Rodrigo ended a one-sided conversation with Gythe and glanced at Miri, who was still at the helm, looking with distress at her sister.

“How is she?” Miri asked worriedly.

Rodrigo shook his head.

Stephano watched the two of them and groaned inwardly. “What’s wrong now?”

“Gythe,” said Rodrigo.

Stephano glanced back at her. She was smiling, relaxed, and happy. Seeing Stephano looking at her, she grinned at him and laughed like a child and waved.

“Oh, no!” said Stephano softly. “Not now.”

“I’m afraid so,” said Rodrigo. “She’s having one of her spells. As bad as I’ve ever seen her.”

“Miri was hoping she was better.” Stephano ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “What is she doing?”

“She thinks she’s a child again, steering her parents’ boat. She’s laughing and giggling, singing old nursery rhymes. . . .”

“Can you help her?” Stephano asked.

Rodrigo shrugged. “In a way, she’s helping herself. She’s so terrified she’s gone into hiding, so to speak. She’s gone back to being a little girl.”

Rodrigo looked out at the strange battle going on between the cutter and the bats—a battle the Cloud Hopper would soon unwillingly join—and he shook his head. “I can’t say that I blame her. I wish I had somewhere to hide.”

“But the protective magic,” said Stephano urgently. “It only works if she’s singing . . .”

“Not necessarily. It works better if she’s singing, but it will work. I don’t know what to tell you,” Rodrigo added, with a helpless shrug. “She may come out of this state. She may not. Perhaps if Miri talked to her . . .”

Miri had been listening to their conversation. She shook her head. “I’ve tried before. When she’s like this, she doesn’t even know who I am.”

Stephano swore softly. The rocky shoreline loomed ever closer. The cathedral had sustained serious damage; the walls were burned and charred and in some places completely breached. The beautiful stained glass windows had been broken out. He could smell the acrid stench of the smoke from the still smoldering rubble and another smell more horrible, like burning flesh.

“Bagpipes are ready when you are, sir!” Dag announced, arranging the chanter and the drone over his shoulder and placing the blowpipe in his mouth.

“You’re really doing this,” said Miri gloomily. “Flying off and leaving us.”

“I’m not leaving you. Not exactly,” said Stephano, putting on his leather. “I think it’s our best chance. Stay with Gythe. Try to help her.”

Rodrigo gave a nod and shook his head at the same time and went back to talk with Miri, who was standing at the helm, watching over Gythe, who thought she was a child steering her parents’ boat.

“Go ahead, Dag,” said Stephano.

Dag drew in a deep breath and blew into the pipe, filling the bag with air. He began to “skirl,” referring to the high, shrill, wailing tone made by the pipe known as the chanter. Soon the lively music of “Jolly Beggarman” sounded from the deck of the Cloud Hopper.

Dag knew the tune well, for Stephano often asked him to play it in the evening hours when the members of the Cadre would sit on the deck of the houseboat on a fine summer’s evening or were snug around the fire in Stephano’s house on a winter’s night. The moment the music of the bagpipes started, an irate yowl sounded from down below emanating from the storage closet. Doctor Ellington took strong exception to bagpipe music.

The march made Stephano’s blood tingle, bringing with it a flood of memories. He watched the dragon, who was still flying above the cutter, waiting for him to react.

Dragons are passionately fond of music. A dragon’s greatest sorrow is the inability to make music, the one skill in which dragons concede humans are superior. The wealthy dragon families often hired human musicians, bringing them to live in their immense castles, where they were treated like royalty.

Stephano hoped the dragon would be able to hear the sound of the pipes over the noise of battle. Dragons have excellent hearing, far better than humans, and they especially love the sound of the bagpipes. Unfortunately, the demon bat riders also had very good hearing, apparently, and perhaps they did not like the sound of the pipes. At the first notes, the demons who had been conferring about whether or not to attack the Cloud Hopper made up their minds. Three bat riders began flying toward them. The dragon, so far, was oblivious.

Dag cast a sharp glance at Stephano, requesting permission to stop playing and man the guns.

“Just a few more bars,” Stephano urged.

Dag continued to play, and at last the dragon heard the music. Hovering in midair, he turned his head, searching for the source of the sound. Stephano had no way of knowing whether this dragon had ever been part of the Brigade, but all dragons knew the march, which was ages old, going back to the days when noble dragon families had signed the first nonaggression treaty with the human king of Rosia.

The dragon turned his head in the direction of the houseboat. Stephano waved his arms. The dragon dipped his wings in a signal of acknowledgment used by the Brigade and altered course. The dragon flew toward them.

“All right, Dag! You can stop now,” Stephano shouted over the music. “He’s seen us!”

Dag took time to hastily repack his precious pipes and stow them in the compartment beneath the helm, then went to man one of the swivel guns. Stephano was already readying the other. He made certain the powder charge was set, his slow-burning match smoldering in its bucket, one chamber loaded, more ready to load. Rodrigo and Miri were talking earnestly, both of them looking with worried concern at Gythe, who had been singing a song to the music of the pipes.

“We’re too close to shore, Rigo,” Miri was saying, “I have to stay at the helm. We’ll end up on the rocks if I don’t. Dag has to man the guns. You’ll have to help Gythe. I’m worried sick. She’s hasn’t been as bad as this in long time!”

Rodrigo patted Miri’s shoulder, said something meaningless and soothing, and went to be with Gythe, who greeted him with an eerie laugh. Rodrigo started talking to her in cheerful tones and even joined in her singing.

Stephano felt helpless—again. The three enormous bats with their demonic riders were closing rapidly on the Cloud Hopper. Stephano had never known any creature to fly so fast. The bats were little more than a black blur. A sleek young dragon might have given them a race, but this elder dragon with his graying mane, heavy girth, and lumbering flight could not hope to reach the Cloud Hopper before the boat came under attack. Stephano could see that the fire in the old soldier’s eyes still burned bright, however. Stephano hoped the same would prove true of the fire in the dragon’s belly.

As the bats and their demon riders drew near, Dag muttered a prayer. Miri shivered, but she remained at her post, her hands moving with Gythe’s over the sigils on the helm. Rodrigo stared at the bats intently, then swiftly shifted his position so that he blocked Gythe’s view.

As Dag had said, each bat was the size of a “bloody horse,” with a wingspan of about forty feet, large pointed ears, and small, glistening eyes set on either side of its snout. The bat’s gaping mouth had four long, curving fangs in front used for ripping apart its prey. The body was covered with rusty black fur. Clawed feet thrust out from the gray-black membrane that spread wide between gigantic “arms,” allowing the bat to fly. Large hooks were visible on the upper part of the wings.

The gigantic bats were hideous to look at, but at least they appeared to be mortal, made of flesh and blood. He wondered uneasily if the same could be said of the demon riders.

Stephano believed in God, a belief he had been taught as a child, a belief he had abandoned in anger when he was a youth. How could he have faith in a God who had allowed his father to die such a terrible death? Stephano remembered that dark time in his life. He had finally struggled through it to find his faith again, with the help of Lady Cam, his dragon.

Being very private, dragons rarely discuss their beliefs with humans. Lady Cam and Stephano had been unusually close; she had often talked to him of her God, a God who watched lovingly over dragonkind, who hoped they would live courageous, noble lives; a God who grieved when they fell short, as all mortals do, a God who understood.

Stephano could believe in such a God; though the relationship between him and God was still a bit rocky. He did not believe in the God of the Church of the Breath. That God, according to the grand bishop, had consigned Julian de Guichen to eternal torment in Hell.

A Hell populated by creatures such as these....

Stephano banished that thought from his head. Lord Captain Stephan de Guichen had fought many enemies in his lifetime. He’d known fear as he rode into battle and had found the strength and courage to overcome it. But he had never before been confronted with an enemy that had sprung from an artist’s rendition of the torments of the Damned, and he felt his gut twist and a shiver crawl up his spine.

The three demon riders were built like humans, though they were extremely thin. They rode the bats with ease, sitting forward of the wings, their legs straddling the furry bodies. The demons’ skin was blood-red in color, with black spikes rising along their arms and shoulders. They wore what appeared to be some sort of leather armor. Their faces were red and wizened. Their mouths were thin, dark slits. Gaping holes formed the nostrils. What was most horrible was that the faces were expressionless, impassive, uncaring. Only their eyes were alive and that life was hideous. The eyes glowed orange, as though lit from within by Hell’s fire.

Stephano grabbed the portfire and held it ready. He was filled with loathing and horror, and he fought an impulse to fire before the bats were in range and waste a shot. Glancing around, he saw his feelings reflected on the faces of his friends. Miri was deliberately not looking at the creatures. She was concentrating on flying, sometimes casting a glance of loving concern at her sister. He saw her hands shaking.

Rodrigo’s face was pale. He sat quite still and rigid, staring at the bats in disbelief. He was still mindful of Gythe, however, keeping one arm around her. Gythe sang softly to herself with childlike abandon. Dag, manning the other swivel gun, stared straight at the bats, his face stern and grim, his jaw clenched, his brows drawn together in a frown of concentration. Dag was a deeply religious man. Did he believe he was about to fire on fiends sent from Hell? If so, did he think this fight was hopeless?

Dag looked over. “Hold steady, sir!”

Stephano nodded. The dragon was drawing near the Cloud Hopper, but he would not reach the boat ahead of the bats. Stephano held the smoldering match poised over the vent.

“Wait,” he counseled himself softly, “Wait just one moment more . . .”

The demons held in their hands what Stephano first thought were large blowguns, such has he and Rodrigo had made as children and used to fire darts in an effort to bring down rabbits (until Rodrigo accidentally fired a dart at Stephano, which brought down the wrath of Benoit). As he watched, one of the demons lifted the weapon to his shoulder. It was not a blow dart. It appeared to be some sort of handheld cannon. Balancing with ease on the bat, holding on with his thighs, the demon aimed the cannon at the Cloud Hopper’s helm.

“Take cover!” Stephano yelled, but he ignored his own command.

A ball of green fire erupted from the cannon. Time seemed to slow. Stephano could hear Dag yelling at Miri to duck and Rodrigo urging Gythe to sing the song she had sung the other night, the song of her magic. He could hear Gythe’s wild laughter.

Green fire burst on the helm and blue light flared, half-blinding Stephano. He saw for one dazzling moment the sigils and constructs, layer upon layer, of the protective spells Gythe had cast on, around, and over the boat. She had wrapped Miri and the helm in a kind of cocoon of spun blue magic. The green fire struck the blue glowing sigils and constructs of the outer threads of magic. Wherever the green flames touched, they began to devour the magic. It was like watching Gythe’s spells being eaten away by green fiery acid. The green flames died swiftly, however, leaving the protection spells damaged, but intact.

Gythe screamed. Stephano turned to see Rodrigo holding her in his arms. She was writhing in pain, moaning and crying out.

“Gythe! What’s wrong?” Miri cried, unable to leave the sails. “Rigo, what happened to her?”

Rodrigo could only shake his head. “I don’t know!” he said helplessly.

Stephano had no time to help either Gythe or Rodrigo, for Dag was telling him, “Make ready, sir! Here they come!”

Stephano tore his gaze from Gythe and tried to sight in his gun on the bats that were about thirty feet away and closing. He was having trouble finding a target. Reddish smoke flowed from the demonic riders, as though their flesh were on fire, wrapping them in a hellish fog and making it difficult for him to see.

Stephano aimed the swivel gun where he’d last spotted the bats and touched the portfire to the vent. The gun banged. Grapeshot flew. Dag’s swivel gun went off a second or two later. Stephano could not see anything through the fog, but he heard a shrill screech, as if one of the bats had been hit. Picking up one the preloaded chambers, Stephano rammed it into the breech.

“Stephano!” Miri was pleading. “Go to Gythe!”

With Miri’s attention on Gythe and not on the airscrews, the strong winds left over from the wizard storm were pushing the Cloud Hopper closer and closer to the heart of the battle.

“Take over firing!” Stephano yelled to Dag, who nodded as he reloaded his own gun.

Stephano looked about for the dragon, but had lost him in the reddish smoke. He could not see the demons either, but apparently the demons could see them because a wave of green fire washed over the boat. The Cloud Hopper rocked. Blue sparks burst; sigils and constructs seemed to wither and melt away. This time, Stephano could feel the heat of the blast.

Gythe screamed again and doubled over. Her fists clenched in pain. She shuddered and Rodrigo clasped her tightly. He seemed to be holding her together.

Stephano knelt beside her. “Is she wounded? Where? I don’t see any blood . . .”

“The demon magic,” said Rodrigo. His face was pale and strained and covered with a sheen of sweat. “The green fire is destroying, layer by layer, Gythe’s protection spells. It’s also destroying her for some reason. Oh, and by the way,” he added, “your dragon friend is about to roast us!”

The dragon flew out of the reddish smoke, shredding it with his wings. Only two demons remained; Stephano must have hit one. The dragon’s gaze was fixed on the demons and their bats. His mouth opened. He was sucking in a deep breath, ready to breathe a blast of fire that would incinerate everything it touched: demons, bats, and the Cloud Hopper.

“No!” Stephano bellowed, waving his arms in a signal that meant to break off the attack. “Stop!”

The dragon heard the shout and looked down at the boat which lay beneath him.

“Use the Hawk Attack!” Stephano yelled and held up both hands, fingers crooked, like claws.

The dragon understood. He shifted his body in midair, and—claws extended—dove like a stooping hawk. He struck one of the bats before it could escape, sinking his claws into its back. The bat made a horrible screeching sound then went limp. The dragon shook it off. The demon rider, straddling the neck, leaped from the falling bat. The rider made a desperate attempt to seize hold of the dragon’s claw. The demon missed and fell into the Breath, vanishing silently, without a scream.

The dragon pulled up out of his dive and soared over the Cloud Hopper. Dag fired his gun and then ran over to fire Stephano’s at the surviving bat. The demon rider apparently decided he didn’t like the odds, for he turned his bat and fled, heading back to join his fellows, still attacking the cutter.

Stephano motioned for the dragon to come up underneath the Cloud Hopper. As the dragon was circling around, Stephano bent down to examine Gythe. She was shivering in Rodrigo’s arms, her head buried on his breast. Her body was drenched in sweat. She shuddered and moaned, gripping hold of Rodrigo tightly.

“Dag!” Miri yelled. “Take over. Keep the helm just as I have it.”

Dag grabbed hold of the lines. Miri ran to her sister, knelt beside her, and spoke her name. Gythe lifted a tear-streaked face and, making a low, animal sound in her throat, she flung her arms around Miri’s neck and clung to her.

“I’ll take her below,” Miri said.

She put her arm around her sister’s waist and helped her to her feet. Gythe kept her face hidden in Miri’s shoulder. Stephano held the hatch open for them as Miri helped Gythe slowly descend the stairs. He could hear Doctor Ellington, locked in the storage closet, howling dismally.

For a moment, there was a lull in the battle. The bats were clustered around the cutter. They would be back, and next time they would come in greater numbers. Dag yelled for Rodrigo to come look at the helm. Rodrigo held his hand above the shining brass panel. His lips moved in what Stephano assumed was some sort of incantation.

“How’s Gythe?” Dag asked, his face creased with worry.

Stephano shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s wrong with her.”

Rodrigo stood up. He looked very grim. “I know what’s wrong with her. The green fire.”

Stephano stared at him in perplexity. “But it didn’t hit her. Did it?”

“The green fire wiped out two layers of Gythe’s protection magic above the helm and let some of the green fire seep through. Here”—he pointed at places on the brass panel—“and here and here. Wherever the green fire struck, the sigils and constructs are gone.”

“Like dragon fire,” said Stephano. “Dragon fire hits the sigils and weakens them until they eventually break down.”

“I did not say ‘break,’ did I?” Rodrigo returned testily. “I did not say ‘weaken.’ I said ‘gone.’ Wiped out. Vanished. Obliterated. As if they had never been,” he added with biting emphasis.

“That’s not possible,” said Stephano. “Even I know that much. The magic in a sigil inscribed in a block of stone might fade, but the sigil will always be there.”

“Except when it isn’t,” said Rodrigo, gesturing to the brass. “The magic is gone. And not only is the demon fire destroying her magic, the fire is hurting Gythe through her magic.”

“But it’s not hurting you.”

“I’m not a savant. With me, the magic is in my brain. With Gythe, the magic is a part of her, like her skin and her blood . . .”

Stephano ran his hand through his hair that was wet with sweat.

“You’ll have to put the sigils back,” he said. “How long will that take?”

Rodrigo raised his eyebrows. “Let’s see, I would be required to start as an apprentice to a shipwright crafter. That would take me about two years . . .”

“Be serious!” Stephano snapped.

“I am serious!” Rodrigo snapped back. “The sigils that are gone are wiped clean! I don’t have the skill to lay down new ones. Neither can Miri. Only a crafter who is trained in this sort of magic can replace them. My dear friend, you don’t seem to understand—”

“You’re damn right I don’t understand!” Stephano shouted angrily. “Giant bats and demonic green fire disabling the helm and hurting Gythe and there’s nothing anyone can do!”

He realized he was losing control and stopped to draw in a deep breath. He said more calmly, “Dag, can you and Miri fly this damn boat?”

“I can steer, but it’s the magic from the helm that is keeping us afloat. If the fiends wipe that out . . .” Dag shook his head.

“I might be able to bridge the gaps,” said Rodrigo.

Stephano assessed the situation. The Cloud Hopper was adrift, being drawn toward the naval cutter that was still bravely fighting the swarm of demons. Two cannons remained in operation out of fourteen. The number of bats and riders attacking had decreased considerably, but those remaining were bombarding the ship with green fire. The Cloud Hopper, caught up in a magical tide, was being swept along at a rapid rate and the cutter was now almost within hailing distance; Stephano could see the deck without need of his spyglass. The captain and another officer were too busy trying to save their ship to pay them much heed. The Cloud Hopper was, after all, only a Trundler houseboat. Still, he must have heard them firing on the bats. Stephano turned his gaze toward the abbey, which was also under attack. He could see bats darting about the walls.

Stephano needed to talk to the captain. He needed to find out what was happening at the abbey. He needed to protect his people. And he couldn’t do any of that where he was. He made up his mind.

“Dag, you’re in command while I’m gone.”

Dag shook his head. “No, sir.”

“Dag, you’re in command,” said Stephano harshly, his voice grating. He turned his back, pretending he didn’t hear Dag’s protest, and crossed the deck to the forecastle. Rodrigo went with him.

“Dag in command,” said Rodrigo, shaking his head. “The man who swore he’d never give an order again.”

“I know.” Stephano was having second thoughts. “Maybe I shouldn’t leave.”

“This is why you formed the Cadre, my friend,” said Rodrigo, putting his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Each of us has a job to do. We’ll do ours. You do yours. Dag will come through. He always does.”

“I know. Fix the helm, will you?”

Rodrigo nodded. Stephano motioned for the dragon to fly closer, come up under the ship. The dragon’s head lifted up over the hull.

“Lord Captain de Guichen!” the dragon exclaimed with a gasp.

Stephano looked more closely at the dragon. “Droal, isn’t it? Master of Flight Droalfrig.”

“Yes, sir!” The dragon was immensely pleased, though he was now eyeing the small houseboat in some confusion. “Begging your pardon, sir, but what are you doing on board a Trundler—”

“I’ll explain later!” Stephano cried. “Come closer!”

The dragon floated upward, taking care not to hit the boat’s keel with his wing. Stephano reached over the rail, caught hold of the very last spike on the dragon’s long neck and, hoping he still remembered the knack of boarding dragons and trying not to think of what would happen to him if he didn’t, he took firm hold.

“Ready when you are!” he cried.

The dragon, Droal, eased away from the boat, taking Stephano, hanging onto the spike, with him.

“Mind your tail!” Stephano yelled.

Sometimes dragons misjudged the distance from a ship and would accidentally smack the hull as they flew off.

Droal, both proud and extremely nervous at the honor of carrying on his back the famous Lord Captain of the Dragon Brigade, was so terrified of doing anything wrong that he was practically flying with his tail between his legs.

“We’re clear,” Stephano called urgently, for they were rapidly losing altitude. “You can relax!”

Droal flapped his wings, rising into the air, and Stephano settled himself on the dragon’s back. Ordinarily he would have been sitting in one of the specially designed saddles made for dragon riders. All dragon riders are taught to fly bareback first before they are given saddles. Feeling the movement of the dragon’s muscles provides a rider with a better knowledge of the art of dragon flight. And riders never knew when they might encounter an emergency situation when, like now, they might be forced to fly without benefit of a saddle.

Stephano kept hold of the dragon’s spike and flung one leg over the neck, then settled himself firmly on the broad back at the start of the curve of the spine. He gripped the dragon’s scales with his knees.

“Orders, sir?” Droalfrig asked.

“Fly me close to the cutter. I need to talk to the captain.”

“Captain won’t like it, sir. I started a fire,” said Droal unhappily. “Accident. Never flown combat.”

“We won’t stay long,” said Stephano. “I only need a few words.”

The dragon veered around and began to fly toward the cutter. Stephano looked down on the Cloud Hopper. Miri had come back on deck. She saw him and waved her hand, then she hurried over to relieve Dag at the helm. He went back to manning the swivel guns. Rigo looked up at Stephano and gave a jaunty salute.

“They’ll be fine,” said Stephano to himself. “Rigo’s right. We each have a job to do and this is mine.”

As the dragon veered around, the wind struck Stephano full in the face, whipping his hair, stinging his eyes. He buttoned up the flight jacket, hunched his shoulders, and tried to keep from grinning like a kid on Yule. After five years with his feet on the ground, he was flying again.

He knew now how much he missed it: the freedom, the exhilaration. Dear God, how he had missed it!

As it was, he was not particularly comfortable. His flight coat protected him from the wind, but he was not wearing a helm with the protective eyescreen, and his eyes were starting to water from the wind in his face. And many years had gone by since he’d flown bareback. He hadn’t been on the dragon ten minutes and already his posterior was aching.

The bats and their riders swarmed the cutter, hitting it with green fire. Between the red smoke flowing from the demons and the smoke rising from the fires on board the cutter, it was difficult to see anything clearly. Stephano wondered if the demons had caught sight of him and the dragon.

“What can you tell me about these giant bats and their riders?” Stephano bent forward to shout in the dragon’s ear.

“I’m two hundred years old, Captain,” said Droal. “Never seen the like.”

“Ever heard any stories about demons?”

“Just from humans, sir.” Droalfrig looked faintly disdainful. “Dragons don’t believe in such things.”

Their conversation was interrupted by an ear-piercing whistle. Three of the demons immediately broke off their attack on the ship and turned to fly toward Droal.

They’re acting on orders, Stephano realized, which means they have a commander. He searched among the demons, hoping to find out which was in charge. Commanders typically wore some sort of insignia or badge that distinguished them as officers, something that could be easily seen by their troops during battle.

Stephano searched among the group of demons that were attacking the cutter, looking for the leader and he finally spotted him—a demon flying over the cutter, directing the battle from above. The fiend looked like all the others, but as he and his bat made a sweeping turn, Stephano saw the demon’s armor was emblazoned with intertwining knot work set in a triangle. The insignia glowed red, probably so that it was visible through the reddish clouds that trailed from the demons.

“Orders, sir?” Droal yelled. “Claw or fire?”

Stephano thought this through swiftly. The bats were flying too fast for the lumbering dragon to attempt to outflank them or circle around to attack from the rear. From what he had observed of their green-fire cannons, the demons had to come within musket range of the target. Whereas a dragon in good physical condition could blast the demons with his fiery breath from a much greater distance.

All three of the demons carried the handheld cannons. Stephano had seen the damage the demon fire inflicted on the Cloud Hopper’s magic. He no idea what the green fire might do if it struck the dragon or himself and he wasn’t about to chance it. He noted the position of the cutter to make certain Droal was not likely to accidentally hit it again and calculated the direction of the wind, not wanting the dragon’s flaming breath to blow back and engulf him, then gave the order.

“Fry them, Flight Master!”

The demons were flying nearer and nearer, lifting the cannons to their shoulders and taking aim. Apparently, they had never fought a dragon before. They were in for a shock.

Droal sucked in an immense breath. Stephano could feel the dragon’s rib cage expand beneath his legs. Droal exhaled. Orange-red fire washed over two of the demons, who blazed up like torches. The bats screeched in agony as they spiraled down into the Breath, trailing smoke, taking their hapless riders with them.

“They died,” said Stephano, watching the smoldering corpses trail downward until they vanished.

“Burnt to a crisp, sir,” said Droal in satisfaction.

“They can be killed,” said Stephano.

He was suddenly vastly relieved. He had been harboring the fear that these fiends were immortal. The fact that these demons could be killed was comforting, although, Stephano had to concede, the knowledge that these demons were mortal didn’t really tell him anything about them. He still had no idea who they were or what they wanted or where they came from.

He heard again the demonic commander’s piercing whistle and saw the third bat break off the attack and fall back. Stephano was certain now that the demon wearing the knot work insignia was the source of that piercing whistle. He kept an eye on this demon and ordered Droal to fly over to the cutter.

“Come in straight,” Stephano told the dragon. “Keep the ship at eye level.”

The name of the ship was painted on the stern: HMS Suspicion. Stephano had not heard of it. He did not know its captain, who was glaring balefully at the dragon, waving him off and shouting obscenities. Then the captain noticed Stephano mounted on the dragon’s back and stared in astonishment.

Stephano raised himself up on the dragon, so that he could be seen and heard.

“I am Lord Captain Stephano de Guichen of His Majesty’s Dragon Brigade. What is your status, sir? Can you still fight?”

The captain continued to stare, dumbstruck, at Stephano, all sorts of questions undoubtedly running through his mind. Stephano didn’t have time to explain. He pointed at the Cloud Hopper, sailing toward the cutter. Rigo must have patched the helm because Miri had steered the little boat into position some twenty feet above the cutter.

The captain saw and finally understood. His first reply was cut short by a blast from his sole remaining cannon. Smoke drifted over the deck.

“What’s wrong with your guns?” Stephano shouted.

The captain was grim. “When that damn green fire hits them, they blow up.”

“Can you hold on, sir?” Stephano asked.

The captain glanced about his ship. He was an older man, with grizzled hair and a jaw like a bulldog. Captaining a small cutter at his age meant he had been passed over for command of the larger, more prestigious ships. Either he’d made enemies at court or he was inept. Judging by the fact that he had fought a valiant and intelligent battle against an enemy that must have seemed to fly straight from a nightmare meant that he’d made enemies.

“Two guns are gone and the others are disabled!” the captain shouted. “But we can hold on, sir.”

Stephano saluted in acknowledgment and then told Droal to make a wide, swinging circle that would take him close to the demon commander. If Stephano had been riding Lady Cam, he would have been able to communicate the direction they should take through a shifting of his body in the saddle, the pressure of his legs. Droal had not been trained to carry a rider, so Stephano had to tell him where to fly. Droal was an old soldier, and he immediately understood Stephano’s plan. The loss of the demon commander would hopefully throw the rest of the troops into confusion.

The demon saw the dragon coming for him. The Cloud Hopper was in position and its swivel guns were firing, two at a time. Now that she could leave the helm, Miri must be assisting Dag. The swivel guns were finding their marks, dealing damage to the demons. Stephano heard the screeching of wounded bats and he saw one go tumbling into the Breath.

With his force reduced to about fourteen, plus a few bats that had lost their riders, the commander had to know he could not hope to battle a dragon who could wipe out at least six bats with one breath. In the commander’s place, Stephano would have pulled his troops from the cutter and flown off to join the assault on the abbey. Stephano planned his attack accordingly, telling Droal to fly into position to kill the commander and then attack the demons who might try to retreat back to the abbey.

The shrill whistle sounded. Stephano was close enough to the commander to see the details of the insignia on his armor. The bat hissed and screamed at the dragon. The demon turned his frozen, hideous, expressionless face to stare directly at Stephano. Reaching around to his back, the demon seized hold of an ax. The bat carrying the commander made a steep, sudden, darting dive, flying off so swiftly that by the time Droal breathed his fiery breath, the commander had flown safely out of range.

Droal rumbled angrily and was preparing to chase after him when Stephano called to the dragon to halt. The commander had not given his troops the order to fly back to the abbey. He had given them the order to make a last, desperate assault on the Cloud Hopper and the Suspicion.

Bats darted and swooped at the two vessels. Green flames spread over the ship and the little houseboat. The cutter fired its last working cannon. The ball whistled harmlessly past its target and fell into the Breath. The swivel guns on the Cloud Hopper continued their firing. Dag was managing to keep the bats and their riders at bay.

Catching sight of Stephano, Dag pointed to the preloaded chambers for the swivel guns and then held up one hand, fingers spread. Only five rounds left.

The demons flew low, firing their strange cannons. Green fire burst on the protection spells. They were still holding; the Cloud Hopper was not yet badly damaged. But each shot weakened them, weakened Gythe. Dag fired and missed. One round gone. Miri fired and winged a bat, causing it to veer off with a screech. Two rounds gone.

The demon commander left his troops to continue the assault. Flying his bat perilously close to the Cloud Hopper, the demon looked straight at Stephano. The orange eyes flamed in derision. He jumped off the bat and landed on the deck of the boat. Two more demons joined him, leaping from their bats and landing on the deck. They had abandoned the green-fire guns and carried axes.

They had no thought of retreat. They had boarded the Cloud Hopper with the intent to kill.

Two of the demons raised their axes and ran across the deck, one heading for Dag, the other for Miri. The commander ran for the hatch that led down into the hold. The demon would find Gythe and Rodrigo. Gythe helpless, Rigo unarmed, unable to defend her or himself. Dag was sighting in the swivel gun. Intent on his aim, he did not see the demons. Miri saw them and cried a warning.

Stephano swore savagely. He could order Droal to incinerate the demons, but the dragon could not do that without incinerating the Cloud Hopper.

Stephano drew his dragon pistol.

“Take me in close,” he ordered Droal.