Conflict – Maple Driftwood
Written September 4th, 2020 – October 27th, 2020.
Published October 30th, 2020.
Hey everybody! Sorry I forgot to publish this one earlier today - in fact, I forgot most of the things about this chapter, including when I actually finished it (on the 26th or the 27th? I put it down as the 27th just to be safe). Anyway, it's out now, and that's that. Cheers, and have a good Halloween everyone (just don't OD on the candy).
Review responses:
To Pt35: I'm glad you liked the combat scene in the last chapter. I was writing it, thinking 'this is quiet, too quiet'. When it had been too quiet for a few thousand words I decided to put the Seawings in. It's a good introduction to the tribe. You'll be seeing more of them this chapter.
Your comments on Agular make me want to look up weapons and do more research on them. What's the difference between an excellent weapon and one that's run-of-the-mill? I need to know so I can write his smithing correctly later.
July 13th, 5,015: Somewhere in the Icewing Kingdom
The snow deadened all sound save the whistling of the wind, and his muffled wingbeats that kicked up ice dust beneath him as he landed in the snow. It swirled about like white sand, and for a precious moment a talonful caught a ray of arctic sunshine and gleamed pale silver. Then a gust came and it was gone.
For most tribes the weather was terrible. Even for an Icewing the bitter cold up here could become irritating at times, and that was exactly how Shard liked it. Frost curled from his nostrils and blew towards the stunted pines as he trudged through the thick winter blanket, looked up and beheld a small, round door in a short wall of blue ice. He raised his right talon and knocked. There was a period of silence, about ten seconds or so, and then a smooth dragon's voice said, "Come in!"
Shard turned the doorknob, opened the door and strode into a hall that turned left shortly ahead of him, its walls reflective blue ice. There were racks made of iron, and golden jewelry hanging off of them.
"Shard, is that you? Shrug off the snow in the hall, you know how it is."
"It's me," said Shard. "How are you doing?"
A silver-scaled dragon appeared at the end of the narrow, tall corridor, his shoulders colored an ordinarily handsome deep blue. Now, however, they were arrayed every which way, with translucent membranes peeling off of them; a few had fallen out and there were dull patches where the new ones had yet to grow in.
"Rather itchy, but otherwise quite well," said the silver-scaled dragon. It turned out his name was Stoat. "And you?"
"Never better," said Shard. "What about the wife and daughter?"
Stoat sniffed. "Gleam's paying a visit to my in-law's grave, and as for Ermine, she's still at Jade."
"Oh? I thought she was home over the summer."
"She was getting low marks. I'm having her study an extra month before she comes north this September, to encourage her hardiness, you see," said Stoat. Shard did. "No use keeping you in the antechamber."
And Shard's friend turned and trotted briskly into a mid-sized room, with book-shelves cut squarely into the ice, embellished with rolling runes from the old language, the tongue Icewings held as passed down from their god. Besides the shelf and a trio of ice-lamps there were few other comforts, though there was a decent amount of space; enough to fit a company of a half-dozen dragons without crowding, and twice that many if the occupants didn't mind being crammed.
"We had the last meeting of the Beknighted Nobles here, where we put together the petition," said Stoat. "It's a pity you couldn't come. Family business?"
Shard nodded, followed the gesture with a "Yes."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"It's nothing to worry about. How are Ermine's marks now, by-the-by?"
"She's getting along, getting along. They've improved remarkably. If she keeps up the drive I think she'll be excellent."
"As all Icewings should be," said Shard. "Except the peasantry."
They both smiled at that.
"At any rate, it's a pity that Snowfall rejected our requests out of talon," said Stoat. "The queen's getting out of control, I think. She hasn't earned her crown, and that's leading to all sorts of problems."
"Have you heard the latest news, then?" asked Shard.
"There's always breaking news," said Stoat. "I probably haven't."
"The Skywings came to Snowfall asking for help, and she rejected them."
Stoat's ears twitched.
"Skywings? The stuck-up warriors asking for help? What kind?"
"Military, I hear," said Shard. "They say there was an invasion in the east, and Ruby is in bad shape."
"So Snowfall turned them down."
"Yes."
"And gave up an opportunity to lord it over our long-term rivals? We've been fighting them for thousands of years? Before the Nightwings stole our magic, it was the Skywings who were claiming our territory. This is the chance of a lifetime; what was she thinking?"
Shard shook his head and clucked. "I suspect she wasn't."
His friend grew quiet for a long minute, and lay down on his forelegs, and went into a brown study. While he was doing this Shard took the opportunity to prepare himself a meal from the retreat's stores; seal, frozen when it was still raw. It was nothing too special, but it did the job, and he returned with a piece for Stoat, who polished it off mechanically and went back to thinking.
At long last he stirred and raised one of the claws on his talon. "I have an idea."
Shard wiggled a troublesome thread of meat from between his teeth with his tongue before answering, a common practice in that day and age. "Go on."
"Snowfall refuses to send aid to the Skywings. In foreign circles, I anticipate this will be a point of contention."
Shard hissed through his throat, and Stoat paused before his friend waved it away with a talon.
"I propose giving aid – covertly, of course, to Ruby's administration. In the long run it will undermine the queen, forcing her to shape up or ship out."
"That's treason."
Although Stoat's scales were rough, his gaze was focused, and his jaw was set forward in a way Shard would remember for a long time.
"It's not treason if it's an illegitimate queen."
Shard exhaled a deep breath. "So that's the way it is, then." He held out his talon, and Stoat looked down as if its extension were unexpected, then shook it.
"Do we trust the order with this?" asked Shard.
"No. Individuals you've known for a long time, who can handle a little hanky-panky, bring them in slowly. There's no guarantee we'll go too far."
"But who to do it with?" said Shard. "Two nobles visiting the Skywing kingdom isn't enough pomp to bring them down to size, and we'll be little help on the field if they're actually fighting something."
"Tough," said Stoat.
A moment passed.
"I have an idea," said Shard. He smiled.
"Yes yes yes, go on with it, I know what you're getting at."
"What about the security detail on our estates – yes, those dragons. We've got about two battalions each sitting around and doing little but draw their sentry pay and intimidate the peasantry."
Stoat worked his jaw. "If we sent them off to do real work, we'd still owe them the same amount – Icewings don't take combat pay, they just do the job."
"That's an excellent idea."
"You came up with it first."
"I did," said Shard. "Now, it's not enough to pat ourselves on the back. When ought we to do this?"
"As soon as I finish molting I'll have my detail on the way in a hurry," said Stoat. "No. That won't do. The queen knows of every dragon that traverses the border – she has to, or she risks rogue con-dragons stealing the bracelets. If we get the sentries going out in a trickle, all on apparently legitimate business, then arrange them to reorganize on the way to the Skywing Kingdom, we'd save ourselves a forest of trouble."
"I do agree," said Shard. "I have around two hundred Icewings in my employ subject to my discretion. The rest are either free agents or workers on the estate. Over a week's period or more, moving them in small groups throughout the day, it could work."
Ah, but it was good to be third circle. They did not quite own the huge fiefs of the first and second circle members, but they had pleasant lifestyles, ones which they had earned.
"For me it is the same." said Stoat. "We are of a similar station."
"I never thought it would be like that as a dragonet," said Shard. "I always bragged I would marry into first circle and you'd be a dead-end outpost guard, or end up in the peasantry."
Stoat chuckled. "And to my family I was saying the same thing about you."
"Ha. At any rate, we still need supply for those dragons, and arms, if yours have any trained in a weapon-using discipline."
Here Stoat shook his head. "They are all excellent melee fighters; I trust yours are as well. Weapons – they give an advantage, but when they are gone their wielder is almost useless in a fight. An Icewing's weapon is his body -"
"And his honor his creed," said Shard. "That simplifies things. Still, this all seems so sudden."
"It's just another political play. They all are," said Stoat. He tapped his horn. "Some moves have more force behind them than others."
July 13th, 5,015: Somewhere in the Mudwing Kingdom
"Take care while I'm gone," Thrush said. "Act honorably. Part of that means absolutely no one, whatsoever the circumstances, come hell or high water, is getting laid while we're here. Forget it." He let the words hang in the air for impact.
"Think! And for spirit's sake, don't cause problems. Treat every Rainwing like a prince. I shouldn't have to hammer it into your heads how important it is to be on good terms with them, but here I am telling you anyway."
Smiles in the crowd. They were near their original number again – a few Mudwings had gone with Wells from when they were at the peak of their strength, and many more had died along the roadside on the long journey here.
"Stay near the river. Always travel in twos or threes, so you won't get lost. Moving on, ask a Rainwing about everything you kill; half the stuff here is poisonous."
He was saying this, and he was going to come back and find three guys were dead from eating strange mushrooms and eight more were in the infirmary.
"And one last word; don't kill any sloths. Questions?"
In the military, either you had a lot to ask or you buttoned your mouth up tight. There was a moment's pause in the wooded area in which he was holding the briefing, like water building up in a dam, and then the new soldiers released a torrent all at once, while the veterans leaned back and smiled.
"What if we get attacked?"
"How are we supposed to deal with the bugs?"
"Will we see any Nightwings?"
Eventually the words blurred together and Thrush couldn't handle it. "Quiet!" he shouted. "One at a time please."
He pointed to a soldier at random. "Question?"
"Who's running around making sure things are good with the Rainwings? Is that all of us or just one or two guys?"
"You're asking who the liaison is, correct?"
The dragon nodded. "Yeah."
Captain Thrush had already given this an hour's thought after receiving the message, but he rifled his chain of logic once more to ensure it was sound.
Not the lieutenant, who would be tied up with managing a hundred soldiers. Not Falcon. The dragon was too impetuous, as evidenced by his filching a spyglass from the enemy midair. Come to think of it, all of his corporals had a streak for the recklessly courageous. There was one, however, who could field more bullshit than the others.
"Corporal Stonecrop," said Thrush.
The dragon was mute red when his scales were old, as they were now. After his shedding a tinge of yellow adorned the fringes for a few months until the edges wore down.
"Next."
"What if we get attacked?"
The eyes of the group flicked to the soldier when he asked. It was their main concern.
"You will defend yourselves promptly and professionally," said Thrush. "Stay frosty, stay organized. Don't worry about burning the rainforest if they come – by then our hosts will have more to worry about. One more question."
"Do we get to meet any Nightwings?"
Thrush's response was quick.
"If you see any."
It was a blow struck under the chest. Thrush smiled at his quick wit for a moment, then drew quiet for a while to let his words sink in. At last he spoke. "Take care boys."
He was standing in front of a mob of soldiery, all arrayed on the forest floor between two trees on each side and a copse of weird shrubbery behind them (Peril couldn't attend). Now his dragons surged forward and he shook their right talons, quickly now. He would not be gone long, but they pressed up against him, getting as close as they could. Last of all was Falcon, who pumped Thrush's talon until it was wrung out.
"We think you're fair, Cap," he said.
Falcon meant more than his words. Thrush nodded and turned towards the low-hanging tree branch where he'd last seen his Rainwing guide looking for him – Liana, her name had been.
She was not there, or at least she did not seem to be. The sun's diffused light cast a faint shadow on the brown trunk that was neither that of leaf nor bough.
"Ha ha, very funny," said Thrush. "Come on out."
The Rainwing materialized from thin air, as if she'd been there all along. The letter from Glory had warned him that Liana wasn't a team player, and Thrush already saw what it meant.
"It's a decent flight," she said. "Come on."
Thrush leaned his spear against a tree and picked up a light javelin, stuffing it under his wing in the flight jacket.
"Of course," he said, annoyance tinting his voice.
She took off and he followed, letting her guide the way while his mind churned.
Great, diplomacy; two dragons lying to each other about their and their nation's intent, just so feelings wouldn't be hurt. He meant what he'd said in that speech, every word of it. Statesdragons had a way of twisting their words, of shifting from one allegiance to another like the changing of the tide. He watched Liana, whose arms shifted to match her surroundings though her body remained bright and her eyes alert. It must be an unconscious tic, then – a habit born of lengthy time spent invisible, whether moving or stock-still: guarding the queen or other Rainwings of note.
Thrush's eye-scales twitched. He didn't know many noteworthy Rainwings. There was Kinkajou, yes, from the Darkstalker Incident, and Jambu, who was Glory's brother if he remembered right, and a few renowned healers, as well as traders who'd begun caravans in recent years. His memory skimped on their names.
He had to be cautious of more than Rainwing intrigue, as dangerous as it was; invisible assassins with deadly venom could be in the trees any minute, waiting for the right moment to kill him. And the higher-ups wanted to make this tribe more vicious; what a hoot. He huffed through his nose, ducking another branch as he flew, his mind turning to another worry: too much R&R could make his troops soft, so he'd give them as much as they deserved, nothing more. There was no rest for poor Peril, either. One misstep and the trees would burn.
A glance at Liana revealed a furrowed brow, nothing more; either the Rainwings were being extraordinarily gracious or they weren't worried at all. He flicked his ear, first because he was annoyed at all the possibilities, then because there was a mosquito probing for a tasty blood vessel and he wasn't about to stop flying just because he needed to scratch. There wasn't a crag in sight, but there were plenty of tree limbs behind him and beside him and all around him; vines and thick foliage that sighed as he passed.
"Remind me why we're flying under the canopy again?" he asked.
Liana shrugged. "I like it this way."
"We'll go faster above the trees," said Thrush. He shifted his balance and rose with the next wing-beat, punching through the leafy top cover, an explosion of leaves swirling around him on his way out. Liana was behind him, he thought, then looked back and caught a flash of blue-gold chasing him – no, at his side.
A subtle nod of his head conveyed his appreciation. This Rainwing was faster than he'd thought, and he had only to slow down a touch before she was in the lead again, following an invisible path to the capital, to Glory.
So they went, passing above towering trunks that went down and down to the forest floor, which was so blanketed with leaves that the ground itself was intangible, and the jungle was less of a thick wood than an abyss. No matter how fast he flew he was always standing still; a red speck becalmed on the face of a green sea with a shifting countenance. Here and there a Rainwing popped out of the trees, or flew low above the dappled greenery, but most of the action occurred beneath him, quietly and invisibly.
Gradually, however, that changed. The light green color of the leaves shifted to a darker hue, then was blotted out by daylight mists that coiled beneath the vines and mossy boughs. Soon Liana landed, as did Thrush, perching on a high treetop where the bark crackled and sloughed away under his grip, stringy bits falling down, down, down into the abyss, swallowed as surely as if they were stones thrown into the ocean.
"Will you eat?"
Thrush grunted. He could take lunch flying if he had to. Liana hopped down to a lower bough; took an orange, furry-looking fruit from her pouch and sliced it open with a talon, then ate it slice by slice, unbothered by the citrus-smelling juice.
Skywings didn't eat growing things; it gave them indigestion. Thrush sampled the wind currents, wrinkled his nose and snorted: there were too many unfamiliar scents and crossbreezes, and the acidic tang of fruit still saturated the atmosphere. His sense of smell was useless, for now.
He turned to the Rainwing on the branch beneath him.
"Done yet?"
She nodded.
"Anything you wanted to say?"
"No," she said. "I assume you want to get to the capital faster."
She was right, although it was unwise of her to make assumptions, Thrush thought. Skywings and Rainwings were too different. He spread his wings and took off, the tree whipsawing behind him after the jump, the brief feeling of weightlessness as he reached his apex, and then the sudden thump as his wings pumped motionless air. Leaves hissed in his wake, and Liana followed, again keeping pace with him, though he wasn't flying at his best pace just yet.
So he told himself.
When the afternoon heat had reached its stifling height; when the sky boiled like a cauldron and when the air felt deathly still, Thrush's mind flicked back to his men. He could've taken a few of them along to the capital, oh well. They'd have to make do themselves; ninety young soldiers with about a dozen mature dragons to keep them in line, all strangers to the locals… that could only turn out swimmingly. Sarcasm aside, they were there for a just cause and they knew it, and as long as they held on to their honor they'd be alright.
His lips curled; a smile without humor. Honor. The word wasn't what it used to be. Its reputation had been tarnished when Scarlet came into power; scorched during the Sandwing Atrocities when Skywings helped Burn against Blaze's guerrilla war; savagely torn when the queen opened the arena, and the last remains dragged through the mud when his tribe sent dragonets to war.
A slight breeze buffeted him from the side and he nosed into it to keep a straight course.
Dragons like him, Peregrine… Harrier, they were the people that kept the custom going; keyed down compared to what it used to be, but perhaps that was a good thing. Honor was an confusing, inefficient institution back in the old days, but that system had been broken down, and a new one had a chance to form, even all these years after Scarlet's death. Someday it'd be made as it was meant to be.
Lengthening shadows fell across the jungle's interior. Now the only color was in the treetops; beneath them there were specks of yellow sunlight on the leaves; under them, nothing.
Suddenly screaming broke out in the forest: he recoiled, flaring his wings and sweeping left with his head on a swivel, looking for the source of the noise. It would've been better if he'd brought a larger spear instead of this pint-sized javelin, but it would have to make do for now… why was Liana laughing?
"You got fooled by the howlers," she said. "They scare foreigners a lot."
Seeing his weapon in his talons, he returned it to its sheath, though he had no memory of taking it out.
"Should've seen your face," Liana went on. "Priceless."
She could've told him about that, he thought, but kept silent. Some pranks weren't worth reacting to.
"How common are they?" he asked.
"More so in this area of the woods," said Liana. "In the north as well. In other places they're uncommon but not unexpected. We don't get many of them in Hammockon."
He nodded, still flying, but now keeping an extra eye on his Rainwing guide. She was competent, but that didn't mean she was likable. That silly, mischievous manner concealed force and intelligence, and it was a bad idea to get mixed up with a dragon who combined such deception and brutality. Queen Glory kept odd company.
Wait, Hammockon?
That was another mystery to be cleared up later, if he had the time, though he likely would if the capital was as slow-going as he'd feared. At least the Rainwings had quick response times. He'd only been in the forest for only two days before they received news and got back to him, which presumably meant Glory was a short distance away – only he'd been flying for hours and there wasn't a dragon in sight. It had to be relays.
It didn't take long for sweet irony to betray his thinking.
A small silhouette bobbed in the air up ahead; angular like a dragon, and too steady in flight for it to be anything else. Distances were odd in the south, he'd learned. The air was different from where he came from; an atmosphere where he could see a hundred miles on a clear day; an atmosphere that foreigners called 'Big Sky'.
More shapes appeared, both in the north and in the south, converging towards a point ahead of him; an attractor in the forest that he couldn't see. Then he drew closer, and he belayed that thought; the canopy had been cleared in places, and the shorter trees trimmed down so the taller ones would stand out; a subtle touch, but an effective one.
It was a small place, to the casual observer, but a practiced eye like Thrush's soon saw that the boughs were crawling with dragons, dozens of them, hundreds of them, while the trunks of the jungle were bent together by the weight of connecting platforms and shrouds, running maze-like like paths through an aerial thicket. The Rainwings had been busy since he'd read the Skywing primer about them.
"This is the place?" he said, raising his voice to make himself heard above his wingbeats. That was why they hadn't talked much on the flight.
"Yes," shouted Liana. "There is more under the trees."
They swept above the top cover, skirting the edges of the town under-leaf, a score of eyes following him along the way. Black forms skirted the long afternoon shadows, melding with the darkness as if they were the shadows themselves, Nightwings, or Rainwings pretending to be Nightwings, for at this distance it was impossible to tell which was which. That their tribe could've been so legendary for so long, become tarnished by the debunking of their powers, and then return to mystery in a few short years… things had changed since he was born.
Liana flared in front of him, then glided into a hole in the canopy, which Thrush dutifully entered. It was like flying in a green tunnel, cut from the jungle and handsomely maintained ever since. Orange light flashed against his scales, and then he was underneath the top layer: illumination fading interminably into ambient darkness.
A platform stood in front of him, growing bigger and bigger with every moment, until he was upon it, dumping speed and touching down with a thump and a creak; a squeaking noise from the supporting shrouds. There was an unnaturally dense aspect to these forests, for they were unimaginably lush in these parts; his surroundings so dense a battalion could've marched only a hundred yards away from him and he would barely have remarked their presence.
To the side stood another Rainwing, a dragoness Liana spoke to for a moment. The two bumped tails for good measure, and then the stranger flew off, leaving Thrush with his guide on a souped-up hammock perhaps nine-hundred feet square.
"I've sent word to Glory," she said. "You should hear back by tonight, if she has time."
"Will she?"
"She's been reclusive of late," said Liana. "No one can tell. The best case is we'll be in her presence within three hours."
"That'd be quick," said Thrush. He looked around, taking in the smell, noting the scent of honey. "Your capital is close to the edge of the forest."
"We didn't know much about the outside when we set it up," said his guide. "You're right, that is a concern. She may want your help as much as you want hers."
So that was another thing that was convenient to say now, instead of earlier so he'd have more time to process the news. Again Thrush let it slide.
"Your tribe looks like it has everything it wants," he said. "I'm not sure what I can do to help."
Liana didn't say anything for a minute. When she spoke, it was in that roundabout way which made Thrush so annoyed at many dragons in Scarlet's old court, and a few in Ruby's.
"You may be asked to make speeches, demonstrations, and so on," she said. "Dragons are interested in foreigners, and we'll want to make that interest last."
He noted that she hadn't told him why.
"Nothing I won't agree with," he said. Though he was in their rainforest, standards had to be drawn.
"It won't be too straining," said Liana. "I'm sure you're looking forward to seeing your troops again."
Amen, thought Thrush. He spoke aloud. "Let's wait."
Far and away an even, measured voice cut the atmosphere, and a lower, insinuating tone crept through it, filling the air beneath and beside and around him. His ears swiveled, finding the words and tracing them to their source; just outside, perhaps twenty feet beneath the platform, and eighty more to the south; to the left of the sun, which shone calmly on him, warming and cooling as the leaves rose and fell.
A hush swallowed the woods, and Thrush took it in, his mind aware of the quiet even as it turned inwards. He'd sacrifice much for supplies – perhaps too much. The Rainwings held more food than his soldiers could ever gather themselves, and they had something else, a commodity soldiers drink like water. Information. The rainforest courier system was efficient, and repurposed correctly it'd be an excellent system for intelligence: news he could use, so to speak. So then, that was his plan; to make concessions in return for supplies and information.
He could always send a subordinate to represent him if the official dealings became laborious.
Wings fluttered and his eyes darted downwards, to the rising mass that quickly took form, sharpening and becoming a dragon; a dragon who wore no crown, though her bearing made her worthy of one. She was taller than he expected; half a head shorter than him, but a foot higher than everyone else; her scales retained a sharp color even in the early dusk, contrasting with Liana's soft, smooth hues.
Liana bowed.
"My Queen."
A slight breath through Glory's nose mirrored Thrush's huff in miniature. He had plans for how this was going to go, but she did too.
"Liana," said Glory. "Guard us."
The Rainwing bowed, then vanished into the dappled lighting. Her shadow moved and twisted on the floor, making the shrouds creak: Thrush's eyes darted to the ropes and when they looked back Liana was gone.
"So," he said, looking around; "The trees are alive in Hammockon."
Silence; no reaction. Had she taken offense? No, she stood perfectly still.
"Yes," she said, after a pause. "The unofficial name is Hammockon."
He nodded, fixing his complexion in a stern, thoughtful way. Liana was going to take acid for this. Not that he cared. He caught Glory's face and a cold talon wended a path to his innards; her snout was a perfect mask, better even than his, which he saw in the reflection from her keen eyes. Camouflage was the Rainwing mode, and she'd taken that a step further.
The effect was un-dragon, he thought. She must want one of his assets: his soldiers or his time, or his connection to Ruby. The latter made more sense given the political context, although, Liana had mentioned speeches, and so she might be looking to use both time and network.
"Nothing untoward," he said.
"I would not ask that of a soldier from my friend."
"Good."
She hadn't asked him to kowtow yet.
"I've been working to get involved from the moment I heard about this war," said Glory. "I would like Skywings to train Rainwings inwarfighting."
Wait, what?
"You have Nightwings," said Thrush. "I can ill afford to spare soldiers to teach Rainwings while the enemy advances unimpeded. When I came down from the Mudwing kingdom I saw hundreds, near a thousand of them, or more."
He could only do so much on his own, a little voice said. He could use Glory's help.
"Nightwings use assassin's tactics," said Glory. "Useful, but not what you need on the battlefield. In exchange for training, we'd like to give you supplies; enough to continue your war from here, or resupply for a fight beyond our borders."
"Would you aid us even if we didn't stay?" asked Thrush.
For the second time the Rainwing queen paused. "Yes. I have good dragons here to help you work out the details."
"Acceptable," said Thrush. "But by any chance did you want me making speeches?"
"I'd appreciate a dragon from your group coming to talk about war; not in an embellished way, a sunshine and happiness way, but a real way," said Glory. "Truth is more convincing than fiction, and Rainwings should make good decisions."
Scarlet cheated at cards in her youth, but Glory had an aversion to dishonesty, compared to other queens, and that was good to see in one her age. She was giving him straight answers and explaining those answers, but that didn't mean he had to like what he got.
"Give me time to consider."
"You'll have plenty," said Glory. "There's another thing I need to take care of, but before I do that there is a dragon I'd like you to meet."
She turned and spoke, quietly, to a patch of empty air. "Heliconia, run and get the general."
A flickering patch of darkness moved on the floor; the wall blurred, and then the distortion was gone, at least for a moment. It must've been one of her Death Guard. They couldn't all be like Liana, could they?
Hissed whispers filtered into the private room from outside, and then a curiously familiar Seawing stepped in. Thrush cocked his head.
The general was first to speak. "That's funny. We've met before; the peace agreements, oh twelve, at Agate Mountain back when I was a major and there were so many admirals around they had full colonels running errands."
Thrush raised his brow. "If we met then it wasn't for long."
"We talked in the break room after diplomatic hours," said the general. He flicked a talon. "You were the guy who thought Disarmament was a mistake and you were right. Might be why you haven't been promoted since."
"That makes too much sense," said Thrush. "The name's Thrush."
"Arrow," said the general. "Many thanks to the queen here, for reintroducing us."
"You're welcome," said the Rainwing queen. Her attention was half on them, half somewhere else. What an interesting sight they made; two officers and royalty stuffed onto a platform barely large enough to hold the three of them, with invisible guards hidden in the long, ghostly shadows.
A traditional Skywing greeting wouldn't fit, and he'd never learned what the Seawings used, so he'd have to make one up on the fly.
"Good currents and seas, I hope," said Thrush. "Although lately we've been in for a storm."
Arrow nodded, at the reference to the war. He paused, as if considering, then spoke in clipped tones. "We had a base out in the sea; perishable cargo we couldn't stash underwater. We knew the Hivewings were along before anyone else, and hid, but that blew up in our faces, so we came here."
A base, out in the middle of nowhere, with perishable goods – not supply, something else? That sounded like a spook kind of thing.
Thrush nodded. "And when did you arrive?"
"Here? Just this morning."
They exchanged the usual information: their force composition, how many of them were ready to fight, how much supply they had, intelligence, that sort of thing.
"So they're killing themselves now, eh?" Arrow said, upon hearing of Thrush's second-to-latest battle. "If they keep that up they'll all be in death's grip by next month, if not sooner."
"It reminds me of something else," said Thrush. "Like a dragonet's destructive flailing as it learns to move. When they were good, they were excellent, but when one hesitated they all did."
He shrugged and came to a lame conclusion. "I don't like it."
A moment of silence.
"I propose we coordinate our forces. We've got a common threat in the north and east, and an incentive to deal with it."
"Yes," said Arrow, "but, I don't have many dragons to spare."
At some point during the meeting, Thrush saw, Glory had left. She had things to deal with. So did he.
"Out of four-hundred dragons you could spare eighty at least."
"Many of them are technicians."
"Tech-whats?"
"VIPs," said Arrow. "They may be marines, but there's not a replacement for them on this continent. We have sentries, but they're not effective in the open, andthey're buildinga rainforest base of operationsthat's soaking up dragon-power."
"I see," said Thrush. Arrow had legitimate concerns, he did, but they were frustrating. "You'll be here more permanently than I will, training Rainwings."
"We're drawing up a deal, yes."
He'd found a coherent, sizeable friendly force in the middle of military nowhere, and they were unavailable. His hopes had a bad habit of turning into disappointment.
"I can't afford to stick around running dragons through boot, not when there's a war to fight. Maybe…"
He could shift the slightly wounded dragons from each patrol into training duty, teaching the Rainwings until they were skilled enough to take command. Plus, they had to have a few military thinkers and skilled martial artists in their ranks. Why did it feel like that wasn't enough?
"There's not much of a government here," said Arrow. "It's driving me nuts. You want something done, talk to the guys at the courier stops. They have a bit of management power, they can draw things up for you. There's the queen's adviser, but he's not around for one reason or another, and her staff are all in far-flung parts of the Rainforest. I talked to Glory earlier today; she's got a good head on her shoulders but not enough experience to back it up. Out of the blue she says, 'I'd like a regiment by September'."
Thrush shrugged. "It could be done."
Arrow looked around, peering through the now-dark foliage in a way that only Seawings could. "There's enough Rainwings to pull it off," he said, but there was a note of doubt in his voice.
Nobody wanted to be the guy to build a military from scratch.
"Liana -" said Thrush, "I know you're watching."
Nothing moved. If she wasn't there he was making a fool of himself in front of a general. Thrush cleared his throat. "Run down and get recruitment statistics, reserves, anything about your army."
A vague sensation of movement tickled his mind, though the trees were empty to his eyes; vacant, dark and foreboding, as hazy mists drifted beneath the light of a dim moon. He knew Rainwings were out there, but he couldn't see them, and the difference between what he saw and what he expected to see was enough to give him a headache; the aching fore-brain type that builds and builds and takes forever to go away.
"A light, if you please," said Arrow. "There's candles in the corner."
Thrush turned, feeling for the platform with each step. A mass moved in the corner; resolved into Arrow's shape, with a taper in talon: twice as tall as it was wide, clean-cut in form, with a straight wick that smelled like honey. That explained the scent from earlier. He took it in his claw and held it before his snout, air hissing briefly when he inhaled, finding the fire in his chest and coaxing it outwards, feeding it, letting it bloom, until a small flicker shot from between his jaws and touched off the wick.
He set it on a glass holder on the platform – the Rainwings bought glass? - then turned his head, looking for shadows and outlines in the trees which might be revealed by the flickering light.
Nothing.
In the daytime, with strong light and open ground, even a stationary Rainwing could be seen. Now, with pitch black void surrounding him, they could have been flying circles over his head and he never would have noticed. He listened for rustling, but if any of the guard moved the noise was obliterated by the whispering sound of the trees.
Suddenly a face appeared not ten feet from his own, and the body followed; blue-gold in color and lithe, huge wings playing out in the shadows. Liana, up to more mischief. She held scroll in her talon, though, and gave them to him.
"The best parchment, the very best," she said. "Imports."
He took the papers with a mumbled thanks, folding his wings so Arrow could come closer and look. What did the Rainwings export, medicines?
"Let's see what's in the documents," said Arrow.
"Sure," said Thrush. He unwound the rolls with a bony claw, sharp talons tracing scratches in the parchment. Unlike other dragons he knew, he chose not to have a writers' talon, and wrote with a quill or charcoal pencil when necessary, which also meant he didn't do much reading. "I wonder how she got them so quickly."
He didn't bother looking at her for an answer; he knew she'd be gone.
The papers were helpfully unhelpful. One of them was a registry of all the Rainwings who'd signed up for the Rainwing Reserve, only it was a personal information registry, and referred to a different one which had the number of recruits. Arrow helped him suss that document from the pile, and they discovered that yes, it did say how many recruits there were – for summer courier service. Eventually they did get the numbers for the Rainwing Reserve, and they were better than he expected and worse than he hoped.
"First day of the program, five dragons," said Thrush. "The next day, ten; twenty-something, fifty, and then it stays like that for the rest of the week, until yesterday when they didn't have any data available. Today's the thirteenth, so… they have two-hundred dragons already signed up."
"That doesn't mean anything," said Arrow.
"What?"
"It says here they just signed up to be in the reserve by giving their names and rough addresses. They haven't promised any tours of duty or entered training yet, they're just on a roster of potential recruits."
Fantastic, thought Thrush.
"So did any sign up for actual training?"
"There have been a few inducted into Nightwing martial schools," said Arrow. "The paperwork is iffy, the Rainwings don't know how many dragons are interested. Manydojos don't report to the system, too."
"So that's why Glory wants us to be around. She wants to show Rainwings the world needs help."
"She can't do that if all they see is us guzzling resources," said Arrow. "Last I heard taxation was next to nothing. The queen rules on a throne of goodwill."
"Fifty dragons for the next week..." Thrush rubbed his head, doing the arithmetic. "Another three-hundred dragons or so. If we could get half the dragons on there to sign up, that's three sorties' worth, almost. Six weeks of basic combined with a week or two of camo might be good enough."
"But they won't have officers."
"True."
Arrow tapped his talons. "Nightwings as officers, or a few of us as officers in the field, and then Rainwings running intelligence, that should work. The biggest thing is drilling discipline into them, so they'll go into battle right."
That sounded distressingly like the sole requirement for Burn's lieutenants in the latter years of the war: that they be brave.
"Two-fifty against thousands," said Thrush. "They'll have an odd doctrine."
"To say the least," said Arrow. "I'd send out the call, see how many I get in a week, then put them in a boot camp set up in the meantime. Which one of your sergeants is best at giving a speech?"
"Corporal. It works differently with us. I'll think of one soon enough."
"I can spare forty soldiers to run the training. Joint management is going to give me a headache."
"Yep."
Flying back and forth between two command structures trying to coordinate their logistics sounded like his idea of a bad day. An unexpected voice disrupted his thoughts.
"Finished deliberating, lieutenant?"
"Just getting started," said Thorn.
Glory was back.
"We have intelligence on an enemy installation you'll want to hear about."
A scoop, so soon? It might be genuine, but then, Thorn knew there was no cadet dumber than the to-be intelligence officer. That was the way the joke went.
"Good to hear."
He'd send back one of his subordinates – no, maybe. He wanted to be there, to strike back at the enemy, but his second was already good at doing that. Meanwhile, the Rainwings wanted him here, helping them in the long-term.
Glory stared at him for a moment, perhaps annoyed that he was preoccupied.
"We've found a weak point in enemy territory," she said. She looked over her shoulder. "Deathbringer, please."
A Nightwing stepped out of the shadows as stealthily as any Rainwing, though he was taller than most of that rainforest tribe; taller than Glory, taller perhaps, Thrush realized, even than him.
"Good evening," he said.
The second thing Thrush noticed was the scars; a dozen old ones, and two new cuts along the Nightwing's sides, caked with dark blood.
"Evening," he said.
Arrow didn't care what time it was.
"I and two others found an enemy supply depot not far from the border of the rainforest," said Deathbringer. "We know where it is, and we have a good idea of its layout, as well as its guard complement, size, and stores. At the time of my visit the number of soldiers was low: about two-score."
Straight to brass tacks; with hardly an introduction. This was Thrush's kind of briefing.
"Is there a map?" asked Arrow.
"Two, compiled from my and my colleague's observations into a master map, which is presently being copied."
Wait – hadn't he said he had two accomplices?
"Do we need you to guide us there, or did you obtain a fix?" asked Thrush.
"We had nothing to make a fix, but the Rainwing can guide you."
Arrow would stay here anyway, digging in and training Rainwings on the side. They might want him here, but they didn't need his time as badly as he did.
"My unit can be ready for an operation in two days," said Thrush, thinking of the time it'd take him to return, and to regroup. "I'm glad for the intelligence. With a more detailed briefing, I can create a battle plan."
"We'll do that then," said Deathbringer. "There's a platform with a table and more space two hundred yards from here. Follow me."
So he did.
Planning a military operation is not as exciting as it sounds. While they are often assigned codenames, these monikers are more for file organization than for any cool sound: it doesn't do to call an endeavor Operation Triumph and then fail miserably; nor does any mother want to learn that her son has died on Doodad Beach. Thrush made that clear from the start. Soon he picked a solid name, one from a successful raid on Mudwing staging areas back in '03: Operation Maple Driftwood.
Arrow could move fifty dragons to join up with Thrush's expeditionary unit in four days, but that wasn't quick enough: best to strike while the iron was soft, while the Hivewings were weak and the intelligence was still up to date. The Rainwing would head out before the strike group, which was to be the entirety of Thrush's forces minus one wing assigned to Hammockon for the duration.
On the afternoon of the 15th Thrush would leave his position on the edge of the rainforest at full speed, guided by Deathbringer, who'd bring them to an agreed-upon rendezvous where the Rainwing would hopefully be waiting, equipped with the latest intelligence. If he didn't make it, the mission turned into a standard Skywing search-and-destroy action; if he did, the expeditionary force would proceed with a modification of their basic battle plan.
Thrush wanted a strong attack on the base from the south comprised of most of his forces, while a few others – two wings at most – would circle to the east, fighting a delaying action against any reinforcements while simultaneously cutting off the Hivewings' most direct escape route. Any wasps breaking out would have to head west, into unfamiliar territory; if the base was sacked quickly enough, Thrush would follow up with a search-and-destroy in that direction.
He would then revert to a one-day patrol before returning to their FOB in the rainforest, where Arrow's second-in-command and fifty marines would be waiting.
Thrush hadn't seen the marines fight in a long time, and he didn't know what to expect with these guys. They weren't Royal Marines – those guys were the cream of the crop – but the regular kind, better than most units but worse than a few.
The best comparison were Blister's regulars during the old war; well-equipped Sandwings with crossbows, spears, and a strange, thick cloth armor; armor which had an uncanny resistance to fire. The most glaring difference between the two forces' equipment was that marines often carried square shields that they strapped to their left arms, while their dominant talon wielded a spear.
His mind flicked back to the Wells character he'd met during his travels. That dragon was a marine; he had the sergeant's patch. He might be dead by now, or he might be alive.
"Suggestion," said Thrush. He and Arrow were on equal terms, being outside each other's chain of command, but intimidation dwelt in the fighting general's patch. "We should make contact with resistance groups in occupied areas: many of their dragons escaped into the wild territories and are either fighting back or sitting tight. They'll be useful for intelligence, and since many will be veterans it's possible to recruit them into the Rainwing forces as well."
"Noted," said Arrow. "We always suspected they existed but we had no proof."
"They're a tough people."
"Yes, but starving. Cut off from the delta, the only food coming from the Hivewings, they'll have to run away or give in. No civilians will import food to a war area."
Thrush tipped his head to the side, stretching his neck. "Another thing to worry about. I'm turning in; I need to leave first thing tomorrow."
"Night."
"Night."
A/N: Maple Driftwood was a British SAS raid on railroads that were supporting objectives in Fascist Italy. I thought the name was a good one, so I took it and ran with it. Feel free to look up the operation's actual result. . .
As always, it's been good. Take care, Black out.
