Authors: Christopher Rowley
"There really is no alternative?" The Emperor Pascal Iturgio Densen Asturi did not often seem to sulk, but there was a distinct pout to his lips. "This will take a huge fleet. To transport two entire legions, with their dragons and adequate cavalry. I don't know. Can we divert that much shipping?"
"The details are being nailed down right now in our office. It will take sixteen to twenty ships, all of the first rank. The force will be gone for at least two, more probably three years."
"It will make it impossible to take full advantage of the opening we have with the Czardhans. The Trucial States are producing new steels, better than anything we have ourselves. They can teach us so much."
"We understand that, Your Majesty. If there was any other way to go about this, we would try it. The Great Enemy has sent one of their own, their dread leader himself, to attend this project. He nourishes it in the distant heart of Eigo. And with it, he will demolish our power and establish a state of terror that completely girdles the world."
Pascal turned away from the globe. He moved across the room and stood by the other window and looked out across the storm-tossed harbor of Andiquant. Wind-driven rain rattled against the glass. In the harbor rode two white-hulled vessels, frigates. Farther out, invisible in the rain, other, greater ships were riding it out in the Cunfshon estuary.
He had this one great opportunity to place his mark on history and bring the long war with Padmasa to a successful conclusion. Combine with the Czardhans, spawn new technologies from the trade between them, rout the Masters back into their holes, and finally destroy them there.
Any delay might be fatal. Two years previously the Great Enemy had thrust out his hands for their throat. The enemy's invasion of the Argonath had almost succeeded, and would have but for the fanatical defense of Sprian's Ridge by a small force of battledragons, legionaries, and hill tribesmen from an ancient clan. But for them, Padmasa might well have dismantled the cities of the Argonath one by one and thrown the empire back on the Isles, as it had been in the Dark Ages.
Pascal was terribly aware that if he made only one mistake in this war, they would lose and Padmasa would overwhelm them.
To take two entire legions and send them off for two or three years was a great risk. Their defenses were already strained by the great effort they were making to capture the enemy's bastion at Axoxo. To pull two legions out would make it hellishly hard to keep adequate force levels in the forts in Kenor. And if they were lost? Emperor Pascal did not care to think about such a possibility.
"Your Majesty, Heruta himself has gone to Eigo. He is so confident of victory that he has left behind the defenses of Padmasa. What can that mean?"
Pascal heard her. He nodded slowly. The wind beyond the panes was coming in gusts now, throwing the rain hard against the lovely walls of his city. He spoke with a sadness to his voice. How many would die in this great and terrible endeavor? How many would he, the emperor, send to their deaths?
"Then, it must be attempted. I will send Baxander to command. He has all the energy in the world, and he will need it. Steenhur might make a good second in command. Steenhur is much like Baxander, but younger. They will need to be strong. The diseases in Eigo are terrible. We will lose many men just to those tropical plagues."
Lessis was perfectly still and solemn. The witches had plans to deal with the diseases of the tropics.
"We will take losses. It is a great risk, but we must stop them, and quickly. Once this jinni is out of the bottle, we will never put it back."
Emperor Pascal Iturgio Densen Asturi came up with a wry smile. "Indeed, on the face of it this is a task for the Mother's Hand itself. To throw an army halfway around the world and into such remote and forbidding territory, why it invokes a pride fit for the old gods."
Lessis let a trace of a smile show on her own lips, but her words held no comfort.
"If Heruta is given enough time, we will lose everything to him within a century."
"The sea voyage alone will take months."
"With favorable winds a fleet could be there in sixty days."
"Winds in midwinter will not be so favorable."
"Then in ninety days. Once ashore it will take several months to cross the Ramparts of the Sun and get within range of the enemy. We have a plan. Let me show you. He will know we are coming, of course, but he will not be able to do, anything to stop us until we are deep within his guard and have our blade close to his heart. If we are in time, then we shall defeat him and end this threat. If not, then we will fail, but we fail if we do nothing, either. This demon we must put back in its bottle."
The following day Relkin risked requesting an interview with Commander Toup. The boys of the 109th had learned more in the morning concerning the appearance of Dragon Leader Wiliger. The only good news had been that he wasn't due to actually join them until they returned to the city. In the meantime Relkin continued as brevet dragon leader.
Relkin's point, the only one he felt he could legitimately bring up, was that the, uh, Dragon Leader Wiliger seemed unsuited for service with dragons. He had no experience with dragons, and he went into dragon-freeze very easily. Dragons wouldn't work well with a person who was terrified of them. Had there been some mistake perhaps?
Toup glared at him for a long while, and then banged on the desk with the flat of his hand.
"I don't like this sort of thing, Dragoneer, and I warn you I will not countenance insubordination!" He hesitated for a long moment. "I know full well that you have a damned fine record as a soldier of the empire. That is the only reason I don't have you thrown out of here and placed on a charge."
Relkin waited while Commander Toup's grey eyes bored into him.
"Come see me tomorrow; I'll look into it."
The next day Relkin was called to Commander Toup's office right after lunch. Toup wore an unusually savage expression. The reason soon became plain.
"The man Wiliger is your new dragon leader. It's official, and there is nothing that can be done about it now I'm told. He has powerful influence in the queen's court. His father is one of the most prosperous merchants in Marneri."
Relkin had a desperate ploy. Manuel had done some research.
"I would like to request a review of the appointment, sir, on the grounds that it appears the Dragon Leader Wiliger has not spent any time at all in service in the Dragon Corps. That means he has not been in the legions. Clause thirty-eight states…"
"Silence!" Toup banged on the table. "You are impertinent, sir! Dragon Leader Wiliger has transferred from the Marneri Fourth Regiment. Now get back to your command, Dragoneer, and don't let me see you again on this tour of duty."
Relkin stumbled out, stunned. The man had transferred from a crack regiment to a dragon squad! It was unheard of.
Old Toup was clearly very upset about the whole thing. Bought commissions were an evil that the legions fought against but had to accept occasionally. Until now, no one had ever bought their way into the Dragon Corps. In truth, not many had tried since the Dragon Corps consisted of gigantic, uncouth beasts and equally uncouth orphan boys who were conscripted at the age of seven.
The 109th finished out their tour in the woodlots and then formed up and marched away, down the roads to Marneri through the snow-covered winter landscape. The air had warmed in the aftermath of the snowstorm and the snow was melting, but their roads were all well-paved ones and quite clear and dry, so they made good speed, stopping every two hours for a quick boil of stir about for the dragons and kalut for everyone.
Halfway there they met the 66th Marneri Dragons going the other way. The two units complemented each other on the Marneri tour. While the 109th were in the city, the 66th would be at Dashwood.
The 66th had no news. Everyone in the Marneri garrison was still waiting for word on when they would be sent to Axoxo. That they would finally get their turn on the front this year they accepted as absolute. The only question was whether they would march up to Razac and take a riverboat down the Argo, or take a ship in Marneri and sail to Kadein for the southern route, through the High Pass above Arneis and down the Lis.
They marched into a snowbound Marneri by the tower gate an hour after sunset and, illumined by torchlight, made their way down to the Dragon House where they resumed occupation of their familiar stalls. Cloaks, helmets, and great swords were hung up on the appropriate hooks while shields were stacked against the walls. After a hearty dinner the dragons went up to the plunge pool to join the resident legion champions, lead by mighty Vastrox. These champions helped train all the youngsters that came through the Dragon House, and they were always glad to see their former pupils. They even made welcome for the Purple Green of Hook Mountain, the only dragon in the legions who had not passed through the training in one of the nine Dragon Houses of Argonath.
The dragonboys busied themselves unpacking and reordering their lives. Relkin found a message scroll waiting for him. A letter from Eilsa Ranardaughter of the Clan Wattel, to whom his heart was pledged, and had been for eighteen months, most of them spent in separation.
In her letter Eilsa brought him up to date on her life, the problems of sowing and reaping oats in a year of too much rain, the problems of childbirth among her kin. Old Margian was still dying. A tough old woman in her ninetieth year, she was taking a long time about dying. She'd been dying when Relkin had been introduced to her more than a year before. Eilsa wished, as she ever did, that she could be free of the inheritance of Ranard, her doughty father, and free of the hills of Wattel so that she could come back to Marneri and be with Relkin.
Relkin closed his eyes for a moment as he imagined such a life. Eilsa living somewhere in the city of Marneri. The two being together at some point in every day. Ah, bliss!
These eighteen months of letter writing had done wonders for his skill with a pen, and now he wrote a quick letter in return and told her that he was back in Marneri, safe and sound, as was the dragon, and that his temporary command of the unit was over. He was a plain dragoneer first class now, not a full dragoneer in command of a squadron. He had explained many times to Eilsa why this confusing nomenclature existed and why both ordinary dragonboys and the man who commanded dragon squadrons were called dragoneer. Unless, that was, they had been promoted to dragon leader, the equivalent to being a captain in the infantry. Briefly he mentioned that they had a new dragon leader. As always, he pledged his undying love. He dropped the short scroll off at the Legion Postal Office. Mail was free for all in the legions, a privilege rarely used by orphan dragonboys.
Out on the pavement of Tower Street he paused and considered. The skies were clear now, and the stars twinkled in the cold air. He was tired but too excited to sleep. His anger concerning the new dragon leader was too strong, and any time he received a letter from Eilsa his heart would always pound for hours; he would think about her and wish that she could be with him. He turned about and headed downhill into the city. The sidewalks had been shoveled free of snow and much had melted during the day, but what was left was crusting over as the temperature dropped.
He crossed Foluran Hill, the so-called Quarter of Wealth, with its fine houses of five and six stories and white stucco exteriors. Farther down he crossed Broad Street with its commercial buildings and then plunged down to the dock-side.
The lights of the city were echoed by the lights of several dozen vessels at anchor in the harbor. He noticed that one of the really huge white ships of Cunfshon had anchored in the outer harbor. Her lights seemed to stretch across the harbor out there.
His destination lay in a narrow side street, the Blue Bear, a tavern much haunted by sailors and betimes by legionaries. There was nothing Relkin liked better than to sit quietly by the bar and listen to a group of sailors tell stories of the world. Having himself undertaken two long journeys beyond the frontiers of the Empire of the Rose, he understood something of the breadth of the world. He hungered for the rest. He often thought, if he were to lose Bazil, and war was a risky profession, that he would seek a second life at sea, as a sailor aboard one of the white ships.
Inside the Blue Bear, he found the rooms warm from the fire and tight with a good crowd. At the bar he ordered a pint of the slight ale and scanned the throng. He exchanged nods with dragoneers Givens and Weeve, who tended the champions Gerunt and Xaunce. He saw two legionaries, men of the First Regiment from the black borders on their grey outer cloaks, hunched over a dice board in the corner.
Dragoneer Weeve came up to the bar to fetch in a round.
"Evening, Dragoneer Relkin, we was sorry to hear you'd lost your step to full dragoneer."
Relkin did his level best to seem nonchalant. Weeve shook his head. "Dirty shame if you ask me, I don't know what this fool can want, I only hope it ain't a case of a man with a taste for boys in his bed."
"He'll be in for a sad awakening if that's his problem. But something tells me that that's not it."
Weeve's eyebrows rose, but Relkin would say no more.
"Well, you've got your reasons I'm sure. Anyhow, did you hear that the
Barley
came in on the tide."
So that was the big ship out there, the
Barley
, the biggest of all the white ships at three thousand tons, the queen of the oceans.
"I saw her as I came down the hill."
"Word is you're all going out on her. Two days' time, lickety-split."
Relkin expressed surprise. He'd heard nothing, but then again he'd been up at Dashwood and they were a little cut off up there.
Weeve made a joke about the legendary lack of warmth in the Dashwood lavatories, then turned serious.
"I've heard that this won't be what you might think, either."
"What's that?"
"Well, I heard that you're to pack tropical gear, not cold weather."