Storm Riders

by Margaret Weis

  They landed in an open field. Their riders dismounted and took off the heavy saddles and harnesses. Dag stowed these in a ravine and covered them with tree branches, while Stephano explained to Viola that he and his friends would be gone for the night, but that they would be back the next morning.

  “Listen for the whistle,” he said, indicating the bosun’s pipe.

  Viola gazed at him steadily. Even though she never spoke to him, Stephano was now confident she understood him. She had a way of tilting her head and fixing him with her glittering eyes. He felt that he often knew what she was thinking. Not even Lady Cam had responded so swiftly to his commands, acting on his thoughts before he’d spoken the words aloud.

  The dragons did not appear worried or anxious about being left alone. They shook out their manes and arched their backs, glad to be free of the saddles. They listened politely to Stephano and the moment he had finished, took to the air.

  “I think they’re hungry for fresh meat, sir,” said Dag.

  “I know the feeling,” said Stephano. “Salt pork is starting to stick in my throat.”

  He and Dag and Gythe rejoined the Sommerwind and the ship continued to Port Vrijheid. Captain Leydecker recommended an inn, the Misty Sunrise, and paid them for the first part of the voyage. Rodrigo jingled the fat purse.

  “We have rosuns for a change, friends! Let us enjoy ourselves. There will be no talk of business at the table. We will be dining on real food tonight and no one will be trying to poison me.”

  Stephano shook his head. “I’m going to be sorry I asked, but who is trying to poison you?”

  “The ship’s cook.”

  “That’s because you’re stealing his glass jars. He knows it’s you. You’re a very inept thief,” said Miri, laughing.

  “Why are you stealing glass jars?” Stephano asked, amazed.

  “The thought has occurred to me that I need to defend myself in case I’m attacked,” said Rodrigo.

  “You’re going to pelt your attacker with glass jars,” said Dag, grinning.

  “Would you rather I used a pistol?” Rodrigo asked.

  “God forfend!” Dag said fervently.

  “Cook will never miss the jars, and that’s no excuse to try and poison a man. I take back any small criticism I may have made of your cooking, Miri,” Rodrigo added magnanimously.

  “Small criticism!”

  Miri’s eyes flared. Gythe grabbed hold of her sister before she could inflict bodily harm on Rodrigo, and dragged her off to visit the shops. Stephano, Rodrigo, and Dag, accompanied by the Doctor, took rooms at the inn. The place was small by Rosian standards, but clean and comfortable.

  The Misty Sunrise was run by a ship’s captain who had retired due to poor health. He had named the inn after his ship, and pieces of the vessel were on display throughout. Rodrigo stumbled over a spar on his way to his room.

  When the inn’s owner found out that they had sailed on the Sommerwind with his friend Captain Leydecker, he thought nothing too good for them. There being no other guests at the inn, he asked them to join him for dinner.

  “Damn rumors about war,” the owner grumbled. “Driven away all my customers.”

  The captain served them a Braffan specialty—a spicy stew from the Aligoes of beans, sausage, beef, and pork known as feijoda accompanied by fresh-baked bread and cold ale. Miri asked how to make the dish. Rodrigo ate three helpings, complaining only that there was no wine. When Stephano started to ask the captain about the blockade, Rodrigo kicked him under the table.

  “No business while dining,” he said.

  After dinner, they gathered in the parlor beneath a painting of the Misty Sunrise—the ship, not the inn—which hung above the mantel. Gythe and Miri showed off new hats.

  Dag played with the Doctor. Stephano relaxed. His belly was full, and a pleasant weariness was setting in. He and the others were talking of going to bed early, when the parlor door opened and Captain Leydecker appeared, accompanied by the owner and a woman of middle years, a Trundler by her looks, for she was dressed in traditional Trundler garb, wearing a short skirt and trousers.

  Remembering the Trundler blood feud, Stephano cast an alarmed glance at Miri. She smiled reassuringly.

  “Different clan,” she whispered.

  “I am sorry to barge in upon you,” said Captain Leydecker. “But there’s news you should hear. This is Annie Glennane. She runs a ferry that takes refinery workers back and forth to their jobs on the islands. Annie, tell them your story.”

  Stephano asked Annie if she would like something to drink and ordered a round of ale for everyone. Annie sat down in a chair, smacked her lips over the ale, and was going to launch into her tale when Doctor Ellington jumped into her lap. Dag apologized and started to retrieve his cat.

  “I’m fond of cats. The beast can stay,” said Annie, petting the Doctor, who arched his back and rubbed his head on her chin. “As for my tale, here it is. My man and I operated our refinery ferry for twenty years. Since he died, I’ve kept it going. Mayhap you gentlemen don’t know much about these refineries.”

  Stephano admitted that they didn’t. None of them had ever visited one.

  “Right, then.” Annie finished her ale and asked for another, while Doctor Ellington made himself at home in her lap. “The refineries are located on small islands situated above the pockets where they mine the pure Breath. In these pockets the Breath is so thick that it’s nigh near liquid. The workers drop down great hoses and suck up the Breath. They remove any impurities and refine it into the liquid form of the Breath you know as the Blood of God. Tankers come once a week to pick up the liquid and carry it to the mainland.

  “The refinery workers and crafters and the mercenaries who guard them live on the island. They work in shifts. Seven days on, seven days off with their families. The shifts overlap, so that every three days, we ferrymen carry workers to the islands and bring workers back.”

  She cocked an eye at them to see if they understood. Stephano nodded and nudged Rodrigo, who had drifted off to sleep.

  “Sorry. Fascinating.” Rodrigo sat bolt upright and stifled a yawn.

  Annie eyed him with disfavor and continued. “I was supposed to make my usual run a few days ago, but couldn’t. Damn sail ripped and I had to patch it and reset some constructs. As it turns out, my Mickey—him that was my husband—must have been watching out for me. Those ferrymen who went to the refinery on Bloeddruppel Een island never came back. No sign of them.”

  “So the Travians are blockading the refineries,” said Stephano.

  “Damn Travians!” Annie made a rude gesture. “That’s what they can do with themselves.”

  “The people I’ve talked to say the Travians have seized the refineries,” Captain Leydecker told them. “The Freyan fleet slipped past the Estarans and is on the way to Braffa. The Travians decided to steal a march on the Freyans and took over the refineries before the Freyans could get their hands on them.”

  “The Freyans have a treaty with Braffa,” said Stephano, considering the ramifications of this news. “Rosia has a treaty with Travia, which means that if Freya attacks Travia, Rosian ships would have to come to Travia’s defense. We could be teetering on the brink of all-out war.”

  He turned to Annie. “Did anyone actually see Travian ships blockading the port? Has anyone seen Freyan warships in the area?”

  “No, sir,” said Annie shortly, scowling as if she didn’t enjoy being questioned. “Just because no one saw them doesn’t mean they’re not there.”

  “True,” said Stephano thoughtfully. “It seems odd, that’s all. I don’t see Travia risking a war.”

  Annie gave a flick of her hand. “Never mind your war, sir. My friends have families on that island and they haven’t heard from them. They are worried sick. The skipper of the Elspeth—her being a tanker—sailed to the refinery for their weekly pickup. He was due back yesterday. We haven’t seen hide nor hair of him. Something’s wrong!”

  Annie picked up the
cat and rose to her feet. “There, that’s my tale. If there’s nothing more you fine folk want to know, I have to be up early. I have six young ones to feed. I’ll be taking my leave.”

  She handed Doctor Ellington to Dag, said a few words to Miri and Gythe in the Trundler language, thanked Stephano for the ale, and departed.

  “Are things as bad as she says, Captain?” Miri asked worriedly.

  “There’s not a man on Braffa willing to venture out of Port Vrijheid now,” Captain Leydecker answered. He paused and Stephano knew what was coming next.

  “But you are still planning to make your delivery.”

  Captain Leydecker nodded. “As I told you, sir, people are depending on me. I was thinking that you and your dragons could fly with us when we go. You could reconnoiter, find out what’s going on. I’d be glad to pay extra.”

  “Of course, Captain,” said Stephano. “Are you certain you want to risk your ship?”

  Captain Leydecker hesitated, then said, “I don’t want to, Captain. But I’m not only delivering cargo. I’m picking up cargo for a very important person. I was paid well not to ask questions. We’ll meet up with you in the morning.”

  After the captain had gone Dag asked, “What do you think is going on, sir? Would the Travians really go this far?”

  Stephano turned to Rodrigo. “Your father was ambassador to Estara. He spent time in the Travian court on diplomatic missions. What do you think?”

  “My father always spoke of King Rupert of Travia as a levelheaded man, cautious, slow to act. Rupert doesn’t want a war with Freya. I could envision him ordering a blockade, but he wouldn’t dash in to seize the refineries.”

  “What about Freya?” asked Stephano. “Our old foe, Sir Henry, is probably mixed up in this somehow.”

  “Freya is putting herself forward as Braffa’s friend. They are going to save her from the evil men who want to ravish her,” said Rodrigo. “Freya is undoubtedly hoping the Braffans will give the refineries to her as a reward from a grateful nation.”

  “And if the Travians did take over the refineries, they wouldn’t keep quiet,” said Stephano. “They’d want the world to know they gave Freya a black eye. We’ve heard nothing from them.”

  “And there would be no reason to keep the ferrymen and tanker crews prisoner,” Miri pointed out.

  They were silent, even the Doctor, who’d gone to sleep on Dag’s shoulder. The silence grew so profound Stephano could hear the creak of the timbers, the wind rattling in the eaves and the whispering of mice running across the floor. Doctor Ellington woke, growled, and jumped off Dag’s knee.

  “There is another possibility, sir,” said Dag slowly.

  “I thought of that,” said Stephano. His tone was grim. “The Bottom Dwellers need lift gas for their black ships.”

  “Gythe, you’ve sensed the Bottom Dwellers before when they’re near. You’ve heard their voices. Can you hear anything now?” Miri asked.

  Gythe touched her ears and shook her head. “Silence.”

  Rodrigo yawned, nearly dislocating his jaw. “My friends, we could stay up all night speculating. We’ll find out for ourselves soon enough.”

  “Rigo’s right,” said Stephano. “We need to be up before dawn. The Sommerwind will take us to the dragons. Gythe, Dag—”

  “Not Gythe,” said Miri flatly.

  “Why not me?” Gythe demanded, her hands flashing.

  “We agreed, Gythe,” said Miri firmly. “You made a promise to me. I would let you ride the dragon, but not into danger.”

  Gythe stamped her foot. Her face flushed, her eyes flared. “I am old enough to decide this for myself! I don’t need you to protect me. Petard and I are going whether you like it or not.”

  Miri said nothing. Her face paled. She pressed her lips together, cast a sharp glance at Stephano. This was his decision, after all.

  “Gythe, you’re not going,” he told her.

  Gythe rounded on him. Her flush deepened. She pointed at her sister. “You always take her side!”

  “This has nothing to do with Miri,” said Stephano. His voice was stern. “You may know how to ride a dragon, Gythe, but you’re not a dragon rider. You are undisciplined and reckless. You don’t listen to me, and you don’t obey orders. And neither does Petard.”

  Gythe stared at him in disbelief, stung by his words. Her lower lip quivered, and tears shimmered in her eyes.

  Miri saw her sister’s distress and relented. “Stephano, don’t be so hard on her—”

  “This needs to be said, Miri.” Stephano turned back to Gythe. “I was wrong to let you ride. When you tell me that you and Petard are ready to stop gallivanting and obey my orders and you want to learn to become a dragon rider, I will teach you. But until then, you will not ride.”

  Gythe blinked rapidly and wiped her nose. She seemed to still want to be angry, for the flush burned on her cheeks. After thinking a moment, however, the flush faded. She walked over to Stephano, placed her hand over his heart.

  “You are right. I have been thoughtless. I am sorry. It won’t happen again.” She cast him a pleading glance, hoping he’d reconsider. “Please let me ride!”

  “You will remain on board on the Sommerwind with Miri and Rodrigo,” said Stephano.

  Gythe lowered her eyes, then gave a tremulous smile.

  “Take Petard with you,” she said with her hands. “The fault is mine, not his.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” said Stephano. “The dragon seems to be as heedless as you are. I will have a talk with him before I decide.”

  Gythe picked up Doctor Ellington and buried her face in his fur, finding comfort in the cat. Dag awkwardly patted her on the shoulder.

  “Thank you, Stephano,” Miri said softly, drawing close to him.

  “I didn’t ground Gythe for you, Miri,” said Stephano. “I was the one at fault. I didn’t want to say no to her. None of us ever say no to Gythe.”

  “So now you’re blaming me,” Miri flared.

  “I blame myself,” said Stephano. “If Gythe had died, her blood would have been on my hands.”

  He walked to the window, where he stared out into the night. He could feel Miri’s eyes on him, but he didn’t turn around.

  Miri left him and went to her sister. She put her arm around Gythe and they retreated to their room. Dag sighed heavily, put Doctor Ellington on his shoulder, and headed for the door.

  “You know I’m right, Dag,” Stephano said abruptly.

  “You didn’t need to make her cry,” Dag said.

  Stephano didn’t answer.

  “But yes, you were right, sir,” Dag added.

  He shut the door and Stephano heard Dag’s heavy footfalls tromping slowly up the stairs.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have been so hard on her, Rigo,” said Stephano.

  “Hard on her?” Rodrigo walked over to stand beside his friend. “Remember what your father did to you when you went for a joy ride?”

  Stephano gave a faint smile. “The time when Lieutenant Stanchi, Lord Skaerangir and Lady Kinetrille and I decided to practice our newly aquired martial skills by raiding a fortress—”

  “Except the ‘fortress’ was a local farmhouse,” said Rodrigo, grinning. “You set fire to a barn and stampeded a herd of cattle. The farmer’s wife had hysterics. The farmer came after you with a pitchfork.”

  “We didn’t mean to set the barn on fire,” said Stephano ruefully. “I can laugh about it now, but it wasn’t funny then. When we landed, my father hauled me off the dragon bodily, dumped me on my ass in the muck, and told me I was grounded for a month. I had to reimburse the farmer out of my Brigade pay. When my father upbraided me, he said, ‘Our work is serious. We defend a nation.’”

  He turned from the window, the memory warm and faintly sad inside him. He and Rodrigo went up the stairs to their rooms.

  “You did what you had to do about Gythe, Stephano,” said Rodrigo. “That is why you are the commander of the Dragon Brigade and I am but a humble s
ailor. By the way, I learned how to dance the hornpipe. Shall I show you?”

  “For God’s sake, no!” said Stephano, shuddering.

  39

  The Blood of God is so valuable, so sought after, that humans will likely end up spilling their own blood over it. If I were God, I would not want my name attached.

  —Monsieur Dubois

  The three Braffan refineries that processed the Breath of God, turning it into the liquid known as the Blood of God, were located on three small islands floating in the Breath. Although the location of the refineries was supposed to be secret, anyone who wanted to find them could simply, as Stephano pointed out to Captain Leydecker, follow the tankers and ferryboats that made regular runs to the refineries. Stephano did not tell the captain their fears that the refineries might have been attacked by Bottom Dwellers. The captain had worries enough as it was.

  So what was this mysterious cargo? The Sommerwind had no tanks. The captain wasn’t picking up the liquid. Yet he said the cargo was valuable, and the only valuable cargo at the refineries was the Blood. Stephano spent the time while flying toward their destination in useless speculation.

  The three dragons and their two riders stayed near to the Sommerwind. Stephano allowed Petard to fly with them because, he reasoned, the dragon would simply follow them anyway. Stephano lectured Petard as he’d lectured Gythe and when he had finished, Viola took over, hooting and roaring in anger. She didn’t say much, but before she was finished, Petard had his head down around his knees. Scoldings and reprimands could not subdue the young dragon for long, however. When Petard took to the air, his eyes gleamed with excitement, though he took care to keep Verdi between him and his sister.

  This morning, Gythe was contrite and subdued. Dag had placed Doctor Ellington in her care, and she and the cat boarded the Sommerwind without a single murmur of protest.