A Sword for a Dragon (44 page)

Dragonboys brought them another prodigious meal of bread, akh, and a stew of beans and vegetables. There was even some beer, a dark Cunfshon ale, with which to wash it down. The dragons had grown used to Ourdhi styles of beer, which were usually sweet and sometimes pale. The Cunfshon ale took some adjusting to, but dragons would adjust to any kind of beer as long as it was well made.

Of course, they mourned their dead, but the wyvern spirit was hard to extinguish, and after a ritual toast to the departed, their mood lightened. They even sang a few songs. All agreed that the new 109th had welded together into a seasoned fighting unit. They pitied any enemy that had to face them.

Soon they all slept soundly and the space reverberated with dragon snores. When they awoke, there was another large meal of hot wheat cakes and a heavy dose of akh. There was a dash of hot kalut, too, and everyone took some.

The rhythmic thudding of the ram working on the tower continued. It had gone on and off through the night as the engineers came up with new ways to tear the roof off with the ram or to tip the whole construction over, which they managed to do on one occasion. Now the ram was back, however.

In a space surrounded by piled furniture from an ancient dynasty, Bazil of Quosh worked on his sword’s edge with a whetstone. Nearby was the great wild one who was being refitted for both joboquin and breastplate. Relkin was tightening the straps of the joboquin, pulling the big harness together after repairing a ripped section. Both dragons had awoken after about six hours of straight sleep. They were in a quiet, reflective mood.

It was not fated to last long. Vlok, who had attached himself to the Broketail and the Purple Green in recent days, approached with a heavy tread.

“I have had a dream,” he announced.

It was rare for wyvern dragons to have dreams. The others looked up with interest.

“That is unusual,” said Bazil.

“I am troubled, I thought I would tell you about it.”

“Why choose me to tell your troubles to?” asked Bazil.

“You will understand when I tell you.”

“Ah. Go ahead then.”

“The dream began with a view of the world of the ancients, when dragons ruled alone.”

“Before the humans came?”

“Correct. There was a world for dragons and they were of many kinds and they lived in many different ways. Until one day the sun was blotted out of the sky and the waters were darkened and nothing grew.”

Bazil’s whetstone had stopped.

“And through the darkness came a line of fire which burned the land. And we were there, all of us, dragons of the legions, standing on a shore.”

“Ocean shore?” said the wild one.

“Yes. And on the land, there was the fire and the fire was burning the land itself and it burnt it right up to the shore and it was burning right between our feet. The whole world was on fire and this was why the sun was blotted out of the sky.”

Vlok paused, the others were silent.

“We could not fight this fire, we had nothing that would put it out and we could only retreat into the water. The waves broke over us and we went further into the water. We threw away our weapons and dropped our armor and our helmets and swam out into the water and away from the burning land. We could not go back.”

Vlok fell silent.

“That was it?” said the Purple Green.

“Yes. I do not understand it.”

The Purple Green gave a heavy hiss and turned huge eyes on Vlok.

“Wyvern does not see the meaning in this dream?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, this dragon does. It is clear enough. We all die here, and our spirits fly away to join the ancestors in the shades.”

This last was said in dragon speech, but from the way the others reacted, Relkin understood.

Relkin let out a whistle. Dragon heads swiveled to pin him with large black pupils.

“Boy know nothing about this,” said Bazil.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Good. That is best.”

“Wait, I think the dream is clear.”

“It is clear.”

“But it doesn’t mean we all die here. Maybe it refers to the past, to the time before men came to the world.”

“It is clear, we all die here. Vlok has seen the future in his dream.” The Purple Green said this with a dismissive finality.

They fell silent, bemused by this idea.

Bazil’s whetstone continued to work along the edge of Ecator, giving the shimmering blade a sharpness that would drive it through anything short of steel or rock.

“This dragon not die easy” was all he would say.

Not far away, another small group contemplated the immediate future with concern. In a cellar of the Blue Porcelain, a surreptitious meeting was taking place of the Committee for Emergency Action. Porteous Glaves, General Pekel, and several Kadeini commanders were there.

They were not happy.

“This is a death trap,” said Glaves.

“You’ve said that several times,” said Pekel.

“Well, nobody seems to see that there is only one solution.”

“You want us to run like cowards and leave our men to die here?”

“Without officers, our men will all die anyway. We must be preserved to the end.”

“An admirable thought,” said Captain Rokensak.

“Bah, nonsense, we’d be branded cowards by the world. I could never hold my head up in public again.” General Pekel would not go along with it.

“Well, it’s too late to negotiate with the enemy. They’re going to bring down the wall before long anyway.”

“We’ll be fighting in the breaches before nightfall.”

“They’ll keep coming now until we fall, they have such enormous numbers.”

“More mud men.”

“Thousands of them. They will overwhelm the dragons in the end, and then we will all die.”

“Die in this stinking pit of a foreign place. I would rather die in Kadein.”

“He has a point…”

“It is so simple. The
Nutbrown
can take off a thousand or more. We should put the wounded aboard and then move the officers across depending on seniority. We must first persuade Paxion to shift his command post to the ship.”

They stared at Porteous Glaves.

“Ha-ha, that will be a fine day,” said someone.

“I doubt we’ll live to see it,” said Captain Rokensak.

“Ol‘ Pax would rather fall on his sword than do something like that.”

Pekel arose and gathered himself. “Excuse me gentlemen, but I have pressing business to attend to.” The general was leaving.

Glaves had failed. Once again he had been able to achieve nothing in his efforts at treachery. He chewed his thumbnail and watched helplessly as the others slipped away. He desperately wanted a drink, but not even Dandrax could find anything now.

They were all gone, except for Captain Rokensak.

“Look, Commander Glaves, I’ll be honest with you. I’m more interested in saving my own skin than I am of keeping up my military reputation. I’m with you.”

Glaves turned on him with the desperation of a drowning man. “Then we must find a way of recruiting enough men to be able to seize the
Nutbrown
and secure her and keep control of her.”

Rokensak sucked in a breath. “By the tits of the Great Mother, won’t that be piracy?”

“What does it matter what they call it if we’re alive. Everyone else here is going to die. We’ll tell them that we were the only survivors.”

“We’ll have to kill the
Nutbrown
crew.”

“Yes. A tricky point, that. We’ll have to think of something but if we don’t do it, then we won’t be thinking about anything.”

Rokensak thought it over.

“What about your contact, Euxus of Fozad?”

“I have no more contact with him. When last I saw him, he told me that they will kill all of us. They will drain our blood into mud and create more of their mud men.”

“They will kill all of us?”

“Not one will live.”

Rokensak exhaled noisily.

“So, we have no choice. We will put your plan to the test. I will get the men, you will provide us with the officer rank we need to get aboard the ship.”

They shook on it and departed.

When he’d finally pulled the Purple Green’s joboquin into shape and replaced all the leather lacing inside the breastplate, Relkin found himself with a rare moment with nothing pressing to do. Both dragons were asleep and really he should have slept, too, but the rhythmic thud of the ram at work had left him too tense to sleep.

He reported to Hatlin, and then went down to the riverside and sat on a low wall by the jetty. From there he could see the
Nutbrown
riding at her anchor, half a mile out. The smell of the river was briny and rich, a smell of life. It helped clear the stench of smoke and burning from his nostrils. The great clouds of smoke had dissipated as the city burnt itself out, but the smell lingered.

The ground trembled every half minute as the great ram struck the south waterside tower. Relkin sighed. It was only a matter of hours before they’d be up there on the breach, forming a line and fighting off the enemy’s assault force. How long they would hold out was unknowable, though Relkin knew that his dragons would fight as long there was a breath left in them.

As for himself, well, he had but a handful of arrows and then his sword. Not much perhaps to lay in the balance, but he was feeling a lot stronger than he had in days. A few good meals and some rest had put the fire back in him. He would fight until his last breath; he would never give up.

And then? Then he guessed he’d find out whether there was a Great Goddess, or a God, or no gods at all, or maybe even a whole lot of them. Whatever there was, he thought he had to have a reasonable chance of getting into Heaven, if they had a heaven. There were certain larcenous events in his life to overlook he knew, but he was a soldier so what could you expect? Plus he had two huge war beasts under his care, and he had to do questionable things now and then just to make sure he did his job well. Surely the Great Mother could understand that? Better at least than certain quartermasters and dragoneers he’d known.

Suddenly, with a cold shock, Relkin realized he would miss the world. He didn’t want to die. It seemed a pity to have lost the future he had dreamed of and discussed endlessly with the dragon. It seemed terribly wrong somehow.

He scanned the softening horizon. Could the fleet arrive in time? Would the enemy attack the breach continuously without letup? How far away were the great ships? How long could the legions stand the pressure?

He shrugged and shook his head to get rid of the bitter taste in his mouth. Too many questions for which there were no immediate answers.

His eyes caught a movement. The
Nutbrown
had lowered a boat. He saw it move smoothly away from the side of the ship and watched as it approached the jetty. There were six men rowing, and the boat moved quickly over the water. Within a few minutes, he watched two figures hurry down the jetty, approaching his position on the wall.

He recognized one of them at once; it was Lagdalen of the Tarcho. The other was a tall angular figure, clad in a black cloak who walked with a most regal stride. Ribela, the Queen of Mice, he assumed.

The ground trembled again as the ram struck home.

The two women had drawn close. He could see the witch’s long, narrow face and even the glint of those forbidding eyes. Relkin knew at once that this was not the Great Witch he had known on the mission to Tummuz Orgmeen. Lessis of Valmes had a very different manner.

Relkin wondered if he dared even wave hello to Lagdalen, or whether he would get her in trouble if he did. He caught her eyes, though, and she let out a shriek of delight, ran to him, hugged him, and then turned to the witch.

“My lady, this is my friend, the dragoneer I told you about. May I introduce you?”

The witch directed a penetrating gaze at him, and Relkin felt immediately uncomfortable, as if many past sins were now being exposed to the light of day.

“You may.”

“Then, lady, I will introduce Relkin of Quosh, dragoneer of the 109th Marneri, serving in the Second Legion.”

“Ah yes.” The black eyes sparkled with interest. “You are dragonboy to the famous dragon with the broken tail.”

“I have that honor, lady. That is the greatest dragon alive.”

“Of course, I am sure of that. You are also caring for the most unusual dragon in the legions as well, a wild drake, with wings, who volunteered for the legions. Is this not so?”

“Yes, lady.”

“Most unusual, you must be worked to the bone. I understand that the work of a dragonboy is virtually constant.”

“Worked to the bone, yes, my lady. But the Dragoneer Hatlin, he helps me with the Purple Green.”

“And the dragoneer knows that you are sitting here, idling at the harborside as well?”

“Yes, lady, both dragons are asleep.”

“A rare moment then. Well, tell me something, boy, your wild dragon, has he recovered any of the strength in his wings?”

“No, my lady.”

“My esteemed colleague Lessis attempted to cure the condition.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“But the wounds were too deep and they had healed, and thus there was nothing that our magic could do.”

Relkin just stared at her. This witch seemed to know everything; it was just a little frightening.

“I remember that we discussed it,” she went on. “Lessis and I. Alas, I know little about the dragons and their comrades in arms. Lessis is far more skilled with these things than I.”

Relkin kept silent, awed by the thought of these mighty ones conversing about his dragons.

“And you, my young friend, for someone with the reputation of a complete rascal, you have done well. You redeemed yourself and more when you restored young Lagdalen to us. I had almost given up hope.”

Relkin was tongue-tied. The woman smiled.

“Lagdalen may stay here with you for a few minutes. I know that you are good friends and have much to say to each other. I am glad to have met you. I hope you will be my friend.”

The ground shuddered. “The ram,” said Lagdalen.

“Yes,” the witch looked up and bit her lips. “It will be a close-run thing, will it not?”