Knighthood of the Dragon

by Chris Bunch

  Hal blasted once, and the trumpet rang across the hills rimming the lake.

  He brought Storm down on water.

  It had been a while since Storm had made a water landing, and didn't much like the idea.

  But he splashed down, and then realized this was a great deal softer than landing on turf.

  The dragon blatted in pleasure, as the other dragons came down.

  Hal prodded Storm to swim toward a shelving beach, and the dragon waddled up on it, wings whipping, water spraying.

  This would do very well for a second base.

  The rest of the sheep were eaten by the dragons, and watch was posted again.

  But it was very hard to feel any particular threat in this lonely place.

  Hal called the raider who'd been detailed as guard/signaler for this spot.

  "What do you think?"

  The man grinned.

  "I like it."

  "You won't get lonely?"

  "Sir… I was a poacher, back before the war. And I've seen animal tracks about. No. I won't get lonely. And I'll stay busy."

  Hal doffed and dove into the lake. The others followed.

  Farren swam up to him, cavorting like an eel.

  "You notice one thing, O my fearless leader?"

  "Many things," Kailas said. "Such as you're leaving a disgusting wake. You need to bathe more often."

  Farren snorted.

  "I'm as clean as any animal that walks, stalks, staggers or wanders the earth, so there'll be an end of insults to the lower ranks, if you please."

  Hal suddenly realized something, almost blurted it, caught himself.

  "So what am I supposed to notice?" he asked instead.

  "All this godsdamned open land, furrow and burrow, here and there."

  "So?"

  "So why'd these slimy bastards start this war, anyway?"

  "I didn't know you needed a reason for a war," Hal answered, turning serious.

  "Surely you do. For land, for freedom, for naked women… some kind of purplous purpose," Mariah said. "When we win, I think we ought to take a good chunk of it away from these eejiots, since they don't know what to do with it.

  "Enough for a decent province, and give it to some deserving lad."

  "Named Mariah, by chance?"

  "Ah, that'd do for a starter, wouldn't it? Land for all… now there's a motto worth fighting for."

  "Or," Danikel said, having swum up beside them, "give it to the dragons."

  "Now that's an idea," Hal said.

  "But it'll never happen," Danikel said. "They're our partners… as long as the blood keeps flowing. When that's over, we'll forget 'em. Or put them back in flying shows."

  "Why not?" a suddenly bitter Mariah said. "You don't think they'll remember us sojers the turning of one glass after the last bow shot, do you?"

  Hal decided this was depressing, decided to follow the lead of Pisidia, who was floating, quite motionless, on his back in lake's middle.

  * * * *

  The third day's stop was at the same time the least laid out and the one Hal was least concerned about.

  Again, it led along a winding valley, with a navigable river at its bottom.

  They saw the outskirts of two small cities, avoided them, and flew on, up into foothills.

  There'd been little on the maps about this area, but Hal had quizzed Goang about his studies with the hill tribes. This part of Roche he knew, after a fashion, and apologetically, saying he wished he knew more, told Kailas what information he had.

  One bit of data had been vital, and Hal hoped the war hadn't changed this, as it had so many other things.

  It hadn't.

  It was, again, late on a hot and wearisome afternoon when the fliers saw what Hal had hoped they would: rolling hills, with vast herds of sheep grazing on them.

  The region was a dragon commissary on four legs.

  All they needed to do was find a landing ground near one of the flocks, which were grazed unattended, and close to a stream.

  The dragons were in heaven, and got two sheep each.

  Then the fliers drove them back, to keep them from surfeiting themselves into a happy coma.

  This time, they posted close watch, in the event of seeing a shepherd, but no one disturbed them.

  The third guard was let off, with orders to stay well out of sight, but if he was sighted, to make sure he killed both shepherd and dogs.

  Then the dragons flew on.

  The final day's flight was fairly short, ending not long after noon.

  The maps had improved, and Hal had chanced selecting one peak that was marked as having RUINS on its flat summit.

  Nothing more.

  They saw the ruins as they closed on the jutting peak. Someone had built a castle a long time before atop the crest, and Hal wondered how they'd brought the great stones up the steep slopes.

  They landed in an open, once-paved area.

  Far below, the Ichili River curved, the river that led south to where Deraine and Sagene had seen a great defeat at Kalabas, and Hal's love Saslic had died. There was a steady stream of trading ships and barges, and so Hal kept below the horizon, even though he'd be no more than a dot to the ships below.

  Two bends of the river, and they would reach Carcaor.

  Hal said they could expect Roche surveillance in the air, and so took their dragons downslope a bit, to where trees curled.

  They were strange-leafed and -shaped. No one could remember having seen ones like them.

  The dragons were nervous, without cause, and Hal felt his skin crawling a bit.

  He decided it was nerves, being this close to the Roche capital.

  The others were just as ill at ease, and no one could offer an explanation.

  They fed the dragons and ate.

  Hal chanced walking up to the castle, to see if he could determine anything of its purpose or origin.

  The walls were smashed in, as if a giant's hand had battered them down. It had to have been winter storms after the place was abandoned, Hal thought.

  There were a few open passageways remaining, oddly constructed, very wide and very tall.

  Hal went through one, into the keep.

  It stretched roofless above him, made of huge monolithic stones, notched for wooden floors here and there.

  Whoever built it had fancied high ceilings, Hal thought. Even with thick beam floors, the ceilings would still have been twenty feet high.

  He couldn't tell how tall the keep had been—its roof had been torn away, and the keep's stump was jagged, like a skull's teeth.

  Hal wondered why he'd thought of that image, decided it was getting on toward dark, and he didn't want to chance slipping in the night.

  He went back to the others, who had, in spite of the heat atop the mountain, built a low fire concealed by a pile of rubble.

  At full dark, they reluctantly put the fire out, and settled in for the night.

  Now, with three of the raiders gone, it was the fliers who stood watch along with the last raider, who was to be left here.

  Hal drowsed, had ugly dreams he couldn't remember when he jerked awake.

  He fully expected something—he didn't know what—to happen atop this mountain.

  But nothing did.

  The next morning, they prepared to leave.

  Hal wanted to chance flying around those bends, to make sure Carcaor was really there.

  But he knew better.

  For some reason, he told the raider to stay clear of the castle, and make his watch somewhere below it.

  The man glanced up at the ruin, shivered.

  "There's no worry about me going near that, sir. No worry at all."

  Hal told him they'd be back within a week, and for him to stand firm.

  "After all," he said, trying to embolden the man, "you're the furthest forward soldier in this war. Something to tell your children in another time and place."

  The man nodded, didn't smile back.

  The five drago
ns took off, and wended their way back toward the front lines without incident.

  Stage One was complete.

  Now for the battle.

  26

  Surprisingly, none of the fliers had mutinied, not even Alcmaen, in spite of the seemingly absurd training Hal had ordered before he left.

  This had included flying over a secluded field behind the lines, and dropping, from about fifty feet, pebbles at circular rope targets, time after time, with the accuracy logged by squadron members on the ground.

  Another task was flying very low over a ruined village nearby.

  Very, very low, which meant having to zigzag between a ruined church and a battered grain silo.

  Naturally, the fliers turned it into a competition, and Sir Loren Damian, who'd returned to the squadron and insisted on flying with his leg in a splint, was the winner.

  He crashed through the remnants of a thatched roof, and rebroke his leg, effectively grounding him for the mission.

  Hal thought of saying something to him but realized he couldn't come up with anything worse than Sir Loren was already muttering to himself.

  More logical training had included each flight flying in open formation, which made the fliers think there was some sort of aerial parade scheduled, perhaps a celebration of Lord Cantabri taking over First Army.

  But that didn't answer the question of why First Squadron had been forced into isolation.

  Nor why the formation flying was done at night and through cloud cover.

  So the rumors spread, further irking Sir Thom, who was beginning to wonder if he'd outcagied himself by volunteering to be held in seclusion with the fliers.

  Hal gave no answers for three days.

  He continued the training, but added something—having the entire squadron fly formation.

  Now it had to be a parade, the other fliers agreed.

  They didn't see the preparations Hal was working out of sight: army victuallers had been combing the area for sheep, hogs and calves. These were taken in herds to other flights on other fields, and butchers assigned.

  Everyone knew something was up with the fliers.

  But no one except Hal, the magicians, and Lord Cantabri knew just what.

  Or so Kailas hoped.

  Limingo and Bodrugan were quite busy with a small project Hal had given them. They took two days to complete it.

  On the fourth day after his flight into Roche, Hal assembled his squadron, plus Sir Thom.

  "My congratulations," he said. "You've been surrounded by what looks like a pack of foolishness for some weeks, with never an explanation.

  "Now, you'll get one."

  He told them what the magicked rocks were, and that they were intended for use against the heart of the Roche. He said the mission would take eight days, and the people on the ground didn't need to know the details of the flight, nor the target. In time, they'd be told.

  Now that boulder still against the map tent got admiring looks, and comments were made about just how much damage that would do against Queen Norcia.

  Hal broke the fliers, and Sir Thom, away from the non-flying members of the squadron, and took them into one of the dragon tents.

  The dragons had been moved out, and all that was in the tent was a magical, very precise, model of Carcaor, from the river to the surrounding hills.

  "Here's our target," Hal said, and stepped into the model. He went to its center.

  "This is Queen Norcia's palace, and here is the Hall of the Barons. Those are our prime targets, as well as anything else that looks impressive or military.

  "This model was made by our magic men"—he indicated Limingo and Bodrugan—"from paintings and sketches of Carcaor, and the memories of half a dozen men and women who were familiar with the city before the war.

  "Probably it'll have changed somewhat.

  "But I doubt if the palace will have moved.

  "We will leave the day after tomorrow. I want you to study this model all this afternoon. Our wizards will be giving you a memory spell, so you won't be able to forget what you're learning.

  "Tomorrow morning, we'll practice the squadron formation one last time. You'll have the afternoon to rest and think about our target.

  "We'll leave an hour after sundown tomorrow night."

  * * * *

  There was one further bit of business to take care of, which Hal had been reminded of during the recon flight.

  He'd gone to Lord Cantabri for permission.

  "Why not?" the scar-faced man had asked. "I should have thought of it myself. Your fliers don't seem to have a long life, and they might as well live what they've got with all the advantages we can give them.

  "But I can't knight them. Only the king can do that."

  "I don't think," Hal said, "that I've got many fliers that give a rat's nostril about being a sir.

  "Unless, of course, there's money or a particularly gaudy medal that goes with it."

  Mynta Gart was promoted captain, as were all three of the flight commanders. Farren Mariah was commissioned lieutenant, as were Sir Loren and the Sagenes, Danikel and Rer Alcmaen.

  It should have made for a raucous celebration. But not with the mission on the morrow. And not under Hal's controlling eye.

  A glass of sparkling wine with the evening meal, then a brandy, and that was enough.

  Cabet came up to Hal, looking a bit worried.

  "Yes, young Captain?" Hal asked jovially, even though Cabet had to be five years older than Hal.

  Cabet wondered what these promotions were going to do to discipline.

  "Nothing," Hal said. "Or there'll be a sudden increase in ex-officers."

  "If this goes on," Cabet said, "we'll have the whole damned squadron commissioned."

  "And what would be the matter with that?" Hal asked.

  Cabet started to say something, stopped, frowned, then shook his head and left Hal alone.

  Farren Mariah, of course, said he was outraged, that he didn't want to be an officer, that none of his family had ever been officers, whose only real job was kissing the ass of noblemen, but they were proud, independent.

  However, when Hal left the mess, he saw Farren, sitting on a wagon with Chincha, and saw his hand continually stroking his new rank tab.

  * * * *

  The butchers at the other fields had set to their task, killing the animals intended for dragon fodder, and canvas-wrapping the carcasses, as had been done for Hal's reconnaissance.

  * * * *

  "I should ask to fly with you," Sir Thom said. "For this will be a tale worth the seeing. The eyewitness account of how the Dragonmaster singed the Queen's… uh, she doesn't have a beard, now does she?"

  "No, you shouldn't ask," Hal said flatly. "First, if we run into any Roche dragon flights, you'd weigh me down.

  "Second, somebody's got to cover the First Squadron with glory.

  "And if you go and do something dumb like fall off, who can we bring in to sing our praises?"

  Sir Thom was palpably relieved. Hal hid a grin. He still remembered Lowess's discomfort at being close to the sharp end during the battle of Kalabas.

  * * * *

  The greater moon was on the wane, the smaller already set as they took off that night.

  Hal was the first away, and he brought Storm, who was carrying the carcasses of a pig and a calf strapped under his belly, around over the field in a slow orbit as the others cleared the ground and formed on him.

  There were fifty-nine dragons in the air. Hal thought that was perhaps the most that had ever been flown at once, certainly the most that had ever taken off on a single mission.

  They circled the field one final time, climbing for height, and far below Sir Loren's dragon sent up a lonely honk.

  Still climbing, they flew toward the lines.

  A single Deraine lookout, on a rocky, bare outcropping, saw the dragons, and began waving.

  It was a sign for Hal, he decided, but he didn't know of what. He took it as good luck.


  They crossed the lines at five hundred feet, flying above the scattered clouds.

  Hal flew at the point, followed by Cabet and his 18th flight. On either side flew Richia's 34th flight and Pisidia's 20th. Above the formation flew Hal's own 11th flight, Gart at its head, guarding against the slight possibility there might be a Roche patrol aloft and above them.

  But the air was empty, and if they were seen by the Roche below, Hal saw no sign of an alarm.

  Hal led the formation on, flying by the moon and by compass, all that night, and into the next dawn.

  It was early morning when their first stop came clear, and Hal brought the dragons down toward the meadow.

  In its middle was a long yellow cloth panel.

  That was the arranged signal the stay-behind raider was to use if there were no intruders. He'd been spell-sealed by Limingo not to reveal that information, even under torture.

  The great formation landed, and each flier unloaded and fed his dragon.

  Richia came to him, said one flier from his flight had to turn back. His dragon was flying oddly, as if a wing had been sprained.

  Fifty-eight fliers.

  Hal decided to press his luck, and not wait for nightfall, but get farther away from the front lines.

  This second stage would be a long day, for as soon as the dragons were fed and watered, and given two hours' rest, their gear was loaded on, and, protesting, tired, the flight moved on to the next stop.

  Again, they crossed the rich valley, and this time were seen by some riders, and a group of farmworkers, who shouted and waved.

  Hal had given orders if something like this happened, and so his fliers waved back, and shouted enthusiastically. Hal had a Roche banner rolled and tied against his carapace, and he let it fly free, and heard cheering from below.

  They flew on, and saw, once, far in the distance, a pair of dragons. Hal couldn't tell if they were wild or not. But they saw the formation, and hastily dove out of sight.

  It was late afternoon when they came down on the lake, after having seen the yellow banner waiting.

  Hal had worried about the dragons wanting to sport about in the water, but they were too tired, and, after being fed, curled under the trees and went promptly to sleep.

  The raider they'd left as guard had taken game, set up racks, and had smoked meat for the fliers, an unexpected change from the rations they carried.