Dragonmaster

by Chris Bunch

  “How many fliers are there?”

  “There must have been thirty when I was captured. Probably there were fifty when I made my escape.”

  “Good for you,” Hal approved, against his root feelings for the man. “And how did you make your escape?”

  “I’m a bit of an athlete,” Tregony said, looking down at his stomach. “Was, anyway. And being a prisoner helps you stay lean. I saw my chance, and kept it secret, since the Roche have spies in the camp.

  “It’s a terrible place, ruled by threats and cruelty and the lash, I can tell you.

  “Anyway, I went out one night, when it was storming. Wore padded clothing. Pole-vaulted the first fence, and the padding kept the spikes from hurting me when I banged into it, landing. I used the pole to help me climb over the second fence, and then I was gone.

  “I had some gold, some silver, and kept to the woods. The Roche peasants like their queen and their rulers no better than I do, and were willing to feed me, or sometimes put me up when it was raining. And so I worked my way east, always east.

  “I stole a horse and, after that, it got easier. Then I reached the lines, turned the horse loose, and slipped across by night.

  “When I got back from my leave, I said I wanted a chance to get back at the bastards for their cruelty, and the way I’d been treated. . . . And so they sent me here, to the Eleventh.”

  Hal thought the story interesting.

  “How many dragons have you brought down?” Tregony asked.

  Hal shrugged.

  “I don’t keep track.”

  “I do,” Tregony said. “More than I’ve killed?”

  Hal thought of asking Tregony if he remembered a certain dragon kit, decided there wasn’t any point.

  “That’s all,” he said. “Go on about your duties.”

  Tregony, lips pursed, got up, saluted, went out. Outside the tent, he happened to look back in the tent, and Hal saw a look of utter, cold hatred on his face.

  32

  King Asir may have ordered the Eleventh Flight’s augmentation, but even kings have limits.

  There were few replacement fliers arriving in Paestum, and fewer dragons. At least Sagene was finally producing dragons and fliers, but those men and women were going to their own forces.

  Hal had Rai Garadice write his father asking what was going on, and got an unhappy reply that the recruiters weren’t able to bring in new men as fast as they should, and dragon training, what with many of the best trainers having gone off to the front and gotten killed, was even slower than it had been in peacetime.

  “Besides, everyone,” he wrote, “wants dragons, for everything from courier duty to parades, and all too many of these are great lords, well away from the fighting, with enough influence to get their way. I’m sorry, my son, but there’s little I can do about it, at least for the present.”

  At least Hal, by pulling every string he could think of, and several Serjeant Te knew of, was able to bring the Eleventh up to a normal authorized strength of fifteen dragons and fliers.

  Once or twice, Serjeant Te convinced a replacement depot officer to call for volunteers from the ranks of the unassigned enlisted men.

  Since most of the new blood was headed for the front lines, and the spring offensive wasn’t far distant, the idea of being able to stay alive a bit longer sang clearly, and so the Eleventh was actually a bit over strength in its ground complement.

  Te had an idea, which Hal found capital, and so a special, very secret section was set up, manufacturing authentic war relics. Men who could sew made up Roche battle flags; others scoured trash dumps for battered Roche weaponry. The flags were carefully bloodied—“aye, th’ man who fell over this standard, defendin’ it with his life’s blood, as you can see, was a great Roche knight, bravest of the brave”—as were most of the weapons. No one found it necessary to inform the souvenir’s new owner the blood came from chickens, bought from local farmers, who were delighting in the flight’s presence, since any beast, in any condition, was perfect dragon fodder.

  Hal put his experienced fliers to training the new ones, so they might live beyond a single flight when the spring came, and, with the grudging concurrence of the First Army Commander, Lord Egibi, restricted his winter flights to reconnaissance along the lines.

  While the storms raged, the soldiers along the front retreated into dugouts or, if they were lucky, huts. The enemy was not so much the Roche as King Winter, and the deathdealers were colds, fevers, the ague.

  Magicians cast occasional spells, and fighting patrols went out, on foot or horseback.

  But all three armies seemed content to wait for better weather.

  On one flight, Hal found what he’d been looking for—a new base for his command. The old farm was not only too far behind the lines to suit him, but a constant reminder of defeat, the scars from the Roche raid still black and ruinous.

  The new base was a small village at a crossroads, east of Paestum, a few miles behind the lines. It hadn’t been looted too badly, and, best of all, had been a dairy commune, with huge barns ideal for dragon shelter.

  The flight moved carefully to its new quarters, trying to ensure the ruined village still looked no better than a ruined village.

  Hal’s troops welcomed the change, one of the few objectors being Sir Nanpean. Hal puzzled at that—he would’ve thought any flier as intent on building his kills would have welcomed being closer to the fighting. But he quickly forgot about that, figuring Tregony probably had found a mistress at a farm around their previous station, and now was forced to be as celibate as the others.

  Hal, rather gleefully considering his disgust with religion, set up his headquarters in the town church, an imposing high-ceilinged monument whose only flaw was that the tin ceiling leaked badly. But his artisans put that to rights, and Hal took over the gods-shouters’ quarters for his own. Priests being priests, there were several excellent stoves, and so the building became an off-duty den for the men. Hal found something interesting—the small cubicle intended for the confession of sins to whatever god or gods this temple had been dedicated to had a small screen in its rear, low to the ground. The screen concealed a listening tube that went directly to the priests’ quarters, no doubt for priestly entertainment and possible blackmail. He showed it to no one, except Serjeant Te.

  The fliers found their own club/mess, one of the village’s three taverns, and more top-class relics were manufactured to fill the tavern’s shelves as they should be. Hal found one of the replacements had worked in a tavern, and put him in charge of liquid victualing, under Te.

  Te had the idea of bringing in whores from Paestum, which Hal quickly rejected. Dragon fliers already had a reputation for rowdiness, and having prostitutes in their quarters might be quite enough for him to be relieved. Hal couldn’t quite understand the army’s thinking on this, other than people talk to people in bed, and the powers were afraid of spies. But it was a commandment, and so he honored it. Soldiers with exceptionally strong lusts could get permission to visit Paestum and its authorized brothels.

  Farren Mariah tried to cast a spell of invisibility around the base, failed completely, muttered about how he should have paid more attention to his grandfather.

  Now, all he needed was better weather, and the promised addition of fliers, and he was ready to go after Yasin and his black dragons.

  He spent hours in Paestum, at the First Army’s intelligence bureau, but nothing came from the spies who crossed the lines as to Yasin’s location.

  But he knew spring would bring the black dragons out of their dens.

  “We have problems, sir,” Serjeant Te announced.

  “What now?” Hal asked.

  “Lord Cantabri’s come a-calling.”

  “Oh shit.”

  “You can’t see the blood on his hands,” Te announced. “But you know he’s got to have some scheme afoot that’ll be killing us.”

  Hal laughed, asked Te to escort him in, and bring some mulled wine. He did
n’t need to add that Te should have an ear at the confessional cell.

  Hal trusted Te and knew that, if Cantabri’s visit had nothing to do with the war or the flight, he’d go on about his business.

  “Quite a little establishment you’ve worked here, Lord Hal,” Cantabri said. He looked far better than when Hal had seen him last, ready for the campaign trail.

  “So far our friends across the lines haven’t spotted it. . . . And when the fighting starts, we’ll be a bit closer to the action.”

  “Ah. I thought you might have spied out our intent for the spring.”

  Hal tried to look sagacious and knowing, failed.

  “Oh. You haven’t spied out the land,” Cantabri said, his yellowish eyes gleaming.

  “No, sir.”

  “I think,” Cantabri said, “after all this time and blood-shed, we can dispense with the sirs and lords unless we’re in formal company.”

  “Yes, mil . . . I mean, Bab.”

  “I have two matters of personal business for you. Here’s one,” and he reached into his belt pouch, took out an elaborately sealed roll of parchment, gave it to Hal.

  Hal saw the red seal, knew it was from King Asir. He broke the seal, read, whistled.

  “I just happen to have a bit of a guess as to what it is,” Cantabri said. “I, in fact, made a request of His Highness, when I heard you were to be lifted further into the nobility, and you’d be granted certain privileges, that if one of them included estates, you be given lands near the ones granted me.

  “I do like to have neighbors I can turn my back on. So you’re now the proud owner of some dairy land, quite a sufficient acreage, plus some villages, and I suspect fishing rights, along the east coast.”

  “You called it,” Hal said. “Plus some islands off the coast, a rather embarrassing pension, and a manor house in Rozen.”

  He lowered the parchment.

  “A question just occurred to me. Where do these lands the king gives out come from? Didn’t they have owners?”

  “Certainly,” Cantabri said. “But the owners perhaps aren’t supporters of the king, or the war, or died without heirs.”

  “A hell of a system,” Hal said. “And this business of owning villages. I suppose that means I could evict the villagers if I didn’t like the color of their hair or such?”

  “You could,” Cantabri agreed. “And it is a hell of a system. But if the king heard of your tyranny, there just could be lands awaiting a grant to a newer hero.

  “The whole matter comes to whether or not you happen to trust the king. I do.”

  “As do I,” Hal said, glad he was telling the truth, and remembering Te’s ear at the mouse hole.

  “I can add,” Cantabri said, “that the king told me privately he was most sorry for not taking care of this matter at your audience.

  “But you, and I am quoting directly, ‘shook the shit right out of him.’ ”

  Such language, given Te’s near idolatry of King Asir, must’ve set the serjeant back slightly.

  “The second bit of business from His Majesty is that he’s most apologetic that your plans for the squadron haven’t been implemented as yet, but that hopefully success in the spring and summer will make matters easier.

  “He didn’t explain, nor did I inquire.”

  Hal sipped at his mulled wine.

  “Now,” he said. “Might I inquire as to your business, Bab?”

  “Why,” Cantabri said, “if you’ve no better way to spend your afternoon, perhaps you might take me flying.”

  “Just to get a breath of nice, fresh air?” Hal asked skeptically.

  “No more.”

  “There’s enough fresh air about today to freeze your frigging nose right off,” Hal said. “And, not meaning to call a greater lord than myself a liar, but you might wish to give me some hints as to which direction the best fresh air might come from.”

  “Oh, the hells with it,” Cantabri said. “I told them you wouldn’t be any help unless you knew what we would be going up after. Northeast by east.” He saw a map on the wall, went to it, and tapped. “Here.”

  Hal went to the map, studied it.

  “I think,” he said, now not so sure his clever-clever stationing of Te was that good an idea, “we’d best go on outside, see to the saddling of our mount.”

  They went out, putting on heavy coats, gloves, against the swirling winds. At least it wasn’t snowing, Hal thought.

  Cantabri grinned at him.

  “You know, back when I commanded my first cavalry troop, I thought I was most clever, and had my most trusted senior warrant with his ear to the back of my tent when I met with superiors, so that if anything of interest to my command was heard, he could be dealing with the matter immediately.

  “I won’t bother you with details as to how I was caught in my own trap . . . but I was.”

  Hal didn’t think he was capable of flushing anymore, but he was, and Cantabri roared laughter.

  “Now,” he said, after he’d recovered, “let me give you the details of what’s planned.

  “I’ll add that this plan comes directly from the king, after he had some most meaningful dreams his astrologer said must have been sent by the gods. The king, evidently, has felt his fate connected with a great river since a witch told him that, back when he was a boy.”

  “Oh dear,” Hal said in a small voice.

  “Perhaps so,” Cantabri agreed. “First, you must remember His Majesty is not a man of war, and despises this horror Queen Norcia and, frankly, the prewar weakness of Sagene, forced him into.

  “However, he feels he must rise to the occasion.”

  Cantabri and Hal looked at each other, and their faces were perfectly blank.

  “He always felt that the invasion of Kalabas was an inspired idea, together with his plan to invade Roche up the Ichili River.

  “It is a pity, in his view, that certain events, and possibly the hand of the gods—King Asir believes very firmly in the gods—intervened.

  “Or perhaps he chose the wrong place.”

  “I see,” Hal said, remembering the map. Cantabri had pointed to the fortified city of Aude, on the broad River Comtal. It was about fifty or more miles from the vaguely defined desolation of the lines, and some ten miles from Roche’s northern coast. “Just like the last time?”

  “Sort of,” Cantabri said. “Except that, being closer to Deraine, our supply lines won’t be as long.

  “We’ve even now begun building craft for the invasion, but they’ll be different, not a mish-mosh of cargo ships and such, but smaller, flat-bottomed river craft, able to cross the Chicor Straits in good weather.”

  “And of course, there are no Roche spies in Deraine reporting this construction and drawing the obvious conclusions,” Hal said.

  “The king’s aware that there are,” Cantabri said, a bit of frost in his voice. Hal reminded himself that Lord Cantabri wasn’t near the cynic Kailas thought himself to be.

  “Go ahead,” Hal prodded.

  “There’ll be spells of confusion cast along the northern front,” Cantabri went on. “Together with other spells I can’t talk about right now.

  “On a more physical level, we’ll interdict all mail leaving Deraine for any foreign shore for the week before the attack.”

  “None of which will be noticed by Roche magicians or agents,” Hal said cynically. “And no one will look to their defenses, remembering that good King Asir has a fondness for rivers.”

  “This time, there’ll be a bit more subtlety,” Cantabri said. “I hope. The First and Second Armies will mount an attack on Aude. All plans will suggest that is our only goal, that once we break through the lines, we’ll regroup, and then move south and east on Carcaor.

  “Instead, holding Aude, we’ll have control of the upper hundred or more miles of the River Comtal. The invasion barges will carry the troops upriver, toward Carcaor.

  “At the very least, holding Aude, we’ll force the Roche lines back on themselves, and
break this stalemate.”

  “If we take Aude,” Hal said, but quietly, under his breath.

  Hal told Sir Loren and Rai Garadice, his best pilots, although, if Sir Nanpean was telling the truth about his victories, he might well be a better choice.

  But Kailas, having the safety of the man he considered Deraine’s most important soldier uppermost, wished to take no chances with the unknown.

  Storm, recovered from the long flight and his injuries, was sleek, and roared pleasure at the thought of flying.

  Hal and his two handlers got Storm ready to fly, with a double saddle. His new crossbow, and five ten-bolt magazines, a trumpet and glass finished Hal’s equipage.

  The other two fliers were outfitted similarly.

  “All right,” Hal said. “Now, if you’ll just clamber up—”

  He looked closely at Lord Cantabri, saw he was as pale as he’d been in the hospital, wondered if the man was concealing wounds worse than anyone knew.

  Then he got it.

  “Uh, Bab, meaning no offense, how many times have you flown before today?”

  Bab said, in a curiously muffled voice, “This will be the first.”

  “Would you rather wait here? My fliers can scout the area around Aude without being caught.”

  “No,” Cantabri said, iron in his voice. “I must see what we’ll be facing.”

  “Very well, then. Let me give you a hand up.”

  Hal didn’t think it would be wise to add the caution he normally gave first-time fliers, that if they got sick on him, there’d be several hells to pay.

  He mounted up, made sure Lord Cantabri had a firm hold, and slapped Storm’s neck with the reins.

  The dragon plodded out of the huge barn, squishing through the winter muck, faster, wings swirling up, then thrashing hard down, and Storm was in the air.

  Behind him, Sir Loren and Garadice’s monsters lifted clear.

  Hal glanced over his shoulder, saw Cantabri’s eyes were tightly shut, but his hold on the dragon’s scales could have bent them.