He didn’t know what to do with her at first. Blood everywhere, one alchemist weeping and sobbing for the man who’d tried to kill her — as best he could tell. She didn’t want him, didn’t want to go, that much was obvious. For a while he left her to it, left her to do whatever it was that alchemists did, and went and had a bit of a look around, but there wasn’t much else to see. More tunnels. He wasn’t sure he fancied those.
She would need water. Water and red meat, that was what you gave people who’d lost a lot of blood, not that he was any sort of expert. There was water in the river, that was easy enough. And as for red meat, there were plenty of dead men out there. He’d eaten the flesh of his own before. Maybe he’d not mention to the alchemist exactly where it came from. He frowned, trying to remember. Was there something about alchemists not eating the dead?
The trouble with going outside was the dragon. With a bit of luck it had done for whatever outsiders had survived — if it hadn’t eaten them, they’d surely have had the sense to run away — but it was still a dragon and chances were it was still out there.
He loitered near the mouth of the tunnel, listening, waiting for dark. There weren’t any sounds of people, no screams, no dragon cries. When he followed the stars out of hiding, he saw why. He saw what had happened. What Skjorl had done. Another dragon. On his own this time with just his bare hands and an axe. Smug bastard.
From where he stood there was no way to tell whether the dragon was completely dead, and there was no way he was going close enough to find out. He skirted around it. Got water and then walked the long way around the Midnight Garden to the beach below the waterfall and helped himself to some choice cuts of the dead there. He found Nezak there, dead. He took a moment to go over his body, and Parris too, but the outsiders had got to both of them first and there was nothing left to take.
When he went back inside the alchemist seemed herself again. She was weak and pale, but she was the Kataros he remembered from the Purple Spur. The spear-carrier. He offered her water.
‘I came to find you,’ he told her. ‘I’m supposed to bring you back to the Pinnacles. All the riders who came with me are dead now. There’s just you and me.’ He shrugged. ‘What do we do?’
She shivered. Her face was still stained with tears. ‘We go to the Spur. I will gather my order and we will come here again and we will make these gateways open. That’s all that’s left to us.’
‘Through the Raksheh? There are snappers.’
‘We’ll use the river.’
‘There’s the worm.’
‘I will soothe it.’
‘We’ll get hungry.’
‘I’ll show you what you can eat. There may be more outsiders though.’
‘I’ll get a new string for my a bow. There’ll be dragons once we get outside the forest.’
‘I’ll make potion to hide us.’
‘It’ll take a long time to get to the Spur.’
‘We’ll be quick. There was a dragon outside. Has it gone?’
Jasaan shook his head. He couldn’t help half a smile. ‘Skjorl brought the hill down on it.’ Had to rub it in, didn’t he?
‘Skjorl?’ She seemed surprised, if only for a moment. ‘He did that?’
‘He’s dead now.’ Jasaan searched the alchemist’s face. She didn’t seem much bothered. ‘Are you hurt?’
‘I’m weak. That’s all.’
He nodded and waited to be told what to do. While he was waiting, the alchemist curled up and went to sleep. After a bit, Jasaan did the same.