The exasperation in Jaxi’s tone made him think Sardelle might do such things often.
She was trained as a healer. She’d probably even heal you.
You wouldn’t?
I wasn’t trained as a healer, so I wouldn’t have to make that choice. Besides, I know what you’ve done to my people.
With the side of the dark ship looming ahead of him, Tolemek had enough to worry about without wondering how a sword knew all of his secrets, but he caught himself breathing shallowly and rapidly anyway. His hands had been cold earlier; now he could feel sweat slicking the oar grips. Jaxi had bad timing.
What were you trained to do? Tolemek wasn’t sure why he asked; he probably didn’t want to know.
Pyrotechnics. Along with the word came a quick impression of a young woman, little more than a kid, with red hair in pigtails, grinning as she hurled streams of fire at an encroaching Cofah army.
A dark figure walking along the deck of the ship stopped and leaned against the railing. Yes, Jaxi was right. Whoever was out there had been waiting for him.
As the rowboat glided up to the larger ship, Tolemek dipped into his bag of vials and gadgets. He touched one of the leather balls, but bypassed it, fingers delving for a hard cylinder in the bottom with a pull-tab top. Several other shadows had joined the first. Given the roar of the sea and the buzz of the propellers overhead, it was amazing that he heard the loading of rifles, but the sound of bullets being chambered cut right across the water to him.
“Good evening, Mek,” came Goroth’s voice from the shadows, utterly calm, as if there weren’t fliers and airships battling overhead. “Why don’t you come aboard? We have something to chat about.” It was a stranger’s voice, nothing of the years of friendship in it. Tolemek knew he had made his choice, and he didn’t regret it, but he also hadn’t expected to have to face Goroth again a mere hour after sticking a needle in his neck.
“That might not have a salutary effect on my health,” Tolemek said.
“Oh, we’re not planning to kill you. We’re planning to have you watch. From a distance. You’ll have to let us know what distance would be suitable. And how long we have to wait before going ashore. We’re here to loot, after all, not become victims of our own craftiness.”
“What craftiness would that be?” Tolemek croaked. His mouth had gone dry. Goroth’s allusions were obvious, though Tolemek didn’t see how it could be possible. After seeing Tanglewood and hearing about Camp Eveningson, he had destroyed all of the canisters of the death gas. Very carefully. In a crematorium, with a device for delaying the dropping of them into the fire, to ensure he was far, far away when it happened. It had been a mistake to invent something so deadly that it terrified even him, but he hadn’t truly understood that until that day.
“Stone Heart here was kind enough to see our freighter’s distress and come pull us out before the authorities charged up. He even took care of those authorities with that explosion, so there wouldn’t be any witnesses to his arrival. And I, though confused and betrayed, had the presence of mind to grab the bag I brought with me before he set the charges, the bag that I’d packed with a canister taken from your laboratory years ago.”
“I destroyed all of the samples,” Tolemek said. His rowboat had reached the larger vessel and was bumping against its side.
“Not all of them. I took one before you left to destroy them,” Goroth said. “I couldn’t let you make that much power disappear at a whim, not when I might one day need it.”
“All this time, you had that canister in your cabin?” Tolemek choked at the idea, imagining a strong wind striking the ship and the canister being knocked over and activated in some cabinet, the poison blasting out to kill everyone aboard.
“Well insulated, I assure you. I’m not a fool.”
“What about when the first Night Hunter was shot down last summer? Did you have it in your cabin then?”
“I did, and I retrieved it before we had to abandon the ship.”
Tolemek pushed his hair away from his face, not caring that his hood fell back too. The past didn’t matter. What mattered was... “You have it on this ship now?”
“No, my old friend. It’s already been deployed in the city, the timer set. It’s in a place where it can do maximum damage. You’ll never find it.”
“Maximum damage. You mean kill the most people.”
“Yes,” Goroth said. “Yes, I do. How convenient that it’ll destroy all of the resistance, yet it will leave the contents of the banks and museums untouched.”
“It won’t destroy all of the resistance,” Tolemek said, trying to sound calm, though inside he was alternating between quailing and raging. He looked up to the sky. The fliers, always conscious of the threat of ground fire, usually stayed high above their enemies. They should be high enough to survive the release of the death gas, but what would they come back to when they landed? A city full of dead, their organs boiled, their skin melted off from the inside out. And Cas... what would she think? That he had double-crossed her. That all along he had been working with Goroth.
“What use is a fighter squadron without a populace to defend?” Goroth asked. “They’ll be too busy mourning to trouble our retreat. Our retreat with cargo holds full of loot. The Cofah might even give us a medal for destroying the capital city of their enemy, something they’ve failed to do in hundreds of years of war.” Goroth propped his arm on the railing, leaning closer to Tolemek. “Climb aboard. As I said, we have questions for you. We want to make sure we don’t get caught too close.”
“Do you,” Tolemek whispered. And then what? They shot him once they were safe? Some offer.
“Yes, and, believe it or not, I have no wish to see you killed this way, either. Come back to the Night Hunter with me. All will be forgotten. Or, if not forgotten, at least forgiven. So long as you continue to help make me a powerful captain with few who will contest my right to reign.”
It sounded more like he wanted to be a king than a captain. Tolemek rubbed his face. He needed to figure out a way to locate the canister and stop the aerosol from being released. For Cas, for the people of the city, and... for his own sanity. He couldn’t darken his soul with another Tanglewood. He just couldn’t.
“Captains,” came a terse call from the bow of the ship. “There’s another boat approaching from the starboard side.”
Two of the figures who had been aiming their rifles at Tolemek jogged to the other side, disappearing behind the cabin. Several remained, and Goroth would doubtlessly be armed, too, but it might be the best chance Tolemek would get. He traced the pull tab on his canister with his thumb. He could blow up the ship with the contents, but if everyone aboard was dead or unconscious, who would tell him where the canister was? The timer could be set for a maximum of an hour, so he didn’t have much time. If they had already set it and returned to this boat...
“Friend of yours?” Goroth asked casually, though there was an icy layer to his voice, a suggestion that it had better not be.
“My only friend here is up there.” Tolemek pointed to the sky.
“I see.” Goroth’s tone was even icier.
Perhaps saying “only” had been a mistake. Laying down the cards too early, letting Goroth know he refused the offer.
“It’s dark,” came the soft call from the other side of the ship. “Looks abandoned. No sail up, no oars. Like it’s floating free, but, uh, it’s coming straight at us.”
A premonition tickled Tolemek’s senses. He had never experienced any of his sister’s talent for magic, and didn’t think even she, in her more lucid moments, could speak into other people’s minds, but he called out with his thoughts nonetheless: Jaxi?
He didn’t receive an answer. Not surprising. It wasn’t as if he were linked to the soulblade somehow, not the way its handler would be. Communication would always be per Jaxi’s whims.
Still, he had to try, in some hope that the soulblade would check in with him first.
Jaxi, if you can hear me
, don’t hurt anyone on the ship, at least not the man in front of me. We need to know where the canister is and how much time remains on the countdown. We need—
The sky brightened behind Goroth’s vessel. And then it turned to flame.
Tolemek had been standing in the rowboat, half convinced he had to climb onto the ship with Goroth, but he stumbled back now, raising a hand to protect his eyes from the sudden light—and the heat. A man on the other side screamed. Splashes sounded—people diving or falling overboard?
In the rowboat and on the other side of the now-flaming cabin, Tolemek didn’t face the full intensity of the attack, but he scrambled to the far side of his little vessel, the heat forcing him to back up.
Jaxi, he tried again, his mind filled with that image of the soulblade—or maybe who the spirit had been before she turned into a sword—hurling streams of fire. Don’t kill them. I’m not just being sentimental. We need the location of the—
Rifles fired—the men on the boat shooting at whoever was attacking them. Shooting at something anyway.
A second fireball struck on the heels of the first. The crackling of flames and the snapping of wood rose over the clamor of the battle going on above the harbor. The heat seared Tolemek’s face. He was tempted to row away, to put distance between himself and the burning craft, but he had to find out where the canister was located.
Goroth was crouching, somewhat protected by the cabin, though flames were leaping from its roof and sides.
“Goroth,” Tolemek called, intending to offer the man refuge on his rowboat.
Throw the grenade, a voice in his mind ordered. Jaxi.
What? Tolemek stared down at the cylinder in his hand. Goroth had turned to face him. He couldn’t hurl a grenade at the man.
Sink the ship before these murderers cause any more trouble. If you don’t, I will.
Tolemek lowered his hand and stuck the cylinder back in the bag. I can’t. And you shouldn’t, either. We have to find out—
Goroth had his foot lifted to the railing, prepared to leap overboard, or perhaps to jump for Tolemek’s rowboat, but he was too late. Something struck the ship with the power of a bomb. It exploded from within.
The shockwave hurled Tolemek backward, almost knocking him out of the rowboat. As it was, he landed hard on his back, the air blasted out of him. The explosion lit the sky, and for a moment, the fliers and the airships were highlighted overhead, and he could see the faces of the men on one of the airships, none of them looking as afraid for their lives as they should have, given the fliers swooping all around.
Blinking, Tolemek pushed himself to his elbows. He stared at the spot where the sailing ship had been. There was nothing except flotsam now, boards burning on the dark, choppy water. Neither Goroth nor any of the other men aboard were anywhere to be seen, but something that looked like a severed arm floated by. Tolemek swallowed hard. He hadn’t meant... when he had chosen to walk away from his old friend, he hadn’t meant for it to end like this.
The black shape of a yacht rose from the water on the other side of the flotsam. It was wreathed in fog, the city lights hazy beyond it. Presumably Sardelle was somewhere on that dark ship and had been as much a part of that attack as her soulblade.
“What have you done?” Tolemek whispered. In a city of hundreds of thousands, how would he find that timer before it counted down to destruction?
Chapter 15
Cas watched Apex and Beeline on the runway before her, picking up speed as they headed for the edge of the cliff and the harbor beyond. She was inching along, waiting for the route to clear, and trying not to be alarmed by the rocking of the flier as gales swept across the butte, tugging at her wings. The snow flying sideways through her vision and sticking to her goggles wasn’t nearly as alarming as the wind. The fliers might appear to be made of bronze, but that was just a coating. They were as lightweight as the engineers could make them, with the machine guns and the pilots being the heaviest part of the load. Taking off without crashing was going to be almost as challenging as landing without crashing. The number of propellers on the bottom of the harbor attested to the fact that countless pilots had stalled the engines or run into other trouble even on normal days. The squadron didn’t usually fly at night, much less in storms. This was madness.
But the pirate ships had come into view, veering in from the north and angling toward the city. A massive dark shadow on the horizon had to be the outpost. The pirates were just as mad as the Iskandians for flying in these conditions.
Cas reminded herself that she had been eager to come out here—no one would have faulted her for staying on the ground tonight—and she tried to ignore the fact that her hands were already sweaty in her gloves. The flying had never come as naturally for her as the shooting—in flight school, she had thrown up more than once learning maneuvers with names like the zoom loop or the corkscrew—but she had never been scared of being in a craft, either.
“Might have something to do with the fact that you crashed last time,” Cas muttered.
“That you, Ahn?” came Zirkander’s voice... out of her pocket.
Her hand flinched, and the wings responded with a dubious wobble. Her pocket—that was where she had stuffed the little blue crystal.
“Uh, yes,” she said, regaining control of the stick.
“Everything all right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good,” the colonel said. “I need you up here, second point. Wolf Squadron, we’re heading for the outpost. Lance, you and Tiger Squadron clean up the rest of the riffraff in the sky.”
The responding yes sirs came not only from Major Lance but from a dozen other mouths as well. Could everyone hear and speak to each other through those crystals? Wonderful. Cas made a vow not to talk to herself as much as usual. Before, the squadrons had always communicated with each other through hand signals and dips of the wings. She could see where this additional option would be useful, but it would take some getting used to. Nobody better start blathering in her ear—or from her pocket—when she was concentrating on a target.
She patted the side of the cockpit, hoping someone had thought to wedge a Mark 500 in there. She was the only pilot she knew of who used anything other than the guns mounted on the flier, but there were times when a sniper rifle was perfect for her. It wouldn’t be her rifle, lovingly zeroed to her eye, since that was at the bottom of the Seven Tides Strait, but it would do for the night. And, yes, there was the familiar outline of a Mark 500, strapped in as securely as she was.
Cas took a deep breath, drove the stick forward, and accelerated toward the cliff. As soon as the flier left the ground, the wind pummeled it, tearing at the wings as if they were frail kites. The nose sank, the choppy black waters below filling her view. Cas forced herself to ease back gently, making subtle movements, finding as much equilibrium as she could with the icy northern gale pushing her back toward the cliff. Snow blasted against her goggles and frosted her cheeks. It felt like they were flying at fifteen thousand feet instead of scant meters above the harbor. With the propeller roaring in front of her, she couldn’t hear the creaks and groans of the cables, but felt them through the stick, sensing the craft straining against the air currents. She skimmed above the water for a moment—the wind was calmer down there—then climbed up, angling for the position to W-83’s left, to join the others in formation above the nearest airships.
“Does anyone else think it was bloody inconsiderate of these pirates to attack during a snow storm?” someone asked.
People’s voices sounded tinny through the crystals, and Cas didn’t recognize every speaker immediately. She thought that was someone in Tiger Squadron.
“We’ll have to punish them for their impudence.” That must be Apex. Nobody else used words like impudence while concentrating on flying.
“Gonna be hard punishing anyone if my wings are scraped off all over the cliff. That wind is rough.”
Cas was glad she wasn’t the only one who’d had trouble. Even
now, flying straight was a challenge.
“Please, Duck, you can barely make that takeoff when the conditions are perfect. It’s becoming obvious why Goat Squadron transferred you.”
“It’s not my fault so many cliffs and so much water are involved here. Everyone knows, a flier is meant to take off from a field. All you have to look out for then are the ostriches and llamas.”
“That’s one rural field.”
The chitchat was relaxing Cas, though she still wasn’t sure how she felt about having the mess hall conversations going on when they were on their way into battle. She used her scarf to wipe her goggles and looked toward 83. Zirkander glanced over his shoulder in her direction—to make sure she was there? Of course she was there. She wasn’t going to let him down by falling apart after one stupid little crash. That hadn’t even been her fault. The battleship’s guns never would have caught her if the engine hadn’t stalled. She gave him the two-fingers-up salute. She was ready.
“We’re going in,” Zirkander said. “Mission essential talk only from here on out. Speculation on what Duck was doing in that field there to attract all those llamas and ostriches will have to wait until we land.”
Cas smirked. She had started to mind the wind beating at her wings a little less.
“Masser, Blazer, Crash, you’re with me,” Zirkander said. “We’re gunning for the balloons. The new ammo is in, incendiaries every fourth round. I don’t care how reinforced that material is; it shouldn’t stand a chance.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ahn, you know your job. Take out the gunners and the brass. Thasel and Pimples, watch her back.”
“I didn’t notice much brass on the pirate captains’ hats,” Cas said.
“Then look for the ugliest brutes on the platform. Those are probably the leaders.”
“Will do, sir.”
“Everyone else, take your opportunities and watch our asses from above,” Zirkander said. “You know I don’t like having pirates sniffing around back there.”