The Black wing

Chapter 21

Sighting the overwhelming urge to nap, Khisanth absently picked with a sharpened talon at a shred of carrion lodged between a knifelike incisor and her black-spotted gums. The newly pro shy;moted second-in-command dragon of the Black Wing was squeezed into the meager late-afternoon shade of a lone oak tree on the crest of a bluff in the mountains southwest of their destination: Lamesh Castle. Even during years of endless drill and preparation for battle, Khisanth had not realized how truly tedious war could be.

It isn't a war, yet, Khisanth reminded herself. The Black Wing was preparing to launch an isolated offensive against the Knights of Solamnia who had, just months before, brought the fledgling wing to its knees. For nearly four days, the dragon had been flying as an advance scout for the north shy;bound army.

The assignment had proven to be a tedious exercise: fly north for a half hour, wait for a half day for the plodding dra-conians to bring up the rear, fly north for another half hour. It frustrated Khisanth that, unfettered by the army, she could have flown the distance from Shalimsha to Lamesh in less than three hours.

The second-ranked dragon of the Black Wing knew exactly how far it was to Lamesh, because she'd been flying recon shy;naissance there every other day since Khoal's death. Her shapechanging ability was no longer a secret after her battle with the ancient dragon, so Khisanth used it freely on her missions for the wing. Her form of choice was a big black raven, which allowed her to fly directly into the Solamnic compound and closely monitor the rebuilding of its forces.

The decision to retaliate against the knights at Lamesh had been made months before, when Khisanth was able to consis shy;tently report that the knights had not regrouped to any sig shy;nificant extent. They appeared to have replaced very few of the patrician warriors, and acquired, at best, seventy-five mercenaries. That low number was consistent with the Black Wing's own difficulties in recruiting many new sell-swords in the sparsely populated, isolated region.

All of this was fine with Khisanth. It meant there would be fewer bodies to wade through when the time came for her revenge. The knight who had broken her nose at Needle Pass and then slipped from her clutches at Shalimsha would not escape again. The dragon looked forward to the day when his sword and skull jangled on her necklace with the rest of her trophies.

Looking to the south with heavy-lidded eyes, Khisanth realized that the wing had made more progress in the last hours than she'd expected. They'd picked up the pace signifi shy;cantly after rounding the Hand of Chaos, a sharp southern leg of this isolated section of the Khalkist Mountains. The procession was perhaps a quarter league away, down the southern slope of the bluff upon which Khisanth was perched. Jahet hovered just above the ground at the head of the impressive file of troops. Airborne behind her, prodding troops along, were two newly recruited black dragons.

There were three dragons under the ranking black dragon's command now, due to Jahet's active recruitment in the Great Moors. Khisanth had suggested that any uncommitted black dragons would gravitate to that swamp upon awaking from the Sleep, as Khisanth herself had. The two very young, "green" dragons, a male who called himself Lhode, and a female known as Shadow, were a refreshing change from their predecessors. Lhode and Shadow looked up to the older, seasoned dragons; the relationship came as near to kin shy;ship as black dragons could. Unfortunately, they simply weren't as adept at flying and fighting as those they had replaced. That would come with time and experience.

The battle against the Knights of Solamnia had brought another important change: the dragons were no longer an autonomous division. The reorganization made good sense. Everyone knew Maldeev had divided the dragons to prevent the concentration of power that had made the betrayal of Khoal, Dnestr, and Neetra so possible and so devastating.

Each dragon was now assigned to a specific fighting unit, to provide the ground troops with focused air protection. Not coincidentally, the leader of each unit was also the dragon's soul mate. As Dragon Highlord Maldeev's mount, Jahet was to oversee the entire army. Lhode would control the ogres with his ogre rider, Volg. Shadow and her rider and soul mate, Horak, were in command of the draconians.

As for Khisanth, her promotion had come at a price. She had all but promised Maldeev to take his lieutenant as her rider, in exchange for allowing her to fight this one battle unfettered. If she had not yet grown used to the idea of the very logical union between equal counterparts, she had accepted its inevitability. Once her scouting assignment was completed, Khisanth was to coordinate her efforts with Salah Khan and the ranks of humans.

The front ranks of the wing were now close enough for Khisanth to clearly see Maldeev in gleaming plate mail, his horse, as well as those of his officers, decked out in dress black-and-white skirts. Khisanth could see only flashes of the

highlord behind the waving folds of the Black Wing's ban shy;ner, which he insisted on bearing on the tip of his own pike. The commander's joy at being in the field again was evident in his eyes through the holes in his horned helm. The wing's first offensive was obviously a moment Highlord Maldeev had long awaited.

Riding closely on his left flank was the black-masked Salah Khan, newly promoted to dragon highmaster and sec shy;ond-in-command to Maldeev himself. He had been Wakar's adjutant, having risen to his post after the former second-in-command's death. A coldly efficient tactician, Khan was notorious for a temper easily ignited by underlings. Most everyone was already intimidated by Khan's ever-present black head wrapping; it was rumored that the cloth covered a featureless face, destroyed long ago in a duel with a wiz shy;ard. Salah Khan was an introspective human whose long, pensive silences frequently appeared to unnerve even Dragon Highlord Maldeev.

Behind the leaders, the black dragon could see the small number of horse-mounted calvary, to be used in the event of a rout. Maldeev had made it clear he would take no prison shy;ers. Behind them strode the remainder of the human merce shy;naries, archers, and swordsmen. Next in line, Volg prodded his ogre troops from behind, Lhode coaxing them along by air. Bringing up the rear were Horak's charges. He led his draconian troops by horseback, using the Black Wing banner Maldeev had given him as a focusing point for the dull-wit shy;ted creatures, with Shadow hovering overhead.

The exact date for the attack had been set after the arrival of the draconian forces. The monstrous reinforcements had visibly boosted the morale of the wing, at least those who were not asked to live with the abominations.

While they were an annoyance and an insult to the drag shy;ons, it was the ogre troops who suffered the most from the nearly mindless draconian killing machines. Certainly, no one had any love or sympathy for the brutish ogres. Ironi shy;cally, the draconians had replaced ogres as the most distaste shy;ful forms of life in the army of the Dark Queen. Volg, the ogre's field commander, complained frequently in his halting ogre accent, to Horak, the draconian field commander, but Horak seemed to encourage competition between the units; neither did Volg receive help from their immediate superior, army commander Salah Khan.

Drills for the entire army had become more frequent, spe shy;cific, and intense. Humans, ogres, and draconians all scaled ladders in preparation for a siege; arrows were made, and weapons polished. The ogres protested loudly on the latter score, seeing no value in expending energy on something that didn't make them fight any better.

Waiting now for the front rank of officers to close the gap, Khisanth nibbled a blade of grass, much greener here than the drought-parched region around Lamesh. Angry-looking, black-limned clouds were beginning to form in the western sky, suggesting rain. The hot afternoon had already turned muggy.

Out of the corner of her eye, Khisanth saw Jahet flying toward her. Pulling back her wings, the highlord's dragon dropped gracefully to her hind feet with nary a hop.

"Maldeev is considering launching an immediate attack."

Khisanth looked to the darkening sky and arched a brow. "Is that wise?"

"Salah Khan and Volg are trying to talk him out of it." With a sigh, Jahet settled herself into the shade next to Khi shy;santh. "If s quite comfortable here. While Lhode and Shadow and I have been securing Shalimsha with just a handful of useless soldiers, you've had it pretty easy these past days," she said with mock jealousy.

"Easy? You mean boring," growled Khisanth, struggling to her feet. "Let's go."

Standing almost reluctantly, Jahet took wing mere heart shy;beats after Khisanth. The two of them made an impressive sight, gliding effortlessly, enormous shadows skimming the land beneath. The highlord had stopped the procession in a small gully on the spine of a neighboring bluff. They dropped within a length of Maldeev. "We attack immediately, while there's still a chance for surprise," the dragon highlord was saying.

"There is that school of thought, Highlord," Salah Khan said diplomatically. His voice was muffled by the black wrapping around his head. "There are also those who believe that surprising the enemy at any cost is unwise, particularly in a battle of this size, when we so outnumber the enemy. If this were a small ambush, then, perhaps …"

"Ogres bushed," Volg cut in rudely. He'd stomped his way to the front ranks after the procession halted.

Horak, too, had ridden up from his position back with the draconians. Beads of sweat glistened on the brow of the newest of Maldeev's officers, curling his copper hair into tight ringlets. He'd heard Volg's comment and was twisting his red mustache confidently when he said, "My draconians are ready to follow you instantly, Highlord. Unlike the other, uh, soldiers," he stumbled with a pointed look at Volg, "they need little sleep or food."

Volg scowled. "Darkness come!" He pointed a warty fin shy;ger to the east before adding slyly, "Ogres see fine, but humans not."

"There's another very real problem, Sir," interrupted Khan, getting his first good look down the slope toward the citadel known as Lamesh. "No one mentioned a moat." His eyes, the only things visible in his face wrap, suddenly nar shy;rowed with surprise and concern. "It would appear that the moat feeds a waterfall over a cliff, as well. If 11 be much more difficult to breach than our plans have allowed."

Maldeev looked with irritation at his number two dragon, the only one among them to have seen Lamesh. "Well, Khi-santh? Didn't you notice these things?"

"Yes," she said without guilt. "I reported that they were digging a trench at least two fortnights ago. In itself a trench would not change the method of attack. However, the water is a new development." She gave Maldeev a wry look. "Per shy;haps they've been expecting us."

"We'll wait until morning!" snapped the dragon highlord. Spurring his horse, Maldeev cantered off and stopped a short distance away to gather his thoughts alone.

Maldeev's advisors would all have been surprised to learn that their highlord had actually made the decision to delay the attack after Horak's pandering. Not that the highlord was immune to bootlicking. Actually, it was one of his favorite benefits of rank.

The problem was Horak. The very capable human com shy;mander didn't know he was the least trusted of Maldeev's officers, even placing behind the vulgar ogre, Volg, solely because he'd been under Ariakas's command.

Nourished by Horak himself on his first day at Lamesh, Maldeev's hatred of the Red Wing commander had swelled, running so deep and silent, like the roots of a fast-growing willow, that even Jahet could not guess its full measure. Mal shy;deev would take Ariakas's leavings and turn them to gold for the greater glory of himself.

He was Takhisis's chosen.

Maldeev would seize every opportunity, take any chance, to align himself more closely with the Queen of Darkness.

"Orders, Highlord?" Khan cut into his thoughts.

Maldeev shook away his preoccupation and whistled for Jahet. "Tell your dragons to refrain from flying and move on foot into the forest to the west. The rest of the wing will fol shy;low." Jahet nodded and backed away to do her highlord's bidding, pulling Khisanth along with a glance toward Lhode and Shadow at the back of the ranks.

Turning to the other commanders, Maldeev continued. "In this battle, my greatest concern is to prevent any of the knights, their men, or their people from escaping. We will certainly have lost all chance for surprise by tomorrow morn shy;ing. To stop escapes tonight, I want detachments to set up overlooking the fortress and the town. Humans will watch while it's light, to be replaced by ogres and draconians dur shy;ing darkness."

That settled, Maldeev lifted his pike and directed his horse to pick its way down the bluff to the west, following after the dragons.

Tate lowered the spyglass from his eye. He knew the Black Wing would come to Lamesh Castle. The knight hadn't been surprised by the news from the sentry. He'd just hoped it wouldn't be so soon. It was too soon…The reinforcements Tate was expecting from Solamnia hadn't arrived yet. Soon they might not need to, Tate thought grimly, feeling an unusual defeatism. The rain wouldn't help matters, either.

Standing on the southern battlements, the Knight of the Crown snapped the glass back up to his right eye. He wiped a raindrop from the cloudy lens. The view through it was not much closer than seeing with the naked eye. Tate used the glass because it had been Wolter's.

He saw no dragons. He should be able to see the enormous black creatures, even without the spyglass. Yet, Tate could identify only officers, a vast number of humans and ogres, and then some other strange creatures for which Tate had no name. An attack didn't appear to be imminent, since the black army was bivouacking.

Still, he would have little time to mount a defense. Tate slipped the brass cylinder into a loop on his belt and then turned to leave. He stopped short, not quite sure where to go first. Sir Wolter would have known. Tate rubbed his face wearily, glad his men were too preoccupied assembling arms and equipment to notice his indecision.

Nothing had been the same for Tate since Sir Wolter Hed-ing, his sponsor and friend-his father, for all purposes- was slain in the ill-fated attack on Shalimsha. Lamesh Castle's lord knight seemed to have only two moods these past months: anger and shame. Tate had been so sure Kiri-Jolith approved of the plan. Wolter had advised against it. It was the only time Tate had ignored Sir Wolter's advice.

That was the greatest part of his shame, which Tate would have admitted only to Wolter. Tate knew men died in battle. He'd witnessed the gruesome deaths of Sir Stippling's party. The knight had just never given thought to its happening specifically because of him. Not to Wolter, anyway. By virtue of his wisdom Wolter always seemed to rise above such earthly concerns. Wolter would have been telling stories at hearthside in Solamnia, if not for Tate.

The young knight's anger always focused on the black dragon whose last strike at Tate had ended Wolter's life. Something about her had been hauntingly familiar. Her odd necklace had struck an uneasy chord in his memory that the knight was still unable to identify.

Shaking away the unsettling reflection, the lord knight looked upon the new moat with a glimmer of satisfaction. Anticipating a counterattack, he'd had the foresight to dig the trench and fill it, despite the muttered protests of the workers. Tate had devoted a great percentage of his man shy;power to accomplishing it so quickly, but too soon it would prove its worth in a land-based attack. Unfortunately, it would do nothing to stop the dragons he was certain must be lying in wait somewhere. That he couldn't see them only made him more apprehensive about what they were plan shy;ning. He was only slightly mollified to remember that when the dragons entered the battle, he was at least prepared now to fight them on their own level. The knight made a mental note to feed his own winged creatures, which he'd been care shy;ful to keep out of sight of spies the Black Wing might have sent north.

Tate leaned over the inner wall and yelled into the court shy;yard, "Albrecht, sound the alarm in the village. Take a hand shy;ful of men to gather the people into the safety of the castle. We have little enough room in the inner ward, so instruct them to bring only their children, the clothes on their backs, and perhaps weapons, if they're of use. Tell the gate guards to keep watch for smugglers." He gave a small motion with his head. "Quickly now." Nodding up at his superior, Albrecht hastened off toward the east gate, gathering a small trail of knights in his wake.

Tate considered calling Albrecht back to order the torching of the village so its stores wouldn't benefit the enemy, but he decided against it. They would need every hand in the battle; burning their village, no matter how tactically sound, would earn the lord knight no supporters among the villagers. Bet shy;ter to let the enemy do that dirty work.

Next, Tate jogged to each of the bastions, starting with those on the southeastern and southwestern corners, which faced the encamped army of the Black Wing. Tate instructed the sentries there to watch closely, first and foremost for signs of impending attack, secondly for dragons, and then for any parties departing from the enemy's main body. He told their counterparts in the northeast and northwest towers to alert him immediately if they sighted either dragons or the appearance of wooden mantelets near the eastern or northern gates to prevent escape.

That reminded Tate he needed to get his own spies out quickly, before the enemy could seal them into the castle. Spotting Wallens coordinating the stockpiling of rocks and arrows on the south battlements, he put the knight in charge of selecting and dispersing agents to more accurately assess the enemy's strength and intent.

Tate saw Abel the baker scurrying about, the flour on his apron turned to paste by the lightly falling rain. The stout man was bossing knights and youths alike in the filling of pots and jugs of water. The containers were then placed on the battle shy;ments to be dumped on enemy soldiers as they scaled the walls. The light rain was making it difficult to start fires to boil the pots of water. The blacksmith lent his bellows to the task, and before long flames stirred and stayed. Long, forked poles were distributed along the walls for toppling ladders. Bundles of arrows wrapped in oilskins to protect them against the rain were deposited behind the battlements. Archers checked their bowstrings, carefully packed inside their doublets or padded armor, to be sure they were dry. Crossbowmen shook beaded water off their heavily oiled weapons.

Before long, the frightened villagers, grumbling about the rain, began to pile through the eastern gate, crowding the courtyard. Albrecht set them to work immediately preparing bandages, fetching and carrying supplies for the soldiers, and rounding up the livestock running loose in the compound.

After everyone was fed a thin stew from the enormous pots that would too soon hold boiling water for the defense, Tate called an emergency meeting of his four-man council of knights. Since the great room was filled with displaced vil shy;lagers, Albrecht, Wallens, and Auston met with him in the light of a single taper in their barracks. Tate's batting felt wet and clammy against his skin.

"You've all seen, or at least heard about, the mobile barri shy;cades beyond the gates," Tate began. "We are now sealed in, unless we choose to try fighting our way out.

"It appears, however, that we are badly outnumbered. The enemy has a sizable army of humans, ogres, and some sort of creatures no one here can identify. Prudence demands we assume they have dragons, as well, although no one has seen them." Heads nodded quiet agreement around the table.

"Considering the seriousness of the situation, I want to send an emissary out to talk to their commander."

Agreement was replaced by surprise. "Surely you don't mean to discuss surrender?" asked Albrecht.

"No," replied Tate. "But we have a huge number of women, children, and old men here in the fortress. We must at least try to arrange safe conduct for them away from the battle."

Auston cleared his throat. "Sir, I would be honored to serve as message bearer. I've had some diplomatic experi shy;ence, settling ethnic disputes with the barbarians in the Est-wilde region of Solamnia."

Tate clapped the eager young knight on the shoulder. "You're just the man for the job, then, Auston."

A short time later the knights were reassembled inside the south gate. Lanterns, spitting softly in the light rain, cast their dim light across the scene. Auston sat proudly, if somewhat nervously, on his horse. Tate shook the young knight's hand. "Come back swiftly and safely."

Nodding, Auston touched his helmet in salute to Tate as he rode out the gate. Two guards hastily closed and barred it behind him.

Rather than wait anxiously back in the barracks, the knights separated to double-check the castle's defenses. Tate went to the stables below the barracks and fed the griffons. The horses had been moved above ground to accommodate

the five horseflesh-loving winged creatures he'd purchased at great expense from a trader.

An hour later, there came a shout from the rampart. A ner shy;vous guard peered out and saw a white horse, returning alone in the pale moonlight. Tate ran from the stables up onto the wall to see what caused the commotion. He watched with the sentries and knights gathered there as the horse cantered back to the south gate. Guards flung back the heavy wooden doors and hustled the horse inside. Snorting, eyes wide and fearful, the white creature circled through the courtyard and the thronged people there, stopping before Tate, who'd has shy;tened down from the battlement. The courtyard grew strangely still, as if everyone inside was holding his breath.

The apprehensive lord knight began to search the creature for a note or message of some kind concerning Auston's fate. The horse itself provided the answer. Its hairy lips ruffled, and a voice very like Tate's own said through the horse's mouth, "You can't act like ruffians and expect to be treated like ladies." Tate visibly paled.

"What does it mean, Sir Tate?" Albrecht asked, noting the expression of understanding growing on his superior's face. "And what have they done with Auston?"

"It means no deal," Tate said numbly. "Auston's dead."

"The unprincipled bastards!" snarled the usually con shy;tained Wallens. "What'U we do now, Sir?"

Tate tried to rub the weariness from his eyes. "See to your stations one last time tonight, then get some rest while you can," the lord knight said. "Tomorrow promises to be a long, hard day."

Tate was already walking away from the dazed Albrecht and Wallens, his thoughts on a distant time. Three fingers traced the scars beneath the whiskers on his cheek. Now he knew why the dragon at Shalimsha had seemed so familiar. The witch-woman from the ambush.. Tate didn't under shy;stand magic well enough to explain how it could be done, but he was certain the human fighter was now a vengeful, black dragon. It was obvious from the message that she hadn't for shy;gotten their encounter, either.

A muscle twitched in Tate's wet cheek. The dragon's quest was nothing compared to the knight's: to avenge his friend, Wolter. She was a worthy adversary as a dragon, he mused, recalling the battle at Shalimsha.

He found it all very curious how their paths had crossed and recrossed.

He wasn't a man to believe in omens, but if ever he did …

The Knight of the Crown felt a sudden, overwhelming desire to pray to his patron, Kiri-Jolith. He'd spent little time in temple since the battle at Shalimsha. Tate told himself he was too busy reorganizing troops and bolstering morale to devote one of every seven days to inactive prayer.

The truth was, without the old knight to steel his resolve, Sir Tate's interest in rising to the Order of the Rose had waned. In a secret corner of his soul, Tate had even dared to wonder if Kiri-Jolith hadn't abandoned him first.

As the lord knight picked his way through the sleeping bodies in the courtyard, he couldn't help thinking that many were taking their last mortal rest. The thought propelled Tate faster toward a long overdue talk with his god.