Balanced on the Blade's Edge (Dragon Blood, Book 1) Page 11

  Chapter 6

  Gathering supplies was easy—Sardelle told the people who asked that she was doing it for Zirkander—even if all of the snowshoes had clearly been designed for men much larger than she. Getting out of the fort… that would be harder. There were more soldiers shoveling snow away from the mine entrances than there were standing watch on the ramparts, but there were still eyes in the towers overlooking the main gate, a big iron gate with hinges that squealed like a dying pig when opened.

  That’s probably intentional. To let everyone know when someone is trying to sneak out.

  I’m sure I can quiet them. And unlock them. It’s walking out under the noses of those guards that will be hard to do without being seen.

  Seen and caught. You’re not the most agile person on snowshoes.

  Thank you, Jaxi.

  Remember the ice dragon sculpting competition? Where you knocked over the table… along with all of the entries?

  No.

  Truly? I can refresh your memory if you wish, send the details of—

  Not necessary. Sardelle stood at the corner of the administration building, watching as Zirkander and his team headed out. They wore snowshoes, carried trekking poles, and wore their weapons on their backs along with stuffed packs—they must believe they might have to spend the night out there.

  Sardelle thought about trying to slip in at the end, but even with the snowfall, there was no way those alert soldiers wouldn’t notice her. The gate clanged shut. She would give them ten minutes before following, long enough to walk away from the fort and enter the trees. Long enough for the men on watch to return to whatever card or dice games they might be playing.

  They’re not. They’re standing by the windows attentively.

  Truly?

  Yes. They’re depressingly faithful to their duties. Maybe they want to look good for the colonel.

  Sardelle flexed her fingers inside her mittens and let her own senses drift toward the towers. One man stood in each of the ones closest to the gates. They were the main people she needed to worry about. She could either distract them or tweak their thoughts, so they wouldn’t remember seeing her. That would require a delicate touch, though, and it would be difficult to do to two people at a time… not to mention the sketchy morality.

  Just give them rashes.

  That thought… did cross my mind. But perhaps something less painful this time… Sardelle closed her eyes and examined the interiors of the towers. Both had stairs spiraling up to wooden floors at the top where the soldiers stood. The lower level of each tower held a big cast iron stove with neat stacks of firewood under the stairs. A little smoke might do for one, but for two? Too much of a coincidence. In the left tower, a hint of life other than that of the soldier’s made her investigate between the floorboards. A family of rats staying warm for the winter. Perhaps they would enjoy a little exercise…

  You’re not a sorcerer, you’re a prankster.

  Sardelle snorted. You say that as if you don’t approve. I’m sure you’re down there, roasting some chestnuts to snack on while you watch this.

  Possibly.

  Sardelle closed the flue on the stove first. She waited until the soldier in that tower started crinkling his nose before sending the rats out from beneath the floor in the second. Soon, a family of six was scampering around the soldier’s legs. He cursed and tried swatting at them with his sword before hunting around for a broom. In the other tower, the guard was jogging down the stairs to investigate the stove.

  “Time to go,” she murmured, and glanced around the courtyard to make sure there wasn’t anyone inside looking her way. The snow, which was falling more heavily than ever, made it hard to tell. So long as it made things hard for other people too.

  She strode across the packed snow, waved a hand to disengage the lock on the gate, and muffled the squeak of the hinges. After closing it behind her, she strode onto the trail Zirkander’s team had left, her snowshoes tucked under her arm. Even with the unwieldy things attached to their boots, the soldiers had sunk down several inches in the fresh powder. Autumn calendar date or not, there had to be at least three feet already snuggled up to the fortress walls.

  A quick check showed that the soldier in the stove tower had figured out the flue was the problem. His comrade was still chasing rats, but he would be back at his post shortly. Even with the trail broken, Sardelle floundered in the deep snow as she tried to reach the trees before witnesses showed up. The fortress occupied the only level land in the tiny valley, and she was already angling down a slope. Maybe she should have put her snowshoes on in the courtyard, but that would have been hard to explain if someone spotted her.

  Half running and half floundering and flailing, Sardelle reached the first of the trees. She put several more of the ancient evergreens behind her before stopping to put on the snowshoes. She readjusted her pack and wiped sweat from her brow.

  “I’ve gone a hundred meters, and I’m already thinking about a nap.”

  Hm? I’m sorry, I wasn’t listening. Watching your friend run around after the rats is indeed entertaining.

  The most excitement you’ve seen in three hundred years?

  Sadly so. The world is dreadfully boring when you’re not awake.

  I’ll take that as a compliment.

  A cold wind whistled across the hillside, whipping at Sardelle’s damp skin. She pulled her cap low over her eyes and wrapped her scarf up to her nose, then pushed away from the tree and headed down the trail. The soldiers would probably walk faster than she could, even breaking the trail. She didn’t want to catch up with them anyway—explaining her presence and why she had disobeyed Zirkander wouldn’t be fun. All she wanted was to be close enough to help if the sorcerer she had sensed attacked the team.

  Are you sure you want to help against someone who might be… a distant relative?

  If he’s Cofah, he’s no relative of mine.

  Not technically true. Their ancestors are the same as yours, back from the dragon-riding days when mages were flying around the world and colonizing it as easily as… well, as easily as they can do today in their airships, I suppose.

  I know, Jaxi, but the Cofah were trying to take over our homeland three centuries ago, and that doesn’t seem to have changed. Whoever is out there isn’t anyone I have anything in common with.

  Except magic. Would a day come when she would grow so lonely for her own kind, for those she could speak openly with about the mental arts, that she might seek out sorcerers on other continents, continents that had either never suffered a purge or could boast more survivors from that time period? If so… it wasn’t today. She certainly wasn’t going to stand aside and let Zirkander get hurt. He was… she didn’t know what he was to her exactly, but she knew she didn’t want to see him wounded—or worse.

  Sardelle waited for a snarky comment, but Jaxi must have been distracted. Maybe she was trying to scout the mountain ahead to see if the airship had indeed crashed—with a sorcerer inside—or if it had escaped into the ether. Sardelle paid more attention to the forest around her, to the towering evergreens stretching toward the sky, the boughs heavy with fresh snow. Now and then an overburdened branch would drop its load, and the noise would make her jump. There were few other noises out there. Whatever animals lived in the hills had probably gone to ground when the avalanche roared through the mountains.

  The path leveled, giving her legs a break—remaining upright while walking across an ever-steepening slope was not an easy task—but it turned to head through a narrow canyon too. She eyed the craggy gray walls and the high perches overhead, wondering if there were any mountain lions about. Because she was looking in that direction, she missed the movement behind a tree to the left of the canyon entrance.

  A dark figure jumped out and grabbed her before she could so much as think of defense. An arm wrapped around her waist, tugging her off-balance, and she tumbled against…

  “Colonel Zirkander,” she gasped, glad she had identified hi
m before her wits had returned and she had launched some attack that would be… hard to explain later.

  The grip around her waist loosened, though he didn’t let her go. “It is you. I didn’t think it could be… how’d you get out?”

  “Just waited for a moment when nobody was looking.”

  “I’m going to have to talk to those gate guards.” Zirkander released her and propped her back upright on the trail—the snowshoes did make it difficult to maintain one’s balance. He touched her pack. “You came prepared.”

  Sardelle decided not to remind him that she had grown up in the area, not when she had been caught mentioning a town that no longer existed. “Are you going to send me back?”

  Zirkander looked back along the trail. If he said yes, turned her around, and swatted her on the backside to get her moving, what choice would she have but to do so?

  “No. We’ve already encountered tracks out here.”

  “Human tracks?”

  He nodded. “A couple of men went most of the way to the fort, presumably to see if the avalanche swallowed us whole or not.”

  “That means the ship did land then.”

  “Or crash. Come on. We’ll find out.” He headed into the little canyon.

  “Thank you.”

  “And along the way, you can tell me why you’re so eager to come along.” Zirkander gave her a long look over his shoulder. “I doubt there are any archaeological dig sites out here.”

  Sardelle stumbled. She almost asked what made him think she was here as an archeologist, but she caught herself. If he thought she was some academic here to poke through stones, let him. That was a lot better than being a prisoner. Of course, she had already installed her forged record. It was only a matter of time before that captain stumbled across it.

  Just worry about the now, Jaxi suggested. And be wary of what’s ahead. For all we know, that sorcerer could be one of the ones padding about out here.

  Good point.

  They passed through the canyon without being jumped on by mountain lions, and a fit, young soldier veered out of the trees to join them on the opposite side. A nametag on his parka read Oster.

  “Sir?” He looked at Sardelle.

  “Our shadow,” Zirkander said.

  “She’s… coming?”

  “She seems to be of that opinion.”

  Oster stared at the colonel, but didn’t question him. Sardelle wondered if people would start to, behind his back if not to his face, because of her. She was still dressed in prisoner garb, if with a few extra layers she had piled on for this trek. Even if she had helped with the avalanche retrieval, the soldiers wouldn’t necessarily trust her. She hoped the fact that Zirkander seemed to wouldn’t make trouble for him.

  “You find any more tracks, Corporal?” Zirkander asked.

  “No, sir. The two sets over there walked out to the fort and then walked back the same way. They didn’t have snowshoes, so it’s possible we’ll catch them if we hurry.”

  “Tell the sergeant to go ahead then. I’ll catch up. You young warriors would probably like me out of the way for any fighting that comes up anyway.”

  The corporal hesitated. “We wouldn’t want you getting… sniped or—” he glanced at Sardelle, “—anything else, either, sir.”

  “I’ll be fine.” Zirkander pulled out the rifle strapped across his pack and held it in front of him. “I’m a fair shot, I’m told.”

  “Yes, sir.” Oster saluted, then jogged down the trail ahead of them.

  “I didn’t know you could jog in snowshoes,” Sardelle said.

  “It takes practice.”

  She wagered Zirkander could have kept up with the younger men and was staying back because of her. She didn’t know how she felt about that.

  Like a burden?

  Not until you mentioned it. Thanks, Jaxi.

  Sardelle extended her senses around them as she walked—she hadn’t been paying attention earlier, and Zirkander had snuck up on her with embarrassing ease. It wouldn’t do to let anyone else approach. They were tramping down a slope toward a canyon, this one much larger than the other they had passed through. Large enough to hold a crashed airship. Something out there tickled the edge of her senses. Several people, and someone… The sorcerer? Working some magic? He or she didn’t seem aware of her, but she pulled back anyway. The magic user seemed busy, but since she had sensed him probing the fortress, he might feel her presence as well.

  She wanted to warn Zirkander, not only that the crashed ship and several people were at the other end of the canyon, but about the other sorcerer as well. How, though? She focused on the back of his head, wishing she could will whatever prejudices he had against magic users away. An impossibility, alas. She shook her head. She would have to simply try to help the soldiers when they encountered the airship crew.

  Zirkander lifted a hand. “Wait here, please.”

  He removed his snowshoes, leaned his rifle against a cliff, and scrambled up the rock, the edges and crevices slick with ice and snow. She gaped as he went up forty feet, as if there were a rope there to assist him. Yes, he definitely could have kept up with the young soldiers.

  At the top, he crouched, his back to a boulder, and peered toward the valley. The snow had slowed to a few intermittent flurries. “Yes… I thought I smelled smoke. They’re here.” He clenched his fist. “It doesn’t look like they smashed into any trees, but there was definitely some damage done on the way down.”

  “You really want that ship, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” Zirkander crawled back down, not quite as quickly as he had gone up, but he landed in the snow beside her without falling or appearing in danger of falling at any point. “Some astute bartender would doubtlessly pin this desire back to my childhood days when my father refused to buy a model airship for me.”

  Astute bartender? Is that what passed for a therapist in the army? “Why wouldn’t he buy it for you?”

  Zirkander strapped his snowshoes back on as he answered. “He said he didn’t want to encourage me—I was already flight mad by five or six—but Mom said we didn’t have the money for silly toys. I decided to make one of my own. Out of sticks. It was more of an air-raft.” He nodded his readiness and started down the trail again.

  “I’m sure it was cute,” Sardelle said.

  A shot fired in the distance. Zirkander cursed and started jogging. Sardelle did her best to keep up. More shots were fired, all from the direction of that canyon, and she thought he would tear off without her. But he glanced back, saw she was falling behind, and stopped to wait. His hand was clenched about his rifle, and he reminded her of a sled dog, straining at the traces, eager to charge off down the trail.

  “You don’t have to wait for me,” Sardelle said. “I’ll catch up. Or maybe hang back and stay out of trouble.”

  “Oddly, I don’t believe you.”

  Good. She wanted him where she could keep an eye on him anyway. She would try to watch over the other soldiers as well, but Zirkander was… her best hope of freeing Jaxi.

  Uh huh. I’m the reason you’re trailing him across the mountain and through a blizzard.

  Sardelle waved at the scattering of snowflakes. This hardly constitutes a blizzard.

  Give it time. You should see the clouds coming in your direction.

  She grimaced. Yet more news that would be useful to share with the others, but which she couldn’t.

  She extended her senses again, trying to get a feel for the situation ahead, to help their soldiers if she could. There were people at the other end of the canyon, but some had scattered. At this distance, she couldn’t be certain if they were Zirkander’s people or men from the ship. Oster was the only one she recognized. He was farther back, closer to her and Zirkander.

  Trees and uneven terrain had forced the trail to twist and wind before it reached the mouth of the canyon, but they were finally entering it. A minute or two had passed since the last shot fired. She sensed…

  “They�
�re leaving.” Sardelle clapped a hand over her mouth, worried she had given away something she shouldn’t have been able to tell from her position.

  But Zirkander nodded. “I see it.”

  The trees made it difficult to see much of anything, but ah, she needed to look up instead of ahead. That massive balloon was clearing the canopy. If she had damaged it once, maybe she could again, although… the number of people she sensed on it was… high. Over two dozen. Maybe more.

  “She’s not nearly as wounded as I had hoped,” Zirkander said.

  No, a sorcerer could make short work of repairs.

  A few people moved about on the deck, beneath the shadow of the balloon. From Sardelle’s angle, she could only see those closest to the railing, but she squinted, hoping to catch sight of the magic user, wanting a look at her opponent. What she saw was someone with a spyglass, standing next to someone with a rifle, looking down at them.

  “Look out,” she whispered, backing toward a tree—or trying. The oversized snowshoes tangled beneath her feet, and she tumbled to the ground in the middle of the trail… in clear sight for those on the ship.

  A shot fired, and she flung an arm out, forming an invisible barrier in the air around her. A clunk-clang sounded, another bullet being chambered, and a second shot fired on the heels of the first. Belatedly, Sardelle realized it was Zirkander shooting, not those on the ship. In fact… one man had already disappeared from sight. The second, clutching his chest, toppled backward, falling from her view.

  Zirkander leaned toward her, and she dropped her shield before he bumped into it. He picked her up and carried her behind a couple of thick trees before setting her on her feet.

  “Thanks,” Sardelle said. “I forgot I was wearing these clunky things.”

  “They’re definitely awkward.” He was standing beside her protectively, his arm around her back, but his gaze was toward the sky. Carried on the currents, the ship had already drifted out of view.

  “I’m sorry you didn’t get your salvage,” she said. Or maybe not… What if she ripped the balloon again? Sure, there were no rockets to hide her sabotage, but with the trees blocking the view, who would know what had happened?

  She closed her eyes, envisioning that balloon, and tried to cut a hole as she had before. This time, it didn’t work. She sensed the why right away. There was a protective film about it, not unlike the barrier she had just thrown up. The sorcerer. He knew she was out there and wasn’t going to be caught unaware again.

  A screech came out of the depths of the canyon, eerie and hair-raising. Sardelle gulped. “Was that… a cat?”

  There had been mountain lions and wolves in the Ice Blades in her day, and she had heard both, but this sounded like something different. Something less… mortal.

  “Almost sounds like a hawk,” Zirkander said. “A really loud, creepier-than-a-haunted-battlefield hawk. Let’s find the other men and get back to the fort. There’s nothing left for us here.”

  The screech sounded again, closer this time. It reverberated from the canyon walls and seemed to hang on the breeze for an eternity. Something about it made Sardelle want to spring in the opposite direction and let those soldiers find their own way home. Zirkander didn’t shy away though, and she strode after him.

  She searched the valley with her senses, hoping to find the creature and identify it. Or maybe just find it so they could better avoid it. She sensed the men. They had been spread out, trying to sneak up on the ship as its crew finished repairs. They were angling back toward each other now, though two seemed to have lost their way in the snow and trees—or maybe they were intentionally looking for the source of those cries. Sardelle shuddered. She wouldn’t.

  Oddly, she couldn’t find it even with her mage senses. The screech sounded one more time, so she knew the cat or hawk or whatever it was hadn’t left the canyon, but she couldn’t feel anything in the direction the noise had come from. Or where it had seemed to come from. The way it reverberated from the rocky walls made it hard to tell.

  Two shots fired.

  “They’re not shooting at some animal, are they?” Zirkander didn’t sound out of breath from their charge into the canyon.

  Sardelle was too busy gulping air to respond.

  “Unless the airship left some men behind,” Zirkander added.

  “I don’t think so.” Sardelle didn’t sense any people in the canyon, other than those on the colonel’s team. “It seemed pretty full,” she added, when he glanced back at her. Minus the two men he had shot… They wouldn’t be happy about that. She hoped the craft wasn’t heading back to attack the fort. It had flown off in the opposite direction, but that might not mean anything.

  “Colonel Zirkander?” came a call from their left. Boulders and the cliffs of the canyon wall were visible beyond the snowy trees, but Sardelle didn’t see the speaker.

  “Coming,” Zirkander called. He veered off the trail. “They must think we’re alone if they’re shouting,” he added more quietly. “But what are they shooting at then?”

  The screech sounded again, as if to answer his question. It sounded like it was coming from the sky rather than the canyon floor, or maybe some precipice up the cliffs. Once again, Sardelle tried to find it, but the only life she sensed was that of the soldiers and of a few rodents and chipmunks, most burrowed beneath the snow. She counted four soldiers. Hadn’t there been five before? Maybe she had been mistaken.

  “How many men are out here with you?” Sardelle asked.

  “Five.”

  Uh oh. Either someone had gotten separated from the group, or…

  The parkas of two of the men came into view through the trees. If not for the contrast of the white ground, Sardelle might have missed them. It was growing dark, with the snow picking up again.

  One of the soldiers lifted a solemn hand at their approach. “It’s Nakkithor, sir.”

  “What happened, Sergeant?” Zirkander asked.

  “We’re… not sure.”

  “We didn’t see it,” the second soldier said. “Nak was behind us, maybe ten meters back, at least that’s what I thought. Then we heard his screams. We ran back and… ”

  Sardelle tried to see past Zirkander without leaving the trail he was breaking. The drifts hugging the trees to either side were above her waist. It took a moment before she located the man they were talking about. The soldier lay unmoving on the ground in a tiny clearing, his body half hidden by a tangle of thorny brambles on one edge. Dark crimson stains spattered the snow. She didn’t have to take a closer look to know he was dead.

  “I swear I saw something, some shadow running or flying away,” the sergeant said. Sardelle squinted through the gloom to pick out the names on their parkas. Makt. “It was big and moving fast, whatever it was. I shot twice, then realized it might be you.”

  “I haven’t managed to move that fast out here,” Zirkander said, stopping beside the body. “It wasn’t me.”

  “I thought I hit… whatever it was, but it didn’t cry out. It just disappeared behind the trees.”

  “Rav and Oster went to look,” the second man, Eringroad, said. “See if they could find tracks or a sign that we’d hit it. As you can see, there’s nothing around here except our snowshoe marks.”

  “Are you sure they’re all our prints?” Zirkander asked. “The Cofah could have had snowshoes too.”

  “Fairly certain, sir. We saw the ship take off and searched around it. No one seemed to have been left behind.”

  “No one.”

  While the men debated, Sardelle mentally braced herself and walked up to the side of the body. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t sensed something that was big enough to kill a man, and to kill him swiftly it sounded like. His face had been ravaged by claws or—she thought of Zirkander’s hawk guess—talons. The eyes were missing, gouged out, the holes so deep they revealed brain matter beneath them. The front of his parka was shredded, his flesh cut open, entrails torn free and slumped into the snow.

&n
bsp; Sardelle took a long breath, glad the air was so fresh and cold. As a healer, she had seen death before, and all manner of wounds, but this was a particularly grisly display. Had she arrived earlier, maybe she could have saved him, but maybe not. He must have died quickly from those extensive wounds.

  “Looks like the attack came from the air,” Zirkander said. He wasn’t unmoved by the death, she sensed, but his words came out calm and detached. This would be an analytical discussion, not an emotional one.

  Makt glanced at him. “That’s what I thought, sir. But I wasn’t sure… I didn’t want to sound stupid. I reckon there’s eagles and other big raptors up here, but an eagle couldn’t do this, could it? And even if it could, why would it?”

  “Why, indeed?” Zirkander looked to Sardelle. Did he think she would have the answer? He couldn’t possibly think she was somehow responsible, could he? Maybe he had figured out that her powers were more than academic. Or maybe he thought it suspicious that she had run after the group. “Are you all right?” he asked, flexing his mittened fingers toward the body.

  Oh. Concern. Not suspicion. Not yet.

  She looked at his hand but not at the body. She had seen enough. “I’m… ” Fine? That seemed a ludicrous thing to proclaim with a mauled soldier at her feet. She simply nodded to finish her answer.

  Snow crunched, heralding the return of the other two men, their rifles in their hands. They were shaking their heads before they reached the colonel.

  “We didn’t see anything.”

  “Not so much as a tuft of fur.” Oster glanced at Makt. “Or a feather.”

  “It’s getting dark though.” The first man eyed the metal gray sky above the pines and firs. Thick flakes wafted down peacefully, unperturbed by the death below. “If there had been drops of blood out there, they would have been hard to pick out.”

  “Should we head back, sir?” Oster asked. “Even darker clouds are heading this way, and there’s a lot of wind coming across the canyon up above. The airship had to fight to head off to the north.”

  Zirkander was staring down at the body, a fist pressed to his mouth. “Yes, there’s nothing for us out here now.”

  Except a mystery. Sardelle couldn’t believe something had slipped past her awareness. Something deadly. Was it possible the airship sorcerer had masked it somehow?

  “Let’s make a travois so we can haul him back,” Zirkander said. “I’m not leaving his body out here to the animals.”

  “Yes, sir,” Oster said. “Rav, you got an axe? Use those saplings to—”

  A screech ripped through the forest.

  It wasn’t in the distance this time, but nearby, overhead. Sardelle searched the clouds, her hand balled into a fist, ready to unleash an attack. Even in the small clearing, the trees fenced them in, and little of the dark sky was visible.

  “Cover,” Zirkander barked.

  The soldiers split into twos and lunged behind trees, then knelt, their rifles pointing to the sky. Zirkander started for a tree of his own, but saw Sardelle wasn’t moving and grabbed her. Just as he was pulling her away, she glimpsed massive outstretched wings high overhead, the dark shape seeming more shadow than substance against the snow and clouds.

  “There,” she cried at the same time as two rifles fired.

  Zirkander pushed her toward a pair of trees. “Stay between them,” he ordered, even as he took two steps in the other direction and raised his own firearm to the sky.

  The bird—no, it was far too large to call it a bird—had swooped out of sight almost as soon as they had spotted it, but it came back around, higher. Even with the poor visibility, Sardelle would have expected the men’s bullets to hit it, but the creature never flinched, never altered its flight path. It was climbing higher and higher. Readying for a dive.

  She still couldn’t sense it, and that perplexed her but didn’t keep her from preparing an attack of her own. Shots rang out from all of the rifles. The massive bird pulled in its wings to dive, like an osprey arrowing into a lake for a fish, except its target was Zirkander. Sardelle pulled wind from the coming storm, channeled it, and slammed it into the plummeting creature. It was flung to the side, hurled into a stout pine.

  Sardelle blew out a quick relieved breath. She had feared that since she couldn’t sense it, she wouldn’t be able to strike it, as if it were some kind of illusion. The great bird—it had the markings of a barred owl, not a hawk, but it was nearly as tall as a man—recovered before it hit the ground, thrusting its wings out to beat at the air, to pull itself back into the night sky.

  All through this, the soldiers were firing, their spent casings leaping from their rifles and burning holes into the snow all around them. The creature climbed back into the sky, not fleeing from the barrage but preparing to dive again.

  “Who hit it?” one soldier shouted. “Where did you aim to make it fly sideways?”

  “We’ve all hit it,” another responded. “The bullets are bouncing off—I saw mine strike and veer off as if that thing were solid metal.”

  “Someone hurt it though—it crashed for a moment. If we could all target that spot.”

  “That wasn’t a bullet, you idiot. That was the wind.”

  Technically true.

  Jaxi! What is this thing? Someone’s familiar? Someone’s extremely enhanced familiar?

  I believe you’re looking at a Dakrovian shaman’s animal companion.

  Dakrovian! From the jungles in the southern hemisphere? That’s thousands of miles from Cofah.

  Jaxi offered a mental shrug. Perhaps they went recruiting.

  “Sir! Look out. It’s dropping again.”

  “I see it.” Zirkander jumped to his feet and ran toward Sardelle’s trees.

  He ducked around the biggest one and fished into his ammo pouch to reload his rifle.

  Nobody except the dead soldier remained in the tiny clearing, but that didn’t keep the giant owl from diving down again. Though Sardelle knew she risked what little of her confusing cover story remained by using magic, she hurled another funnel of wind at it. The bullets weren’t doing anything. Someone had to drive it away.

  But the bird somehow sensed her attack and dodged. The blast of wind barely ruffled its feathers. It dropped to within two feet of the ground, then impossibly turned the dive into an upward swoop, pulling out at the last moment. No, not pulling out… and not turning upward. It streaked horizontally, paralleling the ground, its dive taking it toward the trees two of the soldiers hid behind.

  “Look out!” someone yelled.

  More shots rang out, though the soldiers must have realized by then that they couldn’t hurt it. Zirkander yanked out a foot-long dagger and charged toward the creature. The soldiers leaped to the side, avoiding the owl’s attack in time, but only because the stout firs slowed their avian attacker. One ran around a tree and clubbed the owl in the wing as it shifted from flying to standing, its spread talons enough to keep it from sinking into the snow. The soldier’s attack did nothing to hurt it. It flung its wing out, the tip catching him and hurling him ten feet.

  Zirkander ran at it from behind, fast enough, even with the snowshoes, to surprise it. He leaped onto its back and tried to sink his long dagger into its neck. As with the bullets, the blade bounced off. Its head spun around a hundred and eighty degrees. That must have been alarming—it was suddenly staring right at Zirkander—but he attacked it without hesitation, this time aiming for one of its great yellow eyes.

  Sardelle had her own hand raised, trying to think of some attack she dared make while Zirkander was right on top of it, but she paused, hoping he had guessed right and that the eye represented some vulnerability.

  The blade started to sink in. At least she thought it did—it was hard to tell. At the first touch, the owl shook its head vigorously. Zirkander didn’t let go of the weapon. He tried to push it in deeper, but was thrown free. He landed hard on his back. The creature jumped after him, seeming to rear up to an impossible height as it spread its wi
ngs.

  Sardelle tried to find its heart, to wrap the fingers of her mind around it to stop it from beating, but again her senses told her nothing was there. A soldier ran out, an axe in his hand, as if that would do what the bullets hadn’t. The bird ignored the man and attacked Zirkander, plunging downward with its beak.

  Sardelle cursed, knowing she would be too late as she tore a heavy branch from the tree above the owl, hoping to bring it down onto the creature’s head. Zirkander had already rolled to the side and leaped up, not as helpless as he had appeared.

  The branch landed, flinging snow everywhere, and surprised him as much as the creature. He recovered first and hurled his dagger. The weapon struck the owl’s eye, but in throwing the attack, he exposed himself an instant too long. A talon flashed up, striking like lightning as it ripped into his parka. Zirkander leaped back, but blood sprayed the snow around him.

  Sardelle growled, prepared to drop an entire tree on the bird’s head, and to the hells with what anyone saw, but it was flinging its head about and screeching now. The dagger was stuck in its eye. For a moment, she thought it might be a killing blow, or at least a seriously wounding one, but the creature used a talon to bat it away. The weapon landed point first in the snow. The owl leaped into the air, raking the axe-wielding soldier with its talons, too, before it flapped its wings and climbed out of reach again.

  “Sir, Rav, are you all right?” Makt ran out from behind the trees on the other side of the clearing.

  “Just a scratch,” Zirkander said.

  Sure, a scratch that had left blood all over the snow. Sardelle started toward him, but the owl screeched again. It wasn’t done with them. It was circling and rising again, preparing for another dive.

  “Let’s get out of here.” Zirkander pointed to the rocky canyon wall. “Are there any caves or fissures in that cliff?”

  “Don’t know, sir.”

  “Go, look. There’s nothing for us to gain by fighting this thing.”

  And everything to lose.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “It’s starting another dive,” one of the men said.

  “Go, go.” Zirkander waved the men forward and reached back toward Sardelle.

  She had thought to linger, to try dropping a tree on it when the men were out of sight, but Zirkander was like a sheep dog, gathering his flock. Nothing in his expression said he would let her loiter.

  She hustled after him. A tree probably wouldn’t kill that creature anyway. Not unless she could ram the trunk through its eye.

  The owl swooped again when it reached the ground, trying to dart through the forest after them. Zirkander and the soldiers weaved into the thickest areas. Even the powerful creature couldn’t rip trees aside with its talons. It returned to the sky, tracking them from above. There was a bare stretch near the cliff wall. They would have to be careful crossing it.

  “There’s a big crack.” Someone pointed.

  “Might be a cave.”

  “Another hole over there. Impossible to tell without looking.”

  “It’s too dark to tell either way. That’s just a big shadow, I think.”

  Zirkander looked up. Yes, the creature was up there, banking and turning, flying back and forth. Waiting.

  Sardelle skimmed the craggy rocks with her mind. That spot was too shallow, that one too narrow to get into, that one large enough that the owl could follow. A dozen meters to the left, there were two little caves that should work, each with just enough space for two or three men to squeeze into.

  “Down there.” Sardelle pointed. “I’ve studied geology. Those are Brackenforth Fissures. They’ll be narrow but deep.”

  One of the soldiers snorted. “Is she joking?”

  “It’s going to dive again.” Oster stabbed his rifle toward the black sky.

  Sardelle ran toward the caves she knew were deep enough. Zirkander cursed and ran after her, yelling, “Find hiding,” to the soldiers.

  “I ought to tackle you,” he growled, his voice right behind her. He could have. She definitely wasn’t fast on the snowshoes.

  “Not a good time.” Sardelle waved to the sky without pausing, then climbed up the cliff face. She tried to anyway. She couldn’t manage with the big, clumsy shoes on. She bent, unbuckling them as fast as she could, and hurled another buffet of wind at the owl as she did so. It was already diving, choosing her as a target since she had been foolish enough to run out first.

  Rifles fired. Those soldiers never gave up. Fortunately, Sardelle’s attack clipped the owl’s side this time, diverting it a few meters. Its screech filled their ears, as it nearly slammed into the rocks at the base of the cliff.

  Sardelle scrambled up without glancing at it, aiming for the first little cave, the smaller of the two. Zirkander was right beside her, shadowing her, protecting her. She slipped twice, her mittens falling away from the icy rocks when she tried to grab them, but Zirkander caught her both times, holding her up until she found a new grip.

  The creature recovered from its near crash, rising again, readying itself for another dive. The soldiers were farther down the cliff—they had gone for the caves directly in front of the area where they had come out of the trees. Sardelle hoped they found sufficient cover there.

  “Here,” she said, and squeezed through a crack. It smelled of mildew and cold but nothing more ominous. She had already checked to make sure nothing was making a den inside. She crawled to the back—which was all of six feet from the front—and tried to make herself small so Zirkander would have room.

  His rifle clunked against the rock, and clothing rasped and ripped. His body blocked the mouth of the cave as he grunted, trying to wedge himself in, and full darkness filled the small space.

  “Can you make it?” Sardelle asked. She had thought it would be big enough, but he was taller and broader of shoulder than she was. Reluctantly, she said, “There’s another fissure a few feet up if you can’t.” She didn’t want to spend the night alone in the cave.

  More like, you don’t want to spend the night alone in the cave without his company.

  Hush. This is about keeping everyone alive, nothing more.

  Uh huh.

  This space isn’t big enough for anything more anyway. Not that Sardelle seriously thought Zirkander would contemplate “anything more” even if this were the time and the place. She was his little puzzle to be solved, nothing more. If he was protecting her, it was simply because he would do that for any woman.

  “I’m in.” Zirkander leaned out. “Find a place, Rav! It’s coming.”

  Sardelle checked the others. They had found a cave big enough for three, but they weren’t able to fit the other soldier inside.

  “Trying, sir!” came the distant call.

  Zirkander wriggled his rifle back out. He was poised like a panther on a tree branch, muscles bunched, ready to spring. Sardelle resisted the urge to tell him he couldn’t do anything to drive off the owl. He wouldn’t appreciate it. She couldn’t do anything either, if she couldn’t see it, which she couldn’t from the back of the cave. Even when she could see it, she hadn’t been able to do much. She needed to dig out books on those jungle shamans when she got home.

  Home?

  Well, back. They’re buried down there somewhere, right?

  Possibly, though I do hope you’ll make my retrieval your priority.

  We’ll see.

  “There’s room over here,” Zirkander yelled.

  Sardelle crept forward, found a rock to stand on, and tried to see past his shoulder. If she could locate the owl, she could attack it with wind again. She could—

  “He got in.” Zirkander turned and bumped into her.

  She fell off the rock and grabbed the nearest thing—his shoulder. “Sorry,” she said, stepping down. “I was trying to see out.”

  “And here I thought you were overcome by the euphoria of surviving and wanted to fling your arms around me for a kiss.”

  “I… ” Did he want that? No
, his tone was dry. A joke, nothing more. “Look out,” she cried as a shadow blotted out the night forest behind him.

  The dreadful screech filled the tiny cave, hammering Sardelle’s eardrums. She stumbled back, pulling Zirkander with her. He needed no urging. Talons scraped and tore at the rock around the entrance. He pressed himself against the back of the fissure, grunting as he shifted about to face the entrance, positioning himself so he was between her and the creature.

  With its wings tucked in, the owl wasn’t much bigger than the men. If it could climb in…

  Sardelle gulped, terrified she had led them to a trap rather than a haven. She summoned her energy to batter at it again, but one of its talons slipped, and it disappeared amid a flurry of wing beats. It soon returned, beating at the mouth of the cave. Sardelle examined the top of the cliff above her. The snow-covered top of the cliff. She nudged a drift over the edge. It wouldn’t hurt the owl, but maybe…

  Big clumps of snow rained down on it. The creature shrieked and disappeared from view.

  “I do not like that noise,” Sardelle said. She hoped the others’ cave entrances were narrow enough that the owl would have no chance at getting to them.

  “Now I know what my mother meant all the times she used the term ear-drilling to me,” Zirkander said.

  “In relation to what?”

  “My learning to play the trombone one summer. I thought I sounded fabulous.”

  Sardelle smiled despite their situation. She had no idea how they were going to escape that owl, but couldn’t think of anyone else she would rather be trapped with at the moment.