39

 

In mathematical terms, one could say that the seventh sigil is God plus Man equals Magic. Without the seventh sigil, the equation is Magic divided by Man minus God equals destruction.

—Father Jacob Northrop, Notes from Prison

Rodrigo stood on the second story parapet that encircled the fortress just below the bridge that jutted out at a right angle from the side of the beehive-like fort. A single window on the bridge allowed the helmsman to view his surroundings and take readings. Rodrigo’s head was about level with the bottom of the window.

He examined the construct he and his crew of crafter masons had carved onto the stone wall.

The fortress already had protective magical constructs designed by Father Antonius, now of the Arcanum. Rodrigo and the masons had been impressed with the priest’s work. Even after all these years, though the magical constructs he had inscribed were weakened—as was happening to all magical constructs these days—they hadn’t been significantly damaged. Indeed, Rodrigo noted that they had survived better than most constructs were surviving these days.

The crafters were dubious about the new construct, which was extremely simple in design, consisting of a circle formed by the six basic sigils on top and their mirror images on the bottom.

The masons could not understand why they were told to carve the six sigils backward. Rodrigo had said this was modern thinking, all the rage at court instead of telling them the simple truth, that the constructs were contramagic. If he had told them that, he would have faced a revolt. Rodrigo said the seventh sigil was his own design, a magical theory he was testing.

The masons had sent their foreman to protest to Captain de Guichen that Rodrigo’s construct wouldn’t work and was, in their professional opinion, a waste of valuable time. Stephano had curtly told them they were to follow Rodrigo’s instructions without question or they would all find themselves reduced in rank and pay. He had been so grim and so formidable that the foreman had retired precipitously. There were no more complaints after that.

Rodrigo had been so busy trying to repair the damaged constructs in other critical parts of the fortress, such as those that operated the cannons, that he had not had the time to see if the seventh sigil construct was surviving the barrage of contramagic from the drumming. The cannons were now as good as they were ever going to be, which meant they might or might not fire.

Given the devastating effect the drumming was having on magical constructs throughout the fortress, Rodrigo was concerned about the amount of damage the seventh sigil had sustained. Stephano had ordered him to activate it, on the chance the fortress might come under attack.

“I don’t think that will happen,” Stephano had said soothingly, seeing Rodrigo go quite pale. “The dragons will keep the Bottom Dwellers occupied; they’ll be fighting for their lives. But since you added the construct in order to protect the bridge, you might check to see if it works.”

Rodrigo frowned at the construct carved in the wall. Not being able to work the magic with his mind like a savant, he would have to touch the sigil to activate it. He had told the crafters to carve the uppermost sigil in the circle close to the parapet, so that all he had to do was lean over the low wall and put his hand on that sigil.

He regarded the wet wall with distaste, then heaved a sigh and braced himself, and was about to do his part for king and country by sacrificing his last clean shirt, when he was joined by Master Tutillo, lugging a tarp.

“I thought you could use this, sir.”

“Bless you, lad! You know what I need before I need it,” Rodrigo remarked. “Just fling that over the wall, will you?”

Master Tutillo spread the tarp over the wall.

“Do you mind if I stay to watch, sir?”

“Be my guest,” said Rodrigo, studying the construct.

“What does it do?” Master Tutillo asked, leaning over the roof to see.

“It is supposed to protect the bridge in case we’re attacked,” said Rodrigo. “Stephano says an attack isn’t the least bit likely, but he thought it well to be prepared.”

“Good idea,” said Master Tutillo. “If he and Lieutenant Dag and the dragons are all killed, the enemy would throw everything they had at us.”

Rodrigo stared at the young man in shock.

“You … you don’t think that’s likely, do you?” Rodrigo asked, shaken.

“Well, you never know, do you, sir? Just as well to be prepared,” said Master Tutillo cheerfully.

Rodrigo looked out toward the battle. He couldn’t see much, given the smoke and the first rain squalls of an advancing wizard storm. Sometimes he could see a dragon or an enemy ship, but mostly it was orange fire and green beams flaring among the clouds. Rodrigo had no idea who was winning. He was reminded of the terrible time during the failed revolution when he had waited for Stephano to return from battle. He remembered vividly the news that his friend was lost and presumed dead.

He shook off the unhappy memory and dropped down flat on the tarp. Stretching out his hand, he touched the very top sigil, which was the sigil of fire done backward. He spoke words of contramagic that Father Jacob had taught him and felt the energy flow through him and into the construct.

“I’ve never seen anything like that, sir!” said Master Tutillo in awe. “How do you make the magic glow green?”

“Do you have some magic in you, Master Tutillo?” Rodrigo asked.

“I’m a fair channeler, sir. Our parish priest wanted me to go to school to study it, but I never wanted to do anything except sail the Breath. My father was captain of the Glow Worm until he got his leg blowed off by a cannonball in the battle of Blue Angel. A captain friend of his offered to take me on. I’ve never seen green magic … Wait!”

Master Tutillo stared at Rodrigo with wide eyes. “Yes, I have! The weapons those fiends use shoot balls of fire and it’s green! Is that devil magic, sir?”

“There is no such thing as ‘devil’ magic,” said Rodrigo.

The working of the magic made him feel better, warmed away the chill of the fear in his gut. He watched as the green contramagic spread from one sigil to the other. He had no need to touch the six magic sigils. He reached down to touch the first magical sigil and spoke the word, “fire.” They all began to glow blue.

That left only the seventh sigil.

“The one in the middle is still dark,” said Master Tutillo.

“That’s stating the bloody obvious,” Rodrigo muttered.

He had expected the seventh sigil to light up with the others. It was in the center, where he couldn’t reach it. A flaw in his planning, he had to concede.

“But, damn it, I thought it would work with the others. Why isn’t it? It must be working. The rest of them aren’t devouring each other.”

Though he did notice they were starting to glow more faintly.

Rodrigo considered that seventh sigil and gnawed his lip. He rarely took anything in life seriously and that included religion. He enjoyed teasing the deeply devout Dag, who made no secret of the fact that he believed Rodrigo was damned for all eternity.

When it came to magic, he had always believed that it was rooted in science, and scoffed at those who claimed magic was miraculous. But then Father Jacob had revealed his discovery of the seventh sigil that allowed magic and contramagic to work in harmony, neither destroying the other. Father Jacob had said the seventh sigil was God. Rodrigo was certain he would eventually come up with a scientific explanation, but at the moment he couldn’t.

“Must I pray over it?” Rodrigo had asked the priest. “No offense, Father, but I haven’t said a prayer since I was a prattling lad at Nanny’s knee. I’m afraid God would hear me and burst out into a hearty guffaw.”

“Say what is in your heart,” Father Jacob had replied, smiling. “God or science. It’s all the same.”

Rodrigo had his doubts about that. Still, he didn’t seem to have much choice and he had the feeling that if he gave the matter some thought and sorted it all out, the priest might actually be right. Rodrigo nervously considered a prayer that wouldn’t cause God to smite him with a thunderbolt, and he thought of his friends out there in the battle, fighting for their lives. Rodrigo said the words he had said long years ago during that last terrible battle, when he was waiting for Stephano.

“Bring them home.”

The seventh sigil began to glow with a shimmering blue-green radiance.

“You did it, sir!” Master Tutillo cried triumphantly. He looked expectantly at Rodrigo. “What does it do?”

Rodrigo gazed at the construct. “Damned if I know.”

“Don’t worry, sir,” said Master Tutillo. “Captain de Guichen and the Dragon Brigade will send those fiends to the bottom of the world. Except I guess we are at the bottom of the world, aren’t we? Never thought about that before. Would you like a cup of tea laced with a little Calvados, sir?”

“I would love one,” said Rodrigo gratefully. “Except just leave the tea out, will you? I’ll be in my room.”

Master Tutillo dashed off. The tarp having offered only minimal protection, Rodrigo went to change his muddy, wet shirt. He was walking down the shadowy, dimly lit corridor, heading for his room, when he thought he saw a flash of blue-green light slither along on the wall.

Rodrigo glanced at it, startled. The light vanished. He shrugged and went back to wondering if he would be able to clean the mud off the lace of his shirt cuffs. A flash of the same color appeared right in front of him, shining from a construct on the interior wall.

“That’s odd,” Rodrigo remarked.

He stopped to examine the wall, but the glow had vanished and, with all the various constructs covering the stone, he couldn’t tell which had been glowing.

He walked on, keeping a watch for blue-green flashes, and saw them again, going off seemingly at random, appearing and then disappearing.

Maybe something to do with that bloody drumming, he thought grimly. It’s playing merry hell with the magic and giving me the most frightful headache.

Master Tutillo arrived with Calvados and news. “Lookout’s spotted the Cloud Hopper, sir. Sailing this way.”

“Thank God!” Rodrigo exclaimed. He glanced up at heaven, thinking he should explain. “I’m not really taking Your name in vain, this time. I truly mean it.”

He drank off the Calvados at a gulp and between the liquor and the return of the Cloud Hopper, he felt better. Half a prayer answered.

Rodrigo made a dash for the parapet. Standing in the shadow of the bridge, he looked out over the sodden and depressing landscape. “The Cloud Hopper! Where is it? I don’t see her.”

The lookout was watching through a spyglass. “Caught a glimpse of the boat, sir. Gone now. Lost her in the trees.”

“Lost!” Rodrigo gasped.

“Lost sight of her, sir,” said the lookout. “She’s sailing too low. Looks like she’s having difficulty maintaining altitude.”

“The magic is breaking down,” said Rodrigo unhappily. “Because of the drumming. Could you see who is on board?”

If Gythe was with them, she could repair the broken magic, at least enough to keep the little boat sailing.

The lookout shook his head. “No, sir. Sorry. Too far away.”

Rodrigo heaved a sigh and paced back and forth along the wall. He saw a few more blue flashes from constructs on the walls and one on the ceiling. He was too preoccupied with worrying about his friends to go investigate.

“There she is, sir!” the lookout reported.

The Cloud Hopper was back in the air and now that he knew where to look, Rodrigo could see the sturdy little boat trundling along, dipping and bobbing just above tree level. The boat was sailing at an agonizingly slow speed, but at least she was sailing.

Gythe must be aboard! Rodrigo told himself. Aloud he asked the lookout, “Can you tell what’s happening with the battle? Are we winning or losing?”

“Hard to see, sir,” the lookout reported. “The smoke is too thick.”

Rodrigo could do nothing except wait, and he had never been good at waiting. He thought back to the time he had waited for his duel with that Estaran count, knowing with terrible certainty that in a few hours he would be dead. He hadn’t died. The count had died, killed by Sir Henry’s hired assassin. The startling realization came to Rodrigo that the duel and events surrounding it had led them to this moment in time.

“How extraordinary,” Rodrigo murmured.

He watched the Cloud Hopper’s faltering advance, willing the boat to keep going. The wizard storm, off in the distance, was crawling closer. He could hear rumbles of thunder. Master Tutillo hovered at his elbow, waiting for news.

“Four women on board!” reported the lookout.

“Let me see!” Rodrigo cried eagerly.

The lookout handed over his spyglass. Rodrigo put it to his eye and after swinging the glass around wildly and making himself dizzy, he eventually found the Cloud Hopper.

Rodrigo breathed a deep sigh of relief. “They all appear safe! Badly dressed, but safe!”

The lookout had been watching Rodrigo’s gyrations with alarm. He deftly removed the spyglass from his hand before Rodrigo could drop it.

“Master Tutillo, we are expecting the arrival of the Countess de Marjolaine and Her Royal Highness, the Princess Sophia—”

“The royal princess!” Master Tutillo repeated, staggering. “Coming here?”

“We will want a room made ready for her; refreshments, of course,” Rodrigo continued. “What do we have in the larder? Ordinarily I would suggest champagne, tea cakes, sweetmeats, cucumber sandwiches…”

“We have salt pork, dried fish, hardtack, and Calvados, sir,” said Master Tutillo. “I can show Her Highness how to knock the hardtack on the table to make the weevils jump out.”

Rodrigo shuddered.

“Perhaps soaking the hardtack in Calvados…,” he began, only to find the young man had dashed off. He was wondering if there was some way he could make salt pork taste like duck à l’orange when a soldier shouted, “God’s balls! Look at that!”

An enormous cloud of dust and smoke, shot through with flame, roiled into the sky over Dunlow, rising higher and higher. The gigantic boom from the blast hit them, sounding like an enormous, extremely close-by thunder clap. The men standing on the parapet began shouting and cheering.

All Rodrigo noticed was the sudden silence. The drumming. The drumming had stopped.

“Captain’s done it!” the soldiers were shouting exultantly. “He blew up the temple!”

Rodrigo breathed a deep sigh. With the temple no longer spewing forth contramagic, the destruction of the magical constructs would cease, and he could start to make repairs. The work would take a long time, perhaps months, but at least there was hope they might someday be able to leave this godforsaken place and return home.

“What’s all the bloody shouting about?” demanded Gunnery Officer Vega as he emerged from a door onto the parapet.

The gunnery officer was a short, stolid, humorless Guundaran mercenary who lived, breathed, and perhaps even ate gunpowder, or so Rodrigo believed. Stephano had left Vega in command during his absence. The soldiers told him about the temple. Vega viewed the cloud of dust and debris through a spyglass.

“Destroying the temple means we’ve won, doesn’t it?” Rodrigo asked, hoping he was right. He nudged Vega’s elbow, much to the man’s ire. “Stephano—that is, Captain de Guichen, and the others will be back soon, won’t they?”

“Not bloody likely!” Vega snorted.

“Why? Why not? What’s wrong?” Rodrigo asked, alarmed.

“Still have the whole bloody invasion fleet to deal with,” Vega muttered.

Rodrigo looked back to see the Cloud Hopper sailing slowly through the air. He could imagine Gythe nursing the magic, urging the boat to sail just a little farther. She would have an easier time of it now that the contramagic wasn’t breaking down the constructs as fast as she could fix them.

Feeling a presence at his back, Rodrigo turned to see Master Tutillo, resplendent in his best parade uniform. He had even washed his face.

“How do I look, sir? I’ve always wanted to meet the princess. I saw her ride past in a carriage once. She smiled and waved at me. Will Her Highness let me kiss her hand?”

Rodrigo was so preoccupied by his concerns for the Hopper that he let this most unforgiveable breach of etiquette slip past him. He was watching the boat when the mists lifted and several of the lookouts called simultaneously.

“Enemy ship off the port bow! Closing rapidly!”

Every man with a spyglass clapped it to his eye. Officer Vega shouted orders and left the parapet in haste to return to his cannons. Men ran to their posts, bumping into Rodrigo. Having never learned his starboard from his port, he wasn’t sure where to look. While he was searching for the enemy, he caught sight of the Cloud Hopper bobbing into the air to clear a stand of trees.

“Miri!” he gasped and pointed. “The Cloud Hopper! She’s out there alone!”

The men shifted around to watch the little boat sailing with agonizing slowness toward the safety of the fortress. Rodrigo could see the enemy ship now, heading straight for the fortress. He didn’t know one vessel from another so he had no idea what type of ship this was. All he knew was this ship was extremely large, it was flying a blood-red flag, and it was bearing down on them rapidly.

“We have to do something to help Miri! She can’t fight back,” Rodrigo cried. “We have to stop that ship!”

“We can’t, sir,” Master Tutillo said with maddening calm. “The enemy isn’t in range of our guns yet.”

“There must be something!” Rodrigo said helplessly.

Master Tutillo shook his head. “Sorry, sir. Maybe the enemy won’t waste their ammunition shooting at an unarmed boat.”

The hope seemed a faint one to Rodrigo. He wondered if Miri had seen the danger. His question was answered when he saw the Cloud Hopper began to radiate glowing blue light. Gythe was working her magic, activating the constructs that protected the boat. Her magic had worked the last time the Hopper had come under attack by the Bottom Dwellers, but then they had faced only the green fireballs. This enemy ship undoubtedly was carrying one of the fearsome green beam weapons that had taken out the side of a mountain. Rodrigo doubted if even Gythe’s magic could protect against a direct hit of contramagic.

The Cloud Hopper lurched and jounced slowly toward safety. The ship with the red flag was rapidly closing in. A rumbling sound beneath Rodrigo’s feet indicated the cannons were being run out. He wondered if this was a good idea. A blast of contramagic hitting the cannons would destroy their protective and strengthening constructs and most likely detonate the powder and cause them to explode.

Rodrigo had pointed this out to Stephano. “The cannons are as great a danger to us as they are to the enemy.”

“If all goes as planned,” Stephano had said, “we won’t need the cannons.”

But nothing had gone as planned.

He glanced at the seventh sigil, pulsing with a faint bluish green or greenish blue light.

“God or science, I could use the help of either right now,” Rodrigo muttered.

“Oh, no, sir!” Master Tutillo gasped, clutching Rodrigo’s arm. “Look!”

A green beam streaked across the sky and struck the Cloud Hopper amidships. Blue light flared, flashed, and then vanished. The Cloud Hopper dropped like a sparrow hit by a stone and disappeared among a stand of scrubby trees. A flicker of orange flame quickly became a conflagration. Smoke trailed upward.

Fire spread rapidly across the deck and climbed the masts, devouring the gaily colored balloon and feeding on the sails. For an instant, the Cloud Hopper seemed to be made of bright, blazing fire, with flames for the masts and sails. And then it all collapsed into a blackened heap of cinders and ashes and billowing smoke.

The Cloud Hopper was gone.