‘As I said, I’m not in contact. It seems you might have to butter Maycarpe up more than you thought.’
Shan gripped briefly the talisman round his neck, through his shirt. ‘When shall I come?’
‘Tomorrow. Strike quickly.’
Shan nodded. ‘I will be there in the late afternoon.’
Chapter Fifteen: The Story of the Eye
Shan could not bear to go out into the garden, but slipped away through the shadowed corridors of the palace, to the small room he occupied in a corner of General Tuya’s expansive quarters. He threw himself on the bed, his heart beating furiously, trying to compose his hectic mind for thought. He felt feverish, sick. He had been right. Tayven was not only alive, but had returned, in some manner, to the life he had known. He was not like Taropat, hidden away. The sketchy picture drawn by the scant words Shan had heard that night did not resemble the portrait Taropat had painted of a beautiful serene mystic. Dangerous, bitter? What had happened to Tayven after Khaster had fled? How had he survived?
It had been agony being in Merlan’s company, unable to tell him his brother was alive, but Taropat had made Shan swear to silence. ‘You will meet Merlan in Akahana,’ he’d said, ‘I have no doubt of it. Fate will make it so. He must not know about me. Do you understand? You never met Khaster Leckery, never heard his name. Your master is Taropat, and you must avoid even mentioning that to anyone but General Tuya.’
Shan had pledged an oath, which already he’d partly betrayed. It felt wrong not to tell Merlan the truth. He’d been friendly, and seemed an open, pleasant man. It seemed so unfair to Khaster’s family to keep silent. What of his mother, his sisters?
Shan turned onto his side. Why did he want to meet Tayven? Because Taropat did not swear you to silence with him, he thought. But what about the consequences? What if Almorante found out Khaster Leckery wasn’t dead? Tell one person and Shan would risk the whole of Akahana knowing. And yet, because of what he’d seen in the scry-mede, and the way he had felt, Shan was aware of a connection between himself and Tayven. They were part of the same pattern. In his guts, Shan was sure they had to meet. He ran his fingers over the Dragon’s Claw, which now lay outside his shirt. The talisman was cool, even though Shan’s flesh was not. Had Maycarpe recognised the artefact for what it was? Shan had been careless. He should have hidden it.
Stop it, Shan told himself. Fear is your only enemy. You know this. Give in to it, and these Magravandian monsters will overwhelm you. You must stay calm, centred. Your talisman is a gift from a woman who loved you once. She was your first lover. That story is true and it will suffice. You need not necessarily know how and where she acquired the artefact. Forget its significance. Think only of her.
When Shan had finally set foot on Mewtish soil, he had felt strong, confident and proud of himself. He had made the long, unknown journey with comparative ease, and had learned to enjoy his own company. Taropat had given him a generous amount of money, which meant he had been able to secure comfortable accommodation along the way and the best modes of transport.
Taropat had walked with him to the wide road that skirted the edge of the forest, and Shan had taken a passenger coach south to the coast. A swift ship had carried him across the waves of the Ambree Sea to the Elatinian port of Udanke. As the ‘Mermasine’ had sailed with her stern to the dawn towards this unknown land, Shan had stood on deck, thinking of what Sinaclara had said to him about foreign travel. The sun laid its first rays upon the brass towers of Udanke’s temples and Shan’s flesh tingled. The air already smelled different.
At Udanke, Shan had quickly found a caravan bound for Mewt. By now, he was quite the seasoned traveller and spent the long, often uncomfortable journey across the Elatinian desert absorbing the ambience of the landscape. He employed his senses to the full, vowing never to forget each moment. After some weeks, the caravan reached the river port of Tahut, on the Mewtish border, where Shan secured passage on a felucca heading for Akahana further south. At Tahut, Mewtish and Elatinian cultures mingled, but it still seemed to Shan as if he crossed an invisible, mysterious border into an ancient time. An immense statue of the fierce lioness goddess, Sekt, guarded the river to Akahana. The felucca was dwarfed by her presence. Passing beneath her gaze, Shan shivered. He could not help but feel that wondrous and terrifying experiences awaited him.
Akahana was dizzying, mainly because it seemed to be several different places at once. On the surface, it was all bustle and heat, yet Shan was immediately aware of a dark and inscrutable undercurrent – magic hanging in the air, as Sinaclara had described. It also seemed as if the ancient past was very close to the present and that it would be possible, either accidentally or otherwise, to slip between the two.
Shan found his way to the Sun Palace without much difficulty, and there presented the letters from Thremius and Taropat he’d carried from Breeland. There had been little fuss, only a short wait before one of Tuya’s aides came to fetch him from the gate. Shan had been led through the maze of the palace to Tuya’s quarters and training yards. The general was almost exactly as Shan had imagined him: tall, aloof and with a mystifying Mewtish character, as if he continually guarded secrets. Tuya had been expecting his new student and, with cool politeness, installed Shan in comfortable accommodation with a servant to see to his needs and show him around. Shan was told his servant would escort him to the general the following morning, but until then he was free to explore the city and the areas of the palace that were not off-limits to him. Everything had seemed easy. But, after only that one evening, Shan realised just how fully Akahana was riddled with Magravandians. What should he have expected? Still, it unnerved him. The Mewts were so friendly with their conquerors, and the palace seemed full of them. Shan could only see them as the enemy, and after a few days felt he had to confide in his tutor about this.
Tuya listened in silence. Then he said, ‘We were conquerors once.’
Shan looked up at him. ‘But..?’
‘The empire of Mewt was larger than the Magravandians’. We were the kings of the world.’
‘Then how can you accept these people here? How can you eat with them, talk with them?’
‘It is their turn,’ Tuya said, ‘and not all Magravandians are slaughterers.’
‘I cannot accept what they’ve done.’
‘You must. It is part of what I’m trying to teach you.’
‘You’re teaching me to fight.’
‘A fighter who cannot think and reason, a fighter who cannot have compassion, is weak,’ said Tuya.
‘Must I love my enemies as I cut them down?’
‘It helps,’ said Tuya.
After this, Shan found, strangely, that the sight of a pale Magravandian face no longer moved him to rage. If anything, he felt condescending towards them. They were so arrogant, and so blind. He applied himself to his training with discipline and passion.
While the general was a taciturn man, he was not cruel and gave praise where it was due. Shan, so far, had worked well under him. He discovered that the first principle of fighting was to know your own body, to feel the subtle play of energy in its muscles and sinews. He was learning to hear the silence within so that he could function like a machine, yet with grace and swiftness. So far, he hadn’t touched a weapon, but the training had opened him up to himself. When fear came now, he found it easier to control.
‘A warrior must know fear better than fear knows itself,’ Tuya said.
Shan did not feel afraid any more, but he was confused. He wanted to do the right thing. Everything that happened to him in Akahana would be part of his training, preordained and meaningful. He must be alert for signs and signals. He must interpret them correctly, act accordingly. First, he would visit the Magravandian governor.
Maycarpe’s palace, which comprised an enormous suite of offices and sumptuous apartments for himself, his staff and guests, dominated the main square of the city, close to the Harakteion, where the greatest of Mewt’s emperors was entombed. The go
vernmental building was comparatively new, yet had been constructed in the ancient Mewtish style. Beyond the soaring portal was a reception booth, where a clerk in Magravandian livery sat in charge of an immense guest book. Shan wrote his name in it, scanning the lines above for anyone he might know. He was looking for Tayven’s name, of course, but it was not there.
The receptionist guided Shan to a dark, cool room a short way into the building, and here Lord Maycarpe and Merlan Leckery were waiting for him. Shan suspected that Merlan had made sure he was present, perhaps to shield Shan from his employer’s persuasions concerning the talisman. Shan had considered leaving the artefact in his room but, as he feared constantly that it would be stolen, decided he must keep it with him. Maycarpe might even consider he’d leave it behind and send someone to search his room while he was absent.
Maycarpe was polite and welcoming, offering refreshment and asking intelligent questions about Shan’s training. But Shan was not deceived. This was just the preamble. He refused alcoholic drinks and accepted only fruit cordial. Merlan didn’t say much, but his eyes were watchful.
Eventually, Maycarpe clearly decided the time for small talk was over. ‘You must know why you’re here,’ he said.
Shan put down his glass, said nothing, but kept his gaze steady on the governor’s face.
Maycarpe did not appear disconcerted by the lack of response. ‘Where did you acquire the talisman you showed me last night?’
‘A woman gave it to me. We were close for a time.’
Maycarpe nodded thoughtfully. ‘Why did she give it to you?’
Shan shrugged. ‘It was a love gift. Something to remember her by.’
Maycarpe stared at Shan piercingly, but Shan refused to shift his gaze. He must betray nothing. ‘Why are you so interested in it?’
Maycarpe tapped his lips with steepled fingers. ‘I am trying to tell myself you speak in ignorance, yet my instincts, which believe me are preternaturally sharp, insist otherwise. I think you know exactly what that artefact is, young man.’ Shan opened his mouth to protest, but Maycarpe raised a hand and continued. ‘Oh, you do not trust me and why should you? You see me as the enemy, don’t you?’
At last, Shan had to lower his eyes.
‘I am not your enemy,’ Maycarpe said quietly. ‘You should consider that I perhaps want the same things you do.’
Shan glanced up sharply. ‘That is unlikely.’
‘You should not make inferences until you have gathered all the information,’ Maycarpe said. ‘That is the Dragon’s Claw, isn’t it? Such an artefact would not find its way into the keeping of someone less than worthy. Who sent you, Shan? Who is your mentor?’
‘I cannot speak,’ Shan said. ‘I have been schooled by mystics who insist on privacy. They are not part of the world – your world.’
‘But will you at least admit I’m right about the talisman?’
‘What is the Dragon’s Claw?’ Merlan asked.
‘It is a symbol of rank,’ Maycarpe explained. ‘A very ancient one, given to the champion of the divine king.’
Merlan frowned. ‘A Mewtish king? The artefact does not look Mewtish.’
Maycarpe shook his head. ‘No, this was a kingdom that thrived long before Harakhte’s armies carried the Mewtish banners across the world. It was not an empire, as such. In those days, the king was the spiritual life of the land. He could be crowned or sacrificed as his priests saw fit. Different days, they were. This kingdom lay in the heart of what is now Magravandias. It was called Ivirian, which is an ancient word for truth.’
‘How did you recognise the artefact?’ Shan asked.
Maycarpe laughed. ‘First, by its appearance, which is documented in certain Mewtish magical scrolls, secondly by the life force and history I felt within it when I touched it, and thirdly by your reaction to my interest, which you sought and failed to conceal.’
Shan felt himself grow hot. ‘I can’t deny what you’ve said.’
‘I’m glad you’ve given up the pretence,’ Maycarpe said. ‘It astounded me to see the Claw here in Akahana at this particular time. I had to speak with you about it.’
‘What significance does the talisman have?’ Merlan asked.
‘Its significance now?’ Maycarpe paused, stuck out his jaw, stroked his throat. ‘At times of change, artefacts of this nature have more power than you’d imagine. We invest them with that power because they are symbols. Men will follow symbols, you know. They are masks for the life essence of the universe, just as the faces of gods are.’
‘Times of change?’ Shan said. ‘What is changing?’ For a moment, he imagined that something had already happened without him being aware of it; another hero had infiltrated the empire. He was too late.
‘The wheel of life never stops turning. You both know this. Have I not taught you, Merlan?’ Maycarpe glanced at Shan. ‘And your own mentor will have told you the same. Leonid is a golden king, who has brought a certain amount of unity to the world. His Dragon Lord has humbled Cos, which is no mean feat. Before Magravandias, Cos was the leader of the world, as righteous and autocratic as Magravandias is now. Ask the Mewts. They’ll tell you, for they forget nothing. Cos has had its day, even though its rebels believe otherwise. Before Cos it was Mewt, and the sun king Harakhte butchered his way to power in the name of light. Does that surprise you? Did you not think that a Mewtish empire would surely have made the world a spiritual haven, its peoples enlightened? Think again. In the not so distant future, Leonid will be succeeded by one of his sons. Who will this be? Gastern, the rightful heir? Almorante, the clever one? Or Bayard, lily of the empress? As a servant of Leonid, whom should I support?’
‘The victor,’ Merlan answered dryly.
Maycarpe smiled. ‘But who will that be?’
Shan was shocked by this conversation. He knew, from Taropat’s account, how things were in Magrast and the subtle play for power enacted there, but he was surprised a man like Maycarpe would speak so openly to a stranger. Perhaps he was trying to draw Shan out, get him to betray the fact that some people thought someone other than a Malagash should sit upon the divine throne. He cleared his throat. ‘Most people think that Almorante will be the one.’
Maycarpe nodded. ‘That’s where I’d put my money too.’
Merlan snorted in derision. ‘Tell that to Tatrini.’
‘She is a driven woman,’ Maycarpe said, shaking his head. ‘Her love rules her heart. She means well, I’m sure. But if the empire Leonid has built is to survive, other aspects need to be taken into consideration.’ He held out a hand to Shan. ‘Give me your talisman for a moment.’
Shan took the cord from his neck and handed the artefact over. As before, he felt uneasy seeing it in Maycarpe’s hands.
Maycarpe held it up before his face. ‘The Dragon’s Claw,’ he murmured, ‘badge of the warrior. The dragon is the spirit of the world, inherent in every living thing, and even in inanimate objects. Its claw is deadly. It can rake out the eyes of a nation, sunder its heart.’
‘How can it do that?’ Shan asked.
Maycarpe stroked the Claw. ‘The power of its legend can band men together, make them bigger than they are as individuals. It also has a spiritual energy. If someone such as Valraven Palindrake were to wear this talisman, he would not only be invincible but more than human.’
‘Is that who you want it for?’ Merlan asked, a little sharply.
Shan uttered an outraged curse. ‘Palindrake? No!’
Maycarpe handed the talisman back to him. ‘The Claw is not for Valraven.’ He sighed theatrically. ‘We are all part of the Great Work, and it is our task to further the evolution of the human spirit. Sometimes, people resist essential changes, because they are uncomfortable. We, as magi, know better.’
He is flattering me, Shan thought. He knows nothing about me, yet he calls me a magus, includes me in the Great Work. I must be wary.
‘Come with me, both of you,’ Maycarpe said.
Shan glanced at Merlan, who shrugged. To
gether they followed Lord Maycarpe from the room.
He took them deep into the palace, to his own private apartments. Here, he left them in his sitting room, which smelled of musty over-ripe fruit, and presently reappeared carrying an ebony box. This he set down upon a table. ‘The body of the dragon is sundered,’ he said, ‘its parts scattered. Great Foy, the dragon queen of Caradore lies in deathlike sleep beneath the ocean. The fire drakes writhe and spit in the hearts of the Magravandian army. The basilisks of the earth element have fled into the deepest caverns of the world, and are remembered only by strange, isolated tribes. In ages past, the cockatrices of the air were combined with the elements of Foy, and are therefore dormant also. These fabulous beasts are masks of the universe. They should be made whole, one thing. A man may be as strong as an ox, but his brain might be damaged. He could not be king. A man could have a great brain, but be weak as a kitten. He could not be king. A man could be clever and strong, but have no wisdom. No king. He might have all of those things, but no spirituality, no awareness of the unseen, which makes a true king. The elements must be in balance to make the king. Do you understand?’
‘Such a man could not exist,’ Merlan said. ‘If he did, he would not be a man, because humans are imperfect.’
‘Even the greatest of divine kings are allowed their flaws,’ Maycarpe said. ‘I’m not talking about perfection, but balance. I have studied the concept of divine providence all my life.’
‘I understand about the dragon and the king,’ Shan said. He went to Maycarpe’s side. ‘There are other artefacts, aren’t there, other symbols?’
Maycarpe smiled slowly. ‘Oh, you’re an eager one. Look at you. Fancy yourself as king, do you?’
Shan did not respond to this jibe. He remembered what Sinaclara had told him. ‘Aren’t there?’ he repeated.
Maycarpe put his hands on either side of the ebony box and lifted the lid. Within, lay an article wrapped in dull purple silk. ‘Take it out,’ Maycarpe said to Merlan.
Merlan did so. He unwrapped the silk to reveal a spherical object that looked as if it was made of dark red glass. In its heart, a red spark glowed.
Crown of Silence Page 26