'I did not see Zafir carry the spear to war, Your Holiness,' said Vale quietly.

'Then perhaps you should look for it.' Jehal climbed laboriously up the ladder onto Wraithwing's back. 'A blood-mage, Vale. Look for a blood-mage who calls himself Kithyr.'

He saw the Night Watchman's eyes, saw that the name meant something. Typical. Everyone knows more than me.

He closed his eyes to doze as the dragon took him home. Where a second messenger from the Pinnacles was waiting.

Needs Must.

A lesser man might have reached the top panting and gasping for breath, or else taken the hundred-odd steps at a more gentle pace. Vale Ta.s.san, Night Watchman, commander of the Adamantine Men, took them briskly and arrived at the top pleasantly refreshed. Even before he reached the roof, the smells came down to greet him. Wet stone, hot steel, oil. On the flat s.p.a.ce on top of the Gatehouse tower a score of scorpions stood to attention in the rain. He looked up at the grey iron sky, a habit all Adamantine Men learned. Always look up. Always look out for dragons. In this weather he could barely even see the City of Dragons at the bottom of the hill, but he looked up anyway. A perfect day for war.

The top of the tower was large enough that a dragon could have stood there and spread its wings, if the roof had had the strength to bear the weight. Dozens of his soldiers stood, still and stoic in the rain, close to their weapons. He cast his eyes across the scorpions, across the men around them. They were ready. As ready as you could be for dragons. He would have preferred a heavy stone roof, but the dragon-scale canopies erected over the weapons would have to do. When it came to tooth and claw and tail, they might as well have been made of paper, but they'd keep the fire at bay.

Satisfied with what he saw, the Night Watchman ambled across the roof to the observatory in the corner, a slender and ornate stone dome amid the machines of war. He knocked sharply and pushed open the door without waiting for an answer. This side of the tower belonged to the alchemists. On another day he might have paused, perhaps shown a little more respect. On another day he might have stopped inside the door and taken a moment to look around at the maps, the charts of the stars, the Taiytakei farscopes and other strange instruments he didn't understand.

On another day. Today he simply shook the rain from his armour, sat down in the only chair in the room and growled a reluctant greeting at the man who had summoned him.

'You're in a surly mood.' Jeiros looked tired. Drained. Vale had seen that look before. The look of a man engaged in battle and slowly but steadily losing. Speaker Hyram, towards the end he'd had that look. And others before him.

'My mood is whatever the realms require of me.' Vale tried to smile. It wasn't easy after what he'd had to do today. Letting Hyrkallan gut Jehal on Narammed's Bridge would have been the easiest thing in the world. I might have given him a round of applause. So why did I stop him? Duty, that's why. Duty and nothing else. Of course I'm in a surly mood.

Jeiros winced. 'Don't, Vale. Now you look surly and constipated.'

'Flying on the back of the Viper's dragons leaves me queasy, master alchemist.' Vale let his face fall sour again. 'Never mind me. You look like a rabbit cornered by a pack of hungry foxes. You called me here. What do you want?'

Jeiros picked up a decanter and poured himself a gla.s.s of wine. 'When Grand Master Bellepheros vanished, it fell to me to keep the realms safe. A light touch here, a few words there. A little guidance. That's how we work. That's all we've ever needed.' He tossed something across the room. 'I suppose you'd better read this for yourself. You'll find out soon enough.' Vale plucked it out of the air. Dragon bone, hollowed out into a case for maps or scrolls. Ornately carved.

'A pretty present.' He shrugged. 'I imagine you don't get many gifts. I certainly don't.' He smirked. 'Speakers get lots of gifts, but I doubt Jehal much liked his last one. Jehal and Meteroa are two snakes from the same nest.'

Jeiros pursed his lips. 'Say what you like, Night Watchman. Prince Meteroa was the master of King Jehal's eyries. Strictly speaking, he was mine.'

'Ha!' Vale threw back his head and laughed.

'It hardly matters now. Meteroa is dead.'

Vale raised an eyebrow. 'Losing a finger hardly seems a mortal wound to me. Is there something you wish to share.'

The alchemist wiped his brow. 'That is a letter from Valmeyan in the Pinnacles. Zafir put a crossbow bolt through Meteroa's skull and hacked his head off his shoulders. Valmeyan was kind enough not to send any more than his finger. I kept the rest from our speaker until after Narammed's Bridge. I thought it best. He knows now. He has not taken it well.'

'Had I heart, perhaps it would bleed for him.' Vale blinked. 'So Prince Meteroa is dead now, is he? Can't say that troubles me.' He stared at Jeiros, waiting. Waiting for the words that would wash away the numbness rising up from inside him, but the alchemist met his silence with a silence of his own. 'Zafir, old man,' said Vale softly, almost whispering. 'You said Zafir. Is there something I very much need to know? Is that why you brought me up here? Did she survive Evenspire after all, old man? Could I have let Hyrkallan have his way with Jehal? Is that what you brought me here to tell me?'

'There's a letter inside that bone. It's meant for us. Read it, Vale. Just read it.'

Vale reached his fingers into the hollow bone and touched paper. Slowly, carefully, he pulled it out. The seal was Valmeyan's, the Mountain King. It took a minute, and then Vale knew everything. By the time he was finished, he wasn't sure whether he wanted to laugh like a maniac or scream in murderous range. Probably both. Furymouth taken, Queen Lystra taken, Prince Meteroa dead. Jehal finished. Zafir alive. I could have let Hyrkallan kill him. When, old man? When did you know?

'I'll have my men break this wonderful news to our so-called speaker right away. Shall I hang him next to Shezira or next to that fool Sakabian?' The cages were long gone, but Vale still saw them when he closed his eyes. His head was spinning a little. Valmeyan. A proper speaker. He's got Queen Lystra. Jehal in the dungeons. Impaled and hung in a cage. I'll do it myself. Jehal was as good as dead. He didn't even try to stop himself grinning any more. They had a saying in the deserts: when the ancestors smile on you, smile back.

'You'll do no such thing.'

The alchemist might have said more, but Vale's hand around his throat choked him into silence. The Night Watchman bared his teeth. 'It would be easy, little man, to pick you up and hurl you over the edge. No one would see except my own men, and you know how we are about orders. From birth to death, we are sworn to follow them. We are sworn to follow the speaker. How long?' he hissed. 'How long have you known that Zafir was alive?'

'Gah!'

Vale relaxed his grip ever so slightly. Enough for the alchemist to speak.

'I never thought she was dead,' gasped Jeiros. 'And before you throttle me again, I knew what you knew, Night Watchman, no more.'

Vale crumpled Valmeyan's message and held it in front of Jeiros' face. 'But you read this. You knew more before Narammed's Bridge, didn't you, alchemist? Don't pretend otherwise. You kept this from me. I could have let Hyrkallan put the Viper out of my misery and been content. I am sworn to serve the speaker!'

'And if Hyrkallan had killed Jehal, what then? Valmeyan cannot be speaker.'

'That is not for you to decide!' Slowly, carefully, mindful of his own strength and fury, Vale let the alchemist go. 'Are you a king-maker now? Do you rule the realms? By what right, alchemist? By what right do you overturn every law that Narammed laid down?' He took a step back towards the door. 'I'm minded to have you and your order rounded up and thrown in the dungeons. You can hang next to Jehal. Give me a reason, Jeiros, why I should not do this. Ancestors! The world lurches from one madness to the next!' He stood still, staring at the alchemist. Orders. An Adamantine Man obeys orders. No matter what. From birth to death. Ancestors! What do I do?

The alchemist licked his lips. When he spoke, he spoke almost in a whisper. 'Valmeyan is selling dragon eggs to the Taiytakei, Vale.'

'What?' Doubt, doubt, doubt. Doubt was death. An Adamantine Man learned to banish all doubt.

'From one madness to the next, Vale. As you say.'

Vale's face blackened. His gaze settled on Jeiros. 'I serve the speaker. If Zafir lives, I serve Zafir.' No. There was no other way. Duty was duty.

'There are awakened dragons in the Worldspine, Vale.'

'And? What would you have me do?' He shook his head. Dragons were the business of the alchemists. The misdeeds of kings were a matter for the speaker. The Night Watchman served the speaker, nothing more. The speaker's sword. That's all he was. 'All the more reason Jehal should swing in a cage while the true speaker is restored.' Vale hesitated. Jeiros was trembling. Either he was getting sick or something was very wrong. And would Zafir be any better? You already know the answer to that. Just look at who brought us to this place. 'Alchemist, you bring such accusations to a council of kings and queens, not to me. Let them decide. I will happily seize the Mountain King, string him up, fill him with truth smoke and find out, but only if that is what the speaker commands of me.'

'They almost broke us, Vale, those rogues. Almost broke us once already. They filled our secret caves with smoke. Such damage. Even if I wanted to, I could not give my eyrie-masters the potion they need, not all of it. Even if I looked after every drop. So I will starve them. They have enough for a few weeks. A couple of months, some of them. And after that the dragons will start to wake. A week and they will become restless. Two and they cannot be trusted. I don't know how long it takes for their true awareness to return. A month? Two perhaps? I suppose it must depend on their size. We feed a hatchling far less than we feed an adult, after all . . .' Jeiros was wringing his hands. He hadn't listened to a word Vale had said. 'A light touch here, a few words there. No no, Night Watchman, we are long past such things. Valmeyan put the sword to Shezira's neck. His vote condemned her. He pushed us into this. What do you suggest? What would you do, Night Watchman? What say you of our kings and queens? Would you strangle them, as I propose, or would you trust them, as your duty commends? Will the kings of the north sit quietly and let Zafir return to her throne? I don't think so. Will they let her put Jehal to death? Of that I have no doubt. But his queen and his son? No, they will not. Will Zafir condemn Valmeyan when his dragons are all that gives her power. No. And while they argue and fight, we will all burn to ash!' The alchemist laughed bitterly. 'Now I see his scheme, too late to thwart it. He'll take the eggs straight from Clifftop so as not to lose his own. They're probably on board the Taiytakei ships by now, halfway across the Endless Sea.' He brushed past Vale. 'Do you see now, Night Watchman? We are past light touches and gentle words. We are past kings and queens. Who is speaker will make little difference when the dragons run amok. Our duty now, Night Watchman, is to see that when the storm comes, not all is burned to ruin.' For a moment he met Vale's eyes. 'Nothing more, nothing less.' Jeiros twitched. His shaking grew worse with every word he said.

Poor man is losing his mind.

Vale reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. 'Alchemist, I will forget your words of treason, but if Zafir is alive, then, for better or worse, she is the speaker of the realms and I am bound to obey her.'

The alchemist turned and blazed in Vale's face. 'And what if Valmeyan's lying, Night Watchman? What then? What if Zafir really did die at Evenspire, as Jehal would have us believe?'

'Then I will send men to the Pinnacles. We will see for ourselves that Zafir is alive. If she is, Grand Master, then she will have her throne, and if the riders of the north cannot abide her rule then they will do whatever they will do. Call them all here, if you wish, to settle this with words or fire, whatever suits them best. And it is of no concern to me what the King of the Crags does with his eggs, nor you with your potions.'

'It is no concern of yours that everything we stand for may burn?'

Vale picked up the crumpled letter. 'If it is your wish, if it will help, I will send men with hammers to every eyrie in the realms, and you can send orders to your alchemists and eyrie-masters. While our lords and kings come with their dragons to decide who will be speaker, you have but to give the word and every egg will be smashed. Every dragon will be poisoned. The realms will be a better place for it. I will give you that, master alchemist, but I will not turn my swords on the throne I am sworn to serve. And the dragons, of course, will always come back.'

'A hatchling demands far less of what I have than a full-grown monster, Night Watchman.'

Vale walked out into the hammering rain and the smell of scorpions. He was a soldier, a man of action, after all. Sometimes any decision at all was better than nothing. He had places to go. To Jehal, but first down the stairs of the Gatehouse, across the open emptiness of the Gateyard and the Fountain Court, past the dark bulk of the Speaker's Tower to the Gla.s.s Cathedral. To Aruch, the daft old priest who sat half asleep by his altar most of the time these days. Aruch had hardly spoken a word since he'd married Zafir to Hyram. Sometimes Vale wondered whether the priest had quietly had a stroke while no one was looking.

Not that any of us would notice any more. Vale was soaked almost to the skin by the time he walked through the once-molten stone arches into the tomb-like gloom of the cathedral. The priests hardly bothered with torches or candles any more. The light and fire had gone out of the church long ago as it had gone out of its priest. Others found the torpor of the place alluring, but to Vale it was simply annoying. The Great Flame that was supposed to burn here was little more than a fading ember.

He found Aruch exactly where he thought he would, squatting by his altar, eyes closed. To anyone else, the priest would have seemed asleep, but Vale knew better.

'I'm here for your advice, old priest. The Lesser Council has a decision to make. Speaker Zafir might be alive. Rogue dragons might be afoot. You know what I'd like to do? I'd put Zafir and Jehal in cages next to each other. I'd kill every dragon I can get my hands on. I'd be done with kings and queens and I'd put the Syuss on the Adamantine Throne. What say you, old priest? Do I have your blessing?'

The priest started shaking. It took Vale a second or two to realise that he was laughing. Very slowly, Aruch lifted his head. He peered up at Vale. 'You can do whatever takes your fancy, Night Watchman. I have seen into Jeiros' dreams. He sees what is coming. He knows, in his heart, that there is nothing he can do. But you? You are what you are. Don't let me stop you from trying.' He rocked forward again, suddenly oblivious to Vale's presence.

Another madman. So it's down to me. Strange, how he knows my mind. Vale shook that away. He was a soldier. Maybe it's simply obvious what must be done.

Jehal then. Finding the Viper wasn't too hard. He was where they'd left him hours ago, in the Chamber of Audience, staring at his uncle's finger. Some days the great arched windows let in the sun and lit up the room like a jewel; today they merely let in the rain and the wind. The Viper didn't look up as Vale stalked in, dripping across the marbled floor. Apart from the two of them, the chamber was empty.

'Have you come to kill me?' asked Jehal as Vale drew closer. He didn't look up.

Dispense with all manner of unpleasantness and cut to the chase? A fine thought. 'Valmeyan has your queen.' He saw Jehal wince as though Vale had hit him.

'Perhaps she escaped. I suppose there's always hope, although in this case not very much of it.'

'I'm surprised you care.' Jehal's head snapped up. His eyes blazed and he glared at Vale. If looks could cut, I'd be slashed to pieces. But I've stared down dragons, Viper. Don't even try. 'He has your son too,' he said mildly. At last I get to watch you really suffer.

'Have you come to gloat, Night Watchman, or is there something else? Because if gloating is what you had in mind, you're not doing a very good job. I take comfort from knowing they are still alive. Better that than dead or lost.'

Vale tossed the Mountain King's message at Jehal's feet. Jehal made no move to pick it up. 'Valmeyan says that Zafir is still alive.'

Jehal shrugged. 'I know. Go away, little man.'

Vale slapped him. As Jehal recoiled from that, the Night Watchman took his legs out from under him. The next thing he knew, the Viper was lying on his back, and Vale was standing over him. Just like on Narammed's Bridge, except this time it is my own sword pointed at your throat.

'I defended your life because of the t.i.tle you wear,' he hissed. 'However little you may deserve it. Now it seems it should not be yours at all. You and Zafir, you are stains on the honour of Vishmir and his kin. You disgust me, both of you, yet I serve whichever one of you the law demands. It seems it is no longer you.'

Jehal brushed Vale's sword aside. 'When the time comes, Ta.s.san, there will be no death slow enough or painful enough for you.'

Vale Ta.s.san met his eyes. It was like trying to stare down a lizard, trying to out-glare a Night Watchman. 'Nor is there one that I fear, Your Holiness.'

Come on Vale, just kill him.

No. I have not seen Zafir. For the moment, he is still the speaker. Still the creature I am sworn to defend.

Just kill him anyway.

No.

With a deep breath, he stepped away. He was making a terrible mistake. A part of him was certain of that. But then I would be a murderer. Common vermin. I would be no better than any of the rest of them. He shook his head. 'Just go, Viper, before Zafir returns. Be gone and never come back.'

Slowly, painfully, Jehal dragged himself back to his feet. 'Oh I'll be gone, Night Watchman. I'll be gone in the morning to the north. Let Hyrkallan have this throne. Or Sirion, Or anyone who wants it. My dragons I give to Queen Jaslyn. We will set my Lystra free. After that, you can all do with me whatever you want.'

Vale pursed his lips. He nodded. 'I'll hold you to that, Viper.' He turned his back on the man who called himself speaker and walked back out into the rain.

The Dragon-Queen and the Beast.

Isentine watched the dragons land. B'thannan he recognised at once, blotting out half the sky. Some of the others too, some of Queen Jaslyn's more notable riders. Then half a dozen more that Isentine hadn't seen before. They came from the south, skimming across the endless dunes of the Sea of Sand. Over the lake that sat at the bottom of the cliff, up past the sweeping curves of ancient Out.w.a.tch to the landing fields. The thunder of their wings rattled the air. Isentine's eyes followed them. He'd been living at Out.w.a.tch long enough to see every single dragon that Queen Jaslyn owned be hatched and raised and he knew them all. These belonged to someone else.

Not Sirion either he knew those dragons too. Someone else. He turned out the guard in case it was someone important, then went back to watching. Even in his tower, he felt the ground quiver when B'thannan crashed to the earth. Out in the cattle paddocks the herd masters would already be rounding up the cattle they wanted to spare. Closer by, he saw his Scales run towards the dragons. He knew them all by name too, every one. They came to Out.w.a.tch as apprentices, alchemists in the making. They were the ones who failed, who weren't quite clever enough or sharp enough or wise enough. Sometimes they were they ones who fell in love with their dragons all on their own, but usually not. Usually they needed a little help to become the devoted servant that was a Scales. Here, drink this. It will help with the Hatchling Disease. And it did. It helped with a lot of other things too. Lately he'd been wondering if he should feed it to his own queen. Treason for the greater good. With luck it wouldn't come to that.

Hyrkallan was approaching. Some who had come with him were taking their time, but Hyrkallan was almost at a run, striding across the fields, his loyal riders at his heels. Isentine levered himself out of his seat high on the balcony of Out.w.a.tch tower and tottered down the hundred and twenty steps to the cavernous entrance hall. Its huge emptiness echoed around him. Almost everyone was gone, flown to the eyries in the south of the realm, waiting for war. He emerged from the tower as Hyrkallan reached the doors. Isentine bowed, exactly the right bow for a lord who was an equal. Not a lord who was a king, not yet. Queen Jaslyn had still to consummate her offer.

'Where is she?' snapped Hyrkallan. He didn't bow back. Isentine blinked.

'Brusque even for you, My Lord,' Isentine bristled. 'Yes, all is well. Indeed, my back does continue to trouble me. Etcetera, etcetera. You have a lot of dragons with you, My Lord, and not all of them of our realm. I hope they will not be staying long. We don't have potions to spare for them. Might I ask who are our guests?'

'The Speaker of the Realms, or what pa.s.ses for one, has come to your eyrie to see our queen. The dragons are his and they will be gone soon enough. There's a company of Adamantine Men come to keep you company too. They will be staying after I am gone, or are you short of food too?'

'Food we have in abundance.' Isentine frowned. Someone else's soldiers in his eyrie was never welcome, whoever sent them. Too many chances for a spot of murder or an outbreak of poisonings. He sighed. 'They're not wanted.'

'Just keep them away from the dragons, old man. So. Where is she?'

Isentine shook his head, a sour taste in his mouth. 'The Hatchling Disease has taken hold despite the medicines. Her mind wanders. The dragon has her enthralled.'

'Today we will be wed. Tomorrow we will fly once more to war. She will come with us.'

'I'll not let you take her by force.'

Hyrkallan rolled his eyes. 'Ancestors! You want her away and yet you won't let me take her? Make your choice, man! Perhaps the bleakness of the news I bring will tear her thoughts away to where they belong. Zafir lives. She flies with the King of the Crags. They have taken Furymouth and reclaimed the Pinnacles. She has Jehal's queen. The one sister might not have been enough to drag our queen from her folly, but I fancy the other will.'

Isentine's jaw gaped open. 'Lystra?'

'Yes, little Lystra. The pretty one with the big wide eyes who never could see the harm in anyone.' Hyrkallan's lip curled. 'Mere weeks since we flew to war against the Viper and now we fight side by side.' Now it was Hyrkallan's turn to taste something sour. 'Don't tell me that will not get our queen's attention. Now go and get her!'

Isentine shook his head. 'I will bow to you when you are a king, Hyrkallan. For now I must show your guest hospitality. Go and get her yourself. I'll send a Scales with you to remind you of the way.'

Hyrkallan's face clouded, but after a second he nodded. 'If I must.' He tore a small pouch from his belt and placed it into Isentine's hand. 'Maiden's Regret and plenty of it. You said I should bring some. You know what to do with it.'

'Not until she says yes to you.' Isentine shook his head.

Hyrkallan ground his teeth. 'She already said yes. She promised me.'

'She is our queen, My Lord. Speaker Jehal approaches. Best you be on your way. Be gentle with her. And beware of that dragon. Call her outside. Do not go in the room with it. Not if you value your life.'

He watched Hyrkallan go and then carefully put the pouch in his pocket. Sometimes he felt sorry for Queen Jaslyn. She was too young and the world was much too big. And then he remembered what she was doing, right under his feet, and he wasn't so sorry any more. He wasn't sorry for the man limping across the blasted earth of the landing field towards him either. Jehal, the b.a.s.t.a.r.d who'd cost his last queen her birthright and then her life. One of the nice things about being old, he thought, was that he really didn't have much to lose any more. He could do what he liked, and if anyone wanted to hang him for it, well that was a punishment nature would serve him soon enough anyway.

The drawback of getting old was that he no longer had the strength in his hands to throttle the speaker. A knife would have done the trick, but he didn't have one of those handy.

So until I do . . .