Dragon Ultimate (3 page)

Relkin's anger rose. That gold had damned well been earned. Every pek of every tabi, and the coins and the necklaces, that gold was theirs for pretty damned heroic effort. They'd almost lost their lives a dozen times, but they'd been instrumental in bringing down the foul regime of the Lords Tetraan.

Who ruled in Mirchaz now, he wondered. The Court had sent a message to Mirchaz to inquire about the golden tabis, but when he'd left Mirchaz the place was still in partial chaos. Who knew what had happened there since?

Of the other gold he was more certain. It came from Og Bogon in the form of royal gifts, and King Choulaput of Og Bogon would have vouched for him and the dragon. But that did not take care of the gold tabis that he had taken from the wall of an elf lord's great house. Of course there were elf lords hanging from lampposts all over the city at that point, those that hadn't been thrown onto fires made from the contents of their palaces. The evil reign of the Lords Tetraan was over. Relkin had ended their Great Game, and felt justified in liberating the tabis, those sweet little pillows of lovely gold.

His big mistake had been adhering to the rules and regulations. After banking two-thirds of the gold, he'd reported the transactions and the importation of the gold to the proper authorities. He'd filled out forms in triplicate and answered questions and paid a hefty import tax and thought he'd done everything perfectly legally.

And then his enemies, and the Aubinan interest, had sprung an obscure Legion regulation on him relating to plunder. And so to this trial.

His friend, Lagdalen of the Tarcho, had taken the case, and her reading of the situation had been stark. If they lost the trial, he might be imprisoned. Certainly he would be censured and lose privileges. He would never be promoted to Dragon Leader. He might even be sentenced to five years hard labor on the Guano Isles. And his dreams of a future with Eilsa Ranardaughter would be dust.

It was all such a stupid mess.

And then there was that other thing, that lurking iceberg in his mind that he did his utmost to avoid. The thing he tried the hardest not to think about. That looming, enigma that had sprung forth from Mirchaz.

Awake
! it had cried. Awake! As he had called to it, from the Game board of the Lords Tetraan. Awaken the power within you. Become what you must become. He knew what it spoke of. But he dared not open his mind to those dark shadows, to let the magic rise in him, growing active like yeast in a brewer's wort. He remembered the feel of it, bubbling under his skin, skittering on tiny feet up his spine, and shivered at those memories.

Unholy! Abomination! He had seen that power. He had felt it work within him and it terrified him. If he went that way what would he become? A wizard? A sorcerer? Relkin had seen more than his fair share of such creatures, and it was as if evil were baked into their flesh.

He wanted none of that. He wanted his life back, some kind of life, after all these months in Cunfshon undergoing tests and answering questions. He'd seen way too much of Bell and Selera, that was certain.

Now there would be more questions, trial testimony. And if he was convicted? Lessis had already hinted that the witches would take him back to Andiquant and continue to study him. He hated the thought of it, but if it was a choice between that and five years hard labor on the Guano Isles?

The sun was gone, and the air was suddenly chill. Relkin felt cold without a freecoat. He turned and went down the stairs to the lower deck, where he found his way along a dark passage to his tiny cabin. He curled up on the narrow bunk.

Far away in the west stood the temple of Widarf. On a bluff above the Long Sound it was a graceful collection of towers and stone buildings, with two-hundred-year-old oaks lining the gardens. Eilsa Ranardaughter walked alone on the promenade above the waves. The sea dashed against the rocks below; her hand rested on the cool stone rail.

Out there somewhere in the darkness of the night, far to the east, that was where her Relkin was. Her heart ached.

The young witches were kindly, and they spoke to her with gentle voices and spent much time at her side. But they had no answers for her worst fears.

The Dominator was not dead. He was bound to seek vengeance on Relkin. How could they live a normal life under such a threat? How could they live any life at all?

And in her heart of hearts, Eilsa knew that whatever happened at the trial the witches would take Relkin back to Cunfshon. He was simply too important. They would study him for the rest of his life. He would never escape Andiquant the second time.

And for herself? Where should she go, the heir to Ranard? Should she go back to Wattel and marry some man appointed by the clan to cement the bloodlines? Could she abide such a loveless union after her love for Relkin? She thought not. Widarf seemed the best place, at least for now.

The city of Marneri basked beneath the sun on a hot summer afternoon. In the harbor the fishing boats were returning on the tide, their sharp little horns audible all the way up Tower Street. The tower by the Watergate responded with its deep blare every so often. Folk moved slowly in the heat, but most were looking forward to the end of the day's work, a time of relative quiet.

Except in the dragonhouse, of course. In that lofty hall the sound of wyverns at play in the plunge pool split the air with many tons of force. Enormous bodies splashed and roared. Blows were exchanged that would have slain almost anything else, but were regarded here as merely play. Fountains of water were hurled into the overflow when another two tons of wyvern dived in with a huge splash.

While dragons cavorted, dragonboys went over joboquins and the rest of the kit. Every day the dragons trained with weapons and armor and the leather parts of the kit always suffered the effects of being worn by two-ton gladiators. The boys of the 109th congregated in a sunny spot near the door to the exercise yard and needles flicked in the afternoon light as they made repairs. Thongs were rethreaded, straps and buckles replaced.

There were a couple of stone benches there, and the boys either sat on them or used them as tables on which to work. All the boys of the 109th were there, except Curf.

"Course Curf ain't here. Curfy's probably off playing his guitar," said Rakama in response to Jak's question.

"The Broketail's joboquin is a shocking mess," said Swane.

"Ah, give him a chance. Curf's heart's in the right place. He's trying." Jak was forced to stick up for the kid since no one else would. Curf was a dreamy youth, while the boys of the 109th were mostly hard-minded types, raised in the school of hard knocks, on their own but for their dragons since they were born.

"Trying ain't good enough. This is the 109th Marneri. We're supposed to be the best," said Ayin, who tended Hurve, the brass who had replaced Churn.

"Listen to the new boy!" groused big Swane.

Ayin was a pugnacious, anvil-shaped boy from Porthouse on the Seant coast. He had a fierce belief in the unit and a desire to prove himself. The older boys found him a bit of a driver on the subject of the 109th Marneri fighting dragons.

"Everyone in the Legions thinks so!" Ayin said defensively.

"Yeah sure, Ayin, but let's not hear about it so much, all right?"

"Well, Curf's been acting stranger than normal lately. And the Broketail's joboquin is a mess. It'll fall apart soon."

"Something's biting on Curfy, I can tell…" said Jak with a shrug.

In this last remark lay considerable truth.

At the side of the plunge pool, in the shallows, the wyverns would pull out to lie up and rest. While the others threw themselves in the deeper parts of the pool, or wrestled in the water, those in the shallows would bask.

On this sunny day Bazil Broketail was seeking advice from Alsebra.

"Something wrong with boy Curf."

"You have only just now decided this?"

Bazil knew in advance he would get a withering from Alsebra.

"He getting worse, much worse."

"That boy never been anything but lost in a dream. You, on the other hand, have a reputation to consider."

"This dragon confused, don't know what to do. Hate to complain to Cuzo. Boy may be a dolt, but he has good heart. It just that he in the wrong line of work."

"You know when Relkin come back, Curf will leave. Cuzo will never recommend him for dragonboy posting."

Bazil nodded agreement. This was common knowledge. Curf's days in the Legions were soon to be over, unless he reenlisted as infantry.

"But he in some kind of special trouble. I can tell."

Alsebra nodded. Then it had to be true. A dragon could always tell when the dragonboy was anxious and troubled.

"So what can I do about it?"

"Ask your boy. Get him to find out what has happened to Curf."

"I hate to ask boy for favors."

"This could be important. Maybe big trouble for all of us."

"You will owe me big favor after this."

"My sword always be at your side."

"Big. I hate this."

Bazil just stared.

Alsebra floated back into the pool.

That afternoon while Alsebra was being brushed down by Jak she brought up the subject of Curf and his troubles. She even brought herself to ask for Jak's help.

Jak was taken aback.

"Did I hear right?"

She hissed. "You hear this dragon. Broketail needs to know what Curf is upset about."

"Hey, it isn't often you ask this dragonboy for help. Most of the time it's just 'Hey you, fix this!' "

Alsebra hissed again. She did have a tendency to run hard on the boy. Jak was not her original boy, and though she had made the transition, there was still not quite the bond one had with one's first dragonboy. She knew that he did his best, but freemartins were inclined to be snappish, sulky, and short-tempered.

"Sorry," she said at last. By the fiery breath, but she just hated having to apologize to the dragonboy. Dragonboys could be insufferable if they thought they had the upper hand.

Jak knew better than to push it at this point.

"Well, of course I'll help. Just give me a day or two."

After that Jak kept an eye on Curf and caught him the next time he was slipping out of the dragonhouse. It was right after the evening boil, and the late twilight of summer filled the air with promise. Jak followed him through the postern gate and down Tower Street to the lower part of town. On Fish Hill, above the docks, a few houses were scattered among warehouses. Halfway up, Curf went into an old house with a chipped facade and windows long since boarded up. Warehouses lined the other side. Jak slipped into the shadows of an alley and waited. Another figure came down the street, a tall man in a worn freecoat. He knocked at the door, which opened. As Jak had suspected, there was a guard set on that door. The tall man was ushered in. Jak waited.

At long length the door opened again and two men pushed Curf out into the street. He staggered, stumbled, and went down.

"You better have the money in three days or we break your legs," said one of the men, quite matter-of-factly.

"It ain't wise to try and cheat Felp Bunyard, young un'," said the other. The door closed behind them.

Curf picked himself up and slowly dusted himself off. He grunted every so often as he stumbled along.

Jak slid out of concealment and stepped up beside him.

"What's going on, Curf?"

Curf nearly jumped out of his boots.

"How? What are you doing here, Jak?"

"Never you mind. Just tell me what's going on. This is 109th business now. Nobody beats up one of us without hearing about it."

Curf was in despair, completely trapped. He looked around for help, but none was coming. There was no way out.

"It started with the top clasp for the right leg cuisse. I took the cuisse apart to clean it, but didn't finish it that night. I forgot to reattach the clasp, and I haven't been able to find it since."

"By the Hand, that's the oldest thing in the book, Curf. You always put it back together at the end of the day. Too easy to lose things like that otherwise."

"I know, I know, oh how I know. But back then I didn't, not really."

Curf had clearly been learning one of life's great lessons.

Now he staggered along at Jak's side as they walked back up Tower Street.

"So I borrowed some money from Bunyard to buy a new cuisse."

"Why a whole new cuisse?"

"I was too embarrassed to admit I'd lost a clasp."

"What, it was all right to admit you'd lost a whole cuisse?"

"No, I told the store clerk that it had been wrecked in training."

"Don't let Cuzo know about that, by the Hand, you'd be in real trouble."

"Oh, Jak. I am in real trouble. I have to come up with fifteen gold pieces in three days."

"Why so much? A cuisse costs less than two pieces."

"Yeah. I didn't borrow fifteen from Felp Bunyard either. I borrowed three, and I gambled in the dice game, at the back of Felp Bunyard's tavern, down by the fish market."

"And what happened?" Jak had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.