Irritation arose in Cas’s mind with such ferocity that it left her gripping the shelf for support. She glared back at the sword box, knowing it was responsible.
“Jaxi?” Cas asked, forcing her voice to remain calm though that feeling of irritation continued to bubble within her.
She wondered what Sardelle’s soulblade wanted. Jaxi had included her in group communications before, but she did not make a habit of telepathically conversing with Cas.
Everyone else is asleep. And I sensed that small discharge of magic. I’m right downstairs in a room with Ridge and Sardelle. They’re curled up on a bunk together, snoring and being extremely boring.
Cas wished she and Tolemek were curled up boringly. He was up on the airship, working on his dragon-blood-eating acid. Cas still hoped that something might come of that and she wouldn’t be forced to wield the sword, but with so little time remaining, she feared Tolemek wouldn’t be able to finish the project. Even if he did, it might be an ancillary tactic, rather than one that could spare her from the fight.
“He’s not scruffy,” Cas said. “He’s handsome.”
I’ll think him more handsome if he succeeds in making dragon-slaying bullets. That would be a historic first, I believe.
“Jaxi, can you help me research these books?” Cas eyed the one that had zapped her.
I’m way ahead of you. I already skimmed most of these earlier in the day, before Phelistoth’s disaster forced me to turn my attention to keeping us alive.
One of the books to Cas’s right shifted, the spine pushing out from the shelf. She jumped back, gaping. Yes, she was talking to a magical sword, so she shouldn’t be alarmed by the unexpected, but there was something creepy about things moving about in a room where she was all alone.
Creepy. A sniffing noise sounded in Cas’s head. Really.
The book floated away from the shelf, opened itself with a soft groan from the ancient spine, and came to rest on the table. Kasandral continued to flood Cas with feelings of anger and discontent. She tried to wall herself off from it, to ignore the box and focus on the book. Despite the yellowed pages, the black ink was still dark and surprisingly easy to see, the letters well formed and clear. Too bad the words didn’t make much sense.
It’s old. Old things often don’t make sense.
“Can you read this?”
I can read anything written in the last nine hundred years or so. There was a major shift in written Iskandian when Cofahre invaded and forced us to switch to their louse-covered language, so don’t ask me to read anything from before that time period. But Sardelle understands a lot of the old stuff, so I can wake her to ask her to translate if we find something promising.
Cas hated the idea of waking her up when she must be exhausted after being buried alive for most of the day.
She won’t mind, not for research questions. She loves research. She only gets crabby when I interrupt her during her lovemaking. She also doesn’t care for commentary or critique on techniques. Apparently, she’s not on the same quest for self-betterment that I’m on.
“Uh.” Cas had no idea what to say to that, but she wondered if Jaxi might be a distant relative of Captain Kaika’s. She tapped the open book to see if she would get zapped. “Tools from the First Dragon Era?” she guessed at the title. Numbers did not seem to have changed, and the word for dragon was the same, aside from extra marks over vowels that weren’t a part of the written language now.
That’s right. I saw a chapter on swords when I was skimming earlier. Also, I can read this book, as it’s only eight hundred years old, so it might be a place to start. Kasandral is much older than this book, though, so I can’t promise that he’ll be mentioned. It depends on how thorough the author was on researching items from the past.
The pages flipped past before Cas could touch them, opening to a chapter near the back.
“Was there ever a Second Dragon Era?” Cas wondered, eyeing the title in the logbook, wondering if there might be any useful notes on it. There weren’t. She doubted whoever had cataloged these artifacts had spent any time looking at them, especially the insides of them.
Interestingly, no. It is a little strange that there’s an entire block of two thousand years called that, isn’t it? Why call it the first unless there were others? I actually never wondered about that before. Several pages flipped. Here’s something about anti-magic swords.
Cas pulled a chair over and sat in front of the book, though she wasn’t sure what the point was, since she couldn’t read much of it. Maybe the sword would like it if she appeared a studious pupil.
Jaxi made a snorting noise. You’re thinking of Sardelle. She taught students in the summers. Since she’d always been a studious pupil, she expected everyone else to be the same and was disheartened and distressed when they weren’t. Hm. Jaxi was silent for a moment, then went on with, All right, listen up. You’ve probably already figured this out, but here’s a disclaimer that would have been nice if it had come glued to that sword.
Cas nodded. “I’m listening.”
Anti-magic tools were made with magic, using a type of enchantment that has been forgotten in recent centuries, since dragons dwindled from the skies and the need for weapons that could harm them died out. Even though the tools were crafted with magic, they were specifically designed to combat all things magical, including dragons and their riders, usually people possessing dragon blood. Some tools were imbued with personalities, similar to that of a guard dog, so they could act as seekers of dragon blood as well as weapons to be used against it.
“Seekers?” Cas recalled that while Zirkander’s group had been gone, the flier squadrons had been sent out to hunt down witches and kill them, and that they had supposedly had some tool that allowed them to do so. Kasandral had been with her at the time, so did that mean there was some other tool like it out there? A tool that also made the person who carried it want to attack those with dragon blood?
Possibly so. Sardelle wasn’t told much about that, and therefore I wasn’t, either, though Ridge may have some details in his fancy new general’s office, if not yet in his brain. That won’t be important for tomorrow’s battle, so let me continue.
“Sorry, go ahead.”
You are a good student. No lippiness or anything. Are you sure you’re one of Ridge’s people?
Cas almost said that she wasn’t anymore, but she thought of their conversation earlier. Zirkander’s suggestion that staying and serving could be her penance. She knew he wanted her to stay for the good of the squadron, and that motivated his words somewhat, but she had definitely sensed that he had spoken from experience, too, and that he truly did understand. And maybe he was right. Running away was the easier route, and staying was the uncomfortable one, the one that she could only choose if she had the courage to do so.
“Yes,” Cas said. “I am.”
What? I was reading on.
“Never mind. What else do I need to know?” Cas itched to ask about the words of power, but made herself wait. This other information could prove useful too.
Much, I’m certain. But I assume you mean specifically about your guard dog. Another page flipped. The tools were made to fight dragons and sorcerers from enemy nations, but it does state in here, several times in fact, that they are a danger to allies as well, and that they must be kept on short leashes.
“Yes.” Cas leaned forward, skimming the words for herself, even though she could only understand every other one. “How do I leash Kasandral?”
A surly grumpiness poked at her, and she glanced back at the box. Yes, that sword definitely needed a leash.
The makers of these tools instilled them with command words and phrases, again, much like would be taught to a dog, so they would act in an appropriate manner and so their wielders could control them. Their wielders had to be people without magic themselves, because the tools would fight against their handlers if they sensed dragon blood. Two more pages turned. Ah ha. Here’s a list. Several lists. That one is fo
r shields, that one for spears, that one for bows—goodness, I wonder what ever happened to all of these weapons. There’s the entry for swords. There’s nothing about Kasandral specifically, but you might want to write down that list.
Cas stared blankly at the pages open before her. Aside from the headings, the words in the list were completely incomprehensible. The alphabet wasn’t even familiar. She remembered that the words the queen had uttered had sounded like nonsense to her. Would she even be able to pronounce these?
Make a copy for yourself. I’ll wake up Sardelle, assuming she and Ridge haven’t shifted from snoring to rutting. They’re quite randy.
Cas did her best not to blush. Jaxi might even be worse than Kaika. At least Kaika divulged details of her own adventures, rather than gossiping about those of others. “Do you share information on their sex lives with everyone you talk to?”
Well, I don’t talk to that many people. Start copying. I’ll be right back.
A stiff gale hammered the window, rattling the glass in its frame. Rain slashed past, drops thick enough to see even from her seat in the middle of the room. Cas hoped the weather cleared by morning. Battling a dragon in the rain did not sound enjoyable. Of course, if it rained hard enough, maybe Morishtomaric would stay in a cave somewhere.
The doorknob rattled, and Cas turned. Had Jaxi instructed Sardelle to come up here in person? She glanced at Kasandral’s box, fear pouring into her. What would the sword do? What might it make her do?
“Nothing,” she whispered to herself firmly. From the box, Kasandral had no control over her. She willed that to be the truth.
When the door opened, the big uniformed figure that stepped inside was definitely not Sardelle.
Cas lurched to her feet and saluted. “Sir,” she said, forgetting that she wasn’t technically an officer at the moment. Still, she was wearing the uniform and she had been contemplating Zirkander’s suggestion that she return.
Colonel Therrik, his hard face a mix of shadow and light from the lantern he carried at his waist, frowned at her. He looked around the room, then at the lantern on her table, then at the book, and his frown deepened into a scowl. His cap and the shoulders of his uniform jacket were wet, and water dripped down the sides of his thick neck. He must have spotted her light from the courtyard. So much for her thought that everyone would be asleep and avoiding the storm.
“What are you doing in here, soldier?” Therrik didn’t look like he recognized her in the poor lighting. Not that they had ever spoken to each other or spent time together. “With that—that?” He pointed at the open book.
“Research, sir.”
“About magic?” He had already been radiating displeasure, and his scowl turned to a look of incredulity. Incredulity and anger. “Researching magic is forbidden.”
Apparently, nobody had mentioned that the army was working with a sorceress now and that some of the old rules were being bent or outright ignored these days.
“Who gave you permission to be in here?” Therrik went on. “This isn’t a damned museum.”
“No, sir, but with the dragon coming tomorrow…”
“What? You’re going to learn magic to use on it?” His gaze dipped to her chest.
Cas tensed. She told herself he was just looking at her nametag, but she couldn’t help but think of the diplomat who had pawed her and tried to force her into a sexual encounter last fall. As a young lieutenant, she hadn’t had a clue as to how to deal with someone in such a high position, and this would be the same type of situation if Therrik had that in mind. Aside from Kasandral, she hadn’t brought any weapons with her, and she knew she couldn’t best Therrik in a fight—she remembered him easily pinning Zirkander up against his flier before the mission to Cofahre, and Zirkander was better at hand-to-hand combat than she was.
Fortunately, Therrik’s gaze didn’t linger long. His scowl returned to her face, taking on an element of a sneer. “Ahn. You’re the one they gave my sword to.”
“It was the king’s decision, sir.” Sort of. Zirkander had been the one who hadn’t wanted Therrik behind him in his flier.
Therrik shook his head. “You’re just a wisp of a girl. If he had to pick a woman, he could have at least chosen someone like Kaika.”
“Ah, yes, sir.” Cas wanted to make that Stick it up your ass, sir, but saying such things to colonels rarely went well. “You don’t by chance know the commands of power for the sword, do you? That’s what I was trying to find in the book.”
She wished she hadn’t asked, because he walked into the room. Even if he didn’t have anything inimical in mind for her, she wasn’t comfortable being alone with him. She doubted many of his soldiers were. Animosity wafted from his pores, and he seemed quick to jump to irrational dislikes of people, at least when magic was involved.
She backed up as he closed on the table. He only looked at the book long enough to slam it shut.
“You don’t need any magic words. Just put the pointy end in the dragon.” He curled his lip at her. “If you’re big enough to pick up the sword, that is.”
“I can handle it fine, sir.” Some of the lower-ranking meekness disappeared from her tone, but she didn’t care. She was more worried that she hadn’t gotten a chance to copy the lines in the book.
“Out.” He jerked his chin toward the door and dipped a hand into his pocket. Keys jangled.
“Sir, it could make a big difference tomorrow if I—”
“Out,” he barked, taking a step toward her.
Cas was debating if there was any way she could reach in, grab the book, and sprint out before he could catch her when a soft knock came at the door. Kasandral growled into her mind.
“Good evening.” Sardelle stood in the open doorway. “Is this a private meeting?”
“Yes,” Therrik snarled at the same time as Cas said, “No.”
She sent a significant look toward the box, to let Sardelle know that Kasandral was in here. Sardelle followed her gaze, nodded once, but did not appear overly alarmed. Because the sword was in the box? Cas wondered if Therrik had noticed it. She hoped not. Maybe she shouldn’t have looked in that direction.
“We’re fine,” Cas said. As much as she wanted Sardelle to come in and for that to cause Therrik to leave, she worried what he might do if he realized his sword was right there, a sword that wanted to kill Sardelle.
Indeed, he was sending the look of purest loathing across the room to Sardelle. Her hair was down, and she wore untied boots and a nightgown, looking like she had left bed and hurried up here. Jaxi must have told her what was going on. Even straight out of bed, Sardelle had an appealing beauty, and Cas couldn’t imagine how any man could look at her and see an enemy, but Therrik seemed as single-minded as Kasandral. Maybe they were perfect for each other. If only an enemy stood in the room instead of Sardelle. If Therrik made a move for the box, Cas would do whatever it took to beat him to it.
“Ah, there’s the book I was looking for.” Sardelle smiled and walked in, appearing oblivious to the hatred etched on Therrik’s face, though Cas knew she wasn’t.
Surprisingly, he stepped back when she approached the table, making room so she could pick up the book. Or maybe he just didn’t want to risk being touched by her. Those gloves looked large enough to fit his hands. Was he the superstitious one who had cataloged these items? It was hard to imagine him not handing the job off to some private.
“You and your kind are the reason that dragon got let out of his prison,” Therrik said, his fingers curled into fists. He looked like he wanted to knock her across the room, but he didn’t lift a hand.
For the first time, Cas realized that he feared her as much as he hated her. Maybe his fear was why he hated her.
She struggled to grasp that. Oh, she could understand fearing magic and what it could do—she distinctly remembered that Cofah sorceress killing her comrades with those fireballs—but she couldn’t understand fearing Sardelle.
“If people like you hadn’t killed my kind,”
Sardelle said, “they would be here now to protect you from dragons. Also, I’m fairly certain Angulus let Morishtomaric go, though the dragon used his power to coerce him to do so.”
“He did not.” Therrik’s nostrils flared with his indignation.
For the first time, he peered into the shadows beside the door, straight at Kasandral’s box. He jerked slightly. He must have just noticed it. Or maybe the sword was calling to him, filling him with extra irritation the way Kasandral had been doing to Cas. And Therrik would have no reason to ignore that feeling. He might invite it in.
“Were you there? Perhaps you should ask Captain Kaika.” Sardelle turned her back on Therrik and faced Cas. Having him behind her had to make her shoulder blades itch, but none of her discomfort showed. “I could use an assistant for these translations, Cas. Will you join me?” Sardelle nodded toward the chairs on the other side of the table.
Cas eyed Therrik, remembering that he had ordered her from the room and wondering if he would object—and what she would do if he did. Sardelle might be sleeping with Therrik’s superior officer, but that didn’t give her any rank over him.
He fumed in silence, glaring at the back of Sardelle’s head. He did not acknowledge Cas. Lightning flashed outside, and rain slammed against the window, as if someone had hurled a bucket of water at it.
“Yes, ma’am.” Cas did not usually call Sardelle ma’am, but it seemed a good idea to be circumspect all around tonight.
Therrik took a step toward the door. Cas had no way of knowing if he was leaving, or if that step would take him to Kasandral. Before she had time to consider her actions, she sprinted around a table and toward the box, trying to cut off Therrik.
When she was two steps from it, a vise-like grip clamped down on her shoulder. She was yanked backward with such force that she couldn’t do anything to counter the attack. As she went down, instead of worrying about landing so that she wouldn’t hurt herself, she threw her legs out, trying to stop Therrik, or at least get in his way. He jumped over her as easily as if she were a root in a trail. He lunged, not for the door, but for the box.