‘You must be Shan,’ Valraven said. ‘Is that just ‘Shan’, or are you known by any other title?’
‘Just Shan. In my own village I would have been known as Son of Hod.’
Valraven nodded thoughtfully.
Shan realised he must feel as awkward about this meeting as Khaster did.
‘I have heard good things of you, Shan,’ Valraven said. He would not even look at Khaster.
Shan bowed. ‘Thank you, my lord.’
Now, he did turn to Khaster, with an attempt at inner steel, which was physically visible in his posture.
Before he could say anything, Khaster spoke first. ‘There is almost too much to say between us, Val. A thousand apologies will not change the past, on either side.’
Those words appeared to give the Dragon Lord some relief. Perhaps he had dreaded being the one to break the long silence between them. ‘Khas, there is only one thing of importance to say. We must live in the moment, because the lives of our families and the people of Caradore depend upon us. We must put aside the demons of the past.’ He smiled. ‘I am glad you came. We will have our noble company of men, and the women of strength to sustain and support us. There is no other issue. Not at this time.’ He stepped forward with open arms. ‘Welcome home, my brother.’
Khaster returned the embrace and for some moments they both stood silent and still.
They released each other at exactly the same moment. Khaster rubbed his hands over his face. ‘You have made this too easy for me.’
‘What did you expect? Having to offer a string of justifications? My black condemnation of both you and myself?’ Valraven grimaced. ‘No. We have both changed too much, Khas. I trust that we are free of our respective dark legacies. I have learned that some solutions are remarkably simple and require only a choice to be made – the choice between life and death, freedom and fear.’
‘And light and darkness?’ Shan couldn’t help saying.
Valraven considered him for a moment. ‘They are the same thing,’ he said. ‘I think you already know that.’
Shan felt himself redden, as if he were a young boy again.
‘Shan knows as much as you or I,’ Khaster said. ‘He has gone into the darkness and beyond. He is my son.’
‘Then he should take your name,’ Valraven said, ‘and be knighted as a lord of Norgance.’
Khaster bowed his head slightly. ‘It would give me great pleasure to do that. Would you accept it, Shan?’
Shan bowed in return. ‘With unreserved pleasure.’
Valraven clapped a hand against Shan’s shoulders. ‘Come, we have much to discuss, but there is one matter I’m sure Khaster wants to get out of the way before anything else. The womenfolk.’
Khaster expressed a groan. ‘My motherc’
‘Varencienne has lectured them all to behave. I’m sure they fear her wrath enough to comply.’
At the threshold, before the door was opened, Khaster hesitated. ‘Val, you spoke of a noble company. Who else is here to be part of it?’
Valraven drew in his breath, nodding slowly. ‘Tayven is here,’ he said.
Khaster closed his eyes briefly. ‘There is a wound to be healed.’
‘Then see to it. Tayven arrived here with Sinaclara of Breeland.’
Khaster’s shoulders slumped a little. ‘That womanc’ he said darkly.
Valraven grinned. ‘She is a handful, I admit, but important to our cause, nonetheless. Varencienne is in control and will curb any tendency of the Lady of Breeland to berate you. You should trust Ren, but I gather you already do so.’
Khaster glanced at Valraven sharply. ‘I look upon her as my sister.’
‘Just so,’ Valraven said.
The women were waiting in a tense silent group in another room. To Shan, they looked like ghosts, because their fine clothes and shining hair seemed out of place against the bare, soot-stained walls. Phantoms from an earlier age. Varencienne was standing with a woman who could only be Valraven’s twin, the lady Pharinet, Khaster’s wife. Pharinet was dressed in man’s hunting garb, without doubt a dashing and bewitching creature. The three tawny-haired ladies who sat together – two younger round an older woman – would be Khaster’s sisters and mother. Shan recognised Varencienne’s lady-in-waiting from the scene of the kidnap, sitting next to a severe-faced mature woman, no doubt Valraven’s older sister. Sinaclara stood slightly apart from the group with Tayven beside her. She was holding onto his arm as if to prevent him bolting from the room.
Valraven introduced Shan formally to the group and the women bowed their heads stiffly to him. They were like a wall of stone, absorbing everything, yet at the same time impenetrable.
Varencienne stepped away from Pharinet and went to Khaster’s side. ‘Will you not greet the prodigal?’ she said in a light voice, beneath which was a tone of command.
For a moment, no one moved, then the Leckery matriarch rose majestically to her feet. ‘Come here,’ she said.
Khaster went willingly to her embrace. ‘I ask for your forgiveness,’ he said.
Saska’s face was already wet with tears, which rolled uncontrollably down her cheeks, but her voice was firm. ‘We want none of that,’ she said. ‘The past is gone. We must look to the future.’ She glanced at her daughters. ‘We have been told, in no uncertain terms, that this is what we must do.’
Khaster’s sisters rose to their feet and silently joined their mother and brother in a tight embrace. None of the Palindrake women seemed about to share it. Pharinet leaned against the blackened mantelpiece, her foot kicking at dead leaves in the hearth.
Khaster broke away from his relatives and turned to face her. ‘Pharinet, you have nothing to fear. I have not returned to place a claim upon you.’
Pharinet stared at him. Shan could see her thoughts in her eyes, how she was considering that Varencienne stood by Valraven as his wife, even though there was no romantic love between them. She was trying to make herself do the same with Khaster, but pride was strong in her. It wasn’t easy for her to speak consoling words. Eventually, she walked across the room and slapped Khaster’s arm as a man might in greeting. ‘No one has any claims on me,’ she said lightly. ‘Therefore I do not fear it. I’m glad you’re here, Khas. We all need to be together at this time, for Val and for ourselves.’
It was, Shan thought, the best Khaster would get from her.
Khaster then went to the Lady Everna and took her hands. Shan could not hear what he said to her because everyone in the room had begun to speak at once. He turned to find Sinaclara at his side, who squeezed his arm. ‘How are you, Shan?’
‘Fine.’ He bent to kiss her cheek. ‘I am grateful not to be in Khaster’s place.’
Sinaclara smiled. ‘It will be difficult to get used to that name. To me he is Taropat.’
‘Where is the Crown, Clara?’ Shan asked.
Sinaclara grimaced. ‘Tay and I were forced to leave it in Magrast.’
‘In the hands of the Malagashes?’ Shan could not keep the censure from his voice.
Sinaclara nodded, with a scowl. ‘Yes. It’s a long story, which I can tell you later. Still, I’m content that all progresses as it should.’ She glanced back at Tayven, who still lurked in the shadows. ‘There are just a few wrinkles to iron out.’
To Tayven, the whole experience was excruciating. He felt embarrassed to be there, torn between the desire to see Khaster and the urge to flee. Khaster had not looked at him once. It was all very well to put bindings over deep old wounds and pretend that all was healed, but Tayven knew better. He could not bear the mealy-mouthed pronouncements that the future was the only thing of importance. Emotions seethed beneath the surface like pus. The insincerity made Tayven nauseous. He knew why Varencienne Palindrake had told them to behave in this way. It was the only manner in which this injured company could function, and for victory it needed to function well. He did not envy her this role.
It became clear to Tayven tha
t Khaster was not going to approach him and to remain in that room seemed pointless. When Sinaclara went to talk to Shan, Tayven slipped away, out into the dark corridors of the castle, where faint echoing sounds of merriment could be heard from the main yard. Tayven shuddered. What if the Magravandian army fell upon them now? They were so vulnerable. But Valraven had stationed a string of sentries on beacon hills from here to New Caradore. When Jomas caught sight of the imperial army, he’d light the first fire, and the message would spread north quickly, literally like wild-fire. Still, Tayven felt unsafe. He knew the family tensions had to be addressed before anyone could really focus upon the important business, but there was so much to organise. Not least how they would combat magically the elemental avatar that Bayard had become. The dragon daughters had been strangely absent since Tayven and Rav had come to the old domain. He could not summon them for information.
Tayven wandered deep into the old keep. Gaping windows and holes in the ceilings created channels for moonlight to flood the desolate rooms with a spectral glow. Occasionally, bats surprised by his entrance would fly up in a squeaking leathery mass or pale owls would hiss at him from high rafters. He was sure he could feel the thunder of the sea beneath his feet, pounding into sunken caves far below. ‘Foy, you had better be with us,’ Tayven muttered beneath his breath.
He climbed out of a crumbling window casement and then followed a flight of steps up to the battlements. Here, wind gusted between the sentries, who called out greetings to Tayven as he passed among them. Braziers were lit at regular intervals where the men warmed their hands. Tayven did not want company. He climbed to the highest tower and gazed out to sea, where the Hamagarid fleet floated at anchor. His body filled with a sense of imminence. He wondered whether life had come into such sharp focus within him because it would soon be ended.
His spine prickled. Someone was coming. He could not hear footsteps but sensed intention. His hands gripped the stone battlements. ‘Foy, give me strength for this. Give me dignity,’ he murmured.
Khaster came silently, like an assassin. Tayven’s skin was aware of his presence. He could hear breathing, for the climb to the tower was long.
‘Where are you, Tayven?’ Khaster said. ‘Recolletine, Magrast or Cos?’
Tayven picked lichen from the wall. ‘I am in the Forest of Bree,’ he said. ‘I have come to meet a man I once knew.’ He turned. ‘Where are you?’
‘Standing at the edge of the forest looking at a ghost.’
‘If there was a ghost, it was you,’ Tayven said. ‘I came to you in flesh and blood, only you weren’t in your body. Someone else was.’
Khaster sighed. ‘Words, words. There are too many of them. They have cloyed in my mouth.’
‘I don’t want it to be like that with us,’ Tayven said. ‘That’s why I left the room down there.’
‘You did that before, remember? When Almorante made you sing for me? You fled.’
‘And you came after me, as you have again.’
‘Then you took me to your sanctuary, showed me the city from the roof of the palace.’
‘This is a high place too, but it’s not mine.’
‘Perhaps the best you could find under the circumstances.’
‘I’m not that boy,’ Tayven said bitterly.
‘I know,’ Khaster said, ‘and I’m not that ridiculous youth.’
‘Then why are we here together at all?’
Khaster scratched at his hair, inhaled deeply through his nose. ‘We’re still playing, Tayven. Stop it. Are you with me or not?’
Tayven stared at him for a moment. ‘With,’ he said at last.
‘Good,’ Khaster said. ‘Shall we return to the festivities?’
‘If you like.’ Tayven crossed the small space between them. ‘After this.’
The kiss was a test. He expected Khaster to pull away from him, utter some feeble excuse. Despite Khaster’s blunt words, Tayven expected to play a long, careful game back into this man’s heart. Therefore, Khaster’s enthusiastic response surprised him. It had never been a part of him before.
Tayven broke away first and spoke hurriedly, pressing his hands into Khaster’s shoulders. ‘Of all of them, we must be the least confused,’ he said. ‘We and Shan. Valraven needs us. This army he has is a shambles. We do not even know how best to use the elemental powers we have on our side. We are still blind from Pancanara.’
Khaster put his hands on Tayven’s face. ‘Hush,’ he said, ‘tomorrow, we begin our work. We will do whatever must be done. For this one night, however, no problems or conflicts exist. We can allow ourselves that.’
‘Will we succeed, Khas?’ Tayven asked in a hard voice. ‘Give me the truth. What are our chances?’
Khaster leaned his forehead against Tayven’s own. ‘I don’t know,’ he replied. ‘If we follow our will, we will be victorious, but there is a worm in the heart that tells us our will is weak and its desires an illusion. That is our true battle – against ourselves.’
Chapter Thirty-Three: Hunting the Dragon
Tatrini drew her horse to a halt in the yard of Caradore Castle. Men had swarmed over the walls and lifted the portcullis; there’d been no one to stop them. The Grand Queen Mother had not found the journey north that hard. She had brought her carriage with her, but rode a horse alongside her sons as often as she felt able. She wore half armour, dark skirts and knee length black boots. Her cloak covered the rump of her mount, which she rode astride like a man.
In her carriage, wrapped in its indigo silk and hidden within a locked wooden box bound with iron, the Crown of Silence lay waiting for what would come. Tatrini had not told Bayard or Almorante she’d brought it with her, and was unsure herself why she had felt it necessary. But the thought of leaving the Crown in Magrast had irked her. She needed it near to her. At night, it appeared in her dreams, on the head of an angel or hanging in the sky like a star. It spoke to her, but she could not understand the words. Yet.
Now, they had reached Caradore Castle and its emptiness had been apparent from the moment Tatrini first caught sight of its turrets. Almorante strode across the courtyard towards her, his face strained.
Tatrini dismounted. ‘They have already gone,’ she said, ‘and we can guess where. North, to Old Caradore.’
Almorante nodded grimly and looked around himself, hands on hips. ‘Someone lit a beacon on the high tower. There’s another fire on a hill some miles to the north.’ He had gone directly the tower as soon as he’d seen the smoke. But it was too late.
Bayard had gone into the main keep with his personal guard, but Tatrini knew he wouldn’t find anything. Valraven was too clever for that. ‘The old domain is a ruin. We can only presume he’s whipped up the Caradorean gentry into a patriotic frenzy.’
‘There can’t be that many of them,’ Almorante said. ‘The best of their men are on duty with our army.’
‘By that, you mean incarcerated in Cawmonel or the Skiterings,’ Tatrini said dryly.
Almorante gave her a hard glance. ‘I would think less of them if they didn’t want to fly home to defend their families. It is best to be prepared.’
‘As Valraven no doubt is,’ Tatrini said. ‘Still, I don’t think he’ll be able to stand up to us. We have Bayard.’
Almorante smiled cynically. ‘Our best asset, of course.’
‘You know so little,’ Tatrini said. ‘Bayard will surprise you.’
‘I can’t imagine that,’ Almorante said. He turned away from her. ‘We should rest here for the night and head north in the morning. There may be ambushes ahead. I will address the men.’
Left alone, Tatrini went into the Palindrake house. The draughty entrance hall felt as if it hadn’t been moved by human warmth for centuries. She remembered the last time she had come here. If it wasn’t for her, Valraven wouldn’t be trying to win back his country now. He would still be asleep.
Tatrini sniffed with contempt and peeled off her riding gloves. She still didn?
??t know how this would end, or who would sit upon the throne of Magravandias. All she did know was that she must emerge with the spoils.
Bayard emerged from a corridor and started slightly when he saw his mother standing motionless in the centre of the hall. ‘By Madragore, you look like a ghost!’ he snapped. ‘This place is haunted.’
‘For you, no doubt,’ Tatrini said. ‘We have both experienced life-defining events here.’
Bayard came closer. ‘I can feel it moving within me, mother.’
‘The past?’
He laughed coldly. ‘Oh no. The future. The power of the elements. On the ride here it has become increasingly stronger.’ He held out his right hand before him and flexed the fingers. ‘I have experimented as you suggested. If I wanted to I could thrust my hand into solid rock, hold my head under water without drowning and bathe my skin in flame without burning.’
‘You have done well, my son,’ Tatrini said.
Bayard regarded her coldly. ‘I am not just your son any more, but a living God. Isn’t that what you wanted?’ He folded his hand into a fist before her face. ‘I will crush the soul from Valraven Palindrake.’
Tatrini smirked, and did not flinch away from Bayard’s aggressive gesture. ‘I have complete confidence in your zeal,’ she said amiably, ‘but gods need belief to exist. That is what you must inspire in every Magravandian heart.’
‘The sword will inspire belief in me,’ Bayard said. ‘I have always been a warrior, but now I am more than that. Fear conceals itself inside belief, and that’s all the magic a blade needs.’
The next morning, the army rode north. The mood of the men was difficult to interpret. Tatrini knew there was a danger they’d find it hard to raise arms against the man they admired so greatly, but both Almorante and Bayard had given inspiring speeches the night before about how they had been betrayed and that Valraven cared nothing for them. Even to Tatrini, this sounded unconvincing. The men would think Palindrake was being forced into a corner and could take no other action. It was the truth, of course. Bayard must destroy Valraven quickly. Such an act would sway the loyalties of the superstitious soldiers. These were men whose training had included the magic of the fire drakes. It was Efrit they invoked before battle, not Madragore. If Bayard could only show them how Efrit was now within him, the men would turn to him. It was a pity he’d spent so little time earning their respect and devotion. Still, that was too late to change now. He’d simply have to make up for lost time.