featureless top of the eyrie the other Scales would be doing the same. They'd all be thinking the same question too: Is it one of mine? Is that one I raised?
Its shape made it a war-dragon, he decided. Hunting dragons had long tails and long necks and enormous wings and were, to Kailin's eyes, much more graceful. War-dragons were stockier. End to end and wing-tip to wing-tip they were the smaller breed, but they weighed twice as much and ate enough for four. Their colours tended to be drab too. Hunting dragons were brighter. Their bloodlines were more carefully recorded, their breeding more strictly managed, their diet meticulously controlled by the alchemists.
When a mount was old enough, the trainers taught them to take the saddle and the rein, and to understand their riders' commands. The rest of the work of growing a dragon was down to people like Kailin. They were the ones, if they survived, who fed the dragons, watered them, nurtured them, cared for them – the Scales, whose ruined skin, hard and flaking, marked them for life. In the end Hatchling Disease got them all, petrifying them while they were still alive. A Scales did not get to grow old.
1f it was a war-dragon, it wasn't one of his. He watched it come down anyway, a steep, hard dive that made the ground quake as it landed. It folded its wings and snorted, blowing a thin stream of lire up into the air. Kailin recognised it now. Mistral. Queen Shezira's second-favourite mount.
Mistral shook himself. He took a few steps forward and then lowered his head almost to the ground. He looked hungry, Kailin thought. Already, several of the nearest Scales were running over, ready to call Mistral away to one of the feeding paddocks. Their other job was to make sure that Mistral was kept well away from the breeding females. One mistake could ruin centuries of careful breeding, and no one in the world was insane enough to get in the way of a pair of mating dragons.
A single rider slid down from Mistral's shoulders, exchanged a few words with the Scales, and then walked straight towards Kailin. As she came closer, Kailin sank to his knees and bowed his head. Queen Shezira was a regular visitor to the eyrie. Lately, circumstances had hurled Kailin into her path.
She stopped in front of him. 'Rise, Scales.'
Shakily, Kailin got to his feet. He didn't dare raise his head.
'How is my Sabre?' Sabre was the queen's hunting dragon. A few weeks ago she'd brought him to the eyrie with a cracked rib. According to the whispers, the queen had taken Sabre hunting somewhere far away, and he'd been charged while on the ground by some beast that sounded like an armoured elephant, except with horns. Sabre, said the whispers, had bitten the creature's head off with a single snap of his jaws.
'Doing well, I understand,' said Kailin, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. 'Your Holiness knows that I am not the Scales caring for him.'
'Yes, yes. When do you think he will be ready to hunt again?'
'If he were in my care, Your Holiness, I would beg for him to be rested another three weeks.'
He could tell from the way the queen tapped her foot that this wasn't the answer she'd wanted. He heard her sigh. 'Then I shall have to ride Mistral. And how is my perfect white?'
Snow, thought Kailin. She's called Snow.
'What did you say, Scales?'
'I-I…' Kailin stammered. 'I'm sorry, Your Holiness, I spoke out of turn.' Had he spoken at all? He wasn't sure.
'What did you say, Scales?'
He was shaking. The queen had a temper. Everyone knew what happened to those who made her angry. 'We call her Snow, Your Holiness.' Kailin screwed up his eyes and waited for the blow to come.
'Well then, Scales. Snow. How is she?'
'Still… still perfect, Your Holiness.' He could feel her eyes on him, but he couldn't bring himself to look at her.
'You see she stays that way. And learn to mind your tongue, Scales. You and your dragon will be the property of Prince Jehal before the next full moon. He will give her whatever name takes his fancy, and he is not known for his forgiving nature.' She laughed. 'If you're unlucky, he'll decide you're a spy.'
She left him there, quivering.
3
The Eyrie-Master
The Scales was forgotten almost before Shezira had turned her back on him. Two more days and they were due to fly, almost from one end of the realms to the other. Another two weeks and they'd be in King Tyan's palace. Prince Jehal would be there. She would give Jehal her perfect white and her youngest daughter, and in return he would give her lordship of all the realms. Or rather, he wouldn't object to her taking it.
She smiled. Lordship? Or should it be ladyship? It wouldn't be the first time that the speaker was a queen instead of a king, but it had been long enough. Too long.
The eyrie was built on an escarpment. Most of it was tunnelled underground and so, from the outside, there wasn't much to look at. Scorched rock and blasted earth and the occasional smouldering mound of dragon dung. Further away, fields full of cattle stretched out as far as the eye could see, interspersed with tiny clusters of farmhouses. And there were the dragons, of course, always a few of them out on the rocks, being groomed or trained or saddled or fed, or simply sunning themselves.
The only structure built on top of the eyrie was a massive tower, the Outwatch. As she walked towards its gates, they swung open. Soldiers poured out and formed up in ranks to salute her. In their midst was Isentine, the eyrie-master, dressed to the nines in dragonscale and gold. Shezira stopped in front of him and he fell to his knees to kiss her feet. He was getting old. She saw him wince as he struggled to rise again, which annoyed her. She'd have to replace him soon, which was a nuisance. He was competent and devoted, and it would be hard to find his equal. But if he couldn't bow properly…
'Come on, come on, get up!' she hissed under her breath. All the soldiers were watching.
'Your Holiness.' Shezira bit her lip when she saw his face. He looked so worn out, almost defeated.
'Eyrie-Master Isentine.' She forced a smile and put a hand on each of his shoulders. 'Your eyes grow ever sharper with the years. You must have seen me coming from quite some way away.'
The eyrie-master bowed again, a little dip from the waist, which didn't seem to trouble him. 'I live to serve Your Holiness.'
'And you do it very well.' She walked on past him. 'We have another hatchling, I hear. One I should see?'
'I'm afraid not, Your Holiness.' Isentine took up his proper position, walking in step with her just behind her right shoulder. 'This is another that refuses its food and wastes away.'
'Again?' A flash of irritation sounded in Shezira's voice, and that made her even more annoyed. A queen should never sound petulant.
'I am sorry, Your Holiness.'
'That's three out of the last four. It's not usually that many.' The eyrie-master could still match her pace easily enough, she noted, so maybe there was some life left in him. For now,
'It is unusual, Holiness, but the alchemists assure me it is to be expected that these things should happen from time to time. I am promised it will not last.'
'And do you believe them?' Shezira shook her head. 'Don't answer. One a month, Isentine. That's what I need from you. One good hatchling every month. But that's not really why I came here.' They were past all the soldiers now. They walked through the gates and into the maw of Outwatch in silence.
'Does Your Holiness desire something?' Isentine asked her. 'We have made all the usual preparations. Baths scented with oils, a feast of delicacies from around the realms, men and women who desire nothing more than to serve your pleasure.' He should have known her better by now, but he was old, and some habits simply wouldn't break.
'II that's what they desire, they can spend their time teaching my daughters some manners and some respect, and making them understand that above all they are required to be obedient.'
It took a long time for him to digest that, which made Shezira smile. She wasn't supposed to say such things in public, and there was no proper formal response. They walked across the grand hall, a gloomy cavern of ochre
