"It's true: during that war, whenever there was a rumor that the mechanical dragon would be used, hundreds of dwarves would come to watch, just to see how it would fail, and many joined the army simply for the chance to watch us embarrass ourselves. My eyes were also opened at Hol and Rymer."
"You realized that you are from a race of swamp-dwelling idiots, and no more a dragon than you are a pig?"
"No. The Dragon will rise again, and our destiny is in the sky. But it is not a dragar destiny—but the destiny of all peoples. Indeed, it was the fascination that the dwarves had for the mechanical dragon that opened my eyes to this truth. For, in order for the mechanical dragon to take to the skies and unite all the people, it will require the effort of all the people. The dragons that will rule us all must be built by us all."
"Good luck finding a dwarf mad enough to work on your contraption."
"What would you build it out of?"
"Well, mithril, most likely. It's light, and you'd use it for at least the principal beams, but it would then depend on the wings, what you were carrying, how you meant to launch it…all the gods, you mad man." Wa'llach swallowed some wine in mostly feigned disgust.
Gogg had been listening quietly. "You said all the peoples, even orcs?"
"Orcs especially: the magic of your death-sticks will be needed to arm the Dragon. The mechanical dragon must be no less fearsome than the ones that live: the orcs shall be the talons of the mechanical dragon."
Gogg nodded.
"So you are a heretic within a heretic?" asked Wa'llach. "The dragars who believed in the mechanical dragon were already persecuted: most dragars considered it blasphemy that a dragon could be anything other than flesh, and the spectacle you made during the war didn't help. And now you are going and dragging orcs and dwarves into it. What were you doing in a dungeon, and not burned on one of your sacred piers?"
"I am a cannon expert. While my beliefs are unorthodox, few consider my skills to be disposable. The Dream of the Dragon is great enough to demand certain compromise on the part of its followers. Thus, when I learned that the High Dragar of Youngkent was going to construct a mechanical dragon, I journeyed there to offer my services even though he does not share my pan-racial vision—and he accepted them gladly, although he always considered me insane. Of course, this was a bad miscalculation on my part, since he had me locked up and sent to Hogan as soon as he was done with me. But he didn't dare kill me in case he needed me for something again."
"The High Dragar of Youngkent has a mechanical dragon? What else do you know about him?" Wit was suddenly sharply attentive.
"The mechanical dragons used during the war were largely paid for by dragar merchants—after the war was lost, the religious establishment came after them and turned them over to the Order. LinLaugh was one of these merchants, but he bought his way out of trouble and moved to the dragar settlement in Youngkent. He did nothing but get rich during the first forty years he was in Youngkent—he traded goods and favors with merchants and lords from all over the Alliance. When his position was settled, he began to build dragons in secret.
"Myself, after the war, I hid in the deep swamps for a little while, and then journeyed to a dwarven city where I continued my studies in metals and explosives. Then I fell in with some dragon-pilgrims. The dragar church has long had a custom that any dragar who lives on the Peaks of Fire—the one place on the continent where they may almost always be found—for five years will be forgiven of all crimes. I meant to study the living dragons anyway, so I confessed my heresy and spent the next five years in the Peaks."
Wa'llach looked hard at the dragar, and then turned and stared pointedly at Wit.
Wit sighed. It was hard to grasp the Power without his staff, but five years on the Peaks of Fire would have been a big lie.
"He's telling the truth," said Wit.
"All the gods…" Wa'llach said somberly. "How did you live?"
"Easily enough, thanks to the vision that had been granted me at Hol—the knowledge that the dragon would fly only with the aid of all beings. Plenty come to the Peaks to study or worship dragons—dwarves, humans, and even orcs. Mostly, the dragar pilgrims are indifferent or even hostile to these students, but I had more in common with them than my fellows, and quickly began to serve as a guide for non-dragar visiting the land—in exchange I was always given whatever remained of their goods when they left, which I could trade at an immense profit among the dragar settlements.
"I quickly became known amongst students of the Dragon, and those who had met me on the Peaks would tell others how to seek me out. Indeed, it was one of the happiest times of my life, as I made the greatest progress on my vision, meeting beings from all over the continent who shared my interests—or at least were preoccupied enough with not being eaten to indulge me. I was tempted to remain on the Peaks when my five years were up—but I figured that if I ever wanted to go back, I could always commit more crimes, and anyway I was worried that my luck was about to run out. Dragons are majestic and noble and the symbol of our salvation—I do believe it firmly—but, if they get a chance, they'll fucking eat you. And I decided to stop giving them chances, at least for a while.
"Having lived five years amongst the dragons gave me a bit of standing in dragar society—after five years on the Peaks I was happy enough to use this for material comforts. I journeyed around our homelands, telling my stories in exchange for food and lodging with the highest lords, and sometimes renewing contacts amongst the followers of the mechanical dragon. While doing this, I heard talk of a mechanical dragon being built in Youngkent. I knew that none of my contacts amongst non-dragars would be welcome there, but we were also several years or even decades away from beginning to work on a dragon of our own. So I resolved to go to Youngkent, offer what aid I could and learn what I could from their experiment in the meantime."
"I suppose that your luck finally ran out," said Wit with a smile.
"I shouldn't think so: the luck that you use with a LinLaugh and the luck that you use with dragons are different sorts of luck. These last four years have been pleasant in their way: my memories of my times on the Peaks are frozen as clear as glass, and I have been able to derive pleasure from them, in the dark, surrounded by stone, in a way that will never be quite possible under an open sky."
Wa'llach had been fidgeting for a moment, and suddenly blurted out, "And what of LinLaugh's dragon? What type is it? Is there a chance it will fly?"
The dragar nodded happily. "I couldn't be entirely sure: I have been locked up for four years, and there is a possibility that he has made major changes."
At this point they were interrupted by sounds at the door as Shain, Joti, and a few other orcs arrived at the wine cellar.
Shain cast a disapproving glance at the scene. "Wizard, come with me."
Wit walked to the door and followed Shain up the stairs. He wished that he hadn't found a cellar full of nice wine, or met an interesting dragar. The feeling of certain death had seemed much more bearable in the background of hopeless longing for Elayne and the smell of dead bodies.
Dusk was falling. They left the keep and climbed onto the wall surrounding the castle where the air was relatively clear. Wit watched Shain's precise stride and felt drunk. He was debating whether to apologize or hope that she did not notice how drunk he was when she threw him to the ground and put the tip of her sword to his throat.
Wit tried, momentarily, to repeat what he had done earlier with Joti, but knew that he could not. Whether it was because of the wine, or if he was more resigned to death, or in less danger than he had been earlier, he could not tell. He stared up the sword into the orc woman's eyes.
"We will follow you into Youngkent," she said after a while, not moving the sword.
Wit could not nod with the blade against his neck.
She looked at him for a moment longer and then withdrew the sword with a flourish and returned it to its scabbard. Wit slowly got up and leaned against the wall, overlooking the road to the
mine. Shain did not take her eyes off of him.
"Abandoning our pursuit was not an easy decision. Those we are following have done a great deal of evil in our lands. Amongst other things, they killed or enslaved Joti's people."
Wit nodded.
"How did you know?"
"I asked him," Wit said. He suddenly realized that his might not be the only life in danger, and that this commander might be less forgiving than Wit, if she learned of the attempt on the balcony. "I asked him who you were following, and he told me."
"Yet he counseled that we follow you into the lands of the Alliance."
Wit said nothing until an idea occurred to him. "All the gods, if you think I put a spell on him or something, I'm sorry, but I'm too drunk to explain that I haven't."
"Which does very little to argue for the wisdom of your plan."
"Well, go to hell then, and kill me or don't. I'm trying to enlist orcs to murder a lord of the Alliance. I'm betraying everything I've lived for. I'll have a drink if I feel like it."
"It would be prudent to kill you. Yet if you are correct, and if that wall comes down, it could be ruin for all of us. If there is a chance of preventing that, we must take it. As mad as it is, I don't think we have a choice but to attempt your plan. Am I a fool to trust you?"
"No," said Wit, quickly.
"Why?"
"Because I am a wizard, and I wield the greatest power that the world has ever known. Did you speak to the dragar we found in the dungeon?"
"No."
"He's either the most insane or the only lucid being on the continent: he dreams of uniting all the peoples of the world to construct mechanical dragons. Anyway, if he succeeds, and I can think of no reason that he will succeed, he will have only accomplished what my Order does already: unite the wills of the people of the Alliance to a common purpose."
Shain watched him closely. "How well does your magic work on us?"
"All the gods, I didn't…"
She shook her head. "You misunderstand me, although I am concerned about Joti. I worry that since he counseled that we abandon our pursuit, he intends to leave us and follow them on his own. I would ask that you use your Power and give me some warning of that, if it is possible."
"I'll do what I can." Wit was strongly convinced that Joti did not intend to abandon them, although beyond that the orc's intentions were unclear.
"Thank you. I suppose you want to go back that foolishness."
"There's some quite good wine, have a glass with us."
"No. There are other matters for me to attend to."
Wit returned to the cellar, where he now felt too sober. Wa'llach and Enexiyo and most of the orcs were sitting on the floor, where the dragar was drawing in the dirt.
Wa'llach called over to Wit excitedly. "Hey, while you were talking of great things with the commander, we figured out what is happening in Youngkent."
"What?"
"Tell him," said Wa'llach.
"LinLaugh had a very specific plan for his mechanical dragons, and he has been working on them for years. In the war, the dragons were deployed hastily, brought to whatever battlefield where they were needed, and put to use, with laughable results. LinLaugh's dragons are designed for one specific battle, and are to be used only in a certain place: the pass on the Alliance side of the wall."
"Why will there be a battle there?"
"Because it's the quickest route through Youngkent into the heart of the Alliance. LinLaugh began his dragons before the wall was built: in those days you could count on an orcish horde coming through the pass every five years or so. Once the wall was being built, LinLaugh needed to find a way to take it down, or else his dragons would be useless. The scheme involving the iron from Cohos has the added benefit of making the Order look like fools—and LinLaugh hates the Order for what they did to the dragar merchants in the wake of the war.
"Once the wall is down, the orcs will come into the pass, and LinLaugh hopes to destroy them with his dragons. This, he thinks, will weaken the Order and rally the dragars around the mechanical dragons."
"What's so important about the pass?" asked Wit.
"Everything. Getting the dragon into the air has always been the greatest challenge. Once the dragon is high enough, in theory, it should be able to glide to the ground slowly, staying in the air, and spewing destruction all around it. Generally, this has been attempted through launching with a catapult or, as Wa'llach saw, having skirbits carry the dragon into the air and then release it. However, the pass at Youngkent is surrounded on all sides by extremely high cliffs, and this is where LinLaugh has been building his dragons: when the time comes, he will simply push them off of the cliff and they will glide down to the army below."
Wa'llach nudged the dragar with his elbow. "Tell him what you thought LinLaugh should do with his dragons."
"Well, the challenge of elevation is paramount, and the area to which I have devoted most of my time. Catapults and skirbits have been shown to be ineffective for raising the dragon. And pushing it off of a cliff defeats the entire purpose—it isn't a dragon at all if it is confined to such a specific place. For the dragon to take flight, I believe that it ought to be fired from a cannon."
Even though he knew what was coming, Wa'llach still doubled over in laughter.
"That seems dangerous," Wit observed.
"Well, danger is the essence of the dragon. If it was built properly, using the right metals, it should be possible to construct a conical dragon that could be fired from a cannon without harming anyone inside it. Once it reached the top of its trajectory, the crew would deploy wings, allowing it to glide to the earth."
"If the dragar ever go to war again they'll wipe themselves out with their fool contraptions: whoever they are fighting won't have to do a thing."
Enexiyo looked at Wa'llach indulgently. "When the dragar go to war again, you might be correct. However, when the dragon takes to the skies, its dwarf-built body will soar and land."
Wit found Shain early the next morning. The orc leader was awake, but most of her troops were still sleeping.
The orcs had cleared the bodies out of the castle and courtyard and were occupying the keep. Shain had set up a command center in Hogan's study and had located maps, which were spread out on a large desk. She pointed out the route that she was planning to take into Youngkent.
"Run it by Wa'llach," Wit said, "he knows the area well. You'll want to steer clear of dwarf bandits, as well as human settlements, and he'll know about them."
"There is another matter to discuss: the men you came up with."
"I had wanted to speak to you about them as well. They know far too much to be given any chance to talk to anyone, as long as the High Dragar lives."
She nodded.
"That said, I don't think we need to kill them, and they might prove very useful to us. I will probably have my mind split open by the Order's council for this, sooner or later, but if anyone learns that I have gone renegade before our work is done, it will all be for nothing. The simplest thing would be for me and Wa'llach to continue on the roads as we had been, traveling in the open. We can use the trackers and soldiers to keep in touch with you, hidden in the forests. You'll run too great a risk trying to reach me with an orcish messenger, but no one will notice humans moving between your hidden camps and our inn."
"But you said that they must not be given a chance to speak?"
"Yes. I propose to Bind them. Typically, people are Bound to make up for harm caused, for a fixed number of years and under fixed conditions. However, as we saw at the mine, there are many other ways that the spell can be worked. It is possible for people to consent to be Bound, in exchange for gold, and a Binding can contain unusual terms, as long as the Bound consents to them—typically in return for a larger amount of gold."
"What terms are you thinking of?"
"There is about a thousand gold left in the treasury. The orcs before you took what they could, but Hogan was very rich. I propose that the tracker
s and soldiers be given this gold to split amongst themselves, and hide where they want in the hills, in exchange for agreeing to be Bound to mine and your commands for the next several weeks. Once I Bind them, they will forget where they hid the gold; at the end of the period, they will remember where they hid the gold, but forget the last month of their lives."
"That would be both acceptable and helpful."
"Yes. It is also, frankly, the very limit of my skill. I am going to need a day to prepare and another two days to do the work."
"We should do this as quickly as we can. Kill them and leave this afternoon."
"A senior wizard won't be in Youngkent for another five weeks, and the journey is three weeks long, maybe less if we all move quickly. I think the advantages of this plan outweigh the delay. Plus, from everything I hear you've been running your troops nearly to death, and I am sure the time to rest and plan will be to their advantage."
"You know nothing about what the soldiers of the No-Clan can endure."
Wit conceded this. "But I am sure that a few days of rest and good meals won't do them any harm. If me and Wa'llach are not on the road in a few days' time, we run a grave risk of exposure. And if you try to get a message to us with one of your orcs, there's a million ways that could end in disaster."
"Again, you underestimate the No-Clan. We could easily communicate with you by stealth. This is the plan of an Alliance coward with no taste for blood."
"Yes, but again, there is no need to do so with an easier alternative. And blood has nothing to do with it: if we kill them, someone will want to know what happened to them, and it won't make anything easier."
Shain agreed reluctantly.
Wit found Wa'llach and entrusted him with talking the trackers and soldiers into the plan. He collected his books and went to look for somewhere that he wouldn't be bothered, ending up, predictably, in the old wizard's room. He set out his books and began to make an outline of the relevant portions of Phreer.
Students of the Order Page 50
