Flight of the Dragon Knight (The Dragon Knight Series Book 3)

by D. C. Clemens

  What set Soren apart from my other courier options was the rare sea creature he had learned to summon. The turtusk was named for its crude resemblance to a turtle and a walrus, but both name and description were on the lazier end of human inventiveness. First off, the beast’s long snout, short neck, shark-like tail, and six flippers grew a tawny shag of fur on them, and even its full grown tusks only grew to be cute, stubby things.

  The only part that reminded one of a turtle was its back. Specifically, its back bore a resemblance to the shell of a leatherback sea turtle, if bumpier. It was this “shell” that a human rode on as the turtusk swam at a speed twice as fast as the swiftest ships. Soren only had a juvenile turtusk, but its six foot wide back had the space to carry two people comfortably.

  Instead of the turtusk carrying the other two messengers, they each summoned the more common gitra. An informal name for them would be the golden eel, for that is pretty close to what they looked like, except they grew in excess of forty feet. They appeared as unnerving as their Orda doppelganger, but they were remarkably easy to tame, even if one summoned an older one. Their sociable nature also contradicted their Graham-like expression.

  With the turtusk between them, the gitra took their riders south, hoping to swim right up to the Brey Stor fleet in a day’s time.

  The weather over the next few days was perhaps too kind to us. The winds that I trusted would deliver us the critical fleet in time had to also be struggled against on my end. At least slowing down a ship remained as easy as turning or rolling up a sail. What concerned me more was when we went two days over the anticipated deadline without any sign of Voreen activity, and we couldn’t wait much longer straddling the waters of Prusal.

  A bit of good news untied several bowline knots looped around my heart when a griffin bearing the purple Brey Stor banner landed on an envoy ship. The emissary brought word that the fleet of fifty-six warships had answered my entreaty and that they would be willing to follow us to Prusal’s capital. With me ordering a slower course westward, they had a good chance to catch up with us by that very nightfall under favorable winds… Almost like a joke, the winds turned out not to be so favorable anymore.

  The dead winds lasted until the morning sun warmed the sea again, though they now blew more northerly than before. Then, at high noon, with a cloudless sky overhead, a scout ship sent back a mortifying update. Voreen and Prusal ships were all sailing for our bows. I-I couldn’t understand it. How did Voreen convince its enemy to attack a kingdom it had no quarrel with? Did the Advent have something to do with this? Had they infiltrated both nations? Did they offer their leaders immortality? Or did a mere whisper of gold push them to this rash act?

  Finding a chair, I asked Gerard, “How many ships do the scouts see?” He and I were with the admiral in his war room, who sat unmoved on the other side of his desk.

  “Their spyglasses count at least twenty-five ships lined abreast of one another, with at least three rows of less organized ships behind those. There could be more behind their horizon.”

  “Is there yet any sign of the Brey Stor fleet?”

  The admiral placed his elbows on his desk and clasped his hands. He said, “Assuming the latest calculations are correct, they won’t be in view for another hour. Maybe two. Do you still plan to attack, Princess Astor?”

  I shut my eyes a moment to think. When I opened them again, I answered, “Yes. The odds are closer to even than I would like them to be, but if we can stall long enough for Brey Stor’s fleet to reinforce us, I still like our chances. What stalling tactics would you recommend, admiral?”

  “The best way to stall a navy is to attack it in broad strokes. If we want Brey Stor’s fleet to take an advantageous position, I recommend turning the enemy coalition northward as soon as possible.”

  “Using our own envoy as bait,” said Gerard.

  “Precisely. We set a northwestern course and make it seem as though we plan on flanking them. Unless they know Brey Stor is coming, at least a quarter of their ships will be compelled to block our maneuver.”

  “A quarter doesn’t sound good enough.”

  “We don’t have the ships to… do any better.”

  “What was that, admiral? Your little pause.”

  His narrow nostrils flared, which exposed tips of overly long nose hair. “A memory.”

  “Of what? Hold nothing back, admiral.”

  He cleared his throat. “I have little time to get into particulars, but I once observed an unconventional formation give a larger force trouble, trouble familiar to this situation.”

  “Do tell.”

  “My patrol had been ordered to chase down Oclor privateers that had encroached on our waters. We caught up with them easily enough. We just as easily fell into their trap. As soon as they spotted our six ships they organized their trio in a triangular formation. My captain ordered them surrounded. What we didn’t know at the time was that they had seven ships in their convoy. The others were using a small island nearby to keep out of sight until they saw their comrades in need. Our ships were a little too separated and my commander a little too incompetent to coordinate a counter attack. We became disorganized enough to allow five of the enemy ships to escape.”

  The short-lived silence in the room was broken by the normally discreet Bell, who said, “Gods, you’re not really considering such a tactic, are you? Flanking them should suffice.”

  “But forcing them to circle us would get at least half of their ships turned around. And I don’t care if they’re working together, Voreen and Prusal will not have an efficient communication system ready. If we can get them turning and disorganized before Brey Stor’s fleet arrives, it’s a victory.”

  “Not if Brey Stor takes longer than anticipated,” said Gerard.

  “A worry if the winds slow back down. For now, let’s see how they react. Admiral, order a northwestern course at full sail.”

  “As you wish.”

  When the admiral left the room, Gerard said, “We better get you into your armor.”

  With a groan, I said, “I tried it on two nights ago. I think I must be getting plumper. The ensemble felt more suffocating than the last time I wore it.”

  “I’d rather use the word ‘fitter.’ A natural consequence of your training.”

  “And my tendency to eat when I’m nervous. How can you and Bell eat so much more than me and not get as soft?”

  “You exaggerate. As far as I’m concerned, you’re soft in exactly the right places.”

  Bell tapped her spear’s point on the door. “Let’s go fight a war, love birds.”

  Bell helped me into my armor when we reached my room. The first article of defense I put on was a white gambeson of silk. It was a loose-fitting, sturdy, and flexible vestment that made sense at sea. I would have been pleased with this level of protection and mobility had it not been for my status. As Tascus said, I had to be inspiring.

  So, to shine under the sun, my embellished plate armor was fitted on to my torso, making me feel as though I could no longer draw in full breaths. I glibly blamed my negligible increase in bulk for the effect, but, in truth, I suppose I was a wee bit claustrophobic. Otherwise, the genteel steel plate was handsomely adorned with the Alslana emblem. Tiny shavings of white prana crystals implanted into the steel gave the motif a brilliant snowy luster.

  Dark leather vambraces reinforced by gilded steel protected my forearms. The same materials were used to defend my thighs. My lower legs had my best non-slippery war boots, which held daggers in their shafts. My silver helmet had a ribbon of metal covering the bridge of my nose, but the rest of the metal had been forged to fashion two eagle’s wings that stretched from my chin to behind my head. Small holes were supposed to allow me to hear better, but everything still sounded muffled. I planned to chuck the ceremonial lump as soon as the fighting started. A small white cape added to the pompous ensemble.

  Gods help me if I fell overboard.

  Weapon wise, I possessed a curved short
sword with a golden hilt. Father trained me in a number of offensive implements, with the short sword complementing my crystal ward the best. Longer weapons such as spears and longswords forced me to extend my shield farther out, and anything two-handed limited my casting ability. The best casters manipulated their prana using only the slightest of physical gestures, so using both hands to hold a weapon or shield did not hinder them as much as an amateur like myself.

  I came above deck to see that Gerard had fitted every piece of his suit as well. The veneer of green glass suffused over his steel plates did little to deflect direct blows, but the glass’ purpose was to weaken the impact of fire and lightning spells. A beak-shaped protrusion from his helm curved in front of his forehead and nose, giving him the mien of a bird of prey. His talons came in the form of a longsword and a straight short sword, each presenting a crossguard that curved upward into points. Aware of my bias, I thought the High Guard knight exceedingly dashing in his full battle attire.

  For his part, the admiral put on a simple brigandine of leather and cloth. A small round shield was slung on his back and two moderate sized axes dangled on each side of his hips. I liked the simplicity of it all. Most of his crew followed a similar style. Most of his crew also eyed me as I strode across the deck in my most assertive walk. I felt embarrassed trying to seem larger than life to them, but I wanted them to feel as if any plan their leaders enacted came from the gods themselves.

  I reached the port side bow, gazing across the glistening sea with a spyglass Gerard had handed to me. The magnifying tool had the ships jumping up to my nose. Reality did not have them that close, but the first line of ships were still close enough to pick out individual silhouettes scampering over their decks.

  “Look further north,” said the admiral, who had his own spyglass.

  I skimmed to the suggested direction, spotting smaller, faster ships sailing apart from the main fleet. The dozen ships sailed northward with an eastern bent.

  “They want to cut us off,” I said. “Good, we’ll let them, and that’s when we turn toward that main armada. How they respond will decide the battle.”

  Irrespective of the intimacy I already sensed between our fleets, ships could only go so far so quickly. It didn’t help that I counted every yard we spanned. Slower ships drifted out of the main group to support their faster counterparts. Eventually, the fastest of the ships sailed on my convoy’s starboard side, a few closing in tighter. Using the proper flag signal, the order was sent for my convoy to turn toward the fleet. Perhaps proving that their communication system was indeed unclear in either chain of command or method, only a fourth of the enemy ships countered our turn with their own. This reaction was encouraging in terms of the type of discipline we faced, but ironically diminished our strategy’s effectiveness.

  Before we ran out of room to maneuver anymore, the admiral ordered for thirteen of our ships to line up behind the ship in front of them. The lead ship was to then circle around and follow the last vessel, creating a ring that encompassed the five remaining ships, including mine. I didn’t like being on the inside looking out, but I would settle for engaging the enemy ships that found gaps in the protective circle.

  Auspiciously, as this circular formation formed, more divisions of the rival fleet moved to surround us. I’m confident less than ten people in all of Orda history felt as glad as I did watching their army surrounded by a superior force.

  Our defensive formation was pretty much completed by the time the first floating foe came within a thousand yards. They had not yet entirely enclosed us, but that didn’t stop a western contingent of nine ships from moving in.

  Not standing the idea of doing nothing but watch as the enemy closed in on my people, I told the admiral, “As soon as you see it as inevitable, steer us alongside the first ship that will endure a boarding. We will assist the engaged ship with our own men and retreat once the enemy has been repelled or we risk being flanked.”

  He looked down at me and shook his head, not from disapproval, but incredulity. “You do your ancestor proud, princess.” His voice’s tenor carried a casual twang I only heard him use on certain crew members.

  “Which ancestor?”

  “The Prince of Perils, as they called him.”

  “Oh, him. A compliment, admiral?”

  “If your risks produce the same rewards. His nigh mad military and political strategies helped create the Alslana Empire over three centuries ago, after all.”

  “And despite his death defying exploits, he lived to be a ripe ninety-three-year-old man. I’ll take that fate.”

  “As we all would, princess.”

  Despite my order, I recognized that the threat of being boarded was not the first offensive concern. A sophisticated fleet would first attempt to stall their targets by destroying their opponent’s sails. That meant griffins, lots of griffins. Generally, a dedicated warship always carried three griffin riders on board, which put the griffin army of my enemy at well over two hundred strong. So, despite most ships in my envoy transporting two more than the standard, the antagonistic squadron that took to the skies outnumbered mine almost three to one.

  Our advantage lied in the fact that the enemy had to enter our air space. Spells and projectiles would volley from below while our griffins swooped at them from higher up. Of course, if an enemy this size was adeptly regimented, then a third of the force could distract our fliers as the others dealt with the sails and attackers on deck. It was thus in the skies that soldier and beast conveyed by sea clashed.

  Cold, high-pitched screeches from livid creature and shouting rider shivered my inner ear. Yet there was little time to look up as claw, sword, beak, and spell tore into their first victims. Seeing his opening, the admiral ordered his ship to sail near the Humber. I desired that all who fought for my kingdom witness their princess head straight into the fray, untroubled by something as abstract as numbers when I had the palpable trust in their ability. Gods! I started believing it all myself. And why not? Why even rely on the Brey Stor fleet when I had my regal ship and her valiant crew on my side?

  Humber’s crew and their incoming counterparts soon started launching spells, arrows, ballista bolts, and shattering bombs. Some were aimed at the incoming vessel while others targeted sails that had not been furled out of the way. Water specialists tried dowsing the fires that sprang up and ward specialists protected them from projectiles that would often be aimed at them.

  Humber’s adversary crashed on to her bow while The Silver Queen remained two or three minutes away from her. Dozens of Voreen soldiers made the push to board Humber in unison. They were, of course, met by dozens of defenders. As my ship coasted nearer the inner side of Humber, the agile Nusa made its way past my slowing transport to block the gap ahead.

  Meanwhile, large barrels were tipped over to release the soil and sand they held. Earth specialists grabbed the element and compacted it to make flat land bridges. Earth specialists on Humber caught sight of our undertaking and linked their soil with ours. Taking the middle of three bridges, I led Gerard, Bell, and the initial support party of forty sailors to our besieged sister ship.

  My heart and soul swelled when the Humber’s crew—those unengaged, at least—cheered at my coming. Unsheathing my sword, throwing down my helmet, and casting my shield, I sprinted to where the fighting was thickest. It was suddenly so very loud. Griffins screeched like boiling tea kettles above. Sailors around me did everything from grunt to scream, and spells burst, crackled, and hissed everywhere else. Allied soldiers who saw me coming yelled out to those ahead of them to make way.

  Then, as the sight of my allies converted into charging Voreen soldiers, I stopped dead in my tracks and swept my shield forward with all the shrieking fury I could assemble. I didn’t even plan to scream, it simply came out of me. The crystal shield became a tidal wave, its density focused below the waist. I don’t know how many soldiers the flung buffer toppled. I had to focus on my training and reform my shield while Gerard and the cre
w moved forward to cut down the upended enemy.

  When more Voreen trespassers replaced the dead ones, my allies flanked me to once again get out of the way of my rushing barrier. As soon as I let it go, I was startled by a dying foe grabbing my leg. Bell’s spear ended his despair. This happened to be the point when I realized my pounding heart was giving way to cooling reason. The push to board the hostile vessel was being made without me, but I believed I had incited the appropriate amount of courage in my people. With almost fifty percent more hands, muscle, and training available to them, Humber’s crew abolished the enemy’s upper deck in swift fashion.

  Additional ships closed in, so I ordered for The Silver Queen’s crew to return to their original station. This success inspired the other ships inside the circle to follow my example. It was an unsustainable tactic, but I didn’t need it to be anything more. That point stood on shaky water at first, but hearing the distant screeches of griffins to the southwest steadied my stance. The wind blew a soft hail of feathers across the sea as new flapping shadows plunged and collided over us.

  Brey Stor’s ships took longer to spot, but their appearance did send the unexpected allies into a delightful tumult. Unfortunately, the confusion as to how to respond did not translate into submission. I had the battle won in my head already, but our rivals did not share that truth yet. How much needless death would that obstinacy bring on both sides?

  To keep the still aggressive fleet from attacking the circle, the Brey Stor griffins did their best to rend sails in order to disable those ships and also impede the ones behind them. The strategy turned out to be only partly successful. A half intelligent commander influenced enough ships and griffins to create a distraction so that their ship could enter my circle. The Voreen ship was a huge clipper whose speed would make it impossible to outrun, especially when The Silver Queen couldn’t risk exiting the ring. Not concerned with being overwhelmed by the enemy crew, I ordered for a direct engagement.

  Our bows were less than twenty yards from grating against the other when a roaring shockwave rattled the sunlight. The animalistic thunder reminded me of a day when a young man returned from an infected madness to summon a dragon. The roar was followed by every single griffin shrieking as though they had been gored through the gut. Many ignored their rider’s commands and sought safety on a random deck. At the same time, every human still capable scoured the skies to find the origin of such a devastating sound. I counted myself as one of those capable humans.