Battledragon (30 page)

Relkin noted that all but the tall Bogoni noble had been cut down, and he was standing with his back to the woodpile with two swords in hand holding off a pack of assailants. This couldn't last more than a few seconds more. Despair welled up in Relkin's heart.

Then a familiar voice boomed out behind him.

"Boys lie down!"

Relkin didn't hesitate, and as he ducked down, he saw Bazil loom out of the dark swinging a ten-foot tent pole in both hands. There came a blurring sound as the tent pole passed overhead and then a series of dull thuds, as men were driven into the woodpile like so many racquet balls.

Relkin looked up. All the assassins save one had been cleared from the field. The survivor gave a mournful croak and broke and ran away through the wagon park, disappearing into a sea of moving oxen.

Relkin got wearily to his feet.

"By the breath," he said. "It was lucky you happened to pass by."

"This dragon was thirsty, and boy had failed to provide a barrel so I was going to the watering station. Then I heard fight, and I picked up tent pole; good thing I did or boy would now be considerably shorter."

"For once this dragonboy agrees entirely with his dragon."

"This is remarkable event, to be recorded in stone for posterity."

They were interrupted by a great cry of grief. The tall Bogoni noble had survived, too, and now he knelt beside the body of one of his companions. Endi knelt beside the man.

"He's dying; his belly is cut."

Relkin saw the blood, a great pool of it beneath the victim.

The tall Bogoni cried out, and at the same time the wounded one gave up the ghost.

"I am sorry for your friend," murmured Relkin, forgetting for a moment that the man was a Bogoni and would not understand him.

"I thank you for your concern," said the tall man, rising to his feet and startling Relkin with his antique-sounding Verio.

Before.Relkin could say anything, the man went on.

"I would also ask your name, and that of your dragon." He turned and stared up into the big reptilian face. Relkin feared dragon-freeze, but the man seemed immune. He looked down, and Relkin looked into a large, open face, generous features, and dark, lustrous eyes quite untroubled by signs of the innate fear of dragons.

"I am Choulaput, King of Og Bogon," said the tall man.

Relkin and Endi looked at each other, aghast. There seemed plenty in this situation to ensure trouble with Wiliger.

"And I must thank you two for saving my life. I would surely have been slain like poor Putapoz if you had not so bravely thrown yourselves into harm's way. Most of all, I must thank your great beast. It saved all of us."

"It's the king, then?" whispered Endi.

"Yes!" snapped Relkin, and they both stood to attention and did their best to come up with crisp salutes.

Relkin felt his arm tremble a little and wondered that he was even standing up. The side of his head pounded wickedly.

"Dragoneer Relkin, of the 109th Marneri, sir!" he managed to grate.

"Dragoneer Endi, 109th Marneri!"

"I see, and your dragon's name?"

Bazil leaned forward. "This dragon is Bazil of Quosh."

Choulaput jumped a little at being addressed by a gigantic animal. Beasts of this nature were known only from the legends and the tales of the Nub al Wad.

Bazil picked up the unbroken water cask and broke the seal with a huge green-brown thumb. He drank noisily.

"Long day, makes me thirsty," he said by way of explanation.

The next morning an extraordinary invitation was presented to Dragon Leader Wiliger of the 109th Marneri. Dragoneers Relkin and Endi, Dragon Bazil, and he himself as their commanding officer were invited to a banquet with the king, who intended to honor the dragoneers and the dragon.

Wiliger had only just heard the word concerning the nighttime fracas. He'd slept through it and the aftermath. His immediate reaction was unfavorable. That damned little Relkin had somehow or other gotten himself noticed by the king. Wiliger had had enough of Relkin of Quosh and his continual searching out of glory.

Then he caught hold of himself. It would be an opportunity, too, of course, and introductions among the Bogoni elite would be welcomed, by among others, his father back in Marneri, Wiliger accepted gracefully and immediately ordered Relkin and Endi to prepare for a merciless inspection of all kits.

At the appointed hour late in the afternoon, they formed up—Relkin and Endi, Bazil behind them, and Wiliger at the head—and marched off, as if on a parade ground. Every fleck of metal gleamed, Relkin and Endi's tropical dress kit was perfect in every detail. Dragon Leader Wiliger still wore some odd items, but in the main he had shifted to wearing the issued tropical kit.

The entire legion camp knew the story by this point, and hundreds turned out to applaud as they passed onto the avenue that led to the palace.

Wiliger felt a peculiar flush of pride at this accolade. They were his dragonboys, his dragon, and he bathed in the reflected glory. At the same time it occurred to him that they might just as easily have been slain, freeing him of Relkin of Quosh. Something small and mean deep inside him would have welcomed this.

King Choulaput's palace was a sprawling complex of pavilions with flagstone floors and gold-leaf ceilings. Purple silk hangings divided the space. A crowd of Bogoni nobles had gathered, and drummers thundered out a welcome.

They marched up the steps and into the main hall where the king was waiting for them seated on the Ostrich throne.

At the entry of the dragon, there was a great gasp from the crowd. Even in this great hallway, a two-ton beast standing ten feet high tended to bulk hugely, and though their imaginations had been primed, they found the reality as strange as the advance reputation.

Choulaput accepted Wiliger's salute and then rose to embrace Relkin and Endi, which brought roars from his nobles. Then he reached up to clasp hands with the dragon, the king's hand disappearing into the huge dragon paw. This brought a hush that turned into a roar when the king's hand reappeared unharmed.

Bazil, coached beforehand by Relkin, lifted his arm and waved to the Bogoni, turning from side to side to nod his big head to include them all.

By this point his keen nose had informed him that some interesting food was on its way. The boy had been right. Relkin had claimed that there would be a great feast, and it would be worth enduring the fuss.

Gold disks minted with the likeness of the king and the national symbols of Og Bogon were hung on scarlet ribbons around the necks of Bazil, Endi, and Relkin to further applause.

The king delivered a brief speech in Bogoni. Then a religious figure, clad in red and green silks, gave a long speech. Bazil grew impatient. His belly rumbled.

At last tables were pushed in, and the banquet began. Bazil lowered himself onto his massive haunches in front of a trestle on which sat an enormous platter of rice mixed with nuts, raisins, fruits, and curried goat. To eat it, he was given a shovel.

A trolley was rolled out bearing a great urn filled with frothing beer. Bazil's eyes lit up, and he raised it and toasted the king. There was a tremendous shout from the nobles, who shot to their feet en masse and raised cups to the king.

The king toasted the dragon back.

The platter of rice and goat was soon cleaned. In came a wild boar, stuffed with peppers. More beer accompanied it.

Bazil tore the cooked flesh apart and devoured it happily. The boy had been right for once. This was turning out to be a really good feast.

Many Bogoni nobles stared aghast at the sight. Here was a giant predatory reptile devouring an entire animal in front of their eyes. It popped out leg bones from its mouth like a man might who was eating a kipper. Someone compared it with a tame tiger kept by his uncle. Someone else laughed and said the tiger would be a mere snack for this monster. It was like something out of the Lands of Terror, beyond the Wad Nub.

The king, plainly in fine spirits, conversed with Relkin and Endi, encouraging them to be open and informal. They responded cautiously, all too aware of Wiliger's jealous eyes upon them. The dragon leader had received the respect due him and no more. No golden disks, no toasts, little more than a greeting from the king. He could not complain, but his resentment burned hard within him.

Choulaput's faith in the legions and in General Baxander had been confirmed most wonderfully by the events of the previous night. First Bazil and the boys had saved his life. Secondly, the supply train had come in on time and a most generous portion distributed among the hungry people of Koubha. Even the royal pantries had been replenished.

The king now plied the dragonboys with a great many questions concerning dragons and dragon keeping. They answered with that mixture of textbook certainty and dragonboy cunning that marked the professional. Thus the king learned that it was the nubs of absent wings that were the place one checked first to see if a dragon was running a temperature and the best places to scratch if a dragon's back needed scratching. Wiliger interrupted at one point to offer the king a copy of Chesler Renkandimo's awful book. The king saw the frowns on Endi and Relkin's youthful countenances and politely told the dragon leader to send the book to the palace, then he turned back to the dragonboys.

Choulaput had noticed the two strips of medal ribbon on Relkin's uniform. The king understood the technique employed in the armies of the Argonath. He understood that very few men would ever earn enough decorations to even begin a second stripe, let alone complete one. He had heard already something of the legends concerning this particular boy and his dragon, or was it the other way around? The king honestly didn't know. The entire experience of talking with a dragon was astonishing to him. All this and yet the boy seemed hardly any different from the other one, just a little older. Then again, Choulaput detected something in the older one, a tension in the jaw perhaps, a way of settling the eyes on a distant horizon when he answered questions about his past that spoke of experiences beyond his years.

"I have heard that you have fought in many great battles, Dragoneer Relkin. I see that you bear the ribbons of many decorations on your chest. Yet I find that you are but a youth, barely old enough to carry a spear in my army. How can this be possible?"

Relkin glanced toward Wiliger. The dragon leader was engaged by the noble on his left.

"Well, Your Majesty, the dragon and I, we joined the legion when we were very young. Since then, we've had more than our share of scrapes."

Choulaput smiled. The siege of Ourdh described as a "scrape"!

"You have fought trolls, I believe?"

"Many's the time we've fought trolls. Nasty work it is." The beer had loosed Relkin's tongue now.

Choulaput nodded. "Now the trolls I am familiar with are used in the Bakan. They are eight or nine feet tall and wield clubs or hammers, and are said to be very difficult to kill. No man can stand against them. Fortunately we were able to ban the use of such creatures within our realm."

"They sure are hard to kill. Do we have a time with them sometimes. But they can't take dragonsword." Relkin finished the tankard of beer. "Nor can anything else."

The king looked over to where Bazil was clearing his plate once again. The dragon did not eat the bones, was it because they were cooked? Choulaput made a note to ask.

"Yes, dragonsword," he murmured, "I have yet to see the dragonsword wielded in battle. But I have seen a tent pole used to flatten a dozen men at a time. If the sword is wielded in the same way, then our enemies have much to fear."

Relkin nodded doggedly.

"The sword is wielded just as a man wields a heavy sword, Your Majesty, only the dragonsword has twenty times the weight."

Choulaput whistled in appreciation. Such a piece of steel would cleave anything but stone.

"We must be sure to remain good friends with such great beasts as our savior, the Bazil Broketail."

Relkin noticed that Bazil was tearing into an entire side of antelope, roasted in a honey sauce. Bones were piling up beside him.

"I have been informed that you and your dragon were in Ourdh during the great siege."

Relkin was surprised that the king had heard of that. Choulaput laughed at such condescension from a youth.

"You think we are out of touch with the world here in Og Bogon, boy?"

Relkin flushed. It was past time he learned to keep his tongue under control.

Choulaput was smiling, however.

"Ourdh trades with the whole world, just as your city of Marneri does. In Sogosh we see Ourdhi traders, just as we see white ships from Cunfshon and Marneri."

The king paused a moment. The dragon tucked into another barrel of beer. The beast seemed to down about a gallon each time it raised the barrel. Choulaput wondered, absently, what its limits were.

"So, we heard much of the horrifying siege of the great city of the ancient land, and we heard of the great courage of the men of Argonath. And we heard that the dragons of Argonath threw down the evil things made by the dark one that ruled in that ancient land."

"That they did, sir, and saved the rest of us."

"You were there, then?"

"Yes, Your Majesty, we were there."

"We heard many strange and terrible tales of that siege. Perhaps you can enlighten us about some of the things that we were told. But first, tell me this, is there anything your dragon would like when the feast is finished?"

Relkin didn't have to think for a second.

"Oh, yes, Your Majesty. He would like to swim. Even just a splash in a pool would be balm for his soul. Wyvern dragons love the water."

Choulaput gave a jolly laugh. "He shall swim in our ornamental lake if he likes. It lies directly behind the palace."

Relkin caught Wiliger's chilly eye upon him. He tightened his jaw. There didn't seem to be any way to avoid trouble with the dragon leader.

Relkin caught himself wondering how Wiliger would take to combat, when they got into a real scrap. When the arrows ^started to fly and the trolls were coming at them, nine feet high and roaring, then they would see what Wiliger was made of.