Dragons of a Fallen Sun

by Margaret Weis

  Galdar marched in his accustomed place at Mina’s side. He glanced up at her. She had heard the grumblings before now and had ignored them. But this was the first man who had dared question her god.

  Mina reined in her horse, wheeled the animal. She galloped back along the column, searching for the man who had spoken. None of his comrades pointed him out, but Mina found him. She fixed the man with her amber eyes.

  “Subcommander Paregin, is it not?” she said.

  “Yes, Mina,” he replied, defiant.

  “You took an arrow in the chest. You were dying. I restored you to life,” Mina said. She was angry. The men had never seen her angry. Galdar shivered, recalled suddenly the appalling storm of lightning and thunder that had given her birth.

  Paregin’s face went red with shame. He mumbled a reply, lowered his gaze before her.

  “Listen to me, Subcommander,” Mina said and her voice was cold and sharp. “If we marched in dry weather under the blazing sun, it would not be rain drops that pierce your armor but ogre lances. The gray gloom is a curtain that hides us from the sight of our enemy. The rain washes away all trace of our passing. Do not question the God’s wisdom, Paregin, especially since it seems you have little of your own.”

  Paregin’s face was pale. “Forgive me, Mina,” he said through pallid lips. “I meant no disrespect. I honor the God. I honor you.” He looked at her in adoration. “Would that I had a chance to prove it!”

  Mina’s expression softened. Her amber eyes glowed, the only color in the gray gloom. “You will have that chance, Paregin,” she said gently, “I promise it to you.”

  Wheeling her horse, she galloped back to the head of the column, mud flying from the horse’s hooves.

  The men lowered their heads against the rain and prepared to march on.

  “Mina!” a voice cried from the rear. A figure was slipping and sliding, hastening toward the front of the line.

  Mina halted her steed, turned to see what was amiss. “One of the rearguard,” Galdar reported.

  “Mina!” The man arrived panting and out of breath. “Blue dragons!” he gasped. “From the north.” He looked back, frowned. “I swear, Mina! I saw them.…”

  “There!” Galdar said, pointing.

  Blue dragons, five of them, emerged from the clouds, their scales glistening with the rain. The ragged column of men slowed and shuffled to a stop, all staring in alarm.

  The dragons were immense creatures, beautiful, awful. The rain gleamed on scales that were blue as the ice of a frozen lake beneath a clear winter sky. They rode the storm winds without fear, their immense wings barely moving to keep the dragons aloft. They had no fear of the jagged lightning, for their breath was lightning, could blast a stone tower to rubble or kill a man as he stood on the ground far below.

  Mina said nothing, gave no orders. She calmed her horse, who shied at the sight of the dragons, and gazed up at them in silence. The blue dragons flew nearer, and now Galdar could see riders clad in black armor. One by one, in formation, each of the blue dragons swooped low over the ragged column of marching men. The dragonriders and their mounts took a good long look, then the blue dragons flapped their wings and lifted back up among the gray clouds.

  The dragons were lost to sight, but their presence could still be felt, oppressing the heart, sapping courage.

  “What’s going on?” Captain Samuval slogged through the mud. At the sight of the dragons, his archers had drawn their bows, fitted their arrows. “What was that all about?”

  “Targonne’s spies,” Galdar growled. “By now he must know that you countermanded his order and sent General Dogah an order of your own, Mina. That’s treason. He’ll have you drawn and quartered, your head on a spike.”

  “Then why didn’t he attack us?” Captain Samuval demanded, with a grim glance skyward. “His dragons could have incinerated us where we stood.”

  “Yes, but what would that gain him?” Mina answered. “He does not profit by killing us. He does profit if we succeed. He is a short-sighted, avaricious, grasping, covetous man. A man like Targonne has never been loyal to anyone in his life, cannot believe anyone else can be loyal. A man who believes in nothing except the clink of steel coins mounting one on top of the other cannot understand another’s faith. Judging all people by himself, he cannot understand what is happening here, and consequently he does not know how to deal with it. I will give him what he wants. Our victory will earn him the wealth of the Silvanesti nation and Malystryx’s favor.”

  “Are you so certain we will win, Mina?” Galdar asked. “It’s not that I’m doubting,” he added hastily. “But five hundred against the entire Silvanesti nation? And we have yet to march through ogre lands.”

  “Of course, we will win, Galdar,” Mina replied. “The One God has decreed it.”

  Child of battle, child of war, child of death, she rode forward, and the men followed after her through the steadily falling rain.

  Mina’s army marched southward, following the Thon-Thalas River. The rain finally stopped. The sun returned, its heat welcome to the soldiers, though they had to pay for warmth and dry clothes by redoubling their patrols. They were deep in ogre lands now.

  The ogres were now threatened from the south by the cursed elves and the Legion of Steel and from the north by their former allies. Finding they could not dislodge the Knights of Neraka from the north, the ogres had lately pulled their armies from that front and sent them south, concentrating their attacks against the Legion of Steel, believing that they were the weaker foe and would thus more readily fall.

  Mina sent out scouting parties daily. Long-range scouts returned to report that a large army of ogres was gathering around the fortress of the Legion of Steel, near the border of Silvanesti. The Legion of Steel and an army of elves, believed to be under the leadership of the dark elf Alhana Starbreeze, were inside the fort preparing to stave off the ogre attack. The battle had not yet begun. The ogres were waiting for something—more manpower, perhaps, or favorable omens.

  Mina heard the scouts’ reports in the morning, prior to setting out on the day’s march. The men were packing their gear, complaining as usual but in better spirits since the rain had quit. The blue dragons that dogged them kept their distance. Occasionally someone would catch sight of dark wings and the flash of sunlight off blue scales, but the dragons did not fly closer. The men ate their meager breakfast, waited for the orders to move out.

  “You bring good news, gentlemen,” Mina said to the scouts, “but we must not relax our vigilance. How close are we to the shield, Galdar?”

  “The scouts report that we are within two days’ march, Mina,” he said.

  Her amber eyes gazed past him, past the army, past the trees and the river, past the sky itself or so it seemed to him. “We are called, Galdar. I feel a great urgency. We must be at the border of Silvanesti by tonight.”

  Galdar gaped. He was loyal to his commander. He would have laid down his life for her and considered his death a privilege. Her strategies were unorthodox, but they had proven effective. But there were some things not even she could do. Or her god.

  “We can’t, Mina,” Galdar said flatly. “The men have been marching ten hours a day already. They’re exhausted. Besides, the supply wagons can’t move that fast. Look at them.” He waved his hand. Acting under the direction of the quartermaster, his men were digging out one of the wagons, which had sunk in the mud during the night. “They won’t be ready to set out for another hour, at least. What you ask is impossible, Mina.”

  “Nothing is impossible to the One God, Galdar,” said Mina. “We will camp beside the shield this night. You will see. I—What is that noise?”

  A frantic horn call split the air, coming from behind them.

  The long line of troops stretched along the road that ran over a hill, around a bend, down a valley, and over another hill. The men stood up, hearing the horn call, and looked back down the ranks. Those digging out the wagon ceased their work.

  A singl
e scout, riding hard, crested the hill. The troops scrambled to move off the road, out of his way. It seemed he shouted a question as he rode, for many of the men pointed to the front. Putting his head down, he dug his spurs into his horse’s flanks and urged his steed forward.

  Mina stepped out into the road to wait for him. The scout, reaching her, pulled up so hard on his horse that the animal reared on its hind legs.

  “Mina!” The scout was breathless. “Ogres! In the hills behind us! Coming fast!”

  “How many?” she asked.

  “It’s hard to tell. They’re spread out all over the place, not in column or in any sort of order. But there’s a lot of them. One hundred. Maybe more. Coming down out of the hills.”

  “A raiding party, most likely.” Galdar grunted. “Probably heard about the big battle in the south and they’re off to claim their fair share of the loot.”

  “They’ll come together quick enough when they pick up our trail,” Captain Samuval predicted. “They’ll do that the moment they strike the river.”

  “They’ve done that now, seemingly,” Galdar said.

  Grinding shouts of rage and glee bounded like boulders among the hills. The raucous blasts of ram horns split the air. A few ogres had spotted them and were calling their fellows to battle.

  The scout’s report spread with the swiftness of wildfire along the line of Mina’s troops. The soldiers scrambled to their feet, weariness and fatigue vanishing like dry leaves in the flames. Ogres are terrible enemies. Hulking, fierce, and savage, an ogre army, led by ogre mages, operates with a good notion of strategy and tactics. An ogre raiding party does not.

  Ogre raiding parties have no leaders. Outcasts from their own brutal society, these ogres are extremely dangerous, will prey even upon their own kind. They do not bother with formations but will attack whenever the enemy is in sight, trusting to their strength, brute force, and ferocity to overwhelm the foe.

  Ogres are fearless in battle and, due to thick and hairy hides, are difficult to kill. Pain maddens them, goads them to greater ferocity. Ogre raiders have no word for “mercy,” they scorn the word “surrender,” either with regard to themselves or an opponent. Ogre raiders take only a few prisoners, and these are saved to provide the evening’s entertainment.

  A disciplined, heavily armed, and well-organized army can turn back an ogre assault. Leaderless ogres are led easily into traps and completely vanquished by clever stratagems. They are not good archers, having no patience for the practice required to develop skill with bow and arrow. They wield enormous swords and battles-axes that they use to hack the enemy to pieces, or throw spears, which their strong arms can hurl long distances with deadly effect.

  Hearing the ogres’ fierce yells and the sound of their horns, Mina’s officers began shouting orders. Her Knights turned their horses, ready to gallop back to face the foe. The wagon masters plied the whip, the draft horses snorted and strained.

  “Pull those wagons forward!” Galdar bellowed out commands. “Footmen, form a line across the trail, anchor on the river. Captain Samuval, your men take positions behind—”

  “No,” said Mina and though she did not raise her voice, her single word sounded like a clarion and brought all action to a halt. The clamor and uproar fell silent. The men turned to look at her. “We are not going to fight the ogres. We’re going to flee them.”

  “The ogres will chase after us, Mina,” Samuval protested. “We’ll never be able to outrun them. We have to stand and fight!”

  “Wagon masters,” Mina called, ignoring him, “cut free the horses!”

  “But, Mina!” Galdar added his own protest, “we can’t leave the supplies!”

  “The wagons slow us down,” Mina replied. “Instead, we will allow the wagons to slow down the ogres.”

  Galdar stared. At first he didn’t comprehend, and then he saw her plan.

  “It just might work,” he said, mulling over her strategy in his mind.

  “It will work,” said Samuval jubilantly. “We’ll toss the wagons to the ogres like you toss food to a ravening wolf pack at your heels. An ogre raiding party will not be able to resist such a prize.”

  “Footmen, form a double line, march column. Prepare to move out. You will run,” Mina told the men, “but not in a panic. You will run until you have no more strength left to run and then you will run faster.”

  “Perhaps the dragons will come to our aid,” said Samuval, glancing skyward. “If they’re even still up there.”

  “They’re up there,” Galdar growled, “but they won’t come to our rescue. If we’re wiped out at the hands of ogres, Targonne will be spared the expense of executing us.”

  “We’re not going to be wiped out,” Mina said crisply. “Pass the word for Subcommander Paregin!”

  “I am here, Mina!” The officer pushed his way forward through his men, who were hurriedly falling into position.

  “Paregin, you are loyal to me?”

  “Yes, Mina,” he said firmly.

  “You asked for a chance to prove that loyalty.”

  “Yes, Mina, I did,” he said again, but this time his voice faltered.

  “I saved your life,” Mina said. The shouts and yells of the ogres were coming closer. The men glanced uneasily behind them. “That life is therefore mine.”

  “Yes, Mina,” he replied.

  “Subcommander Paregin, you and your men will remain here to defend the wagons. You will hold off the ogres as long as possible, thereby giving the rest of us the time we need to escape.”

  Paregin swallowed. “Yes, Mina,” he said, but he said the words without a voice.

  “I will pray for you, Paregin,” Mina said softly. She extended her hand to him. “And for all those who stay behind. The One God blesses you and accepts your sacrifice. Take your positions.”

  Grasping her hand, Paregin reverently pressed her hand to his lips. He looked exalted, uplifted. When he returned to the lines, he spoke to his troops in excited tones as if she had conferred upon them a great reward. Galdar watched closely to see that Paregin’s men obeyed him and did not try to skulk off in the face of orders that were essentially a death warrant. The men obeyed, some looking dazed, others grim, but all determined and resolved. They ranged themselves around the supply wagons that were filled with barrels of beef and ale, sacks of flour, the smith’s equipment, swords, shields and armor, tents and rope.

  “The ogres will think it is Yule come early,” Samuval remarked.

  Galdar nodded, but made no comment. He remembered back to Beckard’s Cut, remembered Mina ordering him to pack extra supplies. A shiver ran along his spine, caused his fur to rise. Had she known all along? Had she been given knowledge that this would come to pass? Had she foreseen it all? Were their ends determined? Had she marked Paregin for death the day she saved his life? Galdar felt a moment’s panic. He wanted suddenly to cut and run, just to prove to himself that he could. Prove that he was still the master of his own fate, that he was not trapped like a bug in her amber eyes.

  “We will reach Silvanesti by nightfall,” said Mina.

  Galdar looked up at her, fear and awe constricting his heart.

  “Give the order to move out, Galdar. I will set the pace.”

  She dismounted and handed the reins to one of her Knights. Taking her place at the front of the line, she raised her voice, and it was sweet and cold as the silver moonlight. “On to Silvanesti! On to victory!”

  She began to march double-time, her strides long, starting out at swift but easy pace until her muscles warmed to the exercise. The men, hearing the ogres rampaging in the rear, needed no urging to keep up with her.

  Galdar could escape into the hills. He could volunteer to remain with the doomed rear guard. He could follow her for as long as he lived. He fell into step beside her and was rewarded with her smile.

  “For Mina,” Subcommander Paregin shouted. He stood beside the loaded wagon, listening to the ogres raise their battle cry.

  Gripping his swo
rd, he waited for death.

  Now that the troops no longer had the wagons to slow them, Mina’s army made excellent time, especially with the howls and hoots of the ogres to spur them on. Each man could hear the sounds of the battle behind him, each man imagined what was happening, could tell the progress of the battle by the noise. Ogre shouts of rage, human death cries. Wild yelps of glee—the ogres discovered the wagons. Silence. The ogres were looting the wagons and hacking apart the bodies of those they had slaughtered.

  The men ran as Mina had told them they would run. They ran until they were exhausted, and then she urged them to run faster. Those who fell were left behind. Mina permitted no one to assist them and this gave the men additional incentive for keeping their aching legs moving. Whenever a soldier thought he could no longer go on, he had only to look to the front of the line, to see the slender, fragile-looking girl, wearing plate and chain mail, leading the march, never flagging, never pausing to rest, never looking behind to see if anyone was following. Her gallant courage, her indomitable spirit, her faith was the standard that led her men on.

  Mina permitted the soldiers only a brief rest, standing, to drink sparingly of water. She would not let them sit or lie down for fear their muscles would stiffen so that they would not be able to move. Those who collapsed were left where they fell, to straggle along behind when and if they recovered.

  The sun’s shadows grew longer. The men continued to run, officers setting the grueling pace with songs at first. Then no one had any breath left except for breathing. Yet with every step, they drew closer to their destination—the shield that protected the border of Silvanesti.

  Galdar saw in growing alarm that Mina’s own strength was flagging. She stumbled several times and then, at last, she fell.

  Galdar leaped to her side.

  “No,” she gasped and shoved away his hand. She regained her feet, staggered forward several more steps and fell again.