A Sword for a Dragon (6 page)

Relkin forbore to point out that Kadein was hundreds of miles away on the other side of the Malgun Mountains. This was Kenor, land of the rough-hewn and free.

“Come,” she commanded. “Take me up to the top of the tower, we can take a turn there. It is such a gorgeous day. We should be able to see all the way to Mt. Red Oak.”

Relkin gobbled down his quibini and escorted Kessetra to the top of the tower, which was opened up for just such sight-seeing. They emerged into the warm sunshine of a late spring day in Kenor and immediately felt refreshed. Relkin felt something glitter just beneath his line of vision, and he looked down and there was his medal, a five-pointed star of silver positively aflame in the sunshine. No more than two hundred Legion Stars had ever been made. This thing would set him apart from the others in the unit unless he was careful. He resolved to put it away and keep it hidden. It was an awesome responsibility. He was no longer Relkin Orphanboy, child of nature, dragoneer and adventurer. Or rather, he was those things, but he was something more. He was now a figure of legend, someone whose every deed would be scrutinized by thousands. He saw that the lady had done this to force him to take life more seriously.

“Now,” said Kessetra, “tell me all about yourself. Where are you from?”

She was ravishingly beautiful, Relkin found his head almost swimming with the allure and he barely mumbled a reply.

“Where’s that?” she said, looking off into the distance and shading her eyes from the sun.

“A village in Blue Stone.”

“A village in Blue Stone…” she murmured, and then she laughed. “I knew a boy from Blue Stone once.” She spoke as if it had been decades before. “He was a count, a very silly one. He tried to hurt me.”

“What happened?”

“I had to teach him a lesson about love…”

“Ah, love,” said Relkin.

“Yes love, isn’t it wonderful. To be so in love with someone that you can think of nothing but that person’s desires and wishes…”

She leaned close to ensure that her perfume enveloped him. Her eyes gleamed dangerously.

“Have you ever been in love, Dragoneer Relkin?”

He blushed, for he had loved Lagdalen of the Tarcho. But he knew better now. He had learned one of life’s sad lessons. Lagdalen was several years older than he, and from one of the greatest families in Marneri. Tarchos had even been kings of Marneri in the past. He had no family except for a leatherback dragon of uncertain temper.

And, of course, Lagdalen was now wed to Captain Hollein Kesepton, whom Relkin admired as a soldier and a man.

“I was in love once,” he stammered.

The girl’s lush red lips settled into a tiny pout.

“Oh yes, puppy love?”

Her petulance annoyed him, and he spoke rashly.

“Not at all, I loved Lagdalen of the Tarcho.”

Kessetra laughed gaily and nudged his elbow with hers.

“And you, a dragonboy and an orphan from Blue Stone. You aimed high there.” She giggled and glanced away at the horizon.

Relkin felt his dignity under assault.

“We served together at Tummuz Orgmeen. We were alone there, in the vaults of the Doom. She proved herself a true soldier of Argonath.”

Relkin tried to imagine this spoiled young woman in those dark tunnels. It was impossible.

“Oh, how awful, I never want to think about that place again. I never look that way,” she gestured toward the bleak plains of the Northwest.

Relkin would have liked to be able to forget so easily. His mouth settled into a grim line, and he fell silent.

They faced east and as predicted, the day was so clear one could see the Malgun Mountains, a row of distant dark smudges on the horizon.

She pointed to the southern peaks. “Down there is Mt. Kohon. Way past that lies my home, Kadein. Have you ever been there, Relkin of Quosh?”

“No Kessetra, I have never been to Kadein.” She groaned and tapped her folded fan against her lips. Relkin imagined kissing those lips, they were spectacular.

“The city is so grand, so beautiful.” She sighed and crossed her hands over her breast. “How I wish I was there, walking up Slyte Hill or riding down the Avenue of Oaks.”

She sighed again. Stuck out here in this appalling frontier fort because her father had been denied the post of tower captain in Kadein City. Oh yes, she knew very well what had happened, even if Father refused to tell her a thing. He’d lost out to Major Steenhur, and they’d been posted out here to this wilderness of bumpkins and soldiers. The best years of her life were going by, and she was far from the grand salons and balls and parties where real life was going on!

“Have you ever wished you were in Kadein, Relkin of Blue Stone?”

“I will go to Kadein some day. I want to see all the world’s cities. I have been to Marneri, of course.”

“Marneri is a nice city. I was there several times when I was a little girl. I liked the white stone walls and the narrow streets. But it’s so small compared to Kadein. Kadein is spread out far beyond its walls. Our house is on Slyte Hill itself, miles from the Old City.”

“I’m sure it’s beautiful.”

“Oh yes, it is. So beautiful, to ride in the woods of the Surd now, and onto the park at Blue Fountain, that would be heavenly. You can see the king’s new palace there through the trees. The buildings are exquisite, everything is done in tiles, white, blue, and scarlet on the roofs.”

She sighed again.

“When you come to the city, Relkin of Blue Stone, you must be sure to call on me. I will take you around if you like. There’s so much to see.”

Relkin enjoyed a hollow laugh inside. He doubted very much that Kessetra Paxion would be that happy to see him if he actually did show up at the door to her family’s manse on Slyte Hill. Nor did he think he would fit in very easily with the fashionable crowd she would run with in the great southern city of the Argonath.

That wasn’t his world. He knew that. There was no place for him there unless he brought with him a fortune, and as yet he had failed to discover a scheme that would provide him with one.

The hour was sounded from the bell in the North Tower and the luncheon was over. Relkin escorted Kessetra back to the lower hall where she bade him farewell.

He went in search of more quibini, but discovered that the buffet had been cleared away and there was nothing to be had but hot tea and lemons.

With his already tormented imagination filled with visions of the lovely Kessetra Paxion, he headed for the East Quarter Dragon House.

Each day’s passing brought their departure to the southlands closer. There were a thousand things to attend to, and Relkin was frantically busy getting equipment repaired or reissued from the legion commissary. Not only did he have to get all of Bazil’s gear ready, but he had to see to the issue of weapons and armor and general equipment to the Purple Green.

First consideration went to their weapons. The new commander was insistent that they carry all the required weapons in the legion regulations.

That meant they had to carry an extra tail sword for each dragon plus a pair of tail maces. Each of these weapons was large and heavy. The shield, four feet wide and eight deep, was made of steel bands in a lattice covered in thick leather, a sheet of hard wood, and then leather again. By regulation there had to be eighty steel studs on the front of the shield, but Bazil’s had only sixty left when Relkin inspected it, so he joined the mob at the blacksmith’s shop and ended up waiting on line for an hour.

And that wasn’t the only smithy work that needed doing. In addition, there was the great dragon helmet, and the breastplate and the cuisses of steel to check for faults or uncomfortable dents. On Bazil’s breastplate, there was a problem place where a troll ax had hammered a considerable dent the year before at the battle of Ossur Galan. That had to be welded again and patched with fresh steel. The forge in Fort Dalhousie labored day and night to keep up with all the work.

And, of course, new equipment had to be fitted for the Purple Green who was bigger all round than any wyvern dragon.

Finally, there were Relkin’s own weapons, short sword, dirk, crossbow, and two dozen arrows. They were all in order. The sword had been sharpened at Fort Kenor and had seen no action since.

But the weapons were merely the first item on a long list. There were water bottles to check, spoons and plates to requisition—they were due for new ones—plus flint and steel for fire making.

Then there was clothing. The dragon wore a joboquin, a harness of leather, on which his armor attached through a dozen retainer bolts. Bazil’s joboquin needed mending, which sent Relkin to the repair shop, while the Purple Green had to be fitted with an especially large joboquin.

In addition, Relkin took outlines of the Purple Green’s feet and brought them to the sandal maker. Relkin explained that the Purple Green of Hook Mountain was likely to prove a tenderfoot once they got into lengthy marching. The sandal maker whistled as he stared at the specifications, for these would be the largest sandals he had ever made.

For himself, Relkin collected a new blue coat and bought a pair of breeches in dark grey fusgeen. He also purchased a wide-brimmed hat to keep off the fierce sun of Ourdh, and had his Kenor freecoat re-waxed against rain.

Then there were all the dragon care supplies. Relkin carried a bottle of liniment, the Old Sugustus brand, plus a bottle of mineral oil and a bottle of “Stinger” antiseptic. These he kept in a wooden case that he’d bought years before in the province of Borgan. It was made of knapwood and was durable, but light. Inside the upper shelf, the case held a dozen swabs, files and prodders, plus tweezers large and small, and a very valuable pair of stout scissors for clipping dragon nails. The mineral oil needed refilling, so he went to the commissary for more, along with a fresh flask of Stinger.

At the same time, he picked up a new blanket of grey wool woven in Cunfshon by the men and women of the Legionary Relief League of Defwode plus a pair of newly waxed wool capes for the dragons from the same source.

When it was all gathered together, both dragons and dragonboys had heavy packs. Relkin then discovered that the straps on his own pack were coming loose from the canvas, and so he set at once to repair it. Nothing was worse on a campaign march than having one’s pack fall apart. Thus was a Dragoneer First Class kept occupied as the days flew by.

Meanwhile, Bazil had spent much of his time working with the great Purple Green in the ring. They had given the Purple Green the legion issue blade that Bazil no longer needed. Relkin had cut the wild dragon’s talons and worked long and hard showing the Purple Green how to grip the sword handle properly.

The Purple Green had struggled at first, but as his proficiency grew he became excited by the power of the sword, and he put in long hours swinging at the practice butts made from thick sections of pine trees. Occasionally he actually cut one in half, something that only a few brasshides of unusual mass could do.

All the other dragons were roused to competitiveness by the sight. There was even some jealousy in the air. In particular, there was trouble brewing with Vlok, the veteran from the ill-fated 122nd dragons.

As the Purple Green became more familiar with the weapons of the dragon legionary, so Vlok’s complaints grew louder. He questioned the wild one’s ability to stand up to full-scale battle. What did wild dragons know of battle? What kind of trust could they put in him?

Some of the younger dragons showed concern. They knew only practice battle and training combats. They had yet to face trolls and imps in massed array. For guidance, they looked to the veterans. Vlok’s words had weight, even though he had seen little combat himself.

Bazil Broketail had seen his share of battles already, despite only serving for sixteen months in the legions. He knew how fierce and steady an ally the Purple Green of Hook Mountain would be, but he didn’t want to jump on Vlok too soon or too hard. He understood that the other dragons, having seen no action, felt insecure. Vlok, in particular, felt he had to prove himself, to show that he was of the same veteran standard as Chektor and Bazil.

Vlok’s ill temper produced some scrapes with one or two of the younger dragons who resented his critical ways, but these fights never went beyond some shoving and bellowing in the Dragon House. Much worse was the situation with the Purple Green who was not good at taking criticism from anyone. The Purple Green was building up to a challenge to fight Vlok.

Brazil counseled patience.

“You have not the skill yet to fight a one like Vlok. He is good with a sword, you are still learning. He would kill you easily. You know this is truth.”

The Purple Green accepted this, but only with a great deal of further persuasion.

Bazil and Relkin feared the worst might happen at any moment. Dragoneer Hatlin was so concerned, he was thinking of trying to revoke the placement of the Purple Green in the 109th dragons.

It finally came to a head when Vlok was passing through the exercise yard where the Purple Green was practicing his defensive strokes with Chektor. Chektor was massive but slow, like most brasshides. The Purple Green parried the blows, but was forced back by Chektor’s technique.

Vlok called out as he went by, “Look at him, he fights like a goose, walking backwards!”

The Purple Green looked up at this and roared, “Who calls me a goose?”

Vlok chuckled, “I, Vlok, do so.”

“Then you die!” The Purple Green abandoned Chektor and rushed upon Vlok with a roar.

They collided, and the smaller dragon was bowled over. The Purple Green tripped over his feet, however, and crashed to the ground as well.

A shout went up, and everyone poured out of the Dragon House.

Vlok was up and had drawn steel. The Purple Green regained a two-footed stance, and they closed. Neither carried shield or wore armor, and as their swords clashed they grappled with the free hand.

Vlok knew better than to stay close to the wild one, the strength in those giant thews was far beyond that of a leatherback wyvern. He spun away and swung and cut and came in overhead. He was quick and agile for such a great beast, and the Purple Green’s vast strength was rendered moot.