by Chris Bunch
For once, the flapping jaws of the army didn’t have anything to chew on.
For the moment.
Limingo arrived at the base with four acolytes, a cheery face, and interesting news for Hal.
“I was going to put you off yet again,” he said. “Then I realized if this was that important for you to consult me, it might have a great effect on the performance of your flight, which might mean on this battle.
“Which, incidentally, will begin tomorrow afternoon. Everyone fights at dawn, to give them the benefit of the day.
“Which is one reason Lord Egibi chose the time he did.
“Also, this fight is expected to last over several days, and probably won’t accomplish much on the first day, beyond, hopefully, putting our spells in place and clearing the walls of Roche archers.
“There’ll be a courier arriving sometime today with your orders, but I thought you might like a bit of an advance warning.
“I can give you specifics on what I’ll need. I want you, and four of your fliers, to take myself and my staff to that knoll we visited once before.
“At that time, I’ll cast my own spell. You might have guessed it would have something to do with those gates on the main entrance.
“They’re protected by Roche magic, but I’m betting they haven’t thought of everything. Gates require hinges, and hinges, even huge ones such as we saw, corrode.
“Magic isn’t all that great in building from nothing, but one of its great strengths is to destroy. To corrode.
“We shall see what my magic can do against them. If those hinges can be smashed, the gates can be toppled.
“And if the gates are toppled . . .”
Limingo smiled tightly.
“I do wish that there was a way we could get closer. The power of sorcery isn’t improved by distance.
“But I’m hardly fool enough to try to thaumaturge from either the back of your dragon or, worse, from the front ranks amid an arrowstorm.”
Hal let the man run on, realizing the magician was brave, but no one, except probably Lord Cantabri, could face the morrow’s slaughter equably.
Limingo caught himself.
“Very well,” he said. “Now for your business. Are we in a place where no one can overhear us?”
“We are,” Hal said. He’d had the spy-ear in his quarters blocked after Te’s murder.
Limingo nodded to his acolyte, who handed him a pouch. Inside was the flier’s dagger that had killed Te.
“I can’t give you everything,” he said. “Magic doesn’t generally work that way.
“However, I can suggest that the proper owner of this knife would be large and thick, a man, yes definitely a man, who’d look like a drover or a blacksmith. I don’t think, though, that he was the one who committed the murder.
“There’s a layer of blood and fog between him and that death. That’s a very imprecise way of putting what my spells showed, but I can’t find better words.
“This other person, and I cannot give you anything about him, would have been the killer.
“I’m sorry, but that’s all I can divine. Possibly, with more time, and thought, coming up with greater spells, I might be able to divine a bit more for you.
“But not much.”
“Thank you,” Hal said. “I’ll think on what you’ve said. It might be enough. Meantime, we’d best be preparing ourselves for battle.”
All that day, and night, as the Eleventh readied itself for battle, making sure every bit of leather harness was oiled and soft, that the crossbow trays were fully loaded, that armorers had spare bowstrings and prods, Hal pondered the dagger, and Limingo’s words.
He sat, staring at it, late, the sounds of dragons wailing in their sleep, aware of change and not happy with it, and the sounds of the smiths’ wheels, sharpening already needle-like bolts, swords and knives.
He finally pulled himself away, checked his own gear and harness.
There were still lights about the former village, handlers making sure there was nothing amiss with the sleeping dragons, cooks preparing cold rations for the morrow, and, in the hut he’d assigned to Limingo, the muttering of voices and the occasional sharp reek of herbs being burnt.
His last visit was to Storm, who snored contentedly, head occasionally curling out, fangs yawning, as he destroyed another enemy in his sleep.
“When this is over,” Hal said, “I promise you I’ll find you the highest crag for your own, a herd of sheep and a cow worthy of your attentions.”
Storm snorted, sighed.
Just after dawn, Hal was roused by Limingo, who wanted a flight close to Aude. “To get a feel for my castings,” he explained.
The roads around Aude were alive with troops, making last-minute moves. Heavy cavalry moved ponderously forward, pioneers bustled around the huge siege engines, which were never still, light cavalry trotted across the bridges toward the city, and infantrymen crept closer, keeping well under cover.
“Very good,” Limingo shouted to Hal. “Now, all we have to do is wait.”
Hal was making sure all was in order, yet without chivvying his fliers into despair, after the noon meal, on the dragon line as the monsters were being led out, saddled and ready, when it came to him.
He felt like a dunce for not being able to figure things out without magic.
He thought of letting matters wait until after the battle, decided he couldn’t. He might have been able to keep the spy sequestered for a time, but once the fighting started, that would be impossible.
“I want to see Vad Feccia,” he told Gart. “And Sir Nanpean Tregony.
“Have four men standing by, armed, for my orders.”
Vad Feccia’s eyes darted about the room as he entered. He visibly twitched when he saw the dagger, the only thing on Kailas’ table.
Sir Nanpean Tregony looked appropriately bored and upper class.
“I hope this won’t take too long, sir,” he said, the usual subtle emphasis on his last word. “We’re to be aloft in minutes.”
“No,” Hal said. “Not long at all. Vad Feccia, I formally accuse you, with Sir Nanpean Tregony as my witness, of the following crimes: Theft of war supplies; murder; spying for the enemy in time of war; and high treason.
“The last three are hanging offenses.
“You will be taken into custody by men I have waiting, and closely confined until you are brought before a court-martial.
“I have used certain means to determine this dagger was originally issued to you, and falsely claimed to have been lost, after you murdered Serjeant Te for apprehending you in your crimes. There can be no doubt what the penalty—”
“No!” Feccia shouted. “Not me!”
“Be silent, you,” Sir Nanpean said. “Stand up like a man for once in your monstrous life.”
Feccia whirled.
“Stand up? And be hanged? No! Not ever! Mayhap I’m a thief. . . . I’ll admit to that, wanting my little delights, and never minding having a bit of cash about.
“But murder . . . never. Nor treason.
“You’re the spy, Tregony.
“And the damned traitor.
“You were the one who had me find out where Te kept his files, his maps. And you were the one who borrowed my dagger when you said there was a lock that needed prying.
“No, you son of a bitch! I’ll not hang for your crimes!”
“Enough, Feccia,” Hal said coldly. “Those words can wait for the trial.
“However, you, Sir Nanpean Tregony, now stand accused of most serious crimes.”
“Lies by this thieving bastard,” Tregony said loftily. But his eyes didn’t meet Hal’s.
“What was it?” Hal asked. “What did they buy you with? Was it gold? Or favors? Or just a chance to get out of that wretched prison camp? If you ever were in one at all, and rather turned traitor the instant you fell into their hands? Or maybe you were a Roche agent, right from the beginning. Certainly that’d hardly surprise me, knowing you for what you a
re, what you were as a boy.
“And how did you report, after we moved forward, and you weren’t able to visit your contact?”
“I said lies, and lies they are!”
“Feccia surely can lie,” Hal agreed. “But magic, especially magic of the highest order, cannot.
“And magic is what made me summon you and Feccia, in the hopes he’d behave as he did.”
Tregony shook his head sadly, as if he felt sorry for Hal’s foolishness, and then he moved.
His hand swept up the dagger on the table, buried it in Feccia’s stomach. Feccia screamed, clutched himself, as Tregony dove into Hal, knocked him, breathless, to the floor.
Tregony rolled to his feet, and ran out the door.
Hal staggered up, gasping for breath. He took no notice of the dying Feccia, but went after Tregony.
The man was down the sanctuary steps, running for his dragon.
“Stop him! Shoot him down!” Hal gasped.
The four soldiers he’d ordered to stand by did no more than gape, utterly lost.
Hal swore, stumbled down the steps, his wind coming back, as Tregony reached his dragon, leapt up into its saddle, and shouted for it to move, move, dammit.
Hal thought of shouting for archers, but hadn’t the breath, and ran toward Storm, pulling himself up, as his hands found the reins, and slapped the dragon into motion.
Tregony’s dragon was at full gallop, and then in the air, as Storm, startled, began moving.
Then they were both airborne, climbing.
Tregony headed for Aude, kicking his dragon to full speed.
Hal called to Storm, words of encouragement, orders, and his dragon closed on Tregony.
Kailas was vaguely aware of the sound of the siege engines getting louder, more frequent, and, dimly, the shouting of soldiers from below.
The attack had begun, but he had no time for that.
The walls of Aude loomed up, and Tregony went over them, skimming the battlements.
Hal was just behind him, reaching for his crossbow.
Tregony glanced back, realized he was out of time, and steered his dragon toward the flat roof of the main keep.
He brought his beast in roughly, and jumped from the saddle, running toward one of the two closed doors that led down into the keep proper.
Hal reined Storm in hard, and the dragon’s wings flailed.
Kailas fired, and the bolt took Tregony in the leg. He screamed, fell, came back up.
Hal, red rage dimming his vision, rolled out of his saddle, dropped ten feet to the roof of the keep, his dagger coming out.
Tregony turned, pulling his sword.
“Good,” he said, “good. Come on, you damned peasant, with your hogsticker, and see what a real nobleman can do.”
He lunged at Hal, and Hal barely parried with his long knife.
Again he struck, and this time his blade scored Kailas’ ribs.
Hal spun, and whipped his dagger across Tregony’s face, slicing it to the bone.
“Remember the last time, Tregony,” he hissed. “Remember that piece of wood I scarred you with, back in Caerly.”
Tregony screamed incoherent rage, dove at Hal in a long lunge. The man was very fast, but now time slowed for Kailas.
He brushed the lunge aside with his knife, smashed a fist into Tregony’s face.
The man staggered back, sword clattering away, hands coming up in protest.
His mouth was opening to say something, but there was no time, as Hal’s dagger drove up, under his ribs, thudding home into his heart.
Tregony mewed like that dragon kit he’d tortured long ago, fell.
Some measure of sanity came back to Kailas, and he realized where he was. There’d be Roche soldiers on the roof within moments, not likely seeking a prisoner, nor would Hal allow himself to be taken.
He had Tregony’s sword in hand, and then Storm slid in, not a dozen feet away, and there was safety.
He was in the saddle, Storm needing no command to get away, and they were just clear of the roof when a shadow flashed overhead.
Hal had a moment to look up, saw Ky Yasin’s pennon, his dragon, and the man glaring down at him.
The dragon’s talons took Storm in the wing, tore it, and gashed his back, almost grabbing Kailas.
Storm howled in pain, turned, wing going out from under him, and they slammed down on the keep roof once more.
Hal rolled off, grabbing his crossbow, recharging it as one of the keep’s doors came open, and two spear-carrying soldiers ran out.
Hal fired, worked the forehand, reloading, fired again, and both men were down, motionless.
There was a dragon flying toward him, and he took aim, saw Farren Mariah in its saddle.
He brought his mount down.
“Let’s be gone! There’re those about tryin’ to kill us!”
Hal started toward him, heard Storm, keening in pain.
He stopped, stood still.
“Come on, man!” Mariah called.
Hal remembered Storm saving his life on that desolate beach, helping him time and again, and once more that red rage came.
“No!” he shouted back. “Both of us go, or none of us!”
“You’re godsdamned daft!” Mariah called, and then there were three more soldiers at the stairs.
Hal spun, shot one, then the other was on him, and he dropped the crossbow, parried the man’s pike, spitted him, looked for the third man.
He was stumbling toward Hal, a bolt sticking out of his guts, and then he toppled.
“You stupid bastard,” Mariah growled, coming up beside him, reloading his crossbow. “Sir.”
“Get your ass out of here,” Hal said. “There’s only room for one damned fool.”
“Shut the hells up, sir,” Farren said. “Get another rack, and get over by that door, and don’t make ’em come to us like we was ballroom dancers.
“I’ll take the other one.”
“Stupid!” Hal called, obeying.
He had a moment to pat Storm, say something meaningless, comforting, he hoped, then ran toward the open door.
Stairs led down, and there were men coming up. Hal shot three times, quickly, and the stair was blocked for a moment by bodies.
He saw Farren, at the other door, pressed by two swordsmen, and shot one out of the way, and Farren killed the other.
Hal heard screaming from above, looked up, saw two black dragons being swarmed by Deraine monsters, like owls in daylight being savaged by crows.
They dove, flapped away to the east, and the sky, at least for the moment, was Deraine’s.
“Block the door,” Kailas shouted, running back for his flier’s dagger, pushing the door closed and ramming the blade into the jamb and kicking it home as a block.
Mariah was doing the same, using a Roche sword.
Then, for a moment, there was peace, except for the slam of the siege engines, the shouts of men attacking the walls, and the screaming of men hurt and dying.
Hal’s panting slowed, and the world speeded up to reality.
Storm was looking at him, mouth opening, closing, like a stranded fish. But Hal could see his wounds, and knew, though ghastly, they wouldn’t be fatal.
If he could get the dragon off this roof, and out of the enemy redoubt.
Which none of them would be able to do.
“Thanks,” he shouted to Mariah.
“Fer what?” the small man asked. “Provin’ there’s more’n the one damned eejit in the flight?”
Hammering sounds came from behind one door, then the other.
“Where’s your dragon?”
“I slapped the silly git’s butt,” Mariah answered. “No need for everybody to die.
“And I damned well hope, when this is over, and they start handin’ out the medals, there’ll be a nice posthumerous one for Mrs. Mariah’s favorite boy.”
“I’ll be sure and write the citation myself,” Hal said. “But it won’t be posthumous.”
Maria
h stared at him.
“Yer actually thinks yer gonna live this one out?”
“Surely.”
Mariah shook his head, and the hammering got louder.
Hal heard the sweep of wings, looked up, and saw Mynta Gart’s dragon coming in. Behind Gart was Limingo and an assistant. Both of them carried bundles of gear.
Gart landed, and the two wizards slid out.
“Had I known you planned this,” Limingo said, “I would’ve designed my spell differently.”
He went to the edge of the keep, ducked back as arrows shot up.
The Roche soldiers had been cleared from the walls, and there were Deraine and Sagene soldiers between the outer and inner walls.
But they were still barred from entrance to the city, and there was a host of Roche milling around the keep’s base, filing into it, toward the stairs.
“Unfriendly sorts,” Limingo said. “I think we’ll not need corrosion this close. A nice melting will do fine.”
His assistant nodded, began digging through their clutter.
“We’ll need,” Limingo went on, “a double triangle. Use the blue and the orange markers. Some flax—”
“No flax, sir.”
“Hmmph. Well, then, fireweed of course, moonrot, and let me think now . . .”
Hal saw two more dragons coming in, Sir Loren and Chincha flying them, their backs loaded with an impossible number of soldiers. Both dragons sagged in for grateful landings.
“Grabbed all the spear-tossers we could,” Sir Loren called. “Thought you might need them.”
Hal felt for a moment as if he might actually live.
Then one door was smashed open, and Roche soldiers were on them.
There was a swirl of fighting, and a man stumbled toward Hal. Kailas was about to spit him, when the man’s mouth opened, blood poured out, and he fell.
For a moment, the surge up the stairs stopped, and Hal heard the steady chant from Limingo:Burn and build
Grow, take strength
Feed on what you have
On what you are
On the memory of the casting
When all flowed, poured together.