by Chris Bunch
Next to arrive were four magicians.
One, as King Asir had feared would happen, was the eminent Linüngo. The second was his carefully schooled subordinate, Bodrugan. With them were two acolytes, of course chosen as much for their looks as their sorcerous talent.
"The king isn't going to like this," Hal said.
Limingo shrugged.
"Let him come up with more interesting needs for magic, then."
"What's he going to do, anyway?" Bodrugan asked. "Magicians, even clean-cut sorts such as ourselves, can wreak a terrible vengeance."
Hal nodded nervously, and had Mariah sign them aboard and give them the best staterooms on the Galgorm.
With over five hundred men and women, Hal was about ready to sail out.
He was on the deck of the Galgorm late one afternoon when he saw a rather large and shabbily dressed man come in the gate of the yard, looking about furtively.
Hal recognized him instantly—the cart-sized thug, Babil Gachina, his cellmate.
Hal, half figuring what he wanted, went to the dock to greet him.
"Want to go with you," Gachina announced.
"How much trouble are you in?" Hal asked.
Babil looked surprised.
"How did you know?"
"You didn't exactly have the look of a good, honest working man about you coming through the yard."
"Mmmmh," Babil said. "Got to work on that. Maybe that's what give me away."
"You were doing what at the time?"
"A little robbin'," Gachina said. "Nothin' violent. But the man whose carriage I was riffling's got friends. Friends with other friends who're warders and such. Thought it might be best if I wasn't seen around the usual parts for a while."
Hal thought about what he was going to do and say, thought it would be the worst sort of romanticism.
"You know what happens to thieves aboard ship?" he asked.
Gachina shook his head.
"Sometimes they just get tipped overside," Hal said. "Or sometimes both hands get nailed to a beam, and the thief gets beaten, sometimes so he has trouble walking ever."
Gachina stared at him. Kailas, not flickering, stared back.
"My brother said you was a hard man."
Kailas didn't reply.
"Awright," the crook said. "I give you my family word, which I ain't never broken, that I'll do no harm to nobody or their property, and behave like a good an' proper citizen. At least until I advises you different.
"If you'll have me."
"I'll have you," Hal said. "We can always use a man of muscle. But break your word with me, and I guarantee there'll be no trial or beating.
"I'll deal with you myself."
Gachina looked at the deck, was silent.
Hal stuck out his hand.
"Now… welcome aboard."
A smile slowly spread across the big man's face, and he stuck out what had to be a hand, since it was at the end of his arm.
Finally, Hal could find nothing and no one more to require on the ships, and held a final conference for the baying broadsheet scribes, making a mildly revolting but no doubt sonorous speech about the expedition and the most honorable king who'd funded it.
Three days later, the six ships set out.
It appeared as if all of Rozen, and half of Deraine itself, lined the banks of the river leading down to the Chicor Straits, all waving flags and cheering.
King Asir's yacht sat in midstream as they sailed past, and the king was in the bows, holding his scepter, in ceremonial robes.
The adventurers bowed, then gave him a cheer.
Hal stood at the salute until they were past the yacht, then ordered sea watches set.
Everyone except Hal, Mariah, and the king thought the party was headed toward foreign shores.
It would be… after one stop.
There would be no room for mistakes beyond the Western Ocean.
19
The secret stop Hal ordered was off the fishing village of Brouwer, about as far west on Deraine as it was possible to be. He'd detached Cabet days earlier, and a detail of twenty men with wagon-loaded supplies.
The supplies were deliberately left in large piles on a dreary, rain-swept moor beyond the village.
Hal's ships were anchored off the port, and all hands brought ashore and marched to the moor.
The order was given to pitch camp, and stand by for further orders.
Everyone set to, after a few moments of surprise that the expedition wasn't well on its way to sea and foreign adventure.
Hal, Limingo, and Farren Mariah worked as hard as anyone. Harder, for their eyes and ears were pitched for whiners or malingerers.
There were a few.
They were taken aside, and told they were discharged, effective immediately, from the expedition.
Most of them were astonished.
Hal brought them together, and made a short speech:
"Adventure starts in the shitter, most often. If you women and men can't handle putting up a few tents when it's soggy out, and still manage a laugh, how in the hells do you think you'll stand real hardship?"
They were sent back aboard one of the dispatch boats, which also carried letters to an equal number of the almost-qualified, telling them there were new openings with the Dragonmaster.
Most of the slackers eliminated, Hal called the survivors into a group, and made another short speech:
"You're soldiers, each of you. Now we'll train you to work together. An army, or an expedition, isn't just a group of wild-haired adventurers, in spite of what the tale-tellers blather."
Each man and woman was required not only to hone old skills and talents, but to learn another trade.
Hal anticipated casualties, with no replacements thousands of leagues from home.
So scouts learned how to clerk, farriers learned how to soldier, and, most important, everyone learned about dragons.
The training was, of course, hasty, and probably wouldn't hold together beyond the first encounter with an unknown foe, if there was to be one.
They even played war games, small-sized battles.
These were remarkable because casualties were named in midproblem. Suddenly a private would become a section leader, frequently with no idea of what the battle was about.
Officers and warrants were chosen, tried, and, sometimes, reduced to the ranks. This was no particular disgrace—the only privileges those in charge had were working harder, longer hours than their underlings, and wearing dark strips of cloth around their right arms.
The dragons and their fliers were sweated as hard as anyone. Some of them, like the Sagene, didn't know the trumpet calls the Deraine warriors used, so they had to learn. Hal insisted on everyone knowing the signals for a few simple formations: line abreast, column, and a group of vees.
Each flier picked a wingmate, and trained with him or her, flying close company. If they didn't get along, or, more important, their dragons hated each other, they found another partner.
Garadice had done an excellent job of making sure the dragons were roughly trained and mostly able to get along with other beasts, so there weren't any major problems when the fliers applied their own finishing touches. There'd be more learning, for both dragons and people, when they finally set sail.
Hal was delighted at the smoothness and rapidity of the training, but gave little sign of his elation, consciously developing a reputation as a man for whom perfection was only passing.
He thought often of Lord Cantabri, and how much he would've liked to have been along, and how much Hal would have appreciated being just a dragon flier under his command.
He paid little attention to his people's private lives, figuring that anyone who was willing to fight and die should be able to figure out who they wanted to bed or befriend. One rule was that any man lifting a hand against his fellow would be immediately discharged.
He let his men ruminate about what that would mean in practice when they were at sea, and beyond setti
ng someone back on the road for Rozen.
After three weeks, he thought the force had learned as much as it could without stretching the training into months, and had a second shipment of wagons sent for.
When the wagons, filled with delicacies and luxuries, arrived, he told the force they were ready to sail, and would be off duty for two days.
He ordered that anyone found disturbing the peace in Brouwer might be tossed off the expedition, and at least would be given a set of lumps and kitchen detail for the voyage.
To make sure nobody got rowdy in the little fishing port, he detailed two sets of largeish people, including Chook and Babil Gachina, as peacekeepers.
Hal meant this as a final test of Gachina—if he misbehaved, or took advantage, he could walk back to Rozen while the expedition went on without him.
Kailas gave himself a day off as well—he paid for the exclusive use of Brouwer's best cafe, of the three available, and told them to do their best.
He intended to spend the evening there alone, thinking of anything but dragons, and then have a dreamless, peaceful sleep for at least eight hours.
Spring loomed, but there was still a bite to the air.
Hal left camp, and strolled through Brouwer. Only a few of his team were in the village—the villagers had been neither warm nor cold to the soldiers, something which Hal could have told them was typical of the northwestern coast.
They'd already had their sendoff, anyway, back in Rozen, so almost all of the expedition members settled for the delicacies Hal had ordered and the simple joys of being back aboard ship, with a bed off the ground, and a roof overhead against the rain.
Kailas, an hour early for his dinner, went down by the jetty, and watched the fishing smacks tied to the docks for a time.
That was not a life he envied—hard, dangerous, and not terribly well paying. But those who loved it, loved it.
It was chilly, a wind coming off the sea, and he pulled his cloak tightly about him, thinking of the warm brandy he'd be having in a few moments.
There was only one other person on the wharf, who was also staring to sea.
After a moment, Hal recognized her:
Kimana Balf, the Sagene dragon flier.
He was walking toward her, intended to move behind her, without bothering whatever thoughts she was having, but instead wished her, "Good morrow."
"And the same to you, sir," she replied.
"A bit chill out."
"I like the cold," she said. "Always have. When I was growing, that meant, unless it came too early, that we'd made it through another year."
Hal had expected some inconsequential reply, and then a good evening.
Instead:
"Why?" he asked. "What odd trade were you in? Fur coats, perhaps?"
Kimana laughed.
"No. I… or rather my father was… is… a vintner.
The first freeze, which should mark that all your grapes are off the vine and trampled into the vats, marks the first time you can relax, when the damned gods aren't able to flood or bake or freeze your crop."
She shook her head.
"A hellish trade."
"I can think of a worse one," Hal said. "Two worse ones, really."
"Which are?"
"Scrabbling underground for coal, keeping one ear always cocked for the crack of a pit timber. Or," and he nodded his head at the docks, "going after fish in a little spitkit in the middle of a storm."
Kimana laughed. "I guess most jobs that you're not in, not part of, aren't attractive."
Hal decided her trace of an accent was delightful.
"True," he said. "I could never stand to be a clerk in a city, for instance."
They walked on, each trying to come up with a worse way to spend a life.
They came to the cafe that Hal had bought out for the evening, and suddenly the thought of another solitary meal became intolerable.
"Have you eaten yet?" he asked in Sagene.
Kimana shook her head, spoke in the same language. "I hope the mess cooks have saved something."
"A better idea," Hal said, and asked her to dine with him.
She looked surprised.
"We're both off duty," he said. "So tonight I'm just me."
"Which is, Lord Kailas?"
"Hal."
They went in, were greeted by the owner and his wife, and served dinner.
They ate smoked fish on bits of brown bread; oysters on the half-shell; crab on toast with a butter, dessert wine, cream, and spice sauce; great mushrooms, raw, with an oil, vinegar, and spice dressing.
"I didn't plan on drinking," Hal explained. "So I wanted a chilled herb tea."
"I'll have the same."
"And I don't want any dessert," he said. "Not much of a sweet tooth."
"Umm," she said, and so he sent the owner out for a trifle.
He himself had cheeses, and was replete.
During the meal they talked of this and that, but never about the expedition, and Hal realized how very attractive the young woman was.
"I swore I wouldn't bring up anything resembling our work," he said, very apologetically, "but there is a question that's been working at me for some time."
"Ask," Kimana said. "You have only to face a silence if I can't answer."
"I've wondered why we had so many women volunteers," he said.
"May all your questions be so easily answered," she said. "That's easy: men."
"Pardon?"
"Most of us—certainly myself—grew up thinking that men were always in charge of everything, that they always knew best.
"Then the war came along, and they were looking for people who wanted to fly dragons, and almost nobody knew anything about that, particularly in Sagene.
"I'd gone for two flights when a dragon flier came through, and loved it.
"My father forbade anything as bizarre as joining the army, let alone flying along on a great lizard.
"I was betrothed to the son of a nearby winemaker… had been since I was born, I guess. It was one of those things that everybody expected I'd do.
"Including me, I suppose.
"But then a recruiter came along. And to my complete astonishment, I found myself going with him. And I loved flying my own dragon more than being a damned passenger. I loved everything about it, including the fighting."
She made a wry face.
"And somehow I lived… I joined right at the end of the fighting, but saw a fair bit of action.
"Then it was over.
"I thought of going back, marrying Vahx, spending my life having babies and squishing grapes, and a cold chill went down my spine.
"So I ended up in Fovant, on a small allowance from my father. He was scandalized I wasn't coming home and doing the right thing—I can almost hear the capital letters—but he figured I'd come to my senses, and so didn't disinherit me or anything drastic.
"The gods bless and keep him.
"I studied art, realized I didn't have an inkling, then just hung about.
"Instead of coming to my senses, I heard about your expedition… and that was that."
"Interesting," Hal said. "I guess that sort of thing's true for men, as well."
"I think you're missing my point, and where this whole thing started," Kimana said. "You could have gotten out of the service… or maybe you did… and done whatever you wanted to. So could most of the other men.
"It's different for women. We would've had to go back to things just as they were.
"Mostly, that involved men and marriage."
Kimana shook her head.
"But that wasn't what a lot of us wanted."
"What did you want?" Hal asked. "I ask, because it doesn't seem that any of us men know."
Kimana looked forlorn.
"I still don't know. I wish I did."
"When you figure out," Kailas said, "be sure and tell us."
"Interesting," Kimana said. "I wonder why no man ever said that to me… or I to him. Godsdamn it, sooner o
r later men and women have to learn to talk."
Hal thought of telling her about his wonderings about why his marriage had collapsed, about Saslic Dinapur, and her "There won't be any after-the-war for a dragon flier." But he didn't.
He also thought about taking her hand, and didn't do that, either.
They walked back to the camp without talking much, but were comfortable in each other's company and their own thoughts.
Hal slept well that night, and woke with a smile on his lips, although he couldn't remember what he'd dreamed.
He allowed a day for recovery from hangovers, final rearrangements of the cargoes, and a chance for last-minute hesitations and resignations.
To his surprise, there were none.
The following day, they set sail on the evening tide, just at twilight.
There was only one person, a small girl, probably a fisherman's daughter, frantically waving good-bye from the jetty.
20
It was very calm for the Western Ocean as they passed beyond the island sheltering Brouwer. But when the ships hit the first long, rolling swells, there were more than a few landsmen, and even sailors who'd been away from the sea for a time, whose stomachs came up.
Hal Kailas was one of them. He kept swallowing, but his guts kept trying to inspect his gums.
He thought he was doing all right; after all, he'd been at sea before, and this was just queasiness.
He put himself amidships, next to a mast… and a bucket… in case the old adage didn't work.
He was just congratulating himself on his victory when a grizzled sailor went past, loudly chewing a sandwich largely made up of greasy pork.
The bucket came into play then, but Hal felt better afterward. He went to the scuttle, rinsed his mouth, and concentrated on the watch.
But he didn't go below when the meal was called.
The small fleet set its course west and south, following the directions divined by Hal's vision.
He had ordered the ships' captains to set not only the normal watch, but a second man with a glass at the masthead, to look for anything in the air. That watch was mounted an hour before dawn, lasting, in two-hour shifts, until an hour after dark.
