And again he blinked. She was eighteen? Her reaction implied that she may have been goaded a lot for her apparent age. He still couldn’t believe it. She really did look like she was—
“We need to break the arrow and pull it out.”
“Wait, what?”
She grabbed onto the longer end of the shaft with both hands and looked at him. “Ready?”
“No!”
What is happening? Your feelings are like leaves in a storm.
This girl is going to be the end of me! He raised his right hand. “Just . . . wait! I can take care of the breaking.”
She let go of the arrow, but doubt was clear in her expression.
“Gods! Do you do everything pell-mell?” He shook his head and stared at the part of the shaft between his bicep and the fletching. A modified version of Neilah’s Constriction should take care of it.
“No sense in wasting time.”
He frowned. “Maybe, but at least take a moment to consider alternatives.”
A wash of power flowed over him as he wove the spell, and at its conclusion, the shaft fell free, cut quickly and cleanly. The foot-and-a-half piece made a wooden sound when the end hit the floor and bounced.
A grunt came from her. “Handy. You need to teach me that spell.” She pointed. “Rest your arm on the end of the table there.”
He did so.
For some reason, she picked up the shaft and gave it to him. She then sat on the stool next to him and began untying her shoe.
He stared at her. “What . . . are you doing?”
She merely smiled at him, green eyes sparkling.
What she was doing became clear when she took the lace she’d removed from the shoe and tied it to the end of arrow, snugging it around the dull gray metal arrowhead. Each little movement imparted to the remaining piece of arrow hurt like hells.
It came to him what she intended and his eyes widened. Oh gods.
“The dried blood and how long the arrow’s been in there mean this is going to hurt.” She actually looked a little worried for him. “A lot. Bite down on that.” She pointed to the length of shaft loosely held in his hand.
He looked at it. Ah. So that was why.
There was a faint crackle when he bit down followed by an odd taste that must be lacquer or resin. He looked at her and nodded.
The shoe lace was wrapped around her left hand and she used both to hold it tightly. She lifted her right foot, clad only in a sock, and rested it on the table, against his arm. A wrinkle appeared between her brows briefly, then she pulled.
Fillion!
His scream was of a higher pitch than he thought it would be.
There were bits of wood in his mouth, and burning pain pulsed from deep within his bicep. Blood started to slowly well out of the two holes in his jacket. Panting a little, he spit out the splintery shaft end and it clattered on the floor.
Fillion! What is happening?
She took out the arrow. It hurt.
And what of your arm?
I’m not sure, but at least the arrow is out.
Comfort and love came through the link, and Fillion was grateful for the support.
The door to the room burst open. Based on his clothing, the man was one of the people working on this floor. He looked in, concern plain on his face. “Is aught amiss?”
Behind the man, Preeti stared in, looking frightened.
“Just administering some medical attention.” Pulses of magic came from the girl as she stared at his arm, and the throbbing agony receded. “No major vessels or arteries were hit, so those should help with the bleeding and the pain.”
She started wrapping his arm in strips of cloth she’d torn earlier. “But you will want to have a surgeon specialist look at it.”
“Are you okay, Fillion?” Preeti watched the girl’s ministrations.
He nodded and smiled. “I’m good enough. There’s less pain with the arrow out, though it is by no means gone.”
“I’m so sorry that happened to you.”
Fillion frowned. Did she think she was responsible? “It’s not your fault, Preeti. We get injured all the time. It’s part of the job.”
Now done with the bandages, the girl moved off and looked over the map covering the middle of the table.
“Job?” Preeti looked up from his arm.
“A dragonlinked helps when and where needed. To be honest, though—” He looked from Preeti to the girl, then to his hand on the table. “This is a little embarrassing, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone. You see, I now think of working with the guild as more of a calling than a job. I like helping people, and as a dragonlinked, I can help so many more than if I was still stuck in Cotter’s Grove.”
When he looked up, Preeti was staring at him.
“I don’t think that’s anything to be embarrassed about.” The girl blinked, her freckles stood out against her suddenly dark cheeks, and she hastily tapped the map. “T–The building is there. The warehouse. W–Where Master Gella is. I’m sure you want to go and see what they’ve learned.”
“Well if there’s nothing wrong,” the man said, “then we should get back to your aunt.”
With another glance at Fillion, Preeti nodded and followed him away.
At least they would be safe here, and once Tobin explained why they’d been held, that could be addressed, too. In the meantime . . .
Fillion stood and examined the spot the girl had indicated. That’s not near any of the patrol routes we know. It will be almost as fast to fly the whole way as portal to the closest place we know first.
The sooner we get there, the sooner we find out what they have learned.
True enough. He smiled, looked at the girl, then frowned. “I really need something to call you other than ‘the girl.’”
She drew her brows together. “What?”
“I don’t know your name. I understand why that’s as it must be, but whenever I think of you, it’s just as ‘the girl,’ and I’d like to be able to have a name for you.”
She chuckled. “So, do you think of me often?”
Fillion lifted a brow. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I have a boyfriend who I’m quite in love with, but . . .” He shrugged. “I do like you. You’re clever, resourceful”—he lifted his left arm a bit and smiled—“even handy with a bandage. It would be nice if I had something I could call you other than ‘the girl.’”
She stared at him a moment, expression unreadable, then looked up at the ceiling, lips twisted in thought. “Hmm. How about, Fox?”
“Fox?”
“Why not? I think they’re cute.”
He chuckled. “So, you’re saying that you’re cute?”
She scowled. “Are you saying I’m not?”
He laughed, then groaned as the movement sent a jolt of pain through his arm. “Fine, fine.” He smiled at her. “Thanks for the help, Fox.”
She smiled back. “You’re very welcome, Chip.”
He chuckled, shook his head, and left for the roof.
More blood comes out.
Fillion glanced at the bandages, now stained a little, and nodded as he approached Coatl. Without the arrow to hold it back, it will bleed more. Fox did put on an enchantment to reduce it, though.
Strapping in made him grimace. It could be worse, he supposed. It could have been his right arm that got shot.
Coatl taking off, hurt, too.
Barbs and pissing blades, but flying would not be as fun for a while. Hells, a lot of things wouldn’t be as fun.
So. Coatl emerged from the portal, then banked toward a rising air column. Fox?
Fillion smiled and closed the gateway. She came up with it, not me. But I kind of like it. Foxes are pretty cute, the way they play around.
And she is cute, too.
I suppose. When she’s not yelling. She’ll likely make someone a good, if feisty, girlfriend.
Coatl’s rumbling laugh thrummed through the saddle. That she will.
He plac
ed a hand to the riding cap, over his ear. “Chanté, Quillan, I’m done with the rescue, and we should arrive there in—” He recalled that he’d turned his comm set off for the rescue.
“Barbs and blades.” He removed the cap and switched both pieces on. Pulling it back on his head, he snapped the mask closed and said, “Chanté, Quillan, I’m done with the rescue, what’s happening?”
“Fillion! We did discover a device like the one Master Gella brought to me, but—” For some reason he stopped, then murmured, “Oh, it’s another message.”
“What’s it say?” Master Gella’s voice was faint. Quillan or Chanté’s set must be picking up her words.
“Fillion! Take off your riding cap!”
He drew his brows together. What was Quillan talking about? “Why?”
“Just take it off, quickly!”
Not entirely sure why he had to, he removed it anyway. No sooner had he done so when a very loud sound came from it. The din reminded him of someone wadding up a sheet of paper, then continuously rustling it, but with a pattern, almost a beat, to it. What in hells was going on?
The sound went on for about half a minute before it finally stopped.
He put the cap back on. “What in hells was that?”
“The person in command sends out instructions on their ’writer network to whoever is actually activating the devices. We see the instruction on the captured ’writer, and shortly after, that signal burst is heard on the comm sets. It seems another—”
“Why do we hear it on the comm sets?”
There was a delay before an answer came. “That’s my fault.” Quillan sounded upset. “I use a base frequency that I modulate. A specific carrier wave used by the devices to send and receive. Unfortunately, when I picked it, I guess I unconsciously chose the one the control device listens on. So when the signal to start the fire comes along, my comm devices blast out that noise. I’m very sorry.”
“They are still incredible devices.” Even through the comms, Chanté’s voice carried pride and a little reproach. “One small issue doesn’t take away from that. Besides, you’ll only need to change one circuit on each piece, replace them in the sets, and all will be well.”
“That’s true! And different carrier waves can be used to create those channels we talked about.”
Fillion frowned. Those two could go on forever with shop talk. “Quillan,” he said, “did you learn anything about the device Master Gella found?”
“Oh. No. Before we could examine the thing, it was activated remotely to catch the warehouse on fire. By the time we noticed, we had to make a hasty retreat before the place burned down with us inside.”
Fillion grunted. He’d noticed a smudge in the distance when they emerged from the portal. Now that he looked at it again and because they were closer, he saw that it was smoke rising up to the sky. “Was anyone hurt?”
“No. We were the only ones here and we made it out just in time. I am a little upset, however, that I was unable to examine the device as a part of the apparatus.”
“You aren’t the only one.” Elizabeth’s voice made plain she wasn’t happy, either.
“Apparatus?” Fillion drew his brows together.
“Three large barrels and a chute to divert their contents into an air circulator which then further diverts the accelerant into the building below.”
“Speaking of which,” Master Gella’s voice could just be made out, “that signal means another fire will start somewhere soon.”
Fillion frowned. “Pissing blades. Have any of you been able to work out how many fires those people—”
Something is amiss. I sense fear and panic below.
What? Where?
Just ahead. Coatl angled downward. In that building.
It looked like a tenement of some kind. The five story building sat about midway along the street.
“Fillion? We didn’t get the end of your sentence. What were you saying?”
As Coatl banked around the structure, he caught an occasional glimpse of flickering, yellow light through some windows. “I think I found the building on fire.”
“Where is it?”
There are people in that building.
“And there are people in it!”
“Fillion, have Coatl show Nantli where it is.”
He grunted. The command in Chanté’s voice was surprising. Show Nantli where we are.
Done.
“Master Gella, Fillion may have found the fire, we must go.”
“Can Nantli carry all of us?”
“She’s strong, and it is a short ride, she’ll be fine.” Moments later, Fillion again heard Chanté. “Lifting off.”
“Noted.”
The anxiety Fillion heard mixed in with Quillan’s excitement made him wonder if the machinist would ever be free of his fear of heights. It also made Chanté’s earlier point. The comm sets were indeed incredible. It was astonishing what one could hear through these things.
Coatl made another pass around the tenement.
When they came to the street side, Fillion spied a police officer. Take us to the officer, quickly.
Coatl dove to the street. Once there, he gave a mighty beat of his wings to halt their forward movement and started hovering.
The wing beats, the blasts of air they produced, drew the officer’s attention. She looked up and her eyes widened.
“Ma’am, that building is on fire!” He pointed. “There are people inside!”
Yellow light flared in one of the windows and screams broke out.
Piercing whistle blasts made him turn back to the officer. She was sounding the fire signal, he hoped.
“We have to help them. Hurry!” She ran for the building, again sending out a series of whistle blasts.
At the bottom of the front stoop, Fillion hopped off. How many people are inside?
Coatl stepped back to the sidewalk and, gaze on the building, he padded quickly left and right in front of it.
Ten, I think.
A woman ran out to the street and turned back, eyes full of worry.
Nine, now.
Are there any who seem to be standing still? Any who may not know about the fire?
Four. The others all seem to be moving quickly.
Guide me to the one highest in the building.
Fillion watched Coatl lift into the air, then he ran in the door and down the main hallway.
Stairs. Where were the stairs?
A man ran past him, eyes full of fear.
There! Midway down was an open stairwell. He pounded up the stairs. What floor is that person on?
Two floors up from you and to the east.
Once at the floor, he stepped into the hallway and looked left and right. Which pissing way was east? He walked to the left. Is this the right way?
It is. The man is close, about a hundred feet ahead of you and to the right.
He broke into a run. After about thirty feet, he passed two doors facing each other across the hallway. Fifty feet or so later were another pair, so he stopped there. The next doors were another fifty feet farther, well beyond where Coatl said the man was. He must be in this apartment.
Fillion banged his fist on the door. “Sir! The building is on fire!”
Would the man hear him? Music came from within, piano and violin. It seemed pretty loud, even through the door.
“We’re almost there, Fillion!”
He ignored Quillan for the moment. The smell of smoke was getting very strong. This man had to get out of here quickly.
He banged on the door again. Though he was pounding the door with his right hand, the exertion, the movement, was agitating the injury in his left bicep. “Barbs and blades! I know you’re in there!”
He heard locks of various type being turned, and then music flooded out when the door was flung open.
Gripping a towel wrapped around his waist, a wet and angry man glared at Fillion. “What is the meaning of this?” He looked up. “Good gods, is that smoke?�
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“The building is on fire. You must leave, now!”
Fillion didn’t wait to see if the man would do as advised. Trying to move his left arm as little as possible, he turned and ran back toward the stairs.
Smoke was gathering into a thick layer on the ceiling. That must be what the man had seen. The light fixtures in the hallway were being engulfed by the lowering smoke, and cast only the occasional feeble beams through the weirdly undulating gloom.
This wasn’t good. Where is the next person?
Same floor, the direction you are heading now. Four hundred feet or so on the left. She was moving toward you, but has stopped.
As he hurried past the stairs on his way to the other side of the building, he noticed smoke rising up the stairwell. Damn.
The woman is moving again, but slowly and away from you. I sense great fear.
He started running.
She is getting . . . higher. Why is she going up?
The answer crackled and roared in front of Fillion. Fire engulfed the hallway ahead. It covered most of the floor and licked up the walls and along what he could see of the ceiling. A quiet pop came from one of the light fixtures on the wall and its lightglobe went dark.
He turned back for the stairs. Fire cut her off. I’m going upstairs using the central stairwell. How many people are left inside?
Just you two.
Good.
Worry came through the link.
What is it?
The fire is very big. You must hurry.
The air in the stairwell was surprisingly hot. The heat and choking smoke made going up the stairs an ordeal. Where is the woman?
She continues to climb. A spike of intense worry came through the link. Fillion, much of the building is in flames. I am not sure you will be able to make it back out if you continue to go higher.
He had an idea. Hover above the building.
I already am.
Smoke nearly filled the next floor. He crouched to see below it, but with almost no light—the smoke in this hallway was below the sconces, nearly cutting their illumination off completely—he could see very little. Coughing, he moved to a corner of the landing where the smoke was less thick. It was definitely getting hotter. Is she still climbing?
She seems to be on the top floor, the one above you. She has stopped moving.
Of Gods, Trees, and a Sapling: Dragonlinked Chronicles Volume 4 Page 86
