The King of the Crags mof-2

by Stephen Deas

  Semian stretched his shoulders and fought against the growing fuzz in his head. Kithyr had the dressings open now. His leg throbbed and the air smelled rotten. 'A man should remember every wound and the person who gives it to him. You never know which one might kill you.'

  Kithyr snorted. 'The sell-swords are all dead and I doubt this wound will be your last.'

  'Are you sure? I can smell the air. The wound has gone bad.'

  'It's been going bad for some time, Rider, but it will not kill you. While I am with you, no wound will kill you. Now hold your tongue. I have to cut the corruption away. This is going to hurt.'

  'I know. I am not afraid of the pain, Blood-Mage.' He closed his eyes. His belly filled with anticipation; the pain, when it came, transcended all his expectations. The world he knew fell away and he found himself engulfed in ice so cold that it burned. He was back in the valley of ash-covered stone, with the crimson dragon that dwarfed even the Worldspine. With the dragon-priest with his pale skin and his white hair and his long bloody robes, holding out the blackened stumps of his hands.

  Yes, said the priest. Yes. It is a start, a beginning, nothing more, but it is good. You have done well.

  He tried to talk to the priest, to ask him what he meant, but even as he opened his mouth the great crimson dragon lifted a wing and slowly blocked out the sun. The sky went dark, the moon turned black and the world followed and Semian's head filled with the roar of rushing water.

  When he opened his eyes again he was lying on his back, looking up at the roof of his tent. His leg was agony. Kithyr was bandaging it up.

  'I had a vision,' Semian said.

  Tm not surprised.' The mage sounded as though he didn't much care for visions. 'You were right. The wound is getting worse. I had to drain a lot a pus out of it. I've done the best I can. It will heal now, but you'll be weak and tired for a while.'

  'The Great Flame will fill me with its strength.'

  'Yes.' Kithyr stood up and nodded. 'It will. It will fill us all. You may need to lean on someone to walk for a while. You can still ride though, so all is well.'

  Semian tried to get up, but the pain in his leg simply wouldn't allow it. 'Yes.' He winced. 'All is well.'

  'The last of your Red Riders came back in the early light of the morning. They brought better news.'

  'Yes?' The riders he'd sent to the further eyries. 'Did they burn?'

  'Yes. They burned. The speaker's eastern eyries are reduced to ash. Narammed's Bridge as well.'

  'Great Flame be praised!' Semian sank back to the ground. Those eyries weren't much more than fields and huts – there probably weren't even any soldiers there – but none of that mattered. His vision had been true. The kings of the east and the south would come to the speaker's call. Where they stopped to rest their limbs and feed their mounts they would find nothing but destruction. They would see her weakness.

  He felt dizzy. He closed his eyes again and reached out. The mage took his hand and held it tight.

  'I must leave you soon. You know that, don't you? The Great Flame calls me to a different destiny.'

  'I understand.'

  'We all serve the Flame in our own ways. I have done what I can for you. Semian, you must listen to the words of the Great Flame. It will speak to you in fire, but also in blood. When blood comes to you, you must heed it.'

  Semian screwed up his face. 'I don't understand.'

  'But you will. I'll have to bleed you again,' the magician said.

  'If you must, but I cannot stay here. We have struck a blow, Kithyr, and many more must follow. It is a start, a beginning, nothing more.'

  The world was getting hazy and starting to spin. The mage squeezed his hand. 'Yes it is. But it is good. You have done well.'

  As Rider Semian slipped away into unconsciousness once more, the blood-mage let his hand fall. He smiled. 'You did not light the fires,' he whispered, 'but you will fan their flames into an inferno that cannot be extinguished.'

  14

  A Prince Has to Do What a Prince Has to Do

  Jehal took a deep breath, sighed, and sat down in the middle of the floor to see whether anyone would even notice. He'd been in Furymouth for two weeks and he was pacing his palace like an animal in a cage.

  Why can't I be content? The coffers in his treasury were full. His city prospered and his dragons were strong. Cousin Iskan was steering himself comfortably towards a marriage alliance with one of King Silvallan's brood. Furymouth was easy. A king could put his feet up here, indulge himself and watch the realm largely rule itself. If that wasn't enough, Lystra was carrying his heir inside her and yet was still as eager and soft to touch as ever. So why can't I be content? Why can't I be happy?

  Approaching footsteps stopped behind him. Even from the sound of them, Jehal knew exactly whose they were. His uncle. Meteroa.

  'Are you unwell, Your Highness? Or simply meditating? Please don't tell me you've gone mad. This family has had quite enough of that sort of thing.'

  'No, Eyrie-Master, I am trying not to be restless.'

  'And have traded that for disturbing your subjects with odd behaviour?'

  'Zafir is hurling us all towards a war. I've been trying not to think about it but it's not really working. She wasn't listening to me. I thought it might be better if I wasn't there to see it happening any more. No more hammering my head against the stone walls of st upidity that most of the Speaker's Council seemed to have erected around themselves.' Jeiros was far too clever not to see what was coming but he was powerless to do anything about it. Jehal was fairly sure that the Night Watchman, Tassan, could see it too. The man was shrewd lor a commander of the Adamantine Guard. But the rest of them… The rest of them simply refused to see it. He smirked to himself. Maybe that's because the rest of them haven't met Princess Jaslynfor long enough. He lazily stood up and turned around. 'Not being there, I have discovered, is considerably worse. I lie awake at night and think of a hundred and one things that Zafir might do, and none of them are ever good. I find myself convinced that Zafir will turn everything we achieved to ruin. I ought to go back.' Why, though? Can't I leave them be? Can't I let Zafir drown in her own stupidity? He took a deep breath and growled, 'I am bored here, Uncle. This realm runs itself too well.'

  Meteroa gave a little bow. 'I shall take that as a compliment. But were you not bored when you left the speaker's palace? Was that not why you came?' He raised an eyebrow but didn't wait for an answer. 'No matter; if you're bored then this should please you. I have news.'

  Jehal shook himself. Meteroa had a gleam in his eye, one that always meant trouble. 'You never bring good news, Eyrie-Master. I'm not sure I should listen to you. Lystra, I'm sure, will have sweeter words than yours.'

  Meteroa sounded bored too, but then he always sounded bored. 'Oh, I'd like nothing more than for you to go and spend a few more days closeted away with your queen. Running this realm is so much easier when you're not around to interfere.'

  'You're supposed to run my eyries, not my realm, Meteroa. Still, if you wish me to scurry away then by all means tell me I have yet another ambassador from the Taiytakei pleading to speak with me.'

  'They have been a little busy of late.'

  'Haven't they just.'

  'Always scheming.' Meteroa yawned. 'Should I assume now, as a matter of course, that the Taiytakei are to be dealt with by the lord chamberlain or some such minor functionary?'

  Jehal almost laughed. The lord chamberlain was supposed to be the eyes and ears and voice of the king. Strictly, even Jehal had to defer to the chamberlain's orders, although the last chamberlain to try that had retired from his office in something of a hurry some years back. 'What a fine suggestion. I sometimes wonder if we should give them a hatchling. Or an egg or two. Let them live with the consequences.'

  'My Prince! As you have so pointedly observed, I am your eyrie-master, and that is the worst treason to escape even your lips for a good long time. I should be fleeing as fast as I could to send word to the speaker and t
he grand master of the alchemists.' He shook his head. 'That you should even speak it. Jeiros would shriek for your head at the mere whiff of such a thing.'

  'Oh pish-tosh! I wasn't advocating we should give them any potions. Only a hatchling.' Meteroa was still glowering. Jehal sighed. "Well I thought the idea of one of their ships drifting back into port with nothing left alive except an awake and very hungry dragon was rather amusing.'

  Meteroa's look was acidic. 'A veritable earthquake of hilarity, I'm sure. But no, Your Highness. It is not the Taiytakei. This is news that concerns your bride and it will not wait.'

  'Oh well, now I am suddenly quite convinced that I shall not like whatever you're so eager to say. I should warn you that I have been considering breathing new life into certain ancient traditions regarding the bearers of bad news.'

  'Then I shall dress it up otherwise. Wondrous news, Your Highness. The speaker has called a council of kings and queens. Oh joyous, joyous times.'

  Meteroa's voice was so dry it could have swallowed the sea. Whatever good humour Jehal had been nursing left him right then. 'She's putting Queen Shezira on trial, isn't she?'

  'Yes. And King Valgar too.'

  'Oh screw Valgar. Inconsequential king with an inconsequential voice.'

  'But with a not-inconsequential queen, Your Highness.'

  'Yes, yes, married to Lystra's big sister. You didn't suppose such a thing would slip my mind, did you? But still inconsequential beside Shezira.' He clasped his hands tightly together. 'Zafir will demand Shezira's head and she'll probably get it. Jaslyn will take Shezira's throne and Almiri already speaks for Valgar's realm. Put the two of them together and they're as strong as the King of the Crags. Put Sirion with them and they'll split the realms clean in two. War, fire, death, destruction. Everything burns.'

  'Perhaps.' The eyrie master raised an eyebrow. 'However, I cannot help but observe that it will likely all happen very far away from Furymouth.'

  'Furymouth may be far enough removed, Eyrie-Master, but I am not. I am precisely in the middle.'

  'And very adroitly done, Your Highness. I bow to your talent for blending strategy and mischief. A lover on one side and a bride on the other. You may jump to one or the other as it pleases you. As the tides of their fortune wax and wane and they quietly rip each other to pieces.'

  Jehal could have slapped him. 'You are naive and short-sighted sometimes, uncle. If they rip each other to pieces, it may be of little consequence to us, but it will not be quiet. It may be a surprise to you, but I would prefer not to see the realms torn to shreds, and that is most certainly what such a war would do. You might as well give the Taiytakei that hatchling and the potions to go with it. That might be all that's left.' He paced. 'Since I intend to follow Zafir to the speaker's throne, I would prefer to rule more than a desert of ash. No, I shall stand between them.'

  'Not choose between them, My Lord?' Meteroa raised an eyebrow.

  'I have made one speaker, Eyrie-Master. When I make another, it will be me. No.' Jehal pursed his lips. 'No choosing. Not yet. I shall answer the speaker's summons and attend her council. I shall argue with passion and conviction that the realms will be safer if Queen Shezira lives. And then we shall see.'

  'I'm afraid to say, Your Highness, that you are quite pointedly not invited to the council. Your father may attend and his voice will be heard. Not that anyone, even if he is able to speak on that particular day, will understand a word of what comes out. You, however, are courteously advised to stay home and keep feeding the starlings. Whatever that is supposed to mean.'

  Jehal hissed. 'Oh! Believe me, Eyrie-Master, the speaker could not have made her meaning more clear. Nevertheless.' He looked at Meteroa long and hard. 'Zafir can do what she likes with King Valgar, but if she executes Shezira, both of Lystra's sisters will go to war. That must be stopped.'

  Meteroa raised an eyebrow. 'I trust that Princess Lystra and I will no longer be hearing complaints of boredom?'

  Jehal suddenly grinned. 'That depends on how long it takes me to change Zafir's mind. You may go, Eyrie-Master.'

  Alone, Jehal's grin fell away. He stared blankly into space. He'd put Zafir on the throne. He'd always known he might not control her but he'd never given it much thought.

  And now it's time that I did. He turned and walked briskly towards his father's apartments. Something else was long overdue, something to which he'd given a great deal more thought over the years. Something best done quickly while he had the will to do it. When he reached his father's rooms, he sent all the servants away with orders to find Lord Meteroa and bring him. He waited until they were all gone and then stepped inside, through the antechambers and into his father's sickroom. A long dark room, lit only by the embers of the hearth and thin curtains of sunlight that squeezed through the cracks in the shuttered window. A room he'd come to less and less over the years. I used to come here every day, in the beginning. I'd hold your hand and look for any signs that you were getting better, filled with a strange melange of fear and hope in case there would be a miracle. But you weren't and there wasn't. You were always getting worse and miracles, it turns out, are for fools.

  Prince Jehal sat by his father's bed and took his father's hand. He leaned towards the old man's ear.

  'I know you can hear me,' he whispered, soft as silk. 'I know your mind is still alive in there, even while your body wastes away. Even though you can't speak, can't feed yourself, can't do anything much but lie there and stare, I know you can hear me. If there's anything you have to say, this is your last chance to say it. Spare me the complaints that I never come to see you though. I know I've not been a good son, but then a better son might have come from a better father, eh. I have to go away again now. Queen Zafir is waiting for me. I made her want me, Father, and now I might have to destroy her. I did the same to her mother, Aliphera. Does that make you sad, Father? I know you liked Aliphera. I think you'd like Zafir better though. She squeals like a pig. Oh, I'm sorry.' Jehal gently wiped his father's brow. 'I suppose I shouldn't speak of such things. Do the women I send to your bed still give you any pleasure? I hope so. I picked them myself.'

  He paused and squeezed his lather's hand, stretching his senses for any response. He thought he felt a twitch, but that could simply have been his father's condition. It could have been anything. Most likely it was nothing.

  He whispered again. 'I don't know if you've been keeping track of things in there, but if you have, you must know that Speaker Hyram's time as master of the Adamantine Palace has been and gone. He's dead now. Did anyone tell you that? He went mad with grief and despair, with the help of a little cocktail of poisons that I made for him, and then he threw himself off a balcony. You were my key to him, Father. You and Zafir. I couldn't have done it without you. Pathetic, drooling, shaking, empty shell of man that you are. You let him see what time had in store for him, until the dread of it gnawed at his bones. Until the terror of age and impotence and helplessness ate his heart. Well he's gone now, your old enemy. You survived him and you had a good part in killing him. I thought you'd want to know that. I thought you deserved to know why I let you linger like this for so long.'

  Jehal rose. He had tears in his eyes. 'I've killed one queen and one speaker and made another of each. Because of me yet another king and queen are marked to die. I'm sorry, Father, I really am, but I had to. I know you understand. But I am not sorry for this, for what I'm about to do. I should have done it a long time ago. I should never have let you suffer so.'

  He looked into his father's blank eyes, searching for something, for any little spark. They were dull and dead. The only sign of life was the slow rise and fall of his chest. With deliberate slowness Jehal picked up a pillow and pressed it hard into his father's face, until the breathing stopped. He held it there for a very long time. There was no struggle. A mercy. For both of us.

  Finally, Jehal lifted the pillow away. He looked at his father's dead face for one last time. 'I do wish you could have told me, just once, that you
were proud of what I've done. That I'm not a monster like Calzarin.' He stroked his father's cheek, cold as glass even when he'd been alive. 'But you didn't and now you can't any more. Go and be with your ancestors. Maybe now you're dead you can watch over me as you never did while you were alive.'

  Jehal took a deep breath, and when that wasn't enough to stop his head spinning he took another. He put the pillow carefully back on the bed and laid his father's hands across his chest. As an afterthought, as something to do while he waited for his heart to stop racing, he threw open the shutters and let daylight flood the room. In the sunlight his father's skin was so pale that it seemed to glow.

  'Sent away, summoned back, sent away, summoned back. I do wish you'd make up your mind, Your Highness… Oh.'

  Jehal spun around. Meteroa was in the doorway. He had the audacity to disturb him here instead of waiting outside. Jehal put a trembling finger to his lips. 'Not a word, Eyrie-Master, not another word. In this moment and this place, you're a sneer away from losing your head to the sharpness of your own tongue.'

  Meteroa's face was a mask hidden under a mask. For a long time he stood stock still, staring at the dead king. Then he bowed. 'You're going north?'

  Jehal nodded. 'Lystra stays here, under your protection. Whatever happens to her happens to you. As before.'

  'He was my brother, Your Holiness.' Meteroa's face was still blank. Jehal barely heard him.

  'I'm leaving right now. From this room I will get my white horse. I will ride to Clifftop as fast as it will carry me and I will fly tonight, in the dark, whether Wraithwing agrees with me or not.'

  'And what shall I tell your queen?'

  'Tell her what she needs to know. Tell her that I am sorry, but that sometimes a prince has to do what a prince has to do. Now get out! When I'm gone, see to my father.'

  Meteroa backed away, vanishing into the shadows outside the door. Jehal spared his father one last look, and then followed as fast as he could. All the way to the palace, and I will not look back, for now I am a king and my voice will be heard.