here. I will challenge his decision, and I need to be sure I have enough dragon-lords behind me. I would not wish this to become a war.' She paused and looked suddenly thoughtful. 'Send Princess Jaslyn. Let her do it.' A slight smile crossed the queen's face. 'Yes. It would be good to get her away from here for the next few days.'
By the door Rider Jostan was already running into the yard, waving and shouting, trying to call back Silence before he and the princess launched into the air. He was too late. Semian watched the knight-marshal's face. She looked far from happy. But whatever her doubts, she bit them back and bowed again.
'Of course, Your Holiness. I would like to send an escort.'
Shezira frowned. 'We still have an encampment in the Spur. It's only a few hours away.'
This time Nastria stood her ground. 'Nonetheless.'
'Very well.' The queen sighed. 'Two riders, no more. Make sure they are replaced from among the encampment.'
Which wouldn't upset any of them, Semian thought ruefully. Since the day he'd been shot by the sell-sword, they hadn't found a trace of the white dragon, nor of the Scales who was with her. Almost certainly they were both long gone, and the search had become a complete waste of time. But no one had dared tell that to the queen, and so they carried on.
The queen wrinkled her nose. 'What is that terrible smell?'
Lady Nastria blanched. 'It's the cellars, Your Holiness. Something has rotted. It will be removed shortly.'
'And the smell with it, I hope.' Shezira strode on, starting up the sweep of spiral stairs that rose through the middle of the Tower of Dusk. 'Someone tell my steward to prepare for guests this evening. And send an invitation. 1 think I should spend some time with my son-in-law and see what sort of impression Lystra has made on him. As soon as he is willing. Marshal, with me. You look like a peasant, and I'll be wanting you at your best. And since we're having guests, that smell had better be gone.'
The queen vanished around the curve of the stairs. Lady Nastria followed, but before she did, she pressed something into Semian's hands. 'Take this to Princess Jaslyn at the eyrie, and be quick about it.'
Semian's mouth fell open. She's a princess. How can I tell her what to do?
'Take Rider Jostan with you. The princess has an eye for both of you.' And then Knight-Marshal Nastria winked at him, which left him even more speechless.
On horseback he raced with Jostan to the Adamantine Eyrie, his leg getting steadily worse all the way. As they arrived, Princess Jaslyn swept out of the eyrie, heading towards one of the queen's carriages.
'Your Highness!' Semian jumped off his horse. In his haste, his leg almost buckled under him. Jaslyn gave him a cold look, certainly not the sort the knight-marshal had been talking about.
'Semian?' She didn't break stride.
'Your Highness, Her Holiness commands you to the stronghold of the alchemists.'
Jaslyn threw back her head and barked a laugh. She opened the carriage door.
'Your Highness! Lady Nastria has executed Rider Tiachas for treason. He is implicated in a plot to poison the queen.'
Jaslyn climbed into the carriage and made to close the door.
'Prince Jehal is also implicated.'
That made her stop. Breathlessly, Semian explained what the queen had ordered them to do. Jaslyn's eyes narrowed.
'So mother is sending me away, is she?' She spat, and storm clouds flashed in her eyes. 'Will this be enough to bury Jehal, do you think, Rider Semian?'
Semian lowered his eyes. 'I cannot say, Your Highness.'
The princess snorted and slowly climbed back out of the carriage. 'Why does she send me, Rider Semian? Why not you? Are you not competent to run errands?'
Semian stayed carefully silent.
'Or you, Jostan?' She barked out another harsh laugh.
'Rider Nastria would have gone herself, Your Highness,' said Jostan quietly. 'It was the queen who ordered otherwise.'
'Of course.' Jaslyn bared her teeth. Without another word, she strode back into the eyrie.
By the time they were flying again, the sun was already sinking towards the horizon. Dragons were nervous in the dark, but Jaslyn drove them on at a merciless speed. They'd all spent months among the valleys of the Purple Spur looking for the white dragon. Even blindfold, Semian could have flown among them and been almost sure to reach his destination.
A dozen dragons and three times as many riders, together with several alchemists and scores of camp followers, were still camped out in the Worldspine. Over the months the tents had gone, replaced by a neat row of log cabins alongside the river. Sections of the forest were still being cleared, making way for cattle, driven up from the nearby valleys in King Valgar's realm.
A bonfire, lit at the highest end of the camp, guided them in. The dragons circled overhead, spitting blasts of fire to announce themselves, and then glided nervously down along the river, dipping the tips of their tails, feeling for the ground. As soon as they touched water, they tipped back, spread their wings and stopped dead in the air, dropping the last twenty feet onto the rocks of the river bed. Rider Semian's dragon lurched sideways and almost toppled over. Semian screwed up his face and closed his eyes, but Matanizkan found her balance and righted herself. By the time Semian dismounted, Princess Jaslyn had gone, vanished into the same cabin that she'd lived in for most of the last two months. Semian and Jostan looked at each other, shrugged and went to bed.
By first light they were in the air again, flying north through King Valgar's realm, skirling the edge of the Worldspine. In the afternoon they reached an apparently makeshift eyrie that was little more than a field with a small fortified manor house. Semian took it to be the provincial home of some bumpkin baron at first, a convenient place to stop and then move on. It didn't take him long to realise that he was wrong. The house was run by the Order of the Scales and contained alchemists, several of them. There were soldiers here too, and not any soldiers, but Adamantine men. The speaker's soldiers.
He listened as Princess Jaslyn and the alchemists talked, and he slowly understood. Somewhere a few miles to the east was the start of an old hidden road that ran deep into the Worldspine. At its far end was the alchemists' hidden stronghold, the source of their power – a day on dragonback, but a week or even more on foot or on the ox carts that carried the barrels filled with the alchemists' potions. Every week, no matter the weather, a convoy left the stronghold, feeding the eyries of the realms. The secret of the alchemists' potions was a precious one, closely guarded by the order and shared only with the kings and queens of the realms. Semian knew better than to ask exactly what they did, but it was something to do with taming the dragons. Everyone knew that.
Princess Jaslyn still carried storm clouds on her shoulders, the alchemists were taciturn and suspicious, and when he left, Semian was glad to go. He was bored too. Flying beside the princess was something of an honour, and certainly better than sharing a tower with a blood-mage, but after a while all the mountains looked the same. Back at the palace the tournaments and games would soon be starting. There was glory to be had, and gold too. Out here there was nothing. Nothing to do and nothing to see.
Nothing at all.
45
The Valeford Track
Snow dived out of the sun. Stretched out along the mountain track were five wagons, a couple of men on horses at the front and perhaps a dozen soldiers at the back.
'Burn the soldiers first,' screamed Kemir, trying to make himself heard over the wind. He had a saddle now, and he and Nadira rode on Snow's back instead of being carried in her claws.
'You don't need to shout,' yelled Nadira in his ear. Kemir closed his eyes. He still hadn't grown used to Snow plucking the thoughts out of his head.
No.
Snow ignored the soldiers. Instead, the first burst of fire hit the riders at the front. They had felt the rush of wind, perhaps, because Kemir thought he saw one of them look up and behind him just as Snow let loose. A blast
