Dragonmaster

by Chris Bunch

  It was like overturning a rock to see scorpions scatter. Under the net were the dragon pens, the monsters screaming in surprise at the sunlight, fliers running for their beasts, handlers trying to get them ready to take to the air.

  Hal grabbed the bugle hanging from one of Storm’s head-spikes, tootled unmusically, but his flight heard, and responded.

  The dragons swept down across the dragon pens, their riders firing at the beasts, banked back, and made another attack.

  Hal motioned ahead, seeing his infantrymen beset by Roche. One was down, then the Roche saw the onrushing dragons, broke and ran.

  Hal brought the dragons down, and the archers scrambled aboard, one pulling the wounded man with him.

  Then the dragons were stumbling forward, gracelessly leaving the ground, becoming instantly elegant as they climbed for the heights, back toward the Deraine lines.

  But that was not enough. That evening, at dusk, Hal brought his dragons back, with a fresh group of archers.

  There were two Roche dragons in the air, and they went down under a hail of crossbow bolts.

  The dragons dove, landed their archers, and again, swept back and forth across the base, this time tearing away the second net.

  Hal had brought a new weapon with him—thin glass wine bottles filled with lamp oil, and given a conjuration to burn.

  The bottles were scattered by the fliers, flaring into life as they struck and smashed.

  Flames grew, jumped to the camouflage, spread to huts and barracks.

  Other dragons were shot down as they stumbled, screaming, out of their burning pens, their masters shot down in cold blood, no mercy being given.

  Then the raiders were gone.

  Hal was not through with the Roche.

  Again, he came back at dawn, and this time there was little to burn, few to kill. But the dragon fliers methodically combed the fields, shooting down any Roche they saw.

  They made one more pass, each flier dropping a pennon of the Eleventh Flight so the Roche would know who had attacked them.

  Two days later, word came from spies who’d crossed over the lines.

  The Roche squadron had been all but obliterated, with no more than two or three fliers still able to fly, and all dragons killed.

  The unit was broken up, its few survivors sent to other Roche dragon flights. This made Hal grin, for these broken men would surely tell the tale, and Roche morale would further dip.

  Another report came—responsibility for the Roche dragons opposing the First Army had been taken over by Ky Bayle Yasin, and his newly established Black Dragon Squadron.

  Some looked fearful, but Hal nodded in satisfaction.

  Now he would get a chance, he hoped, to fight the man he illogically felt a grudge against, going all the way back to the death of Athelny of the Dragons.

  21

  The broadsheet fairly screamed:The Dragonmaster Strikes!

  Hal winced.

  “The Dragonmaster, eh?” Lord Bab Cantabri said, mock admiration heavy in his voice.

  “The broadsheets have a vivid imagination,” Hal said.

  “Still, that might look good, tastefully embossed on some stationery,” Cantabri said. “Here’s another good one,” and he read the screamer aloud:Hero of Deraine Modest,

  Worshipped by His Men

  “Oorg,” Hal managed, picking up another sheet from the impressive pile Cantabri had brought to the flight:“His long, blond hair streaming, Sir Hal shouted his

  dragon fliers in to the attack with his battle cry, ‘The

  Gods for Deraine and King Asir’. . . .”

  “Bastards can’t even get my hair color right,” Hal grumbled, rubbing his close-cropped brown hair.

  “Heroes always should have long, blond hair,” Lord Cantabri said. “Makes ’em much more followable.

  “Here’s another:

  “An exclusive account of the dashing raid against the Roche, as told directly by Sir Hal Kailas to Deraine’s favorite taleteller, Thom Lowess—”

  “That great liar I haven’t seen since getting my leave cut short back in Rozen,” Hal interrupted.

  “Now, now, Sir Hal,” Cantabri said in a soothing voice, his wicked smile undercutting any attempt at comfort. “Never let the truth stand in the way of a good story.”

  Hal grunted, listened as, outside the window, Farren Mariah read from another broadsheet with suitable emendations:

  “Teeth gritted against the bleedin’ autumn gales, grindin’ his tongue to powder, our own Sir Hal lashed his dragon with his crop, forcing the enormous beast to whirl in his tracks and smash into two attacking Roche monsters.

  “Whirl, whirl, like a friggin’ top.

  “An’ then the dragon took one Roche horror by its neck, usin’ two talons of one claw, and dandled it up and down, then hurlin’ it away, whilst our own Sir Hal grabbed the second horror by the tail, swung him about his head, and then—”

  Hal closed the window with a bang, as a patrol of six soldiers marched past.

  “I suppose,” Cantabri said, “those square-bashers are just in case Ky Yasin decides to come back on you.”

  “They are.”

  “Best you should think about changing bases entirely,” Cantabri suggested. “But keep the base support at your new post. The Roche have spies as well who might winkle you out.”

  “I’m already scouting for something,” Hal said. “Preferably closer to the lines, so we’ll be able to get a little flying in when winter comes.”

  “Ah, but I have a better suggestion,” Cantabri said, smiling blandly. “One guaranteed to keep you out of the winter weather, nice and active, and fighting for your country as proper heroes should.

  “And not just you, but the whole flight, should you choose to volunteer them.”

  “I should’ve known you came here with more than delivering papers on your mind.”

  “If you have a map about—in a nice, secure place—I’ll show you where the further opportunities to cover yourself with glory are.”

  “Or get dead.”

  “That,” Cantabri sighed as he followed Hal into an inner room, “seems to go with the territory, does it not?”

  He went to one of the maps in the briefing room, a fairly small-scale map of the entire front.

  “Now, as we all know,” he said, deliberately taking on a false tutorial manner, “the war is currently at something resembling a stalemate.

  “What has been proposed by the king and his advisors, is a bold masterstroke, to quietly pull selected units from all four armies, move them to Paestum, together with new units currently training in Deraine, and Sagene allies.

  “We’ll go by sea, around Sagene’s western border, then east, until we’re beyond Sagene and the lines, and then make a bold assault on the Roche heartland.

  “I’ll not tell you just where yet, but it’s along a river, that we can follow up to reach Roche’s capital of Carcaor.”

  “How many men?”

  “At least a hundred thousand.”

  “Which you’ll be able to keep from talking about their coming glorious adventure?”

  “If they don’t know, they can’t talk. We’ll probably arrange some camouflage scheme, like issuing them arctic gear, reversing the promises we made for the Black Island expedition, or arranging for a map of Roche’s northern seafront to be captured.”

  “What happens when we round Sagene’s southwestern cape? I assume the Roche have some sort of navy.”

  “Deraine’s ships will be screening for the convoy.”

  “Mmmh. How many dragon flights?”

  “Four have been selected.”

  “Not many for a hundred thousand men.”

  Cantabri lost, for a moment, his confidence.

  “I know . . . but dragon fliers are scarce, and new formations won’t be ready until spring, at the earliest.”

  “And you’re in command of this operation?”

  “No,” Cantabri said, realized the note of his voice, and
tried to put confidence back into it. “A close friend of the king’s, a Lord Eyan Hamil, will command.”

  “I don’t know the name.”

  “As I said, he and the king are very close. The story I’ve been given is that he’s been in command of the approaches to Northern Deraine, and has begged the king for a more active command. He’s an older man, quite charming.”

  “But he’s never led an army in the field.”

  “No.”

  The two men stared at each other for a moment. “Well,” Hal said, “I’ll put it to my fliers.”

  “You command most democratically.”

  “When it’s convenient,” Hal said. “Has there been any more of a plan developed beyond get ashore in this spot you won’t name for me, and start marching upriver?”

  “Not really,” Cantabri said. “What deployments we’ll make after the landing will depend on the Roche reactions.”

  Hal rubbed his chin.

  “Is this the way you would have run this expedition?”

  Cantabri stared at him.

  “I don’t think I’ll answer that.”

  “You don’t have to, sir.”

  Hal got up.

  “I’ll call the troops together, and have an answer to you—I assume you’re at the First Army headquarters—by nightfall.”

  “You won’t find me there,” Cantabri said. “But I have a deputy there. As for myself, I have three other armies to canvass for brave men and heroes, so I’ve leagues still to ride this day.”

  “You really think we can pull this off?” Hal asked, watching Cantabri closely.

  “Yes,” Cantabri said, then, with growing confidence, “Yes, I do, and end this damned war for once and all.”

  22

  The sea beyond Paestum was aswarm with ships, from transports converted from merchant ships to hopefully ocean-worthy ferries and deepwater fishing boats without their nets to, Hal was glad to see, the Galgorm Adventurer. He was even more pleased to find that someone—he suspected Lord Cantabri—had arranged for it to be the Eleventh’s transport.

  This operation had been in the planning for some time—the Adventurer’s upper troopdeck had been hastily converted, with a raised and arched topdeck, to provide more dragon shelters.

  As they were loading the beasts, trying to avoid being maimed by a dragon tail or drowned by being kicked off the quay by one of the fairly unhappy monsters, the rumor ran around that this was the beginning of a great operation, to attack behind the northern Roche lines, and smash through to the capital.

  “Which means codswallop,” Farren said. “All we need now is to be gifted with winter gear, and I’ll know for surely certain we’re goin’ south.

  “Friggin’ military always thinks it can think, when by now it oughta know better. I could cast a little witchy pissyanty spell and find out where we’re going, so you know damn-dast well the Roche wizards are already laying in wait.”

  Hal thought of telling him to button it, that his guess was far too close, but that would’ve only made the tale run faster.

  “Damned fine thing,” Saslic said dryly, looking out over the fleet, “that we’re able to move in such secrecy. Thankin’ the gods there aren’t any Roche spies over there on the waterfront, spitting in the water and taking notes.”

  “Anybody else want to contribute?” Hal said.

  “I think not,” Sir Loren drawled. “I’m sure we’re just off to the homeland for our holidays.”

  The ships, loosely gathered into lines, sailed north until they were out of sight of land, then swung west down the Chicor Straits, as had the Adventurer in its masking maneuvers before turning toward Black Island.

  Hal didn’t think it would do much good to conceal the operation from the Roche.

  Mynta Gart spent a lot of time on deck, when she wasn’t tending her new dragon, and Hal asked her if a seaman like her didn’t like being belowdecks.

  “Doesn’t matter much to me,” she said. “And I didn’t notice I was abovedecks as much as you say. Perhaps I’m worried about the weather.”

  Hal lifted an eyebrow.

  “This is damned late in the year to be sailing toward the open ocean,” she said. “Winter storms’re coming, and that bodes no good for the spit kits we’ve got around us.

  “I can only hope we’ve got weather luck. Or some damned powerful wizards casting spells in the flagship.”

  Perhaps so, for no gales tore down on the fleet before it turned north again, and found a sheltered anchorage behind a long, narrow island, the Deraine port of Brouwer, where another great array lay waiting.

  Some of these ships were brand-new, others converted to merchantmen, and they were packed with troops, mostly new formations raised in Deraine.

  Now, Hal thought, we should put out to sea as quickly as possible, before the tales have time to spread.

  But they sat at anchor, waiting.

  Hal’s soldiers began grumbling, and so he put Serjeant Te to work on them, running them around and around the decks, up and down ropes, keeping them fit, with little time to get bored.

  He flew off two three-dragon patrols each morning and night, and that kept his fliers from getting bored.

  And they waited.

  A royal messenger was rowed out to the Adventurer, with a request, from Lord Cantabri, to meet the expedition’s commander, Lord Hamil, at a dinner to be held by Thom Lowess.

  It seemed the taleteller had his fingers in everywhere.

  It was a small, intimate gathering, at least by Lowess’ standards. He’d rented a beachfront pavilion, and brought several of “his girls,” including Lady Khiri Carstares.

  A dozen men sipped wine in the antechamber. Hal was the lowest ranking of them all, and Lowess the only one not in uniform.

  “Sir Hal,” he smiled at Kailas. “At last I’ll get a chance to see you in action.”

  “You mean you’re going with us?”

  “Lord Hamil has specially invited me, which pleases me no end.” However, Lowess didn’t look that thrilled. Hal wondered, and thought poorly of himself for the cattiness, whether Lowess preferred concocting his tales of derringdo a bit farther from the clash of battle.

  Lady Khiri spotted him, and made for him as if he were magnetized. He tried to make polite conversation, but was all too aware of Saslic, back on the Adventurer, not to mention that the gown Khiri wore was scooped low enough in front so that he could’ve seen the color of her toenail polish without undue effort.

  “And so you’ll be one of the lucky ones,” she said. “Not with us, freezing our poor little heinies off, here in the northland.”

  “How did you know?” was the best Hal could manage, hardly a way of dissimulating.

  “Why, simply everyone knows,” she said, in considerable astonishment. “It’s been the talk of the court for weeks now.”

  “Wonderful,” Hal muttered.

  “If I didn’t know better, and hadn’t been aboard some of the terribly crowded ships you men will be sailing on,” she went on, “I’d wish that you and I might be sharing a cabin, watching for the first flying fish, and feeling the wind grow warm around us.”

  Hal felt a bit warm at that moment, was relieved to see Lord Cantabri beckon him over. He excused himself, joined Cantabri and the other man he was with, medium height, white-haired, distinguished and looking most regal.

  “Sir Hal, I’d like to introduce you to Lord Hamil,” Cantabri said.

  Hal guessed, at an event like this, it would be better to bow than salute. He evidently guessed correctly, for Hamil made a curt bow in return.

  “So you’re the young man on whom Lord Cantabri said we might well be depending?”

  Hal fought for the proper words.

  “I’d think, from what I’ve seen, we’re more likely to be depending on him.”

  “A good, gentlemanly answer, sir,” Lord Hamil approved, then turned to Cantabri.

  “When this war first began, and the idea of men—and women—flying dragons, I was bot
hered by the idea, first that a measure of chivalry might be slashed from the nobility of war, and secondly, that these fliers might be less than gentlemanly warriors.

  “But from what I’ve read of this young man, and the men and women he commands, I find that my suspicions were false.

  “Indeed, to soar high over the muck and blood of the battleground might be creating a new nobility, a nobility of the air, and one which, were I beginning my military career, I might well envy and wish to join.”

  Neither Hal nor Cantabri found an answer to that one, although Hal tried feebly.

  “I can only hope, Lord Hamil, to be worthy of your hopes.”

  “I’m sure you shall, lad,” and Hamil smiled, and turned to another, passing lord.

  “I say, Lord Devett, a word with you?”

  Hal was about to say something to Cantabri, when Lowess approached them.

  “Ah, the two sharpest arrows in my quiver. Are you enjoying yourselves, gentlemen?”

  Hal took the moment.

  “I’d be a deal happier, sir, were our expedition not on everyone’s lips.”

  Lowess frowned.

  “I know. I like it little myself. But the word has been going about for weeks. There’s even been mention of a betting pool as to just what our destination is, and what I’ve heard mentioned is uncomfortably close to our plans.

  “I suggested to Lord—to certain parties—that some re-planning might be in order. He chose to disagree with me, so there appears little I can do.

  “I wish there was more, since I will be sharing your fate this time.”

  Cantabri drained his wineglass.

  “Might I ask you something, sir?” he said.

  Hal noticed the slight emphasis on the sir.

  “Anything within reason.”