A Sword for a Dragon (12 page)

But Porteous Glaves had ordered it, and for anyone to refuse to wear it would be certain to bring a flogging. Glaves had threatened this repeatedly while they were on board ship. When they marched, they were to wear the leather stock around their neck. It had been embossed with the mark of the Two and the Eight, and they were to show it off proudly. He would brook no discussion of it.

Still the men kept up a good pace, they were determined to show that the Eighth Regiment was no slouch, leather collars or not.

At the rear of the regiment, in front of the supply wagons and the medical team wagon, marched the 109th dragons. Relkin and Bazil had fallen into the steady pace quite easily, though not without the usual complaints from the dragon.

Bazil Broketail felt he had already done more than his share of marching for the legions, all the way to Tummuz Orgmeen and back, for instance.

If there was anything to be said for it, it was that at least the dragons found the road level and not too hard for the big callused pads on the soles of their feet. And they were rarely far from water. They crossed an irrigation-channel bridge every hundred yards or so and were able to cool their feet, although they were forbidden to drink the water for fear of disease.

The zone near the river was rich with orchards and many small fields of barley, but later the orchards were replaced with larger fields, surrounded by thorn-bush as well as palm. Villages of mud brick sprawled along untidy lanes right next to extensive pigpens filled with a multitude of small black pigs.

They passed a small tumbledown ziggurat that had trees growing on its crown. At the base were mounds of rubble, and among the ruins were hordes of starving children, outcasts from the villages. These children were thin, desperate, thievish in the extreme. Up and down the columns there were dozens of incidents as knives, plates, compasses, freecoats were stolen, angry oaths were heard, and running men pursuing the thieves became a common sight.

They entered a town, Aroshakan, and the people came out en masse to stare at the tall men with blond beards from the North as they went marching by. The crowds gasped at the sight of the horses, hundreds of them, and such fiery, tall steeds, quite unlike the little ponies and donkeys of Ourdh.

And at last there came the dragons, great lumbering brasshides, lean, long leatherbacks, shiny gristles, and angular hard greens. Great reptiles marching on all fours, bearing armor and swords strapped over their backs. From the lowly fedd to the aristocrats in their jade-inlaid coaches, all the people of the town made the sign of the smile of Auros, from the left breast to the right breast.

“Auros, protect me,” whispered one and all.

Everyone knew that this was a certain portent of the return of the great serpent. Sephis the Terrible lived again in Dzu. The time of Auros was done. The time of blood had come again. It was fate and nothing could prevent it.

The columns of legionaries passed by and were soon gone, swallowed up in the immensity of the province of Kwa, heading west down the road to Salpalangum.

A messenger rode in shortly before nightfall, one Captain Kesepton from General Hektor’s staff. He had an urgent message for Paxion.

“Sir, General Hektor’s regrets, but will you keep marching tonight? It is the only way you can join him by noon tomorrow when he thinks you’ll be needed.”

Paxion read the message, which confirmed what young Captain Kesepton was saying. He wondered to himself what use his legion would be on the battlefield if it had marched all night.

Hektor suggested that he break for meals every four hours to keep everyone’s strength up and to perhaps lift the men’s spirits with measures of whiskey every so often through the night.

Captain Kesepton also warned that there were groups of marauding Sephisti irregulars in the country ahead.

Paxion stared off into the gathering murk. Already the fires were being lit atop the ziggurats. They seemed baleful, threatening sparks of red in an enemy haunted dusk.

Under a full yellow moon, they marched through a landscape scented with magnolia and almond blossom. Torches were raised onto the regimental standards to light the way, and as they marched, they sang while the drummer boys kept the rhythm fast.

Paxion kept doling out water to the marching columns. He understood how important food and water were for marching men and dragons. Every three hours, they halted for another quick meal and strong hot kalut.

After twenty minutes or so, Paxion had the drums going again and the men fell in and resumed the march, their teeth gritted against the soreness in their legs.

It had to be done, and they were the men to do it. No one should be able to say that the Marneri Second Legion had failed for want of heart. The feet went forward, and they reached deep into themselves and sang once more the “Kenor Song,” and “La Loo La Lilly,” and “Chops and Minstrels.”

At last, dawn stole in on the east. Raucous guinea fowl announced the fact from hundreds of surrounding farms. Soon farmers setting off for their fields were startled to find the legion blocking the road as it tramped past, heading west.

Bazil had aching feet and poor old Chektor’s feet were already inflamed. Mono was at work with poultice and blister sherbet every time they halted. But Relkin was less concerned for Bazil than he was for the Purple Green. The broketail dragon had tough feet and strong legs. He weighed a third less than Chektor, a brasshide, and he had shown the year before that he could walk the length of the land. However, the great wild one had never marched anywhere before and with his great weight, twice that of a leatherback, he was putting tremendous pressure on his feet. Relkin had expected it, however, and had had made a pair of huge, fitted sandals for the wild one. The Purple Green had haughtily disdained them at the time.

Now his feet were sore and blistered. Relkin had already used blister sherbet to cool the sores and shrink them. In the raw places, he spread an ointment of honey and molasses that would kill any bacterial growth by dehydrating it.

Casually, as if offering any mundane piece of equipment, he brought up the sandals once more.

The Purple Green exchanged a long look with him. For a long second, Relkin imagined himself being seized and devoured in those heavy jaws.

“Hah!” a sudden dragon snort. “This is how you make the dragons slaves then? You are always offering your help, just as long as they fight for you.”

“We fight for them, too.”

The Purple Green snorted derisively.

“Bring me the sandals. I am accustomed to flying over the distances, not crawling along like this. My feet hurt too much.”

Relkin was mindful of the immense loss of dragon dignity involved. He murmured, “I understand completely, be back in a moment.”

Relkin slipped out of the ranks after requesting permission from Dragoneer Hatlin. He ran back along the column to the line of wagons carrying food and equipment. In the 109th equipment wagon was the wrapped pair of gigantic sandals that had boggled the mind of the sandal maker when he first asked for them. Now he staggered back, carefully put them under the dragon’s huge feet, and did up the fastenings around the massive ankles of the dragon. The straps were all lined with rabbit fur to ease the chafing, but Relkin knew he would have to work hard with blister sherbet and lotion for the next few stops.

Then he went down to fetch the Purple Green an extra ration of water. At the water wagon, a horseman was drawing a ladle for himself. Relkin failed to recognize him until there was a sudden tap on his shoulder. He turned around to find a captain, with the red tabs on his lapel that marked him as a staff officer, standing in front of him.

“So now you’re carrying a Legion Star, you don’t recognize your friends anymore, eh?” said Captain Hollein Kesepton with a smile.

Relkin was so startled to suddenly find his friend and Lagdalen’s husband here at the water wagon, he was reduced to babbling for a moment. Then he remembered to salute, and they shook hands. The captain slid out of the saddle and gave him a big hug and a shake.

“I should have known,” said Hollein Kesepton. “Relkin and Bazil of Quosh would be sure to get themselves sent with the expedition. They couldn’t keep you two away from danger no matter how they tried.”

“Believe me, we didn’t get any choice.” Relkin shrugged. “But we’re ready for them. What are they like, really?”

“The enemy?”

Relkin’s nod brought a bitter smile.

“Well, they’re very numerous and they care little for life. I have seen such savagery here, things that I hope I can learn to forget someday.”

The captain seemed genuinely shaken. Relkin felt uneasy.

“The rumor is that we’re going to be overwhelmed. And that the Imperial Army is no good.”

Kesepton gave a harsh bark of laughter.

“Overwhelmed? What faint hearts are these? We have more than ten thousand from Argonath. We can hold any number of the enemy, even if they are more numerous than the stars in the sky.”

Hollein drank his water.

“What about the Imperial Army, is it as bad as they say?”

“It’s not good, but I believe General Hektor has a plan. Do not give up all hope yet. The general understands the true situation. Hektor is no placeman, he can fight.”

“Tell the general that the 109th dragons are ready for battle.”

Kesepton laughed merrily. “Indeed I will, indeed.”

Relkin changed the subject. “But, Captain, what news have you from Lagdalen of the Tarcho?”

Kesepton grew somber. “Alas, very little. I heard that there has been a crisis of some kind in Marneri, and that Lagdalen had left the city and sailed south with a Great Witch from Cunfshon. A week ago perhaps, and where they are bound I know not.”

“But the child?”

“Is with a wet nurse and its grandmother. The child will do well enough. As for Lagdalen, who can say? That work is always very dangerous as well we both know.”

Relkin understood all too well. Accompanying a Great Witch on one of her missions was guaranteed to be dangerous work; both he and Hollein Kesepton had experience in such matters.

“And where are we going, if you can tell us?”

“There’s no secret about that. We’re marching to a city called Salpalangum in time to join Hektor and the Imperial Army for what I think will be a hell of a battle tomorrow. The city is about ten miles farther up the road here.”

Hektor gestured. “The enemy is coming from the west, where they are strong. They’re trying to cut the emperor off from Kwa, which lies to the south of here. We have to stop them.”

“And they’re fanatics who don’t fear death?”

“There is a madness in them like nothing I’ve ever seen before. But they have no discipline in their formations, they charge like a crazed mob, and they can be handled like any mob. Give me two legions of good trained men, Argonathi men, and…” The Captain halted himself with a rueful shrug. “And you’ve got me babbling and all I’m drinking is water!”

Relkin’s tub for the dragon was full now. With a heave, he got it up on his shoulder.

“For Argonath!”

“Alright, boy, may the Mother protect you.”

“And you, Captain.”

Kesepton remounted and wheeled away into the dark. Shortly afterward, he left the columns and rode ahead with a small escort seeking to make contact with General Hektor’s forces. Behind him the legion marched, on legs that felt like wooden pins, through a gathering morning.

Past palm trees and ocher-brick villages, carp ponds and piggeries they went. Hours went by, and the sun climbed into the sky and became a blazing monster.

In the Eighth Regiment, debilitated by the hated neck cuffs, men began to fall at last. They were red in the face, bathed in sweat, breathing hard. When it came it was usually swift, and a man would abruptly drop in his tracks. The supply wagons were soon full of unconscious men. A few cavalrymen were carrying others over their saddles.

And then at last there were riders coming down the road toward them, and men in the uniforms of Kadeini Cavalry rode up. They brought another urgent message from General Hektor, a command that the Second Legion pick up its pace. The battle might begin at any moment.

The drums began to beat, once more General Paxion roused himself and ordered tea laced with whiskey given out to the men while messengers thundered up and down the columns with orders.

On they went. In the Eighth Regiment the next man collapsed after five minutes. Another went down a minute or so later.

Paxion himself happened to be riding by when the next man staggered out of the ranks and collapsed. The general dismounted at once and knelt by the fallen soldier. With a face suffused with rage, he rose and ordered that the Eighth Regiment remove the hated neck cuffs at once.

“Commander Glaves, I will speak to you, sir, instantly. Follow me.” Paxion remounted and rode away under a thunderous cloud.

The men fumbled at the fasteners with eager fingers and a ragged cheer went up as they threw the hated collars down into the dust. Then they picked up the pace once more and caught up with the First Regiment ahead of them.

After a while Commander Glaves returned, red in the face and quite subdued. He resumed his position at the head of the regiment without a word to anyone, even Major Breez.

Now the column began to pass rear elements of a huge army, the Imperial baggage train. A sea of tents stretched along the road like a small city. The sides of the road were congested with mules and small wagons struggling to get by while the legion shouldered its way through.

Troops of the Imperial Army became visible, men of slight stature and nut brown skins, clad in white pantaloons, shirts and conical hats set off with scarlet sashes and round steel shields. These soldiers were seen in steadily increasing numbers on the sides of the roads. They seemed to lack military zest. Many carried no weapons.

A great mass of them was concentrated in one field as they went past. And then they saw the ziggurat, a small one of perhaps one hundred feet height, and beneath it the ocher-brick walls of Salpalangum.