Chapter 41 Evander
Chapter forty-one
Evander
The conscripts were churlish, mumbling and glaring as Evander climbed over the fence and strode toward the dreadnought dragon crouched in the center of the paddock.
The creature was as long as the mess hall, and nearly as tall; Evander’s head just reached its knobby elbow. Two sets of wings lay tucked along its sides as it munched on a bale of hay.
Evander felt strange in his Sennalaithic uniform.
It was simple: cream pants, black leather boots, a short light blue jacket with brass buttons, and a white shirt.
His magic shirt, which he wore underneath, had shrunk obligingly, the collar disappearing and the sleeves shortening, until it fit like a second skin without adding bulk to his other clothes.
The conscripts wore identical outfits, except their jackets were gray.
Despite the heat, he’d also been issued a shearling leather coat, similar to what he’d worn in Silvanlight.
Evander reached into his satchel and produced a severed hoof. It smelled rank, and a string of sinew hung off the bone.
The dreadnought snapped up the hoof, and it slid down her throat in an unsettling lump.
She had a long body, and a trailing tail that doubled her length.
She was broad enough for three people to sit cross-legged on her back.
She was a docile creature, sky-blue with a white belly, and obedient as a dog.
Evander remembered her because he’d trained her, his first year in Silvanlight, but she had no name. They did not name the battle dragons.
“Good morning, Dread Five crew,” Evander said, turning. He ran over their names in his mind: Samara—the leader; Ignatius—the big one; Elspeth—the quiet one; Rosemary—the sarcastic one, and Giles—the little one.
The crew scowled back at him, tight-lipped.
Evander groaned. Here he was again, stuck with these same petulant children. He wanted to find Valenna and escape to Silvanlight, or Torsten’s hut, or anywhere but here.
He pressed on. “There are twenty dreadnought crews in the Sennalaith army. We are the fifth, hence Dread Five. We discussed this in Silvanlight, so I hope you were listening, but since we both know you weren’t, I’ll go over it again.
This dragon carries six riders. She has four wings, as you can see. ”
The dreadnought wore a complicated leather harness. It looped under her front and rear legs and then over her back. Affixed to the harness was a long cable extending from her shoulders to her tail.
Evander tickled the dragon’s belly, and she extended her wings, then folded them against her body again. Two canisters the size of ale barrels hung under her wings, held in place by thick ropes.
“Each wing carries two scattershot canisters. Two bombardiers will be stationed, one for each side, to release the canisters on my command. Dropping the canisters is our primary goal in battle. Wait until the downbeat and then pull the release. If you time it wrong, then the wing could come up and strike you, breaking your neck.”
“I hope I don’t end up doing that,” Giles said under his breath.
“Then, we have the tripod razer and the aft razer who man the shotfires at the front and rear.”
“Oh, I hope I don’t end up there, actually,” Giles mumbled.
Evander climbed a rope ladder hanging from the dragon’s side. She didn’t pay him any heed—she was expertly trained.
“Here’s your aft shotfire.” Evander indicated a long wyvern bone weapon overlooking the creature’s tail.
“The operators are called ‘razers.’ The aft razer will lie on his or her stomach and fire at fighter dragons attacking at the rear. Up here”—he walked to the second shotfire, this one mounted between the dragon’s shoulders on a tall stand—“is the tripod razer.”
This weapon was made from a hollow dreadnought femur as thick around as Evander’s arm. It stood on a tall tripod, and the pellets fed into its side were fastened to a long, snaking sash.
“Oh, I hope I don’t get that job,” mumbled Giles.
“GILES!” Evander barked.
The boy winced.
“You will have to do one of these duties. Stop grousing.”
Giles looked at his feet, crestfallen, and Samara grimaced at Evander.
A stab of conscience reminded him that these were children, far from home.
Still, he couldn’t put out the fire smoldering behind his breastbone.
Almost a week had passed, and he hadn’t been called to a war council, hadn’t seen or heard from Valenna, and the conscripts’ constant complaints threatened daily to upend his calm.
He tossed in his cot at night, anxiety clawing away sleep, and he was exhausted. Where was Valenna? Had Cadmus moved her to another manor house, deeper in Sennalaith? Had he locked her away? He’d asked cautious questions, tried to plumb the other officers for information, but he got nothing.
“Dreadnoughts are slow and stupid,” Evander continued, dragging his mind from Valenna to the training.
“If I guided her head-first into a cliff, she’d obey without hesitation.
If I told her to dive into the ground, she’d do it and break my neck and hers.
This is both an advantage and a danger. They are also deaf, so not easily frightened in battle. ”
“And they breathe fire,” Samara shouted from the fence. “And they have pockets of gas in their bellies. We know all this!”
“Then you can think about lunch,” Evander said evenly.
“But I didn’t ask for your input, so be quiet.
Now, as I was saying, they do breathe fire, but only every fifteen seconds.
They have a pocket of gas in their bellies.
If struck by a phoenix, another dragon’s fire, or enough scattershot, they will blow up.
They also often blow when they make impact with the ground. ”
“Will there be a test?” Rosemary asked.
“Yes. It’s colloquially known as a battle, and if you fail, you die.”
The conscripts fell very quiet, and even the surly Ignatius pulled out his notebooks and pencil and began to jot down notes.
“Dreadnoughts aren’t aggressive toward people, but they will eat smaller dragons.
In battle, they’ll go after the enemy’s little fighter dragons.
When shooting a fighter dragon, avoid their sides and back; the scales are thick.
Aim for the soft spot between their front legs.
Now, the pilot must be careful not to allow the dreadnought to become distracted so the razer can line up a good shot. ”
“Who will be the pilot?” Elspeth shouted.
“I haven’t decided yet.”
Giles pushed Samara forward.
“As long as she agrees not to drive us into the ground,” Evander said.
Again, Evander’s conscience niggled at him. He was failing miserably at this.
The dreadnought’s huge tongue, as wide across as Evander’s body, picked at its teeth.
“Can a spark sparrow penetrate that thing’s hide?” Samara asked.
“No,” Evander replied. “But sparksparrows can pierce right through you.”
“Or, they could give us steel armor so we don’t get impaled or gutted or shot full of holes,” Rosemary complained.
Evander shook his head. “Metal armor is a thing of the past. We will be assigned dragon scale vests. These will help against shotfire balls from long distances, glancing blows from cutlasses, and some scattershot. Again, they only help.”
He touched his shirt as he spoke, wondering if Samara was telling the truth about its magic. “Go take the smaller dragons and run through some maneuvers. The same ones we learned in Silvanlight. It’ll improve your balance.”
Cheered by the prospect of riding the little fighter dragons, all the conscripts dispersed … except Samara. She followed Evander to Hera’s paddock, climbed onto the fence, and balanced on the top rail, her hands on her knees.
“They don’t like you,” she said.
“No?” Evander replied with mock surprise. He hopped into the paddock and reached his hand out to Hera, who was munching on a sheep, its hooves sticking out of her mouth like walrus tusks.
Haldir passed, casting Samara and Evander a dark look. Once he was out of earshot, Samara whispered, “They’re all mumbling that they want to kill him.”
Evander was running his hands down Hera’s legs to gauge the moisture of her skin. He stopped and stared at the girl, his eyebrows raised. “Are you mad?”
“It wasn’t my idea. They want to punish someone for Lysander. They wanted to kill you at first, but I’ve done my best to convince them it’s more Haldir’s fault than yours.”
“If you touch Haldir, you’ll all be executed.”
Elspeth passed, and Samara fell silent, gazing at the ground and wringing her hands.
Hera swallowed the last of her lunch, and Evander pulled her big middle head down, tickling her brow until she opened her jaws, then he leaned his head and shoulders inside.
His voice echoed in her cavernous mouth.
“Thank you for convincing them not to kill me.”
“I didn’t do it for you. I know your wife turned us over to Cadmus, and so does everyone else. I did it because you can teach us how to survive a battle, and Haldir cannot. But this is still your fault, and we have long memories.”
Evander’s jaw tightened as he inspected Hera’s teeth, standing on his toes to avoid being cut by her fangs.
“It hurts, doesn’t it? Getting betrayed by someone you trust …”
“I’m sorry, Samara!” Evander burst. Hera shied.
Her tooth caught on his shirt, and she shook her head, knocking him out of her mouth.
He landed on his back on the sandy ground, startled at his sudden anger.
He’d lost his temper. Evander Trevelyan, the coolheaded, the unflappable.
He lost his temper, and it nearly got him gutted.
“Be careful!” Samara shouted. “You cannot get yourself killed before this battle! We need you!”
Evander got up, strode across the paddock, and leaned against the fence, watching as the conscripts soared into the clouds.
“I haven’t seen my wife yet,” he admitted, wiping his brow with his sleeve. “I don’t know if she’s in the manor house or chained in some basement in the dark. It’s driving me mad.”
“After what she did …” Samara sniffed and lifted her chin. “Maybe she deserves to be chained in a basement.”
“She wouldn’t have done it if Ariadne hadn’t pushed her to it,” Evander remarked.
Samara bristled and opened her mouth to object, but Evander held up his hand to silence her. “You’re here because of me. Leave Valenna out of it. But you’re also here because of Ariadne. I’m not faulting her. She’s paid dearly for her stubbornness.”
“I don’t understand, though. What did Valenna have to gain from betraying us to Cadmus?”
Evander debated how to answer this and, deciding she’d know soon enough anyway, opted for the truth. “Valenna is Cadmus’s daughter.”
“WHAT?” Samara would have toppled off the fence if Evander hadn’t grabbed the front of her jacket, pulling her upright again. This was like parenting a toddler.
Samara straightened her jacket, her cheeks burning. “Are you really dumb enough not to see when you’ve been played for a fool, Trevelyan?”
He scowled. “I don’t understand …”
“Your ‘wife’ convinced you to lead her to the sanctuary so she could turn its location over to her father. She was using you this whole time.”
“That’s not true, Samara.”
“Fine, then maybe you were in on it, too. It’s awfully convenient, you getting a captain’s posting in a day.”
“I could have run.” Evander sighed. He often wished he had run. “But I stayed. To help you.”
“Why should I believe that? You never cared about us.”
“Yes, Samara, I did,” Evander said. “If I didn’t, I would have been soft on you. I would have let you play about with fighter dragons. But I taught you how to pilot a dreadnought in Silvanlight. Or at least I tried, but none of you would listen.”
Samara huffed, hopped off the fence, and stalked toward the barracks, mumbling profanities under her breath.
Evander watched the girl until she rounded a corner and disappeared from sight, his eyes aching with weariness. When he turned back to Hera, her right head was lowered, inches from his face, her yellow eyes slitted.
“Don’t judge me,” he scolded.
Training didn’t improve as the day waned. The conscripts were belligerent at best, aggressive at worst. They ignored his orders, complained behind his back, and cut murderous glances at Haldir as he stood off to the side, watching from under his heavy brow.
Beyond camp, the manor house stood a stone bulk against the cloud-mottled sky.
Evander’s eyes wandered toward it while he taught, unraveling his line of thought.
Images tormented him of his wife shut up in there, wrapped in her own thorns, her skin flayed and bleeding.
Or Cadmus berating her, beating her, starving her.
He had to get to her, somehow. He had to save her.
Why was he here, teaching students who didn’t want to learn, when he should be scaling the manor house walls, racing to Valenna’s rescue?
By sunset, Evander’s nerves were frayed. Every time a trainee asked him a question, he had the overwhelming urge to slap them across the face.
Somehow, he had to see Valenna, or he was going to lose his mind.
The answer came like a gift from the Only Himself, in the form of a messenger in livery.
The messenger approached with the breathless dignity inherent to his profession. “Captain Trevelyan, the king has summoned you to the war council.”