Balanced on the Blade's Edge (Dragon Blood, Book 1) Page 17

  Chapter 9

  Sardelle had known it would get colder, but she wasn’t ready for how much colder. Now she understood why her people had put their homes inside the mountain instead of on it. If they had been less feared, maybe they wouldn’t have had to use such a remote part of the world, but relationships with mundanes had always seemed to work better with separation. Until that didn’t work anymore either.

  Sardelle sipped from a coffee mug—she had another mug in her hand, a cover over it in a vain attempt to keep it from chilling—and watched as Ridge and his engineer friend worked on the rusted flying machine now residing in the center of the courtyard, its dragon “feet” perched near the frozen stream. There wasn’t a building large enough to house it, and there wasn’t room to work on it anywhere else. Just getting it here had been a gargantuan chore, she understood. It had come in pieces, pulled around and across the mountain in stages by strange machines the engineer had said were usually used in the logging industry. Whatever route it had taken, it was here now, and the miners, soldiers, and even the women working the laundry room were taking bets as to whether it would ever fly again. Given the amount of snow that had fallen overnight—there were at least nine new inches blanketing its metallic carapace and wings—Sardelle wasn’t even sure it would be able to remain standing upright through the day.

  Like everyone else working up top, she checked the sky often. It had been nearly three weeks since the encounter with the airship and the owl. She wanted to believe the Cofah had forgotten about the fort and had gone home, but she suspected they were still out there. Ridge thought so, too, and there was an urgency about the way he worked on the flier, as if the small one-man craft could stave off an attack from an airship that claimed a sorcerer among its passengers. He said they had the cold and the snow to thank for the peaceful days, citing airships’ sensitivity to changing weather conditions and thin air, but Sardelle wondered if the other sorcerer had sensed her somehow, and if they were acting more warily because of her presence. She would have preferred to be a surprise… someone to lie in wait if needed, especially since she couldn’t reveal to her allies that she had powers. She wasn’t all that certain she was a match for this jungle shaman anyway. Maybe once she had Jaxi…

  Ridge had ordered new tunnels opened in the directions she had indicated, and they had already found three crystals. It was the reason she was allowed to stand around, drinking coffee and watching the men work, even though she had run out of days off some time ago. It was also the reason Ridge had a bounce to his step, she assumed. Or maybe that was because he was working on a flier, however rusted and dilapidated. She knew it didn’t have anything to do with bedroom exploits, since she hadn’t been invited up to his room for any of those. Not that she had expected it here in the fort, where she was under scrutiny from Captain Heriton and several others—she hadn’t had to use her mental faculties to catch whispered gossip going around about her. Ridge himself must be under scrutiny from associating with her too. No, she hadn’t been expecting exploits, but she did… miss them. At the least, it would be enjoyable to try bedroom activities with an actual bed. The lumpy, rocky cave had made things a little awkward, though she had found the experience quite enjoyable. The memory could still cause her to smile into her coffee.

  “Morning,” Ridge said, ambling over in his full parka, fur cap, and mittens, all three smeared with grease. For a pilot, he definitely had a hands-on approach to flier repairs.

  Sardelle tamped down the urge to wipe off a smear on his nose. Even though it was snowing again—or maybe it was still snowing, as she couldn’t remember the last time it had stopped for more than five minutes—there were people in the courtyard, miners tramping off to work and soldiers in the middle of shift changes. “Good morning, Colonel.” She handed him the second mug. “How is the progress?”

  This had become a ritual, her showing up with coffee, asking after his progress, and him spending a few minutes chatting with her about it. Just because he wasn’t sending her invitations for midnight trysts didn’t mean he didn’t care, or wouldn’t like to send those invitations. In the meantime, he smiled and chatted amiably with her, and despite the frozen courtyard setting and the walls of cannons surrounding them, she had come to find a comfortable familiarity in the daily sharing of their morning coffee. She looked forward to it.

  “With the flier, about the same. We’re building an engine from scratch from scrap parts pillaged from around the fort. I swear Captain Bosmont was eyeing the cook’s metal pans this morning in the mess.” Ridge removed the cover on his coffee and took a big gulp. “The miners also found another crystal last night.” He beamed at her, and Sardelle melted a little inside at his obvious pleasure. “That makes four. I won’t need to worry so much about testing the flier now.”

  “Because… you’ll need to borrow one of the crystals for it?” It still floored her that these people were using three-hundred-year-old lamps to power their flying machines.

  “Because this pile of wings and rust might fall out of the sky and plunge to the bottom of a canyon on its test run. It would be difficult for anyone to retrieve the crystal then.”

  Sardelle blinked at him. She knew it was questionable whether they would actually be able to get the flier in the air, but had assumed they would know if it was feasible before risking their lives. “And its pilot as well?”

  “Well, I’m not sure they would bother going down to scrape his pulverized bones off the rocks. But the crystal, that’s valuable.” Amazingly, he smirked as he described this scenario. He had to be joking…

  “You’re a unique individual, Ridge Zirkander,” Sardelle murmured. She didn’t use his first name when anyone was close enough to hear, but believed the snow would insulate their voices from those crossing to the trams behind them.

  “I’ve heard that a lot in my life, though usually with cursing rather than fond smiles. You must be unique yourself.”

  Sardelle smiled into her cup again. “I think you’ve already figured that out.”

  He grunted. “I still haven’t figured out much about you. No signs of swords down there yet. Do you think we’re close?”

  Sardelle shook her head. Though she had relented and told Ridge what she sought, she hadn’t plotted a direct shaft to it on his map. So long as the miners, with their powerful explosives and constant shoring up and supporting of the tunnels they built, got close, she should be able to drill the rest of the way in.

  “If the men do find it, will it look like… anything other than a sword?” Ridge hadn’t asked much about it when she had revealed it as the item she sought; if anything, he had surprised her with his lack of surprise, but she supposed it fit with this relic-hunting archaeologist persona he had constructed for her. “Will it… it won’t be a danger to them, will it? Burn them if they touch it or something like that?”

  “Of course not.” Sardelle lost her smile. “The Referatu weren’t evil.”

  “Uh huh, that’s not what the history books say.” Ridge frowned as well, giving her that concerned look he did every time she spoke of magic, like he was worried for her soul.

  What was she going to do if he found out the truth about her? For that matter, what was she going to do when she got the sword? At that point, she could leave, unless she somehow wanted to try and dig out more artifacts. She wasn’t sure how she would do that, but it did irk her a bit, imagining the descendants of those who had buried her people alive coming back later to paw through their belongings.

  “What will you do when you find it?” Ridge asked.

  Indeed, just the question on her mind. “Study it,” she said, though she already knew Jaxi’s every inner and outer contour intimately. Sardelle had a vague notion of traveling the world and trying to find more of her people, descendants of them anyway. Not everyone had been at that birthday celebration. Almost everyone had been—which was no doubt why their enemies had chosen that day to attack—but more people than her had to have survived. Had th
ey fled the continent? Were they hiding in some distant corner of the world? Would they welcome her into whatever community they had managed to create? Or could she somehow live amongst the mundanes and be happy?

  “Back at some university, I suppose,” Ridge said, studying the liquid in his cup.

  “Aside from one handsome and generous fort commander, I have not found many people to welcome me here.”

  “And he’s not enough of a reason to stay?”

  Sardelle swallowed. This was the first time he had suggested he wanted her to. “I… ”

  “It wouldn’t be forever. Just a year. Eleven months and five days now. Not that I have a calendar I’m marking on my desk or anything.” Ridge gave her that quirky smile of his, the one that made his eyes glint as if he were planning some mischief. “I have a much nicer place down near the coast. A little cabin in the woods, next to a lake with some great fishing. It’s very private and peaceful. Did I mention private? Nothing except the raccoons and owls—normal-sized non-freaky owls—to pay attention to what’s going on out there at night.”

  “I see, and if I were to stay here for a year—” or go off and check on the world and on her people and then come back for him in a year… “—would I be working in the laundry and sleeping in a tiny bunk surrounded by dozens of snoring women the whole time?”

  “I’m quite certain you’ve only worked in the laundry one day so far,” Ridge said dryly.

  “True enough, but there’s only been one night when I haven’t slept in the snore chamber.” Sardelle wriggled her brows at him.

  “Yes, I’ve regretted that, but I’ve felt somewhat… inhibited with Captain Heriton next door. The man has actually had the gall to knock on my door before dawn a couple of times and glance behind me to see if anyone else is in the room. I’m going to have to make sure he’s not slipping any reports onto the supply ship. I don’t need a spy in my own camp. Assuming that supply ship ever comes.” He looked to the cloudy sky. “They should have been here four days ago.”

  Sardelle didn’t want to talk about supply ships. She wanted to find a way to circumvent his spies. Of course she couldn’t tell him that she could insulate his walls and keep the nosy captain from hearing anything. “Perhaps a less closely monitored location?” she suggested.

  Ridge pulled his gaze from the clouds. “Oh?”

  “Would anyone think it odd if you visited the library in the evening for some quiet reading time?”

  “Reading time, eh? You don’t think the library will be packed with miners eager to check out the classics?”

  Sardelle grinned. “Have you had anyone take you up on that yet?”

  “Actually, yes. I listened to four book summaries just yesterday afternoon, delivered in between pickaxe blows on the sixth level, since their supervisors wouldn’t let them leave to come up to see me.”

  “Good. Now as to the library hours… perhaps later, we would be less likely to run into earnest readers. There is, after all, only the one table. Which we might like to use.” Sardelle wasn’t used to propositioning men—those with the nerve to do so usually asked her—so she wasn’t sure if she came off as smooth or awkward.

  Ridge grinned and bumped his shoulder against hers. “Goodness woman, you’re either as libidinous as I am, or you’re willing to do anything to get out of sleeping in that barracks room.”

  “It is a less than restful environment.”

  Ridge winked and opened his mouth, doubtlessly to suggest the library table wouldn’t be restful, either, but a shout of “Colonel Zirkander” came from the ramparts, and he turned away, the humor in his eyes disappearing.

  More than one soldier was pointing toward the western sky.

  At first, Sardelle couldn’t see anything other than snow, but then she picked out a dark balloon hugging the heavy gray clouds as it flew over the peaks toward them. The markings were different than that of the Cofah aircraft, all grays and blacks instead of gold and wood tones, and it had an enclosed cabin rather than an open ship design where one could see people standing on the deck.

  “That’s our supply ship,” Ridge said, fishing in his pocket for something.

  “That’s good.”

  Now Ridge would have an opportunity to send word back to his headquarters about the enemy ship. It shouldn’t be long until reinforcements arrived.

  “Except that it shouldn’t be coming in on that route… and I think that’s…” Ridge extended the spyglass he had dug out of his pocket and watched the sky.

  Alerted by the tension in his voice, Sardelle reached out with her senses. The ship was still far away, but she immediately felt the emotions of the people aboard because they were so intense. There wasn’t much of a crew—two, no three—but they were all scared. Terrified.

  “Smoke,” Ridge said. “They’ve been struck.” He raised his voice to yell at the soldiers on the ramparts. “Ready the weapons. We might have company.” He gave Sardelle a quick, grim look, handed her his coffee mug, then ran for the stairs.

  The clanks coming from the flier paused, and the big engineer stuck his head out. “Sir, you going to want me at the—”

  “Keep working on the flier, Captain,” Ridge answered as he raced up the stairs. “We may need it sooner than we thought.”

  Sardelle, remembering the image he had painted of a possible failed launch, grimaced. She returned her attention to the incoming airship. There weren’t any other vessels in the sky, at least not that she could see or sense, but—no, wait. At the very edge of her reach, behind the mountain peak, there was a familiar presence. The Cofah airship. It didn’t seem to be coming closer. Indeed, she had the sense that the captain was struggling with the wind and the snow, but it didn’t matter. It had already damaged its target.

  By now, a spyglass wasn’t needed to see the smoke streaming out of the gray airship’s engines. Sardelle wondered if she could do anything to fix the problem, or at least slow the craft’s descent. It was streaking across the sky more quickly than she thought might be normal for an airship, dropping altitude at an alarming speed. Its balloon wobbled and the sides rippled—it had been damaged, too, she realized, and was losing gas. They must have originally intended to land it in the fort, but the steering didn’t seem to be working; it was veering toward the right. If it continued on that path, it would go full circle and crash into the mountain it had just crested.

  Sardelle found the problem. The smashed rudder was stuck in one position, not responding to the pilot’s frantic pulls at the controls. A cannonball was wedged into the steering mechanism. Sardelle pried it out, dumping the iron weight into the snow far below. She turned the rudder in the opposite direction and imagined she could hear its pained squeal from two miles away. It wasn’t going to be enough to correct the problem. The vessel would still crash. Maybe that was inevitable, but better to crash close to the fort rather than into a mountain cliff.

  She attempted to maneuver the craft against the wind without making it appear unnatural. Dozens of soldiers atop the rampart were watching. Fighting the wind was as much of a challenge for her as it was for the ship, and heat pricked at her skin, making her feel as if she were running laps around the fort instead of standing still. When the craft crashed, she had done what she could. She had brought it down on snow rather than letting it smash into a cliff. She didn’t know if it would be enough.

  “Watch that ship,” Ridge called to someone before sprinting down the stairs. “Sergeant Komfry, grab some men. We’re going to look for survivors.”

  At first, Sardelle thought his command was meant for the supply ship and couldn’t imagine why it would need to be watched—it certainly wasn’t going anywhere now—but the Cofah vessel had sailed into view above that mountain peak. It hovered there, watching. Preparing an attack? More snow had gathered on the high mountainsides. Would they try the avalanche maneuver again? If so, she was ready. This time, she would stop them before they dropped any explosives. One way or another.

  No soo
ner had she experienced the thought when a whisper sounded in her mind. Who are you?

  The warmth of Sardelle’s body vanished, replaced by a chill. The words came from the Cofah ship. From the other sorcerer. There was no doubt.

  Come any closer and you’ll find out, she responded.

  The laughter in her mind rang dark and disquieting. You could do nothing against my pet. You’ll be even less trouble for me.

  Sardelle didn’t point out that she had been limited as to what she could do because she couldn’t let the soldiers know she was doing something. For one thing, she still had that problem. For another, it would be better for this foe to believe her weaker than she was.

  She sensed the man—and she could tell it was a man now, someone older and experienced—trying to dig deeper and read her mind. She bricked off her thoughts. She could have prevented him from contacting her further as well, at least at that moment, but she didn’t. Any intelligence she might gather from him could prove useful. And… maybe there was a part of her that wanted to hear from another telepath, another sorcerer. Even if he was the enemy and from an unfamiliar country and mage line. By default, she had more in common with him than with anyone here in the fort she was so determined to defend.

  Why are you protecting these people?

  Sardelle licked her lips, wondering if he had somehow slipped past her barriers to read her thoughts after all. No, it was a coincidence. Nothing more. She would have sensed him rummaging inside her mind. Besides, logic dictated that if he had to ask, he didn’t know.

  They are my people. Sardelle made sure not to think of Ridge as she sent the words across the wind. As the commander here, he would already be a target. No need to make him more of one.

  Impossible. All of the Iskandian sorcerers were killed long ago.

  Sardelle was glad nobody was watching her, or paying attention to her at all—Ridge had led a team through the gates on snowshoes, and everyone else was keeping the miners in the shafts or watching from the walls—for pain must have flashed across her face. She had been certain there would be some survivors. She was tempted to reach out to Jaxi, to ask how the soulblade read the situation, but not while this other sorcerer was monitoring. The last thing she wanted to do was make some enemy aware of the artifacts buried within the mountain.

  Even if some ancestors of yours survived, the enemy sorcerer went on, I don’t understand why you would defend these people. They were the ones responsible for the purge. You must know that.

  You cannot blame a man for the faults of his ancestors.

  Please. Do you think these people would be any different? They shoot, drown, and burn anyone with a hint of dragon blood. Nothing has changed. I’m surprised they haven’t… ah, they don’t know, do they? They don’t know who you are.

  Sardelle didn’t respond to the smugness in the voice. How proud he was to have figured it out. Twit.

  I will not share your secret. He chuckled. Though I will be shocked if you succeed in keeping it. To always hide your true nature… it must be painful.

  What do you care?

  Now? Nothing. But I… could care. You could leave these people. Come with me.

  To what end?

  I’ll take you to where the others of our kind live. You would be more comfortable there.

  Sardelle swallowed hard at an ache in her throat. She did want to find out where other sorcerers might be, but… if they were the types to join in with conquering armies, did she want anything to do with that? Of course, just because one man had made that choice did not mean they all did.

  Or… The sorcerer’s words grew softer, almost husky in her mind. You could come with me.

  What are you offering?

  A union. There are few left with dragon’s blood, even fewer whose lines haven’t been diluted to near worthlessness through the centuries. Those who remain rarely produce offspring when they breed with each other. The blood is too close, too intertwined.

  Sardelle found herself gaping at the distant ship, which was still hovering over the snowy peak. Had she just received an offer to breed? And from an utter stranger? How romantic.

  He would probably say anything to get her away from the fort. Maybe he considered her more of a problem than he had let on.

  For a brief, immature moment, she thought of sending him an image of herself entwined with Ridge, but that would be idiotic. All she said was, I’ll keep your offer in mind.

  Do so. It will be a shame to kill you when we attack.

  Uh huh. And when will that be?

  Soon. Make your decision soon.

  The enemy ship turned and drifted out of view, heading back to whatever docking space it had carved out in these inhospitable mountains.

  Sardelle climbed the stairs to see if the crash site was in view and if Ridge had found any survivors. What she witnessed made her suspect he wouldn’t be meeting her in the library that night.