Beginnings: Five Heroic Fantasy Adventure Novels

  The tail end of it crushed into the east wall, knocking men down, devouring them. The rocket launcher disappeared, too, and—Sardelle gulped, and whispered a plaintive, “Noooo.”—Zirkander, who had been trying to shove other men away, to push them toward the back side of the fort, was swallowed too. The wave of snow crested the towers and crashed halfway across the courtyard, burying that eastern wall and two of the tram entrances, before tumbling to a stop.

  Only vaguely aware that the wounded airship was limping away—and losing altitude as it did so—Sardelle raced for the mountain of snow.

  A shovel, Jaxi warned.

  What?

  You need a tool. Don’t do anything—anything else—that could get you noticed.

  It was good advice, even if she didn’t want to heed it. Already she had hesitated, protecting herself instead of simply attacking. If she hadn’t, she might have stopped that ship before it dropped that last explosive.

  “Shovels,” someone yelled. “Get those men out of there!”

  Sardelle clambered up the slope with a surge of soldiers, all of them slipping on the ice and snow but desperate to save the men. “The colonel went down here,” she yelled. “I was watching, I saw.”

  She didn’t expect anyone to listen to her—Zirkander was the only one who treated her as anything other than a prisoner—but maybe the confidence in her voice convinced them. Three soldiers scrambled over to join her. She pointed, then grabbed a shovel from someone who had brought extras. She had seen Zirkander go down, the wave sweeping him from the wall, but she could also sense him beneath several feet of snow. He was alive and not badly hurt, but confused, trying to figure out which way was up, and how much air he had.

  Sardelle dug. She had never been caught in an avalanche but had heard from others who had survived. The snow became like cement once it compacted above a person, impossible to dig through. A man had to be dug out by others. She flung snow to the side, planning to do just that.

  “You’re sure it was here?” one of the soldiers asked.

  “Yes,” Sardelle said without looking up from her task. They had only gone down two feet. They needed to descend at least four more, but she kept herself from explaining that. Someone would later remember such unlikely precision.

  “Because the snow would have moved him,” the soldier said.

  “I know that. I’ve already factored it in. There’s a… mathematical model that I’ve studied.” There. That sounded plausible, didn’t it? For all she knew, there truly was such a thing.

  “Just keep digging, Bragt,” another soldier said.

  Sardelle’s hands were already growing raw from the shoveling, but she didn’t slow down. Two more feet. They ought to be close, ought to hear something soon. Zirkander should hear them soon and cry out, let them know they were close.

  “Stay below,” someone’s voice came from across the fort. “Just stay down there. We’ll let you know when it’s safe to come out.”

  The soldier next to Sardelle grumbled, “If those prisoners get out and try to use this to their advantage… ”

  “I’ll shoot them, no questions asked,” another responded. “Sir! Are you down there? Can you hear us?”

  A faint muffled groan came from within the jumbled slope of snow.

  “I heard him,” the soldier cried.

  “He’s here!”

  Soon there were so many shovels digging in, that Sardelle could barely see the snow. Someone grabbed her from behind and pushed her out of the way.

  “We’ll handle it, woman.”

  She stumbled and almost fell. She hadn’t been digging slowly—there had been no reason to move her.

  And you wanted him to see your face first? Jaxi raised a mental eyebrow. To know you were responsible for pulling him out?

  No. That doesn’t matter. Sardelle scowled at the back of the soldier who had replaced her. She was done delivering rashes, but he might look good with his belt unbuckled and his trousers around his ankles. Maybe a little, she admitted to Jaxi.

  Better he not have reason to later dwell on your uncanny ability to find him.

  A collective gasp sounded, then a sigh as a hand reached out.

  “It is the colonel.”

  Everyone had joined in to dig him out. Though she hadn’t been here for long—and he hadn’t been here for… even longer—Sardelle thought she knew Zirkander well enough to guess that he would be annoyed when he realized they had stopped searching for everyone else to focus on him.

  The hand was followed by an arm, with no less than four people grasping it. They pulled, and Zirkander’s head came next, snow sticking in his hair and frosting his eyebrows. With their help, he clawed himself out of the hole, then collapsed on the slope a few feet away from Sardelle. He dug something out of his pocket, a little wooden carving, and kissed it before returning it to its home.

  “Are you all right, sir?” one soldier asked.

  “Do you need to see the medic?”

  “That was a brilliant shot with the rocket launcher, sir! Did you see? Their balloon was struck, and they were going down.”

  “Uh, yeah.” Zirkander looked dazed, but he pushed the snow out of his hair and recovered enough to point at the slide area. “We have more men under there?”

  “Yes, sir. Several others were up on the wall with you and—”

  “Then don’t stop digging, man. Get them out!”

  “Yes, sir!”

  The soldiers turned to consider the wide expanse of snow and hesitated. One spun back toward Sardelle. “She knew where the colonel went down.”

  “That’s right. Did you see any others?”

  This drew Zirkander’s attention to Sardelle for the first time. She considered how helpful she dared be—how far would they believe her mathematical model? But then she shook her head. People’s lives were at stake. To put her own safety ahead of theirs would be cowardly. She already had Bretta’s death on her conscience.

  Sardelle closed her eyes, seeing beneath the snow with her other senses, judging who had the least air and needed to be dug out soonest.

  “One went down over in that area.” She walked over and scraped an X in the snow, then backed away, happy to let them shovel. She glanced down at one of her palms. She would have a few blisters to heal when nobody was looking.

  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, Capta
in?” 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.