The King of the Crags (10 page)
Jostan looked back. Semian was walking them steadily away from the tent.
‘Don’t tell me you want to be with Nthandra.’ Semian shook his head. ‘She’s not right for you, Jostan. She’s one of us. She’s given herself to the Great Flame. She embraces the fire and the fire brings her joy. Have you given yourself to the Flame?’
Jostan shook his head. ‘I don’t even begin to understand it.’ ‘You see. You belong with Hyrkallan and Princess Jaslyn and the riders of the north. What we’re doing here is . . .’ He frowned, reaching for something. ‘It’s something special. You were a good friend, Jostan, almost a brother to me, but do you see how our paths must move apart? And Nthandra has chosen too. I’m sorry for you that she didn’t choose you.’
Jostan closed his eyes. ‘She’s a girl, Semian.’ Even more than Princess Jaslyn was. He wasn’t sure which one he feared for the most.
‘Yes. And I
will
look after her.’
will
look after her.’
‘That’s not what I mean. I mean that’s not why I’m going to stay, Semian. I’m not going back to the north, and I doubt you’ll rid yourself of Hyrkallan so easily either. But even if you do, I’m staying with you because I remember who you are and because of what we endured together. Because you
are
almost a brother. Because I don’t trust your new friend the blood-mage and I think someone should stay to look after
you
. Besides, who knows, maybe the Great Flame will touch even me given time, eh?’
are
almost a brother. Because I don’t trust your new friend the blood-mage and I think someone should stay to look after
you
. Besides, who knows, maybe the Great Flame will touch even me given time, eh?’
Semian stopped. He shook his head and looked Jostan up and down, and for a moment Jostan thought he was going to get a rebuke, but then Semian smiled. ‘Then you’re as good a friend as I’m likely to find and I shall be proud to fly with you. There may come a time when you wish to change your mind. You know you can leave whenever you want. We’ll give you everything you need to get back to one of our queen’s eyries. I’ll even give you a dragon.’
Jostan laughed too. He couldn’t help himself. ‘You realise you’re talking as though the Red Riders are already yours.’
‘Oh, they are.’ Semian was still smiling. ‘Hyrkallan just doesn’t know it yet. He and the others who haven’t been touched by the fire, they’ll leave soon enough. But you can stay. I still have hope for you. Come.’ He tugged Jostan into motion again. ‘Whatever Kithyr and Nthandra had to say to each other, I’m sure it’s said.’
He was right: the blood-mage was gone when they returned. Nthandra was almost asleep, and as Jostan and Semian lay down one either side of her, she made no move to go to either of them. Jostan felt the weight of his arms and his legs and his head pressing him into the ground. A good fight was always a guarantee of a good night’s sleep. The last thing he remembered was Nthandra’s hand, snaking between the blankets, reaching out and holding his own, squeezing tight. She almost seemed happy. And then the darkness engulfed him and sucked him down into a place so dark and so deep that he thought he might never escape; and as he sank he dreamed, and in his dreams he saw his friend Semian, crying out against the tyrannies of the speaker. He saw riders rally around him, a few at first, then dozens, then thousands, and among those faces were riders he knew were his friends. He saw the riders rise as one and descend upon the Adamantine Palace from all sides, an irresistible tide of fire and scales. He saw the speaker and her lover caught naked and whipped: he saw Queen Shezira freed and given the Speaker’s Ring. He saw the realms rejoice and sleep in peace. And amid the teeming happy crowds, through the endless celebration, he saw Princess Jaslyn, smiling at him, reaching out her hand. He saw everything that he wanted to see and he felt a presence at his shoulder, an old and wise and respected mentor whose name he couldn’t quite remember, whispering softly in his ear.
Do you see? This is how the world should be . . .
The dream stayed with him, more real than the waking world, when Semian shook his shoulder an hour before dawn and told him to get dressed and put on his armour.
‘I had a dream,’ he said. ‘I dreamed that we set the realms to rights.’
In the moonlight he saw Semian smile, no trace of surprise on his face, as if he’d seen it all too. ‘Yes. And that is how it shall be.’
He dressed and then reached out to wake Nthandra but Semian stopped him.
‘No, Jostan. Let her lie. Let her sleep. Come. It’s time to wake the others.’
In a daze he followed Semian from tent to tent. Everywhere riders awoke with a happy puzzlement in their eyes and spoke of dreams. They dressed as Semian asked and followed him until they all stood outside Hyrkallan’s tent, waiting patiently.
I know what this is
, Jostan thought, and yet it was a dreamy thought, and one that didn’t seem to have much weight. He half noticed Kithyr sidle in among the crowd, the last of them, pale and shaking and yet with a hungry gleam in his eyes. His head felt full of clouds.
Am I drunk?
I know what this is
, Jostan thought, and yet it was a dreamy thought, and one that didn’t seem to have much weight. He half noticed Kithyr sidle in among the crowd, the last of them, pale and shaking and yet with a hungry gleam in his eyes. His head felt full of clouds.
Am I drunk?
As Hyrkallan emerged, the riders watched him in silence. Twenty pairs of eyes followed him as he moved among them. Semian was in the middle, standing awkwardly, tipped slightly to one side from the wound that Zafir’s mercenaries had given him.
‘What?’ Hyrkallan shouted, when he couldn’t bear their stares any more. ‘What?’
They were looking at him, not at Rider Semian, but somehow he was their heart. Jostan could feel it, even in himself. And the blood-mage, standing next to Semian now. Shanzir, Hahzyan, even GarHannas, who really ought to have known better. Hyrkallan was looking at them all, sizing them up. Jostan could almost read his thoughts.
Why did I do this? Why did I even start this stupid, doomed crusade?
Why did I do this? Why did I even start this stupid, doomed crusade?
For Queen Shezira,
Jostan wanted to say, to him, but his mouth stayed firmly closed.
For the queen you served for all your life, the queen you love more than anyone can know. Except me. I know.
Jostan wanted to say, to him, but his mouth stayed firmly closed.
For the queen you served for all your life, the queen you love more than anyone can know. Except me. I know.
Hyrkallan threw his helm to the ground. ‘You want glory?’ he screamed at them all. ‘Then do what riders have done since time began and serve your queen. You!’ He pointed at one of King Valgar’s men. ‘Go home. Serve your queen. When Speaker Zafir turns her eyes to the north, Almiri will need every dragon Valgar had. You!’ He was pointing straight at Jostan. ‘Go home and serve yours. Serve Queen Jaslyn.’ Jostan blinked and tried to listen, and yet the words seemed slide over him like water over a stone, never sticking in his mind, never quite heard. Hyrkallan clenched his teeth and a shiver of fury ran through him. ‘You!’ He stabbed at GarHannas. ‘Why are you even here?’
GarHannas turned a dangerous shade of red, but he didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
Jostan bowed his head. Hyrkallan had gone too far. Even he knew it. Screaming and shouting at young blades like Jostan and Shanzir was one thing. Screaming at someone like GarHannas only made him look stupid. He’d lost them.
‘Lead us, Rider Hyrkallan.’ It was GarHannas who spoke. None of the rest wanted him.
Hyrkallan shook his head. ‘No. I’m leaving you. I’m going back where I belong. Where we all belong. I’m going home, and I’m going to serve my queen by making the north so bloody dangerous that Zafir won’t dare lift a finger against a single hair on Queen Shezira’s holy head. You should join me.’ He looked straight at GarHannas now. ‘You can piss about in the mountains all you like, but twenty dragons aimlessly burning peasants in the Spur won’t even get Zafir’s attention. I’m going, and if I ever have to come back, I’ll have the whole fucking horde of the north with me, five hundred dragons and fifty thousand men. That’s where I should be and so should all of you.’
Jostan was barely listening now. Hyrkallan shook his head in disgust.
Semian spoke so softly that it seemed he was whispering, yet his voice was clear. ‘Jaslyn needs a knight-marshal. Shezira needed a knight-marshal, a proper one, not one who could barely hold a sword. A marshal who would lead and conquer, not one filled with so much guile that she was strangled by her own schemes. Lady Nastria is dead, and now you’re going to have what should have been yours a long time ago. You would never have let this happen.’
Hyrkallan’s brow furrowed and for a moment he looked lost and confused. Then he shook it off. ‘Sell-swords. Shit-eaters. That’s what we’re worth to Zafir. She probably doesn’t even know we exist.’ He grinned then and laughed. ‘If you really want to sting her, burn her eyries.’ He spat. ‘Yes, Rider Semian. Go burn her palace. If you can.’ They were all still looking at him in silence. ‘A pox on all of you.’
They watched as Hyrkallan left them, great in his day yet now old and worn. No one said a word. Or maybe GarHannas had said something. Jostan wasn’t sure. They all watched B’thannan fly away into the dawn sky and vanish, and then they stared, lost in thought perhaps, or lost in wonder, or simply lost.
‘Riders!’ The crack of Semian’s voice jerked Jostan awake. He felt as though he’d been sleeping and someone had tipped a bucket of water over him. He shook himself and looked around.
Next to him, Shanzir almost fell over.
‘What happened?’ she whispered. She looked confused.
A dozen yards away, GarHannas held his head in his hands.
‘What have we done?’
‘Riders!’ shouted Semian again. ‘Red Riders! Hyrkallan is gone. He has left us, but we remain. We are the Red Riders! We were forged together and we will follow our purpose to our death if that is what the fates demand. I say again, we alone remain! I will lead those who will have me, and we will take the fight to where it belongs. We will fly our dragons to the walls of the speaker’s palace and we will make her burn! Stay or go, but do it now.’
Most of them stayed. All except GarHannas and a couple of others, who milled around aimlessly, confused and desolate, only to be herded towards their dragons and sent on their way with rude haste. Semian couldn’t hide his glee once they were gone. He stood with the blood-mage beside him and smiled, nodding. It made Jostan feel sick.
And yet I stay. Why?
And yet I stay. Why?
He couldn’t listen to another of Semian’s speeches so he stumbled back towards their tent to find Nthandra, only to be met by a scream. As he drew near, she staggered out, wearing only a shirt, her hands pressed between her legs. There was blood running down her thighs. Jostan froze; his stomach turned to lead. His face and his hands went numb. He felt distant tears roll down his cheeks. In a flash, he knew exactly what this was.
This
was the sacrifice Kithyr had demanded.
This
was the sacrifice Kithyr had demanded.
‘Oh . . .’ He couldn’t speak. His lips were made of wood and his tongue tasted of ash. He reached for her and she recoiled, shrieking and wailing like an animal. Then she looked at him as though he was mad. He wasn’t sure, through her grief, that she even knew who he was.
‘The blood-mage. He did this.’ He shook his head. Any moment now he was going to be sick.
She’s just a girl.
‘I am so sorry. I knew . . .’ He was shaking, horror and rage flooding together.
She’s too young to be a rider.
‘I should have . . .’
He was after her right from the start, from the moment we came . . .
‘I’m sorry, Nthandra of the Vale. It’s too late, I know, but I’ll stop him, Nthandra. Whatever it is, I’ll stop him.’ He sighed and held his head in his hands, then screwed up his face and screamed at the sky.
She’s just a girl.
‘I am so sorry. I knew . . .’ He was shaking, horror and rage flooding together.
She’s too young to be a rider.
‘I should have . . .’
He was after her right from the start, from the moment we came . . .
‘I’m sorry, Nthandra of the Vale. It’s too late, I know, but I’ll stop him, Nthandra. Whatever it is, I’ll stop him.’ He sighed and held his head in his hands, then screwed up his face and screamed at the sky.
‘No, you won’t,’ said a voice behind him. An edge burned across his throat. His mouth filled with something hot and salty and he started to choke. He staggered and coughed and blood gushed out of his mouth. He turned and then fell over. He could hear singing. The Picker was standing over him, holding a knife so thin that you could see right through it. Or you could have, if it hadn’t had Jostan’s blood all over it.
‘Suppose you should have gone with the others.’ The Picker shrugged and walked away, and all Jostan could see was the sky, fierce and bright. The singing was getting louder. He heard Semian somewhere far away, bellowing promises of blood and fire and victory, and then the singing swallowed everything.
And then it stopped and there was nothing.
Two
Of Princes and Queens
8
The Lovers
‘Can I kill your bride yet?’ Speaker Zafir curled her arm around Prince Jehal and stretched her long neck, tilting back her head, inviting Jehal to sink his teeth into her throat. He duly obliged, nibbling gently at her skin. A few feet to one side of him was a bed.
Their
bed, high up in the topmost room of the Tower of Air, scattered with silk sheets from the silkworm farms on Tyan’s Peninsula.
His
farms.
Their
bed, high up in the topmost room of the Tower of Air, scattered with silk sheets from the silkworm farms on Tyan’s Peninsula.
His
farms.
‘That would hardly be wise, my love.’ A few feet the other way was a gaping open arch. More silk fluttered in the breeze. Beyond that, a tiny balcony; then nothing but air and the hard ground of the Speaker’s Yard a hundred feet below. He liked it up here. For the view across the palace and the City of Dragons beyond and then the sheer dark cliffs of the Purple Spur and the glittering rain from the Diamond Cascade.
Other books
Colour Scheme by Ngaio Marsh
Firechild by Jack Williamson
The Violet Hour by Miller, Whitney A.
Marriage Illustrated with Crappy Pictures by Amber Dusick
Unnatural Souls by Linda Foster
Karl Bacon by An Eye for Glory: The Civil War Chronicles of a Citizen Soldier
Phoenix Noir by Patrick Millikin
Romantic Rebel by Joan Smith
Stop the Next War Now by Medea Benjamin
Trouble Shooter (1974) by L'amour, Louis - Hopalong 04
