Shadow Raiders

Chapter Twenty-Five

Julian often said the bravest thing he ever saw a man do was to turn and walk away from his own true love, as Ander walked away from Cecile, calling it an act so selfless, God himself must have wept. And then sixteen years later, Julian asked Ander to walk away from his own true friend. I am not sure about God, but I wept for us all.

– Rudolpho Benoit,

Steward to the de Guichen family

STEPHANO RELOADED HIS DRAGON PISTOL and stood guard over the stable yard while the young monk, who said his name was Brother Barnaby, tended to the wounds of the knight and the other monk. The battle was over, at least for the moment. The bodies of the demons had been magically consumed by some sort of unholy green fire, much to the dismay of Brother Barnaby. Stephano had to drag the young monk away from one of the blazing corpses.

“What is happening? Some of them are still alive,” Barnaby said. “I might have been able to save them.”

“Nothing you can do for them now,” said Stephano.

“I can at least pray for them,” said Brother Barnaby.

The other monk, Brother Paul, sat huddled in the grass, his robes torn, his back a bloody pulp from being whipped, his face battered. Brother Barnaby had a deep cut on one arm, a split lip, a bruise on his temple, and the marks of the scourge on his back. Stephano recalled what Droalfrig had told him about the horrible deaths of the nuns. He remembered Gythe, screaming in pain.

Stephano shook his head. “These fiends murdered innocent women. They beat Brother Paul and tortured you. Why are you praying for them?”

Brother Barnaby seemed astonished at the question. “We are all God’s creatures, sir.”

“Not if they are lost souls, Brother,” said Stephano.

“Do we abandon the little child lost in the forest, sir,” asked Brother Barnaby gently. “Or do we expend all our energy trying to reclaim her.”

Stephano knew better than to be trapped in some sort of religious tangle, especially one to which he had no answer. He left the monk to his prayers and his healing and made a thorough search of the stables and the stable yard, looking for demon stragglers or stray bats.

Satisfied that none of the enemy was still lurking about, Stephano went to check on the dragon brothers, Hroalfrig and Droalfrig. They had defeated their foes and were now resting in a nearby field. Hroal was bleeding from a deep gash in his chest. Dragons had remarkable powers of healing, however, and he would soon recover. The dragons were concerned about him and the others. Stephano assured the two brothers that all was well, at least for the time being. He thanked them both for their valiant service and asked if they could remain on guard. Droalfrig, looking pleased, flicked a wing in salute.

Stephano returned from his reconnaissance to find Brother Barnaby trying to examine Sir Ander’s head injury. The knight waved away the monk’s attention.

“A bump on the head, nothing more. My own damn fault. I should have been wearing my helm. We need to get back to Father Jacob,” Sir Ander said impatiently. “He’s been injured.”

“I will go to him immediately,” said Brother Barnaby, then he faltered, “But there is Brother Paul-”

“Do not let me deter you,” said the monk. He had managed to rise and was standing, though somewhat unsteadily. “You should go to Father Jacob. He needs you, Brother. I am in God’s care.”

“Bring Brother Paul along,” said Sir Ander, chafing at the delay.

“An excellent idea,” said Barnaby, relieved. “Come along, Brother. I have medicines at the Retribution to treat your wounds.”

Brother Paul at first demurred, protesting he did not want to be a burden, but he was too weak to put up much of an argument. He went on ahead with Brother Barnaby, leaving Sir Ander and Stephano to follow along behind, pistols reloaded and ready to fire.

The two men walked for a time in silence, both at a loss to know what to say to each other. Stephano had never met his godfather and Sir Ander had met Stephano only once and that when he was barely a week old. Stephano was confused and embarrassed. His feelings toward his godfather were complicated, not easy to sort out. He and the knight had carried on a correspondence through the years, exchanging letters that were warm on Sir Ander’s part and stiff and formal on Stephano’s.

Sir Ander had been Julian’s closest friend. Both Stephano’s father and his mother had always spoken well of the knight. His mother’s praise of Sir Ander was more damning than helpful, however. Stephano had never been able to forgive Sir Ander for his continued close friendship with the countess and for the fact that the knight had sided with the king during the rebellion that had cost Julian de Guichen his life.

At the end, facing execution, Julian had counseled his son to turn to his godfather if he ever needed anything. Stephano had refused to listen. Angry and grieving and bitter, Stephano was convinced Sir Ander had betrayed and abandoned his father. Stephano had torn up Sir Ander’s letter of condolence and then burned it to ashes. He would have destroyed the dragon pistol that had been his godfather’s gift, but he hadn’t been able to find it. Benoit, as it turned out, had hidden it away, restoring it years later, when Stephano had been granted his commission in the Dragon Brigade.

He was old enough then to admire the craftsmanship, recognize the quality, the value of such a gift. But when he looked at it, he saw only the man who had turned his back on his father.

“Put it back,” Stephano had said. “I don’t want it. Sir Ander betrayed my father.”

“He did no such thing,” Benoit had told him. “Your father wrote to him, urged him not to take up arms against his country. I know. I carried the letter to him myself.”

“But why would my father do that?” Stephano had asked, not believing. He eyed Benoit. “And how do you know what my father wrote?”

“Because I read the letter, of course,” Benoit had replied. “Keep the gun, you young fool. It was your father’s wish you should have it.”

Stephano had kept the dragon pistol. He often thought about what Benoit had said, wondered if it was true. Sir Ander had patiently continued to write to his godson over the years, giving the young man counsel as befitted a godfather, urging him to find solace in faith and relating stories about his father in the days of their youth, stories that spoke of his father’s courage and honor.

Stephano came to value the correspondence, though his own responses tended to be cool and impersonal. He even went so far as to take Sir Ander’s ’s advice and make a somewhat shaky peace with God. He never spoke of this to anyone.

As they walked together, the two soldiers unconsciously fell into cadence, strides equal and matching. When the silence grew uncomfortable, both men felt driven to speak and both spoke at once. Both looked even more uncomfortable.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Stephano, with a stiff bow. “Please continue.”

“I was only going to say that you are very like your father,” said Sir Ander and he added, with a smile, “Though you have your mother’s eyes.”

Stephano’s brow furrowed and the eyes that were like his mother’s eyes hardened and went steely gray, making the resemblance even stronger.

“I understand, sir, that you are a friend of my mother’s,” said Stephano in frozen tones.

“I have that honor,” Sir Ander replied gravely.

He was reloading the dragon pistol as he walked. Stephano looked at the knight’s pistol, then looked at his own, a gift from his godfather, a gift he had come to cherish. He was ashamed of his churlish response, but excused it by reminding himself he had good reason to be angry at this man.

““I held you in my arms the day you were baptized.” Sir Anders was saying. “You screamed bloody murder the entire time and lashed out with your little fists at the priest when he flicked the holy water in your face. Julian burst out laughing. He said it showed you had fighting spirit. The poor priest was so shocked, your father had to donate a pair of silver candlesticks to the saint to make reparation.”

Stephano gave a grudging half smile. “Benoit often tells that story, particularly when he wants to embarrass me.”

“Benoit!” Sir Ander turned to face him. “Is that old man still alive?” When Stephano nodded, the knight added in softer tones, “I am glad to know it.”

Stephano cast sidelong glances at his godfather as they walked together, noting with approval his military stance, his firm and muscular body, his strong jaw and forthright appearance. Stephano was disposed to like the man, but there was that one lingering doubt. He was brooding on this and only half-listening to Sir Ander saying something about being astonished to see a soldier come to his aid, riding a dragon.

“But, of course, you served in the famed Dragon Brigade. Julian wrote to me of the first time he put you on dragon back. You were three, I believe. He held you on the saddle in front of him as the dragon soared through the air. You were not the least bit afraid, he told me. He was so proud of you.”

Stephano remembered that moment, one of his earliest recollections. He remembered that he had been afraid until he felt his father’s strong arm encircle him. He remembered his father calling to the dragon that they were ready and the beast taking to the air and the wind rushing past his face and the thrill and elation of leaving the ground and flying to the skies. His heart constricted with pain as he lowered his head and made no answer.

They reached the wicket in the wall, and their conversation came to an end. Thus far, they had not seen any demons or their bats, but no one knew what might be waiting for them on the other side of the high wall. Musket held at the ready, Sir Ander entered the gate first, while Stephano remained guarding the two monks.

“Looks like they’ve gone,” Sir Ander reported, and he motioned the monks to enter. Stephano brought up the rear.

He was pleased and heartened to see the Cloud Hopper sailing bravely toward the docks which were in a small inlet located about three miles from the abbey at the bottom of a steep hill. He cast a critical eye over the houseboat and was relieved to see that it had not suffered much damage. A yardarm had been snapped and hung tangled in the rigging. He wondered worriedly how Gythe was faring.

He was eager to go to his friends, but he felt a responsibility to the two monks and Sir Ander, who had, after all, saved his life. The knight tried to brush off the effects of his head wound, but Stephano saw Sir Ander wince every so often and guessed that it pained him more than he was letting on. And there was something he desperately needed to ask him.

The two men walked on for a moment in silence, then Sir Ander said, “I know this must be awkward for you-”

“Will you answer a question for me, sir?” Stephano asked abruptly.

“Of course,” said Sir Ander.

“Why did you refuse to join my father in the rebellion? You believed in his cause. He told me you did.”

“Your father wrote to tell me not to,” said Sir Ander.

So Benoit was telling the truth, Stephano thought. He said nothing, however, but waited for the knight to continue.

Sir Ander gave a deep sigh. “I knew King Alaric had goaded the Duke of Bourlet into rebelling. The duke did not want to go to war. He suffered insult after insult in silence. But when his outposts were attacked, his property illegally seized, his friends and supporters threatened, he could take no more. But you know all this. You were fifteen, old enough to understand.”

“Old enough to fight at my father’s side,” said Stephano proudly. He would have added, “unlike you, sir,” but he swallowed the words. He might as well have said them, for they hung in the air.

“You fought while I sat at home,” Sir Ander said. “Or rather, I sat in prison.”

“I was told you refused to take up arms and that you were imprisoned for your refusal. I credit you with that much, sir. But you were set free, while my father…”

Stephano could not go on. He stared moodily out into the Breath.

“Yes, I was set free,” said Sir Ander. “I was a Knight Protector and subject to the laws of the Church, not the Crown. The Knighthood saw to it that I was freed, but I was still punished. I was suspended for a time and then assigned to Father Jacob Northrup, a duty no one else wanted. Two Knight Protectors had threatened to resign rather than undertake to risk their lives guarding a Freyan priest-a man most believed to be a traitor. As one of my Order was overheard to say about me, ‘They set a traitor to guard a traitor.’ ”

“Admit it, sir,” Stephano said, his voice burning with anger and resentment, “you were set free because of my mother!”

“No, Stephano,” said Sir Ander quietly. “At the time, the Countess de Marjolaine was herself walking on a precipice. Her enemies had arrayed themselves against her, all striving to bring about her downfall. She had all she could do to save herself and her son…”

Seeing Stephano glower darkly, the knight did not finish his sentence. “But you don’t want to hear her trials, do you?”

“No, sir, I do not,” said Stephano coldly.

Sir Ander was silent a moment, then he said quietly, “The Duke de Bourlet was your family’s patron. Not only that, the duke was a good friend to your father. Your father fought and died for his friend, Stephano. Julian de Guichen did not die for the duke’s cause.”

Stephano set his jaw and kept grimly silent.

Sir Ander gave a sad smile. “When I wrote to tell Julian I was considering siding with the rebels, he wrote back to urge me to remain loyal. Not loyal to a cruel and avaricious king. Loyal to Rosia, the country he loved.”

How many times Stephano had heard his father say almost those exact words! Julian de Guichen had said them to his own son when he had tried to deter Stephano from joining in the fighting. The hot-headed fifteen-year-old had refused to understand his father. Or rather, Stephano had refused to want to understand. Julian had said the same during his trial for treason. Facing a cruel and painful death, Julian de Guichen had yet proudly and steadfastly proclaimed his love and loyalty for his country. Stephano had never forgotten. His father’s loyalty to Rosia was his son’s loyalty, the reason he had accepted the commission into the Dragon Brigade.

Stephano had wept then and he felt the bitter tears sting his eyes now. He blinked rapidly and walked on.

“I am glad to see the dragon pistol has proven useful to you,” said Sir Ander, glad to change the subject.

“The pistol has never failed me, sir,” said Stephano. He added grudgingly, “I fear I never thanked you properly for it. And for the letters and the advice you have given me over the years.”

“As to the pistol, you used it to save my life back there,” said Sir Ander. “I guess that is thanks enough.” He paused, then said, “I am glad to finally meet you at last, Stephano. Julian would have been very proud of you.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Stephano. “I am glad to meet you, as well.”

Politeness dictated he say that. He wondered if he meant it. He could not forgive, but perhaps he could now begin to understand.

They reached the yacht without incident to find Master Albert still manning the swivel gun.

“How is Father Jacob?” Sir Ander called.

“I just checked on him, sir,” Albert called back. “He is much improved.” He cupped his hand around his mouth, and added quietly, “And, just between us, sirs, in a foul mood.”

Brother Barnaby stared in shocked and horrified amazement at the damage to the yacht. He helped the exhausted Brother Paul through the wreckage and hastened inside to tend to Father Jacob, who could be heard demanding loudly to know where the monk had been all this time.

“I must remain with my friends,” said Sir Ander, halting in front of the Retribution.

“And I must go to my friends,” said Stephano.

The Cloud Hopper was now sailing into the docks, along with the ravaged cutter, so badly damaged the ship was barely able to remain afloat.

The two men saluted each other. Stephano walked down the hill toward the docks, emotions churning.

Sir Ander watched his godson walk, taking those long, impatient strides that were exactly like his father’s. Not waiting for life to come to him, but striding forth eagerly to seek it. Sir Ander touched Cecile’s letters, secreted in his pocket, and renewed to her a sacred promise. Then, bracing himself for the worst, he hurried to the yacht to deal with Father Jacob.

The priest was up and moving about, much to the consternation of Brother Barnaby, who was trying to persuade Father Jacob to lie down and rest. Instead he was bent over a washbowl filled with water, cleansing the bloodstains from his face.

Brother Barnaby stood near him. “Father, you are weak-”

“This from a man who sticks leeches on people!” Father Jacob said irritably. “Stop hovering! Tend to yourself.”

“I have suffered only minor injuries, Father,” said Brother Barnaby. “And I have seen to them already.”

“Then help Brother Paul. He needs you. I do not. God has already ministered to me.”

Brother Barnaby cast Sir Ander a long-suffering glance as the knight entered. Sir Ander gave a rueful smile and shrugged. Brother Barnaby shook his head, then went to Brother Paul, who lay stretched out on the knight’s bed.

Father Jacob straightened and turned around. His face was dripping wet, his eyes squinched shut against the water. He groped about for a towel. Sir Ander brought over the towel and gave it to the priest.

“You should be in bed,” said Sir Ander.

“Nonsense,” said Father Jacob. “I’m fine now that I’m not being bombarded with…”

He paused, glanced at Brother Paul, and said abruptly, “I’m fine.”

Father Jacob dried his face and then threw the towel aside and said briskly, “I want you to take a look at the damage to the Retribution. Master Albert tells me the yacht is not air worthy. That is not acceptable.”

Sir Ander patiently pointed. “Did you happen to see the gigantic hole in the front?”

Father Jacob waved the hole away as unimportant. “Albert also tells me that the damaged naval cutter has limped into the docks. That presents a problem. I can’t have sailors running around Rosia telling tales about demons riding giant bats. I will have to place them under Seal. I will need to speak to the dragon brothers, as well-”

“Father, I can deal with the dragons and the yacht and the navy. You should rest-”

Father Jacob looked pointedly at the jagged, bloody gash on Sir Ander’s head and said testily, “Look in a mirror. You are in worse shape than I am.”

Sir Ander glared at the priest.

“I know,” Father Jacob said, suddenly grinning, “I’m a pain in the ass. Where is Master Albert?”

“Outside, but-”

Father Jacob cast a significant look at Brother Paul and said, “Walk with me.”

Sir Ander accompanied the priest outside. Father Jacob stood for long moments gazing gloomily at the charred patch of ground in front of the yacht and the clumps of greasy ash that was all that was left of their attackers.

“Dragon fire does not leave many clues.” Father Jacob said bitterly.

“Nor does holy fire,” Sir Ander pointed out. “You were the one who called down God’s wrath and incinerated them.”

“I was attempting to exorcise them, not kill them,” said Father Jacob. “As you see, that did not work.”

Sir Ander’s head throbbed, his stomach heaved from the horrible smell of burnt flesh and hair. He shut his eyes against the bright sunlight and thought back to the horrific attack and how they had both been within moments of death or worse-capture and torment. And now Father Jacob was saying he had been trying to exorcise evil spirits! Sir Ander could only stand and marvel.

Father Jacob was now yelling up at Albert, who was crawling over the roof of the yacht.

“How bad is the damage, Master Albert?”

Albert looked down from the roof. “The control conduits on the both sides of the yacht have been reduced to cinders. Both of the primary lift tanks are intact, but there is no way of setting buoyancy levels or maintaining the ship’s trim. There is impact damage all across the hull, but the main structure should hold together as long as you don’t get caught in a storm.”

“And both our wyverns are dead,” Sir Ander added.

“Ah, yes, poor Brother Barnaby,” said Father Jacob somberly. “He told me the beasts died trying to save him. Remarkable. I’ve never known wyverns to show such courage and loyalty. I promised him that we will give their remains a proper burial. What was I saying? Oh, yes.” He turned back to Albert. “How soon can we get to work?”

“On what, Father?”

“On repairing the Retribution, of course?”

Albert had to struggle to keep a straight face. “You need a shipyard to handle extensive repairs like this, Father!”

“Damn and blast it, man, I must return to the Arcanum at once!” exclaimed Father Jacob in loud and angry frustration. “The matter is vital! I won’t be marooned-”

Father Jacob stopped suddenly and turned to look in the direction of the docks. Sir Ander thought he was looking at the cutter, perhaps contemplating the meeting he would have with the captain. He was therefore surprised when Father Jacob said suddenly, “The Trundlers.”

“What about them?”

“Master Albert, could the Retribution be towed?”

“A short distance, maybe,” said Albert. “Not as far as to the Arcanum.”

“I assume you have shipyards in Westfirth. That city is not far.”

“You could probably make it to Westfirth, yes, Father.”

“We will ask the Trundlers if they can tow us,” said Father Jacob.

“What about the Seal of the Arcanum?”

“I know Trundlers,” said Father Jacob with confidence. “They will keep quiet about this if I ask them.”

Sir Ander smiled. “As it happens, my godson is aboard that houseboat.”

“Your godson?” Father Jacob was amazed. “Captain de Guichen? Son of the Countess de Marjolaine? He’s here?”

“He is not only here, he saved my life,” said Sir Ander with quiet pride.

“Then I am deeply indebted to him,” said Father Jacob warmly. “But why is the son of a countess sailing the Breath in a Trundler houseboat?”

“You can ask him yourself,” said Sir Ander, who had caught sight of someone running up the hill. “If I am not mistaken, that is Stephano coming this way.”

Father Jacob touched Sir Ander’s arm, drew him close. “A quick word while we are alone, my friend. The demons asked both Brother Barnaby and Brother Paul about books.”

“Books?” Sir Ander was troubled. “What books?”

“Undoubtedly the books mentioned in the Prince-abbot’s journal.”

“And that is why the demons didn’t kill them,” said Sir Ander. “I was wondering. So the fiends can talk. What did they say?”

“Brother Barnaby reported all he heard was a buzzing in his head repeating the words, ‘books, the books’ over and over. Brother Paul told me the same. I believe them. I heard it myself.”

Sir Ander was troubled. “But this doesn’t make sense, Father. Brother Barnaby wasn’t with us when we found the books of Saint Dennis. He doesn’t know about them. Nor does Brother Paul.”

“And we must keep it that way. No one must know about what we found, Ander. I will not place such a burden on Brother Barnaby or anyone else, including your godson.”

“Whether they know or not, we’re all still in danger,” said Sir Ander. “And we will bring that danger down on everyone who comes into contact with us.”

“I will find a way to tell your godson as much of the truth as I can,” said Father Jacob. “Give him the choice of aiding us or not.”

“You know perfectly well he will.”

“Of course, I do,” said Father Jacob. “He’s your godson.”

Stephano had run all the way up the hill and was gasping for air by the time he arrived. Sir Ander made introductions, giving Stephano time to catch his breath.

“Lord Captain Stephano de Guichen, this is Father Jacob Northrup. ..”

“I need… a healer,” Stephano spoke between gasps, “A friend. .. a young woman… gravely ill…”

“Sir Ander, send Brother Barnaby to me,” said Father Jacob at once. “He and I will tend to this young woman. You stay with the yacht and Brother Paul.”

He cast Sir Ander an expressive glance, reminding him about their precious cargo, the books of Saint Dennis, hidden in the secret compartment. Sir Ander nodded in understanding. He lingered to speak a few words to Stephano, expressing his confidence in Brother Barnaby and his hope that the young woman would fully recover, then returned to the yacht, where he found Brother Paul saying his farewell.

“I pleaded with Brother Paul to remain here,” said Brother Barnaby. “But he insists on returning to his own dwelling.”

“I need to be alone with my God,” said Brother Paul.

The monk had his cowl drawn over his head, his face hidden in the shadows. Sir Ander recalled the monk saying he suffered from headaches without his tinted glasses and those had been lost in the fight with the demons. Sir Ander also recalled that Brother Paul was a hermit, who had chosen to live in this desolate place by himself. Still, he couldn’t be allowed to depart. He had seen too much.

“I think you should stay here, Brother,” Sir Ander said gently. “Father Jacob will want to speak with you again.”

The hooded head turned toward him. Brother Paul’s pale face was a glimmer of white in the shadows.

“Then I will remain, of course,” he said with ready compliance.

Sir Ander told Brother Barnaby he was needed at the Trundler houseboat. Barnaby went to fetch his medicines. Master Albert was busy working on the yacht, attempting to make it ready for towing. Sir Ander went inside the yacht to keep an eye on their “guest.” He found Brother Paul on his knees, praying.

Sir Ander sat down, lowered his aching head into his hands, and wondered if a dram of brandy would help or make the pain worse. He was tired enough already. The brandy would only put him to sleep and he had to stay awake to keep an eye on Brother Paul. Feeling fatigue start to overwhelm him, Sir Ander took out pen and paper and occupied himself in writing a letter.

Countess Cecile de Marjolaine,

My Dearest Friend,

I write to tell you that I have finally had the very great pleasure of meeting your son…