“I’m quite certain you’ve only worked in the laundry one day so far,” Ridge said dryly.
“True enough, but there’s only been one night when I haven’t slept in the snore chamber.” Sardelle wriggled her brows at him.
“Yes, I’ve regretted that, but I’ve felt somewhat inhibited with Captain Heriton next door. The man has actually had the gall to knock on my door before dawn a couple of times and glance behind me to see if anyone else is in the room. I’m going to have to make sure he’s not slipping any reports onto the supply ship. I don’t need a spy in my own camp. Assuming that supply ship ever comes.” He looked to the cloudy sky. “They should have been here four days ago.”
Sardelle didn’t want to talk about supply ships. She wanted to find a way to circumvent his spies. Of course she couldn’t tell him that she could insulate his walls and keep the nosy captain from hearing anything. “Perhaps a less closely monitored location?” she suggested.
Ridge pulled his gaze from the clouds. “Oh?”
“Would anyone think it odd if you visited the library in the evening for some quiet reading time?”
“Reading time, eh? You don’t think the library will be packed with miners eager to check out the classics?”
Sardelle grinned. “Have you had anyone take you up on that yet?”
“Actually, yes. I listened to four book summaries just yesterday afternoon, delivered in between pickaxe blows on the sixth level, since their supervisors wouldn’t let them leave to come up to see me.”
“Good. Now as to the library hours… perhaps later, we would be less likely to run into earnest readers. There is, after all, only the one table. Which we might like to use.” Sardelle wasn’t used to propositioning men—those with the nerve to do so usually asked her—so she wasn’t sure if she came off as smooth or awkward.
Ridge grinned and bumped his shoulder against hers. “Goodness woman, you’re either as libidinous as I am, or you’re willing to do anything to get out of sleeping in that barracks room.”
“It is a less than restful environment.”
Ridge winked and opened his mouth, doubtlessly to suggest the library table wouldn’t be restful, either, but a shout of “Colonel Zirkander” came from the ramparts, and he turned away, the humor in his eyes disappearing.
More than one soldier was pointing toward the western sky.
At first, Sardelle couldn’t see anything other than snow, but then she picked out a dark balloon hugging the heavy gray clouds as it flew over the peaks toward them. The markings were different than that of the Cofah aircraft, all grays and blacks instead of gold and wood tones, and it had an enclosed cabin rather than an open ship design where one could see people standing on the deck.
“That’s our supply ship,” Ridge said, fishing in his pocket for something.
“That’s good.”
Now Ridge would have an opportunity to send word back to his headquarters about the enemy ship. It shouldn’t be long until reinforcements arrived.
“Except that it shouldn’t be coming in on that route, and I think that’s…” Ridge extended the spyglass he had dug out of his pocket and watched the sky.
Alerted by the tension in his voice, Sardelle reached out with her senses. The ship was still far away, but she immediately felt the emotions of the people aboard because they were so intense. There wasn’t much of a crew—two, no three—but they were all scared. Terrified.
“Smoke,” Ridge said. “They’ve been struck.” He raised his voice to yell at the soldiers on the ramparts. “Ready the weapons. We might have company.” He gave Sardelle a quick, grim look, handed her his coffee mug, then ran for the stairs.
The clanks coming from the flier paused, and the big engineer stuck his head out. “Sir, you going to want me at the—”
“Keep working on the flier, Captain,” Ridge answered as he raced up the stairs. “We may need it sooner than we thought.”
Sardelle, remembering the image he had painted of a possible failed launch, grimaced. She returned her attention to the incoming airship. There weren’t any other vessels in the sky, at least not that she could see or sense, but—no, wait. At the very edge of her reach, behind the mountain peak, there was a familiar presence. The Cofah airship. It didn’t seem to be coming closer. Indeed, she had the sense that the captain was struggling with the wind and the snow, but it didn’t matter. It had already damaged its target.
By now, a spyglass wasn’t needed to see the smoke streaming out of the gray airship’s engines. Sardelle wondered if she could do anything to fix the problem, or at least slow the craft’s descent. It was streaking across the sky more quickly than she thought might be normal for an airship, dropping altitude at an alarming speed. Its balloon wobbled and the sides rippled—it had been damaged, too, she realized, and was losing gas. They must have originally intended to land it in the fort, but the steering didn’t seem to be working; it was veering toward the right. If it continued on that path, it would go full circle and crash into the mountain it had just crested.
Sardelle found the problem. The smashed rudder was stuck in one position, not responding to the pilot’s frantic pulls at the controls. A cannonball was wedged into the steering mechanism. Sardelle pried it out, dumping the iron weight into the snow far below. She turned the rudder in the opposite direction and imagined she could hear its pained squeal from two miles away. It wasn’t going to be enough to correct the problem. The vessel would still crash. Maybe that was inevitable, but better to crash close to the fort rather than into a mountain cliff.
She attempted to maneuver the craft against the wind without making it appear unnatural. Dozens of soldiers atop the rampart were watching. Fighting the wind was as much of a challenge for her as it was for the ship, and heat pricked at her skin, making her feel as if she were running laps around the fort instead of standing still. When the craft crashed, she had done what she could. She had brought it down on snow rather than letting it smash into a cliff. She didn’t know if it would be enough.
“Watch that ship,” Ridge called to someone before sprinting down the stairs. “Sergeant Komfry, grab some men. We’re going to look for survivors.”
At first, Sardelle thought his command was meant for the supply ship and couldn’t imagine why it would need to be watched—it certainly wasn’t going anywhere now—but the Cofah vessel had sailed into view above that mountain peak. It hovered there, watching. Preparing an attack? More snow had gathered on the high mountainsides. Would they try the avalanche maneuver again? If so, she was ready. This time, she would stop them before they dropped any explosives. One way or another.
No sooner had she experienced the thought when a whisper sounded in her mind. Who are you?
The warmth of Sardelle’s body vanished, replaced by a chill. The words came from the Cofah ship. From the other sorcerer. There was no doubt.
Come any closer and you’ll find out, she responded.
The laughter in her mind rang dark and disquieting. You could do nothing against my pet. You’ll be even less trouble for me.
Sardelle didn’t point out that she had been limited as to what she could do because she couldn’t let the soldiers know she was doing something. For one thing, she still had that problem. For another, it would be better for this foe to believe her weaker than she was.
She sensed the man—and she could tell it was a man now, someone older and experienced—trying to dig deeper and read her mind. She bricked off her thoughts. She could have prevented him from contacting her further as well, at least at that moment, but she didn’t. Any intelligence she might gather from him could prove useful. And maybe there was a part of her that wanted to hear from another telepath, another sorcerer. Even if he was the enemy and from an unfamiliar country and mage line. By default, she had more in common with him than with anyone here in the fort she was so determined to defend.
Why are you protecting these people?
Sardelle licked her lips, wondering if he had someh
ow slipped past her barriers to read her thoughts after all. No, it was a coincidence. Nothing more. She would have sensed him rummaging inside her mind. Besides, logic dictated that if he had to ask, he didn’t know.
They are my people. Sardelle made sure not to think of Ridge as she sent the words across the wind. As the commander here, he would already be a target. No need to make him more of one.
Impossible. All of the Iskandian sorcerers were killed long ago.
Sardelle was glad nobody was watching her, or paying attention to her at all—Ridge had led a team through the gates on snowshoes, and everyone else was keeping the miners in the shafts or watching from the walls—for pain must have flashed across her face. She had been certain there would be some survivors. She was tempted to reach out to Jaxi, to ask how the soulblade read the situation, but not while this other sorcerer was monitoring. The last thing she wanted to do was make some enemy aware of the artifacts buried within the mountain.
Even if some ancestors of yours survived, the enemy sorcerer went on, I don’t understand why you would defend these people. They were the ones responsible for the purge. You must know that.
You cannot blame a man for the faults of his ancestors.
Please. Do you think these people would be any different? They shoot, drown, and burn anyone with a hint of dragon blood. Nothing has changed. I’m surprised they haven’t… ah, they don’t know, do they? They don’t know who you are.
Sardelle didn’t respond to the smugness in the voice. How proud he was to have figured it out. Twit.
I will not share your secret. He chuckled. Though I will be shocked if you succeed in keeping it. To always hide your true nature, it must be painful.
What do you care?
Now? Nothing. But I… could care. You could leave these people. Come with me.
To what end?
I’ll take you to where the others of our kind live. You would be more comfortable there.
Sardelle swallowed hard at an ache in her throat. She did want to find out where other sorcerers might be, but if they were the types to join in with conquering armies, did she want anything to do with that? Of course, just because one man had made that choice did not mean they all did.
Or… The sorcerer’s words grew softer, almost husky in her mind. You could come with me.
What are you offering?
A union. There are few left with dragon’s blood, even fewer whose lines haven’t been diluted to near worthlessness through the centuries. Those who remain rarely produce offspring when they breed with each other. The blood is too close, too intertwined.
Sardelle found herself gaping at the distant ship, which was still hovering over the snowy peak. Had she just received an offer to breed? And from an utter stranger? How romantic.
He would probably say anything to get her away from the fort. Maybe he considered her more of a problem than he had let on.
For a brief, immature moment, she thought of sending him an image of herself entwined with Ridge, but that would be idiotic. All she said was, I’ll keep your offer in mind.
Do so. It will be a shame to kill you when we attack.
Uh huh. And when will that be?
Soon. Make your decision soon.
The enemy ship turned and drifted out of view, heading back to whatever docking space it had carved out in these inhospitable mountains.
Sardelle climbed the stairs to see if the crash site was in view and if Ridge had found any survivors. What she witnessed made her suspect he wouldn’t be meeting her in the library that night.
* * *
It took Ridge and two other men to pull open the dented metal door of the gondola. The shouts they had heard when they first approached had stopped. He hoped that wasn’t a sign of injured people falling unconscious—or worse. Unfortunately, he and the six-man team he’d brought out had needed to dig away a lot of snow to reach the door. The windows at the front of the enclosed cabin were still buried, so nobody could see in. The frame inside the balloon had been smashed as well, the gas bag ripped and torn, with shreds smothering the rest of the craft. In short, the crash site was a mess.
He was relieved when a cranky, “It’s about time,” snapped out of the darkness as soon as the door opened. His relief faded somewhat when the follow-up was, “Get us out of here, you buffoons.”
Ridge was about to state his name and rank, in the event that might result in friendly relations, but the speaker added, “I’m not sure the pilot is going to make it,” in a softer tone.
“Oster, Rav.” Ridge waved for them to follow, then crawled inside first. The only light came from the doorway, and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. “I’m Colonel Zirkander. Who’s barking at me and where’s the injured man?”
“He’s up front,” came a woman’s voice—and Ridge gaped into the darkness in surprise. Who would bring a woman up here unless she was one of the prisoners? Or maybe this supply ship had been carrying prisoners as well as goods? “He was trying to keep us from landing hard. He wouldn’t pull away from the controls, even when—” Her voice tightened in something close to a sob. She sounded young.
“As to who’s barking, Colonel, you’re speaking with General Melium Nax. You can call me sir.”
Great. Ridge had heard the man’s name spoken before. Usually in a fearful tone.
“Yes, sir.” He could make out the general’s form now—he seemed to be comforting the other passenger, the woman—though Ridge was focused on crawling into the smashed cockpit. “Rav, is that you behind me? Do you see the pilot? We’re going to have to pry that busted panel off his legs to pull him out.”
“Yes, sir.” The burly infantryman brushed past him. “Hurrying.”
Ridge patted about, trying to locate the pilot’s throat to take his pulse. He encountered a lot of blood. Hells. The man had some ripped metal beam thrusting into his chest. And no pulse.
“Never mind, Rav,” Ridge said softly. “There’s no hurry.”
Behind him, the general sighed. The woman sniffed and wiped her face.
“Let’s get you two out of here,” Ridge said. “I’m sure you’ve sustained injuries as well. I’ll show you to the medic.”
“You’ll show me everything, young man. I’m here to check up on you.”
“Yes, I gathered that. I’m honestly more concerned about the Cofah right now. Rav, have the rest of the men unload this ship. We need the supplies, whatever survived the crash. And cut this poor pilot out as well, please.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ridge climbed out ahead of the others, offering the general a hand. The white-haired, stern-faced man looked like the no-nonsense sort—also known as the utterly humorless sort—and Ridge doubted that they would get along. Oh, well. He had to admit he wouldn’t mind handing over fort operations to someone else, at least while the Cofah threat remained, so he could focus on defense and getting that flier off the ground. The general had a few scars on his hands and face. He must have seen some battles, so he should have useful advice. So long as his scars hadn’t come from street toughs he hadn’t been able to bribe with pies.
The thought brought Sardelle to mind. Seven gods, how was he going to explain her to a new commanding officer? Captain Heriton wouldn’t have to send a secret report anywhere to find someone to inform.
“Careful, Vespa,” the general said to the woman, who was climbing out now.
Without thinking about it, Ridge offered her a hand. The general scowled—if he was the husband, he was at least thirty years older than the woman, maybe forty—but she beamed as she accepted the offering. She was attractive with a delicate nose and pointed chin, and lush blonde hair mostly tamed by a braid, though several wisps had come free in the crash. She didn’t appear injured, though when she stepped into the snow, she floundered and ended up leaning against Ridge, grabbing his parka to stay upright.
“Oh, it’s deep here.”
It wasn’t that deep, but Ridge said, “Yes, ma’am.”
“Ve
spa Nax is my daughter, Colonel.” The general scowled at Ridge, as if he were the one who had grabbed her.
“Yes, sir.” Ridge extricated himself from the embrace. “Why, ah, I wouldn’t have expected you—or anyone—to bring a woman here.” Ridge wasn’t usually so circumspect with his superior officers, but he had never met Nax before and didn’t feel as comfortable mouthing off to him as with those in his chain of command. Maybe because he had something to lose here. Back home, he knew they weren’t going to take him out of the air for long. Here? He was going to have to tread lightly if he didn’t want Sardelle locked up.
The general scowled—it seemed to be his normative state. “Vespa, Professor Vespa Nax, I should have said, is a geologist. The king suggested I bring her along to study the rock formations in the mountain and determine where more crystals might be found. We lost two fliers in ocean fights not two weeks ago. That’s two crystals lost. Production must be increased.”
Ridge had been about to lead the way back to the fort, but he froze. “Which squadron?” Not his people… He didn’t want to hear about any downed pilots, but especially not those who flew under him.
“Which squadron, sir.”
Was the bastard kidding? Even being circumspect, Ridge was going to have trouble with the general, he could tell already.
Nax pointed a finger at his nose. “I know your reputation, Zirkander. I’ve seen you strutting around HQ like everyone there should bow down to your brilliance, but you’re an insubordinate nobody. Your family is full of drunks and delinquents. How you got into the academy, I can’t even imagine. Must have been some female recruiting officer falling for a handsome face.”
At that statement, Ridge was all too aware of the man’s daughter looking on, her expression somewhere between surprise and exasperation. Ridge didn’t mind getting his butt scrubbed with the porcupine brush, but he always hated those officers who did it in front of others. Vespa didn’t matter that much, but the men unloading the dirigible—men working very hard to pretend they weren’t hearing this—were soldiers Ridge might have to lead into battle later. They needed to respect him, not think he was some joke around HQ.
Beginnings: Five Heroic Fantasy Adventure Novels Page 99
