Dragon Alliance Dark Storm : Dark Storm (18 page)

Mkel and the Draden Weir crew jumped up and screamed for joy as their senior weir sergeant and paladin flew the lazy circle of his victory flight by the crowds and all the seated weirs. He drew his holy sword and gave his noble opponent a salute for a well-fought match. Respect and honor were the lifeblood of the Alliance paladin, as much as or more even than of the dragonriders. The cheering was only drowned out by the mighty bass roar of Gallanth.

“There will be no hearing the end of this now,” Lawrent said to Mkel, who smiled. He was so proud and happy for his friend, as was Gallanth. The Draden Weir paladin only did one pass over the crowd, furling the weir colors. It was customary to make several passes, but this was not his way. Modesty, honor, and strength of purpose were his traits, and anything more would have just been for vanity. In the meantime, the land dragons and their crews had completed the first three rounds. Lieutenant Wheelor and his team had easily made it through those cutoffs, but now the competition was in its last match and was getting tougher.

The officiator moved into position atop the portable raised platform and shouted out to the crews to ready themselves and their land dragons. As he hoisted the bright scarlet banner, the two trumpeters put the horns to their lips and sounded out a loud blare. He lowered the flag, and the targets immediately began to be raised, first a giant-like silhouette at eight hundred yards. One of each of the two dragon crews took aim and fired their ballista. The spear-sized projectiles streamed out, uttering their deadly whistle as they sped toward the targets. Breigor lowered his head, and Wheelor’s crew took the first long-range shot. It struck the target just high and left of center. His wingman on Valkuran took the next shot as they began to move out toward the targets. Delod made the seven-hundred-and-fifty-yard shot, but it hit low. Strongst moved quickly to the seven-hundred-yard mark and stopped, with his mate not far from him. Mateolex ordered his gunner, Haak, to fire, and the spear hit just left of center, a good solid shot. Shantor then moved alongside her mate and kept trotting quickly to the six-hundred-and-fifty-yard target mark.

By this time, Breigor had maneuvered up to the six-hundred-yard firing line and stopped. Wheelor’s gunner, Amman, fired as soon as the big land dragon had stopped moving. His aim was true, and they hit the large silhouette just above center. This coordinated movement continued until they made it to the one-hundred-yard mark. At that time, a series of targets were quickly hoisted up from the target pits for both the ballista gunners and for the land dragons themselves to breathe fire at. These targets were only put up for a few seconds, and then they were lowered. This portion of the match required both speed and accuracy. As the targets started to pop up for the Draden Weir platoon, all four land dragons unleashed their fiery breath weapons and their gunners fired. All four targets were first struck by the ballista spears and then engulfed in flames.

At the signal of the judges, they moved in line to the fifty-yard-mark, and a second set of targets popped up. Again, their gunners struck first, and like before, the targets were then set ablaze immediately. They were all instructed next to move to the twenty-five-yard mark, at which time, dozens of man-sized targets popped up from springs triggered by the support staff. The land dragon crews then engaged them with their short bows or light crossbows to simulate a close infantry attack against their land dragons, and their mounts themselves breathed one burst of flames to engulf as many as they could in one shot.

This was the end of the match. Now it was up to the judges to determine the scores, all based on the points from the ballista hits, the number of targets the land dragons flamed, and finally the last close-range arrow target points. The range crews immediately began to extinguish the burning targets with frost wands and pull out arrows as they replaced damaged targets.

The land dragons moved back to the staging area as the scores were being tabulated. By the time they arrived back at the line, Canjon was almost ready to announce the place winners. Mkel and the Draden Weir crew were anxiously awaiting the scores from their alcove, still enjoying the Capital ale. This was the final event for the day, as the horse race had ended between the previous match and this last one for the land dragons. The team leaders had assembled the crews in front of their dragons to await the announcements.

Mkel looked at the six platoons, a total of twenty-four land dragons stood almost shoulder to shoulder stoically. To the creatures themselves, it truly did not matter who won, for they lived to serve their crews, each other, and the metallic dragons. They did share in their crews’ enthusiasm, but like the dragonriders, the crews could never be disappointed in their mounts. The kinship and sense of bonding, while not blood-linked like the true dragons and their riders, was still indeed very close. It was like the relationship of a young boy to a puppy, and even the most hardened combat crews wept if their land dragon was injured or killed. Those who had the misfortune to experience this were quickly transferred to another crew, who always welcomed them, or were assigned to raise and train a young land dragon. This was truly the only treatment for their depression.

Canjon walked up to the platform with Amerenth right behind him. “In light of this being our first dragon event for the games, I would defer to my dragon Amerenth to announce the places for this spectacular feat of the ultimate teamwork between men and our wingless dragon defenders.”

The large frilled head of his brass dragon rose above the platform, and in his best Draconic-accented common language, he began, “It is my honor to share the results of the efforts of our valiant friends and the work that they have performed here today. I am pleased to announce that the platoon to achieve the third highest score is from our esteemed Capital Weir, with a score of five hundred eighty-three.” He paused as the crowd began to cheer. “In second place is the crew from Draden Weir, the Keystone to our east, with a score of five hundred eighty-four. This makes the platoon from our southern 49
th
Legion, our top scorer with a total of five hundred eighty-six points.” The applause began to roll in from the spectators as the three top platoons were arranged in order of their places and awarded their medallions.

“Did you hear that? They took second place with the top three only separated by three points! What a match!” Mkel said with exuberance.

“Yes, they performed admirably, I am indeed proud of Breigor and his family. They have done well,” Gallanth agreed.

“Yes, indeed, they all have done well, a very good day for Draden Weir. We owe them our congratulations and a couple of ales, but, Mkel, you should start to back down; we are competing tomorrow, and I don’t want to outshoot you and have you giving me an excuse of your head being too groggy,” Jodem said with a smile.

Mkel knew what the wizard meant and was already starting to drink water instead of ale. They welcomed their friends back to their alcove and gave them all well-deserved congratulations.

Mkel walked over to Toderan and gave him a strong embrace. “I am so happy for you, my friend. You were outstanding in the joust. Again, you proved yourself above and beyond, my friend.”

“Yes, my good paladin, you did indeed do well,” Gallanth echoed his rider’s sentiments.

“It’s all a silly game, but if it inspires our boys to give a little extra, then it will have meaning,” he replied. Mkel just smiled and shook his head. “Come, we have Lieutenant Wheelor and his heavy hitters to congratulate, and make sure our land dragons get an extra choice cut of steer halves and grouper fish,” the paladin added as he directed Mkel over to Wheelor’s platoon, which was now coming up the steps from the weir landing. Mkel and Gallanth would go down to see the land dragons and personally thank them for a job well done later; for now, they needed to rest.

The next morning came early with several events scheduled, including the hippogriff, griffon, giant eagle, and winged horse races, but for Draden Weir, the only two that any of their own was competing in were the dragonstone archery and the catapult competitions. Jodem and Mkel were on the line first thing as full daylight broke. Over six hundred of the best shooters in the Alliance were present, with all either having a dragonstone-powered bow or crossbow or the archer being an elf. Mkel, Jodem, and Dekeen were competing alongside Mkel’s friend Scandalon. Several other excellent shooters were also competing, including Gemorg and Curren from the Draden Regiment; Raytod from the 36
th
Legion; Altmed, the rider of the young silver dragon Baranth from Eladran Weir; and Reigor and Kahll, also from the 36
th
Legion. All were excellent shooters, and many well known by Mkel, who looked forward to competing with them that day.

After the Alliance anthem was played, Canjon announced the beginning of the vaunted dragonstone and elf archery competitions. While a moderately exciting event, all would watch to see the amazing power and accuracy of both those who possessed dragonstone bows or crossbows and the elves’ natural talent and accuracy. Mkel looked down the firing line past Jodem. He and his wizard friend were on the far right, and the line of competitors stretched for almost a half a mile.
Impressive,
thought Mkel.
Imagine
taking
this
much
firepower
and
accuracy
into
battle.
This
group
could
repel
an
entire
orc
army.
I’m
glad
all
these
guys
are
on
our
side.
He felt himself almost drawing emotional strength from the honor of competing with such a group; to draw bows with such talent made him feel happy standing there on line, his trusted crossbow at his side and his coach and friend Jodem next to him.

The line chief signaled the start of the two-minute prep period during which they all readied. Mkel, Jodem, and Scandalon, along with all the other crossbow firers, lay down and settled into tight prone positions, while the bow archers stood ready. The targets were already standing; the large heavily condensed straw and gum backstops were several feet thick, as they had to be to be able to stop the arrows flying at incredible velocities generated by elven bows and especially dragonstone-powered crossbows. The actual targets pinned to the backstops were about the diameter of a small pumpkin at the fifty-yard mark with the center scoring ring only a half inch in diameter, basically as wide as Mkel’s bolts.

The range chief gave the command to start shooting, and the arrows and quarrels began to fly. They had twenty minutes to shoot twenty arrows; therefore, precision was the key at this event. Mkel’s first bolt went streaming into the nine ring on the sighter target. He made a quick adjustment to Markthrea’s sight and put the next one in just inside the ten ring. He then went to the record targets and finished in just over twelve minutes. The target faces were being projected into the air, in front of the crowd by the Capital Weir wizards, so good shots and misses alike garnered the crowd’s attention. Mkel kept the magnification of his dragonstone sight to twenty-five power at this distance, which made the target seem almost right in front of him, but he still had to settle, aim, squeeze, and follow through to hit with precision. He knew his score was either a 199 or a 200, his second-to-last shot was on the edge of the ten ring.
The
scorers
will
figure
that
one
out
, he thought to himself as he stood and unfastened his riding jacket. He began to prepare to shoot at one hundred yards.

Jodem gave him a wink, which meant that he was reasonably sure he had cleaned his target. They then fired the one-hundred-yard stage; both he and Jodem shot a perfect two-hundred score, placing all of the bolts into the two-inch center ring, but Jodem hit the inner X ring four more times than Mkel. At two hundred yards, both went twenty for twenty again and repeated their performance at the three-hundred-yard mark. The six-hundred-yard match was where the dragonstone weapons began to give them a definite advantage over the elves. The wind was starting to pick up, gusting at least ten to twelve miles per hour, coming from his front and right. Mkel was not allowed to use his crossbow’s sight ability, which automatically moved the crosshair to compensate for the gusts. He also wasn’t allowed to have the crossbow fire at its maximum velocity, which was almost as fast as lightning. Mkel did ask it to give him the estimate for the hold off, which was about three feet right and two feet high off of the target. However, he had to aim and adjust his hold as the wind gusted and then subsided.

He fired the ten-shot string; it felt very solid as he rested the weight of the crossbow on its boxlike quarrel magazine on the ground. His right hand grasped the front part of the magazine and pulled it slightly back into his shoulder. He squeezed off the ten bolts in well under the allotted ten minutes. He could barely see his small thick arrows peppering the center of the target, which when it was scored, came to eighty-six out of a hundred points—the top score for that match. Jodem, Scandalon, and Gemorg were just behind him by a couple of points. The last match and perhaps the toughest was the thousand-yard match. Only a few elves would even attempt this, with Dekeen being one of them, but this was a hard shot even for Elm. Usually, only the specialized dragonstone crossbows could manage this match, and today was no exception.

The wind made it especially difficult; it was coming from the right at two hundred to six hundred yards and from the front left at the thousand-yard line. Mkel told Markthrea to fire at its maximum velocity, as allowed in this match, which was so fast it made the air ripple around the six-inch-long, half-inch-wide bolt as it screamed downrange. It did practically destroy the target butts though. He took his time and was careful with each shot. He was able to see the bolts stream into the black circular target each time through his dragonstone-powered sight.