‘… outside…’
‘… Red Riders?’
Them again. Same as the Scales had said. They kill even alchemists and scales… Kemir paused. ‘They’re talking, dragon. Do you hear them?’
No. Their minds are unfamiliar. Which was worth knowing, Kemir decided, and he started trying to work out how far away he was from Snow. How much further before she can’t feel me at all?
Worlds could separate us, Kemir, and I would find you. Besides, I will know your intent before you know it yourself, and you do not have the desire to run from me. I do not understand why you expend such effort thinking about it when deep down you have already conceded that your life is tied to mine.
‘You mean we have a shared destiny or some shit like that?’ Kemir spat. ‘What makes you think any of that mystical crap is true.’
Dragons do not believe in destiny.
‘You don’t really believe in anything, do you.’
I believe in what I see in your head, Kemir.
He took another few dozen steps forward and listened again. The air smelled of mould and earth and sweat. He could hear at least four different voices arguing in the tired laboured way of men who’d argued about the same thing for far too long. Round and round. He crouched down with his back to the wall and listened. One of the voices wanted to go back outside. The others said no. On about those Red Riders again.
With a start, he realised he knew the legend. The rider who wore red and whose name was Justice. Who rode a white dragon called Vengeance. A mythical, never real, white dragon… Well one of us fits the part at least. With a bit more blood on me, who knows?
Make them come out!
‘I might have to explain why you tried so hard to kill them,’ breathed Kemir. Not a bad idea, if he could somehow convince the alchemists to come out of their own accord. He racked his memory for anything that might help. To be an alchemist probably meant you had to be clever, though. Cleverer than him. Certainly cleverer than a dragon
… No, there were better ways. Tried and tested. He crept on a bit further until he was right on the corner where the tunnel turned and widened out into an open space. The air here was warm and smelled bad, stale with the taste of too many men in too small a space for too long a time. Sweat and piss. I know that smell well enough. Smells like home.
He stepped around the corner and put an arrow in the chest of the first man he saw. Think of them as dragon-knights. They didn’t even realise he was there, lurking in the shadows on the edge of their light. Alchemists give dragon-knights their dragons. He put an arrow through the throat of a second man. They deserve the same. Killing dragon-knights was as easy as breathing. He stepped forward with a third arrow at the ready, letting them see him just as they realised what was happening. There were six left in front of him. None of them was armed. Alchemists, dragon-knights. Same difference, right?
‘Stay very still.’ Same difference. He had to keep telling himself that. Somehow it wasn’t sticking.
It wasn’t a big room. A few crude beds, a simple table, pots to piss in, that sort of thing. Food on the table. Leftover biscuits and dried meat. Alchemical lamps, several of them. And more tunnels leading out of the back of the room. Too many to be looking into. Six men alive and two dead. You said there were eight. Are you sure?
I cannot be certain, Kemir.
‘Are there any more of you lurking back there?’ he snapped and watched their faces carefully. There was no guile in these men; perhaps they were too shocked by the casual way he’d executed two of them. They didn’t start to glance at the tunnels, just stared at him in slack-jawed horror.
‘Well? Do I have to shoot a few more of you so the rest can find their tongues?’ He took a step towards them and they cringed. They could rush me if they wanted. I could only shoot one of them and the rest would be on top of me. With strength of numbers they would win, and yet they won’t. They’ll cower, too afraid, and then I’ll herd them outside and they’ll be slaughtered like cattle. All because every one of them would rather live for another few minutes more than win.
Your kind are indeed curious, observed Snow. What you are doing would not work on dragons.
Kemir gritted his teeth. He muttered under his breath, ‘And how would you know that, Snow? Dragons find themselves on the wrong end of these situations often, do they?’
We are very old, Kemir. We remember much that your kind have forgotten. Powers far greater than us. Powers that made us. Snow went silent and there it was, the catch in her thoughts. The something that passed for a pause for breath, a mouth that opened to speak, and then closed and chose to to be silent instead. One of those silver men moments. Even as he thought that, he sensed Snow bristle.
The alchemists, Kemir.
Yes. The alchemists. He’d given them far too much time to think about rushing him. They were exchanging glances and starting to fidget. Two bad signs. He switched his aim to the one who, in the dim glow of their lamps, looked the oldest. In Kemir’s experience, the older men got, the keener they became on living. ‘You,’ he snapped, ‘are there any more or is it just you six?’ He didn’t dare take his eyes off them, but the room was far too shadowy for his liking. He couldn’t even see the walls clearly, never mind their dark corners. A man with a bit of skill could sneak right up to him.
The man’s jaw dropped. He made a squeaking noise that could have meant anything.
‘On the count of five I’m going to shoot you. One.’
‘Uh… ah!’
‘Two.’
‘We’re all there are! Please! Oh by all the gods, please don’t kill me.’
Kemir shot the man standing next to him instead. He had another arrow ready before they realised what he had done. Herding five was easier than herding six. Four would be even better… ‘Well done, old man. You’re still alive. A bit quicker next time. Are you all alchemists?’
‘Yes! Yes!’ The old alchemist fell to his knees and lifted his hands to Kemir. ‘We are servants of the Order. We have no part in these battles. We serve the realms and tend to the dragons, all dragons, no matter who rides them.’
He speaks of us as though we are no more than animals, snarled Snow in Kemir’s head.
‘You can eat him when I bring him out, dragon.’ Kemir hardly spoke, but his lips moved. The old alchemist looked at him in wild-eyed horror.
‘Who… who are you?’
Kemir laughed. Why not? They won’t know what he looks like. ‘I’m the Red Rider himself, old man. The real thing. Justice, with my white dragon Vengeance waiting up above. I used to have a different name but I don’t use it any more. We’re above, taking what’s left of this eyrie apart.’
‘But King Jehal destroyed you!’
Oh, so that one’s a king now, is he? ‘Apparently not.’
‘What do you want from us, Rider?’ The old man was almost crying, as if Kemir had confirmed his worst fears. ‘We serve all with equal dispassion. We do not take sides.’
Rage flickered around the edges of Kemir’s thoughts. The drag-on’s rage. ‘Get out.’ None of the alchemists moved. ‘Get outside or you’ll all die where you stand. Go and I’ll let you live. Take your lamps and make your way outside and you will not be killed. You have my word as a rider.’ And we outsiders all know what that’s worth, don’t we? But you probably believe in that shit.
He watched as they filed past him, heads hung low, broken men shuffling out to their doom. The oldest one went first. Kemir followed the last, careful to keep his distance. In the darkness all he could see were their lamps. If one of them decided to lag behind and hide with a knife somewhere, the first he’d know about it was when it was in his ribs. Tunnels, caves, dark closed places, he hated them all.
The alchemists got to the foot of the steps and the pile of rubble that blocked the way and stopped, milling uncertainly about. If they were going to think of stabbing him, it would be now.
There is another. You have left one behind. I sense it now.
‘Too bloody late,’ snapped Kemir. ‘I’m not going back.’ He barked and prodded at the alchemists. ‘Clear it or climb over it. I don’t care which you do, but you’d better do it quickly. My arm’s getting tired.’ Alchemists, dragon- knights. Same difference. He thought about shooting another one to chivvy them along. It would be a mercy, after
