Queen Shezira stopped her pacing and looked at him directly. They were alone on the battlements by her insistence. No one, she said, was to hear what they had to say to each other. Even the rooms below the roof had been cleared, and the stairs were guarded by her most trusted rider. And one of his as well, so they could keep an eye on each other.
'You're important enough. I already have King Valgar and one other that I can count on. Valmeyan won't be here and so won't have a say. Neither do the Syuss. I only have one question for you. What do you want?'
Jehal's smile widened. 'I told you, sweet Queen. The trouble is, I'm not important enough.' He met her gaze. If she was too stupid to understand what he meant, she didn't deserve his help.
She wasn't stupid. Slowly, she nodded. 'The Speaker's Ring. You want to succeed me when my years are up.'
'That would be a most enticing prospect.'
'And the most obvious demand. Yes.'
'And will you make Lystra your heir? To take your crown when you take Hyram's ring. So she need not worry so much about my rabble of half-cousins sniffing after my father's throne?'
She pursed her lips. 'Perhaps. If you'll give me your word to pass the Speaker's Ring on to Lystra when your time is done, and let Almiri become Queen of Sand and Stone in her place.'
Jehal nodded, then made a show of looking concerned. 'Wait. Begging your pardon, Your Holiness, but isn't all this the same assurance that Hyram gave to you. His word?'
'Are you calling me a liar, Jehal?'
He folded his arms. 'Let's just say I'm still a little irked that you dismissed me from Hyram's table two nights ago. One might have the impression that you think Hyram is right, and that I am poisoning King Tyan. Perhaps I've been poisoning Hyram as well, who knows? But if you did think such a thing, I would have to wonder as to the worth of your promises. Your word given to a prince may bind you, but your word given to a poisoner? I don't think that means very much to you.'
'If I had thought there was any truth to Hyram's suspicions, I would never have given you my daughter, Jehal.'
A warm feeling spread out from somewhere deep inside him. Jehal smiled again. 'Thank you, Your Holiness. I cannot describe how grateful I am to know that. You will declare me your successor when you make your challenge? In front of everyone?'
'Yes.'
Jehal bowed. 'Then King Tyan's vote will be yours, Your Holiness.'
'Good. Our business is done. Return with me to the feast, if you will.'
'Leave me here a while, Your Holiness. My mind is filled with ways to turn Silvallan and Narghon against Hyram and Zafir. Your victory would surely be even more pleasant if the two of them stood alone. I will rejoin you shortly, Your Holiness.'
Shezira hesitated, then nodded. Jehal watched her go, sinking slowly down the stairs into the guts of the tower. As soon as he was alone, his eyes shifted. He looked across the Tower of Dusk into the palace beyond, to the tall and slender Tower of Air, which looked down on everything. He was smiling.
'Speaker. At last. So sorry, Zafir. Nothing personal.'
Then he turned to look out to the mountains, leaning out over the stones, wondering what it would feel like to know that everything he could see was his.
He didn't look down. If he had, he might have seen a tiny pair of glittering ruby eyes.
48
The Eyrie of the Alchemists
Princess Jaslyn was the first to see the smoke. It hung, a slight haze staining the air, a mile or two ahead of them. When she waved at him and pointed, Semian saw it too. As they got closer, he made out the remains of the wagons on the ground, and the gleam, here and there, of shattered swords and armour.
The three dragons split smoothly. Semian and Jostan dived low, one to the left and one to the right. Silence and Princess Jaslyn powered up. While she circled overhead, the two knights swooped over the battle site from opposite angles. They made a second pass and then climbed back to Princess Jaslyn.
'Wagons and soldiers. All dead,' shouted Rider Semian at the top of his voice. 'Dragon attack.' He had no way of knowing whether Princess Jaslyn had heard him. There was a crude sign language that all dragon-riders learned, but it didn't cover things like this. The best he could do was: Friends. Dead. Dragon spoor.
He heard Jaslyn shout something back, but all her words were stolen by the wind. She signed: How long?
One hour. Two hours. 'Recent. Not long ago.'
Danger?
No. 'Whoever did this, they've gone.' Or at least he hoped so. There wasn't any sign of anything alive and moving on the ground, and whoever had burned these men could be miles away by now.
She told him to land and followed him down while Jostan circled overhead. They dismounted and picked their way through the wreckage. Parts of the wagons were recognisable – scorched axles and wheels. Most of the rest was charcoal and ashes, some of it still too hot to touch. There were a lot of bodies. No. Bits of bodies. Soldiers.
'These were the speaker's soldiers,' said Princess Jaslyn. With a start Semian realised she was right. Adamantine Guardsmen. Most had been eaten, and all that was left were hands and arms and legs and pieces of crushed armour chewed and spat out. The few bodies still in one piece had been burned and crushed. There was one impaled to the ground by one of the Guards' own scorpion bolts.
'They're all dead, Princess,' he said, and she nodded. 'Do we search for who did this? They cannot have long gone. They may be resting their dragons or letting them hunt.'
'Or they may be gone.' Jaslyn shook her head. 'We go on as we were. We'll tell the alchemists when we reach them. Once my mother is speaker, she'll put an end to these outrages.' She walked back to Silence and climbed onto his back. 'We fly at three levels now.'
Semian nodded. Three levels meant that one of them would fly close to the ground and the other two much higher, separated by thousands of feet and impossible to surprise all at once. Which was Jaslyn's way of saying she thought they were in some danger. They took to the air once more. Jostan stayed high, so Semian flew low, with Princess Jaslyn somewhere between them. Flying in the middle put her in the safest part of the formation, but also meant that they were relying on her eyes to spot any danger. Semian tried not to think about that and concentrated on following the rutted track leading to the alchemists' stronghold. In a lot of places it was almost invisible. It vanished into wooded vales, twisted over flat slabs of rock and skulked under overhangs, almost as if it had been designed to be difficult to find and almost impossible to follow.
Late in the afternoon the track led Semian over a high pass and down into a lush green valley. A village lay spread out beneath him nestled against a rushing river and surrounded by fields and cattle. The track followed the river, past the village and through a stretch of woodland. The sides of the valley grew steeper and closer together until he was flying between two sheer walls of rock hundreds of yards apart. The cliffs were pitted with fissures stained with streaks of black and dark green. Tiny trickles of frothing water bubbled over the cliff edge and dissolved into clouds of spray. In every possible crack stunted trees and bushes struggled to grow.