not the speaker, not the kings and queens of the nine realms. Us. Without us, none of the rest of you matter a whit. You'd all be dead in a flash. Yes, we are descended from blood-mages. Our power has its root in theirs. We are descended from those who sided with the men who became the kings and queens of the realms when the blood- mages were broken.'
Vale smiled amiably. 'All the stories I have read say that the blood-mages demanded sacrifices to appease the dragons. That their binding of the monsters required blood and plenty of it. A hundred slaughtered each and every week. I found that number in some story or other. And now you do it with potions. No blood at all?'
'Become an alchemist and find out,' snapped Jeiros. 'We keep the dragons in check. That is what we do and all you need to know. Above all else. Above everything else. Do your stories tell you how Narammed came to be the first speaker?'
'They agree rather better on that.'
'The nine realms were falling to war. We chose Narammed. Us. The alchemists. We put ourselves behind him and we pushed him to power. He was wise enough to understand what we were doing and why. The speaker keeps the kings and queens of the nine realms in check so that we alchemists can do what we must without impediment. That is the purpose of the speaker. They are arbiters, that's all. Most who have come since have not understood it and none save Narammed himself would acknowledge it, but we do not serve the speaker. The speaker serves us.'
Vale chuckled. 'I don't think SO, Grand Master, but you could try that on at the next council and see how far you get.'
'The speaker serves the realms, Vale. So do I. So do you. We all have the same master. You know. strictly, according to all the laws of the Order, we serve Aruch. Both of US.'
Vale was quiet for a moment. When he spoke, he spoke very softly, almost whispered. 'Some of what you say I grant is true. The first Adamantine Men gave themselves to Narammed because they understood his cause. He had forsaken his dragons and the power that came with them so that he could mediate the disputes of other kings. The story that everyone thinks they know is that Narammed slew a dragon with his bare hands.' He cocked his head and gave Jeiros a glance, begging to be contradicted.
'With the Adamantine Spear, Night Watchman. That's the legend. Except it's not true.'
'No.' Vale smiled and shifted on his haunches. 'Because it wasn't Narammed; it was some other warrior. The nameless hero. All these other warlords we call kings and queens were nothing more than thugs, brutal ones at that. Even those who were clever enough to understand Narammed's wisdom wouldn't have wanted it. So we showed them his strength instead. Us. The Adamantine Men. Even we don't know the name of the man who slew the dragon, but we revere him. He was the greatest hero of all. He gave the power of his name and his deeds to Narammed. We showed them that we could kill their dragons and that is why they bent their knees to Narammed. We went from one eyrie to the next carrying his message. The dragon-slayer.' Vale rocked back on his heels. He wasn't looking at Jeiros any more, but somewhere distant, off into the past.
'Don't get all misty-eyed on me, Night Watchman.' Jeiros took a deep breath and paused. The Adamantine Men almost worshipped their story. The Order had a different story, one with a lot more dragon poison in it, but with much the same outcome in the end. He'd been thinking of sharing it with the Night Watchman, but the look in Vale's eyes changed his mind. He settled for something else instead. 'It's a fine legend you have. But think. Your Stories speak of lone men with swords and axes slaying dragons. How possible is that? One man on his own cannot kill a grown dragon. Even the best of your soldiers could never, ever do that. Not by the strength of his arm. He must have been quite a clever fellow, don't you think?'
'It was a unique feat. One never to be repeated.' Vale snapped back to the present. 'What is your point, Grand Master? I would happily make a habit of talking history with you, but I suspect you have a point you wish to make. The trouble with you lot is that you're so used to coming at things askance that you've forgotten how to ask a direct question.'
'I am leading you to a certain way of thinking.'
'Then let me spare you the embarrassment of being any more ham-fisted about it than you already have. I will agree with you, within these four walls and never beyond them, that Speaker Zafir leaves a great deal to be desired. Nevertheless, were any man to come to my room late at night and intimate that I should enter into some sort of conspiracy with regard to ridding ourselves of her, I should be obliged to inform her, and she would doubtless have them killed or something equally unpleasant. I serve the speaker, Grand Master. Orders. The Guard obeys orders. From birth to death. Nothing more, nothing less.' He smiled, and there wasn't anything friendly about it this time. 'That's our creed.'
Jeiros sat very still and quiet for a few seconds. Then he took a deep breath and let it out very slowly. 'But whose orders, Night Watchman?'
'The speaker's orders, Grand Master.'
That's me told then. He didn't get up though. 'I know how Adamantine Men are made. Do you know how to make an alchemist?'
Vale sighed and his face hardened. Jeiros had outstayed his welcome now, that much was clear. 'Every year I watch as thousands of the desperate and the poor come to the City of Dragons to try and sell their children to the Order. I know that some of the ones who don't get taken are left on our doorstep. I know there are men who will, for a fee, take a child from its parents and bring it here. I know that a few such men are even honest. I also know that a good few are not. I know that the Taiytakei slavers profit handsomely.' He smirked. 'What do you want me to say, alchemist?'
'That there are secrets no one else should know, Night Watchman. Not even a speaker. Not even you.'
'I don't like secrets, Jeiros. The blood-mages built their power on secrets. You alchemists broke them by breaking their secrets first, but you have forgotten that and now you follow the same path. So now I am left to wonder, what can you know that the speaker should not?'
Jeiros stood up. 'I should go. But I can think of two things. The first is that we alchemists are not so far removed from the blood-magi we overthrew as to leave any of you comfortable, if you knew the truth of it. The second is a secret that you know too, if only you'd cast your mind back to think of it. I know what Narammed said when he gave you your name, Night Watchman. Do you remember?' When night comes it falls to the Adamantine Men to keep watch over the nine realms. No need to spell it out though. Vale would know the words inside and out. 'How dark does it have to be, Vale?'
'Let me ask you this, master alchemist. If there is to be a war, can you not stop it? Can you not simply take away their dragons? How many cities will burn before you do that? If our land is burned by dragons who happen to have riders on their backs, why is that so different from dragons that do not. If it all burns anyway, what exactly was the point of you being here?'
Jeiros' voice dropped to a dry whisper. 'When the dragons have riders, there is at least still some hope,' he breathed. 'That is the point.' The words sounded hollow though.
Vale hadn't moved as Jeiros went to the door; now the Night Watchman had his back to the alchemist. Vale didn't move. 'Well then,' he said very softly. 'Here's your answer. Pitch black, master alchemist. It has to be pitch black.'
Jeiros let himself out. He didn't bother trying to hide himself on the way back. All things considered, it seemed rather futile.
16
She was at her best when she was angry, and the more her fury waxed the more magnificent she became. Jehal watched her in silent admiration. He was thoroughly enjoying himself. Today's entertainment was watching acting Grand Master of the Order of the Scales Jeiros being metaphorically flayed alive. Yesterday it had been Tassan. The Night Watchman, it seemed, was now a routine victim of the speaker's ire. And so he should be. I would have him hanging from a gibbet. Ten thousand invincible warriors guard the palace, and look at the state of it! You should have taken your own life and spared everyone the embarrassment of looking at you.
