The King of the Crags

by Stephen Deas

  Let him crack my skull while I’m sleeping. Then Snow can eat me. Most likely we’ d both be better off. He lay down. I know what you’re thinking, boy, because I thought it too. And I know where that took me, and I know exactly what it’s like to be me, and it’s really not worth it. That’s what I’m trying to tell you, boy. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. Be someone else. Let it go. He fell asleep, but he didn’t sleep well. His dreams were old and troubled.

  After you burned a man’s home to charcoal and his family to ash, you could hardly bring them back and pretend it never happened. Let it go? He didn’t even know how to begin. You couldn’t really even say sorry. By then that was just was an insult.

  26

  JEIROS

  Jeiros, acting grand master, leaned back in his chair and sighed. On his desk he had six letters. The ink was still fresh and drying. Three letters were to three sisters, all saying the same thing: You are now a queen. The other three were to their eyrie-masters, carrying the necessary instructions. Instructions to pass on the mysteries that only kings and queens were permitted to know. And a warning about one or two other things.

  “I don’t know how you manage,” he said. The other alchemist in the room, who’d written the letters to the eyrie-masters, was Vioros. As Zafir’s senior alchemist, he was the closest thing Jeiros had to a deputy. At least, he was the closest thing that could be found at midday in the approximate vicinity of the Adamantine Palace when one king, one queen and one prince had all wound up dead on the same day. “Bellepheros once wrote two of these in one month, and we never heard the end of it. But three! And in a day! How have you survived such a mistress?”

  Vioros stuck out his bottom lip and shrugged. “Her mother was never any trouble to us and nor has Zafir been, since she took the crown. And not all of these letters are actually necessary, Jeiros. Jehal isn’t dead yet.”

  “Yet being the significant word.” Jeiros carefully took a handful of down and sprinkled it over the drying ink. “I’ll be surprised if he lasts the night. And if he does, he won’t last the week. The wound has gone bad and he’s lost so much blood. That’s that, I’m afraid. The end of him. Nothing any of us can do.” Jeiros yawned. “If he’s strong then he’ll linger a while. But you’re right: strictly, he’s not actually dead yet. The speaker’s choices are to let him waste away in stinking rotting agony for a few days or put him out of his misery. The latter would be the merciful thing to do, but I suppose she might balk at that under the circumstances. Besides, I’m not sure she’s one for mercy, is she?”

  Vioros glanced sharply up. “Or she could find herself a blood-mage.”

  “Or that.” For a few moments neither of them said anything, as though Vioros had suddenly let a bad smell into the room and they were both waiting for the air to clear.

  “I don’t know why Zafir has me trying to keep him alive anyway,” muttered Jeiros at last. “Why bother to go to all that trouble and then cut off his head anyway?”

  “Oh, I don’t think she wants him dead.”

  Jeiros sighed again and shook his head. “Madness. I didn’t want to be grand master.”

  “You’re not.”

  “Oh, come on! Bellepheros disappeared almost half a year ago. If he’s not dead, he’s certainly not coming back!” Jeiros rubbed his eyes and waved at the letters. “I was much happier at the redoubt. And Bellepheros never had to deal with anything like this. A quarter of the Order dead at the hands of a rogue dragon; all our stocks wiped out; eyries across the realms running short. Do you realize that King Narghon is down to two weeks’ supply?”

  “We’re down to three weeks ourselves.”

  “I know! Can you imagine?” Jeiros wrung his hands and shook his head. “Can you simply imagine what would happen if even one eyrie ran out? An entire eyrie. We’d have to poison them all! And then the consequences . . .”

  “I’m trying not to think about it. These Red Riders—”

  “If you think that’s bad, imagine us at war! All our supplies pass through King Valgar’s realm.” He checked himself. “Queen Almiri’s realm, I mean. Now.”

  “That will be Zafir’s cause for war, when it comes. I’ll make you a wager on that if you like.”

  “Make me a wager on how long it will be before Almiri turns on the Order and starts trying to starve Zafir’s eyries. The Red Riders have already started.” He shook his head again. “Madness, all of it.”

  “She’ll starve everyone else as well. Even herself.”

  Jeiros got up and walked to the window. Outside, the sun was close to the horizon. They’ve probably finished building the cages now. Shezira and Valgar will be hanging outside the gates. What’s left of them.

  “I don’t think she’s going to have much of a choice. Or she may not care. If she’s got half her mother’s stubbornness . . . Have you met her?”

  “No.”

  “Pity.” He was pacing back and forth now, unable to contain the nervous energy crackling through his limbs. “I can’t take any chances, Vioros, and neither can you. If the potions run out among the Adamantine eyries, who do you serve? Zafir or the Order?”

  “I serve the Order.”

  “Of course you do, of course you do. If the speaker goes to war, we shall stop supplying and stockpile at the redoubt instead. We simply can’t afford to lose any more. I shall tell the speaker. I’ll have to tell the other master alchemists too. Warn them. I suppose I’ll have to tell all the eyrie-masters that they might have to fly to Valeford and pick up their potions from there. Make sure your alchemists are ready to do what needs to be done if it comes to the worst. Make sure they’ve got plenty of what they’ll need. Ancestors! I know we’ve put down dragons before, but has anyone ever put down an entire eyrie of them? I don’t think they have! How soon could you be prepared here? I mean if you had to be? If it had to be done?”

  “A matter of days.”

  “You realize that everyone will try to stop you. You won’t only have the speaker’s riders and servants and probably half the Scales against you, you’ll have the Adamantine Guard to contend with as well.”

  “They rarely pay much attention.”

  “So be it. I shall come for an inspection of the Adamantine eyrie before the week is out. Now to warn the others.”

  Vioros groaned. “More letters?”

  “More letters.”

  Jeiros was halfway through writing the first when a violent knocking shook the door. He jumped, startled by the sudden sound. He looked at the letter. His hand had twitched in the middle of a stroke and the word was ruined. He’d have to start again.

  “Who is it and what do you want?” he snapped. No one ought to be banging on his door. The juniors in the Order were permitted a timid knock and the speaker wouldn’t bother; she’d simply barge in.

  The banging came again. With a growl of irritation, Jeiros got up. He opened the door.

  “Tassan.” He blinked, taken aback. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the Night Watchman here. Usually they avoided each other, following some ancient unwritten law that the Order and Adamantine Men simply didn’t get along.

  Apart from a few nights ago. But then these weren’t usual times.

  “Acting Grand Master.” Vale Tassan bowed politely. He got my title right, Jeiros noticed. A little too much accent on the Acting though.

  “We are extremely busy, thanks largely to you, so I would appreciate it if you were brief.” Jeiros didn’t move aside. He certainly didn’t want the Night Watchman seeing the letters on the desk.

  “I have two things on my mind.” Vale stepped forward. Jeiros still didn’t move. The Night Watchman cocked his head. “May I come in or shall we discuss my business out here where anyone might overhear us? Both my matters are somewhat sensitive.”

  Jeiros glanced over his shoulder. Vioros had already cleared the desk. With a sharp nod, Jeiros moved aside.

  “I shan’t ask what you were writing,” said Vale. “I’m sure it’s not my business
.”

  “We’ve been writing all day, Night Watchman. You made three new queens today.”

  Tassan smiled. “Two. Jehal’s not dead yet.”

  “That is merely a matter of time, Night Watchman.”

  “I am not so sure of that.” Vale sat down in the chair Vioros had vacated. Somehow that only emphasized how massive the man was. He could probably rip me apart with his bare hands.

  “Well I am quite sure,” snapped Jeiros. Something about the Adamantine Man was rubbing him the wrong way. Maybe I’m just tired. Or maybe he should have done something weeks ago. Or maybe I simply blame him for wielding the sword. He said it himself. “The Guard obeys orders. From birth to death. Nothing more, nothing less.” Is that really all he is?

  “I’m sure you know best.” Said in the tone of voice of someone quite sure that Jeiros didn’t know best.

  “Night Watchman, we have a very great deal to do thanks to your work today, so I would appreciate it if you got to the point. What can I do for you?”

  “All right, I’ll be blunt then. There’s a war coming. Let’s start with that.”

  Jeiros felt insulted. “You think I’m blind? I seem to remember coming to you for some help in stopping it.”

  Vale shrugged. “So many eyes seem to be screwed willfully shut these days. Since you’ve seen it coming, I’m sure you’ll be well prepared to support the speaker’s dragons in whatever may come. I am, of course, at your disposal if you need any help. In securing the supply of potions to the speaker’s eyries, for example.”

  “I see.” Had he been listening at the door? No, he couldn’t have been; it was a very thick door, and for precisely the reason that Bellepheros hadn’t wanted anyone pressing their ear against it and finding out things that they shouldn’t. So what then? Or is he simply cleverer than I thought? Jeiros’ thoughts grew petulant. But if he’s that clever then he can bloody well do something about keeping this from getting completely out of hand. “Then I am grateful to you for your offer. The threat of the Red Riders is a real one and I shall examine what you might do to be of assistance. You might encourage the speaker to use her dragons to supply the eyries of the realms with our potions, perhaps.” As if that’s going to happen.

  “The speaker does not listen to me.”

  Jeiros gave an unsympathetic shrug, “And the second matter?” Was that regret I saw there, Night Watchman?

  “The second is a little more . . . awkward.” For a moment the Night Watchman seemed unsure of himself, something Jeiros had never thought he’d see. “When Speaker Hyram died, did you examine his body?”

  Jeiros shook is head. Why is he asking me this? “No. We were not asked to do so.”

  “Do you have to be asked?”

  “Unless there is some reason for suspicion, yes.”

  Vale smiled thinly. “And Hyram falling off a balcony did not strike you as a matter of suspicion?”

  “Obviously so, but a hundred of your men came forward to say that Shezira had been with Hyram when he fell. What was there to question? He was pushed.”

  “What if he wasn’t pushed? What if he fell?”

  Jeiros had to laugh at that. “You’re asking me? I thought that was quite impossible.”

  “What if I was wrong?”

  “Then the council of kings and queens has made a terrible mistake, Night Watchman, and so have you.” He watched Vale’s face harden, his lips pinch together. He means it: he really doubts. This could be an opportunity . . . “And the rest of us,” he added. “We could not have known though, even if we had examined the body. We could have said which of his injuries had killed him, and whether he’d received them from the fall or whether he’d received them before he fell. But we could not have said whether he fell or was pushed, nor if he was pushed, whose hand was guilty. We are alchemists, Night Watchman, not magicians.” Which was mostly true. Mostly.

  “You might have known if he had been poisoned.”

  “We might, that is true.” Jeiros frowned. “Do you have reason to suspect such a thing?” And, if so, why bring it up now when you’ve just executed someone for his murder? Where are you going with this?

  “No.” Vale shook his head and stood up. “No real reason. It was only a thought.” He walked to the door. “Thank you for your time, Acting Grand Master. Do think about how my soldiers might best help you to ensure a steady supply of your potions to the speaker’s eyries in the times to come.”

  The Night Watchman left. The door closed behind him with a soft click. Jeiros and Vioros looked at one another.

  “After all that, what does he want?” asked Vioros.

  “Nothing good,” sniffed Jeiros. “I think he wanted to let us know that no one is safe.” He looked Vioros in the eye and smiled mirthlessly. “Do you want some more good news? Something else no one will have told you? You know that I’ve been counting dragons, trying to find out whether we’re still missing one?”

  Vioros rolled his eyes. “I do apologize for that. I’ve been dropping hints where I can that counting dragons is not the way . . .”

  Jeiros couldn’t help himself. He started to laugh, then struggled to get himself under control. “I’m sorry, old friend. Very rude of me. But counting dragons has been more informative than I thought. Did you know that, for the last three months, the number of hatchlings that won’t take has doubled? They’re putting down dragons every week in most eyries. Most of the dragon-kings don’t even know yet.” He glanced at the letters on his desk. “Nor our soon-to-be-queens either, but the eyrie-masters do. Across the realms our eyries are still hatching as many good dragons as they used to. But I’ve had letters back from every eyrie-master now and they all say the same. The number of hatchlings that refuse to eat has almost doubled. Just like that, and they’d like to know why. They’d like to know what’s happening. You can understand why they are nervous, with their dragon production rates at risk.” Jeiros shook his head in disbelief.

  “And do we know what is happening?” Vioros raised an eyebrow.

  “Yes, of course we do. And it is not what is happening, it is what has happened, and it is certainly not good. But beside our current difficulties that’s by the by. The rogue dragon is definitely alive.”

  “It is?”

  “Unquestionably.”

  “And you found this out through accountancy? I’m impressed.” For a moment, Vioros looked truly amazed. Jeiros hesitated, savoring the moment before he ruined it.

  “No, I’m afraid not. It’s rather more straightforward. Reports have reached me from Valmeyan’s eyries. It was seen two months ago. It’s been burning things.”

  “Are we sure it was the rogue?”

  “Yes, quite sure.” Jeiros shook his head and sat heavily back behind his desk. “There aren’t any other white dragons and there were rather a lot of witnesses, I’m afraid.”

  27

  USEFUL FOOD

  Kemir left the boat carefully tied by the lake shore in case the boy came back. He was probably dead. If he wasn’t yet, most likely he would be soon. But that can’t be my problem. I didn’t do this. The dragon did it.

  You keep telling yourself that, shot back another inner voice. You just keep telling yourself that.

  He left some food as well. What was left of the cow. The meat was starting to turn but it was all he had. Snow watched him at his work. He could feel her curiosity.

  Why are you are leaving food for someone who tried to kill you?

  Kemir snarled, “Because I’m a man, not a dragon. But how would you understand?” She was at her most frightening when she was like this. She would sit on her haunches, wings folded, tail curled around in front of her, absolutely still. She’d watch in silence until Kemir forgot that she was there. Then he’d turn around, and there she was, looming thirty feet over him, blotting out the sky. Just watching. Or else she’d idly stretch her wings and cast what felt like half the world into shadow for a few seconds.

  Do you want to leave this food too? She dropped half
a donkey onto the ground. There were the remains of some kind of harness around the donkey’s head. It clearly hadn’t been minding its own business wild in a field somewhere when Snow had taken it.

  “I don’t think he’ll want it raw.” He couldn’t help thinking about where the donkey had come from.

  Snow gave the dead donkey a pensive look, then she ambled on all fours over to the shore of the lake. She picked up a few stones, some of them roughly the same size as Kemir, and built a ring. Then she gathered some more stones and piled them on top. And then she breathed fire on them.

  Kemir took a hurried step away as flames washed over the ground around the stones. Snow didn’t stop. She didn’t even pause for breath. The fire just went on and on and on.

  After a bit the heat was too much and he had to walk right away into the trees. She was still at it a minute later, the flames pouring out of her. Made him wonder how long she could keep it up before she ran out of breath . . .

  We do not need to breathe, Kemir. It is a . . . He felt her rummaging in his head for the word. A habit. An instinct. It is not a necessity.

  Which explained how she’d vanished into a lake for five days. He shuddered. Everything breathed. Everything.

  Eventually Snow stopped. She kicked off the stones from the top, gingerly, as though even she could feel how hot they were. Then she slit the donkey open from end to end and shook out all its guts into the first ring of stones. She put one hot stone into the cavity that had been the donkey’s chest, then put the carcass on top of its guts and piled the rest of the stones back on top.

  Will that be better?

  One moment you do that. And the next moment you’ ll eat him. Or me. “Since when do dragons do cooking?” he asked, when he couldn’t think of anything else.

  My . . . There was a strange tone to her thoughts. Something wistful, winsome, almost awestruck. My first mistress showed this to me. When we thought the world was ending and there was nothing left to be done. Sasya.