Then we will wait, and sooner or later they will starve.
'Let me down! I'll go in there and get them out for you.' The last he'd seen of the three riders, they'd been heading for the cave closest to the eyrie. He couldn't see their bodies, which meant that they must have reached it. That or Ash had simply eaten them.
Snow stamped with frustration. She lowered herself onto all fours and let Kemir slide down to the ground. Nadira stayed where she was. She frowned at Kemir as if she disapproved. He ignored her and ran to the cave where he thought the riders must be, but then hesitated. Three of them and one of him. Poor odds.
He crept slowly in. The sun only reached the ground outside at its zenith; inside, the cave grew very dark very quickly. He touched the walls, feeling his way forward. They were warm and dry from Snow's breath. That would tell him how far her fire had reached. It would tell everyone inside as well. They'd know how deep they had to go.
About a hundred yards into the cave it became too narrow for a dragon. Another hundred yards and the walls weren't warm any more. Everything was pitch black except the circle of daylight behind him, yet when he squinted he thought he could see lights ahead of him, faint pinpricks of white light that looked more like stars than like lamps or torches. He moved slowly, feeling for each step with his feet, creeping silently forward. The pinpricks became brighter. They were lights, definitely lights. Which made him wonder how many other people might be hiding in this cave.
In the nearest of the lights he caught a faint glimpse of a face. He raised his bow, but the figure wasn't wearing the armour of a dragon-knight. The face vanished; the light bobbed and moved away.
Kemir moved faster, fumbling silently through the darknes towards the light. Whoever he was following stopped by the next light and took that too. And the next and the next. Kemir was close enough to see that the lights were like little lamps, but their flame was a cold white and he didn't smell any smoke or oil. The man carrying them wasn't a soldier and didn't seem to be armed. Kemir drew a knife then sprinted the dozen yards between them. The man heard him at the last moment and turned around as Kemir bundled into him, knocking him down and sending the lamps flying. In an instant he had his knife at the man's throat.
'Please please please ...' The man was weeping with fear. There was a bad smell.
'Three dragon-knights came this way, didn't they?'
'Yes. Yes. I don't know who they are. Please, please don't kill me.'
'Where did they go?'
'I don't know.' Kemir pressed the knife harder against the man's skin. The man squealed. 'Deeper! I don't know. Into the gatehouse.'
'Gatehouse?' Kemir felt a sudden coldness inside him. 'How many other people are down here?'
'I don't know!'
'Then guess.'
'I don't know, I don't know. I'm just a servant. Please ...'
'One? Two? Ten? A hundred?'
'A hundred? More, I think. I don't know. Please.'
A hundred? Kemir's eyes grew wide. He slowly withdrew his knife. 'Soldiers?'
'Yes.'
'How many?'
'I don't know. A century? A legion? I don't know!'
A legion? In these caves? That can't be right. Still, a dozen, even half a dozen, was quite enough. Kemir gripped the man by the throat and hauled him to his feet. 'One of the dragon-knights is called Rider Semian. Tell him that Kemir, the sell-sword who ruined his leg, is outside waiting for him.'
He let the man go, picked up one of the lamps so he could see where he was going, and started back towards the entrance to the cave. He didn't run. In fact a part of him wasn't sure he wanted to go back at all. The dragons weren't going to like this. If they meant to starve this lot out, they were likely to be in for a long wait. And so far they hadn't exactly impressed him with their patience.
54
The Two Speakers
In the middle of the ten-sided table lay the Speaker's Spear and Ring. Hyram was on his feet; everyone else was watching him, waiting for him to sit down. Some of the dragon-lords looked bored, some looked impatient, some were simply annoyed that he was taking so long. He was shaking again this morning. Only a little bit, but Shezira could see it. Either the potions that held his sickness in check were losing their effect, or he was running out.
Opposite Hyram sat Acting Grand Master Jeiros and High Priest Aruch. On each other side of the table sat a dragon-king or -queen and one other knight. That was all. Two sides were empty. The Syuss had few dragons and were invited to the palace only as a courtesy, and the King of the Crags had held himself aloof from the rest of them for over a generation.
Shezira couldn't help but stare at the ring. Seven of us, then. Her hands gripped the table. She'd been waiting for this day for a decade. She'd done everything right; even this foolishness with Queen Zafir seemed nothing more than a last test to see if she was worthy of that ring. Sitting at the table, staring at it, she could almost believe that Hyram was testing her, nothing more, that Zafir wasn't even real.
Hyram finally sat down. Jeiros stood up and made a speech. Aruch followed him. They were the same speeches that were made every ten years. Jeiros spoke of responsibilities and burdens. Shezira knew all the words, yet now they were meant for her she found herself soaking up every one of them. When it had been Hyram, a decade ago, they'd simply been dull; this time they made her skin tingle. When Aruch spoke of humility and the grace of the dragon-god, she didn't roll her eyes as Jeiros did beside him but found herself wondering: Is it true? Could it be the priests who keep the dragons at bay? Do the potions only work because they will them to? Stupid thoughts that she would have laughed at on any other day seemed suddenly profound.
She pinched herself. You're the Queen of Sand and Stone, the Queen of the North, not an idiot princess seeing her first dragon.
When it was Hyram's turn again, he spoke of everything he'd done in his time at the palace. He spoke of peace and prosperity, of the unsurpassed strength of the Adamantine Guard, of the value of continuity. Then, in the same voice he'd used to inventory the armoury of the Guard, he named Queen Zafir as his declared successor and sat down. It took Shezira a second to realise what he'd just said, that he'd actually done it and broken their pact, that it wasn't a test after all.
Sirion will back me. Valgar too. And Jehal and King Narghon. Silvallan if he knows Zafir's cause is lost. The silence lasted for a second, then another. Everyone was looking at her. Hyram's mouth was slightly open. Anticipation shone in his eyes. With a start she realised that she still hadn't said anything. At the end of the table Jeiros was staring at his feet. He had two rolled-up scrolls in front of him. He reached for one.
'No,' she whispered. It took her another second to fully find her voice. When she did, she rose smoothly to her feet. There would be nothing hurried or angry about her. Her voice would be calm when she spoke. Almost gentle. As though she was chiding an errant child. Jeiros looked at her. He had the scroll in his hand now, the words to anoint the next speaker. She met his eye and shook her head.
With a sigh Jeiros put down the scroll in his hand and picked up the other one. Aruch rose beside him. They looked tired, Shezira thought. Almost bored. She suddenly realised that everyone had known this was going to happen. They might as well have rehearsed it. In a way, wasn't that what they'd all been doing for the last few days?
'Are there any other challenges?' asked Jeiros. When no one spoke, he went on. 'Seven times the anointing of a speaker has been challenged. Three times the challenge failed. Of the four that succeeded, three threw the realms into turmoil. Queen Shezira, for the good of the realms, will you withdraw your challenge?'
'No, Grand Master, I will not.'
'Then, Your Holiness, what is your challenge?'
'Hyram, there is a pact between our clans that was made generations ago. If you violate that, you sully us all. Wiser men and women than I decreed long ago that only a reigning king or queen may take the office of speaker. They decided this because they understood that to govern the nine realms a speaker must first prove themselves worthy. Queen Zafir does indeed sit on a throne and may make an excellent speaker -- twenty years from now, when she has proved herself. I call on you to honour the pact between our clans and name me as your successor.'
'And who would be yours, Shezira?' hissed Hyram, glaring at Prince Jehal.
Jehal smiled back at him. 'Someone who is wise and able, Hyram, and who does more to earn the honour than spread their legs.'
Hyram shot to his feet. 'Viper!'
Shezira glared at them both. 'Prince Jehal, this is a sacred time. Show some respect.'
Jehal lolled his head. 'For what?'
Hastily, in the moment of silence that followed, Jeiros unfurled the scroll and read the text aloud: 'As was written in the time of Narammed, the word of the speaker has been challenged before the assembled Kings and Queens of the Nine Realms. This council will disperse and reform one day from now, at dawn, when a new speaker shall be chosen, by the word of the speaker, or by the vote of the Kings and Queens of the Nine Realms should the challenge remain.'
Jehal groaned and slumped across the table. Shezira wondered for one startled moment whether he'd somehow been poisoned, but then he raised his head. 'Do we have to? Another day of acting like startled rabbits? Not daring to eat anything, keeping away from high places, constantly being surrounded by our armoured dragon-knights.' He bowed at Shezira. 'As you say, Your Holiness, this is a sacred time, and I apologise for my previous words. But let us end this now, while we are all here and unquestionably alive. No more childishness. We all know where we stand.'
Shezira frowned. 'I sympathise, but there is a proper way, Prince Jehal.'
Lady Nastria leaned into her and whispered. 'You should agree with him, Holiness.'
Shezira looked at her. She cocked her head. Why?
Nastria drew closer. Her words were so quiet that Shezira could barely hear them. 'Because Princess Jaslyn will return from the alchemists at any moment, and when she does, Prince Jehal is finished. Use him now, Your Holiness, and then throw him away.'
'Are you sure of this?' she mouthed back.
'As sure as I am of anything, Holiness.' Nastria straightened and turned back to the table.
Shezira did the same. Perfect. It was hard not to smile. She looked at Hyram and then at Jeiros. 'I am agreeable.'
Hyram smiled back at her. 'No. I say we wait.'
Jeiros was looking at Queen Zafir. And Zafir was nodding. Jeiros appeared uncomfortable. 'Apologies, Lord Hyram, but this is a matter for the Kings and Queens of the Nine Realms. You no longer have a voice in this.' He avoided Hyram's gaze. 'Do any object?' When everyone was silent, he sighed. 'Very well. Queen Shezira, Queen Zafir, one by one you shall each call a monarch to your cause. Whoever the kings and queens decree shall be speaker.' As he finished, Shezira glanced at Zafir. This is your last chance to end this, to avoid making a fool of yourself. But Zafir's face was a mask. She met Shezira's eye for a moment and her expression didn't flicker at all. She walked slowly to stand in front of Hyram. Shezira took her place by the alchemist and the priest.
Jeiros bowed to her. 'Queen Shezira, you have issued the challenge. Which king or queen do you call to your side?'
'I call King Valgar.'
Valgar didn't bother to say anything. He simply got up and walked to stand with Shezira. Jeiros bowed across the table to Queen Zafir. 'Which king or queen do you call to your side?'
Zafir stayed silent; it was Hyram who answered. 'King Sirion. My cousin.'
Sirion was standing right next to Hyram, which meant that Hyram couldn't see what Shezira could. He couldn't see the tautness in Sirion's face, the whiteness of his knuckles. When he didn't speak, Hyram turned slowly to look at him.
'I'm sorry, cousin. I've always felt this crown wasn't really mine, that I was taking care of it for you, waiting for this day. But a pact is a pact. I must declare for Queen Shezira.'
The warmth of victory blossomed in the pit of Queen Shezira's stomach. Two out of two. Hyram looked aghast, his face frozen in horror. Even Jeiros looked stunned; in fact, the only one around the table who didn't seem surprised at all was Queen Zafir. Thank you, Jaslyn. At last you've done something useful.
'King Tyan,' she said. As hard as she tried to avoid it, her voice held a tremor of victory.
Jeiros bowed to Prince Jehal. 'As King Tyan's regent, you have the right to speak with his voice.'
'Yes, I do.' Jehal grinned. He stood up, leaned over the table and looked straight at Hyram. 'Old man, you've slandered me, you've even tortured me. I'd like nothing more than to see everything you value turn to ash before your eyes.' He glanced at Shezira. 'Your Holiness, will you name someone to follow you in turn? Here and now? A pact, such as the one Hyram here seeks to break? For what they're worth.'
Shezira nodded. 'You, Prince Jehal. I name you as my chosen successor.' It left a sour taste in her mouth. But if Nastria is right, I can relieve myself of that obligation. When I go, Valgar can have it; Almiri will take his throne and Jaslyn and Lystra could yet be queens. Antros, if you're watching, I hope you're smiling.
Jehal's smile, when he looked at Hyram, was so broad it almost split his face in two. 'Does that please you? Without your treachery I would never have had this. You've betrayed your allies. Your own cousins have turned against you. What possible reason could I have to ally myself with you? Think about that for a moment. Because that is what I choose. I choose Queen Zafir.'
Shezira didn't move a muscle. She couldn't; Jehal's words had frozen her solid. She heard King Silvallan declare for Zafir as well, and then King Narghon, but it all seemed so far away that she barely heard their words. She couldn't think. For a moment the world seemed to fade completely; when it finally returned, Jeiros was halfway through another speech. He'd opened the second of his two scrolls, and Zafir was the next Speaker of the Realms.