Knighthood of the Dragon

by Chris Bunch

  "Not yet, sir," Goang said. "He's too important and busy to take much time with the likes of me. But I could use his acolyte Bodrugan."

  Hal nodded slowly.

  "There might be something to either or both of your ideas. I'll see that Bodrugan is sent for, and—YOWP!"

  Hal, intent on his thoughts, wasn't watching his pilots. Three of them, led by Mariah, had crept up and jumped on him, knocking him to the floor.

  Hal noticed none of them were wearing trousers, and fought futily as Mariah and Chincha started clawing at his breeches.

  "This is damned undignified," he yelped.

  But no one was listening.

  * * * *

  Someone on the squadron wrote home about the fabulous monster his fliers had overcome, and the person who received that letter wrote about it to someone in the army.

  The story spread, getting more evil and dangerous by the telling.

  Lord Cantabri reluctantly gave Sir Thom permission to write the whole story of the raid.

  * * * *

  Hal heard nothing from King Asir about his report, or about anything in it.

  He wondered if he'd finally overstepped the bounds, by refusing to hurry to the king's side.

  But it didn't matter.

  What could Asir do?

  Send him to Sagene to fight a war?

  * * * *

  Hal thought about it long, then called Danikel to his tent, and told him he wanted the baron to take over the 20th Flight. He'd been pleased with the idea, since that would put a Sagene in charge of a quarter of the squadron, and he never forgot the king's orders to use diplomacy.

  Danikel didn't need any time to think.

  "Nossir. I can't do that."

  "And why not? You'll get your captain's sash, and have more of a say about fighting the war."

  "Nossir. I joined the service to kill Roche. Anything else will get in my way."

  Hal growled, but sent Danikel away.

  He pondered more, and, as much as it would complicate his life, and increase his paperwork, he made Mynta Gart the 20th Flight commander.

  Sir Loren, in spite of his objections, became adjutant, and, surprisingly, did well.

  * * * *

  The first fliers went off on leave. Hal began training the others. There were howls of protest when he brought in hand-to-hand instructors from the raiders, but Hal kept remembering his own captivity, or the fight on the rooftops of Aude, and paid no attention.

  Since these were already combat-experienced fliers, he made sure at least one patrol a day went out over the lines. That kept everyone honest, even though he lost a flier on the second day.

  But replacements were streaming in, after Sir Thom's tale of the next daring stroke by the Dragonmaster struck the broadsheets.

  Everyone wanted away from the drudge killing of the front lines, and somehow thought a death, high above the mud, would be cleaner and more honorable.

  Hal doubled the watch on the skies, assuming Ky Yasin would be instructed by his brother to take revenge on the First and attack the squadron.

  But Yasin's black dragons weren't in the skies as the summer drew to a close.

  * * * *

  Hal had his own idea of what training he himself needed. He didn't know whether his squadron would be used with the sorcerous pebbles again, hoped they'd train other flights, since he frankly didn't consider ruining the lives of civilians, and improving the lot of builders, doing that much to end the war.

  He admitted arrogance, wanted special duties.

  Or else going after Yasin, once the bastard and his damned black dragons made their appearance.

  Hal trained one on one with each of the other fliers, made them fly company on him through tight maneuvers, reversed their roles, until he had a decent idea of each of his flier's capabilities.

  He also flew the entire squadron as one great formation, teaching each flight how to cover another, led them in darting sweeps across the lines, putting down all Roche fliers.

  He had an idea of a change he wanted to make in the way dragons were fought, particularly when the offensive picked up and they hopefully closed on Carcaor.

  But what he wanted to do was fly, by himself, on Storm, out over the gray seas, fly west, thinking about where the dragons came from, what their enemies could be.

  But the army was too far south, too far inland, to permit that.

  He was starting to understand war. In its simplest form—beyond that of simply killing your enemy—it was denying things to people. The army denied him being able to fly when and where he wanted, he denied the Roche the same thing. Ultimately the army denied its enemy land, freedom and, in the end, its life if there was no surrender.

  It was a much cleaner way to think than dwelling on the gore.

  Or thinking about the poor bastards below, infantry, cavalry, pioneers, dots who killed and died, without changing the course of the world or the war one degree.

  * * * *

  Cantabri summoned Hal, and greeted him with a truly evil smile.

  That cheered Kailas immensely—the only thing that seemed to please Cantabri was some reverse to the Roche.

  "We finally have word from Carcaor," Cantabri said. "One of our agents crossed the lines last night.

  "According to him, Queen Norcia had said, back at the start of the war, that there would be no way Roche, nor any of its people, would be harmed, but that full revenge would be taken on the evil folk of Sagene and Deraine, if they were so stupid as to side with the corrupt Sagenes, and so on and so forth.

  "So when your dragons started throwing rocks, it upset the Roche.

  "Especially their rulers, after there were protests in the streets.

  "I guess Norcia isn't used to peasants and such displaying their feelings, unlike Deraine.

  "She—and her barons—overreacted, sending cavalry out to smash these protests.

  "There have been more and more of them, and, even better, a few scofflaws who've taken to pegging rocks at anyone seen abroad who looks rich, or wears royal livery."

  Cantabri rubbed his hands briskly.

  "Nothing better than stirring up a wasps' nest, now is there?

  "So now we'll think about how to make matters worse."

  * * * *

  Whatever Cantabri had in mind, he didn't say.

  Hal considered rocking another Roche city, but realized their dragon fliers would be alerted now, and tried to come up with something new, as well as nasty.

  Replacements came in, and Hal wasn't pleased to see they weren't the first flower of youth. There were older men and women now, and some of them didn't look much like the athletic soldiery so beloved of the taletellers.

  The war was grinding down everyone.

  But that, thankfully, wasn't his concern. The dragon flights were still getting the best, many of them former front line soldiers.

  Hal's squadron was ready to fight, at its peak, and almost all of the fliers had gone on leave.

  Hal was cursing a mound of paperwork in his tent, when a sentry came running down from his post on the road, shouting incoherently.

  Hal came out, buckling his sword on, wondering what the alarm was. He saw, coming into the squadron base, more than a hundred men and women.

  They were richly dressed, and the armor of their cavalry escorts gleamed.

  There were banners galore, and all of the horses were groomed as if for a parade.

  Riding just in front was King Asir.

  But Hal wasn't staring at him, unlike the rest of the squadron as they streamed out on to the field.

  Four riders behind the king was Lady Khiri Kailas.

  28

  A cloak was dropped on the ground by two equerries, and the king dismounted on to it. He looked about, at the kneeling fliers and the other men and women of the squadron.

  "You may rise," Asir said, and, as Hal got up, he wondered if there was voice training for kings-to-be, so their orders carried as far as they wished.

  "I c
ame to visit this squadron," the king said, "for it has pleased me most well. I have authorized, from this time forward, it shall be known as the King's Own First Dragon Squadron, and appropriate emblems shall be made for your uniforms and guidons."

  "Thank you, Your Highness," Hal managed.

  The king nodded.

  "There shall also be medals and promotions given out within the hour, if your commander is pleased to assist me.

  "I now wish to converse with him on the matter, in private."

  Hal wondered wildly where he could take the king that was not only away from the squadron's ears, but properly dignified.

  There simply wasn't anywhere.

  Hal must have showed his worry on his face, for the king grinned at him.

  "Perhaps, Lord Kailas, we might wish to walk in those woods beyond? Such an pastime might prove relaxing after my long journey."

  "Yes… of course, Your Majesty."

  Hal followed the king, but his eyes kept straying to Khiri, still not sure he really had seen her.

  Behind the king and Kailas came six hard-faced men-at-arms, all with the rank sashes of officers, but with the ready, well-worn weaponry of front line soldiers. They kept discreetly out of hearing, discreetly within range of being able to rescue their sovereign if any hostile chipmunks attacked him on his walk.

  "Of course," the king said amiably, "you realize I didn't come all this long dreary way through the ruins of war, the first time I've been out of Deraine since the damned Roche attacked us, just to hand out some medals."

  "Uh…" Hal managed, who'd had no such suspicion, figuring that kings did things like that. "Yessir. Of course, sir."

  The king looked at him, lifting a single eyebrow, but said nothing.

  "The purpose of my visit to the lines is twofold. Hopefully to build the morale of my soldiers, but also, after I finish waving the flag, to attend a conference with Sagene's ruling Council of Barons, in Fovant. This, by the way, will be the first time any Derainian monarch has been to their capital.

  "Briefly, I'll propose that the barons join me in a grand attack, all along the front, with all four armies."

  Hal didn't say anything.

  "You think that's stupid?"

  Again, Hal held his tongue.

  "On the truism that he who attacks everywhere attacks nowhere?"

  Hal had heard the phrase.

  "It's not my place to have an opinion, sir."

  "It may be in time," Asir said. "But there is a bit of method to my madness. I see the Roche as being almost to the stage of tottering. If we hit them hard, we might make the front collapse, and end the war much more rapidly than just hammering away here, as Lord Cantabri and the Sagene are doing.

  "In any event, this is the course I propose.

  "I will want, naturally, to make my visit to Fovant as splendorous as possible. Which means I want to attach one flight of your squadron to my visit. I'll also be taking representatives of my best cavalry and infantry along.

  "Your presence will not only give glamour, but give me security from the air.

  "I have great respect for the Roche dragons, their fliers, and their spies, and have enough on my mind to not want to worry about what may be coming out of the skies at me.

  "Will you join me, and bring your best?"

  It was just like Asir, Hal decided, to put the matter as a request, when he could have made it a simple order.

  "Of course, sire. And we're deeply honored."

  "Damned well better be," the king said. "Now, if you'll give me some names—I propose to hand out Royal Badges of Honor and Heroes of Deraine medals most promiscuously, following dinner—I'll let you go to your lady.

  "Since you were such a snitty little duty-minded commander, and did not return with a report on your raid on Carcaor, I figured you might appreciate it if I brought the Lady Khiri on my visit.

  "I also, for your information, plan on using her in Fovant, officially at least, since no one, especially the Sagene, believes that a beautiful woman might have a bit of brains, to listen to any idle gossip that might pertain to the war."

  "Uh… thank you, sire," Hal managed. He named the survivors of the 11th Flight, other noted fliers, his flight commanders, and several Sagene, including Danikel, and through slightly gritted teeth, Rer Alcmaen.

  "Good," the king said. "I realize you've listened to what I told you back in Deraine about coddling the Sagene fliers, and heartily agree with your making sure they're on my honors' list.

  "That way of thought is one reason that I agreed to come to the barons, rather than invite them to Deraine.

  "Now, shall we return to the others?"

  * * * *

  Hal barely remembered returning to the formation, calling the men and women to attention, and dismissing them, with orders to reassemble before the evening meal.

  Half-dazed, he led Khiri to his tent, later hoping he showed a bit of dignity in not picking her up in his arms and racing toward the nearest cot or, still worse, tossing her over his shoulder and bolting back into the woods, booming like a bittern.

  When he came back to himself, they were both naked; his small field desk was overturned, with papers scattered everywhere.

  "You're certainly… abrupt in your romancing, Lord Kailas," Khiri managed, still breathing heavily. "In certain circles, it would be regarded that I was raped. Or, maybe, that I raped you."

  Hal murmured something inconsequential.

  "Now, I suppose we should find a way of cleaning ourselves, and investigating all those crashings and thuddings that came from outside."

  "Not yet," Hal said.

  "Then what are you planning to…" Khiri's voice broke off into a moan.

  * * * *

  When they eventually were satiated, it was late afternoon. Uluch had managed to fill and heat a half-barrel, and pitch canvas around it, just outside their tent. Also inside the canvas were Lady Khiri's trunks.

  The water was tepid by now, but that didn't matter. They washed, dressed, and Hal put on dress uniform.

  Hal still felt dazed, but another kind of dazed, as they came out into the approaching twilight.

  He barely recognized his squadron's base.

  Certainly it was most romantic for the king to appear on horseback, with his nobles, caparisoned for battle, the very picture of a lean fighting monarch.

  Asir may have been romantic, but he was hardly a fool, Hal realized, seeing the panoply that spread around him.

  There were large tents, small tents, wagons, covered and open, hostlers with spare horses, cooktents, changing tents, dining tents, and everywhere bustling servants in royal livery, very much a tiny city under canvas.

  Khiri saw Hal's expression, started laughing.

  "How far behind our liege does all this travel?" Hal asked.

  "At least an hour, sometimes half a day."

  "So you've been sleeping rough—I suppose this must be called rough for a king—since, what, Paestum?"

  "Only twice," Khiri said. "And that was when we were caught out. Normally outriders find a place for us to stay—most generally a Sagene nobleman's castle—in the afternoon."

  "It must be nice," Hal said.

  "It is," Khiri said. "And I say that smugly."

  Hal looked about, saw no one was watching them, slapped her buttocks. She laughed more loudly.

  * * * *

  Medals were, indeed, given out liberally, which Hal was glad to see, remembering the early days of the war, when no one except senior officers or the suicidally brave got awards.

  As Cantabri had said once, "If a bit of tin and ribbon makes a man fight harder, and stand taller in the eyes of his fellows, why begrudge it?"

  Hal sometimes wondered if a liberal policy might cheapen the value of an earlier medal, given under stricter circumstances, but caught himself. It was most unlikely, just for openers, that someone who'd won a medal in the early days was even alive to gripe.

  That, in turn, made him think of his own mortality, and, o
nce again, of Saslic's words.

  The king invited all in the squadron to be his guests at dinner, which made even Mariah gape a little.

  Before the squadron trooped into the great tent, Limingo and Sir Thom Lowess had shown up, Sir Thom muttering his usual incantation at good times about "what a story, what a story."

  The meal was interesting—the meats were all roasts, and had been cooked in advance, then preserved by magic until needed, requiring only a few minutes of heating before being ready. There were vegetables, gathered along the way or bought in small villages. The only thing prepared from scratch were the desserts.

  "Hard as hell," the king said quietly to Kailas, "being a king, sometimes, particularly when you're traveling. You descend on someone, who's honor-bound to give you the best he can manage, eat the whole damned district out of victuals, then move on, like those damned insects down in the south… you know, the squiggly ones with wings."

  "Locusts, your Majesty."

  The tables were lined with various bottles of wine, but Hal noticed no one had more than a glass or two.

  He also noticed that the king barely touched the plates of meat covered with rich sauces, and his main course seemed to be no more than bread soaked in milk.

  Asir noted his attention.

  "Damned stomach hasn't been worth a damn since this war started," he said a trifle sheepishly. "Acts like a Roche traitor. Another good reason to want peace… maybe I'll be able to go back to gourmandizing."

  That was a price of sovereignty Hal had never considered.

  Hal announced, after everyone had eaten, their new mission, protecting the king while he toured the front.

  He didn't mention the upcoming trip to Fovant.

  The longer that remained a secret, the safer things would be. He, too, respected Roche dragon fliers, and he guessed their agents, although he'd had only one serious encounter with a spy thus far.

  Kailas took his leave early, after eating sanely and, with Khiri, went back to his tent.

  They made love deep in the night.

  When Khiri finally slept, Hal remained awake, thinking about the conference.

  He hoped it would produce results, but, selfishly, the thought kept coming to him that he would be with Khiri and also be away from the front.