Shadow Raiders tdb-1

by Margaret Weis

  “Thank you, sir,” said Stephano. “I am glad to meet you, as well.”

  Politeness dictated he say that. He wondered if he meant it. He could not forgive, but perhaps he could now begin to understand.

  They reached the yacht without incident to find Master Albert still manning the swivel gun.

  “How is Father Jacob?” Sir Ander called.

  “I just checked on him, sir,” Albert called back. “He is much improved.” He cupped his hand around his mouth, and added quietly, “And, just between us, sirs, in a foul mood.”

  Brother Barnaby stared in shocked and horrified amazement at the damage to the yacht. He helped the exhausted Brother Paul through the wreckage and hastened inside to tend to Father Jacob, who could be heard demanding loudly to know where the monk had been all this time.

  “I must remain with my friends,” said Sir Ander, halting in front of the Retribution.

  “And I must go to my friends,” said Stephano.

  The Cloud Hopper was now sailing into the docks, along with the ravaged cutter, so badly damaged the ship was barely able to remain afloat.

  The two men saluted each other. Stephano walked down the hill toward the docks, emotions churning.

  Sir Ander watched his godson walk, taking those long, impatient strides that were exactly like his father’s. Not waiting for life to come to him, but striding forth eagerly to seek it. Sir Ander touched Cecile’s letters, secreted in his pocket, and renewed to her a sacred promise. Then, bracing himself for the worst, he hurried to the yacht to deal with Father Jacob.

  The priest was up and moving about, much to the consternation of Brother Barnaby, who was trying to persuade Father Jacob to lie down and rest. Instead he was bent over a washbowl filled with water, cleansing the bloodstains from his face.

  Brother Barnaby stood near him. “Father, you are weak-”

  “This from a man who sticks leeches on people!” Father Jacob said irritably. “Stop hovering! Tend to yourself.”

  “I have suffered only minor injuries, Father,” said Brother Barnaby. “And I have seen to them already.”

  “Then help Brother Paul. He needs you. I do not. God has already ministered to me.”

  Brother Barnaby cast Sir Ander a long-suffering glance as the knight entered. Sir Ander gave a rueful smile and shrugged. Brother Barnaby shook his head, then went to Brother Paul, who lay stretched out on the knight’s bed.

  Father Jacob straightened and turned around. His face was dripping wet, his eyes squinched shut against the water. He groped about for a towel. Sir Ander brought over the towel and gave it to the priest.

  “You should be in bed,” said Sir Ander.

  “Nonsense,” said Father Jacob. “I’m fine now that I’m not being bombarded with…”

  He paused, glanced at Brother Paul, and said abruptly, “I’m fine.”

  Father Jacob dried his face and then threw the towel aside and said briskly, “I want you to take a look at the damage to the Retribution. Master Albert tells me the yacht is not air worthy. That is not acceptable.”

  Sir Ander patiently pointed. “Did you happen to see the gigantic hole in the front?”

  Father Jacob waved the hole away as unimportant. “Albert also tells me that the damaged naval cutter has limped into the docks. That presents a problem. I can’t have sailors running around Rosia telling tales about demons riding giant bats. I will have to place them under Seal. I will need to speak to the dragon brothers, as well-”

  “Father, I can deal with the dragons and the yacht and the navy. You should rest-”

  Father Jacob looked pointedly at the jagged, bloody gash on Sir Ander’s head and said testily, “Look in a mirror. You are in worse shape than I am.”

  Sir Ander glared at the priest.

  “I know,” Father Jacob said, suddenly grinning, “I’m a pain in the ass. Where is Master Albert?”

  “Outside, but-”

  Father Jacob cast a significant look at Brother Paul and said, “Walk with me.”

  Sir Ander accompanied the priest outside. Father Jacob stood for long moments gazing gloomily at the charred patch of ground in front of the yacht and the clumps of greasy ash that was all that was left of their attackers.

  “Dragon fire does not leave many clues.” Father Jacob said bitterly.

  “Nor does holy fire,” Sir Ander pointed out. “You were the one who called down God’s wrath and incinerated them.”

  “I was attempting to exorcise them, not kill them,” said Father Jacob. “As you see, that did not work.”

  Sir Ander’s head throbbed, his stomach heaved from the horrible smell of burnt flesh and hair. He shut his eyes against the bright sunlight and thought back to the horrific attack and how they had both been within moments of death or worse-capture and torment. And now Father Jacob was saying he had been trying to exorcise evil spirits! Sir Ander could only stand and marvel.

  Father Jacob was now yelling up at Albert, who was crawling over the roof of the yacht.

  “How bad is the damage, Master Albert?”

  Albert looked down from the roof. “The control conduits on the both sides of the yacht have been reduced to cinders. Both of the primary lift tanks are intact, but there is no way of setting buoyancy levels or maintaining the ship’s trim. There is impact damage all across the hull, but the main structure should hold together as long as you don’t get caught in a storm.”

  “And both our wyverns are dead,” Sir Ander added.

  “Ah, yes, poor Brother Barnaby,” said Father Jacob somberly. “He told me the beasts died trying to save him. Remarkable. I’ve never known wyverns to show such courage and loyalty. I promised him that we will give their remains a proper burial. What was I saying? Oh, yes.” He turned back to Albert. “How soon can we get to work?”

  “On what, Father?”

  “On repairing the Retribution, of course?”

  Albert had to struggle to keep a straight face. “You need a shipyard to handle extensive repairs like this, Father!”

  “Damn and blast it, man, I must return to the Arcanum at once!” exclaimed Father Jacob in loud and angry frustration. “The matter is vital! I won’t be marooned-”

  Father Jacob stopped suddenly and turned to look in the direction of the docks. Sir Ander thought he was looking at the cutter, perhaps contemplating the meeting he would have with the captain. He was therefore surprised when Father Jacob said suddenly, “The Trundlers.”

  “What about them?”

  “Master Albert, could the Retribution be towed?”

  “A short distance, maybe,” said Albert. “Not as far as to the Arcanum.”

  “I assume you have shipyards in Westfirth. That city is not far.”

  “You could probably make it to Westfirth, yes, Father.”

  “We will ask the Trundlers if they can tow us,” said Father Jacob.

  “What about the Seal of the Arcanum?”

  “I know Trundlers,” said Father Jacob with confidence. “They will keep quiet about this if I ask them.”

  Sir Ander smiled. “As it happens, my godson is aboard that houseboat.”

  “Your godson?” Father Jacob was amazed. “Captain de Guichen? Son of the Countess de Marjolaine? He’s here?”

  “He is not only here, he saved my life,” said Sir Ander with quiet pride.

  “Then I am deeply indebted to him,” said Father Jacob warmly. “But why is the son of a countess sailing the Breath in a Trundler houseboat?”

  “You can ask him yourself,” said Sir Ander, who had caught sight of someone running up the hill. “If I am not mistaken, that is Stephano coming this way.”

  Father Jacob touched Sir Ander’s arm, drew him close. “A quick word while we are alone, my friend. The demons asked both Brother Barnaby and Brother Paul about books.”

  “Books?” Sir Ander was troubled. “What books?”

  “Undoubtedly the books mentioned in the Prince-abbot’s journal.”

  “And that is why th
e demons didn’t kill them,” said Sir Ander. “I was wondering. So the fiends can talk. What did they say?”

  “Brother Barnaby reported all he heard was a buzzing in his head repeating the words, ‘books, the books’ over and over. Brother Paul told me the same. I believe them. I heard it myself.”

  Sir Ander was troubled. “But this doesn’t make sense, Father. Brother Barnaby wasn’t with us when we found the books of Saint Dennis. He doesn’t know about them. Nor does Brother Paul.”

  “And we must keep it that way. No one must know about what we found, Ander. I will not place such a burden on Brother Barnaby or anyone else, including your godson.”

  “Whether they know or not, we’re all still in danger,” said Sir Ander. “And we will bring that danger down on everyone who comes into contact with us.”

  “I will find a way to tell your godson as much of the truth as I can,” said Father Jacob. “Give him the choice of aiding us or not.”

  “You know perfectly well he will.”

  “Of course, I do,” said Father Jacob. “He’s your godson.”

  Stephano had run all the way up the hill and was gasping for air by the time he arrived. Sir Ander made introductions, giving Stephano time to catch his breath.

  “Lord Captain Stephano de Guichen, this is Father Jacob Northrup. ..”

  “I need… a healer,” Stephano spoke between gasps, “A friend. .. a young woman… gravely ill…”

  “Sir Ander, send Brother Barnaby to me,” said Father Jacob at once. “He and I will tend to this young woman. You stay with the yacht and Brother Paul.”

  He cast Sir Ander an expressive glance, reminding him about their precious cargo, the books of Saint Dennis, hidden in the secret compartment. Sir Ander nodded in understanding. He lingered to speak a few words to Stephano, expressing his confidence in Brother Barnaby and his hope that the young woman would fully recover, then returned to the yacht, where he found Brother Paul saying his farewell.

  “I pleaded with Brother Paul to remain here,” said Brother Barnaby. “But he insists on returning to his own dwelling.”

  “I need to be alone with my God,” said Brother Paul.

  The monk had his cowl drawn over his head, his face hidden in the shadows. Sir Ander recalled the monk saying he suffered from headaches without his tinted glasses and those had been lost in the fight with the demons. Sir Ander also recalled that Brother Paul was a hermit, who had chosen to live in this desolate place by himself. Still, he couldn’t be allowed to depart. He had seen too much.

  “I think you should stay here, Brother,” Sir Ander said gently. “Father Jacob will want to speak with you again.”

  The hooded head turned toward him. Brother Paul’s pale face was a glimmer of white in the shadows.

  “Then I will remain, of course,” he said with ready compliance.

  Sir Ander told Brother Barnaby he was needed at the Trundler houseboat. Barnaby went to fetch his medicines. Master Albert was busy working on the yacht, attempting to make it ready for towing. Sir Ander went inside the yacht to keep an eye on their “guest.” He found Brother Paul on his knees, praying.

  Sir Ander sat down, lowered his aching head into his hands, and wondered if a dram of brandy would help or make the pain worse. He was tired enough already. The brandy would only put him to sleep and he had to stay awake to keep an eye on Brother Paul. Feeling fatigue start to overwhelm him, Sir Ander took out pen and paper and occupied himself in writing a letter.

  Countess Cecile de Marjolaine,

  My Dearest Friend,

  I write to tell you that I have finally had the very great pleasure of meeting your son…

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The Trundlers’ homeland was sunk when the seven kingdoms defeated the notorious Glasearrach Pirates in the War of the Pirate King. The Trundlers lived in a city on the opposite side of the island, and according to history, sided with and supported the pirates. The island had a terrible reputation as being a haven for murderers and worse. Some say Aertheum himself walked the hills and valleys of that fell place. The Church teaches that God’s hand dragged the island and all her people into the Breath. That was when the Trundlers who survived turned their back on Him.

  “The History of the Trundlers” by Professor Angus McFarland

  STEPHANO INDICATED HE WOULD ESCORT Father Jacob and Brother Barnaby to the Cloud Hopper. Stephano was uncomfortable in the presence of this black-robed priest with the intense, glittering eyes. Stephano believed in God, but not in his representatives here below. The Church had betrayed his father, and Stephano had never set foot in a house of worship since. He distrusted priests and didn’t like having to rely on them, especially a priest of the mysterious and powerful Arcanum and one with a Freyan accent no less.

  But I would make a pact with the grand bishop himself if he could help Gythe, Stephano thought as they were waiting outside the yacht for Brother Barnaby to fetch his medicines.

  “What is wrong with the young woman, sir?” Father Jacob asked.

  “I don’t know, Father,” Stephano replied. “She has no visible wounds, yet when the demons were hurling that green fire at the boat, she was in terrible pain. Now she lies in a deep sleep from which we cannot wake her.”

  “I trust we can help her, sir,” said Father Jacob. “Is this young woman by any chance a crafter?”

  “My friend says Gythe is more than a mere crafter, Father. Rigo termed her a ‘savant.’ ”

  “I myself am a savant,” said Father Jacob. “The green fire affected me much the same way. As you see, I am a little weak in the knees, but otherwise recovered. Ah, here is Brother Barnaby.”

  Stephano said he was sorry disturbing the monk, who must be in pain from his own wounds. Brother Barnaby assured him that he was feeling much better and he was pleased to think he might be able to help. The three began the long walk down the hill toward the docks.

  Stephano glanced sidelong at his two companions. He had already formed a favorable opinion of the monk, Brother Barnaby, though he considered the young man sadly naive, one of those God-smitten individuals who see a halo around the head of every living being. Still, there was no harm in this gentle monk and a great deal of good.

  The young monk’s brown robes were torn and stained with blood. Stephano winced at the sight of the lash marks on the slender back. Brother Barnaby walked swiftly, his weariness and pain apparently forgotten in his concern for a fellow being, for he asked Stephano questions about Gythe as they walked and nodded his head in thoughtful concern. Looking at the dark-complected face, Stephano saw openness, honesty, caring, and compassion.

  At one point, when Stephano was talking about Gythe singing, Father Jacob interrupted. “You say she doesn’t speak, but she does sing.”

  “She sang the magic that protected our boat,” said Stephano, remembering that night on the Cloud Hopper when the magic danced and blazed before his eyes.

  “Interesting,” said Father Jacob. “I was affected by the demonic green fire in a similar manner. Yet I am up and moving about, much to the dismay of Brother Barnaby.”

  “You should be in bed,” said the monk firmly.

  Father Jacob merely smiled and continued, “Yet your friend still suffers.”

  “She was terrified by the demons,” said Stephano. He hesitated. In her worry for her sister, Miri had relieved Stephano of his oath to keep their secret. He felt uncomfortable talking about it, however. “This is not the first time she has encountered these fiends.”

  “It isn’t?” Father Jacob asked in surprise.

  “When she and her sister were young girls, their houseboat came under some sort of mysterious attack. Both their parents were brutally murdered. Gythe and Miri had been staying with their uncle. Gythe jumped on board before anyone could stop her, and she saw what was left of the bodies. We think she also saw the attackers.”

  “She saw demons…” said Father Jacob.

  “She seemed to recognize them when they attacked the Clou
d Hopper,” said Stephano. “She suddenly became a little child again. Laughing and singing to herself. Nursery rhymes…”

  “The sisters’ surname name wouldn’t be McPike, would it?” Father Jacob asked.

  Stephano stopped dead and turned to stare at him. “Gythe and Miri McPike. How did you know that, Father? Do you know them? How?”

  But the priest did not answer. He walked with his head bowed, his hands clasped behind his back, his black cassock flapping about his heels. Stephano asked again, this time with some impatience. Father Jacob still did not reply.

  “Do not be offended, Captain,” said Brother Barnaby. “He is not deliberately ignoring you. He simply doesn’t hear you. When he is like this, he wouldn’t hear a cannon if it went off beside him. As to how he knows your friends, Father Jacob has been making a study of these strange attacks on the Trundlers.”

  “So there have been more such vicious, brutal murders, Brother,” Stephano said.

  “I fear so, sir,” said Brother Barnaby. He added with a frown, his usually mild voice hardening. “No one in power except Father Jacob pays attention because the victims are Trundlers.”

  Stephano was more impressed with both the monk and the priest. “I hope you can help Gythe, Brother. I feel responsible for what happened to her. She and the others came on this accursed journey because of me.”

  “You take a great deal of responsibility upon yourself, Captain.”

  “You think God brought me here?” Stephano asked, half serious, half in jest.

  “Sometimes we do not arrive at the place where we want to go, but where God needs us to be,” Brother Barnaby said with serene faith and confidence.

  Stephano looked curiously at Father Jacob. He thought what an odd pair these two made: one whose heart was laid bare to all the world; the other watchful, keen, sharp, secretive, solitary, seeing all, telling nothing.

  Father Jacob was pale, and his face was haggard from pain and fatigue. His strong jaw was set, his eyes bright and even now, while he was abstracted, he appeared keenly aware of everything going on around him.

  A savant, Father Jacob had termed himself. One to whom magic comes easily, naturally, unlike Rodrigo, who had to work at the magic and mostly didn’t bother. For Gythe, magic was like the music she loved. She had a talent for magic as she had a talent for music. No one had ever taught her to play or sing; she had not studied with some great master at the University. She could not read the notes; she did not understand musical theory. Gythe cast magic as she played the harp-by ear, doing what she liked or, as in the protection spells, she acted instinctively, out of fear.