“That’s not possible,” said Stephano. “Even I know that much. The magic in a sigil inscribed in a block of stone might fade, but the sigil will always be there.”
“Except when it isn’t,” said Rodrigo, gesturing to the brass. “The magic is gone. And not only is the demon fire destroying her magic, the fire is hurting Gythe through her magic.”
“But it’s not hurting you.”
“I’m not a savant. With me, the magic is in my brain. With Gythe, the magic is a part of her, like her skin and her blood…”
Stephano ran his hand through his hair that was wet with sweat.
“You’ll have to put the sigils back,” he said. “How long will that take?”
Rodrigo raised his eyebrows. “Let’s see, I would be required to start as an apprentice to a shipwright crafter. That would take me about two years…”
“Be serious!” Stephano snapped.
“I am serious!” Rodrigo snapped back. “The sigils that are gone are wiped clean! I don’t have the skill to lay down new ones. Neither can Miri. Only a crafter who is trained in this sort of magic can replace them. My dear friend, you don’t seem to understand-”
“You’re damn right I don’t understand!” Stephano shouted angrily. “Giant bats and demonic green fire disabling the helm and hurting Gythe and there’s nothing anyone can do!”
He realized he was losing control and stopped to draw in a deep breath. He said more calmly, “Dag, can you and Miri fly this damn boat?”
“I can steer, but it’s the magic from the helm that is keeping us afloat. If the fiends wipe that out…” Dag shook his head.
“I might be able to bridge the gaps,” said Rodrigo.
Stephano assessed the situation. The Cloud Hopper was adrift, being drawn toward the naval cutter that was still bravely fighting the swarm of demons. Two cannons remained in operation out of fourteen. The number of bats and riders attacking had decreased considerably, but those remaining were bombarding the ship with green fire. The Cloud Hopper, caught up in a magical tide, was being swept along at a rapid rate and the cutter was now almost within hailing distance; Stephano could see the deck without need of his spyglass. The captain and another officer were too busy trying to save their ship to pay them much heed. The Cloud Hopper was, after all, only a Trundler houseboat. Still, he must have heard them firing on the bats. Stephano turned his gaze toward the abbey, which was also under attack. He could see bats darting about the walls.
Stephano needed to talk to the captain. He needed to find out what was happening at the abbey. He needed to protect his people. And he couldn’t do any of that where he was. He made up his mind.
“Dag, you’re in command while I’m gone.”
Dag shook his head. “No, sir.”
“Dag, you’re in command,” said Stephano harshly, his voice grating. He turned his back, pretending he didn’t hear Dag’s protest, and crossed the deck to the forecastle. Rodrigo went with him.
“Dag in command,” said Rodrigo, shaking his head. “The man who swore he’d never give an order again.”
“I know.” Stephano was having second thoughts. “Maybe I shouldn’t leave.”
“This is why you formed the Cadre, my friend,” said Rodrigo, putting his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Each of us has a job to do. We’ll do ours. You do yours. Dag will come through. He always does.”
“I know. Fix the helm, will you?”
Rodrigo nodded. Stephano motioned for the dragon to fly closer, come up under the ship. The dragon’s head lifted up over the hull.
“Lord Captain de Guichen!” the dragon exclaimed with a gasp.
Stephano looked more closely at the dragon. “Droal, isn’t it? Master of Flight Droalfrig.”
“Yes, sir!” The dragon was immensely pleased, though he was now eyeing the small houseboat in some 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.