Hell's Gate

"Meaning?" His eyes narrowed, and she shrugged again.

"Meaning I've tagged both of them with magister-level security spells. If anyone whose personae I didn't include in the original spell comes within four feet of them, I'll know. And if anyone tries to hurt them or drag either of them off against their will … Well, let's just say whoever it is won't enjoy the experience one bit."

She studied his expression far more anxiously than her own expression might have indicated. Sir Jasak Olderhan was Andaran, after all, with an Andaran's faith in the honor of the Arcanan Army and its officer corps.

"Is that legal?" he asked after a moment.

"As long as the enforcement aspect of the spell is nonlethal, it's not illegal," she replied. "It's a gray area, in a lot of ways. Under the circumstances, and given our shared commitment to see to their personal safety and the importance of the intelligence asset they represent, I don't think there could be any objection. Not any legitimate objection, anyway."

"Except, of course, from the people who try to do the dragging," he observed lightly. He smiled, but it was a fleeting smile, and his eyes turned bleak. "Which, Magister Kelbryan, won't bother me one tiny bit. Thank you."

"You're welcome," she said quietly, and laid one hand on his forearm. "I said it was 'our commitment,' Jasak. It is. I may not understand everything about your people's honor code, but what I do understand, I respect. I even admire most of it, although it's all very unRansaran. But even if I didn't, Shaylar and Jathmar have suffered enough. If anyone wants to hurt either of them ever again, they're going to have to come through both of us, not just you."

"Thank you," he repeated in a much softer tone, and patted the hand on his forearm once, lightly.

She looked into those dark, brown eyes of his and felt a twinge of surprise. She kept her expression serene, but her pulse seemed to have speeded up unaccountably, and she scolded herself for it. That was the last thing either of them needed at this particular time!

"So," she said more lightly, "what's bothering you?"

He snorted. It should have sounded amused, but it didn't, and then he turned back to the fort parapet and pointed at the forest-walled dragonfield with his chin.

"What do you see out there, Gadrial?"

"What?" Gadrial blinked in surprise, then stepped up beside him to gaze out over the same vista for several seconds. "Just the dragonfield," she said finally.

"'Just the dragonfield,'" he repeated softly, almost musingly.

"Obviously you're seeing something I'm not."

"No." He shook his head. "It's just that I know what we ought to be seeing. I know you've spent a lot of time in Garth Showma, but you're still basically a civilian, Gadrial. I'm not."

"So tell this poor 'civilian' what she's missing."

"Sorry." He flashed her a grin, acknowledging her tone's exaggerated patience. "I didn't mean to be mysterious. It's just that there are an awful lot of dragons out there, Gadrial. A lot."

Gadrial frowned, gazing out over the field once more, and then nodded slowly. She'd noticed when they arrived that the field seemed unusually crowded, but her mind had been on other matters at the time. Now that Jasak had called her attention to it, she realized that the number of dragons out there actually exceeded the field's designed capacity by a substantial margin. Each dragon was supposed to have its own assigned nesting place, with overhead cover against the elements, but there were too many of the huge beasts for that to be possible. At least a quarter of those she could see were housed?if that was the word for it?in hastily improvised wallows the recent rain had turned muddy, giving them a bedraggled, down-at-the-heels look she was unaccustomed to seeing from the Air Force.

"You're right," she acknowledged. "I hadn't noticed."

"That's not all," Jasak said soberly, and nodded towards the flatter area to the south of the dragonfield.

The area to the north was given over to paddocks and holding pens filled with the imported cattle and locally rounded up bison which provided the dragons' primary food supply. Now that Jasak had drawn her attention to the number of beasts actually thronging the field, she realized that the holding pens were unusually full, as well. But he was pointing in the opposite direction, and she felt her forehead furrowing as she saw the neat rows of white tents.

"That's at least a two-company bivouac," he told her. "And that's the next best thing to five hundred men."

Gadrial nodded slowly. Once upon a time, she knew, the Andaran rank titles which the Union's military establishment had adopted had been literal descriptors of the size of an officer's command. Over time, however, as armies grew and evolved, that had changed. Jasak was a commander of one hundred, and one hundreds had always commanded infantry companies. But a company consisted of almost two hundred and fifty men these days, not the hundred men it had once contained. And Five Hundred Klian's battalion consisted (or should have, assuming it had been at full strength) of almost eleven hundred men, not five hundred, while a commander of two thousand's regiment was over three thousand men strong.

None of which explained what five hundred men were doing living in tents outside Fort Talon's barracks.

"mul Gurthak's calling in reinforcements," she said.

"That's exactly what he's doing," Jasak agreed. Then he inhaled deeply. "We shouldn't be surprised. After all, he's the most senior officer this side of the Ucala sliderhead, and that's still over twelve thousand miles from here. It's his responsibility to concentrate as much combat power as he can, just in case. It's just … "

His voice trailed off, and he shook his head. Not that he needed to complete the sentence for Gadrial's benefit.

She stood beside him, gazing at the i

And if we're prepared to use dragons for the first time in two hundred years, she thought with a bone-deep shiver, recalling a conversation with Shaylar and Jathmar, what else are we prepared to do for the first time in two hundred years?

It was a question she couldn't answer, and she felt like a coward for being grateful that she could not.

"Well, gentlemen," Nith mul Gurthak said, tipping back his chair and smiling at Rithmar Skirvon and Uthik Dastiri, "I suppose it's time that you were on your way."

The sun had barely risen over Fort Talon, but the two diplomats were already packed and ready to go. Their beautifully tailored civilian clothing had been exchanged for utilitarian Air Force flight suits, and neither of them looked any more enthralled by the prospect of a five thousand-mile journey than mul Gurthak would have been in their place.

"I'm afraid so," Skirvon agreed with a grimace. "I wish we were eligible for flight pay!"

"Understandable, I suppose," mul Gurthak conceded with a slight smile. Then his expression grew more sober. "A great deal depends upon you gentlemen?on your judgment and your efforts. I won't belabor that point further, since I know we're all already aware of it. I wish there were time for us to seek formal guidance from Parliament and the Commandery. There isn't."

"Understood, Two Thousand," Skirvon replied somberly. "I assure you that we'll do our best."

"I never doubted it." mul Gurthak rose behind his desk and extended his right hand. "Good luck, gentlemen."

"Thank you, Two Thousand," Skirvon said very seriously. Then mul Gurthak shook hands with both of them and watched them walk out of his office.