Then, the sound of the door scraping open behind him jolted him from his memories. He turned and saw Tayven standing at the threshold.
‘What is it?’ Valraven snapped.
‘Did you not hear the cry?’ Tayven asked.
‘No. What cry?’
‘You must come,’ Tayven said, and turned away.
For some moments, Valraven stared at the empty doorway, wondering whether anyone had actually stood there or whether it had been a vision. Then, a voice came from the corridor outside. ‘Hurry. The sentries have seen something.’
Valraven ran across the courtyard and leapt up the steps to the northern battlements. A cluster of men, dark shadows in flapping coats, was clustered at one spot. Wind howled furiously among the ancient stones. As Valraven approached, a man turned to him. Hamsin. ‘My lord, they come from the north.’
Valraven pushed through the knot of bodies, snatched a telescope from a sentry’s hand. The moon was full, so it was possible to make out the ghostly shapes of ships on the horizon. Dozens of them, sailing down a river of moonlight. Valraven strained to make out details, to see a flag or some other identification, but the design of the boats was unknown to him. When he lowered the telescope, Tayven was standing beside him. ‘Well, bard, what do you make of this?’
Tayven shook his head slowly. ‘I’m unsure. I feel anxious, but that could mean anything.’ His expression was troubled, bewildered even. It was unusual, because he rarely let his mask slip in front of others.
‘Does anyone recognise these ships?’ Valraven demanded. ‘They hail from no province of the empire, from what I can see.’
‘They could be Cossic,’ someone said.
‘Merlan?’ Valraven said to Tayven. ‘Is it possible?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Tayven said.
‘Round up the sorceresses, then!’ Valraven said, unnerved by Tayven’s uncertainty. ‘We have need of their sight.’
Valraven’s command conjured a ripple of laughter from the men and Hamsin ordered a couple of them to seek out Sinaclara and Niska. Valraven put the telescope to his right eye once more. ‘They are coming straight for us. Too much of a coincidence. It’s someone who knows we are here.’
‘The tide is low,’ Hamsin said. ‘They’ll not get that close. We should have a good look at them walking up the beach.’
‘They are not enemies,’ Tayven said. ‘Their approach is too bold. These battlements could be bristling with cannon.’
‘But they are not,’ Valraven said. ‘Hamsin, I want twenty men and horses made ready. We will go to greet our visitors.’
By the time the men had come down from the battlements, Pharinet, Niska and Sinaclara were hurrying into the yard. ‘What has happened?’ Pharinet demanded.
‘Ships,’ Valraven answered. He addressed the other women. ‘Can either of you tell me anything about them?’
There was a moment’s hesitation, then Sinaclara said, ‘I have not picked up anything of importance this eveningc’
‘I must consult with Foy,’ Niska said. ‘Come with me to the chapel, Val, and we can meditate together.’
‘There’s no time for that,’ Valraven said. ‘Pharry, ride with me to the shore.’
The way to the beach involved negotiating steep, treacherous paths, down which the horses had to be led. In the moonlight, miles of white sand stretched out towards the distant surf. ‘The tide is unusually low tonight,’ Pharinet said. She looked up at the sky. ‘And the stars are so stark.’ For a moment she was silent, but Valraven was compelled to pause in the act of swinging into the saddle. She was about to say something more, something important.
Pharinet drew in her breath sharply and glanced down at her brother. An expression of surprised realisation formed on her face. She seemed to shine. ‘Ride!’ she cried.
Before Valraven could mount his horse, Pharinet kicked her mare into a gallop across the sand.
A rowing boat cleaved down the river of silver light to the shore. Valraven could see it clearly, even though Pharinet’s horse threw up a spray of wet sand in front of him. He could see the precise black lines of the oars as they dipped and lifted from the water. The boat reached the shallows and men jumped overboard to haul it the final few yards. They wore strange, multi-layered clothing, adorned with tassels and metal ornaments, reflecting the light of the moon. A woman stood erect in the boat, holding onto the hand of a child. Valraven’s heart nearly stopped. He drove his horse into the water, through the foam. Voices babbled around him in a tongue he could not understand. All he could see was the woman. She wore heavily embroidered clothes, her hair wrapped up in a turban scarf. Valraven jumped down from the horse and waded the last few feet to the boat. The woman did not move, but she was smiling.
‘Val, I got tired of waiting for you,’ she said lightly. ‘I had to rescue myself.’
He climbed into the boat, took her in his arms. ‘Ren,’ he said. ‘By Foy, it is good to see you.’ He released his wife and bent to pick up his daughter, held her close to his body. She was heavier than he remembered, and taller. She smelled of the earth and the sea.
Pharinet had also climbed aboard and hugged Varencienne fiercely for a few moments. Her face was wet with tears of joy. ‘How did you know to come here?’ she asked. ‘How did you get away from Khaster? What happened?’
‘Oh, it’s a long tale,’ Varencienne replied, catching Valraven’s eye. ‘You’ll hear it soon enough. These people are Hamagarid. Prince Kutaka of Nimet has sent men to aid our cause. It is a sizeable company, as you can see. Any use to you, Val?’
Pharinet hugged Varencienne again. ‘You are a wonder!’ she cried and kissed her sister-in-law’s face a dozen times. Varencienne laughed and the two women danced in a tight circle in the rocking boat.
Valraven broke into their merriment with a sharp question. ‘Where is he, Ren?’
Varencienne sobered and pulled away from her sister-in-law. ‘On one of the ships,’ she answered. ‘I wanted to see you first.’
Valraven put Ellony down, but she remained close to him, leaning against his legs. ‘Is there anything I need to know?’
‘Val!’ Pharinet snapped. ‘Let’s get Ren and Ellie back to the castle before you start interrogating.’
‘It’s all right,’ Varencienne said smoothly, briefly touching Pharinet’s arm. ‘What you fear, Val, is not real.’
‘And how do you know what I fear?’ he asked.
‘It’s in your eyes,’ she said, ‘and in some ways I’m gratified it’s one of the first things you asked me.’
Everyone in the castle had gathered on the cliff-top to see what was happening. When Varencienne and Ellony emerged from the path, the Leckerys and Everna surged forward to embrace them. Rav ran to his mother, shrieking madly with elation. Tears and laughter transformed every face. Men cheered and whistled, stamping fiercely against the ground and punching the air with closed fists. Their Sea Wife had returned to them, the priestess of Foy. Hope had come to them with a flaming torch.
Varencienne and Ellony were carried high on shoulders into the castle, as were the Hamagarid sailors, who although willing to share in the hysterical delight of the moment, were rather bewildered by it.
Valraven allowed the people their celebration for a while, but then summoned Varencienne to his side. Her turban had come off and now her hair was a mass of tangles round her face and shoulders. She didn’t stop grinning.
‘Ren,’ Valraven said. ‘There is something that cannot wait. Speak to the Hamagarids and send for Khaster. At once.’
Varencienne’s expression became more serious. ‘Of course, if that is what you want. However, I would have thought we should have had a little time together, all of us, before the fateful meeting.’ She glanced at Saska who had Ellony in her arms. ‘There might be difficulties.’
‘I’m aware of that,’ Valraven said, ‘but we are at war. People can celebrate once certain issues have been resolved. I am not looking forw
ard to this interview. I want to get it over with as soon as possible. Also, convey a message that I will meet with the Hamagarid commanders first thing in the morning. Let them know we have family business to conduct tonight. We will, of course, send anything to the fleet that they require in the way of supplies.’
Varencienne brushed back her hair, sighed and then called for one of the Hamagarids in his own tongue. Valraven listened as she uttered instructions to him, impressed at how proficient she was in their language.
After this was done, she said, ‘And now, because you have hastened events, I must speak to our families in private. There are things that must be said.’
‘Naturally,’ Valraven said. ‘I will ask Goldvane to prepare a room for us.’
The makeshift army set about organising a feast in the great yard of the castle, while those among them who were musicians started tuning up their instruments. Clearly, a night of great festivity would ensue, which Valraven knew would be good for morale. Leaving the celebration for a while, the Leckerys and the Palindrakes retired to a private room in the main keep. Once the festive mood of the yard was left behind, Valraven was acutely aware of the tension. He noticed that Sinaclara had followed him, accompanied by a subdued Tayven. The sorceress came to his side and insisted in a firm voice that she and Tayven should be present at the meeting.
Varencienne took in the sorceress with one sweeping glance. ‘And you are?’
‘Sinaclara of Breeland, guardian of the Crown of Silence,’ Valraven said. ‘It is right that she hears what you have to say. She is an intrinsic part of our company.’
‘She is not family,’ Varencienne said. ‘What I have to say is personal and sensitive.’ For the first time, she directed her gaze at Tayven, who was hanging back at the threshold of the room. ‘Perhaps you should hear it, though.’ Her voice was not exactly warm.
‘If Tayven stays, then so do I,’ said Sinaclara.
Varencienne raised her eyebrows. ‘Excuse me?’
Sinaclara closed her eyes briefly and grimaced in self-deprecation. ‘I apologise. I didn’t mean to sound so rude. Please allow me to stay, my lady. It is very important to me.’
Varencienne eyed her few a moments, then shrugged. ‘Very well. I would be grateful if you were a silent observer, however.’
Valraven noticed Pharinet smirking. No doubt his sister was relieved someone had come who might put Sinaclara in her place.
‘I will tell you my story,’ Varencienne said, ‘but please, no matter how what I say affects you, do not interrupt me. Time is short and you can ask questions later.’
Listening to his wife, Valraven was torn between outrage at Khaster’s behaviour and wonder at how Varencienne had changed him. He remembered uncomfortably what Pharinet had told him of Varencienne’s feelings for Khaster. She had made a quest of bringing him back to the fold, a lost lamb bleating on the hillsides of High Hamagara. It was clear that they were now close, for she spoke of him defensively, as if for her husband’s ears alone.
At the end of her story, Varencienne said, ‘So here I am, bringing Paraga to our company, blessed by Aranepa. Soon, Khaster will be here as well.’
Saska uttered a sound and Varencienne turned to her.
‘I will be blunt. None of you present, not even you Saska, must make this more difficult for him than it already is. There must be no recriminations – Pharinet! – nor hysterical displays of emotion. I ask you all simply to welcome him back to your hearts, for he has suffered and made mistakes, but is now redeemed.’
‘Val?’ Pharinet said in a tight voice.
He shrugged and displayed his palms. ‘I am the Man of Silence remember. Varencienne is obviously the one for words in this situation.’
‘Are you going to welcome him back to your heart?’ Pharinet said.
‘Yes,’ Valraven replied, knowing he sounded excruciatingly insincere. ‘I will speak to him, Pharry.’
‘I am still his wife,’ she said.
‘Yes you are!’ Saska exclaimed angrily.
Pharinet ignored her. ‘What does this mean for me, Val?’
‘That is something you will have to discuss with him,’ Valraven said.
‘There is no time for any of you to lick your wounds and complain,’ Varencienne said. ‘We have to concentrate on what is important now, namely our victory. Put your feelings aside and know only that Khaster has come to you to fulfil his ordained role. That should be enough. Once Valraven is king, you can worry about petty details.’
‘Ren,’ Pharinet said, shaking her head slowly, ‘don’t speak to me like that.’
‘I have to,’ Varencienne said. ‘Khaster is the least of your worries, Pharry, as you are the least of his.’ She glanced coldly at Tayven, who was standing with folded arms, leaning against the door, with an inscrutable expression on his face.
‘Lady Palindrake is right,’ Sinaclara said in a ringing voice. ‘She is the Sea Wife. Listen to her.’
Varencienne gave her a sharp glance, clearly surprised by the unexpected support. ‘Thank you, Lady of Breeland. I am glad that someone here has some sense.’
‘I also have sense,’ said Niska. ‘I will behave in whatever way you see fit, say what you tell me to.’
‘And I,’ said Saska with dignity. ‘He is my son, whom I love greatly, whatever he’s done. I would be happy to have him home, even if I had to remain silent for eternity.’
The idea of this unlikely possibility conjured a ripple of laughter in the room.
‘You win,’ Pharinet said. ‘I’ll pretend nothing ever happened between us. That should be the easiest way.’
‘Good,’ said Varencienne. She clasped her hands together, stretched the fingers. ‘Now, let us go back to our people and join in their celebrations. If Val and Khas survive their reunion, we’ll see them later!’
Chapter Thirty-Two: Opened Wounds
Sitting in the stuffy cabin, Shan felt as if he was the sole companion of a condemned man who was waiting for the summons to the scaffold. Khaster sat at a table staring at his hands, which were clasped before him. Shan had said everything he could think of that might be of comfort, but all of it was trite. The only sounds were the creak of timber and the muffled babble of Hamagarid voices outside.
Khaster heaved a sigh. ‘Magic and talk of destiny amounts to nothing in the face of raw human relationships,’ he said.
‘Ren will smooth the way,’ Shan said. ‘Don’t worry. She’s good at influencing people. We both know that.’
Khaster smiled weakly. ‘There is so much history, Shan. You have no idea of it.’
‘I do. You told me about it, remember?’
Khaster shrugged. ‘They were just words. Valraven was my dearest friend, a brother to me, yet we turned upon each other like rival wolves. We could blame Bayard, or the empire itself, but essentially it was down to us. We both gave up on one another, when we should have remained staunch. It will not be easy simply to erase this history.’ He looked Shan directly in the eye. ‘I appreciate your support. This must be hard for you, too.’
Shan looked away. He knew immediately to what Khaster referred. ‘It is not your fault what Varencienne feels. I know you did not encourage it.’
‘Still, many men could not be so tolerant.’
Shan ducked his head. ‘We must forget it. Varencienne was never destined to be mine. She is Valraven’s. In Hamagara, we all lived a fantasy – she dreaming of you, while dallying with me. It all came to nothing, and now we must go back to reality.’
‘That last night in the forestc’
‘There is no need for explanations. Ren told me nothing happened between you and I believe her.’
Khaster frowned a little, but then the fateful knock came upon the door and the captain was there, telling them the order had come to go ashore.
The Hamagarid company was met at the cliff top by a group of Valraven’s personal guards, who escorted them to a large empty chamber in the main keep. On t
he way across the castle yard, Shan was conscious of the way voices fell silent, and musicians lowered their instruments. People gawped at Khaster, while a few made covert sacred signs as if to ward off evil. No one stepped forward in greeting.
Khaster stared straight ahead, his expression stony.
Then the doors were before them, ancient, iron-studded, bearing the scars of old conflicts. For a moment, Shan was acutely aware of the castle’s tragic past. This had once been a place of slaughter and might become so again.
A man Shan recognised as the old soldier Khaster had spared during the kidnap, stood with folded arms at the threshold. He did not look at all welcoming, as if he wanted to prevent this meeting, but was frustrated by his inability to do so. Even if Valraven was prepared to forgive the past, this man must have felt personally responsible for losing the lady of his household to brigands. He would have felt shame for it, even though he had fought well.
Khaster wisely said nothing and endured the hard stare as the man opened the door.
Valraven Palindrake was alone.
Shan found it difficult to believe he was facing the man he’d heard so much about. The Dragon Lord didn’t look at all like he’d expected, lacking the imagined hatchet face and demonic expression. He was slimmer than Shan’s image of him and perhaps not as tall. His abundant black hair was loose around his shoulders, giving him a more effeminate air than Shan had anticipated. Was this the man who had killed thousands and given the orders to kill thousands more? Shan remembered his old friend Nip’s words about how the emperor Leonid probably had no idea what atrocities his armies had committed far afield in his name. Was Valraven Palindrake therefore equally as likely to be ignorant of many things? It was possible, but seemed too convenient an excuse.
Palindrake inclined his head and beckoned. Shan came forward to stand beside Khaster, for no reason other than he wanted to see Khaster’s face, his reaction. At the moment, there was none.