6.0 - Raptor

  Tolemek agreed that was likely, but couldn’t help but wonder if more was going on. It wasn’t as if Angulus had announced that he wanted those dragons freed for negotiations.

  “Any chance she died when the airship crashed?” Tolemek asked. That would certainly solve some problems.

  “I suppose there’s a chance, but I wouldn’t count on it.” Ort thumped his fist against his thigh. “I would have liked to search the area more thoroughly, but when Duck’s communication arrived—well, we can’t let the dragon attack our people up there again.”

  “I won’t disagree with that.” Especially if Tylie and the others were in danger. Tolemek had thought she would be safe going off with Sardelle, safer than she would have been here with him, but that might not have been the case.

  A knock sounded at the door.

  “General Ort?” A corporal stuck his head inside. “Lieutenant Duck is back, sir. The dragon is attacking the outpost again.”

  Tolemek clenched his fist. Again? With Tylie there? He couldn’t believe the airship had flown through the night and still wasn’t there.

  “Can’t this slug boat move any faster?” he growled, following Ort into the passageway.

  He didn’t expect an answer, but Ort glanced back as he headed for the ship’s ladder. “We’re about three hours out, but I can send you ahead in the fliers with Ahn and Captain Kaika, especially if you have a formula capable of hurting the dragon.”

  “I’ve been working all night. I have something I can try if I can come up with a delivery method.” Tolemek wished he could say he had something guaranteed to work, but until he actually tried it on a dragon, he couldn’t. “I don’t suppose you have a dragon scale around that I can test it on first?”

  “We didn’t stock any when we supplied the ship.”

  “Shortsighted.”

  “Yes. Get what you need and meet at the fliers.”

  “Yes, sir,” Tolemek said before he caught himself. Sir? Even if he had been a soldier once and yes-sirred many people, he wasn’t in Ort’s army. Oh, well. If Ort was letting Tolemek go to help his sister, he would sir the man up and down.

  Chapter 12

  Ridge clenched his fist in frustration as another cannonball sailed into the air, missing the dragon by twenty feet. These weapons had been installed to stave off attacks from slow-moving dirigibles, not agile, fire-breathing dragons. Even when the cannonballs and shells would have struck the creature, Morishtomaric either lazily flapped his wings in time to avoid them or simply raised a magical shield, and they bounced off. Ridge didn’t know if a cannonball would do damage to that scaled hide, even if the dragon didn’t shield himself. His bullets certainly hadn’t done anything during their last fight.

  The only good thing thus far was that Morishtomaric hadn’t breathed any more fire. The bad thing was that he seemed to be focused on Galmok Mountain. Aside from occasionally dodging a cannonball, he was ignoring the soldiers firing upon him. He kept sailing low along the rugged terrain near the outpost walls, and in his wake came more earthquakes. The tremors did not last long, but they shook the ground vigorously, causing the mountainside to buck and heave, almost as if someone were hurling explosives.

  After the third pass, Ridge realized with a sickening feeling that the dragon was doing exactly that, hurling mental explosives. That could only mean that he wanted to do more damage, to further collapse the mines. Did he know Sardelle was down there? No, this probably wasn’t about her, or Tylie, either.

  “He knows Phelistoth is down there,” Ridge said as the dragon soared low for another pass. Morishtomaric had attacked Phelistoth twice now. For whatever reason, he seemed to want the silver dragon dead.

  “Sir?” the private manning the cannon beside him asked.

  “Keep trying to hit the dragon,” Ridge said, though he knew it was useless. Nobody had touched him yet. The other guns and cannons along the fortress walls kept firing, coloring the air gray with smoke, but nothing came of it.

  Dragon, Ridge yelled in his mind, staring at the golden figure swooping down for another attack. What do you want?

  Was killing Phelistoth his sole reason for being here, or had something else attracted him to the outpost? His first attack had come before Ridge and the others, Phelistoth included, had arrived.

  If Morishtomaric was monitoring the thoughts of the humans under him and heard the question, he did not bother responding. He didn’t look toward Ridge, or toward the outpost at all. He kept throwing his mental attacks at the mountain. Ridge dug his fingers into his hair, barely noticing when his cap fell off. If Sardelle was alive down there, the last thing she needed was more rock falling on top of her. But how could he stop a dragon that wasn’t even aware of his existence?

  His gaze shifted toward the single flier parked atop the headquarters building. He’d sent Duck off again to warn the others about this new development, but his own craft remained.

  “Keep firing, private,” Ridge ordered, already halfway down the stairs of the tower. He would make the dragon aware of his existence.

  He did not run straight for the headquarters building. First, he sprinted for the armory, a stone structure that had withstood the first attack. Half of the building held rifles, bullets, and artillery ammunition. The other half held explosives for the mines. He grabbed matches and an armful of dynamite, then raced back out across the courtyard. Soldiers scattered out of his way, their eyes bulging when they saw his full arms, especially when a couple of the sticks fell from his grasp. He did not slow to pick them up.

  Only one man ran toward him instead of away from him. Therrik, his lips curled into his usual sneer, looked like he meant to intercept Ridge.

  “Out of my way,” Ridge barked, not slowing as he angled for the steps leading up the outside of the headquarters building. He had no intention of stopping to explain himself.

  Instead of intercepting him, Therrik fell in behind him. “If you’re blowing up the dragon, I’m helping.”

  “You’re the fort commander. You don’t get to go on suicidal missions.” At a more rational and less desperate moment, Ridge would have laughed at his hypocritical words, but he was too busy sprinting up the stairs and across the rooftop.

  “You need someone to throw those,” Therrik said, dogging his steps. “Otherwise, they’ll all fall out as soon as you flip upside down. I’ve been up there with you, and I know how incapable you are of flying without doing that.”

  He had a point.

  “Then send a private with me,” Ridge said. “You need to stay here.”

  “Doing what? Nothing we’ve got hits that bastard.”

  Ridge flung dynamite into the cockpit, scarcely aware that he was dropping sticks left and right in his haste.

  “Damn it, Zirkander. Those aren’t that stable.” Therrik bent to pick up his mess.

  Ridge hauled himself into the cockpit and slapped the ignition. The power crystal flared to life. Therrik scrambled into the back, a stick of dynamite in his mouth and a dozen more clutched in his hands. Ridge glared over his shoulder in exasperation as he buckled himself in, but there wasn’t time to argue further. He powered up the thrusters, and Therrik, not settled yet, lurched and nearly fell out.

  “Strap yourself in or get out,” Ridge said. “We’re leaving this roof in three seconds.”

  “Shut up and get me up to that dragon.” A clack sounded as Therrik buckled his harness.

  Ridge took off so quickly, he probably left scorch marks on the roof. Dynamite sticks shifted and rolled around his feet. He wasn’t planning to fly upside down, but even he had to admit this was dangerous. He fished them up and handed all but a few of them back to Therrik as they accelerated into the blue sky.

  Ridge inhaled and exhaled slowly, telling his nerves to settle, his heart to stop thudding so rapidly in his chest. Surprisingly, his body obeyed his wishes. Nothing had changed, but he already felt less rattled. He was in the air now, where he was meant to be. As the wind scraped through his hair, he too
k his goggles from their holder and tugged them over his head. This was his milieu. Maybe he could even do something effective.

  “You got somewhere back here to store these things?” Therrik asked.

  “Maybe you can sit on them.”

  “I’ll give you something to sit on,” Therrik growled. Apparently, his nerves hadn’t settled.

  “I’m not interested in your something.”

  “You actually interested in that witch’s something?”

  “Is that why you ran after me? To ask that?” Ridge spotted Morishtomaric, but kept climbing. He wanted to come at the dragon from above.

  “No, I want to blow up that cowardly bastard. He attacked us for an hour last night, never coming down to engage us like a man. The whole time, he was flying around like a damned, damned you.” Therrik’s frustration came through with every word.

  “Yes, it’s so irritating when things that aren’t human refuse to fight like humans.” Ridge probably shouldn’t goad him, but that comment about Sardelle had him wanting to throw dynamite at more than the dragon.

  Fortunately, Therrik stopped talking. When the silence extended, Ridge glanced back. Therrik’s skin had paled, and he pursed his lips together like a man trying not to throw up.

  “Wonderful,” Ridge muttered. His artilleryman was going to puke all over their ammo. He was glad the king had agreed to give the dragon sword back to Cas, even if her decision to request it again made his heart ache. He shuddered to imagine Therrik behind him with it.

  As they cruised into a few clouds near the top of Galmok Mountain, Ridge leaned over the side, gauging the distance to the dragon and how close he would have to get to hit it with an explosive.

  Just throw it, Jaxi’s voice sounded in his head. I’ll help guide it down. We would very much like for that dragon to stop battering the mountain.

  Jaxi! Where have you been?

  In precisely the same spot for the last thirty minutes.

  Is Sardelle all right? Tylie? Ridge tilted his wings and took them downward. The dragon had turned around and was heading in their direction, though it stayed lower, clearly intending to target the mountainside again. This was his chance to catch it.

  For now. Our magical barrier is the only thing keeping us from being crushed. I’m helping Sardelle maintain it, but eventually we’ll run out of energy. Phelistoth was trying to burn us a route out of here, but then the mountain started shaking again. Rocks are coming down, even in the levels that hadn’t previously collapsed. The levels above our heads.

  Are you close to the tram shaft?

  Jaxi hesitated. No.

  Ridge flexed his grip on the flight stick. He had to get through to the dragon, convince it to leave somehow. Then he needed to round up everyone in the outpost, miners and soldiers alike, to dig them out.

  “Therrik? You ready with the first stick?” Ridge slipped a match out of his pocket. Lighting a fuse up here, with the wind whistling through the cockpit, would be a challenge, but he intended to drop explosives of his own. He wagered Therrik could manage precision on the ground, but there were a lot more variables up here. Like how much one’s puke threw off one’s aim.

  “Ready.” Therrik still sounded sick.

  The dragon had yet to look up or acknowledge them. Ridge leaned out, timed his approach and the height difference, then held the stick in his mouth while he bent forward to shield the match and light the fuse.

  “Captain Kaika should have educated you on the proper—erp.”

  Ridge lit and dropped his stick. “Maybe you should write down your sarcastic comments and give them to me later. When you’re not on the verge of vomiting.”

  “Writing.” Therrik made a gagging noise. Maybe writing would be worse than talking.

  At least he did his job, and a second stick of dynamite sailed downward.

  Ridge circled so he could track the descent of the explosives. They seemed to spiral down with painful slowness and indirectness, like falling autumn leaves fluttering in the breeze. Therrik’s tumbled past the dragon before blowing up harmlessly forty meters away. Ridge’s exploded much closer, the edge of the fiery orange explosion catching Morishtomaric’s wing.

  Whether it did any damage, Ridge couldn’t tell, but the dragon did wheel in the air and fly toward them.

  “You wanted his attention, Ridge,” he muttered to himself before raising his voice to call back, “Get another stick ready, Therrik.”

  He would need both hands and all of his focus to avoid the dragon.

  “We want to talk to you, Morishtomaric,” Ridge called. He doubted his words would carry over the wind and the distance, but he definitely had the dragon’s attention now. Maybe it would listen to his thoughts.

  What do you want, human? the creature demanded.

  “Don’t you already know?” Ridge caught himself asking before something more diplomatic could form in his mind.

  To kill my kind.

  Technically, Ridge only wanted to kill this one specific dragon, but he doubted that was going to happen today, not unless Duck had found the others, and they were on their way as fast as that doddering airship could fly.

  Actually, I just want to know why you’re trying to flatten that mountain. We have miners and soldiers in there. Along with the love of his life, the woman who had asked him if he wanted to have children with her. His mother would never forgive him if he lost her. He would never forgive himself.

  Morishtomaric sailed closer, his fang-filled maw stretching open.

  Ridge directed the flier to dip, spinning as he dropped away, hoping to make a more difficult target. It was a good thing, because a stream of orange fire shot out, barely missing the tail of his craft.

  Therrik groaned. It might have been because they had almost been incinerated, but it probably had more to do with airsickness.

  “Throw it,” Ridge ordered.

  He glanced back. Despite his wan complexion, Therrik lit a new stick and hurled it over the tail of the flier. The man had a spry arm—the stick spiraled through the air, nearly hitting the dragon in the face. The fuse shouldn’t have burned down quickly enough to explode then, but it did, and Morishtomaric’s head disappeared in flames.

  You’re welcome, Jaxi thought.

  Did that hurt him?

  He’s sneezing.

  Is that a no?

  Yes, sorry.

  Dragon, Ridge called out again, trying to direct his thoughts toward Morishtomaric, who was flying out of the fire of the explosion, his nostrils smoking. Let’s work together. If you want something down there, tell me. I command this fort. No need to mention that where Therrik could hear it. I can direct all of our resources toward finding what you want if you let me get my people out first. You’re just going to make it harder to get what you want if you keep shaking the earth.

  Assuming Morishtomaric actually wanted something down there. What if all he cared about was burying Phelistoth forever?

  The dragon flew alongside his flier, matching its pace with two hundred meters separating them. Ridge looked over at him. Had Morishtomaric heard him?

  “It’s looking at me, Zirkander,” Therrik said. “Fly closer so I can shove one of these sticks up its nose.”

  “Sounds like a good way to get killed by an inferno.”

  “Might be able to kill it first. Not even a dragon can withstand being blown up from the inside out.”

  “Unless you’re quoting an ancient text from a book written by a world-renowned dragon slayer, I’m not ready to trust that assertion.”

  Besides, the dragon wasn’t attacking them or the mountain right now. Could it have heard him? Did it want to bargain? The way Morishtomaric kept looking over at them was disconcerting, and Ridge had no idea what was on his mind. Nor did he know how the creature flew straight with his head turned like that.

  One day, human.

  Pardon?

  You have one day to retrieve the artifact, or I will raze your insignificant fort and this mountain to get it my
self.

  Morishtomaric blasted Ridge with a barrage of images of him doing exactly that. Ridge gasped, the experience so vivid, that for a moment, it felt as if he was himself being swallowed by an inferno as it devoured the outpost. He managed to shake away the feeling, forcing himself to focus on the sky ahead, the fact that he was here in the cockpit and not on the ground.

  Trying to sound less rattled than he was, Ridge responded with, You’ll have to actually tell me what this artifact is, so we can find it. There’s a lot of old stuff down there. Also, we’ll need more than a day to dig it out.

  Another image slammed into Ridge’s mind, this time of a pyramid-shaped purple crystal with multiple points. It glowed softly against a dark background. With nothing to compare it with, he couldn’t tell how large it was in the vision. A few inches? Twenty feet? He supposed he would recognize it if he saw it—it wasn’t as if anything like it had been in Therrik’s fork room.

  We need at least a week, Ridge thought. Given how many years these mines had been here and how long it took the men to find and pull out power crystals, even that time frame seemed ludicrous, but he trusted Sardelle and Jaxi and Phelistoth could help locate it.

  You have one day, the dragon growled into Ridge’s head. One day, or I find it myself. And if your people are in my way, so be it.

  If we find it and give it to you, will you leave Iskandia forever? If he couldn’t kill the dragon, Ridge would settle for getting it out of his country.

  We shall see, human. If you get it to me before the others arrive, I may feel lenient toward you.

  Others? Ridge thought of the cavern where Kaika and the king had discovered those statues. Morishtomaric hadn’t managed to go back and free the rest of his kind, had he? What others?