speaker's call. I require food and sustenance for my dragons and my riders and an audience with Prince Kazalain.'
The riders shuffled uneasily. One of them stepped forward. Meteroa peered at him. The face wasn't familiar but his eyes were sharp. He was old and walked awkwardly, which was presumably why Zafir had left him behind. 'In Queen Zafir's absence, Princess Kiam rules here,' said the rider. He bowed as he spoke, but his eyes never left Meteroa's face.
'And will I find her here or in the Palace of Pleasure?'
The rider bowed again. 'I do not know where you will find her, Your Highness, but it will not be here.'
Meteroa threw up his hands in exaggerated exasperation. 'Shall I spend the night searching for your errant princess? I have better things to do and my men are soldiers not errand boys. Is Prince Kazalain here?' He'd better be. 'My words are for him, not some little girl.'
'He's here, Your Highness,' said the rider. He sounded reluctant.
'Well, then go and get him.'
There wasn't anywhere else for him to go. Jehal plunged down again, the force of Wraithwing's turn pitching him back with such force that he was surprised it didn't snap his spine. He screamed as something ripped and his injured leg was suddenly stabbing burning agony. He gestured frantically, hoping some of his riders would see and follow him towards the ground. Principles said that he should keep his riders high and simply sit there and take it from the dragons hidden in the clouds. We need to be low enough to see them coming. Then we can fight them. He brought the visor down again and trusted Wraithwing to level out safely above the city instead of smashing into the ground. Jehal was still gasping from the pain in his leg when Wraithwing spread out his wings again and he pitched forward. His eyes bulged and the world went red for a moment as his ribs were pushed flat. Then the feeling went. Dazed, he leaned forward and urged the dragon on, over the column of smoke and flames that had been the Palace of Paths. The wind battered at him. Whatever would burn was burning. The scorpions on the walls were gone, smashed to bits or sitting limp and idle, surrounded by the charred husks of the soldiers who had manned them. Most of Almiri's men would have fled down into the tunnels under the citadel; that was to be expected. Zafir wouldn't worry about that. Two thousand of the Adamantine Men were on the march to mop up the survivors and hold the citadel once Almiri had been burned out of it. Once we've done with you. But the soldiers wouldn't get here for days. Until then dragons would have to do.
He glimpsed Onyx, Zafir's war-dragon, circling low along the walls. Jehal could almost taste her delight as she swept arcs of fire about her as she went. He drove Wraithwing towards her and then into the plumes of smoke and into a cloud of a hundred circling dragons. With a bit of luck that would shake Almiri's riders off his tail. After he'd passed through, he started to climb back towards his own dragons. He took a deep breath, sat up, opened his visor and looked behind him. He was breathing hard. Everything hurt. He was ready to be sick. But at least he was still alive.
The hunters who'd been chasing him were gone. For a moment he was alone. He took a few breaths to let his racing heart slow. He was sweating, exhausted, and he hadn't even done anything yet except run away. Below him the rest of Zafir's dragons, the ones that weren't destroying the citadel, were loose over the city. There wasn't any pattern or order to what they were doing. They were hunters mostly, Iooking for any sign of Almiri and her soldiers. So far they hadn't set the city hopelessly ablaze, but that was surely only a matter of time. Jehal wondered for a fraction of a second whether the people who lived there had had any warning of what was to come. Probably not, he supposed.
He looked up again, turning Wraithwing back towards his own riders. And ducked as a dragon tail sliced the air barely yards away from his face.
'Vishmir's cock! What does it take?' He swore some more but these dragons weren't coming for him. They rained past him, another cluster of Almiri's hunters from the clouds, arrowing down towards the citadel. For a few seconds he was too stunned that he was still alive to think. Then he saw where they were going. They were aiming straight for Onyx.
Jehal watched in stupefied disbelief. Without thinking what he was doing, he turned Wraithwing and dived after them. He felt something that was almost panic. He wasn't going to catch them in time. And all the time a part of him was screaming, Why are you chasing them? They're only doing exactly what you were going to do! Let them do it! Except that wasn't what he wanted. He'd come to the battle with every intention of betraying Zafir and smashing her dragons to the ground as soon as the battle was won. And now Almiri's doing it for me, and I'm trying to save her. What sort of idiot does that make me?
He pulled Wraithwing up. The hunters were far too far ahead. They'd fallen like stones all the way from the clouds and he had no chance of catching them. All he could do was watch.
Eventually Prince Kazalain appeared. Meteroa almost didn't recognise him. He looked old and broken. He tried to smile, but his face struggled as if he'd forgotten how.
'Prince Meteroa.' The usual disgust wasn't there. Kazalain only looked sad.
'I'm just an eyrie-master, Your Highness. You look terrible. The months since King Jehal's wedding have not been kind to you. You look ten years older.' Meteroa reached out a hand. 'I'm sorry for your loss.'
Kazalain spat. 'No, you're not, Prince Meteroa. You hardly knew my son Sakabian. He was foolish, but he didn't deserve to hang in a cage over the speaker's g.ates.'
'Neither did Queen Shezira or King Valgar for that matter, but little things like that don't seem to bother your queen.' 'Mind your tongue.'
'Why? Will you cut it out because I say that your son's death was unjust?'
'You should not be here, and you should not be saying these things.' Kazalain turned away. 'Be gone!'
'I require food and sustenance for my dragons and my riders, Kazalain. We are going to war.'
Kazalain waved vaguely at the city below. 'At the city eyrie, Meteroa. You know that. Don't ask the alchemists for any of their potions though. They barely have enough to feed the hatchlings. We have none to spare.'
'You still have your other sons. You should not forget them. Vishmir and Lai, isn't it? Named after the shining lights of Furymouth's past. Good names. Are they here?'
'Of course they're here. You think I'd let them stray from me after what our queen did to Sakabian.' He stopped and turned back again. 'Why do you ask?' Something in Meteroa's tone must have caught his attention. I'll have to pay more attention to that sort of thing.
'You could wonder about that. Or you could wonder about the fact that I'm dressed in dragon-scale while you and your soldiers are not, eh?' He gave Kazalain an instant to understand what was about to happen and then dropped to one knee and flicked his fire visor closed.
Fire poured from the dragons behind him. The force of it plucked him right off the ground and threw him ten feet forward. The noise left his ears ringing. When he got up, he staggered. If any of Kazalain's soldiers were still alive, they could have killed him as easily as killing a child.
Well I won't be doing that again. Meteroa lifted up his visor. The soldiers and Kazalain were all dead, burned to the bone. Meteroa knelt down beside Kazalain and patted what was left of his head. Charred bits fell off in his hand.
'I wouldn't want any heirs escaping to make a nuisance of themselves, dial's why.' He gave the dead prince a wan smile. 'I'll be kinder to them than Zafir was to Sakabian. At least I can promise you that. Their deaths will be as quick and painless as yours.'
He took his time. A few riders stayed on the backs of their dragons to keep watch. Others moved methodically through the eyrie, rounding up the Scales and the alchemists and anyone too stupid to run into the stone embrace of the fortress. Most of the rest raced down into the depths of the Pinnacles. That was the trick with this place. Get in fast and deep before they even knew you were here. Otherwise they could simply shut you out. As long as he stopped them from doing that, the rest could wait until he'd had time to bring soldiers up from Furymouth. Jehal had sent a couple of hundred cavalry, who would arrive in a few days. The remainder would have to march on foot. But I have time. Hither Jehal has succeeded or he's dead, and if he's dead I might wish I hadn't burned all those Taiytakei ships yesterday morning.
When he was done he mounted up and took to the air again. His riders knew what to do. Most stayed to hold the eyrie, but a few joined him back in the air. As they circled down, fire bloomed around the edge of the city below. There go the whores and all the riders who were lying with them. Never much cared for their kind. To get himself in the mood, he flew over the flames and through the smoke. The smell of it set his blood pumping, even more than burning the Taiytakei had done. There was something primal about dragon-fire, something that tore off the thin
