The Adamantine Palace (28 page)

It was depressingly easy too. But then if it had been harder, he'd probably have done it even more.

He kicked Kazah's stool again. The pot-boy jerked upright and then fell over sideways. He jumped to his feet, ramrod straight, and saluted.

Message for my wife. Jehal and Kazah had their own sign language, a bastard hybrid of the signals that the dragon-knights used when they were flying together, the signs that some thieves used, and other bits that they'd simply made up themselves. Jehal was having the boy taught to read and write too, but he was so slow that one of them would probably be dead before he got anywhere.

Kazah nodded. Having a private language meant no one else understood what Jehal was telling Kazah to do. Several times he'd sent Kazah to Lystra to arrange a rendezvous knowing full well that Zafir was watching him.

Wake her up. She is to come to my bed. Tell her I want her. Kazah smirked and Jehal grinned back. That gesture wasn't particularly hard to translate. Tell her to shut all windows and doors first. Tell her that eyes are watching her. He gave Kazah a kick and watched the boy scurry away. Then he closed the shutters, blocking out the dawn light, lay back in his bed and sighed.

He didn't have to wait long. He heard footsteps outside and then giggling, and then Kazah slipped back in with Lystra behind him, still in her nightclothes.

Jehal grinned. 'Did anyone see you?'

Kazah shook his head. So did Lystra. 'Only the guard you put on my door.' She flung her arms around him and snuggled her head against his chest. He always flinched for a moment when she did that. It reminded him too much that he was going to have to let Zafir have her way one day.

But not yet. He pushed her gently away and put a hand on her belly. She had his heir inside her, and that made her the safest person in the world just now. He'd have to wait another couple of months before he could feel it move, they told him, but he put his hand on her anyway. After this morning they might not see each other for a while.

She held his hand there for a second, then moved it up to her breast. 'I still don't see why I can't come with you.'

Of course you don't. He smiled at her. 'You need to conserve your strength.'

'Oh Jehal, I hardly know it's there.'

'You're sick every day. Don't pretend you're not.'

She made a face. 'That's nothing.'

'Besides, you're safer here.'

'But why? At the palace I'll have you and my mother and my sisters and all their riders as well.'

He laughed. 'You know the answer. There might be people who would prefer your mother not to take Hyram's place.' Me, for example.

That was the trouble. She simply didn't understand that anything might happen, that someone might break their word, that the dragon-kings and -queens weren't all fast friends working together for the good of them all. Which made it very difficult to look her in the eye sometimes. And if she'd really thought there was any real danger, she'd either insist on going to be at her mother's side, or else insist that he didn't go so he'd be safe too. She didn't insist on things very often, but when she did it was a timely reminder of who her birth-mother was.

He kissed her lightly. 'I don't want to trouble you.'

'I think you're just bored with me.'

Inside his head Jehal rolled his eyes. That old chestnut again. How many times had he heard that? And from how many different women? 'If I was bored with you, my love, would I have risen at dawn and called you to my bed for one last time before I leave?'

She stuck out her bottom lip and then took hold of his other hand and put it on her other breast. She smiled. 'I suppose not.'

She stepped a little closer, until he could felt the heat of her right from her knees to her neck. Jehal swallowed. He looked at Kazah and nodded at the door. The boy was smart enough to know when to make himself scarce.

'I'm leaving in the middle of the morning for Clifftop,' he said thickly. 'Everything is packed. It'll take me--'

Lystra put a finger to his lips. 'I know, husband, I know.' She called him that a lot, and for some reason his head went fuzzy every time she said it. 'Four days to reach the palace, a week as Speaker Hyram's guest, and then a week more after my mother succeeds him. And then another four days back to Clifftop and yet another day to return here. Almost a month. I know it all by heart, my Prince. Every day, where you'll be and what you'll be doing.' She smiled at him. 'One very long and lonely month. I might come out to Clifftop to meet you when you come back.'

'You shouldn't.'

'Yes, but you won't be here to tell me not to.' She pressed herself against him and kissed him, and he lowered her down onto his bed.

'I shall miss you greatly,' he said, and was surprised to find that he meant it.

'But not as much as I shall miss you.'

He rolled her over and silenced her with his lips. Best not to let her say anything else. Sometimes when they were together like this he found himself questioning his whole purpose, and that wouldn't do. Instead, he set about making sure she really would think of him for every single day that he was away. Together, for an hour or so, they stopped time.

When they were spent she fell asleep in his arms, which was something she always did if he let her. To his surprise he fell asleep as well; the next thing he knew, Lord Meteroa was banging on the door, shouting at him that it was time to go. Lystra yawned and stretched. She got up and looked at him, a muzzy smile on her face.

'Do I have to go?'

'I'm afraid you do.' Jehal shouted at Meteroa to leave them alone for a few minutes and started to look for his clothes. 'Don't go back to your rooms for a while. Go out for a ride. Or go to the baths. Send someone to air them while you're away.'

'Why?'

'Because I ask you to.'

'But I wanted to wear--'

He looked at her sharply. 'Humour me. A favour to me for giving you this time.'

For a moment she looked hurt and he felt as though she'd knifed him. Then she smiled. 'If that's what you want.'

'It would make me happy. Listen!' He cupped her face. 'While I am gone, trust Meteroa. Don't trust Princess Jesska, Prince Iskan, Prince Mazmamir or any of their clan. We might have the same blood, but we also have the same ambition. Trust Queen Fyon but don't trust her sons, particularly Tyrin.'

When she was gone, he called Meteroa in to help him dress. 'Keep her safe while I'm gone. Whatever happens to her happens to you, my friend. You understand?.'

Meteroa gave him a sceptical look. 'Then I shall eat a lot and get fat for you, but please be back before she gives birth, Your Highness.'

'There's always the chance I won't come back at all.'

Meteroa cocked his head. 'Then I shan't have to worry about her. Tell me, Your Highness, which one pleasures you the most? Your wife or Queen Zafir?'

Jehal felt his chest tighten. He snarled, 'Get out!'

'Your Highness--'

'I said get out! Before I find something sharp.'

Alone, he slowly finished dressing himself. Meteroa was getting above himself, he decided. The man would need taking down a peg or two after this was all done.

He's right, though. It's a question that demands an answer, and I don't have one.

The last thing he did, before he left, was take the black and white silks from under his pillow and tie them around his wrists. Southern knights often tied strips of cloth to their arms; worn on the left they were signs of conquests, on the right they signalled obligation, which made it an easy way to keep the Taiytakei silks innocently to hand. Generally, Jehal wore the black one on the left and the white one on the right. It seemed right, somehow.

Almost as an afterthought he took the black silk off again and put it across his eyes. The little golden dragon was still in Lystra's room, buzzing madly about the place, looking for a way out.

Jehal smiled. As he left, he started to whistle.

40

Arts of War

Jaslyn called Silence into a tight turn and dived. Five of Queen Shezira's riders, flying in a tight line alongside her, suddenly scattered, seemingly at random. The ground was straight ahead now, rushing to meet her. In the centre of her vision a cluster of soldiers raised their dragonscale shields. Silence belched fire at them and then spread out his wings, pulling out of the dive. An immense hand pressed Jaslyn into the dragon's neck, knocking the breath out of her. She didn't have a chance to see whether the fire had done anything useful, but she doubted it. The soldiers were a half-legion of the Adamantine Guard and they'd had plenty of time to lock their shields together. Then again, the point of the dive hadn't been to burn them; the point had been to distract them, to give her knights a chance, to lead them into battle in such a way that she didn't get herself killed.

Behind her, the five knights strafed the soldiers from five different angles at once, wheeled and flew away. They'd spent years perfecting that manoeuvre, all for this one day.

When she was safely away from the soldiers on the ground and their vicious scorpions, Jaslyn let Silence pick up a little height and turned to look for her riders. Three of them were following her; the other two were already on the ground. Which meant that, after they'd sprayed their fire and turned away, the soldiers had managed to hit them. Which meant that, had this been a real fight, they'd be dead.

'Two?' Jaslyn patted Silence on the neck. 'They got two. Did you see that? Do you think mother's going to be angry?' She smiled to herself as she flew Silence over the soldiers, tipping them a salute. 'So much for our clever plan, eh? Do you suppose we got any of them?' From up in the air it was hard to tell whether any of the soldiers had been burned. Even if their shield wall failed them, their dragonscale armour would deflect the worst of the flames.

Scattered around the Hungry Mountain Plains, other legions of the Guard were under attack, as each of the dragon-kings and -queens put them to the test. Jaslyn circled for a while, watching in case any of the attackers had come up with something original, but as far as she could see, none of them had. In the distance she saw one group of knights try exactly the same ploy she'd used herself. They didn't get the timing right. When the first knight unleashed his fire and pulled up his dragon, the other five should have been right there and they weren't. They weren't out by very much, only a few seconds, but it was enough for the legion to adjust its wall of shields and scatter the flamestrikes. A hundred and sixty years ago, when Master of War Prince Lai first demonstrated the technique, he'd left a hundred men dead or injured behind him.

Jaslyn sighed. For every pattern of offence, the legions had a counter. Nothing ever changed. It was almost like a ritual dance where everyone knew all the moves by heart. Supposedly, Prince Lai had invented four of the fifteen recognised tactics. The other eleven were even older.

She turned Silence away from the battlefield and spiralled down. In the middle of the legions Speaker Hyram had his tower, where he and the dragon-kings and -queens who weren't participating in the mocks fights could stand and watch. Her mother was there, and Almiri too. Lystra had stayed in the south, slowly getting fat with Prince Jehal's heir. As she flew past, she searched the tower for Prince Tichane but she couldn't see if he was there. The thought of the Crag King's ambassador left a strange sensation inside her, one that she usually reserved for her dragons.

She pushed all that away, landed Silence at the foot of the tower and handed him over to the alchemists and Scales who'd set Up a makeshift eyrie around the tower. Then she bounded up the steps. out over the plains, most of the other dragons were circling now, waiting to come back, watching the few who were still sparring with the legions.

'You lost two of my riders,' said Shezira as soon as Jaslyn reached the top of the tower.

'Prince Lai's pattern of Autumn Leaves.' Speaker Hyram smiled at her. 'Ambitious. Difficult to execute properly.'

'Which you didn't,' added Shezira.

Jaslyn clenched her teeth. 'What do you mean?'

'Your timing was wrong. The knights behind you were too slow. The legion had time to adjust.' She shook her head. 'Don't feel too bad. Someone else tried the same pattern and made the same mess of it.'

'Prince Jehal.' Hyram spat out the name. 'Your execution of the pattern was better.'

Shezira shook her head. 'I disagree. They were both equally poor.'

Jaslyn looked around, taking in all the faces. There were two men she'd never met who were Speaker Hyram's cousins, and a cluster of advisers around him. Next to her mother, Knight-Marshal Nastria was staring out across the plains, seemingly oblivious. Behind her, King Tyan sat in a chair with his tongue hanging out, his head lolling and his eyes staring up at the sky, constantly quivering. She recognised a few others from Lystra's wedding too. Queen Fyon, who smiled at her while her eyes filled with daggers. And Valgar and Almiri, of course.

Almiri caught her arm. 'The signallers on the field flagged seven injured from your attack. Their shield wall wasn't quite perfect.'

'And Prince Jehal?'

'Four.'

For some reason that made everything better. 'It feels strange, burning men I don't know for no better reason than entertainment. I hope they weren't killed.'

'The signaller indicated injuries only.'

'Who's winning?' Jaslyn tried to sound like she didn't care.

Almiri laughed, 'Not you. Queen Zafir. Six dead, thirty injured.'

'What?'

'She lost all her five riders doing it. She charged them. On the ground.'

'She did what?'

'She put her five knights on their dragons on the ground, and they charged the legion as though they were cavalry. Ran straight into it. Scattered men everywhere. Broke their shield wall completely. Then she flew in behind and burned them. They got all the men on the ground but they didn't get her.'

'But that's cheating.'

'Not according to Speaker Hyram. He let it stand.'

Jaslyn clenched her fists and ground her teeth. 'There are traditions! No contact. No one would land their dragons to attack a real enemy. They'd be killed at once! They're not supposed to do that.'