The King of the Crags (7 page)
True to his word, Hyrkallan didn’t burn it. Instead he brought the riders in to land. A small company of Adamantine Guardsmen saw what was coming and fled the landing fields for the sanctuary of Hyram’s Tor, and that was that. No blood shed. Not even a sword drawn. Semian was disappointed and vaguely disgusted. The Adamantine Guard was supposed to fight to the last man to defend the speaker and the realms. The last ones he’d met, the Embers in the alchemists’ redoubt, had understood that. They’d understood that even throwing yourself naked into a dragon’s maw could be a victory.
He was still standing at the edge of the landing fields, scowling to himself, when a hand slapped him on the shoulder.
‘Drotan’s Top is ours. Not bad for your first day, eh?’ Semian turned around. The hand belonged to an older rider. One with a very slightly familiar face, but no name to go with it.
‘I know you,’ said Semian slowly.
‘GarHannas.’ The rider bowed. ‘I served Speaker Hyram before he died. I know you too. Semian. You were at Princess Jaslyn’s side at the alchemists’ redoubt. You missed the Night of the Knives, but they say you nearly died anyway.’
‘But not quite. I was reborn.’
‘Lucky for you!’ GarHannas grinned. He obviously had no idea what Semian was talking about. ‘There are a couple of riders and a score of the Adamantine Guard who’ve locked themselves in Hyram’s Tor. They’re trapped and they know it. The alchemist is in there as well. Everyone else is busy taking everything we can carry from the landing fields, but Hyrkallan’s gone to get the guard out of the Tor. We need the alchemist, or at least his help, and Hyrkallan doesn’t want to burn them.’ He grinned again. ‘They don’t know that, of course. We’ll threaten them with fire and offer them their lives if they surrender. Want to hear the old man? He’s good for this sort of thing.’
Semian shook his head, absently staring up at the tower. Slowly he dropped to one knee. ‘Praise to the Great Flame.’ He closed his eyes and murmured a short prayer. He felt GarHannas shift uncomfortably beside him. ‘Let the riders standing watch over our captives hear Hyrkallan speak. I will take their duty.’
GarHannas nodded. He started to move away, but Semian shot back to his feet and put a warning hand on the other knight’s shoulder.
‘I’ll give you some words for the soldiers you’ve trapped, though,’ he said. ‘You can tell them that those who are
devout
will be spared. Tell them that those who aren’t will be given the choice: turn their backs on the Usurper and serve the Great Flame or they burn.’
devout
will be spared. Tell them that those who aren’t will be given the choice: turn their backs on the Usurper and serve the Great Flame or they burn.’
‘That’s not what - ’
Semian ignored him and left GarHannas standing there. He waved to Jostan and Nthandra, calling them over. He walked to where the Scales and the other men who were now their prisoners sat, sullen, scared or simply bemused. ‘This lot!’ He pointed at the Scales. ‘These ones serve the Order and the Order serves the Great Flame. They have nothing to do with our fight. Let them go. As for the rest . . .’ He scanned the prisoners. They were all little people. Huntsmen and craftsmen and labourers and the like. No one of any consequence.
But that was no excuse. He glanced around. The other riders were gone away now, off to the tower to hear Hyrkallan storm and bluster. These souls were his.
‘As for the rest! You served the Usurper. You are sentenced to die.’ He drew out his sword and counted them as he spoke. Eighteen men and women. Him and Jostan and Nthandra watching over them. Three riders. If they ran, some of them would escape.
That’s what you should do then, isn’t it? Why do you stay?
That’s what you should do then, isn’t it? Why do you stay?
‘Hyrkallan said that we should let them go,’ said Jostan.
Semian ignored him. ‘Or you may choose a different master. Fall to your knees and pray to the Great Flame. Give yourselves to the fire and you may be reborn. You may live again. Refuse the fire and die now.’
Nthandra hadn’t moved. Her hand was resting on her sword. He took another look around to be sure. No other rider was close enough to pay them any attention. They were all busy with whatever Hyrkallan had set them to do.
‘Justice and Vengeance!’ Semian roared. ‘Fire or death!’
They didn’t run. They begged and pleaded and cried and one by one fell to their knees, praying as Semian had told them to do. They were liars though. Semian walked among them, and as he passed each one, he laid a hand on their head and saw into their heart. One he found, only one who truly believed. The rest of them were liars, all liars. He wrenched the one soul worth saving to his feet, pulling him up by his hair, and pushed him towards Jostan.
‘Take this one away. We’ll deal with him later.’
Nthandra still didn’t move. She didn’t turn away either. She was here for revenge. They all were.
And the Flame is with me. Masked as a blood-mage, but I know who you are really are, and you promised Nthandra would be the first. So we will see . . .
And the Flame is with me. Masked as a blood-mage, but I know who you are really are, and you promised Nthandra would be the first. So we will see . . .
He went back to walking among his prisoners, waiting until Jostan was out of sight.
Two of us now.
The rest of them thought they were saved. He could feel it.
Liars. All liars.
As soon as Jostan was gone, he lifted his sword.
And now, truly, we will see . . .
Two of us now.
The rest of them thought they were saved. He could feel it.
Liars. All liars.
As soon as Jostan was gone, he lifted his sword.
And now, truly, we will see . . .
‘Liars!’ he screamed as his blade chopped down. ‘You’re all liars! Burn in the truth of the Great Flame!’ For a split second, as Nthandra drew her own sword, he didn’t know whether she meant it for him or for them. Then she stabbed a man as he started to his feet and chopped the legs out from another, screaming at them something that even Semian couldn’t understand. The others ran, but not far. The rest of the Red Riders nearby saw to that with bows and swords, mistaking the rush of men for an attack. When they were all butchered, Semian dragged their bodies into a pile. The other riders watched now, faces mixed with curiosity, awe and horror. As much as anything, Semian knew, this was a lesson for them. They were young, most of them, the ones that Hyrkallan hadn’t taken with him to the tower. Young and scared and angry. Perfect for his purpose. Some of them had just cut a man down for the first time. Now they were realising what they’d done. Justice, that was what it was. Hard, cold justice. They needed to learn that now, needed to learn what it would mean to follow the Great Flame.
When the pile was done, he called Vengeance. He climbed onto the dragon’s back. From up there, he could see right across the eyrie. The bodies below seemed small and distant, not really human any more. Semian closed his visor and Vengeance set the bodies ablaze. ‘The Great Flame reclaims its own,’ he shouted out. He closed his eyes and let the sound of the fire wash over him.
‘What in the name of Vishmir’s cock are you doing?’
Semian lifted his visor and looked down from his saddle. Hyrkallan was back, puffed and out of breath. GarHannas was with him, and two other older riders that Semian didn’t know.
‘What happened?’ GarHannas looked sickened. ‘What did you do? They were common folk. They had no part in this.’
Semian could only laugh. ‘We are all the same before the Flame. Did you take my words to the tower?’
‘Are you mad? The alchemist, the servants and one of the riders have come out. The rest of them saw what you did and chose to stay inside.’
‘Then you should kill the alchemist for serving the Usurper, and the rider too! The servants from the tower can have the same choice as those we caught outside!’
‘And what choice was that? Get down here, Rider! If you claim to serve Princess Jaslyn then I am your lord and you will
beg
me for mercy.’ Hyrkallan looked ready to climb up and rip Semian out of the saddle with his bare hands.
beg
me for mercy.’ Hyrkallan looked ready to climb up and rip Semian out of the saddle with his bare hands.
Semian spared him the trouble. He slid to the ground and spat at the old dragon-knight’s feet. ‘We are the Red Riders, not some gang of bandits. You should know since you chose the name. If you don’t have the stomach for holy work then step aside for someone who does. I’ll lead them myself.’
‘You will not.’ Hyrkallan’s fist landed on Semian’s jaw, knocking him down. The other riders bowed their heads as Hyrkallan glared at them, one by one. Inside, Semian smiled. He’d seen their faces light up, if only for a moment. Here and there, embers smouldered inside them. Kithyr was right. He would have them. Today, tomorrow, the next day, the when didn’t matter; he would have them.
He looked at Hyrkallan as the old knight walked away.
And he knows too.
And he knows too.
The common folk from the tower were as devious and insincere as the ones outside had been. Semian couldn’t see even one worth saving, but Hyrkallan let them all go anyway. He let the alchemist go too. The rider though was one of Zafir’s. One that Semian knew. One with nothing worth saving. Even Hyrkallan had to see that. Yet he was merely stripped and whipped and sent running naked away.
‘We are the Red Riders,’ Hyrkallan shouted at the tower. ‘Take those words to the Usurper you serve! We will not rest until justice is served.’
‘Justice and Vengeance!’ shouted someone else.
‘Justice and Vengeance!’ came another. Hyrkallan spun around, and the riders fell silent. Slowly he nodded.
‘Aye,’ he said, too quietly for the men in the tower to hear, but the words carried to Semian well enough. ‘And vengeance, if justice alone will not serve.’
They finished looting the eyrie, taking everything they could carry and use and destroying what they couldn’t. When they left, the tower was still intact.
Let them live.
Hyrkallan had said.
Let them carry my words to where they need to be heard.
Let them live.
Hyrkallan had said.
Let them carry my words to where they need to be heard.
Semian smiled to himself.
Yours. And mine.
Yours. And mine.
Hyrkallan led them back to their camp in the Spur, never straying far from Semian as they flew. As soon as they landed, he and GarHannas took Semian away out of sight of the others. Semian didn’t try to resist.
‘We’ve taken another three dragons.’ Hyrkallan’s voice was a low growl. ‘Three more for the Red Riders, three fewer for the Usurper. Another victory. I will not mar it by a hanging. I know you, Rider Semian. I know you served Queen Shezira faithfully and well. I know what you did at the redoubt. So you will merely be flogged, in front of these riders who serve our cause, and we will cut you down in the morning and you will never disobey me again. If you do, you
will
hang. I’ll tie the noose around your neck myself. Do you hear me?’
will
hang. I’ll tie the noose around your neck myself. Do you hear me?’
Semian met his stare. ‘Justice and Vengeance, My Lord. For the Great Flame never rests and neither shall its servants.’ Hyrkallan shook his head in disbelief and walked away. GarHannas and the two riders who flew at Hyrkallan’s side took hold of Semian. He let them strip him and then lead him to a tree and bind him to it. He could feel the Flame, burning triumphant in his heart. The flogging, when it came, was only pain after all, and he was a man who’d been consumed by fire.
Late in the night when everyone was asleep, when it might only have been a dream, a voice whispered in his ear. A woman’s voice. Nthandra of the Vale.
‘I am with you, Rider Semian. I found the alchemist again, as we were leaving.’ A bloodstained knife flashed in the starlight to cut his bonds. ‘Justice and Vengeance, Rider Semian. I hear the words. Justice and Vengeance.’
6
The Unbeliever
Good things never last. Never did, never would. After Drotan’s Top, the speaker had to answer. And answer she did. With dragons in the skies and . . .
The last of the soldiers was on his knees, gasping. He had an arrow sticking out of his back. Hyrkallan snarled and casually kicked him over. Before the soldier could move, Hyrkallan drove the point of his sword down into the man’s belly. The soldier gasped and rolled over. It would take him a good few minutes and a lot of pain to finish dying, but Hyrkallan didn’t care too much about that. Sell-swords were scum. The realms would be better without them. At least that was something he could be sure of. As for everything else . . .
Three weeks had passed since the heady victory of Drotan’s Top. Three weeks of playing cat and mouse with the speaker’s dragons. Three weeks of hiding among the mountains, achieving nothing, watching everything he’d aspired to slip away. Three weeks to wonder if he was wasting his time. To think that if he’d stayed in Southwatch, Deremis would still be alive. Three weeks and he’d lost three dragons back to Zafir’s patrols and not one single rider had come over to his cause.
Three good dragons too.
Three weeks to wish the Red Riders had never been born. Three weeks to watch Semian’s madness spread a little further every day. Nthandra, Shanzir, Jostan, Riok and the rest. The young ones who thought they could set the world on fire. He closed his eyes. Shanzir hurt the most. She was almost a daughter to him. She flew with him on B’thannan. She was his spotter. She was his scorpioneer now that Deremis was gone.
Three good dragons too.
Three weeks to wish the Red Riders had never been born. Three weeks to watch Semian’s madness spread a little further every day. Nthandra, Shanzir, Jostan, Riok and the rest. The young ones who thought they could set the world on fire. He closed his eyes. Shanzir hurt the most. She was almost a daughter to him. She flew with him on B’thannan. She was his spotter. She was his scorpioneer now that Deremis was gone.
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