Stephen Deas: The King of the Crags

'We have no evidence at all against Queen Jaslyn, Your Holiness,' snapped Jeiros. 'And we're bothering with this because we are the custodians of the nine realms and we have a sacred duty to do whatever is possible to keep the realms at peace and prevent another dragon-war.'

'And yet here we are starting one,' drawled Prince Tichane. Another dragon-prince to despise. Too much like Jehal in too many ways.

Zafir turned her smile on Jeiros. 'And what do you say regarding Queen Almiri, Master Alchemist? Has she been helping the Red Riders or not? How is her supply of potions? Missing any is she?'

Jeiros sank into his chair and shrugged his shoulders. 'I cannot say for sure. The Red Riders stole most of what they need from you, Your Holiness. But yes, if I have to say one way or the other, some are missing.'

As far as Vale could see that sealed Almiri's fate. As soon as he was no longer needed, he left them to it. The south was going to war with the north. Zafir already had her dragons stationed around the palace. Silvallan's were on the way. King Narghon and King Jehal would follow. As many as seven hundred dragons would fly across the Purple Spur. Even if Queen Jaslyn came to her sister's aid, they were still outnumbered two to one. From Eisal's face, King Sirion planned to have no part of the fight either way. So the north would lose and that would be that. Speaker Hyram's legacy would be over. Queen Shezira's line would be finished. And in the middle, almost unnoticed, Evenspire and most of the Blackwind Dales would go up in flames. Idly, Vale wondered how many people would burn and how many would starve. A lot, most likely.

He climbed all the way to the top of the Gatehouse, its gates wide and tall enough to let in a dragon. He stood on the battlements, close to the edge. There was hardly any space. Twenty scorpions filled the platforms on the top of the Gatehouse towers.

He looked down The road from the palace gate curled away to the right. The first things that caught his eye were the three cages. What was left of Queen Shezira, King Valgar and Prince Sakabian. The crows had had their fill and there wasn't much left but bones. He had other cages ready, just in case. There was one in particular that he'd made for Princess Lystra. At least he wouldn't be needing that any more. When the news had reached the palace of Lystra's murder, the speaker had beamed for days.

Beheading kings and hanging their bodies in cages. Executing her own cousins. Hyram would never have done such things.

The road descended around the palace hill towards the City of Dragons and the Mirror Lakes. The city still bore the scars of the Red Riders' attack. Zafir should have crushed them the second they were born. Did she leave them just so that she could have her war?

Probably. Which meant that everyone who'd died in the city that day had died for Zafir's vanity. Vale gritted his teeth. Orders, he reminded himself. The Guard obeys orders. From birth to death. Nothing more, nothing less. It is not our place to praise or to condemn, merely to execute the speaker's will.

Around to the south lay the Hungry Mountain Plain. Out in the distance, a wooden platform still stuck up from the fields. The tower we built to celebrate the end of Speaker Hyram's reign. Ten years of peace. We gave up our lives so that princes and kjngs could have sport with their dragons, so that Hyram could show off how strong we are. And who won that tournament? Zafir. She cheated and Hyram let her get away with it. He ought to have taken the tower down, but somehow he'd never got around to it. Because there was always too much else to do? No. Be honest with yourself, Vale Tassan. Because you can't quite let go of the speaker you used to serve. Not for the one that's come in his place.

He turned his eyes to the north. Zafir would be flying that way soon. She'd be gone from the palace. He looked along the walls. Three hundred scorpions and two thousand men. In the city he could place five hundred more scorpions and the bulk of his soldiers. Putting more scorpions up in the Spur near the mouth of the Diamond Cascade would be sound, although he couldn't for the life of him think how to get them up there without getting some dragons to carry them.

He stopped himself. What am I thinking? Am I really thinking about the best ways to defend the palace? From whom, Night Watchman? From the King of the Crags? Is that who you think you might need to fight? King Jehal? Do you think King Sirion will try to seize the throne while Zafir is away? Or do you fear that Queen Jaslyn will snatch a victory despite the numbers stacked against her? Because if you allow yourself to have an opinion for a moment, any one of them, even the Viper, would make a better speaker than Zafir. So are you really thinking of how to defend yourself against the multitude of enemies that Zafir has made for us in the short months of her reign? Or are you thinking of something else, Vale Tassan?

He stared at the scorpions lining the palace walls, at the bodies in the cages, at the black scars in the City of Dragons and the tower on the plains, the last vestige of speaker Hyram's reign.

Orders. The Guard obeys orders. From birth to death. Nothing more, nothing less. It occurred to him that while the Adamantine Men vowed to obey the speaker, the alchemists made a different vow. Their vow was to serve the realms.

I thinks I like the alchemist vow better.

He turned back to look out over the palace. Someone else had slipped out of the council. Lord Eisal, judging by his gait. Vale watched him come towards the Gatehouse. Eisal wasn't built for speed, but he was doing his best. He looked furtive too. Anxious. Scared. Or is that my imagination? Although we have just witnessed the start of a war, and it would only be proper to be anxious. After all, it's not hard to imagine who's going to be next after the speaker's done with Shezira's brood.

Eisal reached the stables and hurried inside. Going to the city, My Lord? Or to the eyrie? He sighed. Could you not at least be a little less obvious? The council hasn't even dissolved and here you are, rushing away. To whom, Lord Eisal? Now that I've seen you, I need to know to whom. I don't suppose you'd care to save us both some trouble. I could simply ask and you could simply tell me and then we could both be about our business.

No. Reluctantly, Vale stood up and stretched his legs. Then he ran down the steps to the foot of the Gatehouse. Lord Eisal was already gone but the guard always kept a couple of mounts saddled and ready in case the speaker needed to send an urgent message to any of her eyries. Vale helped himself. He followed Eisal carefully, discreetly, down into the City of Dragons. If Eisal was trying to be subtle then it was clearly his first attempt. Mentally Vale was already seeing him hanging outside the gates in another cage. Simply for being so inept. That would be reason enough.

Eisal rode into the circus at the heart of the city. In the centre an obsidian statue of a dragon rose fifty feet into the air. Standing on the dragon's head was a man with a sword, poised to bring his blade down into the monster's skull. The first Night Watchman, some said, slaying a dragon with his bare hands.

Around the dragon, a ring of fountains chattered and bubbled, filling the circus with noise and spray, adding to the damp that always filled the air from the Diamond Cascade above. Eisal dismounted. He led his horse between the fountains and stopped beside the statue of the dragon. Vale followed on foot, slipping purposefully through the loose crowds that always thronged in the city centre. He didn't have to wait long to see who Eisal had come to meet. Two men, tall, broad and unmistakable, detached themselves from the crowd and stood with Eisal beside the dragon. The meeting lasted barely thirty seconds and Vale wasn't close enough to hear anything that was said, but then he didn't need to be. He could see it. He could see it in the faces of the riders at the statue. It is decided. The war is coming. That's what Eisal was saying.