A Sword for a Dragon (41 page)

And those great, fat vessels of oceanic trade were still many miles to the south, threading the channels of the great river and maneuvering against the pirates that infested the lower reaches.

In the morning, Relkin rose early and begged for a small bowl of food that he took to Miranswa where she slept in the back of the wagon. She said little and took the food. Then before he left, she kissed him on the cheek. He felt his heart leap, and despite his own fatigue, his step grew lighter and his vision more clear. But she did not look up when he attempted conversation, and a little confused by it all, he backed out of the wagon, returned to the cook fires, and collected the ration for the dragons, a bare half a pail apiece of corn mush.

When he set it before them, they did not respond to the usual greetings. The evil mood was intensifying. They took the food with barely a grunt and long hard stares from huge, predatory eyes.

It was horrible. Relkin’s dragon, the only family he had ever known, was turning on him slowly, degree by degree. In truth, the great beast he called “Baz” was a predatory animal that ate men and anything else it could catch. Now it was starting to look at him as if he were food.

The dragon was fighting it, but despite his intelligence and undisputed civilized veneer, the dragon mind was losing control of the situation to the raw instincts of his terrifying ancestors.

With the Purple Green, they were close to having a really dreadful crisis. The Purple Green was close to breaking point. The wild one felt none of the moral compunctions against eating human flesh that were bred into Argonathi wyverns. His conscious mind and his instincts were one, in this he was more of a natural beast than the wyverns. Thus he had more control in the end over his instincts. It was just a question of whether he had the will. He did not share the respect for humankind that the wyverns did. If he snapped, he would wreak terrible damage, and it would be the wyverns who would be called on to subdue him.

There had never been a wyvern mutiny. The Argonathi generals had always treated the dragon units as the battle-winning formations they were. But conditions of starvation could erode dragon discipline. There had been solitary incidents.

Relkin, of course, suffered particular discomfort. His relationship with his dragon was the most central thing in his existence. Never before had there been a taint of mistrust between them. Now he had seen that dragon’s hunt stare. A sudden hard glitter of interest that struck a chill through him and almost gave him dragon-freeze.

As for the great wild one, he stayed in the dragon tent and Relkin put his food by the flap and barely peeked in. The Purple Green was just frankly dangerous to be around. Unfortunately, there was a problem. Relkin had had to abandon some of the grooming tasks, and Dragoneer Hatlin was too clumsy by everyone’s admission for the one job that really had to be attended to.

The broken talon. There was an infection growing at the base of that talon, and it needed to be burst and cleaned with disinfectant. That, of course, was going to sting, and Relkin doubted he could get away with it.

He broached the subject to Bazil. The leatherback from Quosh was unhappy with the idea.

“You want this dragon to come between you and the wild one? You ask me to fight my brother dragon?”

“Fight? No, just back me up so he doesn’t kill me.”

“Bah, useless dragonboy, why should I care?”

“He has an infection there, it’s going to get very painful soon if we don’t do something about it.”

“Purple Green of Hook mountain will make his own decision.”

“He is unapproachable, you know that. You are almost unapproachable.”

“Damn fool dragonboy, I am starving. Battledragon must eat. There are things happening in my mind. I do not always know what I am doing. It is as if I lose control of myself.”

“Well, eat the damned Ourdhi then, but don’t eat the dragonboy, all right?”

“You think this is funny. You don’t understand. It is not something that dragon controls, it controls dragon. I starve and I see everything as food.”

“The ships are coming. They’ll be here in a couple of days.”

“Hard to wait that long.”

“I know, old friend, I know. But in the meantime, the Purple Green’s hand will swell and get really painful. He might lose his hand, or even die.”

“Bah, humans think they know everything about dragons. Purple Green is a wild dragon, what do you know about him?”

Relkin swallowed.

“Not enough, but if you’ll help me just a little, we can save him a lot of pain and trouble. Isn’t that worth it?”

It took time and persuasion, but at length the leatherback was worn down. Of course, the great Purple Green would not hear of it at first.

“Tell them to stay away from me,” he growled. “They are starving me, and I cannot be near them. They are food.”

Bazil patiently pointed out that the talon injury would get significantly worse and very painful if left unattended. Much against his will, the Purple Green had to agree. He had been in the legion long enough now to see the point of this. Such wounds as he had suffered had all been healed quickly and relatively painlessly. In the past, wounds had often been a hideous business of rot, suppuration, and considerable agony. The Purple Green had experienced firsthand the value of a dragonboy’s care. And thus eventually he agreed to try.

After the evening meal was over, far too soon for everyone concerned, the Purple Green sat still by the camp fire. Relkin approached cautiously and examined the split talon.

There was a swelling, tending to yellow in color around the base of the talon. There was no time to lose. Slowly, carefully, he explained what he was going to do.

Bazil and Vlok now took up stations near the wild one, ready to intervene in case he lost control and attacked the boy.

Relkin gingerly pressed the area at the base of the talon. The Purple Green hissed a little but remained still.

Relkin pulled out a sharp pick from his box and with a quick jab burst the painful swelling. Pus oozed up, and the great dragon hissed again, much more loudly.

Relkin looked over to Baz and Vlok. They seemed quite unconcerned. Relkin took a deep breath, applied pressure, and slowly, carefully forced out the rot until it ran clear.

The wild dragon emitted a number of growls during this procedure, and Relkin was sweating profusely when it was done. Now came the real test. He looked up at the Purple Green. The monster was lost in some reptile haze beyond human imagining.

Relkin took up a swab, soaked it in disinfectant, then began to clean the wound and the whole area around the base of the talon.

The wild dragon shuddered and shook as the sting began, and the hissing became loud and continuous.

Bazil and Vlok got to their feet nervously.

Relkin now poured a small amount of disinfectant onto the area. Now the Purple Green’s tail began to lash around wildly. A stack of logs by the fire was knocked over with a crash. The noise coming from the great carnivorous jaws was close to a huge whistle. Relkin backed away slowly.

They all stood there waiting while the Purple Green hissed and slowly subsided.

They were still standing there when a couple of dragonboys ran up and yelled something as they went past, heading into the tents. At the same time, Relkin became aware of a gathering clamor somewhere in the distance, down the Fatan Street.

The dragons too were standing tall and looking off into the distance. The Purple Green was shaking the hand with the newly disinfected wound, but otherwise seemed unconcerned.

Swane of Revenant came running up from the smithy carrying Vlok’s forearm-armor vambraces.

“What’s going on?” asked Relkin.

“A riot in the city. Down at the granary. Ol‘ Pax will be sending the cavalry.”

There was already a rumble of horse hooves coming from somewhere not too far away.

Relkin looked back to the dragons. They were sniffing the air.

“The city burns,” said Bazil.

All across the city, the cry of rage resounded and the poor swarmed out of their quarters and headed down the roads to ring the granaries and bellow for food. When none was forthcoming, they began looting in the surrounding district and setting fire to the houses of the wealthy. Soon smoke was billowing up in a dozen places.

The Ourdhi authorities soon gave up any attempt at imposing order; complete chaos loomed. However, General Paxion did not hesitate and sent the Talion horse crashing through the mobs to reinforce the garrison in the granaries. But as the mobs grew larger, it became impossible to maintain steady communications with the granaries. Sections of Fatan Street were burning out of control, and the city fire teams had been unable to get through.

It was madness, the suicidal rage of a scorpion in a fire. Nobody even knew exactly what had inspired the riot, although a lot could be laid to the barrel of the black drink that had been given to a street gang on Canary Street. They had lead the mobs marching on the granary.

Here and there around the city the mobs caught individual legionaries who had been away from their posts for one reason or another. Their heads went to adorn pikes, and their bodies were torn to pieces and even eaten by some.

In vain did the leaders try to contain the rage. The mobs were completely out of control, and a xenophobic lust for blood had taken over.

A hostile crowd had even gathered in the Zoda and had called on the Fedafer to show himself to his people, in order to reassure them that he was alive and not under the control of an alien witch as the rumors had claimed.

The emperor refused and since the witch was, in fact, the only person strong enough to make him, it seemed pointless to do so. The sight of the witch herself would have excited the mobs to even greater outrages. So the emperor cowered in his palace and the witch stayed with him, to keep him under control as much as anything. The mob grew even more enraged when the emperor did not appear and several fires were set in the buildings around the Zoda. The gates of the Imperial City remained shut, however, and the mobs were unable to gain entry.

A somewhat confused sea gull kept General Paxion informed of developments. The bird flew back and forth between the palace and his personal tent carrying a small scroll attached to its leg. The scroll was imbued with magic, being seemingly of a thick paper. However, messages written on it disappeared shortly after being written, and only reappeared when opened by the person they were addressed to.

Paxion held the walls, the gates, and the granary. His cavalry was keeping sections of the Fatan Street and the East Gate Road open. The Great Witch held the emperor and seemed physically safe for the moment. Paxion assured Ribela that he was confident that he could break through to the Imperial City at will and escort her to his positions on the wall if necessary.

The gull vented an odd squawk now and then as it flapped its wings on takeoff, and then soared back across the city and was lost in the haze of smoke covering the Bogra quarter. The haze was getting so thick, you could no longer make out the ziggurats in the distance.

General Paxion was fighting against a slow-rising sense of panic. He knew they just had to last a few more days before they were resupplied, but the combined pressures of the siege and now the riots, were becoming overwhelming. Furthermore, General Pekel did not inspire confidence in Paxion. The Kadein legion was undoubtedly exhibiting morale problems. This legion had been due for a rest period in the home city. They had served five years on the frontier. They had been packed and ready to leave Fort Redor when suddenly they had been told they were not going home to Kadein, but instead were being sent south to the empire of Ourdh for an unknown length of time. The legion had not taken the news well, and although the men had served well enough, the officers were a malcontent lot.

Paxion frequently heaved a sigh. The riots seemed like a sign of doom. Just a few more days and they’d have been resupplied and able to feed the people again. Now who could say what might happen, the whole city might burn to the ground. He wondered if he’d ever see his wife and children again, ever have the chance to walk down Tower Street in Marneri or visit the opera in Kadein.

Captain Kesepton came to the command tent around an hour after the first fire. He remained, working over the big map they’d spread out of the city, charting the areas of riot and fire. Kesepton plotted out routes around the riot-torn areas for cavalry patrols.

Paxion took him aside to tell him that Lagdalen was safe and with the Great Witch.

“No one is probably safer in this entire city,” said the general. With a rueful nod, Kesepton had to agree. Paxion examined the map that Kesepton had been working on. The Saubraj area around the granary was in flames and the mobs were very thick on the Fatan Street north of the fires.

Along the road to Gunj from the East Gate, there were more fires and very heavy mobs who had attacked a small settlement of foreigners, darker-skinned people from the continent Eigo. They were busy hanging these poor folk from lamp poles, a release of long simmering racial hatreds.

“We still have adequate communications along the walls to all the gates, and our camps have been left alone,” said Kesepton.

“The rioting remains localized then.”

“It’s concentrated in two areas really. There’s the mob at the granary and the mob on the East Gate Road. There are also small crowds in the inner city plus a big one on the Zoda.”

Paxion smiled grimly. “I hear that the Fedafer’s not too popular with his people today.”

“I honestly think they’d like to kill him, sir.”

“Yes, no doubt.”

Suddenly Paxion became aware of a familiar vibration, a steady thrum that shook and shuddered through everything.

“What’s that?” he asked. The officers went outside. Immediately it became clear. The drums of Sephis were beating again. The enemy was attacking the walls!

Rocks came hurtling over the wall to smash down in the tents and campsites. The cornets blew high and shrill summoning the legions to battle.