The Dragon Blood Collection, Books 1-3

by Lindsay Buroker

  As the airship glided toward a docking station, Tolemek spotted something unusual among the warehouses, shops, taverns, and hostels: a bronze aircraft with wings. It was sitting on a landing pad near the front of the outpost. At his side, Goroth sucked in a breath.

  “Who caught a dragon flier?”

  “And does it have a power source intact?” Tolemek mused. He had heard of the Cofah salvaging a few and secreting them away for study, but he would love to have one of his own to examine, or at least access to one.

  “We’ll have to find out. Looks like an older model.” Goroth lifted the collapsible spyglass he always wore around his neck and extended it. “Yes, there’s rust on those bolts, and seaweed dangling from the wings. Wonder where they found her?”

  “How old of a model? I wonder if it might be Lieutenant Ahn’s flier? It sounded like she was a prisoner on a Cofah ship for a couple of weeks before being brought to Dragon Spit. Must have gone down over the sea.”

  Goroth was already shaking his head. “Haven’t seen one that old in the sky for twenty years. That’s one of their earlier models. Ah, but is that...?” He took a few steps, leaning to see around some post in his way. “Yes, it is. There’s an energy source glowing in the back. There are a couple of hulks guarding the craft, but I’m surprised someone hasn’t plucked that out yet to study.” He turned a speculative look on Tolemek. “I wonder what you could do with one of those.”

  Tolemek smiled. “So do I.”

  Goroth collapsed his spyglass. “Let’s go see who found it and if it’s available for trade.”

  A soft jolt ran through the ship. Two men lowered a gangplank. The docking slips were level with the rest of the outpost, so nobody had to climb a rope to get in and out of the craft this time.

  A young pirate called out, “We’re all secured, Cap’n.”

  “You calling shore leave, Cap’n?” the helmsman asked.

  “We’ll see. I—”

  “Captain?” a cabin boy called from the gangplank. “Messenger here to see you. Captain Rolostrek sent him.”

  “Word of our arrival got out fast,” Goroth mused. “Or maybe someone’s calling a captains’ meeting and inviting everyone.” He nodded toward the other slips, where six other airships were already docked. The Roaming Curse was one of the biggest outfits in the Targenian Sea, maybe in the world, and Tolemek was reminded of that whenever they returned to the outpost. “Must be some big news.”

  “Will you share our own news?” Tolemek asked carefully. He didn’t want to threaten Goroth on this, but he didn’t want hundreds of pirates knowing they had a member of Wolf Squadron on board, either. Not everyone would be swayed the way Goroth had been, to keep her alive in hopes of catching bigger prey. There were other ships in the outfit that had tangled with those dragon fliers, and any crewman would be happy to see an Iskandian pilot dead.

  “No, I’m not sharing anything with any of them.” Goroth pointed a finger at Tolemek’s chest and then at his own. “You and I will handle Zirkander together and keep all the reward that comes with taking that risk.”

  Not exactly what Tolemek cared about, but he nodded. “Good.”

  “Now, let’s go see what all the fuss is about, eh?”

  Chapter 6

  When Cas woke up, muted daylight flowed in through a porthole near the hammock. She remembered where she was immediately and opened her hand to check for the vial she had fallen asleep clutching. A chain rattled. She wasn’t surprised to see her wrist attached to that pipe again, though it did make her uncomfortable to know Tolemek had done that without waking her. She must have been sleeping hard after being up so late, and after being stuck in such unpleasant accommodations for so long. Odd, all things considered, but she had slept better here than she had in weeks.

  The blanket on the floor had been picked up, and Tolemek was gone. So was the vial she had been holding. Somehow she doubted she had simply dropped it on the floor, but she peered beneath the hammock just in case. Nothing there. No, he must have found it and extracted it from her grip. That wasn’t surprising, either, though again she felt sheepish at having slept through that. Oh, well. That had been her decoy theft. She tugged up her canvas smock and dug into her underwear, hoping he hadn’t presumed to search there. Surely, she would have woken up for that.

  Her fingers found the hard glass tube, and she grinned.

  Now, she had to hope her guess from the night before had been correct. The lamps had been out, with Tolemek’s breathing soft and even, when she had crawled out of the hammock to poke around. Earlier in the evening, when she had “stumbled” and peeked inside the display case, she hadn’t been able to see the labels of the vials in the rack. It had only been the presence of a little canvas pouch, one identical to the one she had helped knock from the prison roof, that had made her think the brown substance in the vials might be the same brown substance he had used on the hinges and the wall. But now, with light coming in the window, she squinted to read the label’s small print. And grinned again. Brown Goo Number Three.

  Cas sat up in the hammock, swaying softly and carefully removed the glass cap. She didn’t know if the stuff would burn skin, but she didn’t want to chance it. Remembering how little it had taken to blow out that wall, she tipped the vial ever so slightly, touching the mouth to the chain securing her to the wall. Unfortunately, the goo was dense enough that gravity didn’t do anything to it. She tipped the vial farther. Nothing happened. Tolemek had used a brush, hadn’t he? She hadn’t thought to pat around for one of those during her nocturnal pillaging.

  She eyed the woven strands of the hammock. He had used a special brush, probably something designed to withstand the goo. Well, she could only use what was close to her, which wasn’t much. She capped the vial long enough to pick apart a piece of the hammock, a task that involved liberal use of her teeth. She wondered what her father would think of his sniper-trained daughter, chewing apart hammocks to win her freedom. Enh, what did it matter? He hadn’t talked to her in years.

  Leaning back, Cas plucked a piece of twine from her teeth and dipped it into the goo. It started smoking immediately.

  “Uh oh.”

  She dabbed it against the chain, smearing it all around near the point where it met with her shackle. The rope didn’t burst into flame, but it did disintegrate even as she used it as a brush. She let go before the goo, or anything the goo had touched, could reach her fingers. She hoped it wouldn’t burn a hole through the floor—now wouldn’t that be interesting to explain to the downstairs neighbor? Fortunately, the chain was smoking now too. She held her breath, watching smoke rise and crinkling her nose at the burning hair smell that came with it. Or maybe that was burning hammock.

  Cas only managed about twenty seconds of patience before tugging at the chain. It snapped as if it were made of the weakest thread instead of solid iron.

  “Nice,” she purred, climbing out of the hammock.

  The rope she had dropped had disintegrated, but the goo seemed to have used itself up in the effort, for the floor itself wasn’t smoking. Good. She had much to do before anyone noticed she had freed herself.

  Curious about the diffused light coming through the porthole, Cas padded over to look outside. A dense fog hugged the sky. She pressed her cheek to the hull, peering in both directions. To the right, there was nothing except the bulbous outline of the envelope high overhead, but to the left... she sucked in a breath.

  “What is that?”

  Nothing less than a small city stretched away beneath the fog. A floating city, she realized, seeing the way the end dropped away, like the runway atop the butte back home.

  “The Roaming Curse’s headquarters.” It had to be. She had heard rumors of a floating station out here above the ocean, but as far as she knew, nobody had ever found it, at least nobody who wasn’t supposed to find it. “Fascinating.” She would have to find a logbook to get the coordinates to take back home. As soon as she figured out how to get back home.

  Sh
e walked around Tolemek’s cabin, doing a lot of looking but not much touching. He hadn’t warned her about anything, but he had been assuming she would spend the day chained to the pipe. Last night, when she had felt her way into that case in the dark, she had been worried about booby traps, and that fear hadn’t disappeared entirely. She would prefer a nice pistol, bow, or even a blowgun to his strange concoctions. But she did have a use in mind for the brown goo. She had already stuck the cap on the vial and slipped it back into her underwear. Not the ideal place to store something so caustic, but her prison garb lacked pockets. A Cofah oversight, no doubt.

  “Ah ha,” she murmured after lifting the lid to the clothing trunk. In addition to more of those black trousers and muscle-displaying vests of his, he had a pistol belt at the bottom, complete with pistols and ammunition. “Tolemek, dear, did you want me to escape?”

  Telling herself it was a little early to get cocky—even if she got off the ship, she was still on a pirate stronghold—she fastened the belt to her waist, bolstered by the weight of the pistols hanging from either hip. She headed for the door and pressed an ear to the wood, wondering if Tolemek had left a guard. She didn’t hear anything, but that didn’t mean much.

  Cas drummed her fingers on the ivory hilt of one of the six-shooters. She trusted she could open the door and take down a guard before he could get a weapon out to attack her, but a gunshot would be heard all over the ship. Some of the men might have disembarked to visit the outpost, but there was no way the place would be entirely empty.

  She eyed the laboratory again, found herself more daunted than inspired by all of the paraphernalia, and settled for a simple idea. She cut down the hammock and, after some fiddling, made it into a net of sorts. She strung it over the door. With some wire, she fashioned a way to pull it down from a few feet away.

  “Going to a lot of work if there’s nobody out there,” she muttered, aware of the time. She wondered how long the ship had been docked before she had awoken. More specifically, she wondered how long she had before Tolemek or someone else returned to check on her. Explaining why she was cutting up his hammock would be difficult.

  Once she had her trap placed, Cas grabbed a few of the metal scraps out of one of the crates. She found a spot she liked in a dark corner near the door, then tossed the pieces into the air. They landed with a clatter she trusted would be audible to someone in the hallway.

  By this point, she had convinced herself she been wasting her time, so she was almost surprised when the door opened. A pirate strode in, his hand on a pistol.

  Cas tugged on her tripwire. The hammock-turned-net fell onto him. It wasn’t a particularly insidious trap, but it did its job of confusing him for a second. She slipped in behind him, pressing one of the pistols to the back of his neck.

  “Stop moving,” she whispered.

  He halted.

  “Good man.” Or boy. He didn’t look more than sixteen. “Take a step forward, please.” She pressed harder with the pistol’s muzzle, in case her words weren’t convincing in and of themselves.

  When he did so, she kicked the door shut. She wanted to relieve the pirate of his weapons—there was a short sword on his belt in addition to the pistol in his hand—but her net was a barrier for her as well as for him.

  “Holster that firearm, and drop your trousers,” Cas said.

  For the first time, the boy balked. “What? I’m not—”

  “Listen,” she whispered, rising to her tiptoes and leaning close to speak right behind his ear. “I am an Iskandian soldier, and it’s my duty to take down thieves, bandits, pirates, and anyone else who might be a threat to my nation. I will be more than happy to shoot you.” It was hard to sound steely and menacing at twenty-three years old and five-foot-nothing, but she managed to convince the kid she was serious.

  He holstered the pistol and unclasped his belt. His trousers fell to the ground. Cas caught the pistol before it dropped too far, though she was out of hands and had to let the sword clank to the deck.

  “What are you going to do?” he asked.

  “Me? Nothing, if you cooperate. I just want to get out of this cabin. Look around. This place is creepier than a cave full of bats on All Ghosts Eve, isn’t it?”

  “You got that right,” the kid muttered with a shudder that seemed unfeigned. He was eyeing the terrariums. Everyone did when they came in. Maybe Cas should have taken a closer look at the creatures confined in them. Or... maybe not.

  She hadn’t been sure how she was going to convince the guard to effectively tie himself up so she could leave him here, but his trepidation gave her an idea.

  “Take three steps forward and one to your left.” Cas followed him with the gun pressed to his neck as he did so. “See that flask of the red liquid in that case?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Remove it.”

  The pirate stiffened. “I’m not drinking it or anything like that. I don’t care what you do.”

  “No, no, of course not. There’s no need for that.” Cas waited until the kid, trousers around his ankles, hobbled over to the case, opened the door, and removed the triangular flask before adding, “It’s so corrosive that it can sear your flesh to the bone if it merely touches your skin. There’s no need for you to ingest it for it to melt you into a pile of goo.”

  The kid swallowed audibly. “What... should I do with it?” He stared down at his hand as if he held a rattlesnake.

  “Put it on your head.”

  “What?”

  “Just the flask. I don’t want you to pour it out. In fact, I’m trusting you can stand very still so there’s no danger to you at all.”

  “Look, woman.” The pirate set the flask on the nearest table. “I don’t care who you are. I’m not—”

  While he was complaining, Cas plucked up the flask and reached up to plunk it on his head.

  He cursed, his hand flying up to hold it there, though with the hammock draped over the top half of his body, he almost knocked it over. He seemed to realize that and froze there, his hand hovering in the air.

  “Perfect,” Cas said, letting go. “Now, keep facing that corner there, and I’ll be back in fifteen minutes to remove it. Of course, you could try on your own, but it’s extremely full, and if you spill so much as a drop... well, I understand the Deathmaker’s potions are quite potent.”

  “Yes,” the boy whispered, his hand still over his head, draped in netting, “they are.”

  Cas plucked his short sword out of its scabbard and backed toward the door, the pistol aimed at him. She thought she had convinced him, but one never knew. He might chance yanking it off.

  But he didn’t move, even when her heel caught on one of the pieces of metal she had dropped earlier, and it skidded across the cabin. Like a statue, he faced the corner.

  Cas grabbed one of the bits of metal that had a hook-like protuberance and took it with her. She was already carrying a small pile of weapons, but one more thing shouldn’t matter. She eased the door open, checked in both directions, then stepped out. She fished the vial out and, using her mouth, tugged off the cap. Better not be too careless with this stuff, she warned herself, then dabbed the hook into the jar. It started smoldering, but she only needed it for a moment. She dabbed some of the goo into the lock on the door, hoping the mechanism would melt, and the pirate wouldn’t be able to simply walk out once he grew brave enough to risk touching that flask. Her trap wouldn’t hold him forever, but she didn’t plan to be onboard that long. When she had looked out the porthole, she had spotted three other airships docked, and one of them had been little more than a personal yacht. If its owners were off enjoying the taverns and brothels, she might be able to slip aboard without being spotted.

  “One step at a time,” she murmured and headed for the ladder leading to the main deck. She still needed to get off this ship without being spotted.

  • • • • •

  Tolemek leaned against the wall while Goroth and several other captains and first mates settled a
t the big oaken table in the center of the room. A few bodyguards stood against the wall, too, but nobody came close or spoke to him.

  Wenches in low-cut dresses carried trays of food and rum out of a larger common room where raucous laughs alternated with angry shouts and the sounds of smacking flesh. Gunshots had already fired once out there in the five minutes Tolemek and Goroth had been inside. A few of the captains spoke, while others shifted and sighed. One had a girl in his lap and was fondling her and suggesting that he might find something else to do if the meeting didn’t start. Two seats at the head of the table remained empty.

  A plump black-haired woman in an apron came in, clapped her hands, and said, “Out, ladies. The last two people have arrived.”

  As the servers strolled out, sashaying their hips and smiling at the men wearing more gold than others, Stone Heart, the captain of the Burning Dragon, walked in, accompanied by a man in a dirty, ragged Cofah military uniform. His sword was missing, and a couple weeks’ worth of hair sprouted from a head that should have been shaven.

  Tolemek had assumed this meeting would have something to do with the salvaged flier, but perhaps not.

  “Gentlemen,” Stone Heart said, walking to the head of the table. “Allow me to introduce Corporal Tyrson. He wishes to desert from the Cofah army and seeks refuge with us.”

  Several of the captains gave each other so-what looks. Tolemek waited for more information—Stone Heart was wearing an I-know-something-you-don’t-know smirk as he massaged his shaven head. Or maybe he was scratching an itch. He had added a couple of daggers to his collection of scalp tattoos since Tolemek had seen him last.

  “It seems,” Stone Heart continued, after pausing long enough for dramatic effect—and to annoy people—, “our friend here is the sole survivor of an epic battle that took place high in the Iskandian Ice Blades. Given that he didn’t die when his airship crashed or during the ground skirmishes, as the rest of his comrades did, he’s elected not to return home.”