Legacy of Steel Read online

  Or to fool a spy looking down from the heights, Sara added mentally. She introduced herself.

  "Derrick Yaufre," he returned. "No offense, but you must be one of the original knights."

  Sara laughed. She liked this man's slightly irreverent and honest outlook. "None taken. And you're close. I joined more years ago than I care to remember."

  "Good. We need some experience. Massard is an original, too. One of the survivors of the war. Now he spends most of his time drinking or sleeping it off. The rest of us are so new our armor still squeaks. Come on, I'll introduce you."

  In a chivalrous gesture that made Sara smile, Derrick relived her of the saddle and packs and hoisted the load over his own broad shoulders.

  She followed him around the quadrangle to a cluster of tents, where a group of young people—very young people, to Sara's eyes—sat upon stools or wooden boxes in a bored-looking group. They looked up as Derrick joined them, and in the hope of something more interesting, they rose collectively to their feet and greeted Sara.

  Sara eyed them one by one. Three men, including Derrick, and two women made up the Sixth Talon. As a group, they were all well conditioned, hard as dragon scales, and eager to learn. As individuals—well, Sara would have to see what characteristics were revealed by time and trial. She quickly explained who she was and what her assignment was to be.

  The group perked up immediately. "Then you can take us out!" one of the women exclaimed. "Knight Candidate Marika Windor, ma'am," she added hastily. "We were supposed to go on a training flight this morning, but Massard is dead drunk."

  The others nodded, looking none too pleased by their commander's indisposition.

  Sara considered them. There was no real reason for them to sit about doing nothing when she could take them on their assignment. How difficult could a training fight be? She had ridden dragons in dozens of them. It would also give her a chance to get to know these warriors without the company of their sodden leader.

  "Do you all have dragons yet?"

  They nodded eagerly. "We were assigned dragons last week," Derrick assured her.

  "Last week," Sara said, amazed. "Have any of you passed your test?"

  They looked at each other, their thoughts passing plainly between them. "We haven't taken it yet.

  We're all still squires," Marika told her.

  "But…"

  Derrick held up a hand. "I know. We're rather old to be just squires. Most of us joined just a few years ago, after the order was decimated by the war. General Abrena was willing to accept anyone of reasonable age, and they've rushed us through the training. We will all take the test sometime after New Year."

  Sara shook her head. In the past, the knighthood hadn't accepted anyone over the age of fourteen for candidacy. They usually took boys and began their training and indoctrination by age twelve and made them squires by age fifteen. These young people looked to be five or six years older than that and had only been in training for a few years. The order was desperate for recruits if the older ranking officers seriously considered letting these novices take the Test of Takhisis this soon.

  She filed that piece of information away for later and said, "Get your riding gear. We'll call in the dragons."

  Whooping with excitement, the five split off to their tents to grab their equipment. Derrick eyed Sara's make shift saddle, then tossed it and her gear into an empty tent. He came back a few minutes later lugging his own dragon saddle and a spare one that he gave to Sara.

  "This one was Tamar's," he said. His face darkened and he finished sadly, "He died last week when he failed his test."

  The saddle was well crafted of fine leather and strong bindings. Sara took it with a nod of thanks and wondered at Derrick's tone. Most squires would have reviled a candidate who died in failure. Derrick did not, He seemed truly grieved that his companion was dead.

  The others came dashing up to join them, anticipation shining from their faces. Sara led them out of the tent quarter to a wide, empty field where there was ample room for dragons to land.

  She lined them up and stood in front of them, her arms crossed, her expression stern. "Now, before we call the dragons, I want all of you to give me your names so I will know who to yell at when you do something wrong."

  They shifted on their feet and exchanged sly grins. They caught her slight bantering tone and responded to it like children suddenly released from an onerous duty.

  Derrick, she already knew. Marika was a stocky, muscular girl with a long brown braid and eyes as earthy as her laugh. Kelena, the second woman, had cut her dark red hair into a halo of curls and sported a band of freckles across her narrow face like a banner. She was from Sanction, she told Sara, and had joined the order to follow in the footsteps of her older brother, who had died in the rift.

  Saunder, the oldest of the young men, wore his dusty blond hair long and tied back in an intricate knot. He was tall and rangy and quiet to the point of reticence.

  The youngest of the talon—all of seventeen years, he told Sara proudly—was Jacson. He was voluble enough to make up for Saunder's silence and energetic enough to keep them all entertained. He reminded Sara of a kender who viewed the world with wide-eyed enthusiasm and grabbed for everything he could get out of a moment. He was of slight stature for a knight candidate, yet he was deceptively strong and very quickwitted.

  Sara studied them all, and to her surprise, she felt the slightest niggling doubt. Not a one of them looked like the burning zealots she remembered caring for at Storm's Keep. Those squires had been truly dedicated to a religion and a way of life and worshiped a goddess who revealed her power in every part of their lives. These five men and women seemed to lack that religious fervor. Was it any wonder? Takhisis was gone; her Vision was dead. What was left for them to worship with all their hearts and souls?

  She pushed that notion aside. Not everyone in the world felt as empty as she did or looked on the disappearance of the gods as abandonment. Perhaps she was just letting her own confusion color her impressions.

  She forced her seeds of doubt aside and automatically reached for the lily brooch that used to hang on her cloak. Only when her fingers touched the soft fabric did she remember she had given the brooch away. A long time ago she had used the brooch as a focal point to summon dragons. Now she would have to do it the hard way.

  "Call your dragons," she ordered the talon.

  Derrick and Saunder stepped forward and produced slender whistles hanging from chains around their necks. When they blew the whistles, Sara heard no sound. A dog barked somewhere nearby. Then there was a rush and flap of large wings and two blue dragon landed in the field close to the talon.

  Sara glanced around quizzically, waiting for the other three.

  "That's all," Derrick said with a shrug. "There are so few blues left after the war, our wing commander only assigned two to us. We have to take turns."

  "Take turns," Sara muttered. "How can you learn aerial tactics if you have to take turns on two dragons?"

  "Massard said we would get more later," Jacson said. "If you can believe him."

  "Well, we'll make the best of it." She marched up to the two dragons. They were both young, maybe fifty years, of similar coloring, and both were shorter than Cobalt. "What are your names?" she asked. Howl and Squall, they told her in unison. Obviously nest mates.

  She quickly sent Howl, named for the raucous tone of his voice, out to the herd fields to fetch Cobalt.

  The big blue arrived, snorting and grumbling, and promptly dumped the bloody carcass of a cow on the ground in front of Sara. "I wasn't finished yet. You said I had plenty of time," he complained.

  His rider ignored his grumps. "So hurry up. I changed my mind."

  He cast a warning growl at the younger dragons and hunched protectively over his meal. With his sharp teeth, he tore the carcass to pieces and gulped it down, indulging in a lot of slurping, gnashing, crunching, and other unnecessary noises.

  The five squires watched him i
n sick fascination. Sara hid a smile. Obviously they hadn't paid much attention to the eating habits of their dragons.

  As soon as Cobalt had spat out the last bone, Sara saddled and climbed onto his back. "Derrick, you and Marika ride first. We're going to play catch."

  She explained what she meant and dispatched the other riders to spread out across the field. The object of the game was for a dragon and its rider to hover over the field and "catch" one of the people on foot— carefully, Sara emphasized. The "prey" then had to be carried to a holding pen—a red flag stuck in the ground—and rider and prey exchanged places. Cobalt played games master.

  The young squires took to the game immediately. Shouts and laughter filled the chilly air. The dragons enjoyed it, too, and dipped and swooped after their running quarry and roared their frustration when someone escaped their clutches. The racket drew other knights and squires, who came to watch. Some brought their dragons until there were so many in the field, Sara was afraid the dragons would hurt themselves. She divided them into teams.

  There were a few bumps and bruises and a cracked head, but no one was seriously hurt in the melee, and while the dragons and riders gained valuable practice maneuvering close to the ground, Sara was able to observe her recruits and learn something about them.

  Derrick, she saw, was the natural leader of the group. He encouraged the others and kept them going with his example and his optimism.

  Saunder was as tough as dragon hide and had a quiet cunning that let him stay back until the right moment, then he urged his dragon on and caught his prey more often than not.

  Jacson laughed his way through the game, cracking jokes and hurling good-natured insults at everyone.

  Red-haired Kelena bulled her way into the thickest skirmishes and gave way to no one. As fast as a sprinter, she could not be caught on the ground until she decided it was her turn to ride. Marika, although not a good runner, was probably the best rider. She pulled a few stunts in the saddle that left Sara gasping.

  When the game broke up, the Sixth Talon regathered, laughing and joking among themselves. Sara was pleased. She released the dragons and led the riders back toward the tents for a well-earned meal.

  They had no sooner entered their own section of the Red Quarter when they heard a scream of pain coming from Massard's tent. Another scream and another shattered the quiet, and as one group, Sara and the squires raced for the tent.

  12

  "Where are they?0" bellowed a hoarse voice. "Tell me now!"

  Behind Sara, the five squires slowed perceptively as soon as they realized the one in pain was not their vaunted leader. Knowing him as they did, they had no wish to become his next target.

  A faint crack, then another screech of pain, met Sara at the tent's entrance. She threw back the tent flap and strode inside.

  A large, truculent-looking man lifted his head and glared at her.

  Sara felt her heart contract. She knew that face. It was heavier, more florid, and red-veined from drinking, but she knew it. At one time this knight had been at Storm's Keep. She tensed, waiting for the recognition to burn in his eyes and the denouncement she knew must come. Yet it did not.

  He glowered at her furiously, shook the whip in his hand, and shouted, "What do you want?"

  Something whimpered on the ground.

  Sara spotted a small goblin cowering at Massard's feet. He raised a whip and brought it down across the goblin's back with vicious force. The goblin screamed again and groveled at his feet.

  Goblins were not Sara's favorite creatures. She hated their ugly faces and the way they stole from the dead. But she hated injustice more. She took one step forward, plucked the whip out of Massard's hand, and said in a level voice, "If you are looking for your talon, we were at the practice fields doing our training rides."

  Massard looked flabbergasted at her audacity.

  "Who are you?"

  "Knight Warrior Sara Conby. I have been assigned to you as second-in-command."

  The man rubbed the stubble on his jaw. He looked dreadful and smelled worse. Sara doubted his clothes had been changed or washed in days. His eyes were bloodshot, and his graying hair was a gully dwarf's nest.

  The goblin, seeing the whip out of Massard's hand, scampered behind Sara. "No hit," he whined. "Message. I only have message."

  "Why didn't you say so? Get on with it, you pea-brained street refuse!" roared Massard. "Do something right."

  "Knight Warrior Conby is to join the general for dinner tonight at sunset," the goblin blubbered, bobbing his head. "At general's quarters."

  "The general, huh," Massard grunted at Sara. "Already boot-licking, I see." He hurled a boot at the cowering goblin. "Well, get out of here, you worthless filth. The next time I want an answer out of you, you'd better give it to me, or I'll use something more persuasive than a whip."

  The goblin squealed and bolted out of the tent. The five young people stood at attention and watched it all, wide-eyed.

  "You can't very well beat something out of him if he doesn't know it," Sara said reasonably. Her consternation faded somewhat as she realized he did not recognize her. In its place grew intense contempt.

  "As for you," he snarled, ignoring her remark, "I should write you up for dereliction. You failed to report to me in a timely manner and—"

  "Dereliction," Jacson cried, stepping forward impulsively. "When you were—"

  Derrick clamped a hand over his arm and hauled him back into line. "Sir," he said in the same calm manner Sara used. "Knight Warrior Conby did report to you, and when she saw that you were… unavailable, she took us on our assigned training." His emphasis on the word "assigned" was not lost on the officer.

  Massard knew he would have some explaining to do if he disciplined his new junior officer officially. The man subsided to something closer to his usual bad temper. "Bring me some ale," he growled, and he sagged onto the edge of his cot.

  "Would you rather have some hot water and a meal?" Sara suggested. "The squires must attend to their duties, and I would like to know my responsibilities."

  "Get me the ale, woman, and shut your infernal chatter!"

  Sara's lips tightened to a thin line. She sketched a salute and left Massard to his own foul company. She found the others studying her in amazement.

  "Why did you do that?" Kelena asked her.

  "Do what?"

  "Stop Massard from beating the goblin. He has a terrible temper. He could have turned that whip on you."

  Sara lifted her chin. "A knight does not abuse his power by inflicting cruelty and pain on the innocent. It is one thing to whip a goblin who has stolen from you or attacked you. It is another to beat him for something he does not know. It is a matter of justice."

  She gave the recruits a minute or two to absorb that. "All right, now. Jacson, run to the nearest tavern and get the knight officer his ale."

  The irrepressible young man grinned. "If he stays drunk enough, maybe he'll stay out of our way."

  Sara ignored that. It was too close to the wish she had, that if he stayed drunk enough, he may not recognize her. But she knew he had to sober up eventually. The knights were shorthanded, but not so much that they would tolerate an officer who was perpetually drunk. Massard had to be fulfilling his responsibilities somehow.

  "Meanwhile," she said, "let's get something to eat and a pot of hot water. I would really like some tea." They went to their tasks, grateful to leave Massard to nurse his hangover alone.

  Sara soon learned the knights in Neraka had no central mess hall. There was a supply building where the recruits and knights could get the basics. Beyond that, they were responsible for feeding themselves. They could eat in the city, which Saunder pointed out was too expensive on a squire's pay. They could use a communal kitchen set up in their quarter, or they could cook over campfires outside their tents. Everyone had a small brazier in his tent and supplied his own pots and pans. Sara decided she would have to do a little scrounging.

  Derrick showed her
the tent where he put her gear and, with the group's consent, gave her the brazier from Tamar's possessions. The dead squire must have been from Abanasinia, Sara guessed when she saw it. The brazier was small and beautifully wrought, with an interwoven design of fanciful animals and intertwined knots. She thanked them all and then discovered one reason for their generosity. None of them liked to cook.

  Resigned, she helped them put together a quick meal of bread and cheese and baked apples, and she set a pot of soup to simmer in the low coals during the afternoon so the recruits would have something while she dined with the general.

  The young men and women were pleased that their junior officer had been chosen to eat with General Abrena. They rarely saw the general, let alone had the chance to accept an invitation from her.

  Sara did not have time to give it much thought. Evening was hours away, and there was still much to do. Derrick, Saunder, Jacson, Marika, and Kelena left to attend to their duties as squires to five of the ranking knights in Neraka. Sara was left to unpack and deal with Massard.

  Fortunately the man spent most of the afternoon in his tent drinking the ale Jacson had brought him. The respite gave Sara a chance to do some exploring on her own. She walked around the perimeter of the ring of tents to see for herself just how empty it really was. She talked to other recruits, to several goblins who acted as messengers and servants, and to a number of knights who were off duty. It became clear to her that, while the tent city was busy, it was nowhere near filled to capacity.

  She found a number of other talons-in-training and spoke to their officers. Those talons, like the Sixth, were being rushed through training, and if the younger knights liked it, the older ones did not. The few original knights she talked to bemoaned the traditions ignored and the precepts of Lord Ariakan that were being forgotten. The day proved to be very informative.

  To her intense relief, not a single knight recognized her or doubted her authenticity. To them, she was simply one of the lucky few who had survived. For the moment, it seemed the only ones she had to worry about were Massard and General Abrena. If the ale fumes ever cleared from Massard's head, Sara feared he could remember her.