by Stephen Deas
Jostan didn't hear what Nthandra said next. He wasn't sure if she even said anything at all. Then he heard the magician again.
'So be it. Will you give yourself to me, Nthandra of the Vale. Your body and your soul must be mine.'
A real rider, he knew, would have heard enough. A rider like Hyrkallan or Deremis would burst in on them right now. He knew that. They'd kick the magician out of the tent and send him packing, either with a boot or with a sword. Nthandra might curse and wail and spit at them, but they'd do it anyway because it was right. Not because it was wanted, but because it was right.
And I am not like them. He silently turned and moved a little way away. Too far to hear their whispers but close enough in case they turned to screams. They didn't. After twenty minutes the blood-mage came out. He straightened his clothes, brushed himself down. He paused for a few seconds and looked straight at where Jostan was sitting, invisible, buried in shadows. Then he went away. Jostan stayed where he was – long enough, he thought, for the magician to be far away – but before he could bring himself to move, Kithyr was back and now he had Semian with him. They walked right past him.
'… with this,' said the magician.
'If I must.'
'You must. Unless you are a charlatan like Hyrkallan.' 'It seems wrong.'
'Needs must, Rider Semian. Hyrkallan wears the legend. You must live it. Once you have her, others will follow. I can see to that…'
They parted at the entrance to the tent. The magician walked away for a second time and Semian went inside. The noises that began soon after were easy enough to understand. Jostan waited for them to finish, and then waited a little more before he got up and slipped inside. The air was hot and stale and smelled of Nthandra. She was lying tight against Semian's back. From the snores, they were both already asleep. Jostan curled up beside her, close to her because close felt better. When he woke later on in the small hours of the morning to find her pawing at him, he didn't even think of turning her away.
5
Drotan's Top
'We need a harness for the war-dragon.' Hyrkallan's face was a mask of stone. Semian watched him carefully. The other riders had been up late, celebrating or mourning or both. He couldn't blame them for that; they'd all lost friends; brothers, fathers or lovers. Some of them were barely awake. Some had wept when they'd burned Hyrkallan's brother, but as for Hyrkallan himself, his eyes had stayed dry then and they stayed dry now. That deserved respect, Semian thought, to lose a brother and still stay true to your purpose. In a way, Semian was glad that someone had died. Not that he had anything against Deremis; he barely knew the man's name. But yesterday had mixed triumph and tragedy and spared him from more attention. He didn't want that. Not yet.
'We need ammunition for our scorpions and food for us. And potions,' Hyrkallan continued.
Semian glanced at the piles of barrels and crates that he'd brought from Almiri's eyrie. Good for a week or two, perhaps, but they needed to fend for themselves.
We need to fend for ourselves, he reminded himself. He was one of them now. For better or for worse, he wasn't sure. But he had to start somewhere. He was already slowly turning Nthandra. Others would follow.
'Since none of these things are going to make themselves, we're going to steal them. The Usurper owns a tiny eyrie on the edge of the Spur. Drotan's Top. Understand this, though. There's to be no burning, no slaughter unless there has to be.'
Semian pursed his lips and clenched his toes at that. No burning?
'We take what we want and we leave everyone alive when we go. We take their dragons, their weapons, their food, their potions, everything we can possibly use, but we do not take lives. Let the Usurper's servants live to tell of us. Let them spread fear.'
That, at least, Semian could agree with. The Great Flame was coming. Let them tell of us indeed.
Hyrkallan had already turned his back, heading towards the monster B'thannan. Semian knew of Hyrkallan's beast – every rider in the north had probably heard of it – but he'd never seen it until they'd reached King Valgar's eyrie; then Deremis had come for his secret meeting with the queen, pledging Hyrkallan's support to her if she would pledge hers to him, and B'thannan's landing had shaken Evenspire to its roots. B'thannan was enormous, by far and away the biggest war-dragon Semian had ever seen, almost as long as a hunter but three times as massive. He felt small enough as it was, surrounded by a score of dragons that could crush him with a careless step.
A pity it's not white. The war-dragon he'd stolen from Speaker Zafir's riders wasn't white either. There weren't any white dragons. Queen Shezira had managed to breed one as a present for the viper Jehal but somehow it had broken free. Eventually the Embers had killed it by poisoning themselves and then being eaten. Or at least that was what people believed. The white dragon flies free. The flames of destruction have come, and out of the flame, the red rider shall be born. It will come to me, somehow. Vengeance. And I will ride it.
Any dragon was better than no dragon for now. He and Jostan had left Valgar's eyrie without mounts of their own and fate or destiny or perhaps sheer blind luck had provided for them. Fate would provide again, when it was ready. He mounted his stolen dragon and launched into the air with the rest of the Red Riders. This one would be called Vengeance too.
Hyrkallan led them straight to Drotan's Top. They shot between the white-capped mountains of the Worldspine, among sharp narrow valleys filled with trees until they reached the Silver River, a dozen dazzling threads of water knotted and twisted together and gleaming in the sun. Hyrkallan led them low, the wind wet with spray thrown up by the sheer force of B'thannan's wings, screaming past Semian's face. As the valley grew wider and the mountains either side shrank to hills, they began to climb again. In the distance to his right, Semian saw the faint outline of the Great Cliff, the sheer walls of stone that marked the start of the Purple Spur.
Hyrkallan changed course now, leaving the river behind to rush on to its doom in the caves of the Silver King's Tomb. They turned south, straight at the Great Cliff, climbing ever higher until they were a full mile above the ground and the hills of the Blackwind Dales stretched out below like the wrinkled old skin of some ancient desert mystic. Then the Great Cliff rushed to meet them. It ripped away the space below and suddenly they were shooting between jagged peaks of white-capped stone again. Through the neck of the Spur for an hour or more, skimming over thick carpets of trees and racing rushing water until the mountains fell away and so did the rivers, and they emerged the other side into the Maze. Here they flew lower still, sinking among the narrow pillars and canyons carved from dry barren stone. No trees grew here in the warrens of the Maze, and as they followed the helter-skelter waters from the Spur downwards, the air grew dusty and warm. Walls and columns of stone flashed by in streaks of yellows and oranges and reds, punctured now and then by black pits of shadow. Piece by piece, the stone walls fell away, first one layer, then another, then faster and faster in a blur until the whole landscape collapsed away and spat them and the waters below into the abyss that was the Gliding Dragon Gorge, the great rent in the land torn by the might Fury River below. They crossed the gorge, using it as cover, climbing steadily, creeping up to the cliffs on the other side so low that the tails and talons of their dragons scraped the stone. When they emerged on the other side, there it was. Drotan's Top, perched on a long flat hilltop overlooking the fringes of the gorge. Half a day of flight and then to war with no warning. That was the dragon-rider's way and it filled Semian with joy.
True to his word, Hyrkallan didn't burn it. Instead he brought the riders in to land. A small company of Adamantine Guardsmen saw what was coming and fled the landing fields for the sanctuary of Hyram's Tor, and that was that. No blood shed. Not even a sword drawn. Semian was disappointed and vaguely disgusted. The Adamantine Guard was supposed to fight to the last man to defend the speaker and the realms. The last ones he'd met, the Embers in the alchemists' redoubt, had understood that. They'd understood that even throwing yourself nak
ed into a dragon's maw could be a victory.
He was still standing at the edge of the landing fields, scowling to himself, when a hand slapped him on the shoulder.
'Drotan's Top is ours. Not bad for your first day, eh?' Semian turned around. The hand belonged to an older rider. One with a very slightly familiar face, but no name to go with it.
'I know you,' said Semian slowly.
'GarHannas.' The rider bowed. 'I served Speaker Hyram before he died. I know you too. Semian. You were at Princess Jaslyn's side at the alchemists' redoubt. You missed the Night of the Knives, but they say you nearly died anyway.'
'But not quite. I was reborn.'
'Lucky for you!' GarHannas grinned. He obviously had no idea what Semian was talking about. 'There are a couple of riders and a score of the Adamantine Guard who've locked themselves in Hyram's Tor. They're trapped and they know it. The alchemist is in there as well. Everyone else is busy taking everything we can carry from the landing fields, but Hyrkallan's gone to get the guard out of the Tor. We need the alchemist, or at least his help, and Hyrkallan doesn't want to burn them.' He grinned again. 'They don't know that, of course. We'll threaten them with fire and offer them their lives if they surrender. Want to hear the old man? He's good for this sort of thing.'
Semian shook his head, absently staring up at the tower. Slowly he dropped to one knee. 'Praise to the Great Flame.' He closed his eyes and murmured a short prayer. He felt GarHannas shift uncomfortably beside him. 'Let the riders standing watch over our captives hear Hyrkallan speak. I will take their duty.'
GarHannas nodded. He started to move away, but Semian shot back to his feet and put a warning hand on the other knight's shoulder.
'I'll give you some words for the soldiers you've trapped, though,' he said. 'You can tell them that those who are devout will be spared. Tell them that those who aren't will be given the choice: turn their backs on the Usurper and serve the Great Flame or they burn.'
'That's not what – '
Semian ignored him and left GarHannas standing there. He waved to Jostan and Nthandra, calling them over. He walked to where the Scales and the other men who were now their prisoners sat, sullen, scared or simply bemused. 'This lot!' He pointed at the Scales. 'These ones serve the Order and the Order serves the Great Flame. They have nothing to do with our fight. Let them go. As for the rest…' He scanned the prisoners. They were all little people. Huntsmen and craftsmen and labourers and the like. No one of any consequence.
But that was no excuse. He glanced around. The other riders were gone away now, off to the tower to hear Hyrkallan storm and bluster. These souls were his.
'As for the rest! You served the Usurper. You are sentenced to die.' He drew out his sword and counted them as he spoke. Eighteen men and women. Him and Jostan and Nthandra watching over them. Three riders. If they ran, some of them would escape. That's what you should do then, isn't it? Why do you stay?
'Hyrkallan said that we should let them go,' said Jostan.
Semian ignored him. 'Or you may choose a different master. Fall to your knees and pray to the Great Flame. Give yourselves to the fire and you may be reborn. You may live again. Refuse the fire and die now.'
Nthandra hadn't moved. Her hand was resting on her sword. He took another look around to be sure. No other rider was close enough to pay them any attention. They were all busy with whatever Hyrkallan had set them to do.
'Justice and Vengeance!' Semian roared. 'Fire or death!'
They didn't run. They begged and pleaded and cried and one by one fell to their knees, praying as Semian had told them to do. They were liars though. Semian walked among them, and as he passed each one, he laid a hand on their head and saw into their heart. One he found, only one who truly believed. The rest of them were liars, all liars. He wrenched the one soul worth saving to his feet, pulling him up by his hair, and pushed him towards Jostan.
'Take this one away. We'll deal with him later.'
Nthandra still didn't move. She didn't turn away either. She was here for revenge. They all were. And the Flame is with me. Masked as a blood-mage, but I know who you are really are, and you promised Nthandra would be the first. So we will see…
He went back to walking among his prisoners, waiting until Jostan was out of sight. Two of us now. The rest of them thought they were saved. He could feel it. Liars. All liars. As soon as Jostan was gone, he lifted his sword. And now, truly, we will see…
'Liars!' he screamed as his blade chopped down. 'You're all liars! Burn in the truth of the Great Flame!' For a split second, as Nthandra drew her own sword, he didn't know whether she meant it for him or for them. Then she stabbed a man as he started to his feet and chopped the legs out from another, screaming at them something that even Semian couldn't understand. The others ran, but not far. The rest of the Red Riders nearby saw to that with bows and swords, mistaking the rush of men for an attack. When they were all butchered, Semian dragged their bodies into a pile. The other riders watched now, faces mixed with curiosity, awe and horror. As much as anything, Semian knew, this was a lesson for them. They were young, most of them, the ones that Hyrkallan hadn't taken with him to the tower. Young and scared and angry. Perfect for his purpose. Some of them had just cut a man down for the first time. Now they were realising what they'd done. Justice, that was what it was. Hard, cold justice. They needed to learn that now, needed to learn what it would mean to follow the Great Flame.
When the pile was done, he called Vengeance. He climbed onto the dragon's back. From up there, he could see right across the eyrie. The bodies below seemed small and distant, not really human any more. Semian closed his visor and Vengeance set the bodies ablaze. 'The Great Flame reclaims its own,' he shouted out. He closed his eyes and let the sound of the fire wash over him.
'What in the name of Vishmir's cock are you doing?'
Semian lifted his visor and looked down from his saddle. Hyrkallan was back, puffed and out of breath. GarHannas was with him, and two other older riders that Semian didn't know.
'What happened?' GarHannas looked sickened. 'What did you do? They were common folk. They had no part in this.'
Semian could only laugh. 'We are all the same before the Flame. Did you take my words to the tower?'
'Are you mad? The alchemist, the servants and one of the riders have come out. The rest of them saw what you did and chose to stay inside.'
'Then you should kill the alchemist for serving the Usurper, and the rider too! The servants from the tower can have the same choice as those we caught outside!'
'And what choice was that? Get down here, Rider! If you claim to serve Princess Jaslyn then I am your lord and you will beg me for mercy.' Hyrkallan looked ready to climb up and rip Semian out of the saddle with his bare hands.
Semian spared him the trouble. He slid to* the ground and spat at the old dragon-knight's feet. 'We are the Red Riders, not some gang of bandits. You should know since you chose the name. If you don't have the stomach for holy work then step aside for someone who does. I'll lead them myself.'
'You will not.' Hyrkallan's fist landed on Semian's jaw, knocking him down. The other riders bowed their heads as Hyrkallan glared at them, one by one. Inside, Semian smiled. He'd seen their faces light up, if only for a moment. Here and there, embers smouldered inside them. Kithyr was right. He would have them. Today, tomorrow, the next day, the when didn't matter; he would have them.
He looked at Hyrkallan as the old knight walked away. And he knows too.
The common folk from the tower were as devious and insincere as the ones outside had been. Semian couldn't see even one worth saving, but Hyrkallan let them all go anyway. He let the alchemist go too. The rider though was one of Zafir's. One that Semian knew. One with nothing worth saving. Even Hyrkallan had to see that. Yet he was merely stripped and whipped and sent running naked away.
'We are the Red Riders,' Hyrkallan shouted at the tower. 'Take those words to the Usurper you serve! We will not rest until justice is served.'<
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'Justice and Vengeance!' shouted someone else.
'Justice and Vengeance!' came another. Hyrkallan spun around, and the riders fell silent. Slowly he nodded.
Aye,' he said, too quietly for the men in the tower to hear, but the words carried to Semian well enough. 'And vengeance, if justice alone will not serve.'
They finished looting the eyrie, taking everything they could carry and use and destroying what they couldn't. When they left, the tower was still intact. Let them live. Hyrkallan had said. Let them carry my words to where they need to be heard. Semian smiled to himself. Yours. And mine.
Hyrkallan led them back to their camp in the Spur, never straying far from Semian as they flew. As soon as they landed, he and GarHannas took Semian away out of sight of the others. Semian didn't try to resist.
'We've taken another three dragons.' Hyrkallan's voice was a low growl. 'Three more for the Red Riders, three fewer for the Usurper. Another victory. I will not mar it by a hanging. I know you, Rider Semian. I know you served Queen Shezira faithfully and well. I know what you did at the redoubt. So you will merely be flogged, in front of these riders who serve our cause, and we will cut you down in the morning and you will never disobey me again. If you do, you will hang. I'll tie the noose around your neck myself. Do you hear me?'
Semian met his stare. 'Justice and Vengeance, My Lord. For the Great Flame never rests and neither shall its servants.' Hyrkallan shook his head in disbelief and walked away. GarHannas and the two riders who flew at Hyrkallan's side took hold of Semian. He let them strip him and then lead him to a tree and bind him to it. He could feel the Flame, burning triumphant in his heart. The flogging, when it came, was only pain after all, and he was a man who'd been consumed by fire.
Late in the night when everyone was asleep, when it might only have been a dream, a voice whispered in his ear. A woman's voice. Nthandra of the Vale.
'I am with you, Rider Semian. I found the alchemist again, as we were leaving.' A bloodstained knife flashed in the starlight to cut his bonds. 'Justice and Vengeance, Rider Semian. I hear the words. Justice and Vengeance.'