Battledragon (16 page)

"Dragoneer Relkin, I think your instinct may have been right. There's something going on up there."

Then with a groan of metal and the creak of chains, they saw great iron pitchers of boiling oil being raised above the battlements.

Wiliger groaned. Their mission had failed. The sorcerer could sit inside his castle, safe from them, and wreak evil on the trapped fleet.

Manuel caught Relkin's sleeve.

"Up above, up there, what do you see?" he said, pointing up the slope of the volcano.

Relkin saw at once what he meant. Pinnacles of earlier lava had formed, broken out from the main slope by a later lava flow that had among other things created the crag on which the castle sat. These slender pinnacles of old black lava were cracked and fissured and stood above them on the higher slope of a fissure cut in the cone's side.

Relkin turned to Wiliger, and indicated the pinnacles above.

"There, sir, that's all we need."

Wiliger stared at them uncomprehending for a moment. Then he realized what the boys were suggesting.

"Are they capable of it?"

"The dragons? Oh, yes, sir."

The first pinnacle fell within the hour, heaved over by the combined strength of twelve dragons. The lava column fractured as it fell, and great blocks of stone, ten feet to a side, went bouncing down the slope, over the edge of the fault line and then barreled across the causeway to smash into the gate.

The first great rock broke the gate's timbers. The second stove them in, and the third bounced high and smashed the right-hand gate off its hinges and hurled it within.

The silence that followed was broken only by the thin cheering of the dragonboys.

The second pinnacle shook at the first heave by the dragons. It overlooked another, much larger, mass that stood out right on the edge of the fault line, poised a hundred feet above the causeway to the castle.

The dragons gathered themselves and gave it another great push.

The rock column shuddered.

There was a trumpet blast from below.

"Someone's coming," said Jak, who was on lookout.

They all watched with bows drawn as two figures on horseback rode out of the gate under a white flag and then picked their way up the slope toward them.

"A flag of truce. The question is do we accept it?" said Wiliger.

"Can you trust this sorcerer in any way at all?" said Dragoneer Feens.

"Probably not."

And yet they waited, signaling to the dragons to hold off from the pinnacle.

A man holding a white cloth tied to his spear approached. He was a squat, ill-favored fellow with sallow skin and black eyes in which there was a gleam of something akin to madness.

He greeted them with a flourish and a flow of fine words in a courtly style of Verio that sounded very much as if it had been learned from a book.

He explained that he came from the presence of the Honored Master, lord of this isle and its surroundings. He went on to say that the Honored Master was much aggrieved by their presence and wanted to ask them why they proffered such violence to his manse and his creatures. What ailed these great dragon beasts? Why did they make such violent affray and trouble in his kingdom? Why did this fleet pass so insolently close to his isle and not stay to pay proper tribute? Where was the respect that was most naturally owed to him, the Honored Master?

The Honored Master felt that he had legitimate grounds for complaint, and he begged the great dragons and their owners to refrain from committing any more violence.

They were invited to enter in and partake of a banquet with the Honored Master. Once they had broached a cask together and sung the good old songs, then they would find common grounds for friendship.

Yes, it was an unheard-of privilege, but the Honored Master offered them his friendship!

"Is that the Honored Master?" said Wiliger, pointing.

The spokesman waved his hands hurriedly. "Do not point like that, it is terribly disrespectful."

"All right, but tell me, who is that man?"

With eyes downcast, the spokesman admitted that it was indeed the Honored Master.

"Why doesn't he come closer and speak for himself?"

"Why are you so suspicious, man from the north? Why did your fleet not stop and pay its respects?"

"I'm not the admiral in command of the fleet. Why did your master send his flying monsters to attack our ships?"

" 'Attack'? You are wrong. They came to investigate, not to attack."

"We were there. It was an attack."

The spokesman grew flustered. He glanced back helplessly to the other figure, still sitting on his horse fifty yards away. For a moment the tension rose. Then some decision was made. The figure moved forward, slowly, walking his horse up to them.

As he came, he completed a web of sorcery that he cast over the men and dragons like a net. Across the minds of men it fell like a shadow obscuring the light, and their thought became hazy and unfocused. Many stared witlessly at the moon, others giggled and scratched themselves. Dragon Leader Wiliger felt his wits go astray. He could not remember who these men on horseback were, or why he was standing there with them on this hillside beneath the moon. He tried to speak and found himself unable to say more than two words in order.

The sorcerer ignored him and rode up to the dragons and halted about fifteen yards away. His horse would not go any nearer without intensive coercion, and he wanted to have his whole mind free to contemplate these dragons. He had never encountered these famous monsters from the Argonath before.

His spell had had very little effect on the dragons. One or two of the younger wyverns shifted uneasily from foot to foot at seeing their dragonboys silenced like this. These young dragons eyed the sorcerer with some apprehension. They had not seen real battle yet and had never dreamed of fighting wizards.

"What wrong with everyone?" said Vlok, who was perhaps the least affected of all.

"Human magic, this one here in front of us must be the sorcerer," said Alsebra sharply.

"Ah. This is the cause of our trouble, then." The Purple Green stood up and drew his sword. It was a standard regulation blade, eight feet long and massively proportioned. He set it down point first and rested his huge forearms on it and gazed at the wizard.

The sound of steel being pulled from scabbards came from all around him as the other dragons did the same.

Wiliger was struggling to think clearly.

"Hold," he said. "Where you going?"

"Be quiet, man," said the sorcerer's spokesman, "trouble not the Honored Master with your impertinence."

"Stop," said Wiliger, clutching his head. His thoughts were congealing like cold tar. He spun on the spot and fell down in a swoon.

The older veterans of the 109th Marneri had seen magic before, and they remained unconcerned. Magic had little effect on them.

The figure pulled back its hood and revealed a normal human face with thick lips and a very thin nose, although the skin glowed grey under the moonlight. He was hairless; his eyes were set close together.

The sorcerer forced his unwilling mount to go closer until he locked his gaze with that of the nearest dragon, which happened to be the broketail.

Bazil glared back. The man's eyes seemed to pinwheel a little. It was a foolish effect that merely annoyed the wyvern. His glare in return was that of a giant predator, two huge eyes facing forward on potential prey.

The sorcerer found his own focus blurred by his discomfort at being stared at in this way. These monsters were indeed highly intimidating. He concentrated all his strength and pressed his gaze upon that of the dragon, willing himself not to flinch, not to pay any attention to the force and purpose of the giant's own stare.

Now he pressed down with his great willpower and sought to break the dragon's gaze. First make it look down, and then take control of its will.

Nothing happened, except that the dragon shrugged as if to dispel a tickle or a cold draft.

"Stop what you do, man." Bazil took up Ecator. The steel gleamed in the moonlight.

The sorcerer quailed and moved back. His horse became almost uncontrollable.

"I merely wish to welcome you, great honored monsters of the north."

"Funny idea of welcome to attack with stupid bats."

"A tragedy, a complete misunderstanding, I assure you. Now, welcome to my humble island."

There was such a weight of sweetness in his words that they were like some foul honey, an exudate collected from spiders perhaps. One or two of the younger wyverns were even ready to accept this reading of events.

"Wizard, you let fleet go if you want to live," said Bazil. "And first you release dragonboys from your spell."

"Ah, spells, now there's a story to be told." The sorcerer had turned his gaze on Alsebra, but he had no more luck than he'd had with Bazil. Quickly he spun to the Purple Green. This was a mistake. No living thing stared back at the Purple Green, not when the Purple Green was concentrating all his four tons in a glare of hyperbolic venom. The wild dragon roused up and stepped closer to the man and his horse.

The horse reared, and to avoid being tossed by the panicked animal, the sorcerer let it retreat another fifteen yards. There he regained control and brought the panting animal to a halt, looking back to the dragons.

It was an astonishing thing, a complete reversal. Never had he, great Gadjung of Batooj, suffered such a defeat. He was the only living master of the great magical system of the Red Aeon. He knew of the work of the Five who dwelled far to the north in the uttermost Hazog. Their power had grown great, indeed, but they knew nothing of the arts of the Red Aeon, which were the greatest of all on the world Ryetelth. He did not fear them nor any other living man or woman.

These dragons were clearly unreachable. They must be possessed of minds so incredibly dim and recalcitrant that they simply could not be touched by the delicate power of his magic. Well, if he could not master them then he would have to destroy them. He raised his hand, and his servant blew the bugle.

"Behold! We will watch these over-haughty monsters cut down to size."

There was a sudden stir among the dragons. Something had appeared in the ruined gateway, something huge that glittered strangely.

There came a harsh metallic shriek, and now the light of the new moon was reflected from brass surfaces and silvery details. With more enormous squeaks and groans the thing came on, rolling on huge gears starved of oil.

It stepped across the causeway and now they saw it clearly, a man-shaped thing almost twenty feet tall. A giant clad in heavy armor, wearing a helm that enclosed the head and carrying a huge round shield.

The sorcerer retreated downslope and finally paused, when well out of bow shot from the Argonathi soldiers. He watched the coming of the great cataphract with satisfaction. He had never had cause to use it before, not since that day when he had rescued it from the pit in which it had lain for aeons and cleaned it of the slime and filth. These haughty reptiles would get a lesson now. He chuckled to himself, a dry leathery sound.

The giant armored man began to move upslope, each stride accompanied by another shriek of dry, rusty metal. He came slowly, weighed down by enormous mass.

"By the fiery breath," muttered the Purple Green.

"That would be a useful thing to have right now," replied Alsebra as she moved away from the others and deployed her beautiful dragonsword "Undaunt."

Bazil stood forward and drew "Ecator."

"I have never met a foe that could withstand dragonsword," he said. Ecator fairly glowed in the moonlight, a long ribbon of white steel.

"There can always be a first time, Broketail."

All the dragons were ready now, swords in hand, shields held loosely. There was no need for tail sword, by the look of the armor plates on their opponent. This was going to be heavy-duty work; they could forget finesse.

It came up the slope toward them at the same steady pace, each huge metal foot crunching into the volcano's side as it came down, sinking deep into the surface while plates of tortured steel squawked most horribly..

Perhaps it was the overpowering sound, perhaps the general tension, but the dragonboys started to wake from the sorcerer's spell. His grip was broken. One by one they snapped awake and looked up at the giant towering over them.

"Where the hell did that come from?" yelled Swane, frantically looking for his bow and quiver.

"Mother preserve us," said someone else.

"By the breath!"

They scrambled for their weapons, then looked for their dragons.

There was a sudden shriek of fright as Dragon Leader Wiliger woke and found himself almost beneath the feet of the oncoming thing. No one had seen fit to pull him clear.

For a moment he gaped up at the helmet towering above him. Above the cheek guards there were empty spaces.

Wiliger backed away, mouth working.

"Impossible!" He turned and ran and slammed into Bazil's right leg and almost fell over.

The dragon steadied him with the flat of the dragonsword. The touch of that steel sent a shock through his system. His scream of terror cut off. He ducked sideways then scrambled clear, keeping his head down, while Bazil limbered up, which sent his tail cracking back and forward just over human heads.

Wiliger fought down the terror he felt. The thing had holes for eyes but there were no eyes within them. He gasped for air, fighting the rising panic. Something made him look up, and he saw Relkin examining him from his place behind the dragon, where he waited with bow and arrow.

Wiliger pulled himself together with an effort. He was dragon leader! He would command his unit as he was supposed to! He peered along the slope of the volcano, trying to work out where everybody was.

As far as he could see, they'd made a natural semicircle in which to receive the giant. Closest were Alsebra and

Bazil Broketail, all were armed and ready. They had organized this on their own, without any need of a dragon leader.

Well, he would start earning his keep now. Just as Chesler Renkandimo said in his book on the subject, "Dragons are smarter than horses, they're not quite as smart as people."