'Even the Viper?'
'Even the devil, Night Watchman.'
Vale shrugged. 'Then I will bow to your wisdom, Master Jeiros. The next time you stand here, you may be able to see me in one of those cages out there.'
'Jehal needs you. I will not allow it.'
'But he will be speaker. He will not need our opinions.'
Jeiros cocked his head. 'I think in these unusual times he might find that he does. See it this way, Vale. See him as ours. The speaker is always as much a servant of the realms as you or I.'
'I somehow doubt King Jehal will agree.'
'Then we will make him. Besides, however much we may wish for it, we cannot be sure that Speaker Zafir is dead. If she was eaten in battle we may not be sure for a very long time. I think King Jehal can merely act as a speaker under our guidance until we are. There are precedents here too.'
The Night Watchman laughed. 'Until some dragon shits out the Adamantine Spear? You've come a long way, Grand Master.'
'I wonder sometimes if the realms wouldn't be better off without dragons. If I knew of a way we could rid ourselves of them, I think I would do it. But we can't. They always come back.'
'So Jehal gets what he wants.'
'Under sufferance, Vale. But yes, for now he does. I see no other choice.'
One false move, Viper, and nothing will save you. Vale smiled to himself. 'If you find that you do not have enough potion and it is necessary to poison a few of them to keep their numbers down, I will do nothing to stand in your way. I thought you might want to know that.'
Jehal lay on his bed in the Tower of Dusk. His sickbed, where Jeiros had tended to his wound. He stared at the ceiling. This is the last time. I will never lie here again. Tomorrow I will be in the Speaker's Tower or I will be dead. He wondered idly whether he had enough riders to seize the palace by force. Probably not. Which means I am in the hands of Jeiros and the Night Watchman, and I know that at least one of them despises me.
The realms need a speaker. Principles opened with those words.
One of the palace servants knocked on his door and slipped inside. The girl bowed so low that her face almost scraped the floor. 'Grand Master Jeiros, Your Holiness.'
So now we shall find out. 'Send him in.'
The girl left. After a few seconds the alchemist came in. Jehal sat up in his bed. 'Have you come to dress my wound again, Master Jeiros?'
'It is the realms who are wounded, King Jehal. Will you dress that wound? Will you bring us peace?' 'I will do my best, Grand Master.'
Jeiros bowed his head. 'You should know that We cannot name you speaker until Zafir has been proven to be dead. 'She was eaten by a dragon, Master Jeiros.'
'Yes, Your Holiness, and there are precedents for this. If Zafir does not set foot within the Adamantine Palace within the next one hundred and one days, the Lesser Coucil will recognise that she is dead. On that day I will summon the kings and queens of the nine realms to name another. I cannot promise it will be you.'
'Then I have a hundred days to prove I am worthy, do I?'
The alchemist looked up and met his eye. 'Yes, Your Holiness. That would seem to be the ease. Tomorrow the Lesser Council will name you speaker for a hundred days. I have nothing to offer you as a sign of your office. No ring, no spear.'
The Adamantine Spear. One day you'll probably try to take it and find that I got there first. The blood-mage. That's what he'd wanted.
'Zafir did not have the spear with her, Jeiros.' And he never even came for his gold. I wonder why.
'It is a symbol, Your Holiness. Its powers are a myth.'
'Really?' Let it go. It's really not that important to you.
'We will make another.' The alchemist reached out a hand and offered something to Jehal. A letter. 'This came for you while you were at war. A dragon from the Pinnacles.'
The writing and the seal were Meteroa's. So he's taken the Pinnacles. Zafir's reign is truly over. The War of Thorns finally ends.
Jeiros turned to go. 'I have argued with Vale for you. Your feud ends here. I need you both to understand that.'
Jehal gave him a wry smile. 'Do you give orders to all your speakers?'
'No. Nor do I bring them all back from the brink of death.'
Except you didn't. That was the blood-mage. For reasons that I find ever more troubling. Jehal sighed. 'The realms need a speaker and I am available. I understand, Master Jeiros. I will try not to disappoint you.'
'If you do, Vale has a cage waiting for you.' The alchemist smiled weakly. 'I have some faith in you, King Jehal. I hope you prove me right.'
'Well I'll see what I can do.' Jehal snorted and shook his head. 'I had an ambition to be speaker once. Being your puppet isn't quite what I had in mind.' He curled his lip. 'Do one small thing for me, Grand Master. Zafir did not take your precious spear to war with her. It's been stolen by a blood-mage. His name is Kithyr. Find him. Bring him back.' He chuckled. 'But don't tell him I sent you. Apparently he'll kill me.' He sighed and waved Jeiros away. A hundred and one days. Lystra will make peace with the north for me long before then. And then we shall see. He opened Meteroa's letter.
The end of Zafir's line as near as I can manage it. The Pinnacles are mine. Kazalain is dead and so are his sons. Say the word and Princess Kiam can follow them. Not that that'll help. The trouble with royal families is that everyone is always related to everyone else. No matter what you do, it's never the end of any bloodline. That's the whole point, isn't it? Not unless you kill absolutely everyone. Although as I look around at the carnage in the throne room here, at the two dead princes who were barely more than children, I will concede that extinguishing us all might be a very fine thing.
Your father once said that only a madman took his wife to war on the eve of giving birth. Lystra's your wife though, not mine, so perhaps I'm not so mad after all. She is safe and has celebrated our victory by giving you a son. She asks what his name should be.
Jehal stretched, trying to ease the cricks in his back, chewing on Dreamleaf to numb the pain in his leg. He read the letter again, and then a third time. When he started for the fourth, it occurred to him that he wasn't actually reading the words any more and that he had a stupid grin plastered all over his face.
I am the speaker.
I have a son.
I win.
Again.
48
Zafir stood on the ramparts looking out over Fuymuouth. Behind her, parts of Jehal's palace were burning. She stared out at the sea. There were Taiytakei ships out there. Hundreds of them. They'd simply appeared in the night, lurking out to sea, asking to be burned. She mulled the thought over, but whatever she might have wanted, there was little she could do. She'd gone to Evenspire with two hundred dragons. Now she had exactly one. Sometimes she wished she'd ignored Tichane. Ignored the blood-mage. Ignored the Night Watchman. Ignored herself. Sometimes she wished she'd ignored them all and believed that Jehal was hers and ridden her Onyx to Evenspire and died before she could know she was wrong.
Her fists were clenched so tight they were starting to hurt. With a few deep breaths she forced herself to relax. She couldn't say she hadn't seen it coming, but it made her want to scream.
A rider appeared at her side. He took her hand and touched it to his lips.
'I am sorry, Your Holiness. Queen Lystra is not here.'