but he was up here on the wall now. Draw it away. You can’t hurt a dragon but a scorpion can. And we don’t have enough. He hadn’t told his men that last part but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. They were Adamantine Men. They lived for this. Every one of them had drunk the dragon poison for two days now, ever since dragons had come to the Purple Spur, so most of them were as good as dead already. It all came down to how much damage they could do before they went. Vioros and the weapon of legends come to life once more, they were the only hope.
Something smashed into the wall. He didn’t even see what or where, only felt the tremor. He stumbled and gripped the scorpion. The black dragon screamed and lunged at the men harrying its feet. Try to get eaten. Fill them with poison in any way you can. Make every death into victory.
The black had three or four soldiers in its claws. It stuffed them into its mouth and bit savagely down. Then it spat out the remains, showering the men around it with blood and gore and broken armour. For a moment it paused. Vale pivoted the scorpion around and up a notch and then shot it in the eye. He was already running when the bolt hit. He didn’t bother to look back, only down.
The spear!
No no no NO!
She could feel the poison in her. She could feel the heat, the first warning surge inside her, and it made her want to fight even harder, to burn and smash even more. Which would make the heat worse, which would feed the rage, which would feed the heat, and on and on until everything was out of control and she burst into flames from the inside.
They couldn’t be winning could they, the little ones? She half jumped, half flew up onto the broken stump of one of the smaller towers. The walls around her were breached. A few of the bigger towers were still intact, but the smaller ones were all smashed. Everything that would burn was in flames. The earth and the air trembled and thundered. A thin haze of smoke filled the night. She could see the shapes of the other dragons clear enough, but the little ones… The smoke hid them.
The Earthspear! She reached out for it with her thoughts. It had fallen silent, but it was near.
Yet another bolt slammed into her side. Then another. The rage flashed inside. Her head snapped around, looking for where they’d come from. But she couldn’t see. Everything looked ruined or was lost in the haze.
Another bolt bounced off her head, leaving a burning scar. We should never have come in the night. She’d been hit by dozens now. So many she’d lost count. Little ones, little ones, she could taste their thoughts, so many, scurrying, running, but she couldn’t see them!
She launched herself into the air. Defeat. She could taste it. Inconceivable defeat. And yet the rage drove them on and they were powerless against it. The dragons around her were all lost in the fury. It would never occur to them to stop until the fire took them.
No. Not now. Not this close. It can’t be. I will not allow us to fail!
A tail as thick as a man whipped over his head and crashed into the remnants of the Tower of Air behind him. Shards of stone flew like shrapnel; larger pieces tumbled, crushing the ruined walls around him, breaking men and metal alike. The dragons shook them off. Much of the palace was bathed in fire. Dragons out of control, out of their minds, burning up with their own rage, pouring it out on everything around them. Vale sprinted straight through the middle of them, hurdling the bodies of the fallen, the burned and the crushed. The palace was awash with the ashes of the dead. In the end metal buckled. Men were roasted and died. Even dragon-scale wasn’t perfect.
He raced between the legs of a young hunter that tried to bite him and missed. The more they burn, the more our poison will grip them. A tail slashed across the ground, throwing up a cloud of black ash, of stone and armour. Of blackened arms and legs and torsos and heads. Vale ran under the belly of another dragon, which didn’t even seem to notice he was there. He’d lost track of where the spear was, but it must be buried in bodies and rubble by now. He’d done what he could. If there were any working scorpions left on the walls, they were too few to matter now and he couldn’t tell them from the mangled remains of their cousins. Most of the Adamantine Men were dead. They’d never know whether they’d died in glorious victory or in defeat.
He reached the doors of the Glass Cathedral. Walls thick enough to stand even dragons welcomed him. As he ran, the doors flew open. Behind him, a dragon turned and lunged. Vale threw himself to the ground, sliding the last yard on his belly across stones sticky with cooked blood. Behind the doors, a dozen scorpions all packed together spat out a final volley.
‘Run!’ he shouted. No time to load and fire again. No point in losing more men. Tomorrow’s Night Watchman would need them. He tried to get back to his feet, but for once his strength failed him. He stumbled and fell in the doorway. Someone else would take the fight to the dragons after today. He’d done the best he could.
He rolled onto his back. ‘Come and get me!’ There were sacs of poison strapped to his armour. Too much for a man to drink and survive. Enough, perhaps, to kill a dragon. And there it was, the dragon that had taken a face full of scorpion bolts, towering over him, eyes ablaze, flames licking out between its teeth, insane with fire and fury. ‘Come on!’ he screamed at it. ‘Eat me!’
Its head swayed from side to side, almost mocking him, as though it could read his mind. And then, very slowly, it toppled over and crashed to the ground. Fire sputtered around it. Flames flickered on its tongue. Even through his armour Vale could feel the heat. He lay there and stared.
And I thought we were going to lose.
He started to laugh. Once he’d started, he couldn’t stop.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a single dragon, pale as a ghost in the moonlight, take to the skies and fly away.
48
The Morning After
Jehal couldn’t put his finger on when the battle ended. The noise, the rumbles and thunder as the dragons smashed down the Adamantine Palace went on most of the night. He sat awake in bed, listening to it. Eventually it faded away and stopped. He might have dozed after that. He wasn’t sure. Lystra slept, and he watched her. Looked at her by the light of a single tiny candle. He stroked her face and her hair, gently so as not to wake her. After a while, after the noises had stopped and everything was still, he very carefully climbed out of their bed and dressed.
‘I’m sorry, my love,’ he whispered in her ear, ‘but these particular caves don’t agree with me.’
The caves under the Glass Cathedral were still and quiet. There were no guards on his door, none to keep him safe and none to keep him from leaving either. He hopped and hobbled through the silent tunnels. Frightened faces glanced at him and turned away. Servants, scared witless, knowing they were doomed to die down here. But starving is better than burning, isn’t it? Or is it?
He didn’t find any soldiers until he reached the stairway to the Glass Cathedral itself. Until he climbed them, one excruciating step at a time. And at the top there’s going to be a dragon waiting for me. And then what? He didn’t know. What he knew was that kings didn’t hide in cellars while their kingdoms burned around them. Kings faced their enemies. Even if they couldn’t win. Kings died in daylight. In the open.
He reached the top of the steps. He’d expected bodies, but the cathedral was almost empty. The wreckage of a dozen scorpions lay scattered around the door. The air stank of smoke, of burned wood and scorched flesh. No bodies though. None alive, none dead.
He heard voices. Men, calling to each other. Outside. Not screaming and dying calling, but the matter-of-fact shouts of men busy at work. He hobbled to the door, blinking. No dragons? Was that possible?
A grey glimmer of dawn lit the horizon. Not much light, and at first he couldn’t see the damage. The Tower of Air was a stump. The Speaker’s Tower was still there, although it seemed to be missing several large pieces. He scanned the silhouette of the palace, looking for anything else that was familiar and finding little. The Tower of Dusk, the Tower of Dawn, the Humble Tower, the Azure Tower… all gone.
‘Hello?’ he called. ‘Did we win then?’ There were dim figures moving in the darkness where the walls ought to be. They had bits missing, he began to see. Quite a lot of bits missing. It was warm outside too, strangely and almost uncomfortably so.
