The odd silence struck fear into Albert’s heart, and he began to wish he’d brought his musket. His fears were realized. He found the abbey’s gates shattered. He entered cautiously, only to come upon a scene of such nightmarish destruction that the veteran sailor who had witnessed ship battles-blood running from the scuppers- was overwhelmed with horror and blacked out.
He was roused by the priest who had been the nuns’ confessor. Brother Paul was a hermit who resided in a rude shack in the wilderness about five miles from the abbey. He had seen the green fire and come to see what was going on. Together, the two men entered the compound and began to search for survivors.
They had found one-a young nun who had escaped detection by hiding beneath a pew.
Brother Paul had insisted, quite rightly, that word of the attack should be immediately sent to the grand bishop. He had urged Master Albert to carry the message to the abbot in Westfirth to be dispatched to Evreux by swift courier. Albert agreed the message needed to be sent, but he was loath to go himself. He had seen much to trouble him about this attack. Trusting that Father Jacob was already on his way, Albert did not want to leave the abbey unguarded.
He had been trying to figure some way out of this dilemma when he was startled to hear a loud voice, coming down from the sky. Albert looked up to see two dragons circling overhead. His nerves were raw, his mind unsettled and the thought came to him that the dragons had committed this atrocity. Then one of the dragons, landing ponderously among the scrub trees, had introduced himself as Sergeant Hroalfrig, formerly of the Dragon Brigade.
“Now retired,” Hroalfrig said.
He and the other dragon, his brother Droalfrig, also a former soldier, raised sheep and goats on a wretched piece of land provided to them by the Crown in return for their military service. They had seen the smoke and had come to find out what had happened. The nuns, it appeared, had been good to the dragons and the brothers were both appalled and angered by what had occurred.
Albert had enlisted the aid of the dragons to keep watch over the abbey. The dragons had sailed to Westfirth, carrying Brother Paul’s account, and had then returned to the abbey to await the arrival of Father Jacob.
One of the dragon brothers was now flying in large, slow, dignified circles above the abbey, keeping watch.
The sight of the dragon, who weighed six thousand pounds and measured seventy feet from nose to tail, with a wingspan of over one hundred and forty feet, alarmed the Retribution’s wyverns. They began to shriek and flail about in their traces, giving Brother Barnaby all he could do to try to soothe them and maintain control.
The sight of the black yacht likewise alarmed the other dragon, who came flying over ponderously to take a look. The Church emblem on the yacht reassured the dragon, who dipped his wings in salute. Seeing that he was upsetting the wyverns, the dragon flew off to resume his patrol.
“There are the docks. Should we land there, Father?” Brother Barnaby asked.
“Too far away from the abbey. I need to be close by.”
“We need to put down quickly somewhere,” said Brother Barnaby, who was continuing to have a difficult time with the wyverns.
Sir Ander pointed to a small patch of grassland outside the abbey walls. He handled the helm, adjusting the yacht’s buoyancy and trim, as Brother Barnaby continued to assure the wyverns that the dragon was not going to harm them. He brought the yacht down safely. Master Savoraun, who had been watching for their arrival, hurried to meet them.
“Albert Savoraun! It’s good to see you, my friend,” said Father Jacob, reaching out his hand to his longtime friend.
Sir Ander gripped Master Albert’s hand. “I suppose I should call you Guildmaster Albert now. Congratulations. You have done well for yourself.”
“Thank you, Father. It’s good to see you, though I wish it were under better circumstances,” said Albert. He was haggard and pale, his eyes bloodshot. He turned to Sir Ander. “You are looking well, sir.”
“A little grayer than the last time we met, but otherwise in good health, thanks be to God,” said Sir Ander.
“We’re all grayer, sir,” said Albert and he ran his hand over his thinning hair. “I’ve added a good many gray hairs over this, I can assure you.”
Albert Savoraun was in his mid-thirties, with the weather-beaten face of a lifelong sailor. He was short, with a stocky build and a take-charge attitude. Born into a family of seafaring crafters in Rosia, he had been brought up in his trade and served on board his first ship as apprentice to his father at the age of thirteen.
“I’ve never seen anything like this, Father,” said Albert. “And I hope I never do again.”
Father Jacob introduced Brother Barnaby, who was still concerned for his wyverns.
“Is there a place where I can stable them?” he asked anxiously. “The dragon makes them nervous. So long as they can’t see him, they’ll feel safe.”
“The stables are still standing,” said Albert. “I have no idea why the fiends didn’t burn them, too. Maybe they were spared because they were far from the main compound. You can’t see them from here. They’re on the west side of the abbey, outside the walls-three large stone buildings. You can house your wyverns there, Brother.”
Brother Barnaby refused all offers of assistance, saying apologetically that the wyverns were in such a state he did not trust them around anyone. Sir Ander maneuvered the yacht into position, placing the back of the yacht against the abbey’s walls, with the front facing west, looking out across a flat expanse of windswept granite into the swirling mists of the Breath beyond. A low wall had been built at the cliff’s edge, serving to keep people from falling over the precipice.
“I’ve never seen any place so lonely and forgotten,” Sir Ander remarked, shaking his head.
Brother Barnaby unharnessed the wyverns and led them to the stables, leaving Father Jacob and Sir Ander to talk to Master Albert. Their desolate surroundings and the sad nature of their business oppressed their spirits and made idle conversation difficult. Father Jacob did not want to discuss the tragedy until he had seen the site for himself. He asked Albert about his numerous children back in Westfirth. Albert cheered at the thought and began to talk about his brood. His oldest son, age fourteen, was already serving with the navy as an Apprentice Craftsman.
When the wyverns had been housed and calmed, fed and watered, Brother Barnaby came to join them, carrying his portable writing desk which he had brought from the yacht.
“Would you like to rest after your journey, Father?” Albert asked.
Father Jacob shook his head. “We should view the site while there is still plenty of daylight.”
“In that case, you will need these.” Albert produced several handkerchiefs.
“Ah, yes,” said Father Jacob.
He took one of the handkerchiefs for himself and offered the others to Sir Ander and Brother Barnaby. The young monk looked confused.
“The stench,” said Father Jacob gently.
Brother Barnaby accepted the handkerchief and tucked it into the belt of his plain brown monk’s robes. Sir Ander, looking grim, signaled that he didn’t need one.
They walked around the outside of the abbey, the wind whipping them and blowing sand in their eyes. They could not see anything beyond the abbey’s high stone wall except the twin spires of the cathedral soaring to Heaven.
As they walked, the dragon’s shadow flowed over them. The dragon dipped his wings, gave a wheezing cough. The dragon’s advanced age was apparent in the color of his scales. Once shining blue-green in his youth, the scales were now a dull greenish gray. His beard was hoary, but his eyes were still fierce and proud.
“That’s Sergeant Hroalfrig,” said Albert, seeing Father Jacob’s interested gaze closely observing the dragon. “Formerly of the Dragon Brigade. He and his twin brother, who was also a member of the Brigade, live on a small farm some twenty miles inland. When they heard of the tragedy, they flew here to offer their help.”
Master Albert gave a wry smile. “Neither of the old boys can stay up in the air too long, so they take turns flying patrol.”
He was silent a moment, brooding, then said abruptly,
“I’m glad you were able to come with such speed, Father. Brother Paul has been insisting on burying the dead. After what I saw, I knew I had to keep everything just as it was until you could see for yourself.”
“You mean, the dead have not been given proper burial, sir?” Brother Barnaby was shocked.
