Storm Riders

by Margaret Weis

  “What’s done is done, I suppose,” she said with an irate frown. “If you want my advice, you will stay away from Father Jacob.”

  “What about that man, Wallace?” Brother Paul insisted. “What if he comes to court?”

  Eiddwen gave a unpleasant smile. “He would be hanged if he did! Besides, his interests lie elsewhere. He is playing with that magical new steel of his.”

  The bells chimed the half hour. Eiddwen would have to be returning to the palace or the queen would start to grow suspicious.

  “Why did you summon me here, Paul? To display your monumental ignorance?”

  Brother Paul chose to ignore her sarcasm. She sat back down and he perched himself uneasily on the bench beside her.

  “You have a new assignment. The Princess Sophia. You are to abduct her and bring her Below.”

  Eiddwen stared at the monk in astonishment. “You can’t be serious! The girl is never out of the sight of at least a dozen guardsmen, not to mention her own ladies-in-waiting, any number of servants, and her doting parents. How am I to accomplish this impossible feat?”

  “How you handle the matter it is your affair,” said Brother Paul. “The order comes directly from Xavier.”

  Eiddwen gazed, frowning, into the darkness. Her gloved hands knotted the handkerchief.

  “Why does Xavier want the princess?” she asked, more subdued.

  “Because you told him that she is a savant and that she has some sort of connection to what is happening Below.”

  “She hears the beating of the drums.”

  Brother Paul raised an eyebrow, causing his spectacles to slip down his nose.

  “I know—it seems improbable,” said Eiddwen. “Yet I have seen it for myself. During those times the drums are in use, the princess falls victim to terrible headaches and claims to be tormented by the constant sound of drums beating. It is possible, I suppose, that as the drums break down the magic in this world, they are breaking down the magic within her. Since she is a savant, the magic in her blood is very strong.”

  “Does she talk openly about hearing drums?” Brother Paul asked, alarmed. “People might begin to suspect.”

  “I have been dosing the princess with a concoction that sends her into a deep, deep sleep when the headaches start. Even then she twitches and moans, but at least she isn’t babbling. Why does Xavier want her?”

  “Orders have been sent out for our people to locate and abduct any savants and bring them Below,” said Brother Paul.

  “What does Xavier want with savants?”

  “That is the business of our blessed saint.”

  Eiddwen was not pleased. “I could be risking my life in this endeavor. I want to know why.”

  “Some might start to doubt your loyalty—”

  “Doubt my loyalty! I may not have been born Below, but I believe in your cause,” Eiddwen said vehemently. “I have worked for that cause all my life, ever since I was a child and Xavier taught me to understand your suffering. He held me in his arms and gave me my name, which means ‘holy,’ and so I am to him and to our people. Those who dwell Below would not be where they are today, on the verge of victory, were it not for me.”

  Brother Paul eyed her, irresolute.

  “Someone’s coming,” Eiddwen whispered. Lowering her veil, she put her handkerchief to her eyes.

  “Have faith in God, my child,” Brother Paul said sonorously.

  Eiddwen sobbed and covered her face with the handkerchief. The elderly nuns who had been arranging the altar walked past. Witnessing Eiddwen’s violent grief, the nuns stopped.

  “Can we be of assistance, Brother?” one asked.

  “No, Sister, thank you,” said Brother Paul.

  Eiddwen shook her head. The nuns gave her their blessing and walked off.

  When they were once again alone, Brother Paul said softly, “If I tell you, you must say nothing. I am not supposed to know. I overheard a conversation…”

  “Why all the mystery?” Eiddwen asked, perplexed.

  “You will soon understand. When our island of Glasearrach was attacked, the sinking of the island had the effect of disrupting the Breath. Terrible wizard storms swept over the land Above, plunging the world into chaos for hundreds of years—”

  “Yes, yes, I know my history lessons,” said Eiddwen impatiently. “Come to the point.”

  “I will if you will let me,” said Brother Paul sullenly. “The Four Saints came together and prayed to God and managed to calm the wizard storms. People in the world Above ascribed the miracle to God. Xavier knows better.”

  Eiddwen heard the church bell toll the hour.

  “What does all this have to do with savants? Be quick.”

  “We are now experiencing these same storms Below,” said Brother Paul.

  “There have been storms before—”

  “Not like these. These storms are ruinous. Torrential rains, deadly lightning. Rivers flooding, washing away entire villages and destroying crops. And the wizard storms are growing increasingly severe.”

  “No one knows the cause?”

  “Some blame the magic of the drums. Xavier is worried. There are food shortages, rumblings of discontent about the ritual sacrifices. Even rumors of open rebellion. Xavier won’t halt the drumming, yet he must find a way to stop the storms. History tells us that Saint Marie was a savant, and we know the other saints were either savants or highly gifted in magic. Xavier theorizes the magical power of savants calmed the storms Above. He hopes it will work Below. He believes the princess to be especially powerful.”

  “Are you saying Xavier’s rule is in peril?” Eiddwen asked, shocked.

  “That is why no one is supposed to know,” said Brother Paul in a smothered whisper. “The rumors of rebellion are not just rumors.”

  “And what are these savants to do once they are Below? Pray to a God that doesn’t exist?”

  “Xavier has a plan,” said Brother Paul.

  Eiddwen sighed deeply. “I love and respect and honor him. Yet sometimes, I wonder…”

  “Wonder what?” Brother Paul asked.

  Eiddwen glanced at him. Brother Paul seemed a little too eager.

  “Nothing.” She rose to her feet. “I must be going. I will see what I can do with regard to the princess.”

  Before they left the chapel, Eiddwen rested her hand on Brother Paul’s arm and dug her nails into his flesh.

  “Keep away from Father Jacob. You have no need to fear him. No one in the church trusts him. They tried to shut him up in an asylum, for mercy’s sake. Let him dig his own grave.”

  “I have my orders. You have yours,” said Brother Paul. He walked away, rubbing his forearm. Pausing, he turned back. “Stay away from the Crystal Market.” He walked on before Eiddwen could ask why.

  She returned to court and sought out the queen, who decided to punish her by refusing to speak to her. Eiddwen found the change refreshing. Sadly, the punishment lasted only a few moments and soon the queen was going into rhapsodic effusions over the latest wealthy candidate she had chosen to marry her daughter.

  Eiddwen was rewarded for her patience with an idea. The queen wanted a husband for Sophia. Why not present her with one? Eiddwen spent the next half hour thinking it all out and decided it might work. Returning to her room to dress for dinner, Eiddwen took a moment to write a letter.

  Dearest Lucello,

  I hope this letter finds you recovered from the wound you sustained in the failed assassination attempt against Sir Henry Wallace. Forgive me if I did not send you a letter of condolence, but you get no sympathy from me. You botched the job and not only that, allowed him to catch you. You are lucky Wallace only blew off your toe and not your head.

  I need your assistance at the royal court. You will travel here immediately to play the part of my nephew, the Conte Osinni. I will explain your duties when you arrive. For the moment all you need to know is that you are from eastern Estara and you are fabulously wealthy. You will need suitable attire. I will se
e that your expenses are covered.

  E.

  When the letter was written, Eiddwen set a construct on it that magically rearranged all the letters, so that if it fell into the wrong hands, the missive would be indecipherable. The recipient had to cast the reverse of the magical spell in order to read it. Only her youthful apprentice, Lucello Fabbri, knew the secret.

  Eiddwen summoned a footman, gave the letter into his hands with orders to carry it immediately to the post. She then adorned herself with her jewels, her feathers, her silken brocade and fine lace and went forth to dazzle all who encountered her.

  17

  It is the responsibility of the church to keep and maintain an accurate account of historical events. The accounting of the world’s history is housed in the library in the university, so we may learn from the past. Only the works of Aertheum and his minions are kept hidden, for fear that even the memory of such evil might taint the reader.

  —Monsignor Guisepi Nindazi, Master Historian, the Church of the Breath

  Unlike the countess, who immediately tried to obtain an audience with His Majesty to give him Father Jacob’s information regarding the Bottom Dwellers, Dubois did not immediately seek an audience with the grand bishop. This was due to Dubois’s personal philosophy regarding life: check and verify.

  He did not necessarily believe that every person he encountered was lying to him. Dubois took a less cynical view of humanity. He did believe that it never hurt to make certain.

  On his return to his quarters in Evreux, Dubois read through the reports that had arrived from his numerous agents the world over. He met personally with some of them. After that, he paid a visit to the university library.

  The building consisted of two floors. The lower floor was one large open room filled with desks and chairs all neatly arranged. Books stood in high wooden shelves that ran the length of the walls. The shelves were of such height, the librarians had to climb ladders to reach the books. The library’s high ceiling was adorned with paintings depicting the sky at various times of the day and night, replete with pink and purple and golden clouds for sunrise and sunset, a dazzling sun at noontime, and darkness and stars and the moon at night.

  The second floor was a balcony that overlooked the floor below. Those perusing the books on the balcony level could gaze down onto the first floor or look up at the ceiling. The library was deathly quiet, the silence broken only by the rustling of a page, the occasional cough or whispered word.

  The head librarian, an elderly monk, sat at his desk on the first floor, ready to assist. Dubois inquired where he might find books written on the sinking of the island of Glasearrach. The priest directed him to a section on the second floor, saying he would find two shelves of books dealing with that subject.

  Dubois discovered that most of the books were about the Pirate King, Ian Meehan, and the events that led up to the sinking of the island. He read several accounts of how the nations of the world put aside their differences to bring down the nefarious Meehan by sinking the island but he could not find anything with regard to the event itself.

  Very odd, Dubois thought. Since that event changed the course of history.

  Dubois went back to ask the librarian if he might find books or manuscripts regarding this time period in another location in this library or perhaps in another library.

  The librarian happened to be perusing a book containing engravings of dragons chasing some savage-looking humans carrying spears. He raised his head to peer at Dubois over a pair of spectacles perched precariously on the end of his nose.

  “Our collection of books on the Pirate King and Glasearrach is the most extensive in the world,” the librarian replied in rebuking tones.

  “But the authors of the books are modern,” Dubois murmured. “I was hoping to find information written by those who must have witnessed the event.”

  “Hardly to be expected, monsieur, given the terrible aftermath,” said the librarian.

  “Might books on this subject be found in the Library of the Forbidden?”

  “It is called ‘Forbidden’ for a reason, monsieur. Only the provost of the Arcanum has access to those books. I doubt if you would find anything about the sinking of the island. Only books deemed dangerous to the faith are stored there.”

  “Still, given the calamitous nature of the event, someone must have written about it,” Dubois argued mildly. “For example, the church must have kept records. The church keeps records about everything.”

  The priest considered his argument and found it lacking. “The church was fighting for the lives and souls of their flock. The priests of the time must be excused for not taking time to put pen to paper—if there were such things as pen and paper to be found in those dark days.”

  Dubois politely thanked the librarian for his help and left him to his reading.

  And so, Dubois pondered, he found himself in a cul-de-sac. He had no way to verify Father Jacob’s claims except to wonder if the very absence of evidence that people were still alive on the island as it sank was, in itself, evidence.

  Dubois briefly considered attempting to gain access to the Library of the Forbidden. He immediately discarded the idea. The library was located in the Arcanum, under the auspices of the provost. The Grand Bishop de Montagne himself would find gaining access to the library difficult, if not impossible. Those who wondered why such books were not destroyed had only to reflect upon the inscription that was set in stone above the vault’s iron doors: KNOW THY ENEMY.

  Dubois decided not to delay his report to the grand bishop any longer. On the day of Midsummer Revels, when people filled the marketplaces and thronged the shops, preparing for the evening’s feasting and dancing, Dubois obtained an audience with Ferdinand de Montagne, grand bishop of the Church of the Breath.

  Dubois entered through a secret passage that led to a small closet attached to the grand bishop’s office—a closet hidden behind a tapestry. Listening at the door of his closet, Dubois could hear someone moving about the room—Montagne, by his heavy footfalls and long strides. The grand bishop was an extraordinarily tall man, well over six feet, and large of girth. Ascertaining that the grand bishop was alone, Dubois made himself known by softly rapping on the door.

  “Enter, Dubois,” Montagne called.

  Dubois opened the door, then drew aside the tapestry that concealed the door’s presence. He found Montagne seating himself at his desk.

  “Ah, Dubois,” said the grand bishop, motioning for his agent to be seated. “You have excellent timing. I was just about to send for you. I need you to deliver this letter. Help yourself to food and wine while you wait.”

  The grand bishop’s wine was excellent. Dubois poured himself a glass and then waited in silence while the grand bishop wrote his letter, signed it, and sealed it with a signet set in a silver seal.

  “Take this to the Estaran ambassador. Confidential, of course,” said the grand bishop, handing the letter to Dubois. “The departure of the royal navy from Braffa means that Estara can move her own ships into position. I have pledged my support.”

  Money would be flowing from the Rosian church coffers into the coffers of the Estarans. The Church of the Breath was very powerful in Estara. If Estara—and by extension the church—gained control of the flow of the liquid form of the Breath known as the “Blood of God,” the church would become considerably more wealthy and very powerful.

  Dubois tucked the letter into a secret inner pocket of his coat.

  “This brings me most providentially to my first report, Eminence,” said Dubois. “I have received information from one of my agents that the Freyans are sending their fleet to Braffa.”

  “You misspoke, Dubois,” said Montage, frowning. “You meant to say that Freya is sending a fleet to Rosia. This, of course, means war—”

  “I beg your pardon, Eminence,” Dubois interjected. “I did not misspeak. At the instigation of Sir Henry Wallace, Freya is going to be dispatching ships to Braffa. King Alaric left them a
n opening when he ordered the fleet away—at your urging, I believe…”

  Montagne was silent, glaring at Dubois.

  “I will alert the Estarans,” Montagne said at last. “What else do you have for me?”

  “I have a message to you from Father Jacob.”

  Montagne grimaced. His stomach made a rumbling sound.

  “The mere mention of that man’s name brings on my dyspepsia. I confess, Dubois, that on hearing Father Jacob had lost his wits I was tempted to thank God for His mercies. I did not, but the thought crossed my mind.”

  “You are only human, Eminence,” Dubois murmured.

  The grand bishop sighed in acknowledgment. He looked at Dubois sharply. “Why did Father Jacob send you to report? That is not like him. Why did he not come to annoy me himself?”

  “You have not heard the news, Eminence?” Dubois asked. “I would have thought the archbishop would have informed you immediately.”

  The grand bishop rubbed his forehead. “The archbishop is forever sending me reports. He writes three or four reports a day. I am at least a week behind. What happened?”

  “An attempt was made on Father Jacob’s life. Someone tossed a bomb into the room where we were meeting. I myself very nearly fell victim.”

  “Good God, Dubois!” the grand bishop exclaimed, shocked. “I have heard nothing of this. Are you all right?”

  “I am fine, Eminence,” said Dubois. “No one was injured, thanks to the quick thinking and courage of the Knight Protector, Sir Ander Martel. He picked up the bomb before it could go off and threw it out into the hall. The blast took out a portion of the wall and knocked down several ceiling beams.”

  The grand bishop was clearly shaken. “I have never been fond of Sir Ander Martel, as you know. But the knight has done me a great service and I will see to it that he receives a commendation. Dubois, I say this from my heart. I do not know what I would do without you.”

  Dubois was pleased and touched. He gave a self-deprecating smile and went back to business.