The Adamantine Palace by Stephen Deas

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 dragonback? 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