confusion. “Begging your pardon, sir, but what are you doing on board a Trundler-”
“I’ll explain later!” Stephano cried. “Come closer!”
The dragon floated upward, taking care not to hit the boat’s keel with his wing. Stephano reached over the rail, caught hold of the very last spike on the dragon’s long neck and, hoping he still remembered the knack of boarding dragons and trying not to think of what would happen to him if he didn’t, he took firm hold.
“Ready when you are!” he cried.
The dragon, Droal, eased away from the boat, taking Stephano, hanging onto the spike, with him.
“Mind your tail!” Stephano yelled.
Sometimes dragons misjudged the distance from a ship and would accidentally smack the hull as they flew off.
Droal, both proud and extremely nervous at the honor of carrying on his back the famous Lord Captain of the Dragon Brigade, was so terrified of doing anything wrong that he was practically flying with his tail between his legs.
“We’re clear,” Stephano called urgently, for they were rapidly losing altitude. “You can relax!”
Droal flapped his wings, rising into the air, and Stephano settled himself on the dragon’s back. Ordinarily he would have been sitting in one of the specially designed saddles made for dragon riders. All dragon riders are taught to fly bareback first before they are given saddles. Feeling the movement of the dragon’s muscles provides a rider with a better knowledge of the art of dragon flight. And riders never knew when they might encounter an emergency situation when, like now, they might be forced to fly without benefit of a saddle.
Stephano kept hold of the dragon’s spike and flung one leg over the neck, then settled himself firmly on the broad back at the start of the curve of the spine. He gripped the dragon’s scales with his knees.
“Orders, sir?” Droalfrig asked.
“Fly me close to the cutter. I need to talk to the captain.”
“Captain won’t like it, sir. I started a fire,” said Droal unhappily. “Accident. Never flown combat.”
“We won’t stay long,” said Stephano. “I only need a few words.”
The dragon veered around and began to fly toward the cutter. Stephano looked down on the Cloud Hopper. Miri had come back on deck. She saw him and waved her hand, then she hurried over to relieve Dag at the helm. He went back to manning the swivel guns. Rigo looked up at Stephano and gave a jaunty salute.
“They’ll be fine,” said Stephano to himself. “Rigo’s right. We each have a job to do and this is mine.”
As the dragon veered around, the wind struck Stephano full in the face, whipping his hair, stinging his eyes. He buttoned up the flight jacket, hunched his shoulders, and tried to keep from grinning like a kid on Yule. After five years with his feet on the ground, he was flying again.
He knew now how much he missed it: the freedom, the exhilaration. Dear God, how he had missed it!
As it was, he was not particularly comfortable. His flight coat protected him from the wind, but he was not wearing a helm with the protective eyescreen, and his eyes were starting to water from the wind in his face. And many years had gone by since he’d flown bareback. He hadn’t been on the dragon ten minutes and already his posterior was aching.
The bats and their riders swarmed the cutter, hitting it with green fire. Between the red smoke flowing from the demons and the smoke rising from the fires on board the cutter, it was difficult to see anything clearly. Stephano wondered if the demons had caught sight of him and the dragon.
“What can you tell me about these giant bats and their riders?” Stephano bent forward to shout in the dragon’s ear.
“I’m two hundred years old, Captain,” said Droal. “Never seen the like.”
“Ever heard any stories about demons?”
“Just from humans, sir.” Droalfrig looked faintly disdainful. “Dragons don’t believe in such things.”
Their conversation was interrupted by an ear-piercing whistle. Three of the demons immediately broke off their attack on the ship and turned to fly toward Droal.
They’re acting on orders, Stephano realized, which means they have a commander. He searched among the demons, hoping to find out which was in charge. Commanders typically wore some sort of insignia or badge that distinguished them as officers, something that could be easily seen by their troops during battle.
Stephano searched among the group of demons that were attacking the cutter, looking for the leader and he finally spotted him-a demon flying over the cutter, directing the battle from above. The fiend looked like all the others, but as he and his bat made a sweeping turn, Stephano saw the demon’s armor was emblazoned with intertwining knot work set in a triangle. The insignia glowed red, probably so that it was visible through the reddish clouds that trailed from the demons.
“Orders, sir?” Droal yelled. “Claw or fire?”
Stephano thought this through swiftly. The bats were flying too fast for the lumbering dragon to attempt to outflank them or circle around to attack from the rear. From what he had observed of their green-fire cannons, the demons had to come within musket range of the target. Whereas a dragon in good physical condition could blast the demons with his fiery breath from a much greater distance.
All three of the demons carried the handheld cannons. Stephano had seen the damage the demon fire inflicted on the Cloud Hopper’s magic. He no idea what the green fire might do if it struck the dragon or himself and he wasn’t about to chance it. He noted the position of the cutter to make certain Droal was not likely to accidentally hit it again and calculated the direction of the wind, not wanting the dragon’s flaming breath to blow back and engulf him, then gave the order.
“Fry them, Flight Master!”
The demons were flying nearer and nearer, lifting the cannons to their shoulders and taking aim. Apparently, they had never fought a dragon before. They were in for a shock.
Droal sucked in an immense breath. Stephano could feel the dragon’s rib cage expand beneath his legs. Droal exhaled. Orange-red fire washed over two of the demons, who blazed up like torches. The bats screeched in agony as they spiraled down into the Breath, trailing smoke, taking their hapless riders with them.
“They died,” said Stephano, watching the smoldering corpses trail downward until they vanished.
“Burnt to a crisp, sir,” said Droal in satisfaction.
“They can be killed,” said Stephano.
He was suddenly vastly relieved. He had been harboring the fear that these fiends were immortal. The fact that these demons could be killed was comforting, although, Stephano had to concede, the knowledge that these demons were mortal didn’t really tell him anything about them. He still had no idea who they were or what they wanted or where they came from.
He heard again the demonic commander’s piercing whistle and saw the third bat break off the attack and fall back. Stephano was certain now that the demon wearing the knot work insignia was the source of that piercing whistle. He kept an eye on this demon and ordered Droal to fly over to the cutter.
“Come in straight,” Stephano told the dragon. “Keep the ship at eye level.”
The name of the ship was painted on the stern: HMS Suspicion. Stephano had not heard of it. He did not know its captain, who was glaring balefully at the dragon, waving him off and shouting obscenities. Then the captain noticed Stephano mounted on the dragon’s back and stared in astonishment.
Stephano raised himself up on the dragon, so that he could be seen and heard.
“I am Lord Captain Stephano de Guichen of His Majesty’s Dragon Brigade. What is your status, sir? Can you still fight?”
The captain continued to stare, dumbstruck, at Stephano, all sorts of questions undoubtedly running through his mind. Stephano didn’t have time to explain. He pointed at the Cloud Hopper, sailing toward the cutter. Rigo must have patched the helm because Miri had steered the little boat into position some twenty feet above the cutter.
The captain saw and finally understood. His first reply was cut short by a blast from his sole remaining cannon. Smoke drifted over the deck.
“What’s wrong with your guns?” Stephano shouted.
The captain was grim. “When that damn green fire hits them, they blow up.”
“Can you hold on, sir?” Stephano asked.
The captain glanced about his ship. He was an older man, with grizzled hair and a jaw like a bulldog. Captaining a small cutter at his age meant he had been passed over for command of the larger, more prestigious
