Dragonwing

by Margaret Weis

  “Don’t look at it, then!” Hugh snapped, seeing Alfred’s horrified gaze go to his hand, his eyes start to roll back in his head.

  “No, sir. I … won’t!” The chamberlain squeezed his eyelids tightly shut.

  Kneeling down beside him, Hugh bandaged the hand, taking the opportunity to examine the wound. It was a clean, deep slice.

  “What cut you?”

  “A piece of bark, I think, sir.”

  Like hell! That would have made a ragged cut. This was made by a sharp knife—

  There came another cracking sound and a crash.

  “Blessed Sartan! What was that?” Alfred’s eyes flew open, and he shivered so that Hugh had to grasp his hand and hold it steady to wind the bandage around it.

  “Nothing,” Hugh snapped. He was completely perplexed and he didn’t like the feeling, any more than he’d liked the feeling of relief over not having to kill the prince. He didn’t like any of this. That tree had fallen on Bane as surely as rain fell from the sky. The prince should be dead.

  What in hell was going on?

  Hugh gave the cloth a sharp tug. The sooner he got rid of this kid, the better. Any feeling of reluctance he had once experienced at the thought of murdering a child was rapidly freezing over.

  “Ouch!” Alfred yelped. “Thank you, sir,” he added meekly. “On your feet. Head for the ship,” Hugh ordered. Silently, none of the three looking at each other, they continued down the path.

  CHAPTER 23

  PITRIN’S EXILE,

  MID REALM

  “IS THAT IT?” THE PRINCE GRASPED HOLD OF HUGH’S ARM AND POINTED at the dragon’s head that could be seen floating above the leaves. The main body of the ship was still hidden from their view by the tall hargast trees surrounding it.

  “That’s it,” Hugh answered.

  The boy stared, awed. It took a shove from Hugh’s hand to start him moving along the path.

  It wasn’t a real dragon’s head, just a carved and painted facsimile. But elven artisans are skilled at their craft and the head looked more real and much more fierce than many live dragons flying the skies. It was about the size of a real dragon’s head, for Hugh’s was a small one-man ship meant for sailing between the isles and continents of Mid Realm. The figureheads of the gigantic airships the elves flew into battle or used to descend into the Maelstrom were so large that a seven-foot human could walk into one of the snarling mouths without bothering to duck.

  The dragon’s head was painted black, with flaring red eyes and white teeth, bared in a fighting snarl. It hovered over them, glaring straight ahead with a baleful gaze, looking so threatening that both Alfred and Bane found it difficult to keep from staring at it as they drew nearer. (The third time Alfred stepped in a hole and stumbled to his knees, Hugh ordered him to keep his eyes on the ground.)

  The small path they had been following through the woods took them into a natural cut made in a cliff. Emerging on the other side, they came out into a small canyon bowl. The wind could hardly be felt at all in here; the sheer sides of the cliff cut it off. In the center floated the dragonship, its head and tail jutting out over the canyon walls, its body held in place by many stout ropes tied to the trees beneath it. Bane gasped in delight, and Alfred, staring up at the airship, let the prince’s pack slip unnoticed from his fingers.

  Sleek and graceful, the dragon’s neck, topped with a spiky mane that was both functional and decorative, curved back to meet the hull of the ship that was the dragon’s body. The sun of late afternoon sparkled off glittering black scales and glinted in the red eyes.

  “It looks like a real dragon!” Bane sighed. “Only more powerful.”

  “It should look like a real dragon, Your Highness,” said Alfred, an unusually stern note in his voice. “It is made from the skin of real dragons, and the wings are the wings of real dragons, slaughtered by the elves.”

  “Wings? Where are the wings?” Bane craned his neck, nearly falling over backward.

  “They’re folded back along the body. You can’t see them now. But you will when we take off.” Hugh hurried them forward. “Come on. I want to leave tonight, and there’s a lot of work to do first.”

  “What makes it stay up there, if not the wings?” asked Bane.

  “The magic,” Hugh grunted. “Now, keep moving!”

  The prince surged forward, stopping only once to try to jump up and grab hold of one of the guy ropes. Failing, he scampered down to stand beneath the belly of the ship, staring upward until he grew dizzy.

  “So this, sir, is how you come to know so much about the elves,” said Alfred in a low voice.

  Hugh flicked him a glance, but the chamberlain’s face was bland and only slightly troubled-looking.

  “Yeah,” the assassin answered. “The ship needs its magic renewed once every cycle, plus there are always minor repairs. A torn wing, or sometimes the skin pulls away from the frame.”

  “Where did you learn to fly one? I’ve heard it takes enormous skill.”

  “I was a slave on a watership for three years.”

  “Blessed Sartan!” Alfred stopped and stared at him.

  Hugh cast him an irritated glance, and the chamberlain, recalling himself, stumbled forward.

  “Three years! I never heard of anyone surviving that long! And even after that, you can still do business with them? I would think you would hate them all?”

  “How would hating benefit me? The elves did what they had to do, and so did I. I learned how to sail their ships. I learned to speak their language fluently. No, as I’ve discovered, hate generally costs a man more than he can afford.”

  “And what about love?” Alfred asked softly.

  Hugh didn’t even bother to reply.

  “Why a ship?” The chamberlain thought it wise to change the subject. “Why risk it? The people on Volkaran would tear you apart if they discovered it. Wouldn’t a dragon suit your needs just as well?”

  “Dragons tire. You have to rest them, feed them. They can be wounded, take sick, drop dead. Then there’s always the chance the enchantment will slip and you’re left either fending off the beast, or arguing with it, or soothing its hysterics. With this ship, the magic lasts a cycle. If it gets hit, I get it repaired. With this ship, I’m always in control.”

  “And that’s what counts, isn’t it?” said Alfred, but he said it well under his breath.

  The chamberlain needn’t have bothered. Hugh’s attention was completely absorbed in his ship. Passing underneath it, he carefully and closely inspected every single part of it from head to tail (prow to stern). Bane trotted along behind, asking questions with every breath.

  “What does that cable do? Why? What makes it work? Why don’t we hurry up and take off? What are you doing?”

  “Because, Your Highness, if we discovered something broken up there”—Hugh pointed at the sky—“it would be of no use fixing it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we’d be dead.”

  Bane subsided for a second or two, then began again. “What’s its name? I can’t read the letters. Dra … Dragon …”

  “Dragon Wing.”

  “How big is it?”

  “Fifty feet.” Hugh peered up at the dragonskin covering the hull. The blue-black scales glistened with rainbow colors when the sun struck them. Walking beneath them, the length and breadth of the keel, Hugh satisfied himself that no scales were missing.

  Coming around to the front, Bane practically tripping at his heels, he gazed intently at two large crystal panes set into what would be the dragon’s breast. These panes, designed to look like the breastplates of a dragon’s armor, were, in reality, windows. Hugh, seeing scratches across one, frowned. A branch must have fallen and struck it.

  “What’s behind those?” asked Bane, noting Hugh studying them intently.

  “The steerage. That’s where the pilot sits.”

  “Can I go in there? Will you teach me to fly?”

  “It takes months and months of study to
learn to fly, Your Highness,” responded Alfred, seeing that Hugh was too busy to reply. “Not only that, but the pilot has to be physically strong in order to operate the wings.”

  “Months?” Bane appeared disappointed. “But what’s there to learn? You just get up there and”—he waved a hand—“fly.”

  “You have to know how to get where you’re going, Your Highness,” said the chamberlain. “In deepsky, so I’ve been told, there are no landmarks, very few points of reference. It is sometimes difficult to tell up from down. You must know how to use the navigational equipment on board, as well as being familiar with the skyroutes and the airlanes—”

  “That stuff’s not hard to learn. I’ll teach you,” said Hugh, seeing the child’s face fall.

  Bane brightened. Twitching the feather amulet back and forth, he skipped along after Hugh, who was walking the full length of the hull, examining the seams where metal and bone had melded to the epsol1 keel. There were no cracks. Hugh would have been surprised to find any. He was a skilled and careful pilot. He’d seen, firsthand, what happened to those who weren’t, to those who didn’t take care of their ships.

  He moved on to the stern. The hull arched gracefully upward, forming the afterdeck. A single dragon’s wing—the ship’s rudder—hung from the back of the hull. Cables attached to the end of the rudder swung limply in the wind. Grasping the rope, Hugh swung his legs onto the bottom rib of the rudder. Hand over hand, he climbed up the cable.

  “Let me come! Please!” On the ground below, Bane jumped for the cable, flapping his arms as though he might fly up without help.

  “No, Your Highness!” said a pale-faced Alfred, grasping the prince by the shoulder and firmly holding on to him. “We’ll be going up there all too soon, as it is. Let Sir Hugh get on with his work.”

  “All right,” said Bane with cheerful good grace. “Say, Alfred, why don’t we go looking for some berries to take with us?”

  “Berries, Your Highness?” said Alfred, in some astonishment. “What kind of berries?”

  “Just … berries. To eat with supper. I know they grow in woods like this. Drogle told me.” The child’s blue eyes were wide open—as they tended to be when he was proposing something; the blue irises glinted in the midday sun. His hand toyed with the feather amulet.

  “A stableboy is hardly a fit companion for Your Highness,” Alfred remonstrated. He cast a glance at the tempting stretches of cable, tied to the trees within easy reach and seemingly just made to be climbed by small boys. “Very well, Your Highness, I will take you searching for berries.”

  “Don’t wander far,” warned Hugh’s voice above them.

  “Don’t worry, sir,” returned Alfred in hollow tones.

  The two traipsed off into the woods—the chamberlain sliding down into ravines and careening off trees, the boy dashing into thickets and losing himself among the heavy undergrowth.

  “Berries,” muttered the Hand.

  Thankful they were gone, he concentrated on his ship. Grabbing hold of the deck railing, he pulled himself up and over onto the upper deck. Open planking—one plank placed about every three feet—made walking possible, but not simple. Hugh was used to it and stepped from plank to plank, making a mental note not to let the clumsy Alfred up here. Below the planks ran what appeared to the landlubber’s eye to be an overwhelming and confusing number of control cables. Lying down flat on the deck, Hugh inspected the ropes for fraying and wear.

  He took his time. Rushing this job might mean a snapped wing cable and resultant loss of control. Soon after he’d completed his task, Bane and Alfred returned. From the sound of the boy’s excited chatter, Hugh gathered that the berry picking had been successful.

  “Can we come up now?” Bane shouted.

  Hugh kicked at a pile of rope lying on the deck with his foot. It tumbled over the side, forming a rope ladder that dangled down almost to the ground. The child swarmed up it eagerly. Alfred cast it one terrified glance and announced his intention of remaining below to guard the packs.

  “This is wonderful!” said Bane, tumbling over the rail and nearly falling between the planks. Hugh fished him out.

  “Stay here and don’t move,” the Hand ordered, planting the boy against the bulwarks.

  Bane leaned over the rail, looking at the hull. “What’s that long piece of wood down there do—? Oh, I know! Those are the wings, aren’t they?” he cried in high-pitched excitement.

  “That’s the mast,” explained Hugh, eyeing it critically. “There’s two of them, attached to the mainmast there”—he pointed—“at the forecastle.”

  “Are they like dragon’s wings? Do they flap up and down?”

  “No, Your Highness. They’re more like a bat’s wings when they’re extended. It’s the magic that keeps it afloat. Stand over that way a little more. I’m going to release the mast. You’ll see.”

  The mast swiveled outward, pulling the dragon’s wing with it. Hauling on the cable, Hugh didn’t allow it to swing out too far or that would activate the magic and they’d take off prematurely. He released the mast on the port side, made certain the center mast that extended the length of the ship—cradled in its support frame—was free to rise properly and that everything functioned smoothly. Then he looked over the side.

  “Alfred, I’m going to lower a rope for the packs. Tie them on securely. When you’re finished with that, cast off the mooring cables. The ship will rise slightly, but don’t worry. It won’t take off unless the side wings are extended and the center wing is raised. When all the cables have been cut loose, then you come up.”

  “Up that!” Alfred gazed, horrified, at the rope ladder swaying in the breeze.

  “Unless you can fly,” said Hugh, and tossed a length of cable overboard.

  The chamberlain attached it to the packs and, giving it a tug, indicated they were ready. Hugh hauled them up on deck. Handing one to Bane, he told the boy to follow him and, hopping from plank to plank, made his way aft. Opening a hatch, he climbed down a sturdy wooden ladder, Bane gleefully coming after.

  They entered in a narrow corridor that ran beneath the upper deck, connecting the steerage way with the passengers’ quarters, the storage compartments, and the pilot’s quarters, located in the afterdeck. The corridor was dark after the brightness of the day outside, and both man and boy stopped to let their eyes adjust.

  Hugh felt a small hand fasten onto his.

  “I can’t believe I’m really going to get to fly in one of these! You know, Sir Hugh,” Bane added with a wistful cheerfulness, “once I’ve flown in a dragonship, I will have done everything in life I ever wanted to do. I really think I could die quite contentedly after this.”

  A constricting pain in Hugh’s chest nearly suffocated him. He couldn’t breathe, for long moments he couldn’t see, and it wasn’t the darkness of the ship’s interior that was blinding him. It was fear, he told himself. Fear that the child had found out. Shaking his head to rid his eyes of the shadow that had fallen over them, he turned to look hard at the boy.

  But Bane was gazing up at him with innocent affection, not cunning guile. Hugh jerked his hand roughly out of the child’s grasp.

  “That cabin’s where you and Alfred’ll sleep,” he said. “Stow the packs there.” A thud and a muffled groan sounded from above them. “Alfred? Get down here and take care of His Highness. I’ve got work to do.”

  “Yes, sir,” came the quavering return, and Alfred slid—literally—down the ladder, landing on the deck in a heap.

  Turning on his heel, Hugh stalked off toward the steerage way, shoving past Alfred without saying a word.

  “Merciful Sartan,” said the chamberlain, backing up to avoid being run down. He stared after Hugh, then turned to Bane. “Did you say or do anything to upset him, Your Highness?”

  “Why, no, Alfred,” the boy said. Reaching out, he took hold of the chamberlain’s hand. “Where did you put those berries?”

  “Can I come in?”

  “No. Stay in the hat
chway,” Hugh ordered.

  Bane peeked inside the steerage way and his eyes widened in astonishment. Then he giggled. “It looks like you’re stuck in a big spider’s web! What are all those ropes hooked to? And why are you wearing that contraption?”

  The contraption Hugh was strapping on himself resembled a leather breastplate, except that it had numerous cables attached to it. Extending in various directions, the cables ran upward into a complicated system of pulleys fixed to the ceiling.

  “I’ve never in my life seen so much wood!” Alfred’s voice floated into the steerage way. “Not even in the royal palace. The wood alone must make this ship worth its weight in barls. Your Highness, please keep back. Don’t touch those cables!”

  “Can’t I go over and look out the windows? Please, Alfred? I won’t get in the way.”

  “No, Your Highness,” Hugh said. “If one of these cables wrapped around your neck, it would snap it in a second.”

  “You can see well enough from where we’re standing. Quite well enough,” said Alfred, looking slightly green around the mouth. The ground was far below them. All that could be seen were the tops of trees and the side of a coralite cliff.

  Harness firmly fastened in place, Hugh settled down on a high-backed wooden chair that stood on one leg in the center of the steerage way. The chair swiveled to the left and the right, allowing the pilot easy maneuvering. Sticking up out of the floor in front of him was a tall metal lever.

  “Why do you have to wear that thing?” Bane asked, staring at the harness.

  “It keeps the cables in easy reach, prevents them from getting tangled, lets me know which cable goes where.” Hugh nudged the lever with his foot. A series of startling bangs resounded through the ship. The cables whirled through the pulleys and snapped taut. Hugh pulled on several of the cables attached to his chest. There came various creaking and rumbling sounds, a sharp jerk, and they could feel the ship lift slightly beneath their feet.

  “The wings are unfolding,” said Hugh. “The magic is activating.”

  A crystal globe sextant, located directly above the pilot’s head, began to gleam with a soft blue light. Symbols appeared within it. Hugh pulled harder on the cables, and suddenly the treetops and the cliff side began to drop out of sight. The ship was rising.