Stephen Deas - The King of the Crags

'Grand Master.' The Night Watchman was sitting in a hard-backed chair, tilting back with two bare feet up on a little table, squinting at a book that he was holding at arm's length from his.

'I thought you'd be asleep.'

'We never sleep, remember?' Vale Tassan slowly leaned forward, took his feet off the table and replaced them with the book. Jeiros wasn't sure whether he meant it as a joke or whether he was serious.

'You need a Taiytakei eyepiece,' he said, to change the subject.

'No, I don't.' A slight smile played across Vale's face. 'I need books to be scribed with bigger letters. The Night Watchman cannot wear an eyepiece.'

'He can in the privacy of his own chambers.' Jeiros stepped in and closed the door behind him. When he turned back, Vale was giving him a very pointed look.

'And what, exactly, is this privacy to which you refer, Grand Master? As you see, my door is always open to my men and my friends.'

'Well it's shut now.' Jeiros looked for a bolt or a lock but there wasn't one. 'I require a moment or two of your attention, Night Watchman.' His scowl softened and he bit absently on a knuckle. 'I need an ear, perhaps.'

'Then go and see Aruch.' Vale shook his head and made to settle back down with his book.

'No. I need your ear, Night Watchman. Who do you serve?'

'What an odd question.' Vale cocked his head and then rose slowly to his feet. 'I serve the speaker, Grand Master. I am her sword and her shield. I execute her will and her enemies. That is my whole and only purpose. Would you like a drink? I don't myself, but I sometimes have visitors who do. I have a collection of fruit wines that I'm told is very good, and it seems a shame for them to go to waste.'

'No!' Jeiros took a few quick steps into the room and looked around for a place to sit down. All he could see was a chair by a table covered in maps. He took another step towards it and felt a hand on his arm, turning him, pulling him away.

'That table is for Adamantine Men,' said Vale quietly. 'Have my chair. I will squat on the floor. I'm quite used to it.'

'Do they teach you history when they make you a soldier? I don't suppose they do.'

'They teach you how to fight and how to die for your comrades,' said Vale mildly. Then he looked up at his walls, covered in bookshelves, books and scrolls, and made a gesture with his arm. 'However, I have undertaken extra study over the years.'

'Do you know how the Order of the Scales came to be?'

Now Vale smiled. 'No. I know at least half a dozen different stories which claim to be of how the Order of the Scales came to be. All of which disagree, and all of which are provably false, at least in part. Do you know, Grand Master? Which story have you come to sell me tonight? Is it the one where the alchemists are nothing more or less than blood-mages with a different name? Is it the one where you slew them or the one where you chased them away? What are you today? Are you noble heroes or dark villains?'

Jeiros clenched his fists. 'Let me tell you who we are. We are the ones who keep the dragons at bay. Not you, not the speaker, not the kings and queens of the nine realms. Us. Without us, none of the rest of you matter a whit. You'd all be dead in a flash. Yes, we are descended from blood-mages. Our power has its root in theirs. We are descended from those who sided with the men who became the kings and queens of the realms when the blood-mages were broken.'

Vale smiled amiably. 'All the stories I have read say that the blood-mages demanded sacrifices to appease the dragons. That their binding of the monsters required blood and plenty of it. A hundred slaughtered each and every week. I found that number in some story or other. And now you do it with potions. No blood at all?'

'Become an alchemist and find out,' snapped Jeiros. 'We keep the dragons in check. That is what we do and all you need to know. Above all else. Above everything else. Do your stories tell you how Narammed came to be the first speaker?'

'They agree rather better on that.'

'The nine realms were falling to war. We chose Narammed. Us. The alchemists. We put ourselves behind him and we pushed him to power. He was wise enough to understand what we were doing and why. The speaker keeps the kings and queens of the nine realms in check so that we alchemists can do what we must without impediment. That is the purpose of the speaker. They are arbiters, that's all. Most who have come since have not understood it and none save Narammed himself would acknowledge it, but we do not serve the speaker. The speaker serves us.'

Vale chuckled. 'I don't think SO, Grand Master, but you could try that on at the next council and see how far you get.'

'The speaker serves the realms, Vale. So do I. So do you. We all have the same master. You know. strictly, according to all the laws of the Order, we serve Aruch. Both of US.'

Vale was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, he spoke very softly, almost whispered. 'Some of what you say I grant is true. The first Adamantine Men gave themselves to Narammed because they understood his cause. He had forsaken his dragons and the power that came with them so that he could mediate the disputes of other kings. The story that everyone thinks they know is that Narammed slew a dragon with his bare hands.' He cocked his head and gave Jeiros a glance, begging to be contradicted.

'With the Adamantine Spear, Night Watchman. That's the legend. Except it's not true.'

'No.' Vale smiled and shifted on his haunches. 'Because it wasn't Narammed; it was some other warrior. The nameless hero. All these other warlords we call kings and queens were nothing more than thugs, brutal ones at that. Even those who were clever enough to understand Narammed's wisdom wouldn't have wanted it. So we showed them his strength instead. Us. The Adamantine Men. Even we don't know the name of the man who slew the dragon, but we revere him. He was the greatest hero of all. He gave the power of his name and his deeds to Narammed. We showed them that we could kill their dragons and that is why they bent their knees to Narammed. We went from one eyrie to the next carrying his message. The dragon-slayer.' Vale rocked back on his heels. He wasn't looking at Jeiros any more, but somewhere distant, off into the past.

'Don't get all misty-eyed on me, Night Watchman.' Jeiros took a deep breath and paused. The Adamantine Men almost worshipped their story. The Order had a different story, one with a lot more dragon poison in it, but with much the same outcome in the end. He'd been thinking of sharing it with the Night Watchman, but the look in Vale's eyes changed his mind. He settled for something else instead. 'It's a fine legend you have. But think. Your Stories speak of lone men with swords and axes slaying dragons. How possible is that? One man on his own cannot kill a grown dragon. Even the best of your soldiers could never, ever do that. Not by the strength of his arm. He must have been quite a clever fellow, don't you think?'

'It was a unique feat. One never to be repeated.' Vale snapped back to the present. 'What is your point, Grand Master? I would happily make a habit of talking history with you, but I suspect you have a point you wish to make. The trouble with you lot is that you're so used to coming at things askance that you've forgotten how to ask a direct question.'

'I am leading you to a certain way of thinking.'

'Then let me spare you the embarrassment of being any more ham-fisted about it than you already have. I will agree with you, within these four walls and never beyond them, that Speaker Zafir leaves a great deal to be desired. Nevertheless, were any man to come to my room late at night and intimate that I should enter into some sort of conspiracy with regard to ridding ourselves of her, I should be obliged to inform her, and she would doubtless have them killed or something equally unpleasant. I serve the speaker, Grand Master. Orders. The Guard obeys orders. From birth to death. Nothing more, nothing less.' He smiled, and there wasn't anything friendly about it this time. 'That's our creed.'