He smiled. Instead, in a few days he'd be joining the search for it, even though he was absolutely sure that the dragon was safely locked away in some distant eyrie. Shezira was putting on a very good show. She'd kept it up for two months, and all sorts of little rumours leaked from her camp.

Another thought crossed his mind. Maybe it was all a ruse, just not the ruse he thought it was. She had some two dozen dragons and a hundred riders in the search, and all of them so very, very close to the Adamantine Palace. A lot closer than anyone else.

Yes, he thought. Definitely worth a loo\, and he let his mind wander over the possibilities as Wraith wing powered through the air. They flew over miles of rolling hills covered in trees, and then the ground fell away, faster and steeper, diving down into the Fury River gorge, which effectively cut the realms in two. To the south Queen Zafir ruled. To the north, the speaker. Jehal thought about that too, as he guided Wraith wing down into the gorge and shot along the roaring river. He skimmed the line between the two as closely as he could, while Wraithwing dipped his tail into the waters and threw up a cloud of spray behind them.

He flew along the gorge for an hour and then climbed out again, veering north across the dullness of the Hungry Mountain Plain. He made Wraithwing fly high. No point in scaring all the peasants. For a while he closed his eyes and dozed, but as the Purple Spur mountains slowly grew out of the haze and he could see the first glitter of the Adamantine Palace, he saw that there were other dragons in the air. Hunting dragons, by the look of them, half a dozen or so. At first Jehal wondered what they were doing there. Then he saw that Hyram had his legions out.

Perfecting them so he can show them off before he stands down as speaker. Jehal nudged Wraithwing into a tight spiral, diving straight through the other dragons towards the men on the ground. As he fell towards them, each legion bunched together, presenting a seamless wall of gleaming shields towards him. The shields were made of dragonscale, large enough to hide a man, and if he'd ordered Wraithwing to flamestrike, the fire would have stopped at the shield wall. As he passed over the heads of the soldiers, the shields came down and a hedgehog of scorpions popped up in their place. Each could fire a bolt the size of a javelin with enough force to punch through a dragon's scales, but it wasn't the dragon they'd be aimed at; it was the rider.

When he was past them, Jehal climbed again and had Wraithwing tip his wings to salute them. Best to be nice. One day they're going to be mine.

He landed at the Adamantine Eyrie, almost expecting to see Speaker Hyram waiting for him with a posse of guards, ready

to drag him straight off to the dungeons. Not that the old goat would dare such a thing without any proof. Not when Jehal was married to the next speaker's daughter. Ah, Lystra, all these little uses I have for you. A pity I'll have to be rid of you in the end.

He frowned. Thoughts like that left him feeling strangely uncomfortable, so he set them aside and concentrated on what was around him. Instead of the almost-expected armed escort, the eyrie was almost deserted. A couple of hunting dragons were ripping into a pile of freshly slaughtered cattle. A few Scales were going about their duties; one of them ran to help him dismount and care for Wraithwing. There were soldiers too, but not very many, and he supposed that he'd already passed most of the Adamantine Guard out on the plains. He'd brought a dozen riders and half as many dragons of his own in case he needed them; now he felt almost foolishly overdressed. All in all, he had the distinct impression that the eyrie-master, when he came running out of his little tower, hadn't even known he was coming.

'Prince Jehal!'

'Copas.' Jehal smiled. The man looked horrified, taken completely by surprise. 'Did the speaker not warn you of my arrival?'

'Ah, of course, Your Highness. We were expecting you tomorrow.' Lies. Jehal could see straight through them. Strange. Why would Hyram assume I would ignore his summons? Does he think I'm scared of him?

Well if he did, he was in for a shocker of a day tomorrow. Jehal widened his smile and let out a few more teeth. 'I can't help but wonder why, since it always has been and always will be a three-day flight from Furymouth, and when the speaker summoned me, his words were quite terse and direct. "Immediately" I believe was his demand.' I shouldn't blame him. Most of the men here belong to the order, not to Hyram. One day he's going to be mine too.

'Your Highness, I am at a loss. Do you intend to proceed directly to the palace? I can arrange accommodation here, if you would prefer.'

'In case no one at the palace is expecting me either?' Jehal

cocked his head. 'No, thank you, Copas. It's hardly your fault if the speaker's staff failed to warn you. I'm sure they can't have made the same mistake twice. However, my riders will stay here, if you would so oblige me.' If Hyram does plan me any ill, they'll do me no good in the palace.

He watched as various Scales unloaded his baggage into a pair of carts. For a few minutes he wondered whether he was going to have to ride perched on the back of one of them. Eventually Copas brought up one of his own horses. He hung his head.

'I'm sorry, Your Highness. We have disgraced ourselves.'

'Someone has. I'm sure it's not your fault.'

Copas had at least managed to send a rider ahead so that the palace gates were open and the servants and the guards could pretend they hadn't been taken entirely by surprise. But everything took far longer than it should, and by the time he was finally alone, he had to admit that whatever mad game Hyram was playing, it was starting to work. What was it that Hyram thought would keep him away? What is it that I don't know?

It turned out to be two things. The first he discovered when he unpacked his precious potions and found all but one of them were missing. The second became clear when Adamantine Guard smashed their way into his room in the middle of the night.

32

The Alchemist and the Dragon

 

Kailin was terrified. He had no idea what he should do or say. In front of him were dragon-knights from Queen Shezira's eyrie. He didn't know them by name, but some of the faces were familiar. And the alchemist, of course. He knew Master Huros. They'd all want him to bring Snow back home, and a Scales always obeyed. That was his life. Look after the dragons and do as he was told. Except that behind him was a dragon who didn't want to go home. He walked through the shallow rushing water of the river as though lead weights were shackled to his feet.

'That's far enough!' The dragon-knight standing next to Master Huros held up a hand. Kailin stopped. They were still a good twenty feet apart. The other riders were spreading out, edging towards the trees.

Snow spoke in his head. Make them understand that I will not come back. Not yet. They should cease their pursuit of us.

Kailin winced. I don't know how. They won't listen.

'Um, what is your name, Scales?' shouted Master Huros.

Kailin looked at his feet, too used to averting his eyes from his masters. 'Kailin,' he said.

'Scales Kailin. We are here to take you home. You and your dragon.'

'Queen Shezira will congratulate you herself,' called the knight. 'Her dragon is still intact and has not been lost. She will be greatly pleased. There may be a reward.'

He didn't know what to say. He shook his head. He couldn't force the words out of his mouth. As soon as he did, they'd kill him. They'd take him back to Outwatch and string him up for all the other Scales to see, and then they'd very slowly execute him.

This is what happens to a Scales who does not obey.

Tell them no!

He was shaking. He glanced up at the dragon-knight and at Master Huros, pleading with his eyes. 'I can't. I don't know how to. What if... Snow doesn't want to—'

'This is not a request, Scales,' shouted the knight. 'This is an order!'

Master Huros stepped forward. He walked over to Kailin and put a hand on his shoulder. 'Um, listen to me, Scales. Whatever has happened out here, it, er, it doesn't matter. If you've ridden the dragon, that doesn't matter. Whatever petty crimes you may have committed, they can be forgiven. The rules that we live by do not extend to circumstances such as these. You've done your duty and done it well. The dragon is intact but, um, she must come back to an eyrie at once.'

Kailin still couldn't meet the alchemist's eyes. 'I can't. She won't.'

Tell them no! Or I will.

'Scales, you do not understand. There are, er, things you don't know. She must come back to an eyrie. If she doesn't, she will change. You might even have noticed little differences in her behaviour already. We have to take her back.'

Change? He could feel Snow's curiosity grow.

'I should not even have told you this much, Scales. These are the secrets of our order, but you must believe me, and so I tell you that without the elixirs I and the other alchemists at the eyrie will prepare for her, she ... she will change. She will become a wild thing. She'll be dangerous, not just to you but to everyone.'

What does he mean? Ask him what he means!

He felt the edge in Snow's thoughts, the suspicion, the horror, the incipient fury. He felt it in himself. 'No! Stop!' He wasn't sure whether he meant it for Master Huros or for Snow.

The alchemist suddenly looked very surprised. 'Yes,' he said. 'Yes, that's right. More intelligent. More independent. How did you know?'

Kailin went rigid. 'Master, Master Huros, please—'

Leave him be!

'How did you know this, Scales?' The alchemist's voice had dropped to a whisper and he was glancing back at the knights. 'Yes. They remember things. That's exactly what happens, and that cannot be, cannot be allowed to be! But, but you shouldn't know this. How do you know this?'

Something in the air began to change. The anger inside his head was growing, blooming, pouring into him. 'Master Huros! She's in your head! She's reading your mind! She knows!'

He caught a glimpse of abject horror in the alchemist's eyes, and then Snow moved so fast that Kailin didn't even see it happen. One moment the alchemist was there in front of him, the next he had shot up into the air, the tip of Snow's tail wrapped around him. He dangled helpless in front of Snow's face — shrieking, screaming, pleading — while everyone else froze and watched. Stray thoughts flickered through Kailin's mind, thoughts that weren't his and were filled with such a frenzied rage that he fell to his knees in the water, clutching his head. Preparations? Memories? How? How long? How long have you done this? HOW LONG?

He didn't see the moment when Snow squeezed the knot in her tail and crushed the life out of the alchemist, almost splitting him in two. He saw the body, though, flung through the air like a stone from a catapult, straight into one of the knights, so hard that the force of it lifted him off the ground and both sprawled like broken rag dolls. He felt the sky go dark as Snow leapt straight over his head. She landed, shaking the ground where the knight had been, and snapped up another in her claws. The man screamed as she crushed him, and Kailin heard the metal plates of his armour bend and break. The other knights were bolting for the cover of the trees. Snow's tail whipped around again, casually flinging a rock the size of half a man. It caught another rider, smashing him into a tree. He didn't get up.

Then came the fire. She swept her head from side to side, sweeping the edge of the forest with torrents of flame. The knights, if they were quick enough, would cower behind their dragonscale shields and the heat would pass them by.

But if they were crouched behind their shields, they weren't running. Snow sprang out of the river and up the bank to the forest. The fire came again, and this time her tail cracked into the trees. She plucked out one knight, cartwheeling him a hundred feet into the air, and then another, this one smashed head first into the stones of the river bed. Kailin whimpered and covered his face. He couldn't bring himself to watch. He heard men scream, branches crack, tree trunks bend and break.

Sprinting footsteps splashed through the water towards him. He heard a voice: 'What are you doing? Are you mad?'

Arms roughly pulled him up and gripped him tight. Raw steel touched his throat.

'You tell that dragon to fucking stop, right?'

Another voice: 'Kemir! Get away from him, you idiot.'

Kailin screwed up his face. 'I can't.' I can't stop her. She's not listening to me.

'Kemir! It's gone berserk! You can't stop it!'

'He's right.' Snow. Stop! Help me!

The man with the knife at his throat tensed as if preparing to make his killing cut. 'Well then, you're coming with us.' He started to drag Kailin out of the river. 'If it's going to burn us, it's going to burn you too, you bastard.'

The man was doomed. They were all doomed. Kailin knew it as soon as they started to move. He could feel Snow had sensed his plea. She wasn't done with the other knights yet, but as soon as she was ...

'Shit!'

They had almost made it when Snow exploded out of the inferno on the other side of the river, showering ash and embers and burning branches all around them. The fire flashed again, and the other man shrieked.

'Sollos!' Kailin's captor stumbled and the two of them went down together on the soggy grass. The man didn't let go, but rolled so that he was lying on his back with Kailin on top of him, both of them staring up at Snow, who glared back down at them. Her teeth were bloody, her eyes blazed, and she had someone in her tail again. Through the haze of smoke and gibbering terror, Kailin thought he recognised one of Knight-Marshal Nastria's sell-swords.

'Let him go!' roared the man with the knife. 'Let him go or I'll kill your rider.'

Where are the alchemists? The thought hit Kailin like a hammer. Where are they? Burn them! I will burn them all!

Don't know! Don't know! Inside, Kailin curled up into a little ball and just waited to die.

Where are the others?Where are they?

'I know where they are!' shouted the man with the knife. 'I know how to find them.'

The fire in Snow's eyes died. She snarled and dangled the man held in her tail close. Kailin could see him clearly now, and he was one of the knight-marshal's sell-swords. Sollos. He couldn't remember the name of the other one.

Tell me!

Kailin blinked. High up in the sky he thought he could see a dark speck or two moving against the clouds.

 

33

Jehal's Cure

There were seven or eight of them, all wearing veils to hide their faces. They dragged him out of bed and away through the palace. He shouted and screamed but they ignored him. When he struggled, one of them hit him hard enough to split his lip and knock loose a tooth. They took him out into the courtyard, across to the Glass Cathedral and to a hidden staircase behind the altar. Far underground, they hauled him through dim passageways murky with smoke and into a gloomy cavern of a room. A scattering of torches shed enough light for him to see the torture machines lining the walls. Hyram was sitting in the middle of the chamber, a small brazier glowing beside him.

'Are you mad, old man?' shouted Jehal. 'Have you completely lost your mind?'

Hyram didn't say anything, only watching as the veiled guardsmen chained Jehal to a wheel.

'No one will stand for this — Narghon, Silvallan, Zafir, even Queen Shezira and King Valgar. Even the Syuss will rise out of the sand to shake their fists at you.'

Hyram simply watched, trembling slightly. The veiled guardsmen finished their work and slipped away into the shadows. Jehal and Hyram were alone.

'Y-You missed someone.'

'Yes, even the King of the Crags might swoop from his lofty throne if he ever finds out that you've imprisoned a dragon-prince.'

Y-You know, I simply d-didn't think you'd come.' Hyram rose painfully to his feet and snapped his fingers. 'I-I am not imprisoning you, Jehal. I'm t-torturing you. When I'm done, you can g-go.' Another pair of veiled men emerged from the shadows in the corners of the room. 'I have h-had letters from Queen Zafir. She says that you and Queen Aliphera were lovers.' Jehal's heart skipped a beat. Letters from Zafir? Ancestors! What's she done?

Hyram was pacing up and down. The two men with veils were standing patiently, waiting. 'Z-Zafir blames you. She thinks that her m-mother killed herself because you were about to marry s-someone else. Were you lovers?'

Jehal spat at him. 'Does your interest in my bed stem from the emptiness of your own, old man?'

'Were you 1-lovers, Jehal?'

'None of your concern, Speaker, but yes, I fucked her every way you can think of. She couldn't get enough of it.' Even in the gloom he could see Hyram's face tighten. The speaker gave a little nod, and the two torturers set to work. One pulled his head back so he couldn't see what the other was doing. He could feel it, though, the waves of agony they sent through him.

'No!' he shrieked. 'No, we weren't lovers!'

Hyram gave another nod, and the torturers let go and stepped away. Jehal hung his head, slowly catching his breath as the pain faded away. Sweat dripped down his face. He didn't even know what the second torturer had done. Have they marked me? Scarred me? If they have, I will return the favour a thousand times.

'No. Q-Queen Aliphera was t-too wise not to see through you, Prince V-Viper. I want to k-know why you had her k-killed. And how.'

'I didn't.'

The torturers reached for him again. This time they didn't stop for a long time. Jehal gritted his teeth, but in the end he screamed and sobbed like everyone else. There was only one thing he could cling on to: I didn't have her killed.

Eventually it stopped. Jehal slumped, exhausted. Hyram looked him up and down.

'C-Can you still hear me, Viper?'

Jehal made no response. Best to pretend he'd passed out. Then Hyram slapped him.

'Don't p-play coy with me, boy. My man knows h-his work. I know you can h-hear me. Would you like a r-rest, Jehal?' Hyram dragged the brazier closer. His hands were shaking.

'You should get some help with that, old man,' breathed Jehal. 'Before you hurt yourself.'

'M-Master Bellepheros gave everyone in y-your eyrie the truth-smoke.'

'Master Bellepheros stood up in front of my father's court, in front of King Silvallan, Queen Shezira, King—'

'Yes, yes. He found n-nothing. Q-Queen Shezira found nothing. She even s-sent her daughter to ask you while y-you were reeling with M-Maiden's Regret and f-found nothing.'

Ah. So that's what that was about. 'Because there is nothing to find, old man.'

Hyram finished moving the brazier closer to Jehal and sprinkled dust over the coals. Wisps of white smoke coiled up into the air. 'I will show them h-how it is done. Master Bellepheros could not bring his s-smoke to you. N-Not allowed. But I can. Breathe deep, Prince V-Viper. The torture was only a b-bit of fun for me. Now you'll c-confess it all and be hanged. I w-win.' Hyram began to totter away.

'This is a war you're starting, Speaker. Everyone will turn on you. Everyone!'

'N-No they won't.' Hyram almost seemed to smile, but the twitching muscles in his face twisted it into a sneer. 'Even if I'm wrong. N-No one cares, Jehal. Why b-bother? In a few months I'll b-be gone anyway, one way o-or another.'

'If that's truth-smoke, old man, then ask me about the potion I brought with me. The one that eases my father's pain. The one that might cure your symptoms. Ask me about that, you old cripple, and then ask me what it would take from you to ever, ever get your hands on any of it. Ask what you'd have to give me. You're sick. You're dying, and it's the slowest, most degrading death you can imagine. I will relish every day of watching you ebb away. Ask me, Hyram!'

Hyram seemed to chuckle. 'W What makes you think I would

have to g-give you anything at all?' He walked away and Jehal was left alone. The smoke risking from the brazier grew thicker and thicker. He could smell a sweet aroma with a strange sickly perfume. Truth-smoke.

Now what? Truth-smoke wasn't perfect. The alchemists liked to pretend that it was, but a clever and determined man could still fool an inept interrogator. Or do the alchemists spread that rumour too, so that we always pay them to do our truth-seeking instead of doing it ourselves? Never mind. I'm clever. I'm determined. Is Hyram inept? No. He's clever too. But what if... I have to make him stupid. How? Can I do that? We'll have to see.

The smoke was getting to him. His head was light and he was starting to lose track of where he was. I didn't have Aliphera killed. She fell off her dragon. It was an accident. I wasn't there. I was sic\ in bed. He stopped. He couldn't remember what he was thinking about. There was someone else in the room. He couldn't move and he wasn't sure why. And he was hurt. He couldn't remember how that had happened either.

'You were m-mumbling to yourself,' said the voice. Jehal forced his eyes to focus properly. Ah yes. Hyram.

'You're old.' He giggled.

'They say that the w-words a man mumbles to himself as the s-smoke takes him are the lies he wants to tell. What do you think about that?'

Jehal grinned. 'I think that sounds very clever.' A very distant part of him, he realised, did know where he was and what was happening to him. It was as though that part had been locked away in a faraway place. It was jumping up and down and shouting at him, trying to tell him things, but he couldn't hear it.

'So. L-Let's start with what you said. You didn't have Aliphera killed. I-Is that true?'

'I didn't have her killed.' Jehal yawned. 'I was there. Why can't I move my hands?' The faraway part of him was shouting and screaming something. If he tried, he could almost make it out.

'Because they're t-tied to a wheel. You were there? What do you mean you were th-there?'

'I was with her.' He stared at Hyram. 'On the back of her dragon with her when she fell off. I wasn't ill that day. Your alchemist was so close to the truth of it. She did hide something when she flew out of Clifftop, and Prince Meteroa too, when he came back. Me. We went to such trouble, she and I, so that no one would ever know I was with her. Weeks of careful thought. And now here you are with your silly smoke and now you know.'

'You were w-with her?'

'Why, Speaker Hyram, you don't look well at all. I was in her saddle pack. I'd been seducing her for months. Little glances, little touches. She wanted me, old man. Oh, she ached for me. I just had to look at her and she got wet. So she smuggled me onto her dragon so that no one would know, so we could fly away and just fuck all day.' He leered at Hyram.

'No!'

'Yes, old king.'

'I a-asked you if you were 1-lovers. You said n-no!'

'You were torturing me. I lied so you'd stop. You didn't want to hear it, but you should have believed Queen Zafir. Devious little bitch that she is.'

Hyram's shaking was getting worse. He was clenching and unclenching his fists, pacing up and down in front of the brazier. The faraway voice in Jehal's head was still shouting things. Something about Hyram. Jehal frowned.

'Does it bother you, old man?' he asked. 'Does it trouble you?' He twisted his head from side to side, trying to hear what the voice was saying. Goad him? Make him angry? He looked at Hyram again. 'Does this make you angry?'

Hyram hit him. 'Yes. D-Did you kill her?'

Good. There was blood in Jehal's mouth. 'The ground did that. When she fell. Do you want to know why she fell? You do, don't you. Do you want to know why she wasn't strapped into her riding harness? Can't you see it for yourself? Do you want to know whether her body was naked when they finally found her?'

Hyram hit him again.

'Did she fall or did I push her? Is that what you want to know? Or do you want to know whether it was before or after I'd had her?'

This time Hyram hit him in the stomach. 'Shut up!'

'Maybe you'd like to know how many times I took her?'

'Shut up!'

Jehal coughed. 'No. You wanted to know the truth, old king, and so that's what you're going to get. I was her lover. I was with her when she died. I wanted to have her on the back of her dragon. Have you ever fucked on the back of a dragon in flight, old man? It's a thrill, but it's stupid. People fall.' He cocked his head. Keep talking. 'Do you want to know what she was like, Aliphera? Do you want to know how she moaned when she came? Do you want to know what she liked best of all? Do you want to know that she liked it from behind? Do you want to know what she would whisper when I slipped my fingers inside her? Is that what all this is for? Because you can never have her for yourself and you want to know what it was like? Ask away, old man. I can tell you everything?

That was as far as he got. Hyram, rigid with rage, let out a roar. He swore and screamed at Jehal, hitting him again and again. When it stopped, Jehal had a vague idea that it was because some men in veils had finally dragged the speaker away. Throughout it all Jehal grinned.

I win.

 

34

Kemir

He was lying on his back. He was soaking wet and freezing. Ice-cold water rushed around him. The tumble of stones that littered the river bed pressed into his back. He had a death grip on a man he vaguely knew, a knife held at the man's throat, and an enraged dragon glaring down at him. It already had Sollos, crushing him in its tail. Kemir's mind froze. He couldn't think. He was going to die.

Where are the alchemists? The words came from somewhere. He was staring at the dragon's mouth, waiting for the moment when the fire would come. Its mouth didn't move, but the words came anyway. Where are they? They filled him up on the inside, as big as the dragon itself. Where are the others? Where? He thought his head would explode. Alchemists! Where?

He could feel the Scales' skin, soft underneath, hard and brittle as glass where it was flaking away. Will a knife even cut him? 'I know where they are!' he shouted, if only to make the noise in his head go away. 'I know how to find them.'

The rage in the dragon's eyes faded to a simmering anger. It peered at him and snarled, and then it threw Sollos up into the air and caught him with its tail again, holding him head down just inches above Kemir's face.

Tell me!

'Don't tell it!' croaked Sollos, and then he screamed as the tail tightened around him.

Kemir squeezed his arm into the Scales' throat. 'If I tell you and let this one go, you'll burn me.'

Mountains. I see mountains in your mind. They are close. Tell me or I will burn you both.

'There are mountains all around you, dragon. Burn me and you'll never know which one.' Above him, Sollos screwed up his face in agony as the dragon flexed its tail again. Then the monster looked up. Abruptly, it let go of Sollos, turned and ran down the river. A few seconds later, it was rising into the air. Kemir could see two dark dots moving against the clouds high above. Reluctantly, he let go of the Scales and ran to Sollos.

'Are you all right?'

Sollos sat up. Blood covered his face from a shallow gash in his scalp and he held his left hand gingerly. 'Nothing that won't get better.'

'Do your legs work?' Kemir glanced over his shoulder. The Scales was standing up, looking into the sky, dazed and lost. Sollos got up.

'Well enough.'

'That's good. I'll grab him. Let's get running.'

'Wait! The riders.'

Kemir grimaced. 'What about them? They're all dead.'

'No, they're not.' Sollos pointed. In the middle of the river an armoured figure was staggering to his feet. Kemir grinned. Rider Semian. What luck!

'Well that can soon be corrected.' He raised his voice. 'Hey! Rider Rod! Over here.'

'Wait.'

'I'll make it quick. We'll get out of here before his friends come back.'

'Wait!'

Kemir growled. 'What?' Rider Semian was stumbling through the water and the stones towards them.

'Who was telling the white dragon what to do?'

'I don't think anyone was telling it what to do.'

'But that's not right.'

Kemir shrugged. 'Maybe, maybe not. I know shit about dragons, except what they do when they have riders on their backs.' He fingered a knife. Semian was getting closer. He looked bewildered, as though he hadn't the first idea what had happened. Easy prey.

'Let me talk to him.' Sollos picked his way over the stones towards the dazed dragon-knight. From above, a series of soul-rending shrieks echoed through the valley. Kemir winced.

'Rider! Rider Semian! Are you all right?'

Semian didn't say anything. His face was strangely blank. Kemir felt the hairs on his neck prickle. Danger! He took a step towards them. 'Sollos!'

Semian's mouth was half-open, his eyes vacant and distant, but when he moved, he moved with a sudden speed and purpose. In the blink of an eye he had drawn his sword and run Sollos through. Sollos gave a little grunt and doubled up. As Semian pulled free his sword, Sollos crumpled and fell into the water. Kemir found he couldn't move.

'Sollos!'

Semian lifted his sword and thrust down, burying the point in the exposed skin at the back of Sollos's neck.

'Sollos!'

Semian turned to look at Kemir. The vacant stare had gone.

'You bastard!' Kemir hesitated. Fury and revenge surged through him, demanding retribution, immediate and bloody. Yet Semian was armoured. He was a knight. And he'd been so unexpectedly quick.

I'm afraid of him. The realisation was horrifying, almost as bad as seeing Sollos die. If I fight him, he might actually win. I'm afraid of him. And he's not afraid of me.

Semian came slowly towards him. There could be no doubting his purpose now. He knew exactly where he was and exactly what he was doing.

'You and me, sell-sword. That's what you wanted.'

'He never drew his sword. He was trying to help you. You're filth. You and your kind.'

'It's clear.' Semian's eyes were wild. 'You were a part of this all along. Both of you. You made a fool of me, but I will redeem myself with this.' He waved his sword in the air. 'Now I have the vile stain of a traitor on my blade, I can barely bring myself to hold it in my hand. Quick now, man, before 1 can stand the stink no more. Let us be done. Kill me if you can, or add your blood to his.'

Kemir took a step away, keeping his distance. 'Killing you here and now, that would be too quick. I want to watch you die slowly.'

'Are you too great a coward to fight me, sell-sword?'

The rage surged again, but the fear kept it in check. 'One day there'll be a shadow in an alley, and I'll be in that shadow with my bow, waiting for you. You'll never know. You'll never see it coming.' Kemir scuttled away through the rushing water and the rocks, putting more distance between them. Semian would never catch him dressed in so much dragonscale, and he didn't try. The knight simply stood and watched him retreat.

'Coward.'

'You'll never know!' Kemir turned and ran. When he'd crossed the river and reached the trees, he looked back again. Semian was still standing there, stock still, out in the open. A perfect target. Kemir took his bow from his shoulder and started to string it. Seventy, eighty yards. A man in armour. If he's stupid enough to stay still, I'll probably hit him. I won't kill him. Then I can finish him slowly. Yes, that would be perfect.

He'd almost forgotten the dragons when there came another shriek, so loud and close that he flinched. A moment later the entire river exploded. Water and stones flew everywhere as two dragons crashed into the river bed, locked together, teeth and claws sunk into each other. One of them was the white. The other was dark brown with flashes of iridescent green on the insides of its legs. It had a rider on its back, but he quickly disappeared as the dragons thrashed and rolled in the water. Then the thrashing stopped and the dragons parted. The white dragon was limping. The darker beast got up, nosed at something in the water and roared. One of its wings was clearly broken, and it seemed to barely notice the white now.

It was still in the way, though. Kemir ran a few dozen yards through the trees, following the river, but Rider Semian had

gone.

The Scales was still alive. Somehow. Stumbling blindly though the stones. The white dragon picked him up in one claw, turned and ran.

Kemir watched them go. Inside him something broke.

35

The Dragon-Queen

 

Hyram went out to watch Zafir's dragons fly in to the Adamantine Eyrie, but his mind was still on Jehal. After the debacle of the truth-smoke, he'd been left with three choices. The most appealing was simply to have Jehal killed while he had the chance, but that would have been war, and above all the point of the speaker was to make sure there was never another dragon-war. Keeping him in the dungeon had some appeal as well but wouldn't achieve anything. When Shezira succeeded him as speaker, she'd let him go however much she thought he was guilty. Better to set him free sooner rather than later and see what he did.

Except that hadn't worked either. Instead of flying south, where Hyram could have kept an eye on him, Jehal had flown west, to Drotan's Top. From there he'd gone north, supposedly to join Queen Shezira's interminable and futile hunt for her missing dragon. Shezira knew all of her riders far too well for Hyram to have a spy among them, and so now the Viper was at large. He'd show up sooner or later, but Hyram would have felt a lot more comfortable knowing what Jehal was up to. He wants to be speaker. He knows I'd die rather than betray Shezira for someone li\e him, so perhaps he's thinking of who comes next. Who will she name in her turn? Does he think that marrying Princess Lystra will make it him? She'll name Valgar surely? If he's still alive.

Queen Zafir's dragons landed one after the other. A twitch started in Hyram's cheek and wouldn't go away. Valgar's getting old. In ten years he'll be as old as I am now, and Jehal the perfect age. Maybe that's what he has in mind.

After everything he'd learned in the last few days, he wasn't sure how he should approach Queen Zafir. She'd told him that

Aliphera and Jehal had been lovers and she'd been right. She'd told him that she didn't think Jehal had murdered her mother, and she might have been right about that too. He wasn't even sure he cared any more. Aliphera had soiled herself with the Viper, she of all people. She deserved to die. If her death was an accident, Hyram's only regret was that she hadn't pulled Jehal down with her. I should put her out of my mind. Even if Jehal didn't fell her, he's still murdering his own father. He could hang for that. Best that I forget her forever.

Except there she was, standing in front of him, exactly as he remembered her from twenty years ago, glorious, radiant, beautiful beyond compare. He felt a fool and ashamed of himself. Old and crippled. How could he stand before her?

'Your H-Holiness.' He bowed. It's not her. She's gone, remember. It's her daughter. But she loofe so much life her. I'd never really seen it before, but she does.

Queen Zafir bowed and kissed his ring. 'Speaker. You flatter me.'

He looked at her. He couldn't stop looking at her. She was Aliphera at her best, her hair piled up on the top of her head to show off the curves of her neck, the same deep red riding clothes, the same carved amber dragon hanging at her throat, the same russet folds of furs to keep her warm against the wind. Everything about her glowed.

'Y-You're wearing your m-mother's furs.'

Zafir bowed her head. 'Since she died I've taken to always wearing something that was hers. To honour her memory. I hope you're not offended.'

'C-Come.' Hyram offered her his arm, which she took with a smile. 'I-I have to apologise to you, Queen Z-Zafir. I once 1-loved your mother very much. I should n-not have said what I did after you were crowned.'

She met his eyes with sadness. 'No, Speaker, you should not. Prince Jehal killed my mother. We both know that now.'

He looked away and bit his lip. 'I d-don't know. I-It may have been an a-accident.'

'I think he was on her dragon with her when she died.'

'I kn-know he was.'

For a moment Zafir tensed. 'You know?'

'Y-Yes. H-He told me. I was n-not very kingly while he w-was here, but I did learn a g-great deal.'

'Then I am keen to know more.' She was still tense. Idly, Hyram wondered why.

'I know that e-everything you told me was true. I kn-know I should have paid more heed to your 1-letters. I know I d-did you an injustice. P-Please forgive me. Tell me, how are the rest of your family?'

She seemed to relax. 'My sister still grieves. Uncle Kazalain has sworn an oath of vengeance. He stomps and shouts and drinks and bellows for war and has no idea who he should fight.' She gave him a thoughtful look. 'Mostly he vents his anger at Queen Shezira. He has this foolish notion that you might have defied the old pacts and chosen Aliphera to succeed you. He has his sons beside him, but that is all. As for the rest, the whole realm is shocked with sadness.' Then she smiled at him, and he couldn't help himself.

'Y-You are every bit as beautiful as your m-mother, Queen Zafir. I hope you know that.'

'You're too kind, Speaker. But tell me more about Jehal. I came here thinking you would ask me lots of questions, and how clever I would seem to know even some of the answers. But you already know far more than I do.'

He led her to the edge of the eyrie, where a line of carriages waited to carry Zafir and her entourage to the palace. There he left her while a hundred servants buzzed about, carrying cases and sacks and boxes to the four corners of the palace. He'd given her the Tower of Air again, hoping she'd understand that he meant to honour her. When he'd summoned her, a part of him had meant to accuse her. He might even have treated her as he'd treated Jehal, with a bit of mild torture and the truth-smoke. Now the thought appalled him. What was he thinking? The Viper deserved it for a hundred and one other tilings, but Queen Zafir?

She was exactly as he remembered her mother. Her clothes, her hair, her jewellery, the way she spoke, the way she held herself. A part of him knew that she must have done it deliberately; another part didn't care.

In the evening they dined in the great hall of the palace, with the golden carved heads of the previous forty-four speakers looking down on them. Zafir walked in with a dozen gleaming dragon-knights behind her, all dressed in the deep reds and autumn browns that Aliphera had favoured. She wore Aliphera's own favourite dress, and the sight of her brought tears to Hyram's eyes. So much regret.

As they ate he quietly told her everything he'd done to Jehal, and everything Jehal had said in return. She listened quietly. Her eyes seemed to tell him that he'd done the right thing.

'It doesn't matter whether he pushed her or whether she fell,' she said softly, when he was done. 'He is responsible, and I hate him for it. I used to like him. There was a time when ...' She looked down. 'There was a time when I hoped he would marry me and not Princess Lystra. But now ...' She shuddered. 'She's welcome to him. I should have listened to you a long time ago, and so should my mother. There will not be a war, Speaker, I promise you that. But I will have vengeance. I can promise you that too.'

He got drunk. It lessened the symptoms of his illness, but that was only ever an excuse. Mostly, it lessened the bitterness and the regrets and the pain, the other illness that ate away at him from deep inside. Except tonight it didn't; it made him worse and filled him with maudlin sighs, until he found himself telling Zafir everything. It was all he could do not to break down into tears. In front of all his knights and hers that would surely have been the end of him. Through it all, she watched him. She didn't say anything, but her eyes seemed filled with sympathy. He'd expected her to tell him that he was stupid, that he was a fool, that what he'd done to Jehal threatened the peace of the realms, that he was an idiot for mourning a woman he'd barely known, and that death was death and he should be glad of the years he'd had.

Instead, when he was done she leaned towards him and spoke into his ear.

'I can't bring my mother back, Hyram,' she whispered. 'But your sickness, if it truly is the same as King Tyan's, now there I may be able to help you.'

'The V-Viper claims he has a p-potion,' Hyram slurred. 'The a-alchemists know nothing about it. You s-said you had some i-information. In your letter.'

She leaned further towards him. 'He gets his potions from the Taiytakei, but I can do better than that.' From somewhere she produced a small vial. 'He was bringing a sample with him when he came to the palace to answer your summons. I dare say he meant to taunt you with it.' She giggled. 'I stole it when he spent the night at my eyrie on his way here.' She opened the vial and poured a few drops into his wine and then a few into her own. 'I thought about asking my alchemists what it was, but you know what they're like. A year from now they might come back with an answer or they might not. I've had it tested.' She lifted up her goblet and swallowed. 'It's not poison, I know that much. It's a bit ...' She giggled again. 'It's a bit like a mild dose of Maiden's Regret. Of course, I don't know if it will help you with your sickness, but I'm sure it can't do you any harm. If you can believe anything Jehal says, it doesn't make the sickness go away, only keeps it at bay for as long as you take the potion. If you stop taking it, the sickness comes back again.'

Hyram stared at his wine. He sniffed it.

'It tastes terrible. It doesn't go well with wine either. Brandy is better.'

'Y-You tried it before?'

Zafir shrugged. 'I wanted to know what it would do before I offered it to you. Obviously I didn't try it until I knew it wasn't poison.'

'B-But it came from the Viper.' Hyram shook his head. The room was blurring before his eyes. 'It c-could be anything.'

She sat back in her chair, moving away from him. 'You don't have to drink it, Speaker. If you do, and it works, I have more.'

'How m-much more?'

Now she laughed. 'Enough for a few months. Enough to see you to the end of your time here. I know where he gets it too. I can tell you, if you want me to.' She leaned into him again. 'Drink it, Hyram. Don't let Jehal win. Be young and strong again, the way my mother wanted to remember you.'

Her closeness, the warmth of her through his clothes, made him shiver.

'What have you got to lose?'

He stared at his wine. He was still staring at it as the feast came slowly to an end. When he meandered away to his bed, he took the goblet with him, still half full. In the morning, he decided. In the morning I'll as\ her for another dose. Jeiros can take it. He can tell me what's in it. He can tell me if it's safe. In the morning. He put the goblet on the table beside his bed and tried to sleep, but sleep wouldn't come, and the goblet seemed to stare at him.

If you were Antros, you'd drink me, it seemed to say. If you were you, you'd drin\ me. If you don't, then who are you? Queen Zafir is right. What have you got to lose?

'Everything,' he whispered, and hoped the goblet would hear him and leave him be, but instead it seemed to laugh.

'Everything? You've already lost everything. And here I am, offering it all back again, and you turn me away? Who are you? What are you? Are you already a ghost?

Trembling, he reached out and took the goblet in his hand. She'd put some into her own cup, hadn't she? And drunk it down. He'd seen her do it. She was right, wasn't she?

That's right, murmured the goblet, as he put it to his lips. Drink me down. Be a man again. Be a man.

Be a man.

36

An Accommodation

 

Kemir crept out from the trees. In the middle of the river the wounded dragon paused from its howls and turned to look at him; quickly Kemir retreated, but the dragon didn't seem very interested in him. He couldn't see Rider Semian anywhere.

Maybe he got crushed in the fight.

That would be too much to hope for. Kemir ran through the forest beside the river until he rounded a bend and the dragon couldn't see him. Then he crossed over and crept back again. Still no Semian. The dragon hadn't moved either. He watched it for a while, searching for the courage to go out into the water where Sollos lay.

When he finally found him, he wondered why he'd bothered. Sollos was dead, and he'd known that from the moment he'd seen Rider Semian drive down his sword. He helped himself to Sollos's bow, his arrows and his pack.

'Goodbye, cousin.' He turned Sollos over and very gently removed an amulet from his neck, then turned his back on the body and picked his way into the trees. He carefully buried the amulet. Next he set about looking for any tracks that might have been Rider Semian's; he didn't find any, but as the sun slipped behind the mountain peaks two more dragons swooped silently into the valley and landed in the river. Kemir watched them come in through the trees. He strung his bow and crept closer until he could see them properly. The dragons were splashing in the water, cooling themselves down, while their riders clustered by the shore. Four dragon-knights. No, five.

He clenched his fists. He could see Semian again. Still alive. He

strained his ears to hear them. The breeze, such as it was, carried their words towards him.

'We saw Storm's Shadow on the way in as well,' said one of the others. Kemir couldn't see his face. 'Mias was riding her, wasn't he? No sign of him though. What happened?'

'We found the white. The Scales was with her. He wouldn't give her back. He set her on us.' Semian shook his head. 'All the others are dead. The alchemist too. Everyone except one of the sell-swords. They were in with the Scales somehow.'

Kemir nocked an arrow to his bow. The breeze carried the scent of the dragons too, a light whiff of ash and charcoal. He savoured it. If he could smell them, then they couldn't smell him. You lying, murdering bastard. I could /(ill you where you stand. Right now.

'Mias and Arakir got back before they were done. The white attacked them in the air. I didn't see what happened to Mias. The white must have got him.' Semian glanced towards the dragon with the broken wing. 'Arakir was on Tempest. I saw him and the white come down into the river, fighting each other. Arakir was crushed, Tempest has a broken wing and I think a broken foot as well. The white was hurt too. She headed upriver. She was limping and I didn't see her fly. The Scales was still with her and the surviving sell-sword escaped as well. I suppose he's long gone now.'

No, I'm right here. Kemir squinted down the length of his arrow. Where should I shoot you, Rider Rod? In the face? In the throat, as you did for Sollos. Not in your heart, because there's nothing there. Slowly he lowered the bow. This was too easy. Semian could die here and now. Vengeance would be served, but Sollos would still be dead.

There was the little matter of the four other dragon-knights too, but they were armoured and Kemir was sure he could vanish into the forest before they could turn their dragons on him. But merely putting an arrow into Semian wasn't going to be enough. There had to be pain and suffering. He had to die slowly, piece by piece.

'We saw the white. It's a couple of miles further up the river,' said one of the other riders. 'We'd seen Storm's Shadow, and then we saw Tempest. Ancestors! What do we do? Should we go on to the white? It's getting dark.'

Piece by piece. Kemir raised his bow again.

'No.' Semian screwed up his face. 'Yes. No. Was Storm's Shadow hurt?'

'It's hard to say.'

'Go and find out. If Storm's Shadow can fly, take her back to the camp. Tell them what happened and that we need another alchemist. Tell them we've found the white and bring them back here. Someone will have to stay here with Tempest. The rest of us—'

The first arrow struck Semian in the leg, just above the knee. Semian howled, staggered and fell back into the water. The second arrow struck one of the other riders in the back. The third arrow hit the wounded dragon in the neck, which only made it hiss and snap. Kemir didn't stop to fire a fourth; instead he jogged a little deeper into the forest and then turned and followed the path of the river. The knights wouldn't follow him into the trees, he was quite sure of that, and the dragons would never find him in the dark. Not killing Rider Semian, he discovered, was immensely satisfying. Killing him was something he could only do once. He smiled to himself. / can put arrows into his arms and legs again and again and again.

It took him well into the night to find the white dragon and the Scales. The dragon was curled up next to the water, sleeping. The Scales was huddled next to it. As he crept closer, he saw another body too, gently snoring. He slipped up to the sleeping Scales, crouched beside him, slid out a knife and slowly pulled back the man's cloak.

'Scales!' he hissed, glancing up at the dragon. He gave the man a gentle shake. 'Scales!'

The man stirred. The dragon's breathing didn't change.

'Scales!'

The Scales opened his eyes. Kemir touched his lips with the point of his knife. 'Quiet, Scales. If I was going to hurt you, I'd have already done it. Rut if you wake up your dragon ...'

'Who are you?' The Scales was looking up at him, still dazed with sleep, not quite understanding.

'My name is Kemir. I was a sell-sword working for your queen until one of her knights murdered my cousin. I want to help you.'

The Scales blinked and rubbed his face. A part of him looked terrified; another part looked vaguely surprised and seemed to be looking past Kemir rather than at him. Kemir felt a coldness. He started to turn and caught a glimpse of the tip of the dragon's tail snaking through the air towards him. He swore and dived away, but the tail was too quick. The next thing he knew, he was being lifted up into the air.

'Scales! Damn you! Call it off! I'm here to help.'

Help? What do you mean?

The thought seemed to come from outside him, but that was a ridiculous idea and he dismissed it. 'You left one of the dragon-knights alive. Now there are more of them. They're coming. I tried to slow them down, but they're coming after you. Call it off!'

How many are coming?

'Four knights. No, five. But two of them are too hurt to worry about.' This time he couldn't shake it. The question had come into his mind, but the Scales hadn't uttered a word. 'How ... ?'

The ground fell away. The dragon was rising, lifting its head, lifting him up into the air at the same time. He hung helpless as it snorted and growled. A rush of warm rancid air engulfed him.

How many dragons are coming?

Very carefully, Kemir looked down at the Scales standing on the river bank twenty feet below him. The one who'd been sleeping, a woman he now saw, was looking up at him as well. She looked pasty and pale in the moonlight, and was shaking.

'Scales. I think your dragon is talking to me.' Have I gone mad?

No. How many dragons?

'Snow!' The Scales was wringing his hands. 'Don't hurt him. No more! Please!'

Thoughts tumbled through Kemir's mind so quickly that they tripped over one another. The dragon can think That was terrifying enough. The dragon can hear what I think That was worse. The dragon killed half a dozen knights. That was better. It did it because it wanted to, not because someone told it to. That was either the best or the worst; he wasn't sure which.

He regarded the dragon. A calmness settled inside him, a mixture of hope and resignation. Shitting himself wasn't going to do much good just now. 'Two new dragons. They were going to send one after you. To watch. The other was going to go for help. By the middle of tomorrow morning there might be a dozen dragons looking for you. You want to escape, don't you?'

I want to free the others of my kind.

'My name is Kemir. I want to help you.'

No, Little One Kemir, you do not. All I see in you is death and vengeance. You want to kill dragon-riders. I am simply a means to that end.

'No dragons, no dragon-knights.'

The tail squeezed a little tighter. Your fear has a sharp and pleasant tang to it. How will you help me, Little One?

Kemir tried to pull himself free. The dragon hadn't pinned his arms, but all his struggles were futile. He still had the knife that he'd used to threaten the Scales. If he stabbed the dragon's tail, would it drop him? Would it even notice?

I will crush you before you blink, Little One. Again: how will you help me?

'I'll help you kill dragon-knights. Any way I can.'

I do not wish to kill dragon-knights. I wish to free my kind.

'Then I'll help you kill alchemists. You asked where they were. I can tell you.'

The dragon looked at him for a long time and then slowly lowered him to the ground. Then we have an accommodation, Little One Kemir. Alchemists. So be it. The dragon turned to look at the Scales, but Kemir still heard its voice inside his head. More dragons come, Little One. We must fly. Now.

 

 

37

The Mirror Lakes

 

The Mirror Lakes, clustering around the City of Dragons, were generally thought to be perfectly round and perfectly bottomless. The ground didn't slip gently and gracefully away under the water; it simply stopped. In the myths of the dragon-priests the Divine Dragon moulded the world from clay and then baked it hard in the flames of his breath. The people of the city weren't the most religious of folk, but they generally agreed that if the priests were right, the Mirror Lakes must have been where the dragon-god stuck his claws into the clay to hold it tight while he did his work. Strange and monstrous creatures were rumoured to inhabit the lakes, rising to the surface sometimes in the middle of the night, swallowing boats whole and then sinking again, disappearing without trace.

From where Jehal sat, perched at the top of the Diamond Cascade falls, one could see that the lakes weren't perfectly round at all. He was fairly sure they weren't bottomless or inhabited by monsters either, but no one had ever proved that, one way or the other. Vanishing boats, he thought, were more likely to be the work of thieves, and any monsters that inhabited the lake were probably of the human variety.

He could see the city too, and the Adamantine Palace, all laid out some half a mile beneath him through the haze of spray from the falls.

Mine. It's all going to be mine.

Behind him Wraithwing splashed in the waters of the Diamond River. A shadow passed overhead and moments later another dragon came in to land. The two dragons looked at each other curiously. The newcomer dived into the water and started to drink. Its rider sauntered towards Jehal. She took off her helmet.

'I was wondering whether you'd come. You have some explaining to do,' said Jehal. He had to speak loudly to be heard over the roar of the waterfall.

Zafir smiled. She didn't say anything but sat beside him and looked over the edge.

'You should be careful,' said Jehal. 'You could fall.'

'We could both fall.'

'I watched you come up from the eyrie. You didn't bring any riders with you. No one knows where you are. No one knows who you're with.'

She put a hand on his arm. 'Did you bring any riders, Prince?'

'Of course not. You never know who might have lined their pockets.'

'How far did my mother fall?'

Jehal shrugged. 'We're higher now. You stole my potions. And you've been writing letters to Hyram.'

She didn't look at him. 'You've been to see your new family. 1 low is Queen Shezira?'

'Do you feel threatened, my love?'

'Not at all. Do you?'

'Not in the least.'

'I didn't steal your potions. I took them because you told me to.'

'I told you to take one.'

'Hyram's got them now.'

'I know.'

She looked at him, and the flicker of a smile played at the corner of her lips. 'And I know you know. I saw your little golden dragon sitting on the windowsill, watching us with its beady ruby eyes. How many more of those have you got?'

'Only that one and the one I gave to you. They were a wedding present from the Taiytakei.'

Zafir raised an eyebrow. 'It was almost worth marrying your little starling then. And what do they want, the Taiytakei?'

Jehal shrugged. 'To see me prosper, I suppose.'

'That doesn't sound like the Taiytakei.'

'They want what they always want and what they can never have. A hatchling.' For a few seconds Jehal stared out into the void over the city below. Sitting up here with his feet dangling over the empty air, he almost felt he could fly. No dragons, just him. It would be easy, wouldn't it? To let go and soar and be free of it all. No more Hyram, no more Shezira. No more watching his father's glacial crawl towards death. No more constant battling of wits with the Taiytakei and all the others that surrounded him, fawning at his feet for favours while all the while hiding poisoned daggers behind their backs. No more—

No more Zafir. He turned and looked her squarely in the eye. 'Well?'

'Well what?'

'Did Hyram tell you that he tortured me?'

'No. He said he hadn't been very kingly.' She spat. 'As if that was somehow a change.'

'Well he's not a king, is he, so I suppose we shouldn't be surprised. He wasn't very good as a torturer either. Maybe I should send him one of mine for next time. In fact he was so inept I had to show him how to make a proper job of it. We're beyond words now, he and I. I think I have to muster my dragons when I go south.' He shook his head. 'I'm at a loss. I didn't think he'd dare anything so bold.' Now he laughed. 'I almost had some respect for him, for a moment, until he let me go. Now if he'd killed me outright and taken the consequences, why I think I might even have given him a round of applause. And then I think of him rutting with you after I left, and I just want to paint the palace with his blood.'

'Don't!' Zafir shuddered. 'He doesn't deserve even to exist in your thoughts.'

'Ahh.' He took her hand and kissed it. 'You're very sweet, my lover.'

Zafir pulled her hand away. 'Don't touch me. I don't want anyone to touch me. I tried to think of you when I let him have me, and now when I think of you, I think of him.' She shivered. 'It's horrible.'

'Antros was always supposed to have been quite the lover. Hyram didn't share his talents?'

'He was drunk, selfish, boorish and pathetic. I had to do everything for him. Didn't you see with your little Taiytakei toy?'

'I saw you writhe and wriggle under him. I heard your squealing too. Quite a show, I thought.'

'Mercifully quick.' She made a face. 'If you saw it all anyway, don't ask me any more. What's Shezira up to in the Purple Spur? She's making Hyram nervous, and you going there didn't help that at all.'

Jehal laughed. 'Really? Why now, I would never have thought of that. Yes, a little more distrust between them can never hurt, but I'm afraid Queen Shezira has returned to her eyrie. I had her delight of a daughter to waste my charms on instead.'

'Almiri?'

'No, not the nice one; the one that's made of the same flinty stuff as her mother. The one that thinks she's a dragon born human by mistake. Jaslyn. The one who asked me whether I was poisoning my father while the Maiden's Regret had me.' He laughed. 'I shall have to thank Queen Fyon for that. She's a bit sharper than I've given her credit for. No, I had a frosty welcome to say the least. I might have said one or two things out of place. Perhaps she was kind enough to put that down to my exertions of the previous days.' He laughed again. 'They were still trying to find their missing dragon, and now they've lost another one.'

Zafir raised an eyebrow.

'Seems they tracked their white down, and it turned on them. Princess Stone did her best to make sure I didn't find anything out, but there's a dragon out there with a broken wing. They've lost an alchemist and I saw a rider in a pretty poor state. Apparently someone put an arrow in his leg, so the white's not flying around aimlessly on its own, that's for sure.' Not the white. His white. 'When I left, they were trying to work out how to put their injured dragon down.' Jehal scratched his chin. 'They had quite a lot of alchemists there, now T think about it. More than I would have expected. And of course I now know exactly how many dragons

she's got out there and have a shrewd idea how many riders too. She didn't like me paying attention to that sort of thing.' He shrugged. 'Still, I'm quite impressed. They're up to something, and I still haven't got the first idea what it is.'

Queen Zafir shook her head and looked away. 'Prince Jehal, that won't do at all. They may make Hyram nervous, but they bother me too — so many dragons so close by.' She stopped and peered down at the city. From the Adamantine Eyrie the tiny distant shape of a dragon was rising into the air. 'You're going to have to go.' She stood up.

'Pity. I'd been hoping to have you for rather longer.'

'I'm sure you had.' Zafir whistled. Her dragon looked up from where it was splashing in the river with Wraithwing. 'But we can't risk anyone seeing us together now. You need to be gone before that dragon gets high enough to see Wraithwing and Emerald Mirror together.'

Reluctantly, Jehal got to his feet. He was going to have to explain to Wraithwing that he couldn't simply throw himself over the precipice and spread his wings, that he'd have to take to the air the hard way. He sighed, and then to his surprise Queen Zafir launched herself into his arms, pressing herself against him.

'I wish we had longer too,' she murmured.

Jehal stroked her hair away from her face and purred, 'I thought looking at me made you think of Hyram.'

Zafir made a face. 'It did until I got up here. Now it just makes me think of you without your clothes on.'

He kissed her and let his hands begin to wander. 'It won't be for much longer, my lover.'

'Give me the strength not to murder him in his bed, Jehal.'

'Give me the patience to wait for you.'

'I have to lie with that crippled oaf. All I think of is you with your starling-bride, and then all I want to do is slit his throat and then hers and be done with all this.'

With a great effort Jehal let her go. 'You keep that thought close to your heart, my Queen, and keep your mind on Hyram.'

She snorted. 'No fear there. For as long as I can bear it, he'll think of nothing but your potions, my mother's face and the hole between my legs.'

Jehal reached out to stroke her face one last time, then turned towards Wraithwing. He waved over his shoulder. 'Once he marries you and makes you speaker, you can cut as many throats as you like.'

'I'll hold you to that, Jehal,' she called after him. 'He'll be first. You can choose who comes second, you or your starling.'

38 The Ravine

The dragon was hurt. Kemir hadn't noticed that when they'd taken to the air in the middle of the night. In fact, he hadn't noticed much, clutched in the dragon's claws and hurtling through the night air at speed. The ground flashed past in the moonlight, not far beneath him but quite far enough to smash him to pieces if the dragon let go. The monster's wingbeats rippled through the air like thunder. For the second time in his life, he prayed.

In the dragon's other foreclaws the Scales held on tight to the woman, whoever she was, while she in turn screamed and shrieked herself hoarse.

The air got colder. Finally the dragon landed in a field of snow, tumbling in a spray of powder, while Kemir thought for the umpteenth time that night that he was going to die. The beast took them to the edge of a narrow ravine and jumped in, gliding down into total darkness. When it landed at the bottom it let them go and fell asleep almost at once. Kemir huddled up against the dragon's warmth and fell asleep as well, drained beyond exhaustion.

When he woke up, he knew something was wrong. The dragon's breathing was laboured, and the Scales was sitting by its muzzle, stroking its nose. This close, in the daylight, the dragon seemed even larger than it had the night before. Its head dwarfed the Scales; its amber eyes were larger then an open hand; its teeth ...

Kemir didn't want to think about its teeth. Instead he looked up. The ravine was steep and narrow, so narrow he was surprised that a dragon could fly into it at all. He wasn't sure how any of them were going to get out again, and he was hungry. And if it wasn't for the dragon, they were all going to get very cold very quickly. The Scales didn't have any flying furs, while the woman, it seemed, didn't have anything else.

'I've seen you before,' he said to the Scales. 'What's your name?'

'Kailin.' The Scales didn't look up.

'What about her?'

'Her name's Nadira.'

'What's the matter with her?' When she wasn't screaming, she looked dull and vacant. She was sweating and shivering.

The Scales didn't answer.

'Who is she?' The Scales didn't answer that either. Kemir shrugged. 'What's up with your dragon then?'

'Her name is Snow. She's hurt.'

'Is it bad?'

'I don't know. She must have damaged herself when she fell into the river with Tempest. It looked like she broke Tempest's wing.' Kailin shook his head sadly and looked nervously at Snow. 'If she did, they'll have to put Tempest down, poor thing.'

'Poor thing?' Kemir scratched his head. 'How do you put a dragon down?'

The Scales flashed him a warning glance. 'Be careful. She's sleeping, but you saw what happened in the river. I don't know for sure, but I've heard stories that the alchemists give them something in their food. They go to sleep and then they burn from the inside.'

'I've seen that.' Kemir nodded. 'That's what happens when they die.'

'I wouldn't know. I've never seen a dragon die.'

'Well if it happens with this one, we won't have to worry about staying warm for a while.' He looked up at the walls of the ravine. No. Just staying fed. 'I don't suppose you have any idea where we are?'

The Scales shook his head. It didn't take long to discover that the Scales didn't have any food, water, shelter, spare clothing or any of the basic necessities for surviving out in the wilderness. He'd had a dragon, though. Apparently that was enough.

He left them to it and set off down the ravine, following the trickle of water that bubbled along the bottom. As he pressed on, the ravine grew gradually steeper and narrower. He passed countless caves. That's the Worldspine for you. Riddled with holes like a honeycomb. Yawning caverns big enough for an army and tiny holes barely enough for a man to crawl into. He began to see overhanging trees above, casting everything into shadow. The sides pressed in closer and closer; the trickle of water grew into a rushing stream that ran faster and deeper around every bend. Abruptly the cliffs on either side fell away and he emerged into the middle of a steeply sloping forest. He circled around to the top of the ravine and sat on the edge, looking out through the gap in the trees. He was high up in the side of a mountain valley. One that looked exactly the same as every other mountain valley.

Great. Nice one. That really helped. Shall we wal\ all the way back now?

He sat there for a long time, staring, until finally he muttered something and Sollos didn't reply, and it hit him, hard, that his cousin was gone forever. They'd spent a good part of their lives with only each other for company, although it hadn't always been that way. They'd roamed the realms, selling their sword arms, but this was where they'd been born, here in the Worldspine. They'd killed perhaps a dozen dragon-knights between them, but only because other dragon-knights had paid them to do it.

And now Sollos was gone. Their contract with Knight-Marshal Lady Nastria was finished and he was back where it had all started. He had his bow, his knives and his wits, which ought to be enough to survive out in these valleys. He didn't owe anything to the poor fools he'd left in the ravine. He was entirely free to do whatever he wanted.

And entirely trapped. He couldn't walk away from what he and Sollos had been. Not on his own. Not while Rider Rod was still alive. And then there was the dragon, and the glimmer of a possibility that he couldn't ignore no matter how unlikely it was to bear fruit. Trapped. Utterly trapped. Revenge was what he wanted. Revenge, not just for Sollos but for all the others, for every Outsider who'd ever burned. Which meant staying with the dragon and the Scales and the woman, whoever she was.

Which meant keeping them alive.

'Bollocks!'

The shout echoed around the valley and faded, lonely and unanswered. He sighed, clambered down from his rocky perch and strung his bow. It took him a couple of hours to track down a decent meal and another hour to skin and fillet it. Hiking back up the ravine took twice as long as walking down it. By the time he got back, he was exhausted and hungry. As far he could tell, he'd been gone for about ten hours and none of the others had even moved. Maybe the woman had rearranged her legs. He threw himself down and closed his eyes.

'Is your dragon up to starting a fire for us?' he asked.

The Scales shook his head. 'She's in torpor. They do this when they're hurt. She'll sleep until she's better.'

'Well how long is that going to be?'

'If she's broken a rib, two or three weeks.'

Kemir opened his eyes again and looked up at the sky framed by the sides of the ravine. He laughed. 'Two or three weeks?'

'Yes.'

'So all we have to do for all that time is hide her from Queen Shezira's riders and not starve to death. Oh, and we can't actually move from this spot, because if we do, the two of you will die of exposure.' He closed his eyes again and shook his head. 'Curse you, dragon. Curse you for everything.' And he set about keeping them alive.

The Scales was useless; all he did was sit beside his dragon and stroke her scales. The woman spent her time staring into space with her mouth hanging open. Or else she shivered and shook and screamed about things that made no sense. Some sort of fever, Kemir thought, and it went on for so long that he was sure she'd die. She didn't though, and eventually the fever broke. At least when she was well again she had some idea of how to survive. After the first few days she took to coming with him. She didn't even have have any boots, but it didn't seem to bother her to clamber over the stones and the moss in bare feet. Each day she came with him to the end of the ravine and then waited while he hunted. When he was done he'd start a fire, and they would sit and watch the flames. They didn't speak, but there was a sense of something shared between them. Of surviving whatever the cost. Every day he'd give her the choicest piece of whatever he'd killed, and then they'd lie down next to each other and doze. She didn't say much, and she often seemed to drift away. Lost somewhere far away. Or else she had fits and screamed. She seemed to understand when he wanted to be alone. Sometimes, when he touched her, she flinched and froze. And sometimes, when he remembered again that Sollos was gone, he saw in her eyes the same fierce hunger for revenge as he felt inside.

She suited him, he decided. He didn't mind keeping her alive.

As each day began to fade they slowly made their way back, chewing on raw pieces of meat. The Scales was always there when they returned, waiting for them. Every day they came back later than the last, but he never said anything. He didn't eat much either. He was slowly wasting away, waiting for his dragon to come back from wherever she'd gone.

Twice Kemir saw other dragons in the distance. He watched them, little specks in the sky, until they were gone. They never found Snow's ravine.

Snow slept for four weeks, not two. By then the Scales was little more than skin and bone. Kemir and Nadira had left him there with his dragon as they did every morning. When they came back, after dark, he was gone. The dragon was awake. The air smelled of gore.

Meat!

Kemir froze for a moment, then pushed Nadira back the way they'd come. 'Run! Now!' He lowered the remnants of the wild pig he'd killed to the ground. He could feel the dragon inside his head, almost insane with hunger, eyeing him up.

'Alchemists,' he said loudly. 'I'm going to take you to the alchemists, remember. Eat me and you'll never find them.' He

stepped back away from the pig. The dragon lunged forward and snapped it all up in a single gulp.

Hunger! Feed! There was a tinge of anger in there as well.

'Where's Kailin?'

The dragon withdrew slightly. He could feel something in its thoughts that might have been shame.

Little One Kemir, it spoke in his head more quietly this time, I have been gone for a long time. I am very, very hungry. I need to feed, and I cannot hunt until I have sunlight. It is best that you leave.

Kemir retreated back down the ravine and spent the night huddled with Nadira, shivering, trying to keep warm. Without the heat of the dragon, a night on the mountain, even out of the wind, was unpleasantly cold.

By morning the dragon was gone. They made a quick search for Kailin, but there was no sign of him, and Kemir's heart wasn't really in it. When the dragon came back, late in the afternoon, its snout and claws were stained with blood, and its breath was foul. It looked fat, Kemir thought.

They flew north because that's where the alchemists laired. The dragon never said what had happened to the Scales, and Kemir never asked.

The Dragon-King's Tithe

The rider, if his Hatchling Gold has bought him favour, may visit many times before a suitable dragon is hatched. On each visit he will bring a gift to the eyrie-master, and these gifts are of the utmost importance, for their quality and generosity will

determine the care with which the chosen dragon is raised.

When a suitable dragon is finally hatched, a price will be set by

the dragon-king himself. This price is the Dragon-King's Tithe

Usually the tithe is agreed far in advance, yet until the price is

paid the rider can never quite be sure that it will not change.

Sometimes the tithe is everything that the rider possesses;

sometimes it is nothing at all.

39

Parting

 

Jehal awoke from a restless sleep. His dreams had been troubled — always running, always being watched, always chased, always having to look over his shoulder — and everywhere he ran the walls, the trees, even the rivers would burn and melt and the heat would force him to run again.

He slipped out of bed and padded to the window. Kazah, his pot-boy, was slumped on his stool, snoring loudly. Jehal opened the shutters to let in the light. Kazah didn't stir. That was what Jehal liked best about the boy. Aside from being a deaf mute and blessed with a loyalty that put Jehal's hunting dogs to shame, Kazah slept like the dead. Jehal could have an all-night orgy, and the boy would be none the wiser.

Outside, the sun was creeping over the horizon. Ships bobbed on the water out in the estuary of the Fury River. In places the water seemed to be on fire, burning in the dawn sun. Jehal shuddered and turned away. The sight of it reminded him too much of his dreams. There wasn't a little golden dragon with ruby eyes perched on the sill outside. That was the important thing.

He padded back to his bed, sat down, pulled a strip of white silk out from under his pillow and wrapped it around his eyes. His sight blurred, shimmered and shifted, and then he was somewhere else. He was in the Tower of Air in the Adamantine Palace. In Zafir's bedchamber, out of sight under the bed.

He listened. He could hear breathing. Her breathing. Relaxed and restful, as though she was asleep. He didn't hear any snoring. If Hyram had been there with her, there would have been snoring. Then again Hyram rarely came to her, and when he did, he rarely stayed. Usually Zafir went to him and then slipped back to her own bed once he was asleep. Sometimes when she came back in the middle of the night, barefoot, hugging her clothes to her, she looked desperately sad. Other times she looked angry. Yet other times she would look around the room, searching for his little golden dragon, and then she would stand in front of it naked, and blow him a kiss, or mime being violently sick or slitting someone's throat. Whether she meant him or Hyram, he was never quite sure.

Sometimes, in the morning, she would look for him too, and if they were both alone, they'd whisper to each other through little golden ears and watch through little ruby eyes.

That would be later, though. This was much too early for Zafir. Under her bed the little golden dragon twitched its head and skittered across the floor. It flapped its wings, so fast that they vanished into a blur, and lifted off the ground; then settled itself at the head of the bed, a couple of feet away from Zafir's head, and stopped, staring at her. Jehal took a deep breath. She was fast asleep. Sometimes when she was sleeping, she was breathtaking. He could have stared at her for hours.

He shook himself, took the white silk off his eyes and slipped it back under his pillow. Then he put on the other silk, the black one.

Well, my lover, let us see who you've been spying on today.

The answer wasn't much of a surprise. Zafir's Taiytakei dragon had secreted itself in Lystra's room, where it usually was. Zafir clearly had nothing better to think about than how often he was sharing Lystra's bed. Which was pleasantly predictable of her. Jehal grinned to himself and kicked Kazah's stool. The trouble with Zafir's jealousy was that it was a challenge. It made him want to see how many times he could bed his wife without his lover and her spy-dragon catching them at it.

It was depressingly easy too. But then if it had been harder, he'd probably have done it even more.

He kicked Kazah's stool again. The pot-boy jerked upright and then fell over sideways. He jumped to his feet, ramrod straight, and saluted.

Message for my wife. Jehal and Kazah had their own sign language, a bastard hybrid of the signals that the dragon-knights used when they were flying together, the signs that some thieves used, and other bits that they'd simply made up themselves. Jehal was having the boy taught to read and write too, but he was so slow that one of them would probably be dead before he got anywhere.

Kazah nodded. Having a private language meant no one else understood what Jehal was telling Kazah to do. Several times he'd sent Kazah to Lystra to arrange a rendezvous knowing full well that Zafir was watching him.

Wake her up. She is to come to my bed. Tell her I want her. Kazah smirked and Jehal grinned back. That gesture wasn't particularly hard to translate. Tell her to shut all windows and doors first. Tell her that eyes are watching her. He gave Kazah a kick and watched the boy scurry away. Then he closed the shutters, blocking out the dawn light, lay back in his bed and sighed.

He didn't have to wait long. He heard footsteps outside and then giggling, and then Kazah slipped back in with Lystra behind him, still in her nightclothes.

Jehal grinned. 'Did anyone see you?'

Kazah shook his head. So did Lystra. 'Only the guard you put on my door.' She flung her arms around him and snuggled her head against his chest. He always flinched for a moment when she did that. It reminded him too much that he was going to have to let Zafir have her way one day.

But not yet. He pushed her gently away and put a hand on her belly. She had his heir inside her, and that made her the safest person in the world just now. He'd have to wait another couple of months before he could feel it move, they told him, but he put his hand on her anyway. After this morning they might not see each other for a while.

She held his hand there for a second, then moved it up to her breast. 'I still don't see why I can't come with you.'

Of course you don't. He smiled at her. 'You need to conserve your strength.'

'Oh Jehal, I hardly know it's there.'

'You're sick every day. Don't pretend you're not.'

She made a face. 'That's nothing.'

'Besides, you're safer here.'

'But why? At the palace I'll have you and my mother and my sisters and all their riders as well.'

He laughed. 'You know the answer. There might be people who would prefer your mother not to take Hyram's place.' Me, for example.

That was the trouble. She simply didn't understand that anything might happen, that someone might break their word, that the dragon-kings and -queens weren't all fast friends working together for the good of them all. Which made it very difficult to look her in the eye sometimes. And if she'd really thought there was any real danger, she'd either insist on going to be at her mother's side, or else insist that he didn't go so he'd be safe too. She didn't insist on things very often, but when she did it was a timely reminder of who her birth-mother was.

He kissed her lightly. 'I don't want to trouble you.'

'I think you're just bored with me.'

Inside his head Jehal rolled his eyes. That old chestnut again. How many times had he heard that? And from how many different women? 'If I was bored with you, my love, would I have risen at dawn and called you to my bed for one last time before I leave?'

She stuck out her bottom lip and then took hold of his other hand and put it on her other breast. She smiled. 'I suppose not.'

She stepped a little closer, until he could felt the heat of her right from her knees to her neck. Jehal swallowed. He looked at Kazah and nodded at the door. The boy was smart enough to know when to make himself scarce.

'I'm leaving in the middle of the morning for Clifftop,' he said thickly. 'Everything is packed. It'll take me—'

Lystra put a finger to his lips. 'I know, husband, I know.' She called him that a lot, and for some reason his head went fuzzy every time she said it. 'Four days to reach the palace, a week as

Speaker Hyram's guest, and then a week more after my mother succeeds him. And then another four days back to Clifftop and yet another day to return here. Almost a month. I know it all by heart, my Prince. Every day, where you'll be and what you'll be doing.' She smiled at him. 'One very long and lonely month. I might come out to Clifftop to meet you when you come back.'

'You shouldn't.'

'Yes, but you won't be here to tell me not to.' She pressed herself against him and kissed him, and he lowered her down onto his bed.

'I shall miss you greatly,' he said, and was surprised to find that he meant it.

'But not as much as I shall miss you.'

He rolled her over and silenced her with his lips. Best not to let her say anything else. Sometimes when they were together like this he found himself questioning his whole purpose, and that wouldn't do. Instead, he set about making sure she really would think of him for every single day that he was away. Together, for an hour or so, they stopped time.

When they were spent she fell asleep in his arms, which was something she always did if he let her. To his surprise he fell asleep as well; the next thing he knew, Lord Meteroa was banging on the door, shouting at him that it was time to go. Lystra yawned and stretched. She got up and looked at him, a muzzy smile on her face.

'Do I have to go?'

'I'm afraid you do.' Jehal shouted at Meteroa to leave them alone for a few minutes and started to look for his clothes. 'Don't go back to your rooms for a while. Go out for a ride. Or go to the baths. Send someone to air them while you're away.'

'Why?'

'Because I ask you to.'

'But I wanted to wear—'

He looked at her sharply. 'Humour me. A favour to me for giving you this time.'

For a moment she looked hurt and he felt as though she'd knifed him. Then she smiled. 'If that's what you want.'

'It would make me happy. Listen!' He cupped her face. 'While I am gone, trust Meteroa. Don't trust Princess Jesska, Prince Iskan, Prince Mazmamir or any of their clan. We might have the same blood, but we also have the same ambition. Trust Queen Fyon but don't trust her sons, particularly Tyrin.'

When she was gone, he called Meteroa in to help him dress. 'Keep her safe while I'm gone. Whatever happens to her happens to you, my friend. You understand?.'

Meteroa gave him a sceptical look. 'Then I shall eat a lot and get fat for you, but please be back before she gives birth, Your Highness.'

'There's always the chance I won't come back at all.'

Meteroa cocked his head. 'Then I shan't have to worry about her. Tell me, Your Highness, which one pleasures you the most? Your wife or Queen Zafir?'

Jehal felt his chest tighten. He snarled, 'Get out!'

'Your Highness—'

'I said get out! Before I find something sharp.'

Alone, he slowly finished dressing himself. Meteroa was getting above himself, he decided. The man would need taking down a peg or two after this was all done.

He's right, though. It's a question that demands an answer, and I don't have one.

The last thing he did, before he left, was take the black and white silks from under his pillow and tie them around his wrists. Southern knights often tied strips of cloth to their arms; worn on the left they were signs of conquests, on the right they signalled obligation, which made it an easy way to keep the Taiytakei silks innocently to hand. Generally, Jehal wore the black one on the left and the white one on the right. It seemed right, somehow.

Almost as an afterthought he took the black silk off again and put it across his eyes. The little golden dragon was still in Lystra's room, buzzing madly about the place, looking for a way out.

Jehal smiled. As he left, he started to whistle.

40

Arts of War

 

Jaslyn called Silence into a tight turn and dived. Five of Queen Shezira's riders, flying in a tight line alongside her, suddenly scattered, seemingly at random. The ground was straight ahead now, rushing to meet her. In the centre of her vision a cluster of soldiers raised their dragonscale shields. Silence belched fire at them and then spread out his wings, pulling out of the dive. An immense hand pressed Jaslyn into the dragon's neck, knocking the breath out of her. She didn't have a chance to see whether the fire had done anything useful, but she doubted it. The soldiers were a half-legion of the Adamantine Guard and they'd had plenty of time to lock their shields together. Then again, the point of the dive hadn't been to burn them; the point had been to distract them, to give her knights a chance, to lead them into battle in such a way that she didn't get herself killed.

Behind her, the five knights strafed the soldiers from five different angles at once, wheeled and flew away. They'd spent years perfecting that manoeuvre, all for this one day.

When she was safely away from the soldiers on the ground and their vicious scorpions, Jaslyn let Silence pick up a little height and turned to look for her riders. Three of them were following her; the other two were already on the ground. Which meant that, after they'd sprayed their fire and turned away, the soldiers had managed to hit them. Which meant that, had this been a real fight, they'd be dead.

'Two?' Jaslyn patted Silence on the neck. 'They got two. Did you see that? Do you think mother's going to be angry?' She smiled to herself as she flew Silence over the soldiers, tipping them a salute. 'So much for our clever plan, eh? Do you suppose we got any of them?' From up in the air it was hard to tell whether any of the soldiers had been burned. Even if their shield wall failed them, their dragonscale armour would deflect the worst of the (lames.

Scattered around the Hungry Mountain Plains, other legions of the Guard were under attack, as each of the dragon-kings and -queens put them to the test. Jaslyn circled for a while, watching in case any of the attackers had come up with something original, but as far as she could see, none of them had. In the distance she saw one group of knights try exactly the same ploy she'd used herself. They didn't get the timing right. When the first knight unleashed his fire and pulled up his dragon, the other five should have been right there and they weren't. They weren't out by very much, only a few seconds, but it was enough for the legion to adjust its wall of shields and scatter the flamestrikes. A hundred and sixty years ago, when Master of War Prince Lai first demonstrated the technique, he'd left a hundred men dead or injured behind him.

Jaslyn sighed. For every pattern of offence, the legions had a counter. Nothing ever changed. It was almost like a ritual dance where everyone knew all the moves by heart. Supposedly, Prince Lai had invented four of the fifteen recognised tactics. The other eleven were even older.

She turned Silence away from the battlefield and spiralled down. In the middle of the legions Speaker Hyram had his tower, where he and the dragon-kings and -queens who weren't participating in the mocks fights could stand and watch. Her mother was there, and Almiri too. Lystra had stayed in the south, slowly getting fat with Prince Jehal's heir. As she flew past, she searched the tower for Prince Tichane but she couldn't see if he was there. The thought of the Crag King's ambassador left a strange sensation inside her, one that she usually reserved for her dragons.

She pushed all that away, landed Silence at the foot of the tower and handed him over to the alchemists and Scales who'd set Up a makeshift eyrie around the tower. Then she bounded up the steps. out over the plains, most of the other dragons were circling now, waiting to come back, watching the few who were still sparring with the legions.

'You lost two of my riders,' said Shezira as soon as Jaslyn reached the top of the tower.

'Prince Lai's pattern of Autumn Leaves.' Speaker Hyram smiled at her. 'Ambitious. Difficult to execute properly.'

'Which you didn't,' added Shezira.

Jaslyn clenched her teeth. 'What do you mean?'

'Your timing was wrong. The knights behind you were too slow. The legion had time to adjust.' She shook her head. 'Don't feel too bad. Someone else tried the same pattern and made the same mess of it.'

'Prince Jehal.' Hyram spat out the name. 'Your execution of the pattern was better.'

Shezira shook her head. 'I disagree. They were both equally poor.'

Jaslyn looked around, taking in all the faces. There were two men she'd never met who were Speaker Hyram's cousins, and a cluster of advisers around him. Next to her mother, Knight-Marshal Nastria was staring out across the plains, seemingly oblivious. Behind her, King Tyan sat in a chair with his tongue hanging out, his head lolling and his eyes staring up at the sky, constantly quivering. She recognised a few others from Lystra's wedding too. Queen Fyon, who smiled at her while her eyes filled with daggers. And Valgar and Almiri, of course.

Almiri caught her arm. 'The signallers on the field flagged seven injured from your attack. Their shield wall wasn't quite perfect.'

'And Prince Jehal?'

'Four.'

For some reason that made everything better. 'It feels strange, burning men I don't know for no better reason than entertainment. I hope they weren't killed.'

'The signaller indicated injuries only.'

'Who's winning?' Jaslyn tried to sound like she didn't care.

Almiri laughed, 'Not you. Queen Zafir. Six dead, thirty injured.'

'What?'

'She lost all her five riders doing it. She charged them. On the ground.'

'She did what?'

'She put her five knights on their dragons on the ground, and they charged the legion as though they were cavalry. Ran straight into it. Scattered men everywhere. Broke their shield wall completely. Then she flew in behind and burned them. They got all the men on the ground but they didn't get her.'

'But that's cheating.'

'Not according to Speaker Hyram. He let it stand.'

Jaslyn clenched her fists and ground her teeth. 'There are traditions! No contact. No one would land their dragons to attack a real enemy. They'd be killed at once! They're not supposed to do that.'

'The riders who charged across the ground would all have been dead. Speaker Hyram has ruled that, since it was Queen Zafir's dragon who did all the damage, and since she escaped unscathed, the score stands.' Almiri put an arm around Jaslyn's shoulder and led her towards the far corner of the tower roof, away from twitching ears. 'If you want my advice, you don't say any-thing.'

'It's cheating,' Jaslyn hissed again.

Almiri forced her to sit down. 'It's only cheating if the speaker says so, and the speaker doesn't. When was the last time you saw Speaker Hyram? Before this, I mean.'

Jaslyn spat over the edge of the tower. 'On the way to Lystra's wedding. When mother practically invited someone to steal our white dragon.' She frowned. 'If Prince Jehal can get King Tyan onto the back of a dragon to come here, why can't he bring Lystra with him too? That's not fair.'

Almiri ignored her. 'Have you noticed anything about Speaker Hyram?'

'Not really.' Jaslyn shrugged.

'Have yon noticed that he's not shaking or stuttering any more?'

Jaslyn glanced back at the speaker. 'Oh. Did he use tor'

'Little sister, do you notice anything?' Almiri laughed. 'Speaker Hyram has been slowly dying for this last year. Alchemists' disease. Do you know what that is?'

Jaslyn shook her head.

'It's what King Tyan's got. Take a look at him.'

'I know he's sick.'

'It starts with trembling and shaking. Over the years you slowly lose all your capabilities. Eventually you probably die, but generally people either starve because they can't feed themselves any more, or else their family sends them quietly on their way. King Tyan has had this disease for nearly a decade.' Almiri shook herself. 'Anyway, what I'm trying to tell you is that Speaker Hyram has been sick, but now he's better, and it's Queen Zafir who found him the cure. There are quite a lot of other whispers about Speaker Hyram and Queen Zafir too, so if I were you, I wouldn't say anything to his face.'

Jaslyn sniffed. 'Cheating is still cheating.'

Almiri grabbed Jaslyn's arm and squeezed it hard. 'Listen to me, little sister. You do nothing to annoy the speaker. You say nothing about Queen Zafir. Do you understand?'

'Why?'

'Because mother will tear off your head if you do. She's nervous. I haven't seen her like this for a very long time. She thinks Hyram might change his mind about who's going to be the next speaker.'

'But he can't.'

Almiri's grip tightened until it started to hurt. 'Yes he can. He's the speaker.'

'We have a pact!'

'Which can easily be broken.'

'But...'

Almiri let go. Her mouth twitched with amusement. 'Little Jaslyn, these are kings and queens, not your dragons. They don't simply do what you tell them.'

 

41

Kings and Queens

 

Hyram put down his cup and stood up. He looked around the immense ten-sided table at the kings and queens, the knights, the lords, the master alchemists, the priests. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt to young, so strong, so powerful. His head buzzed with Zafir's potions. They left him on edge, hyperactive, almost priapic, but they made the shaking go away, and the stutter - that was what mattered. He wore the Speaker's Robe and held the Speaker's Spear, and the weapon's power coursed through him. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so strong.

Around the table the masters and mistresses of the nine realms interrupted their feast and gave him their attention, one dragon-king or -queen on each side of the table. Beside him on his side of the table sat Sirion, the loyal cousin who had inherited his crown and throne when he, Hyram, had become the speaker. On the tenth side, opposite him, sat the grand master alchemists and the dragon-priests who would anoint his successor. As expected, one side of the table was almost empty: the King of the Crags hadn't deigned to join them. No surprises there.

He banged his cup and cleared his throat. 'These words are said once every ten years. You will hear them today. Some of you have heard them before. Some of you have heard them twice or even three times. They are old words and wise words. They are not my words, but the words of all speakers, crafted and honed over the decades. You will hear them now, and then you will not hear them again for another ten years, so I beg you to listen and remember.' He looked around the table from face to face. Some were listening, some were simply pretending to listen. It didn't matter. His voice sounded strong, and he wondered if any of them

could understand the simple joy of being able to speak again, to have the words come out of his mouth pure and fully formed, not wrecked and ruined by the twitching that used to plague him. In particular, he looked at King Tyan, his old friend and enemy. Now there was one king who wasn't listening. Tyan was asleep. Trembling a little, but mostly still.

Prince Jehal, sitting next to Tyan, caught Hyram's eye and cocked his head. Hyram bared his teeth and moved on.

'We keep histories of our dragons now.' He nodded towards the alchemists at the end of the table. 'We know when they were born, who was their sire and who was their dam. We breed them to our liking, but it was not always so. They were once wild creatures. We have no histories of them from that time. Not because there was no ink, nor because there were no books, but because they were all burned. There were no towns, no cities, not because there were no bricks and no mortar, but because they were all burned. There were kings and armies, perhaps, but they are forgotten, because they were all burned. We hid in the forests where the dragons couldn't reach us. We lived as the Outsiders live, filthy and starving.'

He let his eyes wander over their faces again, and then banged his cup on the table a second time. This time the kings and queens banged the table with him. 'That was before the alchemists came.' He raised his cup to the far end of the table, where Jeiros gave an embarrassed nod. 'Now the dragons are tamed and we are their fragile masters. You, Kings and Queens of the Nine Realms. You are their masters. You want for nothing and you answer to no one. Except...'

Now was the time. He took the Speaker's Ring, carved into the likeness of a sleeping dragon, from his finger and put it gently down. His finger felt strangely naked. Then he laid the adamantine spear beside it.

'Except to these,' he said. Strange. He'd dreamed of doing this so many times, and it had always felt like the end of his life, as though it was the only thing keeping him together. He'd take off the ring and put down the spear and feel himself immediately begin to fade. Yet now, when the moment was real, he felt lightheaded, as though this was the beginning of something and not the end.

He picked up the ring again and held it out for all to see. 'This. This ring binds you. Binds you to ancient pacts made long ago between the ancestors of all our clans. Every ten years you shall choose from among yourselves one who will take this palace. To be the judge of your actions and the arbiter of your disputes. Ten years ago you and your forefathers chose me. My time is done. In one week you will choose another. I will guide you, but the choice, in the end, lies with you.'

There. Done. The speech they'd all heard before, the speech made by every speaker since time began. His last duty. Speaker Hyram was no more. He wasn't even 'Your Holiness.' Just another dragon-lord sitting at the speaker's table. He put the ring down and banged the table with his cup one last time.

Someone started to clap. Very slowly. Jehal. It had to be Jehal.

'What a fine speech.' The Viper was smirking at him. 'Pity I've heard it all before. Yet unexpectedly clear. I confess I've been dreading it. Th-Th-The 1-1-long a-a-ag-g-gonising w-wait for each word. Truly, the potions that your darling lover stole from me have worked wonders.'

Around the table everyone froze. Some paused only for a moment and then continued to eat. Others stopped, waiting. No one said anything. They were all looking to Hyram. His feast, his hall, his palace, his job to admonish such crass behaviour. Even if the insult was directed at him, Jehal was making fools of them all by being so direct.

Hyram sat slowly down. He smiled and folded his arms. 'What did make you think I would have to give you anything for your elixirs?' He felt strong. Strong enough to challenge Jehal to a duel of the sword and the axe. He could do that now. One of the perks of being a simple dragon-knight again. Yes, and another perk was that he didn't have to be the diplomat now. It wasn't up to him to keep everyone in line any more. 'Never mind, eh? Go back home.

Go back to poisoning your father.' I can say that now. In public. In front of everyone.

That got them all. Even Zafir, even Shezira, who'd tried to pretend that Jehal hadn't said anything, even they couldn't ignore that. They stared at him in mute horror. All except the Viper, of course, whose mouth would probably still spew its villainous bile long after the rest of him was dead.

'Oh no, I couldn't do that. Since it seems you're going to live a while longer, I suddenly have something to keep me from growing bored again. I'll not forget your hospitality, Hyram. Perhaps now I'll be able to repay it one day.' Jehal turned and stroked his father's head. 'Or perhaps not. The potions haven't done much for King Tyan. He's too far gone. How long, do you suppose, before you follow him?'

'Perhaps he'd get better if you stopped poisoning him?'

This time Jehal got slowly to his feet. Several others rose as well: Narghon, Shezira, a couple of Hyram's own cousins. The rest were too stunned to move. Jehal leaned across the table. 'Slander me one more time, old man, and I'll take you out to the challenge fields. I won't kill you, but you'll wish I had.'

'Slander?' Hyram stood up as well. 'Or the truth?'

'If it's the truth, why don't you show all these worthy lords and ladies some evidence? Oh!' Jehal slapped his forehead. 'What a fool I am. Of course. That's because you haven't got any. Not one little shred.'

'Then challenge me. I accept. Axe and sword. Ahh, please, please, little Viper, let us play.'

Someone slammed a fist into the table. It took a moment for Hyram to realise that it was Shezira. 'Enough, both of you. Hyram, don't be a fool. Prince Jehal, you began this childishness. Perhaps you should leave.'

Jehal shot Shezira a look of pure hate. 'Of course, Your Holiness. How rude of me to be accused.' He took a step back and bowed. 'King Narghon, King Silvallan, King Valgar, I bid you and yours a pleasant evening. The rest of you can choke.'

In silence the table watched him go, his riders and King Tyan with him. When the door slammed, Queen Shezira resumed her seat. King Narghon was still on his feet. He shook his head. It made his jowls wobble.

'Lord Hyram, Prince Jehal is right. You should show us your evidence or still your tongue. And Queen Shezira, why should Prince Jehal be forced aside when he is the one who has been wronged.'

'Because, save for those of you who choose to be blind, we all know that I'm right,' Hyram spat.

Shezira drummed her fingers on the table. 'King Narghon, this is Hyram's hall until another one of us takes that ring. He cannot be sent from his own hall, and one of them had to go. Hyram, you might be right that there are several around this table who have their suspicions. Nevertheless, you have no proof. I am quite certain I know who was responsible for the theft of my white dragon.'

'Aye, the King of the Crags. Pity he didn't bother to come. Where's Tichane to answer for him, eh? Not here either.' Hyram smirked. The potions and the wine were making him lightheaded, but for once it didn't matter. He didn't have to care.

'Does he ever come?' asked King Valgar.

'I'm not sure he even exists any more. How would we know?'

Shezira cleared her throat. 'When I have proof, I will pursue them, whoever they are' — she glared at Hyram — 'to the end of the world. Until then I will keep my silence, and I suggest you do the same.'

'I've had enough of silence.'

He stopped. Zafir was leaning forward to catch his eye, shaking her head. 'The wine is making you reckless,' she said, quietly enough that most of the others wouldn't hear. 'And the potions.'

Hyram blinked. 'Queen Zafir is quite right: I have made a fool of myself. Perhaps it is the prerogative of any man relieved of such a burden, but King Narghon is also correct. If the Viper has insulted my table and all who sit at it then so have I. Queen Shezira, it is me you should have sent away, not Prince Jehal.'

Shezira pursed her lips. She didn't reply.

'Oh, I think you should both have stayed,' said Queen Zafir pleasantly. 'I was looking forward to watching you spill that murderer's blood!'

Narghon shot to his feet again. 'I will not have these accusations!'

Zafir raised an eyebrow. 'Didn't you know? Prince Jehal was with my mother when she died. They'd slipped away for a little tryst, and only one came back. I have drawn my own conclusions. You may do the same.' Her brow furrowed. 'Maybe she fell, or maybe she was pushed. Who knows? He did it, though. Either way, Prince Jehal has her blood on his hands. If he pushed her, I have to wonder why. Why would he do such a thing? If Aliphera had been here instead of me, what might have happened? Would Lord Hyram still have honoured his brother's pact? Of course he would. So I can't help but wonder what madness is going through the minds of those who suggest that Prince Jehal would have killed her to remove a possible alternative successor.' She was looking straight at Queen Shezira now. 'Or to guarantee his bride. Or to ensure that he would be speaker one day.'

The air chilled. It took Hyram a second or two to unravel what Zafir had said. By the time he'd worked it out, Shezira was already bright red.

'Who suggests?' she hissed.

Zafir shook her head. 'Utter madness. So perhaps Aliphera wasn't pushed; perhaps she simply fell, but I'll call him—' She coughed and gagged. 'I'll call him—'

She started to rise, slipped and fell to the floor, clutching at her throat. Whatever she was going to call Jehal, the dragon-kings and -queens never found out.

42

Poison and Lies

 

The Adamantine Eyrie was full. It was more than full. Makeshift pens had been set up out on the Hungry Mountain Plains, more for the herds of cattle to feed the dragons than for the dragons themselves. The speaker had laid out a tented village to shelter all the extra workers that had been drafted in. Some dragon-lords had also brought a few men of their own. And with the eyrie workers and the drivers and carters came the hangers-on, the traders, the fortune-tellers, the fortune-seekers, the thieves, the pickpockets and the desperate, all of them sucked out of the countryside, drawn in by the knowledge that wherever there were dragons, there was wealth. The tented village had grown into a a tented town long before the last dragon arrived. It was a crowded chaos where every other face was a stranger.

For two riders set upon a very private piece of business, it was perfect. They didn't look like riders; they looked like simple soldiers, sell-swords perhaps, or a pair of off-duty swordsmen of the Adamantine Guard. They moved with purpose through the stalls and traders, right to the heart of the makeshift town, certain that no one would recognise or remember them.

They were wrong. A boy, not quite a man, in a dull brown cloak and with a dirty face had been following them for quite some time, ducking and weaving through the throng. But the riders didn't know anything about that, not yet.

Near the centre of the market they stopped at a little table set up in front of a tiny tent barely large enough for a man to stand inside. There was a man there too, a strange fellow with uncommonly dark skin. The clothes he wore were tattered and faded, but they'd been rich and ornate once. Any gold and jewels were long gone; only a dazzling rainbow of feathers remained. The riders seemed unimpressed by his strangeness. The boy hung back and watched them all with an expression of puzzled interest.

A purse changed hands. A heavy one by the looks of it. The dark-skinned man vanished into his tent and appeared again a moment later. He held out a leather satchel. The taller of the two knights took it and they moved quickly away. Too quickly. Too quickly to be innocent at any rate. The boy followed them to the edge of the market and into a large beer tent. In the middle of the day there weren't many people inside. The boy glanced at the riders and then padded across the sticky straw floor and sat down at a table.

'Oi! You! Clear off!'

It took a while before the boy understood that the shout was meant for him. He didn't look up but fished in his pocket and put a silver quarter down on the table in front of him. Out of the corner of his eye he watched the two men he'd been following. The taller one reached into the satchel, took something out and stuffed it inside his coat.

'Where'd you get your grubby hands on a bit of silver then?'

The boy still didn't look up. Off to one side, the satchel had passed to the shorter of the two.

'Thieving, is it? Picked some rich pillock's pocket, did you?'

The tall one was getting up now. Leaving. The boy didn't move.

'Ah, what do I care.' A mug of something bitter-smelling landed in front of the boy, splashing across the table. The boy reached out and sipped at it. Eventually, the other rider got up and left. The boy followed. He eased closer this time, inching into the man's shadow until they were side by side. The boy waited for exactly the right moment.

He snatched the satchel from the rider's shoulder and dived down a narrow gap between the tents, skipping over the ropes that held them up. The man roared and gave chase, hurling himself after the boy, shouting and screaming for someone to stop him. The boy was the more agile of the two, but the rider was fast and

strong and made a good show of keeping up. The boy led him away from the centre of the tented town and in among the cattle pens that surrounded it.

Away from the crowds, the boy turned a corner. Instead of running, he hunched down into a corner among the shadows. When the rider barrelled round a moment later, the boy let him pass and then stood up behind him.

It was done in an instant. The man's steps faltered as he wondered which way to go. A blade, blackened so it wouldn't catch the sun, flicked out of the boy's sleeve and into the rider's side in one fluid stroke. The boy was already running again before the man even knew he'd been stabbed.

The rider launched himself after the boy again. He took a few steps. His hand went to his side, and then he stopped. He looked at his hand and at the blood streaming out of him. Inside he was suddenly burning. He couldn't speak. The pain grew and grew, filling him up from his core to the tips of his fingers and toes, and yet he couldn't speak, couldn't move, couldn't even scream. Mercifully, when the pain reached his head, everything went white and then dark.

The boy dropped the knife and kicked it aside. He zigged through the maze of wooden pens out of caution, but no cry went up behind him. He sprinted. He'd chosen the place to murder the knight quite carefully, but now time was against him. He ran to the edge of the pens, to where another rider, this one in full dragonscale, was waiting with two horses. When Rider Semian saw the boy, he nodded and climbed into his saddle.

'Is it done?'

The boy gave a curt nod and mounted the second horse.

'What about the other one?'

'I recognised him. He's another one of Jehal's.' The boy threw off his cloak. When he took off his hat, long dark hair streamed out. He wiped the dirt off his face and suddenly wasn't a boy any more, but Lady Nastria, Knight-Marshal to the Queen of the North. 'Go! We need to be quick.'

Nastria   wheeled   her  horse  and   pushed   along  the   muddy

paths between the pens, retracing her steps. As they got close to the dead dragon-knight, a couple of old women got up and ran away. They hadn't had time to steal much more than the dead man's purse, and Nastria didn't begrudge them that. The two dismounted and tied the body across the back of Nastria's horse. Together, they galloped towards the Adamantine Palace and the City of Dragons. As they drew close, Nastria dismounted again, put her peasant cloak and hat back on and led both horses up to the palace gates.

'Rider Semian, pledged to Queen Shezira,' declared the knight. The gate guards looked him up and down, took a good look at the body on the other horse, then nodded and let him pass. Nastria carefully stared at her boots. The guards barely noticed she was there at all.

They made their way to the Tower of Dusk in the western wall of the palace. There were many towers scattered through the palace, and each one had been given over to a different dragon-king or dragon-queen while the next speaker was being chosen. Queen Zafir resided in the Tower of Air. King Valgar had been given the Tower of Dawn on the eastern wall. King Tyan had the smallest of them, the Humble Tower. Kings Narghon and Silvallan had the Tower of Water and the City Tower over in the northern section of the palace. The Tower of Dusk had been given over to Queen Shezira. Nastria led the horses right up to the tower doors. Rider Semian opened them and they went in, dragging the body of the dead knight with them.

Inside, several other of Queen Shezira's riders were waiting. As soon as the doors closed behind him, Nastria threw off her disguise again. She pointed at the body. 'Get that down to the cellars. Where's the queen?'

'The queen is with the speaker.'

The riders parted as Lady Nastria pushed between them. Two reluctantly picked up the body by its arms and legs. 'Your Ladyship, this man isn't dead.'

Lady Nastria paused and frowned. 'Just get him down there. Let Master Kithyr know that he's needed.'

The knights exchanged nervous glances. Nastria shooed them down the stairs. In the wine and food cellars they cleared a heavy wooden table and laid out the body. Nastria looked him over. They were right. The man wasn't quite dead after all.

She slapped his face. 'Can you hear me, traitor?'

The man didn't move, so Nastria moved around him and jabbed a finger into the wound in his side. This time he moaned and opened his eyes.

'Hurts, does it?' She pushed her finger further in. The man wailed and screwed up his face. 'Rider Tiachas. A few months ago, you flew your dragon out of Outwatch with your two other brothers in treachery to the edge of the Barnan Woods. You took them to meet some outlaws. They went to buy something. You took them to the edge of the woods and they never came back. Do you know what happened to them? They were killed. I paid a pair of sell-swords to do it. I often wondered what went through your mind when they didn't come back. Were you afraid? And then, slowly, as the weeks turned into months and no one came for you, there must have been hope. Pointless, useless hope, Tiachas, because there's always been someone watching you. Can you hear me?' She wiggled her finger and Tiachas squealed. 'All I want to know, Tiachas, is who poisoned your soul. I was there, just now, when you bought the poison from that Taiytakei clown. I saw you with Prince Jehal's man. Was it Jehal, then?' She forced open his eyes and held out the satchel. 'What is this, Tiachas? Some sort of poison? Did Jehal pay you to murder our queen?'

Tiachas rolled his head from side to side. His tongue lolled out of his mouth. Blood was pouring freely from the wound in his side again, pooling on the floor under the table. Noises bubbled in his throat, but if he was trying to speak, the sounds made no sense.

No? Are you trying to tell me that I'm wrong?' Nastria pulled a knife out of her belt and started to toy with it. 'I don't think I believe you, Tiachas, but I don't mind. You're trying to pretend you still have some courage and honour, and that's a good thing.

So I'll humour you. All I want to know is who, Tiachas. Who bought you?'

The head-shaking intensified.

'I will torture you, Tiachas, and you will tell me. And when you have, I will parade what's left of you in front of every court in the realms before I hang you. I will destroy your family, root and branch. They will lose everything, and they will hate you because you were the traitor who brought this down on them. Do you understand ?'

Tiachas lunged at her, but he was feeble and slow, and Lady Nastria moved easily out of the way. The pair of riders caught him and held him down before he could roll off the table.

Nastria turned away. 'Let him go, and leave us. Please encourage Master Kithyr to hasten himself.'

The riders released Tiachas. They seemed uneasy and left slowly. Nastria watched them go.

'You know what disturbs them so, don't you? No, perhaps you don't. Master Kithyr is not a torturer but a blood-mage. So you will tell me what I want to know. And if you were hoping to die before I found out what I wanted, I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed there too.'

Nastria walked slowly around the cellar. Everything here had been laid in by Speaker Hyram's stewards for Queen Shezira and her knights. Hyram must have done the same for all the dragon-kings and -queens. How easy it would it be to poison an entire clan.

She put that thought aside. No speaker in two hundred years had murdered a guesting king or queen, and she doubted Hyram was about to start. She selected a bottle of wine, opened it and poured some for herself. Eventually she heard Kithyr padding across the stones towards her, but she didn't look round.

'Tiachas is a tool,' she said softly. 'I want to know who the craftsman was.'

It took the sorcerer an hour. There weren't even any screams, but then that was always the way with Master Kithyr. Always quiet. Throughout it all Nastria didn't look round. She stood

statue-still, sipping at her wine, and by the end the bottle was empty. She didn't feel even slightly drunk. Instead she felt cold. Blood-magic. Another necessary evil. Like sell-swords.

When the blood-mage was done, she heard him padding softly back towards her.

'Well? Am I right? Was it Jehal?'

'No,' whispered the sorcerer. 'The Taiytakei.'

She thought about that for a while. The mage didn't move.

'He met one of them, who gave him something,' said Lady Nastria after a while. 'A flask. Filled with liquid silver. Like the last one. I still want to know what it is and what it's for.'

'Ask your alchemists. There are plenty of them. You know there's only one liquid that is of interest to me, and it is not silver in colour.' She could hear the sorcerer's disdain.

Nastria spat. 'Every time I do that I lose another alchemist. Huros, Bellepheros ...' A second of silence passed between them.

'What should I do with the body?' asked the sorcerer. 'Shall I leave it here?'

'No, Master Kithyr. Make it go away. Where no one will ever find it.'

She sighed as the sorcerer went about his work. So much for parading her traitor in public. It simply wasn't the same when all you had was a collection of bits.

43

A Crack in the Stone

 

High above the city, perched on a tiny plateau of rock overlooking the top of the Diamond Cascade valley, Hyram and Queen Shezira stood side by side, watching the water rush by hundreds of yards beneath their feet.

'Queen Zafir. How is she?' Shezira stood inches from the edge. Hyram was even closer. The tips of his boots were actually sticking out into the void. One good push and both of them would be dead.

'Recovering well.'

'That's good to hear. So was she poisoned or wasn't she?'

'She's been a little unwell of late.'

Shezira cocked her head. 'A little? Hyram, when she collapsed everyone thought she was dead.'

'She choked. That's all.'

'Well then I'm sorry for you that she ruined what was left of your feast.'

Hyram laughed. 'We both know it was ruined already. When Queen Zafir collapsed, most of you couldn't get out of my hall fast enough. She was doing you all a favour. Giving you a polite excuse to leave.'

'Very kind of her, I'm sure.' Shezira swayed slightly as a gust of wind whistled along the valley. 'I would prefer to return to the pavilion now.'

Hyram didn't move. 'This always used to be one of my favourite places when I was younger. You can see right across the realms from up here.'

'I prefer to be on dragonback.'

'I know. But standing here is a reminder of how far the likes of you and I can fall. One missed step and we plunge to our dooms. It's been more than two years since I came here, you know. I couldn't stand like this when I was sick; I would have fallen.'

'Hyram, when we ride we wear harnesses to secure us to the backs of our dragons so we cannot fall, no matter what we do. That is what the dragons do for us. We can be as foolish as we like and our dragons will save us.'

'They didn't save Aliphera. Or Antros.'

'They won't save anyone who refuses to wear a harness.' Shezira turned away. 'If you stand there on the edge for long enough, Hyram, you will fall. Learn from your brother's mistake.'

Set back from the edge was the small pavilion built by Speaker Mehmit some two hundred years ago. The Purple Spur mountains were littered with little follies like this. Most had fallen into ruin, but this one had been popular with the speakers who'd followed him. From the bottom of the cliff it was invisible, and even from above it was almost impossible to spot unless you already knew it was there. It had become a little secret that the speakers had shared, passed down from one to the next. It was also an excellent place to spy on the Diamond Cascade, which had always been a popular place for dragon-lords and dragon-ladies who hungered to be away from the eyes of the palace court.

She went inside. There wasn't much to the pavilion, only a single airy room with open arches instead of windows. At the back were two wide alcoves, both generously piled with luxurious furs and soft cushions. It wasn't hard to guess what the speakers had used those for.

Has he brought Queen Zafir up here? Shezira pursed her lips. Of course he had.

She heard Hyram come in behind her and turned. 'It's good to see you in such good health, Hyram.'

'I can promise you, no one is more pleased than I am.'

'Are you going to marry her?'

That stopped him. For a moment Hyram froze. 'I think Queen Zafir stole the secret of the potions from the Viper to spite him. She knows how I feel about him.'

'Everyone knows how you feel about him.' Shezira cocked her head. 'But I'm not quite sure I understand it.'

'He's poisoning his own father.'

'Is he? Is he really?'

'I am certain of it.' Hyram's brow furrowed. 'Can't you feel it from him? The coldness? He's not human like the rest of it. He's vicious, callous, arrogant, self-obsessed—'

'You could be describing any of us.' She smiled slightly.

'You don't understand, do you?' Hyram shrugged. 'Ask Queen Zafir. She knows exactly what I mean. Maybe she'd be able to explain it better.'

Shezira's smile faded. 'Yes. So are you going to marry her?'

Hyram didn't smile. 'Yes, Shezira, I am.'

'And are you going to name her speaker, so you can carry on in the shadows behind her?'

This time he didn't say anything.

'Does she understand that she has to give up her throne, her crown? Does she have an heir ready to take on those burdens?'

That made him laugh. 'Do you?'

'We have a pact, Hyram. If you name Zafir instead of me, I will challenge her. And you will make a bitter enemy of me. Isn't Jehal enough?'

He looked at her. After a few seconds he turned away.

'I think I shall leave now.' Shezira strode past him back out into the open air. She signalled to the dragon-knights circling high overhead to take her back down to the palace. Almost at once a dragon tipped its wings and almost fell out of the air towards her, landing perfectly on the flat area of rock outside the pavilion. The rider threw down a rope ladder but didn't change position. Shezira frowned. Her riders knew better that that. Whoever it was should have moved aside so that she could take the reins.

When the queen didn't move, the rider lifted her helmet. 'Are you coming up or not, mother?'

Jaslyn. Shezira climbed up to sit behind her daughter.

'I would like to fly Silence back to the palace, please.'

Jaslyn looked at her as though she was mad and didn't move.

Shezira bit back her irritation and buckled herself into the second harness. Jaslyn clucked at Silence, who ambled towards the edge of the cliff and flopped lazily into the air, gliding down over the Diamond Cascade valley, out over the falls and into the immensity of space over the City of Dragons.

'You're upset, mother,' shouted Jaslyn.

Shezira kept her lips tightly pressed together. Upset? Upset?! I'm furious, you stupid girl. More than furious, and you would be too if you knew. If you had any ambition, you'd be seething! There wasn't any point in saying anything to Jaslyn, though. / suppose I should be grateful that she's noticed anything at all.

'Mother, you're making Silence anxious.'

For an instant everything went red. She twitched in the saddle, half of her set on lunging forward to wring Jaslyn's neck, the other half determined to stay in control. Underneath her she felt the dragon twitch too, and lurch suddenly forward.

'Mother!'

Shezira clenched her fists. Jaslyn could tell something was wrong because her dragon could tell something was wrong. That was much more like her daughter.

'Take me straight to the palace,' she snapped.

Jaslyn tipped Silence into a dive. The dragon tucked his wings into his body and simply fell, head first, tail stretched out behind him, towards the palace. They dropped like that, half a mile vertically through the air. The wind was immense. It was impossible to say anything; by the end, as the palace spread out before them, it was almost impossible even to feel anything except the rush of it, and the sharp terror, tightly held in check, that they were going too fast, that they couldn't possibly stop ...

Silence spread out his wings. Shezira pitched forward, helpless as the dragon slowed. She couldn't breathe. She must have blacked out, because one moment there was a crushing weight on her back and everything was grey, and the next the weight was gone, and they were floating down in looping circles, already below the tops of the palace towers. When they landed, Jaslyn threw down the ladder. Shezira climbed down very slowly and carefully. She was shaking. When she got to the bottom, Jaslyn was looking down at her with a big grin on her face.

Shezira didn't smile. 'Hyram is going to name Queen Zafir the next speaker,' she said. 'Why don't you take her for a ride and see if you can crush her to death.'

She turned away and strode towards the Tower of Dusk.

 

44

Semian

 

Rider Semian's leg still hurt. On the outside the wound had scarred over and healed weeks ago. Inside, though, it ached. If he tried to run, the ache got worse. Climbing the stairs of the Tower of Dusk left him sweating at the pain. Even if he simply stood still, it slowly grew worse until he had to sit down. The sell-sword's arrow had hit the bone in his thigh. He must have chipped or fractured it, and it was never going to be quite right ever again. He tried not to let it show, but the other dragon-knights were slowly realising that he was a cripple.

He stood stiffly straight as Lady Nastria climbed wearily up from the cellars. She looked very tired, more drained that Semian had ever seen her. A strange smell wafted up from behind her. Something bitter and acrid. Then the sounds started. Soft tearing sounds at first, then bones cracking. He shuddered and tried not to think about it.

At the very moment that Lady Nastria emerged from the cellars, a dragon landed in the yard outside. Semian recognised it at once. Silence. Others opened the door as the queen strode in. She looked angry and shaken.

'Your Holiness.' Lady Nastria stepped out in front of her. 'I have found—'

Queen Shezira waved her away. 'Hyram is going to name Queen Zafir the next speaker.'

Everything in the room stopped. People froze. Whispers died, Everyone stared at the queen.

Shezira cocked her head and looked at Lady Nastria. 'You were saying?'

Nastria bowed deeply. 'One of your knights has betrayed you.

He has been bought.'

'Ah.' The queen pressed her lips together. 'Another poison plot, knight-marshal ?'

Lady Nastria nodded. 'I believe so, Your Holiness. I have the poison. I need to take it to the alchemists' redoubt to identify it.'

'Out of the question.' Shezira shook her head emphatically. 'Now that Hyram has betrayed our pact, I need you here. I will challenge his decision, and I need to be sure I have enough dragon-lords behind me. I would not wish this to become a war.' She paused and looked suddenly thoughtful. 'Send Princess Jaslyn. Let her do it.' A slight smile crossed the queen's face. 'Yes. It would be good to get her away from here for the next few days.'

By the door Rider Jostan was already running into the yard, waving and shouting, trying to call back Silence before he and the princess launched into the air. He was too late. Semian watched the knight-marshal's face. She looked far from happy. But whatever her doubts, she bit them back and bowed again.

'Of course, Your Holiness. I would like to send an escort.'

Shezira frowned. 'We still have an encampment in the Spur. It's only a few hours away.'

This time Nastria stood her ground. 'Nonetheless.'

'Very well.' The queen sighed. 'Two riders, no more. Make sure they are replaced from among the encampment.'

Which wouldn't upset any of them, Semian thought ruefully. Since the day he'd been shot by the sell-sword, they hadn't found a trace of the white dragon, nor of the Scales who was with her. Almost certainly they were both long gone, and the search had become a complete waste of time. But no one had dared tell that to the queen, and so they carried on.

The queen wrinkled her nose. 'What is that terrible smell?'

Lady Nastria blanched. 'It's the cellars, Your Holiness. Something has rotted. It will be removed shortly.'

'And the smell with it, I hope.' Shezira strode on, starting up the sweep of spiral stairs that rose through the middle of the Tower of Dusk. 'Someone tell my steward to prepare for guests this evening. And send an invitation. 1 think I should spend some time with my son-in-law and see what sort of impression Lystra has made on him. As soon as he is willing. Marshal, with me. You look like a peasant, and I'll be wanting you at your best. And since we're having guests, that smell had better be gone.'

The queen vanished around the curve of the stairs. Lady Nastria followed, but before she did, she pressed something into Semian's hands. 'Take this to Princess Jaslyn at the eyrie, and be quick about it.'

Semian's mouth fell open. She's a princess. Mow can I tell her what to do?

'Take Rider Jostan with you. The princess has an eye for both of you.' And then Knight-Marshal Nastria winked at him, which left him even more speechless.

On horseback he raced with Jostan to the Adamantine Eyrie, his leg getting steadily worse all the way. As they arrived, Princess Jaslyn swept out of the eyrie, heading towards one of the queen's carriages.

'Your Highness!' Semian jumped off his horse. In his haste, his leg almost buckled under him. Jaslyn gave him a cold look, certainly not the sort the knight-marshal had been talking about.

'Semian?' She didn't break stride.

'Your Highness, Her Holiness commands you to the stronghold of the alchemists.'

Jaslyn threw back her head and barked a laugh. She opened the carriage door.

'Your Highness! Lady Nastria has executed Rider Tiachas for treason. He is implicated in a plot to poison the queen.'

Jaslyn climbed into the carriage and made to close the door.

'Prince Jehal is also implicated.'

That made her stop. Breathlessly, Semian explained what the queen had ordered them to do. Jaslyn's eyes narrowed.

'So mother is sending me away, is she?' She spat, and storm clouds flashed in her eyes. 'Will this be enough to bury Jehal, do you think, Rider Semian?'

Semian lowered his eyes. 'I cannot say, Your Highness.'

The  princess  snorted  and  slowly  climbed  back  out   of the carriage. 'Why does she send me, Rider Semian? Why not you? Are you not competent to run errands?'

Semian stayed carefully silent.

'Or you, Jostan?' She barked out another harsh laugh.

'Rider Nastria would have gone herself, Your Highness,' said Jostan quietly. 'It was the queen who ordered otherwise.'

'Of course.' Jaslyn bared her teeth. Without another word, she strode back into the eyrie.

By the time they were flying again, the sun was already sinking towards the horizon. Dragons were nervous in the dark, but Jaslyn drove them on at a merciless speed. They'd all spent months among the valleys of the Purple Spur looking for the white dragon. Even blindfold, Semian could have flown among them and been almost sure to reach his destination.

A dozen dragons and three times as many riders, together with several alchemists and scores of camp followers, were still camped out in the Worldspine. Over the months the tents had gone, replaced by a neat row of log cabins alongside the river. Sections of the forest were still being cleared, making way for cattle, driven up from the nearby valleys in King Valgar's realm.

A bonfire, lit at the highest end of the camp, guided them in. The dragons circled overhead, spitting blasts of fire to announce themselves, and then glided nervously down along the river, dipping the tips of their tails, feeling for the ground. As soon as they touched water, they tipped back, spread their wings and stopped dead in the air, dropping the last twenty feet onto the rocks of the river bed. Rider Semian's dragon lurched sideways and almost toppled over. Semian screwed up his face and closed his eyes, but Matanizkan found her balance and righted herself. By the time Semian dismounted, Princess Jaslyn had gone, vanished into the same cabin that she'd lived in for most of the last two months. Semian and Jostan looked at each other, shrugged and went to bed.

By first light they were in the air again, flying north through King Valgar's realm, skirling the edge of the Worldspine. In the afternoon they reached an apparently makeshift eyrie that was little more than a field with a small fortified manor house. Semian took it to be the provincial home of some bumpkin baron at first, a convenient place to stop and then move on. It didn't take him long to realise that he was wrong. The house was run by the Order of the Scales and contained alchemists, several of them. There were soldiers here too, and not any soldiers, but Adamantine men. The speaker's soldiers.

He listened as Princess Jaslyn and the alchemists talked, and he slowly understood. Somewhere a few miles to the east was the start of an old hidden road that ran deep into the Worldspine. At its far end was the alchemists' hidden stronghold, the source of their power — a day on dragonback, but a week or even more on foot or on the ox carts that carried the barrels filled with the alchemists' potions. Every week, no matter the weather, a convoy left the stronghold, feeding the eyries of the realms. The secret of the alchemists' potions was a precious one, closely guarded by the order and shared only with the kings and queens of the realms. Semian knew better than to ask exactly what they did, but it was something to do with taming the dragons. Everyone knew that.

Princess Jaslyn still carried storm clouds on her shoulders, the alchemists were taciturn and suspicious, and when he left, Semian was glad to go. He was bored too. Flying beside the princess was something of an honour, and certainly better than sharing a tower with a blood-mage, but after a while all the mountains looked the same. Back at the palace the tournaments and games would soon be starting. There was glory to be had, and gold too. Out here there was nothing. Nothing to do and nothing to see.

Nothing at all.

45

The Valeford Track

 

Snow dived out of the sun. Stretched out along the mountain track were five wagons, a couple of men on horses at the front and perhaps a dozen soldiers at the back.

'Burn the soldiers first,' screamed Kemir, trying to make himself heard over the wind. He had a saddle now, and he and Nadira rode on Snow's back instead of being carried in her claws.

'You don't need to shout,' yelled Nadira in his ear. Kemir closed his eyes. He still hadn't grown used to Snow plucking the thoughts out of his head.

No.

Snow ignored the soldiers. Instead, the first burst of fire hit the riders at the front. They had felt the rush of wind, perhaps, because Kemir thought he saw one of them look up and behind him just as Snow let loose. A blast of hot air hit Kemir in the face and he hugged Snow's neck.

They heard you shout.

Kemir felt Snow land. The air smelled of burning. He sat back up and saw that they were straddling the mountain track, blocking the way. The first wagon was on fire. Either side of the track smoke rose from a swathe of smouldering heather and gorse. Snow dropped to all fours, exposing Kemir and Nadira. She sent a second blast of fire along the road across the remaining wagons and towards the soldiers. Then she snatched up one of the dead horses and bit it in two, swallowing the back end whole.

Somehow, one of the horsemen was still alive. Staggering to his feet among the ashes, he started to scream. His clothes were burned to his skin; every part of him was either blackened or raw and red. And he was obviously blind. Kemir put him down with an arrow.

The smoke and flames from Snow's flamestrike cleared. All the wagons were blazing now. The soldiers at the back were still there, though. They'd formed up behind a wall of interlocking shields, and as Kemir watched, the shields dropped for a moment. Behind the shields, the soldiers had a crossbow. A big one.

They were pointing it at him.

'Shit!' Kemir threw himself flat against Snow's neck, but what saved him was Snow herself. She lifted up her head as the crossbow fired. Instead of hitting Kemir, the bolt hit the dragon in the shoulder. Kemir felt the shock, the surprise, the unexpected pain. The bolt must have been as long as his arm, and the crossbow had enough power to puncture Snow's scales and drive the missile deep into her flesh.

Then came the rage. It rose up from somewhere deep inside, in a tight seething ball, and bloomed, filling Snow's thoughts; and as it filled the dragon, it filled Kemir too. He started to unbuckle his harness so that he could get at the soldiers with his knives, then stopped himself. Snow leapt forward. She smashed the five carts to pieces, hurling their burning wreckage far away across the valley as she went. The soldiers scattered, some of them struggling through the gorse on either side of the track, most running away down the trail. A few of them actually ran past Snow, dodging between her legs. The dragon flicked her tail back and forth over the track, and at the same time sent another spear of fire down the trail ahead. Kemir glanced over his shoulder. One soldier had been knocked flying. Another seemed to have dived into the gorse and was still alive. A third had somehow ducked under Snow's tail, but she caught him just as he was getting away, cracking the tip against the side of his head so hard that Kemir could actually see the man's neck snap.

Behind him Nadira unleashed a scream of banshee violence. Kemir's fingers were fumbling at the harness again, tearing at the straps that kept him on Snow's back. The anger was overwhelming. He needed to fight. Snow reared onto her back legs and pounded along the track, picking up soldiers as she caught them. She crushed one, hurled the next high into the air and tossed the third into her mouth, biting down so hard that his armour shattered. Finally Kemir freed himself. He slithered down the back of Snow's wing and then down her leg. He landed hard, almost got himself trampled, had to dive out of the way of Snow's flailing tail, but none of that mattered. The dragon-rage had him and he couldn't feel anything else. He leapt up to his feet again and jumped into the gorse, chasing one of the fleeing soldiers. His bow was still tied to Snow's saddle, and that was fine. He didn't want to shoot these men in the back. He wanted the joy of driving his knives into their bones.

The gorse was dense and the soldiers were in heavy armour. The man he'd set his sights on stumbled; Kemir bellowed and threw himself on top of him, wrestling him, hacking at him with his knife. The soldier was wearing dragonscale plates, which would turn his knives no matter how hard he stabbed, but armour always had gaps. In the crotch, behind the knees and elbows, around the throat. The soldier half rose to his feet, raised an arm to ward Kemir off and reached for his sword with the other. Kemir's first knife found the soldier's armpit, driving up into his shoulder. The soldier opened his mouth in shock, and Kemir drove his other knife down the man's throat. He pulled both blades out as the soldier fell, howled in exultation and looked for someone else to kill. Snow was a few hundred yards down the track now. She'd stopped and was sweeping the bushes with flames.

He remembered the soldier who'd dived into the gorse to escape Snow's tail.

Alive. We need one alive. Although it was hard to remember that through the haze of murder in his head.

Nadira was off Snow's back as well. He saw her in the gorse, lifting up a heavy stone and smashing it down again. He couldn't see what she was crushing. Someone's head, most lively.

He couldn't see any soldiers now. They were all gone, lost among the thorn bushes, most of them shattered or burned by Snow's wrath. If any of them were still alive, they were hiding. You couldn't outrun a dragon.

'She can hear your thoughts,' he shouted. 'You can't hide from her.'

The dragon had finished burning soldiers. She came pounding back along the track, shaking the earth, past where Kemir was standing, back to the ruins of the burning wagons.

Alchemists. Where are they? She didn't make a sound, but the thought was so loud in Kemir's head that it made him wince. He started back towards the wagons as well. Snow was rummaging in the bushes, clawing out the half-burned bodies of the wagon drivers, the ordinary men who'd happened to be in the way. She gave each one a cursory glance and then tossed it into the air.

Dead.

When the bodies came down again, she caught them in her mouth and swallowed them whole.

Dead.

Nadira staggered out of the gorse onto the track. Her hands were bloody, her face a strange expression of exultant shock. She came towards Kemir. Her eyes were very wide.

Dead.

'I killed one!' She sounded amazed. 'I never killed anyone before, but I did it. I smashed his head with a rock.'

Dead.

The bloodlust was still there, still strong, but no longer overwhelming. Kemir took her hands in his. 'Do you know who these soldiers were?' She shook her head. 'These were Adamantine Guardsmen. The speaker's men. The best soldiers in the realms, or so they say. They train to fight dragons.'

Dead.

He looked around at the carnage and laughed. So much for the Guard, but then what were they thinking? What was anyone thinking? How could a man fight a dragon? How could even an army of men fight a dragon?

Dead.

He left Nadira to search the corpses for anything worth stealing and went to look at the weapon they'd used to shoot at him. It was smashed, crushed under Snow's claws as she'd run past, but the remains told him enough. He'd been right — it was a crossbow, the biggest one he'd ever seen. It probably took two men to even carry it. The mechanism for cocking it was splintered beyond recognition, but Kemir guessed it was some sort of crank. It probably took three or four soldiers to use the weapon. Grudgingly he found himself impressed that the soldiers had been quick enough to use it at all.

Alive! Kemir, there is one alive. As\ it! Make it tell you where the alchemists are to be found!

A shriek echoed between the mountains. A dark shape swooped out of the sky towards them. Kemir's heart sank.

Shit. Ash.

46

Ash

When he'd set out with Snow to find the alchemists, Kemir had soon realised that he didn't know where they lived after all. What he knew was that the blood-mages who had first conquered the dragons had lived somewhere in the north of the Worldspine, and that the alchemists had raised their stronghold in the same place. It had never occurred to him how vast the Worldspine was. They'd searched for days, and the mountains had stretched on forever in every direction they looked. The days had become weeks. All they ever found were bleak snow-covered peaks, lush forested valleys and, when they strayed close to the realms, occasional Outsider camps.

You lied to me. You do not know where the alchemists live.

All he could do was let Snow peer into his thoughts, let her see for herself that he'd never meant to fool her, that he'd always thought that his knowledge was enough. Sometimes, when she was angry with him, she was terrifying. It was hard to live with a creature that could extinguish him so easily, over which he had no power.

Because of your alchemists, it is my kind who have no power, she'd replied.

He'd gone into a couple of Outsider settlements with some of the weapons and money they'd stolen from Queen Shezira's dragon-knights. The first village had given him a cautious welcome and taken his gifts, but they hadn't known any more about the alchemists. The second had taken him captive. They probably would have killed him if Snow hadn't crashed in first. She'd destroyed the village and anyone who wasn't quick enough to run away into the trees. She was pitiless. Man, woman or child, if it moved, if it thought, it burned. Some of them got away, and Kemir almost had to beg her not to hunt them down. Snow had given him a curious look, an expression he'd come to recognise as a mixture of incomprehension and indifference. She'd let the survivors go in the end, but the memories made him shiver. They'd been Outsiders, which sort of made them his people. Snow didn't care. She'd squashed them with all the compassion of a child crushing ants.

They'd flown south again, deep into the Worldspine, still searching. There, Snow had spotted a lone dragon in the far distance. Kemir couldn't even see it at first but then made out a tiny black speck in the sky, miles away.

There is another dragon, Kemir. Alone.

'Where there's a dragon, there's a rider. Maybe he knows where the alchemists hide away.'

Snow climbed higher and surged through the air. The dragon-knight saw them coming but didn't seem particularly bothered until Snow swooped down and almost landed on his dragon's back. She ripped the knight out of his saddle. The other dragon shrieked and did what they always did — it dived for the ground. Snow banked into a steep spiral, following it down. This new one was shorter than Snow, but heavier, squat and compact. A war-dragon, Kemir decided. A poor one too, since its scales were a dull dark grey, almost black in places, and barely gleamed at all.

Alchemists! Where are the alchemists?

It took Kemir a moment to realise that Snow wasn't thinking to him, but to the rider she'd seized. The two dragons whirled towards the ground. Kemir's fingers gripped into Snow's scales. Riding behind him, Nadira's arms around his waist were like a vice, crushing the air out of him. The wind took his breath away. Nadira might have been screaming, but he didn't hear it so much as feel it reverberating through him.

Where?

His heart almost stopped as the ground hurtled towards him — he could almost believe that Snow was so set on having an answer to her question that she hadn't noticed — but, as always, at the last moment she spread her wings and he nearly fell off her back, and then they were suddenly down on the ground.

The near-black dragon was eyeing them mournfully. Snow hurled the rider at it. The beast sniffed the body and then curled up around it, head held erect and alert. It never blinked, Kemir noticed.

Your kind are too fragile, grumbled Snow.

'Did you get an answer?' Kemir was shaking and Nadira was sobbing. He badly wanted to get off Snow's back and feel the solid ground beneath his feet, but the sight of the other dragon made him stay where he was. For all he knew, Snow might simply fly off and leave him there.

I might, conceded Snow. You have been little use to me.

Kemir tried not to think about that. 'Well, did he tell you anything or not?'

No. He was in pain and fear and then he died. I saw a place in his mind, very briefly. It is somewhere in the realm of one of your kind called Valgar.

'King Valgar.'

You know this man?

Kemir couldn't help but laugh. 'He's a king, dragon. He wouldn't spit on my corpse, much less know me. I know where to find him. It's north again. Where we've already looked.'

Then we will loo\ again.

He sighed, ready for Snow to take to the air straight away expecting to find the alchemists before the sun set. And then when she didn't, she'd fly into a rage, and he and Nadira would cower and pray to whatever gods might hold sway over a vengeful dragon, and he'd wish that Sollos was here because somehow Sollos had always known what to do.

'I should run off and leave you,' he muttered.

I would not let you, Kemir. Not now.

But Snow didn't take off; she cautiously stepped closer to the other dragon.

Get down and hide among the trees for a while. This one has a deeper rage than mine inside it.

They didn't fly away to continue the search that day, nor the next, nor the one after that. Instead, Snow stopped looking for the alchemists and stayed with the dark dragon for a month. Sometimes she ignored him for days at a time. She hunted alone and brought back food for the other dragon. Kemir, in his turn, hunted with his bow. He kept himself and Nadira alive. The mountain valleys were cold and wet and treacherous. Ordinary men died in places like this, but there was always food and water, and shelter as well, if you knew where to look for it.

Finally Kemir decided he'd had enough. He'd barely even seen Snow for four days, and the two dragons were flying together now.

'They don't need us any more,' he said to Nadira. 'They've forgotten us. When they remember, they'll eat us.'

They packed what little they had and left, striking west. He didn't know where they were, but the Worldspine ran from north to south, so heading west was bound to take them back into the realms sooner or later.

Snow caught them three days later. She landed as close as she could, while the other dragon circled over their heads.

There are two of us now. Her thoughts didn't seem angry, but Kemir felt the conviction behind them.

'Is that one of you for each of us?' he asked. He couldn't help himself.

There is one harness for your kind. It is of no consequence to me to wear it.

'And what if I don't want to ride you.'

Ash will burn you where you stand.

'Ash?' Kemir glanced up. From below, the war-dragon simply looked black.

Ash. That is the name your kind gave him, and now that he has awoken, he hungers for the same vengeance. So, Kemir, will you ride with us?

'Do I have a choice?'

You always have the choice to die.

Wearily, Kemir climbed up the ropes onto Snow's back. It took

him a good part of the day to adjust Ash's harness so that it fitted her properly and didn't threaten to tip them out every time Snow launched herself into the air. They turned north once more, Ash flying alongside them. The black dragon made Kemir's skin crawl. Snow's indifference was bad enough — but to Ash, Kemir and Nadira simply didn't exist. His thoughts, when he spoke to Snow, were clear enough. Men and women were food, nothing more.

They resumed their search. One fruitless day passed and then another, and then, in the middle of the wilderness, Snow spied a cluster of wagons driving along a hidden track.

Amid the burning wreckage Snow rose onto her hind legs. In her foreclaws she was holding a body. Alive! Kemir, this one is alive. Ask it! Make it tell us where the alchemists are to be found!

Kemir shouted, 'Then put it down before you break it!' As he walked towards her, Ash swooped low over the track.

Hungry!

Snow looped her tail around one of the bodies and hurled it into the air. Ash caught it on the fly.

You should have waited, Ash thought reproachfully. The smell of them burning has given me an appetite, yet you've left me nothing to sate it. At least, nothing still breathing that I can chase.

Kemir shivered.

Soon. Snow cocked her head as Kemir came closer, and gently lowered the twitching soldier onto the ground in front of him.

'I said don't break him,' Kemir growled. 'When you want to know something, all you have to do is pick someone up and shout inside their head. When they've stopped screaming in terror, the next thing they'll do is tell you anything you want to know. Even if they lie to you, you'll know it. What you don't do is crush his ribcage while he's still shitting his trousers.' He looked at the man and cursed. 'You're as impatient as a two-year-old.'

Snow snarled at him. I am seven years hatched, Kemir.

'You're as impatient as a human two-year-old. You have to wait until whoever you've got can properly understand what's about to happen to them. Then ask your questions.' He turned quickly away and knelt beside the soldier. If Snow decided that now was finally the time to eat him, he didn't want to see it coming. 'Have you got any more? This one's probably past caring.'

No. Make this one tell me what I want to know!

The soldier was coughing up frothing blood. Snow had caved in one side of his chest. It was a miracle the man was still alive.

'Soldier?' Kemir got down onto his hands and knees so he could talk into the man's ear. 'Soldier? Can you hear me? What's your name?'

The soldier mumbled something that Kemir couldn't make out.

lyan. lie knows himself as Iyan of the house of Liahn. Next to Snow, Ash came to watch. The war-dragon looked bemused. Then he seemed to sneer and turned his attention to the bolt still embedded in Snow's shoulder.

'Iyan? The dragons are their own masters here. They mean to burn the alchemists. Every one of them. They will stop the alchemists from making their potions. All the dragons will be free. They'll burn us all. Every man, woman and child, every last one of us. No matter what it costs us, we must not let these dragons know where the alchemists are. Do you understand? If you know where they are, you must not even think about which way they are to be—'

That was as far as he got before a claw came down, and Ash drove the crossbow bolt into the soldier's chest, pinning him to the ground. The soldier gasped and was still.

Clever, Little One. Very clever.

'Well I hope he had a good think about all the things I told him not to tell you before you skewered him.' Kemir backed away from the dead soldier. Ash had never even acknowledged him before.

When we have all we need from you, I will 'skewer' you too. The dragon gestured with a wing along the track. That way. I have seen a place in his mind.

Ash didn't bother to wait, but that didn't matter since he was slower than Snow in the air.

As Kemir and Nadira strapped themselves into the harness on her back, Snow spoke in his head again. When you spo\e to the broken man and told him of the things that would come to pass, and that he should not tell us or help us, I could not tell whether you were speaking only to tricky him, or whether you meant every word. Which is the truth, Kemir?

Kemir grunted. 'I don't know. I couldn't tell either.'

47

Alliance and Betrayal

 

'The trouble is,' drawled Prince Jehal, 'that I'm simply not important enough.' He was lounging against the battlements on the top of the Tower of Dusk, quietly enjoying himself.

The night air was cool and fresh and clear. If he looked over the wall, he could pick out the night-watch patrols in the City of Dragons by the light of their lamps. Beyond the city the moon shimmered in the sky and in the Mirror Lakes below, and then the Purple Spur rose like a black wall, creeping up from the horizon into the sky, eating the stars as it went. Queen Shezira's feast had been sublime, far better than Speaker Hyram's. He felt sated, serene and relaxed. It helped his mood immensely to see that Queen Shezira was anything but. She paced back and forth across the top of the tower, face set in a deep frown.

He smiled. 'Hyram is a bastard,' he added. 'Did you know he summoned me here about Queen Aliphera, and then when I dutifully came, he tortured me? I wasn't going to make anything of it when it looked like he was going die very slowly and miserably. Didn't seem much more I could do than nature had already done. Now, though ...' He shook his head and sighed. 'What difference can I make? Hyram will oppose your challenge and so will his family. So will Zafir, and so will Narghon and Silvallan. So should I. A speaker from the south is overdue, and I've no reason to dislike Queen Zafir. As I said, the trouble is that I'm not important enough.'

Queen Shezira stopped her pacing and looked at him directly. They were alone on the battlements by her insistence. No one, she said, was to hear what they had to say to each other. Even the rooms below the roof had been cleared, and the stairs were

guarded by her most trusted rider. And one of his as well, so they could keep an eye on each other.

'You're important enough. I already have King Valgar and one other that I can count on. Valmeyan won't be here and so won't have a say. Neither do the Syuss. I only have one question for you. What do you want?'

Jehal's smile widened. 'I told you, sweet Queen. The trouble is, I'm not important enough.' He met her gaze. If she was too stupid to understand what he meant, she didn't deserve his help.

She wasn't stupid. Slowly, she nodded. 'The Speaker's Ring. You want to succeed me when my years are up.'

'That would be a most enticing prospect.'

'And the most obvious demand. Yes.'

'And will you make Lystra your heir? To take your crown when you take Hyram's ring. So she need not worry so much about my rabble of half-cousins sniffing after my father's throne?'

She pursed her lips. 'Perhaps. If you'll give me your word to pass the Speaker's Ring on to Lystra when your time is done, and let Almiri become Queen of Sand and Stone in her place.'

Jehal nodded, then made a show of looking concerned. 'Wait. Begging your pardon, Your Holiness, but isn't all this the same assurance that Hyram gave to you. His word?'

'Are you calling me a liar, Jehal?'