Dragons of War (49 page)

"Of course!" exclaimed Eads. "Why didn't I think of that?"

Bowchief Starter chuckled. "Perhaps because you haven't slept properly in ten days or more. A man gets worn down by constant fighting."

"Perhaps you are right. Unfortunately we have more fighting in store for us."

"Have you had any word from Fort Dalhousie?"

"No messages have reached me. I conclude the worst. The enemy has broken through the High Pass. He has entered Arneis and will have to be defeated there."

Eads handed out the weapons to the settlers, including the nine women, who took light swords, spears, and knives plus bows for three who were especially good shots. Eads ordered them to elect two of their members as corporals and to organize themselves into a messenger group. They would be required to move rapidly along the front that was being developed along the crest line of the Clove Valley.

Trees had been felled and rocks piled up to form an effective barrier, and raised positions had been created for archers.

The 109th Dragons were set out in line along the barricade next to the 66th. Each dragon had built for himself a platform of tree trunks set along the rear of the barricade.

These gave the dragons the elevation to reach over the barricade and hew down at anyone coming up the other side.

Between the dragons, set out in groups of ten, were the men of the Wattel Fird, armed with sword, spear, and shield. Set back of them were the Kenor bowmen. Beside the dragons were the dragonboys. Behind this line were the regular soldiers, ready to reinforce wherever needed. Behind them were the rest of the Fird.

The dragons were in a strange mood. They were rested and well fed, and still there was a feyness in the air, the gestalt of giant carnivorous reptiles. They were unresponsive, and unusually quiet. Then at night the red star Zebulpator rode high above the moon, and this position was known to be unlucky, indeed quite ominous. All the wyverns were affected, and while the Purple Green had resisted it at first, he had succumbed after the red star rose. They stood stock-still in moody silence, listening to the sounds of the enemy host down below in the Clove Valley.

Dragonboys were infected with the same superstitious dread, but it hardly checked their tongues.

"I've heard that it's the evil time, when the red star rides high over the moon," said Swane to the younger boys. Little Jak quickly became a bundle of nerves. Turrent had already landed on him for absentmindedly leaving loose a retaining strap from Rusp's scabbard.

Relkin was busy reflecting a fresh supply of arrow shafts he'd received from the Wattels. They were good shafts, but the quills needed to be reset farther up the shaft for his Cunfshon bow. While he worked occasionally splitting a new quill and expertly tying it into place in the higher slot, Relkin mumbled a few ill-remembered prayers to old Caymo, the god of luck and good times.

Whether Caymo heard him or not, he could not tell. And he was increasingly concerned with this apparent futility behind prayers in general. Even if they won this battle and survived to a ripe old age, how could one know for sure that it was due to a god's interference with the run of things? There were so many moments, where chance must operate, it could not be planned. It was like tossing a die constantly inside a basket. It could never land, never show a number. Could even the gods read the future? How could they alter the outcome of a battle with all its myriad components?

The absurdity of it came to him suddenly. If they won the battle ahead, would he really put it down to Caymo's intervention? Caymo was the very personification of luck. Could luck be so pervasive? How could it affect his destiny? If he was destined to be in Arneis, then how could this battle be anything but foretold as a victory?

Did luck work separately from destiny? Could they be in conflict? Were the old gods battling the Great Mother over this?

Relkin's head spun.

He looked up and saw the two Wattel girls, their bright yellow hair quite unmistakable, coming along the line, squired by two lieutenants from the 322s, Apteno and Boxen.

He forgot his concerns about luck, Caymo, destiny, high elves, and all the rest of it, and did his best not to simply stare at Eilsa Ranardaughter like a witless calf. He felt a strange self-consciousness all over him like a cloaking shroud. To move a muscle seemed out of the question, in case she should be looking at him and think he was aware of her and showing off. This degree of anxiety was new to Relkin of Quosh. It took him a moment to remember how to breathe. He looked away, tried to concentrate on the quill he was inserting into the freshly cut groove on the side of the shaft. It wouldn't slide in. He could do this in his sleep, but right now his hands were all thumbs.

For a moment he wavered, then instinct took over and it went in, and he spun a line of thread about it, pulled a little glue across it from his glue pot, set beside his elbow, and tightened it down and knotted it away, all in a matter of seconds.

He breathed a sigh of relief. At least his muscles seemed to know what to do even if his brain had gone off on some wild tangent of its own.

He heard a sound, looked up. They were right there, beside him where he worked, leaning over a fallen tree trunk.

Eilsa and Silva had a look of eagerness about them. Swane managed to slip across from his position by the silent Vlok, and Silva turned to him with a smile. They conversed happily.

Relkin, for once, found himself speechless. Too struck by self-consciousness to think, let alone speak. He noticed, as if in a dream, that the Lieutenants Apteno and Boxen were not amused.

Eilsa seemed to be ignoring them, and was simply smiling at Relkin, expecting him to say something.

His tongue felt as if it were glued in place. Manuel had joined the conversation with Swane and Silva. The Purple Green cast a baleful eye behind himself, then snorted and shifted his wings.

"Hello, Dragoneer Relkin," said Eilsa, "the cat got your tongue?"

Relkin swallowed, recovered himself.

"Welcome, uh, welcome to the line, Eilsa Ranardaughter," he replied.

"My greetings to your dragon, too." The leatherback standing in front of them, looking out across the barricade, made no response to this, or to any human noises behind him. He listened only to the sounds below, of the enemy.

Relkin shrugged, "I'm afraid he won't hear us. The red star rides high; the moon passed beneath it last night. The dragons have been withdrawn ever since. It happens every year, but they regard it as an omen for death."

"Is is truly such a thing?"

"By dragon lore it is."

"Do you believe it is a bad sign?"

"I do not know. I think that I was born under a bad sign myself when I was not born in Clan Wattel."

She cocked her head. "Why do you say that?"

"If I was in Clan Wattel, I might attain to the honor of courting Eilsa Ranardaughter. If I wasn't an orphan, of course. A lot of ifs, I guess," he shrugged.

She laughed, a light sound, genuinely pleased, then sobered.

"I beg your pardon, I do not laugh at your orphan status, believe me."

Lieutenant Apteno coughed. Eilsa blinked, no more.

"What are you doing?" She pointed to the arrows.

"I'm shifting the flights so they'll fit my bow."

"You do it well," she said admiringly.

Relkin was recovering fast. Eilsa was genuinely friendly.

Eilsa showed no sign of wanting to move. Nor did she seem to pay much attention to Lieutenant Apteno, despite his attempts to catch her eye.

Apeno was growing irritable.

"Perhaps we should carry on; there are other positions to inspect."

Eilsa looked up. Her forehead creased in a tiny frown. Relkin saw Apteno flick him a glare. Trouble brewed on that quarter. Having a lieutenant out to get one could be unpleasant, but it was inconceivable that he would do anything but try to keep Eilsa there, for as long as humanly possible.

Apteno was on the point of another outburst when suddenly a powerful voice broke in in greeting, with the strong Wattel accent lifting the words. Clan Chief Ranard strode into the position, with Captain Eads and Sergeant Quertin right behind.

The lieutenants snapped to attention, as did Relkin and Swane. Ranard lifted a clenched right fist in return, then turned to Eads.

"Captain Eads, may I present my daughter, Eilsa. She will be seventeen this year."

Eads was stunned by the girl's wild, highland beauty.

"An honor to meet you," he said. "I must thank you, and your friends here on behalf of all my men and the refugees. Your people came in the nick of time."

Eads's gaze turned to Relkin.

"I should have known, once more it is the redoubtable Dragoneer Relkin. I must offer my congratulations. Through your action and diplomatic skill," Eads beamed, "you helped save the day."

"Dragoneer Swane was there, too, sir."

Eads nodded to Swane, who swelled visibly.

Eads then formally introduced Relkin and Swane to the clan chief and mentioned that Relkin had fought in the winter campaign against the Teetol.

Clan Wattel had grim memories of raids by the Teetol. Ranard's eyebrows shot up.

"Ye have fought them, the savages, eh?"

"Yes, sir, our first campaign. We were at Elgoma's Lodge."

"Aye, we heard of that fight. In deep winter. It was a successful campaign."

"Yes, sir."

"And ye fought in Ourdh last summer, the both of ye."

"Sir."

"Such experience will stand ye in good stead I reckon in this coming trial." Ranard half turned to Eilsa.

"And ye have met my daughter, and she you, I see," he pursed his lips. His daughter avoided his eye, and for a tiny moment he seemed amused, then it was gone and a peculiarly penetrating eye fell on Relkin Orphanboy.

Relkin held that gaze. It was a strong one, as strong in its way as that of Ribela, the Queen of Mice, but he did not quail. He had nothing to hide, not even his open infatuation with Eilsa.

"An experienced young rogue, an orphan with no family but that of a dragon." Ranard smiled broadly as he said this. "And I give ye credit, I like you." The clan chief clasped hands with Relkin and then with Swane.

Captain Eads had meanwhile corralled the lieutenants. "Come, sirs, I want to go over the scheduling of reliefs for the 322s."

The lieutenants were dragged away, with brief apologies to Eilsa, who nodded absently.

Ranard released Relkin from the penetrating gaze. A comely youth, with something hard about him, which he knew came from battle experience. And his daughter was much taken with him, that much was as plain as the light of day. And, he observed with some wonderment, he did not mind overmuch. Eilsa was her mother's daughter and would do what she willed and pay little heed to others at this point in her life. Fortunately, she was a gifted and sensible child most of the time. As for the boy, well, Ranard had been expecting something of this kind to happen sometime soon. This dragonboy was an orphan who belonged to the legions. And as was very well-known, mortality among dragonboys was exceedingly high.

After a few more remarks, Ranard proceeded down the line, meeting the troops and examining positions.

Relkin shook his head in near disbelief. The happiest of outcomes had arrived. He and Swane were left alone with Eilsa and Silva.

There was a momentary awkwardness before Eilsa mentioned that this was her first battle.

Relkin was horrified.

"You do not mean to fight, do you?"

"I am here. I will fight with my clan." Her firm little jaw jutted slightly.

"The imps will be frothing at the mouth. You know what they will do to you if they capture you!"

"They will not capture Eilsa Ranardaughter!"

Relkin sensed a growing resistance to his pleas. He pulled back.

"I beg pardon, I presume too much. But I would give my life to keep you from harm. Eilsa Ranardaughter, already I know this."

She smiled. "I did not know that dragonboys were so quick at romance. We have barely been introduced, and you are ready to die for me. Not even the clan youths are so forward."

He felt himself blushing again. To cover his confusion, he asked the first thing that came into his mind.

"What do you think your life will be like, Miss Eilsa, providing we live through the battle?"

Her face clouded over.

"I will be married one day, probably to one of the sons of the leading family of one of the Farthings, probably to Edon Norwat."

Plainly, she was not happy with this prospect. He was shocked once more.

"You will be married against your will?"

"Aye, it will be so. My wishes are unimportant in such a matter. It will be done to cement the clan together."

Relkin was aghast. "Is that not beyond the Weal of Cunfshon?"

Her eyes flashed bitterly. "Your Weal does not apply to Clan Wattel. The Wattel line goes back to long before the witches came to Argonath. Our laws are older than theirs, so it has been explained to me many times."

"Still, Clan Wattel is within the empire?"

"Yes, but we cling to our ancient ways."

"Forgive me, but I believe you are unhappy with that thought."

She had a most bitter little smile.

"Of course I am happy, what do you think?" She changed the subject. "And pray, tell me what you expect from the future, Dragonboy."

"Fighting again, a lot of it." He looked up. "However, I have been told that my destiny is to stand in a rose garden in Arneis. So I think we must win this fight."

She cocked her head, something she did in a way that made his heart stand still, or so it seemed.

"Who told you that you would go to Arneis?" she asked.

"Two elves."

"Elves?"

"It's a long story."

She laughed, a sound that thrilled him. "You seem to possess a lot of long stories, Dragoneer Relkin."

He grinned. "You might say that."

"I find you are the strangest boy, but I like you. More than Lieutenant Apteno, that's for certain."

Relkin felt his heart leap in his chest. "Well," he said, "if we get as far as Arneis, then maybe Baz and I will survive to the end of our terms and retire."