Stephen Deas - The King of the Crags

Jeiros sat very still and quiet for a few seconds. Then he took a deep breath and let it out very slowly. 'But whose orders, Night Watchman?'

'The speaker's orders, Grand Master.'

That's me told then. He didn't get up though. 'I know how Adamantine Men are made. Do you know how to make an alchemist?'

Vale sighed and his face hardened. Jeiros had outstayed his welcome now, that much was clear. 'Every year I watch as thousands of the desperate and the poor come to the City of Dragons to try and sell their children to the Order. I know that some of the ones who don't get taken are left on our doorstep. I know there are men who will, for a fee, take a child from its parents and bring it here. I know that a few such men are even honest. I also know that a good few are not. I know that the Taiytakei slavers profit handsomely.' He smirked. 'What do you want me to say, alchemist?'

'That there are secrets no one else should know, Night Watchman. Not even a speaker. Not even you.'

'I don't like secrets, Jeiros. The blood-mages built their power on secrets. You alchemists broke them by breaking their secrets first, but you have forgotten that and now you follow the same path. So now I am left to wonder, what can you know that the speaker should not?'

Jeiros stood up. 'I should go. But I can think of two things. The first is that we alchemists are not so far removed from the blood-magi we overthrew as to leave any of you comfortable, if you knew the truth of it. The second is a secret that you know too, if only you'd cast your mind back to think of it. I know what Narammed said when he gave you your name, Night Watchman. Do you remember?' When night comes it falls to the Adamantine Men to keep watch over the nine realms. No need to spell it out though. Vale would know the words inside and out. 'How dark does it have to be, Vale?'

'Let me ask you this, master alchemist. If there is to be a war, can you not stop it? Can you not simply take away their dragons? How many cities will burn before you do that? If our land is burned by dragons who happen to have riders on their backs, why is that so different from dragons that do not. If it all burns anyway, what exactly was the point of you being here?'

Jeiros' voice dropped to a dry whisper. 'When the dragons have riders, there is at least still some hope,' he breathed. 'That is the point.' The words sounded hollow though.

Vale hadn't moved as Jeiros went to the door; now the Night Watchman had his back to the alchemist. Vale didn't move. 'Well then,' he said very softly. 'Here's your answer. Pitch black, master alchemist. It has to be pitch black.'

Jeiros let himself out. He didn't bother trying to hide himself on the way back. All things considered, it seemed rather futile.

She was at her best when she was angry, and the more her fury waxed the more magnificent she became. Jehal watched her in silent admiration. He was thoroughly enjoying himself. Today's entertainment was watching acting Grand Master of the Order of the Scales Jeiros being metaphorically flayed alive. Yesterday it had been Tassan. The Night Watchman, it seemed, was now a routine victim of the speaker's ire. And so he should be. I would have him hanging from a gibbet. Ten thousand invincible warriors guard the palace, and look at the state of it! You should have taken your own life and spared everyone the embarrassment of looking at you.

'Unacceptable!' Zafir was already on her feet, but now she picked up the empty wine goblet from the arm of her throne and hurled it at the grand master. It was a good throw, and would have hit Jeiros squarely in the face if he hadn't ducked. It clanged across the floor behind him and lay still. None of the servants who usually rushed to clear away errant goblets and the like moved a muscle.

There was a moment of silence. Jeiros was red-faced and trembling, although out of fear or fury was hard to tell. Probably a rather delicious mixture of both, since Zafir's temper was both fierce and unpredictable. Jehal kept his face stern, but inside he was beaming. Goblet throwing, the sport of kings. How I've missed this… Both Jeiros and the speaker looked like they'd had plenty of practice at this sort of thing while he was away. They might even have rehearsed it.

The silence continued. He could feel the tension between the speaker and her grand master rising and rising, until even the air between them seemed to be trying to get out of the way. With a sigh, he stood up. As soon as he did, he could feel the wave of relief through the hall. Thank the ancestors for Prince Jehal. He'd been doing a lot of this lately, almost from the moment he'd landed in the wreckage of the Adamantine Eyrie. The Red Riders' attack had been no more than a scratch, superficial and quickly healed, but the wound to Zafir's pride had been savage.

See what happens when you don't listen to me? But that doesn't help either. Although Yd rather enjoy saying it. He bowed to Speaker Zafir. 'Your Holiness.' It took her longer than usual to give him a grudging nod and sit back down on her throne. She folded her arms angrily. Jehal set his eyes on the grand master. Jeiros was looking at him with a mixture of pleading and defiance.

'The council of kings recognises Prince Jehal!' boomed the court herald. Jehal winced. Calling this farce a council of kings was absurd, but that was Zafir for you. Calling it that had at least forced King Sirion out of his tower and into the chamber.

'Grand Master Jeiros.' Jehal favoured him with a smile. 'Let us be reasonable. No one holds the Order responsible for the Red Riders, whoever they are…'

'I should hope not! They've burned-'

'Several of the Order. I know. We all know.' Jehal let his smile slip. 'Please don't interrupt me while I'm speaking. It does nothing for my disposition. If you do it again, I shall simply leave you to resolve your dispute with the speaker on your own. Doubtless you've always wanted to make a close inspection of the dungeons under the Glass Cathedral.'

Jeiros went from being red in the face to purple. 'How dare you threaten me, Prince. Only a council of kings can-'

He didn't get to finish before Zafir was on her feet again. 'This is a council of kings, you old fool,' she shouted. Jehal could see her hand looking for something else to throw. A knife, perhaps?

Jeiros took a step forward. 'Then where are the kings?' he shouted back.

Zafir came down from her throne, step by step towards him. 'Would you have me drag Queen Shezira and King Valgar out of their prisons? Prince Tichane is here for King Valmeyan. King Tyan is dead and Prince Jehal is not yet crowned. King Silvallan hasn't yet deigned to answer my summons, and King Narghon is content to let us resolve this matter without his advice. What would you have me do?'

Jeiros snorted. 'Prisoners and princes. I say again, where are the kings? Where are the queens?'

'King Sirion is here,' thundered Zafir, ' and I am a queen!'

There was another moment of silence. Jehal broke it, clapping his hands slowly. Before either of you do anything irrevocably stupid.

'Bravo, Grand Master, bravo. A cheap point bravely won. Yes, Speaker Zafir has still yet to appoint an heir to h'er own throne and pass on her crown.' He shot Zafir a glance that told her to keep quiet. He could hardly count on her doing what he asked these days, but on this occasion she did. 'I applaud your courage.'

Grand Master Jeiros took a step forward. 'Until she does-'

'But not your wisdom!' barked Jehal. 'Where do the Red Riders strike? South of the Purple Spur. In Queen Zafir's lands, in the speaker's lands, in the border between them. It is a well known principle of war, written in the first chapter of Prince Lai's Principles, that an effective campaign requires a single absolute leader. Speaker Zafir is wise to keep her crown until these renegades have been crushed. I'm sure, as soon as that has been done, she will be delighted to name her heir.' He shot Zafir another glance. And you better had.