The Cutting Edge

by Dave Duncan

  "Dragons!" said a new voice.

  Reflexes jerked Ylo back a step. He almost dropped the flag. His heart fell clear to his boots.

  Another elf stood beside the other two. He wore a shimmering silver cloak and a jaunty cap. The glade was not yet dark enough for him to have approached unseen. He had not risen out of the grass.

  Shandie also had recoiled a pace. Now he saluted, his face suddenly grimmer than ever.

  "Will your legions fight dragons?" the newcomer demanded angrily.

  He looked about fifteen. A dandy. A runt.

  The past months had made Ylo very blase about the Four, although he had met none of them except Olybino. He had studied what was generally known of them and collected a few confidential hints from Shandie. He knew that Olybino had been East for forty-four years, so he was a much older man than his occult demeanor suggested. He knew that the warden of the south was an elf and he had held the Blue Throne for twice as long as Olybino had held the Gold. South must therefore be more than a hundred years old, and his prerogative was occult control of the dwindled population of dragons that still dwelt within Dragon Reach.

  This kid looked to be about fifteen, but he was threatening Shandie with dragons. He was the warlock of the south. Dragon Reach was not very far away-as a dragon flew. May the Good preserve us!

  "You know who 1 am?"

  Shandie had recovered from the shock. "Warlock Lith'rian. I remember you. "

  The kid smiled contemptuously. "I should hope so! And I asked if you were prepared to fight dragons tomorrow?"

  Ylo sneaked a look around, hoping to find Warlock Olybino. Lith'rian must be bluffing, surely? Certainly he could use dragons as a weapon if he wished-and no one else must-but not in this war! Not against the Imperial Army. The legions were sacrosanct. Even humble Ylo in his wet and smelly signifer's wolfskin was sacrosanct. Why, then, was the humble Ylo feeling so naked and mortal?

  Shandie said quietly, "I rely on the Protocol to protect me from dragons, your Omnipotence. "

  "Then you will be disappointed! I am tired of this diet of blood the old monster craves in his dotage. I despise his warped methods and devious aims. " The warlock looked at the woman. "I applaud the sirdar's decision! She shows us that there is still honor in the world. "

  She bowed. "Your Omnipotence honors me. "

  "You honor our race and the Gods. Help is on its way. " Dragons.

  Ylo could barely stop his teeth from chattering. He hoped Shandie would understand that the cold and rain were doing that to him; that fear was only a small part of it.

  "And what of the Protocol, your Omnipotence?" Shandie asked.

  "What of it?" Lith'rian snarled. "You dare invoke its name? You cosset it when it aids you and rape it when it doesn't! "

  "I have done nothing to-"

  "Legally, no! You stay within the letter and you foul the spirit. Emine never intended the Protocol to sustain such noxious ventures as yours. "

  Shandie straightened his shoulders. "I had nothing to do with whatever happened at Fort Exern. I have done my duty as a soldier until tonight. Tonight I exceeded my orders in an effort to spare men's lives. Women's, also. "

  "So you will feel better when you celebrate your triumph in Hub?"

  The prince sighed. "I suppose so. "

  "And I ask you again if you are prepared to fight dragons? "

  "Yes," Shandie said. "If I must. Tomorrow I will enter the valley of the Linder and occupy Fairgan, or I will the trying. " He meant it.

  God of Madness! Now it was the imps who were turning suicidal.

  Lith'rian adjusted the silvery cloak on his shoulders. It seemed dry, despite the rain. "I suppose you expect help from that playboy soldier in the yellow helmet? You think he will take care of my dragons for you while you savage the elves? I advise you not to count on him. Olybino has never been much of a sorcerer and he knows it. Don't count on him, Prince Emshandar. I invited him to this meeting. I invited him to my sector. And he was too frightened to come!"

  "I am here now," Olybino said, appearing at Shandie's side. Lith'rian sneered. "Not much of you."

  The image of a giant young warrior was transparent. Rain was falling through him. "I am disinclined to trust a man who seeks to overthrow the rule of law. The Protocol is our shield and you will destroy it! "

  The elf looked nauseated. "You pompous mirage! I say that the Protocol was designed to protect the world from the political use of sorcery and that you have been abusing it by turning that spotty-faced prince of yours into a world conqueror! I say that the Protocol does not justify such criminal fakery as Exern, nor the massacre your royal hero plans for tomorrow. You seek to buy his friendship so that he will take your part in the council when he sits on the Opal Throne. "

  Shandie drew breath as if to speak, then seemed to think better of it.

  "Your elvish wits are muddled, as usual!" Olybino's voice held strange echoes, like shouting in a cathedral. "You know that the wheels of history begin to turn and the knell of the millennium is sounding. And what of the Covin, Brother? Never has there been greater danger, greater need for us to stand together. Call off your worms!"

  "Call off your legions!" Lith'rian cried, his elvish treble as plaintive as the rain song in the forest night.

  "You imperil the Protocol itself at such a time?" East boomed. "What folly is this, my brother of the south?"

  "It is not I who imperils the Protocol, it is you who have perverted it! Your bronze bullies are a stain upon my landsclean it up or I will burn it off!"

  "You are crazy! You destroy us all!"

  "Then be it so!" Lith'rian folded his arms in defiance. What was going on here? Glancing around all the faces, Ylo could see nothing helpful in any of them. Sorcerers fought duels-according to the ancient tales--and the stronger destroyed or enslaved the weaker. They might call up armies of occult votaries and unleash hellfire and horror. The city of Ginlish was under a mountain now ... But the principle behind the Protocol was that the four most powerful sorcerers in the world would regulate one another and together control all others. They had means to achieve consensus-why were they not being invoked?

  And East seemed to be hinting at even greater dangers. There were unexplained mysteries here. Just as his thoughts had struggled that far, Shandie put the question into words.

  "My Lords, what of your associates? In such a grave matter, should not the Four take counsel together?"

  "Ah!" Lith'rian said, never taking his eyes from the ghostly shape of Olybino. "As of this morning, we are but Three. "

  "The warden of the north is dead, " the other warlock added. Witch Bright Water had been centuries old, Ylo knew. Her departure was hardly surprising and probably not to be regretted, if half the stories about her were true.

  Shandie whistled. "You have not yet appointed a successor? "

  "Not yet. " South's strange elvish eyes still watched East intently.

  "Then the matter may be decided by a simple vote, surely? May I ask where the warden of the west is?"

  "You presume far, Little Prince!" Lith'rian snapped, although he looked to be ten years younger than Shandie. "You are not yet imperor! "

  "I make no claim to have rights in this! I am only trying to help. "

  "The mundane is wiser than we are, Brother South." Olybino's tone was as magisterial as ever, yet Ylo thought it concealed a whine of appeal. "Let us place our differences before our sister of the west."

  Lith'rian scowled, pulling his cloak tight about him. His anger was directed at Shandie, but on him anger seemed too much like juvenile petulance. "Withdraw your legions, Princeling!"

  "Your Omnipotence, I am sworn to obey my grandfather the imperor. "

  "Flunky! " The warlock spat the word. "Accomplice! " Then he faded away and there was only falling rain where he had stood. The grass there did not seem displaced.

  "This has been an evil night's work!" Olybino said. "See what your foolish scruples have wrought?" Then he also was gone.

/>   The four mundanes stood alone in the sodden clearing-but had the warlocks ever been truly present? Darkness had settled in utterly, so that nothing was visible beyond the lamps' comforting glow, not even the treetops against the sky. Ylo had a strange sensation of awakening from a nightmare.

  The sirdar made a wordless sound of relief. "Well!" She smiled grimly. "You chose a poor time to invade Ilrane, Prince! "

  "Perhaps!" Shandie said. "I think Lith'rian is bluffing, though. Even if he is a match for the other two, he would be criminally stupid to abrogate the Protocol as he threatens. They will appoint a successor for Bright Water soon enough and restore the balance."

  She shrugged. "Tomorrow we shall see who is bluffing and who is not, Highness. Until then-farewell!"

  "Farewell, Sirdar. I still hope that you will change your mind and seek to promote the Good. "

  "And I hope the same of you, Proconsul."

  "Let us go, Signifer," Shandie said.

  The night was an opaque blackness, swallowing the lantern's feeble glow. Stumbling and slipping, Ylo led the way up the track, worrying about straying off the feeble path, worrying about falling and extinguishing the lamp ... just worrying in general. And shivering. And feeling horribly insignificant.

  His dreams of taking part in historical events were bitter memories now. The Four always got what they wanted, his father had said. A humble signifer had never been important in the sweep of strategy, and apparently a prince was of little more account when the wardens intervened. Dragons?

  But now the Four had become the Three and the balance was overthrown. Without the Protocol to ban political use of magic, the world would be plunged back into the Dark Times, before Emine. Three thousand years of civilization would be overturned. War would again be fought with sorcery, with fire and earthquake-and with dragons.

  "East was correct," Shandie said suddenly. "This has been an evil night's work. Was I wrong to offer mercy, Ylo?"

  Ylo stopped in astonishment and raised the lamp to see his legate's face. "You are asking my opinion, sir?"

  Shandie had halted, also. He rubbed his face with his handswiping his eyes or else concealing his expression. "I suppose I am. Give it."

  "I . . ." Ylo almost panicked, trying to find words. "Better keep moving," Shandie said, "else we freeze to death. Obviously you doubt. "

  Ylo began to walk again. "I am not qualified to judge, sir. No one is. `Might have been' is a game for the Gods." Shandie followed. "I think perhaps I was wrong. Had I demanded surrender, they would have spurned it, but they might have broken before our charge tomorrow and run. Now they will not. Had I not parleyed at all, they might have tried to break out and I could have let them go. By seeking to save all of them, I have condemned them all. Stubborn, yellow crackpots! Elves are the most twisted thinkers in all Pandemia. And I have angered the warlock of the east."

  Ylo made a noncommittal noise and concentrated on finding the way. If Shandie needed to talk, then this was a safer place for him to unburden himself than in the camp, where ears abounded.

  "Worse. I have made a bad enemy in South!"

  Yes, that might be the nastiest wasp in the nest. History told of many imperors who had alienated wardens and paid dearly for it.

  For a moment Shandie muttered inaudibly. Ylo walked on, watching the sparkle of reflections on the water that cascaded down the track in front of his boots.

  "Sir? What's the Covin?"

  "No idea," Shandie said absently. "Covin's a legal term for conspiracy."

  "But . . . " Perhaps Ylo had misheard. He'd thought that Olybino had used the word. In fact, he'd even thought the warlock had used it as if it were the name of something frightening. Absurd! What could possibly frighten a warlock?

  Shandie's mind was on other things. "Lith'rian thinks straighter than most elves, I think, Ylo. I shall resign my commission. "

  "Sir?"

  "I don't know what has gotten into my grandfather lately. He was never a warmonger. He prided himself on being a man of peace. And this last year ... My place is in Hub."

  That was the most cheerful remark Ylo had heard for weeks. Yes, Hub would be a very pleasant change from this.

  "The time for obeying orders may be past," Shandie said. God of Mercy! What was he planning? That was not a good thought at all. Shandie had a daughter back in the capital, a daughter he had never seen. A daughter could carry on the dynasty if ... if Shandie tried a rebellion and failed. Good be with us! Was he thinking of trying to usurp the throne? Ylo did not want to think such things. He did not want to hear such things. He had escaped the executioner's ax once by an eyelash. "It's stopped raining!" he said loudly. "That's good!"

  "No!" Shandie said. "That's bad. That's very bad. I was afraid that might happen. "

  6

  The rain had stopped. As Ylo and Shandie were being challenged by the outposts, the wind was rising. By the time they reached the commander's compound, it was rushing along the lines of tents in noisy ripples and tearing the clouds off the stars.

  The legions were on battle alert; there had been no fires since sundown. Rank had its comforts, though, and those included a couple of dim lamps and a charcoal brazier. Centurion Hardgraa was busily producing hot drinks for cold officers, having nothing better to do and being one of those perpetually active people Ylo could never understand. It was impossible to imagine that human lumberyard ever putting his arm around a woman and just relaxing. He fussed over Shandie like an armored hen, especially when they were in the field, where military procedures recognized no place for personal bodyguards. Relief flooded the centurion's gnarled face as he saw that his beloved prince had returned unharmed, but he said nothing. Instead he thrust out a branch with a tankard that steamed invitingly.

  Shandie muttered thanks, passed the draft to Ylo, and waited for the next. That was typical Shandie.

  The mug was wonderfully warm in freezing fingers, smelling of fragrant herbs. It tasted of spice and honey. Ylo burned his mouth and didn't care. He thought he could hear ice crystals crackling inside him as the hot stuff went down, and all the little hairs on his arms stood up in celebration.

  The tent was filling up. Armor clinked. The air grew thick with the smells of wet leather, wet horsehair, wet men. Wet wolf, locally.

  Shandie passed back his empty mug, glancing around the dim faces cramped in on all sides. The tent roof flapped loudly, which meant the ropes were drying out already and the wind was still rising. God of Mercy!

  The proconsul spoke up then, in the harsh voice of authority. "Everyone here? Very well. I offered terms. They were refused." He paused, as if waiting for comment, or picking his next words with care. "So the plan remains the same, gentlemen . . . with two minor additions. First-no quarter. "

  One or two drew breath audibly. Perhaps it was just his imagination, but Ylo thought there was a change in the silence after that. Butchery was never popular, if only because it meant that the other side would not be taking prisoners, either.

  The tent billowed and creaked.

  "Second. There may be a change of plan, either before or after battle is joined. I am aware that we are facing a defeated, encircled, outnumbered rabble of elves, gentlemen. But there could be unexpected developments, is that clear? Whatever orders I send, don't write me a letter to ask if my signifer's been partying."

  A few of the men chuckled, as he must have known they would.

  "Something funny?" Silence.

  "You will not question any signal whatsoever! I hope there is no confusion over that? Then try to get some sleep, all of you. May the Good be with us. "

  Nicely done, Ylo thought-as always. Shandie had given as much warning as he dared. Of course he'd left the signifers exposed, no queries, no repeats. Ylo'd better not get his right hand mixed up with his left in this one.

  The visitors departed, all but Legate Arkily of the XXVth. Ignoring him, Shandie began stripping off his armor and Ylo went to assist. It would all have to go on again right after, but a good tow
eling would help. Arkily was hanging around because he was second in command and therefore had the right to know everything Shandie knew.

  But nothing in the world would start Shandie babbling lunacy about dragons, not even to Arkily.

  During battle alert, Ylo slept on a cot in the commander's tent. Ylo could always sleep, even in damp chain mail in a rising gale on battle alert-it was a gift. He also had the ability to waken instantly, as he did when Shandie lifted the flap to look out, at first light.

  The signifer raised his head and sniffed. Impossible! Then he was on his feet beside the proconsul, staggering slightly, shivering with dawn chill. Sniffing again.

  "He's bluffing!" Shandie muttered furiously. "He wouldn't!" It seemed as if the warlock would dare, though.

  Rain had been falling for weeks, all over Nefer Moor. The streams were bank full, brown torrents. The trees, the grass, even the soil-they were all saturated, and yet the smell of woodsmoke was unmistakable. The elvish army lay to the west and the wind was out of the west. Ylo made an audible gulping noise. as the implications fell all over him.

  Shandie growled in frustration. "It's a bluff!"

  Maybe it was. Maybe the fire was only an illusion. Maybe it was a real fire and had been started by mundane human hands, impossible as that seemed. But the only way to call that bluff would be to march a detachment of men into the blaze. If the Protocol still held, then no sorcery would harm them. The elves would, of course. Even mundane flames would.

  If it wasn't a bluff, there were dragons between the two forces and the scouting party would be melted.

  Dragons sought metal. Gold for preference, but bronze would do. Four legions in this camp-twenty thousand men in helmets and chain mail, with swords and shields, officers in cuirasses ... several hundred tons of metal. A dragon would go insane on a single taste of metal, and waste the countryside.

  "If there are dragons out there," Ylo mumbled through a sour, dry mouth, "can he keep them under control? Can even a warlock keep them under control?"

  "That's what we'll have to discover, isn't it?"