Stephen Deas - The adamantine palace

He bowed again. 'I am confident, Your Holiness, that no sabotage occurred in Prince Jehal's eyrie. What happened after Queen Aliphera left Clifftop, I cannot say.'

'Well I'm quite sure that wasn't the answer Prince Jehal wanted to hear. Especially that nonsense at the end. Nor will it be what Speaker Hyram wants to hear, for that matter.'

Bellepheros blinked. 'I do not understand, Your Holiness.'

'Oh come, Grand Master. Prince Jehal wishes you to report that Queen Aliphera's death was an accident. Speaker Hyram wishes to hear that it was murder, preferably with Jehal found crouched over her bloody corpse with the knife still in his hand. You give us neither.'

A chill ran down Bellepheros's spine. Even in his most informal reports he would never have been so direct. For the second time in as many hours he felt himself thoroughly cornered. He bowed once more. 'I give you the truth as well as I can uncover it, Your Holiness.'

Shezira nodded, already losing interest. 'And let us make up our own minds, which we would have done anyway. I'm sure you tried your best, Grand Master.'

Her tone was patronising, and Bellepheros had already taken a few cups of wine. 'I have a concern, Your Holiness, that I must share with you,' he said. There. The words were out. No going back now.

'And what is that, Grand Master?'

'I understand that one of your dragons is missing.'

It took a moment for Queen Shezira to realise that they weren't talking about Queen Aliphera any more. Bellepheros savoured it. She gave a very slight nod. 'Yes. That is true.'

'Your Holiness, you are a queen of a dragon realm, and so you know the true purpose of our order. We are in every eyrie. We keep meticulous records of the dragon bloodlines and mix the potions needed to make them grow into their different breeds. However, our most vital and most secret task concerning the dragons is somewhat different. Your Holiness, I do not concern myself with the politics of the realms, but from what I hear it is by no means clear that your dragon has found its way into another eyrie. I hear her keeper has not been found.'

'Yes,' said Shezira sourly. 'One of yours.'

'Your Holiness, the dragon-lords may play their games, but we alchemists are charged with the ancient duty of keeping the dragons in check. Even one dragon allowed to reach its full potential is a threat to every king and queen in the realm. I will be obliged to inform the speaker.'

'Grand Master, what is your point? If the dragon has gone rogue, I have eyries filled with many scores more with which to hunt it down. Across the realms there are more than seventeen hundred, as you very well know. How is one wild dragon a threat to the realms?'

Bellepheros bowed yet again. 'My point, Your Holiness, is that my order is at your disposal to help in any way that it can, and that I shall return shortly to the Adamantine Palace, but as I am bound to travel by land, there will be some delay before I arrive.'

Queen Shezira nodded. 'Your offer is noted, Grand Master. I assure you, I am already conducting a quite thorough search. I will find my white, and when I do – and I find who took her there will be blood. Good day.'

The queen moved away. Bellepheros wiped his brow. After that, he decided, he might as well start thinking about who his successor should be. It took him a few seconds to realise that the queen's knight-marshal hadn't followed her mistress away. She leaned into him and spoke quietly in his ear.

'Grand Master. A private word, if you please?'

He left Furymouth the following morning, in a carriage supplied by Prince Jehal and escorted by a company of soldiers. The other alchemists at Clifftop would just have to find their own way back to the Adamantine Palace. Tucked under his seat, carefully packed in straw, was a spherical bottle made of glass, stoppered and sealed with wax. It fitted nicely into the palm of his hand, and from the way its weight shifted, was filled with some sort of liquid. A very heavy liquid. Unlike the knight-marshal, Bellepheros knew exactly what it was. What he didn't know was where it had come from, or how several such bottles would have found their way into the possession of one such as Shezira's knight-marshal. It would be a long journey home, though, with plenty of time to ponder and plenty of inns with wine to help him think.

He didn't get the chance. Two days out of Furymouth his carriage was stopped. Masked men with knives tore open the door. Blood glistened on their blades. He could see bodies on the ground outside. He had time to open his mouth, but before he could shout, a hand clamped over his face.

The Price

Twice a day the door to their hut opened and half a dozen Outsiders armed with spears and knives would be clustered outside. One of them would very gingerly place a bucket of water on the floor, together with some dried fish and half-rotten fruit. On the first day, Sollos told them that they had six days before the dragon-riders came. Every morning he reminded them that they had one fewer day to let him go. It took until he was down to two before the Outsiders made up their minds. In the middle of the day the door opened again, and this time there were nearly a score of them. One stepped forward, a heavyset man in his middle years with a thick curly black beard.

'What do you want?'

'Some food that doesn't give me the runs would be nice,' muttered Kemir. Sollos shushed him.

'First of all to thank you for your hospitality.' Sollos smiled. 'Second, I'd like my bow and my knives and my armour back. Then I'd like to know about the white dragon.'

'And what then?'

'We find the dragon, we go away and leave you in peace.'

'We've seen dragons every day since you came.' Curly Beard looked tired. He was frightened.

'We're all looking for the white dragon. You weren't very friendly when they came by, so they sent us instead. When they find what they want, they'll go away. They don't fly for the King of the Crags and neither do we.'

Kemir spat. 'Doesn't mean they won't burn you out if they don't find what they want.'

'What if we help you find the white dragon. What's in it for us?'

'Not being burned?'

Sollos glared at his partner. 'What do you want?'

'Money.' Curly Beard set his face hard. 'A hundred gold dragons.'

'So you've seen one then.'

Curly Beard nodded. 'Could be. Could be we know of someone who's seen one.'

'All right. A hundred gold dragons. That had better buy me a lot of help.' Sollos could feel Kemir behind him, almost unable to contain himself.

'Up front.'

Sollos snorted. 'You must think I'm an idiot.'

'There's been a white dragon seen a few times in these valleys. Not here but somewhere else. I can take you to where they've seen it. And that's all you're getting until I see gold.'

'If you're lying, you know you're going to get burned.'

'Could be that might be coming anyway. So I'll take the gold first if you please.'

Sollos shrugged. 'All right. Not my gold anyway.'

Ten minutes later they were free. Another half an hour and they were in a boat, rowing across the lake with Curly Beard and two of his friends. They were a bedraggled lot, these Outsiders, thought Sollos. Their clothes were ragged and crude, a mixture of animal pelts and cheap cloth that had gone rotten in the permanent damp. Everything they had looked worn and well used, the handles of their knives shiny and smooth and moulded to the shapes of their hands. A few had belts, the leather hard and cracked, the buckles tarnished and bent. Others made do with string. Most of them, Sollos realised, were scarred or damaged; some were missing fingers, others had whole limbs or even faces that had broken and then healed out of shape. Apparently, life was hard as an Outsider. Harder than he remembered.