Storm of Wings

by Chris Bunch

  "Now, you can't see too good f'rm my sketch, but the fore handle kinda slides, don't remember how, but it's got fingers, up here,'t' grab the string and cock the bow.

  "Now, this, over here, on the side's a box, wi' I guess some kinda spring inside, for it held bolts. You sorta clamped it on the bow, and worked this fore handle back, cockin' the piece, an' a bolt drops down, and the wretch pointed it an' shot.

  "On'y problem is it'd be kinda light for killin' people 'stead of larks.

  "Anything innit?"

  Hal studied the sketch.

  "Maybe. I don't know. I think I need to talk to somebody who knows more about weaponry than I do."

  That day, the flight took its first casualty since Hal and the others had joined it.

  The afternoon patrol was swarmed by ten Roche dragons, just before it was supposed to turn north. One of the Roche monsters had an archer sitting behind. No one knew if the lost flier—one of Dewlish's—had been hit by an arrow, or ripped from his mount by a dragon.

  The dragon came home, bare-saddled, blood drenched down its sides.

  Hal waited for Dewlish to react, to change the patrol order, possibly even to investigate Hal's idea of crossbowmen, but, other than a mawkish funeral speech, the commander did nothing.

  The sign over the small backstreet house featured an ornately carved dagger, with lettering under it:

  Joh Kious

  Fine steel

  By Appointment

  To the Royal Household

  Hal entered, and was dazzled. He had never dreamed of, let alone seen, so many different tools of destruction.

  There were swords, daggers, maces, morningstars, javelins, short and long spears, arrows of various wickednesses.

  Between them were bits of armor, a few ceremonial, most grimly practical. From the rear came the cheerful sound of hammers beating against steel.

  The man behind the counter was slender, in his fifties, placid-looking, with an easy smile.

  "Uh…Sir Kious?"

  "There's no sir to it, my friend. Merchants tend not to get much from their supposed betters, except their gold."

  Kious had a bit of a sharp tongue, though his accent was soft and country.

  "How may I be of service? I've just recently opened this branch across the water to help in our efforts against the Roche."

  Hal produced Farren's sketch, explained it, asked if Kious could build one, suitable for combat use. Kious thought a moment, noted the dragon emblem on Kailas' chest.

  "Might I ask you to do something, sir?" Kious asked. "Try to pull my arm down straight when I hold it up like this."

  Hal obeyed. Kious might have been slender, but was surprisingly strong. Hal put some of his war muscle into it, and succeeded.

  "Well," Kious said. "I've built some crossbows, though not for years, and certainly not of this type. I assume you want an adequate poundage, which is why I tested your strength.

  "Are you planning on using this in the air?"

  "I am." Hal explained his intent.

  "That somewhat increases the problem," Kious said and went on in a scholarly fashion. "You would want, oh, about 150 pounds draw weight to be sure of dropping your man. But sitting down, cocking a 150-pound bow, especially more than once, with this rather ingenious arrow-box… that could be a strain.

  "But if we decrease the poundage of the prod—that's the bow itself—and increase the draw length—possibly use compound stringing—that will give us the arrow speed we want.

  "Hmm. Hmm. Hmm. An interesting project. I'll require a deposit of… oh, twenty-five gold coins, sir. The total cost will be… oh, seventy-five gold, and that will include a goodly supply of arrows. I notice your wince, sir, and must tell you, I would charge at least double, more likely triple, were you a civilian wanting this for sport.

  "And I assume you want it to be ready yesterday, as do the other warriors who've come to me."

  Hal grinned.

  "Of course I do," he said. "If I'd wanted it tomorrow, I would've come to you tomorrow."

  Kious smiled, a bit painfully.

  "At least a month, sir. And that will be setting aside some ceremonial daggers I'm quite entranced by, and am already late on.

  "But gore takes precedence.

  "So if you'll step into the back, sir, we can take appropriate measurements for the bow length and such."

  Dewlish summoned him to his office a day later. Hal barely noticed the other man present, other than he was older, slim, white haired with a bristling white mustache, since the CO was purse-lipped, red-faced.

  Hal wondered what he'd done wrong this time.

  "This man is here to see you," Dewlish said. "I expect you to handle yourself in a soldierly manner.

  "That is all."

  Hal blinked as Dewlish stormed out the back door of the office.

  The other man got up, held out an open palm. Hal, completely bewildered, touched it.

  "I'm Thom Lowess," he said. "I'd suppose your commander doesn't like taletellers."

  "I, uh… I don't know, sir." A taleteller? For him? Hal had no idea what this was all about, but a thought came that Dewlish might like taletellers very well—if they were interested in glorifying him.

  "Perhaps we could find a more, um, congenial place to talk?" Lowess said, picking up a slender leather case.

  Hal checked the dragon clock.

  "The fliers' mess is open. We could go there."

  "Good. It's always good to lubricate someone before you tell them what you want."

  Lowess tasted the glass of wine set in front of him, nodded approval as Hal sipped beer.

  "Very good. This is a thirsty business I'm in," he said, opening his case and taking out a notepad and pen. "I'm sure you're aware of my trade, and hope you don't, like too many soldiers, spit at its mention."

  "Not at all, sir," Hal said. "Matter of fact, at one time I thought of becoming a teller. But I really don't have the gift."

  "Things have changed since the war," Lowess said. "Some of us still work the villages, telling our stories. But others have been commissioned by the Royal Historian, to visit the armies, and bring back stories for the others to spread abroad in their wanderings. It's our bit for the war… and, of course, for recruiting.

  "By the way, it's Thom, not sir."

  Hal nodded, waited for an explanation.

  "I've made it my specialty to interview heroes," Lowess went on.

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "Please don't be modest, Serjeant… Hal, if I may?"

  "You may, but I'm still lost."

  "Actually," Lowess said, "I'm the one who's lost. I've heard of your exploits in the south, yet I see no medals on your chest. Are you very modest?"

  "Medals, sir?"

  "I would think," Lowess said dryly, "that a man who's destroyed ten Roche dragons should have some sort of awards, should he not?"

  "I've been given nothing," Hal said. "Nor asked for anything, to be honest. And I've only taken out five dragons—no, six, counting that poor transport brute.

  "And I didn't destroy them, actually, but just flew close on the five, so a crossbowman, a soldier named Hachir, could take care of them… or their riders."

  "Very interesting… and still very modest," Lowess said. "I'd like the full story, if you don't mind."

  "It'll sound like bragging."

  "No, it won't," Lowess said firmly. "If it makes you feel any easier, I have the courtesy rank of captain, which is why your Sir Fot wasn't able to run me off, and can give you an order to tell all, if that would make it easier.

  "Or I could merely buy you another beer.

  "By the way, there's little use in evading me. I understand there are others in this flight who were with you on that detached duty with the Third Army, and I'll be talking to them before I take my leave."

  Hal took a deep breath.

  "I don't have any choice, do I?"

  "You don't," Lowess said. "Now, you might begin with your first encounter with a
dragon."

  "It was when I was a kid," Kailas said slowly. "Back in this little mountain village I grew up in…"

  Lowess stayed for two days, to Dewlish's mounting fury.

  Then he left, and matters returned to normal, if the exaggerated awe his six friends paid him at every opportunity, calling him Horrible Hal the Hydra Hobbler, counted as normal.

  At least they didn't do it in front of witnesses.

  Two weeks later, the entire flight was assembled before evening meal.

  Sir Fot Dewlish paced in front of the formation.

  "This is an awards ceremony," he said, every word being pulled from his mouth by chains. "Serjeant Hal Kailas… post!"

  Hal pivoted out of ranks, doubled to the end of the line, and then to the front of the formation, saluted Dewlish. Dewlish undid the ties on a scroll, began reading:

  "'I, King Asir of Deraine, do in my wisdom grant this Royal Badge of Honor to my faithful servant, Serjeant Hal Kailas, and direct others to render him proper respect.

  "'I grant this distinction because of Serjeant Kailas' bravery in combat on several instances, first destroying attempts by the Roche to infiltrate raiders with dragons, then, during battle, using ingenuity to devise a method of destroying the dragon scouts and their riders.

  "'Serjeant Kailas is not only a brave man, a worthy soldier of the king, but clever to boot, and it is recommended that any officer who is privileged to have Serjeant Kailas in his command give full attention and implementation to the serjeant's ideas and opinions, knowing that Serjeant Kailas is worthy of my particular notice and favor.

  "'Signed, this day, King Asir.'"

  Dewlish's lips pursed, unpursed several times before he opened a small box and pinned a medal on Hal's chest.

  "Congratulations, Serjeant," Dewlish said, in a voice suggesting he'd rather be reading the citation at graveside.

  "Thank you, sir." Hal said.

  "That is all. You may return to ranks."

  Hal saluted, obeyed, ran back to his place, hoping Hachir the crossbowman had also been recognized. Saslic leaned over a bit, and speaking without moving her lips—a talent all of them had learned under Dewlish's tutelage—said, "And now you're for it, you know."

  Hal nodded.

  Three days later, he was called to Dewlish's office.

  "Serjeant Kailas, I've a request for four fliers, volunteers, for special duty. I've detached you, Mariah, Dinapur and Sir Loren. You'll report to the First Army's headquarters in Paestum at once, with your gear, dragons and handlers, plus volunteers necessary to maintain an independent action, for further details about this special duty."

  The way Dewlish's voice savored "special duty" made Hal think the mission would certainly be one that might be better described by the word "suicidal."

  Chapter Fifteen

  But there was no briefing at the First Army headquarters. Instead, there was a tall, solidly-muscled man with a barely healed sword-slash across his face, who considered them through yellowish eyes that reminded Hal of a tiger he'd seen in a menagerie once.

  He was Sir Bab Cantabri, commanding officer of this special detail, and he took them to a secluded tower room in Paestum Castle.

  "I assume the four of you are volunteers, as specified?"

  "We're alia that, sir," Farren Mariah piped. "In the smashin' old army style of the first ranks rarin' to march out and die."

  Even though it looked as if it hurt to give up a smile, Cantabri managed a rather wintry looking one.

  "And the four from the other flight look to be that unit's cheese dongs," Cantabri said. "Figures. Nothing changes about the army, whether it's on land or air.

  "At least you look smart enough. We can only hope for the rest. You, Serjeant Kailas. You're ranking warrant?"

  "I am, sir."

  "Do you happen to have the necessary sea-going experience that was requested?"

  "Nossir," Hal said. "The only flier in our flight who does wasn't volunteered."

  "And the gods wept," Cantabri murmured. "Do you suppose you can manage to land your dragon aboard a ship? We'll arrange to get your gear and crew out by lighter."

  "I don't know, sir," Hal answered honestly. "I've never tried it."

  "There's a first time for almost everything. All four of you, over to this window. Here, use this glass. See, far out there on the horizon, five ships?"

  They could.

  "Two are fast corvettes, three are transports. One transport is towing a barge. You'll land on it, then your dragons will be hoisted aboard and you can lead them to their cages. Aboard ship, you'll draw tropical kit."

  "Can we ask what the special duties we've uh, volunteered for now?" Saslic asked.

  "When you're aboard, and we've set sail, you'll be told all you need to know. I'll tell you just one thing, in case you fall off your dragon and drown, so you can die in a patriotic fashion, this will be as important a mission as you're likely to be given.

  "I'll tell you the rest when we're aboard the Galgorm Adventurer." He snorted. "What an absurd name for a spitkit of a horse-hauler."

  Hal expected the worst, and, for once in his military career, was disappointed.

  The four dragons were unchained from their wagons, and took off, as ordered, away from Paestum, then turned to sea, and flew to the waiting ships.

  The sea was a bit rough, tossing whitecaps, and Hal wondered if he came off his mount, if he could stay afloat until rescued.

  As senior warrant, the man who should always go last, he waved Sir Loren in to land first.

  "I'll let someone else take the honors," Loren shouted.

  Hal pointed to Farren, who needed no further encouragement. He sent his dragon spiraling down, then pulled up on its reins. The monster flared its wings, and settled on to the barge with a screech of triumph.

  The triumphant call changed to one of dismay and fear as sailors went down ladders to the barge, and a crane swung out. Wide leather bands went under the dragon's belly, and it was muzzled.

  Then it was swayed neatly aboard, and Farren, keeping away from its lashing tail, led it to a large cage.

  Saslic went next, but her dragon balked, and she had to make another pass before landing on the barge.

  Sir Loren landed, was loaded without incident, and then Hal sent his creature diving down, pulling up at the last minute, and the monster's talons scraped on the wooden deck and he was safe.

  It tried to bite a sailor, and Hal slapped it with his open hand on the neck in reproof.

  Then, it, too, was hoisted aboard the ship.

  Hal had a moment to consider the Galgorm Adventurer. Not being a sailor like Mynta Gart, Hal had little to judge the former merchantman by. It certainly wasn't the handsomest vessel he'd ever seen, having almost no curves to its construct above the waterline. It was almost 500 feet long, three-masted, square-rigged with a jib, and had one cargo deck, built with ramps to load horses, plus the main deck. These two decks had their stalls enlarged to accommodate small dragons, wooden bars extending to the overhead. Half of the lower deck had been closed off, for troop bunking. The upper and poop decks were large, fitted with cabins, no doubt for the horses' owners or trainers. These were now for the expedition's officers and the fliers.

  Wide sliding gangplanks, jutting forward, had been added to either side of the hull, which didn't improve the ship's lines any.

  Sailors escorted the four to their cabins, and they had a chance to meet the other fliers. Hal reserved judgement on them, since a gifted flier, contrary to what Cantabri and Dewlish thought, might not have the shiniest harness of all.

  Already aboard were some 200 soldiers. Hal saw by the easy way they handled their weapons, the way their eyes constantly moved, and their air of superiority to everyone, especially the ship's crew, that they were experienced warriors.

  Whatever this special duty was, it didn't appear to be one involving either maypole dancing or fishing.

  "Tropical kit," Farren said with a smile. "It'd be nice to be flyin
' somewheres warm. It's drawin' on toward winter."

  But no one knew anything, everyone was waiting for Sir Bab Cantabri to show up.

  Eventually his lighter, flanked by others with supplies and the dragon handlers, arrived, and goods and men were transferred aboard ship.

  Hal was very glad to see Garadice, Rai's father, and twenty of his dragon specialists with Cantabri. The man asked of his son, seemed both unhappy and relieved that Rai hadn't been volunteered for this mission.

  Within the hour, orders were given and the five ships set sail, due west from Paestum, into empty seas.

  When all sight of land was gone, Cantabri summoned the infantry officers to the great cabin. An hour later, they were dismissed, and the fliers were called.

  There was an elaborate plaster model of an island in the center of a table. Hal couldn't tell the scale, but the island was clearly large, covered with high mountains, interspersed with alpine valleys. There were two noticeable harbors, deep fjords knifing into the land, and a third inlet. The two harbors had tiny wooden houses near their mouth, and there were three other groups of houses further inland.

  "This," Sir Bab said, "is Black Island. Our target."

  Farren wailed. "I shoulda guessed he was lyin''t' us, an' a long farewell to the tropics. It'll be naught but ice, black dragons, cold, an' bum-freezin'."

  Cantabri nodded.

  "I did lie about the tropical gear. Just as I ordered a false course to be set west, to deceive any Roche spies in Paestum. We'll turn north within the day, and tomorrow issue cold weather gear to all.

  "Being fliers, I suppose I don't need to tell you what Black Island's noted for. Dragons. We've heard from reliable sources that Roche is not only taking every dragon it can from the nests to train for their fliers, but their magicians have devised a way to make the dragons breed twins."

  He went to a door, rapped. Three men entered. One was in his thirties, the others ten years younger. All wore dark garb, and had close-cropped hair and were clean-shaven. Were it not for the wands they carried, Hal would never have thought them to be magicians, but, perhaps, Cantabri's battle-hardened aides.