* * *
Someone pressed a mug of steaming brown liquid into Ridge’s hand. “Coffee?” he asked.
“Close, but stronger,” Captain Heriton said. “You look like the survivor of an alligator death roll, sir.”
Ridge tugged his blanket more tightly about him and didn’t disagree. Any number of people had tried to get him to go inside and warm up, but he wouldn’t retreat while people were still being dug out of the snow. Granted, those buried in the avalanche had been retrieved and only the mine entrances remained to be cleared. He sipped from the mug, then twitched an eyebrow at the captain. “Stronger, as in alcoholic?”
“I believe that’s the secret ingredient, yes. It’s a local drink.”
Drinking on duty wasn’t allowed, especially when it wasn’t even noon yet, but the sweet liquid did have a bracing effect, warming him from the inside, something he could use at the moment. He doubted he had been buried in that snowdrift for more than ten minutes, but it had seemed an eternity. An eternity of dark lonely helplessness. When the scratches of the shovels had penetrated the snow, he could have danced and shrieked with delight… if he hadn’t been pinned, facedown in the ice.
He knew he had Sardelle to thank for his swift retrieval, though he didn’t know how she had managed to find him—and so many others since then. Oh, Ridge had seen her walking across the slope, scribbling equations in a notepad, and measuring from points on the wall that hadn’t been devoured by snow, but he wasn’t sure he believed the show. Oh, well. Who was he to complain if it saved him and his men?
After the last soldier had been pulled from the snow, Ridge had watched Sardelle retreat to the wall of a nearby building. She was gazing thoughtfully to the north. That was the direction in which the airship had disappeared, wasn’t it? He had been busy being buried in snow and hadn’t seen its final departure route. Someone had cheered him for striking it with that last rocket. Had he truly hit it? He hadn’t thought the range nearly far enough. He had been firing out of wistfulness rather than logic, hoping one of the explosions would alarm the pilot and that he would crash into one of those towering peaks.
“Captain, what’s the status on the airship?” Ridge asked.
“The balloon was ruptured with the last rocket. It flew off to the north and was losing altitude.”
Ridge sucked in a breath. “Was it, now? Did anyone see it crash?”
Heriton shook his head. “The snowfall was too thick. She was high up there too. If it crashed at all, it probably sailed several miles before striking down.”
“So it could be smeared all over the side of a mountain right now?”
“You’re… smiling, sir. You thinking to send a team out to look for survivors?”
“Survivors? I suppose they could be handy, but I was thinking more of repairing the ship and claiming it for the fort.”
“To what end?”
“Gathering intel for one, but we’re fish in a basket sitting here. If we had an aircraft, we could at least meet intruders on their own footing. Right now, it’s too easy for them to avoid our ground weapons.” And Ridge could fly again… Granted, an airship was clumsy and bloated when compared to his dragon flier, but it would help keep him sane if he could escape to the skies once in a while. On scouting missions, of course. Nothing so frivolous as random cloud hopping. “If headquarters had any idea the Cofah were out here, they would send a squadron to defend this place, but until we can get the word back to them, acquiring an enemy airship is the best we can do.”
“What if they don’t want to give it up?”
“Well, we’ll have to determine that. If they crashed, they might be in bad shape. If they didn’t crash, or if they’re only slightly damaged, we can expect them to try again.”
“That does seem likely.” Heriton eyed the mountaintops. They were wreathed in clouds, but that didn’t hide the amount of snow already up there, with more falling by the minute. Even now, more avalanches could be created from what was up there.
“I don’t suppose there are any fliers hiding anywhere in the fort, are there?” Ridge would far prefer flying over to check on the airship, rather than marching, especially since they didn’t know where it had gone down—or even if it had gone down—but he knew even as he asked, that finding a flier here was highly unlikely.
“No, sir. I think… I remember hearing about one that crashed into the other side of Galmok Mountain about ten years ago.” The captain waved vaguely. “They couldn’t get it flying again, so the crystal was salvaged, and it was left out there to rust.”
A less than ideal option. “I’ll check on the airship first.”
Ridge turned away, already thinking of men he might steal away for a trek across the mountainside.
“You, sir?” Heriton asked, stopping him.
“I’m not doing anything particularly useful here.” Ridge hefted the mug. “I think the fort can do without an alcohol-swilling, blanket-wrapped commander for a few hours.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, sir. If they crashed, and if they survived, they’re not going to be happy about their situation. I’m sure they’re all armed. Why don’t you let me fetch Sergeant Makt and his team?”
“Are any of them pilots?” Ridge knew they weren’t—almost everyone here was infantry. He was the logical choice for salvaging an airship, if it could be salvaged, and knowing whether it could be made airworthy.
Heriton scowled. “No, sir, but—”
Ridge lifted a hand. “I’ll be careful, Captain. Your concern for me is touching though.”
“I just don’t want to be left in charge,” Heriton grumbled. “Running the base would interfere with my ability to finish organizing the archives.”
Ridge smiled. “Your disgruntlement is noted. I’m going to change clothes and see if I can find some snowshoes. Send those infantry fellows up to my office anytime. I’m not above cowering behind hulking young men if trouble comes along.”
Heriton looked at the snow-smothered fortress wall where the rocket launcher had once been. “Somehow, I don’t believe that, sir.”
Ridge waved, then headed across the courtyard toward his office. Now that he was determined to go, he wanted to leave as soon as possible, in the hope that they could hike out there and back before dark. A lot of years had passed since his cold-weather survival training at Fort Brisklebell—or Fort Brisk Balls, as the men called it.
A familiar raven-haired woman jogged over to walk next to him. “You’re going out there? After the airship?”
“Were you eavesdropping?” Ridge asked.
Sardelle took a moment to consider her answer—she did that quite often—then said, “I was standing nearby when you were discussing your plans in a normal tone of voice in an open area.”
“So… not eavesdropping?”
“Correct.”
“If we had lowered our voices, would it then have been eavesdropping?” Ridge asked.
“Possibly.” Sardelle looked up at him. They had almost reached his office building. “I’d like to go with you.”
Ridge stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “What? Why?”
If anything, he would have expected her to use his absence to snoop around, perhaps examine that map more thoroughly.
“I… believe it might be more dangerous than you think out there,” Sardelle said.
“Oh?”
That made it seem even more unlikely that she would want to go.
“It’s just a feeling.” She shrugged. “A hunch. Don’t you ever get hunches when you’re out there flying?”
“Yes. I get hunches when dealing with inscrutable blue-eyed women too.” Ridge laid a hand on her shoulder before she could comment. “Stay here where it’s safe—” he glanced at the mountain of snow in the fort, “—safe-ish.”
Sardelle’s eyes narrowed with… determination? He couldn’t quite read the emotion, but she didn’t object further when he left her outside, so he could jog in and pack. Ridge decided that
, despite what Heriton believed, he would indeed let those muscular infantry boys go first. He couldn’t imagine why Sardelle wanted to go, but given that he had watched her point out the spot where every single man had been buried in the snow, he believed her hunches were worth worrying about.
Balanced on the Blade's Edge (Dragon Blood, Book 1) Page 10
