* * *
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 glanced 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.
“With that ability to inspire courage and devotion, it’s shocking he doesn’t command legions of troops.” Ridge was talking to his engineer—who had never stopped tinkering with the engine, gods love the man for his single-mindedness—but Professor Vespa was still standing th
ere. She stared back and forth between Ridge and her father’s departing figure. He thought about apologizing to her for maligning the general but couldn’t bring himself to do it. He merely touched the rim of his fur cap, offered a polite, “Ma’am,” and pulled himself back into the flier.
“You know where the girl is?” Bosmont asked after they had finished ratcheting down that engine the best they could.
“Not really. You care?”
“Not really.” The captain flashed a grin. “But if you had a way of warning her not to come back, you might want to do that. I figure Nax will have a squad of armed men waiting for her if she shows up again.”
“I don’t know how to contact her. I don’t even know if I should if I could.” Ridge removed his cap and rubbed his hands through his hair. No, he would warn her if he could, but he wouldn’t… he couldn’t have anything to do with her after that. A sorceress. He had slept with… By all the gods, living and dead, how had he ended up with a sorceress in his fort? And had she ever cared a whit about him? Or had she been using him to get to what she wanted? Pretending she was helping him find those crystals, but secretly wanting the tunnels dug in a certain direction so she could get that sword? Her sword, he realized belatedly. Or one she wanted to use for some reason, doubtlessly a magical blade to increase her power. Wasn’t that what the stories said? What would she do once she had it?
“Do me a favor, will you, Bosmont?”
“What?”
“Sneak me in a beer every once in a while once I’ve been court martialed, and I’m a prisoner here.”
“Will do, boss.”
Balanced on the Blade's Edge (Dragon Blood, Book 1) Page 22
