6.0 - Raptor (20 page)

“A pilot.” Therrik’s lip curled. “The king should have commanded me to carry it. It’s
my
family’s weapon, and I would gladly fight a dragon, especially now.” He glowered toward the night sky beyond the window. Yes, he would probably welcome a chance to redeem himself in the king’s eyes.

“Your name came up, but we’re assuming it’s going to be an air battle. You’d have to fly up to meet the dragon. Probably with lots of loops and rolls.” Ridge made squiggly motions in the air with his finger.

“You were afraid I’d puke on you?”

“The thought crossed my mind.”

“I’d still kill that dragon.”

“I’ll let the king know that you’re interested,” Ridge said.
After
he and Ahn and the others had already defeated the dragon. At least that was how he hoped it turned out.

Therrik shot him a suspicious look, then his face softened, ever so slightly. “Good.”

“About that sword, you don’t by chance know any magical words that can control it, do you?”

“No.”

“The queen knew them.”

“The queen had an organization doing research for her.” Therrik shrugged. “There was nothing in the box it came in.”

Of course not. That would have been too easy.

“All right,” Ridge said. “Have you pulled any other swords out of the ground here? The king would like a few more blades with the power to hurt a dragon around in case we need them.”

“Magical swords.” The hard expression returned.

“Yeah, magical swords, and guess what? Kasandral is magical too. You’ve been sleeping with a loused up magical sword under your bed.”

“It’s anti-magic, not magic, you fool. It
kills
those with magic in their veins.”

“There’s no ore in these mountains that can give a sword power and tell it to take swings at dragons. It’s magical.” Ridge wasn’t sure that was an accurate statement, but he assumed
some
kind of magic had been used to craft it. “And that’s General Fool to you.”

“Are you officially inviting me to call you that?” Therrik’s eyes glinted. Amused, was he? That was better than belligerent. Possibly.

“I’m officially inviting you to show me any swords or other interesting artifacts you’ve pulled out of the mines, aside from the crystals.” Ridge stepped away from the doorway and extended a hand toward the hallway in invitation. He had no idea if artifacts had been found, but it would make things easier if Tylie’s special sword could simply be plucked from a pile in an office somewhere.

Therrik headed for the door, and Ridge allowed his hopes to rise. Maybe this would be easy, after all. Maybe he and his team could depart at dawn to join the others, leaving Therrik to the inmates.

He almost bumped into Therrik’s back when his guide stopped after only two steps into the hallway. After unlocking a door to the right, Therrik stepped into a room beside the office. He scraped a match on the wall and lit a lantern.

Ridge looked out over neatly stacked crates and shelves lined with what appeared to be a lot of mundane junk. A bookcase held a bunch of old tomes—might those be what Jaxi sought? But as far as magical swords went, the silverware sets, pans, bookends, fans, ink pots, quill holders, and something that looked to be a racket for a sport were not promising. There were a few weapons leaning in a rack in the corner, but none of them had the intricate blade work or sheer splendor of Jaxi.

You think I’m splendorous? Thank you.

Compared to this stuff?
Ridge picked up a fork with a missing tine.
Yes.

Compared to all things, I should think.
Jaxi sniffed.
Since you’re wondering, yes, those are all Referatu items, but there are only two things in that room that are imbued with magic, a dented piece from an automatic clothes washing machine and a self-turning pottery wheel. Many of the books, which I am already reading, also have magically treated pages and ink-preserving dyes. The swords are practice blades from the training hall I was buried near.

No soulblades, huh?

Alas, no. I, too, would have preferred not to take a journey back into the mines. I spent far too much time down there already.

“You saving that one for the griddle cakes?” Therrik asked. He’d taken up a position by the window, looking toward the sky, aside from occasional glances at Ridge.

The fork Ridge still held had string tied to it, along with a label that proclaimed it a silver fork found on Level 13 North, Kitchen, #3732. Every item in the room was tagged similarly. Ridge walked to a table with a logbook open on it and found all of the items cataloged there. It was the kind of thorough job Apex would have done, if he’d been given such a task. And he’d still been alive.

Ridge returned the fork to its shelf. Even though he was sure Therrik had assigned someone this chore, the fact that he’d bothered spoke to more of a commitment to organization than Ridge would have guessed he had. He supposed it was childish that he would have preferred to find Therrik up here drunk. That more closely fit his notions of the man being little more than an overly muscled combat thug.

“Good work here, Colonel,” he forced himself to say, waving to the room. “Unfortunately, all it did was make it easy to see that what we’re looking for isn’t here. Sardelle will have to search for that herself. Let’s talk about the attack and making the outpost fit to stand another one, shall we?”

“What’s your plan for doing that? You don’t know a damned thing about fortifying installations.”

Nothing like offering a compliment and getting an insult in return. Ridge forced himself to smile. “I know what makes installations weak against aerial attacks.”

The dragon is back
, Jaxi announced.

Ridge’s smile vanished.
What? Why?

Oddly, he didn’t tell me. He’s up on a mountaintop about twenty miles from here. He seems to be perching up there, rather than coming closer, but I don’t know how long that will last. There’s nothing else up here that could be interesting him.

“What are you doing, Zirkander?”

They had been on their way out of the room when Ridge had stopped to talk to Jaxi.

“Admiring the whorls on this wood paneling. Also receiving information that you’re not going to like.”

Therrik mouthed the word, “Receiving,” before scowling and saying, “I don’t like anything you say. Ever. Spit it out.”

“Not ever? I had nice things to say about your fork-organization skills.”

His eyes narrowed further. “If I throttled you, would you whine to my superiors about it?”

“Depends on how
hard
you throttle me. Do I get to walk away? Would there be marks?”

Therrik grunted. “Are you afraid of anything, Zirkander?”

“I’m moderately concerned about the dragon sitting on a peak and keeping an eye on us from twenty miles away.”

“You saw that?”

Not personally, but… “He’s there.”

Therrik pushed Ridge toward the door. “Next time you come to visit me, leave your witch and bring me my sword.”

Ridge wanted to punch him until he stopped calling Sardelle a witch. He hoped she had the opportunity to save him from dragon fire and that he would have to live to a ripe old age, knowing he was completely in her debt. In lieu of that, he would still enjoy seeing her hurl him across the courtyard on his ass.

He gritted his teeth and said only, “I’ll keep that request in mind.”

He allowed Therrik to push him into the hallway. He was going to have to deprive Sardelle of her guard. Someone needed to fly south and get within communication range of the airship team. Duck was the only logical choice, since if Ridge left, the miners would be back at the soldiers’ throats. Of course, even if he stayed, there was no guarantee that such a thing wouldn’t happen.

• • • • •

Cas walked the passageway toward Tolemek’s door later than she had anticipated. General Ort hadn’t sent the fliers back out to check on the downed Cofah craft, but the airship itself had descended far enough to lower infantry soldiers to the ground to round up injured prisoners. Ort had asked Cas—and the sword—to go with them in case they had to deal with the sorceress. She had stood nearby, dread curdling in her stomach. Logically, she knew they needed to find the sorceress and deal with her, but she hadn’t wanted to face her with just Kasandral. Even though the sword could hurt the woman, she would have felt far more comfortable dodging fireballs and attacking from within her flier. In the end, it hadn’t mattered because the sorceress hadn’t been among those that the troops had rounded up. Cas wasn’t surprised. The sorceress had been one of the few Cofah to escape from the flying fortress. Ort was questioning the prisoners as to where she had gone, but Cas doubted he would learn anything useful.

She knocked lightly on Tolemek’s door, half expecting him to have tended his own wounds and gone to sleep already. Still, as soon as she had returned, she had washed, donned a clean uniform, and grabbed a first-aid kit.

Tolemek answered the door instead of hollering for her to come in. It was just as well, since she might not have heard him. A lot of shouts and banging noises came from above decks. The crew, along with many of the gunners and infantrymen, had been pressed into starting repairs right away. She wasn’t sure how she had avoiding being included on a work crew, as other officers had been pulled into duty, but nobody had pointed at her, Pimples, or Kaika. Maybe they had appeared too battered for extra work. Or maybe they were being rewarded for taking down the first airship. Cas grimaced at that idea. She didn’t want to be rewarded for anything, especially when all she had done was drop a sword. She would have preferred extra duties, or perhaps to be assigned to the team General Ort had ordered to sweep through the ship and make sure there weren’t any Cofah stowing away.

“I see you’ve come wearing smiles,” Tolemek said, standing in front of her bare-chested and with a towel slung over his shoulder. He glanced down. “And sexy attire.”

Cas snorted, since the formless military fatigues were anything but. “I didn’t know you were supposed to bring sexy attire along on dragon-slaying missions.” Even back home, the only thing she had that possibly qualified as sexy was a nightgown with some lace on the hems. “I couldn’t imagine needing it to hurl swords at sorceresses.”

“Hurling swords? I don’t think that’s the proper use for such a weapon.”

“We’re living in unique times.” Cas could have stood there and admired his chest for a while, especially since she hadn’t seen much of it of late, but she remembered her mission and peered up at the side of his head. It didn’t look like he had treated his wound yet, though he had washed the blood off his face. Knowing him, he had gotten caught up in some experiment and forgotten that a bullet had sliced through his locks and left a furrow in his scalp. “Want to sit down and let me rub goo on that?”

“Yes.” Tolemek took a few steps into the room, then paused. “Just to clarify, you’re talking about my
wound
, right?”

“Yes.”

She followed him inside and waved for him to sit on the bed. As she set down the first-aid kit, she realized that had been a joke. Some kind of innuendo. She should have responded with a wink or a flirty statement that would let him know she’d gotten it. Except that she hadn’t. Why did these things always go over her head?

“It was good of
you
to dress in something sexy,” she said.

That did not come out as flirty as she had intended, so she rested a hand on his shoulder, hoping it would get the point across. She really ought to be less awkward with him by now, but after she had barely spoken to him for the last month, she felt less certain of his feelings. And she had
never
been good at flirting, not with anyone. For most of her life, it had never occurred to her to try.

Tolemek touched his palm to his bare chest, his chin tilted down as he looked up at her through his lashes, his ropes of hair hanging down to frame his face. “I didn’t think you noticed.”

“I always notice.” And she did. She liked looking at him with his shirt off—with other things off too. How he remained so fit when he worked in a lab all day, she didn’t know. She’d caught him doing chin-ups from a bar in the corner a couple of times, but didn’t know if he truly exercised with any intent these days. As a pirate, he had, so he could look fierce and use his body and reputation to intimidate people, so he rarely had to fight. Maybe he still felt he needed to do that here in Iskandia.

“Do you? I rarely notice you noticing.”

“Your eyesight isn’t as quick and agile as mine.” Cas pushed his hair back so she could get a better look at the gouge, letting her hand linger on his shoulder.

“I don’t think I can argue with that.”

“Good. Where’s your healing gunk?”

“Gunk? Healing Salve Number Seven is on that counter.” He shifted to get up, but she pressed down on his shoulder to stop him.

“I’ll get it.”

“I thought you were going to spend more time admiring my formulas, calling them by appealing names, perhaps.”

Cas returned with the jar. “Perhaps if you came
up
with an appealing name, I would use it.”

“Hm.”

She found a basin he had filled, gave the sponge a wary look, then brought it over to dab his wound clean. She tended it carefully, certain it must be painful, given the depth. It started bleeding anew as she worked, so she hurried to dab some of the goo on. As she recalled from personal experience, it caused wounds to close up and heal much more quickly than a mundane concoction would.

Though she worried his pain might be making him uncomfortable, Tolemek gazed at her contentedly as she worked, a rare smile curving his lips upward. Though he was more playful with her than he was in general, he often managed to look somber, even when he was trying to be mischievous. It was as if he could never quite forget his past, never allow himself to relax completely and enjoy life. But then, who was she to think such thoughts? When was the last time
she
had enjoyed anything? Wasn’t it a crime to contemplate enjoyment, after what she had done? It seemed like it would be more of a crime to let herself forget. It bothered her that the others were willing to do just that. Oh, Pimples didn’t know, and she wasn’t sure if even General Ort knew exactly what had happened in the castle, but Kaika did. Zirkander did. Sardelle did. Nobody had frowned at her in condemnation, not then, and not at the king’s meeting. She had a hard time understanding why not. Especially with Zirkander. He’d been Apex’s commanding officer for years, longer than Cas had even been in the squadron.