by Rick Cook
The white crystal set into his saddle horn began to darken on the left side. Magic in that direction, then. He signaled the squadron onto a new heading. The magic detector was passive and emitted almost no magic of its own, but it was not very sensitive. He knew that the Watchers in the Wizards’ Keep were following them closely, but at this distance they could not follow the battle in fine detail. Once the enemy was sighted they’ would be able to see through the eyes of the dragon riders but for now they could not help them locate the enemy. Following the directions of the detector Dragon Leader led his squadron lower until his dragon’s wingtips almost touched the rainbow-tinged clouds. Still no sign of the enemy, but something was making the dragons very nervous. Dragon Leaders own mount nearly shied beneath him and out of the corner of his eye he saw others toss their heads in unease.
One of the flight leaders waved, relaying a signal from further out in the patrol. Dragons in sight! Dragon Leader strained his eyes and saw dark, amorphous forms rising out of the clouds toward them. With a touch of his knees he wheeled his mount around to set up an attack as soon as the enemy came out of the clouds.
Definitely ridden dragons. But there was something strange about them. Dragon Leader pushed the uneasiness out of his mind and drew his war bow. Ahead of him the leader of the third, left-most, flight lined up for the first attack. The enemy dragons glided up out of the clouds with their wings outstretched. First one rider’s head broke the mist, then another and another. Apparently oblivious to the threat above and behind them they continued to climb into perfect position for the ambushers.
Dragon Leader watched as the leader of the third flight led the attack in a fast, shallow dive, aiming to fire on the rearmost of the exposed dragons and then swoop away without dropping into the concealing clouds. The rest of his flight would follow him in, each taking the next dragon left in line. If the enemy was really unaware, the lead dragon might not realize the formation was under attack until all his fellows were down.
The flight leaders attack was textbook perfect and his release beautifully timed as he fired the iron death arrow into the enemy dragon’s flank. Even from the distance Dragon Leader saw the arrow strike home.
The enemy dragon reared its head against slack reins and looked back over its shoulder at the attacker. Then a burst of dragon fire caught the flight leader and his dragon as they climbed away from me formation, sending them plummeting from the sky in a blazing mass. Unconcerned by the deadly arrow sticking in its side, the dragon turned to face the oncoming foe.
Another death arrow struck the dragon, and another and another as the remaining members of the flight hastily shifted their aim. One of them tore a hole in the dragon’s wing and one pinned the rider to his saddle. The rider was no more bothered than his mount. He merely swiveled in his saddle to send off his own arrow over the dragon’s flanks. The draw was stiff, the release jerky and the arrow wavered past its intended target without effect But by this time another Northern dragon and rider were down and the melee became general.
Jerry and Taj were hard at it in the programmers’ workroom when Bal-Simba sought them out. The giant black wizard looked as grim as Jerry had ever seen him.
"There is a new factor we must consider in our planning," he said without preamble. "The enemy has a weapon we were not expecting."
Jerry’s first impulse was to say something like "what else is new?", but the look on Bal-Simba’s face stopped him. "What?"
"Animated corpses. Our enemy wakes the dead."
"Zombies?"
"Dragons and riders alike." The distaste was plain on Bal-Simba’s face.
"Such-things-are not unknown. But not even the Dark League meddled with them overmuch."
Jerry bit his lip. "We haven’t either, except in movies."
"No one in the North has experience with them," Bal-Simba went on. There are tales, however. They all agree they are difficult to create and harder still to control. Nor do they make satisfactory servants. They are merely puppets dancing on strings."
"Maybe this guy’s found another way to make them work," Taj suggested.
"So it would seem. A strong patrol of dragon cavalry engaged a flight of the Enemy’s this afternoon and we lost six riders and as many dragons." The corner of his mouth quirked up in what might have been an attempt at a smile. "Our riders were using death arrows."
"And you can’t kill a zombie," Taj said, "So how do you stop them?"
"The body must be destroyed so as to render it useless to the animating intelligence. We were finally able to do so, but at a cost far too high. Such things are very hard to stop."
Jerry and Taj looked at each other.
"If you will excuse me, My Lords, I must call upon the families of the riders we have lost. Should you require further information Arianne will be able to assist you." With that he turned and left the workroom.
TWENTY-ONE
STAND TO YOUR GLASSES
The wing gathered in the tavern that night, but no one was drinking. Off in the corner three squadron leaders sat with their heads together, talking in low tones. Occasionally one of them would make the hand motions which are the universal language of fliers. Some of the others gathered in twos and threes to talk quietly as well. Most of the riders just sat. Occasionally there would be an outburst of wrath and the sound of a mug shattering as it was thrown against a wall. Dragon Leader stood alone by the bar, sunk in a brown study. You could have heard a pin drop when Charlie walked through the door. Seemingly oblivious to the mood of the place he bellied up to his accustomed spot at the bar.
"Heard you boys had a little scrap today," the old pilot said. "How many did you lose?"
"Six," the man at the bar said shortly.
Charlie gave a low whistle. ’Tough. Really tough. But I’ve seen worse, believe me. One time in Korea we were still flying P-5ls, we got jumped by a bunch of Migs and lost half our squadron."
Still no one said anything.
"Aw, hell. Come on boys, the drinks are on me. Bar-keep, set ’em up!" No one moved. No one said a word.
"My Lord."
Charlie turned and found Dragon Leader standing too close behind him. This is not the time or place for you," he said quietly. "It would be best if you go somewhere else."
Charlie opened his mouth, perhaps to apologize, and Dragon Leader moved even closer. "Now," he said.
Charlie closed his mouth and left.
Karin was late getting home that evening and for some reason that troubled Mick. She had been working with Stigi as she did every day. Since the first time Mick had stayed away from the aerie.
He had heard about the battle and the losses, of course, and he expected she’d spend some time with her squadron mates in the complex, wordless process of pilots’ grieving for those fallen. But it was very late indeed when she finally returned to their quarters.
"Hi, beautiful," he said and took her in his arms, only to feel her tense.
"Mick, we need to talk"
Uh-oh, thought Gilligan, who had been married long enough to know what that meant.
He sat down at the table. "Would you like some tea?"
Karin shook her head and settled into the chair across the table from him. "I’ve asked to rejoin my squadron."
"What?"
That means I must move back to the barracks," she rushed on, "so I can be ready to fly at an instant’s notice."
That’s pretty heavy," Mick said at last.
Karin leaned forward to put her hand on his arm. "It won’t be that bad. There’ll still be time to see each other and I’ll only be at ready six or seven days out of ten."
"You know that’s not what’s worrying me." Well, not the main thing, he thought. She hesitated. "Mick, we lost too many riders to the zombies. We need every dragon and every experienced rider now."
Mick didn’t say anything.
"This is not like the machines you flew. It is no more dangerous than riding horseback."
And how many people have been
killed falling off horses? But he didn’t say it.
"There’s a big operation coming up," he said finally.
"And you thought I would stay out of it?" The color drained from her cheeks and she pressed her lips together in a tight line. "What do you think I am? Did you honestly believe I would desert my mates at a time like this?"
Gilligan gave her his best winsome, little-boy smile. "Well, I could hope." As soon as he said it he knew it was wrong. Karin went even whiter and stood up so fast she almost knocked the chair over.
"I must return to my squadron," she said woodenly. "I will be back later for my things."
Gilligan opened his mouth to apologize, to say the words that would make her stay. But there were no words, so he just nodded and looked at his hands. Sometimes it’s worth freezing your buns off just to be alone. Jerry stood on the battlements and stared off into the night. The stars were back again, shining like bright, hard bits of metal in a crystal clear sky. The air smelled of cold and nothing else. Even the sounds were gone.
Jerry slipped one hand out of the relative warmth of his heavy cloak and pulled the fur-trimmed hood closer around his nose. The fur smelled faintly of cedar even in the nose-numbing cold. He made no move to go back in.
So stand to your glasses steady: This world is a world full of lies. It was Charlie, obviously very much the worse for wear. From the way he was staggering Jerry was afraid he was going to fall off the walkway into the courtyard two stories below.
He was bareheaded and wearing only his flight suit and flying jacket; not even gloves. The old pilot must be freezing in this weather but he seemed too full of drink and his own concerns to notice.
"How ya doin’?" he slurred as he came up to Jerry.
"Okay," Jerry said neutrally, hoping he’d take the hint.
He didn’t "I got my ears pinned back good an’ proper tonight," Charlie told him with an air of alcoholic confession. "I butted into something that wasn’t my affair, squadron business, and I got what I damn well deserved."
Jerry nodded and didn’t say anything.
"A squadron’s like a family, son. There’s times outsiders are welcome and there’s times they ain’t. Forget that and you’re gonna get slapped down." Some comment seemed called for. "You must have run into that in Vietnam," Jerry said.
Charlie leaned on the parapet and stared out into the freezing night.
"I wasn’t in Vietnam," the old man said softly. "Hell son, I didn’t learn to fly until I was thirty-two." He turned back to look at Terry.
"You know what I was? I was an accountant. A goddamn accountant! But I got lucky and I was in the right place at the right time and when we went public I walked away with nearly twelve million bucks.
"A good chunk of that went to my second wife, but I was still left with more money than any normal human being can spend in a lifetime of trying. The day we closed the deal, I came out of the lawyer’s office, tore off my coat and tie, threw ’em in a trash can and I vowed I’d spend the rest of my life doing exactly what I wanted.
"Oh yeah, I got what I wanted." He smiled off into the darkness but there was no humor in it. "Maybe what I deserved."
Charlie hawked and spat out into the crystal night.
"Thirty years of doing just what I wanted and you know what that adds up to? Not a bucket of warm piss.
"I’m sixty-three years old, I got a drinking problem, diabetes and a cardiac arrhythmia that’s probably gonna kill me if the other stuff don’t get me first."
"Sounds like you had fun, anyway," Jerry said neutrally.
Charlie turned to face him. "You know what I found? Too much fun ain’t fun any more. You need some kind of purpose to make it all mean something." He waggled a finger under Jerry’s nose. "Now you, you’ve been dragged from pillar to post. But you know what? All of that was for a cause. It means something.
Take this here. You’re gonna go charging off to rescue your lady love and maybe save the world
"Maybe you’ll win, maybe you’ll lose. But when it comes to the end you’re gonna be able to look back on your life and say it meant something.
"Son," the old man said, "from where I stand you’ve got nothing to complain about."
TWENTY-TWO
FINDING A PLACE
Mick Gilligan peered down onto the floor of the aerie, trying to pick a familiar blond head out of the dozen or so mounted dragon riders assembled below for the dawn patrol. But the aerie was softly lit and the observation balcony where he stood was high. He thought Karin was the third in line, but he couldn’t be sure. At an unheard command the first dragon lumbered forward, spreading its great bat wings as it picked up speed. In five strides it blocked the daylight and then it was out of the cave, its wings beating strongly. By that time the second dragon had started its run and the third was straining forward. One by one the beasts and their riders poured put of the door and vanished into the bright blue beyond. Mick waited until the last of them had gone and turned away as the grooms and other ground crew swarmed out onto the floor to prepare for further operations.
"Forgive me, My Lord," came a gentle female voice behind him. "You seem troubled." Gilligan turned and started when he found himself face-to-face with a dragon.
"Yeah, I guess I am," Gilligan said, ignoring his questioner’s physical form.
"You are worried about Karin, are you not?"
"She asked to be put back on flying status. We had a big fight."
"She is a dragon rider, after all," Moira said gently. "As a flier, surety you can understand how she feels."
"Yeah, but it’s different from this side of the fence.
I’m getting some of my own back" His mouth quirked bitterly. "You know something? I don’t like it."
Shit! Telling my problems to a dragon. Well, it was no crazier than the rest of this place.
"We seldom do," Moira agreed. For a while both of them stared at the bustle of activity in the aerie below without talking.
"What brings you here?" Gilligan asked.
"Watching me dragons. I enjoy it-or rather this body enjoys it." She sighed.
"Sometimes I am not sure of the difference any more."
Charlie was at Bal-Simbas door early the next morning. That was surprising because the old man had established himself as a late riser. Looking at his generally disheveled condition and smelling the alcohol on his breath, Bal-Simba surmised he hadn’t been to bed yet.
"I need to talk to you," Charlie said without preamble.
"I am at your disposal, My Lord." Bal Simba gestured to a chair but Charlie kept standing.
"You’ve got a big show coming up," Charlie said. "I want a piece of it. Flying." Bal-Simba cocked his head. "On a dragon? I believe your machine will not work here."
"You mean it won’t fly under its own power," Charlie corrected, "But if you guys can float a big rock you can float a plane."
"Perhaps, but-without meaning offense- what can your craft do that dragons cannot do better?"
A broad smile spread over Charlies face. "Confuse the hell out of ’em."
"Eh?"
"You need a distraction, right? Okay, Mick and the nerds tell me that comes down to an ECM problem. Electronic Counter-Measures," he added quickly at Bal-Simba’s puzzled look. "You need something that will spoof them into thinking you’re coming at them from one direction when you’re really gonna hit them blind-side." He leaned forward and put his hands on Bal-Simba’s work table, heedless of etiquette. "So we load the Colt up with all the magic it can carry and your wizards wave their wands to make it fry. I go blasting toward the Enemy, radiating magic like it was going out of style. They’ll know something is coming, but they won’t know what. It will be radiating enough magic to cover every dragon in the North."
In spite of himself, Bal-Simba nodded.
Charlie grinned. "The best part of it is that even once they acquire me visually they still won’t know what the hell they’ve got They can’t just break off like they would with a drone."
The old man grinned back equally mirthlessly. "It’s sporty son. Downright sporty."
Bal-Simba looked more closely at the pilot, and thought hard. The man was apparently sincere and undoubtedly sober enough to understand what he was suggesting. Having such a strange thing at the center of the magic would indeed confuse the Enemy.
"I will see what I can do," he told Charlie.
Dragon Leader ignored the constant boom of the sea as it crashed on the nearly vertical rock. He was not much given to conversation and there was no need as long as he kept an eye on his wingman. His wingman had climbed to the top of the pinnacle to watch for intruders. Dragon Leader surveyed the jagged fissures, overhangs and holes in the rock.
Their dragons were resting in the great crack that nearly cleaved the place in two. They were invisible, save from the proper angle at close range. They had not sought a confrontation with the Enemy’s dragons this time. Instead they had sneaked south by a roundabout route to this place and several others similarly situated.
The Executioner was as bleak and unattractive as its name. A snag of red-black volcanic rock thrusting above the restless gray sea like a monstrous fang. All around it lay Murder Shoals, the names a tribute to the terror these places inspired in those who sailed the Freshened Sea.
Even here, as far "inland" as it was possible to get on this place, spray stung his eyes. The chill, wet air sucked the heat from his body. It was not a comfortable place, but he had known that before he came. Comfort was not one of the parameters he was interested in.
Dragon Leader nodded to himself. The place would do.
