He could see the outbuildings from the lane and he could tell even at this distance that they were in a state of disrepair. The barn bore a gaping hole in the roof, and one of the windows in the chapel was broken, which meant there would be water damage inside. The roof of the long house—a structure used for storing dragon-riding equipment—was starting to sag in the middle. The gardens that had been Benoit’s pride were overgrown with weeds and grass. The hedges that Benoit had kept clipped were now ragged.
“Your home is beautiful,” said Miri.
“It used to be,” said Stephano in husky tones.
“It’s beautiful,” Miri repeated, clasping his hand.
He smiled, not trusting himself to speak.
Night had fallen so gently none of them had really noticed it. A light shone in one window on the ground level of the château.
“That’s the kitchen,” said Stephano. “You and Gythe go around to the back of the house, Dag will be waiting for you. He’ll let you know what’s going on. Rigo and I will wait here. If the coast is clear, put a candle in the window. You have your story in case the constables are there?”
“We were traveling to Argonne on the main road. We stopped for a picnic luncheon and we didn’t tie the horse up properly,” Miri recited. “The horse ran away and took the carriage with him. We’ll be fine, Stephano. Stop fretting.”
She and Gythe adjusted their bonnets and set out, taking Doctor Ellington, who was still confined to the basket and letting them know he wasn’t happy. Stephano went to sit on a low retaining wall. Rodrigo joined him, first brushing off the wall with his hand, then spreading out a handkerchief so as not to dirty his trousers.
The two sat in silence. Stephano kicked his boots against the wall until he remembered how Benoit had always scolded him for scuffing the heels. He got down off the wall and began to pace restlessly.
“This brings back a lot of memories,” said Rodrigo.
“Too many,” said Stephano harshly. “I’m sorry I came.”
The night deepened. A nightingale whistled cheerfully from a tree, starting his song when the other birds had ended theirs for the day.
“Miri and Gythe have been gone a long time, don’t you think,” Stephano said. “Something’s wrong…”
A light flared in the window. Miri moved the candle back and forth.
“That’s our signal,” Stephano said.
“Should I light the lantern?” Rodrigo asked.
“Don’t risk it,” said Stephano. “Stay close to me.”
He knew every bit of this land, every rock, every hedge, every ditch. Reaching the back of the house, they went around to a door set below ground level. A small flight of stairs led down to it.
“This door leads to the kitchen,” said Rodrigo. “Do you remember the time we stole the mincemeat pie? We were escaping out this very door when Cook caught us and chased us with a ladle, thumping any part of us she could reach. My ears rang for days. I haven’t eaten a mincemeat pie since.”
Stephano cautiously opened the door and looked inside.
Dag sat at the table petting Doctor Ellington, who was once more at home on his shoulder. The cat’s purrs resounded through the room. Miri was lighting a fire in the enormous kitchen fireplace. Gythe was chopping up carrots and throwing them into an iron pot. No one else was in sight.
Stephano gave a relieved sigh, opened the door wide, and walked inside.
Dag rose immediately to his feet, disturbing Doctor Ellington, who jumped onto the counter and went to see what Gythe was doing.
“Good to see you, sir!” Dag said heartily.
He and Stephano shook hands. Dag laughed at Rodrigo in his uniform.
“What’s the matter?” Rodrigo demanded, offended. “I think I look quite nautical.”
“That’s one word for it,” said Dag, winking at Stephano.
“Have the constables been here?” Stephano asked.
“As a matter of fact, they’re here now,” said Dag. “I told them to wait in the dining hall.”
“Dag, what the hell—”
“If you’ll come with me, sir,” said Dag coolly. “You, too, Rigo. You don’t have much choice. They know you’re here.”
Stephano put his hand on his pistol.
“They only want to talk, sir,” said Dag. “No need for your gun.”
Miri rose from lighting the fire, wiping her hands on her apron. Gythe put down the knife. She picked up the Doctor and held him close. Both women were grave, solemn.
They walked down the familiar corridor that led to the dining hall. Stephano had no idea what was going on. Despite Dag’s reassurances, he kept his hand on the pistol in his pocket. Rodrigo followed slowly and reluctantly. The door at the end was closed. Dag opened the door and then stood aside.
“You go first, sir.”
Stephano halted. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“You’ll find out, sir,” said Dag.
Stephano glanced back at Rodrigo, who gave an unhappy shrug. Drawing in a breath, Stephano walked through the door and into the vast hall with the high-beamed ceiling. He stopped, stared.
The hall was filled with men, some of them standing, some seated around the enormous oaken table that dated back to the time of his great-great-grandfather. The men were grinning, nudging each other with their elbows. A man wearing a constable’s uniform left the group and came striding toward them. The constable stopped, clicked his heels, and saluted.
“Captain de Guichen,” he said formally.
“Lucielle, isn’t it?” Stephano said, recognizing the man. “Francois Lucielle?”
“Chief Constable Francois Lucielle,” the man said proudly. “I have a warrant for your arrest, Captain. Signed and sealed by His Majesty.”
Constable Lucielle grinned. “And I’d like to see the man in Bourlet who would serve it on you, Captain!”
The men at the table laughed and cheered.
“I don’t understand,” said Stephano, bewildered.
“We stood with you against the king then, Captain, and we stand with you now!” said the constable. “Welcome home, sir. Welcome home to you, Master Rodrigo!”
The men in the room raised their voices in welcome, then quieted as an elderly man with gray, grizzled hair and beard stepped forward. Stephano recognized one of his tenants, a farmer named Lebrett. Lebrett had always been a leader in the neighborhood and now he had been elected spokesman, apparently. He doffed his hat and cleared his throat.
“We are glad to have you back among us, Captain. Home where you belong.”
Someone raised his voice in a huzzah and the rest joined in. Farmer Lebrett insisted on shaking Stephano’s hand and the rest of the men crowded around him and the amazed Rodrigo. Stephano recognized tenants, neighbors, local shopkeepers, the blacksmith, a former stable hand, and the gardener. The women came into the room bringing their children, who gazed in awe at this man who rode on the backs of dragons. The elderly cook who had chased them with the ladle now threw her arms around them both and burst into tears.
Farmer Lebrett called for a speech. Everyone fell silent, looking expectantly at Stephano. He gazed around at them, his heart full.
“Life has been hard for you,” he said. “The king punished you for siding with my family and the duke. He ordered his troops to burn homes and crops, steal your horses and slaughter your cattle. Many of the men in this room were arrested on suspicion of aiding the duke’s cause.”
His neighbors nodded, remembering. Stephano remembered, too. After his father’s death, Stephano had struggled to maintain the land and buildings himself, with only Benoit to help. Stephano was seventeen, too proud to ask for assistance. Debts piled up. He was forced to sell everything of value and even that was not enough.
“All these years, I thought you blamed my family for your hardship,” he continued after a pause to clear his throat.
“Not so, Captain!” someone called out.
“Say the word,” said another, “and I’ll g
o to war with you again!”
“You will not, you daft old man,” said his wife, and the speech ended in laughter.
“I wish I could invite you to feast with me as my father used to do,” Stephano said. “We have no provisions—”
“Never mind that, Captain,” said Farmer Lebrett. “We brought the feast to you.”
The women carried in baskets of bread and fruit and trays laden with roast beef. Two men wheeled in a huge round of cheese and hefted it on the table. Two other men rolled in a barrel of beer. Stephano turned to Dag, who had been watching this and grinning hugely. Miri and Gythe were by his side, wiping away tears.
“Dag,” said Stephano, “I can’t thank you enough—”
“Wasn’t any of my doing, sir,” Dag said. “Your neighbors planned all of this. You’re a hero, sir, as well you should be.”
Rodrigo was talking to the chief constable. He came back, his face glowing with excitement. “That excellent, wonderful man tells me it is safe to go home. Those constables we saw are there to keep me from being arrested.”
Stephano smiled. “That’s good news. Bear in mind that someone sent assassins after us.”
“I’ll ride with him, sir,” Dag offered. “See to it he gets home safely.”
“Give your mother my love,” said Stephano, embracing his friend. “And do not visit your tailor! That’s the first place anyone who knows you would come looking for you. Dag, keep an eye out.”
With Dag as escort, Rodrigo departed, too happy to even mind—much—about the tailor.
When the feast was ended and the last neighbor took his leave, somewhat the worse for beer, Miri and Gythe retired to the guesthouse, saying they would clean up in the morning. Dag had not yet returned. Stephano was alone in the château. Taking the lantern, he went from room to room, opening them up, walking through them.
Most rooms were empty. He’d been forced to sell much of the furniture to pay the bills. All that was left were the articles that had been too heavy to move, such as the oaken table downstairs. The walls were bare. Benoit had removed the family paintings, wrapped them in cloth, and stored them away for safekeeping.
He wandered into the library, his father’s favorite room. Julian had not owned many books. Those he did own he had loved. Stephano had taken some of his favorites with him when he moved. All that remained were a few books on dragon lore. Brushing off the dust, he set them on the desk. Miri would be interested in those.
He roamed about the room and almost fell over a painting shrouded in cloth that had been placed up against a wall. He wondered why Benoit had left this here instead of storing it with the others.
Curious, Stephano uncovered it. The painting was the portrait of his father that had always occupied a place of honor in the library. The portrait, a gift from the duke, had been painted by a famous artist. Stephano held the lantern close so that the light shone on his father’s face.
Julian de Guichen was wearing the uniform of a knight of the Dragon Brigade. He had been twenty-five at the time, looking forward to a future filled with hope and promise. The portrait was an excellent likeness.
Stephano knew why Benoit had not taken it to storage. His father belonged here, in the room he had loved. Stephano covered the painting and walked through the rest of the house. The memory of his father walked with him and, thanks to his friends and his neighbors, the memory was no longer fraught with pain. His father’s voice and his laughter filled every room.
Stephano went last to his bedroom. His bed was still there. The old, carved oak frame with its bedpost and canopy was so heavy that only a dragon could have shifted it. He remembered as a little child his father coming to check on him every night, standing by the side of his bed and gently stroking his hair. Stephano remembered lying in this bed the night after his father’s execution, giving in to the grief he had proudly kept hidden, sobbing until he had no tears left and his sobs were dry and burning.
Stephano touched the pillow, where he fancied he could still see the indent of his head. He smoothed the pillow and said a silent prayer for that boy and for his father, then left and closed the door. Stephano made himself a bed in the kitchen in front of the fire. Wrapping himself in his cloak, he gazed into the flames a long time. When he finally fell asleep, he had the dreamlike impression that he felt his father’s hand stroking his hair.
33
For many years, we dragons have met our human bretheren at the location in the human duchy of Bourlet known as Shattered Water to train in the art of war. There dragons and riders practice together until we become a single well-honed weapon. We once served our king and country with honor and pride. Today, though the training fields lie fallow, we dragons remember and honor the name de Guichen.
—Count Orgbrindle, clan Greashear
Stephano was rudely wakened in the morning by a heavy cat landing squarely on his chest. He opened his eyes to find Gythe and Miri standing over him, smiling.
“Good morning, Doctor,” Stephano said, yawning. “Oh, no, you don’t!”
Doctor Ellington had curled up on Stephano’s chest, ready to settle down for the remainder of the day. Stephano removed the Doctor, who considered being offended, then saw a hole in the wall surrounded by mouse droppings. The cat went to investigate.
“Dag is back from Rodrigo’s,” Miri reported. She walked to the counter and started unloading eggs from a basket—a gift from a neighbor. “He says everything is fine. No one followed them. Gythe is wild to go visit the dragons. She wanted to wake you up before dawn, but I made her let you sleep.”
“Thanks.” Stephano yawned again and stretched.
“I talked to Dag,” said Miri.
“I’m glad,” said Stephano lamely.
He picked up his blanket, started to toss it over the back of a chair, caught Miri’s eye, and folded it neatly.
“I said I was sorry. Dag said he was sorry. Not much more to say after that.” Miri began cracking eggs into a bowl.
“I guess there wouldn’t be,” said Stephano.
He was uncomfortable with this conversation. Rodrigo was so much better at these things. He pulled on his shirt and began to put on his boots.
“You’re the only man I ever truly loved, Stephano,” Miri said in matter-of-fact tones.
Stephano stopped with his boot in his hand to stare at her in consternation.
Glancing at him over her shoulder, Miri began to laugh. “You look as though I just threw a bomb at you. Don’t worry. It won’t go off. It was something I realized last night, that’s all. You’re safe.”
Stephano pulled his boot on. He could feel his face burn. “I … I think I’ll go for a swim.”
“Breakfast will be ready when you get back,” Miri told him cheerfully.
After breakfast, Dag, Gythe, and Stephano decided to visit the dragons. Miri stayed behind, planning to spend the day in the library, studying the books on dragon lore.
Dag and Stephano walked across the lawn to the old training grounds with Gythe, skipping and dancing ahead of them. She had no harp, for she had left the instrument on the Cloud Hopper, but she sang the songs she had sung for the dragons and twirled among the grass and the weeds and the wildflowers.
Stephano was tempted to join her. His dark mood had lifted. He was glad he had come home. He had vowed in the night he would find a way to restore his family’s honor, repair and rebuild his lands, and work with his tenants. He would become a good and true lord. He didn’t know how, yet, but he would find a way.
He listened with interest to Dag’s enthusiastic account of riding a dragon. Stephano had heard it all before—every time a dragon rider came back from his first flight. He never tired of listening, experiencing his own thrill again and again.
“The wonderful quiet!” Dag said, awed. “As though you’ve left the world of the living far below. I swear to you, sir, I came closer to God in those moments than ever in my life. It was as though He held me in His hand and carried me above the fields and over the val
leys. I saw the sun shining like molten gold on a lake; puffy clouds that seemed as though I could sleep on them; a storm in the distance, the lightning forking across the sky.”
“You’ve seen all that from the Cloud Hopper,” said Stephano, amused.
“It’s not the same, sir,” Dag said earnestly. “Not the same at all. When I’m on the boat, I’m standing on the deck. When I’m with Verdi, I’m flying! I’m flying like the dragon is flying. We’re a team. Verdi knows what I’m thinking and I know what he’s thinking. I hope they’ll stay, sir,” he added wistfully.
“Do you have any idea why they followed us?” Stephano asked. “I assume Hroal and Droal have talked to them.”
“They did, sir. They wouldn’t tell me. They said they wanted to talk to you first.”
The three young dragons were waiting for them in the field, as were Hroal and Droal, former sergeants in the Dragon Brigade, now retired. Gythe would have run to greet the young dragons. Stephano restrained her. He could see they were ill-at-ease, nervous. Viola fluttered her wings. Petard churned up the ground with his claws. Verdi, his eyes on Dag, was switching his tail slowly back and forth.
“They’re upset about something,” Stephano told Gythe. “We should find out what’s going on first.”
Gythe didn’t answer. She was helping Dag deal with the irate cat, who had been riding on Dag’s shoulder. At the sight of the dragons, the Doctor ruffled his fur, dug in his claws, and flattened his ears. Gythe tried to pry the cat loose, a task she finally accomplished after a good deal of hissing and spitting. The Doctor gave the dragons a final snarl, just to let them know he wasn’t afraid, then stalked off with dignity.
Gythe sucked at the scratches on her hand, while Stephano walked forward to meet with the sergeants. The two dipped their heads in respect, flicked salutes with their wings and thumped their tails on the ground to express pleasure.
“Good to see you, sir,” said Droal, “back in the old place.”
“Good, sir, very good,” said Hroal. “Belong here.”
Storm Riders Page 48
