Knighthood of the Dragon

by Chris Bunch

  "Not the king, of course," he added hastily. "And now I'm one of them… as are you."

  "What sort of restive is the Council?" Hal asked.

  "There's talk of forming a peace coalition, and maybe trying to open negotiations with Norcia," Cantabri said.

  "And what's the matter with that?" Hal asked. "Sooner or later, somebody has to sue for peace."

  Cantabri started to fume, caught himself.

  "True. True enough, I suppose. But I'd rather it be under conditions that are as demeaning as possible to the Roche. I'd rather they couldn't come up with some lies about how they were betrayed into peace, and want another godsdamned war in a generation or two.

  "I really don't want my grandsons or their sons to go through this."

  Hal nodded agreement, even though children were a long ways from his serious plans, at least at the moment.

  "It's a pity that someone like Limingo, or some wizard like him, couldn't come up with a spell that'd make everybody as patriotic as they were back when the war started," Hal said.

  "Sometimes," Cantabri said heavily, "magic doesn't appear to have much of an effect, here in the real world, at least not for a whole cluster of people.

  "At any rate, that's as much as I've got. I suppose the reason I called you back," Cantabri said, "isn't just to have a shoulder, to cry on.

  "What I'd really like—what the army, and Deraine really need—is something spectacular. Something that'll make people realize we're winning, even though it's taking a bit longer than the flag wavers put on, in the beginning.

  "You've generally been able to come up with something dramatic in the past.

  "This time, young Kailas, there might be a great deal more than an engagement or even a battle riding on it."

  25

  Hal was busy in the operations section tent the next day when a rather plaintive Mynta Gart came in.

  "Uh, sir… there's a delivery for you."

  "Which is?"

  "It appears to be, well, two wagonloads of pebbles."

  "Just what I've been expecting," Hal said, putting eagerness into his voice.

  Gart looked at him plaintively, wanting an explanation.

  Hal, for pure meanness, didn't give her one, but carefully inspected the loads of broken-up granite, ordered them moved to a secure location, and, just because he didn't have any latrines to dig, ordered Gart to put the unit's sinners on guard over the rocks.

  Mentally cackling, he went back to his maps, laying out arcs east and south of their location. The arcs roughly represented the range a dragon could fly at one time—six hours, a distance of about forty leagues, depending on weather, load, winds and such.

  He found it a bit hard to concentrate. Where the hells was that damned Bodrugan?

  * * * *

  The wizard showed up two days later, accompanied by Limingo, his superior.

  "We had a bit of a problem," Limingo said, "figuring out a way to make the spell universal, but not so complicated that somebody with his mind on other things—say, not having his head eaten by a Roche dragon—couldn't still remember it.

  "But we're now adept at turning stones into crags, as soon as I cast an enchantment over your pebbles that's guaranteed to make them ambitious little rocks. Do you have a wizard on the squadron?"

  "Barely," Hal said, and sent for Farren Mariah, and, after thought, Lieutenant Goang, who he'd been rather ignoring of late.

  Mariah came, was informed he was now Official First Squadron Thaumaturge, protested loudly, was told to be silent and obey his orders by Kailas.

  A bit sullenly, he went with Limingo, Bodrugan and Goang to the still-guarded rock heap.

  Hal lagged behind, found reasons to go back to the map tent. In spite of everything, he was still a little nervous around magicians.

  In about an hour, Limingo and the other two came back to him.

  "There," the wizard said. "Your man here can now do the resupply, when you run out of the present pile of pebbles, although the quartermaster corps may raise an eyebrow when he requisitions oil, hemlock, dried yew.

  "And, by the way, after the war I've suggested he could do much worse than study wizardry."

  "The question remains," Mariah said, ignoring Limingo's words, "just who's about to be playing rocksmasher first before I workies workies workies my wizardry?"

  "You," Hal said. "If you don't watch yourself."

  "Aarh," Farren said cheerily. "I'll be watchin' myself when the army issues me a mirror." His expression turned dreamy. "Now there's a thought. A nice, full length glass, made of polished silver, that I can hang over my bunk for when I have visitors."

  "Shut up," Hal advised. "Now, Limingo, if you'll show us the next stage?"

  Bodrugan handed Hal a pebble.

  "Now," the young magician said, "you're going to repeat after me, the following—"

  "Uh… shouldn't we hide our little heinies outside the tent first?" Mariah said.

  "Good point," Limingo said.

  They went out.

  "Repeat after me," and Hal obeyed:

  Antal, Hant, Wivel

  Grow

  You were

  Now be again

  You must

  You shall

  Antel, Hant, Wivel.

  The tiny rock was writhing in Hal's hand. He hastily let it drop. The rock grew, hurting Hal's eyes to watch. It got bigger and bigger, and Hal had to jump out of the way. It caved in the side of the map tent, then stopped growing.

  "Good gods," Hal managed. "I didn't remember that rock being that frigging big."

  Goang was looking at the boulder in considerable amazement.

  "I thought I'd had some ideas," he said, mostly to himself. "But I never thought about using magic."

  Fliers were running toward them.

  Hal, trying to recover his calm, looked at Limingo.

  "Those words at the beginning and end… do they mean anything?"

  "They do… sort of," the wizard said. "I'm not sure just what, though. Maybe they send out vibrations to other worlds, other forces. Maybe they even call demons. Or maybe they're some sort of a prayer.

  "Mmmh," Hal said. He turned to Mariah.

  "Get Mynta here. I want her to know that anybody who even breathes about what just happened can count on becoming a spear-carrier within the day.

  "And bring Storm out. I'm going to headquarters."

  * * * *

  "Ye gods," Cantabri said. "This will work all the time?"

  "Limingo said it would."

  "And your intent?"

  "I'm going to go throw rocks at Queen Norcia in her capital."

  "That will drive her even further into raving," Cantabri said. "And certainly won't make her underlings any happier.

  "But… Carcaor is a long, a very long flight from here."

  "More than two hundred leagues," Hal agreed.

  "How will you be able to reach it?"

  "I'm working on that right now," Hal said confidently. "But I'm sure it can be done. There's wild country between, and all I need is feed for my dragons. I think it'll take about three or four weeks before I'm ready to mount an attack."

  "And if your raid succeeds?"

  "Then," Hal said, voice hard, "we can train other flights to do the same, not just to Carcaor but to Roche's other cities. Take the war home to Norcia, and all the noblemen who think the war is something at a great distance."

  Cantabri considered.

  "I'm going to messenger the king, requesting permission for the First Army to refuse its left flank against the Roche, and turn south. For Carcaor. I think it's time to go for the throat.

  "Now, perhaps, the end of this damned war is in sight."

  * * * *

  Now there were many things to accomplish.

  Hal's study of the maps of Roche, even though they were frequently sketchy, suggested way stations for his dragons.

  His plan, most risky, was to take a flight of dragons toward the capital, Carcaor. Each night they'd f
ly to the dragons' limits, then land at previously chosen fields, rest and eat, then continue on.

  The problem, of course, was that they must not be spotted by any Roche en route.

  It was complicated, but not overly so, Hal thought.

  The first stage was to seal off the First Squadron's base. No one was permitted out, and anyone arriving with supplies or replacements would not be permitted to contact more than a handful of people.

  He thought he was perhaps worrying too much—all that his fliers could know was that Hal had suddenly developed the ability to create large rocks—the map tent was still half crushed.

  What he intended to do with that was known only to Hal and Cantabri.

  But still…

  Naturally, the word quickly spread that something was in the works as First Army headquarters again swarmed with dispatch riders.

  Someone told the taletellers that the Dragonmaster's First Squadron was closed to all visitors, which of course made them swarm around.

  Hal was forced to borrow two platoons of Cantabri's Raiding Squadron to walk guard around the field, which they considered most humiliating and beneath them.

  Hal agreed… but he knew these men wouldn't talk, no matter what they heard.

  Besides, he'd need, he was fairly sure, at least three of them for his plan to work.

  A couple of taletellers tried creeping through the woods into the camp, were caught by the raiders, and escorted out. One had a thick ear, and kept peering about as he went, expecting, Hal supposed, to see some sort of secret weapon abuilding.

  Certainly he saw nothing in a stupid boulder that must've rolled into the map tent, almost wrecking it.

  Three days after he'd told Cantabri what he intended, a sentry reported there was a man on the main road who refused to leave without seeing Hal.

  "Have you tried chousting him with a halberd?"

  "Thought of it, sir," the sentry said. "But he's a sir, and I don't know shit about the military, but I'll bet if you start whacking sirs and dukes and earls and barons about, you're going to get yourself in trouble."

  "Very well," Hal said. "I'll take care of him."

  The visitor was Sir Thom Lowess, who sat comfortably in an expensive-looking surrey, laden with boxes.

  "Good day, Lord Kailas," he said.

  "Good day to you, Sir Thom," Hal said. "And I'm afraid I'm busy, and can't spare the time you deserve."

  "I need no time from you," Sir Thom said. "I desire entrance to your camp."

  "It's closed."

  Sir Thom just looked at him. Hal thought.

  "If you come in, you won't be able to come out for at least three weeks," Hal grudged.

  "Let me ask you this," Sir Thom said, looking about to ensure there was no one within earshot except the pair of sentries. "If I come in, will my tale be worth my being mewed up for that long?"

  Hal hesitated. "Yes," he said grudgingly.

  "Then I'm fortunate that I brought sufficient luxuries, aren't I?"

  "Let him enter," Hal said to the sentries. "And welcome, I suppose."

  * * * *

  The most dangerous part of the mission was at the start. That would involve scouting for the layover points, and must be completely hidden.

  Hal decided he'd take four other dragons. He'd be happier with less, but he'd need them for the passengers they'd carry.

  Since he'd be leading the formation, he didn't want to overburden Storm, in the event he had to do some rapid maneuvering.

  He first chose Farren Mariah, not because he was the strongest flier in the squadron, but because he trusted him absolutely. Mariah had already saved his life once, and Hal hoped he'd never have the chance to do it again.

  Second was Danikel, Baron Trochu, since he was not only Sagene, but the best flier Hal had.

  Third was one-eyed Pisidia. Hal was learning he was one of the most dangerous killers in the squadron.

  Fourth was Sir Alt Hofei, from the prison camp.

  Sir Thom was frantic for the full story of what was up, which Hal refused him.

  "If I don't come back," he explained, "then I don't have to look like a damned fool as a corpse."

  "But what will I say then?"

  "Start a story," Hal suggested, "that I vanished into the unknown, in a raging battle with sixteen black Roche dragons."

  Lowess looked at him dubiously.

  "You wouldn't have made that bad a taleteller, you know. Sixteen… let's go for ten."

  Hal shrugged, and told his orderly, Uluch, what he'd be taking.

  In spite of it being summer, flying at height would be chill.

  Carcaor lay at the conjunction of three fertile valleys, on the Ichili River, which bisected Roche.

  To keep things secret, Hal planned for the reconnaissance flight to keep to the mountains, where they'd be less likely to be seen… and where flying might be a little chill.

  So high-top boots, sheepskin coats, gauntlets, and lined tied-down caps were in order.

  "One of these days," Farren predicted gloomily, "my gods-damned dragon's going to be peckish, see me in this damned coat, and think I'm dinner. Or breakfast."

  Chincha, his flying and bed partner, giggled.

  "You are, you know."

  Farren actually blushed.

  * * * *

  Kailas set all four flights to practicing what appeared to be utterly nonsensical flying, half expecting to return to a mutiny.

  * * * *

  Hal had asked Limingo for a weather spell to give him some cover. Limingo had said that would be easy, since the Roche magicians would also like a break in the spring balminess that might slow the slow Sagene-Deraine wheel to the right.

  It wasn't quite raining, but what Farren called spitting near dawn.

  Hal's troops were assembled and fed.

  The dragons seemed to realize something unusual was coming, and stamped in eagerness to be away.

  They loaded each dragon with two men, the flier and one man from the Raiding Squadron with a heavy pack, plus, slung under their bellies, a butchered sheep wrapped in canvas.

  Then they lumbered down the long field, and were in the air, flying almost due east.

  Hal had ordered them to keep close to the ground, and give the alarm if they spotted any Roche dragons.

  They saw none, and whisked over the Roche lines before any bolts came up, although Hal saw a couple of hastily fired arrows lifting through the mist.

  Then they were over the Roche rear lines, and Hal saw confusion and tumult spread as they passed.

  He waited until he'd reached open country, then turned his course, by compass, to south-southeast, and went high.

  The first leg of his scout would be the longest, which he liked because it would get him farther from the Roche lines, and the possibility of prying cavalrymen, but he disliked because, on the return, if there were casualties or wounded, that could be the killer.

  He was fairly certain that first day's destination would not be a problem, since his target had been scouted by a daring cavalry patrol a few weeks earlier.

  It was an open, supposedly uninhabited meadow in the middle of a cluster of low hills.

  The land below wound past. Most of the farms had been abandoned, a few looted by the Roche, as the armies approached them.

  The ground climbed, and now there were trees, growing thicker. Here and there was the smoke from a cottage's cook-store, or bigger plumes from charcoal-makers.

  Then there was nothing but trees and, here and there, ponds and small lakes.

  The sun was moving down the sky when they found the meadow. They circled it once, made sure it was uninhabited, and landed.

  They fed the dragons half a sheep each, ate their own iron rations, and the fliers slept, while the raiders kept watch.

  Hal woke well before dawn, and turned the men out.

  One raider would stay here, keeping guard, until the raid.

  Again, they took off, headed almost due south.

  Toward Carc
aor.

  The first step had gone so smoothly Kailas had to beat back a bit of hope.

  He'd learned that elaborate plans never work in war, and wondered why he'd allowed himself to come up with this cockamamie idea.

  Probably getting his ear blown into by Lord Cantabri as being the War's Solution had a lot to do with it.

  Or maybe he was turning into a glory hound like Alcmaen.

  He gloomed on, while Storm's wings beat steadily.

  The land below flattened, and large, rich farms and ranches reached on either side. The farmhouses were manor houses, and cattle grazed quietly.

  One of the dragons behind saw all this meat on the hoof, and moaned plaintively.

  A pair of bulls looked up, saw the dragons, and went back to grazing.

  A good sign, Hal thought. They'd never seen the questing beasts before.

  Or else, being bulls, not steers, they simply didn't give a damn, and welcomed those aerial monsters to come down and try their battle skills.

  But the war had come here, too, Hal noted. There were few herdsmen in the fields, and the few people about looked up curiously. Hal hoped they thought the dragon flight was Roche, since this was a distance behind the lines.

  The maps he'd consulted had gotten more and more slender the deeper they went into Roche.

  Hal's goal for the second night had been marked as a hunting camp, a summering place for the nobility of the valley they'd left behind.

  But as they circled it, it was evident the camp had been turned into some kind of farm. The open meadows, where stags might have grazed, waiting to become targets, had been plowed and worked, growing what, Hal had not the slightest.

  The other fliers had seen this as well, and looked to Hal for guidance. He waved them onward.

  His second choice was another hour's flight on, but that put them closer to Carcaor.

  Hal hadn't thought it nearly as satisfactory, since all the map showed was a small lake. Where there were lakes, there could well be people.

  He found the lake, signaled twice with his trumpet, waved for the others to orbit the lake.

  Hal took Storm low, until the dragon's wings sent wavelets across the lake. Some kind of fish jumped, and a few birds took off from the trees that almost overhung the water.

  But there was no sign of people, now or in the past.