by David Weber
"That's at least a two-company bivouac," he told her. "And that's the next best thing to five hundred men."
Gadrial nodded slowly. Once upon a time, she knew, the Andaran rank titles which the Union's military establishment had adopted had been literal descriptors of the size of an officer's command. Over time, however, as armies grew and evolved, that had changed. Jasak was a commander of one hundred, and one hundreds had always commanded infantry companies. But a company consisted of almost two hundred and fifty men these days, not the hundred men it had once contained. And Five Hundred Klian's battalion consisted (or should have, assuming it had been at full strength) of almost eleven hundred men, not five hundred, while a commander of two thousand's regiment was over three thousand men strong.
None of which explained what five hundred men were doing living in tents outside Fort Talon's barracks.
"mul Gurthak's calling in reinforcements," she said.
"That's exactly what he's doing," Jasak agreed. Then he inhaled deeply. "We shouldn't be surprised. After all, he's the most senior officer this side of the Ucala sliderhead, and that's still over twelve thousand miles from here. It's his responsibility to concentrate as much combat power as he can, just in case. It's just . . . "
His voice trailed off, and he shook his head. Not that he needed to complete the sentence for Gadrial's benefit.
She stood beside him, gazing at the innocent looking white tents which housed the men mul Gurthak couldn't squeeze into his available barracks space and at the transport dragons ringing the field. There were at least a dozen battle dragons, like the two which had reacted to Shaylar so strongly, as well, and Gadrial's blood ran cold at the thought that dragons might actually be used in battle once again.
And if we're prepared to use dragons for the first time in two hundred years, she thought with a bone-deep shiver, recalling a conversation with Shaylar and Jathmar, what else are we prepared to do for the first time in two hundred years?
It was a question she couldn't answer, and she felt like a coward for being grateful that she could not.
"Well, gentlemen," Nith mul Gurthak said, tipping back his chair and smiling at Rithmar Skirvon and Uthik Dastiri, "I suppose it's time that you were on your way."
The sun had barely risen over Fort Talon, but the two diplomats were already packed and ready to go. Their beautifully tailored civilian clothing had been exchanged for utilitarian Air Force flight suits, and neither of them looked any more enthralled by the prospect of a five thousand-mile journey than mul Gurthak would have been in their place.
"I'm afraid so," Skirvon agreed with a grimace. "I wish we were eligible for flight pay!"
"Understandable, I suppose," mul Gurthak conceded with a slight smile. Then his expression grew more sober. "A great deal depends upon you gentlemen—on your judgment and your efforts. I won't belabor that point further, since I know we're all already aware of it. I wish there were time for us to seek formal guidance from Parliament and the Commandery. There isn't."
"Understood, Two Thousand," Skirvon replied somberly. "I assure you that we'll do our best."
"I never doubted it." mul Gurthak rose behind his desk and extended his right hand. "Good luck, gentlemen."
"Thank you, Two Thousand," Skirvon said very seriously. Then mul Gurthak shook hands with both of them and watched them walk out of his office.
"How far did you say it was to the next portal?" Shaylar asked as she and Jathmar followed Jasak and Gadrial towards the dragonfield.
"About nine hundred miles," Jasak replied. "One day's dragon flight."
"Assuming, of course," Shaylar forced an edge of humor into her voice, "that the dragon in question doesn't just decide to eat me and be done with it, instead."
Jasak stopped. The rest of their small procession—including a still obviously irked Hundred Neshok and half a dozen soldiers from his company—stopped as well, and Jasak turned to face her.
"That isn't going to happen, Shaylar," he told her firmly. "We're taking Skyfang, and we haven't had any problems with him."
"No, we haven't," Shaylar agreed. She couldn't keep her intense relief from showing, not that she tried particularly hard. The Fort Wyvern dragon Skyfang and his pilot, Commander of Fifty Daris Varkal, were a well oiled team. They'd obviously been together a long time, possibly as long as Muthok Salmeer and Windclaw. Unlike Windclaw, however, Skyfang—who was even larger than Windclaw—had shown no inclination to take large, messy bites out of her. In fact, she'd almost felt as if the dragon actually liked her, although she wasn't about to invest any great confidence in that possibility.
"As a matter of fact, Shaylar," Gadrial said with a slight smile for Jasak, "Jasak's requested that we stick with Skyfang and Fifty Varkal as long as possible. We may have to change dragons in Rycarh or Jylaros—we have fairly long sea voyages crossing each of those universes, and we may not have enough room aboard ship for Skyfang—but if we can, we'll hang onto both of them all the way to Ucala."
"Is that likely to be possible?" Jathmar asked.
"It depends on the available shipping," Jasak said. "That's one reason I hadn't mentioned the possibility to you. Not all of our ships are configured as dragon transports, so we may not be able to. I'd say the odds were probably slightly in our favor, but I can't guarantee it."
"Whether we can or not, I truly appreciate the thought, Jasak," Shaylar said. "Thank you."
"I told you, Shaylar," Jasak said quietly, taking her delicate hand in one of his and squeezing it gently, "you and Jathmar are members of my family, now. However deeply I may regret the circumstances which make that so, I'm honored to have you as a sister, and I look out for all my sisters. And—" he looked across her head at the Jathmar "—my brothers, too. Now that I have one."
Jathmar looked back at him, more than a little uncomfortably. Then the Sharonian grimaced.
"Like Shaylar, I appreciate the thought," he said. "On the other hand, has anyone suggested why some of the dragons seem to react so much more strongly to her? Or why they don't react to me the same way?"
"As to why they react to her, the only logical explanation is that it's something about her particular Talent," Gadrial said. "My best guess is that a 'Voice's' abilities produce some sort of . . . signature, or emission, dragons are sensitive to. And, obviously, one they don't much like."
She smiled without any humor at all, and Jathmar snorted.
"I believe you could safely say that," he agreed.
"As for the reason some of them respond more strongly than others," Jasak took over as they began walking towards the field once again, "I've got the beginnings of a theory."
"You do?" Jathmar glanced sideways at his Andaran "brother" as they headed down the dirt road. He was relieved to see that all of the field's dragons had been moved back from the roadway for a safe distance.
"Yes," Jasak said. "I want to ask Daris a couple of questions before I say anything more, though. And even if I'm right, it only changes the question, it doesn't really answer it."
"We're supposed to be the ones concealing sensitive information from you," Jathmar said dryly, and Jasak chuckled.
"I'm not really trying to be mysterious, Jathmar. It's just that I didn't want to get anyone's hopes up for what may turn out to be the wrong reasons. Besides—"
He broke off as they reached the field itself. Fifty Varkal and Skyfang were waiting for them, and the dragon's head rose, turning towards them, nostrils flaring. As always, Jathmar was acutely uncomfortable when any of the huge beasts showed an interest in Shaylar, but Skyfang gave no sign of hostility. Indeed, something suspiciously like a deep, subterranean purr seemed to rumble in his enormous chest.
"Good morning, Hundred. Magister Kelbryan." Varkal greeted Jasak and Gadrial, then looked past them. "Good morning, Master Nargra. Good morning, Lady Nargra-Kolmayr."
"Good morning, Daris," Jasak replied for all of them while Shaylar and Jathmar smiled at him. Unlike most of the Arcanan officers they'd encountered, Daris Va
rkal had been genuinely and naturally courteous from the moment they met.
"We're cleared and ready to go as soon as we're all on board, Sir," the fifty told Jasak.
"Good," Jasak replied approvingly. Varkal reached out a hand to Gadrial, preparing to assist her in mounting to Skyfang's back, but Jasak's raised hand stopped him.
"Sir?"
"I've been wondering about something, Daris. How well do you know Squire Salmeer and Windclaw?"
"Pretty well, Sir," Varkal said just a bit cautiously. "Muthok's a good man—one of the best. I've learned a lot from him, and Windclaw's one of the most experienced transports you're ever going to see."
"That was my impression of them, as well." Jasak nodded. "What I was wondering, though, is how much you know about Windclaw's pedigree." Varkal looked surprised, and Jasak chuckled a bit sourly. "The first time Windclaw met Lady Nargra-Kolmayr, he wanted to eat her," he reminded the pilot, "but Skyfang here actually seems to like her."
"He does, Sir." Varkal seemed a little surprised that Jasak had noticed and turned to smile at Shaylar. "The Hundred's right about that, My Lady," he said earnestly. "Skyfang's smart. He's not as old as Windclaw, but he's been around, and I've had him for a long time now. I know him pretty well, and he does like you." He shook his head, his expression turning more than a little chagrined. "I should have told you that already, I guess. After all, Muthok warned me about how Windclaw reacted. I should have realized you'd be worried."
"I thought he liked her," Jasak said with a hint of satisfaction. "That's what started me wondering about pedigrees. I'm no Air Force officer, but I've seen quite a few dragons over the years. I hope it won't offend you if I say that Skyfang here looks a bit bigger and . . . less agile than Windclaw."
"No offense taken, Sir," Varkal said with what certainly looked like a genuine grin. "Old Skyfang's a transport to the bone. All of his ancestors—clear back to the first egg in Ransar, as far as I know—have been transports." He reached higher than his head to pat his dragon's massive foreleg with affectionate pride. "Windclaw's a fine beast, but Skyfang can out-lift him any day. We can haul half again the weight Muthok and Windclaw can, although, to be fair, you were lucky you drew them for your medevac. Like you say, Windclaw's quite a bit more agile. From your description, I don't think we could have gotten in and out again where he and Muthok did."
"Because Windclaw's line is a transport-battle dragon cross, isn't it?"
"Yes, Sir. I couldn't say exactly how far back, but it's easy enough to see if you know what to look for." Varkal shrugged. "A pure transport like Skyfang is bred for strength, stamina, and range before anything else. He's a . . . strategic transport, I guess you'd say—bred for moving the maximum loads well behind the front line. Windclaw, now, he's more of a tactical transport, bred to support the air-mobile outfits. He can't carry as much, but he's fast and maneuverable—for a transport. That counts when you're trying to get troops or supplies into a hot LZ, and a lot of mission planners like to have at least some breath weapon capability in their frontal area tac transports."
"That's what I thought." Jasak looked at Shaylar and Jathmar. "As nearly as I can tell, all of the dragons who have reacted so negatively to Shaylar have been either battle dragons or, like Windclaw, a transport-battle dragon cross. So whatever it is about you, it would appear that it only bothers the combat types, and we should see less and less of those as we get further to the rear."
"That's a relief—assuming you've got it right," Jathmar said. "On the other hand, I'd still like to know exactly what causes the reaction in the first place."
"So would I. I'm not sure we ever will, though. And at the moment, I'll settle for anything that lets us keep Shaylar safely away from dragons that won't like her."
"Me, too," Shaylar said firmly.
Emboldened by Jasak's theory, she reached out and patted Skyfang's huge, scaly, tree trunk of a leg the same way Varkal had. The huge dragon raised his head once more, cocking it to one side and looking down at her. Then he lowered it—not with the quick, angry motion the other dragons had shown, but slowly, almost gently.
Shaylar heard Jasak inhale sharply and felt Jathmar's sudden spike of fear through the marriage bond, but she stood her ground as that enormous head hovered just above her. The gigantic right eye considered her thoughtfully, reassuringly calmly, and then Skyfang's vast forked tongue flickered out and touched her on the shoulder. The tongue alone—narrow as a serpent's, in proportion to the dragon—was as broad as her torso, and she felt its enormous weight . . . and strength. But its touch was gentle, and she smiled delightedly as she sensed something at the very edge of her Talent.
She'd always known she had at least a trace of her mother's Talent. She'd felt it quite often, swimming with the dolphins at her mother's embassy, although compared to her Voice Talent, it had been far too weak to bother trying to train. Now she felt Skyfang, the same way she had felt those dolphins and whales, and unlike Windclaw's angry, almost savage aura, Skyfang was a calm, relaxed presence. Her impression of him lacked the . . . brightness, the sharpness, of true sentience, but it came much closer to fully developed self-awareness than she'd expected. And without the other dragon's fury, the big transport suddenly felt no more threatening to her than the huge whales with which she had swum since childhood, and she patted his leg again in simple delight.
Jathmar exhaled explosively as he tasted her emotions through his own bond with her, and she smiled at him before she turned back to Jasak.
"I think you may be onto something," she said. "I can't feel Skyfang's emotions the same way I could a person's, but I am getting at least a little something from him, and it's a lot different from what I felt from Windclaw."
"Good," Jasak sighed, then grimaced. "I'm glad to hear we may not have to worry about the way other transports react to you, Shaylar. All the same, would you please not do things like that?" He jerked his head at the hand she still had on Skyfang's leg. "I'm sure Jathmar would feel better if you'd at least consult with him before you rush in to test one of my theories, and—" he looked at Jathmar again across her head and grinned crookedly "—I know damned well that I would."
Chapter Forty-Two
"Now that's impressive."
Division-Captain chan Geraith stood with his hands on his hips, watching as one of his Bisons snorted up the loading ramp onto the massive flatcar under a floating banner of black smoke and the careful direction of the loadmaster. The Bison—technically, the Transport Tractor, Mark I, Model B—was based on the same powerplant as the next to largest of the Trans-Temporal Express's bulldozers, although its suspension and caterpillar tracks had been substantially modified in an effort to allow for greater speed over even rougher terrain. It wasn't an actual transport unit itself, but rather designed to tow a capacious wheeled or tracked trailer, and despite its funnel, it was sleek, low-slung, and powerful looking.
It was also dwarfed by the flatcar it was busily climbing onto. Indeed, two more Bisons were already in place on the same car. TTE employees were tightening the tie-down chains on the second of them even as the third clanked into position, and there was still going to be almost enough room for a fourth, he realized.
"You think so, Division-Captain?"
chan Geraith turned his attention from the flatcar to the man standing beside him. Train Master Yakhan Chusal of TTE's Directorate of Operations was the sprawling transportation giant's senior train master. He'd been overseeing the loading of TTE freight trains for almost thirty years, and his eyes were rather more critical than the soldier's.
"Yes, I do," chan Geraith said. "I never realized you had flatcars that size. Oh, I've seen pictures of the special, articulated cars you use to transport ship hull sections, but I'd never realized you had standard cars this big."
"I wish we could make them even bigger," Chusal replied with a grimace. "They're just barely large enough for our biggest steam shovels as it is, and you can't put a shovel on an articulated car and get it through some of the
mountains we've got to transit on this run. Some of the curves are way too sharp, not to mention the little question of whether or not the trestles would stand the weight. In fact, I understand Engineering had to turn down a new shovel design because we couldn't guarantee that we could transport it."
"You mean you need a flatcar that size for one steam shovel?" chan Geraith demanded in an almost shaken tone.
"That's right." Chusal shrugged. "In fact, we have to break them down into two loads, even with cars that size. Which, of course, means we need big damned cranes—which we also have to ship out—to put them back together again at the other end. When you've got to dig your way through a godsdamned mountain range, or dig a frigging canal, you need a really big shovel. Well, we've got them."
chan Geraith shook his head with a bemused sort of expression. Before his own recent experiences with the experimental mechanization program, he probably wouldn't have been as impressed as he was. Now, though, he'd had far more firsthand experience with incredibly powerful and yet sometimes frustratingly fragile heavy machinery.