Free The King of the Crags by Stephen Deas Page B

and Nthandra had to say to each other, I’m sure it’s said.’
     
    He was right: the blood-mage was gone when they returned. Nthandra was almost asleep, and as Jostan and Semian lay down one either side of her, she made no move to go to either of them. Jostan felt the weight of his arms and his legs and his head pressing him into the ground. A good fight was always a guarantee of a good night’s sleep. The last thing he remembered was Nthandra’s hand, snaking between the blankets, reaching out and holding his own, squeezing tight. She almost seemed happy. And then the darkness engulfed him and sucked him down into a place so dark and so deep that he thought he might never escape; and as he sank he dreamed, and in his dreams he saw his friend Semian, crying out against the tyrannies of the speaker. He saw riders rally around him, a few at first, then dozens, then thousands, and among those faces were riders he knew were his friends. He saw the riders rise as one and descend upon the Adamantine Palace from all sides, an irresistible tide of fire and scales. He saw the speaker and her lover caught naked and whipped: he saw Queen Shezira freed and given the Speaker’s Ring. He saw the realms rejoice and sleep in peace. And amid the teeming happy crowds, through the endless celebration, he saw Princess Jaslyn, smiling at him, reaching out her hand. He saw everything that he wanted to see and he felt a presence at his shoulder, an old and wise and respected mentor whose name he couldn’t quite remember, whispering softly in his ear.
     
    Do you see? This is how the world should be . . .
     
    The dream stayed with him, more real than the waking world, when Semian shook his shoulder an hour before dawn and told him to get dressed and put on his armour.
     
    ‘I had a dream,’ he said. ‘I dreamed that we set the realms to rights.’
     
    In the moonlight he saw Semian smile, no trace of surprise on his face, as if he’d seen it all too. ‘Yes. And that is how it shall be.’
     
    He dressed and then reached out to wake Nthandra but Semian stopped him.
     
    ‘No, Jostan. Let her lie. Let her sleep. Come. It’s time to wake the others.’
     
    In a daze he followed Semian from tent to tent. Everywhere riders awoke with a happy puzzlement in their eyes and spoke of dreams. They dressed as Semian asked and followed him until they all stood outside Hyrkallan’s tent, waiting patiently. I know what this is , Jostan thought, and yet it was a dreamy thought, and one that didn’t seem to have much weight. He half noticed Kithyr sidle in among the crowd, the last of them, pale and shaking and yet with a hungry gleam in his eyes. His head felt full of clouds. Am I drunk?
     
    As Hyrkallan emerged, the riders watched him in silence. Twenty pairs of eyes followed him as he moved among them. Semian was in the middle, standing awkwardly, tipped slightly to one side from the wound that Zafir’s mercenaries had given him.
     
    ‘What?’ Hyrkallan shouted, when he couldn’t bear their stares any more. ‘What?’
     
    They were looking at him, not at Rider Semian, but somehow he was their heart. Jostan could feel it, even in himself. And the blood-mage, standing next to Semian now. Shanzir, Hahzyan, even GarHannas, who really ought to have known better. Hyrkallan was looking at them all, sizing them up. Jostan could almost read his thoughts. Why did I do this? Why did I even start this stupid, doomed crusade?
     
    For Queen Shezira, Jostan wanted to say, to him, but his mouth stayed firmly closed. For the queen you served for all your life, the queen you love more than anyone can know. Except me. I know.
     
    Hyrkallan threw his helm to the ground. ‘You want glory?’ he screamed at them all. ‘Then do what riders have done since time began and serve your queen. You!’ He pointed at one of King Valgar’s men. ‘Go home. Serve your queen. When Speaker Zafir turns her eyes to the north, Almiri will need every dragon Valgar