As Taropat began the meditation, Tayven found it difficult to close his eyes and relinquish control. Something told him he didn’t have to.
‘See in your mind’s eye the spiritual landscape of Rubezal,’ Taropat said. ‘The guardian will come to us. Go to him pure in heart. Think only of the Crown. Show that our intentions are pure.’
The mist was now so thick Tayven’s companions were mere shadows beside him. An instinct compelled him to stand up. Surely the group had been sitting close together? He could not see them at all now, and when he walked around a few paces, he still could not find them. He was alone. He heard, in the distance, a peal of lunatic laughter. Overhead a vulture screamed.
‘Come to me, then,’ Tayven said aloud. ‘I’m ready.’
The scene before him was utterly still. He could see only a few feet in front of him. ‘Merlan,’ Tayven said, then louder. ‘Merlan? Where are you? Find me. Hear my voice.’
There was only silence.
Carefully, Tayven ventured forward. Water rose about his ankles, seeped into the welts on his leg where the leeches had bitten him. ‘Merlan!’ He couldn’t fail a friend and despite their differences, he was sure that was what they had become. Perhaps there was some truth in the implication Taropat had made. Merlan had taken Khaster’s place in Tayven’s mind. He was the weak and vulnerable one now, and Tayven felt he must help him, as he couldn’t have helped before.
He heard a hiss in the fog ahead of him and began to splash towards it more quickly, only to fall forward. The ground disappeared beneath him. He sank beneath the dark waters only to rise swiftly. Now he swam. The mist cleared a little and he saw another low island ahead, ringed by stunted leafless trees that grew out of the water, their bare branches hung with tatters of withered vines. Something moved there, slowly.
Tayven pulled himself out of the lake, grasping the warty roots of the black trees. Another hiss echoed through the thinning mist. The serpent. Tayven crept forward, his hand reaching instinctively for the dagger that hung at his hip. The air was incredibly cold and the mist of his breath seemed only to thicken the fog around him. He needed clarity. He needed warmth.
Tayven pushed through a tangle of drooping branches and found himself in a mud-floored clearing. Moisture dripped from the tortured limbs of the trees and the air smelled fetid. Something writhed in the mud: a mass of thick slimy coils streaked with filth. The serpent. Here it was. Immense and full of guile. Ragged fins along its flanks suggested it was an amphibious beast. Its head, which rose hissing as Tayven approached, was that of an ugly fish. Tayven froze. The serpent’s head reared higher and higher. Its eyes were acid yellow, fixing him with a flat gaze.
‘Come to me.’ Tayven’s fingers closed about the knife, although in his heart he sensed this weapon would be of no benefit in any fight to come.
The serpent shook itself, and its image wavered. Tentacles rose from it, which presently Tayven realised were arms. The serpent had acquired a semi-human appearance. To the waist, it had the form of a beautiful boy, which melded into flexing coils. The creature’s limbs wove upon the air in a cruel dance. It smiled, showing sharp teeth, and a narrow forked tongue flickered out. ‘Come to you?’ it lisped. ‘Why should I? What have you got that I desire?’ It cupped its childlike face with its hands. ‘Not your beauty, for am I not as beautiful as you?’
‘You have something I desire, demon,’ Tayven hissed. ‘The Dragon’s Breath. I am the bard to the king. It is mine by right. Give it to me.’
The serpent cackled. ‘If you really are the bard, then you’d know that the song of the king is one only of truth.’
‘I know it,’ Tayven said. ‘I am here before you.’
The serpent cackled again, a hideous chitinous noise that sounded like the clashing of a thousand beetle’s wings. ‘But you have lied, lovely bard. You have lied to your comrades, haven’t you? You knew what you wanted for yourself all along. Not the Crown of Silence, that’s for sure, because silence does not flatter a bard.’
‘I have not lied,’ Tayven said. ‘Look into my heart and you will see the truth.’
The serpent’s slit eyes widened in mock horror. ‘Don’t you know that when a bard lies he commits murder? He murders truth, and from the lips of the king’s bard, that kills a part of the world. If, indeed, you are the one you claim to be.’
A deathly cold stole through Tayven’s body, paralysing his flesh. He tried to speak but found that his tongue, even his breath, had frozen in his mouth.
The serpent lunged towards him, drew back. ‘If you come for me, I will bite and kill you with my poison. Your poison, evil child.’
Dread folded over Tayven like a tide of stinking slime. Dread was the breath of the serpent. The creature ran its hand down its smooth flanks. ‘A mirror in a tree,’ it said. At once, its face transformed into a reflection of Tayven’s own. ‘Such shallow pride, such vanity. Perhaps you have everything I desire after all.’
Tayven felt consciousness begin to slip away. He could not breathe. The fetid air now burned his mouth and throat like sulphurous gas. He must hang on. He must keep his senses, his wits. This was the lesson of the lake.
‘Ahhh,’ breathed the serpent, ‘to be desired by princes and kings. I am you, Tayven. I am the snake inside your pretty skin that bit them and poisoned their hearts.’
Tayven managed to take a breath, though his throat burned. ‘No,’ he gasped. ‘You lie.’
‘Khasterrrrr.’ The serpent whistled the name. The sound of it vibrated the ground beneath Tayven’s feet. ‘I seduced him with my beauty and pretty songs,’ said the serpent. ‘He came to my arms and lay there willingly. I was his destruction. But for me, he would now be sitting at Almorante’s side, companion to the king.’
‘Almorante is not king,’ Tayven spluttered. ‘He never will be. You lie.’
‘I do lie, because I am you,’ admitted the serpent, ‘Your pretty songs were nothing but lies and now, because of you, your friends will perish here. I will devour them for their false trust in your deceit. Why don’t you sing for me while I feast, lovely bard? I like a pretty tune.’
‘You are an illusion,’ Tayven said. ‘I deny you.’
‘You cannot deny yourself, for are you not a master of illusions? You are many things. Remember them.’
Tayven found himself unable to look away from the face of the serpent, a hideous caricature of his own features, attenuated and sly.
‘Look well, bard, and judge yourself to be an illusion.’ The image of the beast shivered again, and another torso appeared alongside the first, rising from the same body. This aspect had six arms, all of which held weapons. Its face was twisted into a brutal sneer. ‘I can kill Khaster in any manner you choose,’ it said. ‘The blade or the dart, or a cup of poison. Which will it be?’
Then another body squeezed out of the squirming coils, lunging forward to breathe in Tayven’s face. It was an old man, with long straggling hair and rheumy eyes, rimmed with thick, flaking makeup. ‘I was lovely once,’ it said. ‘My face has betrayed me. Can you believe it? Now I am a twisted and withered flower condemned to sit before a mirror for eternity. The torment of lost beauty is no illusion, Tayven, neither is the fear of it that eats at your belly.’
Another body sprang forth, and another, beseeching him, threatening him. Tayven’s mind whirled in confusion. Each of these disgusting manifestations was an aspect of himself. His self-revulsion was made flesh before him, hungry for his energy, a forest of undulating forms that surrounded him completely. He felt as if the life was being sucked from his body.
‘You cannot deny me,’ said the serpent, ‘because I am everywhere and everyone. I am all that is ignoble within you.’
Tayven had sunk to his knees in the mud. A rank dismal rain fell from the oppressive sky. All was lost. No hope. Everything was his fault. He had turned the damaged Khaster into the emotionless Taropat. He was a being of cold vanity, an empty spiritless whore who led greater men astra
y for his own gratification. He closed his eyes, feeling the serpent forms closing in upon him. Khaster was dead, his heart ripped out. The quest was over. Tayven did not believe in the Crown strongly enough. He hadn’t believed when it could have counted, when it had mattered. The world was a vile place, and evil influences within it corrupted everything that had the potential to be great. Valraven Palindrake. At one time, he could have been the man to be king. Maycarpe’s secret hope was that the Dragon Lord still was the one. Palindrake knows me, Tayven thought. In Cos, he saw into my heart. He is my king. There is no doubt. Whatever he was, whatever he is, he is still more than any of us. Isn’t it our duty to guide him, to be his knights against the dark influence of the Malagashes? Isn’t that why we’re here? If we were strong enough. If we believed enough. He expelled a groan and pressed his hands against his eyes. If Taropat knewc Tayven could not bear to think of it. The ultimate betrayal. Should Taropat discover the truth, their fragile new relationship would explode in flames and the quest would end in ruin.
The serpent laughed softly and a voice whispered in Tayven’s ear. ‘Oh, we have a little honesty now, do we? All the time you fraternised with Almorante, didn’t you secretly wish it was Valraven? Could it not be said that your love for Khaster was nothing but a substitute for the burning desire you felt for the Dragon Lord? Your relationship with Leckery was a foolish delusion to get close to someone who was close to Valraven. You were a hopeful whore who wished to belong to the dark king and become the light to his darkness. Now you think noble thoughts, but the truth is you just want him. And with the Dragon’s Breath you could have him. That’s it, isn’t it? You are no chivalric knight, Tayven Hirantel. The idea is laughable. Palindrake is only the king of your heart because of your own greedy lust. What makes you think the Dragon Lord of the empire could be the true king? He kills, he ruins, he is without compassion. Is he really fit to wear the Crown? No. This quest is a lie. None of you speaks the truth to one another. You have no hope of succeeding. Why not end it now? Come to me. I can end it for you.’
Tayven shuddered. How could he dispute the serpent’s words? He saw his heart pulsing within his chest: a black, rotten core. He should take out his knife and cut his own throat, end it: the lies, the deceit, the corruption, then the others might survive. His fingers groped towards his belt. Then Merlan’s voice rang through his head. ‘Don’t give up, Tayven. You are the one. We know the truth. You were meant to have the Dragon’s Breath. The love you felt for Khaster was pure. The love you can give now is pure. Take back the hope you tried to give to me. I relinquish it. I am no longer afraid.’
Tayven looked up expecting to see Merlan’s face, but his gaze fell directly upon the eyes of the serpent. One of its heads, that of the sly young boy, was inches from his own. ‘Yes, you can love, Tayven, but only yourself,’ it whispered. ‘You are the whore, the schemer, the vain fool doomed to age and wither, the bitter assassin.’
‘No!’ Merlan’s voice pierced the air, strong, firm and clear. ‘You are beautiful, Tayven, but within you are also hope and love and courage. You have been the light to my darkness. I am behind you. I can see you. Listen to me.’
Tayven looked behind him, but all he could see was a filthy mist. ‘Merlan?’ he murmured.
The serpent hissed, laughed. ‘Wishes, dreams,’ it purred.
Merlan’s voice came again, urgently. ‘Hear me, Tayven. The demon cannot touch me. I’ve already defeated it, because I saw the truth of myself. I’d already denied all that I thought I was. It doesn’t lie when it says you are an illusion but, like I did, you must deny yourself. You must. That’s the secret. That’s what Almorante couldn’t do. Do it now. Leave all that you were behind. Let go of the past. Shed your skin and the breath of new life shall be yours.’
Was that really Merlan’s voice? Tayven couldn’t be sure. Perhaps, ultimately, it was his own.
The serpent bellowed and raised its arms. ‘Come to me, bard. I will embrace you. You are mine. You belong to me utterly.’
Tayven raised himself from the mud and threw his arms around the writhing beast before him. Its flesh was colder than the depths of Malarena. Tayven felt as if his brain was stabbed by a thousand splintering darts of ice. The creature hissed and twisted in his grasp, its fingers clawed at his face, but he would not let go. ‘I embrace you,’ he cried. ‘I conquered fear at Malarena. I take you into myself. I face myself.’
‘Tayven!’
Tayven turned his head and saw Shan standing among the trees nearby. He held out the Dragon’s Claw on its leather thong. ‘Take it, Tayven! Use it!’ He threw the Claw, and with one hand Tayven reached out and caught it. Without pausing, he thrust his arm down the throat of the sly serpent-boy. He would use the Claw to rip out its dark lying heart. He surrendered himself to fate, uncaring of whether he lived or died, sure only that the serpent should be destroyed. His arm was enfolded by a cold, glutinous mass that squeezed his bones. He could feel something moving beneath his hand and plunged the Claw into it. As he did so, his arm was thrust back by a mighty force. The serpent’s face hung before him, its mouth three times as large as it had been, dripping a stinking black ichor. Its eyes were mad with rage and pain and it expelled a hurricane of foul-smelling breath, which punched into his mouth. Tayven felt the serpent’s breath writhing madly within him. Pulses of energy coursed through his flesh. He felt as if his body would burst. He was not strong enough to contain it. Then, with a final thunderous hiss sizzling in his ears, Tayven was thrown backwards. His spine collided painfully with a tree trunk and dead branches rained down onto him. He was choking on something, which was lodged in his throat. He could not breathe. He must expel it.
Tayven fell forward onto his knees coughing and retching. Something flew from his mouth and landed in the mud before him. It gleamed wetly: a perfect blue pearl. He looked up, desperate to see the result of his actions. Had he done the right thing, or had he merely compounded the darker aspects of himself? He fought his way free of the dead wood and struggled to his feet. The serpent was nothing more than a pile of shrivelled skin. Its life force had left it.
A figure came out of the trees. Was this another illusion? Merlan stepped forward and put his hands upon Tayven’s shoulders. ‘It’s over,’ he said. ‘I feel it.’
‘Merlan?’ Tayven asked. ‘Is it you? Was it you?’
Merlan nodded. ‘I am here. You did it, Tay. You conquered the serpent.’
‘We conquered it,’ Tayven said. ‘But for your voice I would have been lost. And the Claw. Shan threw it to me. I used it to pierce the serpent’s heart.’ He lifted his hands, flexed the fingers. ‘The Clawc’ He looked round. ‘Where is it? I’ve lost it. Where’s Shan? He was here.’
‘I didn’t see him,’ Merlan said. He stooped down and picked up the blue pearl from the mud. ‘What’s this?’
Tayven touched his throat, swallowed, then took the pearl from Merlan’s hand. ‘It is a symbol of the Dragon’s Breath. It’s in me, Merlan. I can barely describe it. It’s as if my dark self, all my self-doubt, has been transformed. Through the Breath, I can enable great men to overcome their own darkness. I am the bard of the king, Merlan. I have become an avatar of hope, the light I believed myself to be before. I can be the light to Valraven’s darkness.’ He laughed coldly. ‘And it won’t be about sex, I promise you. This might sound insane, but I feel it completely.’
‘Is Valraven the king?’ Merlan asked.
Tayven stared at him for some moments. ‘We both know it, Merlan.’
Merlan sighed and shook his head. ‘It would kill Taropat. How can we do this to him? He is helping us assist his greatest enemy. How can this quest succeed based on such deceit?’
Tayven studied the pearl in his hand. ‘Taropat is governed by his bitterness. For a great magus, he lets too much of his past incarnation colour his present one. Khaster may loathe and detest Valraven, but I’m hoping that Taropat will eventually see the truth.’
‘Oh, so now you’re
the expert in letting go of the past, eh?’ Merlan said, grinning. He began to laugh, and the laughter was infectious. Tayven reached out for him and they embraced. For a moment, Tayven felt the true joy of spontaneous unity between them. They were surrounded by an aura of innocence and relief.
Tayven drew back. ‘You were with Valraven in Caradore, when he went to the old domain. Has he really changed, Merlan? Is he really the true Dragon Heir once more?’
Merlan did not answer immediately. ‘I saw him wake up,’ he said, ‘that’s all. The man who went to the shore that evening to invoke the dragon queen was very different to the one who left it. He and Varencienne went into a trance. Their experience was private. I’m not close to him, Tay. He didn’t tell me what happened. I can’t give you the reassurance you want. Maybe all we have is faith. I just hope we’re not deluded by wishful thinking.’ He gazed around the tiny island. ‘We are all changing. Perhaps we can become the worthy men we aspire to be. I had no hope, I was willing to die, yearning it even. But here I learned that Rubezal is the mirror of the soul. My vision was true of this place. We were separated, lost and wandering. But what I didn’t realise was that it was an essential sequence of events. A person has to face the guardian of Rubezal alone. There is no other way.’
‘How did you conquer it?’ Tayven asked. ‘What form did it take for you, Merlan?’
‘It was always myself, only that. Inertia, pessimism, fear. I was alone with myself, almost satisfied that I was lost in an eternal hinterland. But it didn’t come to me, Tayven, and I realised this was because I had no desires, no illusions about myself or this quest. It wanted nothing from me and I from it.’
‘But what made you come for me?’
‘Because in my mind I saw you wrestling with a great beast of many faces. I saw your strength trickling away. At Malarena, and since, you tried to give me your hope. It was as if it was in my keeping, in a way. I had to give it back. I had to become involved again, and in doing so, fought the lethargy within me. But for you, I would have been lost, because I was unwilling to continue.’