The King of the Crags mof-2

by Stephen Deas

  After an hour Hyrkallan called an end to the pursuit. The cloud made it impossible to know where Jehal really was. His dragons would be scattered. They might emerge from the cloud anywhere. If there was any fighting at all, it would be scattered little skirmishes, nothing more. If Hyrkallan was lucky, Jehal and Zafir were both dead. If they weren't, the north had cause enough to strip Zafir of her office.

  And now, at last, the power to do it. It was tempting to fly straight on, to cross the Purple Spin and put an end to Zafir and her riders once and for all. To do it right now. He might even have done it, except the defeated dragons wouldn't be the only ones waiting for him. Fight your wars in the skies if you must, but do not bring them here or you will find that I have other names, and one of them I wear for war. The words of the Night Watchman, the Scorpion King.

  No. No need for that. No need for more. No need to risk turning this victory into a defeat.

  Besides, he had other matters to attend to. Rounding up a hundred new dragons, the ones Zafir and Jehal had left behind as they fled.

  When all that was done, he landed B'thannan on the outskirts of the city and sniffed the air. Smoke. Even upwind of the flames, the air reeked of it. Evenspire was dead. In a few days, when the fires were out and the wind next came out of the mountains, it would lift up the ashes and carry them away to the desert. Everyone who saw would remember how the Blackwind Dales earned their name, but by then Hyrkallan would be gone, away to drag Queen Jaslyn from her dragons and put an end to whatever it was she was doing out in Outwatch.

  And then, Vale Tassan, I will come, and we will see how stubborn you are prepared to be.

  47

  The Adamantine Palace

  Vale stood on top of the Gatehouse and watched the dragons land. Jeiros was beside him.

  'Do you have enough potion to feed them, Master Alchemist?' He watched Jeiros' face, and knew the answer before the alchemist even opened his mouth. No.

  'It will be a challenge, Night Watchman.'

  'It will, won't it?'

  'The Red Riders, the damage done at the redoubt, so many dragons flying to war. Zafir asks more than I can give. I will have to take supplies from her and from King Silvallan. King Jehal too, perhaps. From Evenspire, if there is anything left of it.' The alchemist sighed. 'It's becoming more of a problem than you would care to know, Night Watchman. But I will keep our speaker's dragons flying no matter what I have to do.'

  Vale laughed. 'There don't seem to be many of our speaker's dragons left. I haven't been counting, but I'd say this is a third of the number that left. Unless I'm mistaken, most of them are King Jehal's.'

  'Onyx is there.'

  'Yes.' The speaker's dragon. Maybe another couple of dozen of Zafir's. A few dragons I don't recognise at all. And all the rest are Jehal's. And I have been counting. More than a hundred dragons lost? Someone's been very careless. I fear a veritable forest of cages.

  The first riders were galloping up the hill from the landing fields as if they were still being chased. Vale wanted to laugh at them. You lost, didn't you? Sirion and Hyrkallan were waiting for you and you lost. He nudged Jeiros. 'If I were you, Grand Master, I would keep very much out of the way for the next few days. I don't think our speaker has had a good week.' I le walked briskly to the stairs. With jeiros safely behind him and no one watching, he permitted the grin that he'd been wearing on the inside to show itself on the outside. He wore it lot exactly as long as it took him to reach the bottom of the stairs. In the Gateyard outside, Adamantine Men were already forming up to grert their speaker on her return. Only a few of them though. Not enough that I might he accused of weakening the walls. Vale looked them up and down until he was sure they were perfect and then stood at (heir head and waited. The palace gates opened and a few dragon-knights rode in. They looked beaten. You can see it in their eyes, in the way they carry themselves. You lost and you lost badly.

  Zafir wasn't with them. What he got was King Jehal. Vale bowed. Pity. I rather hoped you wouldn't come back-

  'Zafir is dead,' said Jehal brusquely. He looked as though he was in a lot of pain, sitting up on the back of his horse. Two of his riders helped him to dismount and he nearly collapsed. Even standing still he had to lean heavily on his staff. Vale watched him struggle. He kept carefully silent. I did that to him. We will both remember that.

  'The speaker is dead,' said Jehal, this time making it sound more of a declaration than a confession. 'We met in battle over Evenspire. We fought and I won, and by right of conquest I claim the speaker's throne until there can be a council of kings and queens to choose a successor. I call for such a council.' Jehal finally locked eyes with Vale. 'Night Watchman, that means you. Get Jeiros and Aruch and anyone else who needs to hear my claim. I'll gladly repeat it once. After that I shall become annoyed. I will retire to the Tower of Dusk for now but I expect the Speaker's Tower to be ready for me in two days. Am I understood?'

  Vale bowed again. He took a step to the side and turned, a little ritual to acknowledge that whoever stood at the palace gates was welcome to enter. As though you were her husband – I have not forgotten. He waited until Jehal was level with him.

  'Is there a body, Your Holiness?' he asked.

  Jehal stopped. He whipped around to glare at Vale. 'She was ripped to pieces and eaten.'

  'The Lesser Council will convene to hear your claim, Your Holiness. They will ask.'

  'I have her dragon, Tassan, That's all that's left of her.'

  'You don't have the Speaker's Ring then? Do you have her spear at least?'

  'She was flying to war, Night Watchman; she left that here. Why don't you get it for me?'

  Vale was careful not to smile. He bowed his head. 'I will call the Lesser Council, Your Holiness. I shall ask them to convene tomorrow at dawn. May I ask what became of Evenspire? And of the treacherous Queen Almiri? They will ask that too.'

  'Evenspire lies in ashes, Night Watchman, and you can request they convene sooner than that. As for Almiri, she was no traitor and I have no idea if she's dead. If it amuses you, I shall guess and say she is still alive.'

  Vale bowed. 'As you command, Your Holiness. The Lesser Council may ask for more evidence than your word and a dragon, but I shall convey your words.' Arrogant prick. Do you really think I'm going to let you have Zafir's throne? You, of all people? He watched Jehal limp slowly across the Gateyard towards the Tower of Dusk. At least at the speed he now moved, the servants there would have plenty of time to get ready for him. When Jehal was gone he sent his soldiers back to their duties and then went looking for Jeiros. The alchemist was where he'd left him, still standing on top of the Gatehouse. Vale settled beside him, watching the dragons at the palace eyries.

  'The little shit wants us to make him speaker.' He watched Jeiros' face carefully. The alchemist did well. He blinked a few times, that was all.

  'Zafir is dead then?'

  'So he says. He says he fought her himself and demands her throne by right of conquest until a full council can be called.' 'He knows his history.'

  'He knows his Principles. I don't think he knows much of anything else, and the best I can think of to do with Principles is to wipe my arse with it.'

  The alchemist shrugged. 'There is a precedent. The realms need a speaker.'

  Vale spat. 'He can't even prove that Zafir is dead. He's got her dragon. He doesn't have her ring.'

  'The spear?'

  'He says she left it here.

  Jeiros turned towards Vale and frowned.. 'Does he? I throught so too, but it's not here, It should be in Chamber of Audience but it's not. I assumed Zafir took it with her.

  'He wants me to call the Lesser Council.'

  'Which means you and me.'

  'And Aruch, who will do what you tell him.' Vale permitted himself a smile. 'Your choice, Grand Master. Who's it going to be?'

  'What would you do, Vale?'

  'Me?' Vale laughed. 'I might thank him for ridding us of Zafir, but I'd still hang him in one of her cages outs
ide the gates. Frankly I'd hang them both. Evenspire burns, he says. A city full of people set to flames and for what? Yes, if it was me I'd craft a cage for him with my own hands. But then I'm not entitled to an opinion, I'm just a servant.'

  Jeiros pursed his lips. Vale could see a lot of thinking going on. 'The realms need a speaker, Vale. The battle went badly, even I can see that. He has Zafir's dragon. Some will say that is proof enough. If we refuse him, what then? We stand alone against every realm and that is not our duty; our duty is to keep the realms' dragons in check. Yet as you said, Vale, when a dragon burns you, it makes little difference whether it has a rider on their back as it does so; the flames are still the same. This war must end now. Jehal was trying to do that. That's why Zafir put him in the Tower of Dusk. No, I will not stand in his way. I dare say he will not survive a vote from the full council when one can finally be called. Until then, any speaker is better than none.'

  'Even the Viper?'

  'Even the devil, Night Watchman.'

  Vale shrugged. 'Then I will bow to your wisdom, Master Jeiros. The next time you stand here, you may be able to see me in one of those cages out there.'

  'Jehal needs you. I will not allow it.'

  'But he will be speaker. He will not need our opinions.'

  Jeiros cocked his head. 'I think in these unusual times he might find that he does. See it this way, Vale. See him as ours. The speaker is always as much a servant of the realms as you or I.'

  'I somehow doubt King Jehal will agree.'

  'Then we will make him. Besides, however much we may wish for it, we cannot be sure that Speaker Zafir is dead. If she was eaten in battle we may not be sure for a very long time. I think King Jehal can merely act as a speaker under our guidance until we are. There are precedents here too.'

  The Night Watchman laughed. 'Until some dragon shits out the Adamantine Spear? You've come a long way, Grand Master.'

  'I wonder sometimes if the realms wouldn't be better off without dragons. If I knew of a way we could rid ourselves of them, I think I would do it. But we can't. They always come back.'

  'So Jehal gets what he wants.'

  'Under sufferance, Vale. But yes, for now he does. I see no other choice.'

  One false move, Viper, and nothing will save you. Vale smiled to himself. 'If you find that you do not have enough potion and it is necessary to poison a few of them to keep their numbers down, I will do nothing to stand in your way. I thought you might want to know that.'

  Jehal lay on his bed in the Tower of Dusk. His sickbed, where Jeiros had tended to his wound. He stared at the ceiling. This is the last time. I will never lie here again. Tomorrow I will be in the Speaker's Tower or I will be dead. He wondered idly whether he had enough riders to seize the palace by force. Probably not. Which means I am in the hands of Jeiros and the Night Watchman, and I know that at least one of them despises me.

  The realms need a speaker. Principles opened with those words.

  One of the palace servants knocked on his door and slipped inside. The girl bowed so low that her face almost scraped the floor. 'Grand Master Jeiros, Your Holiness.'

  So now we shall find out. 'Send him in.'

  The girl left. After a few seconds the alchemist came in. Jehal sat up in his bed. 'Have you come to dress my wound again, Master Jeiros?'

  'It is the realms who are wounded, King Jehal. Will you dress that wound? Will you bring us peace?' 'I will do my best, Grand Master.'

  Jeiros bowed his head. 'You should know that We cannot name you speaker until Zafir has been proven to be dead. 'She was eaten by a dragon, Master Jeiros.'

  'Yes, Your Holiness, and there are precedents for this. If Zafir does not set foot within the Adamantine Palace within the next one hundred and one days, the Lesser Coucil will recognise that she is dead. On that day I will summon the kings and queens of the nine realms to name another. I cannot promise it will be you.'

  'Then I have a hundred days to prove I am worthy, do I?'

  The alchemist looked up and met his eye. 'Yes, Your Holiness. That would seem to be the ease. Tomorrow the Lesser Council will name you speaker for a hundred days. I have nothing to offer you as a sign of your office. No ring, no spear.'

  The Adamantine Spear. One day you'll probably try to take it and find that I got there first. The blood-mage. That's what he'd wanted.

  'Zafir did not have the spear with her, Jeiros.' And he never even came for his gold. I wonder why.

  'It is a symbol, Your Holiness. Its powers are a myth.'

  'Really?' Let it go. It's really not that important to you.

  'We will make another.' The alchemist reached out a hand and offered something to Jehal. A letter. 'This came for you while you were at war. A dragon from the Pinnacles.'

  The writing and the seal were Meteroa's. So he's taken the Pinnacles. Zafir's reign is truly over. The War of Thorns finally ends.

  Jeiros turned to go. 'I have argued with Vale for you. Your feud ends here. I need you both to understand that.'

  Jehal gave him a wry smile. 'Do you give orders to all your speakers?'

  'No. Nor do I bring them all back from the brink of death.'

  Except you didn't. That was the blood-mage. For reasons that I find ever more troubling. Jehal sighed. 'The realms need a speaker and I am available. I understand, Master Jeiros. I will try not to disappoint you.'

  'If you do, Vale has a cage waiting for you.' The alchemist smiled weakly. 'I have some faith in you, King Jehal. I hope you prove me right.'

  "Well I'll see what I can do.' Jehal snorted and shook his head. 'I had an ambition to be speaker once. Being your puppet isn't quite what I had in mind.' He curled his lip. 'Do one small thing for me, Grand Master. Zafir did not take your precious spear to war with her. It's been stolen by a blood-mage. His name is Kithyr. Find him. Bring him back.' He chuckled. 'But don't tell him I sent you. Apparently he'll kill me.' He sighed and waved Jeiros away. A hundred and one days. Lystra will make peace with the north for me long before then. And then we shall see. He opened Meteroa's letter.

  The end of Zafir's line as near as I can manage it. The Pinnacles are mine. Kazalain is dead and so are his sons. Say the word and Princess Kiam can follow them. Not that that'll help. The trouble with royal families is that everyone is always related to everyone else. No matter what you do, it's never the end of any bloodline. That's the whole point, isn't it? Not unless you kill absolutely everyone. Although as I look around at the carnage in the throne room here, at the two dead princes who were barely more than children, I will concede that extinguishing us all might be a very fine thing.

  Your father once said that only a madman took his wife to war on the eve of giving birth. Lystra's your wife though, not mine, so perhaps I'm not so mad after all. She is safe and has celebrated our victory by giving you a son. She asks what his name should be.

  Jehal stretched, trying to ease the cricks in his back, chewing on Dreamleaf to numb the pain in his leg. He read the letter again, and then a third time. When he started for the fourth, it occurred to him that he wasn't actually reading the words any more and that he had a stupid grin plastered all over his face.

  I am the speaker.

  I have a son.

  I win.

  Again.

  48

  The Speaker of the Realms

  Zafir stood on the ramparts looking out over Fuymuouth. Behind her, parts of Jehal's palace were burning. She stared out at the sea. There were Taiytakei ships out there. Hundreds of them. They'd simply appeared in the night, lurking out to sea, asking to be burned. She mulled the thought over, but whatever she might have wanted, there was little she could do. She'd gone to Evenspire with two hundred dragons. Now she had exactly one. Sometimes she wished she'd ignored Tichane. Ignored the blood-mage. Ignored the Night Watchman. Ignored herself. Sometimes she wished she'd ignored them all and believed that Jehal was hers and ridden her Onyx to Evenspire and died before she could know she was wrong.

  Her fists were cl
enched so tight they were starting to hurt. With a few deep breaths she forced herself to relax. She couldn't say she hadn't seen it coming, but it made her want to scream.

  A rider appeared at her side. He took her hand and touched it to his lips.

  'I am sorry, Your Holiness. Queen Lystra is not here.'

  She pulled her hand away. 'Then he took her with him, Prince Tichane. Yes, and now she's at the Adamantine Palace. She'll be sitting on my throne. My palace. My soldiers. My throne. My everything. They'll be fucking in my bed, if Jehal can still fuck at all.' She cracked a grim smile. At least that was one little thing she could savour, when she wasn't grinding her teeth.

  'No,' whispered Prince Tichane. 'She went with his uncle. We will trap them both in the Pinnacles.' He was so close that she could feel his breath on her hair. There was no doubting what he wanted.

  She stepped away, hiding a shiver of revulsion. 'I want him dead. I want her in chains at my feet. Let them quiver in their beds at night!'

  'She will not escape. When my father has finished smashing King Narghon's eyries into little pieces, the south will be ours. And when he knows you didn't die at Evenspire, the Night Watchman will fall over himself to put the Viper in chains. It will all be ours in a stroke.' He moved beside her again and slipped a hand around her waist and across her belly, spreading his fingers wide, pressing himself against her. This time she leaned into him and purred. He was no Jehal, but he was every bit as easy to use. And Valmeyan did have a lot of dragons.

  'I want that mongrel who's sitting on my throne in the Pinnacles dead. I want the rest of them hanging in cages where I can watch them die for days. I want a blood-mage so I can keep them alive for ever and wake up every morning to listen to their pain as I break my fast. Promise me.'