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Authors: Stephen Deas
Tags: Memory of Flames
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‘Really, Semian? You might be right, but you’re the last person I expected to say such a thing. So what do you propose? Should we wait a little while until the others see the light, or has your little coven discussed this amongst yourselves already. Shall we all pack up and leave right now?’
Semian shook his head. ‘No, Marshal. You should go home. The riders who followed you here hunger for justice and vengeance. That is what you promised them. Yet you have not led them against the speaker. We have done nothing except except flap our wings. The speaker barely knows we exist. Drotan’s Top should have been a beginning and you have made it an end. Since then we’ve done nothing but wither.’
‘And you propose?’ Why was he asking? Semian was as transparent as glass.
‘Princess Jaslyn needs you. She needs a knight-marshal who will guide her with caution and wisdom. These men need fire and glory and death.’ His face was solemn. He believed every word.
Hyrkallan laughed and shook his head. ‘And do you mean to give it to them?’
Semian nodded. ‘Yes, Knight-Marshal. I will lead them to glory. I will lead them to the Adamantine Palace itself.’
‘No.’ Hyrkallan wanted to slap Semian for being so stupid. ‘You won’t even get close. You will lead them to their deaths.’
‘Then they will be glorious deaths, Hyrkallan. Better than this.’
‘No, they will not, Rider Semian; they will be ignoble and barely remembered. You will all be gone and then you will be forgotten.’ And maybe the realms would be all the better for it . He turned away from Semian and tried to put the man out of his mind. Madness. Madness and death. That should be his mantra, not justice and vengeance. That was the way of the dragon-priests. If someone set them on fire, they’d probably rejoice.
For a moment he smiled. Now there was a thought.
7
The Price of Asking
Jostan helped Semian out of his armour. Inside, his left leg was bloody down to his foot.
‘It doesn’t look too bad.’ Jostan scratched his chin. The cut was ragged but didn’t seem too deep and the bleeding had already stopped. Jostan pressed a wad of cloth over the wound and started to strap it to Semian’s leg. ‘It shouldn’t give you any trouble when it heals. Not like the arrow that sell-sword left for you.’
That spawned a moment of tense silence. Semian still limped from that and Jostan knew it pained him sometimes too. Maybe that’s why he’d been so keen for a taste of sell-sword blood .
Semian spat. ‘This is absurd.’ He clenched and unclenched his fists. He’d be pacing as soon as Jostan was finished. ‘We should have burned those sell-swords. We could have burned them from the air or from the ground. Why did we have to fight them?’
‘It felt good to do something at last.’
‘Maybe so, but we should have been fighting Zafir’s riders, not shit-eaters. We should have been fighting them weeks ago.’ Jostan tied off the bandage and sure enough, Semian shot to his feet and started to pace. ‘We have a calling, Jostan. We must answer it.’
‘You know there’s going to be a council of kings and queens. You know he’s waiting for that.’
‘Which is wrong .’ Semian stamped his foot and then winced. ‘We should be burning the speaker’s eyries. All of them. We should be showing the kings and queens of the realms who we are. They should fear us. Hyrkallan has to go.’
Jostan looked down. ‘Even the Syuss have more dragons then we do,’ he said quietly. ‘What’s to fear?’
‘Hyrkallan needs to go,’ said Semian again. He pulled on a light riding shirt. ‘Princess Jaslyn will need him for the war. I told him that. I need to find Kithyr. Wait here for me.’
Semian didn’t wait for Jostan to say anything. He pushed his way out of their tent and limped into the twilight. Jostan watched him go. Hyrkallan won’t listen to you.
Semian shook his head. ‘No, Marshal. You should go home. The riders who followed you here hunger for justice and vengeance. That is what you promised them. Yet you have not led them against the speaker. We have done nothing except except flap our wings. The speaker barely knows we exist. Drotan’s Top should have been a beginning and you have made it an end. Since then we’ve done nothing but wither.’
‘And you propose?’ Why was he asking? Semian was as transparent as glass.
‘Princess Jaslyn needs you. She needs a knight-marshal who will guide her with caution and wisdom. These men need fire and glory and death.’ His face was solemn. He believed every word.
Hyrkallan laughed and shook his head. ‘And do you mean to give it to them?’
Semian nodded. ‘Yes, Knight-Marshal. I will lead them to glory. I will lead them to the Adamantine Palace itself.’
‘No.’ Hyrkallan wanted to slap Semian for being so stupid. ‘You won’t even get close. You will lead them to their deaths.’
‘Then they will be glorious deaths, Hyrkallan. Better than this.’
‘No, they will not, Rider Semian; they will be ignoble and barely remembered. You will all be gone and then you will be forgotten.’ And maybe the realms would be all the better for it . He turned away from Semian and tried to put the man out of his mind. Madness. Madness and death. That should be his mantra, not justice and vengeance. That was the way of the dragon-priests. If someone set them on fire, they’d probably rejoice.
For a moment he smiled. Now there was a thought.
7
The Price of Asking
Jostan helped Semian out of his armour. Inside, his left leg was bloody down to his foot.
‘It doesn’t look too bad.’ Jostan scratched his chin. The cut was ragged but didn’t seem too deep and the bleeding had already stopped. Jostan pressed a wad of cloth over the wound and started to strap it to Semian’s leg. ‘It shouldn’t give you any trouble when it heals. Not like the arrow that sell-sword left for you.’
That spawned a moment of tense silence. Semian still limped from that and Jostan knew it pained him sometimes too. Maybe that’s why he’d been so keen for a taste of sell-sword blood .
Semian spat. ‘This is absurd.’ He clenched and unclenched his fists. He’d be pacing as soon as Jostan was finished. ‘We should have burned those sell-swords. We could have burned them from the air or from the ground. Why did we have to fight them?’
‘It felt good to do something at last.’
‘Maybe so, but we should have been fighting Zafir’s riders, not shit-eaters. We should have been fighting them weeks ago.’ Jostan tied off the bandage and sure enough, Semian shot to his feet and started to pace. ‘We have a calling, Jostan. We must answer it.’
‘You know there’s going to be a council of kings and queens. You know he’s waiting for that.’
‘Which is wrong .’ Semian stamped his foot and then winced. ‘We should be burning the speaker’s eyries. All of them. We should be showing the kings and queens of the realms who we are. They should fear us. Hyrkallan has to go.’
Jostan looked down. ‘Even the Syuss have more dragons then we do,’ he said quietly. ‘What’s to fear?’
‘Hyrkallan needs to go,’ said Semian again. He pulled on a light riding shirt. ‘Princess Jaslyn will need him for the war. I told him that. I need to find Kithyr. Wait here for me.’
Semian didn’t wait for Jostan to say anything. He pushed his way out of their tent and limped into the twilight. Jostan watched him go. Hyrkallan won’t listen to you.
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