Beginnings: Five Heroic Fantasy Adventure Novels

by Lindsay Buroker

  “I don’t know how you got promoted this far,” Nax went on, “but if you give me any shit, I’m going to knock your ass back to lieutenant.”

  “Wonderful,” Ridge said. “Now, if you’re done with that speech, which I get the feeling you were rehearsing all the way here, I’d appreciate it if you told me which squadron—which men—went down. Sir.” And so his plans to be circumspect lasted all of three minutes. As they said in the academy, no battle plan survived past first contact.

  “Hells if I know,” the general growled. “All you dragon kissers are alike. Now, if you’ll show me to my office, I’d like to know what’s been going on here since you took command.” He scoffed and walked away—the black stone walls of the fort were visible through the snow, so he couldn’t get lost. Ridge didn’t hurry after him.

  “I didn’t realize my father had met you before,” Professor Vespa said.

  “He hasn’t. At least not so far as I know.”

  “Oh, odd. Usually he reserves that level of vitriol for lobbyists, liberals, and his most loathed enemies.”

  “He must know I don’t vote conservative at the holiday costume contests.”

  Vespa chuckled. Ridge hadn’t been trying to be funny. Oh, well. “This way, ma’am. I’ll show you to the, uh, guest quarters.” Those being some dusty, unused rooms in the officers’ billets.

  “Thank you. And, Colonel? Can I call you Ridge?”

  “Yes,” he said though he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to breed any sort of familiarity with the general’s daughter. Grumpy old Nax was going to be trouble enough without that. What had the king been thinking sending her out here among the hordes of horny men? An image of him in the cave with Sardelle flashed into his mind, and he flushed. Horny men indeed.

  “Good. Ridge, then. It was Wolf Squadron. It was in the newspapers.”

  “Wolf.” All of his indignation from the general’s treatment drained out of Ridge. That was his team. What did self-righteous superior officers matter if his people were back there dying? “Do you remember the names?”

  “It was a man and a woman. Dash and… Ann? Orhn?”

  Ridge stopped in the middle of the trail, his boots suddenly feeling like lead weights on his feet. He closed his eyes. “Ahn.”

  “They flew with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry.” The professor put a hand on his shoulder. “If you want to talk about it or to share a drink tonight, I would be happy to do so.”

  The woman’s familiarity surprised him. Up ahead, the general had stopped and was scowling back. Ridge resisted the urge to push her hand away. He forced himself to say, “Thank you,” and started walking again, knowing the hand would fall away on its own.

  The snow had lightened, and numerous men were watching from the ramparts. He hoped they were paying as much attention to the sky as they were to him and the newcomers—the Cofah ship had disappeared, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t be back. He spotted Sardelle up there, the breeze tugging at her long black hair, and hoped she hadn’t seen the overly familiar professor putting her hands on him. Something about the way she turned away as soon as he looked in her direction made him suspect she had.

  10

  The snores reverberated from the ceiling, walls, and floors of the women’s barracks. Whoever had designed the building should have considered carpets, curtains, tapestries, or at least something with sound-dampening properties. The decorator probably hadn’t known many women who were so nasally challenged. Sardelle hadn’t until she arrived here. Thus she lay awake in the darkness, listening to the audible slumber of tired women. She was tired herself, since she had spent the day in the laundry room. Though the other women had treated her like a leper since she hadn’t been in there in so long and had been, as they called it, kissing balls and freeloading, it had seemed a good place to hide from this General Nax, who had been dragging Ridge all over the fort, making angry gestures and yelling.

  Sardelle had instantly disliked the man, even though she hadn’t been in the same room with him yet. Captain Heriton had shown up at some point, trailing along on what appeared to be an inspection. She had stayed out of his sight, not wanting him to be reminded of her. She found it highly unlikely this general would be someone who would make a deal with her when her sword was discovered.

  She hadn’t figured out who that woman was yet either, except that she was young and pretty and seemed just as out of place here as Sardelle. She was obviously Someone Special though, for the soldiers had all been bowing and smiling at her whenever she came around. She didn’t think all of that could be the result of good looks.

  After lying awake for an hour, Sardelle crawled out of bed and put on her boots and clothing warm enough for a trek across the courtyard. She didn’t expect Ridge to be in the library, or even thinking about her, but she couldn’t sleep anyway, so on the off chance he was there…

  He’s there.

  Sardelle, in the process of sticking her feet into her boots, nearly tipped over. Jaxi had been silent all day, probably sharing her concern about being discovered by that sorcerer.

  Yes, I’ll lie low whenever their ship is around. I didn’t like that smarmy know-it-all. Jaxi sniffed.

  By lying low, you mean listening in on our telepathic conversation? Sardelle dressed more quickly, affected far more by the first thing Jaxi had said than by anything else.

  I have to keep abreast of what’s happening. I assure you, he didn’t sense me.

  That’s good. Sardelle tugged on her parka. When you said ‘he’s there,’ did you mean—

  I’d hate to be wielded by some smarmy mage stinking of the jungle and joining in with conquerors.

  I’m glad you also didn’t like him, but what I really want to know is—

  Yes, yes, your boyfriend is waiting for you. Though I’m not sure sex is what he has in mind.

  Sardelle strode outside, still buttoning her parka. The snow had stopped and the sky had cleared, though the air was cold enough to freeze the hair out of her nostrils.

  An attractive image. I recommend you don’t share it with your lover.

  Thank you for the advice, Jaxi.

  There were fires in the watchtowers and braziers burning on the ramparts. Though it was late, the soldiers strode about, their eyes toward the sky. Yes, with the clearing weather, the Cofah might think it time to try a new attack. She swept the skies with her senses, though she didn’t slow down from her brisk walk toward the library building. She didn’t feel anyone out there. Good.

  The library was only one room, upstairs in a building dedicated to equipment storage and welding. For a moment, Sardelle worried the front door would be locked, but it wasn’t. There weren’t any lamps lit in the open bay downstairs, and she had to use her senses to pick her way past everything from ore carts being repaired to giant flywheels from the machines that operated the tram. There was usually a clearer path to the second-floor stairs, but maybe things had been moved about for the general’s inspection.

  As she climbed to the upper hall and still didn’t find any lamps lit, she began to doubt Jaxi’s promise. But she sensed someone in the library room. Maybe Ridge had brought his own lantern and not bothered lighting any on the way. Perhaps a good idea if they didn’t want to be discovered. Although with this general here now, Sardelle was reluctant to do anything with him that might get him in trouble. For all anyone here knew, she was a prisoner. Ridge was the only one who had thought of her as anything else.

  She paused with her hand on the doorknob. Maybe she shouldn’t risk contacting him. But she couldn’t stomach the idea of leaving him in there alone. He was…

  Drunk, she guessed as soon as she opened the door and smelled the alcohol. And sitting in the dark, staring toward the library’s lone window, which had a lovely view of the drab stone ramparts.

  “Ridge?” Sardelle whispered. “Are you… do you want to be alone?”

  He took a deep, audible breath, letting it out slowly before answer
ing. Considering his answer, perhaps. Whatever had brought him here, Sardelle doubted it was she or an urge for sex.

  “No,” he finally decided.

  “Can I light a candle?”

  “Yeah.” His voice wasn’t slurred, but he definitely sounded off. No, he sounded down. Defeated.

  “Well, I don’t like this new general already if he drove you to drink,” Sardelle said lightly.

  Ridge grunted.

  “Is he in command now?”

  “Yeah. HQ gave him the authority to take over if I wasn’t doing an adequate job.” He flipped his hand, as if he didn’t care.

  After fumbling in a couple of drawers, Sardelle cheated, using her senses to locate candles and a box of matches. She brought them over to the table where Ridge was seated. He looked away when the match flared to life. The brown glass bottle next to him didn’t have a label; maybe it had been concocted in some tub in the back of the barracks. Whatever it was smelled strong. A little wooden dragon figurine rested next to the bottle, the paint on its bulbous belly worn off. She had only had glimpses of the charm, but she recognized it. There was a little metal eyehook on the top with a braided golden loop attached. Maybe he hung it in the cockpit when he flew.

  Sardelle sat in the chair next to him. “Perhaps you could give me some context. I’m not certain whether I should be trying to cheer you up or commiserating with you. Or simply sitting in silence.”

  Ridge used the back of his hand to push the bottle toward her.

  “Or joining you for a drink,” she added.

  “Two of my pilots were killed.”

  “Oh.” It wasn’t the general that had distressed him so, or not only the general. “Men you flew with? That you knew well?”

  “A man and a woman. A girl, really. Ahn was only twenty-three, barely out of the academy, but she had a real feel for the flier and the archer god’s gift for accuracy. She—” Ridge swallowed audibly, then cleared his throat and picked up the bottle. He took a long swig.

  Sardelle wondered if this Ahn had been more than a fellow pilot for him, but kept herself from asking. This was not the time, and she refused to feel petty jealousy toward a dead woman.

  Ridge set down the bottle. “She was a good kid. Would have had a great career. Made a difference, you know?”

  Sardelle didn’t have any words, none that wouldn’t sound pointless and inane, so she simply laid a hand on his forearm.

  “Dash, too,” Ridge said. “Even if he was reckless. They both were. Probably got that from me. And then I wasn’t there when—” He broke off again, gazing into the dark nothingness.

  “I’m sorry,” Sardelle whispered. It seemed so inadequate. For him, and for her too. Her thoughts drifted to those she had lost, friends and relatives who also would have had great careers if the fates had allowed it. Some had been younger than Ridge’s lieutenant when the mountain had come crashing down.

  They sat there in silence, letting the candles burn lower, their lights dancing with shadows on the bookcase. After a time, Ridge pushed the bottle toward her again.

  “You should drink. I’m more interesting when you do. Better company.”

  Because he wished it, Sardelle took a sample of the strong-smelling brew. As she had suspected, it burned like fire going down her throat. She managed not to cough and sputter—barely. “As I told you this morning, you don’t have to do much to be better company than a brigade of snoring women.”

  “Yeah? Guess I’m lucky standards here are low.”

  Sardelle too. She thought of the pretty blonde girl and the way she had fallen over Ridge from the moment she stepped out of the plane. It occurred to her that the hero worship she had seen from many of the soldiers must extend to women when he was back home. He must have his choice of female companions. If she were to knock on the door of his cabin by the lake someday, would she find him alone? Or, with so many other interested parties around, would he forget about her?

  You never used to be insecure.

  I never used to date much.

  You’re an attractive woman, Sardelle. He’s in the library with you, not drinking with that blonde girl. She offered.

  I’m sorry, were you trying to make me feel better?

  No, just making observations.

  Time for a different topic. “It sounded like that general was giving you a hard time. Will you get in trouble over the changes you’ve implemented?” Or over me, she added silently.

  “Already did. He thinks I’m running the place like the officer’s club back home. He figures I’ll bring in masseurs to rub down the prisoners next.”

  “Wasn’t he at least pleased by the crystals you’ve found?” Sardelle asked.

  “He was so happy he almost didn’t scowl for a second. Wouldn’t credit me for them though—not that I’ve had anything to do with finding them—” Ridge nodded toward her. “Even though Heriton told him differently, he’s convinced they came out of the ground on General Bockenhaimer’s shift.”

  “Well, your men are close to another one. He’ll be able to see that one for himself when they dig it out.”

  “Yeah.”

  “If I were down there, I might be able to find even more. Pretty soon, you’re going to get into some of the old rooms, and there’ll be a higher density of… ” Sardelle stopped because Ridge had twisted in his seat to face her.

  He clasped the top of the hand she had been resting on his arm. “Listen, Sardelle. You need to make yourself scarce. Don’t let him see you, and don’t show up when Heriton is around either. If he starts blabbing about what that prisoner said or about any of the admittedly unusual things that have happened since you came around, you’ll be in danger. I won’t be able to protect you. As much as I’d like to, I can’t throw a superior officer off a cliff.”

  “I’d never ask you to.”

  “I know you wouldn’t.” Ridge lifted his hand and stroked the side of her face. “You’re more mature than I am.” His eyes moved, following her face as his fingers traced her cheek down to her jaw. A pleased shiver ran through her. “Sexier too,” he murmured.

  “I would refute that statement. You’re quite sexy. Especially when you smile.”

  He managed a small one. “No argument on mature, eh?”

  “No.”

  Ridge chuckled softly and leaned closer. He kissed her gently on the lips, then lowered his face to the side of her neck. Sardelle wasn’t sure if he had commiseration in mind or something more, but her body was certainly responding to his touch. It would be a shame to go back to the barracks now. He pushed his hand through her hair and massaged the back of her neck.

  “I suppose being pawed over by a drunk wouldn’t be much of a reward for you coming all the way out here to keep me company,” he murmured against her throat, his lips grazing her skin.

  She wondered if he could feel the rapidness of her heartbeat there. “Depends on the drunk,” she whispered, slipping her hand behind his head and wondering why their chairs were so far apart.

  “Oh?”

  “You still seem to have… ” That massage felt so good, her brain slipped a cog and she momentarily forgot the rest of her sentence. Good and stimulating. Not to mention what his lips were doing on her throat. “Retained your faculties,” she breathed.

  “I was hoping you’d come.” His other hand found her thigh. Even through her clothing, it charged her with heat.

  Sardelle left her chair to sit in his lap and wrapped her arms more firmly around him. “Me too.” That didn’t make sense, but she didn’t care.

  “You’re the only thing keeping me sane tonight,” Ridge whispered, and it was the last thing either of them said for a time.

  * * *

  After spending the night with Sardelle, something Ridge resolved to do more often, whatever he had to do to manage it, he found himself struggling to pay attention to the lecture from the general’s daughter. Oh, Professor Vespa surely didn’t mean it to be a lecture, but by the time she had explained the significance
of the tenth type of rock from her sample case, Ridge was hoping General Nax would show up to send her away. Odd, when Sardelle had recited summaries of all those books, he hadn’t found it pompous or boring, but Vespa had an air of self-importance that made him want to pull out something else to work on while she spoke. He also got the impression she thought he wasn’t that bright.

  “It’s important that we start getting the miners to categorize the non-valuable debris they clear out in each level,” Vespa stated. “I’m here to determine the most likely types of rock that we can find crystals in.”

  “Someone has already determined that,” Ridge said. “That’s why we’ve found four in the last couple of weeks.”

  “Someone.” Vespa crinkled her tiny nose. “A geologist? An expert?”

  “I’m not sure what field she studied. She’s a prisoner.”

  “You’re taking excavating advice from a prisoner? Oh, Ridge.”

  “She’s educated.” Ridge probably shouldn’t be talking about Sardelle at all, but he didn’t want to have to institute some idiotic rock cataloguing system—he could just imagine how well that would go over with the miners, having to separate and label every chunk of dirt they removed—when they had a better way.

  “From where?”

  “She didn’t say.” It occurred to Ridge that he might have an unexpected resource to unearth a little more about Sardelle’s mysterious past. “Although, maybe you’ve heard of her. I think she was an archaeologist or in a similar field before ending up here.” Did geologists and archaeologists work together from time to time, read each other’s papers?

  “What’s her name?”

  “Sardelle Sordenta.”

  Vespa shook her head. “I’ve never heard of her.”

  “Hm. She has some interesting ideas about where the crystals come from. Have you ever heard about there being a Referatu outpost here at some point in the past? Here, inside the mountain itself?”

  Vespa took a step back. “The sorcerers? Of course not.”