City in the Sky (27 page)

“Yes. No friend of yours,” Hori told him quietly. “The twins are good people, Gods alone know how with him for a father, but they are.”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

“If you two are done plotting and conspiring,” Hella said into the silence following that, “it appears that the announcements we're here for are about to be made, which means
you
,” she pointed at Erik, “should be getting over there, doesn't it?”

Erik grinned, for a moment looking his barely twenty-one years of age, and nodded.

The crowd slowly quieted down as Orian stood up on the platform at the end of the garden. Something like two or three hundred people had attended the party, including three
septon
s other than Erik, as well as most of
hept
Orian and all of Fire Company's officers and non-coms.

“Quiet down folks,” Deril ordered in the parade ground voice most officers learned quickly. “You all know that I don't hold parties like this at random – for obvious reasons!” A chuckle ran through the crowd. Orian was the nephew of the current
hepton
Orian, so stood reasonably high in the aristocratic society of Newport, but his house was only medium sized. The guests only barely fit into the garden behind it.

“So you're here for a reason, hence the speech,” he told them. “I'll keep this short and sweet, though, so you don't get unduly bored. The gist of it is this: I've been offered a commission in the Newport Regular Marines.”

Applause cut Orian off for a moment or two, but he raised his hands for quiet. “I'm taking it, but this means I have to step down as captain of Fire Company of the Third. It's been a good four years with you gentlemen, but good things come to an end.” The militia captain eyed the crowd, especially his former officers and men, who were silent to the man.

“However, I know that I am leaving you in good hands,” Deril continued after a few seconds. “The Militia Board has seen fit to replace me with one of our
sept
leaders, Lord Erik
septon
Tarverro!”

This time, the applause was quieter. Some of those present had no enthusiasm for half-breeds and refused to even pretend to applaud this announcement.

Erik didn't have much time to examine the crowd, as Deril gestured to him. “Come on up here, Erik. Give you a good chance to introduce yourself to the leaders of the Third.”

Lacking any real choice, Erik mounted the platform himself and faced the crowd. The officers and noncoms from the Third stood out, as most of them were in uniform at their commander's party.

“Captain Orian did an excellent job running the Third,” Erik told them, ignoring the other guests for the moment. “He'll do an equally excellent job running whatever company of Regulars is lucky enough to get them. I can't hope to be his better, but I promise you I will do all I can to be his equal.”

He met the eyes of each of his new lieutenants in turn and gave them a firm nod, and then he and Orian stepped down to loud applause, loudest from the men who now served under Erik's command.

Brane Kelsdaver stood on the battlements of the Fourth Circle in the late evening wind across Black Mountain. The valley spread out beneath him, with its farms and its dragon pens, its armories and foundries. It was a sight that usually filled him with confidence in the power and might of his citadel, but tonight he was blind to it.

Other Red Dragon agents had confirmed that Tarverro had now returned to Newport, which meant he was far beyond Brane's reach. He had failed to avenge his brother, and the attempt had cost the Dragons both men and resources they could ill-afford to lose.

There were rumors of a new mission, the one Machieava had told him he was supposed to be assigned to, but he'd heard nothing
more
than rumors. He'd been given a group of new-blooded Red Dragons, thirty of them only just pulled from the Claws of the Dragon, and told to train them as quickly as he could. No reasons, no explanation, just orders.

He'd operated on missions with minimal information before, but that was because they hadn't had it. Now he operated without information because it hadn't been
given
to him, and that was most unusual for the Red Dragons.

Brane knew something was coming. Machieava himself, commander of the Red Dragons, had told the Captain there would be a new mission for him, but so far all he'd done was train a platoon of soldiers how to be infiltrators and assassins.

The scuff of a boot on stone woke him from his reverie, and he spun in place, his crystal rod out and trained on the figure behind him. Instead of being threatened however, the figure chuckled.

“So you are still aware,” General Machieava said softly. Despite his chuckles, his voice remained flat and emotionless. Brane had
never
heard the high priest-cum-general's voice be anything but. “Good. I'd wondered.”

“What do you want?” Brane demanded. He knew being so brash to Machieava was dangerous, but he wasn't on duty, and he'd come out here to be alone.

“Well, I was considering telling you what your mission was going to be, but if you're going to act the child about it, perhaps I'll pull you from it,” his commander said flatly.

Brane's fingers tightened on the rod, then returned it to its sheath and snapped to full attention. “I am ready and yours to command, General, sir!” he snapped, cadet-like.

“Good. Very good,” Machieava replied. “How is your infiltrator platoon?”

“As good as they can get without a lot more time to practice,” Brane admitted. “Unless our mission will take more than another six months to get ready, we're not going to get any appreciable further gains in their ability.”

“It won't,” the General replied firmly, stepping up to the battlements to join Brane. “How do you feel about the Aeradi, captain? I don't mean just the propaganda we
say
, but how you
feel
.”

Brane hesitated. Honesty on that sort of level was dangerous, but his commander had ordered it. “They're arrogant and hypocritical sir. They trade everywhere, and get angry if we close our ports, but theirs are always closed to us.”

“Indeed.” Machieava eyed the fields below them. “Do you think we could win an all-out war with them, Captain Kelsdaver?”

“All-out war?” Brane breathed, stunned. The though was horrific. The Draconans held their own in the constant low-level sparring and occasional minor war, but they lacked the resources -most specifically, the launch bases – to prosecute a real long-range campaign. “It would be close to suicide, sir. We can't touch any of the sky cities – dragons are simply exhausted by the time they reach them.”

“We need bases,” Machieava confirmed. “How to get those bases has been the primary project of our general staff for over a decade, and we've come up with two plans. One involves a long, drawn-out, ground war across northern Cevran. We'd have to seize Ell and Hellit, and probably Garria and quite possibly North Hold to prevent the Dwarves interfering. Then, we could use the Hellitian ports to launch an air and sea campaign on the northern sky cities.”

Brane was silent, considering the cost – in time, money and blood – to fight such a campaign. “Could we do it?” he asked

Machieava laughed. “If the Aeradi didn't realize why we were doing it and intervene, maybe. The odds don't favor it though. That's why it hasn't been done.”

“What
are
we doing, then?”

“It is
possible
to get dragons to Newport, at least,” the General observed. “But they're too tired to fight when they get there, correct?”

Brane nodded, uncertain where this was going.

“To take the city, they'd need to rest before fighting. Which means that the defenses would have to be suppressed
before
the assault arrived,” Machieava said calmly, and Brane swallowed as he began to understand. “Sometime in the next two months, captain, two thirds of the Newport Sky Fleet will be in Sky Hame, carrying out the yearly war games. At that point, we intend to use infiltrated troops to shatter the external defenses and break the militia chain of command. This will allow our assault force to take the city with minimal losses.

“Faced with intact Strike Regiments sitting on Newport, and an entire army of the Claws of the Dragon in the city, the Aeradi will either accept our controlling it, or fight. If they fight, the city will provide us with a base from which we can hit two more of their cities – the only ones we deal with – and the Sky Isles themselves.”

Brane stared at Machieava, stunned. The plan was
insane
. By that very token, it might just work. He also began to understand why he'd been training his platoon of infiltrators.

“What is our mission?” he asked.

“Your platoon will be posing as traders,” Machieava told him. “You'll be leaving in a week, and you'll settle in with the trade factors in the city. Your first mission is to learn when the fleet has left. Given that even Newport restricts our travel within the city, that will not be easy, but it is the most important part. Once that's done, and the attack is beginning, you will use explosives that we'll smuggle in to you to destroy the exterior defenses, and then you will take and hold choke points to prevent the Regulars and militia forming up. Elimination of officers from both groups is a high priority.”

“I see,” Brane said quietly, his head spinning with thoughts and plans.

“It's not complex, but neither is it simple,” Machieava told him. “It's deadly dangerous, and I won't order you to do it.”

“I volunteer, sir!” Brane replied promptly, and Machieava grinned.

“Good. I'll pass that on to the organizers.” With a nod, the commander of the Red Dragons began to turn away, but stopped on the steps down from the battlements. “One last thing, Brane.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Our intelligence confirms that Erik
septon
Tarverro now has a militia commission,” Machieava told him. “When the time comes, killing him will be in your mission description. I'm sure you'll be willing to take care of it, correct?”

“Yes,
sir!
”

Erik's first duty with his company was a training session the very next day. Dressed in a brand new uniform in the militia's light blue and white, marked with the paired silver stars insignia of his new rank, he found himself standing on one of the militia training fields on the northern edge of the inner city.

The training field was designed to host a single company at a time, and had just enough archery butts, training dummies and other tools for the one hundred and thirty-eight men of an Aeradi infantry company. The men of Fire Company, Third Newport Militia, were straggling onto the field as Erik arrived, all in uniform with their militia-issued weapons and armor.

Two men waited for Erik at the edge of the field, and saluted as he approached. One Erik recognized easily. Ikeras marred his perfect salute with a wide smile at the sight of his
septon
, and gestured towards the blonde Aeraid beside him.

“Captain
septon
Tarverro,” he greeted Erik, “may I present Lieutenant Jel Meday,
kep
Tarverro, senior Lieutenant of the Fire Company of the Third Newport Milita?”

“Lieutenant,” Erik greeted Meday, inclining his head to the man. “It's good to meet you.”

“Likewise, my lord,” Meday replied. Shortish for an Aeraid, and almost blindingly blonde, Jel looked familiar to Erik, but then he'd almost certainly been at the meeting where the
kep
acclaimed Erik, all those months ago.

“Where are the other lieutenants?” Erik asked.

“Koren, Telt and Jenar are settling the men into the training before they come meet you, sir,” Meday replied. “We figured it would be better to continue with our normal routine before taking the time out of it to speak with you.”

Erik nodded approval. “Good. Maintenance of the routine should help ease the transition of command.”

“That was our belief as well, sir,” Meday replied, his sigh of relief
almost
inaudible.

“Any specific problems I should know about today, Lieutenant, Sergeant?” Erik asked.

“Nothing I know of,” Meday replied.

Ikeras opened his mouth to speak, and then paused with his mouth hanging open. He closed it to swallow and raised his arm to gesture. “
They
might be a problem, sir,” he said quietly.

Erik turned to see where Ikeras was pointing, to find neat files of men in heavy armor –
far
heavier than that issued to most Aeradi infantry – moving onto the training field, pushing his men before them with a brusque indifference.

“Who the hell are
they
?” Erik demanded. He'd never seen
any
Aeradi heavy infantry – his father's people just didn't have the mass or strength to carry that kind of armor normally.