ones nearest the headquarters, undoubtedly chosen for Rankin’s convenience rather than his dragon’s; the grounds were poorly tended, and when Levitas came into view, Laurence saw he was lying in a circle of bare sandy dirt, with his head in Hollin’s lap.
“Well, Mr. Hollin, what’s all this?” Laurence said, irritation making his tone sharp; then he came around and saw the great expanse of bandages that covered Levitas’s flank and belly, hidden from the other side, and already soaked through with the near-black blood. “My God,” he said involuntarily.
Levitas’s eyes opened a little at the sound and turned up to look at him hopefully; they were glazed and bright with pain, but after a moment recognition came into them, and the little dragon sighed and closed them again, without a word.
“Sir,” Hollin said, “I’m sorry, I know I’ve my duty, but I couldn’t leave him. The surgeon’s gone; says there’s nothing more to be done for him, and it won’t be long. There is no one here at all, not even to send for some water.” He stopped, and said again, “I couldn’t leave him.”
Laurence knelt beside him and put his hand on Levitas’s head, very lightly for fear of causing him more pain. “No,” he said. “Of course not.”
He was glad now to find himself so close to the headquarters. There were some crewmen idling by the door talking of the news, so he could send them to Hollin’s assistance, and Rankin was in the officers’ club, easily found. He was drinking wine, his color already greatly improved and having shifted his bloodstained clothing for fresh; Lenton and a couple of the scout captains were sitting with him and discussing positions to hold along the coastline.
Coming up to him, Laurence told him very quietly, “If you can walk, get on your feet; otherwise I will carry you.”
Rankin put down his glass and stared at him coldly. “I beg your pardon?” he said. “I gather this is some more of your officious—”
Laurence paid no attention, but seized the back of his chair and heaved. Rankin fell forward, scrabbling to catch himself on the floor; Laurence took him by the scruff of his coat and dragged him up to his feet, ignoring his gasp of pain.
“Laurence, what in God’s name—” Lenton said in astonishment, rising to his feet.
“Levitas is dying; Captain Rankin wishes to make his farewells,” Laurence said, looking Lenton squarely in the eye and holding Rankin up by the collar and the arm. “He begs to be excused.”
The other captains stared, half out of their chairs. Lenton looked at Rankin, then very deliberately sat back down again. “Very good,” he said, and reached for the bottle; the other captains slowly sank back down as well.
Rankin stumbled along in his grip, not even trying to free himself, shrinking a little from Laurence as they went; outside the clearing, Laurence stopped and faced him. “You will be generous to him, do you understand me?” he said. “You will give him every word of praise he has earned from you and never received; you will tell him he has been brave, and loyal, and a better partner than you have deserved.”
Rankin said nothing, only stared as if Laurence were a dangerous lunatic; Laurence shook him again. “By God, you will do all this and more, and hope that it is enough to satisfy me,” he said savagely, and dragged him on.
Hollin was still sitting with Levitas’s head in his lap, a bucket now beside him; he was squeezing water from a clean cloth into the dragon’s open mouth. He looked at Rankin without bothering to hide his contempt, but then he bent over and said, “Levitas, come along now; look who’s come.”
Levitas’s eyes opened, but they were milky and blind. “My captain?” he said uncertainly.
Laurence thrust Rankin forward and down onto his knees, none too gently; Rankin gasped and clutched at his thigh, but he said, “Yes, I am here.” He looked up at Laurence and swallowed, then added awkwardly, “You have been very brave.”
There was nothing natural or sincere in the tone; it was as ungraceful as could be imagined. But Levitas only said, very softly, “You came.” He licked at a few drops of water at the corner of his mouth. The blood was still welling sluggishly from beneath the dressing, thick enough to slightly part the bandages one from the other, glistening and black. Rankin shifted uneasily; his breeches and stockings were being soaked through, but he looked up