And then the scorpions began.
He saw them come. He was the Night Watchman, and seeing them come was the point of his being. It was hard to know whether the end of the world that was falling towards him was all Jehal’s fault or only mostly Jehal’s fault. But in the final reckoning it hardly mattered. He could almost have thanked Jehal, in a perverse way, for making this come to pass. It was the whole point of his existence, of every one of the Adamantine Men around him, of everyone who had gone before, the whole point of all of that was right here, right now, right in front of him.
He watched the City of Dragons burn. Patience. Patience was a weapon. Patience was the one thing he had that his enemy could barely understand. The city died and Vale watched. Tens of thousands of people. He supposed that others would expect him to feel something about that, some sort of sadness or regret, but that missed the point. That wasn’t his job. Let Jeiros weep and wring his hands for his beautiful city. I am the dragon-killer. No compassion, no mercy, no compromise. I am like them, but more.
The dragons were falling prey to their own passions. He could see it by the way they cavorted. They were ripping people out of their homes and eating them for the sheer fun of it. All good. A pity I couldn’t poison the whole city. I would have, if there had been a way. He’d already poisoned everything in the Adamantine Eyries. He and Vioros had seen to that long before Jehal returned. Vioros had seen to something else too, something that made Vale know his destiny was here.
When he thought they were ready, he gave the order to fire. The dragons were too far away for the scorpions to pick their targets, but they made up with that in other ways. Sheer numbers for a start.
Then he picked up the Adamantine Spear and went to wait outside.
Steel rain fell across the city. Bolts as long as a man fell almost straight out of the sky. They smashed through roofs and floors and buried themselves in cellar walls. They punched through chimneys and shattered flagstones. Here and there they struck dragons with enough force to drive straight through scales and deep into the muscles beneath. Dragons already teetering on the brink of battle lust dived headlong into it with a mad joy. Snow felt them roar with pain and then with merciless delight. At last a proper fight. She jumped into the air and spread her wings to be with them, powering up out of the smoke of the burning city towards the palace. Where I’m supposed to be. The eyrie could wait. Everything else could wait. It was wrong. They were being lured, pulled into a trap, but she didn’t even try to resist. There was no point. Why try to fight what you were created to be?
A second hail of metal spears fell around her. Two pierced her wings and passed straight through. A third struck her in the back, close to her tail. It hurt a lot more than the scorpions she remembered from the Worldspine. Angrily she twisted her neck and ripped the bolt out with her teeth. It snapped cleanly in two, leaving a foot of steel inside her. The pain grew suddenly worse. With a shriek she surged through the air. Poison, perhaps. Or acid. She didn’t care. A few poisoned bolts wouldn’t even slow her down. Wouldn’t slow any of them down.
She landed on the palace walls with a force that shook mountains, scattering men and scorpions around her like sand.
Vale could only be in one place at a time, so he started from the doors to the Glass Cathedral and worked from there. The palace would be destroyed. His men would be destroyed. His scorpions. He himself, most likely. None of that mattered. The dragons had to die, and that was all. Scorpions hailed overhead. The Azure Tower came crashing down, shattered lumps of stone as large as a house flying through the air. Boulders smashed against the hardened skin of the Glass Cathedral, exploding into shards, and then the earth shook beneath its feet as the first dragon landed in the Speaker’s Yard itself. A huge reddish monster, it raked the walls with fire and then rose up to tear at the needle-like Tower of Air.
The spear, it seemed, was singing to him, a soft choir of voices in ancient words that he didn’t understand and yet made perfect sense. He watched the dragon for a second and then another, feeling at the very last a tiny spark of what was perhaps fear, which flickered for a moment before he crushed it and ran out into the yard. No scream, no battle cry, but silent and swift, he plunged the Speaker’s Spear into the dragon’s leg.
The earth trembled. A blazing light lit up the night. A thousand voices roared in his head.
And the dragon turned to stone.
The Earthspear! Snow felt it, felt its roar of power, felt the death it brought. Bolts pricked her skin. Fury ripped through her. She lunged at scorpions, crushing men and their machines in her jaws. The air filled with the roar of fire, the grind of breaking stone, the rage-filled cries of dragons. She tore apart everything around her, stamped and smashed all to dust, then leapt over a wall between one part of the palace and another, lashing a tower with her tail as she went. She felt the Earthspear roar again, a second dragon die.
Where are you?
A misshapen old building, its surface glassy from some ancient heat, loomed out of the darkness and the flashes of fire. Close. She was close.
The earth shuddered as a monster twice her size crashed down onto the roof of the Glass Cathedral and slid down its sides, spraying fire all around it.
Burn!
Vale could barely hear himself, could barely think. There was screaming and roaring and flames everywhere. Pieces of the Tower of Air showered the walls. Men were crushed, scorpions splintered. Something crashed to earth behind him so hard it knocked him over, but before he could turn, there was another dragon, a little one this time, not much bigger than a horse, barely out of its egg. It shot out of the flames towards him, and as it opened its mouth, he rammed the spear down its throat. The light again, blinding, the noise, but as he blinked, he felt the spear ripped out of his hands as the now-statue dragon ploughed past him through the rubble and slid to a halt. He ignored the huge black thing sliding down the Glass Cathedral and bolted for the spear. A massive foot came down, crushing half the stone hatchling to rubble. He saw the spear. Then the dragon above him looked down and seemed to notice him for the first time. He lunged forward, but the great clawed foot came down again, smashing the hatchling’s head into splinters and burying the spear beneath it. The impact rippled the ground and Vale staggered away.
No.
It was laughing at him.
The Earthspear! It is mine!
A volley of a dozen scorpions ripped into her flank, hard enough to almost knocked her off balance. The pain, the pain was something new, something almost forgotten. It took her away, drowned everything, for a moment, except the need to smash and burn and kill and destroy.
Vale raced straight across the middle of Speaker’s Yard, weaving between the legs of the black dragon. Or maybe it wasn’t black. Maybe it was just dark. They all looked black or grey in the moonlight and the flashing bursts of fire. It was staying where it was, burning battery after battery of scorpions, never once lifting the claws that held the Adamantine Spear trapped in the earth. He reached a ladder and hurtled up to the wall.
‘Scorpions!’ Fire forced his men behind their dragon-scale, but fire didn’t kill. His precious scorpions were still there, behind their shields. ‘Load! Aim! Fire! Take it down!’
Six or seven of the weapons fired, straight into the dragon’s face. The monster snatched its head away and staggered and shrieked. Keep shooting. That was all they needed to do. Nothing more. Sooner or later it would fall.
The dragon lunged, tried to jump up onto the parapet, smashed three scorpions with its fore-claws before the wall cracked and crumbled, half tipping the dragon off again. Its tail cracked like a whip along the top of the wall, shattering men and machines, flipping them high into the air. Vale winced. A dozen more destroyed, just like that. Then the dragon was gone, if only for a moment, tipped back down into the Gateyard in an earthquake of breaking stone.
Slowly, looming over their heads, the Tower of Air sheared and began to fall. The spear, though. The spear was free again!
‘Scatter! Run!’ When the dragons came for you with tooth and claw, that was all you could do. Scatter and run. Draw them away from the scorpions. Our lives don’t matter. Vale took a gulp of scorched air, caught a glimpse of the rest of the palace. Dragons doing what dragons did. As he cranked the last scorpion on the Speaker’s Wall, he watched one smash into the Tower of Dusk. Dragon and tower disappeared in a cloud of dust and masonry lit up from within by the dragon’s fire.
There. The scorpion clicked and he reached for a bolt. The black dragon had rolled back to its feet. Adamantine Men ran in front of it, hurling futile javelins before they were crushed or burned, drawing its attention away from the walls. He could see where the spear lay. Ought to jump straight down there if his legs would take it,
