The King of the Crags (35 page)

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Authors: Stephen Deas

Tags: #Memory of Flames

BOOK: The King of the Crags
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She almost left them then, almost turned and climbed into the sky to wait for more dragons to come, but at the last moment she gave in to her desires and wheeled and dived and plunged down into the river.
I have done this before. I remember.
The one half of the city she would leave untouched. From the other half, none would escape. When men tried to row, she upended their boats. When they tried to swim, she flipped them out of the water with her tail. Some of them she caught and ate. Others she simply hurled back into the black haze of flickering smoke.
Yes, I have done this before.
There had been other dragons then.
And things that weren’t dragons and yet were even more terrifying and made us seem small; and not all that came out of the smoke and the flames was human. I remember. I remember how this feels.
 
It felt glorious.
 
She stayed until no one else came to the waterfront. Perhaps an hour passed, perhaps more. Certainly the sun had moved when she took to the air again. She felt sated. Fulfilled? Free?
 
Happy. That was what she felt. Happy. She hadn’t felt happy for a very long time. Lifetimes.
 
This is not vengeance, Kemir. If you knew the truth, if you felt what I feel now, you would wish it was. I feel joy.
 
He couldn’t know. Not now, not yet, not for a little while. Not until she was done with him. So she took her time flying back to him on his hill, until she could push the feeling back beneath the waters of her thoughts. Until she could keep it in a place Kemir would never see but where she would never forget.
 
30
 
The Secrets of the Alchemists
 
‘King Valmeyan left this morning,’ said Jeiros. He wasn’t looking at Jehal as he was talking. Well he was, but not at Jehal’s face. He frowned and leaned forward. ‘You need to relax,’ he said as Jehal winced in anticipation of yet more pain. ‘Stay very still. Neither of us would be pleased if my stitches go awry.’
 
All very well for you to say.
A searing jab ran right up from his groin as far as his neck.
And this is with my veins filled with more Dreamleaf than blood.
He bit down on the leather strap that the alchemist had given him.
 
‘Are you still finding it difficult to pass water?’
 
This is what his father had had to put up with. In the beginning, before disease had taken his mind away. Help to stand, help to eat, help to clean himself. Help with everything.
I’d rather die.
‘I wouldn’t call it difficult. Uncomfortable,’ he said through gritted teeth.
Unbearable blinding agony, more like. But only Kazah sees how much it pains me, and Kazah doesn’t speak so none of you will ever know.
 
‘The speaker has promised to crown you as soon as you are able to walk into the Glass Cathedral.’
 
‘And how long will that be, Master Alchemist?’
She hasn’t come to see me. No word. Nothing. Does she think I can’t watch her from in here? Does she think I don’t see who she takes to her bed?
He fingered the strip of white silk he kept hidden beneath his pillow. Even confined to his bed, the magical metal Taiytakei dragons roamed the palace at night, guided by his whim. Prince Tichane, King Valmeyan’s right hand, he was the one to watch. He had his hands halfway up Zafir’s gown already and was plenty busy elsewhere too. Jehal needed to know what he was up to.
I need to move. Watching is one thing, but I need to hear. I need to speak. I need to walk. I need to be seen. How quickly people forget that I am even here.
 
‘Another week, perhaps two.’ Jeiros shook his head. ‘I’m having the best wood-carvers in the city make a crutch for you for the occasion.’
 
‘So I can stumble in with one lifeless leg dragging behind me? No, thank you.’
 
‘It’ll be months before you can walk without help. If you ever can. You need to be crowned, Jehal. There are far too many realms without a proper king. Right.’ Jeiros straightened up. ‘There. The stitches are done. The dressing is changed. You’re rid of me for another day. Before you’re crowned, there’s another ceremony we should have, you and I. I suppose you know most of it already, but there are certain secrets that my order holds that we like to share with our kings and queens.’
 
Jehal rolled his eyes. ‘You mean things like, oh, by the way, the dragons you fly on are only dumb pliable beasts when they’re drugged to the eyeballs with your special potions.’
 
‘That’s the start of it, yes. It can take anything between a week and a month for the effects to wear off. Did you know that?’
 
‘And then they’re ravening vengeful monsters. I do know what happened at the redoubt, Jeiros.’
 
‘Then you know how clever they become. The white one’s been seen again. Did you know
that
, Your Holiness?’
 
‘No. I heard it was dead with the rest.’
 
Jeiros cocked his head and flashed a grimace. ‘That’s what
princes
get to hear. Kings get to hear that the white has been seen in the Worldspine. Without a rider this time. It burned exactly half a town to ash. Some of Valmeyan’s riders went to investigate. Three of them didn’t come back: nor did their dragons. By now it could be more.’
 
Jehal sniggered. ‘No wonder the King of the Crags is in such a hurry to be home. And I suppose Zafir is positively brimming with enthusiasm to rally the realms and her riders to hunt your mysterious rogue.’
 
‘This is not funny.’
 
‘You keep them in dim servitude. Are you surprised they’re so angry when they wake up?’
 
‘The Order keeps us all
alive
, Prince Jehal. We’d be nothing to them but food otherwise.’
 
‘If anyone did something like that to me and was then foolish enough to let me slip, I’m quite sure I would prefer something more lingering than simply eating them.’
Are you listening, Vale Tassan?
 
The alchemist shook his head. ‘There’s a lot more. Where they come from, where they go when they die. Even we don’t know that. But we know that their spirits go in an endless cycle. They’re not like us. They remember their past lives, or rather they would, if they awoke. Do you know how many times dragons have escaped us and awoken from their stupor?’ Jehal had never heard of such a thing happening at all, at least not until the white dragon at the redoubt. It must have shown on his face because Jeiros smiled. ‘No, Prince Jehal, the redoubt was not the first time. There are dragons out there among us who have awoken before. Who have awoken and been destroyed. Who have returned as a hatchling, remembering everything that happened to them. Knowing everything that we do to them.’
 
‘And then you do it to them again.’
 
‘If we can, yes.’ Jeiros nodded. ‘If we can’t then they die. You see, Prince Jehal, there is a great deal that even
you
don’t know. Knowledge we hold for kings and queens and the masters of our order, and for them alone.’
 
‘Kings and queens and master alchemists? Why so miserly?’
 
‘Knowledge is dangerous, Prince Jehal. You of all people understand that. Knowledge is a means to power. ‘
 
Jehal laughed, even though that always hurt. ‘And there I was, imagining that you were hoarding all this knowledge simply to give your order a reason for being.’
 
The alchemist didn’t bite. If anything, he sounded sad. ‘Seventy years ago, a rider happened upon some of our secrets. He took it upon himself to free his dragon of our potions. He thought they would be more powerful, and indeed they are. His dragon ate him. Then it ate a lot of other people too. It destroyed a realm. Nor was that the first time.’
 
‘I’ve never heard of this!’
 
‘Oh you but have, Prince Jehal. You know almost everything about it. The story of a realm ripped apart by its own royal family’s infighting? Their eyries destroyed, their riders slain, their dragons stolen? A realm rendered so weak that those around it simply helped themselves to the pieces. A realm that barely exists any more, with no king, no queen. A realm whose people shift in endless wandering though the Sea of Sand . . .’
 
‘The Syuss.’
 
‘The Syuss. You see. You
do
know the story.’
 
‘But that was . . . I thought that was . . .’
 
The master alchemist was smiling again. ‘Prince Kazan? Civil war? A revolt against the oppressions of King Tiernel? No. Kazan was the rider stupid enough to awaken his dragon. Twelve other dragons went missing trying to find him. Fortunately half of them didn’t have time to wake and still it took the intervention of three neighbouring realms and Speaker Ayzalmir to put an end to it. Hundreds of riders were killed.
Most
of what you think you know is true, the picking over the pieces afterwards, the destruction of the realm as it was. But the beginning . . .’ Jeiros grinned broadly. ‘Not what you think. There are always the same number of dragons in the realms, Prince Jehal. This is why you have so many eggs in your eyrie and yet so few of them hatch, because no egg can hatch until another dragon dies. But do you know why? Do you know how many? When they
do
hatch, a quarter of hatchlings only last a few days. Again, do you know why? Do you know how the dragons were tamed? No, you don’t.’
 
‘No, there you are wrong, Master Jeiros.’ Jehal screwed up his face as he shifted slightly in his bed. ‘I know
that
story. The last of the great wizards sucked all the magic out of the realms in one mighty spell . . .’ He stopped. Jeiros was trying not to laugh.
 
‘Forgive me, Your Holiness. The stories of the Adamantine Spear and of the last great wizard and other such mumbo-jumbo. These are stories for children, not for kings, not even for princes.’ He cocked his head. ‘You know how the dragons at the redoubt were defeated, poisoned by their own greed. The Embers trace their traditions back to the first free men. We fed our first potions to the wild dragons in the only way we knew. Then we sought out their eggs. At first we killed the hatchlings, but then we found we could use them. It made finding the rest a lot easier.’ He chuckled. ‘No, the symbols of the speaker are a ring and a spear, but that is all they are, symbols. They might have had a power once, but not any more.’
 
Jehal narrowed his eyes. ‘Are you lying to me, Master Alchemist? I had thought the Silver King tamed the dragons.’
 
Jeiros’ face didn’t give anything away. ‘We guard our secrets well and if you understood them, you would guard them too.’ He reached the door and bowed. ‘Good evening to you, Prince Jehal. When you are a king, we will speak of these matters some more.’
 
‘One moment, Master Alchemist. How much of this does Zafir know?’
 
Jeiros shook his head. ‘She is a queen, Your Holiness, and the speaker. She knows as much as she needs to know. More than you.’ With that, he bowed one last time and left. Jehal closed his eyes.
That’s a lot to think about and I don’t have the strength these days. One at a time then. The Syuss.
He reached into his memories, trying to think, but all the stories he could remember were filled with holes. He could feel himself drifting, losing his concentration. That was the Dreamleaf messing with him.
Better Dreamleaf than constant burning agony.
He shuddered. If anyone ever wanted to torture him again, all they’d have to do was bring him back to this room, pull out a chamber pot and wave it at him.
 
Jeiros is bound to have a book. He can lend it to me. Maybe he can lend me someone to read it too, so I don’t have to find the energy to sit up.
 
He wasn’t sure whether what happened next was a dream or a memory. He was drifting into sleep and then he was wide awake and the room was much darker; in between, he’d been the speaker, riding to war, clutching the Adamantine Spear in one hand and a cage full of birds in the other. When he let the birds out of their cage, he wasn’t sure whether he was Ayzalmir, bringing order and peace to a ruined realm, or whether he was Zafir, and the birds were chaos and death.
 
A cold certainty gripped him, that someone else was in the room. He strained his ears. Kazah was snoring gently but Kazah didn’t count. He could feel someone else. A presence lurking in the shadows, silent and invisible and yet very much there.
 
‘Who are you?’ He spoke quietly, almost at a whisper, but in the stillness the words sounded loud.
Calm though. At least they sounded calm.
 
Now he saw a shadow move. He started to rise, but that sent a spear of pain through him.
 
‘Shall I light a candle?’ asked the shadow. ‘I don’t want to wake the boy.’

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