Polo Shawcross: Dragon Soldier

by Lee Abrey

  “It was the same in Kavarlen. Though you’d never want to admit to atheism, that was a death sentence but the idiocy was blatant. The church didn’t want people to bathe, so everyone used to go swimming with the Patriarch’s blessing. It’s hot enough to swim even in winter, especially in the north, but a number of believers would disappear every year. You’d think the Patriarch would realise there’re no sharks in a bathtub. Then the priests decided we weren’t uncomfortable enough. A couple of generations had got used to the stupidity of the rules and weren’t feeling the pain. So the bastards banned deliberate swimming. A man who falls into water may swim out,” he said as if quoting a line from a priest. “I remember wondering why a god wanted my life to be that unpleasant, all the time.”

  “It does make a person wonder,” I said. He shook his head.

  “I was ripe for the next atheist who came along. The Disembowelled Madonna’s entire teaching vanished in a puff of logic. First chance I had I joined a freighter heading east.” He snorted, nodding at the sails taut with wind above us. “She claimed she would birth a messiah but that never happened.”

  “Weren’t her miracles more basic medicine?” I said.

  “Aye,” the captain said, and corrected my course a smidgen, gesturing, “you have to keep people very ignorant to keep them believing in miracles. The more ignorant they are, especially when they know nothing of science, the more they believe in gods controlling their lives. In Kavarlen, the existing religion already controlled the country and believed in keeping the faithful ignorant, so they were dumb enough to believe in almost anything when the Madonna came along. Backfired on the bloody priests, that one. I’m open to the idea of miracles,” he added, sounding thoughtful, “who knows what wonders the worlds might contain? But I haven’t seen any yet.” I nodded. His views paralleled mine except for one thing. Where did Cree fit in?

  The captain shouted at a sailor then turned back to me. “I’m big and hairy,” he said, “it’s asking for trouble if I’m not allowed to wash or cut my hair. Asking for lice, really. I shaved my whole head the first five years I lived here, just out of relief, then decided I liked my hair long after all. So many stupid rules in the Kavar religion, ones that humans-” he paused, remembering who he was talking to, “-people can’t help to break. You noticed it’s in most religions? The priests set us up to go arse-up.” I laughed.

  “Aye,” I said, “all that stuff about not doing your neighbours’ wives.” He laughed.

  “Married women go for you?” he said. I shrugged.

  “Enough times that I’ve learned to look for wedding rings,” I said. One didn’t like to boast, but apparently my blend of manners and broad shoulders was a winning combination, especially with older women.

  “At your age?” he said, chuckling. “Tsk, young Polo, women today are so forward.” I laughed as he grinned through his beard.

  “I hadn’t realised,” I said, “that the Kavar religion was a recent invention.”

  “Parts of it are old,” said the captain, “like parts of The Book of Thet. The main changes over time are the rules they do or don’t enforce.”

  “Sometimes the priests make up things here too,” I said, “like it being wrong to use a god’s name as a swearword. That’s not in the Book of Thet. Though I’ve always wondered if Galaia minds if I call on her tits.”

  We chatted on, probably boring anyone around senseless but amusing each other. In our own ways we restored each other’s faith in people. Not in humans, because I wasn’t human.

  ****

  Chapter 17 – Voyage to Myself

  We travelled north and reached the Kingdom of Blackrock, with Redditch - where my father was from - being in the southern part. We continued north, towards the Northern Front. According to the others, the front had moved south some sixty miles in the previous ten years, more in places. That chilled me. It was only another sixty miles from the current line to the head of the Great Star Lake. It seemed to me the Army of the North was losing the war, not even holding position. That wasn’t publicised down south.

  Even if the Sriamans didn’t take to the water, once they reached the lake they could just follow the shoreline in any direction to be in Sendren in a few weeks. Thanks to the well-kept road systems in the kingdoms round the lake, the shoreline was easily passable. My own duchy of Starshore was the northernmost duchy in Sendren so would be the frontline of any attack from the north. I realised I was thinking as Azrael would, as a ruler needed to. Being a duke, I needed to think like that too, but thinking about Azrael at all annoyed me.

  If it wasn’t for his stupid crush on me I wouldn’t have left Malion. I was supposed to be starting a new year studying Estate Management at the Harvesters Guild, much more interesting than it sounded and very necessary for a young duke who wasn’t born to running a duchy. There was the added bonus of a school day that didn’t include clouting. When I was at the Military Guild every day included at least hard sparring.

  Unfortunately, joining the army meant an even worse situation than the Military Guild. I’d volunteered to be hit at all times of the day and night with actual weapons, not just sparring ones. With much delight, everyone kept remembering my list of reasons I would never join the army. I didn’t want reminding.

  “Polo,” said Fenric, “wasn’t one of your reasons you hate being hit?” It was true. I wasn’t fond of pain and being hit hurt. Even through armour with sparring weapons it was often too much. I scowled at Fenric as he laughed at me.

  “Don’t forget,” said Ross, smiling, “he hates uniforms.” I scowled at him too. It had no effect.

  “Doesn’t like orders generally,” said Fenric, grinning. They were enjoying themselves. We were trying to do the trip to Redhampton inside two weeks, hoping to join an earlier intake than the one I was booked for. If I reported on time or before, my service would date from the day I signed up, not the day I fronted for training. Sooner I signed in, sooner I could get it over with. If I didn’t die.

  I was trying not to think about death and the possibility of not finishing my time alive. Cree said I’d survive. Hadn’t Cree always been right before? Why did I trust a not-ghost I didn’t even know that well? Later, my brain said, shutting the door on those thoughts, we’ll worry about it later. I was amazed my brain had that much sense.

  When I was about five the family went up to visit Father’s cousins in Redditch. Mother refused to be cooped up in a boat with a child. Instead, during an interminable coach journey, we crossed the Star Cut on a ferry while my parents fought on and on. It was the visit where most of Father’s family stopped talking to him, thanks to him getting drunk and antagonistic to everyone. If anyone was in a coach with Mother for a month they might be on a bender too.

  Stewing over my parents seemed counter-productive. I tried to shut the door on thoughts of them but could still hear Mother, though she was somewhat muffled. Then Father escaped my mind’s doors completely, using the trick of commiserating over Mother.

  I nearly went to get drunk in the saloon but remembered just in time that was how I ended up in this mess.

  ****

  The Lady enjoyed herself, out on a rough blue sea in sunshine, land in sight to port until we reached the northern borderlands. It was my first time ocean sailing and an experience I enjoyed.

  The wide ocean was something to see. The Great Star Lake was big enough you couldn’t always see the sides, but even clinging to the coastline the Western Ocean let you know you weren’t as much as a grain of sand in the scheme of things.

  A week previous that might have depressed me but now it left me exhilarated. I loved the smell of the salt, the heave of the surf and the fish we saw. Dolphins often followed the boat, surfing on our bow wave, and we all watched them. Even the sailors couldn’t be blase about dolphins. I wanted to see a whale but that trip we didn’t. Then we reached the Red Dragon delta, a massive swampy bay called the Hundred Teeth of the Painted Dragon by the Sriamans, or Painted Dragon Bay by the Kingdom peoples
. At the mouth of the bay was an island and largish town, Port Jules, where you could hire river pilots. We spent a day there.

  Once we had our pilot we entered the river delta, incredibly wide and riddled with shifting sandbanks. Painted Dragon Bay wasn’t as pretty as it sounded, with miles of swampy flats that snaked through stinking mangroves. The mud that made it look painted was in layers of different sickly-pale milky colours, all of it with a smell like rotting feet too long in boots.

  Seeing the bay was one thing but smelling it, at least at first, was enough to make my eyes water. I suspected the person who named the river mouth was looking at a map or a picture, or trying to encourage immigration. It affected everyone badly. Those who could hid below despite the heat and sailors on duty wore handkerchiefs over their noses and mouths. Even Captain Ernst, who thought us landlubbers terribly soft, wore a kerchief scented with mint oil whenever he went on deck. Everybody was put off their food. Until we reached the river proper, cheese disappeared from the menu completely.

  As we progressed the plants and birds looked different, brighter, more raucous, at least the birds were. So far the plants hadn’t cried out but by the look of the jungle it was only a matter of time. It was getting warmer despite it being nearly the beginning of autumn.

  Among the creatures new to me were crocodiles, which were quite small here, so the pilot told me, it being still not quite warm enough for them. I wondered if they might recognise me as a brother many generations distant and not bite me if I fell overboard, but didn’t like to test the notion. Even if they didn’t bite, other hunters thronged the warm muddy waters.

  The coast had seemed warm and humid compared to Sendren, but as the yacht headed into the delta I understood that these terms were relative. Again getting drunk seemed an attractive option. There seemed no relief from the heat. Every so often we reached an area that in only weeks had changed depth or developed new islands complete with grasses, vines and mangroves coming up where they found a pleasant and stinking spot.

  The pilot often took off in his skiff with his assistant to check soundings, our progress would slow and the heat would crush down on us. With the heat and smell, it was as if we were on the coast of some new continent, one so hot it warmed the water, and in turn the land was melting and rotting away. Despite the heat, none of us went swimming. Along with the crocodiles on every mud bank, the brown water didn’t hide the fins of sharks hunting. The captain showed me how you could tell where they were before any fins broke surface, as the smaller fish trying to escape the predator below desperately flung themselves skywards, hides showing silver and white in the sun.

  ****

  Chapter 18 - Working Hard

  The deck was the only space big enough to spar. We had to watch out for natural obstacles including sailors or falling overboard. The latter was made less likely by stringing nets about the makeshift pit. First thing every morning and then again in the cool of the evening the men made me work out hard with practice armour on.

  Fenric and I paused to wipe the sweat during a spar.

  “The first time I go into battle I think I’m going to faint,” I said, “from the sweat loss.”

  “You get used to it,” Fenric said, taking his helmet off, wiping his forehead and running a hand through his close-cropped black hair. “Remember to keep your liquids up.” Everyone’s shirts showed damp patches, not only under the arms. If you exerted yourself everything was drenched.

  How in the name of Zol was I going to fight wearing armour in this soup? I was melting in a pair of shorts. The bodyguards made me put on armour to spar, then tried to be reassuring as I sweated and they hit me.

  “You really do adapt,” said Fenric, swiping sideways so fast that all I could do was dive out of his way and hope I landed well, which I did with a grunt, back on my feet inside a breath. Fenric laughed. “You’re like a jack-in-the-box,” he said.

  “A sweaty one,” I said, feeling grumpy. Ross was watching.

  “You remember when we first met, Polo,” he said, “I was recently down from the north.” I nodded. “I was shivering and everyone else thought it was warm.”

  “Aye,” I said, keeping a wary eye on Fenric. “I can see why.”

  “Come on,” said Fenric, “I want you more fluid in your attack. Your dragon scars get stiff fast, eh?” I nodded. Though I didn’t like to mention it, what Aunt Kristen had done to me had left me less able. I couldn’t even write the word, disabled, let alone say it aloud. Somehow it felt as though that would be admitting defeat. However I was defeated. I was disabled. I would never again be quite as fast, quite as supple. Nerves could heal and reroute, muscles could be rebuilt but the only thing keeping me flexible was working out every day.

  Sometimes I felt like Kristen marked me deeper, when the strange pains or the irritating tingles seemed to reach down the lines left by her claws and into the heart of me. The thought made the long scars along my forearm and hip prickle all the way to the bone. I shivered despite the heat. “Let’s work them,” said Fenric. He smiled. “Word to the wise, Polo, most of us, we don’t work out every day we’ll all be limping around like old men.” He attacked without warning. I blocked and tried to cut him off at the thigh just to show him what a young man could do, but he saw me coming a mile off, all the veterans did. He blocked with a solidity that jarred my arm all the way to my teeth.

  When I did land a strike, it was a reason for pride, either for my skill, luck, or that my clumsiness had lulled them into a false sense of security, easy to happen when your opponent isn’t really pressing you. Some of my squad I could beat on occasion, but not Ross and Archie. As for Fenric, I could only dream of being as fast as the big man.

  ****

  We entered the Red Dragon proper, the pilot left us and suddenly huge dark red cliffs rose along the banks, the water looking as red as it was named. Further on, the land flattened out and the river became a more normal shade of blue. It was bigger than a river had a right to be. The Little Dragon River down in Sendren seemed indeed little, despite being wide and crossing most of the continent. The Red’s far banks were only glimpsed. More often there were low-lying islands obscuring the view and one couldn’t see either shore.

  We were entering a new river, it said so on the map, but the confluence was so wide that from the ship one couldn’t tell. The shores were a thick dark green, and though it was farmed, it wasn’t like the neat fields of the south. They farmed the jungle in dense multi-crop plantations, and if you didn’t know what to look for, you wouldn’t know people were there unless you glimpsed a house, set high on stilts to catch the breezes.

  The sparring went on, and I was feeling the heat. They wouldn’t let me spar without armour.

  “Armour is compulsory,” said Archie, forearming me across the chest and sending me backwards with a thump. “Besides, practice armour’s heavier and hotter, like a practice sword is heavier, means you get used to worse than you have to carry.” I coughed a bit. When I could breathe he helped me up.

  “Winded,” I gasped, and leaned over, wheezing.

  “You have to keep armour on no matter what,” Fenric said from the sidelines, “and working with practice armour helps you get used to the heat.”

  “Feels so good when you take it off?” I said, trying to straighten up. Archie laughed and squared up to me again.

  “Aye,” he said, and slashed at my legs. I parried, still coughing, the impact so hard on the practice-sword that my arm went numb. “It’s the only time you feel cool,” he added as he turned inside my guard and elbowed me. I twisted and closed with him. “That,” he said, grunting, “and in water.” He tried to kick but I swung inside his guard, elbowed him back nicely then tripped over a coiled rope. Everyone laughed.

  “Lift your feet, Polo!” shouted Fenric, as Archie swung at me while I was still off-balance. They were giving me less quarter, less recovery time, and were definitely hitting me harder. As we travelled upriver I developed a rather impressive collection of bruises.
On the bright side, if they broke one of my limbs, there would be a delay before I went on active service.

  Captain Ernst didn’t like the sparring because we regularly clouted the ship, but Fenric persuaded him that it was fair wear-and-tear and the marks weren’t vandalism but part of the ship’s history. “Besides,” Fenric said, “if the lad dies, this will be the only mark he’s left on the world.”

  I frowned. Was that it? Zol’s balls, how depressing.

  ****

  As we drew nearer to the border the river became clearer and each town was more heavily fortified than the last. Finally we headed in to the northern bank and the approach into Redhampton.

  We unloaded the three stallions, grooms walking them up and down the dock for a while to let them get their land-legs back. I knew how that felt, I couldn’t figure out where the familiar lift and fall under my feet had gone.

  It was a Friday afternoon and I had my first army duty. All of us slightly unsteady on our feet, the horses and I walked through the town and I presented my papers at the base. The corporal on the gate glanced at them but wasn’t in the mood to be nice to anyone who looked like me. Cat’s eyes meant Blood and he was a peasant. He tried to wave me away.

  “No intake until Monday, Shawcross. Come back then, oh-six-hundred.”

  “I will,” I said as Fenric had advised, trying to be firm without being cocky, “but my horses need stabling. They said I was allowed to bring them in.” The corporal grumbled but I had invoked the nameless They of the army and with any luck he’d yield.

  “Wait here,” he said. As the others had told me, and my father said too, in the army just wait patiently as ordered. With any luck at all you’d be waiting so long you’d never have to go to war.