Into The Darkness

"Don't mind if I do." Sabrino perched on the stool and raised his glass.

"Here's to a splendid little war."

"A splendid little war," Domiziano and Orosio echoed. They drank with their commanding officer. Orosio said, "As near as I can see, sir, we've got Forthweg in a box with a pretty ribbon around it."

"That's how things look to me, too," Sabrino said, nodding. "Pity we had to let them cross the border and do so much damage inside our kingdom, but we've paid them back and then some."

"So we have," Domiziano agreed. He had a bandage over one ear, which a Forthwegian beam had cooked. But he'd accounted for four Forthwegian dragons and torn up the enemy's countryside; the small wound hardly seemed to upset him. He went on, "We'd have done the same even if the Unkerlanters hadn't sneaked up behind King Penda and kicked him in the arse."

"No doubt about it," Sabrino repeated. "None at all. The

Forthwegians are brave enough, but they haven't got enough behemoths and they haven't got enough dragons and they don't quite know what to do with the ones they have got. We'd have needed another couple of weeks to overrun the whole kingdom, but we'd have done it, all right."

Orosio scratched at the edge of his goatee. "Sir, what do we do if we meet Unkerlanter dragons in the air?"

"Pretend they don't exist," Sabrino said at once. "If the fliers blaze at Mezentio you, evade. Not to put too fine a point on it, run away. [..IliKig_] does not want a war with Unkerlant. I'm told that's going to be - the subject of a general order in the next day or two. We have enough on our plate now without worrying about King Swemmel, too."

"I don't think the Unkerlanters are any great worry," Dormiziano said.

"We taught them enough of a lesson in the Six Years' War that Swemmel isn't likely to want to tangle with us, either."

"Here's hoping," Sabrino said, and drank to the hope. His junior officers drank with him.

An orderly stuck his head into the officers' club. Spying Sabrino, he immediately looked relieved. "Ali, here you are, sir," he said. "A message on the crystaI just came in: your wing is ordered to join in the attack on the town of Wihtgara." He pronounced the uncouth Forthwegian syllables as well as an Algarvian might be expected to do.

Sabrino drew a map from the vest pocket of his uniform tunic. He spread it out on the table so Domiziano and Orosio could study it, too.

After a moment, Sabrino's forefinger stabbed out. "About fifty miles northwest of here," he said, and turned to the orderly once more. "Ten the crystallomancer to reply that we shall be flying within half an hour."

He knocked back the rest of his port - it wasn't really good enough to linger over - and nodded to his companions. "Time to give the

Forthwegians another dose, lads."

As usual, Sabrino had to pick his way among the tethered dragons to keep from fouling his boots with their noxious droppings. As usual, his own mount had forgotten he'd been flying it for years. As usual, it hissed and flapped and spluttered, doing its best to keep him from climbing aboard. It did refrain from trying to flame him down; that was beaten into war dragons from hatchlinghood. For small favors, Sabrino gave thanks.

He gave thanks again when the dragon's enormous batwings thundered behind him and the ground dropped away below. The view he got from on high was almost worth putting up with the stupidity and viciousness of dragons. The view of the rest of the dragons in his wing, bellies silvered, backs painted in red and white and green, was splendid, too.

"Come on," he said, and tapped his dragon with the goad to bring its course farther north of west. "We can do it."

The dragon, predictably, didn't want to. As far as it was concerned, was up in the sky to hunt. Sabrino's purposes mattered little to it. It had been perfectly content to fly along in the direction it had chosen. When he tried to get it to change the small stubborn spot that passed for his mind, it twisted its head back along the length of its long, sinuous nec and did its best to pluck him off his perch with its teeth.

Even though it didn't flame him, its breath, full of the stinks of brirr stone and old meat, was nearly enough to knock him over. "Son of worm!" he shouted, and whacked it in the snout with the iron-she goad. "Daughter of a vulture! I am your better! You shall obey me!"

Every once in a while, a dragon forgot the most fundamental part its training - in which case, the dragonflier never got another chance I curse it. Sabrino refused to let that risk enter his mind. He whacked dragon's scaly snout again. With an irate hiss, it straightened its neck once more. He gave it another tap, and this time, however sullenly, it swum its path more in the direction of Wihtgara.

Down below, Algarvian columns filed down roads and across field.