the truth of her claims.’ The door was heavy, bound in iron. Small too. Small enough that a large man like Hyrkallan would have some trouble getting through it in all his armour. Small enough to keep all but a newborn hatchling out. Or in, which was more to the point. ‘Here,’ he said, with a twinge of sadness in his voice. ‘Her Holiness is here. You will find her inside.’
He let Hyrkallan go in first, since the prince was wearing armour and sometimes the hatchling was in a foul mood. When there were no shrieks or bursts of fire, he peered around the door himself. Jaslyn was sitting cross- legged in the middle of the floor. The dragon was curled up beside her, sleeping. She was stroking its scales.
‘He likes this,’ she said distantly.
Isentine shook his head. ‘I’ll leave you to it then. I’d rather be away from that thing. Watch it if it wakes, My Lord. The two of them seem to have an accommodation, but I wouldn’t trust it not to bite your arm off. She says it reads your thoughts, so I advise you to guard them.’
He slowly climbed back up to the surface and waited. Half an hour passed, and then Hyrkallan emerged. His face was dark with fury. Isentine knew exactly how things had gone. Whatever Hyrkallan had said, he’d already tried it all himself.
‘I know, I know,’ he said, as Hyrkallan stormed towards him.
‘She refused me! Will nothing sway her?’
‘Nothing even reaches her, My Lord. I see little choice left but to drag her, kicking and screaming, out of there. A thing I cannot do.’
‘She is our queen, Isentine.’ Hyrkallan’s expression didn’t change. Lost in thought mixed with a heavy tinge of anger. ‘This is not how a queen should behave. Not at any time and especially not now.’ He sat down beside Isentine and scratched his nose. For the first time Isentine could remember, Hyrkallan looked lost. ‘Curse her. I need her. I need her with me at the Adamantine Palace.’
Isentine pursed his lips. ‘Then force her. That would be your right as her husband. Get her away from that abomination and her mind will clear. Or give the word and I will do it. Let her blame me. It’s time I took the dragon’s fall.’ It cost him a lot to say such things. Jaslyn was the closest of Shezira’s daughters to her mother and the one he loved the most. But they had to be said. He sighed. ‘I never thought to see days like these.’
Hyrkallan took a deep breath and levered himself back to his feet. ‘If neither reason nor duty will persuade her, perhaps she will listen to her sister.’
‘To Queen Almiri?’ Isentine chuckled. ‘After Evenspire, I don’t think Almiri’s cooperation is something you can rely on.’ No. Not Almiri. Lystra?’
Hyrkallan nodded. ‘Queen Lystra.’ Then he laughed. ‘You spend too much time with your dragons, old man.’
7
A Siege of Dragons
They had half a day before Prince Tichane came back at them. When he did, he came with everything. Dragons, hundreds of them, wheeling and circling Meteroa’s spire of stone, bathing it in flames until it must have seemed a column of fire, a bright shining thing seen across half the realms. Tichane came with riders, hundreds of them too, decked in dragon-scale. With scorpions that rained like hail on the unyielding stone. With barrels of lamp oil that turned the Reflecting Garden into an inferno and flowed in burning rivers down the sheer cliffs of the mountain. With endless hordes of slave-soldiers, carried in cages to mill in useless impotence on the wrong side of Meteroa’s walls. Tichane could bury the Pinnacles in burned bodies and shattered scorpion bolts for all Meteroa cared. Impotent, all of them. All of them except the dragons. It was almost enough to make him laugh, even if he’d lost a dozen riders in that first hour and most of the scorpions in the upper caves had been ruined.
A learning experience. All because we didn’t know how to work them. At least, not properly. But now… now we know better.
Three dragons flew straight at the cave. Meteroa gritted his teeth. They can’t reach me, they can’t reach me. Beside him, Gaizal calmly cranked the scorpion a little to the left and a little up. He fired. The recoil was vicious, rattling Meteroa’s bones as he tried to watch the bolt to its target. The air tasted of iron.
Scorpions. Meteroa had hundreds and hundreds of them. Tichane had destroyed dozens, and it simply didn’t matter. Meteroa was more likely to run out of people to shoot them.
‘You missed.’
‘Hit the dragon,’ said Gaizal calmly. ‘Now he’s an angry dragon. These scorpions are really hurting them. Bolt please.’
Meteroa handed him another bolt. Together they put their weight behind the cocking mechanism and levered it open again. In steady calm movements, the way we always trained. Paying as little attention as we can to the dragon that’s about to kill us.
The mechanism clacked into place and the new bolt dropped home. Gaizal spun wheels that turned the scorpion back to the right and up some more. The dragons were a few hundred yards away now and closing fast. Any moment now.
The bolt fired. One rider on the closest dragon lurched as a six-foot rod of sharpened steel struck him in the hip and speared him to his mount. Meteroa had just enough time to see a second rider have his head torn clean off by another bolt before the dragons opened their mouths. He must have sensed it coming, somehow, because he was already pulling the fire shield down over himself and the scorpion and cranking the lever that propelled them away from the light and towards the back of the cave. It took us an hour of being slaughtered to realise how to do that. He cringed and muttered a prayer to his ancestors.
Prince Lai built these scorpions. The realisation reached him at much the same time as a wall of fire shook the cave, scouring its walls. Each cave had three scorpions. Each scorpion was on an iron rail that ran from the front of its cave to the back. At the front, it had an open field of view and a wide arc of fire. When a dragon came close, the scorpion withdrew to the back, out of reach of tooth and claw.
But not out of reach of fire. For that there was the shield. It hadn’t taken long at all to discover those – hinged slabs of dragon-scale that wrapped the scorpion in a fireproof cocoon. Meteroa had never seen scorpions as big as these. Big enough to make a dragon scream.
The stifling scorched air drained away. Meteroa was vaguely surprised to find that he was still alive and in fact unhurt. Cautiously he lifted the fire shield up. The cave entrance was clear.
Prince Lai got it right. Meteroa couldn’t help but smile. You’ve got more dragons out there than I have riders. I’m really supposed to have lost already. Yet here I am in an impregnable fortress armed with the weapons designed by the Prince of War himself. Here I am, Tichane! Come and take me, if you can. Vishmir and Prince Lai had fought the first Valmeyan here, around the the Pinnacles, during the War of Thorns. The most famous battle in history, between the greatest dragon-knights the world had ever seen. And here I am, with another Valmeyan outside, gifted these presents by my ancestors…
‘Bolt please.’ The scorpion was already riding forward on its rail. Meteroa lifted another bolt – they were surprisingly heavy – from the crate slung at the back of the weapon and started on the arming lever. That took both of them with all of their strength to crank back ready to fire again. Two dragons flashed across the mouth of the cave right in front of them. The scorpion shook as Gaizal fired. Missed. In the middle distance another dragon bucked and screamed and veered towards them. The other two scorpions in the cave fired in unison. The noise was like a thunderclap.
‘Missed.’
‘Are you sure?’ Meteroa felt his skin tingle. The dragon-fury was like lightning in the air.
Gaizal shrugged. ‘Bolt.’ Meteroa reached for another and then changed his mind. Another dragon was coming in, straight at them. No time. He pulled down the fire shield and sent the scorpion back along its rail instead. A moment later the whole cave shook. Fire filled the air again. Meteroa closed his eyes and clutched his hands to his head against the sheer noise as the dragon roared. It must have been right at the mouth of the cave when it let loose.
The cave shook again, so hard that it almost knocked the scorpion off its rail. Meteroa staggered, grabbing at
