The Way of Light

by Storm Constantine

  ‘His mother is a Malagash,’ Varencienne said, barely containing her annoyance. ‘Am I so corrupting an influence?’

  ‘I did not mean you,’ Shan said.

  ‘Why not? You do not know me. I could be a necromancer, for all you know.’

  ‘I think I am a good judge of character. I knew, from the first moment I saw you, that you are not tainted.’

  ‘What a relief,’ said Varencienne. ‘You should be my champion, Shan, and whisper in my ear whenever I meet someone new, just in case they’re tainted.’

  It was obvious that Shan was unsure whether to laugh at this comment or not. Varencienne was enjoying the conversation immensely, and was therefore disappointed when Taropat appeared from his cabin, his face set into a disagreeable expression. He was heart-breakingly like the portrait of Khaster, with which a younger Varencienne had virtually fallen in love, and it seemed almost an inconvenience he didn’t have a pleasant character to go with his face. Varencienne could not help feeling he was being wilful and difficult, and that his natural instinct was still to be warm and charming. If this inner personality existed, however, there was little evidence of it today. Taropat came directly to stand behind Shan’s seat and said, ‘Don’t speak to her. She’s pumping you for information.’

  ‘Too late,’ said Varencienne with more levity than she felt. ‘He’s already told me everything.’

  ‘You must eat in your cabin, madam,’ Taropat said. ‘This is not a holiday for you, and none of us are your sport. Shan, use your head and ignore other parts of your body. This woman is a Malagash.’

  The captain and the first mate were now looking on in disapproval. Varencienne smiled at them. ‘Don’t worry about it. I am a captive.’

  ‘A Malagash?’ said the captain. ‘On my ship?’

  ‘Captive?’ said the Mate.

  ‘Yes,’ said Varencienne. ‘But don’t worry, I shan’t complain of your service. So far, it’s been very good.’

  Marius glared at Taropat. ‘You should have informed me of this. I want no part of it.’ He turned to his Mate. ‘Turn to shore. Our passengers will be disembarking.’

  ‘There is no need to panic,’ Taropat said. ‘No one knows about this, and they never will.’

  ‘That sounds like a threat,’ Varencienne said. ‘Do you intend to add murder to kidnap? Your execution should be quite a spectacle.’

  ‘He means no such thing,’ Shan said.

  ‘Off my ship!’ roared Captain Marius.

  Half an hour later, the company was in a small rowing boat, being taken to shore.

  The Cossics elected to return to Helayna, with Taropat’s blessing. Their leader made a perfunctory show of offering to escort them to Hamagara, but Taropat declined. ‘This is my country,’ he said, ‘the wildest part of it. We will be less conspicuous as a smaller company.’

  Privately, remembering what Hamsin had once told her of the wild, nomadic people of northern Caradore, Varencienne hoped that Taropat and Shan were capable of protecting her and her daughter. Still, as she had no influence whatever over this strange man with the unsettlingly familiar face, she held her tongue.

  They had no horses, and only the barest of supplies. Taropat appeared unconcerned, claiming they’d be able to acquire provisions along the way. Varencienne could see that Shan was worried about this and at the first opportunity she questioned him about it.

  ‘Taropat hoarded money in Bree,’ he said, ‘and we brought a sizeable fortune with us, but I don’t think much of it is left.’

  ‘I have no money with me,’ Varencienne said. ‘Only a few bits of jewellery. Are we likely to starve?’

  Shan shrugged. ‘Taropat is a survivor. You should have seen him on the Crown quest. He will provide for us, I’m sure.’

  ‘Let us hope so.’

  They made landfall some miles north of Old Caradore, where thick forests came right down to the shore. Varencienne had to restrain Ellony from haring off into the trees. She ran about so quickly, she was no more than a flashing blur, like a wood sprite. ‘Uncle Taro, look, look!’ she cried, turning in a mad circle. ‘The trees touch the sky.’

  Taropat observed the child with an expression of distaste. ‘They do not. Nothing can touch the sky.’ He glanced at Varencienne. ‘Control your child, woman.’

  Ellony, unperturbed, only grinned at him.

  ‘Come here,’ Varencienne said. ‘We don’t know what’s in the forest, Elly. It might be dangerous.’ She wondered whether it had been wise to tell the girl of her tenuous relationship to Taropat. He was still technically married to Pharinet, so was a bona fide uncle, but clearly in name only. Varencienne could tell Ellony was fascinated by Taropat, in the same way she’d always been fascinated by unusual things: an oddly shaped stone or a person with peculiar characteristics. It would take an inhumanly hard man to resist her innocent charm indefinitely.

  Shan shouldered most of their luggage, which was scant. Taropat had allowed Varencienne only to bring the clothes she and Ellony were wearing, as well as her jewels, should they need something with which to barter. Varencienne had no intention of surrendering any of her necklaces and rings. Those she had taken to Magrast had been given to her by Valraven, and some were heirlooms.

  They climbed a steep dune path, hugged by spiky grasses, and began to follow a narrow track that wound into the trees ahead. The air was fresh, a little chilly but not too cold. Spring flowers burgeoned on the forest floor and the air was full of birds: their calls and the whirr of wings. Perhaps Ilcretia, Valraven’s ancestress, had come to these woods at one time. The menfolk might have hunted there.

  ‘What do you know of this area?’ Shan asked her.

  ‘Very little,’ she replied. ‘I only ever came as far as Old Caradore, but I understand the land beyond is quite wild, its people doubly so. They adhere to a very ancient belief system, which derives from the time of the dragons. They worship the king cockatrice, and his horde of demons, although they are known by different names to those used in the south.’

  ‘Paraga, king of the air,’ announced Taropat behind them.

  Both Varencienne and Shan stopped and turned, so that Taropat caught up.

  ‘As Foy, the sea dragon, represents the element of water, so Paraga represents the element of air.’ Taropat said, more human as he talked about a subject that interested him. ‘The religion based around the wind spirits is very ancient, and has hardly changed for thousands of years. It, and its devotees, are called Par Sen, and can rival the beliefs of Mewt for its bewildering array of gods and demons.’

  ‘You know a lot about it, then?’ said Varencienne. ‘That will be useful, I hope.’

  Taropat nodded. ‘Well, I know a little about many things, but I researched Par Sen while I was in Breeland. There is a schism between the north and the south of Caradore, because the religion centred around Foy made hostile incursions into Hamagara two thousand years ago. The Hamagarids are the true Caradoreans. They comprise many factions and tribes and have little to do with the south. The southerners derive from ancient clans that moved north from Magravandias. They’ve steered clear of the northern territories for a long time, apart from the occasional intrepid explorer, or some needy soul seeking enlightenment.’

  ‘This is not exactly talked about at home,’ said Varencienne.

  Taropat frowned. ‘Home? Who in Magrast would care a fish about Hamagara?’

  ‘I meant Caradore,’ said Varencienne dryly.

  He shrugged. ‘That doesn’t surprise me. I only learned about it once I’d left Caradore far behind. Anyway, you’d have to travel for several days beyond Old Caradore to reach the border to Hamagara.’

  Ellony began to tug on her mother’s hand. ‘What’s that?’ She pointed into the forest. Varencienne peered into the dark green gloom and saw a tumble of grey stones covered in moss and lichen.

  ‘Can we go and see?’ Ellony was already dragging her mother towards the stones.

  ‘That’s
an old shrine,’ Taropat said. ‘This country is full of them.’ He began to walk towards it and Ellony pulled free of her mother to follow.

  By the time Shan and Varencienne had caught up with them, Taropat was already pointing out moss-filled carvings on the stone to the girl. ‘That is a representation of Foy, a marker to represent her territory. At one time, this was probably Hamagarid land.’

  Ellony scraped at the moss with her fingers. ‘She’s snarling at something. It’s curled up at her feet.’

  ‘That’s probably Paraga,’ Taropat said. ‘He is shown as a submissive consort, but that was hardly the case. He is as invisible and quick as the wind. His people simply melted away from those who would oppress them. Legends say that Foy banished the cockatrice, but in essence, he just hid from her.’

  ‘Are we going to look for him?’ Ellony asked.

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘Then why are we here? We are the sea dragon people, but now we have come onto land. We must stop the cockatrice hiding from us.’ Her fingers lingered over the stone.

  Varencienne noticed Taropat staring at the girl contemplatively. ‘What else do you think?’ he said. ‘What does your mind say to you?’

  Ellony stood up straight and gazed around herself. ‘The forest is watching us,’ she said.

  ‘Which way should we go?’

  Ellony pondered for a moment, then pointed towards the northwest. ‘There, but that is the way to the mountains anyway. You know that.’

  Taropat nearly smiled.

  ‘She’s just a child,’ Varencienne said. ‘She likes stories.’

  ‘A child’s mind is free of dogma and restriction,’ Taropat answered. He glanced at Shan. ‘He used to be like that.’

  ‘I was hardly a child when you found me,’ Shan said. ‘I was more than twice as old as Elly. If I am full of dogma and restriction now, it is because you put them there.’

  ‘Only a fool does not listen to the wisdom of a child,’ Taropat said. He looked down at the girl. ‘Come along, use your nose. But don’t run off.’

  As they headed back to the path, Varencienne felt uneasy about this new development. She didn’t want Taropat to dislike her daughter, but neither did she want him to invest her with abilities she didn’t possess. He would only be disappointed, and the ensuing rejection would be more hurtful to Ellony than his previous coldness.

  Chapter Ten: Forced Honesty

  The small, dank room lay far beneath the palace, in the warren of passages and chambers known only to a few. The cell was lit by a single candle that guttered on a table; the captive sat upon a chair beside it. Drugged to within an inch of his life, he should have appeared mindless and dull, but his eyes, as their gaze fell upon the Grand Queen Mother, were like windows onto the universe, the pupils too large. Tatrini would not have been surprised to see stars within them. ‘Tayven,’ she said. ‘How glad I am that we meet at last.’

  He could not, or would not, answer her. His expression remained a void.

  Tatrini rustled closer. ‘Can you understand me, Tayven?’

  He nodded, very slightly.

  ‘Do you know who I am?’

  Again, a nod.

  ‘Good. I am sorry you are in this condition, but the philtre was a necessary precaution. You are a violent young man, which is quite at odds with the more mystical side of your character, which I am assured exists.’ She paused, but he did not react. ‘You must have been wondering what it is I want with you, and why I had you taken into custody in Mewt. I am here to answer your questions.’

  Only it appeared he could not ask any. Perhaps this interview was pointless, until the effects of the philtre had worn off a little. He had fought like a wild beast when her men had come for him in Cawmonel the previous night. He had managed to injure two of them with well-aimed high kicks before they overpowered him. What a magnificent creature: a killing machine of great beauty, who had the wyrding way. An alchemist could not have grown a more perfect specimen in a vat. Tatrini reached out and touched his face. He didn’t move, but for a fleeting instant she imagined that he was feigning docility and would, at any moment, rear up and break her neck. She withdrew her hand hastily and took a few steps back.

  ‘The empire is in flux,’ she said, ‘and everything is unstable. My son, Gastern, is emperor and I have heard that already he plans to squander a fortune on building new cathedrals to Madragore throughout the land. He speaks of holy wars, of purging the world of gods other than his own. That was never Leonid’s way, as you must know. The Malagashes have conquered many nations, but part of the reason the empire remained so strong was because it allowed certain freedoms of belief among its subjugated realms. Nothing good can come of Gastern’s innovations. He will shape a new god, in the image of his own fear, and he will make resentful enemies, where before there were only resigned puppets. Do you understand what I am saying?’

  Tayven blinked. ‘Yes,’ he said. His voice was clear, unslurred.

  ‘I intend to prevent this chaos from occurring. I intend to preserve, yet also to expand. You are part of my plans.’

  Still, he asked no questions.

  ‘The elemental forces must be invoked and combined. Whoever controls this force will have the power to create great change. I have picked four individuals to represent the elements. You personify the element of air, the dragon known as the cockatrice.’

  Now, Tayven frowned slightly, as if in puzzlement. ‘I am the Bard of the True King, who wields the dragon’s breath.’

  Tatrini stared at him in surprise. The philtre he’d been given was designed not only to subdue but also to invoke truth. Strangely, Tayven’s words seemed to be those he might speak after taking part in the rituals Tatrini had devised. Perhaps this was a manifestation of his psychism. ‘You will be this,’ she said.

  ‘I am this,’ Tayven said. ‘I am already this.’

  Intrigued, Tatrini sat down upon a plain wooden chair next to the table and pulled it closer to Tayven’s seat. ‘Explain this to me,’ she said. ‘Am I more correct than I believed in choosing you to represent air?’

  ‘That was not my site,’ Tayven replied. ‘Mine was Rubezal, the lake of spirit. It was there that the dragon’s breath was bestowed on me, and I was initiated into my role as the Bard.’

  Tayven’s words made little sense to Tatrini, but she knew that name, Rubezal. After a moment, she said, ‘Rubezal is one of the lakes in Recolletine, isn’t it?’

  Tayven nodded. ‘The sixth.’

  Tatrini knew of the ancient legends associated with Recolletine, and also that her second eldest son, Almorante, had once taken Tayven there to attempt the mystical quest of the lakes. Her spies had reported that nothing of note had occurred. Either the quest was nothing more than a myth or Almorante hadn’t performed the correct ritual actions. Tatrini herself had never considered the lakes quest to be that important. She looked upon it as a male ritual, perhaps something that Bayard might attempt in the future, simply to enhance his spiritual awareness, but perhaps she’d overlooked something vital. It could be no coincidence that Tayven talked of it now. It had been many years since he’d visited the place with Almorante. Her spies’ report might have been erroneous. ‘I understand that you did not reach the seventh lake, so therefore the quest was not completed.’

  Tayven smiled. ‘Oh, but it was. We reached Pancanara.’

  Tatrini drew away, breathing in deeply through her nose. Another thought occurred to her. ‘When did this happen?’

  ‘Last year.’

  ‘Was Almorante involved in this?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why did you attempt the quest again? It failed the first time.’

  ‘Last year, we went to Recolletine in search of the Crown of Silence. That was always the true purpose of the quest. Almorante did not know that, so he failed to reach Pancanara.’

  Tatrini’s body went cold. ‘The Crownc’ This must be what her augur’s message had referred to before L
eonid’s funeral. Tatrini had not thought of it since. ‘Did you find it?’

  ‘It was given to us.’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘It is hidden. Only Sinaclara knows its whereabouts.’

  ‘Who is she?’

  ‘A sorceress of Breeland. We took the Crown to her. She is its guardian.’

  ‘What is the Crown, Tayven? Why were you seeking it?’

  ‘It is the symbol of divine kingship that can be worn only by the True King. There is no king yet, but we were the brotherhood who would wait for him and serve him.’

  ‘Who was your brotherhood?’

  ‘Taropat, Shan and myself. Taropat is the Magus and Shan the Warrior.’

  ‘I don’t know these people. Who are they?’ If she did not know of them, surely they could be of no consequence.

  ‘Taropat is Khaster Leckery. Shan is his apprentice.’

  ‘Leckery!’ Tatrini stood up. ‘He has taken my daughter and grand-daughter captive. Were you supposed to be part of this plan?’

  ‘No. We are no longer associated.’

  Tatrini paced up and down, her mind full of rushing thoughts. Leckery had meant to kidnap Rav, that was obvious. The question was: why? He thought he served the True King, but Tayven had said there was no king. Leckery would certainly not think it was any of her sons. He hated Palindrake, but perhaps he had not been seeking Rav merely to exact revenge for ancient hurts. Was it possible he regarded the boy as a possible candidate for kingship, a rebel king to challenge the Malagashes? No matter. He’d failed in his scheme and Rav was safe in Magrast. But there was always the possibility Leckery could find himself another candidate. ‘I want this Crown,’ said Tatrini. ‘Does Leckery have access to it?’

  ‘Unlikely,’ Tayven replied. ‘He is Sinaclara’s enemy now.’

  ‘He seeks a Caradorean king, doesn’t he?’

  ‘I don’t know his desires. He did not want Palindrake to be king.’

  Tatrini expelled a snort of laughter. ‘The idea of it! Did you share his sentiments?’