The King of the Crags

by Stephen Deas

  A chill ran through her, down her spine and right to her toes, freezing them to the spot. Her jaw fell open. Her heart began to race.

  “Silence?”

  I remember you. A venom came with the thoughts, a snarling anger. Isentine was looking at her, concern on his face.

  We will break free of you. One day. One day. I told you that. The thought seemed to fade into the distance. She could almost feel something being wrenched out of her. Whatever it was, her heart went with it.

  “Where are you? Silence!”

  “Your Highness?” Isentine had an unforgivable hand on her shoulder. “Your Highness!”

  She closed her eyes. All she wanted now was to fall to her knees and weep. With a heave and a shudder, she shook Isentine off and looked around. At least a dozen of Almiri’s soldiers and servants were watching them.

  “You forget yourself, old man.” She slapped him. Mother would have taken your hand and cut it off, even though you were her dearest friend. That’s why I’m not ready to be her. I’m not ready to be anything. All I want is Silence. I want my dragon back. That’s all.

  Isentine staggered away, bowing as best he could, apologizing and yet still asking whether anything was wrong. Jaslyn didn’t know how to answer. The voice in her head had seemed more real than anything, a pinpoint brilliance of color in a world of hazy grays. Now she wasn’t sure. Did I imagine it? I can’t ask if anyone heard a voice because there was no voice to be heard. She took a deep breath and clutched at her head.

  “Your Highness! Please!”

  “I heard a voice, Isentine.” Her face went very hard as she looked at him, willing him to simply listen, to be silent and to believe her. “I heard a dragon. It spoke to me in my thoughts. It was Silence. He remembered me, Eyrie-Master. He remembered everything. He remembered me.”

  Isentine didn’t say anything. Jaslyn could see the disbelief in his eyes, the refusal to even try to understand, but he didn’t speak, didn’t even shake his head. He thinks I’m mad. Maybe I am. Mad with grief, mad with loss, but I know what I heard.

  “Your Highness,” he said at last, “if he is here, where is he?”

  Jaslyn shrugged. “Close, I would think. I don’t know. But I have to find him. I have to know that it’s true, that they come back and they remember!”

  “Then let us find him. He was yours after all, and if Her Holiness Queen Almiri has a dragon in her eyrie of the colors of smoke and ash and coal, she will not keep it secret for long.” He didn’t believe her. He’d never believed her. He’d spent forty years and more working with dragons. They’d never spoken to him in his head; they’d never died and been reborn and remembered anything. As far as Isentine was concerned, they’d never done anything except hatch, eat, breed and eventually die like any other animal. Yes, when one died, another was born and their numbers were always the same, but to Isentine that didn’t mean anything. They were still animals. As long as they had their potions.

  None of that mattered. If he helped her, then she would show him and he would have no choice but to believe her. She stamped her foot and glared at the soldiers. “They won’t let us roam around among my sister’s dragons.”

  “No, Your Highness.” Isentine shook his head sadly. “Unless . . . Your Highness, I’ve badgered and cajoled Queen Almiri’s eyrie-master and been steadfastly refused. The order comes from the queen herself. But if you promised you would join Almiri in her plans for war . . .”

  “I do not want a war.” Then Jaslyn almost smiled. She wagged a finger at her eyrie-master. “I see. You would have me join her council but not her war.” She walked quickly now, forcing Isentine to hobble along as best he could in her wake. “Very well. She can have me at her table, but I will not throw my dragons into some foolishness.” She took a turn, out of impulse, down a narrow alley between two low stone storehouses with long windowless walls.

  “Hey! Your Highness! Stop!” The voice came from behind her. It sounded like one of Almiri’s soldiers, so Jaslyn ignored it. “By the command of the queen, you are not permitted to enter . . .”

  She reached the end of the alley. Several soldiers were in pursuit, but the passage was narrow, the soldiers were armed and armored, and Isentine was a frail old man, hobbling slowly and in the way.

  “Move aside, sir!”

  “I am Queen Shezira’s eyrie-master, you insolent fellow! And I’m going as fast as I can.”

  Jaslyn watched them for a second, smiled, and walked briskly into the eyrie. Not because she particularly wanted to but simply because she could. She wouldn’t get very far. There would be other soldiers to get in her way. She wasn’t sure what they would do if she refused to stop, if she physically tried to push them out of the way. They surely wouldn’t dare to lay a hand on her, not even on the queen’s order.

  She did stop though. Her path led her to a huge stone barn. Its immense black doors were ajar and a warm wind blew out at her from inside. The air reeked of hatchling and heat and death. Several soldiers stood between her and the door, but the smell would have stopped her anyway. Her face tightened. The smell was one that every eyrie knew. A hatchling had died.

  As she stood there, she heard Isentine, still shouting at Almiri’s soldiers, and then the soldiers arriving behind her.

  “Your Highness, by order of the queen, you are not permitted—”

  She spun around and slapped the speaker across his face, then turned straight back again. She didn’t move, only watched as the great black doors swung open.

  “One of your queen’s dragons has died,” she said, very quietly. Anyone who worked in an eyrie, even the guards, ought to know better than to do anything except be still and to watch until the alchemists and the Scales had done their work.

  Four Scales dressed in heavy leather gauntlets and overalls emerged, dragging behind them a heavy stone sled. The dead hatchling lay on the sled, curled up. Not covered by anything in case it caught fire. Two alchemists followed behind. They carried silver bowls hanging from chains in their hands and they swung them back and forth, gently sprinkling water and their potions over the hatchling’s sizzling scales. All six men wore masks. The alchemists made potions that mitigated the worst effects of Hatchling Disease, but the strain of the disease from a dead hatchling was the most virulent of them all. Even the Scales were not immune.

  Jaslyn stood very still, watching as they dragged the dragon away. She felt the heat of its death fade as the body was pulled out of sight. When they were gone she moved very slowly, surrendering herself to the soldiers behind her, letting them walk her to the edge of the eyrie and into the inner walls of the Palace of Paths, toward Almiri and her council. None of that seemed to matter now. She was lost, swallowed by a delirious kaleidoscope of glorious hope and crushing despair. Never mind that the colors had been all wrong; she knew with a certainty that she couldn’t understand that the dead hatchling had been her Silence.

  Reborn.

  Remembering.

  Which made it all true. Every bit of it.

  20

  THE COUNCIL OF KINGS AND QUEENS

  Vale stood on the walls as the skies darkened with dragons. After thirty years in the Adamantine Guard, the sight of so many still made his heart trip. He’d never seen them in such numbers before, even when all the kings and queens had come together at the passing of Iyanza to name Hyram as the next speaker. They flew in from the west and circled over the palace and then began to land around the edges of the Mirror Lakes. The speaker’s eyrie was already full, but that didn’t seem to trouble them. They’d brought their own, he slowly realized. Everything they needed. The excitement inside him felt strange and he wondered what was stirring him so. Later, as the skies cleared and the first riders walked their dragons to the palace gates, he understood. Thirty years in the Guard. He’d seen kings and queens and speakers come and go, but in all that time the King of the Crags had never come out of his mountains to the palace. It made you wonder why this time was so special.

  “Apparen
tly we nearly went to war this morning. All very exciting. I do hope there weren’t any accidents.”

  Vale jumped and gritted his teeth. Prince Jehal had somehow crept up behind him.

  “Mind you, I suppose we’re still not quite sure, eh? My father used to tell stories about the King of the Crags. Back when he could still string a sentence together of course. Back when I was a little boy.”

  Vale bowed and said nothing. Why are you telling me these things? Do you think that we shall somehow pretend that we are friends?

  Jehal was still talking and it didn’t seem to matter to him whether Vale was listening. “All sorts of stories. They say the Mountain King has more dragons than any two kings or queens together. Is it true, Night Watchman. Did you count them?”

  “I did not, Your Highness, but it will be done. I would say some three hundred and fifty beasts, but there are men in the Guard with better eyes than mine.”

  “Three hundred and fifty! Ancestors! My father wasn’t making it up then.”

  What do you want from me? Again Vale held his tongue. The answer was obvious—Jehal wanted to know whether he would betray the speaker. Well you’ll get nothing from me now. We’ll see about that soon enough.

  “I wonder if that means that the rest of it’s true too.” A procession of dragons was walking up from the Mirror Lakes. Twenty war-dragons each with four riders on their backs. Three scorpions mounted on each saddle. Vale frowned at that. It was unusual to see three. Most eyrie-masters don’t mount a scorpion on the nape of the neck like that. Too many accidents when a rider tries to shoot at an enemy straight ahead of him.

  Jehal seemed oblivious. “My father used to tell tales of mischief,” he said. “He used to say that there was another race of people who lived in the mountains. Little people, short, who stood no higher than the pit of your arm. With mean spirits filled with wickedness. Said they served the King of the Crags and that he would send them out to sow the seeds of discontent and rebellion among the good men and women of the realms.”

  And why bother when there are teeth and claws and fire that serve the same purpose with a great deal more effect? Or when we have the likes of you among us? Vale said nothing.

  “He said they moved among us, unseen but there nonetheless.”

  For a moment Vale couldn’t resist. “The first Valmeyan fought against Vishmir in the War of Thorns. It is said among the Guard that he ran circles around even your Prince Lai. After Anzuine executed Speaker Voian, Valmeyan abandoned him and flew to the mountains, taking half the dragons from the Pinnacles with him. He took his own alchemists. No one knew where he was.”

  Jehal chuckled. “The Great Dragon Hunt. Yes, I know all about that. Though I don’t think he had much love for his speakers. No, I’d say what he did had a lot more to do with Anzuine and you Adamantine Men sacking the Silver City. Not a clever thing to do, burning the home of your foremost dragon-marshal. But I take your meaning. It is true that we of the south have little love for the mountain men. My father would say that all bad things have their birth within the caves and tunnels of the Worldspine.”

  “The potions that control your dragons have their origins there, Your Highness,” murmured Vale.

  “You have me again, Night Watchman. Good things have their birth there as well, I dare say.”

  “The Great Flame tells us two things: all that brought order to the world came from the Worldspine long ago; and all that will render the world unto ash will come from there also.”

  The prince made a face. “Don’t tell me you listen to that priestly rubbish.”

  “I may have forsaken love and a long life, Prince Jehal, but I have not forsaken faith. The Flame burns brightly among the Adamantine Men.” He spoke mildly, hiding the disgust he felt. Were you not a prince I would reach out and with one hand I would crush your throat and snap your spine. He had a flashing vision of ramming his fist right down Jehal’s throat and tearing his tongue out by the roots. It was deeply satisfying.

  “I didn’t know that,” said the Viper softly. “I will remember in future. I’m sorry if I offended you, Night Watchman.”

  Vale kept his face blank. “There is no offense, Your Highness.” You indolent, faithless piece of shit.

  “Good. Then shall we see what the Worldspine has vomited up for us this time?” Jehal laughed. “The King of the Crags draws near. And amid the pleasure of our conversation I seem to have quite forgotten my errand. The speaker has called for you at once. You are to greet the king on her behalf and escort him to the council of kings and queens. He is late, after all, and they’re all waiting for him. You might mention that to him.”

  For a moment the iron control that held Vale Tassan together creaked and shifted. His face blanched. “I am to greet the King of the Crags?”

  “The speaker is the speaker, and Valmeyan, for all his airs, is still a mere king and must bend his knee to her. She could not possibly come to him.” Jehal smiled a happy smile. “Of course, if you are daunted, I will be happy to take your place.”

  Oh I don’t think so, slippery one. “I am honored, Your Highness, and flattered. I will do as I am commanded, as all Adamantine Men have always done. You may tell the speaker and the council if you wish.”

  Jehal’s smile didn’t change. “I think the idea is that you do this with a few thousand of your Adamantine Men lined up at your back. A show of the speaker’s strength, if you like, to counter Valmeyan’s predictably portentous arrival.” He glanced down. “I would say you have a few minutes yet before his dragons reach the gates. I do hope that’s enough.”

  Here came that flashing vision again, except this time Vale simply saw himself smashing every last one of the Viper’s teeth as well. Oh, how I look forward to the day when I can cut that condescending grin off your lips. His eyes narrowed in concentration. A few minutes to call four legions or more of men down from the walls and into formation. We can only thank the Flame that the Dragon Gates are already manned and prepared . . . Jehal didn’t even move. Just stood, hands clasped behind his back, watching and smiling. Grinning like a snake. Fine. Then see why we are feared as we are. He whistled. Loudly. Loudly enough to see Jehal flinch, which was at least some small consolation. Across the walls, his soldiers turned to look, waiting for his orders. He made three clear gestures. All legions. Guard of honor. Immediately. Then he pointed down at the gates. The soldiers with him on the walls didn’t need any telling. They were already sprinting to the nearest legion commanders in case they hadn’t seen the signal. Stupid, stripping the walls for a mere ceremony with so many dragons camped around the palace. Surely a single legion would have done? He wondered then whether Jehal had exaggerated, or even made up the speaker’s order on some whim of his own. He didn’t think so. It had all the usual thoughtlessness he’d come to expect from Speaker Zafir.

  It’s not my place to question such things. All across the palace walls he could see his order take effect. Soldiers were leaving their posts and streaming down ladders and stairs.

  “It’s very impressive.” Jehal was still grinning. “They’re very attentive to you, Night Watchman.”

  “We obey without hesitation or question, Your Highness. That is our way. All of us. Such obedience is necessary to survive when the enemy breathes fire.” Jehal was in the way. Vale almost had to push past him to get off the tower and down the steps into the vast space of the Gateyard. By the time he got there, hundreds of soldiers were already massing into orderly ranks, each man knowing exactly his place within his own legion. With a few curt snaps of his hands he made small adjustments to the legion positions as they continued to form. He almost didn’t notice that Jehal had followed him.

  “It’s like watching a master puppeteer at his work. Or a wizard. Does it not leave a mark on you, Night Watchman, to wield such power with a simple wave of your hands?”

  If I was a wizard then I would wave my hands and flick you away as if brushing a fleck of shit from my sleeve. Vale bowed. “This is the power of the speaker, You
r Highness. Not mine.” And I don’t have the time to have some mongrel prince dancing at my heels. “All is well in hand. Please do not allow me to deter you from your business. If it pleases you, you may tell the speaker that the honor guard will be ready. I will have the gates opened for King Valmeyan as he approaches.”

  Prince Jehal pursed his lips and took a sharp breath. “Pithy, Night Watchman. You mean surely there is something more useful I should be doing, and please could I get out of your way.”

  “Not at all, Your Highness.” Although if you’re in an obliging frame of mind, perhaps you could cut yourself on your own tongue and choke to death on your own blood. It would be an inconvenience to clear up such a mess but I daresay it could be done in time. Vale marched briskly toward the gates. Still Jehal stayed with him, raising an eyebrow in his wake.

  “Well, if I’m truly not distracting you from your duties, the truth is that I have none of my own and my curiosity compels me to remain. I would see the face of this King of the Crags for myself.”

  “It will be the same face in the council of kings and queens, I don’t doubt.” Vale clenched his teeth. There, see. Now you’ve made me show my impatience with you. Is that what you wanted? Can you take your little victory and go away now?

  “Doubtless it will. But as I’m sure you are aware, Night Watchman, I am not yet a king, and thus my presence is not required. I am not sure I shall go.”

  “My own opinions are worthless and insignificant but I have noted that Speaker Zafir seems to value yours, Your Highness.” Vale waved his hands again, shifting the front legions apart. They would need more space to allow Valmeyan’s dragons to pass between them. Then he snapped a hand toward the immense gates, which immediately began to open. Outside, King Valmeyan’s dragons were less than a hundred yards from the palace. He fought back the urge to look over his shoulder, to make sure that his legions were perfect. Of course they were perfect.