by Chris Bunch
Lanzi had been completely destroyed.
True to his word, forcing callousness, he ordered the fliers who'd broken—his three, and four from other flights—off the base, and back to the replacement companies.
What happened to them when they got there, whether they were grounded, or given another chance, mattered not at all to him.
He gave his fliers one night to drink themselves into sodden forgetfulness, if they could. The next morning, he put them into hard physical training and flying.
No one would be permitted time to brood about what had happened, even though he knew Lanzi would always be at the back of their minds.
There were no celebrations of this victory, no boasting, not even from Alcmaen.
* * * *
What had happened to Lanzi quickly spread across Deraine, but in a very muted manner, without celebration.
Even the normally jingoistic broadsheets dealt with the horror with circumspection.
Possibly even the most rabid taleteller realized that something different had come to war, something even more terrible than the traditional sacking of a city. If men could ruin a metropolis from afar, without bloodying their hands, would common decency, already mostly a fiction on the battlefield, completely vanish?
It was a question never asked, never answered.
Now the feats, mostly made up by the taletellers, of the Dragonmaster and his squadron were muted, and the stream of love letters to Hal from strangers dropped away.
But there were exceptions. The adulation the Sagene had for Danikel seemed to redouble. Hal wondered if they had known the idea for leveling Lanzi had come from him would have lessened their adulation. On consideration, he thought not. Sagene, he'd noted, hated hard, and, after all, it was their country that had been invaded to start the war.
Kailas got a new group of supporters, members of groups with strange names like Deraine First, Derainians Supporting Our Men and Women in Uniform, Sorrowing Mothers for the War, Derainians for Decisive Action, and so forth. Those letters he threw away unanswered and unopened. There were also single letters, almost all from men, most of which began with: "Dear Lord Kailas… I never had the privilege of serving the colors, but what you've done strikes a chord…" Those too, after the first handful, went into the trash bin.
Hal supposed everyone thought there were two merciless monsters in Deraine's ranks—himself and Lord Cantabri.
He tried to push it away, but it bothered him, like it bothered the others who'd been in the attack.
Strangely enough, Khiri, who he expected would have been most upset by what had happened, with her husband as the cause, seemed to know nothing of the matter. She never brought it up on her periodic visits to Hal, and seemed more passionate, more caring than before.
Perhaps Hal should have brought it up with her, and exposed his heart, but he didn't, grateful for what appeared acceptance of the realities of the day, and feeling far too tired to look behind the surface.
* * * *
The blockade continued, and Hal and the King's First Squadron returned to the normal duties of scouting for the inshore blockade, and chivying any ships they found.
Lanzi remained a ruin, with only a scattering of people who returned to its desolation, evidently having nowhere else to go.
Now Kailas took his whispering death further upriver, where small boats met coasters in camouflaged inlets, hastily breaking down cargo into deck loads, and scurrying south, away from the dragons.
It was still dangerous—Hal lost two dragons to the weather, two more who just disappeared—but now it was becoming routine.
Hal considered, decided that it was time for him, and his fliers, to return to the real war. Any collection of dragon flights could handle the blockade. Enough people had told him the First Squadron was to be used for special duties and the most hazardous tasks for him to believe it.
Besides, he now had a target worth pursuing, one that was very capable of striking back.
Not sure of who he should importune, Kailas sent a request directly to the king.
He was owed a favor.
36
The streets of Rozen were a-tilt with cheering crowds, dancing trollops, blaring bands, amateur and professional, and happy drunkards.
It must be a famous victory, Hal thought, reined in his horse and tossed a vender a copper for a broadsheet. It was only a single sheet, which meant whatever had happened occurred just recently.
It was, indeed, a famous victory.
Queen Norcia Overthrown!
Barons Take Charge
Of Roche, War
"Holy shit," Hal said in astonishment, then read on.
According to the broadsheet, the barons had been most unhappy with her conduct of the war for some time. That was news to Hal. Not that he doubted it, but he wondered how some hack had gotten intelligence that no one, up to King Asir, seemed to possess.
The head of the conspiracy was the queen's onetime confidant, Duke Garcao Yasin. After Norcia had been deposed, a caretaker government had been formed by the dukes and barons of Roche, under Yasin's direction.
There was nothing in the story about whether Norcia had survived the overthrow, who the caretaker government was caretaking for, nor even whether Norcia had any offspring, legitimate or not.
In any event, Yasin had issued a proclamation saying the war would be pursued more vigorously, with victory over the invaders, Sagene and Deraine, being the absolute and only acceptable goal.
So they wouldn't be suing for peace… at least if the broadsheet was correct.
Hal smiled, thinking his own thoughts.
This sudden change boded well for his mission.
* * * *
"I suppose I do not stand particularly high in your esteem at the moment, Lord Kalabas," King Asir said formally, not turning away from the window he was staring out of.
Hal decided not to answer the question.
"King's aren't supposed to be cowards," Asir said. "But all too often, we are. That was why I didn't endorse your plan to destroy Lanzi, and have distanced myself from the results.
"But now… now, with Norcia toppled from her throne, which was directly caused by your action… now I not only look the coward, but the fool as well."
Hal managed some meaningless noises.
"So, before we go on any further, might I ask why you asked this meeting?"
"Yes, sire," Hal said, deciding to keep it brief. "The blockade is running very smoothly. I think a conventional group of dragon flights will suffice to continue the pressure.
"I wish to have my squadron deployed, back to the First Army.
"If you allow this, I intend to devote the squadron's full efforts to the destruction of Ky Bayle Yasin and his First Guards Dragon Squadron. He's the best they've got, and now, if the broadsheet I read is correct about his brother, he will be even more in the public's eye. His destruction—"
The king held up his hand, and Hal shut up instantly. Asir turned, and Hal was puzzled to see relief on his face.
"Thank the gods for one thing," the king said. "I was afraid you'd come here to tender your resignation."
"Why would I do something like that?" Hal was honestly puzzled. Maybe it was growing up mean and poor in a corrupt mining district, but Kailas had never expected much from his bosses, whether they were kings or no.
The king blinked.
"If I had the time, which I do not, with this latest confusion from Roche going on, I would pour us both a drink. But I don't, and won't.
"I'll figure a way to reward you for the action that led to the change, which can only be good for us, since no group rules as efficiently—or sometimes inefficiently—as a single person, king or queen. We could have hoped this would be a regency for peace. It is not.
"So the war will go on, and we can anticipate it shall be with growing savagery. So be it.
"The Roche have had at least two chances. We can afford no more generosity.
"Now it will continue to the
bitter end, until Carcaor lies in ruins, like Lanzi.
"I assume you have a plan to hound Yasin and his dragons to their deaths. Good. Go to it, sir. And I'll see you when the war is over."
37
Hal turned the task of packing and moving the squadron back to Cantabri's positions over to Sir Loren, and went back to Rozen. He sought out Limingo the wizard.
He thought he knew how to finally trap Ky Yasin, but needed a magician's help.
To his disappointment, Limingo turned him down.
"Your theory sounds perfectly valid," the magician said. "So your plan should work excellent well. But the casting of the spell won't take a great deal of ability. I'll lend you Bodrugan, who should be quite competent, and is clawing for a chance to get back to the front."
Limingo noted Hal's expression.
"I'm not turning arrogant on you… I'm up to my eyebrows in another task, one that might be a bit more important in the long run."
Hal made understanding sounds.
"Have a seat," Limingo said. "I was going to send for you in the next couple of weeks anyway, since the matter pertains to you.
"One thing that has troubled me is that damned great demon—if that's what it is—you and your dragon fliers aroused when you raided Carcaor. Assuming that apparition wasn't something spontaneous, which I certainly don't think, that means that the armies will almost certainly have to confront—and destroy—whatever it is when they close on that city, even though we have no idea whether it can leave its mountaintop and that damned castle it inhabits."
"I know," Hal agreed. "And I've been trying to think of what we might do."
"Well," Limingo said, "I happen to have a bit more information than you do. You remember that raider you set atop that mountain to stand guard until you returned with your dragons?"
"I do," Hal said. "Poor bastard must've gotten eaten by the demon… or been done away with however demons kill people."
"Not quite," Limingo said. "Three weeks ago, he wandered across our lines in the south. Somehow he managed to travel all those leagues without getting killed or captured.
"The problem is that he's quite raving mad.
"They returned him to his unit, which thankfully is under Lord Bab's direct control. He remembered the man, and what had happened to him, and sent him, with a pair of minders, on to me."
"Mad, you say?"
"Babblingly so," Limingo said. "I've set a team of secretaries on him, so that everything he says, no matter how nonsensical, is recorded and transcribed."
"What does that give us?"
"So far, nothing," Limingo said. "But I'd like to send on a copy of his ravings, to see if you can find anything in it."
"So the man lived," Hal mused. "I wonder what he did—if anything—to escape being killed by the demon."
"I don't know yet," Limingo said.
"Have your writers try to draw him out about what happened," Kailas suggested.
"That might make him worse," Limingo said.
"Or it might give us something to work from," Hal said. "We'll have to take our chances that the man lives."
Limingo looked at him thoughtfully.
"The war is getting to us all, isn't it?"
Hal didn't respond.
* * * *
Bodrugan was more than delighted to get out of Rozen. He listened to Hal's plan, and nodded.
"Of course," he said, "the spell will essentially be the same as the one Roche cast against the king to ambush him in the Pinnacles. That won't be the hard part at all. What will be a bit… difficult, shall we say, is actually belling the cat."
"Don't remind me," Hal said.
* * * *
Hal reported to Cantabri, who said he was more than delighted to have Kailas—and the First Squadron—back.
"And it's good to be back," Hal said. "Lanzi left a pretty sour taste in my mouth."
He realized he wouldn't have admitted that to anyone except another butcher like Cantabri.
Lord Bab snorted. "If you figure a way to have a war without killing people—and that includes civilians—be sure and let me know."
That was the unanswerable.
"How long until your squadron arrives?"
"I figure about a week, with Sir Loren chivying them along," Hal said. "When I left Rozen, he was still beating up assorted quartermasters to replace lost, worn and stolen."
"That's time enough for you to take charge of a delicate matter for me," Cantabri said. "I want you to head a court-martial."
"Very well," Hal said, not liking the idea much. "But why me?"
"It's a fairly simple case of refusing to obey orders," Cantabri said. "But the culprit just happens to be a dragon flier."
Hal grunted.
"He's not the first," Cantabri said. "But he managed to make his refusal to fight a public issue. A couple of those damned taletellers reported the matter, so we can't handle it quietly as we have in the past by breaking him to the ranks and putting him in the front lines to get killed when the next battle rolls around."
"Do you happen to know his name?" Hal asked, hoping he wouldn't know the miscreant. But, considering the size of the dragon corps, he assumed he'd know.
"I do. And what's worse, he's a longtime flier, decorated, and has led flights. He's a rotten apple named Aimard Quesney."
Cantabri noticed Hal's expression.
"You do know him."
"Very well, sir." Hal told him about Quesney, how he'd been one of the first to fly with Hal in combat, been his tent-mate and someone who'd prized war flying as somehow cleaner than dying in a mucky infantry charge.
Cantabri hmmphed loudly.
"A godsdamned romantic! How in the hells can somebody be a flier, a fighter, from almost the beginning and still have blinders on?"
"I don't know, sir," Hal said. "But he cursed me roundly back when for figuring a way to kill Roche fliers—as if I hadn't, no one else would've—and then, more recently, when I tried to recruit him for First Squadron. He's an exceptional flier."
"I don't give a damn about that very much," Cantabri said. "Very well. You're to take care of him. Give him a nice, fair trial, try to keep his lip buttoned and the trial over with in no more than a day, then convict and hang him before other fools start thinking of him as an example."
Hal stood, and saluted.
As he went out of Cantabri's tent, something came crashing in on him.
He, too, was a godsdamned romantic.
There was no way he was going to officiate at the murder of Aimard Quesney.
The question was, what could he do to change what looked like an immutable decision?
38
"The court will come to order," the bailiff said.
There was silence in the conference tent.
"The court martial of Aimard Quesney is now in session," the man went on. The words came easily to him—he, Quesney's counsel and the prosecutor were the only ones with any trial experience.
Hal, hastily briefed in military legal procedure, sat at the center of a table. On either side of him were his fellow judges—Lord Myricil, a beribboned if elderly infantry officer, and Tzimsces, an eager-appearing, young quartermaster captain.
In front of him, at another, smaller table, was Aimard Quesney, and the officer assigned to defend him.
Behind them were the assembled witnesses, including Captain Sir Lu Miletus, Quesney's commanding officer.
On the table in front of Hal and the other judges was an unsheathed sword. At trial's end, if the point were aimed at Quesney, he was guilty; if away, innocent.
No one in the tent thought there was any possibility of an acquittal.
"Lieutenant Aimard Quesney is charged with failure to obey a lawful order in the face of the enemy, to wit fly in combat against His Majesty's enemy, the Roche."
There were other charges—insubordination, improper behavior, and such that courts have always used to make sure the net they'd casting is sufficiently broad and fine-meshed.
> "This case is a capital one," the bailiff said, "so it is emphasized the matter is an extremely grave one."
Everyone in the court looked appropriately grim, except for Quesney, who grinned wryly.
"The head of the court is Lord Kailas of Kalabas," the bailiff finished, "and all matters of procedure and evidence will be subject to his ruling."
The prosecutor stood.
"May it please the honorable members of this court, the king's representative, myself, will attempt to prove that—"
"You can stop there," Quesney said.
Wide eyes and shock spread through the tent.
For some reason, Hal wasn't surprised, nor bothered.
"The defendant will be silent until permitted to speak at the proper time," the bailiff said.
Hal held up his hand.
"A man on trial for his life might be permitted a few liberties," he said. "I'm sure the King's Justice can allow for that."
Now the shock grew larger.
"Lieutenant Quesney," Kailas said, "I assume you have something to say?"
Quesney looked perplexed, then took a deep breath.
"I do. I assume that the court is bound and determined to find me guilty of refusing to fly into combat.
"I say this considering who the head judge is, a man who brought death to the skies, and then to the innocent people on the ground.
"If this were a proper court, that is, one determined to decide whether or not I was right in refusing to kill any more men and women, it would exclude Lord Kailas as being prejudiced on the matter, since he is, with all due respect, sir, the bloodiest-handed flier in any of the three armies."
"Sir!" the bailiff snarled. "Sit down, or I shall be forced to have you gagged!"
"Gag me if you will," Quesney said. "But this court should be prepared to delve into the matter of uniformed homicide before judging me."
"You are hardly helping your case," Myricil said calmly.
"If you want to be hanged," Tzimsces added, "we're more than prepared to help you in your quest."
Hal rapped sharply with his knuckles.
"I gave Lieutenant Quesney permission to speak," he said, "and have not withdrawn that permission. I would request the members of this court to honor my authority."
