Between Flood and Flame (A Cat Among Dragons Book 6)

by Alma Boykin

> The two commanders eased back, using the snow and brush as cover until they were in a better observation position. Timon’s lack of natural coloring and blue-white-grey camouflage rendered him nearly invisible, while Rada depended on her dirty-white winter uniform and fur hood and mask. From their location on top of a large rock pile, the pair could see the Azdhagi regrouping quickly from the True-dragons’ “attack.” Neither group had a motion advantage, at least not until two of the scouts turned the tables by suddenly erupting out of the snow and “killing” a pair of militia troopers. The others hesitated and the Azdhagi used the distraction to “disable” another two True-dragons before staging a tactical withdrawal down the creek to a more defensible position, while calling in their discovery and requesting back-up.

  <> Timon inquired.

  The Wanderer rummaged in one of her belt pouches for a piece of dried meat and gnawed off a bit after Timon declined. <> she decided.

  <> There was a definite note of mischief in the mind voice.

  <> She wasn’t joking and Timon gave her a very hard look.

  Then he nodded. <> and snapped around, rolling her off the rock. Rada landed on her back but kept rolling and drew her long knife again, holding it point up in case he decided to jump onto her. “Shlif, shlif, shlif” someone came towards her over the snow from on her blind side and Rada began twisting, trying to both see who or what it was and to draw her pistol again.

  <> Timon gasped.

  Rada heard a hissing that grew into a rumble. <> Someone screamed in the open. Rada, Timon, and the new arrival jammed themselves up against the boulder, squeezing into the slight hollow at its base. An icy rush of wind preceded the wave of snow that crashed over the rock and slammed the three soldiers into the ground. Rada buried her face in the crook of her arm, trying to keep an air pocket open in case they were buried.

  <> Rada called silently.

  <> Timon rumbled.

  <> another True-dragon called.

  After a pause a fourth voice informed everyone, <>

  “I’m intact,” Corporal Sleer grunted.

  “Ground One to all units, the exercise is terminated. Repeat, the exercise is terminated.” Rada switched to the main Defender emergency frequency. “Ground One to Field One, come in Field One.”

  As the Lord Defender tried to call her local second in command, Cpl. Sleer worked a set of interlocking pieces of metal rod out of his carry harness. He put two together and poked them up into the snow covering the pocket. Carefully and patiently the reptile worked the avalanche gauge up until it popped free. “Three meters, Lord Mammal,” he said and retracted the probe. The second time he ran it at 90 degrees to his original hole and found that they only had two meters between them and clear air.

  <> Timon ordered. Before the other two could reply, he was “swimming” forward. Less than five minutes after the snow stopped moving, the three soldiers were free and blinking in the open air. Timon’s four militia-males picked their way over the slide to their commander.

  “Field One, do you read Ground One?” Rada tried again.

  “Ground One, Scout Two reads you,” a closer Azdhag replied.

  “Scout Two, say your position and condition, over.” Rada noted that Sleer had activated the snow-walker and was mincing gingerly around, probing for hidden holes in the slide that the Lord Defender or a True-dragon might fall into.

  “Ah, Ground One, all scouts but two are present or accounted for. Cpl. Sleer and Sgt. Neersie are missing, over.”

  “Cpl. Sleer is with Ground One,” Rada informed him. She turned to Timon. “You heard?”

  <> and he switched to a direct sending to his troopers. The True-dragons set to work with avalanche probes. Rada knew the drill all too well and stayed back with Timon as Sleer joined the search. <>

  <>

  Timon pulled his parka a little tighter. <>

  <> Rada suggested.

  <> Their joking covered serious concern for the missing trooper. Avalanches were one of the hazards of winter operations, and Rada had seen them used in war before and had triggered a fair share herself to prevent larger ones from forming. At least they had a limited area to search, since the scouts had all been downstream of the rock formation when the slide hit, she thought, grateful for any favor however small. It was cold in the open, even with her heavy winter pelt and layers of uniform.

  <> a dark-blue True-dragon called and the closest reptile joined her in carefully digging through the rapidly-solidifying snow. The others kept probing, in case it was a false alarm.

  <> another called and Cpl. Sleer joined the second dig. After a few minutes the True-dragon and Azdhag hauled a camouflage-clad lump of NCO out of their hole. Neersie was already cramping from the cold and Rada called for assistance. “Negative, not a half hover,” she replied. “I don’t want to repeat this little diversion.”

  <> Timon wondered, <>

  The Lord Defender drew her side arm and checked the power setting. If it was a shardi, someone needed to be ready. <> A cheerful soprano mind voice called as the True-dragons pulled the remains of the biggest sorpool Rada had ever seen out of the snow.

  “All yours,” she told Timon.

  The Azdhagi scout troops appeared at the edge of the slide and a tracked vehicle was en route, Scout One told Ground One. They discovered a second benefit to the snow-walkers: it was much, much easier to move the shivering and semi-conscious NCO. After a brief discussion the Azdhagi opted not to try and fasten more of the mass-reducers to the soldier. He might get warmer faster, but steering would be a problem. “And they might cancel eachother and short out,” Lt. Neersa warned via voice-com.

  <> Rada sent as she prepared to board one of the snow machines.

  <> The albino true dragon hesitated before adding, <>

  <> Rada shrugged, offering her hand.

  Timon accepted and carefully shook it. <>

  “Good point, Captain. Thank you and my compliments to your troops,” the Lord Defender called aloud, accepting a salute from the True-dragons and returning it before boarding the tracked troop carrier.

  The next week’s weather remained cold, bitter cold, but only once did a light dusting of snow add to the blanket covering the ground. The rest of the winter maneuver and training went uneventfully. Still, Lord Ni Drako was very happy to hop out of the half-hover that deposited her and her guards on the landing are of the Palace-Capital. She pulled rank and made use of the Palace Guards’ artificial soaking pool, marinating in hot water up to her nose until her cold-soaked joints finally gave up and relaxed.

  The Lord Defender woke early the next morning and met her troopers for the morning close combat drills and edged-weapon training session. Then she ate with her officers, followed by several hours of reports and paperwork catch-up. Break-Dark would be in nine nights, and diminishing amounts of work would get done in the days leading to the holiday. Normally Rada fled to Singing Pines, escaping the court festivities, but not this year. She’d been away lo
ng enough that she needed to re-establish her place and authority among the courtiers. Yet another sigh escaped her as she looked at the schedule of receptions, ceremonies et cetera. Then she dressed in a semi-formal uniform and went to her scheduled appointment with Great Lord Kirlin.

  The noble listened intently as Ni Drako explained her ideas and how they would benefit Drakon IV. After she finished, Kirlin studied the mammal intently. “I will support your proposal, Ni Drako, on one condition.”

  This doesn’t sound good, Rada thought. “And what condition is that, Great Lord?”

  “That you perform a battle dance. With me, at the Turning of the Year.” The reptile remained utterly still, giving the Lord Defender no hint of his intentions, motivations, or emotional state.

  Rada had a great deal of difficulty answering—her mouth had gone totally dry. She worked to hide her dismal and to keep as still as the noble. Before she could reply, he added, “Of the style of the time of the Great Shi-dan.”

  “I accept your condition, Great Lord,” the mammal said quietly.

  “On your talons,” Kirlin demanded instantly.

  She inclined her head. “On my talons I accept your condition, Great Lord Kirlin.”

  Aside from digging up information about the dances and trying to find a sample of the music, Rada did no extra preparation or practice. Or so it seemed. Each night, under Zabet’s critical eyes, the mammal spent an hour rehearsing a different sword dance. Since Kirlin would choose the music, all his fellow dancer could do was try to hear many different styles and tempos. One thing that Rada learned from her research is that the dance would probably accelerate from the original tempo, and be percussion heavy. Otherwise she worked on timing her fights to the music. It was very difficult, she re-discovered.

  <> Zabet snapped after one complaint too many. <>

  The tired felinoid refrained from whining that she detested fencing matches. Instead she flopped onto her back, willing the cool tiles of the floor to absorb some of her excess heat. Zabet got up from her seat and walked into the Lord Defender’s private quarters, then returned with a folded pile of cloth. <>

  It was a new outfit, in Rada’s House colors of blue-green with grey trim. The overdress had a high collar and long sleeves. The sleeves were full but gathered into tight cuffs, while the bodice hugged her without being as tight as usual. The skirt divided into four panels and stopped at her knees. Rada squatted, noting the looser fit of the breeches. Once she fastened her weapons’ belt, everything seemed to fit well. “No armor?”

  <> Zabet circled her Pet and her round ears flopped back as she tugged at the side-seams of the bodice. <>

  “If I wear my old-style breast support, there will be, but it will be snug.” She tried it and winced as she tightened her weapons belt. “I can wear the support but not sword-dance in it. Damn.”

  <> Zabet snapped. <>

  “I’ll just go without and cross my fingers that no one does anything stupid that I can’t ignore or duck,” Rada said, carefully not sighing. It was not as if Kirlin was really serious about the dance: he probably just wanted to show off his skills, which were formidable, rather than actually causing mayhem. In other words, this would be a fencing match set to music. Blech. “And on that cheerful thought, I’m going to bed. Some of us have to work, holiday season or no.”

  It seemed that the Lord Defender had barely returned from the field before Break-Dark and the year’s turning filled her days and nights with court duties. The priests excused her from the religious aspects of the observances and she held her own vigil on the longest night. Three days later, she dressed in her new robes and cinched her fancy sword belt around her waist. Zabet would be dancing at a party in the females’ quarters of the Imperial wing and would join Rada later, after the court entertainments were well underway. So Lord Ni Drako made her solitary way to the formal reception hall, joining the flow of brightly clad nobles and servants assembling to celebrate the turning of a new year.

  Rada arrived neither early nor late, and took her usual place at the edge of the chamber. A few minutes later, a rustle among the gathered courtiers heralded Kirlin’s arrival. Rada noted his weapon and the unusual robe the Great Lord had chosen, one cut shorter in length than the current style. It was, however, very similar to what had been in fashion when she first arrived on Drakon IV. He’s utterly serious about this she realized for the first time. That’s . . . a problem. Rada’s fur rose a little as she thought back to the first battle dance she’d ever seen. Even now she remembered the end quite clearly, because she’d been impressed by how much blood an Azdhag could lose and still fight single combat.

  The next hour or so passed in a bit of a haze for the Lord Defender. Part of her mind focused on the rituals and formalities of the Year Turn ceremony, but even more of her brain was reviewing everything she’d managed to find about the old battle dances. Lord Ni Drako made the correct motions and noises, then retreated to the far end of the large room when the priests appeared. That was also customary, and she relieved the Guardsman on door duty so he could go get a blessing as tradition demanded. Once the priests departed after finishing the ritual of cleansing and blessing, the party began. As usual the mood felt subdued, but as the night progressed and people began working harder to stay awake, it could get rowdy. Although probably not this year, given the ages of the King Emperor and Prince Imperial, Rada thought as she tried not to sneeze as a whiff of incense drifted past. Ick. That’s not one of my favorites and she resisted the urge to wrinkle her nose.

  After another half hour, Kirlin approached the musicians as they rested between sets. Since the King-Emperor had not added any requests to their list yet, any Great Lord could ask for a tune during the first part of the night’s entertainments. Rada saw the motion and eased towards the open area in front of the Imperial dais. The musicians were sorting through their files and Kirlin turned to face Ni Drako, who bowed her acknowledgment. He’s bigger than I thought Rada half-gulped. This could get very interesting. Interesting never ended well. The reptile and mammal stopped three meters apart and waited.

  A percussive shiver of sound signaled the start of the battle dance. Rada and Kirlin drew their weapons and saluted, then moved into a circling step pattern. After eight beats of music, Kirlin rose onto his hind legs. That was her signal to move into the circle, to meet him in the center. He brought his long blade up and around in a smooth arc, cutting for her side. She blocked him with a two-handed parry, then reversed as he swung up and over at her other side. This part was “easy,” in that they were testing eachother, trying to match the flowing beat of the ancient music. Blessed Bookkeeper, his shoulders are huge, Rada observed as she tried a straight stabbing attack and was repulsed. The music’s tempo accelerated and Kirlin pressed his own attack, driving her around the circle. The dance demanded rapid, short moves that gave Kirlin the advantage. He remained on his hind legs, a most impressive feat and one that negated even more of Rada’s usual advantages. Her heart began pounding as he pushed her harder than anyone had in generations.

  The music accelerated once more and Rada fought to match the rhythm of both the tune and the attacks. It threw her out of her usual fighting style and mindset, forcing her to divide her attention in two, and it hurt. Kirlin flowed like smoke from pose to parry to ferocious thrust. In one beautiful move he brought his blade into Rada’s side while sweeping his tail in from the other direction. Rada fell, a controlled drop over the muscular appendage in order to keep from being cut in half. She rolled and came up onto one knee, parrying a ligh
tning-fast series attacks but unable to regain her feet. The music drove higher and louder and it was all she could do to keep Kirlin at bay. Then the large reptile took a step backwards, giving her a moment to breathe and get to her feet.

  But before she could rise, somehow, impossibly, Kirlin leaped almost half a meter into the air, swinging his blade down towards Rada’s head. She had an instant to register the motion and try to dodge before the heavy steel struck her skull. The force of the blow slammed her body to the floor and she lay motionless, blood already dripping onto the tile and stone floor. Kirlin swirled the blade up into an elaborate twirling arc and salute, then sheathed it, dropped to all four feet and bowed as the music concluded. His breath hissed loudly in the utter silence that followed.

  Then the Prince-Imperial began hissing his approval and others joined him in the accolade. It had been exquisitely well danced and played, that all could agree on. But there were few of the tail-thumps of highest praise. Kirlin cared not—his offspring had been avenged and his honor redeemed, even if he and his sister were the only ones who would ever know. He bowed again to the Imperial party, backed four paces and returned to his place as the musicians began the bars of the next dance and three soldiers and a palace Healer removed Ni Drako’s body from the room.

  Healer Heirlah stopped the soldiers in a small antechamber and inspected their commander. Ni Drako was still breathing and somehow his neck had not been broken, but blood poured from his head and more oozed from his foreleg. Heirlah turned the skull carefully, then laid it back down. “Take him to . . .” and stopped abruptly as the door opened and the Prince Imperial looked in.

  “Is he dead?”

  “Not yet, Imperial Highness. If we can stop the bleeding and decompress the skull, he should live with full functions restored,” the Healer informed him, ignoring etiquette in her haste.

  “Do it, using whatever you need,” the royal ordered, then returned to the party. Without a sound the Defenders picked up the stretcher and trotted their commander to the Palace’s central medical facility.