Battledragon (35 page)

The horn blew again. King Choulaput raised a white kerchief. Silence fell across the field. He dropped the kerchief and the joust began.

With a great ringing war cry, Hervaze dug in his spurs and set his mount trotting forward. The trot quickly gave way to the canter and then to the gallop.

The dragon took a few steps forward and then halted, shield up, sword swinging loosely in the right hand. The tail was held high, bearing tail mace instead of tail sword.

The hooves of the warhorse thundered closer, the lance came down and locked into position. Hervaze dropped his vizor and bent his head over his lance. As the dragon loomed closer, Hervaze selected his target, aiming for the uncovered shoulder. If he hit that spot hard enough he might tip the great monster over onto its back. Legend had it that these brutes became helpless when they were thrown onto their backs.

The dragon was much closer then. By god, but it was huge!

They came together. Bazil shifted his feet, ducked his shoulder, and brought his shield up and over to deflect the lance away with a sharp rapping sound. Then Hervaze was past, and the horse bore him down to the far end of the white line.

A sigh went up around the field at this slight result.

Bazil turned to watch and casually leaned the sword against his shoulder while his tail drooped to the ground.

Among the watching Czardhans, there was a degree of chagrin at the failure by one of their own to achieve immediate victory. Conversation broke out among them as grooms and aides assisted Hervaze.

At length there came the signal. Hervaze was ready to charge once more. The horn blew. Bazil stood forward in a practiced crouch.

Again the great horse thundered down the line and Hervaze leaned forward, aiming this time for the dragon's helmet. The dragon loomed before him, an implacable tower of steel and sinew. A wild scream came from his lips as he bore down. Then the lance shattered as the sword swung in a mighty arc, and Hervaze rode on, bearing nothing but a stump.

From the legions there came a ragged cheer. Among the Czardhans a groan of shocked dismay rippled back.

Once more Hervaze was equipped and readied. Once again the horn blew and he charged the dragon. This time he kept his aim flexible; he would take whatever target was available. The dragon moved too quickly for any other tactic to work. Hervaze had been unpleasantly surprised by the speed of the dragon's movements.

Again the thunder of hooves as they closed together, and Hervaze reached and lunged, aiming the lance for the dragon's throat.

And again the massive shield snapped up in time to deflect away the lance. This time the dragonsword swung around in a glittering slice. Hervaze ducked in time and only caught a fraction of the blow on the top of his own shield. Still he was almost hurled from the saddle and clung on desperately with both hands, leaving his lance to fall in the dust.

Another cheer, more lusty this time, came from the legions. Many among the Bogoni joined in. The Czardhans watched in stony silence during the minute or so that ensued as Hervaze readied himself and acquired a new lance.

The horn blew. Once again the warhorse sprang down the white line, and Hervaze leveled his lance. This time he would feint for the open shoulder and then raise the point for the upper part of the dragon helmet. A blow there might stun the wyvern.

He dodged the shield and, indeed, his lance point did carom off the very top of the dragon's helmet; but it was too late, for this time the dragonsword swept around too low to duck and Hervaze was airborne in a moment, conscious, even before he hit the ground, that his shield arm was broken. Then came the terrible impact with the ground, and Hervaze knew no more.

As the knight landed with a clanging thud in the dust, a soft moan went up from the massed knights of Czardha. They had witnessed the mastering of the flower of chivalry; it was a sobering sight.

The warhorse ran on, riderless, to the end of the line. The dragon stood back, laying his sword against his shoulder, lowering the heavy shield to the ground and leaning on it.

Hervaze of Gensch was taken up and borne from the field on a stretcher. A trumpet blew, and the equerry announced that the joust was finished.

The cheering became general as Bazil tramped away, surrounded by a mob of dragonboys. Under the trees, out of sight of the Czardhans, waited the other dragons who offered brief congratulations.

Watching the scene were General Baxander and the witch Lessis, sitting their horses off to one side.

"Well, I do hope our allies take that little lesson to heart. We've had too much of this sort of trouble with them. I think perhaps they understand now just how formidable a battledragon can be."

"Especially that particular leatherback dragon."

"Ah, yes, Lady Lessis, the broketail dragon. He has a tail of legends they say. And wonderful luck. The luckiest dragon in the legions they call him."

Lessis was moved to respond.

"I don't know about luck, but he is a great fighter. I have been privileged enough to have known this dragon, and those legends are true."

"Really?" Baxander was taken aback. For some reason he had never connected the Grey Lady to the legends of the broketail dragon. "Well may I say that I feel proud to have him in my command. I hope his presence will bring us luck. Certainly things have gone well so far."

"General, you have performed prodigies. The emperor will be overjoyed at what you have accomplished. I, myself, am amazed. Moving this army so far, so fast, and destroying the enemy host so convincingly, you have begun our campaign in great style."

Baxander felt slightly uncomfortable under such praise, but, in truth, he was most pleased by the success of his planning and the work of the Engineering Corps.

"I am glad to serve the empire, Lady."

An aide rode up and passed Baxander a note from the Count of Felk-Habren.

Baxander read the note, scribbled a brief reply that he handed to an aide for inscription in Demmener, then turned back to Lessis.

"The knight Hervaze will live. In fact, he has escaped quite lightly, a broken arm and some cracked ribs, no more. He will leave wyvern dragons alone from now on."

"Thanks to the Mother for that. We do not need any source of rancor between the legions and the knights. We will need all our forces in the upcoming struggle."

"Yes, of course." Baxander looked away; the field was emptying swiftly. From the legion tents came the sound of the "Kenor Song." They would be celebrating for the rest of the day over there.

"Our upcoming campaign, I find that I have little idea of what to expect from here on. It has been unsettling, not having any idea."

"I understand, General, and I apologize. I have spent too much time scouting and not enough time reporting to you. But after our good fortune in befriending the batrukh, I thought to take the maximum advantage."

"You have information for me, then?"

"I do. The situation is critical, and I regret even this day, lost to us as it must be."

"Surely the men deserve a day's rest. We have driven them hard ever since we landed. They have won a great victory on top of it."

"You are correct, General, and nobody would begrudge them this rest if the timing of our expedition were not so crucial. Our enemy is rapidly developing his weapon, and it will take us at least three months to reach him."

"Three months! That sounds like the worst case situation that you envisaged."

"I don't think I ever suggested that there could be any other option. Perhaps Admiral Cranx thought the expedition might not have to go all the way, but I did not agree with him. No, General, we have to go all the way, even to the shores of the Inland Sea, the very Wad Nub of legend."

Baxander sucked in a deep breath. There were legends surrounding this witch, terrible legends involving death rides by doomed units dragged into the unutterable wastes where their bones remained to whiten in the sun. Was that to be his fate?

Not a religious man, Baxander found himself offering up a prayer to the Mother just then. If She watched over them as it was claimed, then might She not give them a little aid in this situation?

"The maps are vague concerning the location of the Wad Nub. I only know that it is far to the west of here. How do you expect us to cross such a distance in only a few months?"

Lessis gave him her determined smile.

"You reached Koubha within a week. I believe it will take two months to cross the Ramparts of the Sun."

Baxander whistled. "I understand that those are mighty mountains."

'They are, and on their far side there lies the land of the Kraheen. There also lies a navigable river that flows through forest country. We shall build rafts for the army and float downstream for most of the journey. If we are in time, we shall catch the tail end of the monsoon flood, and that will speed us toward the Wad Nub."

Baxander raised an eyebrow. Two months to the Ramparts of the Sun, with this unwieldy army and all its supplies. The logistics were going to be nightmarish.

"What about the Kraheen army we just defeated?"

"They will be hunted down by the army of Pugaz, with assistance from King Choulaput's forces."

"I see."

"I won't lie to you, General. We face a great challenge, but we must hurry. We have to reach the lands of the Kraheen before they master the weapons they are building. Our enemy knows that we are coming to destroy him. He will redouble his efforts."

"We have our work cut out for us. I suppose we'd better get to it, then."

"With the Mother's blessing, we will succeed."

Baxander wished he could be as convinced as the Grey Lady, but then he was only a soldier and therefore all too aware of all the obstacles ahead. He sighed and signaled to his staff.

It was a journey out of legend, a thing of mythological proportion. Across the savannah uplands of Eigo they marched, legions, Czardhan knights, Kassimi warriors, and soldiers of the Bakan city states. A strange polyglot army, accompanied by a screening force of Bogoni tribal warriors. Each man knew that he was involved in making history, and the weight of such knowledge lent an extra depth to every tone, every moment.

They crossed the friendly kingdom of the Impalo peoples and the unfriendly kingdom of Belatz. The King of Belatz made threats, but never followed up on them. The sight of this great host of strangers, with their multitude of wagons hauled by oxen, was so astounding that the Belatz fell back astonished and did not lift up their heads again until they were past.

To assuage the warriors, the Belatz tribal magicians assured their folk that none of the strangers would ever return from the west. They would die of disease, they would die of starvation, and if they crossed the Ramparts of the Sun, they would die over Kraheen cook fires or in the bellies of the terror lizards.

The army was blissfully unaware of these dire predictions. They trekked on, shouldering packs and weapons, faces set resolutely to the west.

They trekked through brush country that gradually grew drier as they approached the mighty Ramparts, whose snow-caps glittered in the dawn and serrated the sunset. The high savannah was a landscape lush with brown vegetation. In the day the dry grasses seethed in the hot winds; at night they whispered in cooler breezes from the interior. In the day they often saw herds of antelope and small groups of gazelle. At night they heard the roar of lions and the shrill shrieking of hyenas. The cavalry reported sighting elephants and other larger herbivores. Some were truly colossal, but these avoided the marching columns.

Each dawn found the witches in motion, casting spells against flies up and down the line, small but potent magic that kept the endemic biting flies away from man and beast all day. This was vital since the biting flies brought with them the terrible sleeping sickness that slew man, horse, and ox alike. The witches' work was so good that only a handful of men were lost to the sickness, along with a dozen horses and twenty oxen. These were such tiny numbers that General Baxander's planning staff were astounded. New respect for the witches became widespread.

The mosquitoes alone were immune to any magic, and that in part was due to their numbers. But to counter the deadly ills they carried, the legion medics issued a preparation of quinine and the march was laid out carefully to avoid mosquito-plagued places. The end result was the miraculous sight of a huge ox train moving across a land that had seen no oxen, hardly any horses, both of which were peculiarly vulnerable to the sleeping sickness, in all its history.

The legion cavalry, working in conceit with the Kassimi and the small detachments from the Bakan states, roamed ahead of the marching columns, seeking out the best trails and camping places, and arranging with tribal leaders for supplies of food to be purchased and made ready.

And thus the marching host from the east did not die of starvation, and the cooks found ways to make the legion staple, noodles, out of local grains and tubers. There were even occasional supplies of native-brewed beer, strong and dark. On those nights the hyenas and lions were shocked into silence by the roar of the "Kenor Song" and "La Lillee La Loo," echoing out across the wild, empty savannah of the dark continent.

They rose early in the mornings, well before dawn, and marched until the sun had reached the eleventh house and the heat was begun. They camped and dozed through the mid part of the day and renewed the march in the evenings, carrying on until the last rays of the sun were gone. Sometimes they marched by moonlight as General Baxander pressed to squeeze every mile possible out of every day. Often they made fifteen miles in a day, occasionally more. The Czardhan knights, the Kassimi princelings, and the pocket generals from Storch and Monjon were astonished at such steady, constant progress. Their men were just as astonished by their resistance to the plagues of the tropics, and they were assiduous in taking their daily dose of quinine draft. It had been observed that those who failed to do so were invariably the ones who sickened with the tropical ague and had to be left behind in Impalo villages.