Balanced on the Blade's Edge

by Lindsay Buroker

  “Nobody else knows about the days off I’m due,” Sardelle said. “I had to make sure you got out.”

  “Of course. Very wise of you.”

  She eyed his pocket. “You have a lucky charm?”

  Zirkander lifted his chin. “Yes, I do. Good thing too. I needed luck today.”

  Sardelle raised an eyebrow. She wouldn’t have taken him for the superstitious sort.

  He gave her a sidelong look. “It’s not uncommon among pilots. We risk our lives every time we go out. When you’ve survived as many near misses as I have, you develop your rituals and beliefs, anything that might help things go right. You know it’s illogical, but you don’t want to tempt fate.” He shrugged. “One of the kids in my squad kisses each of his flier’s six guns before climbing into the cockpit, even if we’re actively being fired upon at the time. Another sniffs spearmint oil because he claims it clears his head. I have a little carving my dad made for me. That’s nothing crazy.”

  “I wasn’t judging you, Colonel.”

  “You raised your eyebrow in that way of yours. I know what that look means by now.”

  Er, she hadn’t realized it was such a signature expression for her. “Actually I think it’s sweet that you have a keepsake that your father gave you.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Sir,” someone called from behind, his voice turning the word into a couple of extra syllables as he slipped trying to climb.

  “Yes, Captain?” Zirkander released Sardelle’s wrist.

  The officer carried a leather bag. “Were you injured? Do you need treatment?”

  “I’m fine. I wasn’t down there long, but stay close. Others might not be so lucky.” Zirkander pointed at Sardelle’s shovel. “May I?”

  The captain—the medic, she presumed—frowned. Sardelle wanted to tell him to lie down and relax as well, but he took her shovel and climbed up the slope to join the others.

  A gun fired nearby, and Sardelle jumped. Smoke wafted from a rifle held by a soldier guarding one of the two mine shaft entrances that hadn’t been buried by the snow.

  “You will remain inside until the area out here is safe,” he growled.

  Zirkander looked back thoughtfully, then called a lieutenant over. “Tell any of those miners who want to come out and help dig that they can have the rest of the day off once we recover all of our people.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You, woman!” a soldier called from the snow pile. “Did you see where any others went under?”

  Sardelle climbed onto the slope and looked around thoughtfully. She knew exactly where the rest of the people were and how many feet of snow was mounded on them, but she didn’t want to appear too certain, on the off chance she could yet pass this off as keen observational skills and an understanding of mathematics.

  She was in the process of marking another spot when a chill washed over her that had nothing to do with the falling snow. A presence swept down from the mountains, something she recognized but had not expected to feel here. She paused to gaze in the direction the airship had disappeared. She couldn’t see anything except falling snow and the vague outline of the closest mountain, but she was certain… she wasn’t the only sorcerer out here.

  * * *

  Someone pressed a mug of steaming brown liquid into Ridge’s hand. “Coffee?” he asked.

  “Close, but stronger,” Captain Heriton said. “You look like the survivor of an alligator death roll, sir.”

  Ridge tugged his blanket more tightly about him and didn’t disagree. Any number of people had tried to get him to go inside and warm up, but he wouldn’t retreat while people were still being dug out of the snow. Granted, those buried in the avalanche had been retrieved and only the mine entrances remained to be cleared. He sipped from the mug, then twitched an eyebrow at the captain. “Stronger, as in alcoholic?”

  “I believe that’s the secret ingredient, yes. It’s a local drink.”

  Drinking on duty wasn’t allowed, especially when it wasn’t even noon yet, but the sweet liquid did have a bracing effect, warming him from the inside, something he could use at the moment. He doubted he had been buried in that snowdrift for more than ten minutes, but it had seemed an eternity. An eternity of dark lonely helplessness. When the scratches of the shovels had penetrated the snow, he could have danced and shrieked with delight… if he hadn’t been pinned, facedown in the ice.

  He knew he had Sardelle to thank for his swift retrieval, though he didn’t know how she had managed to find him—and so many others since then. Oh, Ridge had seen her walking across the slope, scribbling equations in a notepad, and measuring from points on the wall that hadn’t been devoured by snow, but he wasn’t sure he believed the show. Oh, well. Who was he to complain if it saved him and his men?

  After the last soldier had been pulled from the snow, Ridge had watched Sardelle retreat to the wall of a nearby building. She was gazing thoughtfully to the north. That was the direction in which the airship had disappeared, wasn’t it? He had been busy being buried in snow and hadn’t seen its final departure route. Someone had cheered him for striking it with that last rocket. Had he truly hit it? He hadn’t thought the range nearly far enough. He had been firing out of wistfulness rather than logic, hoping one of the explosions would alarm the pilot and that he would crash into one of those towering peaks.

  “Captain, what’s the status on the airship?” Ridge asked.

  “The balloon was ruptured with the last rocket. It flew off to the north and was losing altitude.”

  Ridge sucked in a breath. “Was it, now? Did anyone see it crash?”

  Heriton shook his head. “The snowfall was too thick. She was high up there too. If it crashed at all, it probably sailed several miles before striking down.”

  “So it could be smeared all over the side of a mountain right now?”

  “You’re… smiling, sir. You thinking to send a team out to look for survivors?”

  “Survivors? I suppose they could be handy, but I was thinking more of repairing the ship and claiming it for the fort.”

  “To what end?”

  “Gathering intel for one, but we’re fish in a basket sitting here. If we had an aircraft, we could at least meet intruders on their own footing. Right now, it’s too easy for them to avoid our ground weapons.” And Ridge could fly again… Granted, an airship was clumsy and bloated when compared to his dragon flier, but it would help keep him sane if he could escape to the skies once in a while. On scouting missions, of course. Nothing so frivolous as random cloud hopping. “If headquarters had any idea the Cofah were out here, they would send a squadron to defend this place, but until we can get the word back to them, acquiring an enemy airship is the best we can do.”

  “What if they don’t want to give it up?”

  “Well, we’ll have to determine that. If they crashed, they might be in bad shape. If they didn’t crash, or if they’re only slightly damaged, we can expect them to try again.”

  “That does seem likely.” Heriton eyed the mountaintops. They were wreathed in clouds, but that didn’t hide the amount of snow already up there, with more falling by the minute. Even now, more avalanches could be created from what was up there.

  “I don’t suppose there are any fliers hiding anywhere in the fort, are there?” Ridge would far prefer flying over to check on the airship, rather than marching, especially since they didn’t know where it had gone down—or even if it had gone down—but he knew even as he asked, that finding a flier here was highly unlikely.

  “No, sir. I think… I remember hearing about one that crashed into the other side of Galmok Mountain about ten years ago.” The captain waved vaguely. “They couldn’t get it flying again, so the crystal was salvaged, and it was left out there to rust.”

  A less than ideal option. “I’ll check on the airship first.”

  Ridge turned away, already thinking of men he might steal away for a trek across the mountainside.

  “You, sir?” Heriton a
sked, stopping him.

  “I’m not doing anything particularly useful here.” Ridge hefted the mug. “I think the fort can do without an alcohol-swilling, blanket-wrapped commander for a few hours.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, sir. If they crashed, and if they survived, they’re not going to be happy about their situation. I’m sure they’re all armed. Why don’t you let me fetch Sergeant Makt and his team?”

  “Are any of them pilots?” Ridge knew they weren’t—almost everyone here was infantry. He was the logical choice for salvaging an airship, if it could be salvaged, and knowing whether it could be made airworthy.

  Heriton scowled. “No, sir, but—”

  Ridge lifted a hand. “I’ll be careful, Captain. Your concern for me is touching though.”

  “I just don’t want to be left in charge,” Heriton grumbled. “Running the base would interfere with my ability to finish organizing the archives.”

  Ridge smiled. “Your disgruntlement is noted. I’m going to change clothes and see if I can find some snowshoes. Send those infantry fellows up to my office anytime. I’m not above cowering behind hulking young men if trouble comes along.”

  Heriton looked at the snow-smothered fortress wall where the rocket launcher had once been. “Somehow, I don’t believe that, sir.”

  Ridge waved, then headed across the courtyard toward his office. Now that he was determined to go, he wanted to leave as soon as possible, in the hope that they could hike out there and back before dark. A lot of years had passed since his cold-weather survival training at Fort Brisklebell—or Fort Brisk Balls, as the men called it.

  A familiar raven-haired woman jogged over to walk next to him. “You’re going out there? After the airship?”

  “Were you eavesdropping?” Ridge asked.

  Sardelle took a moment to consider her answer—she did that quite often—then said, “I was standing nearby when you were discussing your plans in a normal tone of voice in an open area.”

  “So… not eavesdropping?”

  “Correct.”

  “If we had lowered our voices, would it then have been eavesdropping?” Ridge asked.

  “Possibly.” Sardelle looked up at him. They had almost reached his office building. “I’d like to go with you.”

  Ridge stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “What? Why?”

  If anything, he would have expected her to use his absence to snoop around, perhaps examine that map more thoroughly.

  “I… believe it might be more dangerous than you think out there,” Sardelle said.

  “Oh?”

  That made it seem even more unlikely that she would want to go.

  “It’s just a feeling.” She shrugged. “A hunch. Don’t you ever get hunches when you’re out there flying?”

  “Yes. I get hunches when dealing with inscrutable blue-eyed women too.” Ridge laid a hand on her shoulder before she could comment. “Stay here where it’s safe—” he glanced at the mountain of snow in the fort, “—safe-ish.”

  Sardelle’s eyes narrowed with… determination? He couldn’t quite read the emotion, but she didn’t object further when he left her outside, so he could jog in and pack. Ridge decided that, despite what Heriton believed, he would indeed let those muscular infantry boys go first. He couldn’t imagine why Sardelle wanted to go, but given that he had watched her point out the spot where every single man had been buried in the snow, he believed her hunches were worth worrying about.

  Chapter 6

  Gathering supplies was easy—Sardelle told the people who asked that she was doing it for Zirkander—even if all of the snowshoes had clearly been designed for men much larger than she. Getting out of the fort… that would be harder. There were more soldiers shoveling snow away from the mine entrances than there were standing watch on the ramparts, but there were still eyes in the towers overlooking the main gate, a big iron gate with hinges that squealed like a dying pig when opened.

  That’s probably intentional. To let everyone know when someone is trying to sneak out.

  I’m sure I can quiet them. And unlock them. It’s walking out under the noses of those guards that will be hard to do without being seen.

  Seen and caught. You’re not the most agile person on snowshoes.

  Thank you, Jaxi.

  Remember the ice dragon sculpting competition? Where you knocked over the table… along with all of the entries?

  No.

  Truly? I can refresh your memory if you wish, send the details of—

  Not necessary. Sardelle stood at the corner of the administration building, watching as Zirkander and his team headed out. They wore snowshoes, carried trekking poles, and wore their weapons on their backs along with stuffed packs—they must believe they might have to spend the night out there.

  Sardelle thought about trying to slip in at the end, but even with the snowfall, there was no way those alert soldiers wouldn’t notice her. The gate clanged shut. She would give them ten minutes before following, long enough to walk away from the fort and enter the trees. Long enough for the men on watch to return to whatever card or dice games they might be playing.

  They’re not. They’re standing by the windows attentively.

  Truly?

  Yes. They’re depressingly faithful to their duties. Maybe they want to look good for the colonel.

  Sardelle flexed her fingers inside her mittens and let her own senses drift toward the towers. One man stood in each of the ones closest to the gates. They were the main people she needed to worry about. She could either distract them or tweak their thoughts, so they wouldn’t remember seeing her. That would require a delicate touch, though, and it would be difficult to do to two people at a time… not to mention the sketchy morality.

  Just give them rashes.

  That thought… did cross my mind. But perhaps something less painful this time… Sardelle closed her eyes and examined the interiors of the towers. Both had stairs spiraling up to wooden floors at the top where the soldiers stood. The lower level of each tower held a big cast iron stove with neat stacks of firewood under the stairs. A little smoke might do for one, but for two? Too much of a coincidence. In the left tower, a hint of life other than that of the soldier’s made her investigate between the floorboards. A family of rats staying warm for the winter. Perhaps they would enjoy a little exercise…

  You’re not a sorcerer, you’re a prankster.

  Sardelle snorted. You say that as if you don’t approve. I’m sure you’re down there, roasting some chestnuts to snack on while you watch this.

  Possibly.

  Sardelle closed the flue on the stove first. She waited until the soldier in that tower started crinkling his nose before sending the rats out from beneath the floor in the second. Soon, a family of six was scampering around the soldier’s legs. He cursed and tried swatting at them with his sword before hunting around for a broom. In the other tower, the guard was jogging down the stairs to investigate the stove.

  “Time to go,” she murmured, and glanced around the courtyard to make sure there wasn’t anyone inside looking her way. The snow, which was falling more heavily than ever, made it hard to tell. So long as it made things hard for other people too.

  She strode across the packed snow, waved a hand to disengage the lock on the gate, and muffled the squeak of the hinges. After closing it behind her, she strode onto the trail Zirkander’s team had left, her snowshoes tucked under her arm. Even with the unwieldy things attached to their boots, the soldiers had sunk down several inches in the fresh powder. Autumn calendar date or not, there had to be at least three feet already snuggled up to the fortress walls.

  A quick check showed that the soldier in the stove tower had figured out the flue was the problem. His comrade was still chasing rats, but he would be back at his post shortly. Even with the trail broken, Sardelle floundered in the deep snow as she tried to reach the trees before witnesses showed up. The fortress occupied the only level land in the tiny valley, and she
was already angling down a slope. Maybe she should have put her snowshoes on in the courtyard, but that would have been hard to explain if someone spotted her.

  Half running and half floundering and flailing, Sardelle reached the first of the trees. She put several more of the ancient evergreens behind her before stopping to put on the snowshoes. She readjusted her pack and wiped sweat from her brow.

  “I’ve gone a hundred meters, and I’m already thinking about a nap.”

  Hm? I’m sorry, I wasn’t listening. Watching your friend run around after the rats is indeed entertaining.

  The most excitement you’ve seen in three hundred years?

  Sadly so. The world is dreadfully boring when you’re not awake.

  I’ll take that as a compliment.

  A cold wind whistled across the hillside, whipping at Sardelle’s damp skin. She pulled her cap low over her eyes and wrapped her scarf up to her nose, then pushed away from the tree and headed down the trail. The soldiers would probably walk faster than she could, even breaking the trail. She didn’t want to catch up with them anyway—explaining her presence and why she had disobeyed Zirkander wouldn’t be fun. All she wanted was to be close enough to help if the sorcerer she had sensed attacked the team.

  Are you sure you want to help against someone who might be… a distant relative?

  If he’s Cofah, he’s no relative of mine.

  Not technically true. Their ancestors are the same as yours, back from the dragon-riding days when mages were flying around the world and colonizing it as easily as… well, as easily as they can do today in their airships, I suppose.

  I know, Jaxi, but the Cofah were trying to take over our homeland three centuries ago, and that doesn’t seem to have changed. Whoever is out there isn’t anyone I have anything in common with.

  Except magic. Would a day come when she would grow so lonely for her own kind, for those she could speak openly with about the mental arts, that she might seek out sorcerers on other continents, continents that had either never suffered a purge or could boast more survivors from that time period? If so… it wasn’t today. She certainly wasn’t going to stand aside and let Zirkander get hurt. He was… she didn’t know what he was to her exactly, but she knew she didn’t want to see him wounded—or worse.