City in the Sky (33 page)

He'd failed, of course. It had taken Dari Hendall less than four blows to kill the man, leaving him spilling blood all over his fancy uniform and the smooth-paved street. Clearly the civilians had sensed which way the wind was blowing, as the streets had emptied even before the fight was over.

His sword clean, Hendall sheathed it and let the rag fall to the ground. It was time to head to his rendezvous point, he judged. As leaderless as they were rapidly becoming, the militia would be weak and disorganized, and the infiltrators would sweep them aside with ease.

Only his beginning to move down the street saved his life. The arrow that would have punched through his left eye instead ripped the top off of his ear. With a startled shout of pain, he dove to the ground, allowing a crystal rod to slip out of his sleeve.

Another arrow shot through where he'd stood as he came up to one knee. Three Aeradi stood at the end of the street. All three were older men, th
eir hair tinged with gray, but they appeared deadly competent with the weapons they held.

There was only one bow among them, however, and Hendall put a lightning bolt through the bowman even as he fired again. This time, the arrow flew true, and drove deep into the Red Dragon's left shoulder.

The explosion of gore that had been the archer, however, would fire no more arrows. Snarling, the two other men, both carrying the typical tachi of an Aeradi warrior, began to advance down the street.

Hendall's lips twisted in pain, but he raised the rod again and fired off a second bolt. This time, both of the swordsmen managed to dodge, and he tried to loose another bolt. The rod failed, however, and he threw it aside, cursing again.

Wincing against the pain, he drew his sword and rose to face the two Aeradi. He didn't have time to deal with the arrow, so he simply ignored it as they closed. Both held their swords with the ease of long practice, and began to circle him slowly.

They were old, though, he could tell. Each was just slightly too stiff, just slightly too slow. Even the pain did not prevent a cold smile forming on his face as he feinted towards the left warrior. He moved to parry with his sword as the other struck.

Ignoring the striking sword, Hendall shifted his lunge in midstep, turning his entire body in a vicious slash that removed the right-hand Aeraid's arm, sword and all, before gutting the man like a fish and sending his body sprawling onto the stones next to the captain he'd been here to kill.

The other Aeraid drew back, but clearly had no intent of retreating. Hendall eyed the older, slower, man calmly, then lunged, wincing at the pain as the arrow tore deeper into his off shoulder.

The Aeraid easily parried Hendall's blow and flicked out a counter blow of his own. The Red Dragon twisted away, but the blow struck the shaft of the arrow in his shoulder, tearing inside Hendall's body.

The young Draconan dropped to one knee, gasping in pain. The Aeraid moved in, trying to finish the fight. Hendall was far from finished, though, and rose from his knees in one lethal motion that ran the older man clean through.

For a long moment, the Red Dragon simply stood there as his enemy slid off of his blade, gasping for breath. Finally, he reached into his pouch for the antiseptic powder he carried, and then grasped the arrow.

He still believed they were going to win this, but – officers or no officers – he wasn't so sure the militia could just be counted out anymore.

Erik was attacked twice more before he reached the muster point for the Newport Third. Knowing, now, that Draconans roamed the city, he hadn’t been surprised again, and the battles had been quite short.

Surprisingly short, in fact. Erik
septon
Tarverro had
fought
Red Dragons before, and these men, well-trained as they were, did not match the calmly competent lethality of those assassins. Spies, infiltrators and saboteurs they clearly were, but Erik doubted they were true Red Dragons.

Which was why he was still alive, and eight of them lay dead in Newport's streets behind him. Nonetheless, his arrival on the training field where the Third Militia had mustered showed that few were so lucky.

An Aeradi battalion, such as the Newport Third Militia, mustered five hundred and twenty two men under arms, including all officers and command staff. Erik estimated that
maybe
four hundred men were on the field, and most should have had less distance to travel than him.

Erik was only half-way to his company when Lieutenant Meday, his own second in command, saw him and almost ran to meet him. The older man came to a halt in front of Erik and saluted with palpable relief.

“Captain Tarverro sir!” he snapped.

“Lieutenant,” Erik greeted him quietly, returning the salute. “How bad is it?”

“We've got a hundred and ten men, sir,” Meday said flatly. “I'm the only lieutenant from Fire here, and Ikeras isn't here yet.” He paused for a moment, and then continued. “At that, none of the other companies have more than a hundred men, and don't think
any
of Earth Company's officers are here.”

“Which officers have made it?” Erik asked.

“Myself, two lieutenants from Sea and one from Air,” Meday replied.

Erik froze. “Just lieutenants?” he asked, praying he was wrong.

“Yes, sir,” the lieutenant replied. Something of Erik's dismay must have shown on his face. “What's wrong, sir?”

“Major Champion is dead,” Erik told him flatly. “If there are no other captains...” he trailed off.

“You're in command, sir,” Meday finished for him. “What are your orders, sir?”

Erik turned, eyeing the four hundred men on the field. He was in command. He was
in command
. He didn't know what to do. He'd only been a
captain
for two weeks, and now he was in command of the battalion?

“Which other battalion musters are near us?” he asked.

“Fifth's just down the street, and Seventh's about ten blocks away. Why, sir?” Meday asked.

“Send messengers to...
whoever
is in command of them,” Erik told him. “Suggest that they rendezvous on our position, and we'll move out as a body from there. We're going to need all the force concentration we can get.”

“Yes, sir,” Meday replied, clearly relieved that someone knew what they were doing.

Erik wished he could share the other man's confidence.

The rendezvous point, Hendall discovered, was a confused mass of Draconan soldiers. None of them were in uniform, the only sign of rank the insignia they all wore. As even a junior agent, Hendall outranked everyone he saw.

Casualties must have been heavy, he realized. There were maybe four hundred men in the rendezvous area, and his estimate had been for half again that. If that wasn't enough, there were too few agents. The chain of command had been battered into oblivion.

One of the more senior soldiers spotted his agent's insignia and gestured for him to come over.

“Agent?” he asked.

“Yes, soldier?” he replied. The division between
real
agents and the infiltration-trained soldiers in the Red Dragons was quite clearly defined, and the agents were in charge.

“Thank the Gods,” the soldier replied sincerely. “Too few of you folks made it here. No one seems to have a clue what to do.”

Hendall raised an eyebrow at the soldier. Just a glance at a
map
should tell anyone what needed to be done. There was only one real choke point.

“I won't speak against your brothers, sir,” the soldier said, finally.

“Ah,” was all Hendall said. “Who's in charge?”

“Chaos and the Fires,” the soldier replied with a grin. “There's a bunch of agents staring at maps who may
think
they're in charge over there, though,” he finished; gesturing to a small knot of people Hendall hadn't noticed.

“Thank you.”

“If you've got half a clue what you're doing, thank
you
, sir,” the soldier said flatly.

Hendall merely nodded to the man and crossed to the other agents. They were, as the soldier had said, gathered around a map. Arguing. Over where to
take
the men. Apparently, they were completely oblivious to the fact that every minute they argued, a tiny amount of their authority over those same men slipped away.

A quick glance at the insignia confirmed that none of them were senior to him. Most were the same rank or only a little junior, but none were senior. Which made things a little easier.

He stepped between two of them and laid his finger on a block on the map. “Here,” he said quietly, silencing the arguments. “We attack here.”

“The Square of the Gods?” one of them replied. “Why?”

“It's the key to the whole Gods-accursed city,” Hendall said flatly, staring the man down. “They'll man the inner defenses soon, if they haven't already, and we couldn't touch those. As long as the inner defenses hold, the dragons can't attack the city. They can land troops, but they can't
support
those troops.”

The other agent nodded, silently.

“If we
take
that Square, however, and hold it,” Hendall told them, “we can either clear out the defenses ourselves, or leave them to the Claws. Once that's done, it's all over bar the burning.”

He met each agent's eyes in turn, holding their gazes until each one nodded, accepting both his plan and his authority.
He
was in command here now.

“All right. Muster the men. We leave immediately.”

Fortunately for Erik's sanity, Ikeras arrived before the other battalions did. He found his way straight to Erik's command post, where Erik had mustered the handful of officers he had for the entire battalion, and was distributing responsibilities.

He saw the non-com arrive at the edge of the group and made a 'hold on a moment' gesture with his right hand. He needed to talk to Ikeras, but this was more important.

“Finally, Lieutenant Meday will command Fire Company, with Lieutenant Jelnar as XO,” he finished. He eyed the group, most of whom looked half-dazed with the sudden responsibility thrust onto them.

“Gentlemen, we are suffering from a severe lack of officers,” he told them quietly. “You're all being thrust into positions you don't feel ready for. Rely on your sergeants, people. They can handle minute to minute.
Your
job is to make sure your units follow my orders and achieve their objectives. Understood?”

He waited for nods of confirmation, most of them appearing a little more confident than a moment before, from everyone before returning it. “Dismissed people. Let’s get to it.”

The officers dispersed, and Erik turned to Ikeras. “Thank the Gods you made it,” he said to the older man. “I was worried they'd got you.”

“Thank the Gods
you
made it, sir,” Ikeras replied.

“Arien?” Erik asked, terrified of the answer.

“She'll be fine,” his friend and retainer assured him. “That old house is a fortress, and the
kep
will defend her to the end.” Erik felt Ikeras' eyes on him for a moment, and met the older man's gaze. “
All
the
sept
houses are like that. They won't want to hit them until this is over. Unless we fail entirely, they're safe.”

Erik nodded slowly. So his grandmother was fine. Hiri was fine. He found himself hoping that Elysia had made it to her father's house, and wondered why he was worried about
her
when so many were at risk.

“Where are the Regulars?” he asked softly. “I know they pulled most out for the war games, but they can’t have left the city defenceless?”

“Many were on the outer defenses,” Ikeras replied grimly. “Doctrine calls for the Wind Guard to dig in around the Palace while the Regulars and militia form the first line of defense. Whoever’s left…” he trailed off. “It’ll depend on who ends up in charge,” he said finally. “The regiments I know are in town have a normal station at the shipyards. They’ll go there first – if they go anywhere else after depends on the officers. And the Draconans.”

“What about the militia?” Erik asked, trying to focus on the map in front of him.

“I passed through the Fifth's camp on the way here,” Ikeras told him. “They're a mess. Bunch of green lieutenants trying to work out which way to move the men.”

“Fires,” Erik cursed softly. “I was hoping to pull them in as reinforcements. No-one senior?”

Ikeras shook his head. “None. The bastards knew
just
who to hit. I doubt one in twenty of the company-level or higher officers made it to their posts. Looks like you're it for us, sir.”

Erik turned away silently. He wasn't ready to command this. Not now.

“If we want the Fifth, sir, we're going to have to pick them up on the way,” Ikeras said bluntly. “You'll have to take command of them too.”