Dragons of War (2 page)

The games were already a success. A crowd of nine thousand had packed the stands to watch an unusually strong field compete on the first day of the All-Kenor Archery Championship. In the evening there had been singing and dancing while the craft fair did roaring business along the road from the town to the fort.

Competitors from the other legions in Kenor, plus contingents of troops who'd found a way, by hook or by crook, to get to Dalhousie to support their own, thronged the alleys and avenues of the fort. A lot of beer had been sold, and the afternoon was but getting into its stride. The green outside the fort was gay with colors and loud with the cries of barkers and the general rumble of the crowds.

Over it all came another sound, the distinctive clang of sword on sword, steel whining off steel, accompanied by the rhythmic thwack of heavy shields clashing. Every so often came a thunder of applause. Indeed, while the archery and athletic competitions were very popular, it was the dragon fights that always drew the biggest crowds of all.

One on one, the best of the great dragons were matched against each other with specially dulled blades. They wore heavy armor, padded helmets, and chain mail over their tails. As a result, they were a little slower than normal and less inclined to wield the tail mace.

Still, it was a mighty spectacle, and the crowds always loved to see them fight. Great beasts ten- to twelve-foot-tall, weighing up to five tons, pranced and bounced around each other in the ring with whirling swords and massive shields in play. In truth, the dragons enjoyed it as much as anyone else. Something in the spirit of the wyverns of Argonath was naturally combative. They liked to fight, and they liked to watch the fighting, too.

Of course, this was not like true combat. This was for sport, and under all the armor, the dragons were scarcely visible and seemed sometimes more like mountains of metal plate than actual living things. But the crowds knew the strengths and weaknesses of every champion, and were constantly uttering opinions and questions.

Would Gasholt of the Ryotwa Legion be champion for the second year in a row? What was the status of the strange, wild dragon that served in the Marneri Second Legion? And what about the legendary Bazil Broketail? Ever since his exploits in Tummuz Orgmeen, his reputation had been growing. Could he possibly live up to it? The previous summer, the Marneri Second had been away, in the distant land of Ourdh, and so the broketail dragon had missed the summer games. Now he would be tested by the likes of Gasholt the Great. Aficionados of the games were eagerly anticipating that particular bout.

The afternoon was young, but already the dust flew in the combat rings, of which there were four at this stage. Each was surrounded by a tight circle of wooden bleachers, thrust up far too high in the air and packed with thousands of spectators. Along with the noise and the rising dust came the smell of dragon as the wyverns exercised themselves at combat.

The bouts were relatively brief, ten minutes in all, with a break at the fifth minute. The winner was decided by a panel of six judges, all dragonboys, drawn by lottery. They scored for stroke combinations, touches, falls, and stumbles. Thrusts and slashes to the head were forbidden.

In the second ring waited Bazil of Quosh, known widely as "the broketail" dragon because of the strange angle at which the end of his tail jutted out and away. So different was it that it seemed almost the tail of some other kind of creature. Legend had it that this bizarre tail was the result of witchcraft.

His opponent that day was Burthong of the 33rd Kadein. Burthong was a mighty brasshide, a dragon at the bulkier end of the scale.

Normally a heavyweight brasshide would not be in the sword competitions; they were just too slow. Lean leather-backs, gristles, and hard greens dominated the competition.

Relkin, Bazil's dragonboy, had chortled when he'd read the match lists.

"You're through the first round. They've given you the Kadein brasshide."

Bazil had not been so sanguine himself.

"Burthong? They match me against Burthong?"

"Right," said Relkin. "Burthong, he's a brass, must weigh four tons. You'll take him easily."

Bazil was not so sure.

"This is an unusual dragon, not like most of the heavies. He is said to be pretty quick with the sword."

Relkin couldn't believe his ears, or so he professed.

"You're talking about a brass, Baz. He's twice your weight, or almost, a brass! Big lumbering brute, you'll be dancing around him."

"Fool dragonboy. Brasshides are usually slow, I admit, but this one is different. I have heard all about him. He has a powerful backhand trap, he spins well, and he's sharp with tail mace."

Relkin had suppressed any further comment. It was ridiculous. Why they had even bothered with this matchup, he couldn't imagine.

Now, as he watched Burthong emerge from the opposing dragon door, he noted with misgiving the ease with which the Kadein champion moved his bulk. Burthong drew the dulled, practice blade and made a few smooth moves. The sword whistled through the air. Burthong next worked the kinks out of his tail, slicing the tail mace through the air to make it sing. Despite himself, Relkin was impressed.

"Watch the tail mace," he said to his dragon.

Bazil did not answer, having already noted the facility with the tail weapon displayed by his opponent. He hefted the dulled sword, a clumsy thing, standard legion issue. It had none of the snap, the crackling life that his own blade, Ecator, possessed so fully.

Burthong stood ready. The cornets blew. Bazil stepped forward carefully. The brasshide was huge, half a head taller, and considerably wider than the leatherback.

They circled slowly, swords ready, eyeing each other carefully.

Bazil was about to try a ruse involving a low cut at the legs and a simultaneous strike with the tail mace when Burthong moved instead. Tail mace came around with a shriek, and Baz lifted his shield to deflect it. Burthong's sword was in motion, and Baz parried, only just in time. Burthong's arm was strong, the next blow came quickly. Baz was on the defensive, the Kadein brass lived up to his reputation.

Burthong came on with an overhand while he sought to crack aside Bazil's shield with his own. The shield charge was as strong as any Baz had ever felt; he came off the soles of his huge feet for a moment and then felt himself driven down an inch or two by the power in Burthong's overhand.

He had to do something to get off the defensive or he would be battered to the ground by the bigger, stronger dragon. Bazil spun, whipping his tail mace across Burthong's front, earning himself a yard's clearance when he faced Burthong once again. The brasshide came on, a little ponderously it was true, but still quickly. Bazil shifted sideways and tried a combination, a waist-high cut, an overhand, and then a back overhand. Burthong met him each time and then surged, cracking into his shield and swinging his own overhand and almost getting through for a shoulder score.

Baz evaded, ducked away, and felt Burthong's side trap cut clip the edge of his shield. But for the luck of his trailing shield being there, it would have taken his legs out from under him. Truly this was an unusual brasshide!

Their swords rang out again as Burthong pressed him. Baz could not regain the initiative and was growing desperate, backpedaling around the arena. Again and again Burthong's sword slammed down, and the Marneri dragon could only parry and retreat.

Burthong had a very fluid combination involving alternate side cuts, overhands both forehand and backhand, and a shattering shield blow. Twice Baz was hurled backward by this combo. Now Burthong slipped into it again. This time the leatherback was ready; he stopped the side cut with the shield and trapped it by surging forward and getting inside Burthong's reach. Bazil's tail mace cracked over and rang off the brasshide's helmet, and he shoved the bigger dragon back, getting him off balance. As Burthong scrambled, Baz's sword struck home and scored on the side plates.

Relkin crowed with delight, his fears forgotten. The Kadein brasshide had met his match in a leatherback from Quosh.

A few moments later, the five-minute bell rang. Bazil stomped over to the bench where Relkin gave him some water and whispered advice.

The dragon only half listened. In truth, his head was swimming and his arm was weary. It was a damned good thing he'd scored a full point, because he was sure he would give one up before the end of this bout.

"Go Baz, you've got him, take him now!"

Bazil murmured a mild curse on all dragonboys and their misplaced confidences, and returned to the fray.

It went much as the first half had, Burthong was a mighty opponent and his swordplay was uncommonly quick for any dragon, let alone one as heavy as a brasshide. Bazil spent much of the time on the defensive. He scored again with the tail mace, ringing a half point off the helmet and then took a blow from Burthong's tail mace, which whipped around unexpectedly and caught him on the side of his helmet, almost knocking it off.

Baz stood back for a moment to clear his head, and Burthong charged and struck him so heavy a blow with the shield that the leatherback was knocked right off his feet and fell with a shattering crash to the ground.

He rolled and struggled to regain his feet. Burthong was coming. He got his shield up just in time to ward off the next blow, which would have finished the bout, and swung his sword at knee height, which made Burthong retreat. Baz got to his feet and staggered away backward. Burthong came on.

They clashed. Burthong hissed in his ear.

"This dragon thinks the famous Broketail thought this would be an easy bout."

They spun away, both attempting side traps with the sword, which rapped harmlessly off trailing shields. Their tail maces rang together and then Bazil's strange, broken tail showed its strength, looping over Burthong's and hammering the brasshide on the shoulder and the side of the helmet. As they spun past again, Bazil snapped his jaws and said, "This dragon know there's no such thing as an easy bout." Burthong swung a backhand return and then clobbered the leatherback with the edge of his shield. Baz reeled, saw stars for a moment. Burthong struck down, and he only barely deflected the cut and evaded. Burthong came on with a snort of anticipated triumph. Baz fought him off with desperate defensive maneuvers, and then at last Burthong beat aside his sword and struck down and scored a shoulder point.

It was a powerful blow. Baz was hurt, his sword arm felt numb. It was all he could do to keep backing away and defending with the shield and tail mace.

The score was even now with a minute remaining. If they were
tied, they would fight an extra time period
. Bazil looked forward to such a prospect with dread.

Carefully he moved the shoulder and the arm, but no bones were broken. The numbness was lifting. He released his breath in a long hiss. There was still some fight in this dragon.

They clashed together, belly to belly, then their blades bit into each other with a flash of sparks.

"I think you are tiring, Broketail," said Burthong. "We'll have to see about that," said Bazil, who detected a hint of wishful thinking in the brasshide's words.

Another series of combinations was played out, and now Baz noticed that mighty Burthong was definitely slowing down. Bazil girded himself for one last effort.

Once more Burthong swung in, went shield to shield, and drove Bazil back. The brasshide gave an exultant hiss and lurched on with sword descending. Baz ducked away, swung back, and scored a definite point on the hip plate.

Burthong gave a grunt of dismay and stared at the leatherback with a mixture of rage and apprehension. Burthong was indeed slowing down. Ten minutes of this was more than even he could maintain. But he had to keep the initiative, he couldn't allow the smaller, faster dragon to capture that. So Burthong hurled himself forward once more and swung into a fearsome set of forehand blows, trying to crush the Broketail's guard.

Bazil deflected them easily, and ducked a vicious swipe of the tail mace while his own slipped in and slammed the visor shut on Burthong's helmet.

The Kadein champion gave a cry of rage and renewed his efforts, but now he was getting wild and breathless. Bazil evaded him easily and scored another glancing point off the hip.

The cornets blew to end the bout. Sustained applause rolled around the seat sections.

Bazil and Burthong met in the center. Burthong had a wounded look in his eyes.

"I cannot believe this. I was sure to defeat you, Broketail."

"You fought well Burthong, you are definitely the quickest brass I ever met." Burthong's pride was partly redeemed. "It was an honor to fight you, Broketail, though I think I would do better the next time."

Bazil trudged back to Relkin, who was urgently calculating the point totals. It was going to be very close. A lot depended on how much the judges scored for Bazil's fall and roll.

"Should be enough there for a win," muttered Relkin, as Baz took a seat and picked up a pail of water and drained it right off. At that moment he would have had to admit he didn't really care if he'd won or lost. It would only get harder from here on.

Relkin immediately removed the shoulder armor and the pad beneath.

"Nasty blow," he murmured as his skillful fingers explored the bruised area and checked for scale damage.

Other dragons came by to murmur a few words to the Broketail. First was the mighty wild dragon, the formidable Purple Green of Hook Mountain, a behemoth of nearly five tons, bigger than any brasshide but not as bulky. He clasped forearms with Bazil and muttered something in dragon speech. Then came the silky-green freemartin Alsebra, a newcomer to the 109th Marneri Dragons. "Good swordplay, Broketail, you fenced him well."

"I thank you for that, Alsebra. He was very quick for a brass."

All the while Relkin looked across the ring to the panel of judges who sat in a darkened booth. As Relkin knew, no one from the 109th was on the panel, so he knew he could not expect any automatic bias in their favor.