Dragon Ultimate (48 page)

They had emerged on a hillside in Kenor not far from Dalhousie. After getting directions from a farmhouse, they made their way on foot to the nearest town. From there they rode on a riverboat down to Dalhousie.

They discovered they had been gone from Ryetelth for three months and were given up for lost. The news of their return sent the whole camp into a frenzy of celebration. Horns, bells, and firecrackers rent the air for most of the night. The word was sent out immediately by birds carrying witch messages to the cities of the Argonath. Within a day the news was widespread. Within a day and a half even the emperor in far away Andiquant knew that the Broketail dragon and his boy were alive and back home, and that the great enemy had been brought down.

In Marneri horns blew from the tower and bells rang throughout the city. Great ships bore the word across the seas, and in passing mighty
Oat
and
Barley
exchanged horn blasts in the middle of the Cunfshon passage.

Bazil and Relkin were happy to accept a few casks of ale that came their way and distributed most of it among the dragons in the Dalhousie dragonhouse, mostly youngsters in a new unit, the 209th Marneri.

Both Bazil and Relkin noted that number.

"We've been in the Legions that long, my friend," said Relkin. "They've gone through a hundred numbers since we joined up."

"There been hard fighting during our time. Many battles. Many dragons die."

Sadly Relkin acknowledged the truth of this.

Orders came down the next morning, directing Bazil and Relkin to make their way to Marneri. The rest of the 109th Marneri were already in the city, and they were to rejoin the unit there.

While they were getting ready Lessis brought them another order, this one from the emperor himself. It was a special dispensation, mustering them out of the Legions early in recognition of the enormous service they had provided. They were to report to Marneri, where their papers would come through and they would be set free from their term of military service.

On top of that the emperor sent word that a special medal, the Imperial Star, was to be struck and presented to them. They would be the very first recipients of the honor given only for heroic service in the face of extreme danger.

Bazil accepted all this news calmly enough.

"We lucky to survive all these years. This dragon ready for retirement."

After a while the dragon went out to the plunge pool.

Relkin had had time to think during his recovery at the Temple of Gold. He had had to accept that behind the rational world there lay a fabulously complex other world that had dimensions which were frightening to behold. His memories of their strange, hallucinatory journey to that place they'd fought Waakzaam brought on a distinct sense of unease. The world seemed so solid, but with the Great Magic it could be pierced like a veil of fog to reveal other worlds, worlds upon worlds to infinity.

On top of that had come the huge shock of hearing of his own conception. He was literally a child of the Sinni, brought to life by one of their's death. From birth they had guided him, fashioning him into a weapon that was destined to aid their survival.

The Sinni had placed him as a newborn on the streets of Quosh, to be raised a dragonboy and paired with a fine leatherback dragon. And so, together, they had won through in the most desperate situations and finally brought down the greatest enemy of all the worlds.

Along the way Relkin had learned that he was not who he thought he was and that he possessed hidden powers that frightened him. There were things there that he absolutely did not want to confront. He was no wizard, no sorcerer. He was a man, no more and no less, and he would live the life of a man, with Eilsa Ranardaughter as his wife, Bazil as his friend, with land in the Bur valley and some good horses to help clear it.

Every time those powers rose up in him he felt a door opening to a hellish kind of omnipotence. He resolutely held shut that door, not wanting such temptations.

But seeing through to its other side, experiencing the awesome complexity of the universe, had challenged all his beliefs. As for the Old Gods?

He gave a sad inward shrug.

He had seen too much in too few years. There were no gods. The Sinni had told him that. The Lady Lessis always spoke of the Mother, but he also sensed that for Lessis the Mother was an abstract conception. It was a power that pervaded the universe, but not a living, breathing person, and that was what the Old Gods had been for him. They were personages, dreamed up by the shamans of the ancient tribes, back in the days before Veronath. They were invented by the shamans to explain the strange nature of the world. For thousands of years they had trod the stage of the people's imagination and heightened their lives with ritual and ceremony. And now Relkin no longer believed in them. It left him feeling a little sad, almost lonely.

Lessis asked him to walk with her down to the stable area where a fast coach was being readied for her. She was leaving for Marneri at once.

"There is another message for you, Relkin. One that I bear from the Office of Insight."

Relkin's heart sank. They were going to drag him off to Andiquant after all.

And yet, Lessis was smiling as she spoke.

"I am very pleased to be able to tell you that you will not have to endure any more questioning. The Office of Insight has terminated their investigations."

"No more Andiquant?"

"No more. Both of you deserve the chance to live a free life. You've given enough."

By dint of considerable effort, Relkin kept his immediate oath from breaking loose in Lessis's presence. But when she was gone he ran back into the dragonhouse and let out a wild whoop that ended with a dive headfirst into the big plunge pool. Now that he didn't believe in them anymore, the gods were finally showing a positive interest in his affairs. Old Caymo had rolled some winning dice at last.

Maybe the Old Gods did exist after all. Hiding somewhere behind the curtains, over the horizon, and beyond the dark side of the moon.

Relkin kicked up his heels until Bazil pinned him to the wall.

"What ails boy?"

"We're free, Baz, we're really going to be free."

The dragon understood instantly. Boy was not going to the place called Andiquant.

The dragon caught him up in huge arms with a happy roar that shook the rafters of the dragonhouse.

They left the next day on the upstream riverboat to the head of the waters at Blue Fork. From there they took the path over the watershed and started the walk down to the Razac road.

Four days later they strode into Marneri. It was late afternoon, and they'd covered many miles that day, but the sun was still shining, and there was even a small crowd gathered at the Tower Gate to welcome them. The sound of the horns and the cheering brought their spirits up remarkably well, and they marched into Marneri with heads high accompanied by loud huzzahs from folk along the way. As the word went out in the city, so the crowd grew with remarkable rapidity. Everyone wanted to be able to say that they saw the Broketail dragon and Relkin return to Marneri after the fall of Waakzaam.

At the gate of the dragonhouse they ran into a posse of jubilant monsters led by the Purple Green. Happy roars and screams echoed off the walls as Bazil moved among them exchanging grapples and hand slaps.

"You look as if you starved," said the Purple Green with genuine concern. "Look like you need some meat. Let us eat some bulls. We can eat a couple raw while we roast some more."

Bazil had to laugh. "You right, my friend. Food was boring. Nothing but mush, no akh."

"Why is it the first thing you say is about food?" said Alsebra elbowing the huge purplish bulk aside. "Bazil is back, and all you talk about is eating."

The Purple Green reared back with a snort and an angry blink.

"You ask him, then. What he really want to do?"

Bazil seized the opportunity.

"Well I'm all for roasting some bulls. But the first thing this dragon want is a pile of straw to lie down on. Need to rest the feet. Then a swim, then food, and then some ale."

A chorus of "This dragon agrees" arose from the scrum of great beasts jammed in the hall. The building shook as they moved in a mass down to the stalls. The Purple Green's huge voice could be heard over the thunder, bellowing something about bulls and fire.

Relkin was surrounded by all the dragonboys in the Marneri dragonhouse. There were two squadrons in residence at that moment, the 109th and the newly reinvigorated 145th, now with their new dragonboys.

"Hey, give him some room," said big Swane pushing the others back. "Welcome back, Relkin," said a voice, Jak. There was Manuel, and Mono, too, the only other survivor of the original 109th. Relkin reached out to grab hands, slap others.

"So glad to see your faces," said Relkin. "So damned glad. You'll never know."

There was a babble of questions, whoops, and young men jumping with sheer excitement.

"Hey, everybody, shut it. Let Relkin speak." Once again Swane was restoring order.

"The dragons are going to feast, I vote that we should, too. We set them up, get a big fire ready for the Purple Green so he can roast whole animals, and then we roll up some barrels for them. That will keep them happy for a good long while. So we can have a keg of our own and roast some meat and have a feed right here."

"And I'll pay for it," roared Swane. "I cashed out today."

"I'll help," shouted Jak, then others followed. The notoriously thrifty Manuel produced three gold pieces, and they all gave a whoop.

"We can order in a grand pie from the Tower Inn. Their ale, too, is worthy of the name."

More whoops followed this, a few more hands to clasp, slaps and hugs, and then, by common consent, it was over. After that young men were in motion with the peculiar speed and intensity that they can display when suitably motivated.

Relkin reached his stall unimpeded, deposited his kit, and sat down on the bench. He and Bazil had used this particular stall for years, and he knew every knot and cranny. There was a vertical crack up one wall and a protruding nailhead on the ceiling beam.

He relaxed into the moment. It was just damned wonderful to get off one's feet after so many miles on the road. They'd pushed pretty hard on the last day to get to the city before darkness. He kicked off his boots and lay back on the bench. The ache in his feet began to fade.

The familiar sounds of the dragonhouse came to him along with the smell of the swimming pools and the fainter, but pervasive scent of dragons. This was home, either here or in some other legion dragonhouse like Dalhousie or Dashwood.

These places were "home." They were all united by those sounds and smells, plunge pools and cooking, dragons and dragonboys.

And soon it would no longer be home. Relkin was about to move on from this world of the dragons and dragonboys. He would lose the fierce camaraderie of the 109th. He would lose the sight of the 109th on the march, the huge bodies swaying along, their swords on their shoulders. They were the heroes of Sprian's Ridge, they were unstoppable.

He would miss it, all of it, but he would not hesitate to leave it all behind. He'd sewed that joboquin, or the one before it, a thousand times too often. He'd made it to the end of his stretch, and ahead was another life, a quieter kind of life. He hoped he could get used to it.

Bazil rolled into the stall, set down the sword, and settled on the straw with a happy hiss. After a few minutes he rose up. Relkin unhooked the joboquin and helped pull it off. It needed work. It always did.

The dragon set off for the plunge pool, intent on a good long swim to get the dust of the march off.

Cuzo came by and congratulated Relkin on surviving to the end of his service period, one of the most brutal terms ever known. Relkin had been involved in a half dozen major campaigns and battles and had amassed a sheet of battle stars, campaign medals, and the very rare Legion Star, which he'd received for the fight at Tummuz Orgmeen. Indeed, he and Bazil had been involved in most of the fighting in the past half decade. Grim names surfaced—Tog Utbek, Salpalangum, Sprian's Ridge— places he didn't want to remember too often.

Cuzo felt awkward, as he so often had with Relkin. Both of them knew that Relkin should have been made Dragon Leader, but for the fact that he was left behind in Eigo after Tog Utbek and the volcano's eruption that ended the war.

"I've had good dragon leaders, sir," said Relkin at one point. "And I've had the other kind. You were among the best."

Cuzo's ears pinkened. "Thank you, Dragoneer," he said quickly. Then he grew formal.

"And, Dragoneer Relkin, we have to talk about this medal ceremony they want. The Imperial Star, no less, with half a legion on parade to see it. The kit will have to be spotless."

"Oh, of course, Dragon Leader, but please remember we just got in from a long march. The kit's a bust right now."

"Dragoneer Relkin, you will be given the assistance of twenty dragonboys. The kit will be immaculate."

Well in that case! "Oh, of course, sir."

"And please allow me to stand a round for your celebrations at the Tower Inn." Cuzo passed him a small purse filled with good silver coins.

About an hour later, as Relkin was getting ready to join the others for a dinner at the Tower Inn, he received word from Curf that there were visitors for him.

He went out to the hall and found Lagdalen and Hollein waiting.

Hollein wore the insignia of a full commander. Relkin saluted crisply. Hollein returned the salute and Lagdalen hugged him with all her might.

"I'm so glad to see you."

"If anyone could survive what you went through, it would be you."

"It is good to be back," said Relkin.

The other dragonboys were gathering in the hall, all visibly itching to be off to the Tower Inn. Swane and Jak exchanged greetings with Hollein and Lagdalen. Others noticed there was a full commander present and moved to salute.

Hollein returned the salutes, then dismissed them.

Relkin told them to go on to the inn without him. "I'll join you there."