For a moment, she thought of Varencienne and an unfamiliar pang clenched her heart. My daughter, she thought. Where is she? Will she ever forgive me for this?
Almorante and Bayard convened with General Leatherer and his immediate staff in the grand pavilion that had been erected for their use. Tatrini joined them, but kept a low profile, more interested in intuiting the thoughts behind men’s words than joining the discussion of siege strategy and assault.
There was a strange, stilted undercurrent to the meeting, which Tatrini found difficult to interpret. She suspected it generated from Almorante. General Leatherer had already made it clear Valraven Palindrake should be given the opportunity to surrender.
‘He won’t,’ Almorante said. ‘He knows what would happen to him.’
‘Then perhaps the deal should be made more attractive,’ Leatherer said carefully.
‘The only deal will incorporate Palindrake dead or in chains,’ Almorante said. ‘Preferably the former. He will always have secret supporters.’
‘We can wait,’ Bayard said. ‘Eventually, once Palindrake’s men have been demoralised by the sight of our army beyond their walls, and their supplies begin to dwindle, we can smoke them out. Fight with our chosen element: fire!’
Tatrini knew that the only possible end to this conflict must be a confrontation between Bayard and Palindrake. She did not relish the thought of months of inactivity, waiting for the Caradoreans to crumble. In her opinion, the army should start bombarding the walls at once, but she knew that good generals only resorted to combat when all other means of conquest had been explored and exhausted. They took few risks with their men. Someone like Leatherer would have little sympathy with the idea that Bayard was a magical weapon in himself and that the power of the firedrakes could be thrown against Caradore through his will.
General Leather stroked his beard, staring at the table before him, where an ancient plan of Caradore Castle was laid out. Tatrini sensed a great tension within him. She supposed he longed to say that, even now, he did not feel Palindrake was a traitor and that some kind of discussion should take place. He was probably right, but that circumstance would not expedite Tatrini’s plans. She longed to say certain things herself, but realised this wouldn’t help her cause either. The air fairly simmered with repressed words in the confined space of the pavilion.
Almorante obviously felt the undercurrents as well. ‘You have something to say, Leatherer,’ he said. ‘What is it?’
Leatherer shook his head slowly. ‘You have heard what I wish to say.’
Next to the pavilion wall, one of his aides shifted restlessly. Leatherer glanced up and caught the man’s eye. Tatrini witnessed an almost imperceptible nod of the general’s head.
Neither Almorante nor Bayard appeared to notice. ‘We should begin bombardment,’ Bayard said. ‘Old Caradore is a husk. She can withstand little punishment.’
The atmosphere went utterly still. Tatrini could sense tension pouring from Leatherer’ body. His fists were flexing by his sides. He was fighting himself. Tatrini became uncomfortably aware of the ring of men around them. She and her sons were not among friends. Resentment and fear turned the air sour. Her body went cold, as if she’d been drenched in icy water. Instinctively, she moved very slowly nearer to the entrance.
Almorante looked straight at her, his eyes wide. It was as if the sight of her clandestine retreat gave him a presentiment. Her hand was upon the drapes that hid them from the world outside. She could hear men’s voices out there, the sound of heavy items being moved, the steady tock of a hammer against wood as more tents were erected. A different world existed within the pavilion. She had to get out.
The silvery grate of steel blades being withdrawn from scabbards sliced the air behind her. She heard Bayard’s shocked exclamation and glanced back just once.
Almorante jerked upright from where he’d been examining the plan of the castle, while Bayard leapt round with a snarl. Tatrini saw a circle of men close in upon her sons, swords drawn, faces intent.
‘Almorante Malagash,’ said General Leatherer, ‘Bayard Malagash, we arrest you in the name of the True King.’
‘What?’ Bayard roared. ‘By what rightc?
Acting purely on instinct with no time for conscious thought, Tatrini slipped like oil through the pavilion entrance. Her heart was pounding. Outside the day was misty, full of the scent of pine. Men and horses moved about the camp slowly, like ghosts. The world inside the pavilion was cut off from her now. She could hear nothing from within.
Tatrini walked very calmly a short distance into the trees behind the camp, every nerve aware of the curious eyes of men upon her. No one tried to stop her. She was only a woman after all. How many of those who watched her leave the camp were part of what was happening in the pavilion now? She did not know whether Leatherer would kill Almorante and Bayard or not, but doubted whether the old general’s morals would allow him to commit cold-blooded murder. She had to rely on that hope and she had to get away. She could not help her sons if she was a captive.
Among the trees, Tatrini became acutely aware that this was Ilcretia Palindrake’s territory: even though the woman had been dead for centuries, it would never be anything but hers. The land still rang with her outrage and her grief. She had shouted it to the elements. And every blade of grass, every tree trunk, every stone, had absorbed her feelings, making them part of the energy matrix of the land.
Tatrini paused, resting her hand against a tree. There was a stitch in her side. Ladies of Magrast did not regularly take exercise. She had come to a circular grove of oaks and could no longer hear the muffled sounds from the camp. The air was very still. It was a woman’s place, in which Tatrini knew instinctively no man would find her. Tall ferns grew around the outside of the grove, enclosing it completely. On the opposite side, she caught a glimpse of rock and was drawn towards it. Pushing aside rustling fronds of fern, she discovered a low cave and stooped down to enter it. Beyond a short cramped tunnel, the cave opened out and Tatrini was able to stand. Light came in from holes in the rock overhead, perhaps crafted by human hands. The walls of the cave were carved with patterns: spirals and stylised dragons. Tatrini touched them, ran her fingers through the ancient grooves. She had no doubt that this had once been Ilcretia’s haunt.
And now it will be mine, she thought.
She wore neither coat nor cloak and lacked the means to build a fire. She had no provisions, but perhaps this was how it was meant to be. It was time for her to test her powers.
Valraven had not taken his eyes off the Magravandian camp. He had watched men erect siege engines across the gorge, beyond the range of his bowmen. For a while, all had gone strangely quiet, then a lone horseman had ridden from the camp, bearing a standard emblazoned with the image of a white hind: the emblem of negotiation.
Hamsin, standing beside his lord, muttered grimly, ‘Now they will ask you to surrender. Their messenger should be shot. Let’s show them our opinion of their clemency.’
Valraven, who knew he had probably fought alongside most of the men in the Magravandian camp, had no intention of doing that.
The messenger halted on the causeway and waved the standard.
‘Shall we signal?’ Hamsin said. ‘Or will you take other action?’
Valraven made an abrupt gesture. ‘We will at least hear what they have to say. Show the flag.’
Then, without warning, an arrow zinged out and caught the messenger’s horse on the rump. Someone in the Magravandian camp had fired upon their own man. They had not been aiming for the castle. The horse reared with a grating cry and its rider struggled to stay on its back. The standard he held fell to the ground.
‘What, by Foyc?’ Hamsin muttered.
Valraven became intensely still.
A roar erupted from the enemy camp and even through the veil of trees, it was possible to see some kind of conflict had flared up. ‘Open the gate!’ Valraven ordered. ‘Get that messenger withi
n the walls! Now!’
Without question, Hamsin left the battlements swiftly. It was clear that some Magravandian faction was attempting to prevent the messenger delivering his message. But what was that message?
More arrows flew from the trees and two found their mark. The messenger was staggering towards Old Caradore’s walls, shafts protruding from his shoulder and leg.
A Caradorean on horseback galloped out from the castle, and with great haste, amid a deadly rain of arrows, managed to manhandle the wounded messenger across his mount’s withers. Within minutes, he was back within the walls and the gates had been barred once more.
‘Now, we shall see,’ Valraven said softly.
Rav and Ellony had found their own private vantage point, on a high tower of the keep, from where they had planned to observe the Magravandian army. They had had to claw away rubble to reach it, and the steps had been perilous, half broken away, but they knew no one would think of looking for them there. The previous night, after the ritual, Ellony had drawn her brother aside. ‘They look on us as children,’ she’d said fiercely, ‘but I know we are as important to this conflict as any man or woman.’
Rav had been awed and surprised by the fire in his sister’s eyes. She looked far older than her years – very much like his aunt Pharinet, in fact. Rav had already told her everything that had happened to him in Magrast, but thought she had been jealous, because she hadn’t responded with the interest and curiosity he would have expected from her. When he’d heard her story of Hamagara, he guessed she was annoyed their mother had not allowed her to have more of a role in all that had occurred.
‘Khaster knows what I am,’ she had hissed, thumping her narrow chest with a closed fist, ‘but Mama is always scared for me.’
A fleeting recollection came into Rav’s mind of certain things Prince Leo had said to him when he’d first gone to Magrast, about how protective mothers could be with their sons. It appeared they could be the same with their daughters too.
‘We are the male and female aspects of Foy, as our parents are,’ Ellony had said. ‘There will be a time for us, when we are needed. We must be awake to it, ready for it.’
Rav had agreed fervently.
That morning, once all the adults who usually supervised them were intent upon their own tasks for the day, Rav and Ellony had slipped away to their eyrie. Ellony had stolen a spyglass from one of the Hamagarids and Rav had had to pull her hair several times before she’d allow him to look through it. Reluctantly, she’d handed it over.
Rav scanned the forest opposite. Through the glass, he could see the men clearly and thought he even recognised a few of them from the palace. When the messenger rode out from the camp, he had to shove Ellony away with an elbow as she tried to grab the glass.
‘Let me see!’ she demanded.
In the event, they did not really need the spyglass. The moment that the first arrow hissed out from the camp, Ellony was on her feet. Rav told her to crouch down again, afraid that some long distance projectile from the Magravands might find their mark in his sister’s body.
Ellony ignored his frantic order. ‘Something’s happening. Give me the glass.’
‘Only if you get down here!’
Ellony pulled a sour face at him and snatched the spyglass from his hands. ‘There’s fighting in the camp. It’s difficult to see because of the trees.’ She paused. ‘Strangec What is that? There are smoky things flying around.’ Then she drew in her breath sharply. ‘The messenger’s down!’
Rav’s curiosity overcame his fears about missiles and he stood up beside his sister at the crumbling battlement. He saw the messenger struggling to reach the castle, and then heard the groan of the portcullis on the ocean side. Presently a Caradorean rider careered into view around the side of the castle and dragged the injured messenger up across the front of his saddle.
‘Let’s go,’ Ellony said in a determined adult voice. ‘I want to find out what’s going on.’ She had already run to the steps that led down to the yard.
Despite their excitement, Rav and Ellony knew they’d have to remain alert for adults who would want to restrain their movements and shut them away for their own safety. They had quickly learned to become adept at mingling invisibly within a crowd.
A large group of people had already gathered in the yard, and the gallant Caradorean rescuer stood proudly by his stamping horse. The messenger lay on the ground, hidden by others. Rav recognised their father before anyone else, because he always stood out in any gathering. Then, through the shifting bodies, Rav saw that a group of women, among them Niska, were administering to the wounds of the fallen messenger. Hamsin, Khaster, Shan and Tayven stood close by. At any moment, Varencienne and other women of the family would emerge from the keep, attracted by the commotion, and neither twin wanted to risk being snared by their mother’s hawk-eyed attention. They crept up behind their father, wriggling through the curious mass of soldiers, who barely noticed the children slinking between their legs.
There was not as much blood as Rav had expected, but perhaps that was because no one had yet pulled the arrows out. Niska supported the messenger’s head to offer him water, while Valraven asked firm but softly spoken questions.
‘My lord,’ the messenger gasped, reaching up to grab Valraven’s jacket with a trembling hand, ‘General Leatherer made sure that many who were faithful to you came upon this mission. It was our intention to take the princes captive and then pledge ourselves to you. As I left the camp, all had proceeded as we had planned, but then the arrows took mec’
‘As you left, so the princes’ allies staged a counter-attack, that much is obvious,’ Valraven said.
The messenger tried to struggle from the women’s hold. ‘My lord, send out your armies. Aid your allies!’
Valraven drew back a little. ‘No,’ he said quietly.
The messenger uttered a groan and fell back. ‘We are loyal to you. We came to give you aid, to ride back with you to Magravandias with the royal dogs in chainsc’
‘I have no doubt of your loyalty, nor of Leatherer’s,’ Valraven said, ‘but I will wait to see the outcome of this conflict. If we need to fight, then let it be against a fragmented army. I will not act rashly.’
Rav was desperate to hear more of this exchange, but Ellony pulled on his arm, forcing him to stumble back through the tangled scrum of legs and feet. ‘What are you doing?’ he hissed. ‘Let me go.’
‘No!’ Ellony’s eyes were like black flames. ‘Rav, now! Come with me! I know what we have to do. Our allies can’t win without it.’
She did not wait to hear his protests or questions, but dragged him out of the crowd. They ran back across the yard towards the keep, passing their mother and Pharinet on the way, who appeared not to notice them. Rav felt that a magical light hid them from adult eyes. Energy thrummed from his sister’s fingers into his own. Their feet seemed barely to touch the ground.
In the main keep, sound echoed weirdly. Rav felt disorientated and slightly dizzy. He heard the slow call of voices and the clang of iron. Invisible missiles streaked past his head. Horses were screaming in fear, and women were lamenting. The stench of smoke and blood was everywhere. But then reality shifted, and he and his twin were racing through a silent empty building, where the banners of the Caradorean noble houses and of Prince Kutaka of Nimet shifted restlessly upon the blackened walls and the only sounds came from outside.
Rav did not question where Ellony was taking him. Her body was full of purpose and certainty. There was a certain comfort in being able to rely on her. He could not doubt her instincts. As they ran, he sensed the dragon daughters drawing near, riding a current of time as if it were a wave on the ocean. He could hear their faint siren calls.
Unable to remember how they got there, Rav realised they had entered the cellars of the castle. Here, Ellony paused to draw breath. She braced her hands upon her knees, gazing up at him through rags of black hair, her chest heaving. Just beyond her
, Rav saw shadowy shapes in the gloom that wove like smoke.
What is it?’ Ellony asked sharply
‘The dragon daughters,’ Rav replied, pointing into the dark.
Ellony glanced round. ‘I can’t see them. Call to them, Rav. They have to lead us.’
‘Lead us where?’
‘To the place where our ancestors met the Ustredi, the sea people.’
‘Why?’ Rav said. He wanted to know, as his twin did, what they had to do. He was angry with himself because he had to ask her, yet even in his pride, he recognised that she knew answers he did not.
Ellony straightened up and pushed back her hair. Her skin glowed like phosphorus. Perhaps it would be the only light they had to guide them down there. ‘I saw something from the tower,’ she said. ‘I saw things in the Magravandian camp, flying through the trees. Things of smoke and sparks. They were fire creatures. I know now that they are fighting against the men loyal to our father. Someone has called them. Bayard or Tatrini. We have to stop them. This is our task, the one we’ve been waiting for.’
Rav frowned. ‘But how do we stop them?’
‘We call upon the Ustredi, Foy’s people. We have our elemental creatures as the Magravands have theirs.’
‘But how do you know they’re real?’
‘How do you know the dragon daughters are real?’ she snapped scornfully. ‘There is a place, deep below this castle, where the Palindrakes used to meet with the sea people. We have to find it, and I’m sure Jia, Misk and Thrope will know the way.’
Rav glanced around the dank chamber. The air resonated with a strange high-pitched hum. ‘We have no light,’ he said. ‘We must find light.’
‘Call them,’ Ellony said, and now her voice was a low grating rasp.
‘Jia, Misk, Thropec’ Rav paused and listened to the eerie almost subliminal scream of the atmosphere. Spots of colour bloomed before his eyes like spreading ink stains. He could hear the dragon daughters breathing, and could feel the spidery touch of their thoughts. ‘Daughters of Foy, take us to the meeting place,’ he said, ‘the heart of the old domain, where sea and land meet. Call forth the denizens of the deep oceans. Come rise, come unto me, guide me with the light of your beating hearts.’