The Seventh Sigil

by Margaret Weis

  “No, Bandit, don’t bark!” the girl begged. “You must be quiet or they will take you away from me!”

  The dog broke free of her grasp and ran straight to the woman in gold. He began to leap on her, jumping up and down and barking loudly.

  “Bandit! What are you doing?” the girl cried, distressed. “Come here this instant!”

  The woman picked up the dog in her arms and carried him back to the girl. She knelt down beside her and spoke a name, “Sophia!” in a voice filled with love and anguish.

  The girl stared at her and then gave a cry of joy. The woman dropped the dog and took the girl in her arms, weeping over her and murmuring broken words of comfort.

  Miri watched in astonishment. Whoever these two were, they meant something to each other. Brother Barnaby knew nothing, apparently. He was looking on in bewilderment. The man with the limp watched in quiet satisfaction.

  The girl, Sophia, sagged in the woman’s arms, her head lolling. Bandit whimpered and began to lick her face.

  “Sophia!” The woman tried to rouse her. She looked urgently around for Brother Barnaby. “Please, you must help her!”

  The monk bent over Sophia, felt her pulse. “She has fainted. She has eaten almost nothing since they brought her here.”

  “Gythe, fetch some water,” said Miri, coming to join him as he knelt by the bed.

  “You will find a pitcher and a cup on the floor over there,” said Brother Barnaby. He rested his hand on Sophia’s forehead. “She is already beginning to come around.”

  Gythe returned with the water. Brother Barnaby lifted Sophia, who was blinking her eyes dazedly. Miri held the water to her lips.

  “Thank you for coming with Gythe, Miri,” Brother Barnaby said softly.

  “I don’t want your thanks,” Miri retorted. “This is your fault! You brought her here. If anything happens to her, I’ll never forgive you.” She eyed the monk grimly. “Your God will never forgive you!”

  Sophia drank a sip or two of water and the color began to come back into her cheeks. The woman took off her golden mantle and made a bundle of it, using it as a pillow for Sophia.

  “My lady…,” Sophia began.

  “Hush, now, you must lie quiet,” said the woman.

  She settled down beside Sophia, supporting her with her arm. Sophia gazed up at her anxiously.

  “Is my father safe, Countess? Eiddwen told me what she had done! She said my father and everyone would die—”

  “We discovered her plot in time, Your Highness,” said the woman in soothing tones. “The engineers are taking measures to undo the damage she caused. You must not worry. All will be well.”

  “Your Highness!” Miri repeated. She looked at the woman and then back at the girl. “Who is she? She called you ‘Countess’? Who are you?”

  “You speak Rosian!” said the woman. She regarded Miri curiously. “I heard the guard say you are savants like Sophia. What are your names?”

  “I am Miri McPike,” said Miri proudly. “And this is my sister, Gythe. We have nothing to hide. Who are you?”

  The woman’s eyes widened in astonishment.

  “Miri…,” she repeated in wonder. “And Gythe … You have a boat, the Cloud Hopper.”

  Miri drew back, frowning in suspicion. “How do you know us, Lady?”

  “I know you well, Miri, though we have never met,” said the woman with a faint smile. “I am the Countess de Marjolaine. Stephano’s mother.”

  17

  We warned the church of the consequences should they unleash a barrage of contramagic into the world. We foresaw that the disruption of the Breath would cause deadly wizard storms to plunge the world into a hundred years of darkness.

  —Confessions of Saint Marie

  Miri sat back on her heels, stunned. “Countess de Marjolaine!”

  She had never met Cecile de Marjolaine, Stephano’s formidable mother. He rarely spoke of her and when he did, his comments were bitterly harsh.

  Miri had heard the countess described as a great beauty. Cecile was not beautiful now, except for her eyes, which were of a remarkable blue, large and clear and fearless. Her face showed her age, with lines of worry and care, and of weariness. Her clothes were travel worn and stained.

  “My lady, how do you come to be here?” Miri asked in bewilderment.

  “I could make the same inquiry of you, Miri McPike,” Cecile responded with a faint smile. She suddenly leaned forward to ask eagerly, “My son! Is he with you?”

  Miri shook her head. “The last we saw of Stephano, he was being arrested by the Arcanum. He is not there!” She added hurriedly, “Your man, D’argent, obtained a pardon from the king.”

  “What did my son do to get himself arrested this time?” Cecile asked. She could smile now that she knew he was safe.

  “According to D’argent, he and Rodrigo did nothing more than talk to Papa Jake—I mean, Father Jacob Northrop. He, too, was arrested. But Rodrigo devised a plan to save the palace and D’argent went to the prince to have them both released.”

  “The inimitable Monsieur de Villeneuve,” Cecile said.

  Sophia was cuddling Bandit and resting her head on the countess’s shoulder. “My poor father! He must be so angry. Is he very upset with me for running away, Countess?”

  “Hush, my dear!” said Cecile softly, soothing her. “Your father loves you dearly. He could never be angry with you.”

  “But he must be dreadfully worried about me,” said Sophia with a sigh. “And it is all my fault!”

  “He does not know you ran away. He believes you are with me at my estate. Your father has so many cares, I didn’t want to burden him. When you and I return, we will find a way to explain.”

  “You are so good to me, Countess,” said Sophia, nestling against her. “And I don’t deserve it. I was a fool to believe Lucello’s lies.”

  “You were not the only one to believe his lies, my dear,” said Cecile softly. “He and Eiddwen made fools of us all.”

  “She is really the princess,” said Miri, struggling to understand the enormity of their situation. “The Princess Sophia of Rosia. What is she doing here?”

  “She was abducted by an evil woman and her cohort. I came here in search of her,” said Cecile. “That reminds me, Your Highness, Sir Conal found something that belongs to Bandit and something else that belongs to you.”

  She reached into a bag and drew out the collar set with the magical stones. Sophia smiled at the sight of the dog collar and summoned Bandit who, unlike his mistress, did not appear pleased to have the collar restored. He squirmed and wriggled until Sophia bribed him with a morsel of bread to hold still.

  “Sir Conal,” said Miri. “Is he the man with you?”

  Miri turned to look at the man with the cane. He was standing next to the door and had his ear pressed to it, listening.

  “Sir Conal O’Hairt, a Knight Protector,” said Cecile.

  Miri lowered her voice to a whisper. “Do these people know they have the princess of Rosia as their prisoner?”

  “I must assume Eiddwen took her for a reason,” Cecile replied. “At first I thought she wanted her as a hostage, but now I am not so certain. I was told they need savants to stop these wizard storms. Where did they get such a notion?”

  “From the writings of the saints, my lady,” said Brother Barnaby. “Saint Marie relates that she and her friends came together to pray to God to stop the terrible storms that were ravaging the land during the Dark Ages. We know from history that they succeeded in lessening the severity, though the storms raged on for years. It is common knowledge that Saint Marie and the others were savants.”

  “I’ve told them I don’t know anything about wizard storms or about being a savant!” said Sophia, trembling. “All I know is that I am afraid. They murdered the others. One of the women said she heard they were going to be sacrificed in some sort of horrible ritual, and they fought when the soldiers came for them. But they had no weapons, and the guards beat them and drag
ged them away. I thought they would take me, too, but they left me alone. Oh, Countess, I want to go home!”

  Sophia buried her face in the countess’s shoulder. Bandit howled in shared misery.

  Gythe knelt down beside Sophia, took her hand and held it tightly. She touched Sophia on her forehead, smoothing the fair hair with a gentle touch.

  Sophia lifted her head and gazed at Gythe, first in astonishment, then in dawning understanding. She stopped trembling.

  “You do not speak, Gythe,” said Sophia softly. “Yet I can hear your voice. How is that possible?”

  “You are both savants,” said Brother Barnaby. “Father Jacob was a savant. I served him for many years. He says that the minds of savants can do wonderful things.”

  “My lady!”

  Miri turned to see Sir Conal gesturing to the countess. Cecile glanced at Sophia, uncertain about leaving her.

  “I will take care of her, my lady,” Gythe indicated her offer by grasping hold of Sophia’s hand.

  The countess thanked Gythe. Rising from the pallet, she walked over to join Sir Conal. Miri boldly went along, although she hadn’t been invited, determined to know what was going on. Brother Barnaby followed at a more discreet distance.

  Sir Conal cast Miri a cool, appraising glance, then looked at the countess, raising an eyebrow.

  “You may speak freely,” said Cecile. “This is Mistress Miri McPike, a friend of my son’s. That is her sister, Gythe.”

  She looked back to where Gythe and Sophia were sitting close together, talking quietly, with Bandit lying between them.

  “Yes, Sir Conal, what is it?”

  “I have been eavesdropping on the soldiers. It seems we are to have a visitor. Saint Xavier is coming to see us tomorrow morning. I am not certain what this means—”

  “I can tell you, sir,” said Brother Barnaby, coming forward.

  “I believe you know my friend, Sir Ander Martel, Brother,” said Sir Conal with a smile.

  “I have that honor, sir,” said Brother Barnaby, his expression brightening. “How do you know Sir Ander?”

  “He is my best friend. He has spoken of you many times, Brother,” said Sir Conal. “He feared you were dead. He will be immensely relieved to find out you are alive. Now tell us about Saint Xavier.”

  “He will come to test Gythe and the princess, to find out if they can stop the storms. They will be safe enough for the time being. But I fear for you and the countess. You are both in danger, sir. Xavier is very close to Eiddwen. If she denounces you, he will have you arrested and put to death.”

  They were keeping their voices low, but not low enough, apparently, for Sophia overheard them.

  “Countess, you must leave!” she cried fearfully. “I will be safe here on my own. Truly. I have Bandit to protect me.”

  Cecile looked with fond amusement at the little spaniel, who was at that moment lying upside down with all four paws in the air, begging to have his belly scratched.

  “Much as I applaud Bandit’s courage, I would not think of leaving you, my dear,” said Cecile. “Not after I have traveled to hell to find you.”

  The countess tried to speak lightly, but her voice broke. She paused a moment to clear her throat, then said briskly, “You should go, Sir Conal. The risk to me is minimal. By pretending to be a friend of Eiddwen’s I trust I can convince this Xavier to let me stay. But I fear I cannot make the same claim for you.”

  Sir Conal smiled and shook his head. “I would not be much of a Knight Protector, my lady, if I failed to protect you.”

  “The countess is right, Sir Conal,” said Brother Barnaby earnestly. “As a Warder, your job would be to act as escort to the steward to her destination and then leave when your services are no longer needed. If you behave in any way out of the ordinary, Xavier will become suspicious of both you and the countess. You would be putting her in danger, as well as yourself.”

  Sir Conal listened with a grave expression on his face. “I understand you, Brother. But if I did leave, where would I go?”

  “I have friends, sir, who would be glad to shelter you,” said Brother Barnaby.

  “And who are these friends who would risk their lives for me?”

  “Men and women who are loyal to their country, sir,” said Brother Barnaby softly.

  “Ah!” Sir Conal gazed at the monk intently. “So that is the way the wind blows.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Cecile.

  “The good brother has friends in the resistance, my lady,” Sir Conal whispered.

  “Is this true, Brother?” Cecile asked. Her eyes were bright with hope, her face flushed. “We heard about the resistance movement on our way here. We were hoping to contact the rebels to see if they could help us.”

  She turned back to Sir Conal. “And now we have our chance! You must do as Brother Barnaby suggests, my friend. Meet the rebels, make arrangements for us to escape.”

  Sir Conal was not convinced. “I am still loath to leave you and the princess.”

  “Let us be sensible, Sir Conal,” said Cecile, clasping his hand. “You cannot help us if you are dead.”

  Sir Conal laughed, a cheerful, welcome sound in this dismal place. Miri warmed to him. Leaning on his cane, the knight made a gracious, if somewhat awkward bow.

  “As you command, my lady. I will be sensible. How do I contact these friends of yours, Brother?”

  “The guards believe you to be a warder, sir, one of the Children of Shadow. They will let you leave without question, though they will likely send someone to follow you.”

  “I can shake off pursuit,” said Sir Conal.

  “I will give you directions to a tavern called the Goat’s Head. It is not far, about two miles from here. Ask for Liam. Tell him you are looking for ‘Ander.’ He will know I sent you and he will arrange a safe place for you to stay.”

  “The code word is Ander, is it,” said Sir Conal, smiling.

  “When I found myself a prisoner, I drew upon the lessons Sir Ander taught me, sir,” said Brother Barnaby. “He says that when we encounter evil, we cannot let God fight the battle alone. That is why I joined the resistance.”

  “Sir Ander has always spoken of you highly, Brother Barnaby,” said Sir Conal, reaching out to shake hands. “Now I know why.”

  Brother Barnaby looked pleased, if embarrassed by the praise. He gave the knight directions to the tavern.

  “You should leave now, sir,” he added. “The guards will start to wonder why you are staying so long.”

  “Farewell, my lady,” said Sir Conal, his voice soft with emotion. “God keep you and Her Highness in His loving care.”

  “Good-bye, Sir Conal,” said Cecile. She gave him her hand. “My guardian and my friend.”

  As Sir Conal started to walk to the door, Miri noticed his limp had much improved. On impulse, she joined him.

  “I’m coming with you,” she said.

  He glanced at her in surprise.

  “Oh, I’m not trying to escape,” Miri assured him. “I need your help. When you go through the door, I will be right behind you. I have to talk to the guards.”

  “That could be dangerous, mistress,” he said, not trying to dissuade her, merely providing her with information.

  “I don’t think so,” Miri replied. “This Xavier needs savants. He’s gone to a lot of trouble to bring us here. The guards won’t harm me. I was thinking we could work together. I will keep the guards occupied while you slip away.”

  “A sound plan, mistress,” Sir Conal said.

  “Just call me Miri,” she said.

  “And I am Conal, a fellow Trundler. Ready, Miri?”

  She nodded. Sir Conal beat on the door with his fist and shouted for the guards.

  The key rattled in the lock. As the door swung open, Sir Conal started to walk through, moving slowly, leaning heavily on his cane. Miri bounded past him.

  One of the guards raised his weapon.

  “Get back inside or there will be trouble,” the
guard ordered.

  “There will be trouble, but the trouble will be for you, not me!” Miri said tartly.

  As she talked, she kept an eye on Sir Conal, who was quietly making his way toward the door.

  “The warder told us that Saint Xavier is visiting tomorrow. When he comes, he will find his chosen savants living in conditions not fit for pigs. I want water, soap, mops, and brooms.”

  “She’s right,” one said. “We’ll get the blame.”

  “We are not responsible!” the other said, scowling. “Warder Roarke is in charge of the savants.”

  “Then send for him.”

  “He will be annoyed…”

  While the two argued, Miri shot a glance at Sir Conal. He winked at her, quietly opened the door, slipped out, and shut it. The guards never noticed he had gone.

  The argument ended with one of the guards leaving to talk to Warder Roarke. The other took hold of Miri and shoved her roughly back into the prison.

  “Don’t count on it,” he told her and shut the door.

  But a short time later, he opened the door and came inside hauling buckets of water, soap, brooms, rags and mops. Miri and Gythe and Brother Barnaby began cleaning. Much to Miri’s dismay, Cecile joined them.

  “My lady, let me carry that,” Miri said, shocked to see the countess lifting a slop pail. “You should not do such work.”

  “Nonsense,” said Cecile, refusing Miri’s offer. “We all need something to do to keep fear at bay.”

  “I will help Gythe with the pallets,” Sophia offered.

  She and Gythe beat and shook out the unused pallets and then stacked them in a corner, a job made more difficult by Bandit, who kept jumping on them. Cecile helped carry out the overflowing slop buckets and then she got down on her hands and knees and began to scrub the floor.

  “If Stephano ever again says one word against his mother I will slap him silly!” Miri said to herself.

  The cleaning took some time. As she worked, an idea was slowly simmering in Miri’s mind. She had rejected it outright as being impossible to achieve and far too dangerous. But her brain continued to mull it over and at last she had to admit to herself that while her plan was still dangerous, it was no longer impossible.