The Blind Dragon (19 page)

She ticked her fingernail against the western mouth of the Gorge.

"For a foot soldier, passage through the Gorge is about a two week march—maybe three, if they're moving heavy arms and artillery. For dragons—alone and unencumbered—call it two or three days. When we'd go through, we'd always stop here or here," she pointed at two wide spots equidistant from the Gorge's middle. "Sometimes both, to rest the dragons. Those close quarters can be pretty hard on war mounts, especially at the western side of the Gorge here, lots of weird crooks and twists. And, if there's been good rain for the last couple years, like what we've had, then the cliff trees in here, and especially through here, will be completely overgrown. Some of these narrowest points will be completely choked off, all the way up to the tree line—in order to pass you'd need to either clear the thing out or actually climb your mounts straight over and through the thickest stands. A big dragon like Irondusk won't like that. If what Khondus said is true, if they've been planning this for some time, Fel probably logged the pass this last year—."

"What does that have to do with choosing a position?" Anna interrupted.

"It affects your cover. You won't just be able to hide in the deep of the cliff trees and drop on him from wherever you like."

"How can we know that it's been cleaned out?" Anna asked. "That's a huge project. How can we be sure—?"

Mother raised her hand. "Of course we don't know for sure. But that's not the point, is it? The point is to anticipate the possible tactical prescience of the enemy, to grant the enemy tacticians the respect that they deserve, and to craft and execute a proper battle plan based on what we know of the battlefield's topography and the enemy's mind. Lord Fel is a villain, without doubt. He's also cunning and extremely intelligent. His sons—especially Malachi—and most of his top advisors are equally skilled. Irondusk is not the kind of dragon to tolerate the starts and stops and delays and the unscheduled crawlings of an impassable forest. And he's too big to climb over the mountains proper. So if Lord Fel comes with Irondusk, if this attack has been in preparation for some time, then we can be virtually certain that Fel's engineers have cleared the Gorge of any obstructions that would waste Irondusk's energy. And that includes useful cover from which we can launch. Clear?"

"Yes, ma'am," Anna said, slightly embarrassed.

"Good." Mother looked her in the eye. "You need to be armed and out of here in one bell. Less, if possible."

She turned back to the map. "We'll need a good spot, a spot that puts you south and east of him with a nice, high launch point, near a bend so you can mitigate their superior numbers a bit."

"What's 'mitigate?'" Wendi asked.

"It means 'make it smaller,'" Penelope said, staring at the map. Wendi nodded.

"Like I said," Mother continued, "Hakon's Hook would be a good spot, here." She pointed to a big switchback turn, near the eastern side of the Gorge. "Famous battle site. And it's closer to us, so you could get set up properly, maybe even by tomorrow morning, if your dragon can make it through the night. The downside, as I mentioned, is that everyone knows it. Fel's scouts and guards will be all over the place, here and here specifically, at the beginning and the end of the Hook, so you'll need to be crafty. Obviously, if one of his riders sees you, it's over. Stealth is everything. You'll need to hide well if you want your chance. That means we'll need to get you into position without being seen well in advance—
well
in advance. And you'll need to stay hidden until moments before you strike. One thing in our favor, though. Fel thinks that he's the one doing the surprising, right?"

Anna nodded.

"What're your thoughts for the engagement?"

"For—?" Anna began.

"For the attack itself." Mother looked up at her. "Do you have something specific in mind?"

"Well . . . ." Anna started.

She suddenly realized the full nature of what they were planning.

"Anna." Mother put her hand on top of hers. "It has to be you. There's nobody else. We don't keep war dragons out here. I can't ride Dagger; I'm too big. And there's no time to gather support from the minor houses, the closest of which is a day away. Fel comes. If we want to try for him—which we must—then it must be now, and it must be in the Gorge. Anywhere in the open is suicide. From what you've told us, Moondagger is up for it. You've been training for this your whole life. Is it an ideal plan? No. But it has to be you. And it has to be now."

Anna looked at Dagger through the southern windows. He lay on his side, licking his chops while a farm hand cleaned up the gory remains of his dinner. Master Kellen sat on a short stool at Dagger's side, stitching up the cut on the dragon's ribs.

"I understand." Anna nodded.

"So what are your thoughts?"

"Well . . . his fire is strong."

"No." Mother shook her head. "Dragon fire in a near vertical dive? A dive high and fast enough to keep Fel's marksmen off you? Think about it. Half of Dagger's flame will end up in your face. And neither of you will be able to see, breathe, or fight, to say nothing of potential injury. You can't risk a carbine, either. You might get one or two shots off, but even if you hit him, he'll be well-armored and after your first shot his formation will close up and his scouts and lightweights will launch for you before you can attack again. Make no mistake, Anna: Fel has some
mean
lightweight squads. Every bit as fast as the White Demons, maybe even a bit tougher. If they get their claws into you, you and Dagger won't last half a moment."

Mother paused and gazed at the map.

"It has to be a lance." She nodded. "You drop from above, somewhere in here or here," she tapped the map, "angle into proper form, strike, done. More importantly, if you miss, Dagger might be able to snag him as you pass, drop him to the rocks. The Gorge is steep and narrow here. With Irondusk's wingspan, they'll be pretty high up, at least two hundred paces above the river bed. You unseat Lord Fel in Jorgun Gorge," she tapped her finger against the map, "he won't survive."

Mother looked at her. Her eyes were hard. Anna realized quite suddenly that this woman with whom she now spoke was not her Mother. Rather, she was Jessica Dyer, former Captain of House Dradón's White Demons, one of the most ruthless dragon knights of Dávanor. And she was ordering Anna into battle.

Anna cleared her throat. "Lance it is, then."

45

T
HEY LEFT THE
library, walked back through the kitchen, and crossed the courtyard. Moondagger napped in the heat, enjoying the bright sun after his meal, warming himself on the hot flagstones. His eyes were shut. He barely seemed to notice them as they passed. It was nice, Anna realized, to see him like that for a moment. The calm before the storm.

The fastest way to the armory was through the dyeing barn. They crossed to it and entered by way of the small hatch nested in the barn's sliding door. When they were inside, the smell of the dye vats and the bustle of activity pushed a wave of nostalgia through Anna's mind. The place hustled with movement, two dozen workers stirring, straining, and working the vats, transforming the white wool cloth and yarn of the surrounding countryside into the sky blue of House Dradón. For Anna, the smell, the place, and the work always filled her with pride. While her clan had grown crops and merinos for generations, it was their ancient proficiency in that most perfect of colors that had made the family fortune.

They walked past the vats, wringers, and dye barrels, through the barn, out the back door, and towards the armory, which was set in a back room at the rear of the stable. The stable itself was a long, two-storied building made of dark stone, roofed with silver-grey slate, and fronted by a long feeding pen enclosed by a split rail fence. Anna knew that Mother still kept several dozen messenger dragons—Rocky being the oldest and the fattest—in addition to a dozen other lightweight mounts. Those dragons were for trade, transport, and travel, however. None were trained for war.

When they stepped into the stable, the sharp smell of straw and dragons filled Anna's nostrils. Mother grabbed an iron safety lantern off its hook, lit it from the lantern that Penelope carried, and walked towards the armory door at the stable's rear. Above them, the family's messenger dragons hung from their perches—a host of reds, blues, purples, yellows, oranges, and greens—a kaleidoscope of scales and hues, cooing and hissing and snapping, peering down at them with eyes every color of the rainbow, gleaming bright in the rafters' dark. The family's lightweight dragons were there, too, most of them sleeping in the golden straw, snoring fitfully, pink tongues lolling through fangs. Of course, had they been strangers, Anna knew they never would've been able to set foot inside the stable at all. Messenger dragons could be extremely dangerous in a swarm and, given a chance, could reduce an intruder to bone and entrails in half a moment. There was a reason that the armory was located in the stables.

Mother took an iron key ring from her apron, separated a silver key from the others, and unlocked the armory's latch. She slid the door open, well-oiled wheels running silent on their tracks.

"Get the lanterns, Penny," Mother said.

"Yes, ma'am." Penny turned, lit the lanterns on either side of the door, then walked deeper into the armory, lighting other lanterns as she went.

The Dyer clan's armory was part functional weapon house, part family shrine. Both of its functions would be served today. It was forty paces wide and twenty paces deep. Along the short wall to their right, five well-made cabinets carried knives, daggers, poniards, stilettos, falchions, bolas, nets, revolvers, and other small arms. The cabinets' wood and hardware shone with careful polish. On the other wall, to their left, a series of racks and brackets held battleswords, lances, pikes, carbines, and long rifles running horizontally across the wall, a pattern of well-maintained battle gear.

Directly across from the doorway through which they'd entered, evenly spaced along the armory's long wall, eleven suits of family armor waited in silent vigil. Father's armor stood at their exact center, mounted on a wooden stand placed on axis with the door. A scarred House Dradón battle banner, its blue cloth burned and torn, was draped over its right side, as if the armor wore the flag as a cloak. There was a hole punched through the left side of the armor's chest. The armor hadn't been cleaned after Father had been removed from it. Mother hadn't allowed it. Instead, the ash and dried blood that caked the gear had become a permanent part of the display, a sacred relic.

Directly behind Father's armor hung a large, elaborate tapestry of Eulorian silk. In some ways, the tapestry was the most important object in the armory. It was hundreds of years old and its imagery was always acknowledged before battle with sacred words that went back to the first centuries of the Kingdom's Founding.

At the center of the tapestry, there was a large Dallanar Sun. It was a stylized, silver star with six radiating points and a single inverted tear at its center. It was the High Seal, Acasius's Star, the Dallanar family sigil, the imperial crest to which House Dradón and House Dyer had sworn allegiance since time immemorial.

At the end of each of the Sun's points, woven into the tapestry, there was a large tondo. At the center of each tondo was a life-sized portrait bust. It was to these portraits that the sacred words were always spoken.

The tondo at the top of the Sun was the largest of the six and held a portrait of the Remain's First King, Acasius Dallanar. As always, he was shown full-faced, pensive, and brooding, his eyes downcast and prophetic. He held his token—a silver chalice—in a disembodied hand at his proper right. The next tondo, below and to Acasius's right, held a portrait of the First Great Sister, Erressa the Lost. Her eyes were dark, beautiful, and wise. Her delicate face was shown in perfect profile as she gazed away from the sigil's center into her token at her right—a silver tear. The Second Great Sister, Alea the True, was next. Alea's was a cheerless face, her portrait set at three-quarter profile so you could see the famous scar on her left cheek. Her deep, blue eyes looked sadly to her proper right where her token—a silver sword—filled the rest of her tondo. Aaryn the Chronicler, the Third Great Sister, was at the bottom of the crest. She was shown full-faced, like her brother Acasius above her, and her eyes were filled with mischievous joy. She held her token—a silver book—in a disembodied hand, and she seemed to be reciting from it, her mouth just slightly open. Next came the fourth Great Sister, Kora the Just. Her face was shown in three-quarter profile. Her features were narrow and sharply boned, but her eyes were soft and kind. With a floating hand, she held her token—a set of silver scales—shown in perfect equilibrium, as if held thus by her gaze. Finally, coming full circle to Acasius's left, was the Fifth Sister, Margo the Gentle. She was a happy, round-faced girl with shining eyes and a gentle, dimpled smile. She was shown in perfect profile, her token beside her face—a silver cornucopia. Her eyes glittered with hidden satisfaction and, perhaps, some secret sorrow.