Crown of Silence

by Constantine, Storm

  ‘What is it?’ Maycarpe asked. ‘Guess, Merlan. What part of the dragon is this?’

  Merlan was silent for only a moment. ‘Its eye,’ he said, words that were echoed in Shan’s mind.

  ‘Good, good,’ breathed Maycarpe. ‘But you would have been a fool not to have guessed it.’

  ‘How did you get it?’ Merlan asked. ‘How long have you had it?’

  ‘Oh, a long time,’ Maycarpe answered. ‘As to how I acquired it, that is a story I have never told.’

  ‘Was it given to you, as the Claw was given to me?’ Shan asked.

  Maycarpe shook his head. ‘Oh no. I had to rescue this artefact from my own people. If you would hear the story, you must swear an oath never to speak of it.’

  ‘Gladly,’ said Merlan.

  ‘Good, then bear your arm.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It has to be a blood oath,’ said Maycarpe, ‘otherwise it can be broken. By your blood sacrifice you must swear to the gods you will never speak of this matter to anyone. Should you do so, the gods will take you.’

  ‘It seems extreme, Darris,’ Merlan said. ‘Is the knowledge you’d give us so terrible?’

  ‘I committed a kind of treason,’ Maycarpe said. ‘I like my privileges, Merlan. I wouldn’t want to put them in jeopardy. Any of the sons of Leonid would do more than kill to get their hands on these artefacts. You must swear.’

  ‘I will do so,’ said Shan. He rolled up his sleeve, presented the pale skin of his forearm.

  Maycarpe went to a tall cabinet in the room, and opened it. Within could be glimpsed all manner of strange paraphernalia. Maycarpe took a ceremonial dagger from one of the shelves and handed it to Shan. Its edge was incredibly sharp, like a surgeon’s knife. Shan guessed it had been used for many sacrifices. He could barely feel the kiss of its blade against his skin.

  Merlan watched inscrutably as Shan cut his flesh and spoke the oath. Maycarpe collected some of Shan’s blood in a bone cup, then turned to his assistant. ‘Well, Merlan, will you make the pledge or leave this room?’

  Sighing, Merlan rolled up his sleeve. ‘Give me the blade,’ he said to Shan.

  After Merlan had dripped his blood into the cup, Maycarpe did likewise. ‘Don’t be surprised. Why should I ask you to undertake an oath that I would not? I swear I will not reveal to anyone, other than those who are part of this, that either of you know about these artefacts.’

  Once the sacrifice was completed, Maycarpe covered the cup with black silk and replaced it, along with the dagger, in the cabinet. ‘Now, sit down, both of you,’ he said. ‘I will tell you the story of the Dragon’s Eye.

  ‘Four millennia ago, after Ivirian fell, the artefacts, which had been created by the wisest magi of the land, were dispersed. Some of them have resurfaced from time to time and done their work for men, but never all together. The Eye was found by Harakhte himself, near the beginning of his reign. He found it in an Elatinian shrine to Challis Hespereth, who is a very ancient goddess, venerated mainly now in Cos. The Eye lay in the mouth of a priestess who was found dead, by her own hand, before the altar. No doubt she feared the appetites of the conquering army, and through her death hoped both to escape rape and to take the Eye with her to the grave. It is said that Harakhte saw it shining through her cheek, and thus investigated the corpse. More likely it fell from her lips when the body was hoisted outside for disposal. In any event, Harakhte became its owner. From surviving priests, he learned the legend of its power. Whoever had the Eye had the sight of the dragon. They could see etheric matter with their own eyes, such as the glow of footsteps after someone has walked away. Only serpents have this faculty naturally in our world. The Eye also bestows wisdom. By the right person, someone who is attuned to it, it can be used for distant viewing, like a crystal ball.’

  ‘Like a scry-mede,’ Shan interrupted.

  ‘Yes,’ said Maycarpe. ‘Like that. It is said Harakhte used it to spy upon those who resisted him. But the Eye was not enough to guarantee his eternal kingship. He foresaw his own death within it on the morning before the king of Cos killed him in battle. Thus, the Eye fell into the hands of the Cossics. But they could not use it. Harakhte had been empathic with the artefact, but King Alofel, was not. He installed the Eye in the state museum in his own capital, where it was displayed as a curio, still stained with Harakhte’s blood. The Dragon’s Claw would have been more use to Cos, as it would have resonated more with the character of the king, but of course they did not have it.

  ‘For generations, the Eye lay in the museum, and was then transferred to a store room to make way for what the Cossics considered to be more important exhibits. I went to Cos as a young man, to study in the library at Tarnax. At that time, Leonid had made no incursion onto Cossic soil, and relations between the two empires were cordial, if wary. I knew that situation would inevitably change, but for a time, I was able to learn from the Cossic scholars. I came across the Eye by accident, and recognised it for what it was, because my mentor in Magrast had spoken to me of it. Once I held it in my hand, I knew for sure. I could feel it. The dragon artefacts were legends, magician’s tools that lived only in ancient stories, yet here one was, the Eye once held by Harakhte himself. I could not believe it. The curators of the museum knew it as the Dragon’s Eye, but did not believe it was anything more than an ornament. They considered themselves rational men, and the ancient Mewts to have been riddled with superstition. I knew the Eye should not be left in the museum, because I feared it would eventually fall into the hands of the Malagashes. The fire priests are more astute than the Cossic scholars. They would know exactly what the object was, and probably already knew of its existence. I had little doubt that once Cos fell to Magravandias, as it was clearly fated to do, the priesthood would come searching for the Eye. I was faithful to the crown, but was certain in my heart, this must not happen. I loved Leonid as my emperor, but for all that he called himself sun king, I knew he was not, not in the eyes of the universe. In his hands, or rather in the hands of his magi, the artefact would be misused, as Harakhte had misused it. But how could I take the Eye? It was regarded as a curious antiquity, but the Cossics would not simply give it to me. If I made enquiries about it, they would wonder why I wanted it. It might make them reconsider their opinions, especially once Leonid began to make his assault on their country. So, I made certain preparations. I found myself a jeweller in the darkest corners of the city, and had him fashion me a copy of the Eye. He had no idea what he was making, for he’d never visited the museum. Once I had this facsimile, I hid it in my quarters to await the right time to use it.

  ‘A few months later the news came that Magravandias had taken the capital of Verna, a country owned by Cos. I would have to leave immediately. The city was thrown into turmoil, and my Cossic friends were most concerned for my safety. Magravandians were leaving the country in panic, and we knew that perhaps within the hour the king of Cos would send his guards to round up anyone who remained. I did not wish to be a prisoner of war, but neither could I leave without the Eye. To cut a rather long story short, I went to the museum, and there, taking the greatest risk of discovery, made the exchange. I fled with the Eye, pursued by a band of soldiers, but my horse was swift. I made the border, running into a troupe of Magravandian soldiers, who happily chased off my pursuers. The Eye has been in my keeping ever since.’

  ‘What an adventurer you were!’ Merlan exclaimed, his voice coloured by awe.

  Maycarpe shrugged. ‘It had to be done.’ He took up the Eye from where it lay on the table and wrapped it up once more in the silk. ‘But it is not mine. I am merely its guardian.’

  ‘Whose is it?’ Shan asked.

  ‘It belongs to the magus of the divine king,’ Maycarpe said, ‘but there is no magus, and no king. Not yet.’

  ‘Can there be?’ Shan asked, getting up.

  ‘Oh yes, with blood, with tears, with pain, there can be.’

  ‘You talk of more than one artefact,’ Merlan said. ‘How many more a
re there?’

  Maycarpe glanced at Shan. ‘Tell him.’

  ‘My teacher said there were three, but then named four,’ Shan said. ‘The Dragon’s Breath is linked to the Eye and the Claw, but there is another, which is perhaps more powerful or different than the others: the Crown.’

  ‘That’s correct,’ Maycarpe said, ‘but whether these artefacts are actual objects or simply spiritual concepts, I am not sure. The Dragon’s Breath, surely, must be knowledge, but as for the last one, the crown, who can say? I feel it might simply be divine kingship itself.’

  ‘The Dragon’s Crown,’ said Shan. He could see it in his mind, shining in darkness.

  ‘It is actually called the Crown of Silence,’ Maycarpe said.

  ‘Yes, I know,’ Shan replied. ‘The woman who helped me get the Claw told me.’

  ‘Why “silence”?’ Merlan asked.

  ‘Because it symbolises the attainment of total awareness,’ Maycarpe said, ‘oneness with creation, and that is the silence within.’

  ‘It is also a real crown,’ Shan said. ‘I’m sure of it.’

  He became aware both Maycarpe and Merlan were staring at him speculatively.

  ‘So,’ said Maycarpe, ‘I have given you my story. Now, trust me enough to give me yours.’

  Shan hesitated. Should he speak? Should he tell the truth, or make up a story? These were Magravandians, or at least Maycarpe was. And yet he had spoken candidly. It seemed Maycarpe was not that different from Thremius and Taropat. He was first and foremost a magus, devoted to the Great Work. In the event, Shan opted to tell the partial truth. He spoke of the ravage of Holme, but in order to back up his story to Merlan of how he’d once seen Khaster in Magrast, he claimed to be the son of Sir Rupert, of fairly noble blood, and added a few years to his age. He explained how when the Magravandians came, and slaughtered his family, a great magician had rescued him from the ruins of his home, making the situation sound more circumstantial than it had been in reality. He spoke of how this magician had needed an apprentice and had taken Shan under his wing. ‘I was trained by this magician and some of his colleagues,’ Shan said. ‘The culmination of that training was a kind of spiritual initiation. After it, a learned woman took me to a lake high in the mountains of Breeland and there I received the Claw from a king who came out of the water. Following this, I was sent here to train under General Tuya, for a true magus must be skilled in all disciplines.’

  ‘But why were you given the Claw, Shan?’ Maycarpe said. ‘What does this coven of magi want from you? You can be sure they want something. Are you aware of it? Speak truly.’

  ‘I think they want what you want. They want to prepare for change.’

  ‘They seek to make a king of you, don’t they,’ Maycarpe said quietly. ‘Perhaps your family’s blood has some relevance in this. Bloodlines are very important in such matters.’

  ‘No,’ Shan answered hurriedly. He’d said too much, he was putting himself in danger. ‘It’s not that. There is no king. You said so.’

  ‘Then you are the warrior,’ Maycarpe said. ‘I wonder who they believe their king to be?’

  ‘They have not said. That is the truth.’

  ‘I believe you,’ Maycarpe said. ‘You are only a pawn to them. They will keep you in ignorance, for in knowledge lies power. They will keep you in check.’

  ‘You do not know them,’ Shan said bitterly. ‘You cannot make these judgements.’

  ‘You have given us no names,’ Merlan said. ‘Who are these people?’

  ‘Their names would mean nothing to you. They hide from the world.’

  Maycarpe laughed. ‘Oh, sweet boy! How innocent you are! I do not need names. One, at least, is Master Thremius. Am I right?’

  Shan’s mouth dropped open. ‘Wellc’

  ‘It is. I know of the Bree magi. I have corresponded with Thremius in the past.’

  Surely, this was impossible. Taropat and his friends were opposed to Magravandias, Taropat in particular. But then, that was probably Khaster’s influence. The old Taropat might not have cared one way or the other. ‘You guessed correctly,’ Shan said.

  ‘I know now it is folly to ask you for the Claw,’ Maycarpe said, ‘and in fact I see that it is safe in your keeping. You are meant to have it.’

  ‘What about the Eye?’ Shan asked cautiously.

  Maycarpe ran his fingers over the ebony box. ‘Oh, that is not yours, Shan. I know you want it, but it is not for the warrior. It belongs to the mystic.’

  ‘Do you know who that is?’ Merlan asked coolly, arms folded.

  Maycarpe nodded, spoke softly. ‘Oh, yes.’

  ‘Who?’

  Maycarpe returned to the cabinet and from it took a leather pouch. Was this another artefact? He took from the pouch a ring, and seemed about to pass it to Merlan, but then pressed it into Shan’s right hand. ‘The owner of this ring is the one,’ he said.

  Shan looked at the piece of jewellery. It was a signet ring of some kind.

  ‘Tayven Hirantel gave that to me,’ Maycarpe said.

  Involuntarily, Shan’s fingers closed over the ring like steel.

  ‘Is it his?’ Merlan asked sharply.

  ‘Give it to him,’ Maycarpe said to Shan.

  Shan did so. Merlan turned the object over a few times in his fingers, then uttered a cry, throwing the ring down on the table as if it burned him. ‘It is impossible! You mock me!’

  ‘I assure you I do not.’

  ‘But what is the meaning of this? Are you trying to tell me I’m the one? Is that it?’

  Maycarpe shrugged. ‘It may be a mantle you have to assume.’

  ‘What is it?’ Shan asked. ‘Is the ring yours, Merlan?’

  ‘No,’ Merlan said coldly. ‘It is Khaster’s.’

  Chapter Sixteen: Arrow from the Darkness

  Tayven Hirantel lay on his stomach on a narrow cliff ledge, looking through a telescope down at a Magravandian camp in the valley below. He was spying on Valraven Palindrake, aware how dangerous it was to get so close to the Dragon Lord, but unable to resist it. He did not fear capture, punishment or torture, even though if anyone could catch him in this familiar terrain it would be Valraven Palindrake.

  Through the exaggerated focus of the telescope, Tayven could see minutely the polished Magravand horses tethered at their hay nets. He could see the soldiers sitting around, attending to their weapons or gossiping.

  And there was Palindrake himself, stepping out of his pavilion into the morning, lifting his chin to sniff the air, like a predator.

  How do you make me feel, Dragon Lord? Tayven wondered. I look down upon you now, and know I could release an arrow, spit out a dart, fire a gun. But I could not kill you. The arrow, the dart, the bullet, they would take another target. Someone else would die for you, without even realising it. I want to hate you, yet I can’t. There is something more to you than what you show, something I don’t know.

  Tayven knew that Valraven and his elite guard were here in the mountains seeking Ashalan. Intelligence had informed the rebels that the empress Tatrini wished to speak with him. It did not take a genius to work out why. She was going to offer him some sweetmeats from her table. She would tempt him with a deal such as that enjoyed by Neferishu in Mewt. In return, he must pledge support to Prince Bayard. That was the empress’ secret agenda, but the official line was that she was simply helping to make peace in Cos, using a woman’s touch to expedite her husband’s work. An ambassador for harmony, she would calm the ruffled tempers of the belligerent males. She would bring Ashalan to Magrast in a huge cavalcade and entertain him to tea. She would find him a royal woman to marry and give back to him his palace in Tarnax. When he sat upon the throne there, the empress’ hand would forever be laid upon his shoulder, lightly but firmly.

  Tayven did not know which way Ashalan would jump. It was extremely unlikely he could win back his throne by force. Perhaps compromise was the only way. The erstwhile king of Cos had no allies left that had the might, or even the inclinat
ion, to take on the Magravandian empire.

  Ashalan was being cautious. He could have made contact with the Magravands at any time, since Palindrake’s elite company had penetrated these high, lonely crags, but perhaps he feared being won over too easily. Capitulation would cause a rift among the resistance, but Tayven knew in his heart that eventually Ashalan would meet the Dragon Lord. It was only a matter of time. Helayna, however, would never give up the fight. If Ashalan yielded to Palindrake, she and her supporters would melt away into the Cossic mountains, into legend. Tayven knew how fond Ashalan was of his sister, and that he would not want to lose her. He would be torn. But if he did elect to co-operate with the empress, Tayven had already decided that he would remain in Cos with Helayna. Ashalan would grieve over him, but Tayven’s feelings for the exiled king were not strong enough for him to brave returning to Magrast. He could not face his family. Also, Bayard would not relish his return and would no doubt do his best to get rid of Tayven again. Even if Tayven took Almorante’s stance and made it known he had forgotten the past, he could not stomach seeing Bayard become emperor. If that should happen, Tayven’s sole task in life would be to assassinate him. Tayven felt the familiar red tide of anger swell inside him. It wasn’t good to have such thoughts. It wasted energy. He was here, safe in Cos, and Bayard was hundreds of miles away in Magrast.

  Tayven was about to put away his telescope, when Valraven turned and seemed to look right up at him. That was impossible, of course, but a shudder passed through Tayven’s spine. He knew he was drawn to the Dragon Lord, but it was not a sexual feeling, nor even one of admiration or affection. It was beyond words. In his mind, it resembled a billowing cloud with dark edges. What was hidden within it? Valraven stood tall and still, his black hair gleaming in the clear sunlight. He looked like a proud stallion, eyes wild. Tayven had no doubt he could sense scrutiny. Would he send some of his Mewtish trackers into the crags in an attempt to flush the spy out? If he did, they would fail.