6.0 - Raptor (18 page)

“Fire at those people!” someone nearby yelled.

Machine gun blasts joined the louder bangs of the ship’s weapons. A flier? He caught sight of one racing toward the Cofah airship and hoped it would be Cas, but he recognized Pimples’ young face in the cockpit. Captain Kaika was standing up in the seat behind him, and she hurled something as the flier cruised past the powder-outlined airship. Tolemek glimpsed a tiny dot of orange—fire burning on a fuse—before it disappeared into the invisibility field.

The bomb exploded, and flames and white powder flew everywhere. The Cofah soldiers who had boarded the Iskandian craft glanced back toward their ship, and their eyes grew round. The men kept fighting, but when Major Cildark yelled for a surrender, some of them hesitated, looking toward their leaders for advice.

A second flier appeared out of the night, this one with General Ort in the cockpit. Cas rode in the back, her sniper rifle aimed at the deck of the Iskandian craft. Shaven-headed soldiers started dropping before they knew what was happening. With her deadly aim, she dropped five men before the flier had passed out of range. Clearly, she hadn’t thought twice about shooting onto a deck filled with allies as well as enemies, but Tolemek wasn’t surprised. He hadn’t seen her miss often.

Cildark shouted again for surrender. This time, nobody hesitated. The soldiers dropped their weapons. Cildark ordered a couple of squads of men to round up their new captives and lock them below.

Tolemek should have gone to his lab—or maybe sickbay—but he was reluctant to leave the deck before Cas landed and he had seen that she was, indeed, safe. He wanted to know if she had used that sword, too, and if so, how it had affected her. He grimaced at the idea that she might return and be giving him the frosty treatment again, especially when she had been appreciating his company earlier in the day.

“Traitor,” one of the Cofah soldiers growled as he was marched past. He spat at Tolemek’s feet.

The other Cofah men must have known who he was, too, because they also glared or spat. Tolemek stood straight, accepting the criticism, though a part of him wanted to lash out, to tell them they were wrong, that their own people had wanted nothing to do with “Deathmaker” after the Camp Eveningson incident. He hadn’t even been able to sell them healing salves that could have helped thousands of people. Only the Iskandians had been desperate enough to take him in, despite his sins. But what would it matter to these men? Tolemek was Cofah, and here he was, standing beside Iskandians. That was all they saw.

There were times when that was what
he
saw too. He hated fighting his own people and wished the gods would let him hide in his laboratory and not think overmuch about the work he was doing and how it was being used. Sardelle had once suggested he use his skills to create formulas and inventions that could help people, healing sicknesses and injuries. Unfortunately, nobody wanted to give him time to do that. Weapons were all anyone seemed to want.

“Deathmaker,” Major Cildark said, walking up, soot smearing the side of his face, the hem of his uniform jacket charred. “Good work with the white gunk.”

In the wake of his dark thoughts, Tolemek couldn’t manage to thank the man. He nodded once in acknowledgment and stared out to starboard. Smoke still muddled the air, but the airship had started its inexorable descent, and was no longer visible.

“Are we going down to check on the first ship? The sorceress? If she’s wounded, now would be the time to deal with her.”

“Yes, as soon as we get these prisoners all stowed away.” Major Cildark continued past, saying, “Your head is bleeding,” over his shoulder. “Might want to see to that.”

“He was waiting for me, sir,” came Cas’s voice from the side.

Tolemek spun toward her, his curtain of gloom lifting. She sounded like herself. Did that mean she hadn’t used the sword?

She strode toward him, her jacket even more ripped and soot-stained than the major’s, and she carried her rifle on a sling and the oblong sword box over her shoulder. She didn’t appear tall enough to wield
either
weapon, but everyone here knew the truth.

“Are you here to appreciate my goos?” he asked, lifting his right arm. His knuckles still smarted from that punch, but that wouldn’t keep him from hugging her—if she would allow it. He glanced at the box again.

“The healing goo looks like it needs to be taken out.” She stopped a few feet away, nodded toward his head and toward injured men being helped below decks. “I better put this away first, though.” She twitched her shoulder, shifting the box. A difficult-to-read expression crossed her face, and he wasn’t sure what it meant, but it spoke of discomfort.

“Of course.” He lowered his arm and told himself not to feel disappointed. Hugging her when she held a sword that wanted to kill him wouldn’t be that much of a reward, right? “Will you come to my lab afterward? You look as battered as I feel.” He wiped away of droplet of blood before it dripped from his jaw. “We can share Healing Salve Number Seven.”

“Number Seven? An improvement over Six?”

“Yes. I occasionally steal a free moment to work on things that don’t kill people.” He couldn’t quite keep the bitterness out of his voice. As much as he wanted to brush aside that accusation of being a traitor, it was hard.

“I know that,” Cas said quietly.

He sighed. “I know
you
do.”

“Any chance of a bathtub in your lab?” she asked, smiling slightly as she brushed soot off her sleeve.

She was trying to change the subject, to make him think lighter thoughts. He wasn’t sure he wanted to think lighter thoughts, but he appreciated her effort. Nobody else here would bother. He also appreciated that she was smiling instead of glaring. Maybe as long as the sword stayed in its box, it couldn’t affect her.

“No bathtubs,” he said with genuine regret. They had never shared a tub before, and he could see finding that even more invigorating than a generous dose of Healing Salve Number Seven. “I do have a nice basin and some sponges.”

“Sponges?” A single eyebrow rose dubiously.

He was debating whether he wanted to say something suggestive when Captain Kaika ambled up, giving Cas a slap on the back.

“Sponges?” She grinned, her teeth flashing white against soot-darkened skin. Her entire
face
was bathed in the stuff. “Sounds erotic. Have fun.”

“Erotic?” Cas’s other eyebrow climbed to join the first.

“I’m sure Tolemek can demonstrate.” Kaika continued past, thankfully not sharing the details of her own experiences with sponges, and headed for the hatchway.

Pimples and Ort were heading their way, too, so Tolemek stepped back, making room for them to pass.

“If General Ort doesn’t send us back out right away to search—” Cas waved toward the valley far below, “—I’ll come by soon to tend your wound.”

She didn’t make any promises about sponges, but the offer of tending sounded promising. He would make sure not to clean his wounds too much before she arrived, so she would have plenty to do, standing close, skin touching skin…

Tolemek snorted at himself as the other pilots passed. Kaika had a way of putting notions in a man’s mind.

“Good fighting out there, Raptor,” one of the airship crewmen said as she passed. “You too, Pimples.”

Several others joined in with the praise, and Cas received a few more pats on the back before she managed to escape below decks. From the hunch to her shoulders, he knew she would have preferred not to be acknowledged, that she didn’t think she deserved any praise.

He understood, but a part of him couldn’t help but feel envious that she still had her people’s respect. He supposed Major Cildark had acknowledged that he had done something useful, but he couldn’t get the traitor comment out of his mind, nor could he forget the Iskandian soldier who had been so quick to judge him a coward. He wondered if he would ever find a place where he could feel at home again.

Chapter 8

T
he light from the flames came into view before the fliers crested the ridge, and Ridge could see into the small valley that lay behind Galmok Mountain and was fenced in on all sides by peaks. Up here, above twelve thousand feet, snow still covered the rocks, as it likely would well into the summer. Right now, that snow was orange, reflecting fire. Trails of smoke drifted up from charred and broken buildings within the stone walls of the outpost, the black haze making the stars fade in and out. As Jaxi had predicted, it was nearing midnight, but Ridge could see people moving around in the courtyard where he had rebuilt a wrecked flier the winter before. He had no idea how many might have died in the dragon attack, but he was relieved that at least some people had survived.

His relief faded as his flier drew closer and lower, and he realized that the people he had assumed would be putting out the fires were fighting each other.

“Damn it,” Ridge growled, memories of his brief but stressful command of the outpost pouring into his mind. He remembered all too well the precarious situation, where criminals condemned to work the mines outnumbered the soldiers guarding them seven to one. Those soldiers constantly lived in fear of an uprising.

“Sir?” Duck asked over the communication crystal. “Should we land? Or…”

The idea of raining bullets into the courtyard flashed through Ridge’s mind, but uniforms mingled with the coarse wool and fur garb of the miners.

“We’re landing. Let’s try to make an impression that might stop the fighting.” Ridge was well aware that once they were on the ground, he and Duck would only be two more soldiers with guns. “Sardelle?” Her eyes were closed, but she sat upright in the seat behind him. “Are you awake?” He wasn’t sure how much of her energy she had recovered, but hoped she could do something to help.

Yes
, she spoke into his mind, her eyes remaining closed, her lips unmoving, the wind tugging at some of the raven locks that had escaped her braid.
Go ahead and land. I’ll make it memorable.

Light burst from beneath his flier, and orange flames licked the air all around his cockpit. Though alarmed for a second, Ridge soon realized they weren’t giving off any heat and weren’t burning anything. Behind him, Duck’s flier received the same treatment. An illusion he trusted, but to those below, they must look like comets approaching.

He hoped the trick did not backfire. The miners had been particularly superstitious and scared when it had come to magic—the soldiers too. Even though he was approaching in a military flier, he could envision a situation where everyone in the courtyard, friend and foe, turned as one to shoot at the evil magic.

I’ll protect you if they do
, Jaxi proclaimed.
Bullets are
easy
compared to dragon fire.

I thought you were too tired to protect anyone else tonight.

I’ll draw on my reserves to save the future father of my handler’s children.

Ridge was glad to have the excuse of concentrating on the landing, a tricky one on the roof of the stone headquarters building. He did not know how to respond to the jab, even if that was all it was. He’d dismissed the idea of children years earlier, so it would definitely take some consideration. He found it flattering that Sardelle would consider
having
children with him, but could he see himself as a father?

Shaking his head, Ridge engaged the thrusters and cut off the propeller as he headed for the rooftop, leaving room for Duck to land next to him. Their fiery approach had paused the fighting in the courtyard, but the combatants still held weapons—rifles and swords for the soldiers and pickaxes and improvised clubs for the miners. Flames leaped from the wooden buildings, the men’s and women’s barracks, the mess hall, storage warehouses, and several smaller structures. Only the stone headquarters building and the machine shop with the library on the top floor remained in good shape, and even their walls had been charred, with wooden shutters seared off.

As soon as the flier settled, Ridge grabbed his rifle and hopped through the flames still ringing the craft. He landed and strode to the edge of the rooftop, hoping that his representation of authority would convince the miners to drop their weapons and that they wouldn’t think to count how few “authority” figures had actually shown up.

If they shoot at me, I’ll take that protection, Jaxi
, he thought, hoping she was monitoring.

All of the eyes in the courtyard focused on him as he propped his leg up on the lip of the roof and looked down. He spotted Colonel Therrik right away, standing with a hatchet and a sword in hand and with his back to a wall. At least a dozen dead miners lay around him. Hells, they weren’t going to want to have anything to do with authority figures, also known as their masters. But he had to try.

“Why are you all fighting each other?” Ridge yelled, aware that the courtyard had fallen silent, except for the crackling of burning wood. “When there’s a dragon to kill?” He thrust his rifle toward the sky, hoping he looked like some famous general of old rallying his troops, rather than some out-of-touch cloud-kisser from the capital.

“Colonel Zirkander,” someone yelled.

Well, at least someone remembered him. He squinted in the direction of the speaker and was surprised to see that it was one of the miners. The man looked familiar, one of the ones he had encountered during his inspection of the tunnels several months earlier.

“He’s back!” another miner shouted.

“He’s a general now,” someone else shouted. That was a soldier, though not anybody Ridge recognized.

On both sides of the courtyard, men charged toward the headquarters building, shouting and waving their weapons. His first instinct was to step back, and perhaps hide behind Sardelle, but he slowly realized the people weren’t shouting so much as they were cheering. Soldiers and miners crowded into the mud and gravel under the roof and waved up to him.

Over in the corner, Therrik, who had been deprived of his opponents as they ran to see Ridge, lowered his weapons and glowered fiercely. He opened his mouth, but if he said anything, Ridge couldn’t hear it. People below were still cheering, and they were yelling up toward him now too. The cries mingled together, and he couldn’t understand much, but he heard his name, along with promises that he would “fix everything” and give them “days off.”