The Order of the Scales Deas - The Order of the Scales

‘What are you…’ Talking about? Your little sister is a liar, but that should hardly be a surprise. Shit! Come on, mouth, work!

Zafir stepped away and raised her voice. ‘Yes. Ordered your riders to rape a royal princess so you could watch because you can’t do it yourself? Was that it?’ She shook her head theatrically. ‘The realms will be a lot better without you.’ Ah, so that’s it. Playing to the crowd. You want a reason to kill me? Do you really think you need one? That makes you seem all the weaker, you know. Better you just did the deed. Please go ahead, though. Anything to put an end to this pain. Although, if you can spare one, I’d prefer an alchemist or blood-mage, who might actually be able to heal me. He laughed, a broken hacking sound. Zafir spun to face him, furious.

‘You laugh?’

‘Even when I could… I mostly preferred… boys… Or perhaps you didn’t… know.’

She came closer and a smile twisted her face. ‘I’ve been wondering which part of you I should cut off to send to Jehal. Your prick then. He’ll recognise it, will he?’

Meteroa laughed some more. In the face of the agony in his arm, it was that or weep. ‘There’s nothing… to cut. Tyan… saw to that… long time ago. You… know… nothing.’

‘Oh, I know quite enough.’ Zafir walked across to one of her riders and snatched his spear. Then she ran at him and jammed the spear into his belly with all the force she could muster. He gasped and groaned at the impact, but his armour held.

‘Hold the spear,’ she barked. Two of Zafir’s riders came and took hold of it. They seemed uncertain what to expect, until Zafir walked to the far end of the room and picked up a hammer. Meteroa felt himself almost vomit. This isn’t how I want to die.

‘Slow and painful?’ Zafir snarled as she drew close again, as if reading his mind. ‘No more or less than you deserve, eh? You were behind all of this, weren’t you? Jehal’s puppet-master. Hyram called him the Viper, but that’s you, isn’t it? You’re the venomous one.’

‘I think… you’ll find… Jehal… has venom… enough… for us both.’

Zafir cut him off. ‘Well if he does, you won’t be here to see it.’ She swung the hammer. It was a good blow, slamming squarely into the butt end of the spear, and with quite enough force to finally split the dragon-scale that protected him. The impact knocked all the air out of his lungs. Strangely, he barely even felt the pain of the metal barbs ripping his guts apart. Zafir struck the hammer again. That one hurt more, as the point emerged from his back, grating against his spine on the way. The third blow pinned the spear solidly into the throne.

Meteroa closed his eyes. If he wasn’t dying before, there was no escaping it now. Even a blood-mage couldn’t help him. There was nothing left to do but slip away as quickly as he could and brace himself for some mightily angry spirits waiting in the halls of his ancestors. But Zafir wouldn’t allow him even that much peace. The bitter acrid smell came again, slapping his senses, pummelling him awake until it was too much to bear even for a man with a spear through him. Until he opened his eyes.

‘Mandras ammonium.’ Zafir laughed at him. ‘But you know that, don’t you, master poisoner. Well here’s some poison for you of a different sort.’ She snapped her fingers. Three riders hurried over to stand beside her. Two of them were dragging Queen Lystra. The third held a squalling bundle. ‘While we’re having so much fun, before Prince Tichane stops blundering in circles outside and works out where the door is so he can run in to spoil it all, here’s one last kingly decision for you. I need to keep one of these two alive in case I have to bargain with Prince Jehal. One. The other doesn’t really matter to me, so I’d rather been thinking of getting rid of it. The question is which one. I thought Jehal might care more for his heir than his queen, but you decide. One of them gets to live and one of them gets to die. You get to watch.’

She meant it. Every word. Because she’s mad.

‘And if you don’t decide then I’ll just kill both of them out of spite. I know what you’re thinking. Jehal’s little starling bride has proven herself fertile. There could be plenty more heirs in her yet. But are there any left in Jehal, eh? Do you know? Does even he? Or has Shezira gelded him like your brother gelded you?’

Meteroa barely heard her. The choice was obvious. Play the odds.

‘So which one dies? Now!’

‘Lystra.’ The sound that emerged from his lips was little more than a hiss. Zafir smirked.

‘Really? Are you sure? I suppose I should have known, but…’ She cocked her head and gave him a knowing smile. ‘Are you trying to curry favour with me, Meteroa?’ She glanced down at the spear stuck through him. ‘It’s a bit late for that, don’t you think?’

‘Sword… and… axe…’ What came out of his mouth weren’t so much words as the bastard child of a hiss and a groan. Zafir’s smile grew even sweeter.

‘Pardon, My Lord?’

‘Sword. And. Axe.’ There. She must have heard this time.

‘Sword and axe?’ Zafir threw back her head and laughed, rich and throaty. She seemed to be truly amused. ‘Sword and axe?’ she asked again. ‘Lystra’s a girl, Meteroa. What do you think she can do? Do you think she’s even learned to fight? And how long ago did she give birth? She’s still milking her brat. She’s in no state to fight.’ She shook her head.

‘Scared, Zafir?’ If she didn’t bite soon then the pain was going to get too much. He could barely speak.

Her smiled faded and her face fell to stone. ‘You think that’s going to work?’

Meteroa mustered the last of his strength. He managed a weak shrug. ‘I just want to see a little sport while I die.’

The smile came back. She gave him one last long look, then nodded her head. ‘Then yes. Sword and axe. Just for you.’ She tapped hard on the shaft of the spear, which sent such a shock of pain through Meteroa that he nearly passed out.

When the ammonium forced him back to his senses, Zafir had turned away and raised her voice to her riders. ‘Get me an axe. Give Queen Lystra an axe too. A sword as well if she knows how to hold one.’ Zafir sauntered away from Meteroa into the centre of the throne room and drew her sword. She was already armoured and she began to prowl up and down, swishing it back and forth. She could handle a blade, he could see that much. Whether she could handle it well was another matter. I’m the last person to ask.

It hit him then that he really was dying. Never mind the pain and the confusion and drifting, he was coming to an end. This wasn’t a dream. No more Meteroa. The end of his line. Unless Jehal was his, which was a distinct possibility. But even then it’s not looking very promising, is it?

He watched as Lystra was pushed out towards Zafir. You. Your fault. If Jehal hadn’t decided that he wanted to keep you, this would never have happened. I would never have come here. There wouldn’t have been a Battle of Evenspire. Valmeyan would never have left his mountains. I wouldn’t be dead. Suddenly he didn’t much care which one of them lived and which one died.

Someone tossed Lystra a sword. Someone else tossed her an axe. They landed by her feet. Zafir was still prowling back and forth in front of her. For a second Meteroa thought that Lystra was going to fold. She’ll stare at the weapons. He sighed. A little quiver of the bottom lip. A faltering step away and then she’ll fall to her knees and weep and beg, and Zafir will watch and laugh for as long as it suits her. Then she’ll give me a little glance because she’ll need to know that I’m still here to see, and then she’ll end it with an axe in Lystra’s skull. Why did I even bother… Oh.