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

He thought about walking across it – keep on going, never come back – but you never knew with frozen lakes whether the ice was as thick as your leg or as thick as your fingernail, and there was really no reason to go and find out. Instead, he turned to follow the edge of the ice as it arced towards the valley below. A few run-down old buildings lay ahead of him that way, perched by the edge of the lake. Thick snowdrifts sat between them, more on the roofs. Half buried and half frozen. The sort of place to put unwanted sell-swords and the like. Not a part of the eyrie where dragon-knights would live, but still, they sometimes turned up in the most unusual places…

Almost as he thought it, he caught a glimpse of something moving. Someone. He tensed, nocked an arrow to his bow and dropped to a crouch. Whoever it was, they weren’t likely to be friendly. He tried to remember what he’d seen from the air as Snow had approached the eyrie. Nothing useful. Most of the time his eyes had been screwed shut, and even when they weren’t, he’d had a snowstorm blowing in his face. He drew the arrow back a way as warmth filled him. It would be good to kill a dragon-knight again.

Somewhere behind him one of the dragons let out a mighty shriek, loud enough to make him flinch. The sharp tang of smoke was starting to taint the air. By the end of the night you’d be able to smell what had happened here right across the mountain.

Whoever was there, they’d vanished among another collection of shacks towards the edge of the mountain. Kemir peered into the gloom. He shouldered his bow and let his hands drift to the knives in his belt as he crept a little closer. Knives were better for close work.

His feet were starting to hurt. The cold.

A scuff of leather on stone and a half-imagined glimpse of movement alerted him again. He peered into the fading twilight. The sun was behind the other peaks now, the sky still lit up in purples and orange on the horizon, nothing but the dark grey snow clouds above. The air was turning bitter. His toes were starting to go numb.

‘Who’s there?’

At the voice, Kemir leapt into the air and took a step back. He still couldn’t see anyone. Not a dragon-knight though. The voice had a quiver in it. A dragon-knight wouldn’t sound like that. A dragon-knight would come out with a roar and a drawn sword. An alchemist? Now that would be precious, wouldn’t it? What would I do with an alchemist, I wonder?

‘Who’s there?’ The voice called out again, louder. ‘What’s going on? Do you know what’s happening?’ Still no movement. Kemir’s ears thought they knew where the voice was coming from, but his eyes weren’t pulling their weight.

All right. Let’s pretend I’m one of you. Let’s pretend I didn’t come gliding in on the back of those monsters. Let’s pretend I have nothing to do with this. Wouldn’t that be nice? ‘My name’s Kemir. I’m a scout. A tracker. I been helping hunt bandits in the deep valleys.’ The sort of work he’d done with Sollos for a time, before they’d grown sick of it. ‘Ancestors! What is happening?’

Movement. He saw the man again now, closer, coming towards him ‘I thought you might…’ The man took a deep breath and blew it out. ‘Are we being attacked?’

They both glanced up to the castle. Two dragons were still up there, merrily setting it alight. You couldn’t see them, but you could see the flames against the darkening sky. ‘Are we being attacked?’ Kemir arched an eyebrow. How stupid, exactly, did you have to be?

‘But that’s… that’s not possible.’ The man finished quietly, shaking his head. ‘Not possible.’

Kemir let him come closer. He couldn’t help glancing at the man’s feet as he crunched through the snow. Good boots. Warm boots. He quietly slipped one of his long knives out of its sheath. ‘Yeah. Who’d do a thing like that?’

‘The Red Riders, I suppose. They say they kill even alchemists and Scales.’

‘Never heard of them.’ Kemir held the knife so the man could see it now. ‘That’s close enough, thanks. What’s your name and what are you doing out here?’

‘I… I was looking for some heavy rope. For the new hatchling. It needs rebinding.’

Kemir lowered the knife. It was hard to feel particularly threatened by someone who seemed so completely unaware that he might have his throat cut at any moment. ‘All right. Come closer so I can see you.’ Whatever rebinding is.

The man came obediently closer. Kemir could see him more clearly now. The man’s face was lumpy and hard, the skin cracked and weeping in places. A Scales.

‘Look at you,’ grunted Kemir. ‘You’re almost a statue.’ Ancestors! The world outside was ending and this idiot was out looking for a piece of rope? Why aren’t you running away?

The Scales bowed awkwardly. ‘It’s the new hatchling.’ He looked out across the flat shoulder of the mountain where the bulk of the eyrie was now ablaze. ‘Did you see them come?’ He cringed as two huge gouts of fire lit up the night. The snow had stopped now, clearing the air so you might have been able to see properly, except that everything was now shrouded in warm mist instead. Everywhere buildings were burning. The Scales wrung his hands but he still seemed to be more confused than anything else. As if none of this actually mattered. ‘Whose riders are they? Are they from the speaker?’

Kemir licked his lips. By the look of things, the worst that this Scales was going to do to him was give him a dose of Statue Plague. And if he lived long enough to die of that, well then that would be a lot longer than he’d been expecting. ‘Do you really want to know?’ He shrugged. ‘No one’s riding them, Scales. There are no dragon-knights giving the orders here. The dragons are doing it themselves.’ It was hard to read the expression on the Scales’ face. Hatchling Disease had him well enough in its grip that he almost didn’t have one at all, just a hard mask of skin like stone. ‘I think after this they have some ambition to destroy the world or something like that.’ He shrugged and stepped closer so he could look the Scales in the eyes. ‘If you’re wondering what you should do, I recommend running away. Not that it’ll do you much good. Or you could wait until it’s all over and then hope the dragons aren’t hungry any more. Which is pretty much just as futile, since, as far as I can make out, dragons are always hungry. So what’s in all these huts then?’

The Scales looked about. ‘Empty barrels. Rope. Crates. Bit of firewood. The alchemists use them to store all the things they don’t need any more.’

Kemir pointed out into the gloom, away from the glowing mists and the fires and the shadows of the mountainside and towards the great empty space of the valley below. There was nothing there, no shape, no silhouette, just the edge of the mountain and then a big grey nothing. And the path around the lake. ‘Where’s that go?’

The Scales shrugged. ‘The sluice at the end of the lake. Then I suppose it goes on down the mountainside. I never looked.’

‘That way then. I recommend you run that way.’

He turned away, one knife drawn just in case. Past the huts was the place where the dragons came to take their water. The snow was thin, a light frost of white. The ground beneath had been torn into a great sea of mud, filled with huge craters now frozen hard, uneven, begging for a man to trip and twist his ankle. Beyond, an embankment rose up to the edge of the lake, while the path itself dropped below the level of the water. On the other side, Kemir could see the edge of the mountain, not far away and getting closer with every step. He twitched, uneasy. The sun was setting, the eyrie was already in shadow. The darker it got, the more chance he had of being ambushed.