by Chris Bunch
The four dragons took off through a lowering rain and cloud cover. Hal orbited the Adventurer until all four were together, then pulled Storm's reins back, and prodded its flanks into a steep climb.
He vanished into the clouds, hoping that the other fliers weren't prone to vertigo. Or dragons, either… And he realized nobody knew if they could lose their mental balance.
He would've prayed, if there was anyone left to pray to, or cross his fingers, except that bold dragonmasters didn't do things like that.
Then they broke out into warm sunshine, still in the formation they'd gone into the clouds with.
Hal checked his compass, set a course, and then there was nothing to do but wait, occasionally checking the small clock that was the rest of his navigational tools.
Time dragged, for man, woman and dragon. The beasts were laden, carrying emergency rations and weapons.
Hal would have liked to dart through fingers of cloud stretching upward toward him, to relieve his boredom, but didn't dare alter his plot. What wind there was came from the rear, hopefully speeding them on their way, and he hoped there weren't any sidegusts that would drive them off course.
After five hours of monotony, broken only by the occasional fear that he'd gotten all four of them irretrievably lost, to vanish into the wastes of the Southern Sea, Hal blatted on his trumpet, and motioned down.
Again, they went down through the clouds, and a chill drizzle embraced them.
Hal was beginning to worry that the clouds went all the way down to the sea when they broke out, and heaving gray ocean was below them.
There was no sign of land, no sign of the islands.
The other three formed in a tight vee formation behind him. Saslic gave him a worried look, and Hal forced that traditional Leader''s Grin, proving he was in full control, knew exactly where they were, and there was no reason to be concerned.
Half an hour dragged past, and Hal could feel Storm's muscles begin to tremble a little as the dragon tired.
Then Hal saw something gray, grayer than the sea or air, ahead. Land of some sort, and he didn't care all that much what it was.
The gray became an island, then three islands, directly ahead, between Storm's horns.
Hal looked left, right, preened visibly, and his heart slowed to something resembling a normal rate.
Since the chart showed no other islands in the area, let alone islands grouped in three, these had to be the Landanissas.
He took Storm high, just below the overcast and overflew the islands once, then again. He saw no signs of warships, no other craft except small fishing boats.
Emboldened, he dove down toward the small settlement on one, which he guessed would be Jarraquintah. There were a few men and women below, mending nets, working in small fields or in boats.
They gaped up at the four dragons, but didn't wave.
That might not be a good sign. But to balance that, he saw no one visibly armed, and no sign of uniforms.
Behind the village was a plateau, with a pond in its middle, and he motioned the flight to land.
They floated in, and were down. Hal slid out of the saddle, legs almost collapsing under him, and led Storm to the pond, the others behind him.
"Well, we're here," Saslic said.
"We are that," Garadice agreed.
"Are we ready to go into our song and dance?" Sir Loren said, pointing to a straggle of a dozen men and women coming up from the village.
The original plan was for them to pretend to be a Roche dragon flight that had gotten lost, and to beg the mercy of the fishermen.
However…
"They appear to be armed," Sir Loren said. "And their expressions aren't friendly."
"Do we have time enough to run, and get the dragons in the air?" Saslic asked. "Just being cautious, not cowardly, you know."
Hal shook his head, unbuckled and dropped his dagger-belt, and walked toward the fishers, arms out, hand extended.
One of the fishermen drew a fish spear back, ready to cast, and Hal, in turn, got ready to duck to one side.
But a woman in front of the dozen snapped something, and the man lowered his spear, but looked sullen, not shamefaced.
The woman advanced toward Hal, but didn't put aside the long flensing knife she carried.
"Who you?" she said, in Roche, in a barbaric Roche accent Hal could barely understand. Clearly the islanders spoke their own language, another good sign. "Roche bastards?"
"Not enemy," he said, discarding the original deception plan.
"Who?"
"From another country," Hal said.
"Name?"
"Hal."
"Not Roche name. Name country?"
"Deraine."
"Not hear of," she said, with finality, as if her knowledge should cover the known universe. "You demons?"
"No," Hal said. "Men. Women."
"Maybe."
"What your name?" Hal said.
"No," the man with the spear said. "Demon know name, have power."
"How we know you not demon?" Saslic said, walking up beside Hal.
"I real!" the man said indignantly, thumping his chest.
"I real too," Saslic said, doing the same.
Someone laughed.
"My name Zoan," the woman said. "I lead, after Roche take men."
"Why they take men?"
"To serve on ships," Zoan said. "Ships of war."
"Deraine at war with Roche," Hal chanced.
There were grunts, mutters of evident approval.
"You ride monsters?" Zoan said. "I hear men do that now."
"We ride dragons," Hal said. "We fight from dragons."
"How you fight ships?"
"We have ships… Back there…" Hal waved vaguely. "We look for Roche for them."
"What you want with us?" the spearman said.
"We want to buy pigs. Chickens. Fish. We want to sleep up here. For three, maybe four days. We look for Roche."
"How you pay?"
"We pay," Hal said, not about to show these people any gold until the situation settled down some. "Good money."
There was a buzz.
"What else you want? You want women? Boys?"
"No," Hal said. "We are soldiers, not…" He couldn't find the word.
Zoan said a word in Roche Hal didn't catch, explained by running her finger in and out of her fisted hand.
"That," Hal said. "Not that."
"Good," Zoan said. "You buy pigs for you?"
"No. For dragons. For us, chickens. Fish. Or we buy fish and chickens for dragons, too."
"Demons don't eat," the spearman announced positively, as if he were on first name terms with several. "They men, women, I think."
Zoan considered, nodded.
"You welcome in Jarraquintah, that Roche name. We call it Wivel."
And so Deraine came to the Landanissas Islands.
The pigs were scrawny little creatures, but there were many of them, and so Hal bought eight.
The sight of the gold coins made the islanders chatter excitedly.
Zoan took out a talisman from around her neck, touched it to the coins.
"These real," she announced. "Now we have feast for you."
* * *
The feast was fairly elaborate, several courses of fish, and chicken spiced so hot tears streamed down Hal's cheeks, while Saslic sneered at him for being a baby.
There was drink—home-fermented corn beer. Hal ordered no one to touch it, not sure the islanders wouldn't wait until they were in their cups, then decide to do further testing on whether or not demons bled.
The other three fliers shrugged unconcern, especially after Saslic sniffed one of the great pottery jugs that held the brew. Hal was grateful he hadn't brought Farren Mariah along—the diminutive flier would have found some way into the drink, or else would have had to be chained to a tree.
They'd brought waterproofed canvas sheets, and spread their blankets under them. The night was balmy, a bit misty.
<
br /> Saslic and Hal had found themselves a place away from the others, and, disregarding their agreement, made love slowly, tenderly, before falling asleep.
The two had the first patrol, at dawn, and flew out for an hour and a half, on a west-north-west heading, then back to the island. They saw nothing except a scatter of boats. Hal, even though she wasn't his best flier, wished he'd taken Gart along, since the seaman might've told him what to look for to navigate: shoals, outcroppings, other clues. He did notice the direction the seabirds flew in, and, watching his compass carefully, discovered they were headed back to the islands.
Garadice and Sir Loren took the next patrol, while Hal and Saslic wandered down to the village, where a woman happily grilled small fish and fresh vegetables, gave them a fiery dipping sauce.
They sought details on the Roche kidnapping, found that it had happened six months or more ago, and so far none of the men pressganged had returned home. Hal hoped this bullying policy was commonplace among the Roche—that, in the long run, might make the war a bit more winnable.
But such thoughts were for another place and time.
Satiated, they went back to their campsite, groomed and fed their dragons, and found their blankets for a nap.
The day was sunny, just warm enough to warrant stripping naked for a bit of sun.
Naturally, that led to lovemaking.
Finished, Saslic yawned, looking up at the sky.
"Now, would this be a life? Get up, go out on your boat, cast your net, come back with fish, and your pigs and fowl and garden would give you the rest.
"Would that be a life?"
Hal considered, was about to answer, when Saslic spoke first.
"Naah. I'm full of shit. I'd go nuts from boredom in a month."
"Not to mention," Hal put in, "if I lived here, I never would have met you."
"Why you romantic demon, you." She kissed him, rolled away. "Now go to sleep. We've got the night shift."
Hal tried to obey, but as he drifted off, a thought came.
Nor would I have ever ridden a dragon.
The sadness that brought convinced him he was following a true course, as Mynta Gart might've said.
Now, remembering what Saslic had said about there being no after the war for a dragon flier, all he had to do was figure a way to live until the killing stopped.
Sir Loren and Garadice flew back. They'd patrolled due north, to the Roche mainland, and had seen nothing.
Hal and Saslic flew out at dusk, keeping a course almost due east. The sky was spotted with clouds, and both moons were clear in the sky.
They were an hour and a half out, Hal trying to keep from yawning, and then, he saw what he thought to be stars, low on the horizon.
He shouted to Saslic, and they changed their dragon's course slightly.
The stars grew larger, were below the horizon, and became ships. Many ships. Hal counted at least twenty masthead lights.
The Roche fleet.
Then Hal saw something else:
Flying in lazy circles above the ships were two, no four, dragons.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Hal's orders to his flight had been very clear. He fancied he could see Saslic scowl at him, but she obeyed his instructions, and Nont broke away, back the way they'd come. She was to return to the island, report contact, and get the others ready to move. If Hal didn't return within two hours, they were to assume he was lost, and fly off to alert the fleet.
Hal himself, unobserved as far as he could tell, found a thickish cloud to hide above, ducking out momentarily now and again to correct Storm's direction until he was flying in the same direction as the convoy.
Hal checked that compass heading twice, frowning. The Roche ships weren't sailing west, to make contact as directly as possible with their enemies, but in a north-north-westerly direction.
That boded poorly for the invasion fleet, he suspected, but there were other matters to deal with before Hal could duck from his cloud and fly hard for the Landanissas.
He counted the ships below. Sixty, at least, in three waves, sailing close together. All appeared to be galleys, of a fairly uniform size, so Hal assumed they were all warships. Their oars were raised, and they were traveling, at about the same speed as the Deraine-Sagene fleet, under power of the two squaresails on each ship's masts.
He thought about going lower, remembered Cantabri's warning, and climbed, keeping that cloud between him and the Roche. Once or twice he saw dots that were the patrolling dragons, but they didn't see him.
Very high, he set his course back the way he'd come.
They'd found the enemy. Now to report his presence, and also his very obvious intents.
"Very good, Sir Hal," Lord Hamil said. "I have no doubt that you'll warrant another decoration from the king, since you've made it possible to obliterate the Roche."
"Uh, sir," Hal said. "There's something else. Something more important."
"What could be more important," Hamil said, with a bit of a scowl, "than being able to destroy the enemy?"
The cabin, thick with staff officers, was very quiet, waiting.
"The Roche direction of sail, sir."
"Explain, if you would?"
Hal went to the large map on the bulkhead behind Hamil.
"Sir, we're pretty sure our fleet's been tracked since we left Deraine."
"There's no certainty of that," Hamil said.
"No, sir," Hal said agreeably. "But consider that these Roche aren't not sailing toward us. Instead…"
His fingers touched the map where the Roche galleys should be.
"… instead, sir, they're on this course."
He traced the heading until it touched the Roche mainland. "They're making for this rivermouth port, sir, Kalabas."
Hamil jolted, and there were gasps from some of the staff officers.
Cantabri's eyes widened, as he got it.
"What of it?" Hamil tried to brazen it out.
Hal didn't know how to pursue the matter. Of course he wasn't supposed to know anything about the fleet's point of landing, but he'd remembered Cantabri saying the invasion would be at the mouth of a navigable river, leading north toward the Roche capital of Carcaor, and the great river at Kalabas, labeled the Ichili, met the description perfectly.
Finally Kailas said, rather lamely, "I thought that would be of import to you."
"Mayhap," Hamil said. "An interesting note, and one which I'll take into consideration, after we've destroyed the Roche."
Putting Hal out of his mind, he strode to the map.
"Gentlemen, I propose a simple plan. We'll change our course like so, and sail to catch the Roche on their flank. Our magicians will be casting all of the confusion spells they're capable of.
"We'll take those ships on their weakest point, and smash them. I know a bit about galleys, and how structurally weak they are compared to our ships, which is why we've built none in Deraine for any purpose other than harbor tugs.
"We'll hit them first, hit them hard, and leave them to their fate.
"This blow will ensure our landing will be successful.
"Now, I wish to see all ship division captains aboard here by midday, gentlemen. See to it."
Hal saluted, wasn't noticed in the bustle, and he and Cantabri edged out on to the flagship's main deck.
"Pardon me, sir," Hal said. "But… Son of a bitch!"
"Indeed," Cantabri said. "Went right over his head. Lord Hamil didn't live to be as ripe as he is by worrying about anything more than today's sorrows."
"So we're supposed to proceed with the landing," Hal said, "even though it's certain the damned Roche know exactly where we're going ashore, and, noting that river, exactly what our plans must be."
"As you said," Cantabri said grimly, "son of a bitch!"
* * *
Even if Lord Hamil couldn't see the morrow's dangers, he was good at dealing with today's.
The fleet changed course, curving south-south-east for half a day, then cha
nged its course to north-north-east.
They would be in sight of the Roche in the late afternoon, the fleet navigator said, when the first dogwatch began. All four dragon flights were ordered to be in the air an hour before the meeting. Two were to observe, a third to attack the Roche dragons, and Hal's flight ordered to take its fire bottles against the galleys.
The Roche ships came into sight, and Roche dragons rose to meet the Deraine dragons.
The beginnings of the battle went like an infernal clockwork toy. The transports were ordered to drop sail until signaled to join the fray, and the warships put on full sail.
If Hal could forget about the probable disaster of the invasion, and he tried very hard, it was quite a spectacle, the sails of the Deraine and Sagene ships catching the falling sun, and, ahead of Storm, the vees of the Roche.
The dots of the four Roche dragons were met by the dragon flight, and the monsters swarmed together.
Someone reported the Deraine fleet, and suddenly the Roche sails came to the wind, and the oars dropped raggedly down into the water as men manned their fighting stations. Long waves creamed behind the galleys as they came up to full speed.
Hal had a glass, and saw pennants flap to the mastheads of the Roche ships.
The admiral in charge of the Roche ships evidently decided to split his vees, the left diagonal turning to meet the enemy, while the right formed a broad second line, probably intending to envelop the Deraine and Sagene ships.
But it didn't work that smoothly, or at all.
Ships crashed into ships, lost headway rather than risk collision, and it was a swirling maelstrom two thousand feet below.
Some of the madness may have come from the spells cast by Deraine and Sagene wizards, spells of fear, alarm, panic.
Hal glanced around, saw no sign of dragons, guessed they were fully involved with the Deraine monsters, signaled for his flight to dive on the Roche.
They dove hard and fast. Hal, who'd never done this kind of fighting before, estimated the right moment and hurled a fire bottle out and down. Other bottles cascaded with it.
He pulled Storm up, banked, and cursed, seeing all of the bottles smash harmlessly into the sea, twelve flashes of fire and smoke, hurting no one.
But the Roche must never have heard of such a weapon, because the echelon he attacked went crazy, trying to turn away from the threat. Ships smashed together, and Hal fancied he could hear shouts and screams from his position.