by Chris Bunch
A wave of nausea struck, and soldiers went to their knees. The Roche magicians were moving against them.
Overhead, three black dragons dove down at the roof. Hal saw Yasin’s pennant in the fore.
He knelt, having all the time in the world, seeing nothing but that huge black dragon coming at him, then the pennant, then Yasin, grinning in anticipation.
He touched the trigger, and the bolt shot home, burying itself in Yasin’s shoulder. The man jerked, almost coming off his mount, slumped forward.
Hal had a moment of triumph, hoping he’d killed Yasin, then the man sat up, shouting at his dragon, and it banked away from the roof, away from Aude, his two fellows guarding him.
Hal swore. It would have been perfect if he’d been able to kill the man responsible for the black dragons, and end the threat to Deraine. . . . But the last bit of luck hadn’t been given him.
Once more, there was a swirl of dragons overhead, and again the Roche attacked up the stairs.
This time, it was a steady stream, and Hal was attacked by two men. He wounded one in the arm, and felt pain tear down his leg.
He swore, lunged, and took the second soldier in the throat.
Hal looked across, saw Mariah down, clutching his arm, a Roche soldier about to spear him. One of the Deraine soldiers hurled a shield, taking the man in the head, and he jerked like a broken-necked chicken, fell on top of Farren.
“And there we have it,” Limingo said in a calm, satisfied voice.
There was a great booming sound and Kailas, heedless of danger from the archers below, had to look over the keep’s edge. One of the huge main gates was falling inward. Hal saw molten metal dripping down the stone wall.
It crashed down, and Kailas thought the sound filled the universe.
Then the other gate tottered, and creaked across to lie at an angle.
But the way was clear, and lines of soldiers came out of their hiding places in rubble, turns of the earth, and ran through the hole in the city wall.
Roche soldiers came to meet them, but they were no match, and Kailas heard cheering start.
The Roche on the keep roof realized what had happened, that they were now outnumbered, pelted back down the stairs.
Hal, ears sharpened, heard another sound, the sound of Whispering Death, and dragons plummeted down, sweeping the roofs clear of the enemy.
A dark wave beyond the wall grew, rolling toward the breach, and Deraine and Sagene cavalry crashed through their own troops, into the city streets, lances down, shouting their battle cries.
The last Roche lines broke and ran, into the heart of Aude, and the battle was won.
Hal Kailas, suddenly feeling the pain of his wounds, limped to Storm, stroked him, and the dragon’s keening grew quiet.
39
It was dusk, a day later.
Hal Kailas uncomfortably sat a horse in the middle of a victory parade, through the shattered streets of Aude.
Now there would be an absurd ceremony, the keys to the destroyed city gates handed to the Sagene and Deraine Lord Commanders of the Armies.
Kailas had heard it took most of the night to bring the looters to bay, for few soldiers took kindly to a siege like this one had been, and had wreaked bloody revenge on the women and shops of Aude.
Windows were smashed, emptied wine casks were scattered here and there, and there were bodies, still unburied, sprawled and beginning to stink.
But that was the way of war, though Kailas despised it.
At least he’d gotten Storm off the keep’s roof, and under an animal chiurgeon’s care. He would heal, and fly again.
As would Hal Kailas.
Trumpets blared, drums thundered, and soldiers cheered.
But this was but one battle.
The might of Roche lay unbroken.
Kailas heard a faint noise, looked up, and saw, far above the city, a circling black dragon.
Perhaps it was Ky Bayle Yasin.
His and Roche’s debt to Hal Kailas was still unpaid.
The Dragonmaster knew the war, and the killing, had only begun.
Read on for the most exciting book in the Dragonmaster series
KNIGHTHOOD OF THE DRAGON
Available from Roc
The music crescendoed, then stopped abruptly; and the chatter was loud in the great hall, then swiftly muted.
Trumpets blared, and a leather-lunged herald shouted:
“Dragonmaster Lord Hal Kailas of Kalabas, Member, King’s Household, Defender of the Throne, Hero of Deraine, accompanied by Lady Khiri Carstares.”
The trumpets sounded again, and Hal bowed to Khiri, took her hand, and started down the long staircase to the dance floor.
“You barbarian,” Khiri hissed.
“That’s what the king pays me to be,” Hal agreed amiably.
“You could have waited until after the ball,” she whispered. “Or . . . or else seduced me earlier, and given me time enough to straighten up.”
Hal leered at her.
“My lusty impulses couldn’t be restrained.”
“If the king asks why my hair’s mussed—and . . . and other things are awry—what would happen if I told him the truth?”
“That you’re a horny devil who can’t keep her hands off me?” Hal asked. “He’d probably chuckle in the beard he doesn’t have.”
“You!”
“I love you,” Hal said.
“And I you,” Khiri said. “Sex maniac. And at least we got you bathed enough times so you don’t smell that much like a dragon anymore.”
They were halfway down the staircase, and Hal looked out over the bejeweled crowd, most of the men in dress uniform hung with medals and ribbons, the women, save for a scattering of ranking officers, magnificently gowned.
Kailas was six feet, brown-haired with green eyes. His face, when smiling, could be attractive. But he smiled seldom these days. War had hardened his features. Seeing, and bringing, too much death had made his face cold, watchful.
Hal wore black thigh boots, tight white breeches, a red tunic, almost hidden by decorations, with gold epaulettes and shoulder straps as befitted his rank, and a very practical-looking dagger at his belt. Against regulations, he was bareheaded.
Hal Kailas was just twenty-four.
Khiri Carstares was nineteen, as tall as Hal, dark-haired, with violet eyes. She wore a stylish gown, with less of a flare than common, ending a handspan above the floor, green with minimal white lace piping, elbow-length gloves, and white slippers. A jeweled necklace cascaded around her neck, matched by bracelets on wrist and ankle.
The trumpets blared again behind them, and the herald called:
“Lord Cantabri of Black Island,” and a host of decorations, “accompanied by his wife, Lady Cantabri.”
Hal looked over his shoulder, saw the tall warrior with the hard yellow eyes of a hunting tiger and scarred face coming down the stairs, in full dress uniform. His wife was small, a few years younger than Cantabri, and was dressed simply and expensively.
Hal continued on down to the floor, still limping from his leg wound at the battle of Aude, stopped Khiri until Cantabri joined them.
“You look wonderful, Lord Bab,” Hal said, still not used to calling the man by his first name.
“Maybe,” Cantabri snapped. “But what are we doing here, dancing to the king’s command, when we ought to be across the water, killing Roche?”
“Bab!” his wife said sharply. “Behave.”
Hal almost laughed.
“Why,” he said, “we’re doing just as you said, dancing to the king’s command.”
A baron came up, and Kailas and Khiri moved away, as other notables were announced.
“Does he think about anything other than slaughter, ever?” Khiri wondered.
Hal pretended to think.
“Yes, actually. I once caught him in a light moment, musing about maiming.”
He fielded two cups of punch, gave one to Khiri.
But Cantabri had asked
a good question.
Aude had fallen almost two months earlier, after a brutal siege. The Roche forces had fallen back from the ruined city in order, and taken fighting positions only ten miles from the battleground.
Hal knew why Deraine hadn’t continued the attack—the siege had been most expensive, and the first line troops had been decimated.
Replacements had been rushed in, most barely trained, and with them came supplies, including new dragons for the dragon squadrons.
But the Deraine army still held in place.
Then came the surprise—more than thirty of the highest-ranking officers had been ordered to leave their formations in the charge of their second in commands, and journey, with all haste, to Deraine’s capital of Rozen, “to await the king’s pleasure.”
That had sent Cantabri off. “What, for more medals, and leaving the damned Roche to keep rebuilding their damned army? That’s plain foolishness!”
Hal agreed.
But King Asir’s ways were set, and so the officers, with a scattering of enlisted men who’d distinguished themselves in the siege, obeyed.
Surprisingly, some of those summoned were Sagene, Deraine’s not-always-wholehearted allies, with the written approval of the country’s Council of Barons.
All of them, enlisted to generals, were cosseted in their journey north through Sagene to the Free City of Paestum, across the Chicor Straits, and upriver to Rozen.
They were ordered, to their great surprise, to take quarters in the king’s castle, a high honor, and to stand by for further orders.
So far, that had consisted of being commanded to attend this ball.
Hal had thought wryly of his estates granted by the king somewhere north, next to Sir Bab’s own holdings. They purportedly included several thousand acres, included dairy land, some islands, half a dozen villages, fishing rights, as well as a mansion here in Rozen. He’d seen none of them yet—the war was an all-encompassing beast. The closest he’d come was being notified of his monthly rentals and profits, paid into an account at a merchant bank recommended by Sir Bab.
Someday, before he was killed, he hoped to see his lands.
But those were thoughts for another day.
Now he and Khiri, who had been orphaned by the war and owned estates far vaster than anything of Hal’s, were here, in the palace.
Allowances had been paid for new uniforms, and gowns for the ladies who might not be able to afford them. Tailors scuttled to the castle with orders to have their wares finished within two days.
Hal, who would have preferred to be back with his flight, training the new fliers and dragons, had learned to keep his mouth shut on occasion, and so put aside his impatience, and passed the time sleeping or dancing close attendance on Khiri.
Speaking of which, as the band started playing again, he took her by the hand and led her to the dance floor.
He was intercepted by Sir Thom Lowess, the taleteller who’d decided, some time ago, that part of his duties were to build Hal’s reputation.
Sir Thom had also introduced Hal and Khiri, and so was very large in both their hearts.
He greeted them effusively, saying how glad he was that Hal had lived through the battle, and “covered yourself with even greater glory.”
Kailas was embarrassed. Khiri tried to change the subject, saying perhaps they’d have a chance to have dinner with Lowess at his cluttered mansion.
“You might,” Lowess said, holding back a grin. “You might, indeed, Lady Khiri.”
“And what’s wrong with me?” Hal asked.
“Nothing. Nothing at all,” Lowess said, holding back a chortle. “Other than you’ll notice the punch is remarkably weak, so even the hotheads won’t have an excuse for their wits not being about them. Now, I must go.”
He bustled away.
“That man and his trade are a perfect match,” Khiri said. “He couldn’t keep a secret if you threatened him with . . . with whatever you threaten a taleteller with.”
“True,” Hal agreed.
They both noticed something at the same time—equerries, in royal livery, were moving through the crowd, stopping here and there. Hal saw them pause at Cantabri, at Lord Egibi, Commander of the First Army, Lord Desmoceras, Sagene Commander of the Second Army, other high-rankers.
One stopped at Limingo, the king’s most talented sorcerer, who was accompanied by a lithe young man both Hal and Khiri agreed could only be described as beautiful.
Something besides a formal dance was transpiring.
Hal wondered how long it would be before he was told.
Kailas was rather astonished when one of the equerries came to him, bowed, and said, “His Royal Majesty summons you to an audience in the chamber beyond the green door.”
He didn’t wait for a response, but passed on.
“Interesting,” Hal said.
“And there goes my dance . . . and romance,” Khiri murmured.
