08 - Dragon by Steven Brust

Author:Steven Brust [Brust, Steven]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9780812589160
Publisher: Macmillan
Published: 1998-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

10

Run Away! Run Away!

I scanned the faces before me; mostly I was looking at warriors, all of them large and, well, scary-looking. Most of them were Dragonlords, but I saw at least two Dzurlords among them. They were all noticeably lacking in sympathy. Behind them were the sorcerers, and, though I couldn’t see him, I knew Fornia was behind them somewhere, watching the progress of the battle—the slaughter—and making decisions that would let his forces do more of the slaughtering. That, after all, was what war was about.

Someone came forward, a Dragonlord I’d never seen before. He said, “I am Jurg’n e’Tennith. You are here to ask for terms?” He seemed doubtful. He probably didn’t think Morrolan would send an Easterner.

I said, “Not exactly.”

“To negotiate, then?”

I was considering how to answer this when someone else pushed his way through the warriors, and I recognized Ori. He said, “He’s no negotiator; he’s an assassin. Kill him.”

Well, I reflected, that certainly put the negotiations on a different footing. Now would be a really good time to hear the juice-drum signaling “charge,” and have the company come suddenly to my rescue. Unfortunately, I’d left them rather far behind, and any drum I was likely to hear would be support for those in front of me; not that they needed it.

All of which reminds me that I never much cared for the sound of the juice-drum, and provides another splendid opportunity to leave you hanging for a while. Don’t worry, I’ll come back to the fight in a little bit.

Where was I? Oh, yes: the juice-drum.

I’d pretty much hated it since the first time its call had woken me up earlier than I’d had to get up since I quit running a restaurant. It had woken me up even earlier than usual the morning of the attack. That day there wasn’t a nearby creek, so those in charge had set up casks of water. I forced myself to shave. Shaving in cold water, by the way, isn’t as much fun as they say. I decided it was a good omen, however, that I didn’t cut myself. Virt, who was next to me at the water casks, explained that one difference between an elite corps and the usual sort of conscript army was that we were trusted to get ourselves up in the morning; in a conscript army the corporals came through the tents throwing everyone out and striking them with sticks if they weren’t fast enough.

“And they aren’t killed?”

“Corporals are hardly ever killed by conscripts. Officers, now, have to be a little careful.”

I wanted her to explain that, but the juice-drum cut in again, and I realized with a kind of horror that I recognized the particular rattle and bang as the call to breakfast. Of course, there was a kind of horror associated with breakfast, too.

I tried forcing plain coffee down my throat, but only managed a swallow before I had to give up. Around me, everyone was swilling the stuff like it was peach brandy.

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