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have words , he thought grimly. Words, yes. Strong and forthright ones.
    They flew for hours, and with each hour, Huros clenched his fists ever tighter. Eventually it occurred to him that Queen Shezira might have changed her plans because of the news of Queen Aliphera’s tragedy. Huros wasn’t sure why that should be, but then he hadn’t really been paying much attention. He’d had his own plans to worry about. Besides, that didn’t change anything. He should have been consulted . Ancestors! He didn’t even know where he was any more, except that the peaks of the Worldspine were to the right and there were more mountains to the front. Which meant they were still flying south, away from Outwatch. He furrowed his brow. Or was that the other way round, and the mountains should be on the left?
    The pressure on his bladder grew. He pressed his legs together and bit his lip, but eventually he had to give in. Dragon-knights did this all the time, he told himself, and he started to undo the straps that held him onto the dragon. Even the Scales had calmly stood up, relieved himself into a bottle and strapped himself back in again. Except when Huros stood up, the wind buffeted him and almost knocked him over, and he was so terrified that he couldn’t go. The pressure turned gradually into pain, and by the time they landed, it was so excruciating that Huros was in no fit state to have words with anyone. He didn’t waste any time to see where he was, but stumbled and staggered away towards the nearest tree.
    Before he was done, his dragon and its rider were already taking off again, the beast lumbering away and flapping its wings, accelerating up to a speed where it could lift itself off the ground. For one terrifying heartbeat Huros thought he’d been abandoned; then he saw the Scales and a pair of strange-looking soldiers, and when he looked up, the other dragons were there, still in the air overhead. The Scales was sitting by the edge of a wide open stretch of jumbled rocks, next to a pile of boxes and sacks that must have come from the dragon-riders. Here and there sparkling ribbons of bubbling water criss-crossed and threaded their way between the stones and among streaks and strands of silvery sand. Strips of ragged grass, perhaps a stone’s throw across, lined the river’s course before the forest trees took hold.
    The two soldiers walked slowly towards him. They were carrying some strange contraption between them. From the way they were walking, it was awfully heavy. Huros had a moment to wonder where the queen’s precious white dragon had gone, when it shot through the air straight over his head, so close that the tree beside him shook and the alchemist was almost lifted off his feet into the dragon’s wake. He clung on to a branch. By the time he’d recovered, the dragon was rolling on its back in the river bed next to the Scales, flapping and splashing its wings. Its rider was standing nearby, soaking wet, waving his arms and shouting furiously at the Scales.
    The two soldiers shouted something as well and shook their fists, then carried on with what they were doing. Huros waited until they were close, and then stepped out of the trees. ‘You’re not dragon-knights.’ Both soldiers had longbows slung over their backs. The bows were white and made of dragonbone. Precious things. The alchemist wondered where they’d got them.
    The soldiers looked at him. They exchanged a glance and seemed to smirk. ‘Clever of you to notice,’ said the taller of the two. ‘Was it the fact that we’re not wearing several tons of dragonscale that gave it away, or that we’re not sitting around and picking our noses?’
    ‘We’re sell-swords,’ said the other one.
    The tall one nodded. ‘That’s right. Currently we’ve sold them to your knight-marshal.’
    ‘They don’t come cheap, either.’ The shorter one gave Huros a nasty grin. ‘Our swords are long and sharp and very hard.’ He definitely smirked.
    ‘Lady