The Dragons of Argonath (4 page)

Relkin began to worry again.

"But I know that Gryf's a green, so I asked some questions, and I finally got the truth about Gryf going for Vlok. That was bad. Can't have that. It's one thing when the Purple Green loses his temper but he never goes for the sword. Can't have dragons drawing steel on dragons."

Relkin coughed.

"Permission to speak, sir."

"Granted. Dragoneer."

"Takes awhile to settle a new green down. They're a little crazy, always."

"Mmm. So you agree with the orthodoxy on this issue, Dragoneer Relkin. I know this is what the old hands say. Give a green just a little longer to adjust. But this was close to murder. He might have killed old Vlok."

"He's impressive with the sword, for a youngster that is. He will be a great sword dragon, given time."

Cuzo stared at him hard for a long moment.

"I see. Well, I understand you, I think. And I concur. And we will erase all mention of the Broketail's stroke from the record." He paused.

"You and the Broketail have three days leave to visit your home village. Three days, understood? You must be back by nightfall, third day. We're going to Marneri next week."

"Marneri? Sir?"

"Don't pretend, I'm sure you all know. And you probably also know that we're shipping out to Kadein soon after."

"Kadein?"

"Well, you know what that means. A long trip and a cold winter ahead of us at Axoxo."

"Axoxo." There it was. Confirmation of the worst possible duty. A winter on the siege lines around the enemy fortress at Axoxo. A winter spent in the White Bones mountains, with howling snowstorms, freezing nights under the stars.

"Right. So when we get to Marneri, we're going to make sure that everyone has a double ration of warm clothing. Freecoats will be inspected for wear and tear. New ones will be ordered. I will be a real zealot when it comes to equipment. I want everyone to stock replacements, and that means armor too."

"Yes, sir!"

"Dismissed. Have a good trip home, Dragoneer, you deserve it."

Relkin took the news to Bazil with considerable satisfaction. It seemed they could actually live with Dragon Leader Cuzo. He was humane, rational, and most important of all, somewhat knowledgeable about dragons.

Bazil was pleasantly surprised as well. They'd had some difficult dragon leaders the last few years. Relkin packed some bread, filled his water bottle, and slung his bow and hunting quarrels over his shoulder. There were always rabbits on the Rack Hills.

The next day dawned cloudless. They breakfasted and set off soon after, heading west from the camp on the narrow cart track to the village of Felli. The track climbed steadily up the long straight slope of Rack Hill. They passed scrub oak and pine in clumps, with blackbirds, scrapes, and robins all in great numbers. Above circled half a dozen hawks and farther away a larger shape that might have been an eagle or a vulture.

Relkin kept his bow ready, for rabbits would be wary with the hawks above. They wouldn't show themselves for long. In good spirits they continued the climb. The trees gave way to heather and open grass. Exposed rock began to show here and there.

They reached the pass over the Rack, just below Old Baldy, the tallest of the knobs. The Roan Hills were visible across the valley. They turned south on the ridgeline trail, which wound between rock outcrops across the top of the scarp slope.

Moving through this high country, they saw occasional sheep and rabbits, but none close enough for a shot. At noon they were far south, approaching Beggars Hill. Below them were spread out Brumble Woods, Quosh Common visible just past the woods. In the distance, beyond the commons, rose the tower of the temple at Quosh, a tiny jut from where they stood.

They paused while they wolfed down bread and drank a little water. The wind brought up a soft breeze from the valley, filled with the scent of trees and grass.

"We'll go down through the dingle, then across the common. Have a beer at the Bull and Bush."

"I always like the Bull and Bush. Though I never understand the name. There is no bull there, nor any bush. The common is flat enough for boys to play football. No bush grows there without risking destruction."

"Don't ask me, Baz. I only grew up there. Nobody ever told me stuff like that. When an orphan asks questions, he doesn't usually get answers."

"Dragonboy is born with excuses coming out of mouth."

"Yeah, well I remember things coming out of mouths too. I remember when we came up here on that long day hike, on your tenth birthday."

Bazil stiffened. "I have no memory of that."

"You stuffed yourself with brackberries and then you got a bellyache."

"You didn't have to remind me of that."

"What an afternoon we had, all the way back to the village."

"Enough!" Bazil clacked his long jaws angrily.

"Yeah, enough." Relkin turned away with a smile. His eyes lifted to the Roan Hills on the far side of the valley coated with purple heather. The green valley below, the purple hills, and the distant tower of Quosh Temple all awoke memories of the former life. He had sat here many times before, but that had been before he had seen the outside world. Back then he had wanted to escape. The hills were like the bars on a cage. Now he saw them as sheltering walls, enclosing the valley so green and peaceful. Keeping it safe from the dangers that haunted the world. From here to the Ersoi they'd rambled all their young lives until they'd finally taken the Borgan Road with that contract with the baron.

That damned contract with the baron! It had turned out to be nothing but trouble, especially with those illegal trolls the baron kept. He'd thought at the time that it would make the ideal start for them in life. They'd learn on the job, make a little money and then go on to Marneri and apply for acceptance in the Legion Dragon Corps. Instead they'd had to hurry out of Borgan with the baron's imprecations at their backs. Still, once they'd got to Marneri, they'd found a place in the legions, and the rest was history.

The world had seemed a bright place back then, inviting and challenging when they'd set out from Quosh and marched up the road to Borgan. Now it seemed as if it had been in another lifetime.

"We've been around the world and back, Baz."

"We have traveled farther than this dragon ever dreamed possible."

"Doesn't seem to have changed much."

"Peaceful life down here. Glad we left."

"I wonder what old Macumber's doing."

"I too. Sat here many times with master Macumber."

"I'm sure. He always told me that you would be one of the best wyverns Quosh ever produced. Glad to say he was right."

"Eh?" Bazil swiveled a large eye to check Relkin's face. A joke?

"You are the best wyvern they ever came up with, really."

Bazil's eyes blinked. He rumbled happily in his chest.

"This dragon please to hear you think so. Dragonboy not often this kind to poor old dragon."

"I'd say old Macumber should be plenty proud of you."

More contented rumbling indicated approval of this concept.

"Seems long ago that we went up that road," said Bazil, pointing to where a line of poplars marked the Borgan Road. In the distance Kalcudy's heights loomed like a lion's head above the River Saun.

"Someday I'll have to bring Eilsa here to see this. I think she'd like it. It's not that different from Wattel Bek."

At length they stirred, they set off down the steep path that lead through the rock-strewn dingle, with its huge blocks of stone fallen from the cliff face above. In places this could only be done by climbing and working one's way through the giant puzzle of the blocks of stone.

At the bottom they left the rocks, crossed a low stone wall, and walked beneath the dark leaves of the woods. Soon they were on the lane that ran along the north side of Quosh Common. The spire of the temple was straight ahead. On their right the ground rose up to Birch farm, a cluster of whitewashed buildings on the top of the rise.

The woods thinned, and they saw across the common to the village, with its brick houses along Brennans Road, and the larger buildings farther off, such as the Blue Stone Inn. Behind the houses on Brennans Road rose up another long slope with Pigget farm at the top with its red barn.

They crossed the common. The folk of Quosh came out of their doors to stare at the wyvern battledragon, dragon sword carried in the shoulder scabbard. At the sight of the strange kink in his tail, they grew excited. Only the handful of folk who had traveled to Marneri had seen their famous Broketail dragon since he'd left to join the legions!

Children ran out in droves. The word had flickered around the village like lightning. Customers came out of the Bull and Bush, and an excited crowd soon gathered at the corner of Green Street and Brennans Road.

This was indeed the famous pair, Bazil the Broketail and Dragoneer Relkin. A general round of clapping began as the two reached the corner of the green and stepped into the street.

Rustum Bullard, a huge man with a bald red head, emerged from the Bull and Bush with two cellar lads, hauling out a cask of ale.

Tarfoot Brandon was there, the town clown, his nose redder than ever. And there was Nurm Pigget and his brother Ivor, and Mrs. Neath, the grocer's wife, and Lorinda Keen and old Martin Pueshatter and a dozen more. The children were whirling around in ecstasies of excitement.

More and more people came running up Brennans Road as the word got out, and then came Farmer Pigget riding down from the opposite direction on his great grey gelding.

The folk began singing even as Rustum Bullard broached the keg and poured a few pints before dedicating the rest of it to the thirst of a dragon returned.

Bazil gave a great happy roar that shook the roof tiles and hoisted the keg and let the good Blue Stone ale go foaming down his throat. The crowd cheered him, Relkin was the center of a back-slapping frenzy, and the rest of the village downed tools and came out to welcome them home.

Before long they were drinking the kegs dry at the Bull and Bush, and Rustum Bullard had to close up and send everyone down to the Blue Stone Inn.

There they were met by Avil Bernarbo and his family, who had hastily prepared the beginnings of a feast.

Three sides of beef had been brought up from the butcher and were set to roasting in the inn's big kitchen. Pots of meal were on to boil. The pastry man at the inn was working furiously with both his assistants to turn out a slew of cakes and tarts to cap off the meal.

A hat was passed in the inn for contributions, and everyone present gave generously. If ever there was the right time for a grand celebration, it was this night, with the return of the prodigal pair Bazil and Relkin.

Old Macumber came down from the Dragon House with his two young candidate dragons, Weft and Fury. Both were leatherbacks, though Fury had some gristle in him. They brought a wagon loaded down with stirabout and akh. Bazil lifted old Macumber up and put him on his shoulder for a round of cheers from the people. Then he toasted the new dragons.

"To the new blood in the Dragon House of Quosh."

Another roar swept the inn and the street outside, which was packed. Folks were even coming in from the farms up past Barley Mow. Word had reached Felli and Twin Streams, and folk from those villages would be down presently. The whole valley enjoyed feeling responsible for producing Bazil the Broketail.

Trestle tables were set up by Neath the grocer. Soon they were passing out plates from the inn, laden with roast beef, roast potatoes, meal porridge, and cabbage. The inn's best ale was sent around to lubricate the throats and keep the conversations roaring.

The dragons ate their dinner in the courtyard of the inn. Bazil held court in the center, and parties of the good folk of Quosh came up to visit him and wish him well. Wyvern dragons have prodigious memories—one area where they score better than men—but still he found it a little tricky, since so many people had grown up or grown old while he'd been away. Recognizing the brood of Nurm Pigget and his wife Iua was hard because they'd all shot up to be blond giants, six feet tall, with Iua's outland looks, since she was a maid of Kenor.

Everywhere it was the same. What had been babies were tall children, tall children were young adults, and those who had been adult had become white-haired in some cases. Such sights brought on a certain pang of melancholy in both Bazil and Relkin. They too had grown older, even while they'd been fighting battles all over the world. Both had a sense that their youth was slipping away, they were in the last part of their legion service now.

At some point Relkin caught Bazil's gaze, and between them there flashed the same sensation. They'd lost something, something they'd never realized they'd had. The golden years of late adolescence, which for them had been compressed entirely within the legion life and too many campaigns to want to think about.

Then the glee-club band took up their instruments and launched into the first of the classic dance tunes of Blue Stone, "The Stepper's Old Sheep." Tarfoot Brandon set down his ale pot for the first time in hours and took Verina Pigget's hand and lead her out to dance on the courtyard. Tarfoot's red nose was aglow as he did the hidy-ho with the wife of Farmer Pigget, Quosh's leading citizen.

Farmer Pigget wasn't going to stand around grumbling in such a situation. In a trice he'd found Luchea Brandon, Tarfoot's lovely young daughter, and was dancing the Stepper's Jig with her in a fine exhibition of toe-and-ankle motion. Then Lavinia Pigget and Wil Felber stepped out, along with everyone who could find a partner. By the last chorus of "The Stepper's Old Sheep," the whole center of the village was a whirling mass of dancing folk calling out with many a wild whoop and a holler.

With barely a moment for a mouthful of ale, the fiddlers stepped up again, the bagpipes came to life, and old Chester Plenth, the ostler, raised the grand old rhythm of the "Blue Stone Waltz" on the drum. And away they went again.