She walked on. Those were dreams for another time. The clouds of war were gathering and her dragons would be quite terrible enough in the days and weeks to come. The doors of Outwatch creaked open to admit her. Eyrie- Master Isentine stood waiting.
'Your Holiness.' He tried to bow and eventually managed it. She didn't argue with him about her title any more. Not wanting it wouldn't make it go away.
'Mentor.' There. Now we can be back on even terms again. A passable compromise, isn't it?
'I am sorry for your loss, My Queen.'
'Which one?' she snapped. My mother, my sisters, my Silence -you can take your pick;
Isentine quivered and seemed to shrink into himself. There. Now she'd frightened an old man who was almost the only friend she had left in the world. She bit back a tear.
'Your betrothed.'
Jaslyn snorted. 'Oh him. I last met Prince Dyalt five years ago. He was nine. He had a lot of wooden toy soldiers that he liked to set on fire.' She shook her head. 'Yes, he's dead. Viciously murdered.' She shrugged. 'Don't weep for him though because I won't. Although I suppose that's part of why I'm here.' It seemed odd to her to be mourning for a prince or a queen or even a mother when so many thousands of common folk were probably going to die in flames in the weeks to come. Didn't that matter more? Just simply because there were so many of them? Apparently not, not if any of her riders were to be believed.
They could all burn too. She wouldn't miss them at all.
'Come into the tower, Your Holiness. Out of the sun.' Which wasn't what he meant. Get under cover, that was what he meant. Get out of the open, out of range of an assassin's arrow. She had to laugh.
'Why, Eyrie-Master?'
'Prince Dyall was not merely viciously murdered,' hissed Isentine. He put a hand on her shoulder and almost pushed her through the doors of Outwatch. 'His entire entourage was struck down as it flew across the Desert of Stone.'
Jaslyn laughed bitterly. 'And if the dragons who killed him came here, would being in the tower save me?' She pushed past him into the gloom of the cavernous hall beyond the door. 'So. Dyalt flew with an escort of twenty dragons. They came through the secret ways, through the Deserts of Sand and Stone. I sent riders to show them the path. Who else knows the secret places of the deserts?'
Isentine noisily cleared his throat. 'The Syuss. And they've not forgotten how they were destroyed, Your Holiness. How the Kings of Sand and Salt and of Evenspire picked their realm to pieces after Prince Kazan awakened his dragons.'
She nodded. 'Yes. But the Syuss barely have twenty dragons in their entire realm. They didn't do this on their own.'
'They have had visitors.'
'Who?'
'I do not know for certain, but I do know that dragons have been seen coming and going from their realm. The Syuss have held no love for the speakers either since Ayzalmir, but Zafir… Ah, they would sell you to her in a blink, I think.' He shrugged. 'Prince Dyalt is dead and your alliance with King Sirion falters. Who but Zafir and Jehal stand to gain?'
Jaslyn waved him to silence. 'I hear Sirion points the finger at me. For my part, I wonder if he has had second thoughts about our alliance. Would he murder his own blood?'
Isentine grimaced. 'No.'
'Must I look among my own knights?'
'No.' The old man shook his head. 'I would know.'
'Dyalt's dragons were killed. Not taken, kjlled. How do you kill a dragon, Eyrie-Master?' She thought of Silence and the other dragons she'd seen slowly burning from the inside after they'd tried to burn the alchemists of the Worldspine out of their caves.
'Poison.'
Steaming in the rain. Hotter and hotter, until you couldn't even stand close to them. Until the grass around them burst into flames, and trees too. Until their eyes burst and turned to charcoal. Until even their bones turned to ash. Was there no other way? 'How else?'
Isentine shrugged and clucked. 'There is no how else. Dragons can be taught to fight each other. You've seen how they are when they mate. I suppose they might fight to the death, if trained that way. I've not heard of such a thing. Dragons have fought in the air and fallen and died from that. There are stories that Prince Lai once built a machine to throw a boulder the size of three men. They say that when his engineers were showing it off to him, one of its boulders struck his favourite dragon on the head and killed it. The engineers followed swiftly after, and the machine is forgotten now.'
'When Ayzalmir flew against the awakened dragons of the Syuss, he killed them with scorpions.'
'Which were poisoned. Ayzalmir flew with three hundred dragons and lost two hundred riders that day.' Isentine shook his head. 'Had you a true sorcerer, you might crush them with mountains, but the only way that I know is with poison. Or you can wait. They don't live all that long.' He laughed again.
'And where would one acquire such poison, Eyrie-Master?'
Isentine met her stare. 'From an eyrie, Your Holiness. Or from the master alchemists.' She could see the question made him nervous. Yes, because you know how my Silence died. 'The alchemists have sent plenty of venom out to all of the great eyries. They still fear your missing white.' He shook his head. 'No. Dyalt's dragons were not killed with scorpions. They were poisoned by someone who knew their path and knew the secret places in the desert where they would stop for water. It would be possible. Difficult, yes, but possible.'
'Or else there was a battle, their riders killed, the dragons taken and poisoned afterwards. You wouldn't need three hundred dragons for that.'
Isentine's brow furrowed. 'I suppose… That too is possible.'
'They're still out there in the sand, burning from the inside. Twenty of them. Send someone to go and have a look. Bring back water from where they would have stopped and have an alchemist tell me if it is poisoned. And then dam the Last River somewhere after Lake Eyevan. Let the Lake of Ghosts evaporate into nothing and the Syuss with it.' She stopped. She was sounding like a queen.
Like her mother. Shezira.
Abruptly Jaslyn turned and walked back to the doorway. She stood on the threshold, looking out at the flat barren ground of Outwatch, her eyes reaching further and further across the distant desert until they began to climb the distant foothills of the Worldspine, almost lost to the haze in the air. Dozens of dragons lay scattered around, most of them dozing, a few of them cleaning themselves. Some half-grown ones were chasing each other about, shrieking, flying, jumping at each other and dodging the occasional swish of a tail from an annoyed adult. She had more at Sand, as many again at Southwatch and dozens in the air watching the borders of her realm. Watching Almiri at Evenspire. Watching the speaker and her impending war. Even here, in the quietest place she had, the war wouldn't let her go. And it hasn't even started. Not properly. But it's just a matter of time before Zafir comes to burn Evenspire. Jehal will come with her, and Almiri is my sister, but so is Lystra, and I promised her we would not become enemies. Am I really so sure that Mother didn't deserve to die?
'And what of my dragons, Eyrie-Master.'
'It cannot happen.'
She bit her thumb, chewing on the nail. 'Jehal, Zafir. Now Sirion perhaps. My own riders, who think I am too young, too inexperienced, too… too unmanly to sit on the throne of Sand and Stone.' And they're right, and I would gladly hand it over to them, except to which one do I give it? Hyrkallan perhaps? He's the glue that holds them together. I don't know how… 'They bicker and squabble and argue behind my back as though I'm already gone.'
'I remember your mother. She was younger than your little sister when she first came here to be Antros' bride. She was about as old as Almiri is now when Antros died. Antros had a good enough claim to the throne, but he'd been raised in the east with Hyram. He wasn't one of us but we accepted him because he was going to be the speaker one day. Your mother had Syuss blood in her and the Syuss had murdered our last king. She wasn't well liked but we tolerated her too. Then Antros died and Shezira became queen. There were a lot of riders who didn't like that at all. She didn't belong here. She wasn't a true rider of the north.'
Jaslyn started to tap her foot, waiting for Isentine to reach some sort of conclusion. 'You helped her.'
