‘We upheld Gastern, but Gastern fell,’ Mordryn said. ‘It was not in anyone’s interest to have another Malagash upon the throne. You know that, otherwise you wouldn’t be here now. You wouldn’t have killed Bayard.’
Valraven raised a hand and pointed directly at Mordryn. ‘Do not think me your puppet,’ he said in a low, firm voice, ‘nor presume to take the credit for all that’s taken place. You can tell yourselves you had a hand in it, but ultimately it was beyond your control. It was you who were the puppets of the universe.’
There was a short silence. Maycarpe stared at his hands, which were folded upon his lap. Let him think that if he wanted to. It made no difference.
‘Come, Val,’ Senefex said in a coaxing tone. ‘We are not enemies. There is much to be done and we are here to support you.’
‘Do I want the support of murderers?’ Valraven said. ‘I know you were behind what happened to the princes, no matter how much Alguin is willing to take the blame.’
Maycarpe was impressed. Valraven must have done some investigating of his own before coming here. He would be a wise king.
‘You will no doubt call the atrocities acts of war,’ Valraven said, ‘but it was not that. You were merely ensuring your own futures.’
Maycarpe shifted upon his seat and cleared his throat. ‘Val, listen to me. Senefex, Mordryn and I, we can never be men of light. We will never shine upon the stage of the world and be adored. We will never have the comforts of home and family. That is not our function: it is yours. But however much you despise the darkness where our spirits thrive, know that light cannot exist without it. The sun needs the contrast of the night for its shine to have meaning.’
‘That is a glib justification,’ Valraven said.
Maycarpe gestured with one hand. ‘We exist upon a fragile web and our power is tenuous. If the world should wish it, she could flex her bones and turn herself into a hell where nothing could survive. Humanity would be no more than a bitter memory in her mind. In the face of that, our schemes are nothing more than the games of children. If we succeed at anything, it is because we have won one battle, and the battles between men are trivial. Humanity is made up of a mass of trivia, tiny flies upon the web of wyrd. We here are different only in that we understand that to shake the web with desperate wings only summons the spider. We are very still and gently pluck the threads to make changes happen. We are very still. That is all.’
‘Your analogy is muddled,’ Valraven said coldly. ‘Just words. In your stillness, you want power and will do anything to acquire it. That is all.’
‘You are not a saint now, Valraven,’ Maycarpe said. ‘What lies within us lies within all men.’
‘Where did your scheme begin?’ Valraven said. ‘Just answer me that. When?’
Maycarpe glanced up at him. ‘With Merlan Leckery,’ he said. ‘Just with words.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ Valraven said. ‘I think that if I delved deep enough – shook enough strands of your web – I’d discover you had an influence, however small, on firing Bayard’s interest in my heritage. Am I right? Are you man enough to admit it?’
Maycarpe laughed delicately. ‘You flatter me,’ he said.
Valraven shook his head. ‘You are beyond credibility. So many lives ruined and twisted. So much darkness. Are you satisfied now?’
‘People act according to their will,’ Maycarpe replied. ‘I cannot influence that.’
‘Your words, as you put it, were a slow poison,’ Valraven said. ‘A drop here, a drop there. You knew how it would spread.’
‘If I truly influenced people to that extent, it was because they were stupid,’ Maycarpe said. ‘Never did I coerce anyone against their will.’
‘Without Darris, there would be no Crown of Silence,’ Mordryn said. ‘There would be no king of light. Do not judge us, Dragon Heir. You could be dead now and Bayard could be emperor. You cannot wash your hands of blood, no matter how much, in your new piety, you seek to erase the past.’
Valraven drew himself upright. ‘You are correct,’ he said. ‘No one can walk the way of light without casting a shadow.’
‘Then may we put aside this bickering and celebrate your victory?’ Senefex said.
Valraven drew in his breath, rubbed a hand through his hair. ‘I know I cannot be free of you,’ he said, ‘because if I cut your throats now, I have no doubt there would be others who’d slide invisibly into your places. At least I know who and what you are, but it is in my heart to make your path a little difficult. I cannot sit here and smugly toast the murder of the Malagashes. If I acted according to my will, so did they. Now they are all dead, innocent and culpable alike. That is a bitter victory, gentlemen, and I will not permit its celebration. You can haul their bodies out of whatever lime pit you’ve thrown them into and organise state funerals. The people must be made to see that I will not tolerate war crimes. I know it is not in my best interests to incarcerate or execute your scheming cabal, but at the very least you should pay a hefty fine for your part in the murder of the princes.’
‘If they were still alive, your position would never be secure,’ Senefex said. ‘You know that.’
‘I do,’ Valraven said shortly, ‘but we should begin as we intend to continue. Let the people see mercy and compassion.’
‘And hide the cruelty and indifference?’ Senefex smiled. ‘You can leave that to us, great king. Keep your hands lily white. But know that there is not a kingdom on earth that can thrive without those undesirable qualities. To think otherwise is to share the dream of the people, who are all asleep.’
Valraven fixed Mordryn with a penetrating stare. ‘Did Leonid ever suspect the truth? Was he ever a part of what you were?’
‘You are the first king to know,’ Mordryn replied. ‘Leonid saw what he wanted to see, a world shining with the light of Madragore. He was concerned about what would happen beyond his death, and in his last moments, indicated to me that I should take whatever action was necessary to uphold the empire.’
‘Perhaps he did suspect,’ Senefex said thoughtfully.
‘Did you kill him?’ Valraven demanded. ‘Or was his doting wife responsible?’
‘To the best of our knowledge,’ Senefex said, ‘Leonid’s illness and death were entirely due to natural causes.’
‘Yet Tatrini is the only member of the Malagash conspirators not to die,’ Valraven said. ‘You have spared her, and she was perhaps the most dangerous. That is a puzzle to me. I do not, for one moment, believe you think she is ‘only a woman’.’
‘Tatrini was dangerous only through her sons,’ Senefex said. ‘The people love her, and we will allow them to maintain their illusion. Her back is broken now. She is not a threat.’
‘So it seems that you have mercy and compassion after all,’ Valraven said dryly.
‘Their blood continues through your son, but in a purer form,’ Maycarpe said. ‘In some ways, your ascension has immortalised the Malagashes for eternity. Will you not drink to that?’
Mordryn poured out a glass of the ruby liquor and held it out across the desk. ‘Drink with us, Valraven.’
Maycarpe watched the Dragon Heir from the corner of his eye. Would he take the cup or not? The act was symbolic and Maycarpe knew Valraven was aware of its significance. Take it, he urged in his mind. If you know what’s good for you, take it.
The moment stretched on and then Valraven stepped forward and took the glass. He drained it in one gulp.
‘You should savour it,’ Mordryn said. ‘It is not rough ale to be guzzled. Sip it. Be aware of its many subtle flavours.’
‘It is all one to me,’ Valraven said. ‘I do not wish to be a connoisseur of such things.’
‘Perhaps you are afraid you’ll acquire a taste for it,’ Senefex said.
Valraven smiled bitterly. ‘Oh, I know its taste, believe me. It is the tang of the blood that has soaked into every battlefield I’ve created.’
‘No more battlefield
s for you, my lord,’ Maycarpe said softly. ‘Be grateful at least for that.’
‘There are many forms of battle,’ Valraven snapped. ‘I will never be complacent.’ He put down his glass upon Mordryn’s desk. ‘I have said all I want to say for now, so I’ll leave you to your conversation. No doubt you have much you wish to discuss.’
He turned for the door, then paused. ‘Darris, you have proved yourself a man of wits and cunning. I will create a new post for you in Senefex’s office, so that you can continue to advise and support me as you have – secretly – in the past. I expect you are delighted to be able to remain with your staunch friends, here in Magrast.’
Maycarpe could not prevent the shock showing on his face. ‘Val, I intend to return to Mewt. It is my home.’
‘If I remember correctly, you said your position denied you the comforts of a home,’ Valraven said. ‘You will stay here with me, Darris. It is non-negotiable. Merlan Leckery can take your place as governor of Mewt. It will only be a post of short duration in any case, since Mewt will soon receive her independence. Perhaps Merlan will want to remain there as ambassador.’
Maycarpe’s mouth had gone dry, like the sands of a Mewtish desert. He saw his home in Akahana, the shady rooms, the exquisite light. He smelled the incense perfume of the temples, heard the whisper of their magic. A dark fist closed over these beautiful sensations and snatched them away. They were gone. He swallowed with difficulty. ‘This is rather more than a fine, Val.’
‘If you wish to view it as punishment,’ Valraven said, ‘then do so. It was not my intention.’ He bowed. ‘Good day to you, gentlemen.’
Maycarpe watched him leave the room, unable to speak.
Once the door had closed, Mordryn sighed and poured out more liquor. ‘He is a fine man, is Palindrake. Sharp as a viper’s tooth. He’ll keep us on our toes, that’s for sure.’
‘It’s what we wanted,’ Senefex said. ‘We knew what to expect.’ He gestured towards Maycarpe with his glass. ‘You have my sympathy, Darris. I know what Mewt means to you.’
Maycarpe shook his head. ‘This I did not foresee.’ He exhaled slowly and lifted his glass. ‘I feel as if I’ve been beaten to within an inch of my life.’
‘I am quite sure our great king will devise similar torments for Senefex and myself,’ Mordryn said. ‘We must look upon them as part of the price. We always knew there would be something to pay, and if it’s only this, then be thankful. We must let Palindrake believe he has the upper hand. I’m sorry, Darris. You have to go along with this.’
‘I realise that,’ Maycarpe said. He glanced at the door. ‘Sweet child. He stamps his foot and we find it endearing. We curb our temper and spare him the rod. What gentle parents we are.’
‘We are indeed,’ Mordryn said. ‘We are indeed.’
Two months later, Darris Maycarpe rode as a state dignitary to the coronation of King Valraven I of Magravandias and Caradore. To public eyes, he was an esteemed and trusted servant of the new king, who had voluntarily sacrificed his life in Mewt to remain in court attendance in Magrast.
How different this day was to Gastern’s coronation. The joy of the vast crowds was genuine, without shadow, and as many wept as they smiled. The people could not believe that Valraven Palindrake rode among them as king. Some would think they were dreaming, that such an event was not possible in the grim world of reality.
But it was. Valraven rode with Varencienne, his queen-to-be, to the cathedral, Tatrini riding in a carriage just behind with Valraven’s children and sisters. Even Tatrini shone for the day, a faded representation of the woman she’d once been, looking a little tired and ill, but lapping up the adoration of the crowds. To the common people she was still an intrinsic part of all the positive changes. They knew little of all that had happened behind the shuttered doors of the palace, but those among them who suspected the truth regarded her with a kind of bewildered curiosity.
The Brotherhood of the True King – Shan, Khaster and Tayven – wore ceremonial armour that was far too impractical ever to be taken near a battlefield, but made them look like mythical heroes, astride their high-stepping thoroughbred horses. They rode just behind the first two carriages, Shan bearing a standard with the crest of the Brotherhood, recently designed, emblazoned upon it. Maycarpe had noticed Tayven’s family among the guests in the palace courtyard and wondered whether Tayven had yet reconciled with them. He was certainly no longer a son to be disowned, even by the hardest patrician heart.
The kings and queens of many countries were present, all radiant in the knowledge that soon the government of their lands would lie once more in their own hands. Queen Neferishu had accosted Maycarpe in the courtyard and berated him for ‘abandoning her’. He had smiled tensely, privately gritting his teeth. If she knew the grief in his heart, perhaps she would temper her words, but it was not in Maycarpe to share it with others.
King Alofel was present, along with a rather subdued Princess Helayna, who at least had put her resentment aside enough to attend the coronation. She must be furious she would soon have no reason to hate Valraven Palindrake. Maycarpe smiled to himself. He would spend many pleasant evenings writing up his observations of this day.
At the cathedral, banners fluttered from the high spires bearing representations of all the elemental dragons. In the future, Madragore would be seen simply as an avatar of fire, as all other deities of the world were avatars of the elements. There would be no one god, but only an appreciation of the life force of the universe and its many masks and names. Mordryn’s scribes were already composing ceremonies for the new belief system. The archimage would perform them with as much gusto and panache as he’d invested into the rites of Madragore. He was a good performer.
As he took his seat within the cathedral, Maycarpe found himself next to Merlan Leckery and his family. He imagined that Valraven might have had a hand in this seating arrangement and smiled mordantly to himself. Merlan appeared discomforted and nervous, so Maycarpe did nothing to soothe his concerns. He could not help feeling a little hostile towards Merlan, even though he knew it was not Merlan’s fault that he had lost his beloved home.
‘I’m sorry, Darris,’ Merlan whispered, as the crowd around them shuffled along the rows of pews. ‘I want you to know I did not suggest to Val that I should take your job.’
Maycarpe raised a hand. ‘Think nothing of it, dear boy. You will perform your duties admirably and I can think of no one better to take my place.’
‘Butc’
‘I have work here now,’ Maycarpe said. ‘I always knew that might be a possibility. Please don’t concern yourself with it.’
Merlan looked somewhat mollified by Maycarpe’s words, but a furrow was still etched between his brows.
When the Dragon Lord and his wife entered the cathedral, musicians lining the upper galleries began to blow a fanfare upon long golden trumpets. A deluge of petals fell down from the high vaults. It was like springtime, the season of birth in a magical world where the air was filled with flowers.
The entire congregation came to their feet. Maycarpe was aware that his eyes had become wet. He had worked so hard for this, risking his life and his sanity, yet he would always be part of the shadows. Not for him the long gracious walk to the altar where the prize of all prizes, the crown of divine kingship, would be placed upon his head. Not for him the joyous tears and laughter of an entire nation. He was one of the spiders on the web of wyrd. He could devour what became enmeshed in his deadly silk, or he could choose to release those bright beautiful dragonflies that were too precious to die. But no one knew that. The people outside today wouldn’t look twice at him. To them, he was nothing more than an administrative clerk of the government, who when the coronation party was over would go home alone to his modest apartment in the palace.
Mordryn’s theatrical voice boomed out, echoing from the vaulted ceiling, as he recited the recently rewritten words of the coronation ceremony. Then, Sinaclara of Breeland appeare
d from a side chapel, flanked by dozens of priests dressed in ceremonial regalia. She carried a purple velvet pillow and upon it lay the Crown of Silence.
Maycarpe blinked away tears. He had to reach for a handkerchief as Sinaclara walked slowly towards the thrones before the altar, where Valraven and Varencienne sat, unrecognisable in splendid robes, their faces strangely expressionless.
A priest took the pillow from Sinaclara and she lifted the Crown in her hands. She held it high above her head and her strong voice rang out through the cathedral. ‘Valraven Palindrake, in the name of all that is true, in the name of enlightenment, honesty and compassion, I crown you with this Crown of Silence as king of Magravandias and Caradore. Walk always upon the Way of Light.’
Valraven did not move. He was like a statue as Sinaclara placed the Crown on his head, but the moment it was done, the congregation erupted with cheers and clapped their hands. It was a cacophony and unprecedented at what would normally be a sombre, serious occasion. Nothing could contain the relief and pleasure in every heart. Even the most dignified of noble ladies cried out blessings.
Merlan clapped a hand impulsively against Maycarpe’s shoulder. ‘We did it,’ he said, his face shining with a free, unrestrained grin.
Maycarpe’s resentment against Merlan evaporated. He remembered the hundreds of nights when they’d sat up late into the night together in Akahana, daring to dream about all that could be. He embraced Merlan. ‘We did,’ he said.
The bells of Magrast all began to toll and from outside could be heard the maddened cheers of the crowd. Today, everyone would live in a magical world. The streets would run with wine, not blood. Tomorrow, when the forlorn remnants of all the banners and bunting blew along the alleys, and people emerged from their homes clutching their heads and regretting the reckless abandon of the previous night’s festivities, life would carry on as it always had. The day of the coronation would be remembered forever, but it was just the blink of an eye, a happy afternoon in the sun.
The Way of Light Page 52