Viska was climbing back up onto the deck when the dragoness came into view. She flapped and drifted around the port side. Every stroke of her wings sent a slight gust of wind through his blond hair. Her grey scales glistened and twinkled in the light of the late afternoon sun. A long, sturdy neck, hung with royal draping, supported a stately horned head. Her nostrils flared, snorted, and spewed wisps of smoke. Eyes like coal from the deepest mines of hell–chiseled out and shaped into beauty by the Undergod himself. She roared again, sending shivers down both of their spines.
While the dragon herself was a massive, fearsome beast, the rider astride her back was nothing if not remarkably plain in comparison. Young, but old enough to know a family of his own, and an obviously decorated military career; he wore the deep red skullcap that many of Corland’s riders wore, and a vest of padded leather over a short, crimson coat; the tails of which draped over the dragon’s rump. The legs of his brown trousers were tucked into long military boots, firmly hooked into the stirrups dangling from the saddle. In one hand he clutched the reins; in the other he held a rifle to his shoulder.
Quentin knew him. Twelve years as a decorated Captain in His Majesty’s Air Corps, how could he not? The dragoness, however…he’d never known of one so big. He’d seen bucks in the wild slightly larger than her, but none willing to be tamed, none willing to serve and to bond with a rider. He’d been away from Corland nearly 4 years, and the unlikely had apparently become the accomplished.
“By order of His Majesty Janus IV and by authority of the Royal Family of Corland you are ordered to land this vessel now and prepare to be boarded!” His voice carried easily with the turbine reduced to silence and the gentle chug of the onboard engine taking its place. His rifle was wisely trained on Viska, his eyes never leaving that freakishly painted face.
“Can’t do that, boy,” Viska said. “We have a schedule that cannot be altered.”
He pulled the reins, easing the winged creature closer to the ship. She put both clawed, monstrous feet on the railing and perched. She spread her wings wide and issued a terrible growl; shadow filled the deck as the sun was blotted out. The Fortunate dipped to the left under her weight, making both men adjust their footing. Quentin winced and glanced at the wheel. They would surely be thrown off course after too much of this.
“I wasn’t giving you a choice. You fired on my men, you fled from us, you’re wanted for questioning. Land now. Believe me, this beautiful girl here can drag you to the ground if you like.” The dragon tightened her claws around her perch, cracking and splintering the wood in a show of strength.
“Commodore Adkins,” Quentin spoke up. He stepped towards the aft stairs. “Put the gun down, my friend, and let’s talk. Can we do that?” He lifted his hands in a show of peace.
“It’s Wing Admiral Adkins now. And no, no we can’t. I don’t know how you know my name, and I don’t much care at the moment. I’ve got the Mad Jester staring right down the barrel of my gun and you want to talk?”
“Of course you realize, now that you’ve seen me you have to die.” Viska grinned. Adkins wasn’t fazed and neither was the dragon.
“You have until the count of 5 to decelerate and drop sky before my lass pulls the boat apart. She crumpled up your fancy pipe work in the rear, don’t make her get dirty with the rest of this dinghy.”
“Admiral, I’m sorry but that’s not possible,” Quentin shrugged. “This ship is rigged to explode on my command. You see there are several others down below ready to press dangerous buttons; I need only give the signal.” A bluff. Not even a very good one, but enough to give Adkins pause.
“You lie. What could you possibly have in this boat that would justify suicide? One.”
“Adkins, don’t be foolish. Nobody has to die today. But you will, and so will she,” he gestured to the dragon, “if you don’t fly away right now. One word, Adkins. One word and we all fall flaming, in pieces.”
“This man here has a bigger file with the City Guard than any other deranged lunatic they’ve ever put away. I know his work. I know his style, and suicide isn’t it. Two.”
Viska’s smile turned to astonishment. “I have a style?”
Quentin continued, “I once saw you break a wild buck in just under two hours. Fleet Commander said he’d never seen anything like it. You’ve got brains, and skill. But you’re not reckless. You know that. Do you really want to risk your life to catch him?” If bluffing wouldn’t sway him, perhaps a little nostalgia and insight into his personal life laced with veiled threats might. It was all true, of course; a wild buck, long as a small house, broken and bonded faster than anyone had ever thought possible. He’d been saddled, draped and given a spot in the stables before the night was out.
“He put several of my friends in the hospital. One of them lost a hand. I’m not reckless, but some risks are simply too good not to take. Three.”
“I remember that,” Viska mused. “Five guards against one man with a dagger. You should’ve brought more.”
Quentin desperately reached for more of Adkin’s life within his bank of memories. No children. No marriage. A sick mother. A lush for a brother. Father killed in the Freehold Conflict. Four years can change a life, certainly. And saying the wrong thing could blow the entire situation in the wrong direction. He was running out of ideas. He focused hard on the man upon the dragon, desperately struggling with the options at his disposal. He had to speak and he had to speak quickly. He blurted, “Adkins, your mother doesn’t deserve to have to read your obituary. She’s too old and ill to attend a military funeral. Don’t make me do this, lad. Don’t make me tell my friends to start smacking buttons.”
Adkins, oddly, had no retort, and no new number to call out.
Quentin kept it going, “Your brother! Your brother can’t possibly have it in him to do right by her. I once heard you say he spent more of his life drinking than he did being awake.” He went to the bannister, cautiously putting a foot on the first stair down.
Adkins never took his eyes off Viska. But his words had left him for the moment. The dragoness flexed her claws anxiously, snorting more smoke. He swallowed hard; the apple in his throat bobbing up and down.
“Maybe I should just make the call, pilot,” Viska grinned again. “I wouldn’t mind being on fire. I know real pain. Besides, that big bitch’s body might actually break my fall.” Finally he had something helpful to contribute to the gamble.
Quentin couldn’t help but wince at the sentiment, and sure enough Adkins seemed to snap back to the present and took his hand off the reins to tighten his grip on the rifle. “Talk like that won’t stand with me, Jester. Now, I don’t know who you are, or how you know so much about my life but if you think for one second that I’m letting this freak slip through my fingers over the notion of an explosion then you don’t know me very well. Reckless or no, anyone that runs from the horn is mine. FOUR!”
For all his loyalties, and his commitments to seeing The General’s plans come to splendid fruition, Quentin was no murderer. And, honestly, he had no desire to see this man die. If Viska had his druthers–and he usually did–most of Adkin’s body would be plummeting to the ground by now, while the rest of it would be shoved onto sticks and strings and made to dance and sing in a shrill voice as some gruesome, macabre marionette. The dragon would be raped, cooked and eaten; her remains prayed over and then pushed off the boat with a solemn hymn. Thankfully, Adkins had a gun pointed at the madman.
“My gods you’re feisty,” Viska said. “That bank job I pulled? You would’ve made a fine addition to the crew. Yes, I shot them all on the way out, but three of them lived. That could’ve been you!”
The big dragon tightened he grip; muscles tensing in her legs. Her wings shook slightly at her sides, her head dipped until it was eye level with Viska. “You know, they don’t understand everything we say, dragons,” Adkins said. “But they know enough. Enough to know who I’d like to see ripped apart. Enough to know when to eviscerate, and bite and protect. Five.” She spread her wings again, and roared, ripping her perch clean off the ship and slamming the talons of one wing against the deck. The wood snapped and splintered, sending shards in every direction.
Quentin’s jaw dropped open. Viska didn’t move, but the smile had left his face.
“Enjoy the sky while you can, lads!” Adkins called out. “We’ll be landing in a few minutes whether you like it or n–“
The crack and sizzle of a strange gunshot echoed around them. Then another. Adkins looked down at his chest to see a bullet hole. Instead of blood, however, there was ice. Frost. Frost spread quickly from the yawning wound to cover his vest, and then his arms and neck. Fear and panic filled his face as the ice engulfed his features, freezing them solid. His skullcap glazed over, and his boots.
“No. No, no…” Quentin, shook his head and ran down the staircase to the broken railing. “NO!” He reached out an arm, but was simply too late. Adkins, frozen from head to toe, tumbled from the saddle; looking very much like a statue dropped by a negligent sculptor. The dragon had ceased her theatrics as well. She flapped feebly, but couldn’t help clawing at her own bullet wound. She’d been shot just below the draping, at the base of the neck. The ice didn’t spread far; forming a perfect halo of sparkling blue. She wouldn’t freeze up, but she wouldn’t be able to ignore the pain either. A screech and a thrashing of the neck before she followed Adkins downward; a demon falling from a heaven she was not meant to tread.
Viska and Quentin turned in unison to see Dolovitch, poking out of the hatch up on the aft observation deck above the Captain’s quarters, big as ever and looking just as weary, gripping the butt of a rather large, rather strange looking pistol
“What the hell did you do that for!? Why did you shoot him!?” Quentin shouted, peering back over the railing while Viska walked over to join him. The falling pair was already behind them, but Quentin could still just make out the frozen form of Adkins hitting the ground…breaking unceremoniously into glittering pieces, followed moments later by the larger visage of his mount landing nearby. No sign or sound of the other riders. Corland was a mere smudge in the distance. He looked back to Dolovitch, now out of the hatch and looking around in all directions. “Why didn’t you just shoot the bitch!? He would’ve let us go!” Indeed, he had no doubt a skilled rider like Adkins would’ve found a way to land the big girl safely, albeit maybe a bit on the rough side.
“He talk too much. Make head hurt.” He pointed to his bandage, now good and bloodied in the back. “He would be trouble when we come back with fleet.”
Quentin had no argument to that, as much as he wanted one. He gritted his teeth and stared a bit longer at the shrinking mound of silvery scale on the ground far below. A good man. A decent man with a will to do nothing less than the best job he could do. Skilled; and deserving of a far more honorable death. The General would’ve agreed with him, he had no doubt. “He was out of ammo, you know,” he said to Viska, who was staring at the same spot with squinted eyes and a breeze ruffling his hair.
“How do you figure that, pilot?”
“He wasn’t lying about your file. I’ve seen it too. Any man in Corland with a gun and a chance would’ve shot you without hesitation, no matter the threat.”
“He had a dragon; he should’ve ordered the kill, then.”
“You don’t know much about dragons do you?”
Viska looked indignant. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Teaching a dragon to kill one target while leaving others alone can be…difficult. Bloodlust, you see.” Quentin sighed, taking off his hat. “He…didn’t see the need for me to die.”
“Bloody fool.” Viska took some wilted, brown flower petals out of his pocket and scattered them over the side on the passing breeze, making a holy gesture as they drifted down and away. “I need to take a piss.” With that, he turned and headed back below, passing Dolovitch headed back up. He still held the infusion revolver in his hand.
Steamworld 