“Two guns are gone and the others are disabled!” the captain shouted. “But we can hold on, sir.”
Stephano saluted in acknowledgment and then told Droal to make a wide, swinging circle that would take him close to the demon commander. If Stephano had been riding Lady Cam, he would have been able to communicate the direction they should take through a shifting of his body in the saddle, the pressure of his legs. Droal had not been trained to carry a rider, so Stephano had to tell him where to fly. Droal was an old soldier, and he immediately understood Stephano’s plan. The loss of the demon commander would hopefully throw the rest of the troops into confusion.
The demon saw the dragon coming for him. The Cloud Hopper was in position and its swivel guns were firing, two at a time. Now that she could leave the helm, Miri must be assisting Dag. The swivel guns were finding their marks, dealing damage to the demons. Stephano heard the screeching of wounded bats and he saw one go tumbling into the Breath.
With his force reduced to about fourteen, plus a few bats that had lost their riders, the commander had to know he could not hope to battle a dragon who could wipe out at least six bats with one breath. In the commander’s place, Stephano would have pulled his troops from the cutter and flown off to join the assault on the abbey. Stephano planned his attack accordingly, telling Droal to fly into position to kill the commander and then attack the demons who might try to retreat back to the abbey.
The shrill whistle sounded. Stephano was close enough to the commander to see the details of the insignia on his armor. The bat hissed and screamed at the dragon. The demon turned his frozen, hideous, expressionless face to stare directly at Stephano. Reaching around to his back, the demon seized hold of an ax. The bat carrying the commander made a steep, sudden, darting dive, flying off so swiftly that by the time Droal breathed his fiery breath, the commander had flown safely out of range.
Droal rumbled angrily and was preparing to chase after him when Stephano called to the dragon to halt. The commander had not given his troops the order to fly back to the abbey. He had given them the order to make a last, desperate assault on the Cloud Hopper and the Suspicion.
Bats darted and swooped at the two vessels. Green flames spread over the ship and the little houseboat. The cutter fired its last working cannon. The ball whistled harmlessly past its target and fell into the Breath. The swivel guns on the Cloud Hopper continued their firing. Dag was managing to keep the bats and their riders at bay.
Catching sight of Stephano, Dag pointed to the preloaded chambers for the swivel guns and then held up one hand, fingers spread. Only five rounds left.
The demons flew low, firing their strange cannons. Green fire burst on the protection spells. They were still holding; the Cloud Hopper was not yet badly damaged. But each shot weakened them, weakened Gythe. Dag fired and missed. One round gone. Miri fired and winged a bat, causing it to veer off with a screech. Two rounds gone.
The demon commander left his troops to continue the assault. Flying his bat perilously close to the Cloud Hopper, the demon looked straight at Stephano. The orange eyes flamed in derision. He jumped off the bat and landed on the deck of the boat. Two more demons joined him, leaping from their bats and landing on the deck. They had abandoned the green-fire guns and carried axes.
They had no thought of retreat. They had boarded the Cloud Hopper with the intent to kill.
Two of the demons raised their axes and ran across the deck, one heading for Dag, the other for Miri. The commander ran for the hatch that led down into the hold. The demon would find Gythe and Rodrigo. Gythe helpless, Rigo unarmed, unable to defend her or himself. Dag was sighting in the swivel gun. Intent on his aim, he did not see the demons. Miri saw them and cried a warning.
Stephano swore savagely. He could order Droal to incinerate the demons, but the dragon could not do that without incinerating the Cloud Hopper.
Stephano drew his dragon pistol.
“Take me in close,” he ordered Droal.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Aertheum the Fallen knows that God has given mankind free will, the choice between good or evil. With honeyed words and false promises, he entices us to leave God’s side and join with the foul legions. Some listen; the choice is theirs. Never turn your back on the Fallen for that is when he drives home the knife.
– “Thoughts on the Nature of Evil” from the writings of Saint Michael
DAG HEARD MIRI’S CRY AND TURNED to see one demon coming at him, ax raised and a demon running at Miri. The demon was right behind her. Dag had his pistol in his hand, but the demon was too close to Miri for him to risk shooting it without hitting her. He roared a warning.
Miri reached beneath the helm, seized a pistol, turned, and fired all in the same motion. The blast struck the demon full in the chest and sent him flying backward. The fiend smashed into the base of the mast and crumpled over in a heap. Miri stood trembling, her face and clothes covered with blood and gunpowder.
Dag fired at his demon, aiming for the hideous face. The demon’s head exploded and the fiend dropped to the deck. Dag threw down the spent pistol and was drawing another when he heard Miri scream. He looked over to see the demon with a gaping hole in its chest had regained his feet and was coming at her again, a knife in his hand.
Horror-struck by the awful sight, Miri could not move. Dag shot the demon again, this time in the legs. The demon crashed down almost at Miri’s feet. Still the demon tried to stand up. Miri grabbed a boat hook and began beating it, hitting it again and again until the fiend finally stopped moving.
Dag turned to look at the one he had shot and was thankful to see he was still dead. The third demon had almost reached the hatch. Stephano and the dragon soared past, the dragon’s belly gleaming in the sunshine.
“I’ve got this one, Dag!” Stephano shouted, aiming his gun at the demon commander.
Droalfrig made a steep banking turn, wings narrowly avoiding taking out the boat’s main yardarm. Stephano fired. His shot struck the demon commander in the back just as he reached the open hatch. The demon commander either jumped or tumbled through the hatch and disappeared. The dragon flew past, shouting as he went something about his brother being attacked at the abbey. Dag had no idea what the dragon was talking about. He lost sight of both the dragon and Stephano in the smoke.
Another demon leaped from his bat and charged straight at Dag, sending the bat to attack Miri. Dag fired the blunderbuss at the bat and the creature was a mass of blood and bone and fur. Dag swung the empty blunderbuss like a club and caught the demon in the midriff. The demon doubled over. Dag smashed the stock down on its neck.
“Reload!” he shouted at Miri.
She dropped to her knees and picked up a pistol and put in the powder and shot. She thrust that pistol into her belt and grabbed a musket.
“Dag, behind you!” she yelled, jamming the ramrod into the musket.
Dag turned to see the demon he’d shot in the face getting to its feet. Blood oozed from the demon’s cracked helm. The orange eyes glowed. The demon reached out his hands and foul-smelling reddish noxious smoke began to flow from the demon’s limbs. The smoke roiled around Dag. He covered his mouth and nose with his hands, but he could not filter out the fumes. He began to feel giddy, light-headed.
Dag had been raised by a deeply religious mother who believed in a God of wrath. People who did bad things in this world were forever damned. Dag had done many bad things in his life. He had since repented and worked hard to make amends, but he feared in his heart he could never right the terrible wrongs. He was doomed to spend eternity in Hell and as he watched the demon coming toward him, reaching for him with bloody hands, he heard his mother’s voice crying that he was doomed, the fiends were coming to claim him and drag him into the Pit. Dag stood helpless, staring transfixed at the fiend.
Miri saw Dag was in trouble. She had no idea what was wrong with him. He was just standing there, making no attempt to stop the demon that was about to kill him. The ramrod was st
ill in the barrel of the musket she had been reloading. She didn’t have time to take it out. Hoping the weapon would not blow up in her hands, she aimed and pulled the trigger. The recoil knocked her sideways. The long wooden rod flew out of the musket and drove like a spear through the demon’s back.
Blood spewing, the demon fell to the deck and this time did not get up. Miri ran to Dag. He was in a daze, his eyes wide and unseeing. The reddish smoke was starting to dissipate, shredded by the gusting winds, but she caught a whiff and tasted the bitter flavor of what might have been some sort of opiate. She cried Dag’s name and flung her arms around him, pleading with him to come back to her. She felt a shudder go through his body and then he blinked and looked up at her. He seemed about to say something when a wail of terror and a frantic shout came from below.
“The demon Stephano shot went down into the hold!” Dag said. “Are any of the guns loaded?”
“Two,” said Miri, pointing to the pistol in her belt and another lying on the deck. She drew the pistol from her belt and handed it to Dag.
“I’m going below. You stay here. If one of those fiends lands on the boat, shoot it.”
He disappeared down into the hold, leaving Miri alone on the deck. Several bats without riders flew around the Cloud Hopper. They screeched at her, but didn’t attack. She picked up the pistol and looked down over the rail at the cutter. Demons had boarded it, as well. Captain and crew were fighting them off.
Three demon riders were still in the air. Miri kept a watch on them and gripped the pistol in her hands. She tried to find Stephano and the dragon. She had lost track of him during the battle, and now they were nowhere in sight.
Three more demons, armed with the green-fire cannons, flew toward the Cloud Hopper. Miri heard yelling and shouts coming from below and her sister’s terrified screams and then green fire dazzled her eyes. She felt the heat of the flames wash over her, and she flung open the hatch and dove through it, shutting it behind her as the green fireballs burst on the Cloud Hopper.
The dragon was pulling out of his dive after Stephano had shot the commander when suddenly Droalfrig lifted his head and roared out his brother’s name. He made a steep, arcing turn that forced Stephano to fling his arms around the dragon’s neck and hold on tightly.
“Droal!” Stephano yelled. “Don’t throw me off!”
“Sorry, Captain,” Droal returned. “Forgot.”
Stephano waited for his stomach to resume its proper place in his body, then asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Brother Hroalfrig, sir! Demons! Attacking the abbey!”
Stephano could now see another dragon, flying over the spires of the cathedral, valiantly fighting off a horde of demons. Splotches of green fire burst in the air around the dragon. Smoke coiled into the air.
“I have to go to him, sir,” Droal yelled. “Should I set you down?”
Stephano looked back at the Cloud Hopper. Dead demons lay sprawled on the deck. Dag and Miri appeared to have killed the boarders. He didn’t see any other demons and he was worried about the nuns in the abbey. He turned back to the dragon.
“I’ll come with you!” Stephano shouted.
If he had waited a moment, Stephano would have seen that the demons lying dead on deck weren’t all that dead. Droal spread his wings and took off with such speed that Stephano had to flatten himself against the dragon’s neck to avoid being swept off. He didn’t have time to look back at his friends.
“Is anyone at the abbey helping the nuns?” Stephano yelled.
“Nuns dead,” said Droalfrig grimly. “Demons slaughtered them. Days ago.”
Stephano was shocked. The demons might have killed the abbey’s nuns days ago, but the fiends had not finished their horrible work, apparently, for they had returned to complete the abbey’s destruction. Was the Fallen One sending his minions to launch an all-out war on those who served God?
Stephano looked over his shoulder again to see the Cloud Hopper was still afloat and no longer under attack. The deck was empty, however. Dag and Miri were both absent, and that was worrisome. Dag would not leave the deck with a battle still raging. Perhaps they had gone below to be with Gythe.
“I should go back…”
“Brother Hroal not quite fit, Captain,” said Droalfrig. “Bad leg. Explosion. Too much to ask, I know. If you could help…”
Stephano could see the dragon’s brother being surrounded by bats, diving and swooping at him, attacking from all sides. The Cloud Hopper appeared secure.
“Let’s go help Hroal,” Stephano said.
Gythe was very ill and Rodrigo had no idea how the magic was harming her. He carried her to the small cabin below deck she shared with Miri, placed her in her bed, which was built into the bulkheads, and wrapped her warmly in blankets. He fetched water and moistened her lips and cooled her feverish skin.
That was all he could do. He sat beside her and watched her moan and shiver. Her body twitched painfully every time a blast of green fire struck the ship. He washed away the blood when it began to trickle from her mouth.
He wondered what was happening. Looking out the porthole, all he could see was smoke. All he could hear was the sound of gunfire coming from above and the enraged howls of Doctor Ellington, in the storage closet. The cat was so frantic that he began hurling himself at the door, beating on it with his large paws.
Fearing the good Doctor would hurt himself and feeling the need of company, Rodrigo freed the cat, who shot out of the closet as though his tail was on fire. The frantic cat evaded Rodrigo’s grab and ran straight to Gythe. Doctor Ellington jumped into bed with her and began licking her face.
Gythe flung her arms around the cat, moaned and held him close, and began singing to him, as she often did. Her voice was raw and shrill and discordant. Doctor Ellington gave her hand a swipe with his tongue.
Rodrigo and the cat both jumped at the loud report of a pistol going off near the hatchway. The gun shot was followed by a loud thudding sound, as though someone large was tumbling down the stairs. Rodrigo froze, terrified, waiting for the sound of footsteps, but nothing happened.
He opened the door a crack and called out, “Dag? Is that you?”
No answer. Rodrigo called again, “Miri? Did you fall? Are you all right?”
Still no answer. Drawing in a deep breath, Rodrigo grabbed hold of a hairbrush to use as a weapon and ventured out to see what had happened. He was unpleasantly amazed to find a demon lying in a pool of blood at the bottom of the stairs.
Rodrigo was just thinking he was going to be sick when reddish smoke began to waft from the corpse. He caught a whiff and was immediately transported back to his wild days at University when he’d once rashly agreed to visit an opium den. Already nauseous, he covered his nose and mouth. Not knowing what else to do, he seized a blanket and flung it over the smoldering demon, as one might fling a blanket over a fire. He ran back to Gythe’s cabin, shut the door, locked it, and then stuffed blankets in the crack to keep the noxious fumes from seeping inside.
He was about to cast a spell of protection on the door and then he remembered the green fire eating away Gythe’s protective spells.
“Why waste my time?” Rodrigo sat down nervously on the end of the bed and addressed himself to the cat. “The demon is dead.” He then added, as an afterthought, “But it’s a demon. Demons can’t die. Can they?”
He brooded over this a moment and tried to reassure himself. “That thing has a great bloody hole in its back. There’s blood all over the deck. Of course, it’s dead. You agree with me on this, don’t you, Doctor?”
The cat appeared to be about to express his opinion when their conversation was interrupted by the sound of claws scrapping over the wooden deck. Rodrigo prayed he was imagining things or that it was Dag or Miri coming down to tell him the fight was over and they were all safe. He could see that his prayers weren’t going to be answered. The cat was staring, wide-eyed, at the door.
“Oh, God!” Rodrigo whispered, rising to his fe
et.
He tried to shout for help, but his mouth was so dry that nothing came out. He coughed, moistened his lips, and was about to yell again, when a wailing scream from Gythe almost made him leap out the porthole. She had backed into the corner, clutching the blankets around her, whimpering in terror.
Rodrigo found his voice. “Help! I need some help down here!”
The sounds of clawed feet walking on the deck drew nearer. Doctor Ellington jumped from the bed onto a shelf and crouched there, hissing, his hackles raised, his tail furred out and waving slowly from side to side.
The footfalls stopped. Something struck the door. Splinters flew. The wood split apart. An ax blade appeared briefly, then was gone. The ax hit the door again. Rodrigo looked down at the hairbrush he was clutching, shook his head sadly, and tossed it aside. He cast a swift and desperate glance around the cabin. The water pitcher stood on a table. The pitcher was still almost half full. He had used only a little for Gythe and he himself never drank the stuff. He picked up the pitcher and hurriedly drew three sigils on the base, connected them with a line, and a stammered few words.
This was one of his favorite constructs. He used it to make afternoon tea for the ladies of the court, who were always charmed and delighted.
The ax struck the door again, and though more splinters flew, the door held. Rodrigo flattened himself against the bulkhead near the door and waited tensely, staring into the pitcher, urging the water to boil. He was certain the magic never took this long, and he wondered if he’d made a mistake. Then he recalled that a watched pot never boiled and he looked away-just in time to see the ax smash through the door not six inches from his head. The door fell to pieces. The bolt snapped. The demon commander, who should have been dead, walked through the wreckage and into the cabin.
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