Knighthood of the Dragon

by Chris Bunch

  "Nothing," Hal said. "Especially not let anyone else know who I am."

  He was about to give instructions, when one of the fishermen ostentatiously cleared his throat.

  "Oh," Hal said. "First, bring me pen and paper. I've a deed to write."

  The warder, still in shock, obeyed.

  Hal wrote out a bill of sale, signed it, gave it to the fishermen.

  "Now you've got the start of a fleet."

  One of the fishermen thought things were amusing.

  "If you're some kind of muckety," he told Hal in a low voice, "then you're the most important person who's come here since…" He had to think.

  "Since that duke who got lost, whatever his name was," his partner put in. "Back when we were toddling."

  "That was the man."

  Hal asked them not to say anything to anyone, hoped they'd keep their word, since he'd promised to send them gold. But it didn't matter that much. If important people didn't come to this nameless village, it was unlikely to have a cell of Roche agents, either.

  He asked the warder to ride to the nearest duty station and arrange for a coach to pick him up.

  "Make it a prison coach," he said, thinking he was used to that. "There'll be no wonderment about a mere prisoner being transported."

  The warder nodded jerkily, bustled off, utterly perplexed about the situation, and forgetting about whether Hal was who he said he was, and if he wasn't he should be secured somehow.

  In fact, he left Hal with the keys to the tavern.

  Kailas made himself at home. The warder was single, so there was no family to explain himself to.

  He sorted through the man's wardrobe, found pants and a jerkin that weren't too impossibly large.

  Behind the house was a large vat. Hal lit the stove in the kitchen, heated buckets of water from the well, and stripped naked.

  He ceremoniously burned the clothes he'd worn in the warder's backyard, not much caring if there were holes in the fence around it and peepers behind every hole.

  Then he bathed.

  He'd been happily torturing himself staring at the man's larder, but at last could hold back no longer.

  There was smoked fish, and a large ham.

  There was half a loaf of bread, country butter, and Hal carved slices off the ham, sipping at a flagon of the warder's strong beer, real beer, made from grain and hops, not the Roche bark—or whatever-it-was brew.

  He fried some of the ham in butter, seasoning it with herbs from the cupboard, then sat down at the table. He just stared at the meal for awhile, not remembering when he'd been able to eat so well.

  Then, like a worried cat, glancing around him, as if afraid someone would take this feast from him, he set to.

  Fatigue took him after that, and he found blankets, and spread them on the floor.

  It took him only seconds to fall asleep.

  When he awoke, many hours later, it took him some minutes to remember where he was, that he wasn't still in Castle Mulde, waking from a most elaborate dream.

  He ate, slept, ate, and then the carriage came back.

  With it was the warder's commander, and four guards, none of them at all sure Hal was who he said he was.

  It didn't matter.

  Now he was bound for Rozen and the king, and it didn't matter what anyone thought of him.

  * * * *

  One thing was solved at their first stop: a warder who'd been discharged, wounded, remembered Hal from the Kalabas campaign, so there was no longer any question as to his identity.

  The man was sworn to secrecy.

  Hal asked the warder's commander to continue the pretense.

  The man was puzzled.

  "Why, Lord Kailas? You deserve, and you would undoubtedly get, an escort to the capital more in keeping with your fame. I know that any of the nobility still living in Deraine, who aren't abroad with our fighting forces, would give their left arm to so honor you."

  "Thank you," Hal said. "But there are reasons."

  The warder waited, but no explanation was forthcoming.

  Hal gave him further orders: once they reached Rozen, they were to take him to the town house of Sir Thom Lowess.

  "The taleteller?"

  Hal nodded.

  "But… if you wish your presence to be secret, then why…?" The warder broke off, realizing this question would most likely go unanswered as well.

  * * * *

  "Great gods in heaven," Sir Thom said. "So you weren't killed at all."

  "I was not," Hal said, his mouth full of roast. He'd been lucky, and Sir Thom was in-country, and it was just dinner time.

  "Oh, what a story, what a story," Lowess said, rubbing his hands together. The last time he'd said it was when Lady Khiri and Hal declared their love affair.

  "My fellows will give half their pay for this, but it's mine, mine, all mine."

  "No," Hal said. "It's not all yours. At least, not yet."

  Sir Thom goggled.

  "I want no one—and I mean no one—to realize I've escaped and come back to Deraine. Except for the king. And… where's Lord Cantabri?"

  "He's afield. Still with First Army, still battering their heads against the heights beyond Aude."

  "I want an audience with the king, as soon, and as secretively, as possible."

  "There should be no problem with that. What else?"

  "Nothing. Except nobody can talk about me. This is very important, Sir Thom."

  "What about Khiri? Lady Carstares?"

  Hal hesitated. He wanted to see her in the worst way.

  "I can't chance it," he said. "She'll have to remain a widow for the moment."

  But Sir Thom noticed the hesitation.

  "Let me see about the king," he said. "In the meantime, you should concentrate on putting some weight on those bones of yours."

  "I can do that," Hal said. He smiled, but it wasn't much of one. He damned his dutiful soul to several perditions, thinking about Khiri.

  * * * *

  Two days later, Hal was sitting in Sir Thom's library, sipping mulled wine, finishing a letter to his land steward, sending a fairly astonishing amount of gold to the two fishermen. It would be taken to the steward after Hal's plans were either denied by the king, or granted and set in motion.

  But his mind kept drifting to the map on a nearby table. He finished the letter, sanded and sealed it, and his mind forgot about it, and leapt to his plan.

  He went to the map, going over, not for the first nor the tenth time, a map.

  His plan, his scheme, did have a chance, he thought, then bent over the map again, looking to see if there was anything that could go wrong.

  Everything could go wrong.

  But maybe, for a change, it wouldn't.

  He didn't notice the soft click of the door behind him closing.

  "I assume," Lady Khiri said, "there's some good reason for you avoiding me."

  Hal spun, tried to say something, saw tears in her eyes, and was in her arms. He was quite amazed at the feelings—very well, use the word love—that swept him.

  "I'm really glad you're still alive," Khiri said.

  "So am I," Hal managed, picking her up in his arms and carrying her to a window seat. "So am I."

  * * * *

  "I think," Hal said, "you're more beautiful naked than with clothes on."

  "I will not allow you to talk to my dressmaker," Khiri said.

  Hal had explained his plan, why he was staying hidden.

  "And you don't think I can keep a secret."

  "No," Hal said. "It's not that. It's just that—"

  "That somebody might see me walking about with a great happy smile, instead of the gloom I've been broadcasting for the last several months."

  "Well… yes."

  "Hmmph. Well, for your information, I brought suitcases. Sir Thom said I'm not permitted to leave this house without your permission."

  "Which you won't have," Hal said. "Not when I think about how much I love you, how much I've missed
you."

  "Well then," Khiri said, rolling on to her stomach, "start making up for your absence."

  Hal moved over her, nuzzled her shoulder.

  "A day at a time?"

  "An hour," Khiri said throatily. "Perhaps even a minute."

  * * * *

  "I guess," Khiri said, "you really do love me."

  "Of course," Hal said.

  "You haven't asked about your damned dragon that I so carefully stole from the army and moved to Cayre a Carstares, where he's getting fatter and stinkier by the day."

  Hal thought of telling her about his dream of being Storm, which had just proved itself truer than he thought, but for some reason didn't.

  * * * *

  It was after dinner that night, and Khiri, wearing a dressing gown, was wrapped around Hal. Rain was tapping at the window.

  Sir Thom beamed at them, and poured himself another snifter of brandy.

  "I suppose one should ask," he said, "when you plan on uniting your holdings, to put it as coldly as possible."

  "He hasn't asked me," Khiri said.

  "I've been afraid you'd turn me down," Hal said.

  "Coward."

  "I am that."

  "Screw your courage to the sticking point, young man," Sir Thom said. "What, after all—"

  His butler entered.

  "A visitor, sir. Three of them, in fact." His voice was a little shaken.

  Sir Thom got up.

  "All right. You two upstairs, and I'll make sure there's no suspicion…"

  His voice trailed off.

  In the doorway stood King Asir.

  "I dislike being out on a night like this," he growled. "But it's easier than trying to slither you into the palace without notice."

  Hal, Khiri, and Sir Thom were on their knees.

  "Get up, all of you," he said irritably. "Someone pour me a drink, old brandy by preference, and make sure my equerries have one, too."

  The butler scampered out to obey.

  The king shed his cloak, unbuckled a sword belt and slung it over a chair.

  "I shall be damned glad when this war is over, and I can stop carrying real weapons about. Too damned heavy. No wonder they say that soldiers are more than thick, wanting to lug all that iron about."

  He took Sir Thom's snifter and drained it. The butler came back in with a decanter, and King Asir refilled the snifter, made no motion to return it to Lowess.

  "Now," he said. "You wanted to see me?"

  "I'll be upstairs," Khiri said, and was gone.

  "And I'll find some business of my own," Lowess said.

  "Good people," King Asir said. "They know when to vanish.

  "First, my congratulations on being alive, and escaping from whatever hells the damned Roche had you mewed up in.

  "Now, I assume you're ready for a good long leave before we figure out what job you'll be suited for next."

  "I know what job I want, Your Highness," Hal said. "The same one I had before, and maybe now there'll be enough men for me to build the full squadron that we talked about.

  "But I don't want any leave.

  "That's why I made sure I came back to Rozen as secretly as I could.

  "I want to put together a raiding force—maybe with Lord Cantabri as its commander—and go back to Castle Mulde.

  "There's more than three hundred men and women I want to set free."

  The king reacted, started to down his drink, thought better, and set it down.

  "I assume you have a plan?"

  "I do, sire," Hal said. "And I think it will work… if it's mounted quickly enough."

  "Ah," the king said. "And that explains why you're being so secretive."

  "Yes, sire. If the Roche find out I escaped… they might start taking precautions."

  "Over three hundred men and women, you said," the king said thoughtfully.

  "Yes, sire. And many of them are fliers. Or noblemen."

  "At this point in the war," King Asir said, "I can do without nobility. But dragon fliers are another story.

  "I think we'd better send for Bab Cantabri at once."

  It was suddenly obvious that all of Hal's careful arguments he'd prepared on his sail for home wouldn't be needed.

  He was going back to Castle Mulde.

  This time with sword in hand.

  15

  A grim Lord Bab Cantabri arrived within the week. His bleakness lifted a bit when told of the upcoming raid, and he and Hal set to, looking for men and units.

  Hal asked him how badly the battle was going.

  "Worse than you can imagine," he said. "Lord Egibi doesn't seem to have any better ideas than to keep hurling his forces up those damned mountains."

  Lord Egibi was Commander of the First Army.

  "The problem is," Cantabri went on, "neither does anyone else.

  "Those mountains we're hitting," he went on, seemingly irrelevantly, "nobody knew their names when we first attacked them, although I suppose the Roche maps called them something.

  "They've got names now: Desperation Rise. Bloody Nose Hill. Slaughter Vale. Massacre Mountain."

  Hal winced.

  Cantabri shook his head.

  "Ah me, ah me. One of these centuries the war'll be over, and we can sit on our estates, phoomphing at each other and talking about the good old days when we weren't bored orry-eyed."

  "What a future you predict," Lady Khiri said, coming in with a tray of sandwiches. "It's time to feed the inner warrior."

  After some debate, it'd been decided by the king that the planning headquarters for the raid would be at Sir Thom's mansion. His staff had been handpicked for their discretion, and would not talk.

  Lowess and Carstares had both been told the secret. They were used as couriers to the palace, which lessened the number of uniformed messengers going back and forth.

  Hal picked up a sandwich, pointed at the map.

  "If we could take the—"

  "Stop that," Khiri said firmly. "Meals are important. Both of you get away from that damned map, and concentrate on eating. Otherwise you'll get ulcers the size of your heads, and be worthless to anyone."

  "She's right, you know," Cantabri said.

  The two men went to a table, and sat down.

  But Hal found his eyes creeping to the map, and he was eating faster than he should.

  He caught himself, shook his head.

  "I wonder if we'll ever be worthwhile as people, once the war's over?"

  Cantabri glanced to make sure Khiri had left the room.

  "Don't worry about it," he said. "Neither of us are likely to make it that far."

  Hal shivered a bit, remembering Saslic's words, "There won't be any after the war for a dragon flier."

  * * * *

  "The most important thing," Hal said, "is speed. If we fart around, and piecemeal our troops together, and then they're inspected, and every hinky little lord and lady gets to visit our camp, we might as well let the prisoners in Camp Mulde rot, because we'll be on a suicide mission.

  "Not to mention the godsdamned Roche could well do something nasty, like massacre everyone in the castle before we take it, if they hear about the raid."

  There were only two men in the room—Cantabri and the king.

  "I must say," King Asir said, "I'm not used to being preached at."

  "I'm sorry, Your Majesty," Hal said.

  "No, no," Asir said, and his voice was tired. "I said once, a long time ago, that people like you are sometimes uncomfortable to be around.

  "You're living up to your reputation."

  * * * *

  Hal desperately wanted to bring his own First Squadron back from the front for the raid, but knew that could well be a red flag to the enemy.

  Instead, a rather battered pair of flights from Second Army, due for a rest, were rotated back to Paestum, and two freshly trained green flights went back in their place.

  Cantabri pulled a battalion here and there until there were three waiting in a camp west of Paest
um for orders.

  That should have made 1500 men. But that would've been in peacetime. There were only a few more than 700 infantry for the raid.

  "Wouldn't it be nice," Hal said, "to have a special unit, a Raiding Squadron call it, on standby for things like this?"

  "Maybe," Cantabri snorted. "If they had a good commander, who had enough clout to keep them from being thrown into the line any time some lord wanted reinforcements or line troops. And if… higher-ranks… realized what they had, and kept them from being wasted."

  Hal knew Lord Bab meant the king.

  "And there'll still be the drawback… these elite men might have gotten higher rank, and medals, and accomplished more, staying in their base formations.

  "Not to mention things like morale," he went on. "What do you think the average infantryman, or cavalryman, is going to think of himself and his own unit when he keeps hearing of the King's Own Specially Dangerous Guards, or whatever they'd be called?"

  "Still," Hal said, and let the conversation drop.

  Maybe Cantabri was right. And maybe all that Hal wanted was first line, rested troops, instead of the tired warriors he was getting.

  And on the other hand, he also might want solid gold toe-nails, and they weren't forthcoming either.

  * * * *

  "You know, Lord Hal," Limingo the wizard said, "there are other magicians in the king's service who can be volunteered for your dirty deeds, many of whom are no doubt better than I am."

  Hal grinned. At least in the field of magic he was getting the best.

  "It's just that you're like an old shoe," he said. "You get more comfortable the more I'm around you."

  "Oh, thanks ever so for the compliment," Limingo said. "I wish I knew a spell that would give warts."

  "No you don't," Khiri said. "For I'd put sand in your lubricant."

  Limingo looked shocked.

  "Well, I never. Well, hardly ever, anyway.

  "And so to business," he went on. "I assume you want the usual spells of confusion, multiplication of forces, and such."

  "I do," Hal said. "And I'll want a big spell… It's not just the folks in the castle who should be confused, but the people in the area around aren't exactly well-disposed."

  "Let me consider," Limingo said. "Perhaps there's something better I can come up with for them."

  * * *

  "Do you remember," Khiri asked, "back a couple of weeks or so, when the king came in on us, to our great surprise?"