The King of the Crags mof-2

by Stephen Deas

  Jeiros snorted. 'Prisoners and princes. I say again, where are the kings? Where are the queens?'

  'King Sirion is here,' thundered Zafir, ' and I am a queen!'

  There was another moment of silence. Jehal broke it, clapping his hands slowly. Before either of you do anything irrevocably stupid.

  'Bravo, Grand Master, bravo. A cheap point bravely won. Yes, Speaker Zafir has still yet to appoint an heir to h'er own throne and pass on her crown.' He shot Zafir a glance that told her to keep quiet. He could hardly count on her doing what he asked these days, but on this occasion she did. 'I applaud your courage.'

  Grand Master Jeiros took a step forward. 'Until she does-'

  'But not your wisdom!' barked Jehal. 'Where do the Red Riders strike? South of the Purple Spur. In Queen Zafir's lands, in the speaker's lands, in the border between them. It is a well known principle of war, written in the first chapter of Prince Lai's Principles, that an effective campaign requires a single absolute leader. Speaker Zafir is wise to keep her crown until these renegades have been crushed. I'm sure, as soon as that has been done, she will be delighted to name her heir.' He shot Zafir another glance. And you better had.

  'Prince Jehal-' Jeiros began.

  'The Red Riders fly on the backs of dragons, Grand Master. What would happen if those dragons did not receive your potions, Grand Master?'

  Jeiros rolled his eyes. 'As we all very well know, they would become wild. They would turn on their own riders.' Which was barely scratching the surface of the truth, but was as much as the grand master or any other alchemist would admit to, except perhaps to a council of kings that actually had some kings in it.

  'Since that has clearly not happened, one must assume that they are receiving your potions, Grand Master. Who makes these potions?'

  'The Order of course.'

  'Anyone else? Perhaps you would care to speculate, Grand Master? Who is supplying your potions to these outlaws?'

  The alchemist snorted and his lip curled. 'I cannot begin to imagine. They have stolen a goodly quantity from the speaker's eyries. As for the rest, ask amongst yourselves. Ask the kings and queens of your illustrious council.' He sounded a little uncertain; he was quite clever enough to see where Jehal was going with this.

  'They are your potions, Grand Master, and I am asking you. We will most certainly enquire of the kings and queens of the realms, but is it not possible that these riders have friends within your Order? For all their treason, they are doubtless powerful men, with powerful families.' Not that their families will know what they're doing, since the penalty for this will most certainly run deep into all their bloodlines.

  'Preposterous.'

  'Really?' Jehal raised an eyebrow. 'You don't sound entirely sure.'

  'The Order would never…' Jehal could see the grand master thinking. Thinking that he was almost certainly right. That there was almost certainly no treachery from within the Order itself. That he had almost nothing to fear. And then too he was thinking about the consequences, if one of those almosts turned out to be wrong. Catastrophic for him at least, with no almost about it. And he was thinking about Jehal, and of what he knew about the prince that Hyram had called the Viper, who twisted and turned and knew secrets about people that they didn't even know themselves. Jehal let him stew for a second or two, before putting on his most reasonable voice.

  'All the council of kings is asking, Grand Master, is that you audit your potion supplies.'

  'Counting, Grand Master,' muttered Zafir acidly.

  Jeiros stamped a foot. 'Do you think we are not already doing that? I have spent months, months, merely trying to count all the dragons in the realms to determine whether Queen Shezira's renegade,' he glared at Jehal, 'is dead or alive. Do you have any conception of how difficult it is to count even dragons? And yet you ask me to count potions? And frankly, as this council should be very aware, nearly all of my alchemists are fully occupied making them.'

  Jehal smiled. 'The Red Riders are not some local insurrection, Grand Master. They are attacking the speaker; they are attacking everything she stands for, and by inference everything that you stand for. All I am asking, Grand Master, is that yon tell us who is requesting more of your potions than usual. Because you must know that. If you didn't, you would not be doing your duty, and I know that cannot be the case. When you gives this answer, we shall know where they are getting their supplies.' As if we didn't know already.

  'They are stealing them from the speaker's eyries!'

  'All of them, Grand Master? Then you can show us by what records you know this.'

  Jeiros stood there for a second, quivering. Then he bowed his head. 'It shall be done.'

  'And soon, Grand Master,' snapped Zafir. 'Very soon.'

  The council moved on to other things: to the repairs to the eyries, to preparations to receive the remaining kings and queens of the realms, to the impending trial. Jehal watched behind half-closed eyes. In particular he watched King Sirion, who looked as comfortable as a man sitting on a hill full of stinging ants. She's got to you, hasn't she? Whatever she offered you, it must have been good. So which way will you jump, when someone comes to kick you off your fence? Most probably King Sirion was thinking the same thing about him. Except that I don't look like a man riven by indecision. Or do I?

  The council slowly dispersed. Sirion hurried away back to his tower. Usually Zafir did the same, spurning Jehal's company, but today she lingered. Jehal counted the glances that turned to watch her. Tyrin, her cousin Sakabian, even Prince Tichane. I was hardly even away, and they're all sniffing after her like she's a bitch in heat.

  'Walk with me,' she said and offered him her arm. She led him outside into the open air. Scorpions and Adamantine Guardsmen packed the palace walls and towers, and a dozen dragons circled overhead on permanent overwatch. Most of the damage from the Red Riders' attack had been cleared away but the Speaker's Tower still bore the scars; the lower floors, including the Chamber of Audience, were still being gutted. Zafir had drafted in almost every craftsman from the City of Dragons in an attempt to repair it in time for the trial.

  'No more hirelings, eh? I warned you that these Red Riders might grow into something you couldn't control,' said Jehal.

  'They're no great threat now. They made a terrible noise and a mess, but they have become rash. This must have cost them a third of their number and I have all my dragons back and more. But it's true that they've made me look foolish in front of the council. I've had enough of them. I want them gone.' She turned to look at him. 'And on the subject of my council, I don't recall inviting you, Prince Jehal. I seem to remember inviting kings and queens.' 'You sound like Jeiros.'

  'And you should have stayed at home, playing with your starling. How is she? Still showing off her pretty plumage?' 'Not as pretty as yours, Zafir.'

  She slipped him an arch look. 'Oh, is that why you came back?' 'Of course. Why else?'

  'Then I can't help but wonder why you left in the first place. Although I did hear a rumour that someone died.'

  'I might have mentioned it, yes. I seem to have become a king since last we met.'

  Zafir laughed, a pretty tinkle of breaking crystal. 'You're not a king until I say you are.'

  Jehal pointed over to the Glass Cathedral. 'Then say I am.'

  She smiled. 'I thought you'd return. I was expecting to hear that someone had died too. In fact I had a quite particular expectation in that regard. I am sad and disappointed to learn of your father's passing. Very sadly disappointed. Were there any witnesses? Should I put you on trial as well? Or were you extremely careful?'

  Sometimes, Jehal thought, life would be much simpler if he gave in to the urge to wrap his hands around her delicate little throat and squeeze until she shut up. 'King Tyan passed away peacefully, I think you will find. Now Furymouth requires a king, and thus I require a crown.'

  'After the council, Jehal. Not before.'

  Jehal pursed his lips. He nodded slowly. 'You're going to call for Shezira'
s head then.'

  'And you're going to try to stop me from getting it.'

  'Why yes, Your Holiness. Having no particular desire to see the realms ripped to pieces by war, I do think I might. Since I will doubtless succeed, you might be inclined to show some of that magnanimity I was mentioning and avoid making a fool of yourself in front of your kings and queens. Of all people, I should be your ally, Zafir. Furymouth and the Pinnacles have always stood side by side.

  Even in the War of Thorns, there were as many knights from the Harvest Realm who fought with Vishmir as fought against him. Besides, what are all these northerners except blood-mage spawn.'

  Zafir pursed her lips. 'History, Jehal? Here is some history for you. The Pinnacles are the heart of the realms. The Silver King came to us there. He tamed the dragons there. The blood-mages ruled from there. The Order of the Scales ruled from there. Even after Narammed built the Adamantine Palace and the City of Dragons, we were the heart of everything. For most of those centuries, Furymouth was mud and huts.'

  Jehal shrugged. 'And yet look at us now. You keep your history and I'll keep my wealth. We both have plenty enough dragons though.'

  She sniffed. 'You want me to let Shezira go?' 'Yes.'

  'Let suspicion hang over her? Leave the world to wonder? Did Hyram fall or was he pushed?' 'I see you remember.' 'My answer is no.'

  Jehal grinned and bared his teeth. 'Then I look forward to humbling you at your council.'

  'You will not be there, Prince.' 'Nevertheless.'

  Zafir stopped. She turned to face him, looking up with wide earnest eyes. 'Are you going to be my enemy now, Jehal?'

  Jehal put the palm of one hand against the side of her neck, the age-old gesture of brotherhood. 'I am your best and truest friend, my lover. You will know your enemies at your council, for they will be the ones who shout and bellow their support when you call on them to hang Queen Shezira.'

  She took a step away, withdrawing from his hand, and slowly shook her head. 'No. My enemies will be the ones who oppose my will. And I will not forgive, Prince Jehal. Whoever they turn out to be.'

  17

  Unwanted Attention

  Vale Tassan watched as the last scorpion was hoisted into place. The Adamantine Palace bristled with them now. He sighed the long satisfied sigh of someone who'd got exactly what he wanted. The Red Riders were enemies of the realms and now at last the speaker had set her mind to crushing them. Dragons were moving up from the eyries in the south and combing the Purple Spur. The Adamantine Men had been unleashed from their barracks. Some had been dispatched to join the dragon-riders in their search, but the large part remained to guard the City of Dragons and the speaker's palace. He'd got all the weapons he'd asked for. No dragon would get close enough to burn the Speaker's Tower for a second time. If they did, that would mean his head.

  Seventy-four days since Head Priest Aruch had handed Zafir the Adamantine Spear. Seventy-four days gone in a flash. The last Night Watchman to go to war had served mad old Anzuine in the War of Thorns and died fighting Vishmir's dragons. Dying didn't bother Vale though. What bothered him was that three dragons had flown straight through his defences, meagre as they were, and burned the speaker's palace. He couldn't blame that on Zafir, not all of it. There had been fifty scorpions on the walls when the Red Riders had come. Now fifty Adamantine Men had been executed and fed to the speaker's dragons. One for each crew that had missed. Good men all. How could they all have failed? How could we have been so lax when it is our duty to be vigilant?

  Not being ready. That was what kept Vale awake at nights.

  'Satisfied with your handiwork?' asked a voice behind him.

  'Prince Jehal.' Vale turned around, dropped to his knees and bowed. 'Yes, Your Highness. Most satisfied.' He kept his head down, eyes to the ground. The Adamantine Men, even their commanders, were mere servants after all. Servants to the dragon kings and queens, princes and lords. Sometimes being lowly and small could have its advantages.

  'You can get up, you know. I'm not Zafir.'

  'As you command, Your Highness.' He rose slowly, his eyes fixed on Jehal's feet. What does he want? Nothing good. Nothing good ever came from the Viper.

  'Tell me, Night Watchman, what did you think of the council this morning?'

  Vale slowly shook his head. 'I have no opinion to offer, Your Highness. I exist only to serve.'

  'You might try that on Zafir and get away with it, but not with me. Speaker Hyram, unless I am misinformed, once valued your advice.'

  Vale stayed silent. Silence was always the safest defence. Words only made trouble. Especially with this one. 'Well? Did he or did he not?'

  Vale shrugged. 'I cannot say, Your Highness. Only our late lord may say as to the value he found in what few words I had to offer. And he is dead.' Dead because of me. My fault.

  'So he is. You served him for a long time. Why do you suppose he turned his back on Shezira?'

  'Again I have no opinion to offer, Your Highness.' Because of you. You and your potions and your stepfather. Because of Zafir and because, in the end, he was weak like all men are weak when they grow old. He will not be making such a mistake again. He frowned. He would have to watch those thoughts lest they turned from thoughts into words and then to actions, and before you knew where you were, it would be him throwing people off balconies. He knew exactly where he'd start too. He bit his tongue.

  Jehal's smile was bland and false. 'He was a good speaker, I think, until the end. He wanted too much to live, perhaps? Is that how Speaker Zafir turned him? Was she just too pretty to refuse, do you think?'

  'You might be a better judge of that than I, Your Highness.' Inside, Vale winced at his own words. Silence! Remember, silence is your defence.

  Jehal's eyes glittered. 'Really?'

  'Love of women and a long life are two things that we of the Guard have long forsaken.'

  Jehal laughed. 'Oh, then I could never be an Adamantine Man. Although you do confuse me. There are whorehouses around your barracks, and I can tell you from exhaustive personal endeavour that some of them are really quite good.'

  'Love of women, Prince Jehal. We have forsaken love, not lust. We are swords. We sate ourselves in flesh as the need comes upon us and then we move on.'

  'Cold words, Night Watchman!'

  'Forgive me, Your Highness.' Vale bowed. 'They are not my words, nor those of any Guardsman before me. That is how Prince Lai described us.'

  'In Principles} I don't think so. I would have remembered that.'

  'Prince Lai wrote other works, less well read or well received, Your Highness. I have a small library of my own.' There, now why did you say that, Vale? That sounded like a boast, and Adamantine Men have no need to boast.

  Jehal cocked his head. 'You are a fascinating fellow. Especially for someone who has no opinions of his own. I've always admired Principles. We used to have all his other works in our own library and then we had a fire. I didn't know any copies had survived.'

  'The monastery in Sand has the most complete collection, Your Highness. I have but a few, but I would be honoured to offer them to you.' There. Is that enough? Will you go away and leave me alone now?

  'I will take you up on that, Night Watchman, but not as a gift. I couldn't take such treasures from anyone, least of all a man who has forsaken love. War is all you have left.'

  Jehal turned away but Vale didn't allow himself to relax. Hyram called him Viper because poison came out of his mouth, but there's some scorpion sting in him as well, I think.

  Sure enough, Jehal took one step and then stopped. 'Night Watchman, may I ask you a question on which your opinion is most certainly relevant. How many dragons do you think your scorpions and your legions can stop? More than three, I hope.'

  I will not rise to that. 'I cannot stop the dragons. Your Highness. Only their riders.'

  'Then how many riders, Night Watchman?'

  'The answer to that is in Principles, Your Highness, as I'm sure you know. A legion may face ten mounted
dragons at best before it breaks. I have twenty legions. In the field, therefore, two hundred riders at best. Here, behind these walls and towers, maybe twice that number.'

  'Are you sure?'

  'No one can be sure of such a thing, Your Highness. No one has ever tried.'

  'It would be a slaughter.'

  'The palace and the city would burn and most of us would die. Perhaps all. But that's what we are for.'

  Jehal laughed, although he didn't seem to find anything funny. 'Then get yourself ready, Night Watchman, for when Zafir puts Shezira to the sword, the north will come to war with you. The flower of their manhood will be pierced by your bolts, while these walls and towers are smashed and burned and your legions with them. There will be nothing left of any of you. Everything Hyram preserved will go up in flames. If the realms survive at all, he will be remembered as the Great Fool.'

  Vale bowed his head. 'If the speaker commands us to fall on our spears, that is what we will do.' One might ask where you will be, Prince, when this war comes. Here with us, defending the heart that holds the nine realms together? Or will you watch from a distance and pick off the survivors? Shall we see if I can guess?

  'You do that, Night Watchman. You do that.' Jehal still had a smirk on his face as he turned away again. Vale kept very still, holding back the urge to wipe the smirk away with his fist. At least Jehal didn't turn back a second time.

  He put the Viper out of his mind and immersed himself in inspecting the defences. His soldiers had placed over three hundred scorpions on the walls in less than three days and all of them needed to be perfect – he would accept nothing less. He watched as horsemen raced around the palace flying target kites from their saddles. By the end of the day, every scorpion had been fired. Each and every one of them worked. He knew which crews had hit their target with the first shot, which ones had hit it with their second, and which ones had failed and would have to be replaced. They would practise every day now until the council of kings and queens was done and the lords of the realms had dispersed back to their own lands. Long after dark he sat awake in his little room, burning lanterns, poring over rotas and lists, staring at his maps, shuffling crews around, placing his best at the points of the palace most likely to be attacked. Being certain that he was ready.