by Chris Bunch
"Live off what the Roche have abandoned," Hal said, somewhat astonished at his effrontery.
Lord Egibi turned to him, face reddening. Then he controlled himself.
"Yes. Thank you, Lord Kailas," he said, voice cold. "If you'll wait beyond, to see if we have any further orders?"
Hal forced calm, saluted, and left.
An hour later, Cantabri came out, lips pursed, hand on his sword as if he wanted to draw and kill the first person he saw.
■
Hal didn't need to ask what the decision had been.
"Continue the attack?" he said.
Cantabri nodded, too angry to speak.
Hal stormed back to his dragon, took off for his flight base, barely noticing or caring that his wingmates were flanking him.
A drum kept pounding in his head—we could have won the war, we could have won the war, we could have won the war.
The next day, the advance continued toward Aude.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Two days later, Hal still not over his rage, the first scouts reached the River Comtal, facing light opposition from the Roche. Following them were the pioneers, who considered the deep, unfordable river, then began denuding the local forests for bridging material.
Then came the infantry, who looked across the river, and up at Aude's great walls, winced, then settled down to wait.
Logs were snaked to the river's edge, and small lumberyards put together, to begin planing and cutting the lumber for the bridges.
That night, fires flickered along the riverbank, and the cut lumber, green wood though it was, burst into flames. Aude's magicians were at work.
The next morning, Hal and his flight were told to lift a cadre of magicians to the knoll where Cantabri had first scouted the city.
The magicians conferred, then ordered their acolytes to begin laying out tapes in mystical patterns, and chanting preparatory spells.
Hal noticed Storm was making a low, pained noise, as if hurt. He examined the dragon carefully, saw no signs of harm, saw other dragons were also showing discomfort.
Magic, he realized, something the monsters liked no better than the layman.
He told the head magician of the dragons' problems, said he'd take them off, circle the knoll from a distance, and return when summoned.
Within minutes, he, too, felt uncomfortable, and knew a great spell was being sent against the sorcerers of Aude.
Then, suddenly, the discomfort vanished, and he saw a tiny, robed dot below, waving to him.
He brought the flight back, and took the magicians and their gear back to the rear area, just behind a ridgeline, where the high command had positioned itself.
The pioneers went back to work, and this time, their piled logs remained intact.
He heard, from a man who had a friend who'd been eavesdropping when a deserter was questioned that something horrible, invisible, had struck at the Roche wizards, killing at least a dozen or more.
He wondered, properly suspicious of the army's rumor machine, how much of that was true.
Replacements trickled in—none of them fliers—and they were a-babble of the new small ships, river barges, tied up in Paestum, or still building in the ports of Deraine, while two bridges inched across the River Comtal, the walls of Aude looming above.
If the Roche didn't know of King Asir's plan, Hal figured they'd gone blind and deaf.
The bridges reached the far side, and ranks of infantrymen trotted across, forming into attack echelons.
From the walls, catapults sent man-long arrows arcing down, and even a few crossbowmen, clearly inexperienced, chanced shots at this impossibly long range.
Hal, soaring above the city, saw a gate yawn open on Aude's landward side, and half a hundred knights debouch.
He scribbled a note, sent Storm diving toward the Deraine infantry, tootling on his trumpet. Someone with rank got the note, and soldiers formed a wedge, ran to meet the cavalry.
Hal pointed at the open gate, dove on it, sent crossbow bolts into the scattering of soldiers atop the wall.
A Deraine light cavalry troop rode around their soldiers, into the Roche horsemen, as the infantry charged.
Then there were Roche dragons coming in, and he had no time to watch the ground. Two dragons dove at him, and he pinned the first's rider to his dragon with a bolt, pulled the charging handle back, forward, and shot the other rider in the stomach. He screamed, fell, and his dragon, unmanned, fled.
Then his flight was around him, and it was a swirl of screeching monsters and shouting men. A wingtip brushed Hal's chest, and he almost fell from Storm's back. He fired a bolt after his attacker, had no idea if he hit or not.
Sir Loren had a dragon on his tail, closing. The Roche rider wasn't watching his own rear, and Hal came down on him, shot him in the back. Sir Loren waved thanks as Hal banked away.
Hal looked around, realized he was very low over Aude. He flashed over the great roofed, turreted keep, big enough to land a dozen dragons on, near the main gate. Bowmen were shooting up at him. He gigged Storm, and the dragon shot away, low over the walls, over the river, and came back across Aude.
The last of the Roche cavalry was being cut to pieces, and the Deraine riders were breaking free, galloping hard for the still-open gate.
Hal thought he might be mumbling a prayer—if the cavalry made it inside, the battle could be a victory before it was even mounted.
Heavy cavalry, moving at a ponderous trot, came up from the river and around the walls toward the gate, supporting the light riders.
The air above the wall was a swoop of dragons, Hal's flight, and another formation. There were only two Roche dragons aloft, and one of those folded a wing, and spun down to smash across the outer wall's battlements. He looked for the second, but it had vanished.
The Deraine light cavalry was inside the city's outer walls, and there were spearmen running out, forming a wall before the inner gate. The Deraine horses reared, turned away—no horse will charge into a solid mass, romantic paintings aside, and Hal saw the outer gates slowly closing, brave Roche soldiers ignoring the cavalry at their back.
Hal heard the gates slam closed from 200 feet above, saw the last of the cavalry inside the wall shot down by bowman on the walls on either side. The accidental chance at a quick victory was gone.
Now, unless there was a miracle, the battle for Aude would be a long, bloody siege.
The hut was a blurt of excitement as the fliers unwound from the air battle.
"How many'd you get… sir?" Sir Nanpean called.
Hal shook his head. As always, he didn't think he was in the business of counting.
"He got four, four, the dirty whore," Farren Mariah chanted.
Tregony's face fell, and he turned away.
"Guess," Mynta Gart grinned, passing Hal a jack of ale, "who's been holding forth on his three victories."
The beer, chilled by sorcery, meant more to Kailas than whether or not Sir Nanpean Tregony was happy.
"I think we've got a problem, sir," Serjeant Te said.
"Of course we've got problems," Hal said. "We're sojers, ain't we?"
Te didn't smile.
"Very well," Hal said. "We do have a problem. A serious one."
"Someone's stealing supplies, sir."
Hal grimaced.
"What sort?"
"All sorts," Te said. "The fliers' club is missing brandy, the supply tent's missing clothing, boots, jackets.
"And I'm missing some maps."
Hal suddenly took things very seriously. The only people who might be interested in maps, outside the army, would be historians, collectors… and spies.
Hal doubted there were many collectors hiding in the forests around Aude.
"What sort of maps?"
Te nodded—Hal was beginning to understand.
"Marked ones, sir. Showing last week's deployments, some of the area around Paestum."
"Which naturally, we've been squirreling away, rather than destr
oying, against orders."
Te held out his hands.
"Tell me somebody who doesn't keep files. More files than he should."
Hal nodded reluctantly, thought.
"The clothing. Any particular size?"
"The first thing I thought of, sir," Te said. "No such luck. All sizes, which means the thief must be selling them."
"I'd haul everybody together," Hal said, "and read them the liturgy about thieving, and how we'll hang anybody we find stealing from the nearest dragon.
"But not with those damned maps gone. That suggests something else. Any ideas on who might be the guilty one?"
"Not a clue, sir," Te said. "So I've got to suspect everyone and no one."
"So it's up to us to play warder and investigate, then."
"Yessir," Te said. "And I'd rather no one be tipped the wink that we're alert. Maybe I can lay out and catch the bastard first."
"Maybe that's a good idea," Hal said. "And maybe, when I've got the time, I should do the same.
"It's pure hell when you don't know who you can—and can't—trust."
"It is that, sir."
Hal was summoned by Lord Egibi, informed the attack on the Comtal's mouth had been successful, and Deraine and Sagene were turning the port town into an impregnable fortress.
Now supply barges and small ships could sail or be warped upriver with supplies and reinforcements.
"However," Egibi said, "our scouts report the riverbanks are held by partisans—Roche irregulars. Our first convoy upriver was ambushed and forced back.
"Take your dragons, Lord Kailas, and scout for ambushes, and drive back those guerrillas. You have royal permission to land and burn any villages you deem to be supporting the enemy."
"Nossir," Hal said firmly. "I'll not be doing that."
There was an audible gasp from some staff officers, while Lord Cantabri hid a grin.
"And why are you disobeying orders?" Egibi said, in a voice that would have passed for summer thunder.
"Because," Hal said, "first, we're in Roche now. Any villages supporting these guerrillas, who I'll wager are no more than Roche soldiers who've lost their parent units, are no more than patriots.
"Just as you—or King Asir—would expect our Deraine villagers to stand and be counted should we ever be invaded."
Egibi glowered at him, but Hal refused to look away.
"I suppose," Egibi said, "you're right. Dammit, I know you are. Very well then. Go wage your damned moral war."
Hal took his entire flight down the River Comtal toward the sea. Taking off, he could see the pioneers, busy again, building siege engines.
Then he concentrated on ambush sites, flying low, just above the water.
He heard a whoop of glee, glanced back, saw Farren's dragon lifting its head from the water, holding an enormous pike in its jaws.
Hal noted several spots, saw horsemen gallop out of brush a few times, didn't pursue them.
After a two-hour flight, they saw boats in the river. Not trusting their own soldiery to hold fire, Hal draped a Deraine flag from Storm's neck, circled until he was waved in.
He landed on the bank, and one of the barges drew near.
"See any Roche?" the officer in the bows said.
"Probably," Hal said. "We ran them off, but I'm sure they'll scuttle right back. We'll orbit your forward ships, and give the alarm if they're still planning anything."
"Excellent," the man called, and someone on the ship shouted, "Good on the dragons!"
The journey back to Aude took two days. Three times the dragons sprang traps, coming down from above on the ambushers, showering crossbow bolts, and the escorting ships landed soldiers to finish the job.
Then, almost within sight of Aude, their escort duty was taken over by cavalry, and Hal signaled his flight back to their base.
He saw a storm front approaching, was glad it looked as if they'd be stuck on the ground for at least a day. His fliers and, more importantly, his dragons could do with a bit of a rest.
The storm lasted longer than expected, and by the third day, Hal couldn't find any more maintenance for his soldiery.
Serjeant Te reported no luck at all in finding the thief, but Hal told him to keep his watch out.
"I'll do that, sir," Te said, yawning. "But it's damned hard chasing the flight around by day and creeping through the bushes at night. Almost makes me think I'm back being an infantryman."
Hal was jerked awake by the duty officer.
"Sir. It's an emergency."
"It always is," Hal muttered, rolling out of bed and dragging pants and boots on.
"You'd best come armed, sir," the man said.
Hal belted his sword-belt on, went out into the rain.
There was a flare of torches back of the headquarters tent.
Women and men stood around a body in Deraine uniform, sprawled on its face.
"Must've surprised some damned Roche," someone muttered.
Hal knelt over the body, turned it on its back.
It was Serjeant Te, eyes wide, mouth gaping. A long knife was buried in his chest.
Hal knew the knife.
It was the dagger issued only to dragon fliers.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Hal ordered the flight to parade, in full uniform, as a gesture of honor to Serjeant Te. Of course, he really wanted to see which flier was missing his dagger.
There were enough shortages and uniform inadequacies for Hal to make quite a storm, and have his adjutant, Gart, make notes of what was missing.
But the dagger gave him nothing.
Some of the fliers swore they'd never been issued a dagger at all, which Hal had no way of knowing. Others, including Gart and Feccia, had lost theirs, somewhere. Sir Nanpean had the best reason—his, of course, had been taken from him when he was captured, and he'd never been able to get a replacement.
Nothing.
Hal, not having the slightest clue as to how to play warder, made what he thought were subtle inquiries, which also gave him nothing.
Worse, from the death of Te on, the thefts came to a halt.
Hal ground his teeth, got on with the war.
* * *
The pioneers had finished their siege engines, and they began thudding away, hurling huge stones against the landward wall, firing huge arrows at any target that presented itself, lobbing other stones into the center of Aude.
Hal, riding back of the lines for a meeting with Cantabri, saw men going forward. They were lightly armed, and carried the types of picks and shovels Hal recognized from Caerly. He also remembered them from the horror-drenched days in Paestum, waiting for the Roche mine to be fired.
He said nothing to anyone—the mine must be kept a secret.
Deraine controlled the air, although Roche dragons still fiercely contested the issue.
Hal took flights up in the morning and at dusk, and almost every day the Roche rose to meet him.
None were the feared black dragons. Hal began hoping that maybe Yasin had been eaten by the monstrosities, or they'd discovered they couldn't be depended on, or something.
Hal killed his share and more, as did Sir Nanpean, Garadice and Sir Loren. But the Eleventh Flight still took casualties, and the number of pilots gathered in their hut grew fewer and fewer, the revelry louder and louder, sometimes just short of hysteria.
Hal sent inquiry after inquiry back to the First Army Headquarters, some bordering on the insubordinate, raging, begging for replacements.
But none came.
The soldiers on line were put on alert, with no reason being given, and for all dragon flights to be in the air from dawn to dusk, prepared, as the order said "to take advantage of targets of opportunity."
Hal knew what it meant, but still kept silent. Perhaps the still-undiscovered thief/murderer in the flight was no more than that.
But most likely, not.
They were orbiting Aude in formations of three, other dragon flights soaring past them.
It
was a summer day that promised heat, but in this morning was crisp and clear.
Hal saw wisps of smoke coming from the base of one wall, watched closely.
The smoke boiled out, and the timbers of the mine below cracked, and crumbled.
The outer wall cracked, tottered, and fell, crashing down, almost into the river below.
But no wave of Deraine soldiers rose to the attack. The space between the outer and inner city walls was too close for it to be anything other than a deathtrap.
Roche reinforcements were hurried to the inner wall, waiting for the assault that never came.
That was the first step.
Somewhere, not far distant, another mine would be dug under the inner wall.
In the meantime, the siege went on, daily patrols by cavalry and infantry to make sure Aude stayed invested.
The Roche developed a new tactic—bringing four or six dragons up just before dawn. These carried the great wicker baskets, but were filled with supplies. They flew out—when they could—with wounded soldiers.
Hal, still fighting his own war, told his fliers to attack the incoming dragons, but let the ones leaving pass.
His fliers, no more interested in slaughtering the sick and wounded than Kailas was, obeyed.
Except for Sir Nanpean, who argued that any dragon and its flier should be a target, and there was no place for mercy in war.
Hal, logically, knew he was right, and didn't ground him for disobedience.
But he liked Tregony no more than before.
* * *
… we lost two dragons today. The first was crippled in a fight with three other dragons, and we had to put her down. I frankly feel that the fault is that of the flier, who's less than experienced, and should have known better than to fly against such odds.
The other, Sir Nanpean Tregony's, fell sick of some unknown ailment. We isolated it in a barn, which made the poor beast even more forlorn. Tregony of course, refused to spend any time with his dragon, saying he had no intention of catching whatever ailment the monster had.
We sent for a wizard, and asked around for an animal doctor. But no one had any experience with dragons, and the magician could do little but ease the beasts last hours.
I am starting to wonder if the poor damned dragons shouldn't have stayed in the west, without matter what enemies threatened them.