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

I don’t think so. But I’ve told you who took it. And if it’s just a spear… There was no reason to think that Jeiros would be wrong about something like that. Yet a blood-mage had saved his life to bargain for the spear, and the life of a dragon-king was surely worth more than a piece of mere metal…

‘You missed a bit,’ said Vale at Jehal’s shoulder. ‘The men ask the wizard how he will make the dragons drink his potions. And the wizard tells them that he won’t. And then he throws up his arms and makes his spell and tells the men that it’s them who get to drink, so the magic will get into their blood. And all they have to do is wait until the dragons come, and then let the dragons eat them and the spell will became a part of the dragons for ever. That’s all. And if enough of them say yes and are willing to die, then the dragons will be enslaved, but if there’s not enough, it’s men who will be slaves. And the men who did say yes to that, Your Holiness, they were my ancestors.’

Jehal nodded. He pushed himself away from his tree. His hands came away black from the charred bark. Wherever he went, wherever he looked, the signs of dragons were never far away. He hobbled after Jeiros. Maybe the alchemist was right. A cull. Of all the dragons of his enemies. That would do nicely. ‘That doesn’t seem very likely, Night Watchman. What seems much more likely is that your ancestors weren’t daft enough to drink dragon poison or whatever it was and then get themselves eaten. Tricky, I imagine, to father a child after you’ve been eaten.’

Vale didn’t seem offended. He simply shook his head. ‘No. But I would not expect you to understand.’

Maybe he was right, though. After all, there was an old and mostly forgotten law that an Adamantine Man could help himself to any woman he could get hold of before he went into battle. Maybe that was how they survived. Or maybe there wasn’t a law, just an old drinking song. He whistled to himself as he limped across the black earth. As he did, he heard the Night Watchman singing quietly along.

‘I fight dragons, I have no name, but I’m a warrior so there’s no shame

Off to battle I’ll soon be dead, but while I live I’ll share my bed

Wife or daughter, maiden, crone, lie with me, I’ll make you moan

My spear is huge, its shaft is hard, its point is savage and battle-scarr’d

Squirm and scream and shout out loud, I’ll give you sons to make you proud.’

They fell to silence. For a second Jehal paused. He turned back and stared at Vale. The Night Watchman was miles away, lost in thought. When he saw Jehal looking at him, he bowed. Jehal shrugged and shook his head. As perks went, that didn’t sound bad at all. At least not until you considered the almost certain fiery death that followed.

‘I did not see Zafir carry the spear to war, Your Holiness,’ said Vale quietly.

‘Then perhaps you should look for it.’ Jehal climbed laboriously up the ladder onto Wraithwing’s back. ‘A blood-mage, Vale. Look for a blood-mage who calls himself Kithyr.’

He saw the Night Watchman’s eyes, saw that the name meant something. Typical. Everyone knows more than me.

He closed his eyes to doze as the dragon took him home. Where a second messenger from the Pinnacles was waiting.

A lesser man might have reached the top panting and gasping for breath, or else taken the hundred-odd steps at a more gentle pace. Vale Tassan, Night Watchman, commander of the Adamantine Men, took them briskly and arrived at the top pleasantly refreshed. Even before he reached the roof, the smells came down to greet him. Wet stone, hot steel, oil. On the flat space on top of the Gatehouse tower a score of scorpions stood to attention in the rain. He looked up at the grey iron sky, a habit all Adamantine Men learned. Always look up. Always look out for dragons. In this weather he could barely even see the City of Dragons at the bottom of the hill, but he looked up anyway. A perfect day for war.

The top of the tower was large enough that a dragon could have stood there and spread its wings, if the roof had had the strength to bear the weight. Dozens of his soldiers stood, still and stoic in the rain, close to their weapons. He cast his eyes across the scorpions, across the men around them. They were ready. As ready as you could be for dragons. He would have preferred a heavy stone roof, but the dragon-scale canopies erected over the weapons would have to do. When it came to tooth and claw and tail, they might as well have been made of paper, but they’d keep the fire at bay.

Satisfied with what he saw, the Night Watchman ambled across the roof to the observatory in the corner, a slender and ornate stone dome amid the machines of war. He knocked sharply and pushed open the door without waiting for an answer. This side of the tower belonged to the alchemists. On another day he might have paused, perhaps shown a little more respect. On another day he might have stopped inside the door and taken a moment to look around at the maps, the charts of the stars, the Taiytakei farscopes and other strange instruments he didn’t understand.

On another day. Today he simply shook the rain from his armour, sat down in the only chair in the room and growled a reluctant greeting at the man who had summoned him.

‘You’re in a surly mood.’ Jeiros looked tired. Drained. Vale had seen that look before. The look of a man engaged in battle and slowly but steadily losing. Speaker Hyram, towards the end he’d had that look. And others before him.

‘My mood is whatever the realms require of me.’ Vale tried to smile. It wasn’t easy after what he’d had to do today. Letting Hyrkallan gut Jehal on Narammed’s Bridge would have been the easiest thing in the world. I might have given him a round of applause. So why did I stop him? Duty, that’s why. Duty and nothing else. Of course I’m in a surly mood.

Jeiros winced. ‘Don’t, Vale. Now you look surly and constipated.’

‘Flying on the back of the Viper’s dragons leaves me queasy, master alchemist.’ Vale let his face fall sour again. ‘Never mind me. You look like a rabbit cornered by a pack of hungry foxes. You called me here. What do you want?’

Jeiros picked up a decanter and poured himself a glass of wine. ‘When Grand Master Bellepheros vanished, it fell to me to keep the realms safe. A light touch here, a few words there. A little guidance. That’s how we work. That’s all we’ve ever needed.’ He tossed something across the room. ‘I suppose you’d better read this for yourself. You’ll find out soon enough.’ Vale plucked it out of the air. Dragon bone, hollowed out into a case for maps or scrolls. Ornately carved.

‘A pretty present.’ He shrugged. ‘I imagine you don’t get many gifts. I certainly don’t.’ He smirked. ‘Speakers get lots of gifts, but I doubt Jehal much liked his last one. Jehal and Meteroa are two snakes from the same nest.’

Jeiros pursed his lips. ‘Say what you like, Night Watchman. Prince Meteroa was the master of King Jehal’s eyries. Strictly speaking, he was mine.’

‘Ha!’ Vale threw back his head and laughed.

‘It hardly matters now. Meteroa is dead.’

Vale raised an eyebrow. ‘Losing a finger hardly seems a mortal wound to me. Is there something you wish to share.’

The alchemist wiped his brow. ‘That is a letter from Valmeyan in the Pinnacles. Zafir put a crossbow bolt through Meteroa’s skull and hacked his head off his shoulders. Valmeyan was kind enough not to send any more than his finger. I kept the rest from our speaker until after Narammed’s Bridge. I thought it best. He knows now. He has not taken it well.’

‘Had I heart, perhaps it would bleed for him.’ Vale blinked. ‘So Prince Meteroa is dead now, is he? Can’t say that troubles me.’ He stared at Jeiros, waiting. Waiting for the words that would wash away the numbness rising up from inside him, but the alchemist met his silence with a silence of his own. ‘Zafir, old man,’ said Vale softly, almost whispering. ‘You said Zafir. Is there something I very much need to know? Is that why you brought me up here? Did she survive Evenspire after all, old man? Could I have let Hyrkallan have his way with Jehal? Is that what you brought me here to tell me?’