Balanced on the Blade's Edge (Dragon Blood, Book 1) (17 page)

“Regular owls, yes,” Sardelle said. “I’m less
certain about magical ones.”

Ridge digested that. “So it
is
magical. I didn’t think it could be natural, but…
I’ve never heard of anything like this.”

After a pause, Sardelle asked, “It wasn’t in
the operations manual?”

“No.”

“I’m guessing it belonged to… someone on that
ship.”

“A ship that is now free to go back and
harass the fort without me there.” Ridge slapped the wall with his
hand. Damned fool’s errand, that’s what this had been. He had lost
a man, and now the fort might be in danger again.

“I’m sorry,” Sardelle said softly.

“Not your fault.” Ridge hadn’t figured out
yet why she had come out here—or how in all the levels of all the
hells she had managed to sneak out past his men—but she hadn’t been
a burden. She had pushed herself to keep up and hadn’t complained
about the pace. She had even been right about the cave. He snorted.
Brackenforth Fissures. He would have to look that up when he got
back to the fort—
if
there was a fort to
return to. He growled at himself. All this because he had wanted
the airship. What had he thought would happen? That the crew would
all be dead, and he could simply salvage it for himself? At the
least, he had hoped they wouldn’t be able to put up much of a
fight. But that ship had been well manned, and it was uncanny how
quickly the Cofah had repaired it. He wondered…

“So if someone on that ship has a giant
magical owl, does that then mean that said person has magical
powers of his own?” Ridge didn’t know when he had started to think
of Sardelle as his guide to all things arcane, but she had read at
least one book on the topic, and that was one more book than he had
read.

“His or her own, yes,” Sardelle said. “It
would take someone with… an alarming amount of power to command
such a beast.” Concern laced her words. Thus far, she had faced
everything with a calm demeanor. This was the first time she had
sounded worried.

And that worried
him
. What he had assumed was a simple Cofah scouting
mission looked like it was much more. A well-equipped ship that had
apparently come with the mission to bury the fort—and the mining
operation—beneath snow and rock.

Frigid wind whistled through the canyon. It
was going to be a stormy night. He hoped the owl got cold. And
knocked off its branch by a gust.

Clothing rubbed against rock as Sardelle
shifted positions. She patted around, grunting a couple of times as
she hit rocks, and settled on the ground between the entrance and
the back wall. It was the widest spot in their little prison. “I
don’t seem to have picked out a very comfortable cave.”

“I’m not sure any cave would be comfortable
on a night like tonight.” Ridge waved toward the snow—it was
falling sideways now, driven by the wind. “The temperature’s going
to drop. Too bad the owl wasn’t considerate enough to let us gather
some firewood on the way in.”

“Yes, I’ve heard magical owls are very
rude.”

“That’s in that book you were quoting,
eh?”

“Actually… no. I was joking. I know very
little about magical owls, I’m afraid.”

“Hm.” Ridge debated between sitting down
beside her and standing there, keeping watch. What he was keeping
watch over, he didn’t know—with the increased snowfall, he couldn’t
see the owl, or much of anything. He just felt like he should be
vigilant. He had already… done enough wrong tonight. His chest
ached though, reminding him of the scratches—as if the icy air
creeping through the torn parka and shirt weren’t enough of a
reminder. He ought to dig out bandages. And antiseptic. For all he
knew, magical owl claws could give a man rabies.

“How’s your injury?” Sardelle asked. “Do you
want me to bandage it?”

Odd, it was almost as if she knew what he had
been thinking. Maybe she had simply seen him touch his chest,
though he didn’t remember doing so. “It does sting a little. I was
debating whether one could get an infection from magical
critters.”

“If its talons were dirty, well, dirt’s dirt.
Better on the outside than in your cuts.” Sardelle shifted about,
opening her pack probably. “I grabbed one of the first-aid kits
from the room that had the snowshoes. Do you want to sit down?”

“Not only did you sneak out of my fort, but
you fully supplied yourself for the road before doing so. I’m
definitely going to have a talk with my men when we get back.”
Though he felt a little disgruntled at this failing—every failing
of a soldier was a reflection of his commanding officer, after
all—he patted his way over to her and sat down. It
did
feel good to slump against the wall, to
rest.

“It’s not their fault,” Sardelle said.

“No? You’re just so amazingly talented in the
art of stealth that they can’t be blamed?”

“Something like that. Hm, what I did
not
bring is a candle or a match. I don’t
suppose you have something in your pack? This would be easier with
light.”

Ridge dragged his gear over. He took off his
mittens to unbuckle the straps and dipped into an outer pouch to
fish out a small travel lantern and his box of fire-starters.

“I can do that.” Sardelle found the equipment
in his hands. She had taken off her gloves as well, and the touch
of her skin against his was… nice. “You can relax and be the
patient.”

“Careful. If you demonstrate a good bedside
manner, I’ll let the medic put you to work in the infirmary.”

“That would actually be a suitable position
for me.” Yes, she had mentioned training to be a doctor once,
hadn’t she?

“You wouldn’t miss folding towels in the
laundry room?”

“Not particularly.” Flint rasped, and sparks
fluttered down to land on the soft fuzz from the fire-starting kit.
The soft orange light revealed her face, none-the-worse for the
afternoon’s activities. She blew on the sparks, producing a flame,
and lit the lantern. “This cave is small enough that this flame and
our body heat might keep us warm for the night.”

“Our body heat, huh?”

She smiled at him. “Yes. Now take your shirt
off, please.”

“Uhh.” Ridge could feel the coldness of the
rock wall behind him even through his parka. “How about I just lift
it up a little? When you’re ready to get started.” And not a second
before. It probably wasn’t manly to complain about the weather, but
now that he had stopped running and climbing and leaping onto the
backs of giant birds, he was cooling down, his sweat chilling his
skin.

“You’re not shy, are you?” Sardelle opened a
dark bottle of the bromine concoction that came with the kit and
gave it a dubious sniff.

“In tropical climates, not at all. Even in
temperate climates, I might wander about shirtless, but here… I
haven’t quite acclimated to the icicles dangling from my nostrils
in the mornings yet.” Ridge pushed back the parka, unfastened his
uniform jacket, and went so far as to tug his shirt out of his
trousers, but he wasn’t exposing any flesh until she was hovering
over him with a swab of antiseptic in one hand and bandages in the
other. Already, cold whispered up his back from having his shirt
loosened.

“I suppose that means I needn’t worry about
you wishing to engage in… convivial activities with me tonight
then, activities that might require the shedding of clothing.”
Sardelle shifted toward him, her rag now doused. “Shirt up,
please.”

“No, you needn’t worry about that.” Ridge
supposed her comment proved that his earlier thought was unlikely.
She wasn’t there to seduce him for information. He probably
shouldn’t feel disappointed by that. “Although, for the record, men
don’t need to expose a whole lot of skin to get
convivial
.”

“I suppose that’s true. Shirt up,” she
repeated.

Ridge reached for the hem, but hesitated,
nibbling thoughtfully on the inside of his cheek.

“Problem?” Sardelle asked.

“Just wondering if I need to rub my dragon
before enduring this.”

“Uhm, pardon?”

“You know, my little charm.” Ridge eyed her
doused rag. “Or maybe
you
should rub my
dragon.”

“Perhaps later,” she murmured.

He was probably safe so long as she didn’t
dig needles and suture thread out. Ridge tugged up the shirt,
grimacing where the blood had dried, and the wool stuck to his
skin.

“These don’t look like they need stitches,”
Sardelle said, “but you’ll have scars.”

Ridge thought to grunt that it wouldn’t be
the first time, but he actually didn’t have that many war wounds.
The only time he had crashed, it had been in the ocean, and he had
come out unbloodied. “I’ll survive, so long as that owl is gone in
the morning.”

“I hope it does prove nocturnal, or that it
at least misses its master and feels compelled to go find him. Her.
Whomever.”

“Me too.”

Sardelle’s left hand rested on his chest
while she gently wiped his wounds with the rag in her right. Ridge
could feel the warmth of her fingers against his skin, in contrast
to the coolness of the damp cloth. He hadn’t been thinking of…
convivial activities until she had mentioned it, but now that she
had—and that she was bent low and touching his chest—he had a hard
time pushing his mind away from the topic. The wind was shrieking
outside, with a half inch of snow already crusted on the ledge. It
seemed the perfect time to cuddle with a woman. All right, cuddling
wasn’t
quite
what he had in mind. Anything
more—and even that—would still be inappropriate. For all that she
had helped them, helped
him
, he didn’t
truly know if she was friend or foe. Still, he noticed that she had
been touching his chest for a while and had brushed over the same
wounds more than once. Was it possible she was enjoying the
ministrations? He had stopped feeling any sting. In fact, he was
feeling that if she didn’t stop soon, he would wrap his arm around
her and pull her against his chest, kiss her—

“Where did you get the scar on your chin?”
Sardelle leaned back, set the rag down, and screwed the cap back on
the bottle.

Ridge had to clear his throat before he found
his voice. “It’s an old one—got it as a kid. I’m surprised it still
shows.”

She raised her brows.

“It was a gift from a street tough, one twice
my size. He was always picking on me. I was terrified of him, but
finally got tired of getting pushed around. I offered him a pie if
he would teach me how to fight.”

“A pie?” The corners of her lips lifted into
a smile. Even her smiles seemed serene. He wondered if she ever
lost that equanimity. Such as… in the throes of passion.

Ridge cleared his throat again. Down, boy. “I
was about nine at the time. I didn’t have any money or anything
valuable, but Mom always baked to distract herself when Dad was out
of town. At the time, there were three pies cooling in the
window.”

“And this bully agreed to your price?”

“He did. Lesson One was on how to take pain.”
Ridge touched the old scar, still vividly remembering that board
with the nails on it hammering him in the face. “I think this tough
enjoyed the lessons even more than he had enjoyed picking on me. I
did get better at defending myself, even if I didn’t learn how to
bring down others until my army training. Even though I’d been
accepted into the officer academy and flight school already, they
make you go through the same first year of training that every
grunt endures. Guess they want you to be able to fight your way
home if you get shot down in enemy territory.”

He realized he had wandered off topic. By
now, Sardelle was holding the roll of bandage, probably waiting for
him to stop yammering so she could continue her work. She merely
smiled again and said, “You fight well, Colonel.”

“Thanks.” Ridge lifted a shoulder. He hadn’t
been hoping for compliments. “You might as well call me Ridge. For
good or ill, I’ve given up on thinking of you as a prisoner.”

A hint of wariness entered her eyes, and she
lowered them to study the bandage roll. She picked at it, pulling
out the end. He thought she might ask what he
did
think of her as, but her next question was,
“Ridge… walker, isn’t it? I had wondered… ”

“Who gave me such a kooky name?” Ridge
smirked. He got that a lot.

“Cocky was actually the descriptor that came
to mind when I first heard it.”

His smirk widened. He got that a lot too.
“Either way, I have my dad to thank for it. He was—still is—a world
explorer and spent a lot of time in the Dresdark Mountains, mapping
the jungles and looking for… oh, I don’t know. He told Mom he would
come home with piles of gold someday. He never did. Didn’t seem to
bother him. He was delighted to show off his new maps. He made a
bit of money selling them to universities and
real
treasure hunters. Anyway, he doesn’t do it much
anymore, but he always took his gear for climbing mountains. He’s
been up some of the highest ones. He thought I would follow in his
footsteps.”

Ridge knew he was telling her anything and
everything about himself. He probably shouldn’t be, though he
doubted anything bad could come of sharing his distant past. If she
were asking about military secrets, he would be much more wary. He
ought to ask
her
a few things about
herself, but he suspected he would only get lies. Again. Strange
how he could come to care about a woman in two days, especially one
who he should probably be considering an enemy. Or maybe it wasn’t
that strange. She had been trying to help all along. He smirked,
remembering her charging up to make sure he didn’t use the cannons
for fear of burying the fort. And she
had
been responsible for recovering him and his men from the real
avalanche. Amazingly, nobody had died in that event. Some of the
buried men
would
have died, would have run
out of air, if they had been waiting for the digging soldiers to
randomly chance across them. However she had done it, her
assistance had saved the lives of men he was responsible for.