They are still there. I feel them. Ash pawed at the ground. Let them taste our fire!

I cannot reach them.

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?'