Books. The books. Books. The books.
And then, beneath the buzzing, Barnaby heard someone moving outside the stable door. Brother Paul heard the noises, as well. He choked and clasped his hands and began to pray. Brother Barnaby rose to his feet and stood protectively in front of his fellow.
The gate opened. Two demons walked inside, one of them holding a scourge in his hand. This was the first time Barnaby had seen the demons in the daylight. Sir Ander always said one must look fear in the face. Brother Barnaby fought down his revulsion and looked the demon in the face. Father Jacob had taught Barnaby to be observant and he was surprised to note that the demon was wearing a helmet made to resemble a hideous face and that the glowing orange light actually emanated from the helm. A visor made of glass gave off the strange light.
Brother Paul cried out in terror and shrank back against the stable wall. Barnaby moved swiftly to interpose his body between the demons and the monk.
“Don’t hurt him anymore,” said Barnaby. “He can’t tell you about the books of Saint Dennis. He doesn’t know.”
The books. The books. The books.
The words were now like a hammer in Brother Barnaby’s head, pounding on his brain. The demon swung the scourge, striking Brother Barnaby on his shoulder. The scourge seemed made of fire; the pain was excruciating. Barnaby gasped. Tears sprang to his eyes.
Books books books books!
“I don’t know!” he cried or at least he thought he had cried out the words. He could no longer hear his own voice. He couldn’t hear anything except the horrid buzzing.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The first time I sat on Lady Cam’s strong back and felt the play of her muscles as she took to the air, I knew I would never truly be happy on the ground again. I had ridden dragons before but this was the first time as a member of the Dragon Brigade. She and I were battle companions and I was a Dragon Knight and that made everything different.
– Sir Stephano De Guichen, in a letter to his friend, Rodrigo.
DURING THE BRIEF RESPITE BETWEEN THE FIRST WAVE of demons and the second wave he knew would be coming, Sir Ander made certain the swivel gun was in working order, the chambers ready for loading. Then he went back down into the cabin, reloaded the pistols, took two short barreled muskets from a hidden compartment near the hatch to the driver’s station and readied himself for the assault. As he worked, he kept a worried eye on Father Jacob. He had carried the priest to his bed and wrapped him warmly in a blanket. He had not regained consciousness. His lips moved and he made sounds, as though he were speaking, but the words made no sense.
The sun shone through the broken windows. His pistols loaded, Sir Ander went to the front of the yacht where there had once been a door and looked out the gaping hole into the Breath to see if the naval cutter was still afloat. He was surprised to see a smaller boat had joined the cutter. He recognized the boat as one of those Trundler floating houses. Bats swarmed around both vessels. Green fireballs burst in the air. The fireballs looked smaller and paler than they had appeared in the dark of night, but he assumed they were still just as deadly.
Hroal’s brother, Droalfrig, was out there, as well, flying around the houseboat. Sir Ander looked up to see if he could find what had become of Hroal, saw the dragon battling in the skies over the cathedral, fighting off the attacks of three bats and their riders.
The dragon was fighting for his own life and would not be able to help Sir Ander.
Smoke was still rising from the area of the stable. Sir Ander pictured Brother Barnaby, trapped by the flames, fighting off demons, lying there hurt… dying.
Sir Ander asked God to help them all, then climbed up on top of the yacht where he had mounted the swivel gun. More bats were flying his way. He was ready for them, as ready as he could be. While he was on the roof, he gave the yacht a cursory glance, surveying the damage.
Most of the demon’s fire had been concentrated on the center of the yacht. The hull on the port side of the main cabin was badly burned. The fireballs had blasted through the outer and inner bulkheads in three places. The hatch was so much kindling. The roof was charred and burned to such an extent that a good rain would cause at least two places to give way. Sir Ander made a mental note not to step on those.
He caught sight of movement out of the corner of his eye and turned around, pistol drawn. He could see, through the haze of smoke, someone running toward him. He raised the pistol, then saw to his relief that the figure was human, not demonic. He recognized Albert. The guildmaster had come armed; he held a musket in one hand and a pistol in the other.
Sir Ander dropped back down inside the yacht, took a look at Father Jacob and, seeing no change, hastened out to meet his friend.
“You come in answer to a prayer!” Sir Ander cried.
“Thank God, sir, you are alive!” Master Albert gasped. He stood staring in dismay at the destruction, the greasy piles of ashes, the wrecked yacht. “Is Father Jacob all right?”
“He is not,” said Sir Ander grimly. “He’s hurt and I don’t know what’s wrong, so there’s nothing I can do.”
Master Albert looked stricken. “How can I help, sir?”
Sir Ander had been thinking this through and he had made up his mind. “The one person who might be able to save Father Jacob is Brother Barnaby. He is in the stables-”
“But they’re on fire, sir,” Master Albert said, alarmed. “They’re crawling with demons!”
Sir Ander was tucking the pistols into his belt. “I’m going to leave Father Jacob in your care. I’ve mounted the swivel gun on the roof. Preloaded chambers for the gun are up there, as well. The roof’s been damaged, so be careful where you walk.”
Master Albert nodded. “I understand, sir. I will not fail you or Father Jacob.
Sir Ander gripped his friend by the hand, then, picking up one of the muskets, he ran to the wicket that pierced the abbey’s wall and entered. The smoke was thicker behind the wall, stinging his eyes and stealing the breath. He cursed it and peered through it, trying to get his bearings, trying to see the stables or what was left of them.
Only one building was on fire, but the stable yard was filled with demons. Their heinous bats darted about or perched on the roof. He saw no sign of the wyverns or Brother Barnaby. Recalling the gruesome and horrifying deaths of the nuns, Sir Ander was sick with dread. He longed to rush in and kill every demon in sight. Sir Ander was an experienced soldier and he knew better than to let hatred and vengeance guide him. He told himself not to give up hope. Brother Barnaby was quick-thinking and intelligent. Sir Ander pictured his friend hiding somewhere, waiting for help.
In that case, help needed to arrive in one piece.
Sir Ander was thinking he would circle around the cathedral, using the smoke for cover, and come up on the demons from behind. A roar caught his attention. He looked up to see a dragon soaring over the abbey walls. Droalfrig coming to his brother’s aid. The dragon was about twenty feet above the walls and the direction of his flight would bring him near Sir Ander.
He had only seconds to make a decision. A gunshot would alert the demons to his presence. He decided to risk it and fired the musket into the air-taking care not to hit the dragon-and used his best battlefield bellow to call Droalfrig’s name.
The dragon heard the gun blast and saw the flash of fire. He snaked his head around and Sir Ander saw a dragon rider seated on the dragon’s back, near the neck. Sir Ander waved his arms, threw down the musket, and broke into a run.
The dragon rider coolly looked in the direction Sir Ander was indicating and saw the demonic force surrounding the stables. The dragon rider waved his arm in return and bent forward to speak to the dragon. Sir Ander cast a glance at Hroal, who was fighting his own battle. Hroal had slain one of his foes. He had only two to contend with now and, though he had a bloody gash on his chest, he was holding his own. Droalfrig shifted the direction of his flight toward the stables, roaring a challenge as he went.