“Not at all.”
Li bowed and left the tent.
What a nice fellow, thought Wulfhere.
Gwenlian woke up; in the darkness of the tent, she saw the silhouette of a man sitting on the edge of her bed, with his head in his hands.
She was just a Flight Leader when they had first met, five years earlier. He was commanding her regiment at the time. Dashing, handsome, bright, with a scarred, mature face, he was popular among both the women and men of the Second Royal alike. They all loved and respected him and it was no surprise that she had fallen for him at once.
She preferred not to ask, but sometimes she wondered about his feelings. Who was she for him? Their relationship lasted too long to count as a passing distraction in time of war. She knew he had a wife in Gwynedd, Bran’s mother, but he never talked about her and she was grateful for that.
She reached out to him and caressed his back.
“What’s wrong, Dylan?”
He raised his head slowly.
“Do you think Edern would make a good commander?”
What brought that on?
“He’s proving himself well in the field,” she replied.
“Yes, he does, doesn’t he? He’s got an affinity with the Qin he trains. They like him.”
“They like you, too. They like anyone who brings guns and victory. What’s wrong?” she repeated, twirling the jade necklace he gave her at Shanglin.
Dylan sighed and lay back by her side.
“I can’t do it anymore. I think I’m growing old.”
“Is it about Shanglin? This has nothing to do with us.”
“You know they couldn’t have done it without our help.”
“I warned you there would be trouble.”
“What was I to do? I had my orders.”
“Well, you’re thinking of doing something now. I can tell.”
“I can’t betray my country. I’ve sworn to serve until… until…”
“What? You’re not planning something stupid, Dylan? Think about your son.”
“I am thinking about him. Gwen, I was wrong. I should be out there, looking for him. I should be in Yamato.”
“Yamato? How do you know — ”
“I know. I was guessing before, but now I’m certain.”
“You’ve already decided,” she said, after studying him for a while. She knew that look; there was nothing she could say or do to change his mind.
“Will you help me?” he asked, taking her by the wrist.
“We’ll be court-martialled if they find out. You’ll be stripped of rank, and your family will get no pension. We’ll be lucky to get out of it alive.”
“But you will help me.”
“I know you, Dylan ab Ifor. You’ve already planned how to get out of all possible trouble.”
He smiled and leaned to kiss her.
Dylan knocked on the flaps of Edern’s tent.
“Banneret?”
“Coming!”
The Tylwyth’s head appeared in the opening. His face was flushed, his hair unkempt. “Yes, Commodore?”
“I need you at the headquarters.”
“What’s going on? I didn’t hear an alarm.”
“We have to plan our next attack. I want to move before the Imperial Army does.”
“Oh. Right, I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Who have you got there, Edern?” Dylan asked.
Edern glanced around with shifty eyes and then grinned, mischievously.
“Admiral’s aide,” he whispered.
Dylan chuckled.
“You sly fox. You have ten minutes. I’ll be waiting.”
“What’s all this about, then?” asked Edern, running his slender fingers through his silver hair.
Dylan traced the staff map with his finger, leaving a golden trail where he touched the paper. A grid of such lines in different colours marked the imagined movements of the wings and squadrons, all concentrating on a small town, some forty miles north-west of Huating.
He stood up and looked around. There were just a few of them in the room — the Ardian of the Twelfth Light, the Commander of a small squadron of gunboats which had recently arrived to replace Admiral Reynolds’s fleet, Gwen and Edern; it was still the same sparse brick warehouse in the Concession he had been using when the Second had first appeared in Huating. Dylan preferred this place to any other of the proposed locations for the staff headquarters: it was the only one where he was certain there were no Qin spies.
“Chansu,” Edern deciphered. “That’s in an opposite direction to where our main forces are.”
Dylan nodded. “But this is where the Bohan will strike next. I want that city ours.”
“Why the hurry? Were there some new orders from Lundenburgh?” asked Seton, the Ardian of the Twelfth. Dylan glanced at him and caught himself inadvertently biting his lips. The man had an indecipherable, blank face, hidden behind a great Seaxe moustache.
“Yes,” replied Dylan, looking Seton straight in the eyes.
They had met once before, a year earlier: Seton was the commander of the Foot detachment saved from the Birkenhead disaster. His exemplary conduct on board the ship had earned him quick promotion.
Since arriving in Huating, he had made it clear on several occasions that he would not let the debt of gratitude get in the way of his sense of duty.
“May we see those orders, Commodore?” Seton asked.
“They are for my eyes only.”
I won’t have another massacre on my hands.
Seton’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. Edern leaned over the map, rubbing his chin. “Will we make it, though? With just two regiments of dragons and without the Bohan’s infantry…”
“The city lies near the coast. The gunboats will be more than enough replacement for the Imperial Army.”
The navy man nodded sharply. He didn’t seem to be bothered with the sudden change of plans.
There would be no trouble with this one, at least.
“I want us to fly in three days. The Rebels will not expect us so soon; they think the Bohan is still in the South.”
Seton’s finger traced a red line between Chansu and the rebel headquarters at Suchou, and stopped at a complex of several large bodies of water.
“That’s only twenty miles to send reinforcements, and we won’t be able to stop them beyond those lakes.”
“Me and my men will take care of the left flank,” said Dylan.
“Oh?” Seton raised an eyebrow.
“I will leave the glory of entering the city to yourself, Ardian.” Dylan smiled.
Maybe that will get you off my back.
Wulfhere’s task required discretion and skill, but he struggled to even keep his dragon in a straight line. His arm was still sore, his command of reins not up to scratch and proper Farlink was out of the question; this was one of the fresh batch of mounts, barely broken. And it wasn’t even a typical military breed, but a Highland Grey — a Shadowcloud, like the one ridden by Dean Magnusdottir.
The other soldier in his detail was a quiet, dark-haired Kernow girl, Keyna. She was riding a tiny Kernow Crimson, a most unusual mount for a Light Dragoon.
It’s even smaller than that frog Bran was riding.
The Crimson was fast, but not very strong. Together, the two riders were an odd pair. Wulf had no say in who was assigned as his newly acquired command. Keyna accepted his orders with just a nod of the head and a mumbled yessir from under a long fringe. She had expressed no surprise when he told her where they were going.
“We are assigned to the Royal Marines, to Commodore’s guards,” Wulf had said, “at Ardian Seton’s request. It’s an honour, you see. Because of what I did.”
Keyna nodded, not impressed in the slightest. He sighed; he was getting used to everyone knowing him as the Hero of Qiang River.
Commodore Dylan was leading a charge of Silvers and Azures on a rebel column trying to get across a narrow strip of land between two large lakes. Th
e battle was brief; the rebels had only a few dragons of their own, and there were no heavy weapons or mysterious tricks like at the Shanglin. Below, the footmen of the Ever Victorious Army were moving in to mop-up the survivors and secure the perimeter among the burning remains of the oxcarts and walking machines.
But the Commodore did not seem satisfied with the outcome of the fight. To Wulfhere’s surprise, he and several other dragons split from the main skein and flew north, across one of the lakes, towards a line of old rebel fortifications.
What’s he doing?
Wulf spurred his mount to fly higher, into the low-hanging clouds, and follow the Commodore. He noticed Keyna dragging behind.
She can’t keep up. He rolled his eyes. That’s the problem with those small dragons. No stamina at all.
“Go back to Ardian Seton,” he cried an order. “Tell him what happened.”
The girl nodded and turned around. Wulf was now alone inside the grey-white fog. He could still see the Commodore’s silver mount clearly, but his own dragon’s scales turned a shimmering, semi-translucent grey that made it so perfect for the mission he had been tasked with.
He hadn’t told Keyna the other reason for his assignment.
“Keep an eye on the Commodore,” the Ardian had told Wulf after the main debriefing. “That’s why I’m giving you a Shadowcloud. Let me know if you see anything suspicious.”
Well this is certainly suspicious, he thought. The Commodore’s detachment — five riders altogether, Wulf counted — dived towards the fortifications. The rebels manning them opened fire from all sorts of weapons — rockets, cannons, muskets and repeating rifles; the sky filled with smoke and explosions. The dragons spewed fire and lightning, but where one gun was silenced, two more barrels answered in a hellish cackle.
A squadron of Qin long appeared from over the hills to the West — a dozen beasts at least. Wulf was reminded of his own patrol mistake, when he had lost his own dragon.
There’s too few of them. They will be massacred!
A tactical error of this scale was very unlike the Commodore. The Qin descended upon the five Western mounts from three sides. One of the Dracalish dragons broke off and, in a wounded zigzag, headed back across the lake, then another. The third spiralled down, its rider stunned by a near explosion; the mount recovered just above the ground and retreated as well.
When just the two riders remained, the Commodore turned sharply north and, breaking through the cloud of enemy with ease, sped along the lake shore, soon finding himself out of the range of the rebel guns. The longs soon abandoned their pursuit, unable to keep up. Only Wulfhere’s Grey could match the full speed of a Mountain Silver.
This was a no-man’s land between the frontlines of the two armies; camps of marauders strewn among abandoned villages and ruined fields, flooded by swollen rivers and canals unbound from the confines of shattered dams and broken levees.
What are they doing here?
Wulfhere kept up a safe distance, unnoticed by both the pair of riders and anyone on the ground. Trying to navigate in the thickening clouds, he almost missed the Commodore and the other dragon land beyond a ridge of low, steep dunes bordering the lake on the north-east, lined with birch and willow.
Wulf pulled on the reins and directed his mount to the bottom of the ridge; he flew below the tree canopies, thankful for the new dragon’s natural stealth.
I would make a mess of this landing on any other mount, he thought.
The dragon touched down in the sand silently like a cat. Wulfhere jumped off and climbed carefully to the top of the dune, where he dropped to the ground and crawled the rest of the way through wild wheat and tall grass.
He found the Commodore and the other rider — Wulf recognized the Reeve of the Second Marines — in a narrow ridge on the dune slope. The Commodore was tracing a complex pattern on the sand with black powder.
“But you used up all three charges of your Seal years ago,” said the Reeve.
The Commodore finished the rune and shook the powder off his hands.
“Only you and Edern know that.”
“And have you told Edern of your plan?”
“He will guess what happened when he sees this. Now move back. I know it’s just an illusion, but it’s the most powerful one I’ve ever made.”
The Commodore knelt down and touched the pattern. He spoke a sequence of spell words too quietly for Wulfhere to hear. The sand exploded with blinding white light.
When Wulf’s sight returned, he saw a column of radiance rising high above the dunes, piercing and tearing through the clouds.
This must be visible for miles around… he thought, and then he realized what it was — or rather, supposed to be.
The Seal of Llambed! He’s faked the Seal!
He looked back down. The Commodore and the Reeve were mounting a dragon — only one, the great Silver of the Commodore.
The other Silver was in its death throes, tearing the dune’s slope with its claws.
She used the Kill Word, Wulf realized with a shudder. The Commodore raised a hand and shot a tongue of flame at the dying dragon. It added little to its suffering, but the scorched scales made the death seem even more violent.
“I’m sorry, Gwen,” the Commodore said to the Reeve, “it was the only way.”
“I understand,” she replied, “but are you sure we’ll make it to the Bataavian ship on just one dragon?”
“It shouldn’t be more than a day’s flight from here. They couldn’t reach to Yamato yet. And Afroleus is strong.”
“Edern will be angry you didn’t take him with you.”
“He will understand. The Ever Victorious Army needs a commander if they are to reach Chansu before the Imperial Army.”
The great Silver beast spread its wings, oblivious to the fate of the other beast. Wulf shuffled to the side, to hide himself underneath the branches of a weeping willow as the Commodore flew above him. He waited a couple of minutes to make sure neither he nor his Shadowcloud were spotted, and then made his way back down the slope.
He had heard a lot — but it didn’t mean anything to him. And something told him Ardian Seton would know just as little.
But there was somebody else who might know…
The ocean was big, empty and the colour of pure lapis lazuli under the cloudless sky.
“I’m having second thoughts, Dylan,” said Gwen. They had been flying in a zigzag line for a whole day. Since leaving the shores of Qin and passing through the Barrier, they saw no ship or even a boat.
She removed her goggles and put the spyglass to her eye.
“How can we possibly find anything in this vastness?”
“I’ve studied these seas. There are only so many ways a sail ship can pass through. The winds, the currents… the Bataavians must be here somewhere.”
“What if we missed them?”
“Let’s hope not.”
Afreolus roared and buckled. Dylan sensed the beast’s irritation with the long journey, and growing restlessness.
“Afreolus is nasty today,” remarked Gwen.
“Yes, it’s been like that for a while.”
“It can’t be going feral yet? You only got it after the first Panjab.”
“It’s been ten years now.”
“I remember your previous mount. An Azure, not Silver.”
“I lost it to the jungle madness. Pity. I liked it.”
“You always said you preferred the Azures.”
He nodded. “They make fine companions.”
He regarded his mount’s long silver neck and horned head. Always an unruly beast, Afreolus was growing ever more stubborn as years went by.
Not long now, he thought. A year at best, if all goes well.
“Are you alright?” he asked Gwen. “After the Kill Word, I mean.”
“I’m fine, really. A bit disoriented without my dragon’s wind sense. Where are we?” asked Gwen, looking at the featureless sea below. Dylan traced the rough light map in the
air.
“About two hundred and fifty miles south-east of Huating. Another hundred miles this way there’s a chain of islands which lie beyond the Sea Maze.”
“Can we land there?”
“If we fail to find the ship. But there’s still a day or so of flying left in Afreolus. Let’s make the best of it.”
Gwen rummaged in the saddle bags.
“Do you want some bread?”
“No, I’m fine. I’ll have cwrw, maybe, if there’s still some left in the canteen.”
She leaned back to open another bag.
“There! Look! Five o’clock!”
Dylan turned his head and followed her finger with his eyes. On the edge of the curving horizon a sharp, white, triangular dot stood out against the canvas of lapis lazuli. The unmistakable trace of a ship’s wake.
“Could be them,” said Dylan and spurred Afreolus around. The dragon growled, struggling in the reins.
“Come here, you dumb beast!”
The mount resisted again, ignoring the Farlink command and the tugging reins. Dylan cursed and summoned a Soul Lance with a buzz. He touched the dragon’s scales with its tip; he knew to a dragon it felt like being prodded with a red hot poker. Afreolus yowled and shook its head but obeyed at last.
The brass letters on the stern spelled the name “Soembing”.
“It looks so… ancient!” cried Dylan.
The Bataavian ship was a two-hundred feet long three-master, with a single thin funnel between fore- and mizzen-masts. The engine was silent; the wind was good, and all the sails were up. The single row of six antique cannons may have been impressive in native ports, but were useless against any modern vessel.
Dylan scratched his scar.
“I’ve seen Bataavian ships. They’re just as good as ours. I don’t even know if I can land on this shell.”
“They don’t seem to expect a fight,” said Gwen.
They swooped towards the ship. Afreolus sensed an incoming fight and shook its head triumphantly, nearly tearing the reins out of Dylan’s hands. The Bataavians noticed them when it was almost too late. Most sailors fled under deck, unable to withstand the dragon fear. A few remained, valiantly, and responded to the attack with small arms fire; rifle bullets and lightning bolts struck the tarian surrounding the dragon, bouncing harmlessly off. Dylan circled the ship a couple of times, looking for a good place to land.
The Year of the Dragon Omnibus Page 83
