“I didn’t notice much brass on the pirate captains’ hats,” Cas said.
“Then look for the ugliest brutes on the platform. Those are probably the leaders.”
“Will do, sir.”
“Everyone else, take your opportunities and watch our asses from above,” Zirkander said. “You know I don’t like having pirates sniffing around back there.”
“I’m not keen on anyone sniffing around my ass,” someone muttered.
“I might not mind the colonel’s archaeologist.”
That drew snickers from the men, but everyone knew to fall silent after that. Zirkander dipped his starboard wing twice, then led the way into a dive. They had reached a spot a couple of miles from the shoreline and were flying over the six parallel balloons of the outpost. Other airships dotted the nearby skies, some closer to the city, but Tiger Squadron was forming up to deal with them.
In the beginning, Cas followed Zirkander and the others, then she dropped lower for access to the massive platform. The ships that had been docked there the day before were all flying independently now, or had stayed out at sea, leaving this insanity for others to partake in, so she had little trouble seeing the guns, the propellers, and other key targets. The gunners would have little trouble seeing her too. Thasel and Pimples weaved behind her, trying to draw some of their attention.
Cas charged in head-on to start with, using the twin guns mounted at the front of the flier. The shots rang in her ears, even louder than the churning propeller. She targeted two grim-faced pirates crouched behind the giant gun mounted on the corner. They were aiming for her even as she blew rounds at them. One went down, but the other used the artillery weapon to hide behind. Shells shrieked past the cockpit, invisible in the night sky. She weaved unpredictably to make a harder target, then arced in, finding the angle to take down the second gunner. When he collapsed, she pounded the gun itself, followed by the propeller below it. Impressive streams of black smoke flowed from that corner of the outpost.
She was close enough to see faces on the platform—men with rifles waited, in addition to those manning other artillery weapons—when she pushed forward on the stick, diving below the outpost, almost scraping her cap off on the framework below. Guns fired behind her, her escort adding to the damage. Cas glanced back, making sure Thasel and Pimples had both dived below the platform too. They skimmed along the bottom behind her. Cas eyed the blocky shadows, the hint of pipes and vents, and wondered if any crucial targets might lie down there. But it was too dark to see much. And the colonel had given her a different assignment.
“Thasel, Pimples,” she said, still feeling silly for talking toward her pocket, “I’m going to parallel the outpost to look for the colonel’s brass. I’m pulling out my rifle.”
“We’re with you,” Thasel said, his voice calm, professional, and as humorless as always.
Pimples, on the other hand, responded with, “In other words, you’re going to be flying with your knee for the next five minutes, and we should stay back so you don’t crash into us. Thanks for the warning.”
Cas snorted but couldn’t come up with a suitable comeback, since it was essentially true. If she thought her flier was quaking in the breeze now, this would be a true challenge. And a challenge of her aim as well.
She had flown out from beneath the platform and circled back, gaining in altitude, so she could come in from above the balloons and not risk her craft until she was ready to start firing.
“Nice shooting, Colonel,” someone said.
Cas saw why the compliment had been thrown when she swooped back toward the outpost. One of those balloons had been damaged. More than damaged. Flames were leaping from a hole in the top, like a volcano erupting.
“Just demonstrating the new incendiary rounds,” Zirkander drawled.
“And lighting a real nice candle too. ’Preciate the light.”
When the squadron hadn’t destroyed any of the outpost’s balloons the day before, Cas had feared they might be reinforced somehow, so she was relieved to see the damage. The extra light might help her identify targets too. She unstrapped her rifle as she sailed in, paralleling the big platform. She wiped her goggles with her scarf one more time, clearing off a gray sludge made of snow and engine oil, then lifted her weapon, bracing an elbow on the side of the cockpit. She kept the stick as steady as she could with her knee and picked her targets. Gunner, gunner, ugly face bellowing orders, gunner—damn, clipped that one— and another ugly.
“Four o’clock, Ahn,” came Thasel’s detached voice at the same time as Pimples barked, “Look out, Ahn!”
His shout startled her, and her knee slipped. In theory, the flier was supposed to continue straight and level when there weren’t any hands on the stick, but the wind was blasting theories to dust tonight. Her craft pitched to the side alarmingly, and she almost lost her rifle. A stream of bullets screeched past her, several tearing into her upward-tilted wing. Cas jammed the rifle to the side of her seat and took the stick.
“You all right, Ahn?” Zirkander asked.
“Fine.” Cas righted herself, using the bottom of the outpost for protection, though the tufts of flaming material raining down on either side suggested it might not be a good hiding spot for long. “Apparently pirates don’t like being shot at.”
“Not just at,” Pimples said. “Shot dead. Another pass on the other side, and they won’t have anyone at the guns.”
“I’m sure they can find reinforcements,” Cas said, though she did intend to go back and attack the other side. By now, she had come out from under the outpost. She circled back, the lights of the city visible through a lapse in the snow. Interestingly, the big station hadn’t moved much closer. She spotted burning wreckage down in the harbor. One of the airships down most likely. Good.
“Somehow I don’t think they’ll get many volunteers,” Pimples chortled.
“Better not look so impressive, Ahn,” someone said, “or you’ll get kissed again when you and Pimples land.”
She shook her head, thinking of the kiss she had shared with Tolemek and hoping he was staying out of sight down there. She dug out her rifle and lined herself up for another attack. Another balloon was up in flames. Also good. Sinking the outpost would get rid of a lot of pirates at once, something sky and sea freighter captains would thank them for.
“Going in again,” she announced, then did so, propping her elbow on the side of the cockpit again. She could simply use the machine gun, like everyone else did, but she had always preferred perfect accuracy to flinging a slew of bullets and hoping to get lucky. Her father’s influence, doubtlessly. Besides, the delay from the synchronization gear that kept the bullets from hitting the propeller always irritated her. Everyone else said they couldn’t tell, but it was apparently her one thing to be hypersensitive about. She blamed her father for that too.
She eyed the city lights for a moment, wondering if he was home. His work took him out of the capital, and sometimes to other continents altogether, so she had no idea. If he was there, would he thank her if she and the other fliers were successful in keeping the pirates out of the city? He might not fear for his own life, unless bombs were dropped high up into the hills, but he had a lot of valuables at home that might attract looters. She wouldn’t hold her breath for a show of gratitude, though; he hadn’t sent one yet.
On her second pass at the outpost, she knocked out three more gunners and three gesticulating older men she hoped were captains giving orders. Nobody came close to hitting her flier. Between the flames from the balloons and the smoke wafting from propellers and other crucial areas, the outpost didn’t have much ability left to fight. It might have been different if Tolemek’s fog had blanketed the entire harbor and stretched up into the sky, but these pirates had been outmaneuvered from the start. Cas secured the Mark 500 again, then switched to strafing the remaining balloons with the rest of the squadron.
“That snake nest is about to drop out of the sky,” someone crooned.
“Don’t get cocky,” Crash said. “The weather’s getting worse. Just finish up so we can get out of here.”
He was right. The snow had let up somewhat, but the howling wind had picked up its intensity. There was a crosswind coming in from the sea too. Cas struggled to control her flier.
“One more balloon should do it,” Zirkander said. “Focus fire on the aft one. And give your neighbors some distance. We’re being bobbed around like buoys out here.”
“Is anyone else wondering why they haven’t started bombing the city?” someone from Tiger Squadron asked.
“I am,” Zirkander said. “It’s like they’re waiting for something.”
“Maybe they’re enraptured with us,” Pimples said.
“I believe the word you’re thinking of is enthralled,” Apex said, “though neither seems likely.”
“Thanks,” Pimples said. “I’d be lost without your guidance.”
“What’s the word for it when an officer kisses another officer in front of a whole bunch of other officers?” someone asked.
Cas winced, imagining Pimples’ embarrassment. This wasn’t the time for squad-wide mockery. W-83 was busy blowing flaming holes in the balloon he had selected for targeting.
“How long before everyone forgets about that?” Pimples asked.
“I don’t know, but it’s sure going to take more than an hour.”
“Enough, Wolves,” Zirkander said as his craft flew out of the flames leaping from the balloon. The platform sagged, the aft end dipping down at an impossible angle, and pirates tumbling over the side. Others clawed their way into buildings and hung from lampposts. “We’ll mock Pimples thoroughly once we’re on the ground with beers in our hands.”
“Gee, thank you so much, sir,” Pimples said.
Several quieter moments passed, with nothing except the thrum of the propellers and the bangs of the guns speaking to the night. Cas focused on the shooting and tried to relax, though the wind had her whole body tense.
“Look out,” several people cried at once.
Cas glanced in all directions, thinking the warning might be for her. But two Tiger Squadron fliers had clipped wings or crashed in some other way. Both craft were spiraling toward the harbor. There was no chance for the pilots to pull up—they’d lost all control. The fliers plunged into the water, the wings ripped off by the impact and hurled free. Cas stared in horror, reminded that nature was every bit as dangerous as enemy bullets.
*
Zirkander’s house. That was the only place Tolemek could think of to check for the canister. Those pirates had been searching it, but they might have done more than that. Perhaps the attempt to blow it up had been a ruse. Or maybe they had placed the device nearby and had wanted to cover their tracks.
As he pondered this, Tolemek rowed toward the other vessel. A great screech of metal sounded overhead, and the sky lit up. Until then, he had been more concerned about his own problems than the air battle in the sky, but seeing two fliers plummeting from the clouds had a way of riveting a man’s attention. Several of the pirate airships had already crashed, but nearly a mile away, at the north end of the harbor. These fliers would strike down much closer to him. Even before they smashed into the water, he doubted there were survivors—and then the wings were torn off by the impact, and the cockpits disappeared beneath the waves. One of the torn pieces of wing flew in his direction, and he lifted a hand—as if that would do any good—but it bounced down with such force that it skipped off the water again and flew over his head before landing.
Tolemek rubbed his face, staring. For the most part, the pilots were strangers to him, indeed he would have considered them enemies mere hours ago, but he stared in horror at the froth and bubbles, having no way to know if Cas had been in one of those fliers.
“Pirate,” came a soft call from ahead of him.
Sardelle crouched in the shadows, on the sailboat he had been rowing toward. It had drifted closer now—or he had—and he could make out the figure on the deck.
“Tolemek,” he said, not that it mattered at the moment.
“There’s little time. One of the pilots lives. I have to help.”
“The whole city is in danger if Goroth told me the truth, but I don’t know where—”
“Jaxi does.” Sardelle shifted her weight, then tossed something to Tolemek—her sword scabbard. “I’ll catch up.” Her requisitioned yacht was gliding past him, heading unerringly toward the spot where the closest flier had disappeared.
When Tolemek caught the weapon, he stared at it for a moment, before laying it on the floor of the boat and rowing for shore. “You wanted a soulblade…” He looked down at the weapon in its scabbard, no hint of glowing or magic about it. “You’re going to talk to me, right?” Because otherwise he had no idea where to go.
Yes, I’m done arguing with Sardelle now.
About healing people?
About tossing me into some pirate’s hands. Especially a pirate who came here with the intention of stealing me.
That wasn’t my exact intention. Tolemek threw his back into the rowing, not knowing how much time they had or how far they had to travel.
Up to the butte. The device is going up and down the side of the cliff, attached to the bottom of a tram cabin.
The tram on the airbase? Tolemek slapped the oars into the water with more vigor than the task required. You saw that in Goroth’s mind?
Yes.
The airbase. How am I supposed to get past the soldiers guarding the gate? Not to mention riding their manned tram without being spotted. How did Goroth even get it up there to start with?
The captain hadn’t been here any longer than Tolemek. And he had been unconscious half the time. How had he managed so much?
He has men to order around. You seem to be lacking in that area.
Yes, it’s hard to get people to defect en masse with you. The rowboat bumped against the dock, and Tolemek climbed out, not bothering to tie the craft.
Do you not have more of your devices for knocking humans unconscious?
One. How’s your magic? Any chance you’ll let me use it if I get stuck?
I’ll use it if I get stuck. It would inconvenience Sardelle if she had to retrieve me from some military research facility.
In other words, I’m on my own, and you’re only here to guide me to the device.
There’s the swift thinking that leads me to believe you might actually have the brainpower to be an evil inventor.
Just… an inventor.
The device kissing the bottom of the tram cabin gives validity to my adjective.
Tolemek wished he could object more meaningfully, but if the sword was in his head and knew everything he knew…
He reached the head of the dock and turned onto the waterfront street, tugging his hood over his head again. With Goroth’s ship destroyed and the fog machine on the bottom of the harbor, only the snow remained for cover, and the wind was blowing most of that away. The street was busier than ever with soldiers and armored vehicles, many with artillery weapons mounted on them, stationed every block or two. Their focus was toward the sky, but they might notice a suspicious figure running along the street. Tolemek did his best to use the shadows of the buildings to hide his travel. He was about to cut through an alley and hope the next street over was less populated—and paralleled the waterfront so he wouldn’t get lost—when a pair of cavalrymen on horseback trotted out of the alley toward him, their rifles resting across their thighs.
Keep going, Jaxi instructed.
Though he had his reservations, Tolemek did so, hugging a stone wall in hopes that the soldiers would assume he was just a helpful soul out for a walk and ready to beat down pirates with his sword if need be.
The men didn’t so much as look his way.
You’re welcome.
You can keep them from seeing me?
You’re not invisible, but they were distracted, and probably won’t remember your passing unless someone brings it
up.
Handy.
Yes. I hope my obvious versatility isn’t making you think of stealing me again.
Tolemek turned onto the street that he hoped paralleled the waterfront. With the butte looming ahead, he shouldn’t be able to lose his way. I was never thinking that. I just wanted to ask—
I know what you want. If there are other soulblades out there still—and I hope that is the case, because you don’t know how depressing it is to be the last of your kind—we haven’t located them yet.
“Oh.” Though Tolemek’s priority was finding the canister before the timer ran out, he couldn’t help but feel disappointed. You said yet. Does that mean—
It’s not our priority.
What is?
At the moment, keeping Sardelle’s new soul snozzle alive.
Tolemek curled a lip, more at the idea of Zirkander as anyone’s ‘soul snozzle’—whatever that was—than because a sorceress might fall in love.
Listen, Jaxi said, no soulblade would want to bond with a crazy girl, anyway.
Tolemek clenched his fist as he ran. She’s not crazy. She just needs help understanding her powers.
Maybe so, but there were always so few soulblades in the world that we could be highly selective with who we chose.
The statement sounded perfectly reasonable, but it was perfectly frustrating as well. Another wasted research trip.
No, not wasted. He gazed up toward the sky, praying that Cas was still up there and still healthy. Even if there was no future for them, he wouldn’t regret anything that had happened this past week. He would only regret having to leave her. Or losing her. He frowned at the harbor, though he couldn’t see where the fliers had crashed.
That much I can give you. She’s fine.
It was probably only in his imagination that the sword sounded apologetic. But maybe Jaxi actually regretted that she had to say no to his hopes for his sister.
We’re not gods; we can’t be the answer to everyone’s problems.
The gates of the airbase came into view, and Tolemek slowed down, pressing himself against a wall and digging into his sack. He still had the one knockout ball and the grenade as well. He squinted past the gate, where snow swept along the dark vertical wall of the butte. The tram cabin looked to be at the top rather than the bottom. Not good. His aerosol was heavier than air, so even if the rocket element wasn’t activated, the gas would descend upon the houses at the base of the cliff, probably drifting farther out into the city as well.
Deathmaker (Dragon Blood) Page 23
