Chapter Thirty-Six

Hal had time for one warning trumpet blast, then had to concentrate on Storm, on trying to overcome Yasin's height advantage.

The other, experienced fliers of the Eleventh were doing the same, but the other flight over Aude, and some of Hal's less-seasoned fliers did little more than gawp at the black death coming down on them.

Yasin's fliers were experienced—they tried to avoid combat with their equals on the climb, and struck at the newer fliers.

They'd stolen a lesson from Hal and their own experimenters, and all their fliers were armed with short recurve bows, harder to fire accurately than Kailas' crossbows, but with a much heavier weight. The Roche fliers had become adept in clinging to their dragons' backs with their knees, reins looped around the flier's neck while he was shooting.

A Roche dragon veered away from Hal, but he launched a bolt, and hit the beast in its wing. It shrieked, and its rider fought the reins.

Hal slid another bolt into his crossbow trough, and was just under the Roche's wing. He fired, this time at the flier, hit him in the leg. The man reflexively grabbed at the wound, and Hal fired again, this bolt taking the man in his chest.

The black dragon, feeling no control at the reins, shrieked again, and flapped away to the west.

Hal banked Storm sharply, looked down at disaster.

Deraine dragons were falling, fleeing. He saw no more than half a dozen of his fliers still looking for a fight, dove down to support them.

He put a bolt in a black dragon's neck, another in a second beast's tail, enough to make it coil in surprise, hurling its rider down toward Aude.

A black dragon was flying at him from dead ahead, and Hal, dropping another bolt tray on to his crossbow, forced himself to hold his course.

At the last minute, the black dragon turned aside, and Hal swore the flier was Yasin himself. He fired at the man, and missed.

Then the blacks were gone, and it was time to limp home and count the losses.

They were severe. Hal didn't know how many fliers the other flight had lost, but he'd lost four himself.

One of them was Rai Garadice, who'd been seen trying to fight his crippled dragon across the river, into his lines.

Hal and Sir Loren went back into the air, flying low along the river front, hoping and looking.

It was just before dark when they saw the broken remains of a dragon, landed, and found Garadice's body a dozen yards away. It appeared as if he'd tried to jump for the leafy branches of a tree, hoping to cushion his fall. But he'd missed by feet.

Another of the old guard was gone.

It took Hal almost until midnight to find the right words for the letter to Garadice's father.

They buried Rai, full ceremony, the next day.

Then Hal found a horse, rode to command headquarters, and found Cantabri.

He was less than properly military, angry and demanding, that he had less than half his fliers left, and no more than one spare dragon.

As of this moment, he was standing down his flight, unable to accept any further assignments until his unit was properly rebuilt.

Cantabri listened, didn't show signs of anger at the insubordination, said the matter would be taken care of.

"When?" Hal half-snarled.

"Before the week is out," Cantabri said.

Hal stared at him, turned, remembered his courtesy, turned back, saluted the lord and stomped out.

"Isn't it a bitch," Hal said, staring at the half-empty bottle of wine,

"that not only are you the only one I can feel sorry for myself around, including Khiri, but I can't even let myself get drunk."

Storm made what a serious dragon fanatic might have defined as a sympathetic noise, especially if no one considered his breath, palatable only to someone who likes the aroma of very dead sheep.

"Troubles," Hal went on, leaning back against the dragon, and considering the empty, dark barn. "Not enough fliers, and the ones I've got are fodder for that frigging Yasin. We're low on supplies, and nobody's answering Gart's requisitions for anything and everything from socks to crossbows.

"Plus I can't find that… that person I'm looking for," he said, cautious even when alone.

"I don't think we're fighting the Roche in the right way, but I'm just too damned tired keeping up with this minute's emergency to rethink matters.

"If I could have a month or so to myself…" His voice trailed off, and he wished he could uncork and finish the bottle.

"First, I'd go to Cayre a Carstares," he decided. "And I'd sleep for a week. Then I'd spend the next week in bed with Khiri. Then I'd eat for a week. Eat and drink.

"After I got over my hangover, I'd sit down, in that tower, and get the mud out of my brain on some of those ideas I had that looked so promising."

Storm made a noise.

"All right," Hal allowed. "You can come too. And we'd go out flying every day, or, anyway, every other day. Flying west, and looking at some of your relatives as they sail toward us."

Hal heard a flapping noise, looked out the open door of the barn, saw, not far distant, flying low, one of Yasin's black dragons.

Storm made a keening sound.

"You'd rather not go? You'd rather stay here and kill black dragons?"

Hal pulled himself to his feet.

"And me talking to dragons. There was more wine in that wine than I allowed for.

"I'm for bed."

At the far end of the barn, a canvas blocking a doorway moved, very slightly.

Hal Kailas didn't notice.

Cantabri's word was good. Three days after Hal had stormed his battlements, seven new dragon fliers appeared. They weren't nearly as trained as Hal's flight had been what seemed like a century ago. But they were present, didn't seem to have any significant flaws, and could be trained. Or else they'd die.

"Now, yer see," Farren Mariah said to the seven replacements, "there's a gatillion an' three ways to fight a dragon.

"And all of 'em's right, as long as it's you that comes home all heroic and shit, and not the Roche."

"We don't need generalities," a dragon flier named Chincha said.

"Hold on, woman," Mariah said. "You'll get statistics and such, if you want."

Hal had happened by the open back door of the fliers' hut, heard Farren holding forth, listened, grinning.

"We'll start-a-tart by comparin' our two grayt hee-roes, Lord Kailas, who I can call Hal but you can't until you've gotten your paws thorough blooded. The other is Sir Nanpean Tregony, who'll, thank you, prefer you use his title. Or you can simply call him a god.

"He won't object't' that."

"Clearly a friend of yours," Chincha said.

Mariah turned serious.

"I'll tell you someat that'll stand you in great standings as you wobble through thisyere life.

"You don't got friends. Friends take yer heart with 'em when they die.

Your friends are the people who can pull one of them friggin' black dragons off your arse, and who'll carry her, or his, end of a horrible dawn patrol wi'out snivelin' overmuch.

"Anyways, to turn serious. You takes Lord Kailas for starters. Now, he ain't the best shot in th' world. Good enow, but he'll win no country rumpkin-bumpkin fairs for shootin'. Which is why he gets as close to his target as he can.

"Ne'er shoot 'til you smells the reek of its breath, might be his motto in his grotto if he had a motto or a grotto.

"So he's friends—if friends you can ever be—wi' his horrid beastie. And he uses th' dragon's flyin' to get right up a Roche's butt. You'll note he steers wi' his foots an knees as much as the reins, which gives him a better chance't' take aim. Not to mention hangin' on, since it's not considered respectickle to fall off yer mount while chasin' some other sod.

"Also, he uses his wingmen, generally likes to have one't'either side, to keep th' Roche from tippytoein' up behint and arsassinatin' him, and in front to steer th' bad sorts into an intractabobble situation.

"A nice thing, if you're one of those wot counts bodies, he'll share or even give up a win to you.

"Now, Sir Nanpean, he's different. A dead shot. I mean that in earnest.

He gets in 'til he's got a shot, and that's as he sees it, near or far, and then plonks 'em.

"He don't care what he hits… Which brings up another matter about our Hal. He rather goes for the rider, not the dragon.

"Got a soft spot for the beasties, he does.

"Back to Sir Nanpean."

Hal noted Farren's emphasis on the sir.

"He don't have much use for a dragon. If he weren't scared of Lord Kailas finding him out, he'd prob'ly pack a whip.

"I remember a flier, back in trainin', thought he was some kinda drover or shit, did that. Dragon went and killed him, it did.

"Another thing about Sir Nanpean. He don't have use for wingmen, neither. He figures it's your place to help him make kills. Never'll be the day come when he shares credit."

"What about you?" another replacement asked. "What's your secret, since you've been out for such a long time?"

Hal could imagine Farren's sweet smile.

"Why I gots none, other'n bein' a helladacious wizard on my mother's side, wit' charms and all kinds of shit. I just flies along, lookin' cute, and when somethin' moves, I shoot."

"How many dragons have you killed?" Chincha asked skeptically.

"Ours or theirs?"

Hal buried laughter.

"Dozens," Farren went on. "Hunnerds and hunnerds. Back of the Roche lines looks like a secret dragon graveyard."

"Then why aren't you the darling of the taletellers?" Chincha asked.

"That's a bit complicated," Farren went on. "Yer gots to start with me bein' the illygitymate daughter of King Asir, and—"

Hal, not having time for the rest of the tale, went on about his business, his dark mood of the night before gone.

* * *

Now the war became static once again. But more men, horses, dragons died, on both sides, than ever before.

There were more attacks against the walls of Aude, each time driven back. But each time, more of its defenders died.

The city walls were pockmarked from the huge stones hurled by trebuchets, and unshriven and unburied bodies lay scattered across the barren landscape, the bloated bodies of horses and oxen among them.

The soldiers were either entrenched or sheltered behind rocks, in gullies, folds in the ground. On the battlements of Aude were arrow-firing catapults, whose crews grew more and more deadly in their aim.

There were demons brought forth and sent into battle by both sides.

Sometimes they fought men, and the carnage was terrible, and sometimes each other. And sometimes the other side's magicians were quick enough, and the demons vanished harmlessly into the air. But not often.

Neither Sagene's, Council of Barons nor King Asir would give up their foothold in Roche terrain, and Queen Norcia was only too aware if Aude fell and the River Comtal became an open waterway, her country was very much at risk.

Hal took his dragons up over the city, against Yasin's black monsters day after day, trying to always choose the terms for combat: never less than three against one; never without the advantage of altitude; always with at least one other dragon flier in constant support.

There were other Roche dragons in the air—evidently training the blacks was as hard as Garadice's father had said it would be.

These other dragons Kailas wasn't as choosy about the fighting conditions for.

But still, he lost fliers.

Of the seven replacements, he lost four within two weeks. But the other three learned, and became as canny as the rest of the flight.

Hal was amused to see the tall, blonde Chincha become more than friendly with the short, dark, stocky Farren Mariah. He said nothing, however, after the night Sir Nanpean made some crack, unheard by Kailas, about the woman, and Farren beat him so badly he couldn't fly for three days.

Hal punished Mariah by making him fly Sir Nanpean's patrols in addition to his own.

Even though Hal refused to admit it, even to himself, a killing war began between him and Tregony. One day one would be up, the next the other.

Since Kailas frequently forgot to put in a claim, or gave the kill to one of his fellow fliers to make, there was no question within the flight as to who was the real dragonmaster.

It didn't matter to Hal. All he wanted to do was have more dead Roche dragon fliers than could be replaced.

Very secretly he hoped one day to meet, in the air, the bastard who'd killed Saslic.

That would be a victory he'd loudly claim.

In the meantime, he concentrated on the hard targets—Yasin's black dragons. But they flew in close support of each other, and took a deal of killing.

Then one day, Yasin's blacks vanished from the skies over Aude.

They reappeared, two days following, along the River Comtal. Flying very low, in pairs, they attacked the small supply ships bringing replacements and materiel to the besiegers, tearing rigging, raining arrows down on helmsmen and boat commanders and, when they got a chance, ripping apart any unwary soldier or sailor.

They also scouted for prepared ambushes, and forced Deraine to escort the boats with cavalry on the banks, which slowed progress.

"We have new orders," Hal told his assembled fliers. "You won't be surprised.

"We're to go after the black dragons, and at least make them stop harrying our ships."

"Shows what happens," Sir Loren said, "when your flight is the best.

You get sent to do the impossible and, by the way, don't get killed until you've done it."

"Hell of a morale builder you are," Vad Feccia said.

"If you can't stand the heat," Sir Nanpean put in, silkily.

Feccia turned, glowered at Tregony. Hal lifted an eyebrow—he'd thought the two were the closest of—well, perhaps not friends, because he couldn't imagine either of them actually having a friend—but compatriots.

"We'll do it in flights of four," he said. "Two pairs, the second pair back of the first by, say, a hundred yards or so.

"If you spot a dragon, try to get height on him, and force him down into the water or riverbank. If you're seen by them first, and they've got height, get away from the river, and stay low. Maybe you can veer enough so the bastard that's diving on you'll eat rocks instead.

"Don't be too quick to fly around any of our barges," he said cynically.

"Sailors have a great reputation for shooting at anything in the air, no matter whose pennons they're flying. Each dragon'll fly a banner with Deraine's colors on it, but don't depend on that being much of a shield.

"This time, everybody draws trumpets, and if you see anything—an ambush, a dragon—blast your little brains out.

"Gart, since you're the seaman among us, I want you to tell everybody how these river barges sail, so we can maybe anticipate what they'll do when they get hit.

"I'll lead the first flight out tomorrow. We'll fly north, where we'll link up with a river convoy. Chincha, on my wing. Mariah, you'll fly number two. Pick your own wingman."

The dragons lumbered into the still, summer sky at dawn. Hal led the four to the river, turned north. They flew slowly, Hal peering ahead to look for signs of the enemy.

Storm began snaking his head back and forth, sensing something.

Hal decided to trust him, waved for the other three to climb.

They rounded a bend, and saw two black dragons, sitting on a sandbank.

They waddled into the air, necks stretched like geese, but it was too late. The Deraine fliers were on them, bolts slamming into the fliers. One dragon squawked like a wounded goose, slammed into the water, a gout of spray around it.

The other ducked through river-edge brush, and flew hard east, deeper into Roche territory.

Hal let it go, signaling the others back toward the river, expecting the pair had been waiting for the Deraine boats to appear, which meant there should be an ambush laid nearby.

There was—twenty cavalrymen, some in uniform, some in ragged civilian attire.

They had only a moment before the four dragons were on them, talons ripping, tails lashing down, smashing horses and men.

The riders broke, and were harried by the flight away from the river.

Only a handful escaped.

Hal returned to base, sent an exuberant message to Lord Cantabri:

"Dragons love fishing. Took about eighteen bottom feeders this morn."

Another flight went out in the afternoon, and jumped soldiers setting up a block where the river narrowed, and attacked.

Hal heard, a day later, the Roche troops assigned to ambuscades along the river had started calling the dragons "Whispering Death," from the slight rush of air across their wings as they attacked.

"I would like," Limingo the wizard said precisely, "a flight around Aude."

"I have read the orders here from Lord Cantabri saying you're to get anything you want," Hal said, tapping the scroll the magician's extraordinarily handsome assistant handed him. "And I obey my orders."

"I know," Limingo said. "But it's always nicer to have some enthusiasm, rather than simple rote obedience."

"You can have that, and more," Hal said. "Provided you do me two small favors."

"Magical, I assume."

"Of course."

"No love philters until the war's over," Limingo cautioned and started laughing at Hal's annoyance until he caught on.

"I'd especially like," Limingo said, "you to fly me—"

Hal stopped him with an upraised hand.

"Tell me when we're in the air."

Limingo lifted eyebrows, but obeyed.

Unlike his master, Limingo was eager to clamber up behind Hal, and positively glowed as the dragon lumbered into the air, and changed from a waddling monster to a graceful creature of the heavens.

He leaned forward. "Are we a little suspicious of our fellows?"

"I'll explain later—when we're alone," Hal said. "Now, what do you want to look at?"

"The far side of Aude, particularly the main gate," Limingo said.

Hal did, swooping low, and getting a few arrows in his general direction for his bravado.

"They're getting better," he said over his shoulder.

"Let's hope," the wizard said, "this marks the limits of their expertise. If you could do what you just did, two or three more times?"

Hal obeyed. The magician seemed to have no idea of bodily harm.

"Very well," Limingo said. "I think I have enough."

Hal flew back to the base, landed Storm a ways from the barn, and explained his caution.

"My," Limingo said, "a possible spy. What happened to that dagger that was used to kill your serjeant?"

"I still have it. The matter hasn't been reported, by the way."

"Aren't you playing your cards a little close?"

"Maybe," Hal said. "If I let the provosts know, they'll be kicking through my whole flight, looking here and there and everywhere.

"We've got a war to fight, and it won't get any easier if my fliers are looking over their shoulders for spies or, for that matter, warders who'll suspect everyone."

"Why don't you give me that dagger," Limingo suggested. "A spell here and there might give some fascinating answers."

"That was one of the favors I was going to ask," Hal said. "I assume, the reason you wanted to fly where we did is there is a plan afoot?"

"I hope so," Limingo said. "This crap of sending men against solid stone is doing nothing but guaranteeing Deraine and Sagene are going to have some very empty counties for a couple of generations.

"But everyone, even our noble lords in command, know the Roche have paid close attention to their gates, so it's not a matter of just wandering up and knocking politely.

"I thought I might be able to devise something. And I think I was right, assuming the Roche thaumaturges don't pay attention to every detail.

"You mentioned you could use two favors. One we've discussed. What about the other?"

"I could do with some help looking for a dragon base," Hal said. "I took one of their flights out of the war once by attacking their base.

"Now we've got those black dragons, who're giving everyone a rough way to go. Maybe a good wizard could be of assistance?"

"I might," Limingo said. "Especially if you happen to have any scales, banners, whatever that belonged to the Roche or their dragons."

"I think we have a couple of souvenir keepers," Hal said.

He put Gart to rooting through the flight, and produced a pennon and an arrow that'd wounded one flier.

"Excellent," Limingo said. "My assistant and I'll set up this very night."

That night, at the far end of the field, there were strangely colored lights, flickering, and chants that seemed to come from more than two throats.

The soldiers of the flight shivered, and held close to their quarters.

In the morning, Limingo said, a bit angrily, that there were some heavy counterspells on what he'd been given.

"Perhaps," he suggested, "the leader of this black dragon unit is aware of the flight you obliterated, and is taking thorough precautions?"

"Perhaps," Hal said. "Yasin is no idiot."

"I'm sorry, Lord Kailas," Limingo said. "Perhaps, with my other incantation, I'll be more successful.

"In the meantime, stand by to be given special duties in the not distant future."

Three days later, Hal returned from a river sweep to find he had visitors.

Thom Lowess had arrived.

With him was Lady Khiri Carstares.