05 Dragon Blood: The Blade's Memory

by Lindsay Buroker

  I’m hoping that won’t happen.

  Optimism isn’t reality.

  Very pithy.

  Thank you.

  “Straight down ten feet,” Sardelle said told Kaika when everyone had climbed into the depression. “Can you cut through that much rock and keep the explosion from flashing so that everyone in the towers can see it?”

  “Might as well ask Cas if she can hit a bull’s balls at ten paces,” Kaika said, already pulling equipment out of her pack.

  “I can hit anything’s balls at ten paces,” Cas said, looking at Sardelle rather than Kaika. For some reason, she had brought the dragon-slaying sword along on the mission, but it was her favorite sniper rifle that she patted lovingly.

  “I’m glad I don’t have balls,” Sardelle murmured.

  “That would have been a surprise for old Zirkander.” Kaika prodded at the rocks underneath them and lifted some sand to sniff. “Why don’t you all find another hole to hide in? It will take me a few minutes to set up. Sardelle, I’ll let you know when I’m ready for noise muffling. The thermite won’t cut through anything this thick, so I’ll probably use the dragon bomb, and those do tend to be loud. I’ll try to set it in such a way that it blows downward and doesn’t disturb many of the rocks on the surface, but you’ll need to be ready for the sound of boulders rolling away, as well as the initial explosion.”

  “I understand.”

  Sardelle crawled out of the depression and continued for at least twenty meters before stopping behind a boulder. Even though she’d heard Kaika’s training had involved learning how to do controlled demolitions, she could envision more rock than desired shifting and falling away or collapsing into the tunnel below.

  Cas stopped behind the same boulder. It might have been Sardelle’s imagination, but she thought she glimpsed a slight leaking of pale green light from the end of her sword’s scabbard. According to Jaxi, Kasandral, the dragon-slaying sword had been wielded by an Iskandian king fifteen hundred years earlier, but Sardelle did not have any personal knowledge of the blade. It did not have a soul in it the way a soulblade did—Sardelle would have felt that—but it did have a… presence. It didn’t feel malevolent exactly, but something about it made her not want to touch it. Perhaps that made sense if it had been designed to slay dragons. Her own veins did carry a hint of dragon blood, however diminished over the generations.

  “We’ll have to look up your new sword in the library when we get a chance,” Sardelle said casually, as if to make conversation and nothing more.

  “Why?”

  “Aren’t you curious about it? I’ve noticed you haven’t left it behind anywhere for long.”

  “Where would I leave it? Back in the fliers? I’m already worried about them being vandalized or stolen while we’re gone. At the colonel’s mom’s house? The soldiers were already there doing a search, so I don’t think it would be safe to leave it there, either.”

  “A valid point,” Sardelle said.

  Maybe she was dwelling too much on the blade. It made sense that Cas would want to keep it safe, especially since her father had been the one who had brought it to Owanu Owanus with the intent of killing the dragon. He was a dangerous man, and having the sword would only make him more dangerous, especially if the dragon ever showed up in Iskandia with Tolemek’s sister. Better to have such a powerful weapon in friendly hands.

  “Ready,” came Kaika’s soft call.

  Sardelle closed her eyes, seeing the explosive that had been planted with her mind. It was surprisingly compact. It amazed her what humans had accomplished in the last few centuries, even without the help of sorcerers and dragons. Maybe they had no need for her people any longer; perhaps someone had sensed that three hundred years ago when planning to destroy the Referatu. But no, she had been valuable to Ridge on his mission. Magic could still play a role in this society—if they would let it.

  “I’m ready,” Sardelle called back.

  As Kaika lit the fuse and scrambled away, Sardelle cupped the air around the depression, hardening it into a dense barrier that would contain the sound wave. She made certain it would not keep the bomb from blowing through the rocks they desired.

  When it detonated, the raw power railed at her container. She had tangled with a few rockets now and knew what to expect, so she was prepared. An extremely faint boom reached her ears, but she felt certain nobody in the castle could have heard it, especially with the roar of the surf in the distance. The light she had expected never brightened the air, so she assumed Kaika had done something to control that. Sardelle grudgingly admitted that the captain knew what she was doing, and she probably did not need to worry about getting in trouble by following her lead.

  Kaika scrambled back toward the site of the explosion, and Sardelle let her barrier dissipate. Cas led the way to join Kaika while Sardelle crawled across the rocks more slowly, checking the guards again. One of them was looking in her direction, and a nervous worm wriggled in her stomach. Was it possible he had seen something? Some rocks shifting? It was a cloudy night, promising of rain, and it was dark enough out on the rocks that Sardelle had trouble even seeing Cas and Kaika. She didn’t think the guard could have seen them.

  Look closer, Jaxi suggested. He has a few drops of dragon blood in his veins.

  Sardelle froze. Of course. She had encountered other random Iskandian subjects with dragon ancestors, the blood so diluted that it was unlikely they could ever do much in the way of magic or even knew that they had the power to try, but they might have a few vestigial senses that were superior to those of other humans. That guard might have felt some itch of intuition when she had used her power.

  “Sardelle?” Kaika called softly. “Are you coming? It looks like it worked.”

  The guard was still looking in their direction, but Sardelle risked crawling the rest the way to the hole—she did make sure to stay lower than the rocks, just in case his eyes were sharper than average too. She trusted Jaxi’s assessment and did not reach out to examine him more closely, not wanting to risk him sensing her. She would have to hope that whatever he had felt wasn’t enough to make him warn a superior that castle security should be increased or that the rocks should be checked. How would he explain what he had sensed to magic-fearing comrades?

  When Sardelle reached the edge of the hole, the faint smell of gunpowder or something similar lingered over the tang of the salty air. Kaika had already dropped down, and Cas disappeared soon after, sliding down the slope until it grew vertical, then letting herself fall. She landed without making a sound. Sardelle was not as agile as the two soldiers, but she followed the same route, confident that she could land without breaking anything since she could sense the contours of the rubble filled tunnel below.

  Don’t be cocky, Jaxi warned and slowed Sardelle’s fall. You have the athleticism of a chubby boulder.

  Though Sardelle wanted to offer an indignant retort, her heel caught on a rock as she landed. Had she come down on it at full speed, she would have fallen on her butt instead of merely fumbling and catching herself on the nearby wall.

  “Watch out,” Kaika said quietly. “The floor of this tunnel is a mess. There’s rubble everywhere, not all of it mine.”

  “I see that.” As Sardelle moved forward to join them, she had to clamber over and around everything from pebbles to waist-high boulders. “Anyone mind if I make a light?”

  “Probably not. I assume there’s a closed door up ahead?”

  “Actually, there’s a closed wall,” Sardelle said after a quick check.

  “Even better.”

  She was on the verge of conjuring a small globe of light into existence when a pale green glow arose, washing the half-crumbled walls with its illumination. Cas stood in the center of the tunnel, holding the big dragon blade in her hands.

  “Is everybody a witch now?” Kaika grumbled, eyeing the glowing weapon with distaste.

  “I’m not a witch,” Cas said coolly.

  “I prefer the term sorceress,�
� Sardelle said.

  “Next time, I’m bringing some of my own people.” Kaika headed down the passage, with Cas walking behind her.

  Sardelle followed several steps behind, glad that sword would not be at her back.

  After about a hundred and fifty meters of scrambling over boulders and ducking broken supports, they reached the brick wall Sardelle had sensed. Judging by the tightness of the mortar and the brightness of the brick, the construction had occurred within the last couple of decades, unlike the tunnel behind them, which seemed as ancient as the harbor itself. Maybe it truly had been the invention of the dragon fliers that had convinced those dwelling in the castle that an underground escape route was no longer necessary.

  “We’ll be at the basement level, if not lower, right?” Kaika rested her ear against the bricks for a moment, then dropped her pack and dug into it.

  “There’s a wine cellar on the other side,” Sardelle said, “then a food storage area above it and the kitchen above that.”

  “Good to know. That shouldn’t be busy at this time of night.”

  “The cellars are empty. There are two women in the kitchen washing dishes and mopping.”

  Kaika looked at her.

  “Too much information?” Sardelle had assumed Kaika would appreciate any intelligence she could get before they barged in.

  “No. I was thinking Nowon and I should have taken you when we infiltrated the Cofah volcano lab. You’re like a really fancy spyglass that can see through walls.”

  “Thank you,” Sardelle said, not quite able to keep the dryness out of her voice. What would her childhood instructors think to have her two decades of training summed up in a comparison to a spyglass?

  Kaika donned gloves, pulled out what appeared to be a ceramic pot with a spout, and stuck a metallic ribbon through a hole. Next, she tugged thick goggles over her head. Sardelle had assumed her concoction would work similarly to Tolemek’s goos, but perhaps it did not.

  “You two might want to stand back again,” Kaika said. “There will be some sparks and heat, and a stench that will fry your nose hairs.”

  “That was going to happen tonight one way or another,” Cas said.

  Sardelle and Kaika looked at her.

  “Either here or via the sewer route.” Cas wrinkled her nose.

  “Ah.”

  Kaika lit the ribbon, and Sardelle backed away.

  “Lieutenant, if you want to put out your pig sticker, that might be good. Just in case Freckles here isn’t as omniscient as she thinks and there’s a wine steward selecting a vintage a few feet away.”

  “It’s a dragon sticker,” Cas said.

  “Yes, whatever. It’s glowing like my cheeks after a twenty-mile run. Or an exhilarating night in someone’s bunk.”

  “That turns you a sickly green?” Sardelle asked.

  Kaika grinned back at her. “Depends how much exertion was involved.”

  Cas sheathed the sword, dropping darkness onto the tunnel. Soon, the promised sparks came from the brick wall. Kaika turned her back to them, so Sardelle could not see exactly what she was doing.

  Something smellier and less efficient than what I could do, Jaxi said.

  I thought you wanted to rest your powers in case we need them later.

  That was before Kasandral there started showing off his light-making ability.

  Sorry, did you want me to rush to pull you out first in the next room? So you can show off your glow?

  It would certainly be more attractive than the vomit green light he shines, but I wanted to deliver a warning, not brag about my abilities.

  Sardelle shifted her weight, uneasiness creeping into her gut. A warning about the sword?

  No, about that guard you sensed. He told his buddies that he saw someone moving around out on the rocks, and now security is sending a couple of people out to look.

  Any chance you can keep them from seeing that hole? Sardelle doubted she could create an illusion to fool someone from that far away, but Jaxi was more powerful than she.

  Probably, but if someone falls through it, he’ll probably notice it’s there.

  Do your best. We’ll hurry.

  Chapter 4

  “Another dark house,” Tolemek observed.

  He and Ridge stood in the shadow of a tree in the back of another white house, this one identical in layout to Ridge’s own one-story, one-bedroom home. His former home. They had passed the charred ruins on their way over to this street. He had resisted the urge to snoop in the wreckage or knock on the neighbors’ doors to ask if they had seen the diabolical people who had been responsible. He assumed it had to do with the group hunting Sardelle. That group was another reason he didn’t want the word out that he was back in the city. Its leaders would probably assume Sardelle was, too, and double their efforts to find her.

  “With luck, he’ll be sleeping,” Ridge whispered. “It’s after midnight now.”

  Tolemek had taken more than two hours smoking up Ort’s house with his potion-making projects.

  “He may hear us picking his lock,” Tolemek said. “Especially if you do it.”

  Yes, that was a risk. Therrik wasn’t just infantry; he had served with the elite forces and internal special security. He had probably been trained to wake up at the sound of a squirrel pissing in the woods.

  “You don’t have your corrosive door—and wall—opening goo, eh?” Ridge asked.

  “No household items suitable for making it. That takes some strong chemicals and a special touch.”

  Special. That described Tolemek suitably enough.

  Ridge picked a piece of bark off the tree. “What about your knockout gas?”

  “I was able to make knockout grenades and smoke bombs. Technically, grenades and bombs may be optimistic words, since the fuses were made from boot laces and the chemicals are stored in tea tins filched from the kitchen.”

  “So long as the contents drop the big hulking muscle-head on his ass,” Ridge said. “How do you feel about lighting one of your tea tins and chucking it through that window? We can get him in his bed, knock him out before he has a chance to hear us trying to sneak in.”

  “How do I feel about it? I feel that you should do it. Also that the tin would bounce off the glass.”

  Ridge picked up a rock that was part of the edging for the tree. “Tie it to this.”

  “Someone’s going to hear that, Zirkander.”

  “Does it matter? That someone is supposed to pass out as soon as he breathes in the contents.”

  “I meant the neighbors. These houses are close together. And how do you know which window fronts the bedroom?”

  Ridge pointed at the back window to the right of the door. “It’s the same layout as my house. The other one’s the kitchen. There’s a living room and a small office up front.”

  Tolemek grumbled something incomprehensible, but he had brought twine along and was able to tie one of his canisters to the rock. Ridge wished he had the prowess to simply jump into Therrik’s path, confront him, and then beat meat-for-brains into the ground instead of resorting to trickery, but he wanted to accomplish his self-imposed mission, not get himself killed.

  “Here.” Tolemek dumped the rock into Ridge’s hand, as if to dump all responsibility there too.

  Ridge accepted it, looked up and down the row of back yards, and listened for anyone who might be walking or driving down the street out front. The fort had fallen asleep while they were in Ort’s house, with the only noise now the sound of the wind whipping a rope against a flagpole down the block.

  Ridge crept toward the back window, jerking his head for Tolemek to follow. He had the matches.

  As he padded across the lawn, dew dampening the cuffs of his trousers, he stepped as quietly as he could, worried he would make more noise than the pissing squirrel he had thought of earlier. His eyes locked on the closed curtain, hoping he would see if it moved. But he couldn’t make out much in the dim lighting. His heart thudded against his ribs as he crept c
loser, and images of Therrik leaping out the window to strangle him flashed through his mind. Sweat moistened his palms, but he dared not take them from the rock to wipe them off. If he dropped it, the rock might land on the grenade and break it so that its contents flowed out. Even worse than the strangling vision was one of Therrik walking out and finding Tolemek and Ridge unconscious on his back lawn. Who knew what he would do then?

  “Stop it,” Ridge growled to himself. This was a fellow officer in the king’s army, not a pirate or a Cofah soldier. Whatever happened, Therrik shouldn’t kill him. Probably.

  A few meters from the house, it occurred to him that Therrik might not be home. What if he was working late at the hangar? What if he had a lover he visited off-base? The idea of Therrik with a lover made Ridge curl his lips in disgust, so he changed his thought to, what if Therrik had a prostitute he visited off-base?

  With the curtains closed, there was no way to be certain. He paused, staring down at the rock. Seven gods, it was just a window. If he wasn’t home, the worst that could happen would be they’d break it. So long as no military police soldiers on patrol heard the noise and came running.

  Tolemek held up his arm, presumably holding a match and asking if Ridge was ready. Ridge thrust his load toward him. Tolemek felt for the canister, then lit it. Ridge threw the rock, his feet scurrying backward before it struck. In addition to not wanting to be close if Therrik leaped out the window like an attack dog, Ridge did not want to risk breathing in any of those vapors. As the crash sounded, glass shattering and the rock flying through it, he and Tolemek raced back to the tree.

  Ridge grasped the bark, watching and listening from behind the trunk. Mostly, he worried about lamps being turned on in other houses, but if one was turned on in Therrik’s, that wouldn’t be good, either. What if their target escaped his room before he breathed enough of the fumes to be knocked out?

  “I feel like a delinquent child throwing rocks at old grannies’ windows,” Tolemek said.

  “Does that mean you’re having fun?” Ridge kept his gaze locked on the now-broken bedroom window as he spoke.