Shadow Raiders

by Margaret Weis; Robert Krammes

  Dawn was gray in the heavens. Looking up, he saw silhouetted against the sky, more bats and more demons with their orange glowing eyes. They were hurling green fire down on the wyverns, his beloved wyverns, who, instead of flying off to save themselves, had come back to fight for him.

  The fire hit the wyverns on the neck and back and wings. Wherever the fire touched, flames bubbled and boiled like acid, eating away their scales and burning through to their flesh. The wyverns screamed and flailed about in agony. They tried to fly away, but the green fire was burning holes in their wings. Barnaby tried to go to their aid, but he was too weak. He heard himself shouting curses at the demons. He heard himself shouting curses at God.

  The wyverns’ screams changed to gurgling gasps and they sank feebly to the ground and lay there, thrashing about in their death throes. Barnaby managed to drag himself over to the head of one of his wyverns. The wyvern saw him and gave a pitiful moan. Barnaby gathered the wyvern’s head in his arms and held the dying beast close to his breast, rocking and murmuring until he felt the head droop in death.

  The demons were coming for him now. Barnaby closed his eyes and gave himself into God’s hands.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Trundler tradition says approach your destination from the west whenever possible. This way you greet the sun in the morning. And always keep your eye on the Breath. Her moods are reflected in the color of the mist.

  —The Story of the Trundlers

  by Miri McPike

  “STEPHANO!” THE BOOMING VOICE SHATTERED dreams of battle.

  Hearing the urgency in the voice, Stephano rolled out of his bunk . . . only to find that he hadn’t been in a bunk. He had been in a hammock suspended from a beam overhead and he was now lying on the deck, swearing at the pain in his injured shoulder.

  Cognizance returned a second later. Stephano staggered to his feet. He’d been sleeping in his clothes for warmth. Clad in shirt sleeves and trousers, he thrust his feet into his boots and started to reach for his coat, only to realize that the air was warm again. They had risen up out of the depths of the Breath. He grabbed the small pistol he’d tucked into the inner pocket of his coat and raced up to the top deck.

  Dag was at the rail, staring intently at the twin spires of a large cathedral silhouetted against the light gray-blue of approaching dawn. The boat itself was still in darkness. The stars above shone brightly. The balloon was fully inflated. The sails billowed with God’s Breath.

  Miri, at the controls, was also gazing out into the east. Rodrigo was sitting up in the deck chair in which he’d spent the night, groaning and rubbing his neck and back and demanding querulously to know why no one had awakened him.

  All seemed right with the world.

  “I must have been dreaming,” Stephano said. “I thought I heard cannon fire.”

  “You weren’t,” said Dag, adding grimly, “You did.”

  A flash of orange in the distance was followed by a loud boom. Stephano rubbed his eyes that were bleary with sleep.

  “Sounds like a four-pounder,” he said, referring to the cannon.

  “So I’m guessing,” said Dag, with a nod.

  Miri reached down below the brass control panel to a small storage area to retrieve the ship’s spyglass. Stephano held the glass to his eye and, after a moment’s search, made out the two masts and ballast balloons of a navy cutter. As he watched, the ship’s starboard cannons fired raggedly. The gun crews were being told to fire as they found their targets, not to wait for all to be fired in a broadside. The navy ship was under attack, but by who or what was the question. Bursts of strange green fire illuminated the cutter. Stephano was frankly puzzled by this sight.

  “What the hell is making those green flashes?” Stephano asked Dag.

  “Damned if I know, sir,” Dag replied. “Some sort of signal flare?”

  “No,” said Stephano, staring through the glass until his eyes began to water. “The green fire is not coming from the cutter. It appears to be aimed at it.”

  Miri took the glass from Stephano and put it to her eye. “Is that navy ship firing on the Abbey of Saint Agnes?”

  “Perhaps His Majesty has finally declared war on the grand bishop,” said Rodrigo, coming to stand alongside Stephano.

  Miri’s eyes flashed, her brows constricted.

  “He’s teasing, Miri,” said Stephano and hastily changed the subject. “I could use a cup of hot tea. Anyone else?”

  “Gythe and the Doctor went to put on the kettle,” said Miri, still glowering.

  “Rigo, go help,” said Stephano.

  Rodrigo grinned and departed.

  Stephano assured Miri that the king would never declare war on the nuns and also pointed out that the cutter was aiming at something in the Breath, not on shore. He and Dag continued to watch the orange flashes and green flaring lights blaze in the distance. Miri, not entirely convinced, went back to her steering.

  “Pirates?” asked Dag.

  Stephano shook his head. “No pirate in his right mind would be fool enough to attack a navy cutter that carries fourteen four-pounders. Might be a Freyan privateer . . .”

  They watched for another few moments, then Stephano said, “Miri, is it my imagination or are we sailing closer to the battle?”

  “We are sailing closer to the Abbey of Saint Agnes. We were going to stop there to get a hot meal, remember?” said Miri with a look of innocence.

  “Uh-huh.” Stephano grunted. “Our meal’s liable to be a bit hotter than we can swallow if we end up in the middle of a naval battle with the Freyans.”

  “The nuns were always good to Gythe and me,” said Miri. “If anything is wrong, we might be able to help.”

  She glanced at him and Dag from out the corner of her eye. Her red hair was damp from the mist and clung to her face. Her eyes narrowed. “Do either of you have a problem with that?”

  Dag cleared his throat, rubbed his grizzled chin, glanced at Stephano, and said in a low voice, “Sorry, sir, but you’re on your own.” Dag moved off to take cover behind the mast.

  “Miri, be sensible. We don’t want to get caught in the middle of a naval bombardment—”

  “So now you’re calling me daft,” Miri said.

  “I never said any such thing!” Stephano returned.

  “You said I wasn’t being sensible. That’s the same as daft.”

  “It is not—” Stephano began, then he stopped, drew a deep breath, and started over. “If one stray cannonball hit the balloon or the lift tanks or took down a mast, the Cloud Hopper would be finished. We’re only a few hours from Westfirth. We’ll sail there, report what we saw—”

  A billowing mass of red flame suddenly lit up the sky. Stephano forgot Miri, forgot everything.

  “I’ll be damned! That’s dragon fire!” Stephano said excitedly. He seized hold of the spyglass and brought it to his eye. “There’s a dragon in this battle! Maybe a dragon from the Brigade!”

  Miri glanced at him from beneath her long lashes and said demurely, “Too bad we’re sailing for Westfirth.” She held her hand poised over the helm.

  “We might move in a little closer,” said Stephano. “Just to get a better view.”

  “Now who’s daft,” said Miri, jabbing him in the ribs with her elbow.

  An offshore breeze carried the Cloud Hopper landward. The sky and mists were now a pale pink. The orange flashes were no longer as bright as they had been in the darkness. The cannon fire was more sporadic. The strange green lights continued to flare. Rodrigo and Gythe brought up crockery mugs filled with steaming tea and handed them around. Doctor Ellington jumped up to his usual place on Dag’s shoulder.

  “What is going on?” Rodrigo demanded suddenly. “Do you know we are sailing closer to the battle? Why are we sailing closer?”

  He jabbed his finger at the cutter, that could be seen quite clearly now. “People are shooting at each other out there!”

  Stephano was searching the skies. “There he is!” he called, an
d he pointed at the cathedral spires. The dragon could be seen flying over the cathedral. Wings spread, he was soaring upward, gaining altitude.

  “He’s spiraling around for a dive!” Stephano said. His brow creased in a frown. “He’s not climbing very fast, though.”

  “He’s an elder dragon,” said Miri, looking through the glass. “I can see the silvering of the scales on his head and mane. I don’t think he was in the Brigade, Stephano. This dragon is not a trained fighter. He has no idea what he’s doing.”

  “Things are not going well for the cutter,” said Dag, shaking his head. “I’ve been watching the flashes, and I count only nine cannons firing. That means five of their guns have been knocked out. Has to be Freyans, sir.”

  Stephano took the spyglass and aimed it at the cutter. He drew the glass away, rubbed his eyes.

  “I must be seeing things.”

  He handed the glass to Dag. “You take a look.”

  “I have narrowly escaped certain death three times in as many days,” Rodrigo was saying. “That’s way over my limit. Can we please turn around and get the Hell out of here?”

  “Just a bit closer,” said Stephano. “We can always slip away without being noticed. Dag . . .”

  “You weren’t seeing things, sir. Those black creatures flying around the cutter. The green fire seems to be coming from them.”

  “That’s what I thought,” said Stephano. He hesitated a moment, then asked, “What do those creatures look like to you?”

  Dag scratched his jaw. “You’re going to think I’m daft, sir . . .”

  “If you are, then so am I. Bats?”

  “Bats the size of a bloody horse, sir,” said Dag.

  Rodrigo snorted. “Oh, come now, you two—”

  “You look,” said Dag, and he handed over the spyglass.

  Rodrigo set down his tea mug on the table, took the glass, stared through it for a long moments, then handed it back to Dag. “I need something stronger than tea. Where’s the Calvados?”

  “That’s for medicinal purposes only!” Miri called after him, as he dove into the hold.

  “This is medicinal!” Rodrigo’s voice floated up from below. “I’m seeing giant bats!”

  “Oh, for mercy’s sake!” Miri said in disgust. “I think you’ve all gone daft.”

  Stephano raised the spyglass. “The beasts fly like bats, that’s for certain. The way bats dart and flit about.”

  He stared, eyes squinting, trying to see. “It looks as though the bats have riders . . .” He lowered the glass. “Riders with glowing eyes. Like demons . . .”

  They were all startled by a crash. Stephano turned to see Gythe, white to the lips, staring at him in horror. She had dropped the mug she was holding. It lay broken on the deck.

  “This isn’t funny! You’re scaring her! Stop it, Stephano!” Miri cried. “Gythe, dear, they’re not serious. I’ll prove it. Stephano, give me the glass!”

  Wordlessly, Stephano handed her the spyglass. Miri brought the glass to her eye. Her face paled. She watched a moment, then took the glass away and returned it to Stephano.

  “Dag, take the helm,” said Miri. She walked over to her sister. “Gythe, come below . . .”

  Gythe shook her head. Crooking her fingers into claws, she made a motion of tearing at flesh. Then she pointed at her eyes and pointed in the direction of the battle.

  “My God!” Miri said in a low voice. “Is that what you saw? Gythe, tell me . . .”

  Gythe shook her head wildly and began to sing. Her song was frantic and wild and desperate. She flung out her hands and strands of brilliant blue magic streamers arced and flared around the ship.

  Rodrigo emerged from the hatch, Calvados bottle in hand, and stared about, appalled.

  “Gythe, what are you doing? Gythe! No! Stop!”

  Gythe kept flinging magic into the air. The bright blue coils twined about the masts, sparked on the balloon and danced over the deck.

  “What was that about slipping away without being noticed, sir?” Dag asked worriedly. “We’re lit up like the palace on His Majesty’s birthday.”

  The others stared in shock and amazement at the dazzling display, the magical blue light reflected in their faces. Gythe’s song ended in a strangled cry. She collapsed, sobbing, onto the deck.

  Rodrigo handed the bottle to Stephano, then knelt down beside her, took hold of her in his arms, patting her and soothing her. She clung to him, sobbing. He looked at the others, who were standing, transfixed.

  “What happened?” Rodrigo demanded. “What did you say to her?”

  “It’s what she said to us,” Miri replied, her voice quivering. “Giant bats! That’s what she saw on board our ship. Blood and claw marks and . . .” She choked and covered her mouth with her hand.

  “Giant bats with demon riders,” said Stephano.

  “I suggest we leave now! ” said Rodrigo in stern tones. “This isn’t our fight, Stephano.”

  “The dragon is attacking the bats, breathing fire at them.” Dag reported, keeping an eye on the battle as he steered the ship. He suddenly began swearing. “Bloody Hell! The dragon flew too close to the cutter. He set one of the masts on fire. The balloon will go next. The cutter’s liable to sink, sir.”

  Stephano ran to the rail to try to see better. “Damn it! Miri was right. That dragon has never been trained for battle.”

  He watched a moment longer, then said, “Dag, turn over the helm to Miri. We need to get out of here.”

  “We can’t just leave, sir! There are over sixty sailors on that cutter,” Dag protested. “We can’t let them die!”

  “We are five people on a houseboat,” said Stephano. “We can’t do anything to help them. Besides, there’s Gythe to consider.”

  Dag glanced at Gythe, who was sobbing and shivering in Rodrigo’s arms, and he reluctantly relinquished the helm to Miri. She touched the sigils on the brass panel and sent the magic flowing out to the sails and the airscrews. The Cloud Hopper was starting to veer away when Miri, looking to the north, gave a cry and a gasp.

  The mists of the Breath, generally wispy, peach in color and calm, drifting on gentle breezes, had changed. Thick clouds, black and turbid and shot with spiky, white-purple lightning, were rumbling across the sky.

  “What the Hell is that?” Stephano gasped. He’d flown the Breath since he was a child through rain and snow and every type of weather and he’d never seen anything like this.

  “They call it a wizard storm!” Rodrigo cried. “The magic in the Breath has gone berserk. Take cover! There’s nothing we can do except ride it out.”

  He dragged Gythe through the hatch. The wind slammed it shut behind him.

  “Grab hold of something and hang on!” Miri cried.

  Stephano flung his arms around the mast. Dag thrust Doctor Ellington under one arm and wound his other arm around one of the ropes securing the cannons. Miri glanced around, nodded, and remained standing at the helm.

  “Miri! Get down!” Stephano shouted.

  Miri shook her head. Her red hair streamed out from her head, her skirts whipped around her. She was bent nearly double, her hands gripping the helm. Stephano could do nothing to help her. He tried letting go of the mast and was slammed back against the bulkhead. Dag battled the wind and managed to drag open the hatch. He tossed the terrified, spitting, and yowling cat down the stairs, then struggled over to Miri.

  He braced her with his body, reaching his arms around her—one strong arm on either side—and took hold of the top of the helm. Gripping the brass helm with all his strength, he shielded Miri’s body with his own just as the wizard storm hit.

  Black clouds, dark as night, engulfed the boat. Buffeting wind came at them from every direction. The boat heeled violently and Stephano thought for an agonizing moment that they were going to flip over. He couldn’t see anything until the lightning sizzled, and then everything was lit for an instant and then went dark. Thunder rolled over the boat. He clung to the bottom of the mast to keep
himself from sliding across the canting deck. He heard a crash from below and he thought he heard a scream, but he couldn’t tell if the howl was a voice or the wind. His biggest fear was that one of the two cannons would break loose and go careening about the deck, crushing everything in its path. Another blast of wind hit the ship, this time from a different direction. One of the deck chairs flew across the deck, slammed into Stephano’s shin, and then went skittering off.

  As quickly as the storm struck, it was gone. The clouds rumbled past. The wind was no longer wild and erratic, but no one was relieved at the change. A strong, steady breeze was blowing the Cloud Hopper directly into the line of fire.

  Stephano jumped to his feet and looked around. Miri was safe, held fast in Dag’s arms. He released her and she remained at the helm, both of them flushed and breathless and unable to look at each other.

  Stephano opened the hatch. “Rigo! Gythe! Are you all right?”

  Rodrigo came up onto the deck, followed by Gythe, holding fast to Doctor Ellington. Rodrigo was bleeding from a cut on his forehead. Gythe was unharmed and so was the cat, though he was howling and spitting angrily, all “furred out,” his tail bristling like a bottle brush.

  Gythe deposited the cat onto the deck. The Doctor ran immediately to his hiding place beneath one of the cannons and glared at them, certain they were responsible. The houseboat was being carried straight toward the battle. The wizard storm evaporated. The sun shone on the twin spires of the cathedral, the burning cutter, and the attacking bats.

  Stephano whipped out the spyglass and brought it to his eye.

  “Miri,” he said, keeping his voice deliberately calm, “you need to take us away from here.”

  Miri’s hands flew over the sigils. She turned her head, glared at him.

  “I’m trying, damn it! We’re being sucked into a vortex—”

  “It’s the magic,” Rodrigo said, dabbing at the cut on his head with his handkerchief. “This storm wasn’t caused by atmospheric changes in air pressure. This storm was caused by a disruption in the magic of the Breath.”

  Dag was frowning. “Remember the writings of Saint Marie. ‘And on that day the Gates of Hell will open and the fell legions of Aertheum will fly forth on hideous beasts and the Breath will erupt in fire and the stars fall. . . . ’ ”