The Adamantine Palace by Stephen Deas Read Free Book Online Page B

‘Besides, you blamed me for Antros. You still do. Somewhere in your heart, you think I had a hand in it.’
    When Hyram spoke again, his words were so quiet that Shezira almost didn’t hear them. ‘Aliphera f-fell off her dragon too.’
    She laughed. ‘That’s ridiculous.’
    ‘If Antros could f-fall off, why not her?’
    ‘Antros was arrogant. Aliphera was always meticulously careful.’
    ‘I’ve sent B-Bellepheros to King T-Tyan’s eyrie to find out.’ He grimaced. ‘Yes, th-that’s where it happened, and that’s where you’re g-going. So I think I should w-warn you to have a care. P-People die around the Viper.’
    ‘The Viper?’
    ‘Prince Jehal. H-He’s a snake, you see. A p-poisonous snake. A Viper.’
    ‘Then I will be very careful. Some people seem to think he’s poisoning his own father. Could that be true, do you think?’
    ‘W-Why don’t you find out? Because I’d very much l-like to know. A g-gift for me.’ He stood up and spread out his arms. ‘In exchange for all this.’
    ‘It’s cold in here,’ said Shezira. She was tired, and seeing Hyram like this had killed all the joy that the palace had given her. ‘I shall retire. I will think on what you’ve said.’
    ‘I-I remember the first time I came here. I thought the Glass Cathedral would be a palace of light and colour. But it isn’t. It’s old, cold dead stone, its skin burned glassy by dragon fire so long ago that no one can even remember how it happened.’
    Shezira turned slowly away. ‘Go to bed, Hyram. Get some sleep.’ She walked away.
    Hyram stayed where he was, staring up at the stone face of the dragon altar.
    ‘Th-This place is a lie,’ he said again.

8
    The Attack
    A torrent of flames poured from the sky, swallowing the white dragon and her Scales in its fury. The river waters steamed. Stones cracked in the heat. Huros stood stock still. He was fifty, sixty, maybe seventy yards away. A little part of him that wasn’t paralysed with fear noted that this was too close. At the last instant he turned his face away, as a wall of hot air and steam seared his skin and slapped him back towards the woods. He caught a glimpse, as he did, of the stranded rider, the one who’d been shouting at the Scales, catapulted into the air, snatched from the ground by the dragon’s tail. Of the Scales himself, there was no sign.
    ‘Run! Get under the trees.’
    The first of the attacking dragons was wheeling away. As Huros watched, it flipped the rider held in its tail high into the sky. Huros didn’t stop to see where the man came down; a second dragon was already diving in. He caught a glimpse of the white, curled up amid the steaming stones, its wings spread over its head like a tent, shielding itself from the fire. When he looked at his hands, the skin on the back of them was bright red. It was already starting to sting. He could smell singed hair. His hair.
    The second dragon opened its mouth. Huros didn’t stay to watch, but turned and ran, hunching his shoulders, trying to shrink into his coat. Another blast of heat punched him in the back. Where his skin was already burned, his nerves shrieked with agony. Up in the sky, when he spared a glance that way, several more dragons were fighting.
    ‘Come on! Come on!’ The two sell-swords were waiting for him at the edge of the trees.
    ‘What? What?’ gasped Huros. The pain was coming now. He’d had burns before. Every alchemist had had burns. The backs of his hands, the side of his face and neck. He tried to tell himself they weren’t deep, and that was what mattered. The skin would blister and peel, but it would heal . . .
    It didn’t work. The pain was excruciating. His hands were the worst. They felt as though they were still on fire.
    The sell-swords took hold of him by his arms and ran, almost carrying him away into the trees. A minute ago they’d been so cocksure. Now they were white with fear. Seeing that made Huros’s own terror recede, just enough that he could