“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 to His Majesty to protest.”
“Thankee, Father,” said Hroalfrig, obviously pleased. “Call me Hroal and my brother Droal.”
Brother Barnaby attempted at this moment to draw Father Jacob away from the conversation, but the monk’s attempt was foiled by his own ally. Sir Ander was now regarding the dragon with interest.
“You served in the Dragon Brigade. Perhaps you knew my godson, Lord Captain Stephano de Guichen.”
“My commander, m’lord. Good man,” said Hroal. The dragon flicked a wing in salute.
“How were you wounded?” Sir Ander asked.
“Siege of Royal Sail,” Hroal replied. “Barrel gunpowder. Explosion. Too close.”
“Did you fly in that battle?”
“Never flew, m’lord. Would have liked to. Not my job. Hunting. Meat. Lots of it. Keep ’em fed.”
“An army of dragons flies on its belly,” said Sir Ander. “So you were at the Siege of the Royal Sail. Captain de Guichen lost his dragon in that battle. I have often wondered-”
Brother Barnaby was now forced to enter the fray. He fixed Sir Ander with a reproachful gaze, indicative of his disappointment. “I am sorry to interrupt, Sir Ander, but I fear you and Father Jacob are keeping Master of the Flight Hroalfrig from his duties.”
“That is true. Forgive me, Sergeant,” said Sir Ander. “I forgot myself in the pleasure of our talk. I will let you return to the skies. I hope we have a chance to speak again.”
“And I would very much like to speak to you, Sergeant Hroal,” Father Jacob said. “To you and your brother. Later this afternoon, if that is convenient. I would like to hear your account of this tragic event.”
The dragon’s eyes flickered. He gazed at the priest a moment, then gave a brief nod of his head.
“Honored, gentlemen, all,” said the dragon, and he again flicked his wing in salute.
Mindful of his bulky body and long tail, Hroal politely waited until the humans had moved a safe distance away, then he turned ponderously and hobbled back across the field. He lifted his wings and leaped off his back legs to “gain air” as the dragons put it. Everyone on the ground could hear the dragon’s grunt of pain and see him wince before Hroal was once more airborne.
“He’s tough, that one,” said Albert. “He’s been on duty all night, but he’d fall out of the sky before he’d admit he was tired. His brother, Droal, will be along soon to relieve him. You won’t be able to tell them apart.”
Albert cast a worried glance at Father Jacob. “As I said, Father, the two dragons are doing an excellent job. They came when they saw the smoke-”
“Don’t be concerned, Albert,” said Father Jacob. “I won’t offend them. I just want to ask them a few questions.”
The morning sun was bright, too bright, making the shadows seem sharpedged, deep and dark. The chill winds blowing out of the Breath glanced off the surrounding cliffs and struck at them from unexpected directions. Sir Ander, in his dress uniform, wished he’d thought to add his fur-lined cape. Brother Barnaby stood with his back and shoulders hunched against the wind. Master Albert had to hold onto his hat. These three stood in front of the gates, watching Father Jacob, whose black cassock billowed and flapped, as he made an inspection of the gate and the ground surrounding the entrance.