She gave a shocked laugh, raising her eyebrows. “I’ll land one on you right now!” she said, punching his arm again, and then the other one.
Calen started laughing, too, fending her off. Or trying to; it was harder to avoid her fists than her spells.
“Okay, okay!” he said. “I’m sorry!”
“Take it back!” she said, still swinging.
He hesitated, pretending to consider. “Well . . .”
She lunged at him suddenly, and then they were on the ground. Before he knew what was happening, she was sitting on top of him, pinning his arms to the ground. Gods, she was strong!
“Take it back, apprentice! Or I’ll make you sorry!”
She was still laughing, but something seemed different now. He didn’t think she was angry, not really. Just . . . different. He couldn’t quite figure out how, though.
“Okay,” Calen said. “I take it back. I do. You don’t scrunch up your eyebrows. Ever. They barely ever move at all. Not like your hands, which always twitch just a little before you —”
“Oh, that’s it,” she said, and started tickling him.
“Stop!” Calen cried through his laughter. It was somehow both excruciating and delightful; he couldn’t quite bear it, but at the same time he didn’t entirely want her to stop. “I’m sorry! I mean it! I was just teasing!”
“Promise you’ll never do it again.”
“I promise! I’m sorry!”
She tickled him for a few more seconds, then sat back and looked down at him. They were even more sweaty now.
“How — how did you learn to do that?” Calen had never been tackled and tickled within an inch of his life like that before. In fact, his tickling experience was decidedly on the small side.
“I had five brothers, growing up,” she said, smirking. “I know how to get boys to behave.”
“I’ll say,” Calen said. He pushed her off, but gently.
She let herself be pushed, and they sat there on the floor, recovering.
“I don’t really have a tell, do I?” she asked after a moment.
“No,” Calen said. “Really. I’m not sure why I was so fast before. Just having a good night, I guess.”
She looked at him, her expression unreadable. “Yeah,” she said. “Me, too.”
She climbed to her feet and headed for the door.
Calen stayed where he was, wondering what she’d meant.
MEG WAS AWAKE LONG BEFORE PELA came to rouse her.
Both girls were quiet while Pela helped her dress. Meg was relieved to see that Pela had selected a very simple outfit — plain and practical riding clothes in a color similar to the soldiers’ uniforms. Meg smiled at Pela in the mirror as the younger girl finished tying Meg’s hair back in two sturdy braids and bound them together with a thick band that matched the rest of her clothing.
“Thank you, Pela. So much. For everything.”
Pela flushed, but she couldn’t quite hide her own smile. “Think nothing of it, Princess. And don’t speak to me as though you’re never going to see me again. You and Jakl will cow these Lourin soldiers and be back home before you know it.”
“Of course.”
After one last going-over to make sure Meg looked as well turned out as she could manage, Pela released her. Meg kissed Pela’s hands and turned toward the door. Then she turned back.
“Don’t forget what I said,” she told Pela.
“I won’t, Princess. If you’re not back in time, I’ll make sure they get Apprentice Calen back home safe.”
Meg nodded and then opened the door and walked out.
Jakl was waiting for her in his field, sitting up alertly under the still-dark sky. He was looking forward to getting to fight, she knew.
“Ready?” she asked him. Needlessly, of course. He was more than ready. Meg supposed she was really asking herself. But that was needless, too. She had to be ready, didn’t she? It was time to go.
She climbed up, and he flew them over to the soldiers’ barracks.
They were early; the rest of Varyn’s company hadn’t yet arrived. Captain Varyn was there, though, and he came out to meet her.
“You’re ready for this,” he said, watching as she slid from her dragon’s back. “The both of you. I know you’re going to make us proud.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
He looked at her a moment in silence. Then he said, “What the king said last night is correct, of course, Your Highness. It is essential that you keep Jakl in line. But at the same time, you must not forget that we are at war. The men you will face out there on the battlefield are our enemies. If given the chance, they would kill us all. You must not hold back more than necessary. Do you understand? I’ll need you and the dragon under control, but still at full ferocity. We must clear the way for Kragnir’s forces.”
“I — yes, sir.” Meg spoke with more confidence than she felt. She believed she’d made the situation clear to Jakl through the link last night before she fell asleep. As clear as it was to her, anyway. But it all still felt very . . . complicated. How would she know how far she could let him go? How would she be able to tell where the line was? You’ll just figure it out, she told herself. You will do what you have to do. And you’ll help Jakl to do only what he must.
“All right, then.” Captain Varyn raised his head to gaze up at Jakl, who was sitting proudly on his haunches. “I hope your dragon is all rested up and ready for some heavy lifting.”
“He’s ready for whatever you need, Captain.”
It turned out that the first thing Captain Varyn needed was for Jakl to carry most of the armor and other supplies on the way to Kragnir, to let the horses travel lighter and faster. Jakl had already practiced carrying supplies (as well as soldiers) in the large cases and carts the castle carpenters had constructed for those purposes. There were several different models, some with wheels, some without, with different interior layouts and sizes, all able to be rigged up to a harness and ferried by dragon to wherever they needed to go. He’d never carried any of them all day for several days in a row before, but Meg had no doubt that he could do it. When she thought the question at him, he was disdainful of Captain Varyn’s assumption that this would even qualify as “heavy lifting” for an enormous powerful creature like himself.
As the other soldiers began to assemble, carrying gear and supplies, several came over to speak with her or say hello to Jakl. They’d developed the habit of touching him for luck, and Jakl permitted this with an interesting blend of pride and amusement. Meg had come to know all of them over the time they’d trained together, and liked them in addition to respecting them. They were good men (although some seemed little older than boys, really), and while many had been hesitant about Jakl at first — and about her — she’d watched them change their minds as they saw what she and the dragon could do. She thought they were all, herself included, excited to see how well they could fight together in a real battle.
She noticed some faces missing, though, as she looked around.
“Where are the others?” she asked Zeb as he came up to give Jakl’s neck a quick pat.
“We’re down five this morning,” he said. “Wounded in the fighting last night. Nothing life-threatening, but Captain says they’re not to come. They’re mad as — uh, well, they’re pretty mad about it, Princess.”
“I don’t blame them,” she said truthfully. “I’d be mad, too. Although the captain’s right, of course.”
“One more score to settle when we get the chance, eh?”
Meg nodded emphatically. “Oh, yes.”
When she looked around again, she saw Devan walking toward the supply cart. He blushed when he saw her looking, but held up his bundles of gear to show her that her armor was included in his haul. She nodded to show that she understood.
“Does he ever speak?” she asked Zeb. “Or is it that he just won’t speak to me?”
Zeb followed her gaze to where Devan was tossing his bundles into the cart. “Ah, he’s a q
uiet one; that’s certain. He is capable of speech; I’ve heard him. But he doesn’t talk much, and never to girls.”
“But . . . why not?”
Zeb shrugged. “Just shy, I expect. He’s never said, as you might have guessed. Top theories among the rest of us are that he never met a girl until he came up to join the army, or that he was raised entirely by women his whole life until he escaped to come here and has learned to be afraid of them.” He flashed her a quick apologetic grin. “No offense meant, Princess.”
She laughed. “None taken. I just wish he wasn’t afraid of me.”
“Oh, he’s not,” Zeb said, sounding surprised. “I’ve seen the way he smiles around you. You should see him with other girls. You’re the only one he can be around for more than a second without fleeing in terror.”
“Oh,” Meg said. “I’m glad to know that. But I’m still going to get him to talk to me one day.”
“I hope you do,” Zeb said. “Lots of the boys have been betting on how long it will take. I’ve got a decent amount riding on your success, Princess.” He flashed her another grin, this one decidedly less apologetic, and then ran off before she could decide whether she was furious or flattered or both.
By the time first light fully arrived, the supplies were packed and everyone was ready to go. In addition to their own company, they were bringing a pair of field-trained medics and several of their assistants, as well as a cook and a team of camp hands who would take care of the horses and other tasks as needed. When Meg commented on all the extra people, the soldiers near her laughed.
“This is nothing, Princess,” Erik told her by way of explanation. “Usually there’s a whole army of nonfighting types — Captain’s only bringing the absolute essentials this time.”
Meg had never thought about it before, she realized — how many people it took to maintain an army in the field. Blacksmiths, leatherworkers, medics, cooks, laundresses . . . there was a long list, apparently. The commander and Captain Varyn were counting on this not being a very long engagement, or else they’d never be able to get away with the small number they were bringing along.
When the soldiers formed ranks, Meg climbed up onto her dragon, checked the rigging once more to make sure the supply cart was securely fastened to Jakl’s harness, and waited for Captain Varyn’s command to fly out.
The soldiers were on horseback and would travel at least part of the way on the winding roads through the Hunterheart Forest. Meg and Jakl would risk drawing too much attention flying above them there, and since Varyn wanted to maintain the element of surprise as long as possible, he sent them on a separate course, different each day, with instructions on where to meet the rest of the company each night. She was also supposed to fly low enough at certain points to be easily seen by enemy soldiers, helping to mislead them regarding the dragon’s true destination. Captain Varyn had gone over the maps with her beforehand, but he’d also sent a soldier along to ride with her, just in case she got lost or ran into any trouble. She couldn’t imagine what sort of trouble he anticipated that one soldier would be better equipped to handle than her dragon, but she didn’t argue. It was Liame riding with her that first day; he was another quiet one, although nowhere near as quiet as Devan. Meg didn’t mind; she liked being alone with her thoughts and her link with Jakl while they flew.
They traveled until near sunset and then met up with the others as they made camp. Meg had a tent of her own to sleep in, and with Jakl curled up outside, there was no question about her safety.
Still, she had trouble finding sleep. Jakl was his usual comforting presence, but she still felt . . . lonely, she supposed. Lonely, and impatient, and anxious.
Why are you so eager to be in battle? she asked herself for about the hundredth time. But she knew why. She had never been any good at waiting. When you knew something was inevitable, even something unpleasant — especially something unpleasant — the best course was generally to get it over and done with as soon as possible. And truthfully, the prospect of this battle did not seem entirely unpleasant to her. She wanted to fight the Lourin soldiers. She wanted to punish them for what they’d done last night, for what they were still doing with their blockade of the Kragnir pass and the ongoing fighting all around her father’s lands, for everything since this stupid war had started. Her people had only just settled the last war with Maerlie’s wedding; they deserved more than a few months of peace. They deserved a lifetime of peace. And she was going to help them get it.
She must have slept eventually, because suddenly it was morning. They struck camp, and Meg and Jakl flew out again on their own course with the supplies, this time with Zeb for company.
The journey was supposed to take them seven days, but Captain Varyn had warned Meg that nothing ever went truly according to plan in war (or most other times, either), and in the end it took them twelve. They lost two days to a bad storm that was too severe to ride through and left several fallen trees across the road that had to be dragged away or chopped through before the horses could press on. The other three were spent diverting from their planned route to avoid encountering a company of Lourin soldiers the Trelian advance scouts had discovered. They couldn’t afford to waste time or strength along the way; they needed to throw everything they had at the enemies blocking the Kragnir pass.
On the evening of the twelfth day, they prepared for what would happen in the morning. They were still a few hours’ ride from where their scouts had told them the Lourin soldiers were. Varyn’s plotted course would let them get as close as possible without being seen before they attacked. Jakl would walk with the horses, on the ground — an idea he found entirely incomprehensible, but he understood that it was what Meg wanted, so that’s what he would do.
Meg thought she would lie awake a long time that night, but to her surprise she fell asleep almost at once. In the morning, she thought perhaps it was because the waiting was finally over. Gods, but she hated waiting! Today they would finally get to fight. And win.
They left all the extra supplies and everyone who wasn’t a soldier behind when they headed out. Jakl found the slow walking ridiculous, but he tolerated it in as good a humor as he could manage. Meg kept catching bits of sarcastic dragon-thoughts about snail-paced horses and poor wingless humans who had to ride them or move even more slowly. We’ll get our chance to fly, she thought at him. Just you wait.
Finally, Captain Varyn called a halt. Everyone dismounted and took a last chance to check armor and saddle girths and anything else they could think to check. Devan came over to silently adjust the fastenings of Meg’s leather breastplate, and she smiled at him gratefully. They had wanted her to wear a leather helm as well, but she hated the way it restricted her vision. She needed to be able to see. And besides, the chances of anything reaching her where she would be were very small. Captain Varyn had reluctantly relented.
“All right,” Varyn said, his low voice carrying just loudly enough among their tight circle. “Just over that ridge, we’re going to encounter the enemy. Your king and your commander have sent us here to clear this pass and let the reinforcements through, and that is exactly what we are going to do. These men think they have an idea of what it’s like to fight Trelian. But we’re going to show them a whole new side to our beloved kingdom, with the help of our secret weapon.” He looked at Meg, and all the other soldiers did, too, many dipping their heads and making the sign of the Lady with their hands. “They all know we have a dragon, but they don’t truly understand what that means. Today, we’re going to show them.”
In pairs and small groups, the men all clustered around to touch Jakl for luck. Even Captain Varyn. Meg found herself suddenly blinking back tears as she saw how reverently they pressed their hands to whatever part of him they could reach, touching fingers to scales, then stepping back to allow others a chance to get close. It was not so long ago that her parents had thought no one would ever accept a princess with a dragon. That her link with Jakl was a curse rather than a blessing. She wished
they could see what was happening right now.
And then the soldiers were mounting up and getting into formation, just as they had a million times in training. Meg climbed back onto her dragon, who was practically dancing beneath her, so eager was he to begin. Easy, she thought at him, although she understood exactly how he felt. Very soon now.
And then it was time.
Captain Varyn gave the signal, and the horses surged forward, and Jakl shot into the sky and over the ridge.
The first thing Meg saw was the enemy, laid out before them. There are so many of them, she thought. So many!
She’d never seen so many soldiers in one place before. Soldiers and horses and so many other things that her brain struggled to take all of it in. It doesn’t matter, she told herself. You have your orders. You know what you have to do.
And she did. The first thing was just to show off a little. That part was pretty easy. She gave Jakl free rein, and he circled above the enemy soldiers, screaming his battle cry and sending a pure, bright stream of liquid fire into the air above them.
Below, soldiers ran everywhere. The rest of her company came riding hard into the center of the Lourin camp, swinging swords and crying, “Trelian!” and “King Tormon!”— and, she was startled to hear, “Dragon Princess!”
And then the fighting began for real.
Meg tore her eyes away, trying not to think about the blood she had already seen starting to spill. We have a job to do, and if we do it right, then we can stop the bloodshed once and for all. She knew that was so, and believed in it. But suddenly she felt reluctant to put this next part of the plan into action.
Jakl, however, was not. He had picked up on her hatred of Lourin, both because of what she and Tessel had suffered at the hands of King Gerald and his people and because of the ongoing war, the fact that King Gerald would not stand down, even though he knew there was no basis for this fighting, that everything was based on Sen Eva’s lies. And more than that, Jakl was made for flying and fighting. He spent a lot of time lying around and getting his scales rubbed, but that was not his true nature, and they both knew it. This was his true nature: this soaring, screaming, fire-breathing glory, and he had been waiting for this for far too long.
The Mage of Trelian Page 11
