Christopher Rowley - Bazil 04 - Battledragon

VIP免费
2024-12-24 0 0 855.08KB 424 页 5.9玖币
侵权投诉
Scanned by Highroller.
Proofed more or less by Highroller.
Made prettier by use of EBook Design Group Stylesheet.
Battledragon by
Christopher Rowley
CHAPTER ONE
In the land of the Kraheen, in the heart of the dark continent, three
grim-faced men stood beside a long, ebony box in the temple of the God of
Stone.
Their leader, a burly fellow of six foot or more, nodded to the high
priests of the God of Stone, who stood before them clad in feathered
headdresses and leather aprons studded with gold.
"Ye have come to see the miracle?" he said in heavily accented Kraht.
"We have come, O great Kreegsbrok, as ye commanded."
"Then ye shall see with thine own eyes and be enlightened. Know this,
that the power of the Great One is beyond that of any other in this world,
whether man or god or goddess."
The priests bobbed their heads at this, but their dark brown eyes
reflected a lack of certainty. These men from beyond had brought many
dread things to their land. Their master was indeed a mighty force. But to
raise the Prophet from the dead? Surely this was impossible.
"Open the box," said Kreegsbrok.
The high priest snapped his fingers, and men lifted the lid that covered
the sacred visage of "He Who Must."
Kreegsbrok looked within and smiled. He saw the body of a lean-fleshed
man who had died in his early thirties, struck down by a sudden brain
spasm during the height of a raging incantation. The black flesh was
neither hard nor soft, the hair still curled in coiled locks about the massive
head. The Kraheen had long excelled in the art of preserving the bodies of
the dead. The body of the Prophet would be good material for the magic of
the Great One.
"May I?" he asked in the same flat voice.
The feathered headdresses bobbed again, the eyes like black pebbles,
unreadable.
Kreegsbrok nodded to Gulbuddin and Verniktun, who wore the same
black uniform as he. They withdrew flasks of fluid and dust from the small
packs they bore and took up a long-necked funnel of semirigid leather.
Carefully Verniktun oiled it and made it flexible.
Under the intense gaze of the priests, they opened the mouth of the
long-dead Prophet and forced apart the yellowed teeth that had been shut
for a thousand years. Into the withered throat they eased the neck of the
funnel.
From within his cloak, Kreegsbrok withdrew a small notebook.
They bowed together while he intoned a prayer to their Master. Then
they began to chant the harsh syllables prescribed for the spell.
The priests stepped back, ashen-faced at the grating sounds that now
came from the mouths of the pale men from beyond. The atmosphere in
the tomb of the Prophet became thick and dark. A smoke was rising from
the floor. The hair on arm, leg, and neck began to rise along with it. A
smell of burning stone filled their nostrils.
Into the funnel Verniktun poured the sparkling black powder
invigorated by the Great One. The first flask went down smoothly. Then
followed a second.
Now Gulbuddin stepped up with a flask of blue fluid. It had an evil
shimmer within its glass.
Kreegsbrok spoke words of power, and the fluid was poured into the
funnel. A reddish vapor arose along with a hissing sound as both fluid and
sparkling powder sank into the flesh of the long-dead Prophet of the God
of Stone, "He Who Must."
After a moment, while the material still hissed within the body cavity,
Kreegsbrok put out his hand to Verniktun and received a small silver flask.
From this he poured a clear liquid into the funnel.
"Now for the invigorative."
Gulbuddin stepped up and held a black marble the size of a man's fist
over the dead Prophet's forehead. He closed his eyes and tightened his
lips.
Kreegsbrok called out in a harsh voice to the roof of the tomb.
Verniktun struck a flame and touched it to the funnel.
There was a blinding flash. Gulbuddin screamed in agony but held onto
the stone in his hand, which now glowed with an intense red light.
Carefully he pressed it against the forehead of the corpse in the coffin.
The corpse shook and jerked abruptly within the box. The hips rose and
then subsided. The legs kicked. An arm shot up.
Kreegsbrok pulled apart the ancient teeth. Verniktun lifted the leather
funnel. Red viscous stuff surged up from the mouth. Gulbuddin's cries
were obliterated by a primal bellow suddenly erupting from the long-dead
throat, a sacral scream that rattled the bones of every man in that room, a
shriek that announced new life in that which should never have moved
again.
Gulbuddin barely stood back in time. His mouth working as red stuff
oozed from the corners, the Prophet sat up.
The high priests stared with bulging eyeballs. It had come to pass, even
as the pale men had claimed. Then with mouths agape they fell on their
knees.
"Cry joy for the love of Ajoth Gol Dib!" they sang. "Cry joy for the mercy
of the One Who Must!"
The three men from Padmasa exchanged grim smiles. The work was
begun.
CHAPTER TWO
It had snowed the day before, and the woodlots at Dashwood were
covered in a smooth, ankle-deep layer, virtually unmarked. The dragons'
breath came in great steaming clouds as they hewed the young oaks and
ash that were grown for firewood. Great axes fashioned from troll battle
axes were their weapons of choice. Wood chips sang as they flew from the
blows.
Dragonboys danced around the dragons, attaching cables for the mule
skinner teams who hauled the trees back to the big, horse-driven saw that
cut them to three-foot lengths.
"Watch it Jak, your foot's inside that harness," called Relkin of the
109th Marneri Dragons. Jak shifted his foot and snapped tight the studs
on the tree collar he was fitting. When he looked up Relkin had gone, but
Jak saw his back for a moment between two trees. Relkin was a dragoneer
now and felt an all-consuming responsibility for the unit. Sometimes it
riled the rest of them, but Jak knew that Relkin was simply anxious in a
way he'd never been before. As dragoneer he was in charge, and any
injuries were held against him.
"This dragon is thirsty," said a huge inhuman presence, standing ten
yards away beside a felled oak.
Jak whistled to the waiting mule skinner and skipped clear.
"You want kalut?" he asked his dragon, a green freemartin named
Alsebra, famous for her skill with dragonsword.
"No, just water." Her big dragon eyes fixed on something in the
distance, over Jak's head. He didn't bother to ask what. In this mood she
was unlikely to tell him.
Jak hoisted the big water can and set off back to the clearing where the
saw was working. The water cart was set up nearby, with others that dealt
out hot kalut and fresh bread. There were a hundred men, ten dragons,
and forty mules at work in the woodlots that day. It was cold but dry, and
the air was still. The work went well, and they had sent more than a
hundred cords of wood, cut and split, into camp.
Jak was looking forward to getting back to Marneri. The 109th had
almost finished their two-month stint at Dashwood and would soon march
back to the city. Their alternates, the 66th Marneri Dragons, would then
come up to Dashwood in their turn. In the city Jak had a girl, a girl whom
he had been wooing for six months now. Her name was Kati, and she was
the sweetest thing in the whole world, especially as she'd let him kiss her
several times on the last occasion they'd been together, lurking in the
alleyway behind her family's pantry, down near Templeside. Jak sighed.
Just a few more days, and they'd be back together. How could he survive
the wait?
Dragoneer Relkin paused beside his own dragon, who stood back while
another oak gave a creak and slid down to the ground. The dragon, the
famous Bazil Broketail, gave a grunt of satisfaction at the clean fall of the
tree.
"Ah, boy finished minding everyone's business. Ready to take care of
dragon. Where is kalut?"
"Kalut is brewed, and I'm going for some right now."
"Kalut would be here, going down into dragon stomach if boy attended
to job."
Relkin nimbly slipped a hauling collar around the trunk of another
felled tree, and jumped out of the way as the big mules hauled it back.
"If only it were that simple, Baz."
"You check too much on everyone else. Bring this dragon kalut. And
some bread if they got any, with akh."
"There's no akh here. No akh until dinner."
"When is dinner?"
"You know when is dinner. At the end of the day, back in camp."
"That is a long wait for some akh on some bread."
"It'll be all the better for the waiting."
"This is a dubious human concept. Dragon doesn't agree."
Relkin was already on his way to the kalut stall with a big jug over his
shoulder.
He passed the saw. Twelve huge mules provided the motive force,
heaving around a drive-limber that ran a belt over their heads to the saw
itself, which was a circle of steel spinning its way through the tree trunks
with a massive whine.
Beyond the saw were the splitter and loader teams, sixty men under the
command of Lieutenant Angloss. From their direction came the steady
thud of hammers on mauls amid cheerful banter.
Lieutenant Angloss gave him a friendly salute.
"Good day, Dragoneer."
Relkin returned the greeting and went on to the kalut stall. It was a new
experience being an officer, and he was still getting used to it. Of course
he was just a brevet dragoneer, filling in while they waited for a real one to
be sent to them. But in. his heart, he still nursed the slight hope that he
would be confirmed as full dragoneer for the Marneri 109th. There were,
admittedly, several points against him. He was young, not yet nineteen,
and though he had four and a half years of service in the legions, he knew
they never promoted anyone to command before they reached their
twentieth birthday.
Then there was the trial against him. The blood of a civilian, Trader
Dook, dead on a riverboat from Relkin's dirk, now stained his record.
Relkin had been found innocent of murder after a lengthy trial the
preceding summer, but he'd won by virtue of the testimony given by
dragons. This had set a major new precedent. Wyvern dragons could
speak the tongue of men, and they were known to be intelligent, as far
above the rest of the animals as were humans. Still, such a decision
rankled with some men. The subject was politically sensitive. As a result,
Relkin's chances of promotion were compromised.
For a moment he thought of Dragon Leader Turrent, the stern critic
who'd ruled their lives for the last year and a half. Turrent had mellowed,
especially from what he'd been like when he first came to them, but he had
always been a sharp commanding officer and never really one of them,
never truly part of the unit. Relkin, of course, was utterly identified with
the 109th. He'd served in it since its inception. Turrent had warned him
that the trial would ruin his chances for advancement. And yet when
Turrent left, he promoted Relkin to the temporary command.
Things were a little looser now that Turrent was gone, except in the
area of practice. Relkin insisted that everyone, dragon and boy, go through
combat exercises every day, with a hike in full rig once a week, which
always ended with a quick round of the Dashwood obstacle course.
There'd been some grumbling from the usual suspects, like Swane and
Mono, who were Relkin's age, but everyone knew in their hearts that he
was perfectly right. They hadn't seen action in eighteen months, and it
was pretty certain they would be sent up to the Axoxo front sometime in
the coming spring or summer. So it was important to keep skills as sharp
as their swords.
Relkin wondered how Dragon Leader Turrent was handling his new
unit, the 167th Marneri Dragons. He should have reached Fort Dalhousie
by now and joined them. One thing was sure, there'd be ten dragonboys in
Dalhousie who would be really sick of polishing their kit after Turrent had
had them for a while.
He brought back a full can for Baz, took a mug for himself, and spent
the rest of the day getting felled trees pulled down to the saw. In between,
he tried to keep a visual check on everyone else, although a voice in his
head kept telling him to relax. They could take care of themselves. He
wasn't there to nursemaid them. He had a dragon of his own to take care
of, and that was enough.
At last the cornet blew, ending the day's work, and they formed up, axes
over their shoulders, for the two-mile march back to camp.
Dashwood was the alternate quarters for the legion garrison of the city
of Marneri. It was a well-worn, comfortable camp of wooden-stockade
construction, thoroughly furbished over many decades of use. It was
blessed with excellent water from crystal pure springs.
The forest around it was managed by the legion to heat the Marneri
garrison and outposts throughout the winter. Great stacks of green wood
were set out by the road. On the other side were stacks of seasoned wood.
The road from Dashwood to Marneri was paved throughout and very busy
at this season with wagon traffic.
Past the wood stacks loomed the big gates, and as they marched in,
they caught the heady aromas of fresh bread and simmering buckets of
akh, the pungent, spicy concoction beloved by wyvern dragons.
Dragonboys were soon in motion, wheeling carts loaded with buckets of
noodles, slathered in akh, down to their dragons in the Dragon House.
Others scurried by, weighed down by a dozen loaves of long bread.
Barrels of beer were delivered from the legion brewery and rolled
directly to the dragons, who sat in a loose circle in the center of the
Dashwood Dragon House and ate and drank their fill.
Leaving a bunch of contented dragons to their favorite recreational
activity, the dragonboys got their own meals and were able to choose from
steaming cauldrons of polenta, beans, noodles, and a hearty chicken soup.
There was more fresh bread, hot out of the ovens, and for flavorings there
was butter and lime and salt and even akh for those with strong taste
buds.
To wash it down they received their daily allowance of a pint of mild
beer, followed by a second pint of real ale.
They sank back into their coats, feeling warm while the fatigue crept up
from their bones. They would drink their ale, perhaps sing a round or two
of the "Kenor Song" or "La Lillee La Loo," and turn in for the night. And
soon, just a few more days, and they'd be heading back to the city.
Swane was trying to hunt up a game of cards among the younger boys.
There were five new faces in the unit since the Battle of Sprian's Ridge.
Calvene, at seventeen, was the oldest of the new boys followed by Endi of
Blue Hills, Roos, Aris, and little Shutz, who at fourteen was now the
youngest in the unit.
Endi and Roos were the only boys willing to take Swane's offer, but that
was enough for a few hands of Bezok, and the cards came out and were
shuffled and dealt.
Swane groaned and moaned. The others winked to each other. They'd
seen Swane's repertory of deceptive moves by now. When Swane groaned
like this, it meant he thought he had great cards. They all exchanged cards
with the deck and bet lightly on the change.
Swane's groaning increased suddenly in volume.
"I bet I can go the full Bezok," said Swane, as expected.
"How much do you bet?" said Endi with a sly smile. Endi was only
sixteen, but Relkin knew already that he was better at cards than Swane
would ever be.
"Three bits," said Swane, hoping to lure them on.
"Matched," said Endi.
"I'll take it, too," said Roos, a bullet-headed youth from the
hardscrabble hills of Seant, who knew to follow Endi's lead in something
like this.
"Exchange," said Swane, holding out a single card.
"Taken," said Endi, giving Swane another card from his own hand and
accepting Swane's discard.
Swane's groans continued, but now there was a more genuine note to
them.
"Cut for trumps," he said. Endi did, and they all stared at the two of
clubs.
"Clubs it is," said Roos with satisfaction. Swane groaned a little more
deeply.
"Lay 'em down," said Roos.
Swane led off with the king of cups. Endi chipped in the three, and
Roos dropped the eight. Swane swept them up with a sigh of relief.
"One down, Bezok to go."
Swane played the prince of cups. Endi chipped in the five of cups. Roos
gave a wicked smile and produced the four of clubs, trumping Swane's
prince.
Swane's groans increased in volume. Endi tried to goad him into
increasing the bet, but Swane refused to be drawn.
"Let's have the third card," said Roos with glee, but Swane never got to
play it. There was a loud rap at the entrance to the Dragon House, and a
lad from the stables informed them that there was a fancy carriage in the
camp's main square and someone was asking for the 109th Maraeri.
They looked at one another. Most shot Relkin a glance and then looked
away. Relkin tried not to think, but they all crowded down to the gate of
the dragon quarters and beheld a white, covered carriage, pulled by four
horses, rolling up to the gate. The coachman found that his horses were
most unhappy. They fidgeted, neighed, and chewed at the bit, terrified by
the smell of dragon.
The door opened and out came a tall, well-fed young man, clad in an
outdated style of dragon leader uniform with knee breeches and high
boots and a long coat with tails. An oversized cap badge was attached to
the fellow's antique hat with the numerals 109 inscribed upon it.
Relkin's heart sank.
A soft, feminine voice spoke from inside the coach. The fellow in the
uniform turned back to say something, and there was a squeal of giggles.
The eyes of the 109th widened. If old Commander Toup found out
about this, there'd be hell to pay. Commander Toup ran a hellishly tight
camp at Dashwood.
The plump fellow in the antique uniform turned back to them with a
confident swagger. He paused to survey them for a moment, as if waiting
for their salute. The 109th were too stunned to remember their manners.
"Good evening all, I am Dragon Leader Wiliger," announced the
apparition with an air of jaunty good humor. "I have been assigned to
command this squadron.
"I know that we are going to get along very well." He beamed at them.
"I'm sure because I know this is a disciplined unit, and by the Hand, I
swear I'll maintain discipline!"
They stared at him with blank expressions. Manuel was the first to
wake up. He nudged Jak in the ribs and whispered and then whispered
louder.
"Salute, you idiots."
Relkin awoke, from nightmare to a reality no better. They saluted
摘要：

ScannedbyHighroller.ProofedmoreorlessbyHighroller.MadeprettierbyuseofEBookDesignGroupStylesheet.BattledragonbyChristopherRowleyCHAPTERONEInthelandoftheKraheen,intheheartofthedarkcontinent,threegrim-facedmenstoodbesidealong,ebonyboxinthetempleoftheGodofStone.Theirleader,aburlyfellowofsixfootormore,no...

展开>> 收起<<
Christopher Rowley - Bazil 04 - Battledragon.pdf

共424页,预览85页

还剩页未读， 继续阅读

声明：本站为文档C2C交易模式，即用户上传的文档直接被用户下载，本站只是中间服务平台，本站所有文档下载所得的收益归上传人(含作者)所有。玖贝云文库仅提供信息存储空间，仅对用户上传内容的表现方式做保护处理，对上载内容本身不做任何修改或编辑。若文档所含内容侵犯了您的版权或隐私，请立即通知玖贝云文库，我们立即给予删除！

相关推荐

更多
立即下载
分类：外语学习 价格：5.9玖币 属性：424 页 大小：855.08KB 格式：PDF 时间：2024-12-24

开通VIP享超值会员特权

  • 多端同步记录
  • 高速下载文档
  • 免费文档工具
  • 分享文档赚钱
  • 每日登录抽奖
  • 优质衍生服务

作者详情

相关内容

更多

热门标签

人际关系 动力学连接体 力的合成 配电装置 高考理综 全宋诗作者索引 公务员考试
/ 424
评分 收藏
分享
立即下载 VIP免费下载
客服
关注