“Bagpipes are ready when you are, sir!” Dag announced, arranging the chanter and the drone over his shoulder and placing the blowpipe in his mouth.
“You’re really doing this,” said Miri gloomily. “Flying off and leaving us.”
“I’m not leaving you. Not exactly,” said Stephano, putting on his leather. “I think it’s our best chance. Stay with Gythe. Try to help her.”
Rodrigo gave a nod and shook his head at the same time and went back to talk with Miri, who was standing at the helm, watching over Gythe, who thought she was a child steering her parents’ boat.
“Go ahead, Dag,” said Stephano.
Dag drew in a deep breath and blew into the pipe, filling the bag with air. He began to “skirl,” referring to the high, shrill, wailing tone made by the pipe known as the chanter. Soon the lively music of “Jolly Beggarman” sounded from the deck of the Cloud Hopper.
Dag knew the tune well, for Stephano often asked him to play it in the evening hours when the members of the Cadre would sit on the deck of the houseboat on a fine summer’s evening or were snug around the fire in Stephano’s house on a winter’s night. The moment the music of the bagpipes started, an irate yowl sounded from down below emanating from the storage closet. Doctor Ellington took strong exception to bagpipe music.
The march made Stephano’s blood tingle, bringing with it a flood of memories. He watched the dragon, who was still flying above the cutter, waiting for him to react.
Dragons are passionately fond of music. A dragon’s greatest sorrow is the inability to make music, the one skill in which dragons concede humans are superior. The wealthy dragon families often hired human musicians, bringing them to live in their immense castles, where they were treated like royalty.
Stephano hoped the dragon would be able to hear the sound of the pipes over the noise of battle. Dragons have excellent hearing, far better than humans, and they especially love the sound of the bagpipes. Unfortunately, the demon bat riders also had very good hearing, apparently, and perhaps they did not like the sound of the pipes. At the first notes, the demons who had been conferring about whether or not to attack the Cloud Hopper made up their minds. Three bat riders began flying toward them. The dragon, so far, was oblivious.
Dag cast a sharp glance at Stephano, requesting permission to stop playing and man the guns.
“Just a few more bars,” Stephano urged.
Dag continued to play, and at last the dragon heard the music. Hovering in midair, he turned his head, searching for the source of the sound. Stephano had no way of knowing whether this dragon had ever been part of 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.