Dragon (Vlad Taltos) (13 page)

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Authors: Steven Brust

BOOK: Dragon (Vlad Taltos)
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Lunch was served up at a long table, which you walked along with your tin tray out so the cooks could put on it a hunk of tasteless cheese, as many biscuits as you could eat … in my case, that was about a third of one, and a piece of salted kethna that I wouldn’t have served hidden in a stew full of lasher peppers. Then you filled up your collapsible tin cup with a horrid white wine and walked back to your tent to eat, and then down to the stream to clean your mess kit, and, then, perhaps, downstream to the latrines to divest yourself of what you’d just had the misfortune to consume. I fed Loiosh a bit of the kethna, and he liked it fine, which I think proves my point.
An hour after lunch were “maneuvers.” We were called out and made to stand in a neat line, four abreast. On my left was Napper, next to him was a Dragonlord who turned out to be Aelburr. He was very tall—close to eight feet—and thin even for a Dragonlord. His black hair was brushed back like Virt’s, and his arms were nearly as knotted as Crown’s. In that formation, they marched us out to a field, where we had to do things like turn around all together, go from four abreast to eight abreast and back, spread out in different directions and come back, go from four abreast facing forward to thirty abreast and four deep, with proper distance between the lines, advance, retreat, quickstep, double-time, and all sorts of other things that everyone knew how to do except me.
We did this for about five hours, with a five-minute break each hour. During one of the breaks, I threw myself down next to the man who’d been behind me for most of the march.
“Not used to the work, Easterner?” he said.
I looked at him, and he didn’t seem to be actively unfriendly, so I said, “Can’t claim to enjoy it.”
“Me neither,” he said. He was a rather small man, almost mousy, and didn’t give the impression of great strength, though he’d gone through the drills without being as winded as I was.
“But you’re in it for the fighting, right?”
“Me? No. I’ve been in a few battles. I can’t say I enjoyed them.”
“Then why—?”
“Experience. I want to make a career of the Phoenix Guards. Or the Dragon Guards if the Cycle will be kind enough to turn for me. And you get along better if you start out with a few big fights under your belt.”
“I see.”
“What about you?”
“It’s personal.”
He laughed. “I would imagine so. The scuttlebutt is you know Sethra Lavode.”
“We’ve met,” I admitted.
“Is she really a vampire?”
“Well, she hasn’t drunk my blood. At least that I remember.”
He laughed again. “I’m Tibbs,” he said.
“Vlad.”
“A pleasure.”
“The same.”
And the drum started up, and we were off on more senseless maneuvers. The next rest period found me next to Virt and Napper again. Napper had a look of disgust on his face that didn’t encourage conversation. Virt seemed her easygoing self, so I said, “Mind if I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” said Virt.
“Why is everyone so … hmmm. I’m not sure how to say this. I’ve dealt with Dragons before, and I’m used to, ah, I’m not used to being treated so civilly by them. No offense.”
Virt smiled. “It’s taken some effort,” she said.
“Why the effort, then?”
“I can only speak for myself.”
“Well?”
“We’re going to war,” she said after a moment. “We’re going to be fighting. You’ll be fighting next to me. I’d just as soon you didn’t have any reason to let me be killed.”
“Ah. I hadn’t thought of that.”
She smiled pleasantly. “It’s probably in your best interest not to give me a reason to let you be killed, either. You may want to keep that in mind, Jhereg.”
Napper looked up at me, then glanced away.
And again the drum, and again the marching and running, and then, a little later, we broke for practice in throwing javelins. I couldn’t get anything like the distance most of the Dragonlords got, but I was awfully damn accurate. That gave me a certain amount of pleasure.
Then there was another drumbeat that announced time to sup. Supper was much the same as lunch except that a thin broth was substituted for the kethna. I sat next to Virt outside of our tent, and said, “Does the food get any better?”
“No.”
“I see.” Then, “Are most of these people volunteers?”
“All of us, of course. The units with conscripts have Teckla in them.”
“Oh. Why did you volunteer?”
“I’m attending the Terics Academy, and one needs experience in battle before mastering theory.”
“I guess that makes sense.”
“Why you?”
“Why am I here? It’s personal.”
“Ah.”
I decided after a moment that she deserved a better answer than that, so I said, “The guy we’re going up against pissed me off.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
“You joined the army because you’re mad at the guy whose army we’re fighting?”
“Yep.”
She stared at me. “You know you probably won’t get a chance to, uh, what do you Jhereg call it?”
“We usually call it killing,” I lied. “And, yes, I know that. But I can be useful here.”
“You’re nuts.”
“Thanks.”
“But I mean that in the nicest possible way.”
At that point we were joined by Aelburr, to whom I was then introduced. He seemed friendly enough, and agreed to modify my satchel and make me a collapsible stool. I said, “Is there anything I can do for you?”
“Yeah. Tell me how to win at S’yang Stones.”
“Run the game, don’t play it.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I. It’s a rigged game. In the long run, you can’t win unless the guy running the game is an idiot. If you’re really, really good at it, and you concede if you don’t score well on your first couple of throws, and double-up every time you have an edge with your flat stones, and you get very good at tossing, you’ll only lose a little, very slowly.”
“Why is that?”
“Because in, say, a ten-fifty game you’re paying twelve orbs for the stones, and you’re risking fifty orbs if you lose, and if you win you only get back ten plus fifty, not including doubling, which works out even in the long run. So every time you play against someone as good as you, you lose two orbs. If you play against someone better, it’s worse, and if you play against someone not
as good, the luck factor is almost always greater than the two orbs you’re losing. Usually about four coppers’ worth.”
“You’ve got it figured that precisely?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head. “What about personal games, with no one running it?”
“That’s different. Then if you’re better, you should win.”
“So how do you play?”
“Go for the big scores with your flat stones, and use the round ones at the end to knock off his big scores, and, if he gets a big advantage on the first round, surrender your ten and start over.”
“I like to use my flat stones to knock out the other guy’s early scores. Then I can get lucky with the round stones.”
“Yeah, a lot of guys play that way.”
“And I double when, well, you know, sometimes you can just feel that you’re going to hit big?”
Sure you do
. I said, “I don’t know, I don’t actually play a whole lot.”
“Well, it seems like it works.”
I thought,
I know exactly how you play, sucker,
but didn’t say it. I said, “How do you do, overall?”
“I’m about even, or maybe a little up.”
I almost said it with him. The consistent losers always say, “About even, or maybe a little up.” But I just nodded and didn’t say anything.
“Maybe I’ll try it your way,” he said.
“Let me know how it works.”
“I will.”
“So, why are you here?”
“Here? You mean, in the service?”
“Yeah.”
He was quiet for a while, then said, in a low voice, “I’ve always dreamed of fighting under Sethra Lavode.”
“Okay,” I said. “I can respect that.”
“It’s better than the alternative, in any case.”
“Oh?”
“My last posting was with a mercenary army. They’ve been hired to fight against her. I wouldn’t care to do that.”
“No,” I said. “I wouldn’t either.”
A little later fires were lit, and we sat around them; apparently every three tents had one fire. Virt explained that, usually, the fires were where meals were cooked, but as this whole operation had been thrown together so quickly, they had gone to communal kitchens to save the extra work of dividing up the rations. I suppose that made some sort of military sense. Someone from one of the other tents said it only made sense if we weren’t staying long. Virt said we’d be moving out any day, and explained her reasoning, which provided the subject for much lively debate and led to reminiscences about past campaigns that had involved a lot of waiting in bivouac.
“Well, Loiosh, what do you think of military life so far?”
“The food’s good.”
“Heh.”
“And there’s a lot of it.”
“I didn’t see a lot.”
“That’s because everyone hasn’t been feeding you scraps.”
“Everyone’s been feeding you?”
“They sure have, Boss. I think they think I’m good luck.”
“You’re lucky they don’t know you.”
“Heh.”
The conversation continued around me, and I occasionally put in questions, such as how they could tell the different drum calls apart, which were answered with the sort of patience I might display to a potential customer who wanted to understand the interest on the loan he was inquiring about. The drum, by the way, was called a juice-drum, and the peculiar sound it made was caused by steel balls rattling around inside the steel frame as it was struck.
Later they went on to talking about what they were going to do after the campaign. If they did what they said they were going
to, I’d see a big increase in business at all of my brothels. Then they went on to telling humorous anecdotes, most of which I’d heard and none of which are worth repeating, although there were some particularly military ones that were interesting—most of these had to do with peculiar injuries, ways of bugging out of battle, or embarrassing things happening to officers (but never sergeants, for some reason). Loiosh thought some of the stories were funny, but then, he’d liked the food, too.
The drum started up again, and Virt explained that it was time to sleep. I wasn’t used to sleeping on a set schedule, but I realized that I was sufficiently tired that it wouldn’t be a problem, even with the unfamiliar bed and the nasty, prickly woolen blanket. And it wasn’t; I rolled up my cloak for a pillow, lay down, and was gone.
The drum woke me up the next morning, beginning my first full day as a soldier. We were given ten minutes at the spring to make ourselves ready, which only barely gave me time to shave. I noticed various of my comrades looking at me out of the corners of their eyes as I did so, and I rather enjoyed it.
There were fires going by the cook-tent, so I went over there and discovered that not only was there no klava, but there was no cream or honey for the coffee, so I skipped it. I forced down a biscuit because I thought I might need it, then went back and heard that morning maneuvers had been canceled.
“I wonder why?” said Aelburr.
“Be grateful,” said Napper.
“I have a guess,” said Virt, staring over in the direction of the Captain’s tent. It was very cold; I pulled my heavy cloak around me, thinking I’d trade half my territory in the City for a good cup of klava, and didn’t say anything.
Rascha came by and wished us a pleasant morning. “What’s the word?” said Virt.
“You’ll know as soon as I do,” she said, and continued on.
I studied the sky, hoping it wouldn’t rain, but I couldn’t tell anything. I knew Castle Black was somewhere above us, but I
couldn’t see it through the overcast, even though I knew that Morrolan would be able to look down and see us. It seemed wrong, somehow.
“Loiosh, what am I doing here?”
“If I knew, Boss, I’d be sure to tell you.”
About forty yards away, over the Captain’s tent, the banner of Cropper Company snapped and floated in the cold morning breeze.
The drums started up again, but we’d already eaten breakfast and it was too early for lunch. Virt stood up, smiling. “Do you know how to strike a tent?” she said.

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