The Order Of The Scales Part 6

Lystra threw Meteroa a glance. Meteroa closed his eyes. Don't fall for it . . . But he could see in her face that something had crumbled, as if, deep down, she'd always known she was second-best for Jehal. Don't believe it. Not now! Evenspire . . .

Evenspire. They'd only ever had Jehal's word for what had happened at Evenspire.

Lystra's jaw set. She advanced on Zafir a third time, now with measured purpose. 'Is that why he snubbed you at your own councils?' She swatted at the tip of Zafir's sword, batting it away. Zafir was barely moving, her injured foot almost useless. 'Is that why he left you and came back home? He told us that he was bored. If he was sharing your bed then I suppose that must have been why.'

Zafir's jaw tightened. Meteroa coughed a hacking laugh. 'She's got you there, Zafir.' He was starting to have trouble keeping his eyes open.

'If you lose, I will take your life. If you win then I have to spare it. So you'll just have to watch while I strangle your baby and then hang Jehal in a cage. I suppose your sisters can wait. I had your mother put down for the murderous b.i.t.c.h that she was and neither of them seemed to mind all that much.'

Lystra sprang. This time Zafir was ready. Sword met sword. Lystra swung her axe at Zafir's chest; Zafir didn't even bother to try and block it. She jumped away on a foot that wasn't nearly as hurt as she'd let it seem. Lystra's axe hit her in the ribs, hard enough to hurt but not hard enough to trouble her armour, and then Zafir's axe was coming straight back, ready to cut Lystra in two and there was nowhere for Lystra to go.

Meteroa closed his eyes and sighed, but the sound of Lystra being cut in half didn't come. His eyes snapped open again.

She'd twisted inside the blow. The swinging shaft caught her in the midriff and knocked her sideways. Zafir dropped her sword and took the axe in a double grip, hop-stepped after Lystra and caught her a blow around the head with the pommel. Lystra staggered away, dazed, and dropped her weapons. Zafir leapt after her, pressing her advantage, swinging the axe in both hands. The fight was hers. But Lystra kicked, smashing Zafir's injured foot. Her ankle collapsed under her and she sprawled to the floor, cursing.

'Oops,' murmured Meteroa as loudly as he could. The pain was going away. He didn't feel much of anything any more, except a strong urge to fall asleep. Even the Mandras still held under his nose had lost its sting. His eyes were blurred, but he could see well enough to watch Lystra s.n.a.t.c.h up her sword and jump, blade first, onto Zafir. Zafir rolled and the sword missed and then Zafir kicked Lystra's legs out from under her and Lystra was down too, sprawled atop Zafir. He saw Lystra's fist rise and punch Zafir in the face and then watched her fly back from a foot in the belly. Zafir struggled to her one good foot. Her face was b.l.o.o.d.y. Lystra had broken her nose as well as her ankle. Zafir picked up her axe and hopped towards Lystra, slow and heavy in her dragon-scale. The room was wobbling up and down. It took an age for Meteroa to realise that that was because he was laughing.

'She's a girl,' he groaned. How long ago did she give birth? She's still milking her brat. She's in no state to fight. What do you think she can do? He couldn't stop himself from shaking. The whole sorry business was too absurdly funny.

Zafir tried to lift her axe with both hands, staggered, dropped it and nearly fell over. Meteroa made strange sounds, thin merry hoots. He was weeping now. 'She's a girl,' he gasped. 'A nothing.'

Zafir hobbled away. 'Enough. Someone give me a crossbow.'

No one moved. Lystra was still bent double on the floor, but Meteroa's laughter grew. You can't do that. Everyone will know. Sword and axe. That's what you agreed to. You lose. Look at you.

'Crossbow.' Zafir didn't ask a third time. She hobbled over to one of her riders who held one and s.n.a.t.c.hed it. She took her time to load it.

'Are you . . . so outcla.s.sed . . . that . . . you have . . . to cheat?' That took all the breath he had. He wasn't sure he was going to have any more. Lystra was on her hands and knees now, but Zafir wasn't watching her any more. She was looking at him.

'Enough. Of you.'

Come on, you fickle northern s.h.i.t. Get up, get up! Get up and stab her in the back! I can't keep- Meteroa never finished the thought. Zafir brought up the crossbow and fired. Meteroa's head snapped back as the bolt hit him between the eyes and nailed him a second time to Zafir's throne.

'Go p.i.s.s with your ancestors,' she hissed; and that was all he heard before they came rushing to meet him, to haul him kicking and screaming into the realms of the beyond.

Potions and Food.

Once you got past the horror of it, watching Snow torment the last two alchemists turned out to be almost boring. Once you got past the reek of blood and offal and the screaming that went on and on in Kemir's head even when the alchemists themselves fell silent. They didn't actually say anything very much except for a lot of squeaks and squeals, a few 'Please-don't-kill-me's and, when Snow picked one up in her claws and dangled him over her mouth, a great deal of terrified shrieking. But they didn't say anything. Snow was battering her thoughts into their heads and then picking over whatever bubbled to the surface.

Kemir caught snippets, when he tried. Mostly Snow seemed to be demanding to know where the other alchemists could be found, where other eyries were, where there were dragons and, above all, where and how the alchemists made their potions. She certainly wasn't asking about Rider Semian.

They're no better then dragon-riders. They're no better than dragon-riders. He ran the mantra over and over in his head, trying to believe it. Trying to think of them as something other than scared old men. Eventually, when he'd finished picking his fingernails clean and was on to sc.r.a.ping at the little flecks of blood that still stained his dragon-scale, he got up. Enough. There was only so much of this he could watch.

'Bored now.' Snow ignored him. Judging from the way she was acting, the answers weren't much to her liking. Which meant the alchemists probably wouldn't survive for long enough to tell Kemir anything that he wanted to hear.

'Oi, dragon.' He got up and kicked her foot. She slowly turned to look at him.

You become ever more wearing, little one. What?

'What do you want me to do? Sit on my a.r.s.e and scratch myself while you eat this lot?'

If it comforts you. Now be silent.

Kemir's face darkened. 'Look, I winkled them out for you. Me. So this is where you take a break from mangling them and you tell me about the man who killed my cousin. You tell me what the Scales knew.'

He knew nothing.

'What?'

He knew nothing. These know nothing.

'What? You said they knew!'

In a sudden flash of motion, Snow's tailed flicked out. The tip wrapped around Kemir's waist and he found himself being lifted up into the air. The dragon lunged and s.n.a.t.c.hed up the two alchemists in her front talons. Their wailing beat at the emptiness of the mountain air. Then she launched herself into a run on her ma.s.sive hind legs, claws shredding the earth, shaking the mountainside, wings beating like thunder until she lifted up into the air and powered up towards the remains of the castle. You wanted dragon-knights, Kemir, did you not? Perhaps you thought there might be a fight? You thought they might resist? Look, Kemir! Look, all of you, at how your mighty fortresses will fall. By now she'd almost reached it, a climb that would take Kemir more than an hour on foot. Look at it!

There wasn't much left but a big pile of broken stone. Charred pieces of wood smouldered in tumbled heaps, the last glowing embers slowly fading out. Here and there, pieces of stone carried some feature that marked them. A crenellation here, half a window there, broken pieces of archways, maybe a part of a door, sticking out from under the rubble. If Kemir tried, he could picture the castle as it had been before the dragons arrived, and then, just maybe, he could see how one pile of stones had once been a tower, how another had been the keep, another the gatehouse.

Just about.

'It wasn't exactly a very big castle, was it?' he muttered, and then gasped as Snow's tail drew a fraction tighter. She landed amid the stone.

Look, Kemir! Look, you alchemists, you who would enslave my kind. This is what will come. She set Kemir down in front of her and then lowered her face so they were almost eye to eye. I have told you, little one, that dragons do not act out of spite or revenge, but as you have seen, we have little patience, we are p.r.o.ne to anger, and if we do not avenge, nor do we forgive. I will not forget your Rider Semian, Kemir. In time he will cross our paths and burn like all the rest, and I will hardly notice his pa.s.sing, but as I do, I will think of you and consider any last debt between us paid. She set him down and turned to look at him. And now you have served your purpose. You have given me these alchemists. You are no longer useful.

Kemir took a step away. 'You need me.' He tried to sound convincing but didn't really manage it. Belatedly he remembered that the dragon could see into his thoughts.

Yes, Kemir. I see how riven with fear you are. You may hide it from your own kind, but not from me. And fear me you might. She reached out a front claw, still with a wriggling, screaming alchemist held tight within. Kemir could see his face, white with terror and lost blood, only a few feet from his own. He could see the hopeless plea, the tears, the sheer utter despair, the mad idea of mercy . . .

Mercy? Snow snarled. Why? What mercy have you shown to me? Very slowly, she squeezed. The screaming became frenzied. Then something cracked, and the screaming stopped. Kemir closed his eyes. No matter, Kemir. Do not forget the one you left behind, the one still under the ground. That is the greatest achievement of your kind. No matter what we do, there are always more of you. So you will always have ears to bleed with your questions.

For a moment he thought of running, of how quickly he might reach the nearest pile of rubble. Maybe there would be a tunnel. Could he move fast enough?

I see it in you, Kemir, the empty hole where your purpose used to be. You think, somehow, that striking those who have wronged you will make this change, but it never does and never will. The wrong is never undone. Your hole remains. So you tempt me, over and over, to put an end to your meaningless life. Very well. This time I shall oblige. You may have your wish.

No. That was the very obvious answer. No, he couldn't run fast enough. Nowhere near fast enough.

Stay very still, Kemir. Watch and listen. Snow kept squeezing. More bones cracked, and then there was a soft popping noise. A thick reddish brown ooze began to leak between her claws. Abruptly, Snow opened them. What was left of the alchemist landed by Kemir's feet. He'd been crushed to a pulp.

Tail, claw, tooth or fire? Or do you wish to die in battle? There may still be some dragon-riders that are still alive. I sense their thoughts. They are somewhere underneath us. You may look for them if you wish.

Kemir didn't move. Absolutely nothing was left intact.

Yes. Alive but buried. You may dig if you wish. Do you know how many dragons we have found here?

Kemir shrugged.

Seventeen. Twelve are young, five are full grown. There were more here not long ago.

He was shaking. She didn't mean it. Did she? Dragons lied. He knew that now. 'You still need me, dragon.'

Why, Kemir?

A brief flash of anger pushed past the sight of Snow's jaws, right in front of him. 'Because you're so b.l.o.o.d.y impatiently stupid . . .'

We fly, Kemir. Sooner or later we would have found this place without your map.

'Well you still-'

Scorpions? Would have hurt us, but they would not have stopped us. She set the other alchemist onto the ground next to Kemir and gently pinned him there with the tip of one claw resting on his chest. Look around you, Kemir. This is what I bring. We will destroy every place like this. We will annihilate every dragon-rider and every alchemist and every man who calls himself a king or a queen or a prince, but that this is only the beginning. What of the little people whose life is nothing but toil and graft, whose wants are simply a full belly and strong sons? We will feed on them as we feed on kings and princes, for to our kind you are all the same. Ants. You see the future, I know you do, for I have plucked these questions from your thoughts. We have begun and we cannot stop and there can only be one end. Some of you will try to fight us, some will hide, others will simply stand and do nothing as they die. You are one of those who will fight. I see it in you. You will turn on us. You will die.

The alchemist on the ground put a feeble struggle and then gave up.

Yes. Like that, and every bit as futile. Sometimes we will play with you before we eat you. We will not be able to resist. We are, as you once told me, like children. It is true.

She tapped her claw on the last alchemist, very softly but still enough to make him squeal. This one knows. Your kind war upon one other. Realms here have seized power and prepare to make war against realms there. And all the while your king in the mountains watches and bides his time to strike, but it matters not to us which realm is which. Your kind has fallen to chaos. You will not even see us coming until it is far, far too late. She tapped the alchemist again. Tell him, alchemist. Tell him what you have told me. The claw pressed harder into the alchemist's chest. He screamed.

'Potions!'

Tell him, alchemist.

'The potions! They're running out!'

Yes. The potions are running out. At last Kemir sensed a colour to Snow's thoughts. Antic.i.p.ation. Glee. Joy. Lots of all of them. Our first fight was not so wasted after all. They are running out of potions. They can no longer make them quickly enough to contain us. The man this alchemist calls master speaks of a cull to conserve their supplies. So that is where we will start. With potions. Her thoughts grew black and savage. A cull, Kemir. A cull of dragons. Your kind mean to poison us. Every one of us.

Abruptly she lifted her claw, balled it into a fist and brought it down on the alchemist with enough force to make the earth quiver. She completely crushed everything between his neck and his knees. A fine spray of blood spattered Kemir's face.

'You going to eat me now after all that, or not?' He managed to keep his voice steady, at least. Would it be so bad to be dead? To join his ancestors? To find Sollos again?

Your nest-mate Nadira wanted to die and you would not believe me. Now do you see? Your emptiness is the same.

'Bones and p.i.s.s, dragon.' His bow wasn't strung, so he went for his knives, one in each hand, and hurled himself at Snow's head. Completely futile, but maybe, just maybe, he could grab a hold of her and stick a knife in one eye far enough to do some real damage. He was quick, very quick . . .

Somehow her head wasn't there. Instead, the end of her tail whipped in from one side and s.n.a.t.c.hed him out of the air with such speed it almost wrenched his spine apart. So fast . . . how could something so big be so blindingly fast?

I see you move in your head, Kemir, that is how. I know what you will do before even your feet understand. She sat back, lifted her head in the air and dangled him high up in front of her. I have thought about this often, what I will do with you when I no longer have a use for you. I had thought I would simply eat you, but now in this moment I am not hungry. So I will let you go. For what little service you have rendered, you are free to leave us. Run, Kemir. Long and far. When I am hungry again, I will come for you.

'And how long and far will be enough, dragon?'

Snow seemed to laugh. There is never an enough, Kemir.

'Then perhaps I'll stay here and see if I can put your eye out after all. Or perhaps you'd better just get on with it and eat me.'

If that is what you would prefer, I will ask the other dragons. We have eaten well, but perhaps one of them still has an appet.i.te.

'And then? What about you, Snow. What do you do?'

I will take my sleeping brothers and sisters far away where we will not be found until they awake. And then we will come, and our hunger will be endless. I am surprised at you, little one Kemir. Most of your kind have not been given such a generous choice, and yet I do sense that you are . . . ungrateful.

'You sound a lot like a rider.'

Arrogant? Cruel? Heartless? Without mercy? Look at me, Kemir. Look at what I am. Your riders are nothing more than men draped with an illusion of power. You have fought and killed such men. They are as small and fragile as the rest of you. Look at me, Kemir. Your arrows will not even punch through my scales. Your scorpions are to me as an insect's bite is to you. LOOK AT ME! The thought thundered into Kemir's head. His arms fell limp, almost dropping his knives. He stared at the dragon, helpless. Arrogant? This is not arrogance, Kemir. This is the natural order our creators intended, that is all. Arrogance is built on hubris. We do not imagine the magnitude of our strength, Kemir. We see it around us, in the ruins of this castle. Do not talk to me of arrogance, little one. Arrogance is thinking your kind have any say in your destiny. Arrogance is thinking you could do anything more than amuse us.

She lowered him back to the ground. He was shaking, still rooted to the spot, his feet refusing to move as Snow very slowly wrapped her fore-claw around him. 'What about cruel? What about heartless? What about mercy?' The words stuttered out of his mouth, kicked out between reluctant lips by the part of him that refused to crumble. Ever.

What of them? She picked him up and lifted him into the air, peering at him as she rose onto her back legs and towered fifty feet above the ground. We play when we are playful. We rage when we are angry. We eat when we are hungry. We pay as little attention to what our food is called as your kind do, Kemir. If that is cruel and without heart or mercy then that is what we are. I might wonder if we even understand the meanings you give to these words. With a languid, almost careless motion she dropped him and then caught him again, this time between her teeth. He could feel her breath blowing past him in heavy slow gusts. He'd once, before he'd learned better, imagined that dragons' breath always reeked of rotten meat, but in fact there was usually almost no scent to it at all. Snow smelt warm and slightly acrid, with a whiff of fresh blood.

Tell me what you want, Kemir. Shall I let you go? If I do, one of us, one day, will find you.

For a moment he twitched and wriggled, unable to stop the animal instinct that screamed at him to tear himself free, even if he had to rip himself half to pieces to escape. Snow held him fast.

It is hard to be so gentle, Kemir. If I am distracted I might forget you are there for a moment. That is how little you mean to me.

Most of her teeth were like sword-edges, long and hard and sharp as razors, built for shearing flesh and bone and nothing else. Her larger fangs were the size of his thigh. He couldn't imagine what prey they were meant to pin.

Oh the world was once full of many creatures that are now lost. A few were made like us. Others came when the world was first made. They are all gone now. We ate them. We are what is left.

With a soft gasp, Kemir p.i.s.sed himself. He started to sob. Fear. That's all it took. Enough of it would break anything, and he'd finally found what was enough to break him. The last little part, the part that had always held out no matter what the world did to him, cracked and fell to pieces.

There. Finally you understand what I am. With that, she took him back in her claws and casually tossed him away over the edge of the mountain.

A Nest of Snakes.

Jehal slid languidly out of bed and hobbled to his dresser. Discarded silks littered the floor. Bright yellows and greens and blues. The best colours, the best dyes, the finest silk. It all came from the silk farms on Tyan's Peninsula, close to his home in Furymouth.

'Does it hurt?' The voice came from somewhere under the tangle of soft furs piled up on the bed.

'No,' he lied. 'Not at all.' Three months had pa.s.sed since Shezira had tried to neuter him. He threw on a robe and went to stand in one of the windows. Vale was out there somewhere, the Night Watchman who'd placed the crossbow in Shezira's hands the day before he'd cut off her head. He'd be down below, stomping up and down and shouting at his men most likely. At any other time, Jehal would simply have had Vale hanged, drawn and left to die in a cage outside the gates, that old ritual that Zafir had so gleefully revived. But I need him, and he needs me, and however much we'd love to slit each other's throats, neither of us can stand alone. Put him away for later. When the war peters out, they'll either make me speaker or they won't. If they do, I can do what I like with him. If they don't, well then does it really matter? I should savour the view while I've got it.

He was back in his favourite room in the palace, in the bedroom at the very top of the slender Tower of Air, looking out over the Speaker's Yard, the Gla.s.s Cathedral, the City of Dragons, the Mirror Lakes, the Purple Spur and the Diamond Cascade beyond, except today it was raining buckets and there wasn't much to see of any of those. He'd tried Hyram's rooms for a while, but they made him restless. Too gloomy for his taste. The air was too heavy. Too many ghosts and too much taint of failure and sickness and decrepitude. So he'd come back to the place that had been Zafir's favourite as well as his own, the place that held all his best memories. It was hard. Strange. Ever since Evenspire, he'd missed her almost constantly. Far more than he'd ever missed her when she was alive.

What I mean, if I'm honest with myself, is that this is the place where I had all the best s.e.x. Speaking of which . . .

He'd picked her carefully. She had lips and a tongue that worked miracles, they said, and so they had. The pain had been something like having a white hot and very long needle stabbed between his legs and pushed very slowly but surely deeper and deeper, but there had been more to it than that. Something had happened, at least. When she'd stopped and he was gasping, blind with something between ecstasy and agony, her tongue had brushed his lips. There'd been salt. He'd tasted himself on her. She was letting him know.

He still throbbed with the aftermath, pulses of pain enough to make him wince and that wouldn't go away. Through it, he could hardly stop himself from grinning. I'm still a man. At last I know the answer. Shezira didn't neuter me after all.

It was a good thing. Not least because it meant he didn't have to throw the woman in his bed out of a window in order to keep his secret. On the contrary. Now they both knew, he could let her go to spread the word that the speaker was whole. He chuckled to himself and set about dressing. The sun had come up hours ago. There were probably things he ought to be doing.