Storm Riders

by Margaret Weis

  “Of course,” Stephano said softly. “Leydecker’s mysterious, valuable cargo. Money to buy the crystals. A lot of money.”

  He was glad the mystery was solved, but all this talk was wasting time.

  “Miri, I know you are skeptical, but we have to try this. Go make the pinnace ready to sail. Frau Aalder, you supervise loading the wounded on board. Rigo, go with Miri and do whatever you need to do with your magic balloon. Dag, come with me.”

  Stephano searched the storage room and soon found, amid a jumble of lumber, tools, and crates, four barrels, each about the size of a large keg of wine, stacked in a corner. The four were labeled “Salt.”

  “I need a crowbar to pry off the lid,” Stephano called over his shoulder.

  A crowbar appeared, the hand holding it adorned with a lacy, bloodstained cuff. Stephano turned to find Sir Henry with Lord Bjorn hovering unhappily in the background.

  “Where’s Dag?” Stephano asked.

  “Your sergeant’s strong arms were required to help with the wounded,” Sir Henry said.

  Stephano grunted, but he didn’t have time to argue. Taking the crowbar, he thrust it under the lid and pried it loose. The barrel was filled with white crystals, each of them about as long as his index finger.

  “The most highly refined form of the Breath ever produced,” said Sir Henry. He picked up one of the crystals. “More precious than diamonds. A barrel of these, magically enhanced, could lift a fortress off its foundation.”

  “A fortress…,” Stephano murmured. “That’s how we take the fight to them!”

  An idea came to him with such suddenness that he almost dropped the crowbar. He forgot where he was, forgot the danger, forgot everything except the vivid mental image of a floating fortress that for an instant was clearer, more real than his surroundings.

  “Fight to who? What are you talking about?” Sir Henry asked.

  “Nothing,” said Stephano, returning to the grim reality of their situation. He replaced the lid and pushed it down with the crowbar, then tipped the barrel onto its side and began rolling it across the floor.

  “Sir Henry, I need you to move those crates and hold the door—”

  When Sir Henry did not reply, Stephano looked around to see him overturning another barrel.

  “What are you doing?” Stephano demanded. “We need only one. There’s not room—”

  “We’ll make room,” said Sir Henry. “Or should we leave these for the fiends to use in their black ships? Lord Bjorn, take that third barrel.”

  Stephano had to admit Sir Henry was right. The Tears of God should not fall into the hands of the Bottom Dwellers. He left his barrel and went to move the crates himself. Once the path was clear, he trundled the barrel out the door. Sir Henry with his barrel came behind. The pain of his wound must have been excruciating, for he grimaced and pressed his lips tightly together. Lord Bjorn followed, rolling his barrel awkwardly.

  Stephano had taken only a few steps when he heard Dag yelling, “Look out, sir!”

  Stephano looked up to see the three bat riders—now joined by two more—had flown out of hiding.

  Dag was on board with his rifle, waiting for the enemy to come within range. Frau Aalder was waving her arms and shouting for Stephano and Sir Henry and Lord Bjorn to make haste. In the center of the pinnace was the improbable figure of Rodrigo tying a string around a red balloon.

  Miri had been watching for him. Catching sight of him, she began to yell, “Stephano! Hurry up! We can’t take off until we have the crystals!”

  Stephano rolled the barrel over the uneven ground as fast as possible. The yard had a slight downhill grade, which made the task easier. One of the bat riders, spotting the three men out in the open without any cover, flew to attack.

  Dag aimed his rifle and fired. The bat flipped over and crashed onto the ground right in front of Stephano, blocking his path to the gangplank. The barrel bumped up against the bat’s carcass.

  The dead bat’s rider tried to crawl out from under the bat, but his leg was pinned. He had dropped his weapon, one of the cannonlike guns. He reached for his weapon, just as Stephano made a dive for it.

  Stephano grabbed the gun first and tossed it aside. He drew his pistol, but didn’t fire. The man was trapped and unarmed. His helm had been knocked askew, revealing his face. He was young, in his late teens.

  This was the first time Stephano had ever seen the face of his foe. He had half expected the Bottom Dwellers to be hideous, evil, like their demonic masks. The young man looked like any other young man with the exception that his skin was milk white and his eyes were unusually large. He seemed bothered by the bright sunlight, for he blinked constantly and appeared to be having trouble seeing. He fixed Stephano with a hate-filled glance. His lips parted in a sneer. He spoke the Trundler language.

  “Go ahead. Shoot me.”

  “I’m not like you,” said Stephano. “I don’t kill the helpless.”

  He thrust his pistol in his pocket and leaned down to try to examine the young man’s leg. He saw Sir Henry Wallace out of the corner of his eye.

  “Give me a hand,” said Stephano, wrestling with the bat.

  “Certainly,” said Sir Henry.

  He put his pistol to the young man’s head and fired. The Bottom Dweller slumped onto his back, half his skull blown away.

  Stephano gasped in shock. He stared at the corpse, then rounded on Sir Henry.

  “What did you kill him for? He wasn’t armed,” said Stephano. “He wasn’t a threat!”

  “Not anymore, he’s not,” Sir Henry replied cooly. He pointed to the barrels. “Start rolling.”

  Stephano took one last look at the dead man, shook his head, then bent to his task. Dag shouted a warning. Green light flashed. A wave of heat washed over him. A horrible, gurgling scream came from behind him. He turned to see Lord Bjorn engulfed in a whirlwind of fire. He was screaming, staggering about in agony. His clothes were ablaze. His flesh was blackened, crackling and bubbling. His hair was on fire. His eyes bulging, he reached out to them.

  Stephano took a step toward him. Sir Henry caught hold of his arm.

  “Leave him. He’s too far gone.”

  Lord Bjorn pitched to the ground, writhing. He gave a last, fearful cry and stopped moving.

  “God save him,” Stephano said, shaken.

  “A little late for that,” Sir Henry said caustically. He waved at the pinnace. “Some of you men! Come take these barrels!”

  The workmen ran to help with the barrels. Dag remained at his post, firing at another Bottom Dweller. The bat rider flopped over sideways and hung limply from the saddle as his bat flew away. Another bat rider dove down on Stephano and Sir Henry.

  Both men raised their pistols and fired. Sir Henry’s shot struck the bat. The creature shrieked and kept coming. Stephano aimed and pulled the trigger. The hammer clicked, but nothing happened. He swore and thrust the useless gun in his belt. As he reached for another, a green fireball struck him in the legs, knocking his feet out from under him. The constructs on his coat saved him from exploding in flame like poor Lord Bjorn, but the heat generated by the green fire radiated through the coat, scorching his flesh. For a moment he could do nothing but grit his teeth and wait for the first wave of searing pain to pass.

  When the pain subsided, he tried to push himself to his feet, only to fall down with a curse. He had twisted his leg when he fell and wrenched his right knee.

  The fourth bat rider was circling around for another attack.

  “I’m out of ammunition,” Sir Henry called.

  “Take mine!” Stephano tossed his last pistol to Sir Henry.

  He took aim. Before he could fire, the bat and rider suddenly burst into flame and fell in a burning tangle to the ground.

  Stephano looked up to see Viola pulling out of her dive, angling her body the way Stephano had taught her so that she avoided hitting the pinnace with her wings. Glimmers of flame flickered in her fangs.

  Limping on his injur
ed leg, Stephano shouted to draw her attention. Viola would not look at him. She stayed near the pinnace, flying in circles overhead. At the sight of the dragon, the remaining bat rider retreated, flying off to wait for reinforcements. The workmen were loading the three barrels onto the pinnace.

  “Stephano, hurry!” Miri called.

  “Can you walk on your own?” Sir Henry asked.

  “Yes—” Stephano began.

  Sir Henry thrust the pistol at him. “Cover me.”

  He turned and ran back to the shed.

  “What the devil are you doing?” Stephano shouted.

  “I’m not leaving without the last barrel,” Sir Henry called over his shoulder.

  “We don’t have time— Damn it! Dag, cover us!”

  Stephano hobbled after Sir Henry and reached the storage room in time to see him hauling the barrel out the door. He began rolling it across the yard toward the pinnace. Stephano gamely kept up, keeping watch for more attackers.

  Reaching the pinnace, he yelled again at Viola.

  “We need you! You and the others.”

  He pointed to the black ship.

  Viola gazed at Stephano. She seemed to be trying desperately to communicate with him. He had no time to try to commune with her. “We need you!” he said again. She shook her head, made a final circle of the pinnace, then flew back to join the other two dragons on the distant island.

  The workmen grabbed hold of the last barrel and hustled it on board. Stephano and Sir Henry hurried after them. Sir Henry was pale, blood stained the back of his coat. Stephano stumbled going up the gangplank, favoring his injured knee. Frau Aalder came to his aid. Ignoring his protests, she put her arm around his waist to assist him to a place on one of the benches.

  “I am sorry about the death of your friend,” Stephano said.

  “Lord Bjorn wasn’t my friend,” Frau Aalder said. “I barely knew him. I heard rumors he wasn’t a very good man. Still,” she added with a softened glance at the blackened remains, “no one should have to die like that.”

  Miri had already prized the lid off one barrel. Taking out a crystal, she regarded it skeptically.

  “What do I do with it?” she asked.

  “Place it in the lift tank,” said one of the workmen. “When you activate the tank’s magic, the crystal will release the gas.”

  Miri flattened herself on the deck and reached underneath the tank where the spout to fill the tank was located. She hurriedly thrust the crystal inside and closed the spout. Rising to her feet, she shook out her skirt and took her place at the helm.

  “We’ll see if this works,” she muttered, her hands running over the brass plate.

  Stephano looked out to the black ship crawling inexorably closer to the Sommerwind. He doubted if the Bottom Dwellers on the ship could see what was happening at the refinery, but they could hardly miss spotting the pinnace when it rose into the air. The swarm of bat riders would find them an easy target.

  He turned his attention back to the pinnace to make certain all was secure. The wounded lay on mattresses that had been wedged between the benches. Frau Aalder and some of the workers were keeping them as comfortable as they could. Rodrigo was standing in the center of the boat, fiddling with his balloon, talking to himself, running his hands over the silk.

  Stephano left the bench and limped over to the prow, where Dag was standing guard over the barrels of crystals. Sir Henry was seated on a bench nearby.

  Sir Henry was no longer the elegant Freyan diplomat. His coat hung in charred strips from his shoulders, his fine shirt was filthy and stained with blood. His face was streaked with black powder residue. He had been shot in the back and yet he seemed as cool as though he were attending a game of lawn tennis. He greeted Stephano with a slight smile, as if he knew perfectly well what Stephano was thinking and found it amusing.

  Stephano mopped his sweating face with his sleeve.

  “Give me your pistols, sir. I’ll reload them,” Dag offered.

  “Thank you,” said Stephano.

  He handed Dag the pistol and his dragon pistol.

  “If you would be so good as to attend to my pistols, as well, Sergeant,” said Sir Henry.

  He drew the two empty pistols from his belt and placed them on top of one of the barrels.

  Dag made no move to pick up the weapons. “Should we put a loaded gun in his hands, Captain? He wants those crystals.”

  “Given that I’m not likely to sprout wings and fly off with them, I believe the crystals are safe, Sergeant,” said Sir Henry drily. “We don’t even know if they work.”

  “I think we’re about to find out,” said Stephano.

  Miri was watching the gauge that measured the amount of lift gas left in the tank. Stephano couldn’t see the gauge from where he stood, but he could see Miri. Her brow creased. She shook her head.

  “Nothing is happening,” she said in a strained voice.

  Stephano envisioned what they would do if they were trapped here. They would fight until they ran out of ammunition and after that they would fight with bricks and lead pipes. After that they would fight with their bare hands and after that, they would die.

  Miri gasped. “I’ll be damned!” She was staring at the gauge in amazement. “It works! It really works!”

  Stephano felt the pinnace shudder beneath his feet. The ground began slowly to fall away, as the pinnace rose into the air. Miri activated the air screws. She set their course for the Sommerwind.

  “And here they come, sir,” said Dag.

  He handed Stephano the dragon pistol, now loaded and ready to fire.

  42

  In the most common variant of “punto banco” baccarat, the game requires a gambler to make just one decision: whether to bet that the value of a “player” or “banker” hand of two or three cards will end up totaling closest to nine, with face cards counting as zero and aces as one. Game outcomes are fixed by the cards dealt, and players make no decisions after the initial bet. There’s no skill to it at all … unless a person cheats.

  —Guide to Baccarat

  “We may reach the Sommerwind only to find there’s nothing left,” Sir Henry observed. “The black ship blew up the Royal Lion with a single shot.”

  The bat riders were coming for them, but the black ship was heading for the Sommerwind.

  “The Royal Lion didn’t have our Gythe!” Dag stated proudly.

  “What is a Gythe?” Sir Henry glanced quizzically at Stephano, who was watching the bat riders through a spyglass.

  “Miri’s beautiful sister.” Stephano lowered the glass. “I count a dozen or more of the enemy. Dag, you’re the best shot. Take the rifle and go over by the helm, guard Miri and Rigo.”

  “I’ve got just a few bullets left, sir,” said Dag.

  “Then make every shot count.”

  Dag detoured around the wounded when he could and carefully climbed over them when he couldn’t. He took up a position beside Miri at the helm. A few feet from her, Rodrigo cradled the balloon in his hands. The constructs were starting to glow with a faint blue light. Sir Henry regarded the proceedings with twitching lips.

  “Forgive me if I don’t put much faith in Monsieur Rodrigo’s magic balloon,” Sir Henry said.

  “Miri said it worked,” Stephano returned.

  “Women are softhearted,” said Sir Henry.

  Stephano smiled at the idea. “We are talking about the woman who was going to shoot you in the head. How are you feeling?”

  “Like hell,” said Sir Henry. “Yourself?”

  “That about describes it,” said Stephano. His skin burned. His knee throbbed. He leaned against the bench, keeping his weight on his good leg.

  Sir Henry examined his pistols, making certain they were primed. Miri turned the air screws on full. The wispy mists of the Breath flitted past the boat in tattered rags. The sail billowed. The cool breeze was a welcome relief after the heat of the island. The bat riders were spreading out, coming to attack them from all sides.r />
  “You’d better hurry, Rigo!” Miri told him.

  “You cannot rush genius,” said Rodrigo.

  He lifted his balloon in the air, holding it above his head. A soft blue glow spread from the balloon to envelop the pinnace. Stephano raised the glass again, focusing on the Sommerwind. As he watched, a similar silvery blue glow rimed the masts and rigging of the ship like hoarfrost and cast a blue sheen over the hull.

  Sir Henry was watching the Sommerwind, as well. At the sight of the blue glow, he raised his eyebrows.

  “What is that? Some sort of defensive magic? How does the spell encompass an entire ship?”

  “That would be our Gythe,” said Stephano.

  “Amazing,” Sir Henry murmured, awed. He glanced at Stephano. “I am impressed, Captain. You have some very talented friends.”

  He glanced at Rodrigo, talking to the balloon. “Odd, but talented.”

  The first bat riders were almost within range of the pinnace, taking aim with their long guns. Stephano drew his pistol, cocked it.

  “Shoot the bats,” he said. “They’re not wearing armor.”

  A green fireball struck Rodrigo’s blue shield and burst into a shower of sparks that rained down harmlessly around the pinnace.

  “Did you see that, Stephano?” Rodrigo called out proudly.

  He went back to talking to his balloon. Sir Henry drew his pistol.

  “Too bad your dragon friends deserted you.”

  Stephano looked over his shoulder. The dragons were within sight. Perched on their island, they were keenly observing what was going on. They showed no signs of wanting to come anywhere near the Bottom Dwellers. Stephano turned away.

  Dag fired at a bat rider flying overhead.

  Sir Henry raised his pistol, aiming at another bat. “Your sergeant is very perceptive, Captain. He’s right. I do want those crystals.”

  “The crystals belong to the Braffans,” said Stephano. “Would you steal from your allies?”

  He and Sir Henry both fired at a bat and its rider. At least one of them hit it, for the bat spiraled downward with a shriek. Sir Henry laid down his empty pistol and picked up another.