Before he could think to celebrate, he spotted the Cofah hovering directly over the fort. Cannonballs blasted upward at the wooden hull, but impossibly they bounced off. The sky burned beneath the airship, lit up like an inferno as it spat a hailstorm of flames down onto the courtyard and walls.
“What the—” Ridge shook his head. Whatever weapon that was, he couldn’t identify it. All he knew was that his people were in trouble.
14
Sardelle crept down the hallway toward the front door of the prison building. She had left the young guard slumped on the floor outside her cell, snoozing in a deep slumber. It would take a cannon going off in his ear to wake him. Making him drowsy had taken time, but it had been a better alternative than giving him a rash.
Missing Jaxi’s usual commentary on the subject, Sardelle cracked open the door to peer into the courtyard. It was surprisingly empty.
A cannon boomed from atop the wall, and she had her answer as to why. The fort was under attack.
Usually, she wouldn’t root for that, but it gave her the opportunity she needed. She didn’t have to throw illusions around or camouflage herself to trot unnoticed to the headquarters building. She did falter for a moment when she realized the dragon flier wasn’t perched near the creek as it had been for days. A hasty sweep of the fort revealed that Ridge wasn’t around either. The buzz of a flier’s propellers drifted on the breeze, and she spotted the craft near the mountains south of the fort, a dark shadow against the snowy peaks. At first, she couldn’t guess why he was there when the airship was floating in from the north. Then she spotted a second shadow. That shaman’s overgrown owl.
Sardelle chomped on her lip, torn between going for her sword and trying to help Ridge from there. Seeing a soldier jogging down the stairs from the wall and turning in her direction made up her mind. He was heading toward the armory, but he would see her if she didn’t duck inside. She pushed through the door, vowing to return shortly. With Jaxi’s help, she would be able to do more damage, maybe even stop that shaman, not just his pet. She prayed Ridge could survive against the owl for a few minutes on his own.
Sardelle jogged straight up to Ridge’s—now the general’s—office without seeing anyone. It was so easy that she paused with her hand on the knob, half suspecting a trap. No, she didn’t believe Ridge would do that to her. It was more that she worried she would open the door and find Jaxi had been moved. What if the general, knowing the soulblade’s value, had taken it with him when he ran out to command the fort defense?
“Look first before worrying,” Sardelle grumbled, and tried to turn the knob. It was locked. Well, someone must have had her in mind.
An explosion sounded. It hadn’t come from the cannons on the wall but from somewhere above, and she sensed the approach of dozens of people—and one shaman. He wasn’t talking to her this time. Maybe he was up to something more important. Like planning how to raze the fortress, destroy her, and take Jaxi.
“Not happening.”
Another boom rang out. The floor quaked beneath her feet, and for a moment, she clutched her chest, remembering the disaster in the tunnels below. Something clanked to the floor on the other side of the door. The sword case? That brought her back to the moment, filled her with urgency.
Sardelle’s first thought had been to carefully disable the lock, but with the Cofah floating ever closer, she simply blasted the hinges off the door. Let the general scratch his head over that later.
The office hadn’t changed much, and she spotted the out-of-place iron box on top of a bookcase right away. Several books and a filing cabinet drawer had been dumped to the floor from the quakes, but the long box remained in place. When she climbed on the desk to reach it, it reminded her of the day she had walked in on Ridge cleaning, and another twinge of worry for him ran through her. She tugged the box down, hardly caring that it was too heavy for her. She let it clank to the floor, jumped down, and tried to tug it open. Of course it was locked. She hissed in frustration at all the delays and tore off another set of hinges. The general wouldn’t know if a sorceress or a tornado had swept into his office.
Sardelle yanked open the lid on the box.
It’s about time.
She sank to her knees on the floor in relief. After three hundred years of being trapped, that half hour shouldn’t have fazed you.
It was well over an hour, thank you.
There was a piece of paper tied around the blade. Sardelle yanked it free, opened it, and found an address. She snorted. Nax had the blade all ready to ship off to some military research facility, did he?
Cannons boomed outside the window. Reminded that Ridge and the rest of the fort were in trouble, Sardelle stuffed the paper in her pocket, grabbed the soulblade, and raced back into the hallway. At the bottom of the stairs, she thrust open the front door and almost ran into a rain of fire.
The air sizzled with heat—and magic. Screams of pain erupted on the ramparts.
“Cover,” someone cried, “find cover!”
“Stay where you are, soldier!” That was General Nax. Bastard.
Sardelle backed into the doorway to give herself a moment to think. A shield. That was what they needed. Yes.
Around the whole fort?
It has to be. Sardelle took a deep breath and concentrated. She created a translucent dome, so subtle that the fiery rain continued through it at first, slowed down but not extinguished. Gradually, she added more energy until the burning pellets bounced off instead of falling through.
Someone cheered from the wall. She doubted the soldier had any idea what was going on, other than the fact that fire wasn’t falling onto his head, but Sardelle let herself feel bolstered—appreciated—nonetheless.
They’re going to want to shoot through your shield. In fact, they’re about to try now.
Sardelle grimaced. Ricocheting cannonballs would not be good. Let me see if I can tinker with it and—
I’ll handle it. You look for a way to deal with the shaman. He’ll know right where we are now.
Understood.
She would have preferred to search for Ridge and see how he was doing with that owl, but the shaman had to be the priority.
He found her first. With a mental attack. Something like a harpoon blasted into her mind. Pressure erupted from it, until her eyeballs felt like they would burst from her head. Sardelle dropped to a knee, pressing her fist into the cold earth for support. If not for Jaxi, the shield would have fallen. For a moment, all Sardelle could focus on was building her own shield, one around herself, one that could repel his attack. She gathered the strength to thrust him away, to return the assault, but paused before deploying it.
What if she played dead? Lured him down? She couldn’t physically touch him as long as he was up on that ship, but if he came down, looking for Jaxi…
Yes, use me as bait. We invaluable swords love that.
Sardelle’s head was still throbbing—if she fought him off completely, he would get a feel for how much power she had, and he wouldn’t come down—but she managed a quick response. Who told you that you were invaluable?
All of the truly wise people who have known me. Go on. Crumple to the ground with theatrical flair. I won’t give you away.
Sardelle opted for slumping against the doorjamb. She quieted her mind, as if she were unconscious. The attack continued to batter at her, but she gritted her teeth and endured it. If this didn’t work in the next few seconds, though, she was going to get angry and start looking for ways to rip his hinges off, whether he was a hundred meters above her or not.
The flames have stopped, Jaxi reported. Should I drop the shield?
Yes, he’ll be distracted with me for the moment. She hoped. Besides, to further the illusion, she had to stop doing anything that showed off her power. Just be prepared to raise it again.
Got it.
Then the shaman was probing her, the mental equivalent of checking her pulse at her throat. Neither she nor Jaxi thought a word lest he feel i
t. The sensation of letting him investigate without putting up defensive shields was like having ants crawling all over her skin, but she endured it, as she had the pain.
Eventually, he withdrew. The cannons were firing again—both from the fort and the ship—but Sardelle and the shaman had other concerns.
He’s coming.
Flying? Sardelle had never heard of a sorcerer who could, at least not without the help of some sort of apparatus. Or did someone drop a rope? Was the airship close enough for that? Surely the soldiers would object.
He’s bringing down a hot air balloon. Must be the airship equivalent of a lifeboat.
Are our soldiers attacking it?
Jaxi paused. Yes, but the shaman is shielding it, just as you did, and he’s protecting the airship, too, though it looks like your flying friend did some damage before the shaman was prepared.
Ridge? Good. Sardelle felt a swell of pride for him. Though it quickly turned to worry. Would the shaman sense it if she stretched out, trying to locate him?
Stay still. He’s landed. And he’s walking this way.
Sardelle cracked an eyelid. She was surprised there weren’t any soldiers racing down from the walls to attack the shaman.
Ah, but he wasn’t alone. The bronze-skinned man who strode toward her in a cloak of black fur, his long white hair startling in contrast, was surrounded by no less than two dozen other men, shaven-headed Cofah warriors wielding short-swords and long double-barreled firearms that they shot one-handed from their hips. The soldiers inside the fort were shooting at them, but the shaman was shielding them.
Jaxi’s hilt grew warm, ready for a fight. You drew them in. Do you have a plan? I don’t think he’ll be bothered by a rash.
Sardelle’s plan had been to throw everything she had at the shaman and hope to take him by surprise, but if she could force his shield down, that might be enough. A sorcerer was as susceptible to bullets as the next person.
The Cofah warriors smiled as bullets bounced away from them and grew confident enough to launch their own attacks. They started shooting at the men on the walls. The shaman raised a hand toward the mountainside, and the doors Ridge had ordered built over the tram shafts flew open amongst squeals of metal.
Sardelle cursed at herself. Inviting the bastard down hadn’t been a good idea after all. If all those miners streamed out and started attacking their captors…
Time for her own attack. The shaman was less than ten meters away. Sardelle summoned her energy and blasted it at him, targeting his mind, just as he had done to her. She could only hope it was enough.
* * *
At first, Ridge had the airship in sight as he streaked across the sky, the wind tearing his eyes and scraping his cheeks raw. Then he saw the smaller balloon on the ground inside the fort, the bald Cofah troops striding across the courtyard in their crimson uniforms and cloaks. One distinctive white-haired figure at the center of their formation stood out. Ridge didn’t know who he was—or why his own people weren’t shooting those intruders—but had a feeling he was responsible for that fire that had been raining from the sky. Another sorcerer.
“Would have been nice if headquarters had had a clue about this ship,” he muttered, tipping the flier’s nose down to dive for that formation.
He fired, but realized the problem immediately. The bullets bounced off before striking the men. He adjusted his targeting, thinking he would blast a few holes in the ground next to the Cofah and see how well their invisible shielding protected them from heaving earth at their feet, but his finger froze on the trigger. Someone was crumpled on the ground in the doorway of the admin building. Sardelle.
Ridge swallowed—had she been shot retrieving that sword? Or had the shaman done something to her?
Necessity made him pull up, and she disappeared from his sight. Rage and fear formed a lump in his throat, and he almost missed the significance of a blast from overhead, a cannon firing. At him. It blazed past the cockpit, missing his wing by inches.
Ridge turned away from the fort, knowing he was all-too-well-lit by the fire and lanterns below. He aimed for high sky, though he kept the airship in the corner of his eye. If their sorcerer protector was on the ground, maybe they would be more vulnerable to attack now. He had already done some damage. If he could bring the ship down, the Cofah would be stranded, sorcerer or not. As much as he wanted to tear into the fort to protect Sardelle, he never should have fired into the courtyard to start with. He risked hitting his own men that way. This was the more logical attack.
“I hate logic sometimes,” Ridge said, the wind stealing his words. Not that there was anyone there to hear them.
Once he was above the airship again, and they couldn’t target him so easily, he veered in close. He strafed the oblong balloon, delivering dozens of small holes. With luck, the bullets might chew up the frame inside too. Unfortunately, those little holes wouldn’t bring the craft down anytime soon.
Something streaked out of the dark sky and slammed into the front of the cockpit. He jerked back. The owl, he realized at the same moment as its unworldly shriek blasted his ears.
He banked hard, trying to hurl it off the flier. If not for his harness, he might have hurled himself out. The cursed magical bird hung on, its wings beating around the cockpit, keeping Ridge from seeing anything clearly. He glimpsed the balloon of the airship, approaching quickly. He tried to pull up, but that giant owl was either pushing down on the nose somehow or it weighed as much as another person.
Something rolled against Ridge’s foot as he twisted and turned, trying to buck the owl free.
“What now?” he growled.
Then he remembered Bosmont’s comment. Since he needed to duck a slashing talon anyway, he bent down and patted around his feet. He grasped something that felt like a cannonball. That didn’t make any sense. He slapped at the switch that uncovered the crystal in the back, and light blazed forth.
The owl squawked and let go, flapping off to the side of the flier.
“Ten layers of hell, if I’d known it hated light, I would have tried that first.” Ridge didn’t give a whit that the glowing crystal would make him an easier target for the airship, not if it kept that demon bird away. He needed to see what his engineer had given him too. It was lighter than a cannonball, even if it had the same shape, and a wick stuck out of the top.
“Not a wick, idiot, a fuse.” Ridge laughed. Bosmont had made him some bombs.
His first thought was that a bomb dropped onto the top of that balloon would definitely rip a big enough hole to bring the airship down. But the owl veered in again, its huge wings blotting out the stars. The light of the crystal might have startled it, but it had recovered.
“Let’s see how he likes bombs.”
Keeping one hand on the controls, Ridge unfastened the lid of the storage box next to his seat, and fished out the flashlamp used for lighting emergency flares. He thumbed the trigger on the side, and flint snapped against steel, producing a tiny flame. He jammed the bomb between his legs to hold it and hoped Bosmont knew what he was doing and that it wouldn’t go off prematurely. He waited before lighting it, knowing it would take a lot of luck to catch that owl. From the length of the fuse, he judged he would have about four seconds before the bomb exploded.
The creature had disappeared for the moment. Maybe it knew what he intended. Ridge craned his neck in all directions and up, knowing death often came from above in aerial fights, and he was rewarded. He spotted the owl diving down at him from above, plummeting for a kill.
Ridge lit the fuse, grabbed the bomb, then waited, counting. The flier shimmied and jerked, needing two hands on the controls, especially now that it had taken damage.
“Just give me one more second, girl,” he muttered.
He threw the bomb at the owl, as it extended its talons to grip the top of the cockpit again, or maybe to grip the top of Ridge’s head. Whatever its intent, having a metal ball hurled at its face altered its plan. Ridge expected the bomb to strike
it and bounce off—he was hoping he had timed it so it would explode before it bounced far—but the owl reacted by snapping its beak down. It caught the bomb in its mouth.
Ridge fought the urge to gape in surprise, instead taking the flier down, knowing he had to put distance between himself and that bomb before—
It erupted with a great flash of orange and yellow, and with a boom that rivaled that of the cannons firing below. The shock made the flier buck, but Ridge got away before any shrapnel hit him. For a moment, feathers filled the sky, as if a pillow had exploded.
Ridge blew out a relieved breath but went straight to his next target. The airship. He felt around with his foot. Hadn’t Bosmont said he had packed a couple of those little gifts? To keep Ridge warm? Yes, there was another. He fished it out, setting it in his lap again. That would never cease to make him nervous, but nobody had thought to mount a bomb holder in the cockpit.
The flier fought him, and he didn’t know how many more runs he would have, but he angled it skyward again. If he could take out the airship, surely the men below could do the rest. Sorcerer or not.
As he climbed, Ridge peered into the fort, wondering about Sardelle, wondering if…
This time, he did let his mouth fall open in a gape. Sardelle was on her feet in the middle of the courtyard, her sword blazing with an intense golden light that had to be hurting the eyes of anyone nearby. Except for that white-haired man in the furs… He was facing her, his hand outstretched, some sort of red mist pouring from his fingers. Ridge had no idea what was going on—or who was winning—and as much as he wanted to help her, he was glad to be far above. He would much rather deal with the airship than magic.
Around Sardelle and the enemy sorcerer, Cofah warriors were engaged with the fort defenders in close combat. Ridge’s people had numbers and ought to have the advantage, but someone had opened the mine doors, and miners were streaming out, pickaxes in hand. There was no telling which side of the fray they would join. With that balloon on the ground, they would have to see an escape opportunity. They might simply brain anyone they crossed and sprint for freedom.
Beginnings: Five Heroic Fantasy Adventure Novels Page 105