Some of the buildings must be barracks for the humans, Kate guessed, for she could see men walking about on business or pausing to talk and observe the maneuvers being performed by the dragons.
Having located the enemy—those humans who might catch her—Kate crouched behind a tree. From here, she was free to admire the dragons, one of whom was standing at the edge of the cliff, poised to take flight along with two of his fellows.
The three dragons were being observed by an officer and another dragon. The officer would gesture to the three, making comments to the observing dragon, who either nodded in agreement or answered the officer. Kate couldn’t hear what they were saying; the wind was far too strong, for atop the cliff, it blew continuously. But she was enthralled to know that dragons could talk with humans. Wyverns hitched to carriages pulled them through the air, but they couldn’t talk; not that wyverns would have much anyone would care to hear, being stupid, nasty beasts. Griffins—which carried individual riders and were half eagle, half lion—could talk, according to her father. They mostly chose not to, thinking themselves above having to communicate with humans. Kate would have given her knucklebones, her most precious possession, to be able to talk to a dragon.
The beasts had looked small as birds from down below. Viewed up close, they were enormous. She could not fathom the height of the dragons, but she guessed that if the dragons were standing alongside the cathedral of Saint Agnes, their heads would be about level with the vaulted roof.
Their shimmering scales shifted colors in the sunlight, sometimes looking blue and sometimes green. Their heads, with elongated snouts and sharp fangs, were mounted on long, graceful necks. The spiky mane started at the top of the head and ran the length of the neck, ending right at the shoulders, leaving a gap for the saddle, then extending down the back to the tip of the tail.
One dragon, Kate noticed, had a twisted spike on top of his head, an oddity, for all the rest of the spikes on his mane were smooth, as were the spikes on the other dragons.
Kate chose him for her favorite, naming him Twist, and waited impatiently to see him fly. She watched in awe as the dragons took flight, one after another, spreading their wings, pushing off with their powerful legs, and sailing effortlessly off the cliff.
She made herself comfortable, sitting down on the ground, hugging her knees to her chin, to watch the dragons dip and roll and turn somersaults in the air. She thought they were playing the way she played in the rigging, until she saw the officer closely observing them and making notes in a book he carried. The dragon standing at his side would sometimes bellow at the three in the same sort of tone Olaf used when reprimanding one of the crew. Kate concluded that Olaf had been right; the three dragons, including Twist, must be in training.
After about an hour of maneuvers, the officer said something to his companion dragon, who gave a hooting, booming call. The dragon recruits started to spiral downward. Kate realized they were going to land. The next moment she saw, with a thrill, that they were going to land in the courtyard with the mosaic, which was only a few yards from her.
She held her breath when the lead dragon landed, hitting the ground with its tail and back legs first, then dropping down on its front legs. The dragon folded his wings, shook its mane, and then walked off, as the officer nodded in approval and pointed toward the barracks.
The second dragon followed the first, landing with ease, and got a nod from the officer. The dragon standing with the officer began hooting again. Kate was excited to watch Twist land. She looked up into the sky, but was disappointed not to see him. Wondering where he was, she left her tree and ventured out into the open. She searched the skies, not watching where she was going, and not realizing she had strayed out into the courtyard. She also did not notice that the wind had shifted.
The dragon who had been hooting suddenly gave a deafening shriek. The officer whipped around, dropping his book and shouting a warning as he ran toward her. Kate turned to see Twist swooping down on top of her, preparing to land right where she was standing.
At the last moment the dragon saw her and frantically beat his wings to gain altitude. The officer was close to her, ordering her to run. Kate bolted, tripped on a loose flagstone, and fell flat on her face. The officer flung himself on top of her and the dragon soared past them, coming so close that Kate felt a blast of air, followed by a jarring thud. She couldn’t see, for her face was plastered against the stone, but she knew by the sounds that the dragon must have crashed into the ground.
The officer picked himself up and turned to help Kate.
“Are you all right?” he asked, speaking Rosian.
Kate nodded a little shakily. She was scraped and cut and bruised and had the wind knocked out of her, but was otherwise unharmed.
She managed to squeeze out, “Yes, sir,” as she scrambled to her feet. She was far more worried about the dragon than she was about herself, and she tried to peer around the officer to see what had become of him.
The dragon had managed to avoid smashing into them, but he had been unable to stop his forward momentum. She gathered, by the shaking of the ground and the enormous dust cloud, that he had come down in a heap, tumbling and rolling.
“What happened to Twist, sir?” Kate asked, trying to see.
“Twist?” the officer asked, puzzled.
“The dragon. Is he all right?”
The dust settled and Kate saw Twist lift his head and start to move, albeit a little unsteadily. The dragon who had been hooting at him hastened over, along with his two comrades and some of the men who had been in the barracks, to check on him. The officer turned from Kate to shout to the hooting dragon.
“Lady Cam, how is Dalgren?”
Before Lady Cam could reply, the dragon himself responded, “A few bumps, Lieutenant. Nothing broken. I remembered my lesson, sir,” he added with faint pride. “Tuck in the wings, go limp, and roll.”
“Well done, Dalgren,” said the officer. “Don’t move until Lady Cam has examined you.”
Reassured that Twist was uninjured, Kate shifted her gaze to the man who stood in front of her. He was perhaps in his mid-twenties. He had removed the heavy uniform coat in the heat and was in his shirtsleeves, uniform trousers, and high, black riding boots. He wore his blondish brown hair tied back from his face and was regarding her sternly.
“It was my fault, sir!” Kate said breathlessly. “I was trying to see Twist land and I didn’t realize the wind had changed direction. He won’t get into trouble, will he?”
The officer glanced over his shoulder, saw the dragon staggering to his feet, watched over by Lady Cam, and looked back at Kate. Her question seemed to have gained his favor, because the stern expression relaxed.
“I’m glad you’re thinking of the dragon,” he said drily. He crossed his arms over his chest. “You realize you could have been killed, son. The Bastion is a dangerous place, which is why access is restricted to the dragons and their riders. You’ve broken the law, young man. I could have you arrested.”
Kate had been thinking fast and she had a lie ready. She would whimper, adding a few tears, that she was lost and had wandered up here by accident. She would have lied to her father and not thought twice, but she found she couldn’t lie to this man, who was looking down at her with cool, appraising eyes. The realization suddenly came to her that he, a fine gentleman, had been prepared to sacrifice his life to save hers.
Her father never put much stock in a man’s honor, saying that only the wealthy could afford to indulge in it.
Kate learned a lesson in that moment. Her father was wrong. This man had been honorable enough to be willing to die to save her, and she was bound, in honor, to repay him. She had nothing to give in return except the truth.
Hanging her head, she lowered her eyes.
“I … I wanted to see the dragons, sir.”
He said nothing, and Kate was frightened. Peeping up, she saw his lips twitch.
“I see,” he said finally. “What’s your name
, son?”
“I’m a girl. My name is Katherine Gascoyne-Fitzmaurice,” she said and, remembering her lessons from her mother, she gave a bobbing, awkward curtsy.
The man’s smile broadened. “A girl with a name that’s bigger than she is.”
“They call me Kate, sir.”
“Very well, Kate. You’re Freyan by your accent. Not a spy, are you?”
“Oh, no, sir!” Kate assured him. “My father is a merchant seaman, Captain Morgan Fitzmaurice. He has his own vessel, the Barwich Rose. We’re in port making a delivery.”
“You are a sailor,” said the officer. “That’s how you knew about the shift in the wind. I am Lieutenant Stephano de Guichen of the Dragon Brigade.”
“Pleased to meet you, sir,” said Kate with another curtsy. “Thank you for saving my life. You didn’t have to do that.”
“Well, of course I did,” said Lieutenant de Guichen, laughing. “Otherwise you would have left a big, ugly splotch of blood all over our nice clean flagstones.”
He grinned at her, and Kate, now perfectly at ease, grinned back.
“Since you’re not a Freyan spy and you’ve come all this way, would you like to meet Dalgren?” Lieutenant de Guichen added. “I’m sure he’s worried about you.”
“Oh, yes, sir!” said Kate. “I’d like to apologize.”
“You speak Rosian well,” said Lieutenant de Guichen, as they walked toward Dalgren, who had been watching them all this time.
“My father does business with people from all over,” said Kate and hurriedly changed the subject. “What is that picture?”
She pointed to the mosaic that portrayed the dragon.
“The emblem of the Dragon Brigade. Dragons and humans working together, living together, fighting together for our country.”
Kate sighed with longing. “Would someone have to be Rosian to join the Dragon Brigade?”
“I’m afraid so, yes,” said Lieutenant de Guichen. “Lord Dalgren is a young dragon, perhaps about eighteen in human years. He is one of our new recruits, hoping to join the Brigade.”
“Lord Dalgren?” Kate questioned.
“Dragons and men must be of gentle birth to be officers in the Brigade.”
Kate supposed she was of gentle birth, although she never concerned herself much about her station in life. Her mother had been the daughter of a viscount. Upon his untimely death, she had inherited two things: his debts and Barwich Manor. Kate remembered her mother’s sorrow over her “comedown” in the world. The servants had called her mother “my lady” until they had left because they hadn’t been paid.
Kate was content to be a smuggler’s daughter, with only one regret: that her mother and father had lost Barwich Manor, her dearly beloved home.
Her one dream in life was to buy it back. She now added another dream to that: to join the Dragon Brigade. Why not? she reasoned. Both were equally unattainable.
Dalgren stood stiffly to attention as they approached. Kate noticed that he was favoring a back leg, trying not to put his weight on it, and she felt horrible.
“At ease, Lord Dalgren,” said Lieutenant de Guichen. “May I introduce Katherine Gascoyne-Fitzmaurice, the young woman you almost flattened. You will be glad to know that although shaken up, she was not injured.”
“I am so sorry, mistress,” said Dalgren, lowering his head to speak to her. His voice was gravelly, as though he were talking around boulders in his throat, but she was thrilled to find that she could understand him. “I did not see you standing there.”
“It was all my fault, Your Lordship,” said Kate. “I wanted to watch you land and I didn’t realize the wind had shifted—”
They were interrupted by someone shouting from the barracks. “Stephano! Officers meeting!”
“I have to go,” said the lieutenant. “Lord Dalgren will show you the way out of the Bastion. A pleasure meeting you, Mistress Katherine. Please, don’t come again.”
He grinned and she grinned back; then he walked off. He had taken only a few steps when he stopped and turned back. “Fight for your dreams, Kate! Never sound retreat!”
He waved, then hurried back to the barracks on the run, motioning for Lady Cam to join him.
“I know the way out, Your Lordship,” Kate told Dalgren, embarrassed. “Your leg is hurt. You don’t have to show me.”
“But I’d like to,” said Dalgren. He ducked his head to say in a low voice, “Otherwise I have to return to the barracks and endure Lady Cam’s reprimands.”
They walked together, the dragon crouching down and moving at a crawl in order not to outdistance her. Kate was surprised to find herself talking to a dragon as easily as she could talk to Olaf.
Dalgren explained what he had been doing, practicing maneuvers used in attacking ships and fortresses. Kate listened, fascinated.
She expected him to leave when they reached the wall, but Dalgren flattened down on his belly and laid his head on the ground, to bring himself almost to eye level with Kate. They continued talking until a bugle call caused Dalgren to raise his head.
“That’s the evening mess call. I have to go. You should leave, too, Kate, before it gets dark.”
“Good-bye, Dalgren,” said Kate. “This has been the best day of my life. I wish we could meet again.”
“I’m afraid that’s not likely,” said Dalgren regretfully. “If you ever came back here, the lieutenant would have no choice but report you to the authorities. We could write letters.”
“Can dragons write?” Kate asked, awed, trying to picture Dalgren holding a pen in an enormous claw.
“Well, no.” Dalgren rumbled deep in his throat, which Kate took for laughter. “Humans do the writing for us.”
“The problem is that I don’t have an address,” said Kate. “We live on our ship and we never stay in one place very long and we don’t generally know where we’re going.”
“Sounds like a wonderful life,” said Dalgren, adding in rueful tones, “I always know where I’m going. I have no say in the matter.”
Kate thought he was just being kind, and didn’t respond. She was busy thinking.
“We do stop in one place a few times a year,” she said. “The Abbey of Saint Agnes. The nuns are kind to us and whenever we are in Rosia, Father stops to exchange news and visit with them. They’d hold the letters for me.”
“What a good idea! I’ll write to you care of the Abbey of Saint Agnes,” said Dalgren. “And you must write me back. I’ll send you my address.”
She waved to Dalgren and then hurried down the path, reliving over and over every glorious moment of this wonderful day. Not paying attention, she ended up getting lost in the admiral’s garden and was nearly caught by one of the gardeners, who chased her until she reached the oak tree, and then stood beneath it shaking his fist at her. Kate paid attention to where she was going after that.
She longed to tell Olaf about her adventure. But although he was her friend, he was also Morgan’s friend and might tell on her. Her father would be alarmed over the fact that not only had she almost been killed, she could have ended up in the hands of the police just when he was about to turn over smuggled contraband. Her father would talk again about sending her off to school, and this time he might actually go through with it. Kate decided to keep her adventure secret.
Late that night, the customers arrived to collect their goods. They were satisfied, and not only paid, but wanted to order more. Kate managed to wheedle the money she required out of her father, and he took the rest and went to the gambling dens.
After he had gone, Kate sneaked into her father’s cabin. She cut a blank page from the ship’s logbook, sat down at her father’s desk, opened the ink bottle, dipped her pen, and began to write. When she was finished, she let the ink dry, then carried the paper with her to the storage closet that Olaf had transformed into a room of her own. Kate lay down on the bed to read what she had written. Folding the paper, she tucked it under the pillow and thought over all that had happened until she
fell asleep.
Fight for your dreams. Never sound retreat.
Book 1
ONE
Sir Henry Wallace sat at a table in the small cabin aboard the Freyan ship HMS Valor, dunking a ship’s biscuit in his coffee in an effort to render it edible and reading the week-old newspaper.
“Ineffable twaddle,” said Sir Henry, scowling. He motioned with his egg spoon to an illustration and read aloud the accompanying tale. “‘The gallant Prince Tom, heedless of the many grievous wounds he had suffered in the course of the fearsome battle, raised his bloody sword, shouting, “If we are to die today, gentlemen, let history say we died heroes!”’ Pah!”
Sir Henry tossed aside the newspaper with contempt.
“Your Lordship is referring to the latest exploits of the young gentleman known in the press by the somewhat romantic appellation of ‘Prince Tom,’” said Mr. Sloan. “I have not read the stories myself, my lord, but I understand they have garnered a great deal of interest among the populace, such that the newspaper has trebled its circulation since the series began.”
Sir Henry snorted and, after tapping the crown of the soft-boiled egg with his spoon, removed the shell and began to eat the yolk. At that moment the ship heeled, as a gust of wind hit it, forcing him to grab hold of the eggcup as it slid across the table. He looked up, frowning at Mr. Sloan, who had rescued the coffee.
“I haven’t been on deck yet this morning,” said Henry. “Is there a storm brewing?”
“Wizard storm, my lord,” said Mr. Sloan. “Blowing in from the west.”
Henry heard a distant rumble of thunder. “At least those storms are not as frequent or as bad as they used to be when the Bottom Dwellers were spewing forth their foul contramagic.”
“God be praised, my lord,” said Mr. Sloan.
“A dreadful war that left its mark on us all,” said Henry, falling into a reflective mood as he drank his coffee. “I think about it every time there is a storm. We wronged those poor devils, sinking their island and dooming them to the cruel fate of living in relative darkness at the bottom of the world. Small wonder that even after hundreds of years, they sought their revenge on us.”
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