Before Miri and Stephano parted, she took him aside.
“Gythe and I spent the night talking,” she said. “I’ve promised to quit being so protective. She’s a ‘woman growed’ as my uncle would say. It won’t be easy for me. She still seems so fragile.”
“She was fragile, Miri. She’s not anymore. She’s changed.”
“Has she?” Miri was grim. “Gythe told me Brother Barnaby counseled her last night. He helped her find her courage.”
“Brother Barnaby! I hoped she had stopped thinking of him.”
“She still claims she hears his voice. She won’t tell me much. She says the monk is suffering and that makes her sad. And she says she talks to Petard.”
“Like she sings to the cat. At least you are talking to me,” said Stephano.
“You did what I should have done a long time ago,” said Miri, sighing. “But I’m afraid someday she will fly away on that dragon and I’ll never see her again.”
“Gythe will never fly far from you. And neither will I,” said Stephano, smiling. “Take care of Rigo. See to it he’s not poisoned.”
“If he is,” Miri said with a glint in her eye, “I’ll be the one to do it.”
* * *
This region of the Breath was far outside the shipping lanes. The Breath itself was different in this part of the world. As they sailed farther, the lovely reds, oranges, and pinks of the mists gradually gave way to a thick layer of greenish gray mist that into swirled and eddied beneath them. The temperature rose and the air was humid. Stephano was sweating in his Dragon Brigade uniform coat.
Above the mist, the morning sky was a clear, deep blue. He could see the faint imprint of a half moon and a single, sparkling star. The Sommerwind began to slow her forward progress and raised a triangular red flag, the signal that they were close.
Leutnant Baumann shouted from the deck of the Sommerwind, “Refinery dead ahead, Captain.”
All Stephano could see was a gray and green mass that appeared to be floating on a misty pond. The ship came to a halt. Stephano had arranged with Captain Leydecker that he and Dag would fly to the refinery to investigate. Stephano motioned to Petard, and the young dragon joined them. The Sommerwind floated in the Breath, keeping her distance.
The gray-green mass turned into hundreds of islands floating in the Breath. Some of the smaller islands were nothing but gray rock. The larger islands were covered in thick vegetation, which accounted for the humidity. Huge trees rose from the surface or clung to the sides of the islands, jutting out at odd angles, their roots dangling in the mist. The islands were separated by channels through which ships could sail. Wisps of fog drifted among the trees, obscuring the view ahead.
No wonder the refineries are difficult to find, Stephano thought. He didn’t see the island they were searching for until they were almost on top of it.
The island was not so much an island as a large chunk of floating rock shaped like a kidney bean. Perhaps two hundred yards across, the island had been stripped of vegetation, and most of its area was occupied by a stone building in the form of a U.
Captain Leydecker had provided Stephano and Dag with a description of the refinery so they would know what to expect. This building, the largest on the island, was the living quarters for the workers, crafters, and soldiers.
In the central part of the building were sleeping areas for the men and women, a common room, laboratories, and a kitchen. Wings on either end were used for storage and warehousing. A smaller, detached stone building to the north of the central building was the armory where they stored ammunition for the six thirty-two-pound cannons that were located at strategic points around the island.
Supplies for the refinery, including spare parts and tools, were stored in small wooden outbuildings. The laboratory was in another stone building across from the living quarters. Two enormous round tanks, located at either end of the kidney bean, held the liquid distilled from the Breath. Near the tanks stood two enormous glass vats, surrounded by coiled tubing, copper tubs, and wooden tubs, encased in scaffolding. This was where the refining process took place.
Tubes attached to large pumps mounted on two large floating rafts snaked down into the Breath to reach the pocket of pure Breath far below.
At the south end of the island, Stephano saw a contraption that looked like an arm bent at the elbow—the docking arm. Due to the small size of the island and the fact that there was very little space on which to land, tankers and ferries had to tie up there. When a tanker or a ferry arrived, workers extended the docking arm outward using a series of cranks and pulleys. The arm provided a secure place for ships to dock, safe from the jagged margins of the island.
“Security measure,” Captain Leydecker had told them. “If the workers don’t recognize the ship and the ship doesn’t respond to a hail with the correct code, the workers won’t extend the docking arm.”
Tankers docked at the north end of the island. The huge tanks took days to fill, so the crew would land the tanker and then depart, traveling back to the mainland on a ferry. When the tanker was full, the crew would return to sail it to its destination.
As they approached the island, Stephano could see nothing out of the ordinary: no signs of Travian ships sailing a blockade; no bats or their riders. All seemed quiet and peaceful until they flew close enough to the island to have a clear view. Then the hair on the back of Stephano’s neck prickled.
The time was now midmorning. He should be seeing workers climbing on the scaffolding, crafters walking from one building to another, crews filling the docked tanker.
But the refinery was deserted, with not a single person in sight.
Stephano signaled to Dag that he was going to fly in low. Dag signaled back, warning him to be careful. He, too, had noticed the unusual inactivity. Stephano motioned for Petard to keep watch above, and he was glad to see the young dragon obey his orders, flying in large circles over the island.
Stephano and Viola swooped down as close as they could come without smashing into the scaffolding that surrounded the large vats. He scanned the island. A thin trail of smoke rose from a burning building. He now could see the people—or what was left of them.
Bodies littered the ground. Not all of them were human. Some were the carcasses of dead bats.
Viola made a sound, a kind of rumble meant to draw his attention. Stephano looked up to see Dag gesturing to a large crater surrounded by rubble and more bodies.
Dag raised the visor of his helm to yell, “They blew up the powder magazine, sir.”
The tanker had also been attacked. One of the masts was splintered, and part of the deck and hull were still burning. The punctured balloons dangled like silk scarves from the rigging, and more bodies lay on the deck. At the south end, the docking arm had been broken at the elbow.
“Son of a bitch,” Stephano swore.
He motioned for Dag and Verdi to fly closer. The Sommerwind waited, floating in the Breath about a mile distant. Captain Leydecker and Leutnant Bauman would have their spyglasses trained on them, and would be impatient to hear what they had found.
“Bottom Dwellers were here. Don’t see much we can do, sir,” said Dag heavily. “Looks like they butchered everyone, set fire to the place, then left.”
Stephano was gazing, frowning, at the refinery. Something wasn’t right. “They didn’t do that much damage. The main buildings are still standing. I think we should investigate. First we need to tell Captain Leydecker he’s not going to be making his delivery.”
They turned, intending to fly back to the Sommerwind. Both were startled by the unmistakable sound of a gunshot. They looked back to see a man standing outside the southern end of the dormitory, frantically waving his hat in the air. As he did so, a streak of green fire forced the man to duck for cover back inside the building.
“Apparently the Bottom Dwellers didn’t leave. Not all of them,” Stephano shouted at Dag. “At least one survivor! A bat rider has him pinned down inside that building! Ther
e might be more. Tell Leydecker we’re going to rescue them.”
Dag hesitated. “What do we do once we have them, sir? We can’t take them out on the Sommerwind. The docking arm’s wrecked. The ship can’t dock.”
“We can’t leave them here. The Bottom Dwellers might come back.” Stephano said, frustrated. “Ask Leydecker. Maybe he can think of something.”
Dag nodded, wheeled Verdi around, and flew back to the Sommerwind. Stephano studied the island, trying to figure out how to proceed. Viola could not possibly land, not without risking serious injury. The flaming green streak had come from a wooden building located at the foot of the scaffolding, across from the southern end of the living quarters. A Bottom Dweller with some type of weapon must be holed up there. The weapon wasn’t firing the usual ball of fire, but it appeared to be just as deadly. Stephano considered having Viola destroy the building with her flaming breath, but he decided he couldn’t risk it.
A dragon such as Lady Cam, who had been trained in warfare, knew how to control her breath so that she could shoot a thin stream of flame onto a building, setting it on fire, while not harming surrounding structures. If he asked Viola to breathe on it, she might blast it with a fireball that would set the entire island ablaze.
Stephano checked to make certain his pistols were loaded, and his knife in his boot. He added a powder horn and a pouch of bullets and waited impatiently for Dag to return. When Dag and Verdi flew back, Stephano pointed to the ground, indicating he was going to descend. Dag showed he understood by flourishing a pistol.
Stephano uncoiled the rope ladder that was standard equipment for a dragon rider.
“Take me over to that scaffold,” he told Viola.
Viola flew in low to hover just above the scaffolding. Stephano could feel the dragon’s body quivering. Her mane rippled, a shiver contracted her scales. They had practiced this maneuver several times, but always under safe conditions. Stephano assumed she was worried about him and he patted her on the neck to show he was pleased with her.
He took off his helm and stowed it, attached the rope ladder to the saddle, unbuckled his harness, and climbed out of the saddle. He descended the rope ladder, moving slowly and carefully to prevent the ladder from swinging. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw another green flash. He heard the buzz of a bullet as a thin line of green fire streaked past him. The Bottom Dweller hadn’t fired at him. He was aiming at Viola.
The dragon hissed in alarm. Her body jerked and her wings flapped wildly, making the ladder swing precariously. Stephano was forced to let go, and he fell the rest of the way, landing heavily on the platform. He crouched down, looking to see the location of the sharpshooter. Now he knew there were at least two, for this shot had been fired from a different building, somewhere off to his left. The thought registered that this wasn’t the bat riders’ usual mode of attack. They’d invented some sort of new devilish weapon that apparently fired bullets.
“Probably laced with contramagic,” he muttered to himself.
He looked up to see if Viola was all right and was startled to see that the dragon had fled, flying away from the refinery, hooting at Petard.
Stephano was worried. He told himself that she was only leaving to give Verdi room to fly in with Dag. He didn’t like the way she was behaving, her terrified reactions.
Verdi and Dag flew down, the dragon coming in extremely low. Stephano held his breath, hoping the clumsy dragon wouldn’t accidentally take out the scaffolding and him along with it. Verdi hovered ponderously overhead. Dag climbed awkwardly down the rope ladder and landed on the platform with a thud that shook the frame. Stephano had his pistol drawn, covering Dag while watching for the sharpshooter.
No one fired.
Viola roared and Verdi, after circling a few times, flew away to join the other two dragons. Stephano watched them. The dragons were flying in agitated circles, talking between themselves.
Dag crouched behind him. “I spoke to Leydecker and explained the problem. Miri says—”
“Not now,” Stephano ordered.
Motion caught his eye. A hand holding a weapon appeared in the window of the laboratory. Stephano nudged Dag.
“Look at that pistol! That’s not their standard-issue weapon, not like those long guns they used against us. And I’ll swear something that sounded like a bullet hit the scaffolding right below me.”
“You’re right, sir.” Dag examined the weapon with a critical eye. “Looks similar to a horse pistol.”
Stephano rose slightly, to see if he could get a better view. A green flash, a green streak, the same strange wail, and a bullet hit the beam near Stephano’s head, ricocheted off. A burning pain tore through his cheek. Dag fired at the sharpshooter and the hand holding the pistol disappeared.
“Missed the bastard!” Dag grumbled. He eyed Stephano with concern. “You all right, sir?”
“Spent bullet grazed my cheek. Hurts like a son of a bitch, though,” said Stephano. He drew back his hand to see it was covered in blood.
Dag examined the wound. “Damn! That’s nasty looking sir! Your skin is … scorched!”
“Feels like I was hit with a red-hot poker!” Stephano said, wincing at the pain.
A second bullet slammed into the scaffold near Dag, this shot from the first sharpshooter, the one who had fired at the man with the hat. The bullet embedded itself in a wooden post. A thin curl of smoke rose from the wood.
“Pretty damn clever, sir,” said Dag grimly. “The long guns the Bottom Dwellers used against us were intended to take out large targets. These pistols are meant to kill people.”
“They don’t dare use the long guns that shoot the fireballs. They could blow up the island and they want the refineries intact for the lift gas,” Stephano realized. “That’s something to remember. We might be able to use that against them.”
“How many out there, sir?”
“I’ve seen two. No telling how many more.”
“Sir, about Miri—”
“Miri will have to wait. Let’s get safely down on the ground, then we can talk.”
Stephano counted three levels with a platform on each level. Flights of stairs connected the platform with another flight leading to the ground. He and Dag would be relatively safe on the scaffolding. The wooden frame would continue to provide cover. Once on the ground, they would have to cross an open area to reach the entrance to the living quarters. They could see the man who had waved the hat standing in the doorway, holding the door partly open. Every so often Stephano caught a glimpse of the man’s tricorn.
“The hell of it is those two sharpshooters are in different buildings, one in the laboratory in front of the living quarters and one in that building below us to our right.” Stephano pointed them out. “The moment we step into the open, they’ll have us in a dandy crossfire.”
“I brought something we might be able to use to clear out at least one of them, sir,” said Dag.
Reaching into his coat, he produced a bag containing three glass jars, each with a cork stopper, each filled with some sort of black gunk.
“What’s that?” Stephano asked. “Lunch?”
“Rigo says they’re homemade grenades, sir,” said Dag in dubious tones. “He handed the bag to me while I was back at the Sommerwind talking to Captain Leydecker. Rigo concocted the mixture, apparently. Said we might find it useful.”
“So that’s why he’s been stealing glass jars,” said Stephano. “How does it work?”
“He says I touch the squiggle and it blows up on impact.”
Stephano considered. “The closest sharpshooter is in that building right below us. He fired from a front window at the fellow with the hat and he shot at us from a back window. Assuming he’s watching us from the back, my hope is that he will move to the front to shoot at me when I make a run for the door. My next hope is that the man in the door is armed and can cover me. That’s when you throw that thing in the back window. Hopefully it will take out at least one sharpshooter.”
/> Dag shook his head. “There’s a lot of ‘hope’ in that plan, sir. Too much, if you ask me.”
Two flashes of green fire and two bullets slammed into the wooden beam near them, one over their heads and one at their feet. Where the bullets hit, the wooden frame started to smolder, the contramagic eating into the protective constructs. Stephano didn’t like to think what it might be doing to his flesh that stung and burned.
“Their aim is improving,” said Stephano. “You keep one grenade. Give me the bag with the other two.”
Dag handed over the bag and Stephano tucked it into an inner pocket. He checked to make certain his dragon pistol was loaded.
“Remember the fight in Westfirth, what that damn magic did to my pistol, sir,” Dag reminded him. “Almost took my hand off.”
“Thank you so much for reminding me,” Stephano muttered. “I was wondering what else to worry about. Ready? Here we go.”
He leaped to his feet and ran down the stairs, keeping low as he ran. He could hear Dag thudding along behind him. Stephano waited tensely for the sharpshooters to fire again. He reached the lower platform and still nothing.
Those guns act like any other pistols, he thought. They must have to take time to reload.
He saw a flash of green from the laboratory and dropped to his belly. The bullet hit the frame right where he had been standing, showering him with wood splinters and cinders. Jumping to his feet, he dashed down the last flight of stairs and kept running, heading for the living quarters.
The man in the doorway opened the door and stepped out. Raising his pistol, he fired in the direction of the second sharpshooter.
“Go on! I’m right behind you, sir!” Dag yelled.
Stephano had to cover only about ten yards, but it looked to him to be a hundred. He put his head down and ran, expecting every moment to feel a bullet slam into his back. He was almost to the doorway when a blast behind him knocked him flat.
A wave of heat washed over him. He staggered to his feet and lunged for the door, where the man with the hat caught and steadied him. Stephano turned to see the building housing the Bottom Dweller engulfed in flame. Dag was sitting on his butt on the ground, bleeding from a cut on his head.
Storm Riders Page 57