The Way of Light

by Constantine, Storm

  ‘It is a truly enchanted place,’ Sinaclara said. ‘I lived in a big house, but it was a proper home, not like this. These people look like actors and their domains are stage sets.’

  ‘Here we are,’ Tayven said laconically. They had reached a tall, wrought iron gate, beyond which lay an ornate landscaped garden. Tayven gave the gate a push. ‘Luckily, it’s not locked yet.’

  They walked up a gravel path surrounded by sculpted hedges. ‘You grew up here,’ Sinaclara said. ‘It’s hard to believe.’ She chuckled. ‘I can just see you as a pretty little blue-eyed boy, scampering away from your nurses. You would have been given every luxury, you spoiled creature: a blessed childhood.’

  ‘My eyes are grey,’ Tayven said. ‘Here I was reared and trained to be the boy who would go to Almorante’s bed. My parents considered it a great privilege to give me away.’

  ‘How did it happen?’ Sinaclara asked. ‘Why you?’

  ‘A friend of my father’s needed to curry favour with the prince over a business deal concerning land the emperor had bestowed upon his son. Almorante was very young then himself, but already embroiled in court intrigues and schemes. My father’s friend brought a member of Almorante’s staff here and showed me to him. The rest of it is irrelevant.’

  ‘I thought you said your parents were sticklers for propriety and etiquette.’

  Tayven gave her a pointed glance.

  ‘Ah, I see. That was etiquette.’

  ‘Precisely. My mother was overjoyed for me. She thought it would be my making. And it has, though not in a way she would have desired.’

  Sinaclara was silent for a moment, then said, ‘I think we should take your delightful family for every coin we can. And good horses. And clothes.’

  ‘We could steal the silver too.’ Tayven smiled. ‘Don’t think too badly of them. What happened to me is not uncommon here. Almorante was only in his mid-teens when I went to him. He could have been vile, but he never was. Despite the obvious things to the contrary, we were mostly like brothers. He treated me with respect and was never cruel to me.’

  ‘Until he decided to turn you into a spy, perhaps.’

  ‘I wanted to be that,’ Tayven said. ‘I didn’t want to be a pretty bauble. I craved to be far more dangerous.’

  ‘There are few things more dangerous than a pretty bauble, as Almorante well knew. By now, I expect Tatrini does as well.’

  ‘I have fulfilled my vocation, then.’

  They followed the path until they reached a door in a wall that led to the kitchen garden. Beyond lay the servant quarters. The kitchen was a blaze of light and, through the windows, a scene of intense activity could be seen. Tayven drew in his breath. ‘Here goes,’ he said.

  Sinaclara squeezed his arm. ‘Trust yourself,’ she said. ‘You have already proved what that’s worth today.’

  Tayven went to the back door and looked into the kitchen. It was like going back in time because so little had changed. The cook, Merry Attercorn, looked older but was still the intense stick of industry she’d always been, barking orders at the staff, moving like a blur among the cauldrons. The steward, Barlock, had lost much of his hair and had gained a paunch, but his expression of resigned distaste was the same as Tayven remembered. He sat with his feet up on the great table, which was laden with vegetables in various states of preparation. While Merry shrieked and spun, he smoked reflectively on a pipe, ignoring her imprecations.

  ‘Mister Barlock,’ Tayven said, in a voice just loud enough to reach him.

  The steward looked up, took the pipe from his mouth, stared.

  ‘Can I speak to you?’ Tayven asked.

  With a brief glance at the cook, Barlock unfolded himself from his chair and loped to the door. ‘Be off with you,’ he hissed. ‘If the termagant catches sight of you, she’ll whip you with a pan. There are no scraps to be had here for vagrants, whether you mend shoes or tell fortunes.’

  ‘Barlock, it’s me,’ Tayven said urgently. ‘Master Tay.’

  Barlock peered at him for some seconds, then his face broke into a series of expressions, encompassing most human emotions. ‘What are you doing here, lad? They said you were dead, then you weren’t. Your portrait was taken down, then put up, then it was down again.’

  ‘It’s a story,’ Tayven said, ‘but I’ve no time to tell it. Who’s at home?’

  ‘Everyone,’ Barlock said. ‘It’s your sister, Armancia’s birthday. You must remember?’

  Tayven nodded. ‘Now I do,’ he said dryly. ‘This is a surprise present she can’t possibly have anticipated. Will you fetch my brother, Jadawyn? I have a friend with me too. We’re desperately in need of help.’

  ‘I’ll do what I can, discreetly,’ Barlock said. He paused. ‘It is a joy to see you, lad.’

  ‘I hope my brother feels the same,’ Tayven said. ‘I’ll wait out here. Tell no one but Jadawyn I’m here.’

  He went back to Sinaclara and they sat in the yard, on a bench, mostly hidden by an exuberant spray of honeysuckle that released its scent subtly into the night. Tayven was too tense to speak. Sinaclara held his hand, occasionally squeezing it. Tayven could barely breathe.

  The silhouette he saw in the doorway to the kitchen was not one he remembered. Then he realised that Jadawyn had aged, like he had. He was a man now, not the puppy-like thirteen year old he’d been when Tayven had left Magrast before. There was four years between them, but they looked similar enough to be twins. Now, this mirror image approached him cautiously. He halted some feet away from the bench and murmured, ‘Tay?’ as if invoking a ghost.

  ‘Yes, it’s me,’ Tayven said. ‘The prodigal.’ He stood up.

  Jadawyn uttered a strange laugh that was almost a lament, then ran forward to embrace his brother. ‘Not dead!’ he said fiercely. ‘I never believed it. Mother thought it was a fetch in your place at the palace, or an impostor seeking royal favour. She couldn’t credit you’d stay away all this time and not contact us. When you were killed – when you disappeared - Almorante assured us he would find out what had happened. He visited us personally and gave us many gifts. He gave mother a necklace of black Mewtish opals for her grief, but it never went away.’

  Tayven interrupted this babble of words. ‘Father knew I was back, didn’t he? He knew it was no fetch or impostor.’

  Jadawyn drew away. ‘Yes, with an attempted assassination charge around your neck. They said Tatrini had hired you as a cut-throat, that her patronage protected you from the law. They said you’d defected to become a terrorist in Cos, a traitor to the empire. Is any of it true?’

  ‘Against my intentions, yes,’ Tayven said. ‘But there is more to it than that. I need help now, Jad. I need to get out of Magrast. The Grand Queen Mother’s patronage has suddenly been withdrawn.’

  ‘Why didn’t you come before or contact me? I thought that, if you lived, you’d gone mad. The fact you never came here suggested the worst.’

  ‘Let’s just say that being in Almorante’s service had unexpected consequences.’ Tayven gestured towards Sinaclara. ‘This is my friend, a lady of Breeland. We’ve recently had to escape the palace, virtually through the sewers, which is the reason for our dishevelled state. We need money, clothes, horses.’ He paused. ‘Has anyone from the palace come looking for me here?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Jadawyn said. ‘I can’t tell father about this. You can’t see any of the others. I’m sorry. You do understand why, don’t you?’

  ‘If you can help us, that’s enough,’ Tayven said shortly.

  Jadawyn went back into the house, telling his brother to wait with Sinaclara further away from the kitchen. By this time, some of the staff had worked out something was going on, and inquisitive faces peered occasionally from the wide window, hastened away only by the sharp bark of Merry Attercorn’s commands.

  Tayven led Sinaclara to the bottom of the garden, to a line of potting sheds that smelled strongly of soil and wood in the warm evening. The roofs of the sheds w
ere covered with a blanket of the climber known as night-blooming bane rose; a vine whose trumpet flowers were of startling white and whose winding cable stems had no thorns at all. Tayven plucked one of the blooms that hung down the wall. ‘Ancient shamans would eat this stuff to see the gods,’ he said.

  ‘You and I can do so without it,’ Sinaclara said lightly.

  ‘I saw your peacock angel with my own eyes at Lake Pancanara,’ Tayven said. ‘But I feel the privilege has a high cost. We were all cursed as much as blessed by the lakes quest.’

  ‘Our paths were never destined to be easy,’ Sinaclara said. ‘It is our choice. Remember it was you who wanted a dangerous life.’

  Tayven laughed softly, bleakly. ‘My family will never know the least portion of it. If they did, they’d only think I’d been stuffing myself with bane rose.’ He crushed the petals in his hand. ‘It could never be real for them.’

  ‘The path I chose cost me my family and the life I knew,’ Sinaclara said. ‘But I would change none of it.’

  ‘The compensation is that we are drawn to others like us,’ Tayven said. ‘At this moment, I am grateful for your company.’

  It took half an hour or so for Jadawyn to return, accompanied by Barlock. They had brought food and a selection of garments, the latter of which derived from Jadawyn’s own wardrobe. For the journey north, Sinaclara must dress as a man. While they ate, Tayven told as much of his story to Jadawyn as he could. Being unsure of where his brother’s political loyalties lay nowadays, he edited the tale severely and omitted any reference to occult practices or his association with Palindrake. He emphasised the fact that Almorante had told him to leave.

  ‘You may take two of my horses,’ Jadawyn said, then sighed heavily. ‘In the morning, I will have to tell the family what has happened. Most of them will punish me for not telling them sooner. They would want to see you, Tay. It’s just that fatherc’

  ‘I know,’ Tayven said. ‘I hope that one day I can come home through the front door.’ He reached out and squeezed his brother’s shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, Jad. As soon as this is over, I will get word to you.’

  Jadawyn shook his head, smiling wryly. ‘You haven’t changed much,’ he said. ‘Still the figure of mystery.’

  ‘It is an image I’ve spent a long time cultivating,’ Tayven said.

  When Sinaclara had finished eating, she went into the shed to change, while Barlock went to prepare the horses.

  ‘I wish you could stay overnight,’ Jadawyn said. ‘I want to hear the rest of your history – the bits you’ve left out, which I’m sure are the most interesting.’

  Tayven laughed. ‘Another time, Jad.’ He paused, then said, ‘If you are able, send word privately to Almorante that you’ve seen me and that we got away. But perhaps you should tell no one else of his involvement in my disappearance.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘North,’ Tayven answered.

  Jadawyn stared at him for a few moments. ‘How far north?’

  ‘It’s best you don’t know.’

  Jadawyn hesitated before speaking. ‘You’re going to Caradore, aren’t you? You’re going to look for Khaster.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘But the Dragon Lord is there, and Khaster will probably be with him.’ Jadawyn sounded bewildered. ‘Or is that part of the plan?’

  Tayven stood up. ‘There’s nothing for you to worry about. One day, if I can, I’ll tell you everything. Trust me.’

  ‘Perhaps you are what everyone says you are,’ Jadawyn said, then grinned. ‘But I wouldn’t want you to be any other way.’

  Chapter Twenty-Eight: The Empty Castle

  From a distance, the pale towers of Caradore looked unfamiliar. Rav felt he’d never seen them before. Everything about the flight from Magrast felt unreal. First, it had been coloured by the terror of being followed by a horde of soldiers, who would fall upon them with merciless retribution. Then he had to suffer the exhausting journey, which was hard because Garante pushed the horses to their limit. Sleeplessness and the rigours of long distance riding dragged Rav’s mind into a kind of surreal limbo. The dragon daughters were around him constantly. Sometimes, he could see them clearly, then would jerk wide awake with a start only to realise he’d been half asleep in the saddle, assailed by dream images. He could not speak of these things to Garante; he wished that Tayven were there.

  Fortunately, Garante had funds with him, which meant they could stay at inns along the road rather than sleep rough. Garante made sure Rav ate good meals to keep his strength up. He was concerned that the size of Rav’s pony meant they couldn’t travel as fast as they should, and debated with himself aloud about whether he should spend a large amount of his money on buying a larger, faster mount. Ultimately, he decided against it.

  Rav felt safe with Garante, but lonely. He looked forward to seeing his aunts again. At night, he found himself crying softly for his mother.

  Now, home was in sight. The days in Magrast might never have happened, but nothing in life was comforting and familiar any more. The towers ahead, poking above the trees on the road, looked stark and unwelcoming. No flags fluttered from the turrets.

  Garante realised something was amiss before Rav did. They approached the cluster of dwellings and workshops that surrounded Caradore Castle and Garante said, ‘There is no smoke.’

  All was quiet. The village around the castle was as devoid of life as if a plague had seized every man, woman and child. Garante urged his horse into a canter and, with Rav’s mount following, clattered up the sloping road to the castle itself. Rav saw something he’d never seen in his life before. The great portcullis was down across the archway that led to the main courtyard.

  Garante pulled his horse to a halt before the gate and called out, ‘Hoy! Valraven Palindrake, heir to Caradore, demands entrance!’

  There was silence.

  Rav pulled his pony up beside Garante’s snorting horse. ‘The portcullis is never down,’ he said.

  ‘They’re expecting trouble,’ Garante said shortly. ‘No doubt the villagers are all within the castle walls.’ He stood in the stirrups and yelled again, ‘Hoy!’ The only sound was the lament of the wind and the crash of waves from the shore below.

  For a while, nothing happened and Rav was privately beginning to fear that something terrible had happened, which had killed his aunts and all their household, but then a face appeared over the battlements and a voice cried. ‘Who goes there?’

  ‘I am Garante, employed by the Dragon Lord as guardian to his son. I have brought the heir home. There is trouble in Magrast. Give us entrance!’

  Without further words, the face disappeared and after some minutes an elderly soldier appeared in the yard beyond the thick iron grille. He bobbed arthritically towards them.

  ‘Jomas!’ Rav called. ‘It’s me. Let us in.’

  Jomas was a guard who had been with the family for many years. He was more or less retired, and used to spend most of his time before the fire in the barracks mess room, regaling anyone who would listen with the exploits of his youth.

  Slowly, with knobbly hands, Jomas operated the mechanisms that lifted the portcullis. When it was just above the horses’ heads, Garante urged his mount through, ducking low to miss the steel points of the gate. ‘Close it again,’ he said to Jomas, dismounting from his horse. ‘It’s likely we will have been followed.’

  Rav looked around the yard. Normally, it was filled with servants and guards going about their business, but today all was still and silent. ‘Where is everyone?’ he asked, a note of fear in his voice.

  ‘Gone,’ said Jomas.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Garante demanded.

  ‘Lord Palindrake has taken the household north, to the old domain,’ Jomas said. ‘I’m here to keep watch and send messengers when the Magravands come.’

  ‘Then it is true,’ Garante said softly. For a moment, even in the midst of this strange situation, he became lost
in his thoughts.

  ‘Why have they gone?’ Rav asked.

  ‘It’s what must be, or so the master told us,’ Jomas said. ‘Lady Pharinet said the time had come for Caradore to take back what is hers. Someone had to stay behind and watch. Someone did. I’m too stiff for travel.’

  Rav realised the possible consequences of Jomas’ decision. He could not imagine Magravandian soldiers arriving here, and regarding the household’s departure without fury. They would vent their wrath on whoever they found. ‘Will you hide?’ he asked.

  Jomas grinned. ‘Aye, lad. They’ll not take me!’

  ‘We must follow Lord Palindrake,’ Garante announced, coming out of his reverie. ‘Are fresh horses available, or have they all been taken?’

  ‘I can get you horses,’ Jomas said. ‘But you’ll need a guide. It’s a straight road to Old Caradore, but you have to know the land. Inns are few and far between there.’

  ‘Then see to it, man. We can’t lose any time.’

  Jomas unlocked the main door to the family living quarters, so that Rav and Garante could find something to eat. Most of the food supplies had been taken north, but a modest amount had been left for his use. Inside, the castle was a haunted place. It felt damp and forbidding, even though it was summer time. The heart of the place was gone or at least in hiding.

  ‘Go to your old rooms,’ Garante said to Rav. ‘You might find your clothes have been left behind.’

  Rav was almost afraid to do so. He could sense the dragon daughters slinking through the draughty passage-ways, conjuring ghosts of the past. Every time he turned a corner, he half expected to run into phantom of a family member.

  As Garante had predicted, Rav’s possession had been left in his room. He found this upsetting, as if his father hadn’t expected him to need them again. Mournfully, he changed his clothes for attire more suitable to travel. He imagined that the old domain was very far away in a cold country, where it was never summertime.

  By the time he went back downstairs, Garante had prepared a cold meal in the kitchen. Rav had never seen the old range black and chill, nor the great table in the centre of the room empty of pans and produce. Most of the cooking equipment had been taken.