He was back at base, somehow, everything back to before the enemy invaded and burned it all to the pits. He and the boys were drinking and laughing, gambling the souvenirs they'd picked up in the nearly three weeks spent on this muddy, Clearsight-forsaken continent. The locals were pushovers; arrive in force, and they'd barely put up a fight.
No one expected trouble.
They should have.
Allele tossed another chip on the table, noting the white haze in the corners of his eyes. The past was the past, and this was another dream. He'd enjoy it while it lasted. The dragons around him went silent, focused on the game, the gambling beads in their talons waiting for the dealer to roll the dice, each wearing the same expression on his face.
Suddenly, the chips fell through the table. Allele fell forward as if pulled, his face racing towards the dark, swirling pit that suddenly was not a table at all, it was a whirling mist of shadows, a pit determined to swallow him up -
He was falling into a den of vipers.
The shadows whispered at the edge of his consciousness.
And Clearsight, what was that loud noise?
Water splashed outside, waking Allele from sleep. More water swished as someone dipped a pail into the rain barrel outside, then splashed it again over the ground. A talon-wide rill of water seeped in under the doorway, then reached a crack in the rough-hewn wood and dripped away, down to the jungle far below.
He groaned as he rolled off said wooden floor; he'd never complain about the austere bunks on the home continent again, never. Two months ago he had never seen trees except in illustrations, now he was high above the ground in a treehouse, morning's pale light filtering through the cracks in the walls, the cool, humid air quietly stirring the leaves above and the branches below.
It was his first morning here – they'd moved him out of the old military base last night, into this new, unfamiliar prison under guard (and of course, they couldn't be bothered to give him a proper hammock nor even a bed of straw to sleep in).
A fly landed on his ear and he flicked it off, only for it to come back again. Fine. Be that way. The little bastard started making himself at home.
He reached for his time-keeping stick, etched another notch in it with his talon. The fly buzzed in front of his face, just out of reach.
Twelve days. By the natives' timekeeping, that must make this the second day of their seventh month. He blinked the sleep from his eyes, then – when that wasn't enough – stuck his tongue up to both his eyeballs and licked away the rime.
Ha. His sisters could only get up to their noses.
There had been a dream before that dream, one he couldn't quite remember. One where he had to fight at all costs, where his own life meant nothing at all. Where spilling a drop of the enemy's blood was more important than sparing a bucket of his own.
A bugle sounded off close by, the clear notes accompanied by the alternating rumble of war drums. Reveille, except not the reveille he was used to. The "Skywings" never used drums in their camp, only the bugle.
Knuckles rapped against wood as a dragon undid the lashes on the door, and then it swung open, revealing Falcon.
"Up," said the oriole-orange colored dragon. Allele rose from his knees, his slender legs contrasting unfavorably against the Skywing's toned, built form. "Here's some food, you'll need it."
He gave Allele a basket with a few pieces of fruit (disgusting, not even the natives liked it), but more importantly meat. Warm meat. Food. The first he'd seen in weeks.
If it was poisoned, Allele didn't care. He snatched the basket and started cramming his mouth, uncaring of the mess he made. Heated, salted, tasted a bit like the gazelle he'd had at home, twice a year. Falcon stood back and smirked as he watched Allele eat.
"What?" asked Allele, though it must have come out with a mumble. He'd learned that word pretty quick, along with "Why", "How", and "Screw off".
"Thought you'd like it, is all," said Falcon. "A dragon needs his food."
Funny, because for the last two weeks they'd been trying to give him scours. Allele knew the drill; underfeed the prisoners and they can't escape. It was a time-honored tactic and it must have made their quartermaster happy, since it didn't matter how much dragons suffered if a mere scrap could be saved.
"Why?" he asked. Why would they suddenly feed him so well?
Falcon grinned, exposing rows of razor-sharp teeth. "We've got work to do."
A voice shouted outside, "WELCOME TO CAMP FORTITUDE! Up, up, up! Move those lazy tails. You can sleep when you're dead." Allele heard wingbeats circling the camp, the sergeant yelling at the top of his lungs. "For every dragon who's not out here in ONE MINUTE, you're all running a lap!"
It sounded like Falcon's partner in crime, that dusty sergeant with hints of yellow on his scales. Stonecrop, that was it. Allele left the fruit in the basket and stepped outside, looking down from the deck.
The tree he was on overlooked a natural glade, with a brook running down the east side. Dozens of Rainwings had been busy clearing brush on the night he arrived, and now he knew why.
They had turned the place into a training camp. Hastily built tents lined the edge of the forest, while cauldrons hung over firepits near the brook for the mess. A path led away from the camp and into the jungle – must be a running course – and they'd even managed to dig out a square fighting pit.
For a quick-and-dirty native hack job, it was pretty good. Yeah, there'd been Rainwings training around the Skywing bivouac they called Little Rainburrow, but that group hadn't been this big or this organized.
Allele's thoughts turned sober. Their intelligence reports had said there were only a few dragons in this new land – the mud-colored dragons that he had seen in droves, some that lived in the sea, a few of the red-colored ones that hung about the mountains.
They had never mentioned jungle dragons, or tan-colored dragons, or those 'Icewings' he'd heard of. Nor had the briefings ever bothered to inform him that the enemy breathed fire.
How many more tribes were out there that they didn't know about? How big was this place? The swamps alone stretched for more than two days' flight, and what he'd seen of the Rainforest seemed to go on without end.
As if on cue, his eyes fell upon a black-scaled dragon standing in the fighting pit, a dragon his eyes had skimmed over the first time. He wasn't just a dark-scaled brown, he was ebony black, with a stockier build than any Rainwing. Said Rainwings stumbled out of their tents and hammocks, cursing all the way, and the stranger grinned.
"Who?" asked Allele, pointing at the stranger. "And what?"
"Oh," said Falcon, his cheery demeanor vanishing instantly. "That's a Nightwing. Dunno what he's doing here but -" and he trailed off, smoke drifting from his nostrils.
Wait.
A Nightwing?
"Deathbringer," hissed Falcon. "I shoulda known."
"What about him?" asked Allele.
"He ain't good. He's a good fighter, but he ain't good."
"What do you mean he ain't good? Moons, a real Nightwing," said Allele, leaning forward. "Mind reading, prophecy, the whole shebang."
"Something like that," said Falcon, rolling his eyes.
"You don't understand," said Allele. Clearsight was a Nightwing and the Hivewings came from Clearsight – he was looking at a real live cousin of the Hivewing race! "You should be bowing before your lord. The Nightwings can see two thousand years into the future, build nations, tame seas."
". . . hey kid, are you mad?" asked Falcon.
"You're the mad one if you can't see the facts," said Allele. "I've heard a lot of stories about these guys, can't wait to meet 'em."
What didn't make sense was why the Nightwings hadn't already turned over Pyrrhia to Wasp's rule. Was it a family feud? Was this whole invasion about restoring the world to its rightful rulers?
"This conversation went from zero to cord fire really quick," observed Falcon. "Where in the moons did you hear about the Nightwings?"
"Clearsight is the mother of our race, of course."
Falcon groaned. "That's not possible," he said.
"Wrong," said Allele. Nightwings made anything possible.
"If two dragons of different tribes mate, their offspring are barren," said Falcon. "No dragonets, no mingling of tribes. If one of you has dragonets with the silk – weird spindly looking whatevers, whatsit -"
"Silkwings," said Allele.
"If one of you makes a hybrid with a Silkwing, that hybrid can't have dragonets, correct?" said Falcon.
"True."
"So therefore Clearsight can't be the ancestor of your tribe, because she's a Nightwing, and her offspring can't produce dragonets, correct?"
"That's where you're wrong."
Falcon growled, smoke curling from his nostrils. "Holy shit, why do I even bother arguing with you?"
"You can't, because I'm right."
Another dragon caught Allele's attention.
"Who's that guy?" he asked, pointing to a blue-eyed Skywing observing the proceedings. He was long and thin, and wisps of smoke puffed from his scales every so often. The very grass lost its color beneath him, turning brown as Allele watched.
Falcon winced. "Peril. She's – different."
So that was how female Skywings looked. Heat waves roiled off her back as Allele watched, roasting any flies that blundered too close. He wished he had something like that – his own personal bug shield.
"Is every Skywing dragoness like that?" asked Allele.
"No," said Falcon. "Actually, yes. Totally. They only emerge from their dens once a year, which is why you've never seen any."
"Ah."
Stonecrop landed, eyeing the sleepy, grumbling crowd like a coiled viper about to strike. He had a few more Skywings with him, dragons Allele had seen hanging around the Little Rainburrow camp, though he didn't remember if they were officers.
"Line up! Two deep! Tallest in the back!" called Stonecrop. Smoke boiled from his nostrils as he watched the Rainwings trip over themselves to get in a line – there were over fifty of them, maybe a hundred. They could hardly fit in the glade, and suddenly Allele knew why Stonecrop had brought the extra Skywings – he couldn't handle this many recruits on his own.
"By some moons-arranged miracle, you all got out on time," he said, and gave that a moment to sink in. "You can feel proud of yourselves now that you've managed to complete a task so basic that every real soldier can do it in his sleep. I won't treat you like dragonets – you either know what you're in for, or you were so drunk when you signed up that Queen Glory herself can't save you. That said – five laps, running! And for every one I see cheating, you're doing another lap. Go. GO!"
He started forward at them and they all went off down the path.
Falcon shook his head. "Those boys are too out of shape, if Rainwings are ever in shape to fight at all," he said. "But we'll see. They'd beat you, though. Doesn't take much to beat you."
"Bet," said Allele.
"My coin's on these boys on their first day," said Falcon. "You just haven't got the blood."
Idiot. Allele's parentage went back three generations, clean as a whistle. "What do you know?" he hissed.
Falcon scoffed. "What do I know? You went down like a sack of potatoes when we rounded you up, and you've been spineless since. What makes you think you can fight?"
He delivered the lines so quickly they left Allele reeling, not expecting all this from the normally reserved sergeant. He didn't look angry so much as he looked like an instructor quoting straight facts.
"Wrong," said Allele. The meat churned in his belly, gave him energy. He could go five rounds with his drill sergeant now, run a dozen laps. "I've got better blood than you Clearsight-forsaken bastards ever will."
"Doesn't mean you can fight," said Falcon, his wings uncurling.
They went from neatly folded up around his body to taking up a few feet on either side of him. If a fight started Allele would pull at his wings to keep him in range, then come in with a tail-spike to the chest. That ought to do it.
Below them, Sergeant Stonecrop went by at an easy gallop, five seconds ahead of the first Rainwing runner. The rest panted along ten seconds behind him, huffing for air, while Stonecrop's deputies followed at a lazy, long-legged walk.
"You wanna go?" challenged Allele.
"If you really wanted to fight you'd have already attacked me," said Falcon. "Pathe -"
Allele led with a leap forward and a slash at Stonecrop's long wings – wings that whirled in front of his eyes as the Skywing stepped in and shoulder-checked Allele. The world blurred for a moment and then the hardwood floor came into all-too-perfect focus.
"Ow."
"Well," said Falcon, "I was right."
"Can't keep me down… that easy."
"Right, after I give you a minute to get up," said Falcon. "You're lucky that refined blood of yours isn't trickling out your corpse."
Allele pushed himself to his talons, teeth gritted. "How 'bout another round?"
"I like your style," said Falcon. "Save it. Can't have you too bruised to fight the Rainwings when the time comes."
"I'd kill 'em."
"Perhaps," deadpanned Falcon. "You move fast and you're smart enough to go for the weak spot, that's good. Problem is, most of you boys fight the same. Where'd you learn, your training?"
Allele nodded, still tense. He was still a prisoner, and if Falcon ever started losing talon-to-talon he could open his jaws and burn Allele to a crisp.
"That explains it. So if the first strike fails, what do you do?"
Falcon waited intently, his stance still casual, but ready to leap into action in the blink of an eye.
"They didn't do much on unarmed combat," said Allele. "But if you miss, you pull back like so…"
He spent a good half-hour like that, training with Falcon while the Rainwings ran on below, running to the point of exhaustion. They stumbled to a halt when Stonecrop let them, dragons collapsing to the ground like puppets with their strings cut.
"Stand up," said Stonecrop. "Stand up!"
The Rainwings had run a marathon long enough to make Allele's legs ache even when he was at his best in basic. For these fresh recruits it must've been hell. Clearsight's book, he didn't know if some of them could get up under their own power.
Stonecrop marched over to one of the Rainwings that was still lying on the ground, grabbed him by the scruff andwrenched him to his feet. "You will stand, you will run, you will even piss when you are told. When I tell you to jump, you're in the air before you even THINK about asking how high. Stand!"
The dragons creaked to their feet, scales turning red with anger.
"Orders are orders! It does not matter if you hate your commanding officer, it does not matter if you want to kill your commanding officer, you follow orders. Why?"
"Becau -" one began.
"Shut," said sergeant Stonecrop. "You follow orders because the alternative is even worse. When privates order privates you do not have an army, you have a herd of moons-damned cats. And you will scatter like leaves in the wind. This is not because I hate you, this is because I need you to survive what is coming. Without discipline, your unit is nothing."
He paused, letting that sink in.
"You're breathing easier now, aren't you," he said. "When you stand, your lungs get more air than when you lay down. Right?"
"Right," said a Rainwing – "sir."
"In the interest of discipline, I am separating you into ten groups, known as wings. Each wing will be led by a Rainwing, and there will be two wings to a gruppe, which will be led by a Skywing. These men will report directly to me. You will run as a wing, you will spar as a wing, and you will fight as a wing when the time comes."
He scanned the crowd, making eye contact with each one. "If you are caught disobeying orders, the whole wing gets no sun time for the rest of the day. On the other talon, the wing that does best in training each week gets the next week off chores."
"Break it up," he said. "Get water, then we'll do twenty flying laps at top speed. After that, I have something special in mind."
"Meet the enemy," said Falcon. "Doesn't look like much, does he?"
The audience chuckled, a few dragons shook their heads in the front row. Allele had a hard time telling, but they all looked male; not a dragoness in sight. They didn't look hateful, just curious and perhaps a bit out of their depth.
"No," said one of the Rainwings.
"That's no, sir," said Falcon.
"Yes, sir. And no, sir."
The sergeant nodded, then reached up and pulled Allele's mouth open.
"I'll kill you for this," Allele mumbled. Falcon ignored him.
"These fangs are longer than your wrist," he said. "It doesn't kill quite as fast as a Sandwing's tail barb, but one bite and you'll be feeling it for weeks. Too much, and your heart goes kaput. Don't make this your first kiss."
A few dragons laughed. Falcon let go and Allele shut his mouth with a snap.
"It's not just his maw, either," said Falcon. "Other wasps come with stingers, sharpened claws, and an axe to grind. I know what you're thinking – sarge, this guy looks thinner than a piece of parchment. You're right. He's so out of shape, he might almost lose a fight to one of you."
He stepped back on the quickly erected stage, came back with a long box and took out a blowpipe the length of his arm. "This is a dartshooter," said Falcon. "I'm sure you're familiar with these."
The Rainwings nodded. One raised his tail.
"Yes?"
"Doesn't look like much, sir," said the Rainwing. "It's too short, it'll never get the dart fast enough."
Without answering, Falcon grasped one end of the pipe and pulled. The pipe telescoped out, almost doubling in length until it was as tall as he was, with a bore as wide as his talon.
"Think again. Every enemy unit carries these, and the darts are tipped with poison. One shot might not kill ya, but two, or three? Yeah, you're dead. And there are more effective venoms out there. As far as we know, they might have come up with something that takes you out if it so much nicks you on the ear, so be careful."
"Oh," said the Rainwing.
"When they're falling all around you like raindrops, it's more like 'oh, shit'," said Falcon. "Now tell me, how would you go about killing such a fine specimen of the enemy?"
Dragons recoiled, looking uneasy, even nauseous.
"Well? Think of it like butchering livestock," he said.
A pause.
"We're Rainwings," said the guy in the front row. "We don't have livestock."
Falcon started muttering under his breath. "Oh for moons' sake, why did they give me such idiots?" Out loud he said, "fine, basics. In most any four-legged animal, the heart is down here, behind the shoulder and low. It's a fine art, but if you get good you can spear him between the ribs."
He tapped Allele's side. "Get him in here and he's dead."
This was all worth it for the meat, Allele told himself. Salted boar, smoked gazelle, fattened calves. It didn't help. He was such a mercenary.
"There are other weak points," Falcon continued. "Lodge a speartip in his airway, cut his throat, or slit the veins on his neck. Dragons can survive grievous-looking injuries for a long time, I should know." He shifted, letting a dark line on his back come into the light.
"What they cannot survive is a slit neck artery. Your head loses blood, your heart pumps it out and you die. This is what the enemy will do to you if you give them the chance. They will not hesitate. It is your job to do it to them first."
"Of course, you could just spit acid in their faces and wait for them to melt, but that's not always an option. Those are the major weak points covered. See any more?"
The audience definitely looked nauseous now. Allele spotted a dragon with his face looking more green than usual – sure, they could change colors like dragonesses switched rings, but was a monotone green really the splash of style they wanted?
"The wing root," a Rainwing said. "Hit that joint and you've taken out all the wings on one side and messed up his leg too."
"Exactly! The arteries run deep, but you can still get at them if you hit behind the bone. Good observation. Next."
"The tail."
"Not much important in the tail," said Falcon, "unlike you freaks, he doesn't use it like a fifth hand. If you're up against a male you can always claw him up in the nads. Killing him is a mercy after that."
The Nightwing gave a nod of approval from where he was leaning up against the tree, behind all the Rainwings. The recruits hadn't noticed him, heck, Allele hadn't seen him until he moved. It was scary how the dragon would vanish at the blink of an eye, then pop up again as if he had always been there.
"Next question," said Falcon.
"Why don't you just kill him?" asked a Rainwing. "He's the enemy."
"There is such a thing as a prisoner of war," said Falcon. "If you let the enemy surrender, they'll give up when they know they're beat. But if you kill every one you find, they'll fight like cornered animals because they have nothing to lose."
"How do you know when to take prisoners?"
"Accept prisoners until you're ordered not to," said Falcon. "You weren't around for the Great War, you don't know how ugly it got when we were told to give no quarter. You don't want that."
Stonecrop flared his wings to attract attention. "We'll cover unit tactics later today, but first, any of you done sparring?"
"Sparring?" someone asked.
". . . The enemy doesn't just sit and wait for you to throw a punch. Don't you boys wrestle?" asked Stonecrop.
The bigger Rainwing shook his head no, but didn't say anything. Allele rolled his eyes. Why would the enemy even try to build an army from these idiots? Perhaps the saying was right; there's a sucker born every minute.
"No scrapping, no tussling, no arena sports?" continued Stonecrop.
The Rainwing shook his head again.
"Nice try. Give me verbal answers, kid."
"No sir – I mean, yes sir."
Stonecrop pursed his lip. "I've been instructed to give you warm-up time, exercises, let you toughen up a little. Makes sense. At this rate we'll have an army in ten years, so I'm dropping the little charade. All of you will be sparring one-on-one with me and the other instructors. Whoever takes longest to lose doesn't have to do evening exercises. Everyone else flies the course. If your dumb asses use venom you'll be cooling your talons in a cell for the next week."
He cracked his neck. "We won't rough you up too bad."
Allele figured he'd watch half of the matches, if the Skywings let him. If Falcon could shut him out in a wrestling match, then these slender, inexperienced Rainwings didn't stand a chance.
But in the meantime, he had some questions. Acid? Venom?
The Nightwing had disappeared during the speech, because if anything the guy was sneakier than a chattel Silkwing stealing food from the larder. Yet Peril remained on the knoll behind the recruits, the grass black beneath her talons, and the ground baked like clay.
"Hey," he said.
"What's that?" asked Falcon.
"I'd like to talk with that Skywing over there."
"Which one?" asked Falcon. "There's that one, and that one, and that one, and you're talking with one right now."
Allele rolled his eyes. He'd been doing a lot of that lately. "Peril."
"Sure," said Falcon, a twinkle flashing in his merry red eyes, "be my guest."
He still felt like he was on the outs of an inside joke when he dismounted the stage and headed towards Peril. Stonecrop was separating the Rainwings by weight class in the ring, and Falcon was hanging back on the platform, chuckling to himself. Compared to the level of security they had on him day and night, this was like leaving him unsupervised. Peril paid little attention to her surroundings, instead staring off into a densely foliated portion of the rainforest while her mind wandered, smoke still wisping off her scales as the grass beneath her gave up the ghost and crumbled away. Strange, for a dragoness who only ventured into the upper world once a year.
"Hello," said Allele.
Peril started, her head whipping towards him. Her wings shrank towards her body in that moment, and then she tilted her head and examined him.
"You're a courageous dragon," she said, "now, what do you want from me?"
He'd only said a word and she had assumed he wanted something from her. What an odd female. Allele laughed. "I am brave," he said. "Is it true that Skywing dragonesses only come out of their caves once a year?"
"No. Why'd you think that?"
"Falcon told me."
"Not true," said Peril, "we'd go stir-crazy locked up in there and that's a fact."
Her previous lassitude had left her, and now she looked him over with intent, blue eyes. It was as if she had discovered an exotic animal and wasn't sure what to do with it. She stood up straight, with her wings loosely folded like Falcon, but unlike Falcon she kept her tail wrapped up by her legs, which would put her off balance in a sudden fight. Either she didn't know the basics of unarmed combat, or she thought Allele was so little threat to her that she didn't need to put herself in a ready position.
Judging from the heat waves radiating off her scales, Allele judged it was more of the latter.
"Does every dragoness have scales like yours?" he asked.
"No, not even close," said Peril. "Firescales are more trouble than it's worth."
Her eyes unfocused for a second, and her voice turned wistful. She must be recalling something important to her, some unbidden memory from the past. Maybe she needed a second to think.
"So how hot is the heat?" asked Allele.
"Very," said Peril.
Allele reached forward with his talon.
Soon after, Falcon treated him for second-degree burns.
~SC~
"Are you daft?" asked Falcon, wrapping the final band of linen around Allele's wrist. "Who in the nine hells sees scales so hot they whither away the grass and then decides to touch them?"
"It seemed like a good idea at the time," said Allele, wincing from the pain. He hadn't even touched his talon to Peril's scales before he had to pull them back, the air around her so hot that it burned.
"Dear moons, you're worse than the Rainwing recruits," said Falcon. "They may be untrained, but they have common sense. You don't even have common sense."
"Stupid should hurt," said Peril, standing a good few feet away from Falcon. "I'm tired of ginger-stepping around idiots who want to know peril this, peril that, peril can you burn a talonprint into my back because it makes me look brave. I'd rather go back to being hated."
"Most of the sky kingdom still hates you, if that helps," said Falcon.
Peril rolled her eyes. "Joy." She picked her talon, pulling out glowing bits of dirt that had half-melted on her scales.
A pang of sympathy suddenly pushed past the jolts of pain still emanating from Allele's swollen claw. Everything Peril touched was destroyed. Everyone she met had to stay at arm's length, and she couldn't escape it. He didn't doubt for a second that she would have normal scales if she could. Another part of him wondered why he only decided to be perceptive after he gave himself a nasty burn that would hurt for a week.
"At least the Rainwings are chill," said Falcon.
"They wouldn't be if I burned down their forest," said Peril. The ground she had stood on previously was now a circle of brown, baked earth sprinkled with ashes and surrounded by black, charred grass. The ground she was standing on now didn't look much better.
"You haven't yet," said Allele.
"Maybe I should," said Peril, her eyes drifting towards the dense jungle canopy above. "I've always loved fire." She smiled for the first time since he'd seen her, exposing rows of razor-sharp teeth.
"Cool," said Allele, followed by, "hot."
"No one else gets to enjoy the view of standing inside a raging fire, flames dancing, breath growing short from excitement," said Peril. She paused. "I guess some other dragons do. But it doesn't take long for their eyeballs to boil out."
"Maybe there's a reason why the rest of your kingdom doesn't like you," said Allele.
"What an amazing and insightful conclusion," snarked Peril. "I should nominate you for a position in the Skywing intelligence bureau."
"That's a little harsh," said Falcon. He frowned. "I'd planned to have Allele fight in the ring this coming week, but he's out for the count."
"I'll watch the fights, at least," said Allele. "Bet I could beat those whelps without my right talon and my wings behind my back."
"The sad thing is, I'd give you even odds," said Falcon. He started ambling towards the fighting ring, with Allele limping on three legs after him.
Stonecrop stood in the middle of it with another Skywing instructor – a private of the original Skywing force, if Allele remembered correctly. The 'ring' hardly qualified as such, more like a large, dirty pit than a formal arena. It had four round, wooden posts squarely driven into the ground, about ten yards apart, enough space for five or six Rainwings to stand abreast if they had their wings folded. Stonecrop had his wings halfway spread, sweeping outwards as he expostulated his points, then pulling inwards again as he waited for his audience to understand.
"- despite that, I can't kill any of you, so I will demonstrate the non-lethal holds instead."
"Sir," called out Falcon. "I'd like a word after the spars."
Stonecrop nodded his assent. "Granted," he said. He turned back to the Rainwings. "Well, who first? If none of you volunteers I'm picking you out by talon."
A moment passed.
"I will, sir," said a Rainwing. He was one of the larger ones, the one who had been standing in the front row during the presentation, if Allele remembered correctly.
"Step forward, step forward," said Stonecrop. "I shouldn't have to repeat myself but again, no acid. This is a lesson in martial skill, not a chance to off your instructor."
"Sir, yes sir." The Rainwing lithely climbed over the ropes and entered the ring.
The other instructor stepped away. "Begin!" he called.
Stonecrop leaped forward, tackling the Rainwing and pushing him up, then ramming him to the ground with both front legs wrapped around the Rainwing's torso. It looked effortless. It had taken all of about three seconds.
Too easy, Allele thought.
Stonecrop pulled his opponent to his feet. "There are many holds, but the bear's hug is a classic," he said. "It's best done from the back, but it can be done from the back provided you grab him above the wings. Let me demonstrate."
He ducked low, then surged up with his front legs reaching around the Rainwing again. "This is what it looks like," he said. "It's known as a tie-up because if you have someone like this, you essentially have him by the balls. You can throw him, toss him, wrestle him to the floor, or otherwise. You need speed, you need power. Not easy to do. Next!"
Stonecrop let the Rainwing back on his own four talons, and he exited the ring, looking discombobulated as hell.
A second passed without anyone stepping forward.
"I wasn't kidding about picking by talon. You!" called Stonecrop, pointing to another large-ish Rainwing. Allele noticed the muscles rippling beneath Stonecrop's scales as he moved – he was strong for a Skywing, maybe even as strong as a few of the mud-colored dragons despite his slimmer build. Stronger than Falcon, and it hadn't taken Falcon long to put Allele on the ground.
"Yes, sir," said the Rainwing. He slowly approached the ring, then gulped and squeezed through the ropes.
"I'll skip the neck-tie because if you have the enemy by the throat it's quicker to rip it out anyway," said Stonecrop. "This hold is similar."
Again the Skywing called "Begin!"
Stonecrop lunged forward, this Rainwing only slightly more prepared than the last one. He threw his talons up in front of him, but this time Stonecrop bounded on his feet and went under, coming up on the Rainwing with his front legs hooked under the Rainwing's. He paused there, allowing the audience to see the Rainwing in his grip.
"Underhook," he said. "Less options than a bear hug, but if you pull forward and trip him you can get him on the ground. Then stomp on his back for the finisher."
He let go.
"Next!"
The Rainwings groaned.
"This is hardly a real spar," said Stonecrop, "quit whining. This is simple instruction."
"They won't be practicing holds for long," said Falcon, unheard by the dragons in the ring. "At least I hope not. The quicker they can pick up the basics, the sooner they'll be ready to do the kill shots."
"Rainwings don't have the muscle for this work," said Allele. "They're made ofwet string."
"That can be fixed. Did you think Stonecrop was born built as a dragonet?" asked Falcon. "He wasn't and not by a long shot. Once we're done, these Rainwings will be capable fighters."
He didn't sound as confident as he said he was, though.
"Boo-hoo," said Allele. "You've got fifty of these guys and there's thousands and thousands of us in our army. Two Rainwings take down one of us. So what?"
"Someone thinks they're gonna win," said Peril.
"Undoubtedly."
Three Days Later
"It's still hard to believe you outrank me now," said Falcon. Long ago, they'd both been nothing more than goofy, clumsy whelps cursing their drill sergeant. He'd never thought he'd be on the other side in that situation.
Stonecrop shrugged, his red shoulder scales contrasting with Falcon's dark orange. "It is what it is," he said. "Who knows what'll happen when our reinforcements get down here."
"If they come," said Falcon. "We were fighting wasps all the way down to here. Eagle might not have enough soldiers to spare."
"Aye," said Stonecrop. "There's less Skywings than there used to be."
"There's plenty of Skywings," said Falcon. "They're all dragonets."
"Makes sense," said Stonecrop. "All my buddies got married as soon as they were discharged."
"Peak got married before and just didn't tell el-tee," said Falcon, "I thought you knew."
"Forgot," said Stonecrop. "A long deployment, death and destruction all around and no hope in sight… when the war ended it's no wonder they got married."
"An' we didn't."
Stonecrop shrugged. "I wished I did, last year. I had a beau."
"Nah, we're career bachelors," teased Falcon. "Can't let a wife get in the way of the good ol' military lifestyle. Gotta stay sharp for the next war, you know."
"No one expected another war, not even you," said Stonecrop.
"I let the groundhog call it for me," said Falcon. "There's one in Spakasy who comes out of his hole every year, and if he sees his shadow it's another year of war."
"He was wrong four years straight."
"If you predict a conflict long enough, you'll be right eventually," said Falcon. "Peace is just time to prepare for the next war."
"Which we didn't."
Falcon shrugged. "We're learning from our mistakes, helping the Rainwings prepare to fight. There's that. What fresh hell have you prepared for them this time?"
Stonecrop grinned. Over the last three days he had had every dragon in camp working like a dog, adding mud pits, a second fighting ring, and two archery ranges on opposite ends of the meadow. "A shootout relay race."
"Sounds fun," said Falcon, examining the equipment.
"Very," said Stonecrop. "It's no use teaching them unit tactics right now, that'd be like asking a dragonet to fly before he can walk. What I need is them following basic orders, staying motivated, and exertingthemselves for more than five minutes without falling over from exhaustion. This should help with the exercise part."
"So you're getting them to the point every Skywing recruit is at before he even walks in the door," said Falcon.
"It's only been four days, there's hope for them yet."
"Moons, I hope so."
"Almost anyone can become a soldier," said Stonecrop. "I was planning to fail out one in five of these boys, but I may not need to."
"If becoming a soldier was easy, we wouldn't need training camps at all," said Falcon.
Stonecrop shrugged. "True."
Falcon heard wingbeats and looked up. A Skywing flared and landed next to them. "Hey Stonecrop," he said.
"Hey Knotgrass," said Stonecrop, looking over. He did a double-take. "Knotgrass? When did you get back?"
The other Skywing grinned. "Captain Lou and Klondike came back to Little Rainburrow an hour ago," he said. He looked around, observing the training camp. "Looks like you've been busy."
"Welcome to Camp Fortitude," said Falcon. "What news?"
Knotgrass kicked the dirt with one talon. "Ah, nothing much. We destroyed a enemy garrison without taking a scratch. How was the weather?"
"You what?" asked Falcon.
"Burned 'em to a crisp," said Knotgrass. "The Seawings have a new weapon and it's nasty as hell."
Stonecrop whistled. "So when you say it burned them, did you drop bundles of fuel and light it or what?"
"It was this liquid, and when you dropped a torch on it the stuff went up faster than dry brush," said Knotgrass. "Damn nasty stuff. Anyway, I'm actually here to relay orders. Cap wants a sit-rep from one of you guys."
"I'll go," said Falcon. "Stonecrop's about to run a drill."
"Sounds good," said Knotgrass. He raised his wings. "Coming or not?"
Falcon leaped into the air. "As if you needed to ask."
Little Rainburrow wasn't far from the new training camp, ten minutes as Skywings fly, or a quarter of an hour for a Rainwing taking it easy. Both camps had expanded over the last few days, but the only visual cue from the air was a small clearing in the trees, smothered in the endless green sea of the jungle. Knotgrass carried a compass as he flew, checking it every now and again to make sure he was on the right track. Falcon sympathized. It was easy to miss the clearing and get lost, even for a Skywing.
"Here we are," he said, pointing down to an opening in the foliage.
"Gotcha," said Knotgrass.
The two Skywings descended beneath the treeline, the sun's light instantly dimming as they passed the leaves of the emergent shoreas and entered the vine-infested canopy. Rainwings had cleared out the worst of the maze, but it was still difficult for Falcon to tell where he was or where he was going, even as he dipped under the canopy and laid eyes on the dark, sun-deprived forest floor. Rainwings ran to and fro, while Seawings laid out their gear and fellow Skywings wandered, wide grins on their faces.
"Hey man, long time no see," said a one.
"It's only been a week," said Falcon. He clapped the fellow on the back. "Heard you had a good run."
"Oh hell yeah."
"Where's the Captain?" asked Falcon.
"Main treehouse, you can't miss it," he said. "Also, what's with all the Rainwings running around here?"
"They're training to be soldiers," said Falcon.
The soldier made a face. "Best of luck," he said. "They'll need it."
Falcon wasn't running this program. There were two boot camps, one impromptu, Seawing-run course made of local volunteers, and the other in Camp Fortitude, drilling Rainwings sent by Glory. He smiled and nodded all the same.
"See ya."
Although Falcon knew Little Rainburrow had grown, he hadn't expected it to grow this much. The rocks 'round the firepit had used to serve as the Skywings' place at mealtimes, but someone had dug out two more pits for cooking fires, makeshift spits erected over them in place of cauldrons (for they had none of those, just yet). The Rainwing personnel had erected proper roofed, treehouse barracks made of hewn wood, lashed tightly to the forks in the massive jungle trunks; Falcon spotted a Rainwing crew digging in the earth, possibly excavating a well.
"Glory is sure helping with the war effort," said Falcon. "I wonder how many of her people know it."
"Lotta things she can get away with using queenly fiat," said Knotgrass, and shrugged. "Even if they did know, what would they do about it? It's not as if any Rainwings have died in the war yet."
"Or in the last war," said Falcon.
He hoped this war would be short, that Glory's intervention would be enough to hold back the enemy tides and force them off Pyrrhia's coast, or at the very least bring them to a draw. But then, Burn had promised the Skywings a short war when he was a dragonet, and for that promise thousands of Skywings had forfeit their lives.
"It feels like such a long time since I was a dragonet and I played soldier with my friends," he said. Then he snorted. "Look how that turned out."
"I think every guy wanted to be a soldier at least once," said Knotgrass. "We all wanted to be a brave heroes, beating up the enemy, putting one over on the other tribes, getting the girl -"
"Still a bachelor," Falcon grumbled. But a smile reached his eyes. "I had a lot of fun as a kid. We didn't have anything to use for bows so we chucked pinecones. Ran around and annoyed the hell out of my older sister." He got home late every time, exhausted, his talons grubby with mountain dirt and scales bedraggled by itchy, sappy pine needles. And yet, those days had been the best of his life.
"Classic," agreed Knotgrass. "But we're real soldiers now."
"Indeed," said a familiar voice.
Falcon snapped to attention, back straight, his wings folded symmetrically and his tail curled by his back claws. "Sir," he said.
"At ease," said the lieutenant – brevet captain now, Falcon reminded himself. The captain turned to Falcon. "Everything is going well in camp, I trust?"
"Both better and worse than I'd like to admit," said Falcon.
He launched into a discussion of what had happened in the weeks that the lieutenant had been gone, while the two took a easy, meandering walk round the outside of Little Rainburrow. The captain took long strides, his stern features molded into a sideways smile.
"So," said the lieutenant, as Falcon wrapped up his report. "I'd come over and look over it myself today, but I'm afraid I haven't got the time. However, there is someone who'd like to speak with you about a matter of concern."
"Is there a problem, sir?" asked Falcon.
And there was that smirk again. It wasn't a good smile. His teeth peered out from his lower lip, and the twinkle in his eyes made Falcon think of an old sergeant he'd known, a dragon known for his cruel guile.
"No, not a problem," he said. He turned to face a group of Seawings changing out of their equipment. "Klondike!"
The Seawing griped, but he did come over.
"Klondike, Falcon," said the lieutenant, "Falcon, Klondike."
"Good to see you made it back," said Falcon. "I heard you didn't take any casualties."
"None at all," said Klondike. "Ran into a Mudwing unit that reorganized itself for somehow, took out a enemy garrison, the whole nine yards. It was a good run."
Falcon looked over at the lieutenant, but the dragon had slipped away and was now asking a few questions of the Seawings in Klondike's unit.
"And here I am, missing out on it," said Falcon. The two ambled along the jungle path, talons treading the hard-packed dirt. The Rainwings must have memorized every turn of it by now. "So what brings you here? I'm just an acting drill sergeant, and this isn't a social call."
"It's about the prisoner you Skywings captured last month," said Klondike. "What's he like? Did you notice anything odd about him oh, three nights ago?"
"Nothing at all," said Falcon. "That would be the morning of the second, right?"
Klondike nodded. "Just so."
"He slept in," said Falcon.
The two continued walking, rounding the first bend and going deeper into the forest. All the signs of camp had vanished by now, shrouded by the tree trunks that crowded the hilly, leaf-covered jungle floor.
"So again, what brings this up?" asked Falcon. "He's got a hair-trigger temper but he hasn't the strength to make it work. Other than the time he nearly crisped himself on Peril, we haven't had trouble with him."
"Our encounters with the enemy have taken a turn for the strange," said Klondike.
"Top secret?" Falcon grinned, remembering the days of the uptight intelligence spooks who ran themselves ragged trying to conceal the obvious.
"No, just uncanny. I heard a story from the Lieutenant about how the enemy all seized up and crashed themselves into the ground, like a mass suicide."
Falcon nodded. "That was funny to watch. Maybe a slave slipped poison in their breakfast."
"It's gotten weirder. The enemy go fearless. Won't surrender even with your spear to their throat."
"Strange," said Falcon, "our prisoner is about the biggest rat you ever saw. He's gotten better about it, but he still shirks away from what he thinks he can't win."
"That's not how these guys were," said Klondike. "I had about a wing of wasps surrender to half a wing of Mudwings, tails dragging, as meek as could be. They knew they were beat. The next thing you know they're lunging at us and aiming to kill. Not to escape. To kill."
"So then what happened?"
"We had to put them all down," said Klondike. "We had mixed Seawing Skywing patrols circling the town during the fight so no one got away. As far as I know, every wasp that was in Orwen five days ago is dead. And I don't know why."
Falcon slashed a vine off a nearby tree, then cast it aside as his mind churned. "I haven't seen hide nor hair of it from our guy. It might be a kind of poison in their rations that's making them act that way – he's been on our food for two weeks and been fine. Little thin since we're giving him the starfruit though."
"Oh moons, you must have given him scours," said Klondike.
"Nearly did," admitted Falcon. "If there's something in their rations then it's probably best to stop using them until we know what's up."
"I don't know how else to explain it," said Klondike.
"We could ask the prisoner about it."
Klondike tilted his head, thinking. He was a good two talons shorter than Falcon, and the way he moved reminded Falcon of a sparrow, as ridiculous as that might seem.
"Would he even know?" he asked.
"He's been cooperative so far."
"That's the last thing I expected," said Klondike. "A civilized extra-continental."
"It's only a short flight to the training camp, if you need to see him," said Falcon. "And the shadows are getting long, so either now or tomorrow."
Night fell faster in the southlands of Pyrrhia, humid day turning to humid, foggy night with hardly a hint of dusk. It took a long time to get used to for northern dragons like Falcon, who had grown up in the mountains where the light of the sun would glow off the frosted peaks, long after its disc had vanished over the horizon.
Klondike shrugged again, glancing at the soldiers in the canteen lining up for dinner. "I've got time."
The flight back to camp fortitude took less time than usual for Falcon; return trips were always like that somehow. He landed by a group of Rainwings flopped out on the dirt like fish out of water, breathing heavily, their features blending together in the evening darkness. Lanterns flickered in a ring on the outside of camp, casting dim circles of light on the hard-packed jungle floor. They would be snuffed at nightfall.
"Stonecrop runnin' ya' hard?" asked Falcon.
"I'm DEAD," complained a Rainwing. "My lungs are on fire… tell mom I loved her."
"That can be arranged," said Klondike. "You boys had better get up before your drill sergeant kills you for real."
"This is my final resting place," said the Rainwing.
Falcon chuckled. The two stepped past the exhausted recruits.
"Want to call it in?" asked Klondike.
Falcon said, "Nah, those boys already look like something that came out a ram's back end. And that's not what we're here for, anyhow."
He made his way to the cabin in the center of camp, addressing the armed guard there. "Howdy."
"Howdy," said the Skywing. "What's a splasher doing here?"
"I'm here to ask a few questions," said Klondike. "As of now, you are relieved. Call it in with your superior, of course."
The soldier didn't budge. "An' how do I know you're not full of it?"
"It's for real, Lodge," said Falcon. "We don't need any prying ears."
"Well thanks," said the soldier, "guard duty is boring as shit and all this guy does is complain and insult me at the same time. Feel free."
He vaulted over the railing, spread his wings and dived to the ground below.
"Very professional," said Klondike.
"Can it," griped Falcon. He opened the door and stepped into the lodge. "Allele!"
"If it isn't red meat I don't care about it," said the striped dragon, laid out on his side while picking his talons.
"Something has come up, and we need to ask a dragon who knows what he's talking about," said Falcon. "You."
Allele perked his head up.
"Go on," he said.
And Klondike explained the situation.
"That is weird," said Allele, when he had finished listening. After two weeks in captivity, he didn't bat an eye when Klondike showed up, nor did he seem particularly fazed by the story of his comrades going homicidally insane. "You'd have thought they would do better than that."
"What do you mean?" asked Klondike, "do better than that?"
The special armaments' officer cocked his ears up, only using his clear eyelid to blink. Both Pyrrhians had their wings folded so they could fit within the cramped treehouse, but the prisoner didn't seem to mind. He hummed an unfamiliar tune while he thought of his answer.
"You would have thought the queen would do better than that," he said, as if that cleared everything up.
"What – oh, what ever. What made them act that way?" questioned Klondike. "Something in the rations, in the drink?"
"No," said Allele. "When the queen wants us to do something, we do it. It's always been like that, even in the histories printed by her majesty."
Wait a minute. But before Falcon could absorb that bit of information, Allele had already moved on. "So it's odd that she'd mess up her control. Better to wait, and then strike."
Klondike blinked, with both eyelids this time. "Oh moons, please explain to me how this works. The queen can't tell you what to do if she isn't there, that's not possible. So you're just following orders."
"She can," said Allele, as if he was explaining basic facts, "as if she were standing right next to you. I'd say she messed up, but she doesn't make mistakes."
"I won't even argue with that," said Klondike. "So your all-powerful leader doesn't make mistakes. And she can order you around as if she were standing next to you… does this power come from an artifact, by any chance? A ring, a necklace, a gauntlet?"
Allele shrugged. "She just does."
"And if she wanted you to kill us in our sleep she could have you do that."
"Pretty much."
Klondike stepped back and started dragging Falcon into the corner by the shoulder. "By the moons, he's going to kill me by splitting headache if he keeps this up," he hissed. "He's mad."
"It checks out," said Falcon. "I've always thought he wasn't all right in the head."
Klondike sighed. "Without a good spy in the enemy ranks, we can't tell if this is true or not, so I'll have to record it." He drew a writing slate and pencil from his pouch and began scribbling down a shorthand of the interview. "You keep him talking, I don't want to."
Falcon turned.
"So how would you break the control?" he asked.
"Nice try," said Allele. He hummed his tune again. "Well… it's not possible anyway. You'd have to kill the queen, which you won't do in a thousand years," said Allele. "And even that might not work."
He scratched the back of his head.
"The records were always unclear on how it goes between the generations… but it had to, we were doing this back in the forty-fifth century."
"And what year is it now?" asked Falcon, his interest piqued.
"Five thousand fifteen," said Allele. "What, do you locals count on your talons and lose track when you get over three?"
"He's mad, he's obviously mad," said Falcon. "That or he's so naive he makes a dragonet soldier look like a wise old man."
"I'd say the latter," said Klondike. They were back on the jungle path, except now it was dark, and the shadows had completely shrouded the thick canopy. "He mentioned that the queen publishes histories, which likely means she's been feeding her tribe a heap of bullshit for longer than he's been alive. Combine that with being young and stupid and it's no wonder he's like this."
Falcon took a moment to think it over. "True."
"We already got him to talk, now the hard part is finding out what's real intel and what's garbage."
"It's probably an animus artifact passed down from who knows where," said Falcon.
"But then why would it fail?" asked Klondike. "I'm still betting poison in the rations, and then their queen makes up a heap of bullshit to fool dragons into thinking they're under control when they're really not."
"Technically there was nothing stopping an animus from doing that to us before the Animus Purge," said Falcon.
"Ain't that the truth. Moons, what a mess."
"If we want more out of him we could get Deathbringer's help," said Falcon. "Apparently the wasps see Clearsight as a kind of deity and the ancestor of their race."
"Baloney."
"I tried explaining that to him, but you can't convince him anything once he thinks he's already right," said Falcon.
"If his queen said the sky was purple, would he believe it?"
A pause.
"I give it even odds."
