The Adamantine Palace (7 page)

He shook the sell-swords off and started to really run, deeper and deeper into the forest. Another blast of hot air caught him from behind, weaker this time. He caught a whiff of smoke. We're going to die! They're going to burn us!

'Stop! Stop!'

One of the sell-swords grabbed him by the arm.

Huros shook him off. 'Why? We have to run. They're going to kill us!' Oh gods, oh gods, it hurts ...

'Look behind you.'

Huros looked. Back towards the river the forest was full of smoke. He could see flames flickering.

'See. We're far enough into the trees. The dragon fire can't reach us now.'

Huros shook his head. Every instinct he had said run, run and keep running until he dropped.

The sell-swords looked at each other. We should scatter,' said Kemir. 'Harder for them to hunt down three of us if we scatter.' Somewhere far overhead, lost behind the canopy of leaves, dragons shrieked and screamed.

Sollos nodded. 'Fire from above. That's how they flush their prey out into the open. Did you see how many of them there were?'

Kemir shrugged. 'Do you think they'll send men into the trees to track us?'

'Doubt it. But they might.'

Huros felt himself start to panic again. Both of the sell-swords were looking at him. What did he know about hunting on dragon-back? Not much. Did snappers always run in a straight line when they reached the trees? Was that how the hunters caught them? 'But, but... It'll be dark soon.'

'Yes. Be thankful. It makes us harder to find.'

'Dragons see heat,' blurted Huros. He screwed up his face. His hands, they were the worst. He'd have given anything to run back to the river and drench them in blissful cold running water.

The sell-swords looked at each other again. 'Mud,' said Kemir. 'Good for burns.' He pointed higher up the valley. 'I'll go that way. See if I can't lay a false trail or two.'

Sollos nodded. He looked at Huros. 'You make your way deeper into the trees. I'll go downriver. Keep yourself hidden, that's the important thing. Anyone comes after us on foot, we can deal with them. Once it's dark, they won't be able to find you if you keep still and you keep quiet. We'll find you tomorrow, after they're gone. A mile up the river. The way Kemir's going.'

Huros opened his mouth to say something, but the words stuck in his throat. No, no! Don't! Let me come with you! But the sell-swords were already turning away. He watched, struck dumb, as they left him standing there. He wanted to cry. His hands, his beautiful hands ...

It's only pain, he told himself. There's no lasting damage.

Still ...

He began to run. He had no idea whether he was going in the right direction, only that it wasn't the same way as either of the sell-swords. Kemir was right. Mud. Thick cool slimy mud. That's what he should think about. Mud was good for burns. How did the sell-sword know that? Stupid question -- there were dragons in his life, so of course he knew.

He tried not to think about the dragons who might be circling overhead, or the riders who might be racing through the trees in pursuit. When he was out of breath, he stopped running and rested against a tree, careful not to scrape his burns on its bark. The forest was silent. He thought about that for a while, and decided it was a good thing. He had no idea where he was, but with a bit of luck neither did anyone else. It was getting dark too. He tried not to think about wolves and snappers and other monsters that might sniff him out. Shelter, that was what he needed. Shelter and water. Food as well, but that was probably too much to ask for.

Huros made himself think about all these things until his head spun, and then he made himself think about them some more. They were a fragile and uncertain armour, but they just about kept the horror at bay. When they failed, he dug his fingernails into the burned skin of his hands until the pain became so excruciating that it overwhelmed everything.

Stay alive ...

By the time the light failed and it became too dark for him to see, he'd found himself a place to shelter, nestled into the hollow of a giant tree. He tried to sleep. When that didn't work, he tried telling himself that it was summer, that the nights were short and warm, even here in the foothills of the Worldspine, that the sun would rise before long. He'd make his way back to the river, the sell-swords would be there, the queen and her riders would return, and everything would be fine.

Halfway through the night, it started to rain.

9

The Knight-Marshal

Lady Nastria, knight-marshal and mistress of Queen Shezira's dragon-riders, glanced up and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She saw what she always saw. A short, mouse-haired, nondescript rider who shouldn't have amounted to anything much but who found herself knight-marshal to the most powerful queen in the realms. An enigma. Sometimes even she didn't know who she truly was.

Today, though, if she was an enigma, she was an irritated one. She was having trouble with her boots. However much she stamped her feet, they were never quite comfortable. It was as if, overnight, they didn't fit any more.

'So? Did he or didn't he?' Queen Shezira sat lounging in a corner of the knight-marshal's robing room. She looked distant, Nastria thought. Distracted.

'Short answer: I don't know.' There. Finally one heel slipped into place. One down, one to go. 'If he did, he was keeping it well hidden.'

'We might have been wrong about Speaker Hyram. He's not himself any more. Perhaps we should have brought the white with us for him to see before Jehal gets her.'

Lady Nastria snorted. 'Holiness, Hyram hates Prince Jehal. He's also petty-minded and vindictive. You sent the white across the Purple Spur because if you'd brought her to the Adamantine Eyrie, he'd have found a way to ruin her, just out of spite.'

'I don't think Lystra or Jaslyn thought much of our speaker either.' No. They were both too busy making eyes at Valmeyan's ambassador, Prince Tichane. When they weren't giggling at that vacuous Prince Tyrin and his brothers. Who, ancestors help us, will doubtless be waiting for us in Furymouth in a few days.

'There's not much to think, Your Holiness, not any more. He was a strong man once. Not exactly a good one, not even a fair one or a just one, but strong enough to exert his will. He's not even that any more. The realms will breathe a sigh of relief when you take his place.'

Shezira got up and started to pace. 'The Hyram I remember, back when we were all a lot younger, he would have mated one of his males to my white while we were sleeping. Oh, he'd have apologised and made some gesture of penitence, but he'd claim the eggs, if there were any, you can be sure of that. But he's not that man any more. If you had seen him last night, you would know that.'

'From the sound of things it's as well I didn't. I might have been compelled to put him out of his misery there and then. Got it!' Nastria took a deep breath and sighed, as the second riding boot finally slipped around her foot. 'No, I think you were wise, my queen, not to bring Jehal's gift here. I didn't uncover anything in Hyram's eyrie to damn him, but still ... I dare say Prince Jehal would have been extremely put out if his wedding present had been spoiled.' She wrinkled her nose and smirked. 'All I found were whispers that Hyram's acquired a fondness for little boys of late. They say that no one's seen him with a woman for months and that his pot-boys keep going missing.'

The queen sighed, and Nastria frowned. Shezira wasn't herself this morning. She was pensive and troubled, and all because Speaker Hyram might actually be dying at last.

'Do you think I should have married again, after Antros?'

'No!' Nastria turned away quickly before the queen could look at her and fumbled with a buckle.

No. I suppose not. Pointless really.' Then Shezira laughed and pointed to the door, and the two of them walked, and then rode in silence to Speaker Hyram's eyrie.

'It's a good eyrie, this one,' muttered the queen as they dismounted. 'I'll enjoy having it for my time.'

'I prefer Outwatch, Your Holiness,' said Nastria, but Shezira was already walking away, seeking out Mistral and her daughters, leaving Nastria on her own.

Which hardly bothered her at all. Being alone was what she did best.

Later, when they were all high in the sky, riding their dragons with the Adamantine Palace behind them, soaring with the thermals rising over the Purple Spur peaks on their way to rendezvous with Jehal's white and her little escort, Nastria wondered about a certain pair of sell-swords, and how well they took to being alone. Probably not so well at all, she thought.

A few hours flight was enough to take them around the south side of the Purple Spur peaks to Drotan's Top, a dome-shaped hill with a flat crest big enough to land a whole eyrie full of dragons. Drotan's Top marked the end of the Adamantine Palace's domain. To the west the land grew ever more rugged, rising up into the Worldspine and the rule of Valmeyan, the King of the Crags. To the south stretched the realm of the Harvest Throne, of Queen Aliphera.

No, Nastria reminded herself. Queen Zafir now.

Drotan's Top wasn't exactly an eyrie, but Speaker Hyram had built a small stronghold there with some animal pens. The hunting was supposed to be superb in these parts. As soon as Nastria had seen her mount was well cared for, she went looking for the queen. She knew exactly where to go. Hyram had built a lookout tower on the north side of the Top, where the landscape swept sharply down into the cavernous basin of the Fury River valley, and then up again to the Purple Spur peaks, a dozen or more miles away. Shezira was there, looking out over the valley, eyes fixed firmly to the north.

'I knew I'd find you here.' Nastria stood beside her queen. 'Looking for your white, Your Holiness?'

'Of course.'

'They have to fly up over the mountains. They have a much harder day of it than us today.'

'I know. And yes, I know they probably won't be here for hours. But still I want to look. I'm afraid I shall be poor company until I see my precious white, safe and sound.'

Nastria allowed herself a secret smile while the queen couldn't see her face. 'I'm a little surprised you're not on Mistral's back and flying out to meet them.'

Shezira snorted. 'We both know where that leads. The sky is immense; we fly along different valleys, around different mountains, never seeing one another. Everyone gets lost. No. I'll bear the waiting. Badly, mind you, but I'll bear it.'

'Your Holiness, may I speak with you about Queen Aliphera?'

'If you must. I had invited her to come here and hunt with us before we flew on to be guests at The Pinnacles.' She frowned. 'It's a shame she's gone. I wondered if her daughter might come instead. The new queen. Which one is the older?'

'Zafir, Your Holiness.'

'Yes.' Shezira smiled. 'Another queen who could only make daughters. All those kings out there must have thought we had a secret conspiracy between us. This Zafir. I've met her, but that was years ago. She and her sister seemed rather bland. What do you know about her?'

'No more than you do, Your Holiness.'

'Really, Knight-Marshal?' Shezira raised an eyebrow. 'That's very unusual for you.'

Nastria felt herself redden. 'We should send a rider, Your Holiness, to the new queen's eyrie. We should ask them for her blessing for our journey. If we send a dragon right away, it will delay us here another day. If we wait until the morning, it will be two days before we hear a reply.'

The queen nodded. 'Make it so. Send Hyrkallan. He's suitable, and he's been chafing at the bit to let his hunting dragon off its reins. Mistral doesn't fly fast enough for his liking.'

The tone of the queen's words told Nastria that she was dismissed. She bit her lip. At the door she hesitated. 'I could stay, if you wish, Your Holiness. We have a few hours yet.'

Shezira shook her head. 'No, Knight-Marshal. Let me alone a while. I like it here. It reminds me of flying, with all this space around me; and I want to be the first to see my white coming in. Besides, don't you have a hundred and one things to do?'

'Only one, Your Holiness.' Nastria smiled sadly as she left. 'Only to serve my queen.'

10

The Ash Dragon

Sollos spent the night snuggled up inside a huge hollow log. He'd covered himself in leaf mould to keep warm, and in the end he'd slept surprisingly well, even after it started to rain. No one had come after him, and when he woke up, it didn't take him long to convince himself that all the dragons were gone. He made his way cautiously back to the river in case any of Queen Shezira's riders had survived, but all he found were the charred remains of the luggage. The white was gone, no one else was there, even the body of the Scales was missing. Washed away in the river? he wondered. But while the river was wide, the water was only a few inches deep, and peppered with sandbars and stones.

Maybe the Scales didn't die after all.

He shrugged, washed and drank, and then, more in hope than expectation, rummaged through what was left of their supplies in case something edible had survived.

'Gotcha!'

Sollos almost jumped out of his skin. Kemir was standing right behind him.

'Anything that looks like breakfast left in there?'

'No.' Sollos gave Kemir a glare. 'Burned to the core.'

'They really went for that white dragon, didn't they?'

'Whoever they were.'

Kemir shrugged. 'Some other bunch of lords on dragons. Can't tell them apart myself

'It matters.' Sollos sighed. 'We're supposed to notice that sort of thing.'

'Well I didn't see any colours, if that helps.'

Sollos gave him a sour look. 'Not really. Did you see what happened to the white dragon?'

'I saw it take to the air after the first couple of flamestrikes. I didn't hang around to see where it went.'

'South. It went south.'

'Took what was left of its Scales with it too.'

'Did it?' Sollos blinked in surprise.

'Hanging from one of its claws. Maybe it was hungry. It hadn't fed, after all. He must have been dead. He was right in the middle of that first blast.'