The Black Wing (20 page)

settled on acceptance. Obviously, the pathetically small company of knights from Lamesh
had decided to launch an attack on Shalimsha. It would be a swift and easy slaughter,
especially with the aerial support from his dragons. Speaking of dragons, he recalled
abruptly, he'd seen neither hide nor tooth of Jahet, nor any of the dragons. Maldeev
angrily jammed his foot into his other boot. Where in the name of Takhisis were those
greedy and undependable black beasts who were supposed to win the war for the Queen of
Darkness?

Maldeev could scarcely believe how wrong things had gone in one short night. If he had any
hope of righting them, he'd first have to reorganize his ragged troops. Then he'd find
those dragons and kick their lazy hides from here to Neraka! With that pleasant thought
propelling him, Maldeev charged from his apartments, headed for the stairway that led down
to the courtyard. And the chaos.

Studying the crumbling north wall of Shalimsha Tower, Sir Tate Sek-forde felt a momentary
twinge of regret that it hadn't been possible to drag a catapult from Lamesh. Two or three
well-placed boulders would have tumbled the remaining links in the wall like a child's set
of wooden blocks. As it was, the fortress would be so ridiculously easy to breach, Tate
never considered trying to batter down the central gate. The knight couldn't conceive of
raising an army without repairing the outer curtain. He could only conclude that the man
inside who called himself a highlord must be very arrogant to assume no one would attack
him.

Tate's legion of soldiers, along with their baggage wagons, pack animals, and all the
train of war, had marched over the parched land for four and a half daysthirty-three
leagues in choking dust. At least it wasn't hot, thought Tate, just damnably dry. The
knight was grateful enough for the relative coolness. He was wearing his heavy plate mail,
the only heirloom he'd taken from Castle DeHodge. Still, the constant clouds of dust
didn't help the sore throat he'd woken with on the morning they were to set out. But he
couldn't delay the march if they were to take advantage of the waxing moon. Tate was glad
they hadn't. They'd marched the last three miles tonight in moonlight so bright it looked
as if daylight's wick had simply been turned down. Now the sky was lightening toward dawn;
the time for attack had come.

“Sir Wolter,” Tate called to his sponsor, who was talking to some men-at-arms a short
distance away. The stout, gray-haired knight nudged his horse next to Tate's. “Take fifty
knights, our best swordsmen, and get them into position near that big breach.” He pointed
at the largest section of crumbled wall, to the right of the north wall's arched wooden
gate. “Tell them to wait until Regist's archers have flanked them and picked off the few
bowmen on the ramparts. Then send the knights in, led by a handful of crossbowmen who can
shoot into the breach just before the charge. The crossbows can fall back after firing.
Obviously, the attack will have to be made on foot. Find a place to shelter and tether the
horses.”

“What about the dragons?” Welter's bushy gray eyebrows were raised. “What about them?”
snapped Tate. "They're supposed to stay out of it, if that's what

you're asking. Khoal said he'd be able to delay the other two evil dragons from joining
the fight, if not keep them out of it entirely.“ ”Let's hope we can trust the word of a
traitor.“ Tate heaved a sigh. ”Look, I know what you think of my arrangement with the
black dragons. Let me assure you, it's not a situation that I would have initiated. The
dragon came to me, not I to him. How could I reject an opportunity to disable the Black
Wing, the center of evil in this region? Isn't that why we came to the frontier?"

Wolter extended his hand as if to deflect an angry response. “How do you know if s not a
trap?” “I consulted Wallens,” said Tate. The lord knight beckoned to a soldier with
bookish eyes and a solemn face. “Tell Sir Wolter what you've read in the ancient annals,
what the order knows about the nature of black dragons.”

Sir Geoffrey Wallens lowered the hand from his brow to his saddle pommel, pausing briefly
on the way to stroke his thin brown mustache. “Black dragons are driven by greed,
self-aggrandizement, and self-preservation, mostly in that order. They are evil,
unpredictable, and unreliable. Unfortunately, sir, they are quite capable of breaking
their bond to us, as they have to their own kind.”

Scowling, Tate waved the too-honest knight away. He gave the grim-faced elder knight an
earnest look and directed his gaze to the crumbling walls. “Come on, Wolter. If this is a
trap, if s not a very good one. Why didn't they repair the walls? The dragon spoke
truthfully about Shalimsha's layoutmountains with dragon lairs to the west, the north wall
easily stormed. The chaos inside the compound looks genuine to me, too.” His brown eyes
scanned the mauve, early-morning sky. “I see no signs of dragons perched for attack,
either.”

Sighing, Wolter peered about to make sure that only Tate could hear him. “Look, lad,” he
whispered, “I understand you think you're doing what you must.” He shook his hel- meted
head. “Call me old-fashioned, but it just feels wrong to make a pact with creatures
renowned for evil. I'm certain the Council of Knights wouldn't approve.” Tate laughed
without humor. “They scarcely approve of me!” He grew suddenly serious. “I truly believe
there's no dishonor for the knighthood in this. I've prayed for months to Kiri-Jolith, and
I have sensed no displeasure for the plan.”

Tugging up his gauntlets, Wolter managed a rueful smile. “If you've spoken to your god,
you shouldn't have to answer to a crotchety old knight like me.” He clapped his young
friend on the shoulder. “Now, if you don't mind, I've got some knights to assemble.”
Wolter's well-worn plate armor disappeared in the throng of soldiers. Tate's eyes followed
him fondly, then slipped past to evaluate the inside of the fortress. With any luck, they
would soon be fighting there. He was surprised at how similar the layout of Shalimsha
Tower was to Lamesh. There was no central keep here, either. Instead, the few buildings
that had been repaired lined the inside walls, with a courtyard in the center. Must be a
regional thing, Tate thought, since keeps were very common in Solamnia. He could see why
the open courtyard would be an advantage for an army with dragons; a keep in the center of
the courtyard would make it difficult for dragons to land.

Two years had passed since the fire had damaged Lamesh and destroyed part of the
garrison's stockpiled grain. Tate had vowed by the end of that lean, hard winter to never
eat another potato. He and his men had worked tirelessly to rebuild the burned sections so
that they were better than before. News of their progress had spread to Solamnia; in the
spring, fifty-two more young knights, eager for the chance for quick advancement, made
their way to the frontier at Lamesh, further speeding up the reconstruction. That
reinforcement also strengthened fate's troops to the point where he could field an army
and still leave behind thirty men-at-arms with a handful of knights to defend Lamesh
Castle. That was a small garrison, but the castle was strong and well

situated. Tate had been stunned, impressed despite himself, when he met his first dragon,
the one who called himself Khoal. He'd been poring over some account ledgers on an early
spring day, a tedious task he despised, when his adjutant ushered in a glassy-eyed farmer.
Expecting to hear some complaint about the taxes, the lord knight was taken aback, to put
it mildly, when the man calmly told him that he'd just met a black dragon. “He was as nice
as any creature you'd like to meet, and pretty. He wants you to meet him in the hills at
sundown.” Back in Solamnia, Tate had first heard the rumors of dragons returning. At
Lamesh, he'd even spoken to several eyewitnesses who claimed to have seen black dragons
flying in the area, and others who had encountered physical evidence on the ground.
Obviously, the creatures were not allies of Good. The farmer showed definite signs of
having been magically charmed, for no one would call the first dragon he met, particularly
a black one, 'nice.' Aside from being surprised, Tate was certainly intrigued. “Why does
this dragon wish to meet with me?” “He said he has a business proposition.” Tate had plied
the farmer for more information; the man had favorable, but not particularly informative
things to say about the creature who had bewitched him. Though Wolter strongly
disapproved, Tate rode into the mountains at the appointed time with two other knights.
They dressed in the full ceremonial armor and regalia of their order, as they would on any
other diplomatic mission. His primary motivation had been curiosity. With the farmer as a
guide, they had no difficulty getting to the rendezvous point. The spot was a shallow
valley at the foot of the mountains. The farmer indicated that only Tate was to approach
closer than a hundred paces, and that he should leave his horse behind. Tate agreed as a
practical matter, since he suspected the horse wouldn't react well in the presence of a
dragon. The enormous beast was perched on its belly on a slab of rock that was slightly
higher than Tate, forcing the knight to look up at it. Its foreclaws curved around the
edge of the rock shelf, talons like sickles. Leathery wings were folded intricately along
its flanks. Tate was mildly surprised to note that while the creature was covered in flat,
leathery scales, like a reptile, it also had smooth patches of hide. The dragon's coloring
was astounding. Never had Tate seen such black. It was liquid and luminous like ink,
polished and impenetrable like onyx. Its most arresting feature, though, were its eyes,
set in a head nearly as long as Tate was tall. Dozens of paces away, Tate could hear its
breathing and feel the rush of hot air from its lungs. But the eyes were quick and bright,
despite being as big as a man's head. Tate had expected to face a monster that was dull
and horrid. He had found instead a beast with majestic, if unsettling, beauty. To the
knight's surprise he felt more awe than fear in the presence of the magnificent animal.
Human and dragon studied each other at a distance. Finally the dragon spoke. “So this is
what a Knight of Solam-nia looks like up close.” “I should say the same about dragons,”
admired Tate, eyes on the dragon's supple scales, gleaming like polished marble in the
last rays of daylight. “I was not admiring, only remarking,” said the dragon stiffly. “You
look much like any other humanpuny and pale. Though your armor is better than most.” The
haughty demeanor was no surprise. Such a slur coming from a human would have started a
fight. Tate ignored it. “You speak the Common tongue.” “I speak twelve languages.” Tate
blushed, feeling foolish. He spoke only one other, his native Solamnic. “I haven't much
time before my delay will be noticed,” growled the dragon. "On behalf

of myself and two comrades, I propose a deal. In exchange for three pieces of land at
Warden Swamp in your Solamnia,“ the dragon had said, ”my comrades and I will help you
disable the Black Wing." Under darkening skies, the dragon laid out the entire plan that
night. Tate had been too stunned to respond. The dragon left him to think it over,
promising to return within three days for Tate's answer. The lord knight of Lamesh had
thought long and hard, prayed on bent knees to Kiri-Jolith as though all three days were
holy ones. In the end the young knight had agreed, for the very reasons he'd told Wolter.
Though he never saw the dragon's comrades, Tate met with Khoal twice after that, to
determine the timing of the attack the dragon proposed against the Black Wing's stronghold.

What Tate hadn't told anyone was what he'd promised the dragons in return; Warden Swamp
was not his to give away. Tate had no doubt the Council of Knights would never approve the
residence of three black dragons in the middle of Solamnia. They barely wanted Tate there.
He had resolved early on to find an answer to that problem when the need aroseif it ever
did. Though Tate still stood by his decision, he wasn't without trepidation. There were
countless ways the magic-wielding dragons could yet betray the deal. Tate tried not to
dwell on such thoughts. He had cast his lot with them; there was no turning back now.

“Sir Wolter has assembled the knights, as ordered, sir.” The messenger, a junior Solamnic
Knight, sat his charger uncomfortably at speaking to the lord knight, switching the reins
from hand to hand. After several initial volleys of flaming arrows to create smoke and
confusion in the compound, Tate's archers had begun to address arrows at the enemy bowmen
on the battlements. “The knights await your signal, sir.” Tate hesitated. He'd never sent
men into battle before. Remembering his prayers to Kiri-Jolith, the Knight of the Crown
gave a brisk nod over the throng of armed men to Sir Wolter. The Knight of the Rose
ordered the charge. The tense atmosphere suddenly exploded with the whoops and war cries
of the attacking knights. They followed on the heels of the brave crossbowmen without
armor or shields, chosen to blaze their trail to the breach. Two of seven bowmen fell
within seconds to enemy arrows from above. The knights, slashing and stabbing with swords,
axes, and halberds, pressed on across the rubble and through the wall.

When the knights were fully engaged with defenders inside the breach, Tate waved Wolter
back and instructed him to create a similar, secondary line of attack on the other side of
the gate, using slightly less than two-thirds the number of knights. The battle-hardened
elder knight nodded his approval of the plan and set off to implement it.

Before Tate the battle raged with the roaring cries of attackers and the defiant shouts of
defenders. Clanging metal and thudding arrows competed to be heard above the squeals and
groans of dying men and the whinnies of spooked horses. Many a gay tunic and shield crest
was besmirched with the blood of the first men to die, their abandoned weapons smeared and
tacky from the dust that rolled like brown fog across the battlefield.

Tate stayed behind, monitoring progress, waiting for the moment the storming of the breach
was complete. His gaze continually swept the sky, looking for signs of the dragons. So
far, so good. Still, Tate was tense, anxious for this to be over. He cleared his throat
impatiently and spat vehemently on the ground. “Sir Albrecht,” he snapped to a young
knight he'd held in reserve, “what is your view of things? Speak quickly.”

Albrecht spurred his horse forward to ride up even with Tate. “Lord,” he fairly shouted,
“the men are hotly engaged, and pushing the enemy back into the fortress in waves! See for
yourself!” “I wish I could.” Tate wiped his dry mouth with the back of his leather
gauntlet.

“Damn this dust! I can tell where my troops are only by the clouds they raise. It appears
we're pressing them back now, but they were surprised,” he said, speaking his thoughts
aloud. “Soon they'll regroup and the fight will get much hotter. With any luck and
Kiri-Jolith's blessing, the dragons will stay clear of the battle. I'd hate to fight them
and this army, too.” Just then, as if the gods had heard his words and mocked him, Tate
saw a number of enormous, swiftly moving shadows darken the dusty air about the fighting
knights. Almost afraid to look up, the knight saw the pale underbellies of three black
dragons circling not far above the castle, armed riders on their backs. They didn't appear
to be attacking yet. In fact, looking above the clouds of dust, Tate thought he could see
their irate highlords prodding them in vain to swoop on the attackers. Tate wasn't about
to wait for them to turn on his men, if that was their plan. Sir Tate Sekforde brandished
his sword and waved the remainder of his troops onward toward the primary breach, to draw
this battle he alone had started to a quick close.