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 1-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.

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 start to think for himself again.

We're being attacked by dragon-riders. Why on earth…? Who? Who would do this?

This was war. When the queen found out, there would be war. Irredeemable, irrevocable. Unless… Unless there were no witnesses to testify to the attack.

He shook the sell-swords off and started to really run, deeper and deeper into the forest. Another blast of hot air caught him from behind, weaker this time. He caught a whiff of smoke. We're going to die! They're going to burn us!

'Stop! Stop!'

One of the sell-swords grabbed him by the arm.

Huros shook him off. 'Why? We have to run. They're going to kill us!' Oh gods, oh gods, it hurts…

'Look behind you.'

Huros looked. Back towards the river the forest was full of smoke. He could see flames flickering.

'See. We're far enough into the trees. The dragon fire can't reach us now.'

Huros shook his head. Every instinct he had said run, run and keep running until he dropped.

The sell-swords looked at each other. We should scatter,' said Kemir. 'Harder for them to hunt down three of us if we scatter.' Somewhere far overhead, lost behind the canopy of leaves, dragons shrieked and screamed.

Sollos nodded. 'Fire from above. That's how they flush their prey out into the open. Did you see how many of them there were?'

Kemir shrugged. 'Do you think they'll send men into the trees to track us?'

'Doubt it. But they might.'

Huros felt himself start to panic again. Both of the sell-swords were looking at him. What did he know about hunting on dragon-back? Not much. Did snappers always run in a straight line when they reached the trees? Was that how the hunters caught them? 'But, but… It'll be dark soon.'

'Yes. Be thankful. It makes us harder to find.'

'Dragons see heat,' blurted Huros. He screwed up his face. His hands, they were the worst. He'd have given anything to run back to the river and drench them in blissful cold running water.

The sell-swords looked at each other again. 'Mud,' said Kemir. 'Good for burns.' He pointed higher up the valley. 'I'll go that way. See if I can't lay a false trail or two.'

Sollos nodded. He looked at Huros. 'You make your way deeper into the trees. I'll go downriver. Keep yourself hidden, that's the important thing. Anyone comes after us on foot, we can deal with them. Once it's dark, they won't be able to find you if you keep still and you keep quiet. We'll find you tomorrow, after they're gone. A mile up the river. The way Kemir's going.'

Huros opened his mouth to say something, but the words stuck in his throat. No, no! Don't! Let me come with you! But the sell-swords were already turning away. He watched, struck dumb, as they left him standing there. He wanted to cry. His hands, his beautiful hands…

It's only pain, he told himself. There's no lasting damage.

Still…

He began to run. He had no idea whether he was going in the right direction, only that it wasn't the same way as either of the sell-swords. Kemir was right. Mud. Thick cool slimy mud. That's what he should think about. Mud was good for burns. How did the sell-sword know that? Stupid question – there were dragons in his life, so of course he knew.

He tried not to think about the dragons who might be circling overhead, or the riders who might be racing through the trees in pursuit. When he was out of breath, he stopped running and rested against a tree, careful not to scrape his burns on its bark. The forest was silent. He thought about that for a while, and decided it was a good thing. He had no idea where he was, but with a bit of luck neither did anyone else. It was getting dark too. He tried not to think about wolves and snappers and other monsters that might sniff him out. Shelter, that was what he needed. Shelter and water. Food as well, but that was probably too much to ask for.

Huros made himself think about all these things until his head spun, and then he made himself think about them some more. They were a fragile and uncertain armour, but they just about kept the horror at bay. When they failed, he dug his fingernails into the burned skin of his hands until the pain became so excruciating that it overwhelmed everything.