Stephen Deas: The King of the Crags

Vale lost interest in Eisal. He followed the two men as they walked away from the statue and caught up with them halfway across the circus.

'What a fine afternoon,' he said when he was only a pace behind them. 'Wouldn't you say?'

The two men stopped. Very slowly they turned around. Vale had to force himself not to bow. Bowing would draw attention, and he wasn't sure he wanted that. Not yet. He settled for a slight nod of the head.

'Your Holiness. Forgive me if I intrude. King Sirion and Lord Hyrkallan. Two faces I had not expected to see in the Circus of Dragons at this time and certainly not together.'

Hyrkallan's hand went to his sword. 'Night Watchman,' he growled. 'Well well. I sang your praises to my last queen often enough but you are an unwelcome sight today.'

'I am called what I am called for a reason. Rider. When night comes it falls to the Adamantine Men to keep watch over the nine realms. You will not deny that the times are dark, I hope.' He glanced up at the statue. 'No one knows his name. Whoever he was he certainly didn't kill a dragon by standing on its head and bashing it with a sword. But the point remains.'

'You will not take us without a fight, Night Watchman,' said King Sirion. He spoke quietly. He almost sounded sad, Vale thought.

'And I don't see your men, Vale.' Hyrkallan, on the other hand, sounded like two slabs of rock grinding together. No sadness there. 'I followed Lord Eisal alone. On a whim, you might say.' Hyrkallan's hand gripped the hilt of his sword. Vale smiled. 'Do you think you could, Rider?' 'I think I could try.'

'Oh, I don't doubt that. You might hold me long enough for King Sirion to get away. Or you might not.' A flash of rage crossed Hyrkallan's face. Vale held up his hands. 'You don't need to try, Rider. I was never here. You may go. I have nothing to say to either of you.' There. I have betrayed my speaker. I have nowhere further to fall. He half turned and then stopped. 'No, I do have something to say to you. I have known you both through the reigns of two speakers. You are men of courage and of honour. Although at the moment it does not, I hope that the Adamantine Palace will one day welcome such men again. But I will say this to you. Fight your wars in the skies if you must, but do not bring them here. If you do, you will find that I have another name, one I wear for war.'

Hyrkallan almost grinned. 'If Zafir brings her dragons across the spur then I will meet them, no matter what my queen has to say. But I give you my word, I will not bring them here without your leave, Scorpion King.'

Vale smiled back. 'I hope your queen agrees with you, Rider.' He took a step away and then gave a final nod. 'Your Holiness. Your Highness. I will pray to all our ancestors. Let there be peace.' He glanced at King Sirion. 'Queen Shezira did not kill Hyram. I have very good reason to believe that now, Your Holiness.'

He turned and walked away. There. And now a thousand people have seen the captain of the Adamantine Men openly conspiring with enemies of the speaker. As far as I know, Zafir's still offering her own weight in gold for Hyrkallan's head. Sadly I don't have much use for gold. He walked back across the circus and got back on his horse. I could still tell her though. Would there be second thoughts? Would it make any difference if she knew that both Sirion and Hyrkallan will be waiting for her across the mountains?

He mulled that over on his way back up the hill. By the time he reached the top, he knew the answer. No, it wouldn't make any difference at all.

And that being the case, what would be the point in even mentioning it? He led his horse back into the stables, stripped off its saddle and started to brush it down. Working with horses always calmed him down. And when I'm done here, I suppose I'd better hurry and make another cage. I won't fit in the one we made for Princess Lystra.

But first, there was the little matter of a war.

Evenspire. Jehal slammed down his visor and plunged down through the air towards the city. The wind made it almost impossible to think and he clung on, pressing himself against Wraithwing, hugging the dragon's scales, trying to make sure there was no part of him that a hunter might catch hold of with its tail. Six of Almiri's hunting dragons had come after him. Four had lost their riders and were spiralling aimlessly towards the ground behind him. The other two were right behind him. He felt the first blast of fire wash over him. His dragon-scale armour kept the flames and the heat at bay. With his visor down he could barely see. For all he knew, Almiri had more dragons hidden in the city waiting for him. That's what I'd do. Outnumbered as she is, I'd try to kill me and I'd try to kill Zafir. And then I'd probably run away. But where had they come from?

'Back up!' he hissed. The words were lost to the rush of air but that didn't matter. The dragon would hear them even if he spoke in silence. 'Up! Up to the rest of the dragons!' Wraithwing is a war-dragon. He's faster than they are. They've lost their advantage. All I have to do is fly straight and level. Of course, that depends on how close they are, which I can't see…

Wraithwing pulled sharply up and turned. Something wrenched at Jehal's harness, some irresistible force. He felt straps and ropes tauten and snap. Nothing had a grip on him though. He wasn't dead and he wasn't flying through the air. Some of the bindings that held him and Wraithwing together had broken. Some, but not all. He clung on even tighter.

'Faster!' He had mounted two men on the dragon behind him. Their job was to keep watch above and below and behind. If he'd been from the north, they would have had scorpions as well. And will I be thinking how noble and pure we are to fly without them when a six-foot shaft tears me in two? The riders behind him had had another job too. Jehal didn't dare lift his head to turn round in case the wind tore him out of his ruined harness. At a guess though, they'd served that other purpose. At a guess they weren't there any more. Where had Almiri's riders come from?

Burning the Taiytakei ships in the harbour was one of the most satisfying things Meteroa had done in a very long time. It had an uncomplicated joy to it, the satisfaction of doing something with extreme thoroughness and yet without effort. He burned them to the waterline and stayed to watch them sink. The dragons had enjoyed it too. Something about ships rubbed dragons up the wrong way. They'd liked playing with the sailors too, scooping the survivors out of the water, tossing them into the air and eating them. That's what you get for trying to murder our queen. What were you thinking?

That was the only fly left in the ointment but to Meteroa's mind it was a rather fat and ugly one. Why had the Taiytakei done what they'd done? This wasn't the first time dragons had flown out of Furymouth and burned the Taiytakei into the sea. They'd done it once before when the Taiytakei had tried to destroy the silk factories on Tyan's Peninsula, but that had been a couple of hundred years ago. When the Taiytakei had finally returned, it was to throw their lot in with King Tyan and his clan. They'd supplied the poison that Jehal had used to derange Hyram. They'd given him the magical dragons that he'd mostly used to spy on his lover. It was a tense arrangement at best, since everyone knew that what the Taiytakei really wanted were dragons and would do almost anything to get some, but it had served them well enough during Ayzalmir's purges.

But why try to kill Lystra? To frame Zafir and drive them apart? Even the Taiytakei must realise how unnecessary that was. Did they think it would somehow help Jehal to the throne? And even then, what did that achieve? No. No, there had to be another reason, something to do with getting hold of dragons. Dragons, hatchlings, eggs, everything. Someone had made them a promise. Someone they believed.