The Seventh Sigil

by Margaret Weis

  All they saw were more bat riders, flying low over the crowd, coming from the direction of the temple. The riders were wearing the same demonic helms, but these were emblazoned with crimson badges.

  “The Blood Guard,” Patrick said grimly. “Soldiers loyal to Ian and skilled in his magic.”

  The Blood Mage advanced to the center of the stage. He raised his hands, that were now cleansed of blood, to draw the attention of the crowd away from the body of his brother.

  “The invasion has begun,” he shouted. “I will be the one to lead our armies. Go back to your homes! Await word of our victory!”

  The Blood Mage rested his hands on Gythe and Sophia, placing one hand on the shoulder of each young woman. Sophia shuddered at his touch. Gythe paled and flinched and looked at her sister. The Blood Mage shouted orders to the circling bat riders.

  “He’s ordered them to fly him to his flagship,” said Patrick. “He’s going to take the girls with him. Probably use them as sacrifices.”

  One of the bats landed near the Blood Mage. Another bat rider flew close to Gythe. Leaning down from the saddle, he reached out to grab her.

  Miri started to run up onto the stage, but both Patrick and Cecile stopped her.

  “You can’t go up there,” said Patrick. “If the Blood Mage didn’t kill you, the bats would rip you apart!”

  “Let go of me!” Miri cried, struggling. “I have to do something! I can’t just stand here.”

  Cecile drew her pistol.

  “I’m a fair shot. I can stop one, at least—”

  Gythe gave a sudden, joyous, inarticulate cry.

  A dragon soaring out from the clouds gave a wild, hooting call in response. The other dragons of the Dragon Brigade were behind him, flying in their V formation.

  “Petard!” Miri exclaimed. “That is why Gythe sang ‘The Pirate King.’ She was calling to him.”

  Petard went into a steep dive, flying toward the plaza. Flames shot from his mouth, and plumes of smoke trailed after him.

  The people of Glasearrach knew stories about dragons, but they were creatures of long ago, from before the sinking. Such fearsome beasts had never been seen Below. The sight of a dragon bearing down on them, fire flaring from his jaws, sent people fleeing in panic.

  “There’s Stephano!” Miri shouted, pointing to a sleek dragon with purplish red scales, flying at the head of his brigade.

  Cecile watched him, her heart aching with love and pride. She knew him by the way he sat in the saddle, tall and proud, so much like his father. He blew a shrill call on the bosun’s pipe, and the dragons broke formation and singly or in pairs, veered toward the ships of the invasion fleet.

  Petard flew low over the crowd, scattering them like a wolf in the sheep fold, emptying the square as people ran for their lives. Petard circled around and then came back, flying toward the bat rider who had been reaching for Gythe. The bat shrieked and flew off, dumping his startled rider out of the saddle. The other members of the Blood Guard were having similar difficulty controlling their mounts.

  The Blood Mage cast a baleful glance at the dragon and another at Gythe, who was clapping her hands and laughing.

  The bat on the stage was flapping its wings and jumping about, trying to escape. The soldier holding the reins shouted for the Blood Mage to hurry, he couldn’t hold the frantic creature much longer.

  The dragon was a terrifying sight, his eyes blazing, flames flickering from his jaws.

  The Blood Mage turned and ran to the bat, and the soldier helped him into the saddle. Once he was safely mounted, the soldier let loose.

  “Kill the beast!” he shouted to the Blood Guard, pointing toward Petard.

  His bat flapped its wings, rose into the air and sped off. Petard blew a blast of flame after him, but missed.

  A few members of the Blood Guard had managed to control their bats and now they flew to the attack, shooting at Petard with the long guns. As green fireballs burst around him, Petard sucked in a breath and blew out a gout of flame. The fire engulfed a soldier and his bat, sending them plunging, screaming, to the ground.

  “The countess and I are going to save Gythe and Sophia, Patrick,” said Miri. “Have your people ready.”

  Patrick was watching the dragon, his expression dark. “How do I know the beast won’t kill us all?”

  “Because he’s our friend,” said Miri.

  Patrick appeared reassured, yet he kept a wary eye on the dragon, shouting to his people, as Miri ran up the stairs onto the stage. Cecile had thrust her pistol back into her waistband and was right behind her. Petard circled menacingly overhead, keeping the bat riders at bay and Brother Barnaby stood protectively beside the two young women. The square was nearly empty; only a few people remained and they were wearing green.

  Cecile ran to embrace Sophia, taking her into arms and hugging her close.

  “I am so proud of you, my dear one!” Cecile said fiercely. “So very proud!”

  “I was frightened, my lady,” Sophia said, talking breathlessly. “The fear was terrible. I thought it might kill me. But then I started to sing and the magic sparkled all through me … like sunlight.… We stopped the storm! With our magic!”

  “You were wonderful, my dear, but now we must take you somewhere safe,” said Cecile.

  She was worried about Sophia, whose eyes shone with wonder. She obeyed Cecile, but she moved slowly, her feet wandering, as if she was in a daze. Cecile led her across the platform, past the body of Xavier. Sophia looked back at the corpse.

  “He heard God’s voice,” she said softly.

  “Make haste, Miri!” Patrick called. “It’s not safe here!”

  The battle was above them now as enemy ships tried to escape the dragons, who were blasting them with their flaming breath and doing extensive damage. Smoke filled the air, stinging the eyes. Parts of the burning ships broke off and fell to the ground below. As if to emphasize Patrick’s warning, a blazing spar crashed in a flurry of flames and cinders right in front of them.

  Petard flew overhead, torn between joining the battle and protecting his friends. He was obviously eager to fight.

  “Go on, you great ugly beast!” Miri shouted up at him.

  Petard’s lips pulled back from his fangs in what might have been a grin. He made one more pass and then flew off, nodding his head in salute.

  “I’m afraid something’s wrong with Her Highness,” said Cecile. “She seems lost. I can’t bring her back.”

  Sophia was happily humming the hymn to herself, gazing around and smiling as black smoke filled the air and fire rained down from the skies.

  “She’s drunk, my lady,” said Miri.

  Cecile stared at her.

  “Drunk with the magic. I’ve seen it before. I know how to handle her. You need to talk to Brother Barnaby,” Miri added. “Gythe won’t stir without him and it doesn’t look to me as if he’s planning to leave.”

  Miri took off her cloak, wrapped it around Sophia and began talking to her in a low voice. Patrick was shouting at them to come quickly before the bat riders realized the dragon was gone. A burning piece of debris crashed onto the platform, smashing the wooden planks and setting them on fire.

  Coughing in the smoke, Cecile found Brother Barnaby kneeling beside the body. “Brother, you must come with us! It’s not safe for you to stay!”

  Brother Barnaby shook his head. “If I leave him, the Blood Guard will use his body in their evil magic.”

  Cecile could not argue. He was undoubtedly right. She wondered how to persuade him.

  “We will guard him,” said Patrick. “Step aside.”

  Brother Barnaby stood in his way. “You hated him. You rebels were going to kill him yourselves.”

  “He tried to do right at the end, Brother,” said Patrick. “He failed, but we won’t forget.”

  He jumped onto the stage. Dropping the long gun, he flung off his cloak and deftly wrapped it around the bloody corpse like a shroud. With Brother Barnaby’s help, Patrick li
fted the corpse into position over his shoulder. Cecile hurried down the stairs ahead of them.

  “I sent my people ahead to make certain the boat is safe,” said Patrick. “Keep watch, all of you. The Blood Guards will be roaming the city, looking for victims. The drums are still beating.”

  “The Cloud Hopper is not far,” Miri added. “I left it on the outskirts of the city. I’ll lead the way. Gythe, you stay with Sophia.”

  They left the plaza and hurried down a street, following Miri’s lead. Gythe had her arm around Sophia and was pulling her along. Cecile stayed near the two, her pistol in her hand. She had not thought about the drumming until Patrick’s warning caused her to hear the sound again. It dinned in her ears, swelling with the drummers’ increased fervor.

  As they hurried through the deserted streets, Cecile thought she caught a glimpse of soldiers walking down an alley. Judging by his baleful glance, Patrick saw them, too. “Keep moving,” he said.

  The sky continued to rain fire from the battle raging overhead. Cecile tried to find Stephano, but the smoke was so thick all she could see was the orange flames of the dragons and the deadly green beams of the black ships’ weapons.

  Miri kept them moving at a rapid pace, taking them down side streets and alleys, avoiding major thoroughfares and the smoldering, burning parts of ships that had fallen into the street. She kept saying encouragingly that they had only a short distance to go, but then she would turn down yet another street that was seemingly endless.

  Under Gythe’s care Sophia had come out of her daze, was aware of her surroundings and talking rationally. But she was pale with fatigue, and her strength was flagging. Gythe was exhausted. Her shoulders slumped and her steps lagged, she struggled to keep going. Patrick labored under the weight of the body. Brother Barnaby stayed near him, doing what he could to help. Cecile wondered how long they could keep going.

  “There! Ahead!” Miri cried. “You can see the balloon.”

  They straggled to a weary halt. They had reached the outskirts of the city, where the paved streets ended in dirt and mud. If there had once been buildings here, they had either been torn down or had fallen down, for piles of broken wood and a few bricks were all that remained. Beyond was swampy grassland. Few people ever came here, which was why Miri had chosen the landing site. The bright colors of her balloon were visible through the smoke.

  Miri raised her voice. “Hello, the boat. Who is your captain?”

  The answer came back. “Doctor Ellington.”

  Gythe laughed and Miri smiled. Patrick heaved a sigh of relief and, with the help of Brother Barnaby, lowered the body to the ground. Brother Barnaby knelt beside the corpse, rearranging the cloak so that it covered the face.

  “Let me go check with my people, Miri, just to be certain,” Patrick said. “The rest of you stay here. I will send someone back to help carry the body.”

  “I’m going with you,” said Miri firmly. “It’s my boat. If anything’s wrong I need to know. Gythe, you stay with the others.”

  Gythe shook her head, tapped herself on the chest, and then excitedly motioned to the boat, indicating that she was coming.

  “I will stay with Sophia and Brother Barnaby,” Cecile offered. “We need to rest anyway.”

  “I just need to catch my breath,” said Sophia, sitting on what was left of a stoop.

  Cecile sat down beside her. A breeze began to blow, carrying with it the smell of rain from the distant storm, wafting away the smoke. Sophia gazed off into the distance. Her expression was grave, solemn.

  She was no longer the girl who romped with Bandit and played waltzes on the piano and wore ribbons in her hair to please her mother. The girl was a woman and she was a stranger, not only to Cecile, but perhaps to herself.

  “I have been thinking, my lady.”

  “What about, Your Highness?” Cecile asked.

  “About going home,” Sophia replied. Her voice ached with sorrow. “I long to go back and yet I dread it. How can I tell Mama and Papa that I have changed? That I am not going to be the daughter they want?”

  “You won’t have to tell them, Sophia,” said Cecile with a gentle smile. “They will know when they look at you—”

  A scream cut off her words, a scream of such panicked terror that it nearly stopped her heart. The scream came from the direction of the boat.

  “Barnaby! Barnaby, look out!”

  Turning, Cecile saw a lone bat rider diving down on Brother Barnaby, who was kneeling in the street, holding vigil over Xavier’s body. The soldier wore the red emblem of the Blood Guard.

  Cecile drew the dragon pistol.

  “Run for the boat, Your Highness!”

  Sophia looked back fearfully at the bat rider and then ran down the street toward the Cloud Hopper.

  Cecile raised the dragon pistol, all too mindful of the fact that if the powder was wet the weapon might not work. She aimed and fired, hitting the bat in the head.

  The bat dropped out of the air, but the rider managed to jump from the saddle just before the bat crashed to the ground. The soldier landed heavily, falling to his knees and dropping his long gun.

  Brother Barnaby rose to his feet.

  “Run, Brother!” Cecile cried.

  He ignored her cries and remained standing protectively over Xavier’s body as the soldier drew a curved blade sword and advanced on the unarmed monk. Cecile was helpless. She was out of ammunition. She looked back, hoping desperately to see Patrick or one of his men.

  No one was coming.

  The soldier said something that Cecile could not make out. Brother Barnaby shook his head, and the soldier advanced on him, sword raised.

  Brother Barnaby drew a small sack from his robes and hurled it into the man’s face.

  Fine, sparkling blue powder flew inside the soldier’s helm. The powder went down his throat, up his nose, and into his eyes. He gave a strangled cry, coughing and wheezing. Flinging away the sword, he ripped off his helm, coughing and frantically rubbing his burning eyes.

  Patrick came running, carrying a pistol that he aimed at the guard.

  “Let him be,” said Brother Barnaby. “He cannot harm us now.”

  The man had dropped to his hands and knees and was heaving up his guts.

  Patrick stared at him, irresolute. He wasn’t happy, but he did as Brother Barnaby asked and thrust the pistol into his belt. Patrick picked up the soldier’s long gun and slung it over his shoulder, then broke the sword over his knee and tossed back the pieces.

  “The boat is secure,” he reported. “We should board quickly. If this soldier found us, so can others.”

  Patrick lifted the body of Xavier in his arms and walked toward the boat.

  “Thank you, my lady,” said Brother Barnaby, catching up with Cecile. “You saved my life.”

  “Whoever shouted that warning saved your life, Brother,” Cecile replied with a faint smile.

  She saw Brother Barnaby about to add something and fearing he would grow effusive in his thanks, she hurriedly changed the subject. The sight of Patrick boarding the Cloud Hopper carrying Xavier’s body gave her the opportunity.

  “What will happen with Xavier now? To his memory? Will the rebels make him a symbol for their cause?”

  “I think he will be more than that. I believe he will become a true saint for his people,” Brother Barnaby replied. “Not just a saint in name only. He died trying to give back what he had taken away.”

  “As good a measure for sainthood as any, I suppose,” Cecile reflected. “Perhaps better than most.”

  The sturdy little Trundler boat, with its gaily colored silk balloon, stubby mast, and pocket-handkerchief sails looked more wonderful to Cecile than her own elegant yacht. Climbing the gangplank, she saw Sophia smiling radiantly at something and wiping away tears. Miri sat on a stool, sobbing, her face buried in her hands. Gythe stood apart, looking frightened and confused.

  Cecile stopped and glanced about fearfully. Nothing seemed amiss. The body of Xavier la
y on the deck, covered by a blanket. Patrick and the rebels stood ready to cast off the lines.

  “What has happened?” Cecile asked in alarm. “What is wrong?”

  “Nothing is wrong, my lady,” Sophia said. “It was Gythe who warned Brother Barnaby. She called to him.”

  At first Cecile was still confused. Why should Gythe warning Brother Barnaby cause this upheaval? And then she understood.

  She had not recognized the voice that had cried out Brother Barnaby’s name because she had never heard that voice speak. No one had heard Gythe speak, not for many long years.

  Gythe touched Miri on the shoulder. Miri lifted her tear-stained face and reached out to embrace her sister. Gythe started to gesture. Miri caught hold of her hands and held them tightly, lovingly.

  “You don’t need to be silent anymore, Gythe,” she said. “You can say what is in your heart.”

  “Stop … crying,” Gythe said, speaking haltingly.

  Miri laughed and brushed away her tears. Standing up, she walked over to the helm.

  “I must get us out of here! Gythe, be ready to take up the gangplank. Patrick, stand by with those lines. Make haste, Brother Barnaby,” Miri added in scolding tones. “Come on board! Why are you dawdling?”

  Brother Barnaby remained on the ground, standing near the gangplank, but not on it.

  “I am not sailing with you, Mistress Miri,” said Brother Barnaby. He spoke to her, but his eyes were on Gythe. “I am staying in Dunlow with Patrick and the resistance. I will do what I can to help them. Thank you, Gythe, for saving my life and giving your people hope.”

  She stood gazing at him, stricken. Her lips trembled, her body was rigid.

  “I found my voice,” she said. “Only to say good-bye.”

  “Good-bye, Gythe. God go with you,” said Brother Barnaby gently.

  Gythe gave him a long, last look, then she smiled and, blinking back tears, hauled in the gangplank. Patrick cast off the lines. Miri sent the magic running into the lift tank. The Cloud Hopper rose into the air.

  “God go with you all!” Brother Barnaby called, waving to them.