The Last Battle

by Chris Bunch

He fired the cloth in the brazier, then went behind the cages.

  "Out! Out!" he cried, and waved his torch as it burst into flame.

  One of the dragons whimpered, but, fearing fire more than the forgotten outer world, went out of the cage, and up the stairs toward the exit.

  Two other dragons followed.

  Hal chased the rest of them out of their cages, herding them toward the doors.

  He kept the fire in front of his face, and while the dragons struck at him, it was halfhearted.

  Only one lashed out with his tail, and Kailas ducked clumsily and drunkenly under the whiplash.

  Then the dragons were outside, starting at the cold.

  Hal stumbled about, waving his burning cloth.

  The dragons broke, one, then two, stumbling forward, wings unfolding with a great cracking like a ship's sails in a high wind, and they were aloft, climbing out and away from the lights of Rozen.

  Hal cheered at the top of his lungs, waving his torch as it burnt out.

  "Go home! Screw mankind! Don't have anything to do with us!"

  A voice came.

  "Stand very damned still. You are under arrest."

  Hal turned, saw a uniformed warder holding a halberd not a foot from his back.

  He dropped the torch.

  Behind the warder were a dozen other warders, all armed, some armored.

  "I order you to obey my commands, in the name of the king."

  15

  Hal was unceremoniously tossed into what a warder called a "tank." He explained it was mainly for drunkards who'd also committed some minor felony that didn't hurt anyone.

  That made Kailas feel enormously better, a fit compliment on his aptitude as a criminal, to go with his rapidly building hangover.

  He took the not particularly clean blanket they handed him, ignored the dozen other wastrels in the cell, found a corner in the large room with its single-barred gate, and tried to get some sleep.

  He woke late in the morning, with a raging thirst, and sat up.

  Leaning against the wall next to him was a huge man, big in every dimension.

  "Is there any water about?" Hal croaked, not particularly caring if the monster next to him was intent on robbing him.

  "In th' bucket, over there."

  Hal wobbled over to it, poured down evil-smelling liquid until his stomach promised it would be sending it all back if he didn't stop.

  He went back to his corner and slumped down.

  "You th' one they call Dragonmaster?"

  "lam…1 was."

  "Before you started flying about and being a lord and all," the hulk said, "was you in the cavalry?"

  "I was," Kailas admitted. "Third Light."

  "My kid brother was with it, too. He was the good 'un in the family. Wrote letters home. And he was always going on about some Sergeant Kailas. Called him Lucky."

  "What was his name?"

  "Gachina. Finbo was his first name."

  "I remember him," Hal said, telling the truth. "Guidon-bearer."

  "That was him," the huge man said. "Got hisself killed in some damnfool battle. One of his mates I wrote to, askin' what happened, told me the godsdamned officers had made 'em ride out with no backup, and the gods-damned Roche heavy cavalry wiped them out."

  Hal remembered that battlefield, and its corpses. He'd just been commissioned, been offered a chance to go to dragon school, had turned the offer down because of the responsibility he felt for his section.

  After that battle, they were all corpses, and Hal's responsibility was over.

  Hal hauled himself to his feet, stuck out his hand.

  "Name's Hal," he said. "Your brother was a good man. I was on the field the day he got killed."

  "Too godsdamned good for the godsdamned army," the man said, looking at Hal as if he expected a challenge.

  "Most of us were," Hal agreed. The bigger man subsided a little.

  "I'mBabil."

  They touched palms.

  "I'm a thief, normal," Babil said. "Now, since they didn't catch me slittin' any gullets, I'm waitin' trial.

  "And I'm head man of this box." He raised his voice, looking about. No one disagreed.

  "This is the Dragonmaster," he went on. "Nobody messes with him."

  There was a scatter of agreements.

  "Not that you've got much to worry about," Babil said. "These is all lightweights. The real felons go to Brightwater.

  "Not to mention that you'll be out on bond within the day, even for doing something spectacular stupid like cuttin' those dragons free."

  "How'd you know?"

  "One of th' warders told.

  "But like I say, you'll be bonded out quick. Not like th' rest of us, who'll gentle rot for a time 'til th' judges get off their arses and decide to see about us."

  But Hal didn't get out on bond that day.

  Or the next.

  Or that week.

  Babil asked one of the warders, who looked carefully about before telling him that someone, someone "up there," had put the word out that Hal wasn't to be freed.

  No explanation.

  "I figger," Babil said, "them dragons must've belonged to somebody muckety, or who had a friend who is."

  Hal couldn't work out who that could be.

  While he waited, he got to know the other felons in the tank, and others as they passed through.

  One of them was a man without a name, a small, wizened character with canny eyes, who also happened to be quite mad.

  He decided, for some utterly unknown reason, that he hated Hal, and was always muttering when he came within range.

  Generally his mutters were something about how if he loved dragons so much, he oughta go live with them, oughta sleep with them, frigging bastardly lord bastard, and on and on.

  He made Hal very nervous, even though Babil said there was no worry there.

  One day, Babil came to Hal.

  "You're either in good—or very bad—shape."

  "Why?"

  "I just heard, you're for the King's Justice."

  "Huh?"

  "A warder just told me. Guess that's 'cause you're a lord and all, hey?"

  Hal shook his head, having little knowledge of Deraine's convoluted justice system beyond prewar experience of what they could do to a penniless wandering boy.

  "Problem is," Babil went on, "King's Justice also means they can geek you if they wants."

  Hal blanched.

  "Can't understand what's going on," Babil muttered. "And I don't like not knowin'."

  The next morning, they came for Hal.

  * * *

  Four warders, two with spears, two with crossbows, took Hal out of the tank.

  He wanted to tell them that he was normally quite sober, that he had behaved like somewhat of a damned fool, although he really didn't regret freeing the dragons, but he didn't say anything.

  A carriage took him to a public bathhouse, and the lead warder told him to wash the stink off, and put on the clothes he handed him.

  He was busily soaping when it came to him.

  Both Garadice and Lowess had been right.

  He suddenly knew what he should be doing, and it was not running a bandage squad for dragons.

  And it had come from the lips of a madman.

  The only problem was getting himself free to implement the thought.

  Hal had himself shaved by the barber in the bathhouse, and put on the gray striped tunic and breeches he'd been given.

  A rather fat, imperious man came in and told Hal to follow him.

  Hal thought he recognized the man, but told himself he had to be wrong. All the while his thumbs prickled.

  Outside the bathhouse was a dark brown carriage, without windows.

  Hal was told to get in, and the carriage started off.

  He tried to tell where it was going by the turns, but since he wasn't sure where the prison was, he stayed lost.

  It finally passed through two sets of gates—Hal could tell by the wa
rders' self-important shouting of challenge and password—and came to an eventual halt.

  Hal got out, and found his fears were quite valid: the carriage was in the royal palace grounds, behind the palace itself.

  He had been right in thinking the fat man was one of the king's chamberlains.

  King's Justice, indeed.

  And what the hells could King Asir want with a common, or fairly common anyway, felon?

  "Very good, Kailas," King Asir said in a sarcastic voice.

  That was very bad. Hal was, in spite of his civilian wear, at the most rigid attention he'd stood at since… since dragon school, after having knelt hastily when the king made his entrance.

  Also not good was the king not having used title, either nobility or Dragonmaster.

  The king was dressed in dark linen, with short boots, and no crown, not even a circlet.

  His face was more worn, and his eyes more tired than Hal remembered them from the war.

  There were only the two of them in the tiny audience chamber.

  "You know, you've annoyed me quite considerably of late," Asir said. He didn't seem to expect an apology, so Hal remained silent.

  "First, you rescue that Roche killer from our ostensible allies in Sagene, which meant that I had to make up some covering story.

  "That cost you points, right there.

  "Then with this Yasin, you involve yourself in this border war with the northern barbarians, a war I'd as soon see them lose, and turn their attentions to fixing problems in their own homeland, rather than grabbing for more land they don't need.

  "Then you take over the retreat when the grab goes sour, which makes all of the tale-tellers go goosey, and once again you're a hero, this time in a cause that is far less than admirable.

  "I was of a mind to let you stew in your wilderness up north for another year, then call you to court and give you some sort of position that would keep you out of mischief.

  "But mischief appears to be your goal, and so you get yourself plastered and become some sort of animal liberator.

  "Forget everything except this last piece of nonsense, for which I really would like an explanation.

  "Assuming you have one."

  Hal waited, and the silence stretched.

  "I think I do, sire," Hal said.

  Asir stayed silent.

  "Your Majesty, the way we've been treated since the end of the wars has flatly made me sick. Men, who can know why, is bad enough.

  "But dragons… poor dumb beasts… are nothing but victims."

  The king nodded reluctantly.

  "It wasn't very wise of me… and I had been drinking, which I'm not offering as an excuse… but I did what I did, and honestly have few regrets, other than embarrassing you, when you've always been my benefactor."

  "Well," the king allowed, "it seems you might have started something. A couple of soft-hearted and softheaded barons have started an anticruelty league. Free the dragons and such.

  "That does no harm.

  "But I cannot have one of my heroes stumbling around as if he were a law unto himself, as if it were still wartime.

  "No. That will not come to pass.

  "I had my people inquire about what you were doing, and was told about your rescue groups, or whatever the blazes you were intending to call them."

  "1 hadn't gotten as far as a name, Your Majesty."

  The king humphed.

  "Not that it matters," Asir said. "The question is, how shall you be punished? I can't just ignore your depredations, even though all but one of them are technically within the law.

  "I can't just throw you in prison for a year or so. The people will, no doubt, hear of your rescue groups, which will never happen if you're in jail, which in turn will hardly reflect well on me.

  "I truly wish I was one of those kings of legend I read about when I was a boy, who had convenient islands to which they could dispatch an annoyance they weren't quite ready to behead."

  "You do, sire," Hal said quickly.

  The king gave him a puzzled look.

  "Your Majesty… back during the war you once told me you regretted not being curious about the lands beyond, and that maybe that had helped bring on the war."

  "I don't remember saying it, but I assume I did," Asir said. "It's certainly true enough."

  Hal felt emboldened.

  "Sire, I assume you know about the wild dragons that are carried from some unknown land east, to land on our shores, Black Island, or the northern tundra."

  "Of course."

  "An expert on dragons, a man named Garadice—"

  "I know of him as well."

  "He's theorized that these wild dragons are the ones that have settled this entire part of the world, since dragons have only been around for a few hundred years."

  "You are trying my patience," Asir growled. "I didn't fall off the turnip boat, you know."

  "I came up with the idea of dragon teams to help these poor wights that, wounded and exhausted, are carried east to us by the currents and the winds.

  "I was ducking the issue.

  "Sire, what I propose now is to journey west, using my own resources. I want to find who—or what—is at war with the dragons."

  The king goggled.

  "And, Your Majesty, if you grant me three or four of your ships, and some of your sailors, who are doing nothing now but sulking at the docks, or sailing up and down eating your rations and collecting your silver, looking for smugglers, I will attempt to end this war that someone is waging against the dragons.

  "Or whatever it is," Hal finished, a bit limply.

  "Hmm. Interesting." The king went to a sideboard, poured two brandies.

  "You may lose that brace, Lord Kailas."

  Hal obeyed, relaxing to a still-military, very formal at ease.

  The king handed him a snifter.

  He stared past Hal, out the window, at the snowy winter.

  "Someone once said that if people have enough adventure, either done by themselves or in the vicarious manner, they'll not always be thinking of war, and killing their neighbor.

  "I don't believe it, not at all.

  "But I am of a mind to test the theory.

  "Yes. I think I shall."

  King Asir lifted his glass.

  "Lord Kailas, it pleases me to set aside your crimes, and grant your request.

  "Perhaps saving some dragons, or even trying, will wash our sins against them away.'

  "So let us drink to… to the Royal Exploration West."

  16

  That was well and good.

  But…

  Hal might have felt like trumpeting about his sudden rise from prisoner to explorer, save for one slight problem:

  West was a hellishly general direction to go searching for something he wasn't quite sure of.

  He found larger quarters, suitable for an expedition, and pondered the matter for some days.

  Then he asked the king for a magician, a very good magician.

  "You mean Limingo," Asir said.

  "If possible, sire."

  "It isn't the loaning for a day or so that I mind," Asir said. "It's the probability that that fey bastard will want to go with you, and good sorcerers are scarce, these days."

  Nevertheless, he agreed.

  Limingo, as tall, slender and elegant as ever, showed up, accompanied by a pair of curly-haired, elf-eared acolytes.

  The magician had always been perfectly open about his sexual preferences, which didn't matter to Hal at all.

  Limingo listened to Hal's problem.

  "To tell you the truth, not only do I have no idea how to find out where you should seek, but I don't even have an idea on how to start looking.

  "I'm sorry. But magic can only do so much."

  "I had a thought," Hal said, almost timidly. Magic and magicians mostly terrified him.

  "Ah?" Limingo said.

  Hal explained about dreaming about being a dragon. Once it had been Storm, but this latest had been
of being a foreign dragon, and being attacked by two others, over a strange land.

  Limingo stroked his chin.

  "I don't know, Lord Kailas—"

  "Hal, if you would."

  "Hal. I have no idea if that's a way in to our problem. Let me give it some thought."

  It was two full days before Limingo returned to him.

  "First, what we need is a dying, or very recently dead, wild dragon. Something that has recently tried to make the journey east.

  "Do you know," Limingo added, "I almost said someone. Odd, that."

  Hal realized that he'd been thinking of dragons as "ones," not "things," for a very long time.

  "The only problem," Limingo said, "is that the spell might involve some risk, and certainly some pain, for you."

  Hal thought for an instant, then nodded.

  "I'm game."

  Hal borrowed scouts from the light cavalry, put them out on the western and northern shores of Deraine, with silver as a reward for the first dragon reported.

  And they waited.

  It took three weeks, and the last of a dying winter's storms, before a dragon, just breathing its last, washed up.

  It was far to the west, near the fishing town of Brouwer, which Hal had last seen at the party where he'd met Khiri Carstares, before the disastrous attack on the south of Roche where his first and greatest love, Saslic Dinapur, had died.

  The magician and his assistants, plus two dogsbodies, set out immediately by road.

  Hal was very grateful for Storm, overflying the mucky and slippery roads west.

  They found lodgings in Brouwer, went to where the dragon's corpse lay.

  The cavalryman who had found the dragon had been sent back, with three fellows, to guard the body.

  It lay on a sandy beach in a cove just north of the long island that protected Brouwer, and was in perfect shape.

  "Dunno if anybody uses dead dragons for anything, sir," he reported. "But I thought it well to take care.

  "It only died two days ago. Made me uneasy, while it was thrashing about. Couldn't think of anything I—or anybody else—could do."

  Hal made arrangements for the man to be rewarded for his forethought… and his concern.

  Limingo had a tent in his wagon, and ordered the two men with him to pitch it, as close as possible to the green and white body that sprawled just above the high-tide line.

  "Now for you, young man," Limingo said briskly, rubbing his hands together like a chirurgeon about to begin an amputation. "If you'll go in that tent, strip down, and rub yourself with this unguent… we'll take care of our portion of the ceremony."