“He said only that my time in this world would be better spent in doing good works than in reading about them. I translated part of the journal that day, then my eyes gave out and I needed a break. I had found a trout stream not far from here and I decided to go catch my dinner. I left the door to my room key-locked and magic- locked and magic-sealed and a protective spell on the journals. When I came back, the lock on the door had not been tampered with. The magic-lock had not been broken. The magic seal remained intact. The journal was gone.”
Father Jacob frowned. “If it were any other crafter, I would say you had been careless in your spell-casting. But I know your work, Albert, and I know you. You are one of the best. Obviously it was stolen.”
Albert gave a sigh of relief. “I am glad you trust me, Father. I was afraid you would think I had been negligent.”
“But who would steal it?” Sir Ander demanded. “The nuns? This Brother Paul? They were the only people around. Why would they steal a book that had been in their own library for centuries?”
“Because they didn’t know it was there,” said Father Jacob. “Because someone knew or suspected that the blessed Saint Dennis was here seeking forbidden knowledge.”
Brother Barnaby was distressed. “You cannot believe Saint Dennis was a heretic, Father.”
“Of course, not. He was seeking the truth. And knowledge should not be forbidden, Brother,” said Father Jacob, his brows coming together, his fist clenching. “No grand bishop, no king, no authority in the world has the right to dictate what we think, to prevent us from studying, from learning, from discovering!”
Brother Barnaby shrank back, dismayed by the priest’s passion. Sir Ander drew him to one side.
“You touched a sore spot, Brother. I’m sorry. I should have warned you.”
“He’s very angry with me, I fear,” said Brother Barnaby unhappily.
“Not with you, Brother,” Sir Ander sighed and repeated quietly, “Not with you.”
Father Jacob had lapsed into deep thought, his brow furrowed, his head bowed, his hands clasped behind his back. When Albert started to speak to him, Sir Ander shook his head, warning him to keep silent. Father Jacob walked on, preoccupied, absorbed, until at last they arrived at the broken remains of the gates of the Abbey of Saint Agnes.
Father Jacob raised his eyes at last. He looked at the twin spires, pointing to Heaven.
“God, grant us courage. What happened here at the Abbey of Saint Agnes could forever change our world.”
Chapter Sixteen
In the places where God’s voice cannot be heard, his fallen children, cast from Heaven, have found refuge. They seek forever to destroy that which God has created. Beware the quiet. Beware more the terrible voices.
– Anonymous
THE GATES THAT PIERCED THE TALL GRAY GRANITE WALL encircling the abbey compound were made of oak studded with bronze rosettes and banded with iron. The gates were extremely heavy, their hinges rusted. The nuns would not have been able to open them and, fondly believing themselves safe from any enemy, they had never closed them.
“Not that the gates would have stopped the assault,” Albert added bitterly. “Their attackers came out of the Breath, flew over the walls.”
“Demons on giant bats,” Sir Ander said, shaking his head. “We read the account of that poor girl.”
“Yes,” said Albert in subdued tones, “Brother Paul told me what she said.”
“You did not see her?”
“I helped carry her to the infirmary, but she was unconscious. I have not spoken to her since she woke up. Brother Paul says she needs rest and quiet.”
“I would like to interview her,” said Father Jacob. “I want to hear her account in her own words.”
“She is in the infirmary, Father,” said Albert. “One of the few buildings that was not extensively damaged. Brother Paul has been nursing her. She’s only sixteen. As for demons attacking the abbey.. . After you’ve seen the horror for yourself…” Albert sighed and shrugged. “I believe it. No human could be so depraved.”
“You’d be surprised,” said Father Jacob, exchanging glances with Sir Ander.
“The writings of the Saints speak of angels and their evil counterparts,” said Brother Barnaby and he added quietly, almost to himself, “I saw paintings depicting demons on the walls of the Grand Bishop’s Palace.”
“I will hear her and judge for myself,” said Father Jacob brusquely.
The shadow of the dragon, still circling overhead, had been expanding as the dragon flew lower and lower. The dragon was so low now that he had to be careful not to brush one of the cathedral’s spires with his wing tips.
“I believe Master of the Flight, Sergeant Hroalfrig, would like a chance to meet you, Father,” said Albert, as the dragon’s scaled belly passed overhead.
“Of course,” said Father Jacob. He rubbed his hands. “I would like nothing better.”
Sir Ander shot Brother Barnaby a warning glance. The monk gave a slight nod in response. When Father Jacob had been a University student in Freya, his area of study was dragon magic, with particular emphasis on a dragon’s innate ability to deconstruct human-crafted magical constructs. This ability was the reason dragons had once been highly valued by the militaries of all the major powers. A dragon attacking a ship could use his breath to cause the magic of the constructs in the hull to break apart. A dragon could not erase the magic, but he could do serious damage.
Father Jacob had become so interested in his studies, he had expanded them to include dragon lore, dragon culture, and dragon history. If his life had not taken the near-disastrous turn that had caused him to flee Freya, he might have become one of the world’s foremost experts on the subject.
Thus, whenever Father Jacob encountered a dragon, he had a most unfortunate tendency to completely forget the task at hand. He would engage the dragon in endless conversation, delving into the dragon’s family history, find out where and how the dragon lived, and so forth. One of Brother Barnaby’s tasks was to remind Father Jacob of his duty without hurting the feelings of the dragon.
This was the first dragon Father Jacob had met in some time. The great dragon families of Rosia had served proudly in the Dragon Brigade for over two centuries and they had been deeply angered and offended when King Alaric had disbanded the Dragon Brigade. Relations between the noble dragon families and the Crown had grown strained. Dragons no longer attended the royal court, but kept to their estates in the mountains.
Hroalfrig made a lopsided and decidedly ungraceful touchdown. The elderly dragon shook himself, lifted his head, folded his wings against his flanks, and advanced, with a slight limp in his right leg, to greet the newcomers.
“Master of the Flight, Sergeant Hroalfrig,” said Albert, introducing them. “Father Jacob Northrop, Sir Ander Martel, and Brother Barnaby.”
The dragon’s head reared high over the abbey walls. The towers were about one hundred fifty feet in height. The dragon could have looked into the windows about a third of the way up with ease. He had landed on his heavier and more muscular rear legs, but he walked on all four. Father Jacob noted the beast’s stubby mane, his short snout, and thick neck and knew him to be a dragon of the lower class. Dragons of the noble families had long manes, slender and graceful necks, and elongated, elegant snouts.
Hroalfrig took care to keep a polite distance from the humans, not wanting to risk accidentally stepping on them. He gravely inclined his head in greeting to each in turn.
“Honored, Father, honored, Sir Knight,” said Hroalfrig in a deep voice. “Honored, Brother.”
Dragons had long ago learned human speech, though it came more easily to some than to others. Humans had never been able to speak the language of dragons. The human throat and tongue were not capable of forming the words. Some, such as Father Jacob, had learned to understand it.
“Master of the Flight Hroalfrig served with the Dragon Brigade, Quartermaster Corp,” said Albert.
“Retired,” said Hroalfrig, adding in gruff tones with a growl, “Forcibly.”
Hroalfrig was apparently a dragon of few words.
“I heard about the disbanding of the Brigade,” said Father Jacob. “A serious mistake. I wrote most strongly
