may come with us. But play your parts well. No childish larks or questions. Understand?’
Ellony narrowed her eyes at him and took her brother’s hand. ‘I am your priestess too, father,’ she said.
The company went to the Chapel of Foy, which the women had restored. The floor had been swept and scrubbed clean and all the shattered seats had been removed and burned. What was left of an old stained glass window representing Foy had been washed, and candles flickered on the polished marble altar, where shells, coral and stones from the beach had been placed in a spiral pattern and partly concealed the cracks in the stone.
Standing among the women, Valraven felt as if he were surrounded by strangers. He did not know them like this, so stern and purposeful. Even Saska was different.
Niska began the ceremony by arranging everyone in a circle. Valraven stood opposite the altar with Tayven and Khaster on his left side, Shan on his right.
Once they were composed, Niska uttered some opening invocations and prayers to Foy and Paraga. Then Sinaclara walked to the centre of their circle.
‘I call upon great Foy, the Queen of the Deep, to come unto the Dragon Heir, Valraven Palindrake,’ she cried in a ringing voice. ‘I call upon mighty Paraga, King of the Mountains, to be present at this rite. Bring forth your sister, Hespereth, and your brother, Efrit.’
Valraven’s mind wandered as Sinaclara attempted to persuade the dragons to make their presence felt. He did not doubt the power of command in her voice, but couldn’t help thinking that somewhere Tatrini might very well be performing a similar ritual. He had no doubt that Paraga and Foy, if they chose to take part at all, would be firmly in the Caradorean camp, but he did not think the same of the fire and earth dragons. Through men, a conflict of the elements would take place.
In his mind, he heard the distant sound of laughter. ‘You think yourself greater than I?’ a female voice murmured next to his ear. Valraven glanced to the side, but much as he expected, there was no one there. Had Tatrini reached him somehow, seeking to claw at his confidence?
‘No, it is I, Foy,’ murmured the voice. It came over a vast distance, muted by the muffled roar of waves.
I do not believe myself greater than you, Valraven responded silently, but where are you now? Will you manifest with your daughters before the Magravandians and smite them with pounding waves? Will you turn my small army into a horde of thousands?
‘No,’ Foy replied. ‘It will not be necessary.’
Why not? Valraven demanded. If you are near, great Foy, speak to me. Give me the advantage through knowledge.
‘In the end, Dragon Heir, it will be between you and the man of fire. In your heart you know thisc’
‘Valraven?’
He realised Sinaclara had addressed him. ‘My lady?’
‘Where were you, Lord Palindrake?’ Sinaclara asked. There was a faint smile on her face. ‘Not with us, that is sure.’
‘Foy spoke to me,’ Valraven said.
‘What did she say?’ Varencienne demanded.
‘Little of help,’ Valraven said, ‘but at least she is near.’
‘After all you’ve been through,’ said Sinaclara, ‘you should have more faith.’
‘I have been shown that there is more to life than this world,’ Valraven said, ‘but I eat, sleep and fight in this one. We are men and women, Clara, not spirits or gods. If we were meant to be otherwise, we’d not have flesh and blood. The otherworld might guard our dreams, but it is up to our hands and hearts to realise them.’
Varencienne went to him and took his hand. ‘He is right,’ she said. ‘If I feel Paraga within me, it is as hope and courage. I can’t conjure winds to blow the enemy away.’
‘What do you think, Khaster?’ Sinaclara asked.
‘I think Valraven is honest,’ he replied. ‘We might need more resources to achieve victory than we have at our disposal, but it would be folly to rely upon supernatural aid alone. We should trust in our magic, but act with our minds, hearts and bodies. My recommendation is that we place our faith in the skill and abilities of the empire’s most respected battle commander.’
Valraven was grateful for the down to earth support. He could tell that the company was swayed by their words; there was little point in remaining in the chapel. Sinaclara was not wholly pleased, but appeared resigned to the fact that there would be no more rituals that evening.
Varencienne indicated that Valraven should linger behind as the group began to disperse into the keep.
‘You are my strength,’ he said to her. ‘There isn’t one moment I don’t give thanks for your return.’
Varencienne smiled a little tightly.
‘What is it?’ Valraven asked, reaching out to touch her face.
‘We are rarely together as man and wife,’ Varencienne replied, ‘but tonight I wish it to be so. I would like us to find a private room.’
Valraven studied her for a moment. He had become used to looking upon Varencienne as a sister and her words surprised him. They had come to an understanding long ago, and he’d believed she had no desire for him. Perhaps this meant she feared death was imminent and wanted to experience the love of a man one last time.
‘Is it so difficult for you?’ Varencienne asked sharply when he did not answer.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I was considering your reasons.’
She paused, then said, ‘If we survive this conflict, there must be another child of Caradore. I feel this strongly.’
Valraven could not suppress a laugh. ‘The last time you demanded my services was to create Rav and Elly. You make me feel like a prize stallion.’
‘You are that,’ Varencienne said. ‘And I am a mare. Will you do it?’
‘It is a somewhat arid romance, but if you so wish.’
She hugged him briefly. ‘I do.’
Chapter Thirty-Four: The Heir and the Dragon Daughters
In the morning, a stiff breeze blew in off the sea towards the south. As the
morning lengthened, so the wind increased in strength. It would lend wings to the bolts of the Hamagarid crossbows and the arrows of the Caradorean archers. Valraven stalked the battlements, too restless to stand still.
By noon, scouts had returned to the castle, reporting on the advance of the Magravandian army. It was bigger than Valraven had hoped for, but not as big as it could have been. The royal standards of both Almorante and Bayard had been identified. It appeared the brothers had set aside their differences to unite against their common enemy.
By mid-afternoon activity could be seen in forest on the other side of the causeway. Clouds had massed in the sky making visibility difficult, but it was clear the Magravandians weren’t going to risk coming within range of any missiles from the castle.
Tatrini’s personal guard had erected a spacious tent for her some yards behind the quarters of the army. Almorante had made sure that twelve of his best men were constantly vigilant. Echoes of the past resonated within Tatrini’s heart. She remembered coming to this wild place with Valraven and Varencienne, and how they had conjured Foy upon the shore, far below the castle. In those days, anything had been possible. It was as if they’d stood upon the brink of a vast and devastating change, but it had taken years to manifest. All of them had returned to their habitual lives, even if the events of that time had transformed them inside. It was a shame that the Dragon Lord would have to be sacrificed. In the past, Tatrini had always envisaged the noble house of Palindrake would be her ally. Still, she would have to make do with what she had and trust that Rav could be saved.
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