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

‘Viper!’ Hyrkallan spat from where he stood on Sirion’s right; Queen Almiri was on Sirion’s left. She looked twice as old as he remembered, the paleness of her skin setting off the dark rings under her eyes. Hard to get a good night’s sleep when your realm’s been burned to ash, eh?

She hissed at him as though she’d read his mind. ‘Son of a whore.’ She turned to Sirion. ‘What’s he doing here?’

Jehal met her gaze. All the contempt she threw in his face, well, he’d just throw it right back. ‘I am the speaker, Your Holiness.’ Jeiros and the Night Watchman were behind him. The old priest, Aruch, was sat on the blasted earth among the dragons, too old and unsteady to come out onto the bridge.

Almiri took a quick step forward and shouted in his face. ‘You are a traitor and a murderer! Evenspire burned because of you!’

‘Really?’ He didn’t let himself flinch but met her assault with a faint smile. ‘Because I thought it was Zafir who burned your castle. I seem to remember fighting against her on that particular occasion. Perhaps I am mistaken, or perhaps you and yours had already fled the skies by then and were too far away to see.’

If Sirion hadn’t gripped her shoulder, Jehal thought she might have flung herself at him to rip him to pieces with her bare hands while they tumbled into the rushing waters below. ‘You lying, cess-born stain on the floor of a-’

‘Enough.’ Sirion didn’t even raise his voice and Almiri stopped at once. Fascinating. Good to know who pulls her strings. Not her sister, then. And speaking of sisters, I wonder where little Jaslyn might be. Not here, it seems.

Sirion’s voice was cold. ‘We are here to request a council of kings and queens so that a new speaker may be chosen.’ He gave Jehal a hard look. ‘It’s a pity there are only four of us. Five and we could have have held it here and now.’

Jehal smirked in his face. ‘Four? Lord Hyrkallan has helped himself to the last of Shezira’s daughters, has he?’ Well that answers that, then. He turned to Hyrkallan. ‘Congratulations, brother. Although I still think I got the best of them.’

Hyrkallan growled through his teeth. ‘Queen Jaslyn is a true queen of the north.’

Jehal cocked his head. ‘Really? The impression I got was of a woman who hadn’t quite grown up yet, cold and hard and far more interested in her dragons than her people.’ His brow furrowed. ‘Although now I think about it, maybe you are right and she is her mother’s daughter.’ He forced a smile. ‘Your Holiness. I’m sure the alchemists will post a notice in the Glass Cathedral shortly. Did you bring the sealed bands with you? I’m sure the other realms will be aching to know that the north has a new king.’

‘We are betrothed, King Viper, not yet wed.’

‘Oh. Then we are three kings, not four.’ Jehal put on his disappointed face. ‘And I had so looked forward to comparing sisters with you, Lord Hyrkallan. Lystra turned out to be quite a surprise when it came to our conjugal duties. Quite enthusiastic, if a little crude. I wondered whether her big sister had similar appetites. Or perhaps some different hidden desires. She strikes me as the sort, after all.’ He watched as Hyrkallan’s face turned storm-cloud purple. It’s always so easy with your type. ‘Queen Lystra and Queen Jaslyn are very close, after all. I heard a rumour from my eyrie-master that they might be’ – he pursed his lips – ‘very close indeed. Perhaps, if an alliance is to be agreed between our realms, we might seal it in a very particular way.’ He glanced at Sirion. ‘Hyram acquired some very large beds in his time as speaker. I’d been wondering what to do with them.’

He didn’t get any further. Hyrkallan let out a roar and lunged. Jehal tried to dance out of reach but his injured leg betrayed him and buckled. He staggered and then fell back. The bridge twisted, rolling him to one edge until it caught him with its ropes. Hyrkallan had his sword out by now, every intention of using it, and neither Sirion or Queen Almiri showed any sign of stopping him. In fact, if anything, they looked positively pleased. A cripple baiting an armoured knight? I really need to have words with my mouth. Jehal closed his eyes, but the blow never came. Instead, he heard steel clash on steel. When he opened his eyes again, Vale was standing over him. He had Hyrkallan’s blade caught on his own. The Night Watchman was shaking his head.

‘I cannot allow that, My Lord.’

‘You cannot deny the realms would be better for it,’ growled Hyrkallan through gritted teeth.

Vale didn’t move. ‘I cannot allow that, My Lord,’ he said again. He spoke slowly and carefully. Jehal took a deep breath and muttered a prayer to thank whatever ancestors had made the Night Watchman so blindly committed to his duty.

‘Night Watchman, Lord Hyrkallan has raised a blade against the speaker,’ he gasped when he’d recovered enough composure to speak. ‘I believe that makes his life forfeit, does it not?’

‘No injury has been done,’ snapped Vale.

Jehal snorted. ‘I am flat on my back. I have bruises from my fall.’ Ah well. Not as blindly committed as you could be then.

‘You fell because you are a cripple.’

And whose fault is that? Fury helped Jehal find the strength to get back to his feet. ‘His intent was clear, Night Watchman.’ He could see Hyrkallan’s blood was up. The fool actually wanted to fight. With a bit of luck Vale would have to kill him if it came to blows. ‘See his face. He thinks he can beat you.’

‘No.’ Jeiros. ‘There will be no fighting here.’

Hyrkallan sneered. ‘Hyram named you Viper, but I am reminded more of our desert lizards whose bite is slow poison. They strike and then they must cower and hide for days as they track their prey to its death.’ He leaned a little closer.

Vale didn’t budge. ‘Where there is a crown there must be someone to wear it, My Lord. We can all think what we wish of King Jehal, but until a council of kings decrees otherwise, or until Speaker Zafir returns from the dead, he wears that crown. It is the crown I am sworn to defend, not whoever may wear it.’

Until Speaker Zafir returns from the dead… That was why Jeiros was being so secretive. He doesn’t want Vale to know! Oh my! How delicious!

Jehal’s head was spinning. For some reason, he had an ally. Why Jeiros was helping him was another matter entirely. He spat on the bridge in front of Hyrkallan’s feet. ‘Shall we have our dragons roar and shriek at each other until we are deaf as well as stupid, or are we done with waving swords and threats? If we are, then perhaps we should get on with what we all came here to do. Otherwise…’ He turned to face King Sirion. ‘You have been quiet, Your Holiness. Do you have anything you wish to add? I will be quite pleased to stand on this bridge and trade insults with anyone who cares to play for as long as you wish. I imagine I will quite enjoy it.’

‘Enough!’ Jeiros banged his staff on the bridge. Jehal froze, mid-thought. Even Hyrkallan flinched, if only with surprise because the alchemist usually spoke so quietly. Only Vale seemed unmoved.

Jeiros stood between Vale and Hyrkallan. Gingerly, he pushed both of their swords away. ‘I have words for you all. You will all listen to me now, because I am the Master of the Order of the Scales. We are the ones who tame your dragons. We are the ones who make them and we are the ones who, if we wish, can break them. What are you, any of you, My Lords, without your dragons?’ He looked at Jehal ‘What becomes of you, Your Holiness? What do you become without your dragons? Nothing.’ He spun to face Hyrkallan and Sirion before Jehal could answer. ‘What of you, my noble kings? How long will you rule with no dragons at your backs? There are rogue dragons loose in the realms again. My order lies crippled at their talons already. And all you can do is war among yourselves. Madness! You will doom us all. And so you will stop.’