Prairie Fire by E. K. Johnston

something else for me to do. I had my assignment, same as everyone else, but no official job yet besides “bard,” which was very unspecific. Traditionally, I should have held the same rank as Owen did, but it had been so long since a bard had served in the Oil Watch that no one at Gagetown thought to tell me what to expect when I arrived in Fort Calgary. The squad deferred to me, or at least they did after the Singe’n’burn, but there was no telling what other, more experienced members of the Watch would do.
    The doors opened, and we followed Owen off the train. The few senior members of the Oil Watch who’d come with us, bound for Edmonton, were emerging from their cars as well, but they didn’t really pay attention to us, unless it was to catcall about us being new and green and dragon-bait.
    â€œThorskard!” came a voice that made me instantly jump to attention. “Front and centre.”
    By tradition, each squad was called after its dragon slayer, and since Owen was the only member of his family currently in service, we had no numerical designation. Sometimes it was odd, not knowing if we were being called as a group or if he was being called as an individual, but if the idea was to promote a cohesive group dynamic, it was working. At the sound of Owen’s name, we all fell in and waited for further orders. The man who came for us was Owen’s mentor, the senior dragon slayer who would shepherd him through his first few months in the Oil Watch. Overseas, this position was usually more important, like in Sadie’s case, where new dragon slayers came up against unfamiliar terrain, dragons, languages, and cultures. We were only going to have to worry about the dragons. Theoretically, each member of Owen’s squad would have a guide from his mentor’s squad, except for me, of course, and yet the dragon slayer on the platform was by himself. Owen stepped forward as his mentor stopped in front of us.
    â€œOwen Thorskard, sir,” he said, saluting as was expected. “And squad.”
    â€œAt ease.” We followed the order as best we could, carrying all the gear we had.
    Owen’s new mentor walked up and down the line, looking at each of us in turn. He was not surprised to count an extra person. I did my best not to let my eyes wander, but it’s always harder to tell the story if I haven’t seen it myself. He was tall, though not as tall as Aodhan, and much narrower in build. Aodhan powered through dragons like a charging bull, all deep bass line and inevitable vanquishment. This man was like a coiled spring, something that made noise before the player began the piece. Bagpipes—right on the edge of annoying, yet oddly compelling, though you still wouldn’t want more than one of them in a small room. I had no idea what he might do. He stopped again in front of Owen and didn’t seem to be too disappointed with us.
    â€œI am Lieutenant Commander Declan Porter,” he said, his British accent showing through. Also, he said “lieutenant” properly, which I liked, even though it was still a beast of a word to rhyme. “It is my job to tell you all about the local dragons of our fine locale, though the irony of lecturing a bunch of Canadians on their own dragons does not escape me. We will have two additional dragon slayers joining us, one American and one from Japan. They will arrive tomorrow and shadow other mentors. It’s our busy season, however, so all the classwork falls to me.”
    He waited, but as he had not asked a question, we weren’t sure how to reply. He sighed, and I wondered if we’d just passed a test or failed it.
    â€œRight,” he said, and threw a blue beret with a tan and red stripe on it to Owen. “Follow the crowd, and you’ll find your billets. I expect to see you at breakfast tomorrow, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.”
    We started to move out.
    â€œThorskard,” he said again,