The King of the Crags

by Stephen Deas

  And after that, all he had to do was wait.

  Jehal returned a week later. Meteroa met him with a hundred and one riders, all dressed in gray. I’m sorry to do this to you, my king, but the facade must be perfect. Still, he wasn’t quite ready for the ice in Jehal’s eyes.

  “Did you do it,” he asked, “or did Zafir?” His face was as still as death. Meteroa bowed and then leaned forward and embraced his king. One of the privileges of family. As he did, he whispered in Jehal’s ear.

  “Neither, my king.”

  Jehal let out a roar of rage and pushed him to the ground. “Don’t play riddles with me, Eyrie-Master. Who killed my wife?”

  Meteroa picked himself up. “I have the assassin’s body,” he said carefully.

  “I want to see Lystra. And then . . . remember what I said, uncle. What happens to her happens to you.”

  Meteroa bowed again. A week with the Scales? Perhaps I should have killed her after all.

  “I want to see her right now, Meteroa. Where is she? If you’ve burned her already, I swear I’ll . . .”

  “She’s in the mausoleum, Your Holiness.”

  No standing on ceremony. Meteroa watched his king barge past and head straight for the caves. So now we know which of your two women matters to you the most, eh? Meteroa kept his distance, smiling quietly to himself. Jehal wasn’t usually the sort for sudden explosions of temper, but you never knew. Squeeze a man hard enough and anything can happen. I taught that to you all and how many of you bothered to listen? He followed Jehal all the way down to the black stone tunnels of the mausoleum, waving away the token guards standing watch over the body.

  “That’s not her.” Jehal spun around.

  Meteroa glanced at the retreating guards. “She’s been here a while, Your Holiness.”

  “That’s not her!” Jehal lunged, reaching for Meteroa’s throat. Meteroa dodged away. I could break your arm, boy, if I wanted to.

  “No, it’s not.” He spoke softly, even though the guards were gone. Words had ways of resonating in caves.

  “Eyrie-Master!”

  Meteroa jumped at Jehal and grabbed his shirt, pinning him against the rough stone. “She is safe, Your Holiness,” he hissed as softly as he could. “She is safe because the people who want to kill her think she is dead. Frankly, I had no idea what to make of your stupid letter. What did you think I was going to do? Kill her myself? Your father’s dead, your brother’s dead and from the sounds of things you’re as useless at making heirs as I am now. Did you think I was going to take a blind bit of notice? She’s carrying your heir, Jehal. Our heir.” There. It’s been a very long time since you’ve seen me as I used to be. I imagine you’ d very nearly forgotten.

  “I didn’t want her dead.”

  “Someone does.”

  “Zafir.”

  “No. Not Zafir.” Meteroa let go of Jehal and held up his hands. “Well yes, Zafir, but not just her. There was another killer. You need to see him. In the dungeons.”

  “I’m not telling the world that Lystra’s dead.”

  “She’s safe for now. In a couple of weeks she’ll give birth. We can put them both somewhere safe. Apart. Or you can get rid of her, which is probably what you ought to do but . . . what?”

  “I’m not telling the world that Lystra’s dead.”

  Meteroa pursed his lips. “Listen. This wasn’t Zafir, this was the Taiytakei. They waited until Zafir had failed a few times and then they finally sent one of their own. This is not some killer off the streets of the Silver City. This is an assassin who can meld with the earth, who can turn into water, who can become a gust of wind and blow through a window. I’ve met them before. They may be the most dangerous men in the world and they are certainly the most expensive. The Taiytakei. We’ve always known what they want, haven’t we? They want dragons. They want hatchlings and they want potions and they want alchemists. Did you ever stop to wonder what happened to our grand master alchemist Bellepheros after your wedding? And ever since, I’ve been asking myself: why did they give you such a priceless gift? Have you not stopped to wonder about that?” Probably not. Too much vanity to question gifts, eh boy? “So they give you a priceless treasure and then they try to kill your wife. Why?” His eyes narrowed. “They want you with Zafir, but why? Why why why?”

  “The Taiytakei?” Jehal for once looked like he barely knew where he was.

  Poor boy. It’s all getting too much, is it? “If I were to guess, I would say that Zafir—or someone—has promised them what they want.” Meteroa patted him on the shoulder. You killed my brother. Not that he didn’t deserve it, but he was mine. “You wanted to be king, remember? So now you have another reason to stop her.”

  “Fine.” Jehal shrugged him off. “Then get my dragons ready, Eyrie-Master. All of them. We’re going to war. How soon can it be done?”

  “We’re only waiting for you. Your Holiness, nothing else. Just one itsy question: who are we fighting?”

  For the first time since he’d landed, Jehal smiled. It was the twisted, lopsided smile of someone who had something broken on the inside. Our family smile. “Why, I’m going to the Adamantine Palace, Uncle, to fight the speaker’s war. You, though . . . I have something else in mind for you. You can take a few of my dragons and follow along later. Go via the Pinnacles and clear the air for me there.” His smile slipped into a sneer. “And if you really believe what you say of the Taiytakei, you can burn every one of their ships in the harbor before you leave.”

  Meteroa felt himself nodding. “To war then, my king?”

  “To war.” Jehal threw back his head and laughed. “Our war.” He nodded at the swollen body laid out in the mausoleum. “Now get rid of that and bring me back my queen. Oh, and send a letter to Jaslyn. Tell her that from now on wherever I go, her sister goes with me. Perhaps that will keep her dragons in their eyries.”

  “I wouldn’t count on it.”

  “I won’t.”

  44

  THE DEFIANCE OF KINGS

  Vale Tassan stood in the Chamber of Audience. Arrayed in front of him was what passed for yet another council of kings of queens. With one king and one queen. Worse than the council that put Shezira to death. Nonetheless, he stood there and he told them what the speaker wanted them to hear. They heard of two survivors from the Red Riders who had been taken alive. Two survivors whose confessions Vale had taken. Whose confessions clearly implicated Queen Almiri in their revolt. He watched them nod or shake their heads.

  There. I have done my duty. I have obeyed my speaker without question. When he finished there was a bitter taste in his mouth, but as he looked at their faces he understood perfectly that the truth had never actually mattered in the first place. For some reason that made him almost intolerably angry.

  “Survivors?” Prince Tichane raised an eyebrow. “From a dragon-fight? That’s quite unusual, Night Watchman. What state were they in?”

  They were dead. But I can’t say that. “Poor, Your Highness. Very poor. I was surprised that they could be brought to talk at all.”

  “Tooth marks?”

  Vale bowed. “I did not examine them, Your Highness. There was a physician. I’m sure he could answer such questions.” Yes, let’s bring the blood-mage up here and see what he has to say for himself. He sighed and looked around the council. Half the realms don’t even have a voice here.

  “Who here will speak for Queen Jaslyn and Queen Almiri?” asked Lord Eisal.

  Zafir sniffed. “They didn’t come. That they cannot be bothered to even defend themselves speaks of their guilt, does it not?”

  Eisal glowered. “Does Almiri even know we’re holding this council? Does her sister?”

  King Silvallan, King of Bazim Crag and the Oordish Moors and as much Zafir’s puppet as King Narghon was Jehal’s, rolled his eyes and spat. “What about her? Queen Almiri’s guilt has long been obvious, and she wouldn’t act alone. I don’t know why we’re even bothering with this.”

  “We have no evidence at al
l against Queen Jaslyn, Your Holiness,” snapped Jeiros. “And we’re bothering with this because we are the custodians of the nine realms and we have a sacred duty to do whatever is possible to keep the realms at peace and prevent another dragon-war.”

  “And yet here we are starting one,” drawled Prince Tichane. Another dragon-prince to despise. Too much like Jehal in too many ways.

  Zafir turned her smile on Jeiros. “And what do you say regarding Queen Almiri, Master Alchemist? Has she been helping the Red Riders or not? How is her supply of potions? Missing any, is she?”

  Jeiros sank into his chair and shrugged his shoulders. “I cannot say for sure. The Red Riders stole most of what they need from you, Your Holiness. But yes, if I have to say one way or the other, some are missing.”

  As far as Vale could see that sealed Almiri’s fate. As soon as he was no longer needed, he left them to it. The south was going to war with the north. Zafir already had her dragons stationed around the palace. Silvallan’s were on the way. King Narghon and King Jehal would follow. As many as seven hundred dragons would fly across the Purple Spur. Even if Queen Jaslyn came to her sister’s aid, they were still outnumbered two to one. From Eisal’s face, King Sirion planned to have no part of the fight either way. So the north would lose and that would be that. Speaker Hyram’s legacy would be over. Queen Shezira’s line would be finished. And in the middle, almost unnoticed, Evenspire and most of the Blackwind Dales would go up in flames. Idly, Vale wondered how many people would burn and how many would starve. A lot, most likely.

  He climbed all the way to the top of the Gatehouse, its gates wide and tall enough to let in a dragon. He stood on the battlements, close to the edge. There was hardly any space. Twenty scorpions filled the platforms on the top of the Gatehouse towers.

  He looked down. The road from the palace gate curled away to the right. The first things that caught his eye were the three cages. What was left of Queen Shezira, King Valgar and Prince Sakabian. The crows had had their fill and there wasn’t much left but bones. He had other cages ready, just in case. There was one in particular that he’d made for Princess Lystra. At least he wouldn’t be needing that anymore. When the news had reached the palace of Lystra’s murder, the speaker had beamed for days.

  Beheading kings and hanging their bodies in cages. Executing her own cousins. Hyram would never have done such things.

  The road descended around the palace hill toward the City of Dragons and the Mirror Lakes. The city still bore the scars of the Red Riders’ attack. Zafir should have crushed them the second they were born. Did she leave them just so that she could have her war?

  Probably. Which meant that everyone who’d died in the city that day had died for Zafir’s vanity. Vale gritted his teeth. Orders, he reminded himself. The Guard obeys orders. From birth to death. Nothing more, nothing less. It is not our place to praise or to condemn, merely to execute the speaker’s will.

  Around to the south lay the Hungry Mountain Plain. Out in the distance, a wooden platform still stuck up from the fields. The tower we built to celebrate the end of Speaker Hyram’s reign. Ten years of peace. We gave up our lives so that princes and kings could have sport with their dragons, so that Hyram could show off how strong we are. And who won that tournament? Zafir. She cheated and Hyram let her get away with it. He ought to have taken the tower down, but somehow he’d never got around to it. Because there was always too much else to do? No. Be honest with yourself, Vale Tassan. Because you can’t quite let go of the speaker you used to serve. Not for the one that’s come in his place.

  He turned his eyes to the north. Zafir would be flying that way soon. She’d be gone from the palace. He looked along the walls. Three hundred scorpions and two thousand men. In the city he could place five hundred more scorpions and the bulk of his soldiers. Putting more scorpions up in the Spur near the mouth of the Diamond Cascade would be sound, although he couldn’t for the life of him think how to get them up there without getting some dragons to carry them.

  He stopped himself. What am I thinking? Am I really thinking about the best ways to defend the palace? From whom, Night Watchman? From the King of the Crags? Is that who you think you might need to fight? King Jehal? Do you think King Sirion will try to seize the throne while Zafir is away? Or do you fear that Queen Jaslyn will snatch a victory despite the numbers stacked against her? Because if you allow yourself to have an opinion for a moment, any one of them, even the Viper, would make a better speaker than Zafir. So are you really thinking of how to defend yourself against the multitude of enemies that Zafir has made for us in the short months of her reign? Or are you thinking of something else, Vale Tassan?

  He stared at the scorpions lining the palace walls, at the bodies in the cages, at the black scars in the City of Dragons and the tower on the plains, the last vestige of Speaker Hyram’s reign.

  Orders. The Guard obeys orders. From birth to death. Nothing more, nothing less. It occurred to him that while the Adamantine Men vowed to obey the speaker, the alchemists made a different vow. Their vow was to serve the realms.

  I think I like the alchemist vow better.

  He turned back to look out over the palace. Someone else had slipped out of the council. Lord Eisal, judging by his gait. Vale watched him come toward the Gatehouse. Eisal wasn’t built for speed, but he was doing his best. He looked furtive too. Anxious. Scared. Or is that my imagination? Although we have just witnessed the start of a war, and it would only be proper to be anxious. After all, it’s not hard to imagine who’s going to be next after the speaker’s done with Shezira’s brood.

  Eisal reached the stables and hurried inside. Going to the city, My Lord? Or to the eyrie? He sighed. Could you not at least be a little less obvious? The council hasn’t even dissolved and here you are, rushing away. To whom, Lord Eisal? Now that I’ve seen you, I need to know to whom. I don’t suppose you’ d care to save us both some trouble. I could simply ask and you could simply tell me and then we could both be about our business.

  No. Reluctantly, Vale stood up and stretched his legs. Then he ran down the steps to the foot of the Gatehouse. Lord Eisal was already gone but the Guard always kept a couple of mounts saddled and ready in case the speaker needed to send an urgent message to any of her eyries. Vale helped himself. He followed Eisal carefully, discreetly, down into the City of Dragons. If Eisal was trying to be subtle then it was clearly his first attempt. Mentally Vale was already seeing him hanging outside the gates in another cage. Simply for being so inept. That would be reason enough.

  Eisal rode into the circus at the heart of the city. In the center an obsidian statue of a dragon rose fifty feet into the air. Standing on the dragon’s head was a man with a sword, poised to bring his blade down into the monster’s skull. The first Night Watchman, some said, slaying a dragon with his bare hands.

  Around the dragon, a ring of fountains chattered and bubbled, filling the circus with noise and spray, adding to the damp that always filled the air from the Diamond Cascade above. Eisal dismounted. He led his horse between the fountains and stopped beside the statue of the dragon. Vale followed on foot, slipping purposefully through the loose crowds that always thronged in the city center. He didn’t have to wait long to see who Eisal had come to meet. Two men, tall, broad and unmistakable, detached themselves from the crowd and stood with Eisal beside the dragon. The meeting lasted barely thirty seconds and Vale wasn’t close enough to hear anything that was said, but then he didn’t need to be. He could see it. He could see it in the faces of the riders at the statue. It is decided. The war is coming. That’s what Eisal was saying.

  Vale lost interest in Eisal. He followed the two men as they walked away from the statue and caught up with them halfway across the circus.

  “What a fine afternoon,” he said when he was only a pace behind them. “Wouldn’t you say?”

  The two men stopped. Very slowly they turned around. Vale had to force himself not to bow. Bowing would draw attention, and he wasn’t sure he
wanted that. Not yet. He settled for a slight nod of the head.

  “Your Holiness. Forgive me if I intrude. King Sirion and Lord Hyrkallan. Two faces I had not expected to see in the Circus of Dragons at this time and certainly not together.”

  Hyrkallan’s hand went to his sword. “Night Watchman,” he growled. “Well well. I sang your praises to my last queen often enough but you are an unwelcome sight today.”

  “I am called what I am called for a reason, Rider. When night comes it falls to the Adamantine Men to keep watch over the nine realms. You will not deny that the times are dark, I hope.” He glanced up at the statue. “No one knows his name. Whoever he was he certainly didn’t kill a dragon by standing on its head and bashing it with a sword. But the point remains.”

  “You will not take us without a fight, Night Watchman,” said King Sirion. He spoke quietly. He almost sounded sad, Vale thought.

  “And I don’t see your men, Vale.” Hyrkallan, on the other hand, sounded like two slabs of rock grinding together. No sadness there.

  “I followed Lord Eisal alone. On a whim, you might say.”

  Hyrkallan’s hand gripped the hilt of his sword. Vale smiled.