Balanced on the Blade's Edge (Dragon Blood, Book 1) Page 3

  Chapter 2

  Sardelle stepped out of the cage and stopped so quickly the soldier nearly tripped over her. Icy wind buffeted her, whipping at her dress and raising gooseflesh on her arms. She gaped at the black stone fortress around her, around the tiny valley where merchants had once sold cheese and crops in the summer and where a wide road and bridge had led over the river and to the back gate leading into Galmok Mountain. The Goat Peak River was still there, half iced over as it meandered through the large courtyard within the fortress walls, but there was nothing inviting about it or the valley anymore. The crenellations and cannon-like weapons on the walls were as forbidding as the Ice Blades themselves, the snow covered peaks rising in all four directions around the valley, scraping the sky as they towered another five thousand feet above the already lofty valley. Most of the peaks hadn’t changed, but Galmok… She stared in horror. It looked like a volcano rather than the majestic mountain it had once been, its upper walls slumped inward with a misshapen bowl where the peak had once been.

  The soldier shoved her. “Get going, girl.”

  Sardelle wrenched her gaze from the view and stumbled down a path that hadn’t been there the last time she had been outside. Just yesterday, her mind wanted to add, though she had accepted by now that it had not been yesterday. Aside from the three centuries that had passed, it had been summer when she had entered Galmok and warm enough for her dress. Now… she wrapped her arms around herself as she picked her route, the trail following the tramline down toward the center of the fortress. There were other holes in the mountain, other tram tracks plunging into the darkness. What were they mining for? Crystal? Hadn’t one of her attackers said that? She couldn’t imagine what sort of crystal they had found in there, though she did recall gold and silver veins in the area. A smelter set up on the far side of the fortress seemed to suggest the likelihood of precious metal mining.

  Another push nearly made her stumble. “You act like you haven’t seen this all before. I’ve got a report to put together. Walk faster.” He pointed at a large stone building with laundry hanging on a line, whipping in the breeze as it dried in the meager sun.

  “That’s where we’re going?” Even as Sardelle asked, a pair of women strode out of another building and headed for the one with the laundry lines. They wore heavy wool dresses and socks, scarves, hats, and fur jackets as they carried baskets of linens.

  “Yes,” the soldier said, drawing out the syllable as if he were talking to an imbecile.

  Sardelle sighed and headed in the indicated direction. At least there were women here. She ought to be able to get information from them, one way or another. Maybe, given time, she could figure out a way to arrange a meeting with that general.

  She walked over a bridge, but paused at the top, realizing her unfriendly guide had fallen behind. He had stopped to stare into the western sky. A strange flying craft was banking around Bandit Mountain and angling toward the fortress. Flying. She hadn’t quite believed it when Jaxi had mentioned it, but the bronze metallic craft clearly wasn’t a bird. With wings outstretched and something on the tips that resembled talons, it did vaguely resemble a dragon, at least the ones Sardelle had seen illustrated in books, the creatures having been extinct for a thousand years or more now. Some sort of rotating fan buzzed, keeping the contraption aloft.

  A propeller, Jaxi said dryly.

  Hush, just because you’ve been reading books these past centuries, doesn’t mean I have. What’s powering it?

  The soldier muttering to himself distracted Sardelle, and she didn’t hear the answer.

  “What’s this about?” the man asked. “Supplies and prisoners came in yesterday… shouldn’t be anything due for two weeks.”

  Whatever it is, it could be an escape chance for you.

  I’m not leaving without you, Jaxi.

  I’m not going to suffocate or die here. You can come back when you can.

  The fortress didn’t look like it would be any easier to sneak into than it would be to sneak out of. Besides… where would she go? This was—had been—home.

  There is that. A mental sigh accompanied Jaxi’s comment.

  The flying contraption banked again. It was circling the valley like an osprey searching for a fish to snatch out of a lake. None of the soldiers on the ramparts were racing for the cannons, so Sardelle assumed it was a friendly aircraft, though everyone was watching it draw closer with curiosity. It angled for the wide, flat roof of the biggest building in the fortress, a two-story structure backing up to one of the walls. A flat roof was a strange choice for mountains that received many feet of snow every year—the other buildings had steeply pitched tops, as one would expect—but as the craft lowered, she realized that particular spot must have been designed for landing, though she couldn’t imagine how it might be done. An osprey might be able to fold its wings in and alight on a perch, but a manmade craft wouldn’t have that ability, surely. It seemed to be designed for going straight ahead, needing those wide banking turns to switch direction. But some sort of thrusters rotated down from the wings, allowing the bronze contraption to slow down without falling out of the sky. Soon it was hovering over the building, and then it lowered, the bottom half disappearing from her sight.

  And I thought the rifles were impressive.

  Jaxi didn’t respond. Maybe she was investigating the craft.

  A few soldiers jogged out of the second story of that big building and headed up the stairs to the roof. Their presence seemed to remind her guard of his duty, for he joined her on the bridge, pointing to the laundry building again.

  “Let’s go. We’ll find out soon enough who’s visiting.”

  Though curious about the flying machine, Sardelle couldn’t imagine that a visitor would change anything for her, so she walked off without arguing. Maybe the pilot would stay overnight and she might have a chance to examine the craft. It wasn’t her priority though.

  A woman walked out of the laundry building as Sardelle and the soldier were walking up. The scent of soap and starch drifted through the doorway. The woman’s figure was almost stout and brawny enough to be a man. She had a basket balanced on a broad hip and started to walk off the path around the pair, but the soldier stopped her with a hand.

  “One-forty-three, isn’t it?” he asked.

  Sardelle blinked. What?

  The number meant something to the woman, for she nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Looks like you lost someone.” The soldier pushed Sardelle toward the woman.

  “Never seen her before.”

  “I think she came in yesterday.”

  “Then why wasn’t she here an hour before dawn to report for work, like everyone else?”

  “No idea,” the soldier said. “Found her down on the bottom level of the mine.”

  The woman gave an exasperated huff and looked Sardelle up and down like she might be a lost toddler. A particularly dumb lost toddler. “Seven gods, girl, you trying to get yourself killed? Or worse?”

  What was worse than being killed? Sardelle thought of Tace and his crony and answered her own question.

  “What is this?” The woman plucked at Sardelle’s sleeve. “Where are your work clothes? You’ve got to be freezing. What’s your number?”

  Feeling lost and bewildered, Sardelle broke her oath as a sorceress and skimmed the surface of the woman’s thoughts. Numbers. People were called by numbers rather than names. She didn’t have to dig deep to find a memory of this woman—Dhasi before she had become One-forty-three—stepping off a supply ship with two other women and two-dozen men and being assigned her number.

  “They told me, but I forgot,” Sardelle said. She could have made one up, but what happened if someone already had it? She hugged herself, thinking of sticking her hands under her armpits. What were the odds this conversation could be moved indoors? Her toes were freezing, and the rest of her wasn’t much warmer.

  “You forgot.” One-forty-three—Sardelle hated to think of her as a numb
er, but didn’t want to get in trouble for one day calling her by a name that had never been shared—threw up her hands, dropped the basket, and turned for the door. “Wait here. I’ll get the roster and try to figure out where she’s supposed to be.” She stomped back inside. Heat as well as soap odors drifted out, and Sardelle wouldn’t have minded following her.

  She glanced at the soldier, wondering if he had been irked by the woman, who was presumably a prisoner, the same as the miners below, giving him an order. The soldier was busy though, eyeing… Sardelle’s chest. She grimaced. Unfortunately, the sunlight showed off the sleek if dusty dress and the curves beneath it all too well, far more effectively than the lanterns in the mines. She had never thought herself a great beauty, but if the beefy laundry lady was representative of the women here, and if the men had as little contact with the outside world as she suspected, she supposed she could see the interest. See it, but not condone it. She watched the soldier through slitted eyes, wondering if another rash breakout would be in order.

  Be careful, Jaxi warned. These people might be brutes, but they’re not dumb. And it doesn’t take much for them to start talking of witches.

  That girl you mentioned who was thrown in the lake… was she gifted?

  If she had been, do you think she would have let herself drown? My understanding from their books is that there are occasionally people born with talent, but that they either get hunted down or learn quickly to hide their… quirks. They don’t receive any training, not like they did in our day, so they rarely develop much more than a sixth sense.

  The soldier touched Sardelle’s sleeve, lifting his eyes to meet hers. “You with someone yet, woman?”

  “With someone?” They all agreed she had just been pushed off the supply ship the day before. She didn’t have a name-number—or a clue—so how could she be with someone already?

  “I’m in room seventy-two in the barracks, second floor.” He nodded toward a building across the square. “Think on it. You’re going to have trouble around here if you’re not someone’s girl.”

  To punctuate this point, a woman carrying a basket on her hip walked toward the laundry building, a woman who was quite obviously pregnant, very pregnant. Sardelle stared. She couldn’t imagine having a child in this environment. She hadn’t even seen any children. Was it allowed? Or did they…? She gulped. They wouldn’t kill the babies, would they? They couldn’t be held accountable for the crimes of their parents.

  “She wasn’t with someone,” the soldier said after the pregnant woman had passed them and gone inside. “Heard it was rough on her.”

  “You people didn’t think to stop it?”

  The soldier shrugged. “Lot more of you all than there are of us. We can’t be everywhere.” That shrug said he didn’t care very much about the fact either. “Better to be with a soldier. The prisoners usually don’t bother you much if you are.”

  Usually? Much?

  “I’ll think about it,” Sardelle managed to say rather than punching him. Although, at least with a punch, she wouldn’t have to worry about anyone accusing her of witchcraft.

  “Good.” He smiled and repeated, “Room seventy-two. Tell the night guard you’re here to see me, Rolff, and they’ll let you in.”

  “This sort of thing is common, is it?”

  For soldiers in the Iskandian Guard, there had been a regulation against molesting prisoners, but she had no idea what was permitted here, or even whose army she was dealing with. Most of those she had seen so far had the pale skin and brown to black hair of the natives of the Iskandian continent, but that didn’t mean governments hadn’t come and gone over the centuries.

  The soldier looked away, shrugged, then looked back. “Nobody cares here.”

  Ah, so there was a regulation. It just wasn’t being enforced. Well, that knowledge didn’t help her much.

  “I’d be doing you a favor,” he said. “Trust me.”

  Sure, he just wanted to help her. How considerate.

  He stepped closer, laying his hand on her arm. “I’m not so bad, promise. You’ll think about it? You said that, right?”

  Might want to take him up on the offer.

  Jaxi!

  What? He’s not so bad looking, and he was a good fighter. Bet he’s all muscle under that uniform.

  This is what I get for agreeing to link with a teenaged soul, one who never got past her horny period before channeling herself into our sword. “Yes,” she told the soldier, who was now stroking her arm. “I said that.”

  Where was that laundry lady anyway? She spotted a pair of uniformed men descending the stairs from the building and walking in their direction. Good, a distraction.

  “There’s your guest,” Sardelle said, nodding toward the men, hoping Rolff would stop fondling her arm if an officer was walking past. Of course, she could only hope the newcomers were officers. With the soldiers wearing fur parkas in addition to their uniform jackets, she couldn’t see insignia, not that she could have deciphered it anyway.

  Her soldier stepped back from her at the men’s approach though, dropping his arm, no, jerking it behind his back. “I can’t believe it,” he whispered. “Do you know who that is?”

  Please, she didn’t know who anyone was. “No.”

  He gaped at her, but only for a second before focusing on the two men again. “That’s Colonel Ridgewalker Zirkander.”

  Ridgewalker? How cocky. Maybe he had given the name to himself.

  “What’s he doing here?” the soldier breathed, his voice scarcely more than a whisper as the two visitors drew nearer. The younger of the pair, one who kept trying to get the other to let him carry the duffle bag slung over his shoulder, was talking and pointing toward a building past the laundry facility, but the path would take them by Sardelle and Rolff—with six inches of snow in the courtyard, the cleared sidewalks were the only logical options. Good. She hoped one of them would ask what Rolff was doing away from his post, which might result in him leaving her alone. Didn’t he have some dead miners to report, anyway?

  As they walked, the colonel had his head bent toward the younger man, listening to whatever information he was being given. He commented on something and grinned. The young soldier or maybe officer—he had a more academic look about him than the sturdy Rolff—blinked in surprise, then rushed to nod and smile back, though he didn’t seem to know if that was quite the right response. Smiles and humor probably weren’t commonplace around here. The young officer looked to be in his twenties and had the earnest eager-to-please face of a dog hoping for a treat. The colonel was closer to Sardelle’s age, probably older, though there wasn’t any gray in what she could see of his short brown hair—a fur cap canted at a roguish angle that she doubted was regulation hid most of it. He was on the tall side with a lean athletic build the parka didn’t quite hide. He had a handsome face, a scar on his chin notwithstanding, and dark brown eyes that glinted with humor to match the grin that hadn’t entirely faded.

  Maybe you can get his room number.

  Jaxi!

  What? He’s closer to your age than this puppy. Or are you holding out for the general? He doesn’t sound promising.

  Before Sardelle could give Jaxi a mental slap on the cheek, the colonel glanced in her direction. The glance became a second look, a startled one. For a moment, she thought he might recognize her somehow—her name and face were—had been—well known, at least among the soldiers she had assisted. For all she knew, she was in a book somewhere. But no, that didn’t seem to be recognition on his face, just surprise.

  He frowned at Rolff who came into an attention stance so alert and erect that he was quivering. He snapped his fist up for a salute.

  “Corporal, why is this woman standing outside in so little clothing?” the colonel asked. “It’s twenty degrees out.”

  “It’s… she…”

  Sardelle almost felt sorry for Rolff, no doubt groping for a way to explain her unexpected presence. Almost.

  After a few
more stutters, he settled on, “She’s a prisoner, sir!”

  The humor that had warmed the colonel’s brown eyes earlier had evaporated. “How does that answer my question?” His frown shifted to the young officer at his side, who lifted his hands defensively.

  “I’ve never seen her before, sir.”

  “We found her in the mines,” Rolff said. “She wasn’t even supposed to be there. The women work up here.” Rolff flung a hand toward the laundry room—the door had opened, and the laundry lady stood there. She couldn’t have heard more than the last couple of sentences, but she caught the gist and waved her clipboard.

  “I got two new girls yesterday and no word about a third.”

  Sardelle thought about saying something, but she didn’t have a cover story worked out that could explain the confusion around her appearance. She was starting to worry that between everyone’s babbling, someone would figure out she hadn’t come off that supply ship yesterday, but the colonel had a distasteful look on his face at what, coming in new, he must judge as incompetence. Sardelle raised a single eyebrow—the winter she had come home to teach, that expression had made her students stammer with the certainty that they had done something wrong.

  The colonel didn’t stammer, but he did look exasperated. He dropped his duffle bag, unbuttoned his parka, and handed it to her.

  “Corporal, get this woman some appropriate clothing. Captain, I want her report on my desk within the hour.” He grabbed his duffle bag and hefted it over his shoulder again. “I’ll find my office on my own.”

  “But, but, sir!” The captain took a step after him, then paused, turned toward Sardelle, and held out a beseeching hand. “I don’t know her number, sir!”

  “Not my problem,” the colonel called back. He muttered something else that sounded like, “What’s a damned number?” but Sardelle couldn’t be sure of the words.

  Grateful for the parka, she tugged it on. Her teeth were starting to chatter. It was still warm inside, with a clean, masculine scent permeating the lining. After standing out in the cold, it was all she could do not to start snuggling with the fur.

  Corporal Rolff scratched his head. “Colonel Zirkander has a desk here?”

  “He does now,” the captain said.

  “Why?”

  “He’s relieving General Bockenhaimer as fort commander.”

  Rolff mouthed another why but didn’t voice it. Whatever Zirkander was known for, it apparently wasn’t commanding forts. At first, Sardelle found this new situation promising—unlike everyone else she had met here, the man seemed to have a conscience—but when the captain jogged off to look for a report that didn’t exist, reality batted her relief away. This new colonel already sounded like he was going to be more efficient than the old general. Before, she might have wriggled through a crack, but now? How was she going to explain her presence? And if she couldn’t, what then? Would they assume her some kind of spy? Even in her day, spies had been shot. She had better start talking to people and come up with a plausible story, because she had a feeling she would be called into that office before the day was out.