the Brigade, but all dragons knew the march, which was ages old, going back to the days when noble dragon families had signed the first nonaggression treaty with the human king of Rosia.
The dragon turned his head in the direction of the houseboat. Stephano waved his arms. The dragon dipped his wings in a signal of acknowledgment used by the Brigade and altered course. The dragon flew toward them.
“All right, Dag! You can stop now,” Stephano shouted over the music. “He’s seen us!”
Dag took time to hastily repack his precious pipes and stow them in the compartment beneath the helm, then went to man one of the swivel guns. Stephano was already readying the other. He made certain the powder charge was set, his slow-burning match smoldering in its bucket, one chamber loaded, more ready to load. Rodrigo and Miri were talking earnestly, both of them looking with worried concern at Gythe, who had been singing a song to the music of the pipes.
“We’re too close to shore, Rigo,” Miri was saying, “I have to stay at the helm. We’ll end up on the rocks if I don’t. Dag has to man the guns. You’ll have to help Gythe. I’m worried sick. She’s hasn’t been as bad as this in long time!”
Rodrigo patted Miri’s shoulder, said something meaningless and soothing, and went to be with Gythe, who greeted him with an eerie laugh. Rodrigo started talking to her in cheerful tones and even joined in her singing.
Stephano felt helpless-again. The three enormous bats with their demonic riders were closing rapidly on the Cloud Hopper. Stephano had never known any creature to fly so fast. The bats were little more than a black blur. A sleek young dragon might have given them a race, but this elder dragon with his graying mane, heavy girth, and lumbering flight could not hope to reach the Cloud Hopper before the boat came under attack. Stephano could see that the fire in the old soldier’s eyes still burned bright, however. Stephano hoped the same would prove true of the fire in the dragon’s belly.
As the bats and their demon riders drew near, Dag muttered a prayer. Miri shivered, but she remained at her post, her hands moving with Gythe’s over the sigils on the helm. Rodrigo stared at the bats intently, then swiftly shifted his position so that he blocked Gythe’s view.
As Dag had said, each bat was the size of a “bloody horse,” with a wingspan of about forty feet, large pointed ears, and small, glistening eyes set on either side of its snout. The bat’s gaping mouth had four long, curving fangs in front used for ripping apart its prey. The body was covered with rusty black fur. Clawed feet thrust out from the gray-black membrane that spread wide between gigantic “arms,” allowing the bat to fly. Large hooks were visible on the upper part of the wings.
The gigantic bats were hideous to look at, but at least they appeared to be mortal, made of flesh and blood. He wondered uneasily if the same could be said of the demon riders.
Stephano believed in God, a belief he had been taught as a child, a belief he had abandoned in anger when he was a youth. How could he have faith in a God who had allowed his father to die such a terrible death? Stephano remembered that dark time in his life. He had finally struggled through it to find his faith again, with the help of Lady Cam, his dragon.
Being very private, dragons rarely discuss their beliefs with humans. Lady Cam and Stephano had been unusually close; she had often talked to him of her God, a God who watched lovingly over dragonkind, who hoped they would live courageous, noble lives; a God who grieved when they fell short, as all mortals do, a God who understood.
Stephano could believe in such a God; though the relationship between him and God was still a bit rocky. He did not believe in the God of the Church of the Breath. That God, according to the grand bishop, had consigned Julian de Guichen to eternal torment in Hell.
A Hell populated by creatures such as these…
Stephano banished that thought from his head. Lord Captain Stephan de Guichen had fought many enemies in his lifetime. He’d known fear as he rode into battle and had found the strength and courage to overcome it. But he had never before been confronted with an enemy that had sprung from an artist’s rendition of the torments of the Damned, and he felt his gut twist and a shiver crawl up his spine.
The three demon riders were built like humans, though they were extremely thin. They rode the bats with ease, sitting forward of the wings, their legs straddling the furry bodies. The demons’ skin was blood-red in color, with black spikes rising along their arms and shoulders. They wore what appeared to be some sort of leather armor. Their faces were red and wizened. Their mouths were thin, dark slits. Gaping holes formed the nostrils. What was most horrible was that the faces were expressionless, impassive, uncaring. Only their eyes were alive and that life was hideous. The eyes glowed orange, as though lit from within by Hell’s fire.
Stephano grabbed the portfire and held it ready. He was filled with loathing and horror, and he fought an impulse to fire before the bats were in range and waste a shot. Glancing around, he saw his feelings reflected on the faces of his friends. Miri was deliberately not looking at the creatures. She was concentrating on flying, sometimes casting a glance of loving concern at her sister. He saw her hands shaking.
Rodrigo’s face was pale. He sat quite still and rigid, staring at the bats in disbelief. He was still mindful of Gythe, however, keeping one arm around her. Gythe sang softly to herself with childlike abandon. Dag, manning the other swivel gun, stared straight at the bats, his face stern and grim, his jaw clenched, his brows drawn together in a frown of concentration. Dag was a deeply religious man. Did he believe he was about to fire on fiends sent from Hell? If so, did he think this fight was hopeless?
Dag looked over. “Hold steady, sir!”
Stephano nodded. The dragon was drawing near the Cloud Hopper, but he would not reach the boat ahead of the bats. Stephano held the smoldering match poised over the vent.
“Wait,” he counseled himself softly, “Wait just one moment more. ..”
The demons held in their hands what Stephano first thought were large blowguns, such has he and Rodrigo had made as children and used to fire darts in an effort to bring down rabbits (until Rodrigo accidentally fired a dart at Stephano, which brought down the wrath of Benoit). As he watched, one of the demons lifted the weapon to his shoulder. It was not a blow dart. It appeared to be some sort of handheld cannon. Balancing with ease on the bat, holding on with his thighs, the demon aimed the cannon at the Cloud Hopper’s helm.
“Take cover!” Stephano yelled, but he ignored his own command.
A ball of green fire erupted from the cannon. Time seemed to slow. Stephano could hear Dag yelling at Miri to duck and Rodrigo urging Gythe to sing the song she had sung the other night, the song of her magic. He could hear Gythe’s wild laughter.
Green fire burst on the helm and blue light flared, half-blinding Stephano. He saw for one dazzling moment the sigils and constructs, layer upon layer, of the protective spells Gythe had cast on, around, and over the boat. She had wrapped Miri and the helm in a kind of cocoon of spun blue magic. The green fire struck the blue glowing sigils and constructs of the outer threads of magic. Wherever the green flames touched, they began to devour the magic. It was like watching Gythe’s spells being eaten away by green fiery acid. The green flames died swiftly, however, leaving the protection spells damaged, but intact.
Gythe screamed. Stephano turned to see Rodrigo holding her in his arms. She was writhing in pain, moaning and crying out.
“Gythe! What’s wrong?” Miri cried, unable to leave the sails. “Rigo, what happened to her?”
Rodrigo could only shake his head. “I don’t know!” he said helplessly.
Stephano had no time to help either Gythe or Rodrigo, for Dag was telling him, “Make ready, sir! Here they come!”
Stephano tore his gaze from Gythe and tried to sight in his gun on the bats that were about thirty feet away and closing. He was having trouble finding a target. Reddish smoke flowed from the demonic riders, as though their flesh were on fire, wrapping them in a hellish fog and making it difficult for him to see.
Stephano aimed the swivel gun where he’d last spotted the bats and touched the portfire to the vent. The gun banged. Grapeshot flew. Dag’s swivel gun went off a second or two later. Stephano could not see anything through the fog, but he heard a shrill screech, as if one of the bats had been hit. Picking up one the preloaded chambers, Stephano rammed it into the breech.
“Stephano!” Miri was pleading. “Go to Gythe!”
With Miri’s attention on Gythe and not on the airscrews, the strong winds left over from the wizard storm were pushing the Cloud Hopper closer and closer to the heart of the battle.
