palm of his hand.
'Rise, rider.'
Semian didn't move. 'I am dead, am I not?' The priest said nothing.
'You taught us that we would join the great dragon whose fire is the sun. That we would be taken into that fire and our souls would be forged anew.'
'You are not dead,' said the priest.
'I followed with the other Embers with dragon-poison in my blood, and in our dying we did what we left our caves to do. The dragons are slain.'
'No, they are not, and nor are you,' said the priest again. 'You drank the dragon-poison and you survived. You are one of us now. One dragon too survived. One and one, balanced against one another. A harmony of fire.'
'I…' Joyful tears filled Semian's eyes. He felt the heat of passion explode inside him, filling him until there was no space for anything else and then growing still greater.
'You have always been a loyal servant of the church,' said the priest. 'You have always stayed true. Your heart is pure. Now you shall have your reward. Kneel. And remember. Remember the stories. Remember the myths. Remember the legends. Remember what only we priests and our faithful care to preserve. Remember the beginning and remember the end.'
The beginning and the end.
Before there was time there was the void. Into the void there came the sun and the moon and the earth and the stars. 'And each created life.'
The shifting stone-creatures of the earth. The moon-children made of liquid silver. The ghost forms of the star spirits. And us. The children of the sun.
'Of the Great Flame.'
The Great Flame.
'And each claimed to be the foremost of the gods.'
And war and strife and sorcery shattered the land.
'And in the cracks of creation the dragons were born.'
They tore the magic from the land. They scourged the earth with fire. They sought to return all things to the void from which they had come.
'For only then could they too return.'
And yet through blood-magic, the children of the sun cheated the end of the world. Through alchemy they called to them the Silver King, who chained the dragons and stilled the restless void.
'Thus spoke the prophet with the voice of the wind.'
Semian was already kneeling. He bowed his head again. The priest ran one ruined hand through the braids of his beard. It came out dripping red with blood. 'Your reward for your faith.' The bloody hand waved over Semian, spattering him, and then pressed against his forehead. Semian could feel the blood running slowly down his face. 'For then the prophet's face became terrible to behold and he spoke with the voice of the desert. All chains break. Fire will sweep the bones of the world. Out of flames there shall come a white dragon, and with the dragon a red rider. Thieves and liars shall quiver and weep, for the rider's name shall be Justice and the dragon shall be Vengeance.' The hand pressed harder against his brow. 'Arise, rider. The end-times are coming. You have been chosen. You have taken the poison and you have lived. The white dragon flies free. The flames of destruction have come, and out of the flames the red rider shall be born. Be Justice, Rider Semian. Be the red rider and find the dragon whose name is Vengeance. Cleanse the world of its wickedness. Burn it away. Justice and Vengeance, Rider Semian, Justice and Vengeance. For I am the Silver King and I have set you free.' The priest and the mountains slipped away into dust. Only the priest's hand remained, still there against his skin, and the voice.
Justice and Vengeance. Justice and Vengeance…
The priest's words echoed for an eternity, yet even they decayed. Other voices, other words rose up, drowning the priest in mindless chatter. Familiar voices. People.
Friends?
Semian listened to them as best he could, but his mind was adrift and nothing made any sense. Nothing until three words pierced him like a lance.
The Red Riders.
2
'A rider without a dragon is a like a one-armed swordsman.' Jostan was drunk. He was slumped in the darkest corner he could find of the worst drinking hole within walking distance of Southwatch. His words were slurred. He glowered at the table in front of him. The wood was stained and on the stains there were more stains. Where there weren't stains there were letters or, more often, crude pictograms badly hacked into the wood by a hundred years of drunken knights determined to leave their mark. 'No. It's worse. It's like a no-armed swordsman. With no legs.'
Beside him a rider was weeping. He didn't even know her name. She'd found him there, glaring in the gloom, and simply sat beside him. She obviously knew the place well since she barely had to lift her eyes towards the tavern-keeper to summon another flagon of ale. She was already drunk when she'd sat down beside him and she showed no signs of slowing down.
'I've got a dragon,' she said suddenly. 'I didn't used to have a dragon, but I've got one now.'
'I used to have one.' Jostan sighed. 'Then the Embers poisoned it. Now I haven't got one any more. Princess Jaslyn was supposed to give me another one. But she's gone away.' Gone away having virtually dismissed Semian from her service. And, Jostan discovered, him as well, almost as an afterthought. Whatever Semian had said, apparently, had been spoken for them both.
Stupid little girl. That's what she was, after all. Almost a girl. To think he'd held a torch for her not long ago. And there was another thing. What was he thinking? A rider from a nothing family and a dragon-princess? I must have been wearing my stupid-cap.
'She used to look at me, though,' he mumbled. Little looks that made him wonder; and then Knight-Marshal Nastria had sent him with her to the alchemists and the dragons had come and burned everything and he'd held her in his arms, stopping her from running into the flames, and she'd liked it. For a moment at least, she'd liked it.
Or that's what he'd thought. Maybe he was fooling himself. Deluded. She was made of the same heartless flint as her mother. 'No dragon. Thrown away. Semian's no better. Spent days sitting with him trying to make him not die and now that he's come back, he's gone crazy. Had some stupid vision while he was in his coma and now all he talks about is the Great Flame and the Red Riders.'
The rider beside him lifted her head and turned towards him. 'Red Riders? You know where they are?' Jostan shook his head. 'No. No idea.'
The other rider slumped and promptly lost interest in him again.
'Semian says we have to find them and join them. Says that's where he's meant to be. Not that he's got a dragon either. Fat lot of use either of us would be. Justice and Vengeance without any dragons.' He spat on the floor. 'I suppose we could tend the camp fires while the real riders fly. I've done that before.'
'Hyrkallan leads the Red Riders,' slurred the other rider. 'He's the greatest there is. Was there too. He was.' Her head lolled sideways and she looked at him. 'Who flies with the Red Riders?'
Jostan shrugged. 'I don't know their names. The riders who fought their way out of the Adamantine Palace on the Night of the Knives. Knights who served Hyram or Queen Shezira. Who see through the speaker's lies. Her and Jehal. We could have… We could…' The thought petered out in disarray. We could have what? Stopped Lady Nastria from trying to kill Queen Zafir? Stopped Queen Shezira from pushing Hyram off a balcony?
The other rider slowly slid sideways, slumping against him like a sack of potatoes. Her head lolled on his shoulder. Jostan sighed. That's all I need.
'Can I come too?' She sounded ready to pass out. Jostan pushed her away. She grumbled and groaned but managed to stay upright.
