Dragons of War (14 page)

Neither gave up very easily. There was some growling and snapping of teeth. It was the time of the primal dragon, and Bazil found himself contemplating the ancient wild ways of Dragon Home. He had mated. These were his young. Now he was free of them. They would stay with their mother. He would find other mates and have other young. But he could not live like them, like wild animals.

He would have to content himself with the knowledge that he would live on in their memories. Perhaps they would even tell their own young about their wyvern grandsire. He reflected that this was the way with dragons. He had spent only the briefest time with his own male parent, a great leatherback named Cos, who died when he was very young.

Bazil looked on at the young while they ate their elk. Naturally they had to be chivied to give up meat. They were wild, after all. But Bazil had to admit to himself that he was glad he didn't have to hunt to try and feed them! This idea that they could go out into the forest and hunt for a living was wearing thin. He and the Purple Green could not survive up here alone, and even with Relkin it was very hard.

He ate the foreleg and shoulder of the elk that he had secured from Grener. Braner was still squabbling with the Purple Green over the division of his part of the kill.

Once again the green dragoness appeared, this time flying down with another elk. She landed and ate separately from them, and made no offer of any of her elk, a good-sized animal, to anyone else.

Bazil thought of life in the legion. By this time of the morning, he would have had a huge bowl of hot oatmeal, a dozen toasted wheat cakes, some crispy roast pork or bacon, a dozen scrambled eggs, and several loaves of fresh bread lathered with akh. Ah, for the rich flavors of such food the nuances of toasting and roasting and frying and akh, always akh.

He pushed these memories from his mind, and chewed the stringy elk meat and crunched the hard bones.

Of course, there was the other side to the legion life, the fighting and the risk of death. Bazil was a veteran now of three campaigns, and had seen most of his original companions in the 109th burn on their funeral pyres.

In the legions, a dragon lived well, died in combat, and was burned with honor and glory. Long would they sing of great Kepabar, who fell at Ossur Galan. Or Sorik, who died at Mount Red Oak, or the graceful Nesessitas, who was slain in the arena of Tummuz Orgmeen.

The stringy elk was gone. Bazil's stomach rumbled, demanding more. He rubbed his belly. There was not a sliver of fat left on him. Maybe he really was going to die of starvation.

Relkin had thrown some more brush on the fire and boiled up some water. He pulled out his dragon kit and cleaned swabs and probes. Then he approached Grener.

"You have a rotting wound, let me clean it and help it heal."

The young green dragon eyed him uncertainly. She was instinctively prejudiced against anything human, but the six-inch slash from an elk's sharp horns was increasingly painful and uncomfortable. The entire area around it, and the muscles beneath it, were sore and inflamed.

She said nothing, but drew away from him.

"Come, let me work on it. It will get worse if I don't. A wound like that can even kill you."

"Kill?"

"It is rotted by the invisible small things of the air. They corrupt everything that is not protected by skin. When you cut the skin, you let them in. That is why wounds must always be cleaned and why a dragonboy always cleans his tools in boiling water before he uses them. Boiling water, any extreme heat, will kill the small things of the air."

Grener's eyes were wide-open at all this.

"How do you know this?" she muttered.

"This is the lore of Confshon. It is well-known in the Argonath."

Still she found it impossible to overcome her reluctance, so Relkin signaled to Bazil, who strode up and reasoned with his daughter. At first she resisted, but at last calmed and consented to let Relkin work on the wound. He warned her that there would be discomfort, even pain from the treatment. Carefully he swabbed out the wound. The small dragon, her body not much bigger than Relkin's, let out a piercing hiss that was almost a whistle. Finally he swabbed again, with disinfectant, and the whistle gave way to a menacing growl.

"Easy, easy," he murmured. "The sting tells you that it is working, that is all."

"No like sting. Want to fly away from here."

"Not just yet."

Relkin made a poultice from mashed leaves of Kingswell with thyme and wild garlic. This he worked around and over the wound, covered it with gauze bandage, and bound it in place.

Grener was unhappy with all of this, even though the pain had ceased.

"Let this bandage stay for two days, no more. Then you can tear it away. The poultice will have done its work by then."

Grener muttered to herself as he turned away and packed his kit. He felt a presence and looked up. The great green dragoness had settled beside him and was examining Grener.

"I have seen this once before, when my dragon with a sword, your Bazil dragon, wrapped the wounds of the Purple Green of Hook Mountain, after they had fought for me."

Relkin was not sure if he had heard this correctly. His mastery of dragon speech was less than complete, and her accent was very different from that of wyverns.

"I have mashed herbs and boiled them and bound them to the wound. Leave for two days, and the wound will heal cleanly."

The dragoness turned back to him with unfriendly eyes.

"I see through your plot. This is how you enslave the wyvern dragons that once lived wild on the coast of Dragon Home."

She saw something in his eyes and nodded in triumph.

"Yes, I have learned much. I met with the oldest dragons of all, the firelords of Muchel. From them, I learned the story of the coastal dragons and the white ships that came and enslaved them."

Relkin shrugged. "In truth, I know little of history. My schooling has been in the arts of war. I have seen so much death and agony, I hate to see any creature of this world suffer needlessly. I have the skill to help dragons, and I use it."

She nodded mirthlessly. "Oh, yes, I am sure you do. You give them regular meals. You take care of their cuts and bruises. You soften their will and rule it with your own. That is the way of men. They are cunning, they have the gift of speech and the power of skilled hands. That is why I hate you and fear you, and will never return to this part of the world."

Relkin, however, was examining a split talon on her right forefoot.

"You know, I could help you with that. I think you know that you need my help."

She pulled her head back. "I? In need of help from a human?"

"That split has gone too far down the claw to heal on its own. In time it will crack all the way to the quick. It will hurt. Then it will corrupt, and it will hurt a lot more. It may even corrupt the entire foot, and you will lose it."

There was a gentle hiss.

"By the breath of the ancients, you are cunning."

"I can work on that talon and prevent it splitting any farther."

She was silent. In truth, she had been worrying about this same exact talon, split initially while she was pouncing on hyraxes on a high mountain ledge. She had a weakness for hyrax, but they were hard to gather. She knew from sad experience just how painful such a split claw could become. She knew of dragons who had been forced to chew off their own feet to prevent the rot climbing the leg and killing them.

"By the first breath of the first firelord, what can you do about such a thing?"

"I will heat the talon and force a hot metal wedge into it so that it will hold together for several months' normal wear, until the talon grows out and the cracked part can be bitten off or left to abrade naturally."

She stared at him for a long time. "I can feel the jaws of your human trap closing on me already." She paused and glared at him. He held his ground refusing dragon-freeze and doing his utmost not to think about the two-ton predatory monster that was staring down at him with all her ferocity.

Finally she spoke. "Do what you can. But be quick, for I would leave this place and these foolish males. You must take them back to the world of humans; they do not belong in the wild."

Relkin heard a heavy tread and looked over his shoulder. Bazil had come up. He leaned over Grener and examined the bandage.

"Good work, as always, boy. As the father of this little darling one, I thank you."

Relkin kept a straight face at this description of the small green hellion. Grener, however, confronted her euphoric paternal parent.

"Why do you always say these things?"

"Why, my beautiful daughter dragon, because they are true."

"That is not enough excuse. Please stop. I know who you are, and I am mildly ashamed. You cannot hunt. You are feeble ground-bound thing, and you must live with the humans."

For a moment Bazil wavered there, smarting from the sting of her words. He made an effort.

"I am ground-bound it is true, but you should see me in the water! And there are compensations to the life with the humans. We were very well fed in the legions."

"That is good, since you are unable to feed yourself."

"Such wonderful children I have. So observant."

"You are crazed."

This tender familial scene was suddenly interrupted by a sudden loud oath from the Purple Green.

"I don't believe it!" growled the great wild one.

"What is it?" said Relkin.

"Boy comes. Manuel."

Relkin craned his neck but could see nothing. Then, far off down the meadow, he saw a moving speck, a dark figure that gradually took shape and form.

It was Manuel, indeed.

Relkin felt a tremor go through him. If Manuel could find them then so could others, so could the legion. They could be pursued and apprehended. They could hang. Or, at least, he would. The dragons would perhaps be given the freedom of the north bank of the Argo and left to starve to death. He, however, would be marched to a gallows with the slow drum, with the whole legion turned out to watch and thereupon hanged by the neck until dead.

He had seen the whole, horrible thing after the relief of Ourdh, when a deserter from the Kadein First Legion had been hanged for raping and murdering on Ourdhi woman.

Manuel was coming fast, and he soon was in range of a hello. He broke into a run for the last hundred paces.

"Hail to you, my friends. I bring you important tidings."

"So," grunted the Purple Green. "I could not leave you behind. You have come to join us."

"I have come to find you. I bring a message that I think you will want to hear."

"Who is message from?"

"Captain Hollein Kesepton."

"The captain?" Relkin's ears pricked up.

"He rode into the fort ten days ago and went to see General Wegan at once. Then they sent for me and told me to find you and give you the message."

"What is the message?"

"The case against Relkin in the matter of Trader Dook will be shifted to the Argonath Court in Marneri. It will be held in the spring, and dragon evidence will be taken and entered into the trial record."

"Dragon evidence!" Relkin hurled himself forward. "They will hear the dragons?"

"They will. It is a promise from on high."

His side of the case was immeasurably strengthened. In Marneri, the jury would also be free of the prejudices of the Kenor folk. He would have a real chance of winning.

Relkin danced around on feet suddenly grown light.

"The lady—our friend Bazil, she does this."

"You have been given absolution for your truancy. No charges will be laid against you for leaving the fort and wandering the forest. However, you must return now. Or you will be charged with desertion and will definitely face trial if you are ever apprehended.

"We can all return?" said Bazil with a nod to indicate the Purple Green.

"All," said Manuel firmly. "That is why they sent me. To try and persuade him."

"He is not in a good mood."

"When was he ever?"

"Good luck," said Relkin with feeling.

"It is better than starvation," replied Manuel, "that has always been the basis of the contract between the legion and the Purple Green."

"Yes, but by the old gods, he will be hard to turn around this time. No one in the world has more pride than the Purple Green of Hook Mountain."

Manuel went across to the Purple Green and unpacked a dragon kit. He took out scrapers and probes and set them ready. The Purple Green gave a snort and turned aside. Manuel spoke softly and reasonably. The Purple Green had sores on his feet, abrasions on the right side of his tail, and a long cut on the left shoulder. The Purple Green had grown used to having these minor annoyances tended and healed by a dragonboy. Manuel spoke soft persuasion. At length the Purple Green surrendered and allowed his dragonboy to attend to his wounds.

While he worked, Manuel spoke gently to the Purple Green, informing him of what had transpired and explaining that he was free to return to the legions.

The Purple Green was hard to move. He lapsed into a moody silence while Manuel worked on his wounds. Then he arose and moved away from them all and arranged himself on an exposed mass of rock.

Manuel let him be.

"He needs to think this all through carefully. I know something of his mind now. His pride and his sense of honor are very strong."

"You read the wild one correctly," said Relkin.

"But he wants to live. Otherwise he would never had consented to serve in the legion in the first place."

"He wants revenge for what they did to him in Tummuz Orgmeen."

"He will come around to it. I have faith in that."

"While he thinks it over, we'd better get Bazil to explain the whole thing to the dragoness."

Bazil accepted this challenge and went over to sit beside the dragoness, who had the young ones curled up on the grass, sleeping, nearby.

Slowly, carefully, Bazil explained the situation. They could go back to the humans. They did not need to starve to death. But they needed to record the dragoness's side of the events surrounding the death of the trader aboard his ship.