Your head doesn’t need to be fixed, the ever-present voice said.
If General Ort finds out I’m having conversations with myself, he’ll worry I’m not fit to command troops. He might take me out of the sky. Ridge’s stomach churned at the thought.
Who would fight the dragons?
Puppies. No, that wasn’t fair. His young officers were good and certainly qualified to fight for the country. He just couldn’t imagine them doing it without him.
I could speak to your general in his head too.
I see. Would sharing my insanity with him make him more or less likely to think fondly of me?
You’ll have to answer that. I don’t know him that well.
Don’t you? Ridge rubbed his head. The only explanation for this voice that he could imagine was that he had subconsciously created it somehow, perhaps because of his head injury. But it should know everything he knew, if that were the case.
It would be foolish of him to remove you from the defensive team of this nation.
He started to respond with a thank-you for the rare compliment, but then realized he would be thanking himself, if his hypothesis was correct.
If nothing else, it will be good to get back to town, so General Ort can fill me in on what I’ve been missing, Ridge thought. And maybe there would be no need to mention the voice...
His mother might know something, too, depending on when he had last visited her. Having a gaping hole in his memory would still be uncomfortable, but it could be worse. What if he didn’t even remember who he was?
This flier you seek, will it have room for two?
Uhm. Ridge eyed Mara out of the corner of his eye. She had led the way since leaving the last village, but she rode at his side now, the afternoon sun gleaming on her blonde hair. He hadn’t forgotten that he’d promised to take her to the capital with him, even if he had forgotten how exactly he’d allowed himself to agree to that. I didn’t ask.
She wishes to go with you.
I know.
I feel I should warn you, when men break their word to her, it doesn’t usually go well for them.
What did that mean? I wasn’t planning to break my word. We’ll figure something out. If she wants to see the capital, that’s fine. I owe her that much.
You owe her... less than you think.
Pardon?
Forgive me. She would not wish me to speak so bluntly to you.
What? Why? What is she to you?
The voice did not respond. Ridge wished he could figure out a way to shoo it out of his head. If not for its presence, he might have believed he had fully healed from his injuries, aside from the troubling memory gap, but he continued to worry that having his subconscious split into another personality indicated that his head might not be the quick fix he hoped.
Mara shifted in her saddle, her gaze turning toward the woods on the left side of the road. Her leg brushed his leg again, either inadvertently or not. She had been riding close and giving him speculative looks often. She hadn’t tried to kiss him again—he had asked for separate rooms for them last night and been thankful for their hosts’ generosity. The mayor and his wife had lent them the two horses as well as the two rooms. Someone had, however, knocked on his door after the lights in the house had been out. He couldn’t know if it had been Mara, but he had feigned sleep and the person had gone away.
“Someone is watching us,” Mara announced.
“Oh?” Ridge hadn’t heard anything other than birds alongside the road, but he was no woodsman.
“I also believe someone may have been sent ahead to warn the other village that we’re coming,” Mara said. “Earlier, I sensed a runner on a trail that seemed like it might be a shortcut to this road.”
“You sensed?”
That was a curious way to say it. Did that mean she had heard someone?
“Yes.” Mara touched her ear. “Do you have any reason to believe anyone in that village may have mistrusted you or wanted harm to come to you?”
“No. I don’t think you usually lend horses to people you mistrust.”
“Perhaps they wished harm to come to me,” Mara said, her voice dropping to a whisper.
“I doubt it. You barely said three words to anyone.”
Mara eased her horse closer and handed the reins to him. “Watch this animal for me. I’m going to investigate.”
Before he could decide if he wanted to object, she slid off and trotted into the woods.
“I believe her name is Maloof,” Ridge called after her. His was a feisty mare named Petty that gave the other one a suspicious side-eyed look whenever it came too close. Such as now. She bared her teeth, and Maloof shifted as far away as she could while Ridge held the reins. “Females,” he muttered with a sigh.
He watched the woods while waiting for Mara to return. It crossed his mind that she might not return before he reached the village and that he might be able to slip away in the flier before she caught up. But no, he had promised to take her, and he did not want some vengeful mountain woman stalking him to the city to make his life strange. Stranger.
Wise choice, the voice said. Besides, she believes a dragon might be following us. You are unarmed and without a means to fly away. You would be an easy meal for a dragon.
A dragon? Even though he had seen the burned barn and heard the stories of the villagers, Ridge still wasn’t positive he believed that some dragon from the olden days had appeared to raze the land. I didn’t think she knew anything about the dragon.
She never said that.
Didn’t she? Ridge tried to remember.
The horses rounded a bend, and several riders came into view, bearded men in simple clothing, with hunting rifles or bows thrusting from carriers on their saddles. There were six of them, and even though they stood about, chatting and apparently having some meeting, they were blocking the road. They also had a toughness about them, with thick arms and broad shoulders. Ridge kept riding forward, but the reminder that he didn’t have any weapons of his own came to mind. They looked like a group out for a hunt, but they could be bandits, too, or men who might take the opportunity to become bandits when presented with unarmed prey. Not that he had anything to steal. Except the horses.
Several faces swiveled toward him. He lifted a hand and offered a friendly wave.
“It’s him,” one cried, a toothy grin splitting his beard. He waved back so fiercely, he was in danger of falling from his horse.
Ridge decided to find that encouraging.
“Hello,” he said as he drew nearer. Petty nickered and seemed uncomfortable at approaching strange horses, but the other one tried to surge ahead, as if she thought the men might be carrying apples in their pockets.
“General Zirkander,” one of the older men said, lifting his fur cap in greeting and revealing brown hair shot with gray. “We heard you were coming. Colonel Mayford sent us out to welcome you and bring you to our humble town.”
“I appreciate that.” Ridge maneuvered Petty close enough to clasp the man’s wrist. He’d never worked with a Colonel Mayford, but from the mayor’s description of a wild white-haired man with a cane, he suspected Mayford may have retired before Ridge had been old enough to enter flight school.
“We heard you were fighting the dragon,” a younger man blurted, his blue eyes gleaming above a blond beard.
“Yeah, I’ve heard that too.”
“Will you share some stories tonight? The colonel—he’s a retired pilot, you know—has got his wife and granddaughters planning a feast.”
“Always happy to share stories.” So long as Ridge didn’t have to talk about dragons he’d never seen. He hoped he could get away with sharing some battles about pirates and Cofah invaders. “Especially if there’s a feast to be enjoyed.”
“We have a brewery too. Known all through the foothills for our black bear stouts.”
“That’s the best news I’ve heard all week.” True, Ridge would rather jump straight into the flier and head home—even tho
ugh he liked a beer as much as the next man—but he could manage a few hours with the locals if they were willing to lend him a flier.
“And, ah, your traveling companion is welcome to come too.” The leader pointed past Ridge’s shoulder.
Mara was walking toward them, her chin up, her face difficult to read. Maybe she knew he had been contemplating leaving her behind.
“Though my little sister will be disappointed if you show up with a woman,” the blond man said with a laugh.
Mara vaulted onto her horse without using the stirrup and accepted the reins, clasping his hand for a moment and smiling at him. No, he wasn’t going to get away with leaving her behind.
“This way,” the leader said and nudged his horse into a trot.
Ridge and Mara followed the group down the road for another mile and then onto a dirt lane that meandered along a stream lined with aspens. The smell of yeast lingered in the air, promising the brewery was in use.
When they reached the village, which was three or four times larger than the last one, claiming two main streets rather than one, it seemed that the entire populace was out in a field in front of a barn, milling around tables and a bonfire. A cheer went up and people waved enthusiastically.
Mara gave Ridge an incredulous look. “Is it like this everywhere you go?”
“Not in the capital, but I think people in small towns have fewer entertainment options and like an excuse to have festivities.” As much as Ridge appreciated the townsfolk’s enthusiasm, his gaze was drawn to the barn doors. They stood open, and he thought he caught a glint of metal inside. The flier? His heart sped up and not just at the thought that he could go home. It was silly, but he missed flying, even if it had only been a week or two weeks—he still didn’t know how long he had been unconscious—since his last flight.
One would think you would be terrified to go up in one of those contraptions again, the voice in his head said, the tone somewhere between dry, incredulous, and admiring.
Ridge stiffened in his saddle, fixating on the words rather than the tone. One of those contraptions? How odd that his subconscious would call a flier such an ignoble thing. He looked over at Mara, as if she might have an explanation—he wasn’t sure why, since he hadn’t mentioned the voice to her.
She was too busy glowering down at a flock of women and children running to greet the riders. A boy of nine or ten ran up to Ridge’s horse, offering to take the reins.
He handed them over and slid down, giving the boy a pat on the shoulder while searching the crowd for a white-haired man with a cane. He spotted the fellow sitting in a chair by the barn door, his cane hooked on one of the armrests. Ridge responded to greetings and gave waves and handshakes but made his way to the man.
Mayford stood up and offered his hand.
“Good to meet you, Colonel,” Ridge said, resisting the urge to crane his neck and peer into the barn. He wondered what model of flier it was. He’d flown some of the old ones, including the museum pieces, and knew he could handle anything. It would even be fun to pilot a relic.
“General,” Mayford said. “That’s my beauty in there. I reckon you’ll want to take a look at her. I flew her in Frog Squadron forty years ago, though I’ve heard Frog is no more.”
“I think they just renamed it, sir,” Ridge said. “Someone decided we should have fiercer names to drive fear into the hearts of our enemies.”
“Back then, we were lucky if our fliers could hop over puddles without needing to land for repairs.” Mayford grinned.
A young woman came up and foisted a mug of beer into Ridge’s hand. Mayford took him into the barn for a tour, patting the flier, which appeared to have been meticulously maintained—not an iota of dust besmirched the fuselage.
To his surprise, old Rawlens machine guns were mounted above the simple controls. If he remembered his history, they had been the first ones with an interrupter gear to keep the bullets from hitting the propeller blades. Before that, shooting from the cockpit had been a gamble, from what he’d heard.
Grinning, Ridge ran a hand along the nose. “I can’t believe they let you keep the guns.”
“Why not? They were outdated by the time I retired. I’ve even got some ammo left if you think you might run into dragons on the way back.” Mayford gave the flier another loving pat. “The real challenge was walking away with a power crystal. Even though I paid a hefty price for it, I had to blackmail my old C.O. for it. It helped that I’d saved the king’s life a few years earlier. The old king. Angulus’s daddy.”
“There is only one seat,” Mara said coolly, making Ridge jump.
He hadn’t realized she had followed him into the barn.
“Yup, she’s one of the originals.” Mayford gave Mara a friendly smile, but she was too busy frowning at Ridge to notice. “Miss, you can stay here with us for a while, if you like. We can always use an extra hand in the orchards.”
Mara’s eyebrows flew upward. “Orchards?”
“Yes, miss. Rows of trees that grow fruit. You might have seen them before.”
Ridge snorted. The sarcastic streak must have been cultivated in pilots from the flier squadrons’ earliest days.
“I told her I’d take her back to the capital with me for a visit,” Ridge admitted. “I suppose I could fly home and bring a couple of pilots and fliers back. We’d need to return your craft, anyway, and I could pick you up then, Mara.”
“I will go with you,” she said.
“She’s small enough, maybe you could fly with her in your lap,” Mayford suggested.
“That sounds... distracting,” Ridge said.
Mayford looked Mara up and down, his expression just short of a leer. He winked at Ridge. “I’d think so, yes.”
Mara either didn’t notice or didn’t mind the leer. Her expression softened, and she linked her arm with Ridge’s. “Yes, I will fly to the capital in your lap with you. I can’t wait to meet the king.”
“Meet?”
That hadn’t been her original request. Ridge frowned, looking toward Mayford, as if he might offer support. But the lap idea had been his, and all he did was wink at Ridge again, give him a swat on the back, and say, “Enjoy the festivities, General.”
• • • • •
Tolemek stood still as the guards searched him, doing his best not to seethe as his vials, canisters, and jars were removed from his pockets and tossed onto a table without enough care. If something broke open and ate through the table, the wood floor, the platforms underneath their elevated building, and finally to the swampy water below, he would do nothing to help. The two men patting him down were less casual when they removed the grenades from their loops on his utility belt. Apparently, those looked enough like weapons to warrant care.
Kaika, who had already been searched and placed in a cell behind him, had left a pile of weapons, explosives, fuses, and detonators even higher than his pile. Quataldo had not been captured, and the guards hadn’t indicated that they had noticed him, so Tolemek held some hope of being rescued before the night was out, but he couldn’t help but feel they had bungled the mission to the point of being unsalvageable. How were they supposed to sneak in and kidnap the emperor now? Even if they escaped, the city would be on high alert. Already, he could hear people running past on the elevated boardwalks outside the police headquarters. Distant shouts sounded. He couldn’t understand the words.
After the guards finished removing his gear and weapons, they pushed Tolemek past the tree trunk that rose through the center of the room and into the same cell as Kaika. She barely acknowledged him. Her ear was tilted toward a small open window. It was too high on the wall for Tolemek to see anything more than leaves rustling in the treetop that held this building, but maybe she could understand the shouts outside. Not that Tolemek thought he needed a translation. He suspected everyone was yelling about intruders in the city and increasing the guards on patrol.
One guard remained once the search was done, and Kaika and Tolemek were secured beh
ind bars. Tolemek could have eaten through those bars with one of the formulas on the table, but it lay more than ten feet away.
Tolemek leaned his back to the gate. “Any chance you can seduce that fellow?” he whispered.
One of Kaika’s eyebrows rose. “Is that what you think elite forces troops do?”
Tolemek thought of Colonel Quataldo and couldn’t imagine the man seducing his own wife. “I thought it was what you do.”
“Were you talking to Zirkander about me at some point?”
“No. Your reputation precedes you. From numerous fronts.”
“How flattering.” Kaika rolled up the sleeves of her jacket and buttoned them above her elbows. She, too, leaned against the bars, her back to the guard. “Before we worry about our company, let me fill you in on the conversation they didn’t bother hiding from me.”
“Yes?”
He watched her hands as their conversation continued. Either from her sleeve or from somewhere under it, she produced a small hook with a curved tip.
“They think we’re Cofah insurgents here to do something to upset the wedding.”
“Because of your fake accent?”
“And your face. I’m not too pale to pass for a Cofah, but you’re too tan to look like an Iskandian. Plus you have the big Cofah nose.” She extricated a second pin, this time with a straight tip, from the other sleeve. “I can’t believe they didn’t bother stripping us.”
“Big nose? My nose is perfectly normal for my face.”
“For a Cofah face. Move your butt over.” Kaika nudged Tolemek with a hip when he did not ease to the side of the gate quickly enough.
“You’re a very physical woman, aren’t you?” Tolemek asked, aware of the guard watching them. He assumed she wanted to pick the lock. Maybe if they kept talking, the guard wouldn’t pay much attention to her hands. He did not know if the man understood their language, but he would keep his voice low and assume he might.
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