Balanced on the Blade's Edge (Dragon Blood, Book 1) (13 page)

A hand reached out and caught her wrist
before she could drop it. Zirkander had climbed to his feet, and he
stood next to her. He arched his eyebrows at her raw palms. Ah, the
wounds were worth it if they meant he knew she had helped dig.

“Nobody else knows about the days off I’m
due,” Sardelle said. “I had to make sure you got out.”

“Of course. Very wise of you.”

She eyed his pocket. “You have a lucky
charm?”

Zirkander lifted his chin. “Yes, I do. Good
thing too. I needed luck today.”

Sardelle raised an eyebrow. She wouldn’t have
taken him for the superstitious sort.

He gave her a sidelong look. “It’s not
uncommon among pilots. We risk our lives every time we go out. When
you’ve survived as many near misses as I have, you develop your
rituals and beliefs, anything that might help things go right. You
know it’s illogical, but you don’t want to tempt fate.” He
shrugged. “One of the kids in my squad kisses each of his flier’s
six guns before climbing into the cockpit, even if we’re actively
being fired upon at the time. Another sniffs spearmint oil because
he claims it clears his head. I have a little carving my dad made
for me. That’s nothing crazy.”

“I wasn’t judging you, Colonel.”

“You raised your eyebrow in that way of
yours. I know what that look means by now.”

Er, she hadn’t realized it was such a
signature expression for her. “Actually I think it’s sweet that you
have a keepsake that your father gave you.”

“Uh huh.”

“Sir,” someone called from behind, his voice
turning the word into a couple of extra syllables as he slipped
trying to climb.

“Yes, Captain?” Zirkander released Sardelle’s
wrist.

The officer carried a leather bag. “Were you
injured? Do you need treatment?”

“I’m fine. I wasn’t down there long, but stay
close. Others might not be so lucky.” Zirkander pointed at
Sardelle’s shovel. “May I?”

The captain—the medic, she presumed—frowned.
Sardelle wanted to tell him to lie down and relax as well, but he
took her shovel and climbed up the slope to join the others.

A gun fired nearby, and Sardelle jumped.
Smoke wafted from a rifle held by a soldier guarding one of the two
mine shaft entrances that hadn’t been buried by the snow.

“You
will
remain
inside until the area out here is safe,” he growled.

Zirkander looked back thoughtfully, then
called a lieutenant over. “Tell any of those miners who want to
come out and help dig that they can have the rest of the day off
once we recover all of our people.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You, woman!” a soldier called from the snow
pile. “Did you see where any others went under?”

Sardelle climbed onto the slope and looked
around thoughtfully. She knew exactly where the rest of the people
were and how many feet of snow was mounded on them, but she didn’t
want to appear too certain, on the off chance she could yet pass
this off as keen observational skills and an understanding of
mathematics.

She was in the process of marking another
spot when a chill washed over her that had nothing to do with the
falling snow. A presence swept down from the mountains, something
she recognized but had not expected to feel here. She paused to
gaze in the direction the airship had disappeared. She couldn’t see
anything except falling snow and the vague outline of the closest
mountain, but she was certain… she wasn’t the only sorcerer out
here.

* * *

Someone pressed a mug of steaming brown
liquid into Ridge’s hand. “Coffee?” he asked.

“Close, but stronger,” Captain Heriton said.
“You look like the survivor of an alligator death roll, sir.”

Ridge tugged his blanket more tightly about
him and didn’t disagree. Any number of people had tried to get him
to go inside and warm up, but he wouldn’t retreat while people were
still being dug out of the snow. Granted, those buried in the
avalanche had been retrieved and only the mine entrances remained
to be cleared. He sipped from the mug, then twitched an eyebrow at
the captain. “Stronger, as in alcoholic?”

“I believe that’s the secret ingredient, yes.
It’s a local drink.”

Drinking on duty wasn’t allowed, especially
when it wasn’t even noon yet, but the sweet liquid did have a
bracing effect, warming him from the inside, something he could use
at the moment. He doubted he had been buried in that snowdrift for
more than ten minutes, but it had seemed an eternity. An eternity
of dark lonely helplessness. When the scratches of the shovels had
penetrated the snow, he could have danced and shrieked with
delight… if he hadn’t been pinned, facedown in the ice.

He knew he had Sardelle to thank for his
swift retrieval, though he didn’t know how she had managed to find
him—and so many others since then. Oh, Ridge had seen her walking
across the slope, scribbling equations in a notepad, and measuring
from points on the wall that hadn’t been devoured by snow, but he
wasn’t sure he believed the show. Oh, well. Who was he to complain
if it saved him and his men?

After the last soldier had been pulled from
the snow, Ridge had watched Sardelle retreat to the wall of a
nearby building. She was gazing thoughtfully to the north. That was
the direction in which the airship had disappeared, wasn’t it? He
had been busy being buried in snow and hadn’t seen its final
departure route. Someone had cheered him for striking it with that
last rocket. Had he truly hit it? He hadn’t thought the range
nearly far enough. He had been firing out of wistfulness rather
than logic, hoping one of the explosions would alarm the pilot and
that he would crash into one of those towering peaks.

“Captain, what’s the status on the airship?”
Ridge asked.

“The balloon was ruptured with the last
rocket. It flew off to the north and was losing altitude.”

Ridge sucked in a breath. “Was it, now? Did
anyone see it crash?”

Heriton shook his head. “The snowfall was too
thick. She was high up there too. If it crashed at all, it probably
sailed several miles before striking down.”

“So it could be smeared all over the side of
a mountain right now?”

“You’re… smiling, sir. You thinking to send a
team out to look for survivors?”

“Survivors? I suppose they could be handy,
but I was thinking more of repairing the ship and claiming it for
the fort.”

“To what end?”

“Gathering intel for one, but we’re fish in a
basket sitting here. If we had an aircraft, we could at least meet
intruders on their own footing. Right now, it’s too easy for them
to avoid our ground weapons.” And Ridge could fly again… Granted,
an airship was clumsy and bloated when compared to his dragon
flier, but it would help keep him sane if he could escape to the
skies once in a while. On scouting missions, of course. Nothing so
frivolous as random cloud hopping. “If headquarters had any idea
the Cofah were out here, they would send a squadron to defend this
place, but until we can get the word back to them, acquiring an
enemy airship is the best we can do.”

“What if they don’t want to give it up?”

“Well, we’ll have to determine that. If they
crashed, they might be in bad shape. If they didn’t crash, or if
they’re only slightly damaged, we can expect them to try
again.”

“That does seem likely.” Heriton eyed the
mountaintops. They were wreathed in clouds, but that didn’t hide
the amount of snow already up there, with more falling by the
minute. Even now, more avalanches could be created from what was up
there.

“I don’t suppose there are any fliers hiding
anywhere in the fort, are there?” Ridge would far prefer flying
over to check on the airship, rather than marching, especially
since they didn’t know where it had gone down—or even if it had
gone down—but he knew even as he asked, that finding a flier here
was highly unlikely.

“No, sir. I think… I remember hearing about
one that crashed into the other side of Galmok Mountain about ten
years ago.” The captain waved vaguely. “They couldn’t get it flying
again, so the crystal was salvaged, and it was left out there to
rust.”

A less than ideal option. “I’ll check on the
airship first.”

Ridge turned away, already thinking of men he
might steal away for a trek across the mountainside.

“
You
, sir?” Heriton
asked, stopping him.

“I’m not doing anything particularly useful
here.” Ridge hefted the mug. “I think the fort can do without an
alcohol-swilling, blanket-wrapped commander for a few hours.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, sir. If
they crashed, and if they survived, they’re not going to be happy
about their situation. I’m sure they’re all armed. Why don’t you
let me fetch Sergeant Makt and his team?”

“Are any of them pilots?” Ridge knew they
weren’t—almost everyone here was infantry. He was the logical
choice for salvaging an airship, if it could be salvaged, and
knowing whether it could be made airworthy.

Heriton scowled. “No, sir, but—”

Ridge lifted a hand. “I’ll be careful,
Captain. Your concern for me is touching though.”

“I just don’t want to be left in charge,”
Heriton grumbled. “Running the base would interfere with my ability
to finish organizing the archives.”

Ridge smiled. “Your disgruntlement is noted.
I’m going to change clothes and see if I can find some snowshoes.
Send those infantry fellows up to my office anytime. I’m not above
cowering behind hulking young men if trouble comes along.”

Heriton looked at the snow-smothered fortress
wall where the rocket launcher had once been. “Somehow, I don’t
believe that, sir.”

Ridge waved, then headed across the courtyard
toward his office. Now that he was determined to go, he wanted to
leave as soon as possible, in the hope that they could hike out
there and back before dark. A lot of years had passed since his
cold-weather survival training at Fort Brisklebell—or Fort Brisk
Balls, as the men called it.

A familiar raven-haired woman jogged over to
walk next to him. “You’re going out there? After the airship?”

“Were you eavesdropping?” Ridge asked.

Sardelle took a moment to consider her
answer—she did that quite often—then said, “I was standing nearby
when you were discussing your plans in a normal tone of voice in an
open area.”

“So… not eavesdropping?”

“Correct.”

“If we had lowered our voices, would it then
have been eavesdropping?” Ridge asked.

“Possibly.” Sardelle looked up at him. They
had almost reached his office building. “I’d like to go with
you.”

Ridge stopped with his hand on the doorknob.
“What? Why?”

If anything, he would have expected her to
use his absence to snoop around, perhaps examine that map more
thoroughly.

“I… believe it might be more dangerous than
you think out there,” Sardelle said.

“Oh?”

That made it seem even more unlikely that she
would want to go.

“It’s just a feeling.” She shrugged. “A
hunch. Don’t you ever get hunches when you’re out there
flying?”

“Yes. I get hunches when dealing with
inscrutable blue-eyed women too.” Ridge laid a hand on her shoulder
before she could comment. “Stay here where it’s safe—” he glanced
at the mountain of snow in the fort, “—safe-
ish
.”

Sardelle’s eyes narrowed with… determination?
He couldn’t quite read the emotion, but she didn’t object further
when he left her outside, so he could jog in and pack. Ridge
decided that, despite what Heriton believed, he would indeed let
those muscular infantry boys go first. He couldn’t imagine why
Sardelle wanted to go, but given that he had watched her point out
the spot where every single man had been buried in the snow, he
believed her hunches were worth worrying about.

Gathering supplies was easy—Sardelle told the
people who asked that she was doing it for Zirkander—even if all of
the snowshoes had clearly been designed for men much larger than
she. Getting out of the fort… that would be harder. There were more
soldiers shoveling snow away from the mine entrances than there
were standing watch on the ramparts, but there were still eyes in
the towers overlooking the main gate, a big iron gate with hinges
that squealed like a dying pig when opened.

That’s probably
intentional. To let everyone know when someone is trying to sneak
out.

I’m sure I can quiet
them. And unlock them. It’s walking out under the noses of those
guards that will be hard to do without being seen.

Seen and caught. You’re
not the most agile person on snowshoes.

Thank you, Jaxi.

Remember the ice dragon
sculpting competition? Where you knocked over the table… along with
all of the entries?

No.

Truly? I can refresh your
memory if you wish, send the details of—

Not necessary.
Sardelle stood at the corner of the administration building,
watching as Zirkander and his team headed out. They wore snowshoes,
carried trekking poles, and wore their weapons on their backs along
with stuffed packs—they must believe they might have to spend the
night out there.

Sardelle thought about trying to slip in at
the end, but even with the snowfall, there was no way those alert
soldiers wouldn’t notice her. The gate clanged shut. She would give
them ten minutes before following, long enough to walk away from
the fort and enter the trees. Long enough for the men on watch to
return to whatever card or dice games they might be playing.

They’re not. They’re
standing by the windows attentively.

Truly?

Yes. They’re depressingly
faithful to their duties. Maybe they want to look good for the
colonel.