Tolemek murmured something and led Ahn toward the house. She shambled along slowly, but at least she went with him. When Tolemek glanced toward Ridge, Ridge nodded once. He doubted the former pirate cared about receiving his approval, but Ridge would give it, anyway. He truly believed Tolemek would be the best person to comfort Ahn. To his surprise, Tolemek returned the solemn nod before they disappeared inside.
Left alone in the yard, Ridge rubbed his face and looked up at the sky. The clouds had returned, and their somber gray matched his mood. He wondered if the gods would laugh at him if he prayed for the Cofah attack to be delayed for another six months.
A distant buzz drifted to his ears, and he slumped. He had a feeling the gods were about to mock him.
He walked out into the street, hopping a few puddles, then turning for a view of the sky in the direction of the propeller noise. He found the source against the gray backdrop, and his heart lifted. This time, the flier was bronze. It was too far away to see the pilot or the animal snout painted on the nose that would identify the squadron, but Ridge found himself grinning, anyway. It had to be one of his comrades on the way back from one of the other bases. Someone had heard his message and was coming.
He almost waved, but the pilot would never see him at this distance. Besides, who would be looking down at a tiny community plopped down in the middle of a bunch of farmland? Instead, he scanned the sky behind it, longing to see other aircraft coming into view. He would take any help he could get, but a single one-man flier wouldn’t add much to the empty hangars.
As the bronze craft flew overhead to the west, Ridge spotted a few dark dots on the horizon. He grinned again. Maybe the gods were finally on his side. That looked like five—no, six more fliers. Maybe they belonged to his squadron. It felt as if an eternity had passed since he had seen Crash, Blazer, and Thasel. He’d even give Pimples a hug if the kid walked up right now.
But his grin faded as those aircraft flew closer, the buzz of their propellers audible now. These fliers were not the same bronze as the first one. Their dark paint filled Ridge with dread. Even worse, there were heads visible above those cockpits, so they weren’t automated. Fliers piloted by real people with real and cunning human brains were chasing whoever was in that single Iskandian craft.
“Cofah,” he whispered and sprinted for the house. “Sardelle!” he cried, having already decided in that split second that there was nobody else here that he wanted in the seat behind him to help catch those craft before they annihilated the Iskandian one.
• • • • •
Sardelle gripped the sides of her seat, not complaining when the wind whipped the tail of Ridge’s scarf into her face. She was too busy panting from their wild sprint across people’s yards, around barns, and through pigpens in order to reach the field with the flier in it. She couldn’t hear or see the Cofah craft Ridge had spoken of, and she hoped they could catch them before it was too late for the Iskandian pilot.
I could take care of that for you, Jaxi said.
Sardelle hadn’t had time to grab anything else from the house, but she had belted the soulblade on as she ran. What?
The scarf. You’ve seen me cut through steel vault doors and ancient pyramids. A thin, little scarf would be a simple matter.
I don’t think Ridge would be amenable to that. He uses the end to wipe his goggles during flight.
I could incinerate those specks of engine grease that trouble him, Jaxi suggested.
Sardelle imagined Ridge’s alarm when flames burst from his goggles.
You’re awfully chatty right now, Jaxi. The flier lurched into motion and bumped across the uneven field. Sardelle buckled herself into the harness. If this was like their last battle, she might end up upside down at some point. Feeling perky?
You know I like to go into battle.
Sardelle did not share the feeling, preferring the healer’s tent to a battlefield, but it pleased her that Ridge had asked for her in between ordering Tolemek to finish making something brilliant and ordering Cas, Duck, and Kaika to ensure the king got back to his castle. There hadn’t been time to wait for objections—or counter orders—for which Sardelle was also glad. She’d only glimpsed Angulus’s face on her way to grab her sword, but it had been much less expressive than it had been when she had first awoken, before he had known his wife had been killed. He could have been thinking anything behind his stony facade. She hoped that it wasn’t about how he would avenge the queen’s death.
“Can you sense them?” Ridge called over his shoulder.
I’ll check, Sardelle spoke into his mind, abashed that she hadn’t already thought to look. In the minutes that had passed while she and Ridge ran to the field, the fliers might have escaped her range, but Jaxi ought to be able to sense aircraft at a greater distance.
Yes, I can. And I do. They’re about halfway back to the city. The ugly black ones are shooting at the bronze one.
Sardelle was about to relay the message, but Jaxi added, I told him too. He appreciated that I identified the Cofah aircraft as ugly. He also appreciates that I’m along.
You got all that when he’s busy flying and worrying about his man?
It may have been a general sense of appreciation for the information. I extrapolated.
Sardelle snorted.
She leaned to the side, searching the sky ahead with her mind, as well as her eyes, the former being more effective since she didn’t have goggles. The wind teared her eyes and tried to whip hair free from her braid, but she located the six Cofah aircraft flying in a triangular formation. The one soaring at the point was doing the most firing at the target ahead of them. Sardelle could see little more than a bronze smudge at this distance, but she could tell that dark gray smoke wafted from the belly of the craft. The Iskandian flier had already taken damage. Enough to bring it down eventually? She couldn’t tell.
Stiff wind came from the sea, and cold rain droplets flew sideways, stinging her cheeks. She flexed her fingers, both to keep them warm and because she was ready to use them. She wanted to help, wanted to prove to King Angulus that she was worth keeping around—and alive. And, as always, she wanted to help Ridge keep his people alive. She didn’t want to see him lose anyone else.
The craft vibrated enough to make Sardelle’s teeth rattle. Ridge was pushing it to its maximum speed and then some. Sardelle took slow breaths, telling herself to remain calm, that he knew what he was doing. Seeing bullet holes in the hull had made Sardelle pause, but Ridge had climbed in without hesitation. If he believed the craft flight-worthy, it must be. Still, she hadn’t been able to keep from thinking that her powers might not be enough to save them if they crashed.
I believe we’re close enough that I could bother them, Jaxi said at the same time as the fliers grew closer, their dark shapes hugging the clouds. Do we want rashes to inconvenience them? Or fireballs to utterly destroy them?
If six of them are chasing one lone Iskandian flier on our continent, I believe Ridge’s vote would be for fireballs.
Yes. I approve of this relationship of yours.
I’m so glad.
The rattling of their flier increased, and Sardelle gripped the edges of her seat again. Ridge was pushing to close the distance, but she doubted they could before the other fliers reached the city. Would the Cofah dare enter the space over the capital? She wasn’t sure what the full capabilities of the artillery weapons down there were, but knew some could reach high enough to strike low-flying craft.
Almost close enough for pyrotechnics, Jaxi purred.
Even though Sardelle was alarmed at their speed already, she closed her eyes and concentrated on the air behind them. She assumed the rattling was due to the strain of the engine rather than any problem with their velocity—and she hoped that assumption wouldn’t get them killed—so she channeled the wind, trying to give them a tunnel to fly through, one that the other aircraft did not have.
“Wolf Squadron 74 to home,” Ridge spoke to the communication crystal, the w
ind almost stealing his words before Sardelle heard them. “This is Colonel Zirkander. Is anybody manning the desk?”
A silent moment passed, and Sardelle could feel his disappointment. He couldn’t even warn the city as to what was coming.
“What do you want, Zirkander?” came a rough voice over the crystal. It was muted and tinny, but Sardelle recognized it as soon as the speaker added, “And is this thrice-cursed rock magic, too?”
Rock? Was that oaf referring to her master crystal? She had painstakingly crafted that over a week.
“Quit whining, Therrik,” Ridge said. “There are six enemy fliers heading for the city. They’ll be there any minute. If any of our fliers are back, get them in the air. Get your infantry buddies on the guns too.”
Therrik’s only response was a curse.
So good to know he’s got our backs, Ridge thought. Do you hear me? Is that you helping back there? This is great. We’re making incredible speed.
I do, and I am.
Good. Thank you. Ridge massaged the trigger of one of his guns. Almost close enough to—
Flames burst from the tail of the rearmost flier in the formation. Clouds of black smoke poured into the sky. Jaxi cackled.
The pilot craned his head around. Even across the distance and even though the man wore goggles, Sardelle could see the horrified expression contorting his face. He veered away from the formation, descending rapidly. Whether he would be able to land or if a crash was inevitable, Sardelle did not know. Even if these people had marked themselves as enemies, she found she much preferred fighting against the unmanned fliers.
I do too, Jaxi said.
Your cackle suggested otherwise. Sardelle fed more wind into her tunnel, propelling Ridge’s flier to even greater speeds. They cruised through the smoke the flaming craft had just left. Ridge took a few introductory shots at a flier in front of them.
That wasn’t a cackle. It was an expression of pleased satisfaction that I was able to toast one of these mechanical monstrosities.
I see. Sardelle focused on the bronze flier, testing the air currents around and behind it. The craft had slowed down, and the others were gaining. Perhaps if she could give it a boost, it would make a difference. The buildings of the city had come into sight on the horizon, and she could just make out the bluff where the hangars overlooked the harbor.
I may have also been slightly amused when he turned around and tried to blow out the flames, Jaxi added.
I’m quite certain he was only pursing his lips in horror. Can you shield that Iskandian pilot up there? He’s too far away for me to do it.
I can shield his entire flier while making waffles and buffing my pommel.
Feeling cocky, are we?
Ridge had found his range with the machine guns and was laying into the two remaining fliers in the rear of the formation. They noticed and took evasive measures, as did the two in front of them. The leader of the formation continued after the bronze flier.
I’m staying on him, Ridge thought. Anything you can do to keep the others from circling back and jumping on our tail would be appreciated. Tell Jaxi I like her flames.
He’s cackling inside too, Jaxi said.
The bronze flier dipped its left wing, then spiraled downward, more smoke flowing from its belly. Sardelle could not tell if it was a ploy, or if the craft had succumbed to the damage done.
I haven’t let any new bullets get to him, Jaxi said, but his flier was shot up already when we got here.
The Cofah on its tail dipped after it, machine guns blazing. Ridge angled downward, choosing a course that would shave seconds off the descent and perhaps allow him to catch up.
Sardelle was tempted to reach out to the pilot, try to sense whether he was unconscious, conscious and calm, or awake and terrified, but the rest of the Cofah formation was doing as Ridge had predicted, trying to circle back and get behind his flier. Bullets streaked through the air. She did her best to create shields on either side of them. She didn’t want to stop Ridge’s ability to use the machine guns, nor did she want to cut them off from the wind, so she couldn’t protect them as completely as she would have liked.
The bronze flier continued to fall, spiraling toward houses on the outskirts of the capital.
“Sleepy,” Ridge said, his voice utterly calm even though they were arrowing toward the ground at top speed and had bullets coming in from all sides, “if you crash them into the buildings of the city, the ghosts of a hundred past kings will haunt you.”
Sardelle didn’t think he was talking to her, but wasn’t sure if he was hoping to communicate with the pilot in the other flyer or muttering to himself. He fired several more rounds at the Cofah stalking his fellow Iskandian, his fellow Iskandian who was only seconds from crashing into shops lining a wide boulevard below. Sardelle kept shielding them from the fliers trying to get behind Ridge, but found their bullets rarely struck her barrier. Ridge did an uncanny job of avoiding them, even as he stayed on his target’s tail, almost as if he had eyes in the back of his head and could track every other aircraft in the sky.
The Iskandian flier, smoke still streaming from its belly, pulled up at the last second, just avoiding smashing into the roof of a three-story building. It wobbled, its wings shuddering, and it clipped a flagpole before gaining altitude. The Cofah was following, but one of Ridge’s bullets hit him square in the head. The pilot stiffened, then slumped to the side. Instead of pulling up and hanging with the Iskandian, the enemy flier plunged into the street between two buildings. The wings flew off, the fuselage caved in and skidded three blocks, and the wreck ended up coming to a halt in front of the steps of a barber shop. People out in the street had pressed their backs to the closest buildings, and were gaping at the crash and at the sky.
That was the last Sardelle saw, for Ridge was pulling up now, flying through smoke as they gained altitude.
“Sorry, sir,” came a voice over the crystal. That definitely wasn’t Therrik. “I’ve taken damage, didn’t think I could make it to the harbor. Thanks for shooting that ugly feller, but I was hoping he would crash due to my craftiness, rather than your marksmanship.” The firing of a machine gun punctuated the pilot’s words. He had already turned his nose toward the oncoming fliers.
“If you need to get to the base, do it,” Ridge said. “We’ll take care of the rest of these.”
“No, sir. I’m sticking with you. They’ve got rockets that—”
“I’ve seen them before. Stay on my six until you get a chance to shoot. I’ve got a secret weapon.”
That’s me, Jaxi preened.
It could be me.
All you’ve done so far is generate air. Watch this.
A second Cofah flier burst into flame. This time, the fire emerged from the cockpit, burning the occupant. Sardelle winced as the man’s screams pierced her ears, even over the sounds of wind and machine gun fire. The Cofah flier dipped sharply, arrowing toward the city. The pilot struck a control on the dashboard before losing all conscious thought. A sleek black cylinder shot out. At first, it looked like it would target a building, but then it swooped upward, turning toward the Iskandian fliers.
Oops, Jaxi thought.
Yes, Sardelle recognized the rocket from their desperate flight from the volcano lab. Try to incinerate the vial of dragon blood, she told Jaxi. That had worked once before. The dragon blood itself was impervious to everything, or everything they had tried at least, but once the glass holding it was destroyed, it leaked all over the inside of the machine and could no longer power and guide the weapon.
These vials aren’t made from glass anymore, Jaxi thought.
What? Sardelle tried to concentrate on the conversation, but the three fliers filling the sky in front of them made her want to grip Ridge’s shoulders for support.
Shooting with every tilt of his wings, Ridge wove through the formation as if the fliers were cones on some obstacle course. Sardelle felt it suicidal, and she flailed mentally for a second, not sure where to apply
her shields to protect them. To her surprise, the number of bullets streaking through the air lessened. The Cofah pilots didn’t want to risk shooting each other, she realized.
That rocket is about to fly up your Iskandian butts, Jaxi said.
“I’ve got this one, Jaxi,” Ridge yelled. “Handle that rocket that the newcomer just launched, will you?”
Newcomer? Sardelle was about to shore up their rear shield, certain the rocket would smash into them, when Ridge turned sharply to the left, more sharply than she would have thought these fliers could manage. He seemed to defy all of the rules of physics, and Sardelle ducked low in her seat as the belly of a Cofah flier filled her vision. Its propeller buzzed right over her head, the sound like an angry hornet’s nest stuffed in her ears, and she thought all of her hair might be shaved off by its blades. But then they were past the other flier and streaking toward the clouds.
An explosion came from behind them, the force battering at Sardelle’s shield. Their flier rocked in the air despite her protection. She glanced back in time to see the Cofah craft burst into a million pieces.
Nice, Jaxi crooned in her mind. He got the rocket to hit one of their fliers. That’s almost as good as spontaneous combustion.
Sardelle took a few shaky breaths, seeking some of the calmness that radiated from Ridge. He had flown in hundreds of battles like this, she reminded herself. Her only dogfight had been with two unmanned fliers. The fact that they were killing people this time was part of what had her trembling. She vowed to do better, not to dwell on the humanness of their opponents until after she and Ridge were safely on the ground.
She focused on one of the two remaining Cofah fliers, finding the two rockets nestled in launchers under the belly of the craft. The pilot was busy firing the machine guns and cursing—Sardelle allowed herself a brief moment of satisfaction to know that Ridge was flummoxing these people. Then she examined the firing mechanism of the weapons, trying to figure out what attached to what, so she could sabotage the insides. Too complicated. Instead, she heated the ends of the machine gun barrels, pouring controlled energy into them. The metal grew cherry hot. She nudged the ends together, so the bullets would no longer fly out. Lastly, she brought in a gust of cool air to chill the muzzles.
05 Dragon Blood: The Blade's Memory Page 27
