that always scared him the most. The dragon's whole body pulsed with every step. The earth shook and the trees quivered in sympathy. He felt like a little boat, tossed on the waves of a stormy sea, hurled this way and that, at the mercy of the dragon-rider harness they'd stolen months ago, which didn't even fit properly. As Snow reached the edge of the water, she made one last effort. Kemir felt himself grow heavy and then they were flying, over the water, tossing spray everywhere. Each beat of Snow's wings levered her upward, pressing him into her scales. She circled once and then put her back towards the morning sun. Below them, all Kemir could see was endless forest and the silver ribbon of a river flowing idly away from the lake.
Maybe she's right. How do you stop a hungry dragon, after all? But the thought felt hollow. Somehow. That was the answer. You didn't just give up and say it couldn't be done. Of that much he was sure.
After an hour of following the river, they began to see cleared spaces in the forest. Then something that might have been a boat on the river. Then a village, more fields, more boats, all dotted about like tiny little toys. Which made him remember playing dragon-lords with his cousin Sollos when they'd been little boys. They'd make mounds in the dirt and find little stones to be people and then they'd pretend they were dragons and smash it all to pieces.
Well now he knew how those little stones felt. He wondered what they thought, the little people on the ground below him now, when they looked up and saw a dragon. Did a chill run down their spines? Were they frozen to the spot, wondering if today was the day the monster would swoop down and snatch them in its jaws? Or did they shrug their shoulders, mutter 'There goes another one' to their neighbours and get on with what they were doing? As if dragons were just another kind of weather.
Snow banked and pitched down, swooping low over the next village. As she dived, Kemir couldn't hear anything except the rush of the wind past his face, but when he craned his neck over Snow's shoulder, he saw the people. A few were staring, rooted to the spot, but most were running away. They were running ahead of Snow, out into their fields. He couldn't hear them screaming, but he knew that they were.
Well that answers that, then. 'Why do people always run in front of whatever is chasing them?' he shouted. 'Why don't they scatter?' And why am I shouting? No one can hear me over this wind and the dragon doesn't need to anyway.
All food runs, thought Snow. She felt smug. Pleased at the reaction below.
'They are not food!'
Everything that runs is food. Kemir felt a hunger in the dragon now, almost a craving. He could picture her crashing into the village, spraying fire, smashing houses into splinters, tossing screaming men and women up into the air for the sheer joy of it, just like he and Sollos had done in their games. The visions lasted for a while, long after Snow had left the village behind and risen back into the sky. He shuddered. They weren't his own visions, he was fairly sure of that. They had far too vicious a joy to them.
Other villages came and went, scattered patches of open space amid the great blanket of trees. Then the forest began to break up. There were more people, more fields jigsawed together, more roads, more boats on the river, and then finally a town. Kemir wasn't sure what he'd expected – probably a muddy collection of houses, little more than a village that had sprawled out of control. What he hadn't expected was a small city- It straddled the river, with strong stone walls protecting both halves. It even had a little castle. Snow changed course, keeping her distance.
'Are there dragons here?' That was his first thought.
No. If there were, I would have freed them. Snow started to descend. We will fly further until we find some.
'Or you could let them know that you're here. Burn some fields, eat some cows, that sort of thing. Donkeys, if you think they taste better. Scare them. Do whatever you want to do. Make noise. Let them see you. Enough to draw a few riders from their eyries to come have a look. Then when they come, you eat them.' Slowly. Crunch crunch. Like chewing on an icicle.
Like Ash.
'Yes. Like Ash. Don't hunt them where they're strong. Draw the other dragons to you.'
Snow thought for a while. Will there be fighting men in this town?
'It's a castle, Snow. Castles have soldiers. There's really not much point if they don't.'
Then they will have weapons for fighting dragons and the people who ride on us. Kemir could feel her weighing up choices. She turned and headed away from the town.
'What are you doing, dragon? Are you afraid?'
No. She was laughing. I have no need for you while I do this, but you are still useful and I do not want you to be dead. I will do as you suggest. I will burn this place. You may watch from far away. It will be safer.
'No! No burning! No need to kill anyone, Snow. You understand me? Just scare them and then leave. Useful food, remember.'
I understand, Kemir, but I will decide for myself which of you are useful.
She didn't say anything more, but landed on a hilltop a good few miles from the town and waited until Kemir unstrapped himself and got down. He could have stayed, he supposed. Could have stayed in the saddle, but what difference would it have made? She could have torn him out with one twist of her tail, or else simply ignored him. So he shuddered as Snow launched herself into the sky again. He was very glad, he decided, that he was where he was. On the ground, far away from where Snow was going.
28
Jehal was dying. He knew he was. The pain was getting worse. He grew slowly weaker until he didn't know he could possibly be any weaker and yet the next time he awoke, he was. The smell was bad too.
In some ways he was surprised he was alive at all. He'd lost a dreadful lot of blood. He felt perpetually light- headed, which was probably a mercy. And yet, when he hadn't died, he'd felt a joyous spark of hope. For few days he'd thought he might even heal. And then came the smell.
He'd seen men take a wound in a tournament and die, just like this, surrounded by the stench of their own rotting. The alchemists hadn't been able to help them and Jehal had little hope they would be able to help him.
If they cared.
He had a dim memory that Zafir might have come to him the day after Shezira had shot him. She'd held his hand and said some soft words that might have seemed comforting at the time. Or maybe she hadn't. Maybe she was a dream like all the other dreams. Mostly he dreamed of Lystra and of the son he would never see. If my bloodline dies, so does yours. Neatly done, Queen Shezira. If it wasn't me you'd crippled, I would applaud you for such an efficient and ruthless revenge. But you messed up. I'm dying, and now all that's left is to mock us both for your incompetence. What use am I dead? How do I protect them?
He got angry sometimes, which was always a mistake because he didn't have the energy to be angry. He'd rail and spit at the world and then he'd fade away and wake up hours later to find that even more of his strength had ebbed away. Men and women came and went from his bedside, silent frightened ghosts who looked at him and then looked away. Afraid. As if they were the ones who were slowly dying in the gilded prison that was the Tower of Dusk.
Sometimes he thought about his own father, cocooned in his sickbed for nearly a decade. This must have been what you saw, he thought. In the early days. When there was still a part of you alive in there. Then such a sorrow filled him that he wept.
He thought of Meteroa too. He would understand. Did Shezira know? Did she know what King Tyan had done to him? My brother butchered my sisters and my mother. My father…I don't even know what my father did to my uncle. What a family we are.
I have done such terrible things.
Yes, you have, said another voice. A new voice, but he couldn't see anyone. Not that that meant anything. He was probably dreaming again. The voice was another fragment of his slowly shattering self, most likely. Come to remind him of all the things he'd done wrong so that he could be properly miserable before he finally got around to
