Balanced on the Blade's Edge (Dragon Blood, Book 1) (22 page)

Ridge pulled his gaze from the clouds.
“Oh?”

“Would anyone think it odd if you visited the
library in the evening for some quiet reading time?”

“Reading time, eh? You don’t think the
library will be packed with miners eager to check out the
classics?”

Sardelle grinned. “Have you had anyone take
you up on that yet?”

“Actually, yes. I listened to four book
summaries just yesterday afternoon, delivered in between pickaxe
blows on the sixth level, since their supervisors wouldn’t let them
leave to come up to see me.”

“Good. Now as to the library hours… perhaps
later, we would be less likely to run into earnest readers. There
is, after all, only the one table. Which we might like to use.”
Sardelle wasn’t used to propositioning men—those with the nerve to
do so usually asked her—so she wasn’t sure if she came off as
smooth or awkward.

Ridge grinned and bumped his shoulder against
hers. “Goodness woman, you’re either as libidinous as I am, or
you’re willing to do anything to get out of sleeping in that
barracks room.”

“It
is
a less than
restful environment.”

Ridge winked and opened his mouth,
doubtlessly to suggest the library table wouldn’t be restful,
either, but a shout of “Colonel Zirkander” came from the ramparts,
and he turned away, the humor in his eyes disappearing.

More than one soldier was pointing toward the
western sky.

At first, Sardelle couldn’t see anything
other than snow, but then she picked out a dark balloon hugging the
heavy gray clouds as it flew over the peaks toward them. The
markings were different than that of the Cofah aircraft, all grays
and blacks instead of gold and wood tones, and it had an enclosed
cabin rather than an open ship design where one could see people
standing on the deck.

“That’s our supply ship,” Ridge said, fishing
in his pocket for something.

“That’s good.”

Now Ridge would have an opportunity to send
word back to his headquarters about the enemy ship. It shouldn’t be
long until reinforcements arrived.

“Except that it shouldn’t be coming in on
that route… and I think that’s…” Ridge extended the spyglass he had
dug out of his pocket and watched the sky.

Alerted by the tension in his voice, Sardelle
reached out with her senses. The ship was still far away, but she
immediately felt the emotions of the people aboard because they
were so intense. There wasn’t much of a crew—two, no three—but they
were all scared. Terrified.

“Smoke,” Ridge said. “They’ve been struck.”
He raised his voice to yell at the soldiers on the ramparts. “Ready
the weapons. We might have company.” He gave Sardelle a quick, grim
look, handed her his coffee mug, then ran for the stairs.

The clanks coming from the flier paused, and
the big engineer stuck his head out. “Sir, you going to want me at
the—”

“Keep working on the flier, Captain,” Ridge
answered as he raced up the stairs. “We may need it sooner than we
thought.”

Sardelle, remembering the image he had
painted of a possible failed launch, grimaced. She returned her
attention to the incoming airship. There weren’t any other vessels
in the sky, at least not that she could see or sense, but—no, wait.
At the very edge of her reach, behind the mountain peak, there was
a familiar presence. The Cofah airship. It didn’t seem to be coming
closer. Indeed, she had the sense that the captain was struggling
with the wind and the snow, but it didn’t matter. It had already
damaged its target.

By now, a spyglass wasn’t needed to see the
smoke streaming out of the gray airship’s engines. Sardelle
wondered if she could do anything to fix the problem, or at least
slow the craft’s descent. It was streaking across the sky more
quickly than she thought might be normal for an airship, dropping
altitude at an alarming speed. Its balloon wobbled and the sides
rippled—it had been damaged, too, she realized, and was losing gas.
They must have originally intended to land it in the fort, but the
steering didn’t seem to be working; it was veering toward the
right. If it continued on that path, it would go full circle and
crash into the mountain it had just crested.

Sardelle found the problem. The smashed
rudder was stuck in one position, not responding to the pilot’s
frantic pulls at the controls. A cannonball was wedged into the
steering mechanism. Sardelle pried it out, dumping the iron weight
into the snow far below. She turned the rudder in the opposite
direction and imagined she could hear its pained squeal from two
miles away. It wasn’t going to be enough to correct the problem.
The vessel would still crash. Maybe that was inevitable, but better
to crash close to the fort rather than into a mountain cliff.

She attempted to maneuver the craft against
the wind without making it appear unnatural. Dozens of soldiers
atop the rampart were watching. Fighting the wind was as much of a
challenge for her as it was for the ship, and heat pricked at her
skin, making her feel as if she were running laps around the fort
instead of standing still. When the craft crashed, she had done
what she could. She had brought it down on snow rather than letting
it smash into a cliff. She didn’t know if it would be enough.

“Watch that ship,” Ridge called to someone
before sprinting down the stairs. “Sergeant Komfry, grab some men.
We’re going to look for survivors.”

At first, Sardelle thought his command was
meant for the supply ship and couldn’t imagine why it would need to
be watched—it certainly wasn’t going anywhere now—but the Cofah
vessel had sailed into view above that mountain peak. It hovered
there, watching. Preparing an attack? More snow had gathered on the
high mountainsides. Would they try the avalanche maneuver again? If
so, she was ready. This time, she would stop them before they
dropped any explosives. One way or another.

No sooner had she experienced the thought
when a whisper sounded in her mind.
Who are
you?

The warmth of Sardelle’s body vanished,
replaced by a chill. The words came from the Cofah ship. From the
other sorcerer. There was no doubt.

Come any closer and
you’ll find out
, she responded.

The laughter in her mind rang dark and
disquieting.
You could do nothing against my
pet. You’ll be even less trouble for me.

Sardelle didn’t point out that she had been
limited as to what she could do because she couldn’t let the
soldiers
know
she was doing something. For
one thing, she still had that problem. For another, it would be
better for this foe to believe her weaker than she was.

She sensed the man—and she could tell it was
a man now, someone older and experienced—trying to dig deeper and
read her mind. She bricked off her thoughts. She could have
prevented him from contacting her further as well, at least at that
moment, but she didn’t. Any intelligence she might gather from him
could prove useful. And… maybe there was a part of her that wanted
to hear from another telepath, another sorcerer. Even if he was the
enemy and from an unfamiliar country and mage line. By default, she
had more in common with him than with anyone here in the fort she
was so determined to defend.

Why are you protecting
these people?

Sardelle licked her lips, wondering if he had
somehow slipped past her barriers to read her thoughts after all.
No, it was a coincidence. Nothing more. She would have sensed him
rummaging inside her mind. Besides, logic dictated that if he had
to ask, he didn’t know.

They are my people.
Sardelle made sure not to think of Ridge as she sent the words
across the wind. As the commander here, he would already be a
target. No need to make him more of one.

Impossible. All of the
Iskandian sorcerers were killed long ago.

Sardelle was glad nobody was watching her, or
paying attention to her at all—Ridge had led a team through the
gates on snowshoes, and everyone else was keeping the miners in the
shafts or watching from the walls—for pain must have flashed across
her face. She had been certain there would be
some
survivors. She was tempted to reach out to
Jaxi, to ask how the soulblade read the situation, but not while
this other sorcerer was monitoring. The last thing she wanted to do
was make some enemy aware of the artifacts buried within the
mountain.

Even if some ancestors of
yours survived
, the enemy sorcerer went on,
I don’t understand why you would defend these people.
They were the ones responsible for the purge. You
must
know that.

You cannot blame a man
for the faults of his ancestors.

Please. Do you think
these people would be any different? They shoot, drown, and burn
anyone with a hint of dragon blood. Nothing has changed. I’m
surprised they haven’t… ah, they don’t know, do they? They don’t
know who you are.

Sardelle didn’t respond to the smugness in
the voice. How proud he was to have figured it out. Twit.

I will not share your
secret.
He chuckled.
Though I will be
shocked if you succeed in keeping it. To always hide your true
nature… it must be painful.

What do you
care?

Now? Nothing. But I…
could care. You could leave these people. Come with me.

To what end?

I’ll take you to where
the others of our kind live. You would be more comfortable
there.

Sardelle swallowed hard at an ache in her
throat. She
did
want to find out where
other sorcerers might be, but… if they were the types to join in
with conquering armies, did she want anything to do with that? Of
course, just because one man had made that choice did not mean they
all did.

Or…
The sorcerer’s
words grew softer, almost husky in her mind.
You could come with me.

What are you
offering?

A union. There are few
left with dragon’s blood, even fewer whose lines haven’t been
diluted to near worthlessness through the centuries. Those who
remain rarely produce offspring when they breed with each other.
The blood is too close, too intertwined.

Sardelle found herself gaping at the distant
ship, which was still hovering over the snowy peak. Had she just
received an offer to
breed
? And from an
utter stranger? How romantic.

He would probably say anything to get her
away from the fort. Maybe he considered her more of a problem than
he had let on.

For a brief, immature moment, she thought of
sending him an image of herself entwined with Ridge, but that would
be idiotic. All she said was,
I’ll keep your
offer in mind.

Do so. It will be a shame
to kill you when we attack.

Uh huh.
And when will
that be?

Soon. Make your decision
soon.

The enemy ship turned and drifted out of
view, heading back to whatever docking space it had carved out in
these inhospitable mountains.

Sardelle climbed the stairs to see if the
crash site was in view and if Ridge had found any survivors. What
she witnessed made her suspect he wouldn’t be meeting her in the
library that night.

* * *

It took Ridge and two other men to pull open
the dented metal door of the gondola. The shouts they had heard
when they first approached had stopped. He hoped that wasn’t a sign
of injured people falling unconscious—or worse. Unfortunately, he
and the six-man team he’d brought out had needed to dig away a lot
of snow to reach the door. The windows at the front of the enclosed
cabin were still buried, so nobody could see in. The frame inside
the balloon had been smashed as well, the gas bag ripped and torn,
with shreds smothering the rest of the craft. In short, the crash
site was a mess.

He was relieved when a cranky, “It’s about
time,” snapped out of the darkness as soon as the door opened. His
relief faded somewhat when the follow-up was, “Get us out of here,
you buffoons.”

Ridge was about to state his name and rank,
in the event that might result in friendly relations, but the
speaker added, “I’m not sure the pilot is going to make it,” in a
softer tone.

“Oster, Rav.” Ridge waved for them to follow,
then crawled inside first. The only light came from the doorway,
and it took a moment for his eyes to adjust. “I’m Colonel
Zirkander. Who’s barking at me and where’s the injured man?”

“He’s up front,” came a woman’s voice—and
Ridge gaped into the darkness in surprise. Who would bring a woman
up here unless she was one of the prisoners? Or maybe this supply
ship had been carrying prisoners as well as goods? “He was trying
to keep us from landing hard. He wouldn’t pull away from the
controls, even when—” Her voice tightened in something close to a
sob. She sounded young.

“As to who’s barking, Colonel, you’re
speaking with General Melium Nax. You can call me sir.”

Great. Ridge had heard the man’s name spoken
before. Usually in a fearful tone.

“Yes, sir.” He could make out the general’s
form now—he seemed to be comforting the other passenger, the
woman—though Ridge was focused on crawling into the smashed
cockpit. “Rav, is that you behind me? Do you see the pilot? We’re
going to have to pry that busted panel off his legs to pull him
out.”

“Yes, sir.” The burly infantryman brushed
past him. “Hurrying.”

Ridge patted about, trying to locate the
pilot’s throat to take his pulse. He encountered a lot of blood.
Hells. The man had some ripped metal beam thrusting into his chest.
And no pulse.

“Never mind, Rav,” Ridge said softly.
“There’s no hurry.”

Behind him, the general sighed. The woman
sniffed and wiped her face.