6.0 - Raptor

  “Go back to your posts,” Therrik continued. “Sergeants Mandor, Fixston. Take their tools. Get everybody on fire suppression duty. Nobody’s going to eat if we don’t get the fires in those warehouses out. Now!”

  The miners shrank within themselves at his tirade, and the soldiers did too. They all looked to Ridge before acting. Even though he outranked Therrik now, he didn’t want to stir the pot too much. He was just passing through, after all.

  “I know I’d like some griddle cakes and bacon in the morning,” Ridge said, waving at the two sergeants Therrik had singled out. “If those fires all get put out in the next hour, we’ll all have an extra big breakfast.”

  The cheers erupted again, and men ran across the courtyard toward piles of snow that had already been brought in, most likely for that purpose. Ridge didn’t know how efficient the miners would be at firefighting, but as long as they weren’t trying to kill the soldiers, that was a good thing.

  “You bring extra rations with you in those two fliers, Zirkander?” Therrik growled. “Because the fixings for bacon and griddle cakes don’t come in that often.”

  Ridge thought about reminding the grumpy colonel that it was General Zirkander now, and he expected to be sirred, but Therrik was probably irked enough from having Ridge end the rebel takeover simply by showing up.

  “If we succeed in killing the dragon, we can roast it on a spit,” Ridge said.

  “Killing it? Our cannonballs bounced off it. It’s not coming back, is it?” Therrik stared at the sky in alarm.

  It was the first time Ridge could remember seeing him daunted. He didn’t enjoy the expression nearly as much as he would have expected.

  “I’m not sure. We don’t know what he wants.” If Morishtomaric wanted Tylie, and he had believed that Tylie was dead, why would he have come to attack the fort? Had he been in the mood to wreak havoc and it had been the closest spot?

  Therrik’s gaze shifted past his shoulder and up the stairs. Ridge tensed, worried that Sardelle had come down, which might spur Therrik to greater irritation.

  Sorry, no. She slipped away when I was trying to gauge how many wounded there were. Be right there.

  Tylie was padding down the stone steps in her grass sandals. Ridge grimaced. He specifically remembered handing her boots and a parka before they left. She was wearing the fur-trimmed garment, but her toes had to be freezing on the cold stairs. Even if it wasn’t as cold here as it had been in the winter, it still wasn’t warm.

  “Did you lose something, Zirkander?” Therrik asked.

  Sardelle hustled down, catching Tylie before she could descend all the way.

  “We’re going to help,” Tylie announced brightly.

  Does that cheerfulness mean Phelistoth is better? Ridge wondered.

  I think it might. I can’t sense either dragon at the moment.

  Good. The outpost has had enough winged company today.

  Will he let us pass? Sardelle glanced at Therrik. There are a lot of people who were burned and hurt in the fighting. Tylie is going to help me with them. I’ve taught her a few things, and I believe she can be useful.

  After giving Sardelle a frosty stare, Therrik jerked a thumb toward Tylie. “What is this?”

  “Those are females, Therrik,” Ridge said. “I didn’t think you’d been out here long enough to forget what one was.” Technically, the outpost housed a small contingent of female criminals, but they were as tough and grubby as the men, and didn’t tend to stir the male imagination.

  Therrik’s frosty glare turned toward Ridge. He smiled affably and clapped the colonel on the shoulder—a move he wouldn’t have tried when they had been the same rank. “Tell me what’s been going on, and I’ll tell you why I’m here. If you’re curious.”

  “Not really.”

  “Good. Then it’ll be a brief meeting. We have a lot to get done. Also, Sardelle and her new apprentice would like to be shown to your injured people to help with healing.” Ridge looked up the stairs to see if Duck had followed them down. He wanted someone he trusted watching over Sardelle and Tylie while they worked. He well remembered how the locals felt about magic.

  “Healing.” Therrik clenched his teeth, the tendons in his throat springing out. He looked even leaner and more muscular than the last time they had met. He had probably been throwing weights—and soldiers—around instead of drinking.

  “Yes, healing,” Ridge said. “They’re going to wriggle their fingers and wave powerful magics all over your injured people.”

  Should you be antagonizing him? Sardelle rested a protective hand on Tylie’s shoulder, her gaze on Therrik.

  Being a general wouldn’t be much fun if I didn’t get to antagonize lower-ranking officers. Besides, you said I didn’t have to be a good role model until after we have children.

  I’m not sure those were my precise words.

  Therrik kept grinding his teeth and glowering. Sardelle was waiting on the steps, but she couldn’t get by unless Therrik moved. Or unless she magicked up a powerful gust of wind to hurl him across the courtyard and onto his ass. Ridge wouldn’t mind seeing that, but it shouldn’t be necessary.

  “You’ve got injured people, Colonel,” he said, dropping the sarcasm from his tone. “Let her do something about them.”

  “We have a medic.”

  “You have one beleaguered man, who’s recruited three soldiers who barely know what they’re doing,” Sardelle said. “Let me help.”

  Therrik’s dark eyes grew a touch wild at this proof that she knew more than she could by mundane means.

  “Come on, Therrik.” This time, when Ridge reached for Therrik’s shoulder, he kept his hand there. “We need to talk.” He jerked his chin to the entrance of the headquarters building. He was well aware of the way Therrik tensed, as if to repel an attack, but Ridge trusted—hopefully not naively—that the man wouldn’t strike a superior officer. His indoctrination to the military should supersede his hatred—his fear—of all things magical.

  Therrik growled and stalked off the stairs, jerking his shoulder from Ridge’s grip. So long as he let Sardelle and Tylie pass.

  “Duck?” Ridge called up before following Therrik into the building. Duck had trotted down the stairs and stopped behind Sardelle. He was looking around the outpost with curiosity. “Watch them while I’m getting my report and telling him what we want.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And be especially careful of the miners. They’re all criminals who chose this over an executioner’s axe.”

  Duck’s eyes widened, but then he nodded, glancing around the courtyard again. Numerous unconscious and dead men lay in the mud, people who had been taken down in the uprising before Ridge arrived. “I get it now, sir.”

  “We’ll be fine.” Sardelle touched Ridge’s arm as she and Tylie passed, heading straight toward the machine shop. As one of the few stone buildings that hadn’t been damaged by the fire, it must have been turned into an infirmary. There was a real infirmary inside of headquarters, but it was a small room with a single bed. Even without Sardelle’s senses, Ridge was sure there were a lot more injured than such a space would accommodate.

  “Is there anything you want me to ask specifically about?” Ridge called after her. Aside from asking about soulblades? he added silently, not wanting to yell that across the courtyard.

  To anyone watching, all she did was shake her head and wave. Mentally, she said, Do ask if any swords have been recovered, please. Jaxi will start the research while I’m healing people. She can peruse the books here without being in close proximity to them.

  Yes, I recall how she helped you win days off from me. He smirked after her as she opened the door to the machine shop.

  The look she sent back across the courtyard was a touch embarrassed. He gave her a lazy two-fingered salute, made sure Duck was staying close to her and Tylie, then pushed open the door to the headquarters building. Not surprisingly, Therrik wasn’t standing there waiting for him with a cup of coffee. He must ha
ve already stomped up to his office.

  Despite his earlier antagonizing, Ridge decided he should be professional, not sarcastic, and certainly not smugly superior. If Morishtomaric came back, Ridge and Therrik would have to defend the outpost together. They didn’t need internal hostilities when they already had a dragon that wanted to kill them and hundreds of criminals who would gladly help with that. Besides, Therrik had been the one who had broken him out of jail so that he could find King Angulus. As much as Ridge wanted to pretend it wasn’t true, he owed the man something. If not a favor, then perhaps a bit of civility.

  Aw, you are practicing to be a role model. That’s sweet.

  Aren’t you supposed to be researching something, Jaxi?

  I’m looking for those books that were dug out the last time we were here. I thought they might be in that building. I’m hoping they’re not in one of the smoldering ones.

  Try the library over your head.

  That implies a degree of organization I wasn’t expecting from this place. Also, an openness to let anyone on the compound access books written by witches, as you people call us.

  You people? Ridge made it to the second floor and the office that had once been his without encountering Therrik.

  Not you specifically. Sardelle has trained you well.

  You’re the one who’s more likely to incinerate one of my favorite body parts if I don’t address you properly.

  That’s possibly true. Sardelle is a tolerant soul.

  Ridge found Therrik inside, standing behind the desk in a rigid parade rest, with two logbooks open. He stared past Ridge’s shoulder toward an uninteresting spot on the doorframe without blinking very often. His jaw was still clenched. A hard man to be civil with and an even harder one to want to do favors for.

  “Relax,” Ridge said, though he doubted Therrik knew how. “I’m just here to look for a sword and do some research on the way to hunt down that dragon.”

  Therrik’s gaze flicked toward him. “You should have brought the dragon-slaying sword.”

  “Lieutenant—Ms. Ahn has it.” Something Ridge wasn’t excited about—he still couldn’t believe she had volunteered to wield it again. He couldn’t help but wonder if she was hoping she would get herself killed doing this. That thought made him want to cry inside. Maybe on the outside too. He hated the idea of losing another of his people to a mistake. That dragon shouldn’t even exist. It wouldn’t be roaming Iskandia now if humans hadn’t set it free.

  “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 ret
urn. 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.