The Way of Light

by Constantine, Storm

  With her psychic sight, Sinaclara perceived a silvery violet glow emanating from beneath a pile of folded clothes and blankets. She felt the power of the Crown, which had grown in intensity since last she had beheld it. Perhaps Tatrini’s ritual had greatly affected it. She pulled aside the coverings and discovered a wooden box bound with iron, which was locked. The locks would not succumb to her physical assaults or to any tricks of the mind she attempted to throw at them.

  Eventually, she went back to the main camp and managed to persuade two Magravands, a little less dazed than their fellows, to come and break open the box for her.

  ‘What’s in it?’ one of them asked.

  ‘A Palindrake heirloom,’ she replied. ‘A curio.’

  The Crown shrieked as the men beat at the locks that protected it. When the lid finally gave way, splashes of fierce spirit light burst out, which made Sinaclara gasp and back away. The men looked at her in curiosity. They perceived nothing.

  ‘Go now,’ she told them, adding a little more gently, ‘thank you for your help.’

  The men suspected that what lay within the box was rather more than a curio, but they obeyed the imperative in Sinaclara’s voice. When she was alone, she knelt before the box for nearly half an hour, her hands plunged between her thighs. She listened to the song of the Crown, her body swaying slightly. There was no message for her, but the Crown seemed to understand that something important had occurred and that soon it would fulfil its purpose.

  Sinaclara dared to lift it from its nest. She unwrapped the silk from the coralline tines and held the artefact before her. Some impulse made her turn it over and she realised, for the first time, that the frame upon which all the tines and adornments were arranged was the top section of a human skull. She had kept this artefact in her house for months, but had never noticed that before. The most sacred relic she had ever encountered concealed a grisly foundation. It made sense, she supposed.

  Sinaclara wrapped the Crown once more in its coverings and went out into the open air. As she left the pavilion, a subtle tension left her body. The two men who had helped her earlier were sitting nearby and regarded her dubiously as she passed them. Sinaclara inclined her head to them. In due course, they would see the artefact for themselves, when she placed it upon the head of Valraven Palindrake.

  Just as she reached the causeway, Sinaclara saw a group of women emerging from the forest. Between them, they supported a staggering figure. It took Sinaclara a few moments to realise that it was Tatrini. She looked aged and fragile, her hair hanging lank around her shoulders, tangled with twigs and leaves. Her face was sunken and grey, her mouth a withered line. Thrope had savaged her thoroughly. Sinaclara wondered how much the erstwhile empress would be able to recover from the assault.

  A compassionate twinge in her breast urged Sinaclara to go to Tatrini and place a hand upon her face. ‘Do you remember me?’ she asked.

  Tatrini nodded slowly. ‘Yes. I still bear the scars.’

  Sinaclara smiled. ‘I never drew blood, your grace!’

  ‘Oh you did,’ Tatrini said. ‘More than you ever knew.’

  ‘Come to the castle,’ Sinaclara said. ‘Varencienne is there, and the children.’

  Tatrini closed her eyes for a moment. ‘My family is dead,’ she said.

  Sinaclara swallowed with difficulty. She was not given to feeling sympathy for those she thought didn’t deserve it, but earlier she had felt sorry for Almorante, now a similar feeling welled within her for Tatrini. It was difficult to hold onto anger when a person was brought so low, no matter what terrible things they might have done. ‘Almorante died well,’ she said softly. ‘He died as king. Bayard died as he lived, with ferocity and passion. But Ren is alive and well, and so is Rav and Elly. You are not alone.’

  ‘You don’t understand,’ Tatrini said in a small, cracked voice. ‘The blood of my sons fills the rivers of the land. They are murdered, all of them.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s not so,’ Sinaclara said. ‘The conflict is over, your grace. There will be clemency now. Only Bayard was a true threat to the new king.’

  ‘It will happen,’ Tatrini said. ‘I saw it. My vision was a wash of blood as I fought through the forest. These women found me. Without them, I would have left this world. I was seeking a portal to what lies beyond.’

  ‘Life is not over,’ Sinaclara said. ‘I believe you can make what you like from what remains. It is up to you. Be thankful that Valraven sent these women to find you. He bears no grudge. Through him, your dynasty will live forever.’

  For a moment, Tatrini became alert and her body straightened up. She became a faint reflection of what she used to be. ‘Then stop him sending the bird of death,’ she said hurriedly. ‘Run sorceress! Tell him not to send word to Magrast. Let him ride south and tell them all with his own mouth. For when the bird flies, it will too late.’

  Sinaclara regarded Tatrini, and an intense moment of understanding passed between them. She thrust the wrapped Crown into the Queen Mother’s hands. ‘Give this to Valraven,’ she said. ‘It will be a symbol of all that must be. In return, I will do as you ask.’

  With these words, she picked up her skirts and ran frantically back to the castle. The air was full of screaming gulls. A bird. The bird of death. Not a raven or an eagle, or any other bird of prey or carrion, but a dove. A messenger. The carrier of good news.

  Sinaclara hurtled across the castle yard, pushing jubilant men from her path, who sought to grab hold of her for a victory dance. Her eyes were upon the sky. Before she entered the keep, she saw it, winging out from a high tower of the Palindrake house. She came to a standstill and directed her will forcefully towards it. Fall! Return! But it was too late.

  The dove flew from Old Caradore, south over the mountains, and so into Magravandias. Within a few days, hastened by fair winds, it alighted at its destination on the window-sill of Lord Senefex’s office in Magrast.

  Senefex saw the shadow of a bird fall over his desk and rose at once to open the window. He lifted the delicate creature in his hands and took the message from its leg. He read it. While the dove strutted over the papers on the desk, purring softly, as if congratulating itself on a job well done, Senefex stood motionless, staring at the wall.

  After a few minutes, he came out of his trance and went to pull the cord of a bell that would summon his personal assistant. The man presented himself at the door almost immediately.

  ‘Summon Archimage Mordryn,’ Senefex said. ‘And tell him to bring Lord Maycarpe with him.’

  The assistant bowed. ‘At once, my lord.’ He hesitated briefly, then said, ‘May I ask if you have received news from the north.’

  ‘I have,’ Senefex said. ‘We have simply to complete the operation here.’

  ‘I understand.’

  Senefex sighed deeply. ‘This is the lightest and darkest of days.’

  The process began at the hour of dinner. Master Dark walked like a ghost through the corridors of the palace, a long black cloak swirling around him. He was accompanied by six men: Splendifers - among them Rufus Lorca.

  They visited first the apartment of Prince Celetian, who was still recovering from his injuries received at the hands of the Dragonards. Dark and his men forced their way past astonished servants and pushed aside the prince’s screaming wife, who instinctively knew why they were there. They went into the prince’s bedroom, where he sat propped up by pillows in his bed, eating his evening meal. Celetian uttered a frightened shocked question, but Dark answered it only with a blade. He said, ‘In the name of the True King!’

  The assassins left the apartment before the first drop of blood hit the floor.

  Next, Dark went to the rooms of Prince Roarke, who conveniently was dining with two of his brothers, Pormitre and Wymer. Dark left corpses sitting at the table and another widow to grieve when she heard the news.

  Prince Eremore was found tied up in his bedroom, being beaten by a female concubine. His taste fo
r danger and pain was indulged in abundance before he died.

  Perhaps then, the assassins’ steps became less sure as they made their way to their final destination in Magrast, the college refectory where the younger princes, Leo, Osmar and Parrish, sat taking their dinner with fellow students and masters.

  ‘In the name of the True King,’ said Dark. His knife and his right hand were painted red with Malagash blood. He bore down upon the princes with unswervable purpose.

  The boys were more difficult than their elder brothers. They neither swore nor attempted to fight back. They pleaded and screamed. Masters tried to intervene, but ultimately it did no good. Later, witnesses would report that the Splendifers accompanying the killer did not turn their eyes once towards what Master Dark did.

  ‘What kind of True King orders this?’ the head master demanded, his face spotted with young blood, his body shaking as if in the throes of a palsy.

  ‘The orders come from the cathedral,’ Dark answered. ‘The Malagashes are traitors to the people.’

  With these words, he left the building, to the accompaniment of children’s sobbing and cries.

  The company went at once to the stableyard and mounted fast horses, which would bear them quickly north to Recolletine. Before the dawn, they reached the royal retreat by Lake Anterity, where Khaster Leckery had first made love to Tayven Hirantel. Gastern was still in bed, and no doubt spent most of his time there, but Rinata was taking breakfast with her son.

  When Dark came through the door, she knew at once what would happen. Her mind went utterly calm. She said, ‘Spare the boy. No one will know. We’ll disappear. No one will ever know.’

  ‘In the name of the True King,’ said Dark and cut her throat.

  Linnard stared up at him from his seat, his expression curiously blank. ‘Will you kill me too now, Master Dark?’

  ‘In the name of the True King,’ said the assassin, but his face was bleak.

  Linnard tried to run from the room, but Dark intercepted him and opened the boy’s throat with his knife.

  Rufus Lorca backed against the table and said, ‘By Madragore, this isc By Madragore.’ He shook his head, the back of one hand pressed against his mouth.

  ‘Your hand is empty,’ Dark said coldly and moved towards the stairs. The Splendifers did not follow him.

  Lorca went outside and gazed down at Lake Anterity. Rushes moved slowly in the morning breeze and swans called sadly. A quest had begun here and another ended. The wind sang a song of ancient times. Lorca heard nothing else.

  Chapter Thirty-Six: Lords of the Empire

  The Malagashes had been dead for two weeks, but because of the various tasks that had needed attention in the wake of their demise, the cabal responsible for their deaths had been unable to meet in private. This was the first time they’d had the opportunity. It was late in the afternoon, and mellow sunlight flooded the archimage’s private office, high in the cathedral administrative building. Three men sat beneath a stained glass window that depicted Madragore and his angels of fire, who all wielded bloody swords. Ruby light fell over the hands of the men as they each took a glass from a tray proffered by the archimage’s servant. The glasses contained a ruby liquor, as red as blood, as red as the filtered sunlight.

  ‘To us,’ said Mordryn raising his glass. He puckered his lips to sip. ‘Ah, fire of the heart!’

  The other two men did likewise.

  Mordryn leaned back in his chair. ‘Well, gentlemen, I think events have resolved as much to our liking as we could possibly demand.’

  Lord Senefex nodded thoughtfully. ‘There were some tense moments, but on the wholec’ He smiled and took another sip of his drink.

  ‘What are your thoughts, Darris?’ Mordryn asked.

  Darris Maycarpe placed his glass carefully on the desk before him, onto a tiny mat fashioned of coiled strings of beads. He ran a finger round the rim of the glass. ‘There will always be shadowy areas into which we cannot pry. Coincidence aligned in our favour, that is all.’

  ‘But you are a master of coincidence,’ Senefex said. ‘In fact, I do not believe it exists in your world.’

  Maycarpe smiled to himself. ‘It is an image I have created. Presentation is all. I learned this long ago.’

  ‘When you were stealing artefacts from museums and replacing them with copies?’ Senefex enquired, grinning.

  ‘Oh, long before that!’

  ‘When you acted so well for Almorante? You played the part of outraged captive magnificently, my friend.’

  Maycarpe shrugged expressively. ‘I did what needed to be done, that’s all.’

  Mordryn expelled a long, satisfied sigh. ‘Whatever you say, Darris, without you none of this could have happened. None has played their part as well as you. You are a master of intrigue and manipulation! Now, we have our king, his crown and his men of power. We have our new world. And the Malagash princes are no more.’

  Maycarpe grimaced distastefully. ‘An ugly business, but expedient. Master Dark is an essential man.’

  ‘His family have served our order for many generations,’ Mordryn said. ‘He has known since he was a boy that one day he would be required to spill Malagash blood for us.’

  ‘How do the people regard the operation?’ Maycarpe enquired. ‘What will Lord Palindrake have to say about it, do you think?’

  Mordryn made a dismissive gesture. ‘We have our scapegoat. Dark’s orders came from Alguin, who as we all know is widely believed to be an unstable fanatic. Fortunately, his fanatical loyalty is easily manipulated. He will not betray any connection with us. It is a religious matter with him.’ Mordryn sighed deeply. ‘Still, despite the security of our position, and the necessity of the action we took, it was not a good day for the Church.’

  Inwardly, Maycarpe shuddered, although he did not allow it to register either in his body posture or on his face. On that night of blood, when Master Dark had marched like a vengeful ghost through the corridors of the palace, Maycarpe had drunk himself into oblivion. He had believed that if he’d remained sober, he would have heard every cry, every slice of the blade, even from as far away as Recolletine.

  Maycarpe was a man of will and power, and he knew that sometimes murder was necessary for the greater good, but he often wished it wasn’t.

  His companions were also silent for a few moments, perhaps each reliving that night in their own memories. Maycarpe did not know their inner thoughts. Even though they comprised the heart of the innermost level of many layers of power, some things remained unspoken between them. It took more than a strong stomach to order the death of a child, and some images, even though never witnessed in reality, would haunt them to their graves, perhaps beyond.

  Again, Mordryn raised his glass, his expression sombre. ‘Let us drink to Leonid. May his soul rest forever in the sweet realms of the many heavens.’

  Senefex and Maycarpe raised their glasses also. ‘To Leonid.’

  A lighter atmosphere descended over the company.

  ‘Will you return to Mewt now, Darris?’ Senefex asked.

  ‘After the coronation, yes. I miss it. I’d go tomorrow if I didn’t want to wait and see Valraven Palindrake wear the Crown of Silence.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘Ah, Akahana, wait for me! I yearn for your perfumed delights!’

  Senefex laughed. ‘One day, I really must come and sample them with you.’

  Mordryn opened a drawer of his desk and rummaged through the papers within. ‘Ah, here it is,’ he said, withdrawing a slim folded document. He handed it to Maycarpe. ‘Your public pardon, Darris. A mere formality, I know, but you should keep it safe. In case anyone should ask.’

  ‘Indeed,’ said Maycarpe, slipping the waxed paper into an inner pocket of his jacket. ‘In case anyone should ask.’

  At that moment, even before Maycarpe had readjusted the immaculate folds of his jacket, one of Mordryn’s aides knocked upon the door and entered the room. He bowed. ‘Your high reverence, Lord Pa
lindrake is here to see you.’

  Mordryn raised his bushy brows and glanced at his companions. Maycarpe could tell it was on the archimage’s mind to send him from the room, but it was too late, because Valraven Palindrake had already pushed past the aide. His face, when he saw the tableau before him, registered a kind of resigned contempt.

  ‘Valraven,’ Mordryn said, rising from his chair. ‘An unexpected pleasure. You were not due to arrive until next week.’

  Maycarpe smiled to himself. Palindrake was no fool. They should have known he’d arrive early.

  Valraven inclined his head. ‘Gentlemen, you would think less of me surely if I did not display an eagerness to be in Magrast at this precarious time.’

  Mordryn gestured expansively. ‘Actually, we were quite at ease with the plan for you to spend time with your family. These have been a harrowing few months.’

  Valraven turned his attention to Maycarpe. ‘Are you here for my benefit, Darris?’

  Maycarpe merely raised his hands languidly.

  ‘Certain people expected to find Lord Maycarpe rotting in Cawmonel,’ Valraven said, ‘but now here he is, drinking the archimage’s liquor and grinning from ear to ear.’

  Maycarpe was not grinning at all.

  ‘Val,’ Senefex said, ‘we have to go with the wishes of the people, and the people want you. There is no point in imprisoning your allies.’

  ‘Oh, is that what you are?’ Valraven enquired sternly, still glaring at Maycarpe.

  ‘It is what we all are,’ Senefex said.

  Valraven spoke coldly. ‘I remember the time after Leonid’s death, and all that was said that day. Somehow, I do not think this was what you had in mind, but thenc’ His smile did not reach his eyes. ‘Perhaps it was.’