There was no sign of life in the crags that night, but the men barely slept. In the morning, at Bayard’s directive, foot soldiers dragged out the cannons and arranged them in a line to face the rocks. Bayard enjoyed a spectacle of fire and explosions. Valraven was not wholly behind Bayard’s move, because he thought the Cossics had long fled the area, deterred from attack by the size of the Magravandian army. Bayard, however, insisted that the scouts had seen figures moving among the rocks. Still, Valraven must have thought they had little to lose, and for two hours the Magravandians directed the full blast of their artillery against the cliffs. There was no responding fire. Afterwards, all was silent. Birds had fled. It seemed too easy. Nimble scouts scaled the smoking cliffs to count the dead. And dead there were in abundance. Unfortunately, they turned out to be the troops from a Magravandian garrison situated some miles to the north, recognisable mainly by their commander who was found impaled in a cave nearby. They had been tied up among the rocks. It could only be surmised the garrison was no more.
Valraven seemed unaffected by the carnage and didn’t even criticise Bayard’s action, which surprised the other officers. He decided the Cossics would let the Magravandians press onwards towards the city of Synticula, high in the mountains, long considered invincible. No doubt the Cossics expected to make short work of the exhausted Magravandian army there. But no city was invincible to Valraven. Before a siege was attempted, however, Valraven wanted to retake the garrison to the north, so as not to allow the Cossics a secure area from where to launch further attacks. Valraven himself would take his elite troops to undertake this task. Meanwhile, Bayard would remain with the rest of the men in the valley, guarding the pass to the west.
During the days that followed, parties went into the hills to hunt for Cossic camps. Trained beasts of war would sniff them out. These ventures were occasionally successful, and prisoners were even taken. Some later died under torture. Khaster conducted some of these missions, racked by doubt. Was he doing this to secure his own future or because he believed in the cause? The Cossic king was no saint himself. Given the opportunity, Ashalan would be in Leonid’s position, emperor of a hundred lands. In previous generations, Cos had owned vast territory, taken by force. Some people might even say that the Magravandians were deliverers. This was one of the reasons the land of Mewt was so amenable to its new conquerors. It might be occupied by foreigners, but at least the race that had destroyed its own empire was now being routed. Before Cos, Mewt had conquered a large part of the world. It was man’s desire to carve empires.
In addition to these greater concerns, Khaster continued to worry about Tayven. Sometimes, he disappeared for hours. Was he trying to avoid Bayard? The prince appeared to have forgotten the incident in Magrast, or at least recognised it was trivial in comparison to current concerns. Tayven would not talk about it. He performed his duties, but the light in him, which Khaster loved and craved, seemed shrouded. They still enjoyed physical intimacy, but rarely laughed together now. Khaster yearned to return to Magrast. He lived like an automaton, following orders, waiting for a time to come alive again.
One evening, Khaster dined with Rufus Lorca and a couple of other officers in Rufus’ tent. Tayven was also invited, but, as often happened, was mysteriously absent when the time came for Khaster to leave their tent. Over dinner, the men were relaxed, confident that the camp was well-guarded. Beasts snarled at the perimeters and scouts prowled through the high rocks around them.
‘I’ve a feeling we’ll do all right,’ Rufus said, pouring wine.
Khaster smiled at him thinly. ‘Meaning?’
‘This time, we’ll win through to Synticula and Ashalan will be paraded through the streets tied to an ass.’
‘Is that an informed deduction or a gut feeling?’
Rufus shrugged. ‘Perhaps both. Don’t you feel it?’
Khaster drank some wine. ‘I feel uneasy.’
Rufus laughed. ‘You expect an attack here? Is that it?’ He lit his pipe.
Khaster shook his head. ‘Not that. Something. This land is very old. It’s alive. It listens.’
‘You Caradoreans, you’re all superstition,’ said another officer. ‘You see ghosts in every shred of river mist.’
‘What are you talking about, Khas?’ Rufus was laughing, but his eyes were wary.
Rufus slapped his shoulder. ‘Perhaps you’re worried about Valraven taking the garrison.’
Again, Khaster shook his head. ‘Valraven will be victorious. It’s not that. There’s something here.’
Khaster took a few moments to answer. ‘I don’t know.’
Contemplative silence filled the tent, then someone said, ‘Once Valraven returns, we’ll take what’s ours. That’s the only feeling I have or want to have.’
‘Here, here!’ others rejoined, and whatever strange moment had paralysed the company had passed.
Presently, giving in to a pressing urge of nature, Khaster went outside. The night was silent, watchful. Now that the cannons were silenced, the birds had come back. An unidentified creature crooned sibilantly among the rushes; its voice had a disturbingly human tone. Amphibians chirred on the wet rocks along the banks and ancient willow trees swayed in a breeze Khaster could not feel. He shivered. What was it about this place? He felt something was happening; something he should know already, deep within, yet his senses failed him.
On the cliff face above, a blue-white light flared briefly. Khaster jumped instinctively, but then there was nothing there. Perhaps the light had alerted others, though. He heard the sound of running feet, drawing closer and closer. At first, he thought a phantom was upon him, because he could see nothing among the shadowy canopies of the camp. Then an orange light bobbed into view - someone running with a lamp. Khaster recognised the livery of a messenger. Had news come from the garrison? Khaster did up his trousers and stepped into the path of the messenger. He opened his mouth to speak, but already the other was speaking, gabbling. ‘My lord, your presence is desired most urgently.’
‘Where?’ Khaster demanded.
‘The pavilion of his highness, Prince Bayard.’
‘What has happened?’ Khaster asked. ‘Come inside with me and tell my comrades.’
‘No, my lord,’ said the messenger. ‘This message is for you alone.’
Khaster hesitated. His whole being seemed to fill with a curious, buzzing power. This was the moment. This was it. ‘Give me the message in full.’
‘I was told only to request your presence.’
Tell Rufus, a voice urged inside him. Don’t go. Tell the others first. He heard his companions laughing together behind him, and for some reason, this diluted the need to confide in them. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Light the way for me.’
Bayard’s pavilion was situated in the centre of the camp, near to Valraven’s. Khaster was taken to a chamber within, where gilded couches were arranged in a circle. No one was sitting on them. Bayard stood in the middle of the chamber, surrounded by his cronies. Tonight, there was no feast laid out. The room seemed strangely austere. When Bayard noticed Khaster’s arrival, his face was grave, but Khaster knew a smile lurked beneath his stern countenance. Khaster bowed. ‘You sent for me, your highness.’
‘Ah yes,’ said Bayard, as if reminded of an order he had forgotten. ‘I have some difficult news.’
It isn’t Valraven, Khaster thought. He felt a coldness come into him that might turn his limbs to stone. He didn’t speak. He would provide no cues.
Bayard gestured with one hand. ‘As you know, we have taken a number of captives over the last week. We have interrogated them, of course. Now, it seems, we have an unexpected piece of information.’
Again, Khaster did not seek to fill the pause. He remained expressionless, waiting.
‘I’m afraid your squire, Tayven Hirantel, has been communicating with the enemy.’
Khaster did not move. ‘That is impossible.’
‘Not at all. One thing you shou
ld know. There are schemes within schemes within schemes. My brother, Almorante, sent Hirantel here under the guise of being yourc assistant. But there were other motives. Almorante picks his people well. You should not be fooled by external appearances.’
‘I have no idea what you mean.’
‘Do you not?’ Bayard laughed dryly. ‘A certain group of Cossic renegades are primed to assassinate me. The informant tells us this was directly engineered by my brother. Hirantel was the contact. Are you so blind?’
‘I do not believe this,’ Khaster said, ‘and neither do you.’
Bayard stared at him hard. ‘I know your thoughts,’ he said, ‘but you are wrong. I do not expect you to believe me. I am telling you how it is. Who knows what secret deals take place? In the future, it might well be useful for my brother to have tame allies in Cos. At that time, it might also be useful if I was no longer around.’ He turned away abruptly, apparently to examine some papers on a table. ‘Hirantel has been taken into custody. I thought it only fit to inform you of this. You will be required to answer questions also, although I know enough about you, Leckery, to believe you are not a part of this. It is beyond your capabilities. You were merely a screen for my brother’s activities, to get his little spy onto Cossic soil for a legitimate reason – to accompany his feckless lover.’ He turned back to Khaster and smiled. ‘Didn’t Almorante tell you he was concerned for you? Hasn’t he foisted Hirantel upon you? Wake up, Leckery. At least be slightly outraged.’
Khaster could barely take the information in. He had to struggle for a response. Eventually, after Bayard had waited with quiet relish, he said, ‘It was not Almorante’s decision for Tayven to come to Cos.’
Bayard rolled his eyes and sneered. ‘Of course it wasn’t!’ He sighed theatrically. ‘Oh, I can imagine what happened. That boy, with those liquid eyes, promising faith and loyalty.’ His expression hardened. ‘He’s not what you think he is. But he’s been found out and will be punished.’
Khaster shook his head. ‘You cannot do this.’
Bayard raised an eyebrow. ‘I understand this revelation must be hard for you to accept. Unfortunately, you have no alternative but to face the unpleasant reality.’
Khaster was silent, then said, ‘What do you intend to do?’ Bayard would have to wait for Valraven to return before he could take any action. He wouldn’t dare do otherwise.
‘You know as well as I do that the penalty for treason is extreme.’
‘I know also that any Magravandian accused of such a crime is given a fair hearing in Magrast. You will, of course, be sending Tayven home.’
Bayard was perfectly still for a moment, then nodded. ‘That would seem to be the most appropriate course of action.’ He toyed idly with a tassel hanging from one of the canopy poles. ‘Naturally, once back in Magrast, Hirantel will be firmly beneath Almorante’s wing. I find that rather irksome.’
Khaster swallowed, tried to calm his panicked mind. ‘You cannot take the law into your own hands. Valraven will not permit it.’
Bayard expelled an exaggerated yawn. ‘I cannot help but feel Almorante has taken the law into his own hands. Formal rulings do not apply to this situation.’
Bayard snorted in amusement. ‘Do you really need to ask that?’
‘I would like to see him.’
Bayard appeared to consider this, then said, ‘No. At the moment, I will not allow it.’
Khaster stared numbly at the prince. In a way, which sickened him, he felt relieved. At least he knew the nature of the sense of doom that had hung over him: it had been the imminence of this ridiculous charade. How could he appeal to this selfish, cruel man? What had he got to bargain with? ‘May I speak with you alone?’ he said.
Bayard shook his head. ‘No.’
Khaster’s remaining equilibrium cracked. ‘I beg youc’
‘Return to your pavilion. Two of my guards will escort you. Please remain there until you have further word from me.’
Men stepped towards Khaster, brandishing their muskets. ‘This is a lie,’ Khaster said. ‘You know it.’
Bayard merely gazed at him, his eyes strangely expressionless. He raised a hand and the two soldiers took hold of Khaster and marched him outside.
In his own tent, Khaster paced the confined space. Soon, Rufus would discover what had happened. Valraven would return. Soon. It must be soon. As dawn twilight stole through the camp, Khaster realised this was what Tayven had feared. Could Bayard’s accusations possibly be true? Surely not. And yet, Tayven had been behaving strangely in Cos. Stop it, Khaster told himself. Don’t let Bayard convince you. Tayven is your friend. Bayard is not. This is all a scheme.
Khaster was confined to his tent alone for three days. After that, the guards told him that Valraven had returned victorious to the camp. Khaster had received no word of what had happened to Tayven. Not even Rufus Lorca had been able to bribe entrance into Khaster’s temporary prison. The Dragon Lord himself, however, could be turned away by no one. In the late afternoon of his return to the camp, Valraven Palindrake presented himself at Khaster’s threshold.
At the sight of his erstwhile friend and mentor, Khaster was almost knocked over by an irrepressible surge of hope. However blighted their relationship now was, they had known each other all their lives. They were compatriots. And Valraven’s power was total.
Khaster got up from the bed where he’d been sitting. He held out his hands in mute appeal. ‘Thank you for coming, Val,’ he began.
Valraven raised a hand to interrupt him. ‘This is a sorry state, Khas. It is a situation you should not be involved in.’ Unspoken, the rebuke was that, unlike himself, Khaster was not clever enough to consort with the Magravandian princes.
Khaster did not allow himself to feel anger. He could not afford to. He lowered his hands and spoke calmly. ‘This accusation against Tayven is a lie. Bayard has his own reasons for wanting to hurt him. You realise that, surely.’
Valraven’s expression was impassive. ‘I have spoken to the informant they captured. His testimony is convincing. I’m sorry, Khas, but there does seem to be some substance to the allegation.’
‘I would know if there was,’ Khaster said. ‘The informant is no doubt on Bayard’s pay-roll. This is the truth. I know it.’
Valraven nodded shortly. ‘I understand your feelings. My personal belief is that if Almorante had indeed planned such a scheme, he would not have been found out. He is not so careless.’
‘Exactly,’ Khaster said. ‘Release Tayven, Val.’
‘I cannot do that. There has to be a trial.’
‘Here in Cos? Send the boy home, then.’
Valraven studied him for a moment. ‘You have changed,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘It seems inconceivable to me that we are having this conversation.’
‘I have always been loyal,’ Khaster said, unable to keep a sting from his tone. ‘Tayven is a friend, unjustly accused. I can’t stand by and do nothing.’
‘In my opinion, you must. You have been drawn into something, by unscrupulous people, whose last concern is your own welfare. Have you ever asked yourself why Almorante has suddenly taken an interest in you?’
Once again, they were children, Valraven the more astute. Khaster felt himself burn. He couldn’t let this happen anymore. ‘I’ve asked it and answered it,’ he said. ‘But that is my business.’
‘You might think so,’ Valraven said, ‘but whatever you have become, it is not what you are meant to be. I intend to do what I can to have you sent home to Caradore. It would be the best thing for you, and perhaps this unfortunate incident will give us an avenue to accomplish that.’
‘Use Tayven’s suffering as a convenient way home?’ Khaster said. ‘Do you think I want that?’ He paused and snarled, ‘Anyway, there is nothing for me to go home for.’
Valraven did not even flinch. ‘It will be safer if you returned to Caradore – for all of us.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
r /> ‘Almorante is using you. Your presence in Magrast – or even here – is a danger.’
‘To who? To you? To Bayard?’
‘Yourself,’ Valraven answered. ‘Our families. It is a delicate time, Khas, you don’t know how much. Caradore must be seen to ally with the most powerful prince, which for the time being means all of them.’
‘And you can do that so much more effectively than me,’ Khaster said bitterly.
‘You are driven by personal concerns. You do not have a clear head.’
‘And whose fault is that?’
‘Each of us is in control of our own destiny,’ Valraven answered coldly. ‘If we surrender that, it is no one’s fault but our own.’
Khaster shook his head. ‘How little you think of me, Val. Was it always this way?’
‘Magrast has changed us both,’ Valraven said. ‘Many things have. We labour beneath a hard destiny. It is our legacy. We must do what we can to survive and ensure the safety of those who rely upon us.’
‘I know that,’ Khaster said. ‘And for this reason, I ask you to send Tayven back to Magravandias. You can do this. I know you can. It’s all I ask. I can look after myself.’
Valraven nodded shortly. ‘I will offer Bayard my advice, but I will not become embroiled in any schemes between the Malagash princes. Ultimately, it would be detrimental for me to show too much of an interest in their personal affairs.’
‘This is hardly a personal affair,’ Khaster said. ‘Someone’s life may be at stake. You have power and must intervene. Whatever has passed between us, the Valraven I knew was just and honourable. You are the only person Bayard will listen to.’
Valraven ignored these remarks. ‘My advice to you is to extricate yourself from Almorante’s designs,’ he said. ‘Even if this one exists only in Bayard’s mind, you must remember that everyone in this private royal war is expendable, but for the princes themselves.’
‘I am aware of that,’ Khaster said.