He stared at the scorpions lining the palace walls, at the bodies in the cages, at the black scars in the City of Dragons and the tower on the plains, the last vestige of speaker Hyram's reign.
Orders. The Guard obeys orders. From birth to death. Nothing more, nothing less. It occurred to him that while the Adamantine Men vowed to obey the speaker, the alchemists made a different vow. Their vow was to serve the realms.
I thinks I like the alchemist vow better.
He turned back to look out over the palace. Someone else had slipped out of the council. Lord Eisal, judging by his gait. Vale watched him come towards the Gatehouse. Eisal wasn't built for speed, but he was doing his best. He looked furtive too. Anxious. Scared. Or is that my imagination? Although we have just witnessed the start of a war, and it would only be proper to be anxious. After all, it's not hard to imagine who's going to be next after the speaker's done with Shezira's brood.
Eisal reached the stables and hurried inside. Going to the city, My Lord? Or to the eyrie? He sighed. Could you not at least be a little less obvious? The council hasn't even dissolved and here you are, rushing away. To whom, Lord Eisal? Now that I've seen you, I need to know to whom. I don't suppose you'd care to save us both some trouble. I could simply ask and you could simply tell me and then we could both be about our business.
No. Reluctantly, Vale stood up and stretched his legs. Then he ran down the steps to the foot of the Gatehouse. Lord Eisal was already gone but the guard always kept a couple of mounts saddled and ready in case the speaker needed to send an urgent message to any of her eyries. Vale helped himself. He followed Eisal carefully, discreetly, down into the City of Dragons. If Eisal was trying to be subtle then it was clearly his first attempt. Mentally Vale was already seeing him hanging outside the gates in another cage. Simply for being so inept. That would be reason enough.
Eisal rode into the circus at the heart of the city. In the centre an obsidian statue of a dragon rose fifty feet into the air. Standing on the dragon's head was a man with a sword, poised to bring his blade down into the monster's skull. The first Night Watchman, some said, slaying a dragon with his bare hands.
Around the dragon, a ring of fountains chattered and bubbled, filling the circus with noise and spray, adding to the damp that always filled the air from the Diamond Cascade above. Eisal dismounted. He led his horse between the fountains and stopped beside the statue of the dragon. Vale followed on foot, slipping purposefully through the loose crowds that always thronged in the city centre. He didn't have to wait long to see who Eisal had come to meet. Two men, tall, broad and unmistakable, detached themselves from the crowd and stood with Eisal beside the dragon. The meeting lasted barely thirty seconds and Vale wasn't close enough to hear anything that was said, but then he didn't need to be. He could see it. He could see it in the faces of the riders at the statue. It is decided. The war is coming. That's what Eisal was saying.
Vale lost interest in Eisal. He followed the two men as they walked away from the statue and caught up with them halfway across the circus.
'What a fine afternoon,' he said when he was only a pace behind them. 'Wouldn't you say?'
The two men stopped. Very slowly they turned around. Vale had to force himself not to bow. Bowing would draw attention, and he wasn't sure he wanted that. Not yet. He settled for a slight nod of the head.
'Your Holiness. Forgive me if I intrude. King Sirion and Lord Hyrkallan. Two faces I had not expected to see in the Circus of Dragons at this time and certainly not together.'
Hyrkallan's hand went to his sword. 'Night Watchman,' he growled. 'Well well. I sang your praises to my last queen often enough but you are an unwelcome sight today.'
'I am called what I am called for a reason. Rider. When night comes it falls to the Adamantine Men to keep watch over the nine realms. You will not deny that the times are dark, I hope.' He glanced up at the statue. 'No one knows his name. Whoever he was he certainly didn't kill a dragon by standing on its head and bashing it with a sword. But the point remains.'
'You will not take us without a fight, Night Watchman,' said King Sirion. He spoke quietly. He almost sounded sad, Vale thought.
'And I don't see your men, Vale.' Hyrkallan, on the other hand, sounded like two slabs of rock grinding together. No sadness there. 'I followed Lord Eisal alone. On a whim, you might say.' Hyrkallan's hand gripped the hilt of his sword. Vale smiled. 'Do you think you could, Rider?' 'I think I could try.'
'Oh, I don't doubt that. You might hold me long enough for King Sirion to get away. Or you might not.' A flash of rage crossed Hyrkallan's face. Vale held up his hands. 'You don't need to try, Rider. I was never here. You may go. I have nothing to say to either of you.' There. I have betrayed my speaker. I have nowhere further to fall. He half turned and then stopped. 'No, I do have something to say to you. I have known you both through the reigns of two speakers. You are men of courage and of honour. Although at the moment it does not, I hope that the Adamantine Palace will one day welcome such men again. But I will say this to you. Fight your wars in the skies if you must, but do not bring them here. If you do, you will find that I have another name, one I wear for war.'
Hyrkallan almost grinned. 'If Zafir brings her dragons across the spur then I will meet them, no matter what my queen has to say. But I give you my word, I will not bring them here without your leave, Scorpion King.'
Vale smiled back. 'I hope your queen agrees with you, Rider.' He took a step away and then gave a final nod. 'Your Holiness. Your Highness. I will pray to all our ancestors. Let there be peace.' He glanced at King Sirion. 'Queen Shezira did not kill Hyram. I have very good reason to believe that now, Your Holiness.'
He turned and walked away. There. And now a thousand people have seen the captain of the Adamantine Men openly conspiring with enemies of the speaker. As far as I know, Zafir's still offering her own weight in gold for Hyrkallan's head. Sadly I don't have much use for gold. He walked back across the circus and got back on his horse. I could still tell her though. Would there be second thoughts? Would it make any difference if she knew that both Sirion and Hyrkallan will be waiting for her across the mountains?
He mulled that over on his way back up the hill. By the time he reached the top, he knew the answer. No, it wouldn't make any difference at all.
And that being the case, what would be the point in even mentioning it? He led his horse back into the stables, stripped off its saddle and started to brush it down. Working with horses always calmed him down. And when I'm done here, I suppose I'd better hurry and make another cage. I won't fit in the one we made for Princess Lystra.
But first, there was the little matter of a war.
45
Evenspire. Jehal slammed down his visor and plunged down through the air towards the city. The wind made it almost impossible to think and he clung on, pressing himself against Wraithwing, hugging the dragon's scales, trying to make sure there was no part of him that a hunter might catch hold of with its tail. Six of Almiri's hunting dragons had come after him. Four had lost their riders and were spiralling aimlessly towards the ground behind him. The other two were right behind him. He felt the first blast of fire wash over him. His dragon-scale armour kept the flames and the heat at bay. With his visor down he could barely see. For all he knew, Almiri had more dragons hidden in the city waiting for him. That's what I'd do. Outnumbered as she is, I'd try to kill me and I'd try to kill Zafir. And then I'd probably run away. But where had they come from?
'Back up!' he hissed. The words were lost to the rush of air but that didn't matter. The dragon would hear them even if he spoke in silence. 'Up! Up to the rest of the dragons!' Wraithwing is a war-dragon. He's faster than they are. They've lost their advantage. All I have to do is fly straight and level. Of course, that depends on how close they are, which I can't see…
Wraithwing pulled sharply up and turned. Something wrenched at Jehal's harness, some irresistible force. He felt straps and ropes tauten and snap. Nothing had a grip on him though. He wasn't dead and he wasn't flying through the air. Some of the bindings that held him and Wraithwing together had broken. Some, but not all. He clung on even tighter.
'Faster!' He had mounted two men on the dragon behind him. Their job was to keep watch above and below and behind. If he'd been from the north, they would have had scorpions as well. And will I be thinking how noble
