The Black wing (d-2)

by Mary Kirchoff

  Neetra had the honors this day. "Damn your wings, Khi shy;santh, for holding up the meeting again!" the young male snarled from the archway into his lair. "I wager you'll be late for the war."

  Khisanth stepped at last into the enormous central cham shy;ber. "I'm sorry if I kept you waiting, Neetra," she said in a sugared voice. "I was feasting and must have lost track of time." The black dragon settled her bulk into a lazy circle at her assigned place, opposite from where Khoal would sit. "And I've so been looking forward to today's meeting." Hastily filing into the room, Neetra and Dnestr could detect no expression of sarcasm in Khisanth's placid face. Deliber shy;ately ignoring her, they took their places in the circle, each on a side of Khoal. They sat as straight as eager dogs, watching for their second-in-command to arrive.

  As usual, Khoal did not disappoint. Head held regally, his gaze directed to some mystical point above theirs, the ancient dragon took long, exaggerated strides into the chamber. He wore his usual embroidered ceremonial cape, which softly scraped the floor. In his claw he carried a gem-encrusted staff from his own personal hoard. Reaching his appointed spot, Khoal tossed the cape back over his wings and settled onto a large, straw-stuffed mat reserved for his use. He set the staff on the floor before him, careful to ensure that the largest gem, a ruby with no less than thirty distinct facets, faced up to catch the light.

  Using a simple cantrip, Khoal produced a flame from his pointer talon and held it to an incense burner that had been placed by his mat before the meeting. Smoke rose from the brazier and quickly filled the room with the musty scent of stagnant water, an odor favored by black dragons.

  "The one hundred twenty-seventh meeting of the dragons of the Black Wing will now commence," he intoned. "In the interest of time," continued Khoal in his best formal voice, "we will proceed straight to the day's business: scouting assignments."

  Khisanth was happy to hear him shorten the meeting, but more than a little surprised that they were skipping the usual prayer to Takhisis. "Why the emergency meeting, Khoal?"

  "Silence, Khisanth!" he barked. "You have spoken out of turn."

  Khisanth could hardly keep from rolling her eyes. She set shy;tled for slumped posture and an indolent expression. Accord shy;ing to Khoal's rigid protocol, dragons had to wait until those ranked above them had spoken at least once, unless directed

  with a question.

  Khoal took note of her sloppy pose with a disapproving eye. "To answer your insolent question, this isn't an emer shy;gency meeting, just an unscheduled one. It's my opinion, as second-in-command, that we must reevaluate tonight's reconnaissance schedule. There'll be a full moon that will aid anyone observing us from the ground." The ancient dragon's eyes took on a more than usually malicious glint. "You'd know all of that, if you hadn't left drill early."

  Khisanth suffered Khoal's jab in silence, mainly because she knew her indifference would infuriate him. She also knew that his bad temper had started long before she'd joined the wing. Like Pteros, Khoal had fought very briefly as a young dragon in the Third Dragon War before the Sleep. To hear Khoal talk about his role in the war, which he did con shy;stantly, the ancient dragon had once single-handedly fought Huma to a standstill for days until reinforcements arrived. Jahet had told her that, from the moment Maldeev had selected the young female as his soul mate over Khoal, the elder male made it no secret that he felt the position was rightly his due to age and experience.

  Before Khisanth had arrived, when Jahet and Khoal had been the only two dragons in the wing, Highlord Maldeev had suggested that Khoal spend his time in the search for a rider worthy of his talents. Otherwise, Maldeev had implied, the riderless Khoal would find the number two position sim shy;ilarly filled. Khoal had secretly sneered at the suggestion, and particularly at the threat. Though he was never overtly con shy;tentious to Jahet, he'd subtly continued his campaign to out shy;shine and ultimately oust the other dragon.

  Until the sunny day Khisanth landed in the courtyard.

  The young female dragon with the strange necklace, an impressive number of battle scars, and an impenetrable aura had been undeniably threatening to Khoal from the start. Khoal had always considered his enormous bulk a significant advantage. In addition to intimidating opponents, even other dragons, his size allowed him to crush foes quickly. But from the first time Khoal saw Khisanth's dexterity, on ground and in flight, the elder dragon knew his cumbersome weight might actually be a disadvantage against her.

  That very night, Khisanth's first in the wing, Khoal had made major steps toward a union with a rider to secure his position. Conventional wisdom said that the best dragon and rider union existed between opposing sexes, but there were no female officers to choose from in the Black Wing. Khoal knew that he could not wait, or hope to influence Maldeev to dispense with Jahet. He chose Maldeev's second-in-com shy;mand, the human general named Wakar, as much in need of a mount to maintain his ranking as Khoal needed a rider. Theirs became a merger of convenience more than comple shy;menting skills, as was Maldeev's and Jahet's. Khoal felt to this day that his union with Wakar was the best he could hope for, as long as Jahet was alive.

  "The new flight schedule is as follows," Khoal said now, his tone imperious. "I will fly north and personally monitor the Solamnic outpost that interests our highlord. Dnestr will fly west, in a sweep from Alek-Khan to Ak-Baral. Neetra will cover the east by air, from Ogreshield to Sprawl." He looked at the fifth-ranked dragon under knobby brow bones. "Khi-santh, you will fly south, to Delphon."

  "Why south?" Khisanth demanded. "I usually fly east by northeast-I know the route by heart."

  "Perhaps you know it too well," remarked Khoal with raised brows. Khisanth compressed her lips tightly. "How shy;ever, that isn't the reason I want you to fly south. It has come to my ears that the forces of Good are gathering in or near Delphon. Even you must realize that's far too close to Shal-imsha for the security of the wing."

  "Besides," Neetra cut in eagerly, "your eyes are-"

  Khoal waved a claw, and Neetra's words were cut off by a silence spell. Khisanth was stunned by the display. The drag shy;ons protected their belongings magically, but they refrained from casting spells on each other, since the potential for dis shy;aster was profound.

  "I'll suffer no more lapses in protocol!" snapped Khoal, his red eyes boring into the obviously embarrassed young male.

  "You'll endure the same, Khisanth, if you speak out of turn again."

  Khoal clenched and unclenched his claws. "I'm sure what Neetra was trying to say is that your eyes are keener than all of ours and would be able to determine the nature of the activity from a greater, safer distance." Khisanth was strug shy;gling to believe Khoal had complimented her, when his veined eyelids raised and he spitefully added, "Unless you don't think you're capable of completing such an important mission."

  Dnestr and Neetra snickered. They always did whenever Khoal put Khisanth in her place. She gave the obsequious pair a glare that wiped the sneers from their scaly black faces.

  Khisanth's evaluating eye settled on the other female. Dnestr was ranked third because she was slightly smarter and more even tempered than Neetra. Her greed certainly rivaled his, frequently overriding her common sense, partic shy;ularly when it came to Khoal. Dnestr seemed genuinely to look up to the elder dragon, which confounded Khisanth.

  "You should be glad for the assignment, Khisanth," purred the third-ranked dragon now. "Delphon is so near, you'll be asleep in your lair before midnight."

  "That will be all, Dnestr!" the ancient black snapped. Returning his haughty gaze to the dragon across from him, Khoal said, "Well?"

  Caught in the midst of a yawn, Khisanth touched a claw to her chest and feigned an innocent look. "Oh, is it my turn to speak? I can never keep the rules straight-that's your strength, isn't it Khoal? Since mine is flying faster than any other dragon, I'm sure that, as Neetra so graciously sug shy;gested, I'll have no trouble completing the assignment to Delphon."

  The angry bile Khisa
nth saw catch in Khoal's throat made suffering the dragon's insults worthwhile. Eyes narrowed to furious red slits, Khoal extinguished the brazier and snatched up his ruby staff. Stomping into his lair, he sealed off the archway with a spell. Awarding Khisanth petty glares of their own, Dnestr, then Neetra, scurried after.

  Khisanth's eyes followed their departure, but her mind was elsewhere. There was something very odd about this meeting. First, no prayer to their patron god; that had never happened before. Khisanth was also at a loss to explain Khoal's wordless retreat. It was very unlike him to miss the opportunity to put her in her place. In a strange sort of way, her comeuppance was conspicuous by its absence.

  Did Khoal know that Maldeev was trying to force her into a union that would jeopardize his own ranking? Was he being nice to her, in his own backhanded manner, as insur shy;ance against the time when she would outrank him? Suspi shy;cion grew in Khisanth's gut, but she had no real clue to the motive behind Khoal's behavior.

  Khisanth was only further confused after she returned to the lair late in the night from her flight to Delphon. She'd seen few signs of life in the ruins of the fortress there. In fact, there had been so little to see that she'd spent more time devising ways to dodge Maldeev's ultimatum than actually spying. The dragon intended to report her lack of findings directly to Khoal, but he didn't appear to have returned from his own recon flight to the north. Dnestr and Neetra's lairs were similarly dark. A negative report could certainly wait until the morning. With a shrug of her shoulders, the black dragon retired early for the night.

  A river? The young, freckle-faced sentry peered closely at the dark ribbon snaking toward him from the north. Unlike a river, this thing had two distinct ends and was a bit spotty in the middle. It was no river of cold mountain water. This was a stream of humanity. An army on the march. The flashes of silver he'd thought were moonlight on rushing water came from polished weapons of steel.

  The sentry's pulse quickened. Perhaps it was a newly raised company of mercenaries coming to join the Black Wing. But that made little sense-why would they march at night? Could they be the draconians everyone knew the

  highlord was expecting? They would be coming on foot from Neraka to the north. So why hadn't he been told to look for them? The boy scowled. With no instructions, Sergeant Bild had thrown him up into the north guard tower tonight for the first time. How could he be expected to do his job if no one told him anything?

  The young sentry glanced over his shoulder at the alarm bell suspended from a wooden tower in the courtyard. That bell was to alert the garrison in the event of an emergency. Was this an emergency? How could he be sure? The sentry looked back out onto the plain. That black, snaky shape sure looked like an army.

  The whole garrison was asleep. Waking everyone now, if his sergeant had simply forgotten to tell him to expect an army, could be the worst mistake of the young soldier's life. It could be the last one, too, he realized. It would be his word against Bild's. Fat chance of anyone believing him. The boy rubbed his face. Sounding the alarm seemed more and more like a very bad idea.

  What if it was an attacking army? The Black Wing wasn't at war yet. No one had told him to expect an attack. He could ask the soldier in the south guard tower to take a look, but they would both have left their posts; there was a stiff penalty for that. After a moment's reflection, the soldier decided to alert his sergeant and let the more experienced man have a look. Then the mistake, whosesoever it was, would be kept between them. Yes, thaf s it, he thought as he scrambled down the lashed ladder from the guard tower, clutching his spear.

  It was a short jog to Bild's quarters. Facing the heavy wooden door, the sentry paused to decide just what he would say. In the silence, he heard sounds from inside.

  Having heard nothing for hours but the quiet of the night, the soldier was surprised that someone else in the fortress was awake. There was no mistaking Bild's gravelly laughter. The young sentry was even more surprised to hear it echoed by a woman's high-pitched titter. He close his eyes and rubbed his freckled face again.

  Waking the sergeant would be bad enough, but interrupting him while he___No, that was definitely a bad idea.

  The soldier turned away from the door and stood forlornly in the open-roofed yard, wondering what to do next. There were other sergeants, though he didn't know their names. He'd just have to find one, and fast.

  Dashing past the row of doors under the colonnade, trying to decide which one to knock on, the soldier was surprised again to see light filtering out through a shuttered window. What luck! He would be saved the awkwardness of having to wake someone.

  The sentry scurried down the steps cut into the ground that led to the basement of the tower. He stepped up to the door and rapped tentatively. Immediately he heard move shy;ment inside. Footsteps approached the door. "Who's there?" "My name is Caithford. I'm on sentry duty." "No, you aren't," the voice responded. "You're knocking on my door when you should be on the ramparts. What do you want?"

  Rattled, the soldier stammered back, "Uh, I've seen some shy;thing. Down on the plain to the north. It looks like it might

  be, um, an army."

  Feet scuffed on the floor inside the room. A heavy bolt clanked and the door swung inward, revealing one of Mal-deev's dark clerics. This one was the dark-skinned elf, Andor. Behind him, the walls of the candlelit chamber were lined with stoppered bottles containing powders, tiny crea shy;tures suspended in oil, and other things so gruesome and odd he couldn't assign them names.

  "Yes? Well?" The cleric shifted to obscure the human's view.

  The shocked sentry jolted upright to attention, slapping his spear against his shoulder. The mysterious, hooded cler shy;ics were feared by the soldiers, but young Caithford did his best to hide his apprehension. "I apologize, your reverence, I saw the light and thought one of the sergeants had these quarters."

  "Never mind," Andor muttered. He pulled the hood of his cloak up over his dark head to cover his ears and slipped the deep cowl up around his neck. "If you think it's an army, why didn't you ring the alarm bell?"

  The boy's face reddened. "It's pretty dark, and I couldn't see much more than a black trail. Maybe it's nothing, maybe

  draconians___"

  The young soldier's inexperience was clear to see. "Hurry now," the renegade dark-elf mage said, pushing the boy up the steps. "Take me to your post and show me this legion of soldiers."

  Minutes later, both men stood atop the guard tower star shy;ing down toward the plain below the stronghold.

  The elf's heightened sense of sight confirmed the sentry's fear. "That does indeed look like an army." Andor glanced toward the horizon, still dark, though lightening. "We have some time yet before dawn. Wait for me here-don't sound the alarm until I return."

  Glad to have the weight of responsibility lifted, the sentry stepped aside, making room for the cleric to approach the ladder. But instead of leaving the tower, the dark elf reached below his cloak into a pouch at his belt. He removed a vial and held it up with the crescent moon behind it. The crystal shone faintly in the eery light, refracting bars of light onto the cleric's face and robes.

  Wide-eyed, the sentry watched the cleric unstop the vial while muttering prayers and incantations beneath his breath. In one swift motion he tossed the contents of the cruet down his throat, then swiftly replaced the stopper and vial in his pouch.

  Nothing seemed to happen for several moments. But then the dark blue cloak sagged and collapsed to the floor. A shadow flowed out of the pile of clothing and slipped over the brink of the guard tower. The sentry peered over the edge and saw the inky black cloud racing across the rocks toward the plain. The human moved in a wide path around the robes on the floor to stand as far from them as possible.

  Andor sped across the broken ground. He was in a four-way race, pitting his cunning against the coming dawn, which would reveal him clearly; the advancing army, which would shortly reach the Black Wing's citadel; and the limited duration of his potion. But this wa
s an opportunity for advancement Andor was not going to waste.

  It was possible, he thought, that the youth was right; per shy;haps this was the troop of draconian reinforcements Maldeev expected. That possibility faded completely when Andor saw the banners waving atop the army's sharp-tipped pikes, when he saw the well-groomed, skirted, and barded horses. Atop the mounts were grim-faced humans in luminously polished plate mail.

  These were Knights of Solamnia.

  The human at the front of the parade of knights was obvi shy;ously their general. His plate mail armor was polished to rival a looking glass; pressed into the metal on his left breast was an oval the size of a human hand, inside which was an elaborately detailed crown.

  The visor of the general's closed-face helmet was pushed back for greater visibility and comfort while he rode; blond curls escaped its confines above dark brown eyes. His face was surprisingly young, by human standards, the double Solamnic mustache so lightly colored and sparse that it was difficult to see. His cheeks were covered with a light stubble, presumedly to mask three razor-thin, parallel scars on one cheek, though it did little toward that end.

  The fresh-faced general was flanked by two knights, one younger still, the other much older, thick with gray hair. They, too, wore polished chain mail, with crossbows slung on their backs and swords girded. Behind them on horseback were at least one hundred well-armed knights, possibly more. Following the knights, Andor estimated, were fifty or sixty sergeants mounted on horses and armed with lances and swords; another one hundred fifty men-at-arms carrying spears, bills, shields, and halberds; another eighty or so archers; and pulling up the rear, a general assortment of mot shy;ley humans, no doubt short-term levies and down-and-out sell-swords.

  The cleric knew he needed to get specific information if he was to impress Maldeev with his courage and cunning. He picked the knight who rode at the general's left shoulder and surged forward to merge with the human's moonlight shadow.