by Chris Bunch
He picked her up in his arms, carried her to the bed, and pulled back the feather comforter.
She lay looking up at him, half smiling.
“And I don’t want you dirtying my nice flannel sheets with those clompy boots of yours.”
Hal sat, obediently pulled off the boots.
He heard a whisper of silk, turned, and saw Khiri, naked. Hal suddenly felt thickheaded, and it wasn’t from the wine. He undressed, fingers feeling like awkward balloons.
“Now, come to me,” Khiri said, and her voice was a noblewoman’s command.
Hal knelt over her, eased himself down, half across her body, kissed her, felt her nipples hardening against him.
Then it was as if the seas outside took them, spinning them high into the night sky.
Near dawn, Khiri said, her face muffled by the pillow, “I guess . . . this means I’m not your nurse . . . anymore.”
Hal gasped.
“Probably not.”
“That’s good,” Khiri said, and then lost her words as they moved together.
From that night on, they shared a common bed, and no one in the castle seemed to disapprove.
Hal, in spite of Khiri’s best efforts to decoy him into sloth, continued his exercising.
Then, one day, a bright day that hinted of spring, he knew.
He was fully recovered.
And it was time to go back to war.
30
Hal wrote his intentions to Lord Cantabri, but before he had a reply a royal messenger fought his way through the deep new year snows with a summons to King Asir’s court.
“Which will be for what?” Hal wondered.
“Why, you dummy, your honors for being a good little hero about to go into retirement,” Khiri said. “And then you’ll get them all taken away for not being a good little hero who’s going into retirement.
“You dummy.”
The messenger was very glad to make his return to Rozen in one of Khiri’s carriages, his horse tied behind. For an instant Hal had wondered why they were taking two carriages. Khiri had sighed in exasperation.
“Because, dummy, if there’s another person in the nice warm carriage, I can’t do this to you.”
She slipped to her knees, and reached for him.
And so they set out, with three carriages, which included Lady Khiri’s entourage and road supplies, slowly making their way east from country inn to country inn, until they reached the outskirts of the capital.
“I suppose we can find somewhere to put up,” Hal said. “Still being unpaid, I can borrow money from you.”
“You’ll not borrow money from anyone,” Khiri said. “We’ll be staying at Sir Thom’s.”
“Oh. You wrote him?”
“Shut up, hero dummy. I don’t need to.”
And so it proved.
They were lavishly welcomed by Lowess, and given a separate suite.
“Now this shall be a tale,” he said. “The bravest warrior, in love with Deraine’s loveliest lady.
“I can hear the sound of whimperings from those not so fortunate already.”
And he licked his lips.
Hal made himself visit the King’s Own Menagerie to tell Saslic’s father of her death.
“My only daughter,” the man said sadly. “Bound and determined to fly, and to fight. My wife’s gone, and now Saslic is with her.
“It’s a cold, lonely world, Sir Hal. I’m glad to be old, and not long for it, for it holds little warmth for me, beyond my beasts.”
The short, fat man was all business. He introduced himself as one of King Asir’s equerries.
“Since you’ve already been presented at court,” he said, “I shan’t have to inform you as to protocol.
“The king proposes to make you a lord.”
Hal blinked.
“In addition to other matters which he’ll inform you of personally. One of the reasons I’m here is to ask what title you’d prefer to have.
“Lord Kailas of Caerly, perhaps?”
Hal smiled tightly. He found no need to mention the money he sent his parents every time he was paid.
“No,” he said. “I don’t think I’ll be returning there, ever. Caerly’s a good place to be from. A long ways from.”
The equerry forced a smile in acknowledgment. “What, then?”
Hal had only to think for a minute.
“Lord Kailas . . . of Kalabas.”
“Oh dear,” the equerry said, sounding shaken. “The king will not be pleased with that, I know. Kalabas is something I doubt if he wants to be reminded of. Many of his most loyal subjects, including Lord Hamil, died there.”
“I had . . . friends who died there, as well,” Hal said.
The equerry saw the look in Hal’s eyes, nodded tightly, didn’t pursue the matter.
“Matters such as your pension, other benefits, can wait until later.”
“As long as I’m ruining your master’s, the king’s, day, let me complete the job,” Hal said, and went on.
“Oh dear, oh dear, the king will definitely be unhappy,” was all the equerry had to say.
King Asir named Hal Lord Kailas of Kalabas with barely a flicker, said, as he had when he ennobled Lord Cantabri, there would be other honors as well, requested Lord Kailas’ presence in his private chambers.
Another equerry escorted Kailas down a long corridor, into a surprisingly simply furnished room.
The king was pouring a drink from a decanter.
“You, sir?”
“With all pleasure, Your Majesty.”
“I think I said something, back when I knighted you, that Deraine needed new thinkers.”
“You did, sire.”
“Why are new thinkers generally such pains in the ass?”
Hal sipped at his drink, realized he would probably never have as fine a brandy in his life, didn’t respond.
“What I had proposed for you was giving you some estates, so you wouldn’t starve, a proper pension so you could sire sons or bastards, depending on your feelings, who’d become warriors of Deraine as well fitted as you.
“Plus medals, of course. Umm . . . Member, King’s Household; Defender of the Throne; and Hero of Deraine.
“I also proposed sending you on a grand tour of my kingdom, with recruiting officers in your wake, scooping up all those starry-eyed sorts who’d want to be just like Lord Hal.
“Instead, I get . . . what? You don’t want a nice, safe life. You want to go back to the damned front, where you’ll be lucky to live a month.
“Do you have any idea of how long a dragon flier lives these days?”
Hal shook his head.
“Two, perhaps three months, at best.”
Hal jolted, and King Asir nodded.
“It’s not just those damned black dragons of theirs, but their tactics have changed. The Roche are now more interested in fighting than scouting, and when our fliers cross the lines, they’re immediately attacked, generally outnumbered.
“At the moment, and I do not wish this repeated, we have less than no idea what Queen Norcia and her confidant, Duke Yasin, intend for the spring.”
“And that’s why I have to go back, sir,” Hal said.
“What good will you do, other than becoming another martyr for Deraine?” Asir asked bitterly.
“I have an idea on how things might be changed, sire. Ky Yasin—that’s the Duke’s brother—”
“I know well who the bastard is,” the king said.
“Yasin showed up over Kalabas not just with black dragons, but with them in strength. Instead of a flight, he had a full squadron, maybe four flights.
“Four against one, for that’s how we were deployed. . . . Well, those odds are deadly.”
“They are,” the king agreed.
“Some time ago, my old squadron was attacked on the ground by three flights, and nearly wiped out. I retaliated by striking back against those Roche, again and again, until we’d put the fear of the gods in them.”
“I’m aware of the action,” Asir said. “I do more than sit on my arse on this damned throne, you know.”
“Yessir. I want command of my old flight. . . . And can we get rid of the new name, and just call it the Eleventh?”
“We can.” Asir had a bit of a smile on his lips.
“Build it up, until it’s the size of Yasin’s. Or bigger. And send us after those damned black dragons. If we hound them from pillar to post, never giving them a moment to strut about . . . Sir, I think we can start bending the odds back to where they should be.”
Hal didn’t speak his other thought—that if it was now fighting in the skies, perhaps one-on-one combat might be a momentary tactic, and other ways of fighting should be explored.
“Well,” the king said. “You certainly don’t go by halves, do you?
“You realize you’re probably guaranteeing you’ll get killed.”
Hal thought of Saslic’s words, shrugged.
“There’s one thing I’m good at,” Asir went on, “and that’s judging men. So I know if I forbid this action of yours, all you’ll do is slip away from your estates and somehow end up in Sagene as another dragon flier, probably named Anonymous.
“So I have no other options.
“Very well, Lord Kailas. We’ll do as you ‘suggest,’ ” the king said, now with a broader smile. “Now, get out of my sight, you blackmailing bastard.”
Hal put his glass down, saluted.
“Oh. One more thing,” Asir said. “I’ve heard a certain term used, and now declare it an official title, you to be the first to hold it.
“Dragonmaster.”
“What a tale this will make,” Sir Thom Lowess whispered, unable to speak through excitement. “What a tale!”
31
The remnants of the Eleventh Dragon Flight were waiting at their old base. They were a pretty sad relic.
They were tattered and torn, and most of their equipment had been dumped overside from the Adventurer, to make room for fleeing soldiers.
Some had been wounded—the black dragons had not only gone after dragons in the air, but had been able to identify the flights’ mother ships, and attacked them, as had the Roche catapults as the beachhead was being cleared.
Worse, they knew how badly they’d been beaten. Now, without any real work, with only six dragons and five fliers, they could do little except make-work, and mope about, feeling sorry for themselves.
That would change, he knew, with replacements, new gear and, most important, more dragons and their fliers.
Hal noticed Nanpean Tregony, who was busily avoiding him, found Tregony was keeping company with Vad Feccia, which made perfect sense to Hal, the pair in his mind being equal villains.
At least Serjeant Te had survived the withdrawal, and had been doing what he could to take care of the Eleventh.
“But it’s damned hard, sir, and I realize there’s no excuses to be made but, without an officer in command, your requisitions tend to get ignored, and when you don’t have any trading stock, any good souvenirs, it’s very damned hard to go a-bartering for what you need.”
“No officers?” Hal asked. “What about Sir Nanpean Tregony?”
“Do I have to say anything?”
Hal thought. “You do.”
“He isn’t worth a bucket of warm owl spit. Oh, he’s a good dragon flier, and seems aggressive enough. But he surely doesn’t give a damn about anything or anyone else in the flight, excepting maybe his personal dragon handler, and how many dragons he’s killed.
“He’s got plenty of money—guess his father’s mines are really paying off in the war—but won’t spend a copper of it on anything but himself.”
Hal nodded. It was what he would have expected from a Tregony—except for being able to fly a dragon well.
Kailas set about putting matters in hand—first restoring the flight to its proper strength, then he’d worry about implementing his idea the king had approved.
The first item was calling in Feccia, and asking what had happened to him when the invasion collapsed.
He said that when the black dragons attacked, he’d gone for altitude, but been driven down and inland. Flying just above the brush, he’d managed to elude the two monstrosities on his tail, but his dragon had been exhausted.
He flew west, as Hal had done, found a resting place, with water. Then he’d tried to return to Kalabas, but every time had encountered the black flights, and was always outnumbered.
“I went back to my hiding place, and then, the next morning, my poor dragon was cramped from the attacks of the day previous. I found some wild hogs, and chased them into my dragon’s clutches.
“But it was a day and a half later when I was able to fly back. The fleet was well at sea, only a few stragglers around the landing beaches.
“I followed the ships until I found the fleet, found the Adventurer, and was safe home.”
That possibly wasn’t the bravest story from the debacle Hal had heard, but then Feccia wasn’t high on his list of candidates for hero medals. He seemed to scout with a degree of ability, and Hal wasn’t sure it wasn’t a sign of intelligence for a scout to avoid battle when he was outnumbered.
When the flight changed as Hal intended, Feccia might not fit in, in which case he could be transferred to a more conventional dragon flight, or possibly put in charge of the maintenance section.
Hal had an idea Feccia wouldn’t be heartbroken to have an excuse to walk away from flying.
But that would be for another day. Hal was a little reluctant to harshly judge anyone from his flight training, particularly as the numbers dwindled.
Mynta Gart was the first to arrive from the hospital. She’d been simply knocked from the sky by a particularly skilled three-dragon combination, not the blacks, Hal was surprised to find.
“Landed—not far from where Saslic crashed—and some bastard put an arrow in my other leg.” She smiled wanly. “Now I limp on both sides, like I’m a lubber on her first day at sea.”
“Did you see Saslic’s body?”
“No,” Gart said, looking away. “I saw her poor damned beast—what did she call him, Nont?—trying to get up, with his poor damned wing torn away. And then he fell back and some bastard put a spear in his throat. But I suppose, the way he was, that quick a death was best.”
But her eyes gleamed a different story.
Hal didn’t need to ask if she wanted revenge. He made a note to put her in charge of one of the new sections he planned.
Sir Loren and Farren Mariah arrived together, with their own stories.
Sir Loren’s dragon had been struck by arrows from the ground. He landed, and was attacked by a Roche knight.
“I was fighting my best, which prob’ly isn’t all that good, killed the man after he wounded me sore with his blade, then his squire attacked me with a damned great axe. I killed him, too, saw my poor dragon had breathed his last, and, since they hadn’t hurt me legs, I took off, running like a stripe-assed ape.
“Passed several dozen arrows, I did.”
Farren Mariah had been forced to land by a pair of the black dragons.
“An’ I was just standin’ there, with me thumbs up, an’ this horseshit great rock from one of their bleedin’ catapoops slams down next to me, throwin’ splinters and shit here, yon and everywhere. Got fragments in my eyes, thought I was blind, and if I lived they’d put me next to the Rozen city gates to beg, which ain’t proper for a Mariah.
“But m’beast kept whistlin’, and I could see blurry well enough to crawl aboard, and he trampled down some of their friggin’ soldiers takin’ off, and somehow found the Adventurer.
“I may marry the bugger.”
Hal found himself missing Lady Khiri, but in a very different way than he’d missed Saslic, when she was still alive. It was a pleasant kind of melancholy, tempered with a selfish gladness that he had something, someone, far distant from these killing fields and, at night, could dream about her great gray castle by the sea.
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He smiled wryly at that, remembering that he didn’t have to be here in Sagene at all. He could be comfortably lazing about some estate somewhere, and he realized King Asir had been so surprised by his behavior he’d never gotten around to telling Hal just what estates he was being given.
With my luck, he thought, they’ll probably be coal mines in some stony waste.
Hal decided he’d made Nanpean Tregony suffer enough, and summoned him into his tent.
Tregony was about two inches taller than Hal, and still good-looking, even if he was starting to get a bit heavy. Hal noted the livid scar along his neck he’d given the man years ago, rescuing the dragon kit, wasn’t displeased.
“You may sit,” Hal said, keeping his voice flat.
Tregony obeyed.
“So you’re the one who was going to avenge me?”
“That was pap the taletellers came up with,” Tregony said. “Someone told them we came from the same village, took that, and ran hard with the information.”
That could have been. Hal had certainly experienced the taletellers’ willingness to brutalize the truth for their own ends.
“Very well,” he said after a suitable pause. “Your records don’t seem to have caught up with you. Perhaps you’d fill me in. Starting from when you entered the service.”
“It was after the siege of Paestum was lifted,” Tregony said. “I wanted to do something against the damned Roche, and there was a man—Garadice—who came through the district, looking for dragon fliers.
“I took the king’s silver, and they trained me and sent me to Sagene.
“I went to a flight in the Second Army area. We got caught up in one of the Roche offensives, and did what we could—I credit myself with half a dozen or more dragons—then my dragon was taken down by one of their bastardly catapults, and I was captured.”
Hal was interested.
“They have a special camp for dragon fliers,” Tregony went on. “Far behind the lines, up north, on this island, well up an estuary.”
