Storm Riders

by Margaret Weis

  “Oh, yes. Gythe understands now. Although her layers of magic did prove to be useful when the demons attacked. She kept the contramagic from breaking down our constructs quite so fast. She’s only placing a couple of layers this time.”

  “But if we’re attacked again—”

  “My dear fellow, this boat is being held together by a stew pot and one of my silk shirts. Magic—her magic, my magic—can only do so much. A child with a peashooter could knock us out of the sky.”

  That night, as they sat down to supper, everyone was in a good mood. Rodrigo even complimented the meal.

  Miri outlined their plans for the next day.

  “Gythe and I will finish patching the balloon. Once that’s done, Rigo can add his magical constructs. Dag and Stephano, we need to stock up on food for the trip and fill the water barrels. I figure we should be ready to sail for home in two days.”

  The next day dawned clear and bright, though not noticeably cooler. Everyone was cheerful, however, and set to work with a will. Dag thumped the lift tank and was relieved and pleased to announce that the gas had not leaked out. Everyone knew this already, because they’d heard him thump the tank at intervals throughout the night.

  Miri and Gythe completed stitching and patching the balloon, then handed the voluminous bundle of gaily colored, red- and yellow-striped silk over to Rodrigo to repair the magical constructs. The balloon was chambered, each chamber holding its own quantity of gas so that if the balloon was damaged, one chamber could leak without causing the other chambers to lose the precious gas.

  Gythe and Miri rewarded Rodrigo for his work by offering to wash his clothes. Carrying their basket piled high with shirts and skirts, pantaloons and underdrawers, they walked down to the lake. Doctor Ellington accompanied them, his tail moving from side to side in a slow and graceful wave.

  “Do you have your pistol?” Stephano called out.

  “Yes, Papa,” Miri returned, laughing and flourishing the weapon.

  Dag and Stephano hauled water in buckets from the nearby stream to fill the water barrels that were located belowdecks. As Dag carried his buckets down the stairs, Stephano stopped to stare at Rodrigo, who was bent over backward pressing his hands into the small of his back.

  “Whatever are you doing?” Stephano asked.

  “Muscle cramp,” Rodrigo grunted, gazing up at the sky as he twisted and turned to ease the pain. “What a beautiful day. Only one cloud in heaven’s vault.”

  He paused. His eyes narrowed and he said in a puzzled tone of voice, “That’s very strange behavior in a cloud.”

  Stephano squinted at the cloud. Rodrigo was right. The cloud was receding and then swelling and then receding again.

  “Look at that cloud,” said Stephano to Dag as he came up to the foredeck. “Have you ever seen a cloud behave like that?”

  “No, sir,” said Dag.

  “I need the spyglass,” said Stephano.

  Rodrigo ran to the helm to grab the spyglass they kept in a cabinet underneath. He brought it to Stephano, who raised it to his eye.

  “Bloody hell!” Stephano swore, and handed the glass to Dag, who peered through it, then lowered it.

  “Bloody hell is right, sir. Those are Bottom Dwellers.”

  “You mean the demons? How could a cloud be demons?” Rodrigo gasped.

  Stephano didn’t answer. He looked through the glass again. He could see clearly the huge bats of the Bottom Dwellers, their leathery wings dark against the blue sky, and their riders: men in demonic-looking armor perched on the backs of the bats, sitting comfortably between the head and the wings.

  The Bottom Dwellers did not fly in formation, as did dragon riders. They flew in a swarm that, at a great distance, could be easily mistaken for a cloud constantly shifting position. They were flying at a leisurely pace. Several bats occasionally broke off from the main group; some swooping down low over the treetops.

  Dag had gone below to fetch his own spyglass and he was watching alongside Stephano.

  “If it didn’t sound crazy, I’d say they were a search party, sir,” Dag said. “But what could they be searching for?”

  Stephano felt his gut tighten. “They’re looking for us.”

  Rodrigo gaped at him. “For us? How could they know we’re here? No one knows we’re here except Sir Henry—”

  “And the crew of that merchant vessel and the crew of the frigate that brought us down. I hope to God I’m wrong, but better to be safe than sorry. Dag, mount one of the swivel guns. I’ll tend to the other.”

  The swivel gun was a small cannon that could be mounted on a swiveling stand on the ship’s rail. The Cloud Hopper had four swivel guns, two four-pound cannons, and one cannon known as the “frog,” for its squat body and large mouth, that could fire a twenty-four-pound ball. The swivel gun had proven effective in fighting the Bottom Dwellers because, unlike the cannons, the weapon could be quickly swiveled in its mount by the gunner to find the best target. The swivel gun was also faster to load, using chambers preloaded with powder and grapeshot that could be swiftly switched in and out.

  Stephano picked up a swivel gun from where it lay on the deck and mounted it on the stand at the bow.

  “Sir Henry wouldn’t spy for them,” Rodrigo argued, trailing after Stephano. “The demons tried to assassinate him, remember? They attacked his ship. He loathes them as much as we do. I guess it is possible that someone on board the ship was a spy…”

  “I don’t have the answers, Rigo,” said Stephano, fumbling at the bolts that held the swivel gun in place. “And I don’t have time to argue about it. Go below and bring up the bags with the canisters, plus Dag needs a shirt and his armor. And I’ll need my flight coat. You’ll find it—”

  “I know,” said Rodrigo, and he disappeared into the hold.

  “I’ll do this, sir,” said Dag, taking over the swivel gun. “You keep an eye on the bastards.”

  Rodrigo came up the stairs, dragging the heavy sacks containing the canisters. At Dag’s direction, he dropped one sack by each gun, then went back down below for the armor and the flight coat. Stephano watched the bat riders. They had re-formed, now flying in more or less a straight line spread across the sky.

  “They’re moving slowly, taking their time. They’re definitely searching for something. Fortunately the boat’s hidden—”

  “Sir!” Dag cried. “The balloon!”

  When the Cloud Hopper had been hit by cannon fire, Miri had managed to guide the burning boat into a small clearing, keeping them from crashing into the trees. The boat was partially hidden by a canopy of tree branches. The gaily colored silk of the balloon, spread out on the deck for patching, made a bright red splash among the green.

  Stephano turned around so fast he nearly tripped himself. He and Dag worked feverishly to gather the yards of silk in their arms, bundle it up, and shove it into the hold. Down below, Rodrigo caught the silk and pulled it through the door. He came back up on deck lugging Dag’s shirt, his metal cuirass, and Stephano’s flight coat.

  Dag’s cuirass was a breastplate and a back piece made of magically enhanced metal that fit over the shoulders and rested on the hip, protecting the torso. The cuirass had been damaged by the green fire in the fight with the Bottom Dwellers in Westfirth. He’d spent considerable time on the island repairing it.

  “I drew some magical constructs on the armor,” Rodrigo said, handing it to Dag. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  “What sort of magic?” Dag demanded, scowling.

  “I just added a few constructs I thought might help withstand an attack from the contramagic green fire,” said Rodrigo. “They’re similar to those Gythe cast on the boat. I’ll be interested to see if they work.”

  “You mean this is an experiment?” Dag asked, eyeing the cuirass with suspicion.

  “The theory is quite sound,” said Rodrigo. “I did the same for my lavender coat. Ever since that demon tried to kill me, I have been determined that I will never again be unprepared.”
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  “Thank you,” Dag said gruffly.

  “You are welcome. I did the same for you,” Rodrigo said, handing Stephano his flight coat.

  The calf-length flight coat was made of the finest quality leather, padded, with a high collar and a mantle that covered his shoulders. Two dragons made of contrasting colors of leather had been appliquéd on the coat, one over each breast. The cost of the specially designed coat had been quite dear, having required him to hire a crafter to inscribe the leather with magical constructs meant to protect against bullets, shrapnel, and the like.

  Stephano hoped Rodrigo was right and that his theory was sound, and that the constructs would protect against the balls of green contramagic fire blasting from the Bottom Dwellers’ weapons. Watching the flying demons closing in, he counted at least twenty.

  Stephano thrust his arms into the sleeves and settled the coat around his shoulders. He would melt in the heat with the heavy leather coat on, but that was better than roasting in green fire.

  “You’ll need the pistols, sir,” said Dag. “There’re two beneath the helm, already loaded. You’ll have to load the ones in the weapons locker. Miri was going to—”

  Dag stopped talking. His face blanched.

  “Miri! She and Gythe and the Doctor! They’re down at the lake!” Dag picked up his blunderbuss. “I’ll go after them—”

  “No,” said Stephano tersely.

  “You going for them, sir?”

  “No one’s going,” said Stephano, keeping watch on the Bottom Dwellers. “No one is leaving the boat. The bat riders are too close. They’d see you.”

  Dag glared at him in anger. “Miri and Gythe are out there alone, sir!”

  “The Bottom Dwellers haven’t found them. They haven’t found us yet either. If you run out in the open, the bat riders will spot you for sure. Miri’s armed. She and Gythe will take cover.”

  “Not if they don’t know the demons are coming!” Dag snarled. He eyed Stephano, stood irresolute for a moment, then he headed for the gangplank. “The hell with you, sir. I’m going.”

  “I gave you an order, Sergeant,” said Stephano sharply. “Return to your post.”

  Dag kept walking.

  Rodrigo said with quiet urgency, “You both need to keep perfectly still!”

  The three froze and looked up into the sky. The line of Bottom Dwellers was passing overhead. The majority of the demons were south of the Cloud Hopper, flying east, toward Rosia. One or two of the bat riders had broken away. They were going to fly quite near.

  Even if they couldn’t see the boat, they could see signs of human habitation in the clearing: the table where they ate, the cauldron over the cook fire, the small tent used by Miri to smoke meat. It would take just one bat rider to glance down at the right moment. Dag and Stephano stood immobile. Rodrigo crouched behind the helm.

  The bats soared over the treetops and flew past. Stephano drew a relieved breath, only to see one of the bats veer off and circle back around. They heard a shrill whistle, sounding the alert, summoning the others. Stephano let out his breath in a curse.

  “Damnation! Dag, man the swivel gun!”

  “No, sir. I’m going after Miri,” Dag returned, striding down the gangplank.

  Stephano ran after him and grabbed him by the shoulder. Dag rounded on him angrily, raising his fists.

  “Let go of me, sir, or by God I’ll—”

  “Listen to me, Dag! This is Miri’s boat,” said Stephano. “The Cloud Hopper is her life! What do you think she would want you to do? Would she want you to go rescue her when she doesn’t need rescuing or fight to save her boat?”

  Dag looked away toward the lake. His jaw tightened. He looked back at Stephano and struck aside his arm.

  “If anything happens to them, sir,” Dag said in a low voice, his eyes fixed intently on Stephano, “God help you.”

  He came back up the gangplank to take his place behind the swivel gun.

  “That was a threat,” said Rodrigo.

  “He’s upset,” said Stephano, as he hurried to the first swivel gun and maneuvered it into position.

  “Ready, Dag?” he called.

  Dag’s answer was a grunt. He stared, stony faced, at the bat riders, who now were all converging on the Cloud Hopper.

  Bats began to drop out of the sky, flying at the boat. Their riders were lifting their weapons—long guns firing the devastating balls of contramagic that utterly destroyed any magical construct they touched.

  “You and Gythe laid down the protection spells again,” said Stephano to Rodrigo, who was hiding beneath the helm. “Will they hold?”

  “For a short time,” said Rodrigo.

  Stephano cast him a sharp glance. “How short?”

  Rodrigo shook his head. “Short.”

  “Can you fix the constructs if they’re damaged?” Stephano asked urgently. “Replace them, strengthen them, keep them working?”

  “They’re Gythe’s constructs. And they’re Trundler constructs. Only Gythe can do anything with them.”

  Stephano swore under his breath and crouched behind the swivel gun, preparing to take aim.

  “The water buckets are full. Be ready to put out any fires,” he told Rodrigo, who was not permitted to handle a weapon. “Here they come.”

  Rodrigo raised his head slightly and peeked out over the helm. He was about to duck back down when he stopped, transfixed, staring at something in the open field in front of the Cloud Hopper. An expression of horror contorted his face.

  “What?” Stephano cried, alarmed. His first thought was of Miri and Gythe. “What do you see? What’s out there?”

  “The tankard!” Rodrigo gasped.

  Stephano had no idea at first what he was talking about, and then realization struck. “Rigo, no, you can’t—”

  He was too late. Rodrigo had jumped up from behind the helm and was running for the gangplank.

  “Wait! Rigo, stop!” Stephano shouted.

  Rodrigo paid no heed. He kept running.

  “What’s he doing?” Dag roared. “He’s going to get his fool head blown off!”

  “The pewter tankard! We left it on the table!” Stephano yelled.

  The Bottom Dwellers were swooping down over the treetops. Spotting Rodrigo running out into the open, several shifted their attention to him, leaving others to attack the boat. Dag and Stephano opened fire with the swivel guns, taking care to keep their aim high to avoid hitting Rodrigo, who was racing across the campsite toward the table on which stood the pewter tankard, filled with flowers.

  A ball of green fire burst near him, causing him to stumble and almost fall. He managed to stay upright and keep running. The bat swiftly flew off, giving its rider time to reload the weapon.

  Another demon was there to take its place, diving down on Rodrigo. Stephano targeted this demon with the swivel gun and fired. He and Dag were using grapeshot—balls of lead, slightly larger than a musket ball—that spread out in a cone when fired. He must have hit the bat a glancing blow, for suddenly it veered off, taking to the sky and nearly dumping its rider, who had to drop his weapon to cling to its neck.

  Dag fired and shot one bat out of the sky. The creature landed on the ground in front of the Cloud Hopper, clawing and screeching in its death throes. The rider was nowhere to be seen. Stephano was firing the swivel gun as fast as he could load in the canisters. He hit one of the riders broad in the chest, knocking him off his bat. Balls of green fire struck the tree branches above him, setting them ablaze.

  A bat rider swooped down on Rodrigo, who had almost reached the table. Dag fired, striking the bat rider as he fired at Rodrigo. The fireball struck the wooden table, which burst into flames. Rodrigo tried to brave the fire to reach the tankard, but the heat was too intense.

  “Rigo!” Stephano shouted desperately. “Get back here!”

  Rodrigo ignored him. Fanning away the smoke, he stared into the flames that were consuming the table and the tree-stump chairs, trying to find the tankard. Stepha
no fired at a riderless bat that was diving at Rodrigo from behind. Stephano missed, and the bat struck Rodrigo, knocking him down and digging its claws into his coat, ready to tear him apart.

  Rodrigo flailed at the bat, kicking and fighting to escape, as the creature tried to bite him in the neck. Stephano left the swivel gun, intending to run to his friend.

  Dag jostled Stephano aside. Drawing his pistol, Dag yelled, “Cover me!” and dashed out to save Rodrigo.

  * * *

  At the lake, Miri, dressed only in her trousers, blouse, and corset stood over the washtub, stirring the clothes in the soapy water with a stick. She shoved them under, poked and prodded them. When she was satisfied they were clean, she hauled the soapy clothes out of the washtub and gave them to Gythe, who rinsed them off in the lake and then wrung them out and spread them on the tops of rocks or draped them over the bushes to dry. Gythe sang while she worked, a Trundler song women sang to ease the monotony of laundry day. Miri joined her in the chorus. Both were in a good mood. They were going home.

  Doctor Ellington observed the proceedings from a safe distance. He objected to laundry day, which was far too wet for his liking. He sat on a boulder near where the women were working, keeping away from Gythe, who would mischievously flick water at him.

  Miri was wiping the sweat from her face when she realized Gythe had stopped singing. She had been on her hands and knees, dunking her blouse in the lake and now she straightened, looking around nervously.

  “Did you hear that?” she signed to Miri.

  “Hear what?” Miri asked. “I didn’t hear anything.”

  Gythe shaded her eyes with her hand to look across the lake. Miri paid little heed, thinking that perhaps the dragons were coming or maybe Rodrigo was going to play one of his silly pranks on them. Then she noticed Doctor Ellington had also heard the sound. The cat was staring fixedly at something in the sky. Miri followed the cat’s gaze.

  “Bat riders! Run before they see us!” Miri said urgently.

  Gythe flung the blouse into the water, jumped to her feet, and ran for the shelter of the trees. Miri hurried after her and found Gythe crouched in the shadows, her hands over her ears.