by Chris Bunch
“He won’t object t’ that.”
“Clearly a friend of yours,” Chincha said.
Mariah turned serious.
“I’ll tell you someat that’ll stand you in great standings as you wobble through thisyere life.
“You don’t got friends. Friends take yer heart with ’em when they die. Your friends are the people who can pull one of them friggin’ black dragons off your arse, and who’ll carry her, or his, end of a horrible dawn patrol wi’out snivelin’ overmuch.
“Anyways, to turn serious. You takes Lord Kailas for starters. Now, he ain’t the best shot in th’ world. Good enow, but he’ll win no country rumpkin-bumpkin fairs for shootin’. Which is why he gets as close to his target as he can.
“Ne’er shoot ’til you smells the reek of its breath, might be his motto in his grotto if he had a motto or a grotto.
“So he’s friends—if friends you can ever be—wi’ his horrid beastie. And he uses th’ dragon’s flyin’ to get right up a Roche’s butt. You’ll note he steers wi’ his foots an knees as much as the reins, which gives him a better chance t’ take aim. Not to mention hangin’ on, since it’s not considered respectickle to fall off yer mount while chasin’ some other sod.
“Also, he uses his wingmen, generally likes to have one t’either side, to keep th’ Roche from tippytoein’ up behint and arsassinatin’ him, and in front to steer th’ bad sorts into an intractabobble situation.
“A nice thing, if you’re one of those wot counts bodies, he’ll share or even give up a win to you.
“Now, Sir Nanpean, he’s different. A dead shot. I mean that in earnest. He gets in ’til he’s got a shot, and that’s as he sees it, near or far, and then plonks ’em.
“He don’t care what he hits . . . which brings up another matter about our Hal. He rather goes for the rider, not the dragon.
“Got a soft spot for the beasties, he does.
“Back to Sir Nanpean.”
Hal noted Farren’s emphasis on the sir.
“He don’t have much use for a dragon. If he weren’t scared of Lord Kailas finding him out, he’d prob’ly pack a whip.
“I remember a flier, back in trainin’, thought he was some kinda drover or shit, did that. Dragon went and killed him, it did.
“Another thing about Sir Nanpean. He don’t have use for wingmen, neither. He figures it’s your place to help him make kills. Never’ll be the day come when he shares credit.”
“What about you?” another replacement asked. “What’s your secret, since you’ve been out for such a long time?”
Hal could imagine Farren’s sweet smile.
“Why I gots none, other’n bein’ a helladacious wizard on my mother’s side, wit’ charms and all kinds of shit. I just flies along, lookin’ cute, and when somethin’ moves, I shoot.”
“How many dragons have you killed?” Chincha asked skeptically.
“Ours or theirs?”
Hal buried laughter.
“Dozens,” Farren went on. “Hunnerds and hunnerds. Back of the Roche lines looks like a secret dragon grave-yard.”
“Then why aren’t you the darling of the taletellers?” Chincha asked.
“That’s a bit complicated,” Farren went on. “Yer gots to start with me bein’ the illygitymate daughter of King Asir, and—”
Hal, not having time for the rest of the tale, went on about his business, his dark mood of the night before gone.
Now the war became static once again. But more men, horses, dragons died, on both sides, than ever before.
There were more attacks against the walls of Aude, each time driven back. But each time, more of its defenders died.
The city walls were pockmarked from the huge stones hurled by trebuchets, and unshriven and unburied bodies lay scattered across the barren landscape, the bloated bodies of horses and oxen among them.
The soldiers were either entrenched or sheltered behind rocks, in gullies, folds in the ground. On the battlements of Aude were arrow-firing catapults, whose crews grew more and more deadly in their aim.
There were demons brought forth and sent into battle by both sides. Sometimes they fought men, and the carnage was terrible, and sometimes each other. And sometimes the other side’s magicians were quick enough, and the demons vanished harmlessly into the air. But not often.
Neither Sagene’s Council of Barons nor King Asir would give up their foothold in Roche terrain, and Queen Norcia was only too aware if Aude fell and the River Comtal became an open waterway, her country was very much at risk.
Hal took his dragons up over the city, against Yasin’s black monsters, day after day, trying to always choose the terms for combat: never less than three against one; never without the advantage of altitude; always with at least one other dragon flier in constant support.
There were other Roche dragons in the air—evidently training the blacks was as hard as Garadice’s father had said it would be.
These other dragons Kailas wasn’t as choosy about the fighting conditions for.
But still, he lost fliers.
Of the seven replacements, he lost four within two weeks. But the other three learned, and became as canny as the rest of the flight.
Hal was amused to see the tall, blonde Chincha become more than friendly with the short, dark, stocky Farren Mariah. He said nothing, however, after the night Sir Nanpean made some crack, unheard by Kailas, about the woman, and Farren beat him so badly he couldn’t fly for three days.
Hal punished Mariah by making him fly Sir Nanpean’s patrols in addition to his own.
Even though Hal refused to admit it, even to himself, a killing war began between him and Tregony. One day one would be up, the next the other.
Since Kailas frequently forgot to put in a claim, or gave the kill to one of his fellow fliers to make, there was no question within the flight as to who was the real dragonmaster.
It didn’t matter to Hal. All he wanted to do was have more dead Roche dragon fliers than could be replaced.
Very secretly he hoped one day to meet, in the air, the bastard who’d killed Saslic.
That would be a victory he’d loudly claim.
In the meantime, he concentrated on the hard targets—Yasin’s black dragons. But they flew in close support of each other, and took a deal of killing.
Then one day, Yasin’s blacks vanished from the skies over Aude.
They reappeared, two days following, along the River Comtal. Flying very low, in pairs, they attacked the small supply ships bringing replacements and materiel to the besiegers, tearing rigging, raining arrows down on helmsmen and boat commanders and, when they got a chance, ripping apart any unwary soldier or sailor.
They also scouted for prepared ambushes, and forced Deraine to escort the boats with cavalry on the banks, which slowed progress.
“We have new orders,” Hal told his assembled fliers. “You won’t be surprised.
“We’re to go after the black dragons, and at least make them stop harrying our ships.”
“Shows what happens,” Sir Loren said, “when your flight is the best. You get sent to do the impossible and, by the way, don’t get killed until you’ve done it.”
“Hell of a morale builder you are,” Vad Feccia said.
“If you can’t stand the heat,” Sir Nanpean put in, silkily.
Feccia turned, glowered at Tregony. Hal lifted an eyebrow—he’d thought the two were the closest of—well, perhaps not friends, because he couldn’t imagine either of them actually having a friend—but compatriots.
“We’ll do it in flights of four,” he said. “Two pairs, the second pair back of the first by, say, a hundred yards or so.
“If you spot a dragon, try to get height on him, and force him down into the water or riverbank. If you’re seen by them first, and they’ve got height, get away from the river, and stay low. Maybe you can veer enough so the bastard that’s diving on you’ll eat rocks instead.
“Don’t be too quick to fly around any
of our barges,” he said cynically. “Sailors have a great reputation for shooting at anything in the air, no matter whose pennons they’re flying. Each dragon’ll fly a banner with Deraine’s colors on it, but don’t depend on that being much of a shield.
“This time, everybody draws trumpets, and if you see anything—an ambush, a dragon—blast your little brains out.
“Gart, since you’re the seaman among us, I want you to tell everybody how these river barges sail, so we can maybe anticipate what they’ll do when they get hit.
“I’ll lead the first flight out tomorrow. We’ll fly north, where we’ll link up with a river convoy. Chincha, on my wing. Mariah, you’ll fly number two. Pick your own wing-man.”
The dragons lumbered into the still, summer sky at dawn. Hal led the four to the river, turned north. They flew slowly, Hal peering ahead to look for signs of the enemy.
Storm began snaking his head back and forth, sensing something.
Hal decided to trust him, waved for the other three to climb.
They rounded a bend, and saw two black dragons, sitting on a sandbank.
They waddled into the air, necks stretched like geese, but it was too late. The Deraine fliers were on them, bolts slamming into the fliers. One dragon squawked like a wounded goose, slammed into the water, a gout of spray around it.
The other ducked through river-edge brush, and flew hard east, deeper into Roche territory.
Hal let it go, signaling the others back toward the river, expecting the pair had been waiting for the Deraine boats to appear, which meant there should be an ambush laid nearby.
There was—twenty cavalrymen, some in uniform, some in ragged civilian attire.
They had only a moment before the four dragons were on them, talons ripping, tails lashing down, smashing horses and men.
The riders broke, and were harried by the flight away from the river.
Only a handful escaped.
Hal returned to base, sent an exuberant message to Lord Cantabri:
“Dragons love fishing. Took about eighteen bottom feeders this morn.”
Another flight went out in the afternoon, and jumped soldiers setting up a block where the river narrowed, and attacked.
Hal heard, a day later, the Roche troops assigned to ambuscades along the river had started calling the dragons “Whispering Death,” from the slight rush of air across their wings as they attacked.
“I would like,” Limingo the wizard said precisely, “a flight around Aude.”
“I have read the orders here from Lord Cantabri saying you’re to get anything you want,” Hal said, tapping the scroll the magician’s extraordinarily handsome assistant handed him. “And I obey my orders.”
“I know,” Limingo said. “But it’s always nicer to have some enthusiasm, rather than simple rote obedience.”
“You can have that, and more,” Hal said. “Provided you do me two small favors.”
“Magical, I assume.”
“Of course.”
“No love philters until the war’s over,” Limingo cautioned and started laughing at Hal’s annoyance until he caught on.
“I’d especially like,” Limingo said, “you to fly me—”
Hal stopped him with an upraised hand.
“Tell me when we’re in the air.”
Limingo lifted eyebrows, but obeyed.
Unlike his master, Limingo was eager to clamber up behind Hal, and positively glowed as the dragon lumbered into the air, and changed from a waddling monster to a graceful creature of the heavens.
He leaned forward. “Are we a little suspicious of our fellows?”
“I’ll explain later—when we’re alone,” Hal said. “Now, what do you want to look at?”
“The far side of Aude, particularly the main gate,” Limingo said.
Hal did, swooping low, and getting a few arrows in his general direction for his bravado.
“They’re getting better,” he said over his shoulder.
“Let’s hope,” the wizard said, “this marks the limits of their expertise. If you could do what you just did, two or three more times?”
Hal obeyed. The magician seemed to have no idea of bodily harm.
“Very well,” Limingo said. “I think I have enough.”
Hal flew back to the base, landed Storm a ways from the barn, and explained his caution.
“My,” Limingo said, “a possible spy. What happened to that dagger that was used to kill your serjeant?”
“I still have it. The matter hasn’t been reported, by the way.”
“Aren’t you playing your cards a little close?”
“Maybe,” Hal said. “If I let the provosts know, they’ll be kicking through my whole flight, looking here and there and everywhere.
“We’ve got a war to fight, and it won’t get any easier if my fliers are looking over their shoulders for spies or, for that matter, warders who’ll suspect everyone.”
“Why don’t you give me that dagger,” Limingo suggested. “A spell here and there might give some fascinating answers.”
“That was one of the favors I was going to ask,” Hal said. “I assume, the reason you wanted to fly where we did is there is a plan afoot?”
“I hope so,” Limingo said. “This crap of sending men against solid stone is doing nothing but guaranteeing Deraine and Sagene are going to have some very empty counties for a couple of generations.
“But everyone, even our noble lords in command, know the Roche have paid close attention to their gates, so it’s not a matter of just wandering up and knocking politely.
“I thought I might be able to devise something. And I think I was right, assuming the Roche thaumaturges don’t pay attention to every detail.
“You mentioned you could use two favors. One we’ve discussed. What about the other?”
“I could do with some help looking for a dragon base,” Hal said. “I took one of their flights out of the war once by attacking their base.
“Now we’ve got those black dragons, who’re giving everyone a rough way to go. Maybe a good wizard could be of assistance?”
“I might,” Limingo said. “Especially if you happen to have any scales, banners, whatever that belonged to the Roche or their dragons.”
“I think we have a couple of souvenir keepers,” Hal said.
He put Gart to rooting through the flight, and produced a pennon and an arrow that’d wounded one flier.
“Excellent,” Limingo said. “My assistant and I’ll set up this very night.”
That night, at the far end of the field, there were strangely colored lights, flickering, and chants that seemed to come from more than two throats.
The soldiers of the flight shivered, and held close to their quarters.
In the morning, Limingo said, a bit angrily, that there were some heavy counterspells on what he’d been given.
“Perhaps,” he suggested, “the leader of this black dragon unit is aware of the flight you obliterated, and is taking thorough precautions?”
“Perhaps,” Hal said. “Yasin is no idiot.”
“I’m sorry, Lord Kailas,” Limingo said. “Perhaps, with my other incantation, I’ll be more successful.
“In the meantime, stand by to be given special duties in the not distant future.”
Three days later, Hal returned from a river sweep to find he had visitors.
Thom Lowess had arrived.
With him was Lady Khiri Carstares.
37
Hal followed his first instinct, and kissed Lady Khiri thoroughly. After awhile, she pulled back and whispered, “I’m certainly glad you’re not one of those who believe in propriety.”
Only then was Hal vaguely aware, through the roaring in his ears and his mind yammering for him to lug her into the nearest tent and work his lack of will on her, of the cheering from the men on the dragon line.
He blushed a little, let her go.
“You know,” she said, still in that wonderful whisper, “what they
say about fliers is true. You all do smell like dragons.”
“Uh,” Hal managed. “I guess so. I suppose it’s because—” Khiri interrupted him. “I don’t mind it at all. It makes you smell like sex.”
A few feet away, Thom Lowess coughed discreetly.
“I’m also glad to see you, Lord Kailas.”
Hal came back to himself, half saluted Lowess.
“And I you, sir. What brings you here?”
“I and my aide,” Lowess said, indicating Khiri, “are in search of good tales. Tales to embolden the hearer, tales of victory and hope.”
He made a face.
“And, right now, the dragon fliers are about the only good thing of notice around Aude. Although . . .” He let his voice trail off.
Hal looked at the taleteller questioningly, but got only a bland smile.
“Well,” Khiri managed. “You certainly don’t have to make any protestations of your virtue after that.”
“Sorry,” Hal said. “I didn’t mean to lose control . . . at least not so quickly.”
“So shut up,” she said, lifting her legs around him, “and don’t stop.”
She moaned, then bit his ear.
“What would you say if I said I thought I was falling in love with you?”
Hal covered her mouth with his, didn’t answer.
Hal vaguely expected some comments from his fliers about Lady Khiri, or at least some raised eyebrows. If there were any, they were very much behind his back, and it seemed that most soldiers in his flight thought it was perfectly all right for the “old man,” as he’d come to be known, not yet twenty-five, to have a little joy in his life.
Both Khiri and Lowess busied themselves during the day interviewing everyone in the flight, including the dragons, or so it seemed.
“Good tales, m’boy,” Lowess said. “Especially this duel you’re having with Sir Nanpean Tregony for being the ultimate Dragonmaster. Especially with you both having come from the same town, and now being friendly rivals.
