by Stephen Deas
15
The Duty of Kings
Jeiros, acting grand master alchemist, cracked opened his door, peered into the empty passageway beyond and slipped out like a schoolboy. A little voice in his head mocked him for his stupidity. This wasn't going to achieve anything. Someone was going to see him sneaking around in the dark like this and get suspicious. If he'd just gone where he was going in broad daylight, no one would bat an eyelid.
The little voice didn't stop him though. It only made him even more careful. You forget, he told himself, that I've done things life this before.
When you were ten years old, snapped the voice. When you were a little boy and it was what all little boys did.
He reached the end of the passage where it opened out into a stairwell. The Gatehouse was actually two towers, one either side of a pair of wooden doors called the Dragon Gates. The gates themselves were bigger than some castles. They were close to fifty feet high, which made them twice as tall as the walls around most of the palace. They were bound with iron, and when closed and locked it took a hundred men about an hour to open them. When they were fully open, they were large enough for any dragon in the realms to walk through.
He chided himself. That's an exaggeration. He peered into the blackness of the stairs and opened his ears, listening for any footsteps. When he didn't hear any, he tiptoed down. The alchemists lived on the upper levels of the east stair. Where he wanted to be required that he went all the way down to the bottom, across the gates, and then all the way up the west stair. And all of it without being seen.
Back to the gates. The gates gave him something else to think about. They were, in their own quiet way, a miracle. They weren't hinged because no one had ever made a hinge remotely big enough or strong enough. Instead, they pivoted on a bearing, with huge iron and lead counterweights balancing the mass of the doors. Except even that wasn't enough, because no one could make a bearing that would take such a weight without collapsing, so most of the weight of the doors and the counterweights was held up by a series of steel ropes that then rested on a pair of massive stone pilings either side of the pivot. It was said that when the palace was built, some three hundred years ago, the gates took as long to build as the rest of it put together. The Gatehouse towers were as large as they were because they had to be to support the gates. Sometimes the alchemists joked that the maze of rooms and passages and staircases the towers contained were just something to fill all the spare space.
There. He was at the bottom of the stairs and no one had seen him. So far. He unlocked the door into the Gateyard, opened it, locked it again and slipped into the warm night air. No one was watching, but still, this was where one of those mythical potions of invisibility would have come in handy.
He hurried across from the east tower to the west. There was no avoiding the guards who stood by the gates – the gates within the gates that allowed people and horses and even carts and wagons to come and go without ever having to open the Dragon Gates themselves. But in the darkness, with his hood pulled up, they wouldn't know who he was. He steered a wide course around them and no one challenged him. Pitiful, sneered the little voice. As if any of this mattered.
Except it did matter. It mattered a lot. He opened the door to the west stair. That was one door that was never locked, for it led into the quarters of the officers and senior staff of the Adamantine Men, and no one would be daft enough to go into a place like that unless they had a very good reason to be there. Jeiros ran up the stairs as fast as he could, almost to the top, and banged on a door. He was afraid that he might have to bang several times, given the hour, but the door swung open of its own volition. It wasn't even shut.
'Grand Master.' The Night Watchman was sitting in a hard-backed chair, tilting back with two bare feet up on a little table, squinting at a book that he was holding at arm's length from his.
'I thought you'd be asleep.'
'We never sleep, remember?' Vale Tassan slowly leaned forward, took his feet off the table and replaced them with the book. Jeiros wasn't sure whether he meant it as a joke or whether he was serious.
'You need a Taiytakei eyepiece,' he said, to change the subject.
'No, I don't.' A slight smile played across Vale's face. 'I need books to be scribed with bigger letters. The Night Watchman cannot wear an eyepiece.'
'He can in the privacy of his own chambers.' Jeiros stepped in and closed the door behind him. When he turned back, Vale was giving him a very pointed look.
'And what, exactly, is this privacy to which you refer, Grand Master? As you see, my door is always open to my men and my friends.'
'Well it's shut now.' Jeiros looked for a bolt or a lock but there wasn't one. 'I require a moment or two of your attention, Night Watchman.' His scowl softened and he bit absently on a knuckle. 'I need an ear, perhaps.'
'Then go and see Aruch.' Vale shook his head and made to settle back down with his book.
'No. I need your ear, Night Watchman. Who do you serve?'
'What an odd question.' Vale cocked his head and then rose slowly to his feet. 'I serve the speaker, Grand Master. I am her sword and her shield. I execute her will and her enemies. That is my whole and only purpose. Would you like a drink? I don't myself, but I sometimes have visitors who do. I have a collection of fruit wines that I'm told is very good, and it seems a shame for them to go to waste.'
'No!' Jeiros took a few quick steps into the room and looked around for a place to sit down. All he could see was a chair by a table covered in maps. He took another step towards it and felt a hand on his arm, turning him, pulling him away.
'That table is for Adamantine Men,' said Vale quietly. 'Have my chair. I will squat on the floor. I'm quite used to it.'
'Do they teach you history when they make you a soldier? I don't suppose they do.'
'They teach you how to fight and how to die for your comrades,' said Vale mildly. Then he looked up at his walls, covered in bookshelves, books and scrolls, and made a gesture with his arm. 'However, I have undertaken extra study over the years.'
'Do you know how the Order of the Scales came to be?'
Now Vale smiled. 'No. I know at least half a dozen different stories which claim to be of how the Order of the Scales came to be. All of which disagree, and all of which are provably false, at least in part. Do you know, Grand Master? Which story have you come to sell me tonight? Is it the one where the alchemists are nothing more or less than blood-mages with a different name? Is it the one where you slew them or the one where you chased them away? What are you today? Are you noble heroes or dark villains?'
Jeiros clenched his fists. 'Let me tell you who we are. We are the ones who keep the dragons at bay. Not you, not the speaker, not the kings and queens of the nine realms. Us. Without us, none of the rest of you matter a whit. You'd all be dead in a flash. Yes, we are descended from blood-mages. Our power has its root in theirs. We are descended from those who sided with the men who became the kings and queens of the realms when the blood-mages were broken.'
Vale smiled amiably. 'All the stories I have read say that the blood-mages demanded sacrifices to appease the dragons. That their binding of the monsters required blood and plenty of it. A hundred slaughtered each and every week. I found that number in some story or other. And now you do it with potions. No blood at all?'
'Become an alchemist and find out,' snapped Jeiros. 'We keep the dragons in check. That is what we do and all you need to know. Above all else. Above everything else. Do your stories tell you how Narammed came to be the first speaker?'
'They agree rather better on that.'
'The nine realms were falling to war. We chose Narammed. Us. The alchemists. We put ourselves behind him and we pushed him to power. He was wise enough to understand what we were doing and why. The speaker keeps the kings and queens of the nine realms in check so that we alchemists can do what we must without impediment. That is the purpose of the speaker. They are arbiters, that's all. Most who have come since have not unde
rstood it and none save Narammed himself would acknowledge it, but we do not serve the speaker. The speaker serves us.'
Vale chuckled. 'I don't think SO, Grand Master, but you could try that on at the next council and see how far you get.'
'The speaker serves the realms, Vale. So do I. So do you. We all have the same master. You know. strictly, according to all the laws of the Order, we serve Aruch. Both of US.'
Vale was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, he spoke very softly, almost whispered. 'Some of what you say I grant is true. The first Adamantine Men gave themselves to Narammed because they understood his cause. He had forsaken his dragons and the power that came with them so that he could mediate the disputes of other kings. The story that everyone thinks they know is that Narammed slew a dragon with his bare hands.' He cocked his head and gave Jeiros a glance, begging to be contradicted.
'With the Adamantine Spear, Night Watchman. That's the legend. Except it's not true.'
'No.' Vale smiled and shifted on his haunches. 'Because it wasn't Narammed; it was some other warrior. The nameless hero. All these other warlords we call kings and queens were nothing more than thugs, brutal ones at that. Even those who were clever enough to understand Narammed's wisdom wouldn't have wanted it. So we showed them his strength instead. Us. The Adamantine Men. Even we don't know the name of the man who slew the dragon, but we revere him. He was the greatest hero of all. He gave the power of his name and his deeds to Narammed. We showed them that we could kill their dragons and that is why they bent their knees to Narammed. We went from one eyrie to the next carrying his message. The dragon-slayer.' Vale rocked back on his heels. He wasn't looking at Jeiros any more, but somewhere distant, off into the past.
'Don't get all misty-eyed on me, Night Watchman.' Jeiros took a deep breath and paused. The Adamantine Men almost worshipped their story. The Order had a different story, one with a lot more dragon poison in it, but with much the same outcome in the end. He'd been thinking of sharing it with the Night Watchman, but the look in Vale's eyes changed his mind. He settled for something else instead. 'It's a fine legend you have. But think. Your Stories speak of lone men with swords and axes slaying dragons. How possible is that? One man on his own cannot kill a grown dragon. Even the best of your soldiers could never, ever do that. Not by the strength of his arm. He must have been quite a clever fellow, don't you think?'
'It was a unique feat. One never to be repeated.' Vale snapped back to the present. 'What is your point, Grand Master? I would happily make a habit of talking history with you, but I suspect you have a point you wish to make. The trouble with you lot is that you're so used to coming at things askance that you've forgotten how to ask a direct question.'
'I am leading you to a certain way of thinking.'
'Then let me spare you the embarrassment of being any more ham-fisted about it than you already have. I will agree with you, within these four walls and never beyond them, that Speaker Zafir leaves a great deal to be desired. Nevertheless, were any man to come to my room late at night and intimate that I should enter into some sort of conspiracy with regard to ridding ourselves of her, I should be obliged to inform her, and she would doubtless have them killed or something equally unpleasant. I serve the speaker, Grand Master. Orders. The Guard obeys orders. From birth to death. Nothing more, nothing less.' He smiled, and there wasn't anything friendly about it this time. 'That's our creed.'
Jeiros sat very still and quiet for a few seconds. Then he took a deep breath and let it out very slowly. 'But whose orders, Night Watchman?'
'The speaker's orders, Grand Master.'
That's me told then. He didn't get up though. 'I know how Adamantine Men are made. Do you know how to make an alchemist?'
Vale sighed and his face hardened. Jeiros had outstayed his welcome now, that much was clear. 'Every year I watch as thousands of the desperate and the poor come to the City of Dragons to try and sell their children to the Order. I know that some of the ones who don't get taken are left on our doorstep. I know there are men who will, for a fee, take a child from its parents and bring it here. I know that a few such men are even honest. I also know that a good few are not. I know that the Taiytakei slavers profit handsomely.' He smirked. 'What do you want me to say, alchemist?'
'That there are secrets no one else should know, Night Watchman. Not even a speaker. Not even you.'
'I don't like secrets, Jeiros. The blood-mages built their power on secrets. You alchemists broke them by breaking their secrets first, but you have forgotten that and now you follow the same path. So now I am left to wonder, what can you know that the speaker should not?'
Jeiros stood up. 'I should go. But I can think of two things. The first is that we alchemists are not so far removed from the blood-magi we overthrew as to leave any of you comfortable, if you knew the truth of it. The second is a secret that you know too, if only you'd cast your mind back to think of it. I know what Narammed said when he gave you your name, Night Watchman. Do you remember?' When night comes it falls to the Adamantine Men to keep watch over the nine realms. No need to spell it out though. Vale would know the words inside and out. 'How dark does it have to be, Vale?'
'Let me ask you this, master alchemist. If there is to be a war, can you not stop it? Can you not simply take away their dragons? How many cities will burn before you do that? If our land is burned by dragons who happen to have riders on their backs, why is that so different from dragons that do not. If it all burns anyway, what exactly was the point of you being here?'
Jeiros' voice dropped to a dry whisper. 'When the dragons have riders, there is at least still some hope,' he breathed. 'That is the point.' The words sounded hollow though.
Vale hadn't moved as Jeiros went to the door; now the Night Watchman had his back to the alchemist. Vale didn't move. 'Well then,' he said very softly. 'Here's your answer. Pitch black, master alchemist. It has to be pitch black.'
Jeiros let himself out. He didn't bother trying to hide himself on the way back. All things considered, it seemed rather futile.
16
The Speaker Zafir
She was at her best when she was angry, and the more her fury waxed the more magnificent she became. Jehal watched her in silent admiration. He was thoroughly enjoying himself. Today's entertainment was watching acting Grand Master of the Order of the Scales Jeiros being metaphorically flayed alive. Yesterday it had been Tassan. The Night Watchman, it seemed, was now a routine victim of the speaker's ire. And so he should be. I would have him hanging from a gibbet. Ten thousand invincible warriors guard the palace, and look at the state of it! You should have taken your own life and spared everyone the embarrassment of looking at you.
'Unacceptable!' Zafir was already on her feet, but now she picked up the empty wine goblet from the arm of her throne and hurled it at the grand master. It was a good throw, and would have hit Jeiros squarely in the face if he hadn't ducked. It clanged across the floor behind him and lay still. None of the servants who usually rushed to clear away errant goblets and the like moved a muscle.
There was a moment of silence. Jeiros was red-faced and trembling, although out of fear or fury was hard to tell. Probably a rather delicious mixture of both, since Zafir's temper was both fierce and unpredictable. Jehal kept his face stern, but inside he was beaming. Goblet throwing, the sport of kings. How I've missed this… Both Jeiros and the speaker looked like they'd had plenty of practice at this sort of thing while he was away. They might even have rehearsed it.
The silence continued. He could feel the tension between the speaker and her grand master rising and rising, until even the air between them seemed to be trying to get out of the way. With a sigh, he stood up. As soon as he did, he could feel the wave of relief through the hall. Thank the ancestors for Prince Jehal. He'd been doing a lot of this lately, almost from the moment he'd landed in the wreckage of the Adamantine Eyrie. The Red Riders' attack had been no more than a scratch, superficial and quickly healed, but the wound to Zafir's pride had
been savage.
See what happens when you don't listen to me? But that doesn't help either. Although Yd rather enjoy saying it. He bowed to Speaker Zafir. 'Your Holiness.' It took her longer than usual to give him a grudging nod and sit back down on her throne. She folded her arms angrily. Jehal set his eyes on the grand master. Jeiros was looking at him with a mixture of pleading and defiance.
'The council of kings recognises Prince Jehal!' boomed the court herald. Jehal winced. Calling this farce a council of kings was absurd, but that was Zafir for you. Calling it that had at least forced King Sirion out of his tower and into the chamber.
'Grand Master Jeiros.' Jehal favoured him with a smile. 'Let us be reasonable. No one holds the Order responsible for the Red Riders, whoever they are…'
'I should hope not! They've burned-'
'Several of the Order. I know. We all know.' Jehal let his smile slip. 'Please don't interrupt me while I'm speaking. It does nothing for my disposition. If you do it again, I shall simply leave you to resolve your dispute with the speaker on your own. Doubtless you've always wanted to make a close inspection of the dungeons under the Glass Cathedral.'
Jeiros went from being red in the face to purple. 'How dare you threaten me, Prince. Only a council of kings can-'
He didn't get to finish before Zafir was on her feet again. 'This is a council of kings, you old fool,' she shouted. Jehal could see her hand looking for something else to throw. A knife, perhaps?
Jeiros took a step forward. 'Then where are the kings?' he shouted back.
Zafir came down from her throne, step by step towards him. 'Would you have me drag Queen Shezira and King Valgar out of their prisons? Prince Tichane is here for King Valmeyan. King Tyan is dead and Prince Jehal is not yet crowned. King Silvallan hasn't yet deigned to answer my summons, and King Narghon is content to let us resolve this matter without his advice. What would you have me do?'