‘I'm more used to travelling alone,’ she said. ‘I had them put these curtains in. You have a bed and a desk of your own on your side. I'm sorry it's cramped. I'm sure you're used to more grand surroundings.’ She knew he wasn't.
She unrolled a map of Takei'Tarr and pointed. ‘This is Xican and the Grey Isle. We have to cross the sea to Zinzarra. Two days without a stop, I'm afraid. I brought books for you to read. After that we travel down the western coast through the heartland of my people. I'll show you what places I can as we pass them. The aqueduct at Shevana-Daro, the Palace of Glass and the Crown of the Sea Lords at Khalishtor, and Mount Solence, home and birthplace of the Elemental Men. Negarrai with its lighthouse. Abaskun, and Sigiriya with its amphitheatre. Here is Hingwal Taktse castle where I learned my art, home of the Vespinese College of Enchanters. I'll take you there if I can.’ She ran a finger up and down, inland of the western coast where all the cities lay. ‘These are the mountains of the Konsidar. We'll cross at the far southern end and perhaps stop for a day in Vespinarr itself, here, the greatest city in the world. Then another day into the southernmost reaches of the desert to the salt marsh of the Samim.’ She couldn't help but smile. ‘Read the books I have for you and you'll find our oldest stories are rife with monsters. The Red Banatch and the Kraitu of Dhar Thosis. Zaklat the Death Bat.’ The smile turned to a laugh. ‘Stories from before the Splintering. Here.’ She took one of the books and took off her glasses so she didn't have to squint, then opened it and flipped the pages until she found the Samim. ‘“A giant scorpion a hundred feet long with a hundred legs, seven poisonous tails and three pairs of claws, each of which could cut a horse in two. Around its mouth parts, seventeen venomous snakes so poisonous that their mere breath brings death to lesser creatures.”’ She closed the book again. ‘In stories of the desert the Samim never leaves its lair, content to give birth to all the poisonous creatures of the world. The Samim isn't real, of course, just an idea, an old monster whose time has long gone, but above its lair you and I will give birth to new ones. Tell me about what an eyrie should be. What else will we need?’
He looked at her as though she was mad. ‘Food. A great deal of food. Great herds of wild beasts. Dragons are forever hungry.’
‘The western edge of the Lair then, closer to Hanjaadi and the Bawar Bridge.’ She chuckled. That would not please Quai'Shu, nor his Vespinese allies, nor probably the Hanjaadi. Baros Tsen T'Varr would have to move his flying eyrie even closer to the Jokun river than it already was. Maybe further north too.
‘Dragons are death,’ said the alchemist suddenly. ‘We tame them because we have no choice. I'd destroy them if I could. If there was a way. So would you if you really understood them.’
She held his eye across the desk, looking for the lie in what he'd said, but no, he meant it. ‘Then make me understand, Bellepheros of the dragon lands. I'm not your enemy.’ She frowned. ‘Would you really destroy them?’
‘Yes.’ He shook his head. ‘You just don't understand what you're doing.’
‘Then why don't you?’
‘Because I don't know how!’ He closed his eyes and sighed and his shoulders slumped. ‘Besides, you have sea lords and their like to tell you what you may not do. We have our dragon-kings and — queens.’
‘And what do they say?’
The alchemist leaned towards her across the map. ‘You know what they say. They say the same as your lord says here! They say that every dragon is precious and to be saved if it possibly can. They would likely murder us all rather than lose their precious monsters. And I would destroy every dragon in existence if such a thing could be done, and for no better reason than that very greed!’ The force in his voice was enough make her step back. ‘Although there are better reasons than that. Many.’ He turned away, the passion in his words slipping to defeat. ‘But what does it matter? Kill a dragon if you can. It just comes back again, born in another egg somewhere.’
Chay-Liang rolled away her map, slowly and deliberately. This. Exactly this. ‘Really?’
The alchemist rolled his eyes. ‘Oh, what harm is it for you to know? It hardly makes a difference and if it helps you understand why what you're doing should not be done. . As far as we understand, the number of dragons never changes. For an egg to hatch — and there are many, many eggs across the dragon realms — elsewhere a dragon must die. And the dragon that is reborn will be the same dragon as the one that died. Not the same shape, not the same colour, perhaps not even the same breed, but the same essence. The same soul, if you will. The same thoughts and memories, when they're not dulled away by my potions.’
‘Are you saying they're immortal?’ Now there was a thing. A puzzle more for the Elemental Men, perhaps. Something that just came back when you killed it? They wouldn't like that one little bit. Chay-Liang wasn't at all sure that she did either but then maybe she hadn't properly understood what he meant.
‘You might say so.’ Bellepheros closed his eyes and tipped back his head with a great sigh. ‘Within my order such things are held secret from the kings and queens who think they rule us, and for good reason.’ He looked at her hard. ‘You're not like a dragon-king, I can see that. Your masters embark on madness, Chay-Liang. Madness, and you as well if you believe that what they're asking me to do is good and wise and for the better of all. The dragons remember, Chay-Liang. When they're reborn, they remember the lives they used to have and they do not think fondly of our kind at all. Little ones they call us when they're awake and we're nothing to them but food. My alchemy may keep them dull for you for a while but even if you keep me here until I die, I am already old and I won't live for ever, while they will. Bring dragons to this land and sooner or later they'll wake. It may not be for years and perhaps neither you nor I will live to see it — and I will do everything in my power to stop it — but it will happen; and when they do then all your pretty palaces will mean nothing.’ He stopped for a moment and looked her in the eye. ‘And your palaces are wonders, Chay-Liang, and I wouldn't see them shattered and burned even though your people have taken me from my home and my family and everything I know and love, and all out of greed.’ He took her hand from where it held the map and squeezed it between his own. ‘What I offer you is the truth, Chay-Liang. If dragons come then I will do all I can to keep them at bay, but I cannot be here for ever and then what?’ He smiled, almost in tears at the certainty of his own words. ‘I know what you think. You think you can make more alchemists. I could teach another. One of your own kind. You, perhaps. You might even promise that I could go home once I'm no longer necessary. You think this alchemy is something that I can pass on. But it's not. Whether I want to or not, I cannot make another alchemist who can tame dragons.’
She looked into him. He believed every word. He was almost weeping and the pain and sadness shook her somewhere deep. Damn him, but she almost believed it too. Didn't want to but there it was. A man they'd taken from his home to be their slave. He should be angry — he had every right to be — waving his fist and snarling at her and telling her that he'd never help them, not for anything. She'd been ready for that but not for this. Not for sorrow and. . pity! He pitied them. ‘Sit,’ she said quietly, trying to rein in her disquiet. ‘We will not end so easily.’