The Seventh Sigil (Dragon Brigade Series)

by Margaret Weis

  “Women, sir,” said the youngster with the wisdom of his fourteen years. “What’s a fellow to do?”

  Stephano smiled in spite of himself, though he took care to say sternly, “A ‘fellow’ can go about his duties.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Master Tutillo, flushing and hurrying off.

  Stephano left the dock and climbed the stairs to the bridge, reflecting as he walked through the fortress that the messenger was probably carrying bad news. One look at the griffin rider’s dark expression confirmed his fears.

  “Captain de Guichen,” said the rider, saluting. “Prince Renaud sends his apologies. He will not be able to be with you. Evreux has come under attack.”

  “Bottom Dwellers?” Stephano asked.

  He and Dag exchanged alarmed glances, both thinking that they were too late, and the invasion fleet had already launched.

  “Yes, sir,” the messenger replied. “His Highness believes these are the same ships that laid waste to Estara.”

  “They are softening us up, sir,” said Dag grimly.

  “Inflicting what damage they can before the arrival of the invasion fleet, leaving them to finish us off,” said Stephano. “Lieutenant Thorgrimson, we will make ready to launch immediately.”

  He turned back to the rider. “Corporal, can I offer you and your mount food and drink?”

  “Thank you, no, sir. I must return to my post. His Highness bids you godspeed.”

  Stephano sent a message to the prince, wishing him the same. Dag left to inform the tugboat captains that they were ready to get under way. The helmsman was already on the bridge, sitting in his tall chair, his hands flying over the constructs engraved on the large brass helm.

  The bridge was completely enclosed in stone except for a large portal made of thick, magically reinforced glass. Stephano gazed out into the orangish mists of the Breath to see the tugboats slowly sailing away from the docks. When the lines between them and the fortress grew taut, the helmsman sent magic flowing to the lift tanks, activating the crystals, the Tears of God.

  God weeping for Evreux. Stephano pictured the black ships flying over the city and setting fire to the docks, with the royal palace in flames. He imagined the battle; the ships of the royal navy attacking the foe. The prince, as admiral of the fleet, would be on board his flagship, directing the assault. Stephano could see again, the sinking of the Royal Lion …

  His dark thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Rodrigo, who came rushing onto the bridge.

  “I heard the fiends are attacking Evreux! Do you think Benoit will be safe?”

  Stephano smiled. “The old man has a strong sense of self-preservation. He’s probably hiding in the wine cellar where he can enjoy himself.”

  “I hope he took my handkerchief collection with him,” said Rodrigo, sighing. “It’s quite valuable.”

  He continued fondly recalling his handkerchiefs. Stephano wasn’t listening. He glanced over at the helm. The magic should be flowing to the lift tanks by now. He waited for the lurch, the jolt that would send him staggering as the fortress sailed ponderously off the ground.

  Frowning, he walked over to the helmsman. “Shouldn’t the magic be working by now?”

  “It is, sir,” said the helmsman. “We left the ground a few moments ago.”

  “Did we?” Stephano was amazed. “I didn’t feel a thing.”

  “Never had a smoother launch, Captain. This bloody, great hunk of rock floated off the ground like a bloody feather, if you’ll forgive my language, sir.”

  Stephano looked out the porthole. Sure enough, the land was receding in the distance. All he could see beneath him were the mists of the Breath.

  “I had my doubts about those crystals, Captain, but it seems they work as promised,” the helmsman remarked.

  The dragons returned, flying above the fortress, Haelgrund in the lead. The three wild dragons were in the rear of the flight, as was proper, given that they were new members of the Dragon Brigade. Viola caught sight of Stephano and gracefully dipped her head in acknowledgment. She was staying close to Petard, who must be chafing at being confined to the rear and forced to fly in formation. Haelgrund already had reprimanded Petard once for trying to edge his way up to the front.

  The two dragon brothers, Droal and Hroal, flew with the wild dragons. Stephano had decided to promote the brothers, making them officers in the Brigade. Ordinarily he allowed the dragons to conduct their own affairs, but he knew the noble dragons would never promote the two common dragons and he believed they had earned their promotion through their valor and dedication. Haelgrund and the other noble dragons had not been pleased, but they had grudgingly agreed to accept the two brothers among the ranks of the elite.

  “So long as the old boys keep out of our way,” Haelgrund said dourly.

  The tugboats pulled the fortress with relative ease. Fortunately the winds were calm in this part of the Breath. Stephano, pleased with the smooth launch, walked over to the chart table tucked into a corner of the bridge to study a map that marked the former location of Glasearrach, where it had been before it sank. According to Miri, the survivors of the sinking had claimed the island had plummeted straight down. He marked the location. A long way to go.

  Filled with nervous energy, and with nothing to do except wait, Stephano roamed the fortress, making certain everything was secure, inspecting the walls and floors and ceilings to see if they had sustained any damage. Rodrigo had gone to take a nap to prepare himself for the rigors of battle, and Miri was with the helmsman, who was showing her the workings of the helm. Dag was on the dock, making certain the towlines were secure, with sailors ready to replace a line should it break. He had locked Doctor Ellington in the dry storage room. The cat was not as unhappy as usual, for the storage room was large and he was able to wage his own war on the fortress’s rat population.

  When they arrived at the location they’d targeted for the descent, the sailors cast off the lines. The tugboat captains wished Stephano godspeed and departed. Dag left to go to the mess hall. Stephano had ordered crafters to heat large rocks covered with magical constructs and place them in the mess hall. When the fortress sank into the coldest part of the Breath, he would send the men there to keep warm.

  Stephano returned to the bridge. The helmsman looked at him expectantly, waiting for the command that would start the descent.

  “Reduce the flow of magic to the lift tanks,” said Stephano.

  The fortress began to sink, and as it did, the sunshine soon vanished. Gray, dank fog closed in around them, and Stephano lost sight of the dragons. He could hear them repeatedly calling out to each other and see the red gouts of fire they breathed to make certain no one got lost.

  Despite the fact that they had sealed up every crack, fog seeped inside the fortress, wisping down the corridors and forming eerie haloes around the lanterns. Walls glistened with moisture. Water dripped from the ceilings, and the temperature plummeted. The sailors put on warm coats, gloves, and snug hats and still stamped their feet and blew on their hands in vain attempts to keep warm as the damp chill crept through to the bone.

  When the cold grew severe, Stephano ordered the men on watch to leave their posts and go to the mess hall. His order included Master Tutillo, whose teeth were chattering.

  Stephano remained on the bridge with Miri and the helmsman. He was wearing his heavy Dragon Brigade coat and wool uniform and was still shivering. They had placed a warming rock on the bridge, but it did little to alleviate the cold. Miri was bundled up in a Trundler peacoat with a scarf tied around her head and mittens on her hands. The helmsman could not wear gloves because he had to work the magic. He alternated rubbing his hands and sitting on them to keep them warm.

  Rodrigo appeared on the bridge, wrapped in a blanket, wearing every article of clothing he possessed. He had tied a gunnysack around his head for warmth, the sight of which made Stephano burst out in laughter.

  “If only the ladies of the court could see you now!”

&
nbsp; Rodrigo replied with a sneeze. He morosely gazed out the window. “Fire and brimstone, my ass! If this is hell, someone certainly got that wrong! I shall lodge a complaint with the grand bishop.”

  He huddled near the warming stone. “My ears are popping. It’s quite painful. I can’t think why I let you talk me into coming.”

  “The cold’s only going to get worse,” Miri said.

  Rodrigo cast her a horrified glance and left, shivering, his blanket trailing on the floor behind him.

  Fog changed to freezing fog, riming the fortress’s walls with hoarfrost. Stephano worried about the dragons. He could still hear them calling and see the blasts of flame, so he knew they were managing to survive. Their bodies would grow sluggish in the cold; they would find it increasingly difficult to fly.

  He had ordered the crew to stop ringing the ship’s bells that marked the duty watches so that once they arrived Below, they would not give away their position. Time seemed irrelevant anyway. They were falling, sinking down and down into a gray-wrapped void. For a moment, he was horrified by the thought that they would never stop falling. It was such a terrifying thought, he couldn’t repress a shudder.

  Miri, standing by the window, cast a worried glance at him over her shoulder.

  “Rigo was right,” he said. “This is Hell.”

  “We are almost through the Fog Belt. Then we will enter the Aurora, the liquefied portion of the Breath.”

  “Strange name,” Stephano remarked. “Aurora means ‘dawn.’ Light and beauty.”

  “You’ll see,” Miri promised.

  Stephano left the bridge, descended the stairs to the ground level and went to the mess hall to see how his troops were faring. He had thought the bridge cold before entering the unheated corridor. This was much worse; he could see his breath in the air and frost on the walls.

  Through the closed door he could hear the men grumbling. As he entered they quit grumbling and rose to their feet, but Stephano told them to sit down. Between the heated rocks and warm bodies, the mess hall was far more comfortable than the bridge. He told them that they were almost through the freezing fog and asked how they were faring. He warned them again to stay here and not to go roaming around.

  “Once we are through the Aurora, we will be in the world Below. I’m doubling the watch and, in addition, I want every man who doesn’t have a job to serve as lookout. Silence is crucial. When you man the cannons, do not load them. I don’t want to risk a gun going off by accident. If you have to speak, keep your voice low. If you see or hear something, report quietly to the duty officer. He’ll pass the word to me. Master Tutillo, you are with me. Lieutenant, a moment of your time, please.”

  Stephano and Dag stepped outside the door.

  “How are the men holding up? I heard them complaining.”

  “The grousing is a good sign, sir,” said Dag. “It’s when the men stop grumbling that you can expect trouble.”

  “Good to know,” said Stephano.

  “Rigo’s the worst of them all,” Dag continued. “He’s complained about everything from his frozen feet on up. You should have heard him when cook served cold beans and hardtack for lunch!”

  “I’ll take him back with me,” said Stephano, smiling.

  “Thank you, sir,” said Dag, his sentiment clearly heartfelt.

  “I’ll let you know when we’ve passed through the Breath and into the skies above Glasearrach,” Stephano added. “At that point, you can send the men to their posts.”

  Dag nodded and returned to the mess hall.

  “Rigo,” Stephano called out to his friend, “you’re needed on the bridge.”

  “What for?” Rodrigo asked, huddled in his blanket.

  “To boost morale,” said Stephano.

  31

  It was as if God struck our island with His fist and knocked us from the sky.

  —Xavier I, Memoirs

  Arriving on the bridge, Stephano was relieved to see a pale, gray light glimmering through the porthole. He hoped that meant they were almost through the layer of fog. The return of the sun was cheering, though Rodrigo morosely pointed out that the pallid light did nothing to alleviate the cold.

  “Come see this,” Miri called from the porthole.

  She stepped aside to make room for Stephano. He looked out, accompanied by Rodrigo, who rested his chin on Stephano’s shoulder to get a better view.

  Stephano gave a low, soft whistle. Rodrigo caught his breath.

  Far below them, seeming to rise up as the fortress descended, myriad rainbows covered the surface of this part of the Breath, now so cold it had changed to liquid. The rainbows shimmered, spreading and receding, flowing across the surface of the Breath.

  “My God! What is that?” Rodrigo asked, awed.

  “That is the Aurora,” said Miri. “The Trundlers on Glasearrach say that before the storms, on the rare days when the mists parted and the sun shone brightly, the sky was filled with rainbows.”

  “What a strange phenomenon,” Stephano remarked.

  “Not that strange,” said Rodrigo. “The rainbowlike effect is produced by the angle of the rays of the sun as the world turns on its axis.”

  Stephano was impressed. “How do you know that?”

  “I don’t,” Rodrigo said, grinning. “But all one has to do is talk of axis and angles and people assume you know whereof you speak.”

  “Could I see, sir?” Master Tutillo asked.

  Stephano stepped aside. Master Tutillo gazed down at the glowing, multicolored lights.

  “Coo, that’s grand!” he said softly.

  Stephano was relieved to see the dragons had survived the cold and were still flying overhead. Haelgrund was trumpeting commands to bring the stragglers back into formation. If all went according to plan, the fortress would crash through the Aurora, smashing a hole in the viscous Breath, and the dragons would follow, flying swiftly before the hole could close. The moment the fortress emerged from the Aurora, the dragons would be in the skies above Glasearrach.

  “Should we brace for impact?” Rodrigo asked nervously. He was standing at the porthole, gazing down at the Aurora.

  “There won’t be an impact,” said Miri. “We will glide through the liquid like a spoon through jelly.”

  “Now I feel nauseous,” Rodrigo complained.

  As they drew nearer the Aurora the rainbows faded and the liquid Breath became a gray, glistening, undulating mass rushing at the fortress with alarming speed.

  Stephano was watching at the porthole, along with Miri. Rodrigo sat on the floor, bracing his back against the wall.

  “Here we go,” said Miri softly.

  Despite her assurance that they would feel no impact, Stephano flinched involuntarily as the fortress plunged into the Aurora. The fortress shuddered slightly, but glided right through, as Miri had predicted. The liquid Breath slid down the windowpane, a whitish gray in color that grew darker as they descended, for they were once more losing the sunlight. The liquid muffled sound; the silence was profound.

  “How are the dragons?” Miri asked worriedly. “Can you see?”

  Stephano pressed against the glass, looking up at the dragons. The sun illuminated the hole in the Breath created by the passage of the fortress, and the dragons were flying in the fortress’s wake. They breathed flame on the liquid Breath, melting it, causing the hole made by the fortress to expand.

  “They are still with us,” said Stephano.

  “We’re nearing the end. I can see lightning,” Miri reported. “Looks like we’re going to be landing in a wizard storm.”

  “Perfect timing,” said Stephano.

  “Why in heaven’s name would you say that?” Rodrigo asked, horrified.

  “The fortress will be wrapped in rain clouds. No one will see us.”

  Rodrigo flung the blanket over his head.

  Stephano spoke with a confidence he did not feel. The helmsman was going to have a difficult time steering the fortress through whipping winds and blinding ra
in toward their destination.

  The fortress had never been intended to “fly.” Air screws provided enough thrust to nudge the ponderous structure in one direction or another, but that was about all they could do. If the dragons had not agreed to join the fight, his alternate plan would have been to bring down the fortress in the midst of the fleet, crashing into the ships and blowing them apart with cannon fire. The dragons with their fiery breath and maneuverability could inflict far more damage.

  Once on Glasearrach, he could maintain the fortress as a base of operations. Using Miri’s calculations, Stephano had positioned the fortress to land near the mountain known as Gabhar Cloch or at least come so close to it they would need to travel only a short distance to reach the fleet.

  The last of the liquid Breath slid down the window. Leaving behind silence and rainbows, the fortress plunged into the storm.

  Wind beat on the walls, and lightning shattered the darkness. Thunderclaps shook the floor and rain rolled down the glass pane of the porthole in sheets.

  “Miri, can you see where we are?” Stephano asked.

  She had her face pressed against the porthole, peering out through cupped hands. “I can’t see anything in this weather. We should hold our position, wait for the storm to pass.”

  “Helmsman, hold—”

  “We can’t,” Rodrigo said in strangled tones. “We have to land … now!”

  “Rigo, I know you’re cold, but this is not the time—”

  “Bother the cold!” Rodrigo jumped to his feet. Throwing off the blanket, he pointed at the walls. “The magic is failing!”

  “Failing?” Stephano repeated, startled and uneasy. “How? Why?”

  “The atmosphere is seething with contramagic,” Rodrigo said. “It’s attacking the magic in every part of the fortress, eating away at it.”

  He pointed at the wall. “Look! You can see the constructs starting to come apart—”

  The fortress lurched and suddenly dropped, sending everyone in the room staggering. Stephano braced himself against the wall. He could not see the constructs coming apart, but he imagined them cracking beneath his fingers.