Soulblade Page 6

  Do you not believe in miracles? the voice in the back of his head asked, the tone dry.

  Like the kind where gods pluck you from certain death so they can then use you for their own purposes? I’ve only heard of that happening in legends.

  Legends often have a seed of truth about them. Perhaps the gods are once again returning to a more active role in the world.

  Uh huh.

  This voice that his subconscious had conjured had strange ideas. Ridge couldn’t imagine where they were coming from or what they meant. Aside from his impending madness.

  Mara was looking at him. Ridge smoothed his face, not wanting her to know he was chatting with himself.

  “I didn’t have a parachute, did I?” he asked. That might explain things.

  To the best of his recollection, the flier parachutes he’d seen and tested were extremely experimental and weren’t safe enough to be distributed yet, but he also didn’t know how much of his memory was missing. A year? Five years? More? He shuddered. He hadn’t seen himself in a mirror—or even a pool of water—yet, and he reached up to touch his hair, afraid he might have gone gray and not even remember the years that had led to it.

  “A what?” Mara asked after a puzzled second.

  Ridge thought about explaining it, but she would have guessed what he meant if she had seen it. Too bad. That might have solved part of the mystery, or at least convinced him that the landing had been survivable. As it was now, the math didn’t add up for him.

  Gods, the voice said blandly.

  You’re not one of these gods, are you? Ridge asked it in jest. He’d never seen anything to make him believe that the gods were real or that, if they were real, they cared overmuch what happened to humanity.

  Would you believe me if I said yes?

  No.

  Then, no.

  So, what are you?

  An adviser.

  An adviser that I, in my encroaching madness, made up for myself?

  Perhaps.

  I would have preferred it if you were a god.

  “It’s nothing,” Ridge said. Mara was gazing at him with a concerned expression. Whether she was concerned for his health or his sanity, he couldn’t tell. He wasn’t going to ask—or mention the voice chatting with him. “Where did you pull me out of the river?”

  “Down there. Where the canyon opens up.”

  “The trappers were with you then?”

  “I found them later and asked them to help. We carried you to that cave together.”

  Once again, Ridge’s senses twanged, finding implausibility in the story. Was she strong enough to have fished him out of the river and up onto land? And what odd chance had led her to be here to see him crash and fall in?

  He studied his young companion, her blonde hair falling about her shoulders, her face and body more what he’d expect from a dancer in a men’s club in the capital, not from some mountain woman who led a hard life. He supposed she was young enough that the demands of a rough life wouldn’t have taken their toll and affected her beauty yet.

  As he returned the spyglass to her, he caught her right hand and rubbed his thumb along her palm to see if she had callouses. He half expected to find soft hands that never did any manual labor, but her palm was indeed calloused, including a ridge of rough skin that ran from her index finger to her thumb. Any tool might have accounted for it, but Ridge’s old friend Abagon Mox had belonged to a saber club and dueled in competition. Ridge had shaken his hand often and remembered his callouses, similar ones to these. Odd. He looked down to her waist. She carried a utility knife there, but that was her only weapon, unless she had a pistol in her pack. That was odd too. They were high up in wild country, where big cats, bears, and wolves lived. A lone woman might make an appealing target for a pack of hungry animals.

  Realizing she must be wondering why he was fondling her hand, Ridge let her go with a, “Sorry.”

  He looked at her face warily, worried she would have more reason to think him crazy. He caught her gazing up at him, her lips parted slightly. When he met her eyes, she cleared her throat and looked away, pocketing the collapsible spyglass.

  Well, at least if his hair had gone gray, the rest of his face must not have gotten too bad. He’d been the recipient of the dreamy look from women often enough to recognize it. It was surprising, given that he hadn’t bathed in a few days, but he’d been told he looked better than average, even with beard stubble and dirt smudged on his face. He didn’t want to do anything about her attraction, even if she was a beauty. Too many things didn’t make sense, and he had a hard time stowing his suspicion. Now that he’d had a good look at the peaks around them, he did believe they were in the Ice Blades, but he couldn’t imagine what he had been doing out here.

  “I must thank you again for rescuing me,” Ridge said, smiling and trying to keep the suspicion off his face. “Did you see what caused the crash? Was I in a battle?”

  As hard as it was to imagine Cofah airships this far into his country, his ego refused to accept that he might have simply been flying across the mountains on some errand and crashed of his own volition. He wished he was close enough to see if the sides of his flier were riddled with bullet holes. He was tempted to try to get over there—if nothing else, he might be able to retrieve the power crystal. General Ort would have his hide for losing one of the valuable energy sources. But the terrain looked inhospitable, if not impossible to traverse. At the least, he would need a climbing harness and tools to get up there. He made a note of the surrounding terrain so he could return someday to retrieve the crystal.

  Mara hesitated before answering. “There was a big storm that night. I think you might have been hit by lightning.”

  Lightning? He supposed that was better than simply crashing because of some stray wind, but what would he have been doing flying into a storm? And for that matter, why would he have been out here in a military craft by himself? If he had been hunting down enemies, he would have taken a couple of his pilots with him, if not his whole squadron.

  “Were there any other fliers with me?” Ridge asked.

  “Not that I saw.”

  That, he was inclined to believe. If there had been, they would have looked for him when he went down. They wouldn’t have left him for dead. But that brought him back to the question of what he had been doing out here alone in a storm.

  “You said it was night? What were you doing out here? Especially if there was a storm?” He smiled again, trying to make his questions seem innocent instead of suspicious, but he watched her intently.

  Mara shrugged. “There was a lot of lightning and hail too. It was impressive. I’ve always liked storms.”

  She pointed toward the goat trail they had come up to find this vantage point, a hike that had left his sore and battered body with more aches. “We should go. You’ll want to get out of these mountains, I presume? I can find a path that will eventually lead us to some villages. We can trade for a horse there.”

  Without waiting for him to respond, she headed down the trail. He let his eyelids droop to half-mast, noting that she hadn’t truly answered his question. He walked after her without comment. More questions would only make her warier, but he vowed to pay attention as they traveled.

  “I hope you have something to trade,” Ridge said. “My wallet must have washed downriver along with my sock.”

  She had been able to provide him with most of his clothing, but the sock had been missing, as well as his cap, goggles, scarf, and the wallet. More than all of that, he missed his little wooden dragon luck charm. He had checked every pocket six times, hoping to discover it, but he either hadn’t had it with him on this flight, or it was hanging in the smashed cockpit he couldn’t reach.

  She looked back. “I will handle it.”

  Well, that was vague.

  She has furs and many skills she can trade, the voice in the back of his head said.

  If it’s that crusty bear fur that smells like mildew, I don’t think she’ll
get a horse for that.

  She has many skills she can trade, the voice repeated.

  Ridge was tempted to ask what they were, but he wasn’t coming out ahead in the conversations he was having with himself, so he doubted he should encourage them. He prodded at an itch under the bandage that wrapped his head, hoping the voice would go away once his brain stopped hurting.

  As they rounded a bend that would take the crash site from view, he gave it one long look, once again doubting that anyone could have survived that landing.

  • • • • •

  Mist hung over the dense green landmass that stretched ahead of and below Cas’s flier, the sun setting behind an equally green mountain range that ran northeast to southwest in the distance. No glaciers or snowpacks adorned those peaks. Even with the sea breeze tugging at her scarf, and the sun’s intensity fading, Cas sweated beneath her uniform. She had stuffed her flight jacket into her pack earlier in the day, as they had crossed the equator, but she wouldn’t have minded stripping off more clothing. The season should be autumn down here, but she doubted that frost ever blanketed the ground in Dakrovia or that the jungle leaves turned color and fell off.

  “Reminds me of Owanu Owanus,” Tolemek called from the back seat. “Except much bigger.”

  As they had flown up on Owanu Owanus earlier that spring, the tropical island where they had freed Tylie and discovered Phelistoth, they had been able to see the sea on all sides. According to the maps, the Dakrovian continent was much larger than Iskandia. An entirely different ocean lay on the far side, and they would have had to fly through the night if they wanted to see it. The coordinates the king had provided were on the eastern shore, so that wouldn’t be necessary.

  “Have you ever been to this continent before?” Cas wiggled in her seat, hoping they landed soon. Her legs and butt ached from sitting for so long. They had left early and flown the entire day to cross the ocean, the entire day and then some, since they had been following the path of the sun.

  “I’ve ordered numerous plants, poisons, and reptile specimens from suppliers in some of the bigger cities down here,” Tolemek said.

  “So, no.”

  “No. But I’ve perused many catalogues and am quite familiar with the flora.”

  “Good to know.” Cas tapped the communication crystal nestled into the grip of her flight stick. “Has anyone been here before?”

  She had chosen Captain Blazer and Lieutenants Pimples and Duck as the other Wolf Squadron officers for this mission. They were all capable pilots, with Duck and Pimples already knowing about dragons and sorcery. Blazer had more experience than any of them, including an aptitude for mechanical repairs, and nothing seemed to faze her. When Phelistoth had joined them halfway across the ocean, Tylie sitting astride his back and the sun gleaming off his silvery scales, Blazer had merely taken a puff of her cigar and said, “Pretty.” It hadn’t been clear whether she’d meant Tylie or the dragon, since her tastes ran toward women.

  “Colonel Quataldo has,” Duck replied. “We’ve been discussing the animals and plants in the jungle. Apparently, there are giant wolves five times bigger than the ones back home. And black panthers that can turn invisible. Massive vining carnivorous plants. Alligators big enough to swallow a squad of troops whole.”

  “Is anyone else alarmed that he sounds excited by those things?” Captain Blazer asked.

  “Not really,” Pimples said. “It just means we can volunteer him to go first.”

  “I’ve been here,” Kaika yelled from Pimples’ back seat. “It’s exceedingly difficult to find explosives or ingredients to create explosives in the towns. Last time, I had to wander around some jungle hot springs looking for my own sulfur.”

  “Are there any continents you haven’t blown things up on, Captain?” Pimples asked.

  “I haven’t been to Subarctic Zharr yet.”

  “We’re not going to land and find a wanted poster with your face on it, are we, Captain?” Cas asked.

  “Nah, that was a humanitarian mission. I helped them turn aside lava flows on an erupting volcano to save a town. It’s too bad we’re not going there. I could probably get us some of the vanilla bean alcohol they make here. It’s cracking.”

  “Colonel Quataldo says none of us will be showing our faces anywhere,” Duck said. “We’re landing twenty miles south of Tildar Dem and walking the rest of the way, so nobody will notice our fliers.”

  “Walking past the giant wolves and alligators and man-eating plants?” Pimples asked.

  “We’ll stick to the beach most of the way, so we’re less likely to run into hungry predators.” Did Duck sound disappointed?

  “Haven’t seen any airships along the coast,” Captain Blazer said. “We just getting lucky or do they not have any here?”

  “A lot of merchant ships come down here,” Tolemek said, “and a few of the bigger cities have air and naval fleets, but we’re on the stormy coast. The villages are smaller and more rustic here.”

  Cas relayed his words to the others.

  “Rustic jungle villages,” Pimples said. “Why would the Cofah emperor marry one of his daughters off to somebody from such a place?”

  “The king said her fiancé is a shaman,” Cas said.

  “A lot of the Dakrovian shamans come from this region,” Tolemek added, “and if I recall my history, dragons are believed to have originated on this continent.”

  Cas caught Tolemek looking over at Phelistoth. The dragon was shadowing them, but Tylie did not have a communication crystal, so they had no way to include her in the conversation unless she or Phelistoth spoke telepathically to the group.

  “The emperor has a few shamans working with the air military already,” Tolemek continued, “as you and your squadron have encountered, so this is likely about firming up a treaty to acquire more. I imagine Salatak is worried now that Iskandia has dragon allies.” He glanced at Phelistoth again.

  Cas wasn’t sure the silver dragon counted as an ally. His willingness to stay in Iskandia seemed to have more to do with Tylie’s choice to train with Sardelle than any interest in helping the nation.

  “Did any of you people who are snuggled up to the king’s bosom ever hear where that fireball flinging witch came from?” Captain Blazer asked. She had been among those who had returned in time to battle against the Cofah in their flying fortress, so she had seen firsthand the destructive power of Eversong’s fireballs.

  “The king doesn’t have a bosom, does he?” Pimples asked. “He seems fit for someone who sits on a throne all day.”

  “You’d have to ask Captain Kaika,” Duck said, a smirk in his voice.

  After a pause, Pimples said, “She says our intelligence people haven’t discovered where the sorceress came from yet, just that Sardelle thought she’d come out of a stasis chamber somewhere, much like our dragon friends. She also says—oh, ma’am, I can’t say that.”

  Cas snorted, imagining some comment about the king’s chest or his other manly attributes.

  An airship approaches from the southwest, a voice rumbled in her head. Phelistoth.

  Cas peered in that direction. Though mists clung to the landmass, the sky was clear over the ocean, and the sun still provided enough light to see for miles. “How far away? I don’t see anything.”

  Belatedly, she realized she was speaking to everyone, thanks to the communication crystal, and she did not know if the dragon’s message had been delivered to everyone. She also did not know if he could hear her from his position, about a thousand meters off her right flank.

  Forty miles away, Phelistoth responded. It is following the coast toward us.

  “Our coordinates for landing are another thirty miles down that same coast,” Duck said. “That’ll be a problem. Even if it’s a merchant ship out of another country, we don’t want it spotting us. If it’s an imperial ship, we definitely don’t want it spotting us.”

  As far as Cas had heard, the Cofah did not have radio technology yet, nor did they have anything lik
e the communication crystals that Sardelle had made for the fliers. Still, they could get messages around quickly enough, and being identified at the very beginning of their mission would not be good. The emperor might turn around if he heard Iskandian fliers were in the area.

  “Shall we land early?” Cas asked.

  “Colonel Quataldo says yes,” Duck said. “We’ll look for a protected area that appears unpopulated.”

  In the seat behind him, Quataldo leaned over the side, a spyglass to his eye as he considered the coastline. He tapped Duck’s shoulder and pointed.

  “Follow me down,” Duck said.

  “I guess we get forty miles of crocodiles and carnivorous plants instead of twenty.” Cas remembered the vile tentacled creature that had tried to drag Tolemek to the bottom of a river on Owanu Owanus. It was hard to shoot at something underwater, and she also didn’t care for the idea of vines and tendrils snaking out to wrap around her legs.

  “You’re not scared, are you, Raptor?” Captain Blazer asked. “I saw you pack your sniper rifle, and with your aim, I’m sure you can shoot anything before it kills you.”

  “Shooting is problematic when you’re sneaking up on a town and trying not to be heard.”

  “I’ve seen you take down Cofah warriors with rocks and sticks before too.”

  “I know which part of a Cofah warrior you aim at. I’m less certain with carnivorous plants.”

  “The part trying to eat you, I imagine.”

  “Rocks and sticks?” Tolemek asked as she dipped the nose of the flier downward, following Duck toward a beach far below. “You haven’t mentioned that story.”

  “An early survival training mission on a deserted island that wasn’t that deserted. A Cofah ship had wrecked on a reef on the far side.”