"Reports are all very well," Borso said, "but the impressions of the men who write them are better. And I have orders for you, since all is in such excellent readiness. You and your entire wing are ordered northwest to Gozzo, from which point you are to resist the invading Forthwegians; "Gozzo? If I remember the place nightly, it is a Miserable excuse for town," Sabrino said with a sigh. "Will they be able to keep us supplied?"

"If they cannot, the count's head will roll and so win the duke's and so will the nuartermaster's " Borso answered, "We are as ready for this"

"They surround us," Sabrino said. "They tried to destroy us in the Six Years' War and came too close to succeeding. We need to be ready."

He saluted the farm commandant, then went out to his wing. The dragons were tethered in long rows behind Borso's office. When they saw him, they hissed and raised their scaly crests - not in greeting, he [...] mix of on er and alarm and hun er

Some people romanticized unicorns, which were beautiful and quite bright as animals went. Some people romanticized horses, which were pretty stupid. And, sure as sure, some time romanticized dragons, which were not only stupid but vicious to boot Sabrino chuckled Nobody as far as he knew, romanticized behemoths - and a good thing, too.

He shouted for an orderly. When the young subaltern came running up, Sabrino said, "Summon the men of my wing. We are ordered to Gozzo, to defend against the cursed Forthwegians, as soon as may be."

The subaltern bowed and hurried away.

A moment later, a trumpeter blared out half a dozen harsh, imperative notes: the opening notes to the Algarvian national hymn. As he played them over and over again, men spilled from tan tents and ran, kilts flap ping, to form an eight-by-eight square in front of Sabrino, four captains standing out ahead of it. The dragons hissed and moaned and spread their enormous wings. Stupid though they were, they'd learned an assembly meant they were likely to fly soon.