VELZA
It had not been a good day for Dantar’s sister Velza. Normally fire magic was the most spectacular of the four casting types. Air magic was just shimmers, winds and fogs, water magic could raise waves and manipulate water to shape itself into tubes and shields, while earth magic could weaken walls or strengthen weapons. Fire magic castings were literally tangles of green fire, the same as dragons breathed, so that fire shapecasters could fight like very small dragons. Unfortunately, fire magic did not work over water.
The ship’s fire shapers were given crossbows, sworn in as marines, and told to shoot at the dragon when so ordered. The twelve shapers were divided into four squads.
Velza coped with being a young woman in an intensely male society by playing down anything that distinguished her as female. She wore her long brown hair tightly coiled and pinned up, wore the same knee boots and trousers as the male shapecasters, and had a white officer’s shirt under her shapecaster’s surcoat. She countered the fact that she was pretty by being cold or abrasive to everyone, and exercised on deck more than most of the men.
Now Velza was feeling foolish, because she and her squad could not use their fire shapecasting skills. She tended to blame herself for everything that went wrong, even things out of her control, so she was feeling strangely guilty because the dragon was attacking. As the enormous winged shape bore down on the ship, she ran through a checklist before her mind’s eye. This was her first time in action, and although she was frightened, she kept herself steady by trying to distract herself from the danger.
Crossbow loaded, sights adjusted, squad check – Squad check! Do squad check!
‘Shapecaster Pandas, check that your string is behind the bolt,’ she shouted. ‘Shapecaster Latsar, wait for the order to shoot this time!’
‘Checking, Captain,’ said Pandas.
‘Aye, Captain,’ said Latsar.
In the distance a cavernous mouth opened; a knight on horseback could have ridden in without touching the sides.
Shooting at that thing will only antagonise it, thought Velza. Why draw attention to ourselves?
In spite of her doubts, Velza fired on command and saw her bolt streak into the dragon’s mouth and vaporise with a bright flash. The dragon swooped over the ship, ignoring the barrage that rose to meet it. Someone nearby was screaming with agony. Velza looked around.
Pandas had shot himself and was writhing about in a circle centred on the crossbow bolt that pinned his foot to the deck. Velza and Latsar held him down while a carpenter’s apprentice was fetched.
‘At least you can tell the girls you were wounded in action,’ Latsar joked as the apprentice drew the bolt out with a lever clamp.
Pandas continued to scream.
‘You’re letting the squad down, Pandas!’ Velza hissed. ‘The whole ship can hear. Bear the pain like a warrior.’
If Pandas heard her words, they had no effect.
The surgeon arrived, and he was one of those annoyingly cheery little men who thought you could help people cope with pain by joking about it. Although he was hardly taller than Dantar, he had a very strong presence among the crew, perhaps because he so often stood between an injured man and death. Velza guessed that he was one of the oldest aboard the ship from his short grey hair and beard, yet he was fitter and more energetic than even her.
‘I’m afraid there’s no hope for your boot,’ he said as he sliced the expensive boot off the youth’s injured foot. ‘Now this will make you feel better.’
He poured sharply scented oil on the wound.
This made Pandas scream even louder.
‘No bones damaged, you’re very lucky,’ the surgeon said as he bound up the wound.
Pandas continued to scream.
‘You’re also lucky nobody else was injured, it’s such a slight wound that I’d not bother with it after a real battle. On your way, now.’
Velza and Latsar carried Pandas off to the infirmary cabins under the forecastle.
Velza was both a female shapecaster and an officer. While there were other female shapecasters in the fleet, Velza had a problem not shared by the others: her father was the fleet’s battle warlock, outranked only by the admiral himself. Nobody actually said that her rank had been gained by her father’s influence, but a single mistake was sure to get tongues whispering, so Velza never made mistakes. Now one of her squad had shot at himself instead of the dragon, which was practically impossible to do by accident. There would be trouble.
‘Why did he have to scream so much?’ she muttered as she and Latsar stood staring at the distant patch of burning oil that had once been the Intrepid.
‘It might have been the crossbow bolt through his foot,’ Latsar replied.
‘The whole ship heard.’
‘And some of the other ships nearby, quite probably.’
‘What will the marshal think?’
‘He will probably charge Pandas with cowardice.’
‘It was an accident. Pandas is too much of a coward to shoot himself deliberately. I shall have to prove that, Latsar. If I don’t, he will be hanged
from a yardarm. Why did he have to do it? It will go on my record.’
‘Some people just don’t think, Captain.’
Although Pandas was the scholar of the squad, Latsar was the cleverest of them. Nobody ever won an argument with Latsar.
What now? Velza wondered wearily. Follow rules. Rule B17: Interview survivors and write a squad report.
‘I must start my squad report, Latsar,’ she said. ‘Did you hit the dragon?’
‘I hit the soft bit under its wing, but it was not very soft,’ said Latsar. ‘The bolt bounced off.’
‘I hit it right in the mouth, but it didn’t notice.’
‘Will you interview Pandas?’
‘No, I already know what he hit.’