Knighthood of the Dragon

by Chris Bunch

  "Let me guess, sir. A civilian prison."

  "Close," Treffry said. "But not quite. It used to be a madhouse."

  "Used to be?" Hal asked.

  Treffry chuckled.

  * * * *

  Hal noted another solitary man, except that he was clearly not mad. His name was Goang, and he spent most of his daylight hours outside, regardless of the weather, studying the birds of the castle, swifts, swallows, ravens, others.

  When he was asked, Goang said he would, one day, when the war was over, write a complete history of this building, seen through its birds.

  In the evenings, Goang would drift to the fringes of one or another of the dragon fliers' groups, and listen quietly, once in a while asking a technical question about the nature of flying.

  The man seemed harmless, and was sort of accepted as an odd hanger-on, no more.

  * * * *

  Summer was almost over and still Hal fretted for a plan, even an idea.

  Hofei said there was a plan afoot that could use another man.

  "Doing what?" Hal asked, knowing nothing is free.

  "Well, digging."

  Hal went with the lieutenant to the castle's former meeting hall.

  There were prisoner guards at regular intervals on the way, each scanning his own sector for a sign of a Roche.

  In the assembly hall, a huge table had been levered up, and stones pried out of the floor.

  Hal looked down into the cramped space, felt his stomach clench, forbade it recognition.

  A prisoner with a fat lamp on a perch beckoned him down.

  He slid through the entrance, down a rope ladder a dozen feet, past the prisoner.

  "Now," the prisoner told him, "go on your knees, and duck your head. You'll see the tunnel mouth. Go on up it to the face of the digging. The only problem you'll have is about ten feet in, where there's this great godsdamned boulder you have to weasel your way under.

  "It took us three weeks to dig under that."

  Hal crouched, peered into the tunnel, saw, far ahead, a flickering where diggers would be at work.

  He started into the tunnel, and clammy sweat came.

  Panic tried to take him over, but he fought it down.

  He took half a dozen deep breaths, but he felt no calmer, remembering the deadly hours, back at the beginning of the war, when he and others stood watch, during the Roche siege of Paestum, far underground, listening to diggers undermine the wall, waiting for the boulders to groan and bury him alive.

  And he remembered the mines of his native village, and how, every now and again, there would be a cracking roar, and there would be screams, and other men with picks and shovels tore at the smoking earth, hoping to save their brothers, buried in a cave-in.

  Sometimes they succeeded, and white, trembling men were pulled to freedom.

  But more often there was nothing but despair, and a burial ceremony with never a body, and the next day, another shaft would be driven.

  Hal straightened, went up the ladder without looking in the prisoner's face, pushed his way through the entrance.

  He was sweat-soaked.

  Hofei helped him to his feet.

  "Don't worry, sir," he said. "I can't stomach tight spaces, either. Maybe that's what made us fliers."

  Hal nodded, unwilling to speak, and reluctant to admit what he felt was cowardice.

  * * * *

  One thing that was guaranteed to stop a conversation among the dragon fliers was the sight of a dragon.

  Sometimes it was a wild monster, banking and swooping in the late summer winds above the castle.

  Sometimes there was a man aboard, and the watchers' expressions would grow hard, envious.

  Twice black dragons dove low over Castle Mulde, and Hal wondered if they were from Ky Yasin's group, keeping track of their prized prisoner.

  * * * *

  The only hobby almost every prisoner had was alcohol. A bit of fruit, water, perhaps some grain, warmth, and the beginning of a tremendous hangover was under way. Some called the result beer, others wine; the more sensible just used the generic label of headsplitter.

  Bottles of any size were at a premium, and Hal could never figure out where they were coming from.

  But every prisoner had one or two, and when the sun was warm, in this dying summer, the bottles would line the parapets.

  Surprisingly, at least after first consideration, the Roche made no attempt to stop the various home brewers.

  Then Hal realized that of course they wouldn't. A prisoner obsessing about his jug of hooch or sprawled in blissful unconsciousness or crawling around the floor in the throes of what was considered the worst hangover in the world was not as likely to be making trouble or trying to escape.

  * * * *

  Hal had no idea how, but somehow, without ever a word being said, "everyone" knew there was an escape about to happen. Who, where, how, no one knew, or those who did weren't talking.

  Then another rumor went out—three men were gone. Where, how, the details weren't there yet.

  But the guards had been, were still, completely fooled.

  Then, after a week, someone slipped, and Patiala and his guards called for assembly after assembly after roll call. Ungava stalked the corridors of the castle, flanked by his woebegone little prisoner, but found nothing.

  Little by little, word came out.

  The escaped prisoners had been on parole working their tiny fields. But parole did not apply when they were recalled, and roll was taken outside the castle's entrance.

  Three men, two Sagene, one Derainian, had ducked away, after other prisoners staged a phony mass fight. They'd gone over the balustrade behind the gate, then down the rocks, across the river, and hopefully away.

  It took another two days before their method of covering was revealed: plaster dummies had been cast of the three escapers' heads, and mounted on boards. The plaster was painted precisely, using charcoal from the stoves, paint base for faces, scraped from the mortar holding the stones together, pigmented with various spices or substances from the castle kitchen.

  When the melee had ended, the casts were draped with overcoats, and the boards put on adjoining prisoners' shoulders.

  The head count was just that, and so the guards came up with the appropriate number.

  Hal wished he knew of some reliable gods to pray that the escapers would succeed.

  * * * *

  There weren't any benevolent gods in this part of Roche, at least not this year.

  Two weeks after the escape, grinning hunters came to the castle, with slung, stinking, burlap bags.

  The prisoners were assembled, and the bags dumped.

  Out rolled the heads of the three escapers, and the hunters collected their bounty.

  One of the hunters chortled, "Like huntin' blind pigs. We watched 'em stumble in great circles, lost as bastards, for half a day afore we got tired an' went in an' kilt 'em."

  Ungava preened.

  His spell of confusion was, truly, the greatest guardian Castle Mulde had.

  Hal could feel the souls of the men watching collapse.

  But at that instant, very strangely, Kailas felt the plans for his own escape click together.

  11

  "So what will be your escape route?" Sir Alt asked.

  "I won't tell you," Hal said, "because it's one that only I can use."

  "Those tend to be the riskiest," Hofei said.

  "I'll tell you… in time," Hal said. "I just wanted to tell you that I'm planning something. Right now, I need some things: pen, ink, paper."

  "Easily done."

  "Then I need to know who're the traitors in here."

  "We have none," Hofei said, a bit snippily.

  "Come now," Hal said. "Someone—most likely several someones—have got to be talking to Patiala, or one of his men, in exchange for better quarters, food, or whatever. Let's not call them traitors, but, maybe, people who aren't as strong as they should be, or maybe aren't aware they're being
played like a fish."

  After a moment, Hofei grudged, "We have two… perhaps three."

  "Who're their best friends?"

  "No one with any decency will associate with them."

  "You're doing it wrong," Hal said mildly. "You should have your people start cultivating them. It's always good to have some kind of subtle line in that you can use to your own ends."

  Hofei looked at Kailas carefully.

  "You're not just a dragon flier, are you?"

  "I'm somebody who plans on being alive when all this is over," Kailas said. "And I'll use any talent I can think of to make sure of it."

  Hofei nodded slowly.

  "I have some strong-stomached men—and a woman—in mind."

  "Good," Hal said. "I'll want them to leak something scandalous in time."

  "What?"

  "In time," Hal said. "And the second thing I need is any prisoner who knows anything about magic."

  "We have no one," Hofei said. "All wizards—or anyone with any Talent—were purged before they got here."

  "There's always somebody," Hal said stubbornly. "I have a man in my squadron who's a bit of a witch. His grandfather was a full-fledged one. Sometimes my man can cast a small spell, sometimes nothing happens. But he'd never claim to be a wizard. That's the sort of person I'm looking for."

  "I honestly don't know of anyone," Hofei said. "If there is, he or she is bound to be keeping it secret. But I'll see what I can come up with."

  "Good," Hal said. "Now, if you'll get me my writing materials, I'll set to work."

  "Might I ask what you're going to be writing?"

  "My confessions."

  He smiled sweetly.

  * * * *

  A day later, the writing materials were delivered, and then Hal set to work, spending hours sitting in his cell, writing away.

  He told no one what he was writing, other than this was his after-the-war money machine.

  Since diaries and such were forbidden, Hal hid the paper in a hollowed-out leg of his cot.

  Some of the noble prisoners sniffed—a man who'd been so favored by the king with vast estates should hardly be worried about gold, as if he were no better than a tradesman.

  But they kept their councils to themselves…

  * * * *

  "I think I may have someone," Hofei said. "One of our civilian internees has an interesting background. You might be interested in talking to him."

  "I am, indeed," Hal said, and the next day Sir Alt brought the man by. He was young, thin, quite tall, most shy, and looked as if he'd be happier as a priest, or perhaps an archivist, Hal thought.

  The man was Mav Dessau, eldest son of Baron Dessau of Anhewei, a title even Kailas had heard of.

  "I don't know if my father still lives," Dessau said. "He was doing poorly when I left on my travels. Have you…?"

  Hal said, apologetically, that he knew little about the nobility, and hadn't kept up with their lives.

  "So I suppose I'll continue on as the eldest," Dessau said. "No more. Which doesn't displease my father, since he considered me a bit of a disappointment."

  "Ah?"

  "I love to study, to learn," and enthusiasm glowed in Dessau's voice.

  "At one time," and here he looked about Hal's cell, as if there were an eavesdropper crouched under the wooden cots, "I wanted to be a thaumaturge.

  "They said I had a bit of the Talent, and I'd been accepted by a tutor. When my father heard of this, he raged, and cut off my allowance, and swore he'd disinherit me. I should have told him to make one of his prize bulls the next baron, for it mattered… matters… little to me.

  "But I'm afraid I'm a coward. I suppose any of us who come from wealth are always terrified that we'll be cast loose on our own, and that our devices shall not be sufficient.

  "So I dropped that field of study, and decided that I would become an architect, a master builder, and that there might be a future amalgamating the styles of Deraine, Sagene and Roche.

  "I was studying in Carcaor when the war started. Since my father is one of King Asir's strongest supporters, Queen Norcia thought I would make a good hostage.

  "And so here I am, with nothing more to study than a damned monolith like this swamp of a castle."

  "I think I might have something more for you," Hal said. "Something in the way of wizardry."

  "Magic? As I said, I know very little, although I've read much, but haven't the training. And—" Again came the frightened look. "I do not wish to be sent to… to wherever the captive wizards were sent.

  "To be eaten by dragons, I suppose. Or demons."

  Dessau took a deep breath.

  "But I suppose I have no choice. Patriotism, and all that.

  "So I'll try to do whatever you wish, although you'll most likely be disappointed by my best.

  "And I'll ask but one favor. If you make good your escape, would you mind visiting my father? Or my brothers, if the baron has passed on?"

  "I'll do better than that," Hal said. "If I make it back to Deraine, I'll hunt the baron up and tell him that it was your magical abilities that made it possible to escape."

  Dessau smiled.

  "Thank you. I'd just like to be there to see his face when the Dragonmaster, Lord Kailas, tells him that."

  * * * *

  Sir Suiyan Tutuila came to the castle, summoned Hal, asked if he wished to confess, saying if he did, Tutuila and Ky Yasin would intercede at Kailas's trial, assuming he was willing to cooperate.

  Hal made no response, just stared at Tutuila until the exasperated inquisitor ordered him returned to his cell.

  * * * *

  The next part of Hal's conspiracy was having the little prisoner of war who was Ungava the magician's reluctant servant visit his cell.

  "Ah knows nofing, nofing, about magic, or magicking," the man, who had only the single name of Wolda, swore. He was very nervous, hardly used to being in the company of a noted nobleman.

  But Kailas hadn't been a cavalry warrant and then a unit commander without learning a few ways to put men at their ease.

  He drew Wolda out about the small island he'd grown up on, off the west coast of Deraine, where he'd fished before deciding to join up, to end up on a coastal patrol boat.

  Hal told him about Khiri's estates, and her village fishermen, although, of course, without sounding like he'd ever lorded it over them. He told Wolda about seeing the flotillas of dragons, on the water with their wings folded over their heads like tents, coming from the west.

  "Ah've seen them too," Wolda nodded. "We used to try to reckon what they were comin't frae, where they was goin't, with not a clue."

  Hal told Wolda about the time he'd tried fishing for a living, and how it was too much for him, and after the small man recovered from his surprise that a mighty lord had ever baited a hook, let alone run one into his palm, and said, "Ay, they say'n you're t'be born t'it. An' Ah'm hopin Ah lives, an' gets back t'it. Ah misses th' sea."

  Wolda recovered a bit of his suspicion, and asked Hal why he'd summoned him.

  "Because I'm hoping you'll help me get off this damned rock," Kailas said.

  "Ah doubt there's aught Ah might do."

  "You're Ungava's assistant."

  "On'y 'cause Ah was told to it."

  "I need to know a couple of spells," Hal said.

  "Nah, nah. Ah'm no wizard."

  "Do you remember what Ungava says, when he takes the irons off a new prisoner?"

  "Cours't. Tha's simple. He rubs oil, which Ah've got in a vial, on his fingers, not lettin' anyone see it. Then he whisper 't, 'Chain, bend, steel, work, uncoil, uncoil.'"

  "That seems simple," Hal said. "Could I work it?"

  "He told me once't Ah could, so Ah'd wager so," Wolda said. "Course, y'd need a bit of th' oil."

  "Could you steal some of it for me?"

  Wolda looked frightened.

  "He tol't me once if Ah did him false, he'd change me int' a sea monsker." Wolda took a deep breath. "But Ah'll help.
Th' oil, for your learnin', is made of some kind of rock serpent from th' east."

  "That's one thing I need," Hal said. "The second is the spell he casts to keep us confused."

  "Ah'm noo lyin't," Wolda said. "Ah dinna know it. He whispers it close."

  Hal made a face, and his hopes sank. Then he had an idea.

  "You know what hypnosis is?"

  "Cours't," Wolda said. "Afore m'boat sank, and th' Roches caught me, went to a turn one night, an' they had a woman. Fair, she was, and she put spells, but said it was hypnotizing, on m'mate, and made him think he was a woman, and should be kissin't th' skipper.

  "Fair laughed till Ah 'most pissed myself, Ah did."

  "Would you be willing to be hypnotized," Hal said, "and have somebody ask about that spell? They say everything you hear, or see, gets tucked away in your mind, and needs only a little prodding to come out."

  "Ah dunno," Wolda said. "I don't think—"

  Hal cut him off before he could refuse.

  "Go think about it. And remember, if I get out, you'll be one step closer to being home, and back on your boat, fishing."

  Wolda licked his lips, looked piteously at Hal, but Kailas bustled him off.

  * * * *

  "I don't suppose," Hal asked Dessau that evening, as they strolled along the battlements, "you happen to know anything about hypnosis?"

  "I read a book about it once," Dessau said. "Seems fairly simple, assuming you've a subject who doesn't object to the idea.

  "And you know, of course, that nobody will do anything they don't want to when they're hypnotized, so you can't get one of the guards to open the gates for you."

  "I just want a simple bit of remembering," Hal said.

  "I'll give it a try," Dessau said. "But no guarantees."

  "I've been a soldier too long to expect anything like that," Kailas said.

  * * * *

  "Ah've thought," Wolda said. "An' Ah'll let y' try wi' th' hypnotizin 't."

  "Good," Hal said. "This evening, before lockup, after assembly."

  * * * *

  "All right, Wolda," Dessau said in a soothing voice, tucking the bit of stolen oil into a pouch. "Just relax, lean back, and watch this medallion."

  "Ah'll try."

  There was no one in Hal's cell but the three of them. Hal had run his roommates out, thinking, the less confusion, the more likely this might work.