Chapter 51 Evander
Chapter fifty-one
Evander
“Do you think we’re ready?”
Samara’s eyes shone in the firelight, and Evander gazed at her, noticing again how young she was, how small. She should be in school, not crouching in an army camp, awaiting her first battle.
“We will have to be,” was his somber reply.
They were camped at the base of the mountain, white tents neatly arranged, small fires shining like stars on the dark grass.
They’d met Cadmus’s army here a few hours earlier.
Exhausted, the crew slept on their bedrolls on the ground, except Samara, who had recently returned from the physician’s tent with fresh stitches in her side.
She knelt across from Evander, chewing her meat ration.
Evander poured dark tea into a tin cup and listened to the dragons’ grunts carrying on the damp breeze from the makeshift paddock where they curled, sleeping. Hera was restless. Her distant grumbles irritated him, made him restless too.
More than anything, Evander wanted to take Valenna by the hand, mount Hera, and ride away into the night. He wanted to leave this war behind. But Haldir was dead. They were flying in at the front.
Ryland Everette and his Dread Seven crew approached.
Ryland was so grave, he made Evander look like a court jester.
His brother, the tripod razer, was laughing about some inside joke with the aft razer.
There were only five of them—one man short of a typical crew.
It was their trademark; one bombadier for all four wings.
The bombadier was a huge, barrel-chested man with spiky red hair and a scar dimpling his chin.
They stopped and held their hands over the fire.
“I hear you’re leading us into the battle tomorrow,” the tri-razer said with a grin. He was a lithe, scrappy young man with tousled blond hair.
“It hasn’t been confirmed,” Evander replied vaguely.
“I’m just glad it isn’t us.”
Ryland bent his cold eyes on Evander. “Your crew is inexperienced. You’ll kill us all, unless your pilot knows what she’s doing. And she doesn’t.”
Samara scowled. “I can pilot that dragon just as well as …”
“As me?” the Dread Seven pilot, a tall woman with a halo of thick black curls, asked. “No one can pilot a dragon as well as me.”
“We’re not trying to start a fight!” the tripod razer said with a nervous laugh.
“Speak for yourself, Raleigh,” the aft-razer mumbled. She was a slight girl with long brown hair, dyed purple at the ends.
“Dread Five will do fine tomorrow,” Evander said, without bothering to look at the other crew. “I have every confidence in them.”
The captain crossed his arms. “You’re a poor liar, Trevelyan.”
“You talk too much, Everette,” was the curt reply.
“Can’t your people make magical shirts that can withstand knives and shotfire balls?” the aft-razer asked.
Samara shook her head sadly. “It takes decades to weave just one of those. Captain Trevelyan’s is the only one I’ve ever seen.”
A twinge of guilt irritated Evander. Samara must have read it in his face because she exclaimed, “You keep that shirt on! I won’t have you killed by some rogue scattershot during the battle. If you die, so do all of us. So you keep it.”
He still felt guilty, and he couldn’t stop thinking about the Cobblepinions, asleep on their bedrolls. They were all so young. Not that Evander was old, but twenty-five seems like a long life when you’re teaching a sixteen-year-old how to survive.
Ryland slapped Evander’s shoulder, and a jolt of pain ran through him. It wasn’t healed yet. “Good luck tomorrow. Don’t lose your head.”
“And hopefully,” the aft-razer said, tossing a glance at Raleigh, “our tri-razer won’t do something idiotic and get us all killed.”
“I’ll have you know,” Raleigh said loudly, holding up his hand, “that I make the risky, calculated decisions in battle that make this crew great.”
“You couldn’t do a calculation if your life depended on it,” the aft-razer scoffed.
Ryland and his crew stalked off toward the tents, the two razers bickering.
“What did Dread Seven do to get stuck with us in the front?” Samara asked.
Evander poured himself more tea. “They’re Ashkendoric defectors.”
A brief fear that he might dislocate his shoulder again in battle pricked in the back of Evander’s mind.
An injury like that could spell death for his whole crew.
He made a mental note to wrap it well in the morning and remember not to mention it to Valenna.
She didn’t need to worry anymore over him; she had her own battle to fight.
Cadmus’s white dragon landed behind the tents, and the king walked toward them, his golden hair shining in the firelight.
“Trevelyan!” Cadmus cried, spreading his hands in greeting. “I am overjoyed! Your mission was a success! Come to the war council, and we will discuss our plans for tomorrow.”
A spark of hope lit in Evander’s chest. Perhaps Cadmus had forgotten his ultimatum.
***
When Evander stepped into the council tent, he found Valenna already there. She was bent over the map table in the center of the tent, but she darted a look at him, and her cheeks flushed.
What if he didn’t get a chance to talk with her alone before the battle? What if he was killed or, unthinkably, what if she was killed and they never got the chance to say goodbye? His throat narrowed, his breath whistling.
“Trevelyan!” Cadmus cried, his face alight, “Come!”
Evander realized he was standing in the tent opening, his feet rooted to the ground. He willed himself forward.
“My daughter sings your praises!” Cadmus continued.
“Thank you,” Evander grunted. Cadmus made him uncomfortable.
“But, oh.” Cadmus’s face fell dramatically. “Where is Colonel Bournemuth?”
“As I said, he …” Valenna began, but Cadmus raised his hand to silence her.
“I would like Captain Trevelyan to explain.”
Evander cleared his throat. “He fell.”
“Fell how?”
“He panicked, and the dragobat took him.”
“Oh.” Cadmus’s lips turned down. “And you have the body?”
“As I said,” Evander repeated evenly, “the dragobat took him.”
“Captain Trevelyan, as much as I want to believe you, how do I know your crew didn’t simply murder him, as they attempted before?”
Evander stared at the king, unflinching. “Bournemuth didn’t have the courage to make it through the Crag. Predictably, he panicked.”
Cadmus shrugged. “Very well. As I stated before, Dread Five will lead us to battle tomorrow. Your mission will be to take out the manor house—the other dreadnoughts will take out the bunkers before the infantry makes landfall.”
“Would it not be better to station a more experienced …”
Cadmus slammed his hand on the table, his face flushing scarlet. “I have already explained to you the consequences of losing Bournemuth on your mission. You will fly in first, the rest of the brigade fanning out behind you in regulation battle formation. I will have none of your excuses!”
Evander grit his teeth, but inclined his head in a stiff nod.
“Stop being such a coward,” Cadmus said breathlessly, wiping his forehead with his sleeve.
“You said yourself there will only be light resistance. Valeria, you will fly in with me behind the landing force. I will ride the hydra when the battle cools, so it can be seen by the fleeing Ashkendoric forces.”
“It is vital,” Evander said, “that you wait until the scattershot and shotfire quiets before you bring Hera. She will panic, and if she does, she will kill everyone. Our men as well as theirs.”
“You do harp on that point,” Cadmus scoffed.
“Because it is imperative.”
“Yes, yes.” Cadmus waved his hand carelessly. “You heard the plan. I will come in at the end. Valeria, I expect you to use your zephyrs to remove any stragglers. No need to exert yourself today; you’ll be needed when we march on the capital.”
Evander’s eyes flicked to Valenna, and he wondered how she planned to hide her new magic from her father.
“A simple plan, and elegant,” Cadmus continued. “Tomorrow, we gain the foothold that will lead to the end of this war and avenge my beloved, murdered wife. Her spirit will soon rest. You all may go.”
Evander left the tent and strode through camp to the dragon paddocks where their dreadnought munched on a mouthful of hay.
Evander felt old and tired, like he’d aged ten years in the council tent.
He told himself repeatedly that there would only be light resistance tomorrow. They could do this. They were ready.
But they weren’t ready. Giles still kept timing the wing beats wrong, poor child. That boy wasn’t made for combat.
If Giles died, would it be Evander’s fault? They were all here because of him, because they’d been caught up in his never-ending retreat from Ashkendor. Would he carry that boy’s blood on his hands to his grave?
No. Giles would survive, and so would Samara and Valenna and the others. Evander would see to it.
He tapped the dreadnought’s neck, and she spread her wings.
“I need you to be brave tomorrow,” he said as he ran his hands over the soft, taut skin, checking its moisture, its strength. “You’ll carry us through, won’t you?”
Evander ducked under her belly, feeling the armored scales for gaps or dryness. He tickled her jaw, and it dropped open. He leaned into the shadow of her gaping mouth, inspecting her small, conical teeth and the sharp molars that sparked gas to flame.
“Vander.”
He looked over his shoulder. Valenna leaned against the makeshift fence, her face drawn.
“That thing could crush you,” she said.
“She won’t,” he replied.
Frogs sang in rhythm in some distant pond. Crickets chirped. Far away, a bird sang and a shadow wheeled over the moon.
“Raska is back,” Evander said.
“I can’t understand why she hasn’t snatched you and carried you away,” Valenna mused, watching her.
“I’m beginning to wonder if she’s after me at all.”
Valenna rested her arms on the fence rail. “You can’t lead that band of children into battle. It’s insane.”
Evander straightened, patted the dreadnought’s jaw, and crossed the paddock. “Most of us will survive the invasion. Dread Seven is at our wing’s end, and they’re very good. It won’t be much of a fight.”
“He planned this,” Valenna said, her voice rough.
“From the beginning. He sent Haldir along, knowing he would die one way or another, and he could send you into the teeth of the enemy.” She laid her hand on Evander’s chest. “Samara explained about the shirt. Make sure you wear it under your dragon scale vest.”
“I will.”
“Promise me.”
He placed his hand over hers. “It’s not a pitched battle. A skirmish at worst. I’ve been flying into combat since before my voice changed; I can handle tomorrow.”
“Still,” she said, “there will be scattershot, and shotfires, and maybe even sparksparrows ...”
Shaking his head, Evander climbed over the fence. “There won’t be any sparksparrows. Yes, we’ll have the heaviest fire, but we can evade it.”
“Vander, the last time you fought at Scathmore, you were nearly killed.”
“By you.” He laughed. “And so were you, if I recall.”
She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. “I can’t lose you.”
He pressed his lips to her forehead. She tasted of salt. “You won’t.”
“I don’t trust you to be careful.”
“I will be. Because, more than anything, I want to come home to you.”
She looked up into his face. “You mean that?”
“It’s strange, I’ve never fought for a cause I cared about.
But I care about you and, strangest of all, I care about Cobblepine and Talwaith and seeing the dragons return to their home.
” He cupped her chin in his hand. “You, my love,” he whispered, softly kissing her right cheek, “are my cause. You”—his lips brushed her left cheek—“are my future.” He kissed her lips.
“You are my kingdom. I will survive. And I will come back to you.”
Her hands gripped him so tightly it hurt. He didn’t mind.
“Now, you promise me,” he said, “that you will not be consumed by darkness. Whatever magic you choose to use, I want you whole and well at the end of the day.”
“I will, because I, too, have a purpose, and a husband I couldn’t exist without, and a kingdom I want to restore. Sins I want to atone. My old magic is a language I no longer speak.”
He smiled. “You are everything I always knew you could be, and more, and I’m so proud of you.”
She wrapped her arms around him, and they leaned into one last, long kiss. He drank her in—her warmth, her smell, her taste. Savored it. Longed for more. But the night was waning, and there was a battle to fight. He pulled away.
“I have to go prepare the crew.”
The ends of her fingers still curled around his. “I can’t … Vander … can’t you run just one more time? Can’t you escape to Silvanlight? I’ll come find you when this is over.”
He let out a rueful laugh. “Oh, Val, I can’t.”
“Please, please, for me.”
“It’ll be alright. I’m a good soldier, and it’ll all be over soon.”
“Don’t say over,” she said.
“Then it will all be better soon.”
It took more courage than facing the dragobat, but he drew his hands from hers.
“Go now, before your father finds out about us.”
“I love you,” she said. “Recklessly. Unreasonably. I will find you on the battlefield tomorrow.”
“We’ll meet under the dragon willow when it’s over.”
“Under the dragon willow, then.”
Evander watched until she was out of sight, then walked back to camp.
He passed the tri-razer and the aft-razer from Dread Seven. They were hiding behind a tent, locked in a tight embrace, kissing. Smiling, Evander passed them. What better time to be in love, he thought, than at the end of everything?