by Stephen Deas
He was about to admit defeat and accept that some decisions would have to wait until after he'd had some sleep when his door slowly swung open. He glanced up, half expecting to see Jeiros come for another try at changing his mind, but no. The Viper again. Instantly, Vale was on guard.
'I saw the light under your door, so I knew you were still awake.' Jehal pushed past Vale and sat himself down. With casual rudeness he looked at the maps and starting picking through them. 'Trying to decide where and when Jaslyn and Almiri will strike?'
Vale clenched his toes. Why are you here and what will it take to make you go away? 'I am more concerned, Your Highness, that the Red Riders will try to disrupt the council.'
'And condemn their queen to an even more certain death? Why would they do that?'
'They have struck at us once, Your Highness.' The books. That's what he's here for. Prince Lai's books. A shame to let them go, but needs must as the devil drives. He started to look among his shelves.
'Yes, they have, haven't they? Last I heard, Rider Hyrkallan was leading them. I wonder what madness possessed him to burn the palace. He always struck me as a very sensible sort of fellow. Pity about his sense of humour. I wonder sometimes if they do something to their children in the north. Do they cut out some part to make them like that? Queen Shezira was as bad and as for her daughters…' He smiled and shook his head. 'Don't get me started on her daughters.'
Vale pulled three old books down.'I hear rumour that Hyrkallan abandoned the Red Riders some weeks ago and that he has been seen in the north. I am inclined to believe this is true. Their actions made sense to me when Hyrkallan led them. Now I don't understand them at all. They are destroying themselves. They will not last long.'
'An enemy is at his most dangerous when you don't understand his reasons.' Jehal smiled. 'Principles, Night Watchman. Perhaps it is a trick.'
Vale shrugged. 'Here, Your Highness.' He put the three books on the table. 'I will wager you these that when the Red Riders fall you will not find Rider Hyrkallan among them. These are what you came for, are they not?'
Jehal gave him a lazy look. 'No, Night Watchman, no they are not.'
They stared at each other. Vale said nothing. Silence, remember.
For a long time they both watched each other in silence. Finally Jehal spoke: 'Do I have to spell it out for you in simple words?'
'Forgive me, Your Highness, but I am a soldier. We are men of direct action, not guile. We do not deal well with innuendo and insinuation. If not the books, I have no idea what you want from me, Your Highness. Yes, simple words would be best.'
Jehal frowned as if confused. 'Hyram hated me and I had no love for him. I wonder why it should trouble me to see everything fall to ruin.' He sighed and shook his head. 'Are you really so stupid, Night Watchman? No, I don't think you are.'
Vale stood very still. He didn't speak, only waited. The Viper would either go away now or he'd say what he wanted. Then he would go away.
Jehal clucked his tongue. 'In fact, I'd say you are one of the more astute minds on the Speaker's Council, Night Watchman, although I will accept that is somewhat of a barbed compliment. Very well.' He frowned again. 'I am here to ask you for your help.'
'I exist to serve, Your Highness.'
'And therein lies the problem, Night Watchman, because the help I want from you is a small matter of not serving, and it will cost you your head if you are discovered.'
Silent and still. Let him speak and say nothing.
'So. If the council of kings and queens takes Queen Shezira's head, there will be a war. The Red Riders are only a start. Would you agree?'
Vale said nothing. He kept his face blank and still, with the pleasing result that a twitch of irritation flashed around Jehal's lips.
'Simple words. Yes, yes, very well. Shezira has three daughters.
Queen Almiri now sits on the throne of Evenspire and is certainly helping the Red Riders. Zafir will have proof of that soon enough. Soon-to-be-Queen Jaslyn sits on Shezira's throne and she is betrothed to the fool son of King Sirion. Two queens and one king. Three realms and many dragons, and they are already furious with Zafir. And with me, for that matter, but I doubt that is of any consequence here.'
There was that flicker of annoyance again. Or was it something else? Was it…? Vale felt an unexpected thrill blossom inside him. Jehal was nervous. He might even be scared.
Jehal tapped his foot irritably. 'You know all of this. If killing Shezira isn't enough to send the north to war against her then Zafir will demand Almiri's head next. Do you think Almiri's own sisters will abandon her?' He shook his head. 'Queen Shezira sitting on her rightful throne would stop that from happening. She would not allow a war to tear the realms apart, no matter how she'd been wronged. The rest of them…' He shrugged. 'Who knows, eh? So here's a choice for you, Night Watchman. You can sit idly by while the speaker wrecks everything you're sworn to defend. Or you can do something about it.'
The inside of Vale's mouth had gone very dry. He felt lightheaded. Jeiros I could understand, but you? What makes you think I would even countenance such a thing when you are surely thinking of nothing but yourself? And yet I find I am still listening. Why? Why am I not calling my own men to arrest this traitor?
He shook the questions away. 'And exactly what, Prince Jehal, do you suggest I do?' There. Even for asking that question I should have myself hanged.
Jehal wrinkled his nose. 'All I require of you is that you do what the Adamantine Men always do.' He bared his teeth. 'Be vigilant. Don't lose another speaker, Night Watchman. Watch her and watch her well. Perhaps to the exclusion of others.' His grimace finally managed to turn into a grin. 'I think you are quite clever enough to understand me.' He held up his hands as if to cut off Vale's reply. A wasted gesture, since there was none forthcoming. 'Oh, and don't get too excited, Night Watchman. Whatever happens, you can be sure I'll be nowhere near to be touched by it. The worst you can do is kill a few men who want nothing more than for the realms to be at peace.' He nodded curtly and swept back out of the door. Vale stood very still and watched him go.
There goes a prince, he thought with a certain amused wonder, who things he is far cleverer than he actually is.
He let Jehal's words roll around his head for a few seconds until he knew what he was going to do with them. Then he set to correcting the disarray inflicted upon his maps.
18
The King of Crags
One by one they arrived. Six of the Syuss on the back of a pair of jet-black hunting dragons. King Narghon and twenty of his riders. King Silvallan and six of his Golden Guardsmen. Rumours raced back and forth through the palace that Princess Jaslyn had left her eyries in the far north and was coming with a hundred dragons. On the next day she was coming with two hundred, then three; then she was coming alone and in disguise. The speaker's eyries around the palace were overflowing with Jehal's dragons and Sirion's and those of the other kings, but mostly with Zafir's. Many of her riders were here now and nearly all of her adult dragons, all scouring the Purple Spur. There were always at least a dozen dragons in the skies above the Adamantine Palace, watching in case Hyrkallan's traitors crawled out of their caves once again. From his perch up on the Gatehouse Jehal watched them all come and go. He spent more and more of his time up there, looking down over the eyries. He was waiting for the Night Watchman. Putting himself in Vale's way. Looking for an answer.
An answer I'm not going to get. He was there again on the evening before the council that would decide the future of the realms. He looked down along the palace walls, thick with scorpions. If I was Vale, I would stay silent. I'd leave me to get on with it and then make my decision as it suited me.
He sighed. It didn't really matter which way the Night Watchman jumped. Well, unless you were worried about the small matter of the thousands and thousands of people who would burn in a dragon-war, and the tens of thousands who'd probably starve afterwards. But as long as it stayed in the north, nothing that particularly mattere
d would get damaged. The easy route, of course, was to make sure the council made the right decision in the first place. Narghon would do as he was told: specifically he would do as Queen Fyon told him, and now that Tyan was dead, Fyon was left as the eldest of Jehal's family. Silvallan wasn't stupid and had nothing to gain from taking Shezira's head. Sirion though… which way will you jump? I can see Zafir's touched you, but I can't see how. What did she offer? And how easily are you taken in? He'd spent a lot of his time on Siron, making sure that little whispers reached him. The right little whispers. He was the key, but all he had to do was stay silent. Inaction would suffice. Should I just tell you that your cousin wasn't pushed, that he simply fell? I could tell you how it all went. I could tell you that I pushed him right up to the edge, until he was teetering on the brink, but that the last step was his own. I could tell you that I saw him. I could even show you how. Is there a punishment for any of that? I suppose when you consider everything else, there probably would be. What with all the poisoning and so forth.
That, in many ways, would be the best thing for the realms. To stand up in front of the council and tell them exactly how he'd driven Hyram mad. Tell them everything he'd done. Leaving Zafir carefully out of it. Shezira would be spared. The north would be appeased. Zafir would be blameless, her position secure. At the very worst they'd exile him. He'd be forced to spend his time in Furymouth with his queen. Wasn't that what he wanted anyway?
No. That's only half of what I want and so it's not going to happen.
Jehal watched the Night Watchman pacing his walls, and knew that he wouldn't get an answer. Finally he retired to his bed in the Speaker's Tower. Hyram's bed, not many months ago. When he slept there though, Hyram's ghost couldn't be bothered to haunt him. Instead he always dreamed of home. Of years long ago when King Tyan had been strong and well. Of Lystra in his arms. Of the Taiytakei and their strange and magnificent gifts. Of the last thing he'd done before he'd left Furymouth. Night after night he saw himself poised over his father's bed, the pillow in his hands, watching the last light in his father's eyes finally die.
Except tonight his father wasn't his father but Lystra, and the pillow wasn't a pillow but a knife, and the bed was covered in blood, and her mouth and eyes were wide with terror and she spasmed and writhed, and however much his heart filled with horror at what he'd done, he couldn't leave her like that, and he would lift the knife to finish her, blinded by his own weeping, except that no matter how hard he tried, she wouldn't die, and the screaming only got louder…
The nightmare woke him up. He lay in the darkness of his room, staring at the ceiling above his bed, listening to Kazah, his pot-boy, snoring. His heart slowly stopped its pounding. Outside, the palace was quiet.
He got up and walked to his windows, opened them and stepped through to the balcony outside. Hyram's rooms, Hyram's balcony, where Hyram and Shezira had stood that fateful night. Hyram had had three different poisons in him by then. He shouldn't have been able to move and yet he'd dragged himself outside. Where Shezira had found him, rambling and not making any sense.
Jehal stood where Hyram had stood. He peered down. He'd watched it all unfold through the eyes of the little mechanical dragon, his wedding gift from the Taiytakei. Shezira had never touched the former speaker. He could say that, if he wanted to. But then he'd have to admit that Hyram only fell because he'd flown the Taiytakei dragon straight at Hyram's face. He'd thought he was being so damn clever, but all he'd done was make a mess of a perfect plan.
Zafir had married Hyram. Hyram had made her speaker. All the hard work was done. Hyram would have lost his mind over the months that followed. No one would have been surprised when he fell off his own balcony once he couldn't even wipe his own arse any more. Lystra would die in childbirth. He and Zafir would rule the realms together for two decades. Longer, if they could find a way. Their enemies might have their suspicions, but suspicions were all they could ever be.
Down below the stones were dark. Too dark to see if Hyram's blood still stained them. It could still have been perfect. But Shezira was there when Hyram fell, and now Zafir was intent on casting what might have been a tragic accident as a murder. Because, if Shezira is gone, I really have no reason left not to slit Lystra's throat. We both know that I have to choose and choose soon. Ah, Zafir, impatience will always be your undoing. So now I have to decide what I want. Do I want you? Do I want Lystra? Do I want your throne?
He sighed. Shezira wasn't going to die. Sirion would dither and abstain. Narghon and Silvallan would call lor her to live. Zalu would stand alone and lose. And she would blame him. Now was no time to be uncertain. Before the council and whatever consequences it brought, he would have to decide between his lover and his queen, otherwise it would all go on and on and on, and before you knew where you were, he'd have to avert another dragon-war. No, one of them would have to die, and soon. No room for kindness, no room for mercy.
He wandered back inside. There was another hour before dawn but the air was still and stiflingly hot and the nightmares had destroyed any possibility of sleep. He kicked Kazah awake.
Bring me light! he snapped in brusque gestures. Words were lost on Kazah, who was as deaf as a wall. They spoke in signs, in a bastard language of their own devising. Kazah hurried away and was soon back with a candle.
Clothes! Jehal took the candle to a table by the balcony and rooted around until he found a quill and some ink and some writing paper. Behind him, Kazah was holding a tunic and trousers. Jehal dressed himself. Then he sent Kazah away. He sat down and stared at the empty page in front of him.
Lord Meteroa,
My previous instructions regarding Princess Lystra are withdrawn.
Jehal
He looked in horror at the words he'd written. So simple, so pure, so innocent in their way, yet they would tell Meteroa everything he needed to know. Anything more would be superfluous. The eyrie-master would understand exactly what was required of him.
He shook his head. I can't send this. The words may hide their meaning from others, but I'll always know what I've done. I'm commanding Lystra's murder.
The words sat on the page as words were wont to do. Still, un-moving, accusing. He bit his lip. And that's exactly what I have to do. She's in the way and she has to go. That was always how it was going to be, and if you weren't prepared for it, you should never have married her in the first place. You could have turned her down when the white dragon you were promised was never given. Face it, you were just being greedy. Just being you, who can never say no when it's served up on a plate for you. Well you've had her every which way you know and so now you can move on. Let her go. Marry Zafir. Follow her as speaker. It's not as if you'll have to wield the knife yourself, not if you don't want to. Say the word and Meteroa will do it for you. You can be a thousand miles away, hands as clean as Zafir's silken sheets.
I think I might love her though. There. That was an admission, wasn't it?
Pah! Kings have no room for feelings, remember? Who said that, Jehal? Was it you? Yes, I rather think it was. Zafir s much better in bed. Take that and be grateful.
Lystra is carrying my heir. My first-born. A son, perhaps. A son who could one day wear my father's crown. There. Wriggle out of that one.
But was that anything so special? First-born? He must have sired at least a dozen bastards by now. Zafir freely admitted that she might have conceived at least twice because of him and that both times she'd drunk a dose of Dawn Torpor and bled it out. Was this so different? If Lystra knew what was at stake, she'd probably even accept her fate. My life to save my mother? Yes, my love.
Without even thinking about it, he'd dropped a blot of molten wax onto the page. It sat there, waiting for him, waiting for the press of his ring to turn his words into a royal command and seal Lystra's fate. The trouble was, his hand wouldn't move.
This is stupid. In a minute the wax is going to go hard and I'm going to have to scrape it off and start again.
He closed his eyes. He d
idn't have much time for any of the many possible gods that the realms had to offer. Most people saved their prayers for their ancestors, but when it came to that, all Jehal could think about was his father, drooling and useless. And even if dying had restored Tyan's senses, Jehal wasn't at all sure he ought to be praying to someone he'd murdered, especially when it came to murdering someone else. Conscience troubling you, son? You never prayed to anyone about finishing me off, did you? Got a little trouble with some guilt there? And you thought for some reason that I might want to help you with it?
Still, he couldn't think of anyone more useful to ask for forgiveness.
Somewhere over the palace, in the first light of the breaking dawn, a dragon shrieked. Two short calls and then a long one; and with the last one it must have swooped straight over the palace, and low too. The whole tower shook with the thunder of its passing.
Jehal froze and then rushed to the window. No one in their right mind would do that, not now, not with the Night Watchman's scorpions lining the walls. There were shouts down below, but they weren't shouts of alarm, and when Jehal swivelled his gaze, he saw that the dragon hadn't flow across the palace, but had actually landed within the Gateyard walls. Men with torches were running towards it. A rider was dismounting and he wasn't waiting for a Scales or anything like that. He was racing straight for the Tower of Air. To Zafir.
Jehal left the letter where it was. He pulled on his boots and ran out of his rooms, out of the Speaker's Tower, and went to find Zafir as well. As he reached the Tower of Air, soldiers raced past him, heading away. He was halfway up the stairs when a bell began to toll. An alarm. More dragons. He ran faster and soon found Zafir, hurriedly dressed, coming the other way.