by Stephen Deas
And then he was back.
He opened his eyes. The pain was gone. He felt strong again.
He tried to sit up and quickly discovered that the pain being gone and feeling strong were rather fleeting and illusory things.
Still . . . still, he did feel a lot better.
He looked to his left and caught a fleeting glimpse of someone in a pale gray shirt dashing out of the door. The ceiling above him was familiar. He was still in the Tower of Dusk but not in the Great Hall, where Shezira had almost killed him. He recognized the room. She’d slept here in the days before the Night of the Knives, when he’d come to see her and played his last card to force her and Hyram apart.
You might as well stop thinking about either of them. They’re both dead, for better or for worse. Zafir’s going to get her war and you might as well get used to it.
The door flew open with a bang. Jehal had to look twice to recognize the face. Jeiros, the alchemist.
“Prince Jehal! It is truly a miracle!” The alchemist rushed over. He tore off the blanket and started poking around between Jehal’s legs.
“Excuse me!” Jehal was naked, he realized. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised about that. He tried to lift his head to see what Jeiros was doing, what damage Shezira had actually done to him, whether any of it was permanent, but the alchemist had piled the blanket up on his chest and he couldn’t see. He was numb from the waist down and could only vaguely feel the alchemist’s prodding. “I’d prefer if you didn’t do that.”
“The rot has gone. Simply gone! I’ve never seen anything like it!” Jeiros carefully laid the blanket back where it was supposed to be. “No one will believe this. I have to get Vioros!”
“Master Alchemist!” Jehal’s head was spinning. “I am not an exhibition!” He felt sick. The alchemist’s enthusiasm was overwhelming. “And I can’t feel my legs. I trust they are still there.”
“Yes yes yes. The wound is filled with Dreamleaf, that’s all. You’re going to live, Prince Jehal. Do you understand? Every other man I have ever seen who had a wound like this turn bad has died. And you’re going to live. How? How is that possible?” He came around and leaned over Jehal’s face. His eyes narrowed. “Yes indeed. How is it possible?”
Jehal closed his eyes. “I do not know, Master Alchemist. I had a vision. Whether it was real or a dream I couldn’t tell you. Believe me when I say that I’m as surprised as you are to find that I am mysteriously healed. If it was a miracle then I shall thank Aruch for his prayers and then go back to ignoring him. If it wasn’t, well then I’d like to know what happened at least as much as you would. Probably more.” He took a deep breath. He had a headache now from so much talking. Which was annoying. His mouth, as he’d often observed to his lovers, was one of his best features.
Speaking of which . . .
“Master Alchemist!” Jeiros was still nearby. Jehal could feel his presence.
“Prince Jehal? I have to inform the speaker. The danger is largely gone. Healing will take a long time, but we can help. Now the poison is gone from your blood . . .”
Poison in your blood. That’s what the voice said . . . “Master Alchemist! Please!” He tried to raise his head to watch Jeiros more carefully, but the effort was beyond him. “Before you go, there is one thing I would rather hear from you than from Zafir when she comes.” Assuming she’s not coming to have me executed along with everyone else who doesn’t bow and scape to her every whim. “What damage has Queen Shezira done to me?”
Jeiros hesitated. Jehal counted out the seconds. Quite a lot then. I’m not going to like this.
“Your leg will heal, but I’m afraid you will always limp and it will always be weak. I think in time you will be able to walk without a staff on which to lean, but I doubt you will ever run again. I think you’ll find riding a horse particularly unpleasant too.”
“And dragons?” You’re not telling me something. I can hear it in your voice.
“There may be some discomfort, but no more than at any other time. I’m sure a special harness could be made if it gives you any trouble.”
Well, that wasn’t what you’re hiding. Do I really want to think about it? But if I don’t hear it now, I’ll hear it from Zafir, and that will be worse. “And?”
“Wait and see, Your Holiness. It may not be as bad as it seems.” Everything in Jeiros’ voice betrayed him.
“Holiness?” Jehal croaked out a laugh. “I’m not crowned, Master Alchemist. Perhaps I never will be. Now is that all? A limp and an aversion to horses and feats of athletics I can live with. Or is there more?”
“You should really wait, Your Holiness. It is too early to know—”
“To know what?” He knew. He already knew and it turned him cold inside. He might even wish he’d died after all. “What of women? What of that?”
Jeiros sighed. “I cannot say for sure, Prince Jehal. It will be a long time before you can . . . Well. And there will likely be some pain. At best. For some time to come, at any rate.”
“And what of heirs?”
“It is much too early to say, Your Holiness. I think, once you are healed, you will still perform as well as you ever did in that particular regard. Until you can be sure, however, I suggest you take great care of the heir you have.”
Jehal didn’t hear the alchemist leave. The numbness had spread right up his spine and down his arms and into his head.
Take great care of the heir you have. So maybe Shezira got exactly what she wanted after all. Did he want to be alive like that? He wasn’t sure. Perhaps Jeiros was right and he should wait. The alchemist’s voice hadn’t held much certainty either way. Best not to even think about it. If only it was that easy. But I can think about other things. Distractions. I owe it to myself to heal. I will heal, and I will be whole again. Yes, and when I am healed there will be blood, and a great deal of it will come from the Night Watchman. Think about that. Much more pleasing.
29
A TASTE OF HAPPINESS
Snow landed in the town. There weren’t many places large enough. In fact, there was only one, right next to the little building that Kemir had called a castle. The space had people in it, but Snow ignored them. Sure enough, as she swooped out of the sky, they ran screaming, senseless with panic. The ones who weren’t quick enough were crushed or sent flying through the air as she smashed into the hard-packed dirt. The stupid and the slow. Around her, rumbles of tumbling stone and several clouds of dust marked where the people of the town hadn’t made their little houses strong enough. Snow swept her head from side to side and shrieked.
It is habit. It is what we do when we return to our nesting place. It is our way of greeting our kind. Kemir was far away, but she talked to him as if he was still on her back. She wasn’t sure how useful he really was, but she missed having him with her. She missed the company, the sharing of thoughts. She missed being part of a nest. It will be good to have other dragons around me again.
She ate a couple of the people she’d crushed in her landing. Then she shifted back onto her hind legs, lifted up her head and sent a column of fire into the air.
Let them know that you’re here. That is done. It seemed all too easy. Would that really be enough to make other dragons come? Scare them. That was done too. She could feel the fear all around her. Make noise. Let them see you.
Do whatever you want to do. Kemir had only the slightest idea of what that would mean. What she wanted to do was burn the town to ash, slaughter the little things that lived here and spend a few delicious days hunting down the ones that escaped. The hunting was the best part. The feelings of her prey when they realized they’d been found. The hopeless despair, the laughable defiance, their pathetic rages, the pitiful pleading and begging. As if she could be swayed . . .
I miss what we once were. When we fought together, all dragons side by side with the silver riders on our backs and armies that filled the horizon.
No. Burning the town wasn’t going to bring back the glory they’d ha
d before the silver men had broken the world. That would have to wait.
A long pause followed. The realization slowly settled on her: she’d landed in a place that didn’t have enough space for her to take off again.
Why did I do that? She knew the answer even as she asked herself the question. She’d done that so that she wouldn’t have any choice about smashing up at least a part of the town on her way out. Except now she didn’t want to. Or rather she did, but she’d decided not to. Kemir is right. We are old and wise in our way, yet we are impatient like children. That is how we were made. Creatures of impulse and destruction and whim.
She looked at the roads and alleys that led into the town square. They were small and narrow. Houses pressed around them. They most certainly weren’t built for dragons. She was wondering what she should do and whether it really mattered that much if she knocked a few buildings out of the way when she picked up a familiar taste among the thoughts around her. Anger. Fear. Anticipation . . .
She knew it was coming. She lurched up into the air. A scorpion bolt slammed into her neck about a yard from her head. She felt a fierce pinprick of pain, as though she’d been stung. If she hadn’t moved, it might have hit her in the head. It surprised her. In the great war of long ago, the humans had had nothing like this. They’d had a lot of other things, magics and devices that could kill, but nothing that could hurt, nothing that stung.
The anger hit her like a wall. She skittered and turned to face the castle. Her tail flicked back and forth, smashing the houses behind her to bits. She barely noticed. Someone on the castle had tried to kill her, and now they deserved everything they were about to get. I am sorry, Kemir. I know you will be angry.
Sorry? No, not really, since that implied regret, and dragons did not understand regret. Maybe she was sorry that Kemir would be sad. Maybe that was it. She lunged forward, propped her front claws against the castle wall and reared up. Her long neck arched over the castle walls; slowly and methodically she drenched its innards with fire. Men screamed and died. Wave after wave of joy rippled through her. Fear my fire, feel my power, little ones, she told them. You should have fled when I came. She reached up higher and pushed, trying to force her way inside the castle walls so she could get at the inner keep. Stones fell, but the wall held. She backed away as far as she could and hurled herself at it, crashing into the stone with her side. It still refused to fall.
Now I am ANGRY! Those who should fight hide in caves or now behind ramparts of stone. So where else shall I spend my wrath? Where else shall I take my pleasure?
Furious, she turned on the town. She rose up again and spewed fire in furious arcs all around her. Then she crouched and sprang at the widest of the roads, smashing her way through the cramped and fragile buildings with all the delicacy and care of an avalanche. Houses splintered and smashed as she barged past them. Dust and smoke swirled around her, pieces of debris rained in sporadic showers, and then she was at the city walls, clumsily levering herself over them, head and neck and tail and front claws scrabbling for purchase along the top in an effort to pull up the bulk of her body. Her wings flapped furiously and with a lurch she rolled onto the top of the wall and down the other side. Without a pause she was running, charging through the nearby fields as fast as she could, hauling herself up into the air.
Even as she rose, she was turning, twisting back toward the town. If anything, the fury burned stronger than it had at the start. This was how it felt to be a dragon.
You will not escape me. Stone will not save you. Not this time.
She scattered fire across the town. Unleashing the flames always felt good. Like mating, before the alchemists dulled her mind. It left the same hunger inside her too. She would need to eat when she was done here, and eat well.
Below, amid the smoke and the flames, men and women ran and screamed. Food, all of you. Nothing but food. She flew around the castle, gave the tower in the middle of the castle a long blast and then landed on top of it. Stones crumbled under her claws, almost tipping her off. Such was her anger that she tried to sink her teeth into the towers. When they didn’t give, she smashed them to pieces with her tail. Every time she tore a new hole in the stone, she poured fire into the wound.
Finally the stone groaned and rumbled. Half the keep crumbled away and tipped her off in a shower of broken masonry. She landed on her back and floundered for a few seconds before she managed to right herself.
Where? How? How do I get to them? They were still alive, some of them. They were buried in there, out of her reach, but she could feel their thoughts. Raw, hot burning terror to make her heart sing with joy. Pain too. A lot of pain, but they were alive, and they were supposed to be dead.
Her anger had become a living thing with a will of its own, as though she carried with her the spirits of all dragonkind, freed from the dull shells the human alchemists made for them. It is enough, she tried to tell it. They are probably dying. Even if they are not, they cannot escape. They are trapped.
No! It is not enough!
But I should leave some to live. That is our plan. Some must live to tell of what has happened. Then other dragons will come and we will take them to us.
But not these! These tried to kill you! Let us destroy them all. Leave nothing but ash and rubble. Burn them to dust!
Why? Because they pricked my scales? She paused to pull the scorpion bolt from her neck. There. It is gone. In a sunrise or two, I will barely remember it.
Because they dared!
She had no answer to that. She smashed and climbed her way back out of the castle. A good portion of the eastern half of the town was ablaze now. The rest of it was doomed. What could burn would burn. Stones would crack and split in the heat. People would collapse, overwhelmed by smoke. Even if she did vent more rage on them, it would make little difference.
And vengeance is futile, remember. That is what I told Kemir. Dragons do not act out of kindness. Dragons do not forgive, but nor do dragons avenge. So then what is this desire?
She already knew the answer to that. The anger was fading. The rest was pleasure. Fun. Fun forgotten for too long to resist. She launched herself back into the air. The western side of the town, away from the castle, was still intact. She hadn’t set fire to even a part of it yet. Already, people were appearing on the eastern riverbank looking for a way to get across.
It would be so easy to destroy them all. And so satisfying, and yet if I do then what have I achieved?
She almost left them then, almost turned and climbed into the sky to wait for more dragons to come, but at the last moment she gave in to her desires and wheeled and dived and plunged down into the river. I have done this before. I remember. The one half of the city she would leave untouched. From the other half, none would escape. When men tried to row, she upended their boats. When they tried to swim, she flipped them out of the water with her tail. Some of them she caught and ate. Others she simply hurled back into the black haze of flickering smoke. Yes, I have done this before. There had been other dragons then. And things that weren’t dragons and yet were even more terrifying and made us seem small; and not all that came out of the smoke and the flames was human. I remember. I remember how this feels.
It felt glorious.
She stayed until no one else came to the waterfront. Perhaps an hour passed, perhaps more. Certainly the sun had moved when she took to the air again. She felt sated. Fulfilled? Free?
Happy. That was what she felt. Happy. She hadn’t felt happy for a very long time. Lifetimes.
This is not vengeance, Kemir. If you knew the truth, if you felt what I feel now, you would wish it was. I feel joy.
He couldn’t know. Not now, not yet, not for a little while. Not until she was done with him. So she took her time flying back to him on his hill, until she could push the feeling back beneath the waters of her thoughts. Until she could keep it in a place Kemir would never see but where she would never forget.
30
THE SECRETS OF THE ALCHEMISTS
King Valmeyan left this morning,” said Jeiros. He wasn’t looking at Jehal as he was talking. Well he was, but not at Jehal’s face. He frowned and leaned forward. “You need to relax,” he said as Jehal winced in anticipation of yet more pain. “Stay very still. Neither of us would be pleased if my stitches go awry.”
All very well for you to say. A searing jab ran right up from his groin as far as his neck. And this is with my veins filled with more Dreamleaf than blood. He bit down on the leather strap that the alchemist had given him.
“Are you still finding it difficult to pass water?”
This was what his father had had to put up with. In the beginning, before disease had taken his mind away. Help to stand, help to eat, help to clean himself. Help with everything. I’ d rather die. “I wouldn’t call it difficult. Uncomfortable,” he said through gritted teeth. Unbearable blinding agony, more like. But only Kazah sees how much it pains me, and Kazah doesn’t speak so none of you will ever know.
“The speaker has promised to crown you as soon as you are able to walk into the Glass Cathedral.”
“And how long will that be, Master Alchemist?” She hasn’t come to see me. No word. Nothing. Does she think I can’t watch her from in here? Does she think I don’t see who she takes to her bed? He fingered the strip of white silk he kept hidden beneath his pillow. Even confined to his bed, the magical metal Taiytakei dragons roamed the palace at night, guided by his whim. Prince Tichane, King Valmeyan’s right hand, he was the one to watch. He had his hands halfway up Zafir’s gown already and was plenty busy elsewhere too. Jehal needed to know what he was up to. I need to move. Watching is one thing, but I need to hear. I need to speak. I need to walk. I need to be seen. How quickly people forget that I am even here.
“Another week, perhaps two.” Jeiros shook his head. “I’m having the best wood-carvers in the city make a crutch for you for the occasion.”