The Dragon Knight and the Steam World

by D. C. Clemens

  I jumped off my steed to get to the major. On attaining his attention, his face showed me, for the first time since knowing him, that he looked the worse for wear. His wrinkled, indeterminate brow and the gaunter skin around his eyes compelled me to say, “I’m sorry for what’s happened. And forgive me if this is too soon to ask, but what now?”

  “I’d make an even shoddier leader than I currently am if I couldn’t force myself to seek a solution. There has to be a coastal town down south somewhere with a telegraph office. From there I can send a message requesting a ship to pick us up and inform them about the turncoat submarines. Can you keep your dragon in this realm long enough for us to find such a town?”

  “It’ll be at least another hour before I need to rely on my dragon crystal.”

  “Then let’s get a move on.”

  We rejoined Alex back on Aranath and headed south with all haste.

  In spite of the decrease in temperature coming with the increase in altitude, I coerced Aranath to go higher. It didn’t take long at this superior vantage point for a settlement of lights to lure us in. Indeed, there turned out to be three to choose from. I guided the beast to the largest speck of clusters.

  When the town became visible as something more distinctive than pricks of light in a carpet of grays and blacks, I urged the dragon down. Since I wished to avoid alarming anyone and their guns, I aimed our landing to be a hundred yards from the nearest building. Eric stated he was only going to send the message and return right after, so my brother and I stayed on Aranath as he ran into town.

  Getting a stiff breeze that shivered every muscle at least once, I turned halfway to Alex and asked, “You all right?”

  “What? Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Because, while I actually like the cold, even this weather is pushing it.”

  “If you’re fine, then I’m definitely fine.”

  “Right, it’s just I know most people don’t much enjoy getting numb. I’ve personally never minded it. Like right now, my face wouldn’t even feel a swinging hammer. I feel like I can fight better.”

  “Good for you.”

  “What about you? Do you prefer the heat or cold?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  I shrugged. “I was only curious. Everyone has their preference.”

  “Maybe I do, but this doesn’t seem like the time to ask such a stupid question. What’s next? Are you going to ask me about my favorite color? Food? Or whether I’m a dog or cat person?”

  “When will it be a good time to ask those questions?”

  “Worry about getting me back to Orda, then ask all the damn questions you want. How’s that?”

  “Fair enough. What about you, Aranath? How are you handling this world’s cold?”

  “Unless there is an abundant food source, or of the frevasrol race, most of my kind prefer to lie dormant during such polar times. However, knowing this environment is a temporary one for me, I have no reason to gripe or claim somnolence.”

  A deathly quiet pervaded our surroundings for several moments when the wind failed to blow. Brought about by a generous break in the clouds, the disordered moonbeams united into one grand shaft. Looking up at the two moons, I realized once again that I intruded on a world not my own. In turn, it reminded me of my conversation I had with Isabel concerning the gods and their designs.

  “Aranath? The dragon diviner, he must have foreseen me in Dretkeshna, right?”

  “He undoubtedly saw the possibility.”

  “Then why keep it from me? Did he want me here?”

  A draconic snort. “It’s never a worthwhile endeavor to untwist a diviner’s guidance. Whatever comes of your listening to them, they will all act as though they intended it. In truth, I suspect they are as bewildered as anyone.”

  “So even dragons do not believe visions are messages from the gods?”

  “Not all. Not most. The visions in my youth certainly did not guide me well… Is that not the comforting thought you desired?”

  “Have you ever known me to take comfort in higher powers?”

  “Do you not include me, dragon knight? Or the strife you wield?”

  “Ah, a valid observation.”

  “Do you regret listening to the diviner?”

  “No. I chose a path I thought would get you free. If I need to fight a little harder to get that done, so be it.”

  An approving grunt.

  Eric ran out of the stagnant town at the same time the clouds regrouped under the moons. He had sent his missive and now wanted to return to the sailors so we could pick up an engineer to examine the submarine and for Inma to examine Xavier. It may have been due to running through the unhallowed cold, but his blue-gray face had hardened again, though I wouldn’t say he exuded a placid persona either.

  As it so often occurred, the return trip went by quicker than the trip to get to the town. Going by her fits of screaming resulting from any minor jolt, Doctor Saldanha probably thought the flight lasted far too long. After getting Aranath to re-burn the same ground as before, I sent him away.

  In the meantime, the major headed straight for the bound turncoats using unbreakable strides. Bregman asked Eric what was wrong, but his superior wordlessly grabbed the male turncoat who once held the revolver. He dragged him away from the others for a few yards before getting him on his knees. Taking a big step back, Eric unholstered his gun. The lieutenant, Simon, the doctor, and even Ishree in his own way all gave each other the same apprehensive mien as Eric aimed his weapon’s barrel at the head of the prisoner.

  Not constrained by rank or surprise, I said, “I suppose it doesn’t matter if there are laws against this kind of execution. No one here is going to report him, right?” The fact the major paused to hear what I was saying told me enough about his state of mind to continue with, “However, laws or not, there are people I know who would care about this sort of thing, so I’d be remiss if I didn’t say something. Something like, I don’t know… Are you going to regret this later, major?”

  The endangered turncoat chuckled. “What’s wrong, dickhead? Something bad happen to your buddies?”

  “Major, what happened?” asked Lieutenant Gaos.

  Answering for him, I said, “They had another submarine out there. The Orkan was sunk. Some men were lost, including the captain.”

  “Godsdamn!” said Ishree. “Go ahead and shoot him! He’s gonna hang anyway.”

  “Yeah, go right ahead,” said the turncoat. “Won’t bother me. I want your lousy face to be the last thing I see.”

  A gunshot cracked the air like a snapping whip. The turncoat’s body fell forward, but it also screamed out and curled into a ball. A red smear emerged at the back of his shoulder.

  Walking to the tunnel, the major said, “Stop the bleeding if he passes out. I already sent out a request for aid, so we should get a boat or two here within a day.”

  Knowing I needed to start my prana’s recovery process again, I followed Eric, the doctor, and Simon back underground to find a rest unrepressed by the caustic temperatures.

  Spreading the news of the submarine attack went about as well as one sensibly expected. Everyone spoke less, or, if they did speak, they used a lower tone. Maya wept on hearing her baby had survived the attack, and she sniffled for a long while afterwards. She denied knowing anything about a second submarine when I asked her about it. It was difficult to tell if she told the truth through all the tears, and I concluded she would never openly admit to anything that would send her swinging by a rope.

  I kept out of everyone’s way so I could focus on phantom casting, meditation, and, a little later, real casting on several candle flames. To give Alex something productive to do, I sent him above ground so he could train his shadow spell on the turncoats again.

  About the time I was getting too restless to sit on a crate waiting for my prana reserve to fill, Bregman came over to my corner of the cavern. He said, “I heard what happened after you came back.”

  “And?”
/>
  “I was beginning to think you really didn’t have a problem fighting and killing turncoats. Then you help save one.”

  “I wouldn’t quite phrase it that way. Exactly what became of the turncoat didn’t matter to me in the slightest. His life merely ended up benefitting.”

  “Is being contradictory part of being a half ghoul? Why did you stop the major from shooting the damnable turncoat in the head?”

  “You must have not heard many details. I didn’t stop the major from doing anything. I only asked him whether he was going to regret his action. That’s it. I personally find it a little arbitrary. All those turncoats will surely hang later. I only said anything because… Well, I expect to get back to Orda someday, which means being able to look certain people in the eyes and telling them everything I did without disappointing their expectations of me. Surely you must know people like that.”

  “Hmph. One or two.”

  “Perhaps I reminded Eric of the same notion. In any event, I don’t know why he thought he would regret it later, but he seemed to have concluded so. Go ask him why if you’re so curious.”

  “I can take a good guess as to why he stopped. It was your interference that got me more curious. Wanted to hear why out of your own mouth” He started to leave, but after a couple of steps, he turned around and said, “Whatever your particular intentions, I guess I should thank you for what you did. Eric doesn’t need yet another decision to eat away at him, even if blowing the head off a turncoat is something that shouldn’t.”

  I agreed with his assessment with a bob of my head.

  Everyone spent the ensuing hours going through the typical stages of guarding a tunnel or turncoat, resting, eating, and rummaging. Given how I never enjoyed being underground, I sought the reprieve of the free air and natural light multiple times, and the warmer it became, the bigger the group I found “looking after” the turncoats. So, late in the afternoon, I added my company with the seven Vanguards already there.

  Coming up to the boulder I sat on, Svren said, “I believe it’s time to get your lessons started.”

  “What lessons?” He lifted his revolver to chest level. “You have permission?”

  “I say you’ve proved yourself to learn the fundamentals. It’s not like I’m giving you the gun. Now then…”

  Before I braced my mind to memorize anything meaningful, the krewen spurted a dozen different words I had trouble envisioning. Terms such as “breechloader,” “six-shooters,” “repeaters,” and the like among them. I’m not even certain whether any those words applied to his specific weapon. He sounded as though he had previously committed his expounding to memory and only had a minute to spew it all or he would lose an important game. Nevertheless, he lasted longer than a minute. I thought he would realize at some point how wasted his breath was, but that did not seem to be happening.

  What finally halted his lesson was a charging Isabel saying, “Aha! Caught you! I told you I’d be the one to teach him!”

  “You’re welcome to teach his brother.”

  “We should leave it up to the dragon knight. Mercer, I bet he’s blabbing on and on, right? That’s how krewen teach each another anything. They go on and on, then they repeat it again and again until you slowly understand more and more. Might work for feather-heads, but I haven’t met the human yet who can stand it.”

  “Says you. Sir Eberwolf, Isabel only has a superficial knowledge about these weapons. I can tell you… What’s so funny, Isabel?”

  Replying for her, I said, “Because you’re not really making a case for yourself. I only need superficial knowledge to begin with. However, I want to try something first. Svren, go wake up my brother and bring him here. I’m going to let Isabel teach us one superficial aspect of these weapons. Once we understand that much, then you can give us a more detailed explanation on that specific subject. No going off on other tangents. How does that arrangement work for you?”

  “Of course! Compromise. I should expect nothing else from a worthy dragon knight. I shall return!”

  “Kiss-ass,” said Isabel.

  “Me thinks you wish to see the dragon knight’s ass, hmm?”

  Isabel picked up some pebbles and threw them at the hurrying bird-man. When he had gone, Isabel pulled out her nearly all silver revolver with a black grip. It was sleeker and looked half as heavy as the krewen’s example.

  “Cute, huh? I call her Ol’ Abigail.”

  “Should I ask why?”

  “Yes, that would be polite.”

  “Why?”

  “Named her after my Malamute. Sweet girl, but her bark was worse than her bite. This Abigail is the other way around.”

  “I presume a Malamute is a dog?”

  “Oh, yes, a dog breed. Do you like dogs?”

  “I don’t have a problem with them, but once they sniff dragon fire on me, they tend to back away.”

  “That’s a shame. They make great pets. Of course, they can’t melt things and fly you everywhere.”

  “I suggest you never let Aranath hear you compare him to a pet.”

  “Ah, good point. I mean, exactly how much control over him do you have? Why does a dragon let himself be summoned by a human?”

  “Well, it used to be a prearranged venture between the human realm and the dragon one, but the relationship soured after a war. Aranath essentially became a prisoner who now needs to prove he’s reformed if he wants his freedom.”

  “Huh? Prisoner? Wait, is your dragon a war criminal or something?”

  “Something like that. Best not to spread that tidbit of information to your leaders. They could think it’s important.”

  “And it’s not?”

  “Not in my lifetime.”

  “All right, as long as he doesn’t try to eat me, I won’t say anything. Okay, let’s get back to your gun lessons before birdbrain returns…”

  In due course, Alex and Svren graced us with their presence. Our tutors did not quite know how to complement each other’s lessons, so while some of the information sounded valuable, it jumped from one theme to another rather easily. I did not care to correct them. As far as I saw it, until I could handle and fire the weapon myself, nothing was going to affix to my mind too strongly.

  On the other hand, I never saw Alex so captivated. To be sure, he still looked annoyed, but it seemed to be due to his frustration at our tutors’ inability to make things clear and simple. Nevertheless, since he did not want to risk stopping the schooling, he remained tightlipped when it came to complaining. Likewise, I could tell he was thinking how he would like nothing more than to master the weapon before I did. The concept struck me as droll.

  Regardless of my relative inattentiveness, I picked up a dribble of relevant information. As I was already somewhat aware of, most modern gun types could be simplistically divided into the one-handed revolvers, the scatter firing shotguns, and long-range rifles. Less simplistically, there existed endless variations within those broad categories that brought different kinds of advantages in range, projectile capacity, projectile size, reliability, recoil, reload speed, simplicity of use, and fifty other factors. In addition, like any weapon, the situation as much as the weapon often determined how effective it proved to be.

  Despite the nuanced disparity between them all, they assured us that the general idea of how to wield one from another did not change too drastically. Besides, few became a master with every style of firearm. Most persisted in training with one or two specific gun models, thus discovering they excelled in one kind of weapon while being a miserable shot with a related kind. That wasn’t always the case, however. Both Isabel and Svren claimed to be well above average with any working gun, boasts they each stated they would settle once they got the chance to show off.

  Somewhere between an hour and the next one, Eric emerged from the entry. He asked me to summon Aranath so we could go check on the state of the sailors and see whether any ship had come for us yet. Neither of us considered the mission as perilous, so Aranath only c
arried two humans.

  For a second I believed the Orkan had risen from her watery grave. Naturally, that was not the case. This ship was thinner, shorter, whiter, and lacked any of those large naval guns on the deck. I don’t even know why I mistook it for the Orkan in the first place. Exempting a handful of people and a single boat, none of the sailors tarried on shore. Aranath evaluated the situation with three circling passes before landing near the five person group.

  A quick talk with the men had Eric agreeing to be taken to the rescue ship. Seeing it as easier on both the vessel and my prana to simply wait for Eric’s return on the shore, I chose to stay on land with the dragon.

  To pass the time, I told Aranath a little of the weapons of this world, eventually asking him, “Ever heard about other realms using such battle instruments?”

  “It’s been a long time since I’ve been appraised of the tools of war other races have constructed for themselves. Nonetheless, I do recall the elders describing certain intricate weapons that could pierce the toughest dragon scales with ease. When it is necessary to counter these weapons, dragon wards must be used.”

  “Dragons can use wards? I suppose that’s not surprising, only I’ve never seen you use one.”

  “Why have I never heard you speak another tongue? Or cast earth spells? For you have not been taught, child.”

  “Ah, didn’t mean to get you irritable.”

  A huff from his snout. “I am not… I did once attempt to teach myself the technique. However, the fact is, dragon prana does not cast ward spells well. The spells initially entail a delicate, brittle touch not natural to the brutish prana of young dragons. After all, for much of our past, our scales proved to be an adequate defense against most threats. Even recent history has many concluding the same. We can call upon an elder to guide our training once we mature, a benefit currently unavailable to me, if you did not notice.”

  “Right, and I guess you can’t ask a human like Ghevont to learn it. Still, you must have trained in something gentler than breathing dragon fire.”