by Chris Bunch
"If any deserves this title more, I know it not.
"Through him, I am also recognizing all those who've struggled under the sometimes imbecilic traditions of the past, of a peacetime service that, at times, seems not to know times have changed, and that we are in the most bitter war of our existence.
"These men, and women, have fought, sometimes without success, to make the army, and I include myself as Supreme Commander, realize that just because something has been done in a certain manner for decades or centuries, that doesn't mean there isn't a better way.
"Frequently it is necessary, and I charge all of us to recognize this, to think hard on the way we fight, and consider other ways of doing things, instead of holding close the dead hand of the past.
"Serjeant Hal Kailas, come forward."
Hal gaped for half a lifetime, then Saslic, beside him, kicked him in the ankle.
"Move, you git!"
Hal obeyed, almost doubling up, as the army required, to the king, realized how unseemly that would be, almost stumbled, crimsoned, hearing a snicker from the rows of nobility.
But he kept his feet, and saluted the king.
"Kneel, sir."
Hal obeyed, and felt three taps on his shoulders and head, taps he felt with the crushing weight of the burden they brought.
"Rise, Sir Hal Kailas," the king said.
Hal did, saluted the broadly grinning king, and was never sure how he got back to his place in the file.
"Not just a friggin' medal," Farren Mariah marveled, "which means I'll not have't' plunder somethin' to show me mum, but a whole week's leave.
"Mayhap I'll not come back. And what'll you think of that, Sir Hal?"
"I'll hunt you down in that warren you live in," Hal said. "And drag you, kicking and screaming, back to the war."
"Now, that's not the way a proper knight knights," Farren complained. "Speakin' of which, how're you plannin''t' spend your next glorious week?"
Hal came back to a bit of reality, realizing he didn't have anywhere to go, had no family other than Caerly, and that held nothing at all for him.
"Be damned if I know," Hal said. "Thank the gods we got paid, and I can afford an inn."
"Paf to that," Sir Loren said. "You can always come home with me. I haven't a sister for you to lust after, so you'll not have to worry, Saslic. But even though the old manse is gloomy and stony, there's more than enough room for you."
"Or if you don't want to be fartin' around some frigid castle in th' bushes wi' strange beasties an' stranger bushcrawlers," Farren said, "there's an attic room one of m' uncles been wastin' away in too long."
Hal looked at Saslic.
"I'm to be back with my family," she said. "I don't know if you fancy being around dragons, or around suspicious fathers, even if they are Royal Keepers, but there's room."
"Sir Hal's living requirements are already provided for," a voice said, and the three turned, saw the taleteller Thom Lowess. "I'll be claiming my own reward on the man, though he's welcome to visit any of you.
"My townhouse is but ten minutes ride from the Menagerie, Serjeant Dinapur," Lowess said. "And I'm hardly suspicious around nightfall."
"Uh…" Hal managed.
"Sir Hal, you're not being consulted. You're being told," Lowess said firmly, taking him by the elbow. "Now, come with me."
The four hastily scribbled addresses and instructions to their respective places, and went their way.
"Now, young man, come pay the price," Lowess said.
"For what?"
"For your knighthood."
"Huh?"
"I would like a little respect, sir," Lowess said. "Who else has been slaving away, night and day, making sure your name is on everyone's lips, that the court itself buzzes with your bravery?"
"Oh. You mean…" Hal remembered what the king had said.
"I mean, I've been promoting you as if I were on your payroll."
"Why?" Hal was suddenly suspicious. Lowess spread his hands, smiled blandly.
"Why? How else does a taleteller advance himself, once he's become the voice of the nation, save by pushing causes and people who deserve it?"
Hal looked at him carefully.
"I'm not sure I understand."
"You're not supposed to," Lowess said cheerfully. "Chalk it up to a strange man's strange hobby. Now, come. We'll be late for dinner.
"There are certain ladies of the court who've made it very clear I'll no longer enjoy their favors unless they have an opportunity to meet you."
Thom Lowess' manor house was intended to show Lowess' vast travels in unknown lands, his notable friends, savage and civilized, in those lands, and the dignities that had been shown him.
It did that very well. Walls hung with paintings, weaponry, exotic objects. It was also very clear there was no wife or lady living there. The house oozed masculinity, all leather and dark wood, a bit too much so for Hal's tastes.
Lowess' table was also a marvel, with dishes Hal had never tasted, or heard of only from lords' braggadocio. There were cooks serving splendid items, servitors making sure no plate remained bare or glass empty for more than a few seconds.
And there was Lady Khiri Carstares, just seventeen, but with a glint in her eye suggesting experience beyond her years. She was slender, small breasted, almost as tall as Hal, and wore her dark hair curled and hanging down one side of her neck.
Hal couldn't decide whether her eyes were violet, green or some unknown shade of blue.
Lady Khiri was bright, quick with a laugh, or to be able to bring one. She appeared to follow news of the war closely, and was very aware of Hal's exploits.
Hal, before her eyes drew him in, had the sudden feeling of being a fat bustard, pursued by a relentless hawk. But he put that aside, thinking that he'd been too long in the company of mostly men, and was missing Saslic fiercely.
After the meal, there was dancing in a great ballroom, with a small orchestra. Hal tried to beg off, but Khiri insisted she was the finest teacher, and "surely a dragonmaster like you, Sir Hal, can learn anything as simple as the dance within a moment."
Kailas didn't know about that, but he managed not to step on her feet nor trip.
Hal felt guilty, remembering the men in the mud across the water, then laughed at himself. They surely wouldn't begrudge him, and if they were here in his place wouldn't think of a poor dragon flier's loneliness for even an instant.
There was punch, mild in taste, but strongly alcoholic, and magicians, really sleight of-hand artists, wandering through the crowd showing their tricks.
There was a break, and Hal found himself on a balcony, with a hidden fireplace, where they could look out over the city of Rozen.
"So whereabouts in this maze do you live?" he asked Khiri.
"For the moment, here, with Thom."
"Oh. He's your lover, then, or…" Hal let the sentence trail off.
"No, silly. He's just a friend of the family. But my family's holdings are largely on the west coast, or in the north. So, I have my own bedroom… a small suite, actually, like four or five other friends of Thom do. All we're required to do, he's said, is keep what he calls the loneliness wolves away, which in fact is no more than laughing at his jokes—which are very, very funny—and pretending not to have heard a story when sometimes you have." She shrugged. "That's a very cheap rent."
Khiri smiled up at Hal, came closer.
"Besides, it gave me an opportunity to meet a real hero, not one of these posers with their brass and polished leather."
The moment hung close, and Hal felt a sudden impulse to kiss her.
Fortunately, the orchestra started again, and he pulled back, took her hand.
"Come on. We're not through dancing, are we?"
Khiri looked disappointed, then smiled brightly.
"You're right. What's now is now… and what's later is…" She didn't finish.
Hal, feeling very confused, hoped there was a lock on his bedroom door. Or, perhaps, on hers.
>
But locks weren't needed.
That night he slept as he couldn't remember doing, since… since being on solid land in Paestum, with the rain beating down and no flight scheduled for the next dawn.
He woke, yawning, late the next morning, wondered if he could borrow a horse from Lowess and ride over to see Saslic.
As he was dressing, a courier came with a sealed message:
YOUR LEAVE IS CANCELLED. RETURN TO FLIGHT IMMEDIATELY WITH OTHERS. YOU ARE HEREBY ORDERED TO TAKE COMMAND OF ELEVENTH FLIGHT AND RETURN UNIT TO FIGHTING STANDARD. FULL SUPPORT AND REINFORCEMENTS ARE AVAILABLE.
The order was signed by the lord commanding the First Army.
Somehow, somewhere, disaster had struck.
Chapter Nineteen
"It is most unfortunate," Lord Egibi rumbled, his snow-white mustaches ruffling in a most martial manner, "the Roche chose to test their new secret weapon, deploying infantrymen in baskets slung below their damned dragons, on your Eleventh Dragon Flight. Sir Fot Dewlish and his men fought hard, but they were sadly outnumbered.
"Most unfortunate," he repeated.
Hal tried to hold back his anger, wondering what stove his reports of the Roche tactic months earlier had served as kindling for. Lord Egibi noticed Hal's expression.
"Is something the matter, Sir Hal?"
"Nossir."
The Lord Commander of the First Army had a good reputation among the troops as a man who'd given his life to soldiering in the service of the king, first against bandits in the north of Deraine, then on loan to the barons of Sagene to advise their own campaigns against highwaymen, then, just before the war with Roche, on the east coasts, quelling an outbreak of piracy.
He was a very big man, with very big appetites that he never bothered to deny, and boasted that he had no enemies, other than the Roche, living, who were worth acknowledgement.
The Lord Commander of the First Army got up from his padded chair, moved his bulk to a large-scale map, tapped a point.
"First the Eleventh is hit," he went on. "With the success of their attack, I can only assume the Roche will be striking at other flights.
"Sir Hal, I need a tactic to combat this! That's why I ordered you recalled from your sorely earned leave. I desperately need my dragons to prepare for the summer offensive, and if the Roche continue decimating—hells, destroying—my flights, I'll be blind!"
Hal's anger vanished. Finally someone in high command was admitting the dragons were more than just parade toys, only two years and more since the war had started.
"I've read the citation at your knighting, and agree with the king. We must have new ideas, new thinkers, or this war will just keep grinding us down and down until one side or the other collapses from sheer exhaustion. Which will hardly be a famous victory."
"Yes, milord," Hal said, trying to sound like a man of intelligence and action. "Give me a few days with my squadron, getting a full picture of what happened, and I'll do my best to come up with something."
"Go ahead," Egibi said. "But do more than your best, lad. Deraine needs help, desperately."
Hal saluted, started to leave, turned back.
"I'll need one thing, sir. A magician. A very good one. If possible, I'd like the services of a man named Limingo, who's still in Deraine."
"This matter has the highest priority. I'll have a courier off on a picket boat within the hour, requesting this Limingo be assigned to First Army and to you. And anything else you need will be provided."
"There just might be some other things, sir," Hal said.
"Just ask," Egibi said. "And we'll try to provide. I correct myself. We shall provide. Oh, by the way. A serjeant is a poor rank to command a dragon flight. Effective immediately, you're promoted captain on a brevet basis.
"Do well, and I'll confirm the appointment as permanent."
The crossbow thudded, and a bolt whipped down the long room into a target. Hal worked the grip under the bow back, then slid it forward, and another bolt dropped down into the trough from a tray clipped above the bow's stock.
Hal fired, and the second bolt buried itself beside the first.
"Good," he approved.
"Perhaps, as I warned you, sir," Joh Kious said, "a little light on the pull, due to the cocking lever design. But it will kill you your man. And five more with the other bolts.
"Or, precisely aimed," Kious added, eyeing the dragon on Hal's breast, "even a dragon. I applaud your design of this weapon."
"Not mine," Hal said. "One of my men, remembering a sparrow shooter of his youth."
"Very well," Kious said. "Your spare bolt carriers and bolts are already wrapped. Will there be any other way I might be of service?"
"Yes," Hal said. "I'll need crossbows built for my three fliers upstairs, plus thirty more crossbows made to a general pattern, plus ninety bolt carriers. And a thousand bolts. For a beginning."
"Young man," Joh Kious said, sounding slightly shocked, "do I look like a factory?"
"No, but you are about to look very rich," Hal said. "I want you to set up a plant building these crossbows. Hire as many as you need, price the weapons reasonably, which doesn't mean what I'm paying for this one, and start work. Payment will be immediately made by First Army's quartermaster on acceptance by me, in gold."
"Of course you want these crossbows yesterday," Kious said.
"Certainly," Hal said. "As I said when I ordered the first one, if I'd wanted them tomorrow, I would have ordered them tomorrow."
Kious smiled.
"I've read about you in the broadsheets, Sir Hal. You certainly aren't a man unsure of himself."
Hal didn't reply.
"Very well," Kious said. "I should have known when I came across from Deraine something like this would happen and I'd be drawn into the maws of the military system once more.
"At least I'm providing for my old age," Kious said. "Which, remembering what it's like to deal with the army's quartermaster corps, looms close."
Hal and the three other fliers had expected the Eleventh's base to be thoroughly worked over. But the reality was worse—the farm estate was a shambles.
The main house appeared to have been set afire, and then some sort of explosion had scattered bricks across the grounds. Most of the other buildings had been fired as well, and the survivors of the flight occupied hastily pitched tents, scattered here and there.
Hal, riding behind Saslic on Nont, saw no sign of the flight's dragons as they lowered to land.
Around the flight's base was a garrison of infantry, also quartered in tents.
Very secure, Hal thought. Especially now that the barn's been burnt and the horse butchered for its meat.
Mynta Gart limped out to greet them, saw the captain's tabs Saslic had managed to find in Paestum, saluted.
Hal returned the salute, a bit embarrassed for some unknown reason, looked around as a scattering of handlers, some still bandaged, came out to take charge of the dragons.
"I think," he said, "I want you to tell me what happened, exactly as it happened, before we do anything else."
"Yessir." Gart's use of the title came easily, and Hal knew she must have seen others promoted over her head as a sailor, and thought little of the matter. "I think it best to repair to my tent.
"It's not a particularly lovely tale."
It wasn't.
The Roche, estimated two or three flights, all with basket-mounted infantrymen, had struck just as the sun was coming up.
"The first target was the nine dragons still on the ground, the bastards. That was where I picked up an arrow in my thigh, doing nothing in the way of good, trying to save my beast. I never was much of an infantryman.
"They killed the dragons, and went after anyone wearing flying insignia, then started killing anyone who fought against them.
"I came to just as they were looting and firing the buildings. That was where our fearless leader got killed."
Gart seemed reluctant to go on. Hal nodded at her, and she continued
.
"Dewlish was in his office… I guess he was hiding. They came in, and saw his rump sticking out from under his desk. Someone put a spear in it, and drove him into the open.
"They beat him to death with that godsdamned dragon statue of his. Broke Bion in about a dozen pieces, and shattered Sir Fot's skull.
"They finally ran out of things to break, got back in their baskets and flew off. I don't think they took more than a dozen casualties, all told. Bastards!"
There were only two good notes.
The attacking dragons had been normal, multi-colored beasts, so evidently the number of black dragons thus far trained was minimal.
And the second was that none of Hal's fellow students in dragon school had been killed. Rai Garadice had been off on a dawn flight, not returning until the carnage was complete.
"Our own Feccia seems to have seen the Roche approach, and vanished. He claims he was going to alert the closest fighting unit, tripped in the woods and knocked himself unconscious, not coming to until the fight was over."
Gart smiled cynically. Hal made a note that, sooner or later, the coward would have to be dealt with. But there were more important matters to deal with.
Hal thought for a moment.
"What's our strength?"
"Five dragons… your three, and Garadice's and his partner. Nine fliers. Twenty-three survivors. Not much in the way of equipment. Morale is nonexistent."
"New gear is on its way, as are replacement dragons and fliers," Hal said briskly. "Now, I want you to take over as my adjutant, since Dewlish's crony got killed, simplifying matters.
"And I want the unit assembled in front of the main house in half a glass."
"Adjutant?" Gart said. "But I'm a flier."
"And so you'll remain. On this flight, there'll be only two sorts of people—fliers and those helping them."
Gart managed a smile.
"That'll be a surprise for some people."
"The first of many, I hope," Kailas said.
"Do you know what you're going to say?" Saslic asked.
"I think so," Hal said. "But for the love of the gods, don't you—or Farren—smirk at me, or I know I'll start laughing."
