by Colt, K. J.
The general was staring at the books and didn’t seem to be paying attention.
“Good find,” Ridge said. “Thank you for the hard work.”
The miners knuckled their foreheads in something approximating a military salute. “Sure, boss. Sure.”
“What is this?” General Nax asked, touching the spine of one of the books with a single finger. The title was written in Iskandian, albeit an archaic-looking version of the text, with more flowery touches than one usually saw on a book.
“What is it, Da?” Vespa squeezed past two men for a better look.
“Rituals of the Harvest Moon,” Nax read, then jerked his finger back. “Rituals. These are sorcerous filth.” He looked at a few more titles. “All of them.”
“If this was a Referatu stronghold,” Vespa said, “those titles make sense.”
Ridge winced. He hadn’t told her that believing she would speak openly of it. A mistake. He shouldn’t have said anything at all, a notion reinforced when the general’s head whipped around. “Who told you that?”
Vespa looked at Ridge, a question in her eyes.
He snorted to himself. She might as well have thrust a finger at him.
“I heard it from a prisoner,” Ridge said when Nax’s scowl turned in his direction again. “I thought it might be an accepted fact in the academic world, so I brought it up to the professor.”
The miners were looking back and forth, sharing confused expressions. Ridge couldn’t blame them. They ought to be proud of finding such an old and unique find, but the general certainly wasn’t giving them that impression.
“Burn them,” Nax said. “Burn everything that comes out of there.”
“What?” came a familiar cry from the back of the crowd.
Ridge winced again. He couldn’t blame Sardelle for protesting this, especially if these artifacts were what had brought her all the way out here, but he wished she hadn’t let that cry slip out. In truth, it sounded like one of surprise as much as one of protest, and when he spotted her, wearing the usual prisoner’s garb and with a laundry basket in her arms, he also spotted the regret in her eyes, the cringe on her face. She, too, knew she had made a mistake.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
SARDELLE KEPT HER HANDS CLASPED behind her back and stared steadily at the snow in front of her. Ridge had warned her, and she had warned herself, yet when she had chanced upon that crowd, seen the books, and heard that vile proclamation from the general…
To destroy what little remained of her people, it was unthinkable. And yet, she had brought this about herself. If she hadn’t been so eager to help Ridge find some crystals, the miners might never have delved into that half of the mountain. Now they might destroy every remaining piece of her culture.
That’s not fair. You sent them that way to recover me. If anything, this is my fault.
That doesn’t make the situation any better, Jaxi. I—we—miscalculated.
We couldn’t have foreseen Slug Breath taking command.
“Her record says Sardelle Sordenta,” Captain Heriton was informing the general. Ridge stood a few feet back, his arms folded over his chest, his face flinty. Not at her, she knew, but at the situation. Heriton, of course, was smiling cheerfully. “A record that didn’t appear until she had been in the fort for two or three days. When it appeared, it was in a spot I had already checked. It hadn’t been there the day before. And then there’s the fact that she was originally found wandering in the mines by a… ”
Sardelle had heard the accusations before and listened in silence, watching as the books were unloaded from the cart and carried to an empty area in the center of the courtyard. Someone set a can of kerosene next to them.
If you don’t do something, I will. Jaxi sounded as irritated by the situation as Sardelle.
I’m already on the verge of being accused of witchcraft here. What can I do? After I get you, it doesn’t matter— Sardelle glanced at Ridge and admitted it would still matter, —but until then, I can’t let them…
Kill you?
Yes.
That would be inconvenient. I’ve grown attached to you and missed you when you were sleeping for three centuries.
I’m glad to know you care. If you do something, don’t hurt anyone, please.
The grumbles that sounded in Sardelle’s head weren’t encouraging, but she knew Jaxi wouldn’t physically harm anyone unless it was to defend her. They had both taken oaths long ago to protect, not to hurt.
“You have anything to say, woman?” General Nax asked.
Sardelle shook her head.
“You knew about this spy, Colonel Zirkander?” Nax’s voice grew soft, dangerous.
For a moment, Ridge looked like he might go with a mute answer as well, but his lips thinned, and he chose to say, “I don’t know what she is, but if she’s a spy, she’s a considerate one. She’s the one who pointed out the locations of the new crystals.”
Sardelle didn’t want him to get in trouble for defending her, but with so many eyes upon her, she didn’t know how to signal him.
You don’t think he’s ready for telepathy?
Remembering the way he had lost his composure when she had teased him about being a telepath, she didn’t think so, no. He had run afoul of sorcerers before, he had admitted as much. The moment she allowed him to find out she was one was the moment she lost the only thing she had here. In the world.
The last of the books had been piled up, and a soldier uncapped the kerosene can.
“And how did she know the location of the crystals?” General Nax regarded her through slitted eyes.
“Is she the one who knew this was a Referatu stronghold?” the general’s daughter asked, stepping forward and speaking for the first time.
Sardelle kept herself from frowning at Ridge, but it hurt a little to realize he must have been talking about her to this woman. Trying to defend her, she sensed, but she still wished he had said nothing. She could get herself into enough trouble without anyone else’s help.
The soldier lit his match. Sardelle made a point of not looking in his direction as she snuffed it out. Nobody except the soldier noticed. Good. He had a whole box full of matches. Not good. Oops, it seemed the heads had grown damp in the snow at some point. The soldier tried to light several more before grumbling to himself and heading for one of the buildings.
“I will have answers to these questions,” General Nax said. “If not nicely here, then in an interrogation room.”
Ridge dropped his arms. “That’s not called for, sir. She’s been helping us.”
“No doubt so she can steal the crystals once we’ve pulled them all out. And take them back to wherever she’s from. Did the Cofah plant you, girl?”
“I am Iskandian, through and through,” Sardelle said. “I grew up in these mountains. I would not betray them to invaders.”
The soldier returned, a fresh box of matches in his hand. She dampened them before he reached the pile of books.
“We’ll see if you have the same answer when a little pressure is applied,” the general said.
“Sir.” Ridge stepped forward. “Are we really going to start torturing women, here?”
“You wouldn’t object if she were a man. Spies can come in either sex, Colonel. Don’t be naive.”
“I haven’t yet seen a reason to torture anyone. She’s helping us. Don’t you want to see how many crystals she can direct us to? If we can’t keep a hold of them after that, that’s our problem, isn’t it?”
Nax scowled at him. “Isn’t it, sir.”
A muscle ticked in Ridge’s cheek. Sardelle realized she hadn’t seen him angry yet, not truly. He wouldn’t do something to ruin his career on her behalf, would he? She couldn’t let that happen.
“Sir,” Ridge amended.
“I also think we should wait, sir,” Captain Heriton said. “If she’s truly the one who has been locating the crystals, we should use her as long as she’s willing to help.”
At first, Sardell
e thought Heriton had changed his allegiance, deciding he liked Ridge more than the general, or at least that he liked the crystals more than he disliked her, but there was nothing friendly in his eyes as he regarded her. Even without brushing his mind, she could sense the suspicion there. More than that, she sensed he was perhaps the only one to have a true idea of what she was. Oh, he wouldn’t think her a three-hundred-year-old sorcerer, but someone with a few mental tricks? Yes, that was exactly what he thought. Maybe he was waiting to say something until he had some evidence.
The soldier by the books cursed loudly enough to draw the general’s attention. “What’s your malfunction, private?”
“Sorry, sir. Can’t find any matches that will light. Everything’s damp.”
“Odd,” Heriton said, staring at Sardelle.
I think I’m going to have to come down to find you tonight, Jaxi. Whether the tunnels have been bored close enough or not.
I am more than ready to assist you in my un-burial.
“Damp,” General Nax said. “Private, I don’t want excuses. I want burned books. Throw them in a furnace if you have to.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Airship spotted,” came a cry from atop the wall.
Sardelle had never been so pleased to see the enemy on the horizon.
The general cursed and jogged for the ramparts. His daughter, the captain, and most of the men gathered to watch the book burning did the same.
Ridge must have been itching to run up there, too, but he stepped up to her side. His gaze was on the sky, on the gold and wooden ship that had appeared over the western peak again. “I won’t let him torture you, though it will mean my career, if not my life. I understand this sword is worth a lot to you… ” He didn’t say, but is it worth my life? He must have been thinking it, but instead he sighed and looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “So you might want to disappear until you have the opportunity to retrieve it.”
Sardelle looked toward Tram Three, the shaft that led down to the room where the books had been found, the shaft that would get her as close to Jaxi as was possible. Ridge glanced over, following her gaze. He didn’t say anything else, merely walked toward the stairs, very deliberately not turning to look back at her.
Watch the books, Jaxi. I’m going down.
It’s about time.
A soft boom sounded to the north. A cannonball arced away from the Cofah airship and landed in a drift a hundred meters from the fort wall, sending up a shower of snow that was visible even down in the courtyard.
“We going to be ready for a test run today, Bosmont?” Ridge asked.
“Let’s see if we can start the engine first, eh, boss?” It couldn’t have been more than ten degrees, but the burly captain had his sleeves rolled up. Maybe all the tools he had squirreled away in his pockets kept him warm.
“If the engine starts, I’ll be tempted to hop right in and take off. Who’s to say it’ll start more than once, or stay started?”
“Have more faith, Colonel. This girl will purr like a kitten after all we’ve done to her.” Bosmont gave the engine a loving pat.
Ridge winced as his wrench slipped off a nut, his fist banging into the side of the compartment. That was what he got for tightening bolts at the same time as he was watching those bastards taking the range-finding shots.
The crystal glowing in its slot on top of the engine winked out. Bosmont frowned at it and slapped the casing, and it flared back to life.
“Auspicious,” Ridge said.
“Just a faulty connector. I’ll open it up and see if there’s more rust I can scrape off.”
A louder boom came from one of their own cannons. Ridge eyed the snow-covered peaks around them. Even though he had been the one to tell Sardelle that avalanches would be unlikely at this range, he had still deemed it wise to take all precautions, especially with the enemy out there, doubtlessly hoping to goad the fort into causing trouble for itself. Apparently General Nax wasn’t worried about avalanches.
“Because his hairy gray ass wasn’t caught in the last one,” Ridge muttered.
“What’s that?” Bosmont asked.
“Said I’m going to go up and check the weapons system. Just getting in the air won’t be enough to scare off the Cofah.”
“Ah, is that what you said? I thought I heard something about asses. Figured you were talking about the general.”
“I’d never be that disrespectful.” Ridge crawled under the control panel in the cockpit to check on the connectors leading to the repeating guns in the nose of the plane. Flying was important, but doing damage was even more crucial.
“Were you talking about his daughter? Because that’s an ass I wouldn’t mind respecting.”
“You’ve been stationed here too long, Bosmont.”
“Got that right.” Something thunked shut. “I’m going to fire this dragon whelp up.”
“Good, I—”
“Colonel,” a voice said from outside the flier.
“Yes?” Ridge wriggled out from beneath the console.
Captain Heriton stood there, an open book in his hands. The ever-scowling General Nax stood behind him, along with his daughter. Ridge hoped neither of them had heard his engineer’s comments.
“As it turns out, it’s fortunate we didn’t burn those books,” Heriton said.
Fortunate? Hadn’t they tried? “Oh?”
“Where’s the witch?” Nax demanded.
“Who?”
“Your helpful witch girl.”
“Sardelle?” Ridge rubbed his head. Why would they think… his gaze fell to the book, and his stomach sank into the bottom of the cockpit. It was open to a bunch of text he couldn’t see well from there and a picture he could. The face looking up at him, a slight knowing smiling turning up the corners of the mouth, was very familiar. But how? “That’s one of the books that was pulled out of the mine, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Heriton pointed at the page. “According to this, Sardelle Terushan was born three hundred and thirty-four years ago.”
“How is that possible?”
“She’s a witch is how,” General Nax snarled. “And you’ve been aiding her since she showed up here. More than aiding her if the gossip can be believed.” He squinted at Ridge. “Your career is over, boy. Now where is she?”
Ridge turned his back on them so he could climb down from the flier—and recover his equanimity. Or at least figure out how to mask his features and control the roiling unease in his belly.
“Even if she were a witch, I’ve never heard anything about tainted people being immortal,” he reasoned, facing them again and holding out a hand for the book. “It must be a mistake. Maybe she was named after this person because of a resemblance.”
Heriton didn’t release the book, but he did hold it up so Ridge could see the pages better—and read the text. He puzzled through the entry. Apparently it was one of several in some sort of roster. The picture… damn, that was undeniably her. The words had been laid down with a printing press, but the portrait was hand-painted, its colors faded somewhat with time, though the book itself had been well preserved in its rocky tomb.
“Position… sherastu?” he wondered aloud, picking words from the description. “And healer.” The latter made his stomach start writhing all over again. His hand drifted to his chest, where the scratches from the giant owl had healed extremely well, leaving only the faintest of scars. “Seven gods,” he whispered.
“I repeat,” Nax said, “where is she?”
Ridge met his hard eyes. “What are you going to do to her?”
“Answer the question, Colonel!” Nax lunged forward, as if to grab Ridge by the collar—or neck.
Reacting on instinct, Ridge stepped back. He thumped against the front of the flier, but he blocked the attack. The general barely seemed to notice. His finger came back in, this time pointing at Ridge’s nose. “Boy, you’ve been helping her from the start. I’ve gotten the whole story.”
When Ridge glanc
ed at the captain, Heriton swallowed and looked away.
“Your career is dead. If you don’t want to get pounded by a firing squad, you’ll tell me where she is right now, and you’ll damned well help us figure out a way to imprison her.”
“You won’t find anyone to shoot him here, Father,” Vespa said. She had been watching this whole exchange with wide eyes, and lifted her hand a few times as if she wanted to intervene, but she ultimately let her arms fall to her sides.
“I’ll shoot him myself,” Nax roared.
“I’ve read that iron boxes are supposed to nullify their artifacts,” Captain Heriton said. “Perhaps we could line one of the solitary confinement cells with iron, and she wouldn’t be able to escape until we’ve thoroughly questioned her.”
“Gotten the location of the rest of the crystals, you mean?” Ridge asked.
“I don’t care for your tone, Colonel,” Nax said.
“What? Not sarcastic enough for you? I’ll work on that.”
“Sir,” Heriton whispered. Nax was too busy fuming to respond.
“Look, General. I don’t know where she went. I’ve—” Another boom drifted across the mountainside. Judging by where the snow flew up, that shot had landed much closer. Thanks to its elevated position, the airship had a greater range than the artillery weapons on the wall. “I don’t have time to talk about this now. We’re straw bales on the rifle range right now. We’ve got to get this flier off the ground to have a chance at defending ourselves against an air attack.”
Heriton eyed the battered and dented craft. “If that’s our only chance… ” He must have decided morale wouldn’t be served by voicing the rest, for he merely shut his book and walked away, shaking his head.
Nax still had smoke coming out of his ears, but his face had grown a shade less red. “Fix it up, Zirkander. But know that after we deal with the Cofah, you’re joining the witch in a lead cell. I’ve got enough on you at this point to have you hanged tonight.” He stalked off, shoulders bunched into knots.
