A Sword for a Dragon (19 page)

An hour later, the legions paused for lunch. Fires were lit and the cooks made play with bread and beans, but were interrupted when hundreds of women emerged briefly from their kitchens with pots of soup, freshly baked breads, and even fresh brewed beer, which they distributed among the men.

It was a spontaneous display of the gratitude of the fedd for their salvation from the ravages of the armies of Sephis.

The men and the dragons ate colossal meals. General Hektor ordered extra-strong kalut to be brewed, but as soon as the word reached the womenfolk of the surrounding neighborhoods, a swarm of children were sent among them carrying gourds of hot kalut straight from the brew that constantly sat by the stoves of most Ourdhi households.

Recharged and refreshed, the legions resumed the march. In the distance now, off to their left, they could see the tops of the tall buildings in the central part of the great conurbation of Kwa.

The sight of the ziggurats and towers sent a new wave of jokes about the whores in Kwa through the ranks. Many a look of longing was cast that way. But the legion was marching around central Kwa, taking a road that stretched between two of the broad arms of suburbs that flooded out of the central district and up the radial roads. Between the radial avenues, the houses thinned out again, and there were extensive animal pens and manufactories.

By midafternoon, they began to notice the clouds in the far south. General Hektor had received a warning of rain from the weather witch. He tried to pick up the pace. He wanted to get his pair of legions well away from Kwa before nightfall. He understood the powerful temptations there would be otherwise.

The southern skies darkened swiftly and heavy storm clouds billowed up. Within two hours there began a drenching rain, accompanied by gusty winds.

They were still well within the suburban zone about Kwa, in a sector with many fine houses, surrounded by gardens and ornamental trees. The houses here were painted in many shades of sand and light ocher. Horse-drawn carriages were common on the side streets.

General Hektor cursed. This was not a good place to camp. There were men who’d be tempted to thievery. Others who would go absent to get to central Kwa and taste its pleasures. He would have to discipline men, there would have to be floggings. Hektor hated that side of the army life, but knew he would have to enforce the rules. The legions were held together by the rule book, and without it they were all doomed.

Talion scouts reported a nearby amphitheater of good size that would serve as temporary urban bivouac. Hektor sent out the weather witch, who spoke good Uld, the tongue of central Ourdh. The local authorities were found, and permission was obtained.

Two tired, wet legions marched into the local chariot racing arena and pitched camp. Hektor and his defense specialists went around the perimeter. There were a dozen entrances and exits, including subterranean ones used for dead animals and waste. It wasn’t going to be easy keeping the men inside through the night.

Hektor and Paxion conferred. Paxion had long experience with such matters. He suggested that they issue a double round of whiskey. The men were exhausted after marching thirty-five miles a day for three days. Let the whiskey relax them, and they would sleep soundly soon.

Paxion’s understanding of the men was correct. Only a handful of known troublemakers, two of them skilled thieves sent to the legions in lieu of long sentences on the prison island, tried to make it out. The rest sang some songs, laughed, chattered, and went to sleep in fine fettle with full bellies.

General Hektor breathed a huge sigh of relief.

“My thanks, General Paxion,” he murmured. He straightened up. “General, I will ask you to take command for the rest of the evening. Major Breez has invited me and the surgeons to a meal in his tent. We have some things to discuss, and I intend to relax with a glass or two of Ourdhi wine. I’m told there are some good ones.”

Paxion, though tired, was glad to be of service. Since the great victory at Salpalangum, he had been feeling old and useless. He was proud to receive General Hektor’s trust.

Content with their preparations for the evening, neither man thought to look in on the dragonboys, who were too young to be given any whiskey at all. This was a mistake.

Indeed, as soon as the legions had finally pitched camp and settled down in the chariot arena, five particular dragonboys leapt into action with unusual zest.

Blister sherbet was applied to sore spots on dragon feet, and poultices and bandages were checked and changed. Food was brought for their giant charges, and each wyvern was given a cask of fresh brewed ale, donated by a local brewery. The beers and ales of Ourdh were justly famous, and dragonish mirth was soon making the ground shake. However, it was a short-lived thing since the wyverns were close to exhaustion. Soon they were snoring at the usual thunderous volume.

Five dragonboys gathered at the prearranged spot. The outer wall of the arena was old and pitted, an easy climb for nimble youths. Swane of Revenant went upwind of a pair of guards stationed to cover the southern quadrant of the wall. The others gathered downwind. Swane made a small fire from oily rags. The guards smelled smoke and went to investigate. Swane hid himself in a crevice in the wall.

The other four climbed over and made a swift descent. Then they waited by the foot of the wall in the shadows.

The guards investigated and found nothing but a few ashes. They sniffed around but soon gave up and went back to their post. As they left, Swane signaled and then started to climb down. When he was halfway down, the others stepped out and drew a blanket taut between them, and Swane jumped the last twenty feet.

The arena sat at a crossroads where the west trending road they’d marched along intersected a great radial avenue. This avenue was wide and packed with traffic of all kinds. It was lined with many shops and arcades, many of them still open, lit up with brightly colored lanterns of scarlet and green. On the pavements here were throngs of shoppers, including women, all of them clad head to foot in the traditional black garb. These were not the women the five dragonboys were interested in.

“Out for the night! Alright my boys, here we go.” Swane of Revenant claimed the leadership of the group, basically because he was taller and more heavily built than any of the others. Totnas Black Eye, who tended Cham, went along with Swane. Shim of Seant, who tended Likim the big brasshide, accepted Swane’s leadership as well. Mono, who tended Chektor, was less acquiescent, and Relkin of Quosh went his own way completely. He did, however, accompany the others on his quest, driven by a desperation known only to youths on the verge of becoming men. There was always a slight tension between Swane and Relkin. Relkin had seen too much real combat to be overly impressed with Swane’s swagger. Relkin knew that skill with dirk and sword meant more than brute strength.

They headed down Sokwa Avenue into the heart of the city of Kwa. Despite the drain of the three days hard marching, they fairly skipped along the great paved avenue, dodging wagons and gaggles of women in black. Quite soon they found a side street where several establishments that sold beverages and food put out chairs and tables in the streets. The sound of the wailing uinbor and the thudding zambala came from darkened rooms filled with swaying men.

“Down here, this looks lively enough,” said Swane.

The smell of hot kalut and the sour reek of stale beer pervaded the air.

Inside the doors of the beer halls, they glimpsed an atmosphere dark with smoke and they smelled the reek of batshooba, a narcotic bush that was smoked by the men of Ourdh. There were no women in sight.

For a moment the dragonboys were nonplussed. Where were the famous fleshpots of Ourdh?

They slipped into an establishment that seemed less smoky than the rest. Swane of Revenant negotiated a round of mugs of a dark, heavy beer.

The dragonboys sipped the beer.

“Interesting,” said Shim of Seant. “More bitter than beer at home.”

“Ach, Seant beer is all piss. This is good, more like a Marneri beer,” retorted Thomas Black Eye, who was always free with his opinions.

“I’ll give you piss you one-eyed monkey.”

“Enough of that,” said Swane. “Look over there.” A heavyset man in a grey coat with jeweled rings on his fingers and a red velvet skullcap was passing through the tables, speaking to the men drinking beer. Their responses were cheerful, sometimes insulting, but the man took no offense. He laughed with them and moved to the next group.

Swane wagged a forefinger.

“That, my friends, is a pimp. Now we can see about what we came for.”

Swane signaled the fellow. They exchanged a few sentences of Uld. The fellow instantly guessed who they were and soon understood what they were seeking. He emitted a short bark of laughter and mimed the counting of coins with a lascivious sneer.

They produced silver pieces minted in Marneri. The man tried two or three with his teeth and laughed again, then gestured that they should follow him toward the rear of the establishment.

Swane was already up on his feet. Tomas and Shim were quick to join him, then Mono. Relkin however stayed put.

“What’s wrong wit‘ you? Afraid to get your wick wet?” sneered Swane.

“I don’t trust that man, that’s all. There’ll be others.”

“What’s he say?” said Shim.

“I don’t know, doesn’t like this pimp we got.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Ask the Quoshite.”

Shim looked over to Relkin. Relkin of Quosh was the one they all respected the most, but he was with-drawn, hardly friendly sometimes. It was difficult to know what to make of him. Relkin said nothing. Mono turned to him and shrugged. “You know there may not be another opportunity, my friend.”

“There’ll be another pimp.”

Mono shrugged again and went with the others. They disappeared into the crowd. Relkin finished his beer alone and soon began to feel stupid for not going with them. What was the point of climbing down the wall after all? He hadn’t come just for a beer. He wondered if he’d reacted that way because Swane had seen the pimp first. It was Swane’s pimp, so he couldn’t possibly like him. Sometimes Relkin wondered why it meant so much to him.

However, no sooner had he set down his glass then another pimp was beside him. This was a smaller man, with fewer rings on his fingers and a thin mustache. He wore a little square hat of some shiny black material and a black and gold gown.

“You are a visitor to the city?” he asked in a slightly singsong Verio. “You wish perhaps to sample some of the pleasures of life?”

Relkin nodded. “You speak Verio?”

“Yes, I trade for many years with Verio peoples. Come with me if you like a good clean girl, not a street whore, very clean.”

Relkin licked his lips. This was what he’d come for. And still he felt a flicker of doubt. Then his resolve returned. He had to get this over with, it’d been driving him crazy for months. And in the legion there was damned little chance of meeting any girls.

“Come,” said the man in the black box hat. “You are from the cold North. For a piece of silver, you may feel some of our southern warmth.” The man smiled and gestured, “You are from the North, yes?”

“Yes, from Kenor.”

The man nodded and smiled. “Yes, I know it. Very cold.” The man laughed, displaying teeth stained brown from batshooba smoke.

“But you come with me now, for I have a sweet girl who you will like. Cost only one silver piece.”

“Marneri silver?”

“Yes, Marneri silver very good. One silver piece, you have good time.”

“I have good time first and then silver piece,” said Relkin holding up a single Marneri coin.

The man nodded, rubbed his hands together, and lead Relkin to a back entrance to the beer hall. They went down a narrow street with two-story buildings on either side. On the upper floors of these buildings were balconies on which sat young women, their faces and most of their bodies exposed. In the chambers behind the balconies, they practiced their trade and lived their sad lives.

Relkin gazed up at them, at faces like masks of beauty that appeared for a moment and then disappeared behind a fan. Bodies were contorted for his gaze, and mocking laughter followed when he blushed and averted his eyes.

The man showed him to a door, which opened at the knock. An older women conducted Relkin to an upper chamber, a door was opened, and he stepped within. A girl, no more than eighteen years, lay on the couch. She wore a flimsy robe belted at her waist.

He stared at her. A single silver piece didn’t seem enough somehow. She was beautiful, with creamy brown skin, straight black hair that grew to her shoulders, and a sultry softness to her lips that seemed to beckon to him.

Relkin felt himself harden anew.

The older woman was smiling and nodding and pointing to the girl. Then she closed the door.

With a deep breath, Relkin strode over to the girl and sat beside her. She did not move and once more his doubts resurfaced, but he dismissed them, smiled ingratiatingly, and stroked her leg.

She shuddered, closed her eyes, and lay back with a little moan. It was not quite what he had been expecting.

“Hey, I’m not that ugly!”

To his surprise, the girl raised her head.

“You are from Veronath?” She said in fluent Verio.

“Veronath? No, girl, there is no Veronath. That died a long time ago. I am from Argonath.”

“But you speak Verio.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Why are you here?”

“Here? Well, I…” suddenly Relkin caught himself. What was this? He’d come here for a whore. He flushed.

“I might ask the same about yourself.”

“I am not here by choice.” She shifted on the bed, and Relkin saw that she wore bracelets and that chains ran from the bracelets to the iron posts at the head of the bed. She was literally chained to the bed.

Relkin was appalled. This was definitely not what he’d expected.

“And I didn’t want to go with Swane’s pimp!” he said with a groan.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing. I, well, I’m with the legions. We’re here to fight the Sephisti army, to help the emperor.”