Battledragon (2 page)

Dashwood was the alternate quarters for the legion garrison of the city of Marneri. It was a well-worn, comfortable camp of wooden-stockade construction, thoroughly furbished over many decades of use. It was blessed with excellent water from crystal pure springs.

The forest around it was managed by the legion to heat the Marneri garrison and outposts throughout the winter. Great stacks of green wood were set out by the road. On the other side were stacks of seasoned wood. The road from Dashwood to Marneri was paved throughout and very busy at this season with wagon traffic.

Past the wood stacks loomed the big gates, and as they marched in, they caught the heady aromas of fresh bread and simmering buckets of akh, the pungent, spicy concoction beloved by wyvern dragons.

Dragonboys were soon in motion, wheeling carts loaded with buckets of noodles, slathered in akh, down to their dragons in the Dragon House. Others scurried by, weighed down by a dozen loaves of long bread.

Barrels of beer were delivered from the legion brewery and rolled directly to the dragons, who sat in a loose circle in the center of the Dashwood Dragon House and ate and drank their fill.

Leaving a bunch of contented dragons to their favorite recreational activity, the dragonboys got their own meals and were able to choose from steaming cauldrons of polenta, beans, noodles, and a hearty chicken soup. There was more fresh bread, hot out of the ovens, and for flavorings there was butter and lime and salt and even akh for those with strong taste buds.

To wash it down they received their daily allowance of a pint of mild beer, followed by a second pint of real ale.

They sank back into their coats, feeling warm while the fatigue crept up from their bones. They would drink their ale, perhaps sing a round or two of the "Kenor Song" or "La Lillee La Loo," and turn in for the night. And soon, just a few more days, and they'd be heading back to the city.

Swane was trying to hunt up a game of cards among the younger boys. There were five new faces in the unit since the Battle of Sprian's Ridge. Calvene, at seventeen, was the oldest of the new boys followed by Endi of Blue Hills, Roos, Aris, and little Shutz, who at fourteen was now the youngest in the unit.

Endi and Roos were the only boys willing to take Swane's offer, but that was enough for a few hands of Bezok, and the cards came out and were shuffled and dealt.

Swane groaned and moaned. The others winked to each other. They'd seen Swane's repertory of deceptive moves by now. When Swane groaned like this, it meant he thought he had great cards. They all exchanged cards with the deck and bet lightly on the change.

Swane's groaning increased suddenly in volume.

"I bet I can go the full Bezok," said Swane, as expected.

"How much do you bet?" said Endi with a sly smile. Endi was only sixteen, but Relkin knew already that he was better at cards than Swane would ever be.

"Three bits," said Swane, hoping to lure them on.

"Matched," said Endi.

"I'll take it, too," said Roos, a bullet-headed youth from the hardscrabble hills of Seant, who knew to follow Endi's lead in something like this.

"Exchange," said Swane, holding out a single card.

"Taken," said Endi, giving Swane another card from his own hand and accepting Swane's discard.

Swane's groans continued, but now there was a more genuine note to them.

"Cut for trumps," he said. Endi did, and they all stared at the two of clubs.

"Clubs it is," said Roos with satisfaction. Swane groaned a little more deeply.

"Lay 'em down," said Roos.

Swane led off with the king of cups. Endi chipped in the three, and Roos dropped the eight. Swane swept them up with a sigh of relief.

"One down, Bezok to go."

Swane played the prince of cups. Endi chipped in the five of cups. Roos gave a wicked smile and produced the four of clubs, trumping Swane's prince.

Swane's groans increased in volume. Endi tried to goad him into increasing the bet, but Swane refused to be drawn.

"Let's have the third card," said Roos with glee, but Swane never got to play it. There was a loud rap at the entrance to the Dragon House, and a lad from the stables informed them that there was a fancy carriage in the camp's main square and someone was asking for the 109th Maraeri.

They looked at one another. Most shot Relkin a glance and then looked away. Relkin tried not to think, but they all crowded down to the gate of the dragon quarters and beheld a white, covered carriage, pulled by four horses, rolling up to the gate. The coachman found that his horses were most unhappy. They fidgeted, neighed, and chewed at the bit, terrified by the smell of dragon.

The door opened and out came a tall, well-fed young man, clad in an outdated style of dragon leader uniform with knee breeches and high boots and a long coat with tails. An oversized cap badge was attached to the fellow's antique hat with the numerals 109 inscribed upon it.

Relkin's heart sank.

A soft, feminine voice spoke from inside the coach. The fellow in the uniform turned back to say something, and there was a squeal of giggles.

The eyes of the 109th widened. If old Commander Toup found out about this, there'd be hell to pay. Commander Toup ran a hellishly tight camp at Dashwood.

The plump fellow in the antique uniform turned back to them with a confident swagger. He paused to survey them for a moment, as if waiting for their salute. The 109th were too stunned to remember their manners.

"Good evening all, I am Dragon Leader Wiliger," announced the apparition with an air of jaunty good humor. "I have been assigned to command this squadron.

"I know that we are going to get along very well." He beamed at them. "I'm sure because I know this is a disciplined unit, and by the Hand, I swear I'll maintain discipline!"

They stared at him with blank expressions. Manuel was the first to wake up. He nudged Jak in the ribs and whispered and then whispered louder.

"Salute, you idiots."

Relkin awoke, from nightmare to a reality no better. They saluted raggedly, with more whispering.

Dragon Leader Wiliger smiled and returned the salute. He produced a scroll from under his arm and read out to them his "Orders of Appointment." Thus they learned that he, Dragon Leader Wiliger, had, by the authority vested in the Appointments Board of the Marneri Second Legion, been ordered to take the command of the 109th Marneri Dragons.

"I will make a short inspection now. I want to get to know you all as quickly as I can."

They stared back at him, eyes rounded in amazement.

"And if you don't mind, I will bring in my companions and show them around. I am staying at the house of my good friend the Duchess of Belova, quite close by, and so I thought I would take the opportunity of coming over and assuming command. We've been having a marvelous party, and my friends did so desire to see the dragons."

They struggled for words. Finally Relkin managed, "Uh, yes, sir. Of course."

Dragon Leader Wiliger looked to Relkin. "Introduce yourself, boy," he said.

"Acting Dragoneer Relkin, 109th Marneri, sir."

Wiliger broke into a broad smile. "Wonderful"—he put out a hand—"it's good to meet you, boy, let me shake your hand. You're a legend. One good reason I was so happy to get this command."

Relkin felt his mouth go dry. There were horrible implications in the man's words. Had he bought his commission? Things like that happened from time to time, but never in the Dragon Corps. Casualties were too high in the Dragon Corps for the sons of the wealthy.

"And now I'd like to ask my friends to come inside. They will assist me in my inspection." He laughed, amused by this thought, and they smelled the wine on his breath.

The spell was broken, and the dragonboys scurried away to their individual stalls. They were blessed by the fact that the dragons were still eating. Thus they had room to move quickly around in the stall while they frantically tidied up. Harness, tackle, sewing projects were swung up to the highest lockers. Spare equipment, satchels, even weapons, were scooped off floors and beds and hung on their appointed hooks.

Dragon Leader Wiliger brought in his companions, the ladies Siwili and Jelene Mayro, and the brother of Jelene, Autur. The ladies wore the furs and satins of the aristocracy. They rustled as they walked, and their perfume filled the stalls and brought blushes to the cheeks of some dragonboys and a hardening of expressions in the eyes of others as the boys were caught between bashful youth and adult lust. The ladies giggled at the sight of these "stalls" with the piled-up straw for the dragon and the little high-set bunk for the boy, so odd, so quaintly squalid with all these things hanging on the walls. And they enjoyed Winger's performance of going through the boys' kit and demanding that items be better polished. He was playing it up wonderfully. Autur Mayro thought so and continually commented on how witty Delwild Wiliger was. Never would have thought so from his reputation, but he was glad to have met him. Such a funny man.

Gradually a mood of intense dislike solidified among the dragonboys.

Dragon Leader Wiliger called them out to the exercise hall to parade. They formed up. Relkin in front, the rest in a line, and they came to attention crisply. They'd done it a thousand times for old Dragon Leader Turrent, so it was an automatic gesture, but one fit for the parade ground.

"Oooh," squealed Lady Siwili to her cousin, "they look so fierce, cousin, don't you think?" Lady Jelene's whispered response sent Siwili into fits of giggles.

Autur Mayro chuckled. Wiliger beamed at them, belched, and sent the odors of wine and a rich dinner wafting into their faces. Their expressions hardened into masks of stone.

And then there was an interruption. A door crashed open and there came a heavy tread.

"Where is Manuel?" said an all-too-familiar voice, loud, belligerent, and perpetually grouchy. No one said anything.

"Who are these?" it went on to say.

Dragon Leader Wiliger and the well-fed ladies from the party stared up into the scowling visage of the Purple Green of Hook Mountain, whose bulk towered over them. His big jaws opened slightly to reveal rows of teeth.

With a collective intake of air, all four of them fell into dragon-freeze. Instinctive terror of four-ton carnivorous monsters blanked their minds. They were incapable of movement.

Relkin rolled his eyes. Wiliger was stiffer than the rest of them. There could be no doubt now. This was some poltroon from the upper class who had never worked with dragons in his life. There had to be a mistake. They were the fighting 109th, the pride of the Marneri Second Legion. Surely they wouldn't be given over to this idiot.

There was a long, awful moment. The dragonboys stood at attention. Wiliger and his friends stood frozen on the spot. The Purple Green grunted acidly, "Normally dragonboys make more noise than a pack of hyena, but now they are silent as stones. Why is this?"

Relkin set about breaking Wiliger out of dragon-freeze. He snapped his fingers loudly in front of Wiliger's eyes and whistled sharply into his ear.

Swane and Manuel were doing the same for the ladies and Autur Mayro. One by one they came awake, but Wiliger remained locked in a trance.

The Purple Green was already lumbering back the way he had come, while Manuel went to mix some more akh. The dragon's enormous wings were folded around him, his long tail flicked sinuously behind him, and his tread caused the ground to shudder, but at least he was going away. The ladies' breath came back, little sobs escaped their throats. The dragons they'd seen in parades had never seemed so enormously frightening. Autur began to retreat to the outer door.

Another dragon appeared in the doorway. Autur tumbled back from a smaller beast, with bright green skin.

"More akh," said Alsebra.

"Manuel's gone to get it," said Jak.

Wiliger was coming out of dragon-freeze, but the moment he found himself eye to eye with another dragon, a sinuous green one with a look of penetrating intelligence, he gasped for air and his gasp cut off as he went rigid once more.

The globe spun beneath the emperor's fingers until the great tropical continent Eigo was prominent. He was alone, but for the witch Lessis, who stood by the window.

"This Path of Power you have mentioned, tell me more."

"Your Majesty, it is forbidden to be explicit. You understand that this is a glimpse of other worlds, other places on the great sphere board of destiny, that pearl of possibilities that lies forever in the palm of the Mother."

Her words seemed muffled by the gloom and the luxurious surfaces of the emperor's private study.

"Humor me, Lady, I beg."

The pale light of a stormy day illuminated the slender, careworn face of a woman in late-middle years. Her clothes were simple and grey, her demeanor was entirely undramatic. It was difficult for those who did not know her to understand her place in history.

"Your Majesty, the Path of Power is one possible path for the world to take. If skills and technology are allowed to develop without control, then our world will take that road. Down it lie weapons more terrible than anything we can imagine."

The emperor's brows remained lowered, his dark eyes thunderous. This news was not to his taste. She went on.

"What I can tell you is that there are seven dead worlds in the Mother's palm, worlds covered in ash and a dust that never cools under the poisoned clouds. Those worlds took the road to power. That road begins with the weapons that are being developed now in the heart of Eigo."

The emperor pursed his lips and turned the globe with his fingers as he traced out the route from the Argonath to distant Eigo.

"It seems so far away."

"It is no farther than Czardha." She lofted an eyebrow.

"And this development will put to naught all your great work in Czardha."

His brow furrowed. The Czardhan mission had been a rousing success, and they had signed treaties with the Trucial States. Trade had already swelled. They had combined forces against the great enemy in Padmasa, and for once they had the initiative and were pressing that enemy hard. He had staked his reign on the initiative toward Czardha.