A Sword for a Dragon (3 page)

“Who is the master of this ship?” he demanded, and pounded on the deck with his heavy cane to emphasize his words.

Captain Karpone leaped forward.

“I am, good sir, Captain Polymus Karpone at your service. And may I ask you please to stop striking my deck like that, you’re liable to wake every passenger.”

The man did not seem to hear, and he continued lifting his cane and thudding it down as he strode about the deck.

Karpone seized the man’s arm and restrained him.

“Stop!”

“What? Stop what?”

“The deck, sir, pounding on it.” The man stared down at the deck, then swung back to glare at Captain Karpone.

“Nonsense! I am not pounding! Anyway, I need a cabin, in fact, I require your largest cabin, at once. And I will need plenty of space in your holds. I have luggage. My guard will also require a cabin.”

Karpone put his hands together and gave a whistle.

“Well, good sir, I am afraid that my cabins are all occupied. I’ve even rented out my own. However, I do have space in the hold. You’ll have to share it with a dragon and a cargo of ax heads, but there’s room down there for plenty of luggage.”

“Impossible,” roared the man. “Now listen to me carefully. Unless I have a cabin at once, I will put this ship under military command and satisfy myself.” The man was pink and fat, and his pale hair was worn in curls. When he spoke, his jowls shook along with his curls.

“But, sir,” protested Karpone, “all my cabins are full. I cannot just pull a passenger, a paying passenger from a cabin to suit you.”

“I am a full commander, Eighth Regiment, Second Legion. It is imperative that I reach my command by tomorrow. That means I must get to Dalhousie, do you understand? Imperative. Military matters of the utmost importance.”

“Well, good sir, of course, but this is not a military vessel, and under the laws of Kenor the military may not commandeer my ship without a hearing before a magistrate.”

“What? Are you mad. Do you require a dip in the river? Any more impertinences from you, sir, and Dandrax here will toss you over the side.”

Karpone sighed inwardly. He desperately wanted to boot this fat popinjay’s fat behind, but he dared not. Dandrax was young and fit, and clearly well used to his weapons.

“Well, good sir,” Karpone rubbed his hands together, neither he nor his crew wanted any trouble. In truth, they were all getting on in years and well past their fighting days.

“The name is Glaves, Captain, Commander Porteous Glaves of the Eighth Marneri Regiment.”

The commander was clearly much impressed with his title.

“Yes, uh, Commander.”

“And I insist on a cabin, the very largest cabin. And bring me some hot food. At once!”

“As I said…”

“One more objection and I put this ship under military authority, do you understand?”

Karpone looked again at the heavyset thug who grinned back at him.

Karpone suppressed his fury with a little groan. He’d had high-handed officers aboard the
Tench
before, but no one quite like this. He had no idea what to do.

“I…” Karpone stood irresolute.

“Bah,” snorted Glaves. “Take control Dandrax, find me a cabin.”

The captain yelled in outrage and moved as if to draw his dirk, but he found a sword point pressed lightly against his throat.

“Wouldn’t do that if I was you,” said the thug.

A few minutes later, the surveyor, Ton Akalon, was picked up bodily and hurled from his cabin. His notes and satchel were tossed out to him. Commander Glaves took up residence with the dour-looking Dandrax standing outside the door.

Captain Karpone withdrew and met with his crew. They muttered together for a while and finally agreed there was nothing they could do that was worth doing. Nobody was going to get himself killed over it.

Ton Akalon dusted himself off and packed his notebook into his satchel. He inquired of the captain what might be done and where he might sleep. Humiliated, Karpone refused to do anything. It was up to the surveyor himself to take steps.

“Don’t you have spells, magic powers? Turn the guard into a frog, and we will happily squash him flat. But as it is now, we are but four old men and he is young and strong. Someone would be killed.”

The surveyor lacked such powers, and thus had to content himself with taking a corner of the forward hold.

He found the dragon and dragonboy fast asleep, snores rattling off the bulwarks. He marveled at how well they slept as he sought out an empty spot. In the dark, his foot caught on the dragon sword, and he fell over.

Relkin awoke at once, dirk out, eyes seeking in the darkness. He noticed movement in the hay and called out a challenge.

To his surprise, it was the surveyor from Cunfshon sprawled in the hay.

“Excuse me, my good friends, I was searching for a place to sleep, and in my clumsiness, I tripped over something.”

Relkin by now was suspicious of the little man.

“I thought you had a cabin, Sir Ton.” Relkin lit a lamp, and by its light he noticed that the slightly built surveyor was bleeding from a cut above the right eye and that his coat was torn.

“What happened?”

Ton Akalon briefly described the loss of his cabin.

Relkin frowned. “That seems quite unreasonable. What did Captain Karpone say?”

“Alas, the man is a commander in the legion, and with his henchman at his side, he is too formidable for either myself or the good Captain Karpone.”

“A commander did you say?”

“A certain Commander Glaves, of a regiment in the Second Legion.”

Relkin whistled. He and Baz were about to be assigned a new regimental posting. He hoped the old gods were still working for him.

“If it’s a commander, then there’s not much to be done about it I’m afraid.”

Ton Akalon agreed with this assessment. Then he brightened, “I’m sure the commander will be leaving the ship at Dalhousie. I’m going all the way to Fort Redor, so I will regain my cabin very shortly.”

Relkin gave a shrug and settled back to sleep. The dragon had awoken but had only slit one eye open, it was already closed again.

It was still dark several hours later when the
Tench
put in at Port Dalhousie. There was only the single light on the end of the Dally Point to guide them in, but Polymus Karpone had sailed these waters all his life.

With a rattle and a crash, the gangways were set down. A gang of workers in freecoats and thick-furred hats started shifting a cargo of molasses in eighty-gallon barrels to the dock.

Relkin awoke. The ship’s motion had ceased.

“We’re there.” He shook Bazil’s heavy head and scratched the dragon behind the ears.

“Still dark.”

“Yes, but we’re here. I think it might be better for us to get ashore before anyone else.”

“Good thinking, boy. We get back to the fort and be in time for breakfast!”

“Now, why didn’t I think of that?” muttered Relkin, for whom military food was a humdrum experience.

The dragon was astir. The surveyor woke up shortly, blessed them, and wished them well. Then they left him and went up into the town of Port Dalhousie, a stretch of ten blocks with cobbled streets and solid structures of timber and stone.

It was the hour before dawn and apart from a few town cats, nothing was astir. Relkin and Baz made good speed up the road toward the fort, which stood on a rise above the point, where it dominated all the land around from its earthwork and timber towers.

They were about halfway when they heard a distant uproar from the town. Looking back, they perceived a struggle in progress on the dockside. A powerful voice was shouting above the others. They could clearly hear such phrases as, “refuse to pay.”

“filthy verminous tub.”

“I’ll be damned if I do.”

Relkin whistled. “I wouldn’t want to be in Commander Glaves’s regiment.”

“Loud-voice fool if you ask this dragon.”

“I was just thinking that myself.”

They went on up to the gate house above.

Relkin was received in the gate house by a lieutenant still rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Right,” grunted the officer. “Who are you, which ledger?”

“Dragoneer First Class Relkin of Quosh, 109th dragons. And outside is the dragon they call the Broketail.”

The lieutenant’s eyebrows rose.

“The one that brought down the fell Doom of Orgmeen?”

“The very one.”

“Well, well, I suppose we’re honored then. And you’re due here today?”

“Yes, sir.”

It was clear that this officer wasn’t going to extend any respect to a dragonboy, even if that dragonboy was a Dragoneer First Class. Relkin was used to this sort of thing with young officers in the infantry, he paid it no mind.

“Green ledger then.” The officer flicked it open and ran his finger down the list. Then he closed it. “Right,” he continued. “You’re to report to the Eighth Regiment. The 109th dragons have been reconstructed as the dragon force for the Eighth.”

Relkin was half surprised. He’d almost expected the number of the squad to be retired. There’d been seventy percent casualties among the dragon force. Only Baz, old Chektor, and Vander had survived, and Vander had retired from active service because of his wounds.

“You’re billeted in the East Quarter. There’s a dragon hall. They’ll give you refectory tickets there.”

The officer turned around suddenly. “And, oh yes, there’s a package for you. In the lockup.”

“A package?”

“I don’t know if you can carry it. It’s damnably heavy. We had a hellish time getting it in there off the wagon.”

His interest piqued, Relkin went over to the door of the lockup where packages and mail were stored for legionaries.

The clerk was only just putting his post together, but the package was clearly leaning against the back wall. It was a great sword, wrapped in a bolt of white cloth, tied with red ribbons, and sealed with wax. Clearly it was a dragon sword.

The seal bore a simple “L” upon it, and Relkin knew at once that this was the work of the lady.

He hefted the thing, lifting it away from the wall for a moment. It was heavy, indeed, as heavy as Piocar, Bazil’s first, beloved blade. In fact, he could barely get it up onto his shoulder, but when it was balanced, he bore it quickly down the stairs, past the startled lieutenant of the Watch and out to his dragon.

Baz’s eyes lit up like lamps, and his bag tongue flicked in and out in an involuntary lick of excitement. He clutched uselessly with his big forehands over the wrapping, so Relkin cut the ribbons and unwound the cloth. Before he was finished, the dragon lifted the sword from its scabbard and held it up into the light to examine it.

It had a chilling beauty, this shimmering blade of fine steel almost nine feet long and nine inches across at its widest point. The design was simple, a straight blade tapering toward the point and a black metal hilt with a wraparound guard. The only embellishment was a snarling steel cat’s head on the end of the pommel. There was a letter addressed to Bazil of Quosh. Relkin opened it.

“‘To Sir Bazil of Quosh,’” he read. “‘This sword is for you, and is named Ecator for a friend who gave his life so that ours might be saved. He was a terror to our enemies. His spirit now inhabits this steel and, with your help, he will continue to harry them.

With all due regard,

Your friend

Lessis.‘“

Relkin shivered involuntarily. He remembered Ecator alright, the meanest-looking tomcat he’d ever seen, with eyes of yellow fury and a horde of rats obedient to his will. There were things that had happened in Tummuz Orgmeen that Relkin tried not to remember, and Ecator was one of them.

Bazil whipped the huge sword around in the air making scything sounds that caused Relkin to duck.

“Baz, you’ll kill someone…”

The dragon was murmuring happy thoughts to himself in dragon speech, but he stopped when Relkin finished unwrapping the scabbard, and with a grunt of approval, he picked it up and looked it over. It was simple in design, plain steel wrapped in black leather, with brass fitments for the shoulder belt. The only decoration was another steel cat’s head in profile placed near the hilt guard.

“I like this sword, it will fight.”

He flicked the blade up and then turned it expertly in his hand and sheathed it.

“The lady kept her promise,” he said with great satisfaction.

With a suddenly euphoric dragon tripping along beside him, Relkin made his way through the camp to the West Quadrant. It was just before reveille, and the camp was astir with early risers. The fort was laid out as a square, 350 military paces on a side, with towers at each corner and above the two gates, which were set on an east-west axis connected by the main street. To either side of the central street were the four “quarters.”

“Lines” of large and small tents filled the quarters. Among the tents, most of which housed ten soldiers apiece, there were the bigger, timber structures built for dragons.

The East Quarter was like the others, and its Dragon House hulked up in the center. Inside there were rows of capacious stalls, each equipped with a rough-hewn timber crib for a dragon. The doors were covered with wool curtains dyed in Marneri red and blue. Two units were currently sharing the place, so it was full. Big dragon heads poked out of the stalls as the Broketail went past. Dragonboys scurried in the spaces between to pass the word.

A man in dragoneer uniform appeared. Relkin saluted and reported for duty.

“At ease, Dragoneer Relkin. I am Full Dragoneer Hatlin, in command of the new 109th. I would like to welcome you and the broketail dragon back to the 109th on behalf of everyone. I would add that I was honored to be offered this command. Like everyone else, I was overwhelmed by the accounts of what you fellows achieved at Tummuz Orgmeen.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Relkin.

Hatlin smiled thinly for a moment.

“Alright Dragoneer Relkin. You’ll find I am a fair man, but a man who likes to see the rules obeyed. I take a dim view of stealing and cheating and the like. Play straight with me, and we’ll have no problems.”