by James Maxey
Pet knew that Burke was right, but he couldn't keep the scene from replaying in his mind. What could he have done differently? Would the world have been better if he'd just turned his back? If a dragon made it through the sky-wall, would he be haunted by the knowledge that Vinton might have fired the arrow that would have killed that dragon? He barely paid attention to the next candidate Burke tested. He was only broken out of his reverie by a sudden outcry from the eastern gate.
"Dragons!" someone was shouting.
"Four days," Burke sighed. "So much for my fantasy of doing this with a well-trained army."
The dragons weren't attacking, not yet. Instead, they gathered at a large field a mile downriver. Pet listened quietly as spies reported back to Ragnar, Burke, and the other leaders. Pet, as commander of the archers, was now privy to these meetings.
The lead spy, it turned out, was Shanna, the woman who'd rescued Pet from the dungeon. She hadn't taken part in the raid on the Nest, but she had learned from her contacts that Blasphet had failed in his attempt at genocide. Only a handful of the sisters had managed to escape in the aftermath, but Shanna was confident there would be no valkyries joining in the attack on Dragon Forge. Blasphet hadn't been found; the matriarch wasn't letting anyone leave the Nest until his threat was neutralized.
Shanna was now dressed much more modestly than she had been as a servant of Blasphet. She was wearing the gray, non-descript clothing of a human slave. She hadn't shaved her head in a week and already her scalp tattoos were vanishing beneath a haze of dark hair.
Burke listened impassively as the numbers were reported. Nearly ten thousand well-armed earth-dragons, with at least five hundred cavalry mounted on the backs of great-lizards. The earth-dragons had catapults and ballistae. There were also a thousand humans among the dragons, slaves working to assemble the tents, dig latrines, unload the supply wagons, and staff the mess tents.
"The supply wagons are the most dangerous thing we face," Burke said. "If Shandrazel has any management skills at all, his army has access to all the food in the world. We have all the food inside the walls of Dragon Forge, which will last us, if we're careful, a month."
"I'm not eating those pickled earth-dragon babies," said Pet.
"If a man gets hungry enough, he'll eat anything," said Burke.
"The Lord sent ravens to feed his prophet Elijah," said Ragnar. "We shall have no want of provisions."
Burke gave Ragnar a sideways glance and returned to questioning the spies. The next number that caught Pet's attention was the figure of two hundred sun-dragons. He thought back to his former mistress, Chakthalla. She'd loved him like he was her child and had never mistreated him, but he remembered how intimidating she could be with her sheer size and power. Even as she had showered words of praise upon him, he'd never been completely unaware of the fact that those words came from a mouth that could have snapped him in two. As of this meeting, Burke's manufacturing team had produced only thirty-six bows. Apparently, Burke had brought coils of cable from his tavern to use for the bowstrings, but those spools were now emptied. He'd assembled a machine to make new cable, but the process was a difficult one to calibrate, and the earliest batches were producing cables that were too brittle. If the dragons attacked soon, thirty-six sky-wall archers against two hundred sun-dragons wasn't a promising ratio.
"How long it will be before the dragons finish assembling their army and decide to attack?" Pet asked.
Shanna shook her head. "We haven't heard. Some say that Shandrazel is awaiting more troops from the Southern provinces."
"That's good and bad," said Burke. "Good if we have more time-it would take at least a week for all those troops to arrive. But it's bad if we wind up facing three times as many dragons."
"However, it's also said that Shandrazel is being prodded by Charkon to invade tomorrow at dawn," said Shanna. "Charkon believes they have all the troops they need to take back the fortress."
"Charkon is probably right," said Burke. "But only because he doesn't know about our surprises."
"Surprises?" Pet asked, noting the plural. "Do we have something other than the wheel-bows?"
Burke nodded. "There's Big Chief. I carted in most of his parts, and the team has him just about assembled. He's mostly a psychological weapon. Earth-dragons aren't terribly bright. They get confused and frightened easily by things they've never encountered before."
Before Pet could ask further questions, Shanna stepped in with her own answer about surprises. "Our time with Blasphet has proven fruitful. We've learned how to make oil that, when burned, produces a smoke that paralyzes dragons. Unfortunately, it works best in a confined space. Also it requires a fungus that grows on peanuts, and Blasphet used most of his stockpile invading the Nest. I've had people producing a supply for us ever since I learned the secret, but we only have a few barrels. Still, if any dragons make it inside Dragon Forge, we can ignite the bonfires and spike them with the poison. We can put half the invaders to sleep if the wind is in our favor."
"That sounds useful," Pet said.
Shanna nodded. "That's only part of the knowledge we've stolen from Blasphet. If we knew for certain that the attack was tomorrow, we could make life unpleasant for the invaders. There's a tasteless, odorless mineral salt we can add to their breakfast that will produce diarrhea and vomiting three hours after its ingested. It doesn't kill dragons, but it can make them wish they were dead."
Ragnar spoke. "Tell your spies to poison tomorrow's breakfast, Shanna. The Lord has revealed to me the attack will take place at dawn. Our ultimate weapon, of course, is the guiding hand of God."
Burke took his spectacles from his nose and wiped them with his shirt. He said, in a thoughtful tone, "Not that I don't trust the Lord's word, but I'd like some insurance. Shanna, you've been good at gathering rumors. If we really want this attack to take place at dawn, I need you to spread one."
"Do we want this attack to take place at dawn?" Pet asked. "Half my men don't have weapons. We've had barely any training at all. We aren't ready!"
Burke placed the spectacles back on his face as he nodded. "It's true, we aren't. But, right now, Shandrazel's army is as small as it's ever going to be. We'll be better armed and better trained a week from now, but we aren't going to have any more men. Shandrazel, on the other hand, might have doubled his army in that time. If he attacks tomorrow and finds half his army shitting themselves and the first wave of sun-dragons slain by our sky-wall, we'll have achieved an important psychological victory. Shandrazel will no longer have the confidence of other dragons. If we're lucky, his army will abandon him."
"What if we're not lucky?"
Burke shrugged.
Ragnar smiled. "We need not trust in luck. The Lord is on our side."
Pet sighed. "Fine. I just wish I had more time for my men to practice."
Burke grinned grimly. "As you pointed out, we're not fighting dinner plates. Your men have a target forty feet across to shoot at. It's like hitting a barn wall."
"A barn wall moving straight overhead and dropping darts on us. Still, I'm not arguing. Your reasons for wanting the attack tomorrow make sense."
"So what rumor do you want me to start?" Shanna asked.
"Say that we're unprepared. Say we're outnumbered five to one already."
"That's a cutting a mighty fine line between a rumor and actual intelligence," said Shanna.
Burke nodded. "Most of all, make sure the dragons know that a man named Kanati is in here. It's vital that Charkon hears that name."
"Why Charkon?" Pet asked. "He already wants to attack tomorrow."
"Yes. But he's a good soldier and will wait until Shandrazel gives the word. Once Charkon hears the name Kanati, he'll stop taking orders from Shandrazel and start giving them. He'll make this attack happen no matter what Shandrazel wants."
"Why?" Pet asked. "Who's Kanati?"
"I am, or used to be," said Burke. "And since you've met Charkon, you might have noticed he's one ugly son-of-a-bitch."<
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"That scar," said Pet, shuddering. "Half his face is practically gone."
"I only wish I'd swung hard enough to cut through to the other half," said Burke.
At dawn, as the dragons came, snow began to fall. During the night, Burke had fine-tuned the cable-making machine. Now Pet had bows in the hands of three-score men, and nearly three dozen arrows for each of them. Delicate snowflakes settled gently on the filthy gray-brown blanket Pet had turned into a cape. All around him, his men stood in silence as the sun crept over the horizon. The rust heaps and scraggly trees cast long, dark shadows over the faint film of white snow on the ground.
The rising sun tinted the shroud of low clouds subtle shades of pink. In all, it was a serene winter landscape, a picture of peace, save for the hordes of dull green dragons pouring over the distant hills and charging the walls of Dragon Forge.
Pet cast his eyes skyward. The earth-dragons weren't his concern. A different squad of archers, armed with traditional bows, would be responsible for seeing that the earth-dragons didn't reach the walls. His duty was to scan the clouds for the first signs of sun-dragons. Slowly, one by one, their dark ruby forms emerged from the shrouding snowfall.
There were at least seventy in the initial wave, coming in at a height of five hundred yards, all carrying large buckets in their hind claws. The buckets would be full of iron darts. The dragons wouldn't even bother to aim, Pet knew. They need simply dump their cargo above the town and fill the winter sky with something much more deadly than snow. The men on the walls would either be killed, or forced into shelter, leaving the earth-dragons free to storm the gates and overwhelm the city. It was a time-honored strategy of the dragons, one that had crushed human uprisings for centuries.
As the dragons neared, Pet ran the back of his hand along his scratchy mustache. The mineral oil Burke used to lubricate the wheel-bows had thoroughly coated his fingers by now. It smelled faintly of pine.
"Aim!" Pet shouted. He drew a bead on an approaching sun-dragon. His lifelong familiarity with the beasts allowed him to judge their true distance against the trackless sky. He knew the dragons could see his men and their bows; they'd lose all element of surprise the second the first arrows flew. He had to wait until he was certain they would be in range.
He held his aim a few seconds, then a few seconds more, calculating the dragons' speed. Pet targeted the empty sky, aiming at the spot where the dragon would be when the arrow reached it, then shouted, "Fire!"
Arrows flash upward like frozen shards of light. The snapping steel bowstrings made the wall sound as if a large harpsichord were being stroked by a giant-zing, zing, zang, zing, zang! For an instant, Pet worried he'd overshot his target, until the sun-dragon dropped his bucket. The crimson-beast doubled over, clutching the arrow in its gut. A half dozen of its brethren performed similar aerial contortions before they began to plummet from the sky. The dragons that followed veered and wheeled away as the seven struck in the initial volley fell. Keeping his eyes on the sky, Pet paid no attention to where the bodies landed. He'd already drawn another arrow.
"Aim!" he shouted.
Behind him, there was a powerful WHANG as a catapult Burke had salvaged from the dragon armory sent a shower of shrapnel skyward. Its target wasn't the sun-dragons, but the advancing army of earth-dragons who flowed toward the fort like a living river.
While some of the sun-dragons were pulling back in confusion, a full score continued to advance. Pet took a calming breath, making certain of his aim, then cried out, "Fire!"
Zing, zing, zang, zing, zang!
This time, ten dragons felt the bite of the arrows, some falling in gentle arcs, some in dizzying cartwheels, and a few simply plunging straight toward earth. One smashed into the ground outside the wall not twenty feet away from Pet. The vibration of the impact ran up his legs. A rust heap crashed with a noise like a band of drummers falling down stairs as one of the dying beasts smacked into it.
By now, the remaining dragons were near the wall. One by one, they tilted their buckets, and a black rain of darts fell toward the men.
"Shields!" Pet shouted. In unison, all the men along the wall lifted the wooden disks propped before them, ducking their heads as they crouched. The thick oak shields were banded with broad strips of steel. Seconds later, the darts struck, and the entire wall rang out with a clatter and chatter as a thousand tiny, deadly knives buried themselves in the wood. Men started screaming seconds later. Pet looked up. A few of the braver sun-dragons had swooped down, snatched up men from the wall, and lifted them skyward. Pet tossed his dart-studded shield aside and drew his bow once more.
"Fire at will!" he shouted, knowing there was no longer any hope of unified action. Dragons were everywhere. A score of sun-dragons remained high overhead, but their darts would now be striking their own forces if they dropped them, for at least as many of the sun-dragons had broken ranks and were attacking the bowmen on the walls directly. Below, the river of earth-dragons spread out in waves as they reached the walls. From every direction, there was shouting and confusion. Pet tried to put it from his mind.
It wasn't courage that welled up within him at this moment. Instead, it was something far less passionate and far colder. He became deaf to the cries of his fellow men. He was undistracted by the bodies of sun-dragons falling from the sky around him and turning to red, meaty smears as they crashed into the snow. He gave no thought to his own life or safety. He simply became mindless, his body moving with a cool, machine-like efficiency.
The sole purpose of his life was to place an arrow in his bow, aim, fire. Again and again he followed this action, without a thought in his mind. Find a hole in the sky where a dragon would be, fire. Find another hole, fire. One by one, his victims fell. The sky was so thick with the bodies of dragons, it was nearly impossible to miss. If his arrow flew past one dragon, it would strike a second behind it.
Pet lost all sense of time. He maintained this trancelike state until he reached to the quiver on his back and found his fingers closing on empty air. Suddenly, the calm emptiness in him was broken and his thoughts came crashing back. His heart leapt into his throat. He consciously became aware of how empty the sky above suddenly seemed.
He cast his gaze down the wall, then toward the men on the other walls. He could tell their ranks had been thinned by the initial assault. In the city below, blood once again ran in the gutters. A wooden building near the center of town had been completely crushed beneath the remnants of a sun-dragon, and at least two more of the huge corpses blocked the streets. Yet there were no living dragons within the walls, not even an earth-dragon. Looking down, Pet surveyed a field of fallen green bodies. Many of those still surviving were crawling away on all fours, violently vomiting. The poisoned breakfast was taking hold! Despite this, there were still so many. Ten thousand earth-dragons, the spies had said. Were there even ten thousand arrows in Dragon Forge?
Turning his eyes skyward, he took comfort in the nearly empty palette of white. In the distance, he saw over two dozen sun-dragons in retreat, racing back toward their camp. Still, the aerial assault wasn't completely over. One last dragon swooped down from the covering clouds and raced toward Dragon Forge, its dart bucket still in its claws.
Pet lowered his eyes back to the wall and began to run, spotting the body of a fallen archer ten yards away, near the eastern gate. He saw fresh arrows in the slain man's quiver. Pet snatched up a handful of missiles and turned to find his target.
The sun-dragon he'd spotted was heading on a path toward Pet. Pet calmly drew a bead and let his arrow fly. He watched with great satisfaction as the arrow buried itself deep in the beast's breast, a shot that almost certainly pierced the heart. The dragon's eyes rolled upwards and its whole body went limp. It transformed instantly from a thing of grace in the air into a half-ton bag of falling meat.
For a second, it seemed as if the dragon were hurtling straight toward Pet, carried by momentum and gravity on a deadly path, but the dragon was actually coming dow
n at a slight angle to his side. For a sickening second, Pet imagined the body of the dragon smashing into the gate he'd worked so hard to close, its corpse transformed into a swift and heavy battering ram.
Then, he no longer imagined it. He watched it, unfolding with an unnerving deja vu, as the corpse rammed at high speed into the thick wood. The mass and speed of the dragon were such that the body didn't so much crash as splash. A rain of dark gore shot in all directions as a thunderous crack split the gate. The wood tore from the hinges as the ancient logs snapped like sticks.
Pet found himself frozen, unable to think, as a hundred earth-dragons sprang against the ruptured gate, forcing it wider. Seconds later they charged into the city, with cries of victory shrieking from their turtle-like beaks.
Pet fumbled to place another arrow against the string. The calmness that had filled him so completely was now gone, replaced by the trembling certainty that he'd just doomed the city.
Then, a strange thing happened. A few of the dragons stumbled and fell, and others tumbled and tripped over them. Others who avoided colliding with fellow soldiers began to weave in drunken circles. A thick, oily smoke drifted through the city streets as Shanna and the men she commanded poured buckets of blue oil onto bonfires. Ragnar's men surged from the doorways of the buildings, bringing a swift end to these drunken dragons. Yet for every dragon they slew, two more poured through the gate. Not all seemed affected by the smoke. Perhaps the open air didn't allow the poison to spread evenly through the city, or perhaps the thick-headed earth-dragons possessed members of their race who simply were too dumb to be poisoned. Whatever the cause, Ragnar's men soon found themselves being pushed back toward the open city square.
Chaos was again spreading along the walls. Some archers began firing into the city, while other aimed outside the walls. Pet looked up and found the dark shapes of sun-dragons once more on the horizon. It was time to bring order to the chaos.
"Sky-wall!" he shouted running up and down the walls. "Sky-wall, man your positions! Grab whatever arrows you can find and get ready for the next wave! Hurry!"
