Dragons of War (3 page)

The decision did not come down quickly, with the crowd on tenterhooks and eerily silent, they all waited while the panel of dragonboys debated the value of certain scores and tabulated point totals again and again.

At last the curtain was drawn, and the decision read aloud. Baz was adjudged the winner, by a mere half point.

Relkin breathed a huge sigh of relief. Five silver pieces were safe. In fact, they would now be ten silver pieces when he caught up with Swane of Revenant. It had been a damned close thing, however. His dragon had been sorely tested.

With a groan, Bazil hauled himself to his feet, and with Relkin in the lead, they headed toward the front gate of Fort Dalhousie. The crowds bustled about them in pursuit of food and ale and seats for the next bout. Here and there citizens came up to see the famous Broketail dragon at close range, something Bazil put up with good-naturedly.

Suddenly Relkin observed an all too-familiar angular figure striding across their path. He came to attention. Bazil too came to a halt as Dragon Leader Turrent came up.

Turrent's dark eyes had a harder glare than normal, and his brow furrowed at the sight of Relkin. The dragon leader had suffered a loss. Had he, perhaps, been betting against the broketail dragon? Against a dragon from his own unit?

There was no love lost between Relkin and Dragon Leader Digal Turrent. Indeed, it was fair to say that there was little love in the whole unit for the dragon leader who had arrived in the early spring and brought to an end the more relaxed rule of Dragoneer Hatlin. Hatlin had been promoted and sent downstream to Fort Kenor with a new dragon squad.

Turrent had been something of a shock to the 109th, which had never suffered a dragon leader before and had grown used to a relaxed attitude to spit and polish. The 109th concentrated on other things, and was not at all relaxed about training and sword practice. Dragonboys concentrated on the health of their charges, which included their mental health, and not on the gloss of their fitments.

Dragon Leader Turrent, on the other hand, was very concerned about the glow of burnished breastplates, helmets, sword hilts, scabbards, and any and all other metal. He was equally concerned with the moral health of his command. He decreed soon after arrival that the 109th drank too much beer: near-beer and ginger beer. He announced that he would enforce the laws against gambling. It was feared that Turrent was a secret member of the puritanical Dianine sect. The 109th had not been a happy squadron for weeks.

"Sir," Relkin saluted. Turrent was one of those officers who insisted on salutes and all formalities.

Turrent returned the salute, but with ill grace.

"So, Dragoneer Relkin, we were very lucky today, I think. Perhaps more sword practice is needed?" There was clear hostility in the dragon leader's voice.

"The Kadein brass was very quick, sir. Fortunately, our leatherback was quicker."

Bazil disliked Turrent so much as anyone and refrained from saying anything. Turrent looked up for a moment, met those big black eyes, and looked away.

"Hmmm, yes, so you say." Turrent stalked off.

Relkin watched him go with misgivings. Turrent played favorites, and Relkin knew he was never going to be one of those. He wondered what it was exactly that Turrent hated about him so much.

All they knew about the dragon leader was that he had lost his own dragon some years before in an accident. He'd seen some action against the Teetol, and had received a combat star that he wore proudly at all times.

Swane said that Turrent was jealous of Bazil's fame as the hero of Tummuz Orgmeen.

Relkin shrugged. This, too, they would survive, somehow. They had to. They had nine years to go before they could take retirement and start new lives in farming.

The front gate loomed up ahead, and they went on into the fort, leaving behind the colorful tents and the boisterous crowds of the festival grounds. Inside the fort were just the familiar lines of whitewashed stone and wood buildings, roofed in slate and thatch, home to the men and dragons of the Marneri Second Legion.

Since their return from the southern Empire of Ourdh last year, the Second Legion had scarcely been out of the place, and of late it had been positively cramped, particularly with Dragon Leader Turrent poking around the whole time with his officious gaze and furious dark eyes.

It was the hour before midnight, and far from quiet in the Dragon House. From their bunks within their cubicles came the stentorian snores of happy wyverns, asleep on full stomachs and casks of ale.

The dragonboys of the 109th were not asleep, however. They sat up late, polishing breastplates and buckles, hilts and helmets, badges and buttons—all of the dress kit of a battle dragon and dragonboy. There was to be a unit parade the next morning. There had been so many unit parades since the arrival of Dragon Leader Digal Turrent that even the dragonboys had ceased to complain. It was a dreaded but accepted fact of life.

At least the conversation was generally lively, working in a group. They had analyzed exhaustively each of the previous day's bouts and forecast the results of the next.

Now the conversation had moved to the rumor that a strong patrol was going to be sent into the hills of Kohon to scour out a tribe of bandits that had tormented the local folk of Black Fell and High Lake.

"Kohon?" sniffed Swane of Revenant, the biggest and strongest of the boys of the 109th. "I'd rather stay here than tramp about on those hills. Nothing to do, no girls to chase, no beer, no fun at all."

"Come on, Swane," chided Relkin. "We're all getting fort fever stuck in here. Haven't seen the outside world since we got back from Ourdh."

"Don't mention that horrible place to me," said Tomas Black Eye.

Relkin sympathized. Tomas's dragon Cham had only recently returned to active service following the wounds he'd suffered in the Ourdh campaign. Relkin had enough memories of the southern land to last a lifetime, including that of an aristocratic girl who'd given him her love. But beside that sweet memory were the images of war and the horror they'd battled in the pit below the temple of the serpent god in ancient Dzu. They'd seen things that day that would mark them for the rest of their lives. Relkin wasn't planning on returning to the ancient "well-watered land" any time too soon.

"Can't have been all that bad," said Jak, who tended a young brasshide named Rusp. "It seems to me that all you fellows talk about sometimes is what you did there."

"Shut it, Jak," said Swane.

"Yeah," agreed Mono, who along with Relkin was the oldest serving member of the unit. Mono would bear the scars of Ourdh for the rest of his days and so would old Chektor, his heavyweight dragon.

But there were many new faces in the 109th. The casualties in the bitter siege of the great city had been great. Dragons and dragonboys had been slain, maimed, broken, and lost to the legions.

Among the new boys was a slim youth with dark hair and soft brown eyes named Manuel. He was eighteen and something of an outsider with the central group. The rest of them were orphans, but he was military brat who'd grown up both in the city of Marneri itself and in the forts of Kenor. His father had retired from the legions with the rank of commander.

After expressing the desire to join the dragon force, Manuel had received special training for the task of being dragonboy to the great wild dragon, the Purple Green of Hook Mountain, who fought with the 109th because his wings had been damaged beyond repair during his captivity in the evil city of Tummuz Orgmeen.

Being older and educated, Manuel had become the unofficial leader of the new dragonboys.

"You fellows don't like to admit it, but Jak's right. You talk about Ourdh a lot. Personally, I don't blame you." Manuel had a lazy smile that irritated Swane.

"Well said, Manuel," spoke up Bryon, a golden-haired new face from Seant who handled Alsebra the freemartin.

"Right enough," agreed Halm of Ors, who tended Anther, a high-strung, green dragon from Aubinas.

"See?" said Jak.

"Yeah, well, you wasn't there. We saw some hard fighting down there," said Swane.

"I also heard you say that Salpalangum was real easy." Jak knew how to needle Swane.

"Yeah, whenever Swane gets a beer into him, we always hear that one!" Halm chortled.

Relkin spoke up, and that quieted them. They all gave Relkin respect.

"Salpalangum wasn't the worst fight we've been in," he said, "but it sure sickened me. It's bad when men attack dragons like that."

"Damned Ourdhi don't have the wits of an imp," muttered Swane.

"Whatever the nature of their wits, they were brave enough," said Relkin. "Their leadership were the witless ones."

"Well, we're tired of hearing about it," groused Halm.

"I try not to bring it up much myself. But you have to expect it of those of us who were there. It's natural enough."

"Saint Relkin again?" said Swane with a wink at Tomas Black Eye.

"It's true though," said Mono. "Relkin doesn't talk about the past much." Mono was usually Relkin's ally.

"And I'd like to stop fighting about it now," said Relkin with a definitive edge. He changed the subject. "Bryon said he'd heard something definite about Kohon, then we started fighting about last year again. So, what did you hear?"

"General Wegan has picked the 66th to go with the 6th regiment. We're staying here."

"The 66th? They get all the luck," said Mono. "By the breath, but it's tiresome being stuck here all the time. Especially with the dragon leader on our backs. We have drill every day, we have to polish all this metal. At least if we were going to Kohon, he wouldn't have us doing this so much."

"Yeah, Mono's right," agreed Halm of Ors.

"I don't know, Mono," said Jak. "The dragon leader might want us to march and polish at the same time."

"It's enough to make you miss old General Paxion," said Mono.

"Yeah ol' Pax always liked the 109th fighting dragons," said Tomas Black Eye.

"Remember that time he came to the granary in Ourdh city?" said Swane.

"By the grace, here we go again," said someone under his breath.

"Not again, Swane!" said several voices.

"Right, right, by the Mother's own sweat, you fellows get so hot about everything."

"Anyway, stow that noise. How did Bryon get this news? And how come he's the only one with it," said Tomas Black Eye.

"Yeah," said Swane. "How do we know that Bryon got this story right? People from Lucule are famous for being fools."

"And people from Revenant are any different?" scoffed Mono. "Revenant's right in the Vale of Lucule, too."

" 'Course they're different, everybody knows that Revenant people are intelligent and witty and wise. Look at me!"

"Yeah, too bad we have to," said Tomas Black Eye.

"Swane's big, but his mouth is even bigger," said Jak.

"Yeah! You want to try and shut me up, Jak."

Jak was only half Swane's size.

"Come on, Swane, give it a rest. Let Bryon tell us how he heard this," said Relkin.

"Yeah."

All eyes turned on golden-haired Bryon, who seemed bashful all of a sudden. Bryon was secretly a sensitive soul.

"Well, I was, uh, talking with this girl, Sundy. She's a maid for the Wegan family. She told me."

Swane whooped. "You mean you bedded that wench! I'm impressed Bryon. Didn't think you'd ever wet your pecker."

"Don't you speak of Sundy that way Swane," said Bryon with sudden anger, surprising everyone with his vehemence. Bryon never got angry.

"How can you be sure she knows what she's talking about?"

"She's a friend with Wegan's daughter, and she heard her father talking about it with her mother."

There were widened eyes among the dragonboys at this revelation from family life. None of them knew who either of their parents were.

"Just goes to show that some old sayings are true," said Manuel, the exception.

"What's that mean?" said Swane, swiveling to glare at the outsider, who sat slightly apart, polishing the huge helmet casque of the Purple Green.

"You can't keep secrets from the servants, that's what."

"Damn city boy knows everything," grumbled Jak.

"Sounds like that's that," said Relkin with a sigh. "No trip to Kohon for us. I wonder what other patrols he's sending out."

"Up the Argo, of course, we did that one," said Mono. Relkin nodded, he and Mono were the only survivors of the old 109th that set out on that patrol!

"And up to the Dragon Beks. Always gets a few imps and trolls up there after spring," said Tomas. "I don't know how they sneak across, considering the watch that's kept on the Argo country, but they get through somehow."

"I guess we'll have to tie a hope-knot and pray for the best," said Manuel.

They continued their work, dipping into the polish pot with strips of grimy rag, buffing down with sheepskin rollers, making sure every piece of equipment was in perfect order and shining as it was supposed to. Turrent was merciless.

At length they finished, one by one, and crawled away to sleep near their dragons.

At dawn, they awoke promptly with the bell and the horns. Dragons were given water and morning feed, and then they paraded for inspection by the dragon leader.

Turrent's mood was dour. He berated Jak mercilessly over a crudely sewn patch on his dragon's harness. He ordered wane to do fifty push-ups in place when he overheard Swane's whispered comment.

When, at last, he came to Relkin and Bazil, he spent a considerable time going over every piece of kit. He even asked Relkin to open his pack, an almost unheard of request. With a grim face Relkin complied, and the dragon leader fished through his things.

Relkin wondered if Turrent was looking for his Legion Star, the great medal he'd won for his part in the fall of Tummuz Orgmeen. Relkin kept the thing in the legion bank, in a locked box.

Turrent pawed around for a while and finished by setting aside Relkin's comb, a souvenir from Ourdh.

"This is a nonregulationary item, Dragoneer. Where is the comb that was given you by the good taxpayers of Marneri? Why are you using this piece of foreign apparatus instead?"