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

Vale walked out into the hammering rain and the smell of scorpions. He was a soldier, a man of action, after all. Sometimes any decision at all was better than nothing. He had places to go. To Jehal, but first down the stairs of the Gatehouse, across the open emptiness of the Gateyard and the Fountain Court, past the dark bulk of the Speaker’s Tower to the Glass Cathedral. To Aruch, the daft old priest who sat half asleep by his altar most of the time these days. Aruch had hardly spoken a word since he’d married Zafir to Hyram. Sometimes Vale wondered whether the priest had quietly had a stroke while no one was looking.

Not that any of us would notice any more. Vale was soaked almost to the skin by the time he walked through the once-molten stone arches into the tomb-like gloom of the cathedral. The priests hardly bothered with torches or candles any more. The light and fire had gone out of the church long ago as it had gone out of its priest. Others found the torpor of the place alluring, but to Vale it was simply annoying. The Great Flame that was supposed to burn here was little more than a fading ember.

He found Aruch exactly where he thought he would, squatting by his altar, eyes closed. To anyone else, the priest would have seemed asleep, but Vale knew better.

‘I’m here for your advice, old priest. The Lesser Council has a decision to make. Speaker Zafir might be alive. Rogue dragons might be afoot. You know what I’d like to do? I’d put Zafir and Jehal in cages next to each other. I’d kill every dragon I can get my hands on. I’d be done with kings and queens and I’d put the Syuss on the Adamantine Throne. What say you, old priest? Do I have your blessing?’

The priest started shaking. It took Vale a second or two to realise that he was laughing. Very slowly, Aruch lifted his head. He peered up at Vale. ‘You can do whatever takes your fancy, Night Watchman. I have seen into Jeiros’ dreams. He sees what is coming. He knows, in his heart, that there is nothing he can do. But you? You are what you are. Don’t let me stop you from trying.’ He rocked forward again, suddenly oblivious to Vale’s presence.

Another madman. So it’s down to me. Strange, how he knows my mind. Vale shook that away. He was a soldier. Maybe it’s simply obvious what must be done.

Jehal then. Finding the Viper wasn’t too hard. He was where they’d left him hours ago, in the Chamber of Audience, staring at his uncle’s finger. Some days the great arched windows let in the sun and lit up the room like a jewel; today they merely let in the rain and the wind. The Viper didn’t look up as Vale stalked in, dripping across the marbled floor. Apart from the two of them, the chamber was empty.

‘Have you come to kill me?’ asked Jehal as Vale drew closer. He didn’t look up.

Dispense with all manner of unpleasantness and cut to the chase? A fine thought. ‘Valmeyan has your queen.’ He saw Jehal wince as though Vale had hit him.

‘Perhaps she escaped. I suppose there’s always hope, although in this case not very much of it.’

‘I’m surprised you care.’ Jehal’s head snapped up. His eyes blazed and he glared at Vale. If looks could cut, I’d be slashed to pieces. But I’ve stared down dragons, Viper. Don’t even try. ‘He has your son too,’ he said mildly. At last I get to watch you really suffer.

‘Have you come to gloat, Night Watchman, or is there something else? Because if gloating is what you had in mind, you’re not doing a very good job. I take comfort from knowing they are still alive. Better that than dead or lost.’

Vale tossed the Mountain King’s message at Jehal’s feet. Jehal made no move to pick it up. ‘Valmeyan says that Zafir is still alive.’

Jehal shrugged. ‘I know. Go away, little man.’

Vale slapped him. As Jehal recoiled from that, the Night Watchman took his legs out from under him. The next thing he knew, the Viper was lying on his back, and Vale was standing over him. Just like on Narammed’s Bridge, except this time it is my own sword pointed at your throat.

‘I defended your life because of the title you wear,’ he hissed. ‘However little you may deserve it. Now it seems it should not be yours at all. You and Zafir, you are stains on the honour of Vishmir and his kin. You disgust me, both of you, yet I serve whichever one of you the law demands. It seems it is no longer you.’

Jehal brushed Vale’s sword aside. ‘When the time comes, Tassan, there will be no death slow enough or painful enough for you.’

Vale Tassan met his eyes. It was like trying to stare down a lizard, trying to out-glare a Night Watchman. ‘Nor is there one that I fear, Your Holiness.’

Come on Vale, just kill him.

No. I have not seen Zafir. For the moment, he is still the speaker. Still the creature I am sworn to defend.

Just kill him anyway.

No.

With a deep breath, he stepped away. He was making a terrible mistake. A part of him was certain of that. But then I would be a murderer. Common vermin. I would be no better than any of the rest of them. He shook his head. ‘Just go, Viper, before Zafir returns. Be gone and never come back.’

Slowly, painfully, Jehal dragged himself back to his feet. ‘Oh I’ll be gone, Night Watchman. I’ll be gone in the morning to the north. Let Hyrkallan have this throne. Or Sirion, Or anyone who wants it. My dragons I give to Queen Jaslyn. We will set my Lystra free. After that, you can all do with me whatever you want.’

Vale pursed his lips. He nodded. ‘I’ll hold you to that, Viper.’ He turned his back on the man who called himself speaker and walked back out into the rain.

Isentine watched the dragons land. B’thannan he recognised at once, blotting out half the sky. Some of the others too, some of Queen Jaslyn’s more notable riders. Then half a dozen more that Isentine hadn’t seen before. They came from the south, skimming across the endless dunes of the Sea of Sand. Over the lake that sat at the bottom of the cliff, up past the sweeping curves of ancient Outwatch to the landing fields. The thunder of their wings rattled the air. Isentine’s eyes followed them. He’d been living at Outwatch long enough to see every single dragon that Queen Jaslyn owned be hatched and raised and he knew them all. These belonged to someone else.

Not Sirion either – he knew those dragons too. Someone else. He turned out the guard in case it was someone important, then went back to watching. Even in his tower, he felt the ground quiver when B’thannan crashed to the earth. Out in the cattle paddocks the herd masters would already be rounding up the cattle they wanted to spare. Closer by, he saw his Scales run towards the dragons. He knew them all by name too, every one. They came to Outwatch as apprentices, alchemists in the making. They were the ones who failed, who weren’t quite clever enough or sharp enough or wise enough. Sometimes they were they ones who fell in love with their dragons all on their own, but usually not. Usually they needed a little help to become the devoted servant that was a Scales. Here, drink this. It will help with the Hatchling Disease. And it did. It helped with a lot of other things too. Lately he’d been wondering if he should feed it to his own queen. Treason for the greater good. With luck it wouldn’t come to that.

Hyrkallan was approaching. Some who had come with him were taking their time, but Hyrkallan was almost at a run, striding across the fields, his loyal riders at his heels. Isentine levered himself out of his seat high on the balcony of Outwatch tower and tottered down the hundred and twenty steps to the cavernous entrance hall. Its huge emptiness echoed around him. Almost everyone was gone, flown to the eyries in the south of the realm, waiting for war. He emerged from the tower as Hyrkallan reached the doors. Isentine bowed, exactly the right bow for a lord who was an equal. Not a lord who was a king, not yet. Queen Jaslyn had still to consummate her offer.