Jasaan jumped and raced and hauled himself along the path up through the rocks. There was no turning his head, no looking back. Skjorl would do what he could. If he fell, that wouldn’t be a bad thing either. Let him stand long enough for Jasaan to reach the alchemist and then finally fall — more than likely that’s exactly what he wanted.
The path climbed up beside the waterfall, went on higher into the bluffs and then vanished to follow the river again. Jasaan passed the place where they’d left Parris to stand guard, out of the way of the fight, or so he’d thought. Parris was gone. When Jasaan glanced over the edge, he saw where. They’d pushed him over. He probably hadn’t even lifted his sword.
Back home, outsiders were called shit-eaters because they had to grovel in the dirt for their food. What people forgot was that in the mountains and the forests finding food could be tricky. Turned them into sneaky bastards, born with hunting in their veins. Two of them were hiding behind the next big rock. He felt them more than he saw them as he ran past; when they came out and lunged, he hurled himself forward so their stabs came up short and skittered off his armour. He was already swinging his sword as he turned. What did they have? Spears? Wooden poles with metal tips. He split one in half with his first swing and pressed them back towards the rocks where Parris had fallen. They were terrified, and so they should have been, and when they turned and fled he let them go and ran on up through the stones, along the ledge above the river. At the end of the ledge the path vanished into a steep scree of loose stone and boulders. The outsiders and the alchemist were at the bottom. For a second Jasaan paused. An eyrie? Had there been an eyrie here?
‘Nice of you to send two more my way,’ said Skjorl behind him. When Jasaan turned to look, there he was, every bit the monster. His armour was spattered in blood. It dripped down the shaft of his axe and over his gauntlets. His eyes were hungry and mad. He pointed. ‘And there they are. Give me your bow…’
His voice trailed off. His eyes weren’t looking at the ground any more. They were looking at the sky.
‘Oh my. Will you look at that.’
Jasaan turned.
There was a dragon in the sky, diving straight towards them. Something about the way it flew struck him as familiar, as if he’d seen it before.
‘You again.’ You could hear the grin on Skjorl’s face. He nudged Jasaan but was talking to the dragon. ‘Remember this one? All the way from Bloodsalt.’ He pushed past and started to run down the slope looking for cover. ‘Come all this way for me, have you?’ he shouted. ‘Think you can do better this time?’
Mad. He was mad.
The dragon swooped across the field. Jasaan dived for the steepest part of the slope he could find and a large rock that stuck out of it. He took cover as best he could and peered out. There was nothing else to do. The dragon had either seen him or it hadn’t.
It skimmed the ground, wings out wide, a roar of wind, mouth open and filled with fire. It snapped up one outsider and ate him in a single gulp, and its wings powered it up again. Jasaan saw the alchemist and the other outsider thrown across the ground by the wind of its passing. Mouth still wide and full of fire, its eyes were staring straight at him.
No. Not at him. At Skjorl! Great Flame! Was this truly the dragon from Bloodsalt? The one that had killed Quiet Vish? Had it really followed Skjorl all the way here, looking for its revenge? That wasn’t right! That wasn’t what dragons did!
He cringed behind his rock and curled up tight, hiding his face and hands. Fire washed the slopes clean, burning everything that would burn, on and on, a roar wrapped around his head, smothering, drowning him. Its heat crept in through the cracks in his dragon-scale, around his arms, scorching the skin of his face and burning away his hair. And then at last it was gone, and the ground didn’t thunder and quiver. It hadn’t tried to land, not yet. Just as well — a dragon landing amid the scree would have brought the whole lot down. It would have killed them all. Buried alive or crushed, take your pick.
He looked up, searching for the monster, but he couldn’t see it. It must have flown through the gap in the cliffs, over the river and out the other side of the falls. It would be back though. He turned to the field. To the outsider and the alchemist.
They were apart. A chance! He drew the bow off his back. Dragon bone didn’t burn. He reached for an arrow…
The bow had no string any more. Two charred pieces dangled, one at either end, and that was it. He swore in frustration, and now the outsider was by the alchemist again, trying to drag her to her feet. ‘Stay still, you idiot!’ he shouted, but his words were lost in the roar of the falls.
‘Come on!’ That was Skjorl, breaking from cover, skittering down the slope, running, sliding. ‘Get her before that bastard comes back.’
Fat chance, but he couldn’t stay where he was either. Even if the dragon couldn’t land on the slope, it could burn him out if it tried hard enough. Or throw boulders — it had already shown that it knew that trick — or it could smash at him with its tail or kill him with its claws and jaws. No, couldn’t stay where he was.
Down below, the alchemist and the outsider were struggling with each other.
‘Come on come on!’ screamed Skjorl. ‘Move, you cripple!’
Jasaan looked behind him. Still no dragon, but it was only a matter of time. It would come between the cliffs and across the river any moment now. Fast. They’d barely have a chance to see it, never mind do anything about it. Down at the bottom of the slope they’d be in the open.
‘No, Skjorl! We don’t have time!’ He was right. This wasn’t him being scared, even though he was. Not cowardice this time. Just… being right.
Skjorl’s run faltered as he sensed it too. His head snapped from side to side. He pointed. ‘Cave.’
Made sense. That was what they’d come here for, wasn’t it? The endless Aardish Caves, which peppered the bluffs here like a honeycomb, so deep and numerous that Vishmir had managed to hide his tomb in one and no one had ever found it. And so had the Silver King, if what the riders had said was right. The frustration was a knife though.
Over his shoulder there was the dragon again, screaming over the river in a turn so vicious it made the air shudder enough to crack trees. Fire lit up the cave, fierce orange, the hot air swirling past him, scorching his hair a second time, stinging his skin, and then a wind picked him up and threw him further in. Dragon-scale armour was at its best when fire came from behind. Adamantine Men weren’t stupid.
The ground shook. A slab of stone sheared from the cave wall ahead, shaken loose by the shock of the dragon landing. Jasaan stumbled and skidded to his knees, knocked over by the tremor. As the light of the fire died, he picked himself up again. Skjorl had stopped exactly deep enough inside for the dragon’s fire not to reach him.
‘Where’s your shield?’ he asked.
‘Back with some snappers. Where’s yours?’ snapped Jasaan.
‘Back in the Pinnacles. Never had a chance to get it. Ankle troubling you again, I see.’
‘How’s your hand?’
The dragon was out there, blocking the daylight. Jasaan could hear it tearing at the stone at the mouth of the cave as if it could dig them out. The ground shook as it roared and stamped in fury.
Skjorl’s voice, when he spoke, was right by Jasaan’s ear. ‘So, friend, old wounds aside, are you strong from toe to crown.’ The ritual of greeting and parting and luck among Guardsmen, but barbed with bile. They both knew what Skjorl thought of him.
Jasaan felt himself tense. ‘Yes, I am. And you?’
Skjorl growled. ‘Insatiable.’
‘So we are strong. Why are you here?’
‘I came for the alchemist. And you? You and your riders. Are there any of them left?’
‘Did the one on the beach fall?’
‘Was still standing when I left.’
‘He was the last.’
Light flickered as the dragon backed away to lash at the entrance with its tail. A torrent of stone fell around the mouth of the cave. Skjorl grasped Jasaan on either side of his head. ‘ Did you come for the alchemist, Jasaan?’
‘Yes.’
‘And when the outsider and the dragon are done for, what will you do with her?’
‘I will take her home, Skjorl.’ He forced himself out of Skjorl’s grip and turned to face him. ‘Why? What would you do with her?’