"But, my Emperor—"
He forced a smile.
"Our pickets are out ahead of us," and he pointed off towards the distant fires, "I want to be alone, to think."
Though he smiled, he set the proper tone to his voice, the tone that expected instant obedience, the tone that could send thousands to their deaths without hesitation.
The staff turned away reluctantly and started down the hill, gazing back over their shoulders with anxious looks before disappearing into the twilight.
Good. If there was a problem with being an emperor it was finding even a moment to be alone, truly alone. He walked on, hands clasped behind his back, looking out towards the shadows, pondering his next move.
So far, it had all gone to plan. With the beginning of this war, the Austrians had moved forward, out of Vienna and into Bavaria to meet him, not bothering to wait for their Russian allies. Ulm had been the result, yet another triumph, and from there to Vienna but a quick victorious march. But now, now was the real challenge. The Russians had pulled back out of Vienna, and even now were gathering in their strength, not thirty kilometers up the road to the east, the rest of the Austrian army not trapped at Ulm moving to join them. He would be outnumbered now, his own army still strung out behind him on the road back to Vienna.
What to do?
He walked on across the Pratzen Heights visualizing it all as it was drawn on his maps. The road back to Vienna behind him, to his left, the high dark Moravian-Switzerland mountains, foothills that continued on up into the Black mountains of Bohemia. Wild country, primitive, almost medieval, a strange land this.
"Emperor Napoleon I presume."
Damn, now what. He turned to see who was intruding.
"Mon Dieu!"
He felt the hair at the nape of his neck prickle straight up, his knees going in an instant to jelly, shaking uncontrollably.
The shadowy figure drew closer, standing up on its hind legs, head rising up on its long neck, turning slightly to gaze at him from its bulging red-hued eye.
Napoleon Bonaparte started to back up, ready to run.
"Would you let it be said that the great Emperor Napoleon was afraid of something and ran away?" the shadow asked, drawing yet closer.
Napoleon stopped. The trembling in his knees was still uncontrollable, yet now there was a flicker of anger. A coward? Never, death was always preferable to that.
Surprised by his own instinctive response he nevertheless made the sign of the cross. That action alone caused him to seize control of his fear. He could imagine the pope, the pompous fool, chuckling over the great Emperor trembling, making the holy sign and then blubbering out a quick Pater Noster.
The trembling stopped.
"Ah, that's better, do you mind if I sit?" the shadow asked.
Though the trembling had stopped, command of his voice was still questionable and Napoleon merely nodded a reply.
The dragon sat down on his rear haunches, resting on his stubby forelegs, head looking straight at him, still cocked to one side. Its scales rustled like the creaking of old armor, its breath washed over him, smelling of ancient damp smoke.
It sighed, stretching, like an old weary dog.
"What are you?" Napoleon whispered.
It laughed softly, a deep rumbling chuckle that sounded like distant thunder.
"Ah, what am I? A devil perhaps? Do you believe in devils?"
"At the moment, I'm not sure."
"A good answer. Perhaps I am Mephistopheles, you are my Faust and together we shall bargain for victory. How does that sound?"
"I don't need a devil's bargain for what I can take on my own."
The rumbling laughter was even louder now.
"Well spoken, my Emperor; what I would expect from you. But no, I am not a devil."
He felt a sense of relief for that indeed had been his first thought and he knew the temptation would have perhaps been too much, to exceed even Alexander and like him march to Persepolis and the seas of India beyond.
"A dragon then?" he finally ventured.
"Very good, my Emperor. You do remember your children's tales. Yes, a dragon. Gar of the lineage of Bakga," and it bowed its head low.
"I dare say that you might even consider me to be of royalty. I hope that does not arouse your Republican instincts. But then again, I think I can let you in on that secret, seeing that you are now an Emperor yourself."
Napoleon smiled. This was far too fantastic. If I were an eater of opium, he thought, then I would believe this. No, it must be a dream. Yet he could feel the warm breath. On impulse he stepped forward, reaching out with his hand, touching its face.
"No, I am not a dream."
"This is fantastic."
"That's what some people would say. But there are others," and it growled softly, turning to look back towards the east.
"Damn Russians, nothing but ignorant peasants, and the locals around here, those damn Bohemians, do you think I'd stand much of a chance with them?"
"I take it you don't like Russians then?" Napoleon asked softly, in a friendly, understanding voice.
The dragon growled, a low rumble of rage, and turned its head.
Though he was used to wounds, it still startled him. The dragon's right eye was swollen shut. He looked at it intently. A saber wound slashing across his face, narrowly missing its eye. He reached up to touch it and the dragon winced, pulling back, rumbling with pain.
"You're hurt."
"A brilliant observation," Gar snapped.
"A Russian?"
"Damn cossack. There I was, minding my own business. If there's one thing a dragon knows, especially if he wishes to survive, it is to lay low when you humans are marching about fighting one of your wars. Especially with those new weapons of yours which don't even give us a fair chance. This cossack, however, comes poking into my hole, catching me asleep and gives me this," and Gar raised his forepaw to point at the wound.
"What happened to him?"
"I ate him."
"Oh."
"I hate eating Russians though. Too greasy. Frankly I prefer Turks myself, but it's been a long time since they showed up around here. Now as for Mongols, it's been five hundred years since I've seen one of them; they were too stringy."
Gar paused, looked at Napoleon and chuckled.
"No, I won't eat Frenchmen. It goes against the code."
"The code?" Napoleon asked quietly.
"You have a code, I heard it's developing out rather nicely by the way, and so do we. We only eat those who bother us. Sort of an issue of honor. Also, if we made humans a steady diet, they'd get upset and hunt us in earnest. But if you leave us alone, we'll leave you alone, though I don't know how my cousins living in the French Alps feel about you. I just wish you humans felt the same about us as far as codes go."
"I didn't even believe you existed," Napoleon said softly.
"That's the whole intent," Gar replied. "However, it's getting rather difficult of late. Too many of you people. And then you have these damned peasants, like the Russians and the locals around here. Do you think I'd come up to them for a talk like this?"
Napoleon started to reply but Gar cut him off.
"Hardly likely. If they had one of your guns they'd shoot first, run, and then get the villagers out for a hunt. Now with their armies tramping around on top of it, it's getting downright dangerous. My sister's youngest was killed by several Russian lancers just last week. She's beside herself with grief."
"I can imagine," Napoleon said softly. "She has my sympathy."
Gar looked at him intently for a moment.
"I think we can talk a little business you and I."
Napoleon smiled. If this is a dream, then so what. But if it is not, he reasoned, making alliances was a pastime he enjoyed. Beyond that, he knew it was best to humor whatever it was sitting next to him, especially when one considered the size of his fangs and claws.
"How might I be of service?" Napoleon responded smoothly.
&n
bsp; "I like you French. I rather like your revolution as well. Get rid of the old superstitions, bring in an age of reason, of science, of progress. I like that," Gar rumbled, now settling down to stretch out on the ground, motioning for Napoleon to sit down beside him.
"One of the reasons I learned French, I thought you people might come by here some day. You see there's still a lot of us old ones left around, hiding in the mountains, the swamps. But you people are taking the rest, making it more difficult every day. Now there's some that I think would be decent types, say some of those English. More than one of my cousins have had fair dealings with them."
Napoleon shook his head angrily.
"Perfidious lot."
Gar laughed.
"Still, from our viewpoint they're not all that bad. But these Russians, the locals here, that's another story."
Gar's voice rumbled into a language Napoleon could not understand, but as an old soldier he knew cursing when he heard it and Gar was letting go with a long pent-up stream of it while looking back towards the glowing campfires to the east.
"Can I be of some assistance to you in your vendetta with the Russians?" Napoleon asked smoothly and, as he did so, he even reached up and took hold of Gar by his ear, tweaking him gently.
Gar turned and looked back.
"You do have a way about you, my Emperor," Gar said, settling back down, "but I am not one of your old grumblers, your guardsmen whom you can tweak like that."
"My apologies."
"Accepted. But as I was saying about your revolution. My cousins and I like the idea. Bring your humans out of the Middle Ages, get rid of these foolish superstitions, settle things down a bit with some progress. If we dragons helps that to happen, perhaps a ruler, a truly enlightened ruler, might finish up his, how should I call it," Gar paused for a moment, "his Napoleonic Code with a little subclause regarding the rights of dragons."
"The rights of dragons?"
"Well, why not. You French are talking about the rights of man. That's what you claim your revolution is all about. Don't you think my kin and I are entitled to some rights around here as well?"
Gar rustled slightly, his scales flexing out, rattling.
"Oh, but of course."
"You promised those damn Poles to the north a free country and, let me tell you, I don't like them any more than I like the Russians. Well, if you're going to give them rights, what about us?"
Napoleon smiled.
"The Poles. A good people and firm allies willing to fight by my side."
Gar chuckled.
"So now we come to the bargaining."
"Yes, the bargaining."
"I offer an alliance, Napoleon."
Napoleon looked appraisingly at Gar. As a shock weapon he'd be ideal. He was easily the size of a heavy mount for a cuirassier. He looked closely at Gar who was now barely visible in the darkness.
There were even wings. Wonderful, better than a Montgafer balloon for looking behind enemy lines. A dragon regiment for heavy attack in the Imperial Guard with a light scouting regiment to range behind enemy lines. Why, it'd throw the Russians into a rout the first time they saw them.
Wonderful!
"I offer you the rank of general in command of your own dragon regiment," Napoleon said excitedly. "As for your uniforms, we can fit you out in something like a hussar's outfit. You'll look grand."
Gar shook his head and growled.
"My dear Emperor, I know what you are thinking here. I have no desire to charge a grand battery firing grape-and twelve-pound-solid shot."
"How about for scouting then?"
"You don't seem to understand. Our whole purpose here is to avoid contact. You humans might relish a grand charge but, then again, you can kill a million or two and be none the worse for wear. One good charge like you did at Marengo will wipe us out. No, we are not volunteering for that."
"Then how can you expect to earn your rights?" Napoleon snapped peevishly. "Even the Italians are fighting beside us!"
"There are ways of serving, and there are ways of serving. Personally I think I and those of my kin living nearby can be of help. We know that you had hoped to smash the Austrians and the Russian armies independently. They're linking up together, right now," the dragon nodded back towards the east.
"You are telling me nothing that I don't already know," Napoleon said quietly.
"You are outnumbered. Winter is approaching and with each passing day your enemy will grow stronger while you weaker. If your campaign continues another month, your supplies will start to become scarce. What you are looking for is one overwhelming victory, a battle of annihilation to knock the Austrians and Russians out of the war before the Prussians decide to join in. If they can hold out long enough, your situation will grow increasingly desperate."
Napoleon nodded, not replying. The dragon was right, though he would never admit it to him.
"Are you offering me something?" Napoleon finally asked.
"First let me make an understanding from my side," Gar replied.
"Go on then."
"If we help you to end this current campaign with a total victory, then in return you will do a service for us."
"Which is?"
"Recognition in your code of laws protecting the rights of dragons. Second, that certain preserves be created, we won't ask for much, a mountain here, a swamp there. Finally, that diplomatic recognition be extended to us as an autonomous group independent of humans."
Napoleon leaned back saying nothing.
"You know, it might create problems. You say you have cousins scattered in different areas?"
"Yes."
"Where?"
Gar laughed.
"I'd rather not say. My cousins might get upset if I revealed just how many places they were located."
"I can see a problem here. I'm fighting a war. Even I will admit that we are not popular in all places that we take. Local populations might not agree if I start to set aside land here and there for your sanctuaries."
Gar nodded sadly.
"I can see that."
"What about after the war is done, when all of Europe is united under my, excuse me, I mean living together under one rule."
Gar remained silent for a moment.
"Let me phrase it this way then," Gar finally replied. "If my clan here can provide you the means of obtaining victory in your current campaign, when the war is done will you in return meet my requests?"
"You think you can influence this campaign even though you refuse to fight by my side."
"There are more ways of fighting then simply charging their line," Gar replied.
Napoleon hesitated for a moment and then smiled.
"Done. My code of law, at such time, will be amended to treat the rights of dragons as equal to the rights of man."
"Fine." Gar stirred, reaching up with his forepaw into a small satchel dangling under its arm. He pulled out a sheaf of paper and handed it to Napoleon along with a stick of charcoal.
"Shall we place this treaty in writing?"
Napoleon laughed and nodded.
"I think my handwriting might be better than yours," Napoleon said quickly. He took the stick of charcoal and, resting the papers on his knee, began to write, while Gar emitted a small flame from his nostrils to provide some light.
With a dramatic flourish Napoleon finished off the two copies of the treaty and signed them both. Gar looked down at the paper, squinting at it with his one good eye and then finally nodded an agreement.
"My reading of French is not the best but all looks in order here."
Gar took up the charcoal stick and drew, in letters Napoleon did not recognize, what appeared to be the dragon's signature.
He took one copy of the treaty for himself and handed one back to the Emperor.
"I think, my Emperor, that for the present this should be a secret concordat."
"Why?"
"Suppose you lose, even after our help. Then where will we be? I dare say that the cro
wned heads of Europe would hunt us down to the death in vengeance."
"I will not lose."
"But just suppose you do. No, it will be our secret for now. And for heavens sake don't let that damn Tallyrand find out. First off, he'll be upset that he wasn't in on the negotiating and, secondly, all of Europe will know if he ever finds out."
Napoleon could see the point. The propaganda value of this agreement was difficult to judge. Chances were the pope would claim that dragons were the minions of Satan; it might arouse Italy and Spain. No, it was best to keep it quiet.
"So how do you plan to honor your part of the bargain?" Napoleon asked.
The dragon stood up and stretched.
"This place you humans call the Pratzen Heights used to be nice ground. Several hundred years back it was all woods, until the damn peasants came and cleared it. There was a time when some of my clan lived under this very ridge in some rather comfortable caves.
"There's a good stream nearby; they call it the Goldbach," he pointed towards the west where the stream came down out of the Moravian-Switzerland mountain, "and a couple of ponds that the stream runs into. The fish in there were wonderful to eat until the peasants moved in," he then pointed towards the south and southeast.
"Now, if only you could move your army forward, then turn around, fake a retreat, and lure the Russians and Austrians back to this ground. Do that and my clan and I could prepare the means for victory."
As he continued to talk Napoleon listened and smiled. Within minutes they were both down on their hands and knees, scratching out a map on a piece of paper.
December 2, 1805
The thunder of artillery rattled with a crescendolike roar. Pacing, with hands behind his back, Napoleon cocked his head and listened, then turned to look back at his staff as a mud-splattered courier came up the hill.
"Word from Davout?"
Gasping for breath, the courier rode up by Napoleon's side and saluted, handing over a dispatch. Napoleon read it and then looked back at his staff.
"The pressure is still building on the right; they're falling for it."
The staff looked at him anxiously, barely visible in the swirling mist. The battle was almost invisible. To the south, he could see occasional flashes of light where the fog was thinning out. Straight ahead, the Pratzen Heights were all but invisible as well. To the left the fog was thinning out slightly but still holding.
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