With a jolt, he realized that might be the exact case. Could she search for Angulus with more than her eyes?
“General?” the captain asked again, focusing his frown on Ridge. “Are you... you?”
What was Ridge supposed to say to that? With his missing memories, he wasn’t sure he could honestly answer that with a yes. His hesitation seemed to worry the guards, because they shifted their weight and traded uneasy glances.
“More or less,” Ridge said and tried a smile. He was, after all, known for his irreverence. “Am I not on the king’s appointment calendar?”
“Sir... you’re supposed to be dead.”
“In a crash in the Ice Blades?”
The captain nodded, glanced at Mara, then looked expectantly at Ridge.
Mara wasn’t acknowledging Ridge or any of them. Was he to be left to the introductions, then? What would happen if he blurted out that she was a witch? He wasn’t about to walk her to the king’s office. But if all of these men attacked her, would she attack back? To greater detriment? What choice did he have? He wasn’t going to help her along in this. He’d already been too much assistance, whether intended or not.
“I survived the crash,” Ridge said. “This, ah, lady—” was lady the correct term for someone who could tear up hedges with her mind? “—is my—” He tried to say captor, very blunt, very unmistakable. But the word would not come out. It was as if an anchor tied his tongue to the bottom of his mouth.
Maybe the captain had seen those hedges fly from their roots, because the frown he turned toward Mara was extremely suspicious. “Sardelle went looking for you, General. She didn’t find you?”
“Who?” Ridge asked.
The captain’s gaze lurched back to his face, his eyes widening.
The lieutenant next to him leaned close and whispered, “Maybe it’s not him. Maybe it’s a dragon. They’re supposed to be able to turn into humans.”
Even though he’d heard about dragons multiple times now, the statement stunned Ridge so much that he was late defending himself. The notion that they existed still struck him as crazy, and how could one possibly turn into a human? That didn’t make sense.
“You are wasting your time with us,” Mara told the guards. “There’s a dragon coming, a real one.”
“Sure there is,” the captain said, then hissed at a couple of men whose concerned expressions had lurched skyward.
An alarm wailed from somewhere in the city, and Ridge stiffened. That alarm was only sounded when Cofah airships or pirates were spotted on the horizon.
“I told you,” Mara said smugly, crossing her arms over her chest. “There’s a dragon approaching from the direction of the mountains. Go look. We’ll wait.” Her gaze flicked toward the side door that the guards had streamed out of, and Ridge had the distinct impression that she would not wait, that she would go inside and hunt down Angulus.
Another alarm blared, this time from the direction of the front wall of the castle, its wail echoing that of the one in the city. The captain ordered a few of his men up to the wall to check, but he kept his rifle pointed toward Mara.
“Sir, who did you say this is?” the captain asked.
Mara lifted a hand, and Ridge stepped toward her, worried that she would fling these men aside as she had the hedges. Weaponless, he did not know what he could do, but maybe if he surprised her, he could knock her down and run into the castle to warn the king.
Even as he reached for her, she flicked a finger, and the remaining guards flew backward. Rifles fired, but the bullets did not strike anyone. Ridge tried to grab Mara’s wrist, but she spun toward him, and a wave of power sent him stumbling back.
“You owe me your life,” she growled at him.
“I owe the king my allegiance,” Ridge said. “And wasn’t it your sword that saved me?”
“You want to help the king? The castle? Maybe you should fly up there and try to stop that dragon.”
As soon as her last words came out, a cry came from atop the wall, one of the captain’s guards. “There is a dragon coming,” the man verified. “It’s not Phelistoth. It’s a huge gold dragon. And it’s coming right at us.”
Ridge had no idea who Phelistoth was, but fear and worry coursed through his veins at the thought of a dragon attacking the castle.
Go take care of it, Wreltad said. Better you not be in the castle for this.
For this? Ridge clenched his fist and tried to grab Mara, but once again, he was pushed back by some invisible power. The assassination of my king?
She won’t let you stop her, Wreltad warned. Then, he changed tacks. Isn’t a dragon more of a threat to your people than a lone assassin could ever be?
You tell me. Is it?
Go see for yourself.
“Go deal with it, Zirkander,” Mara said, waving her hand toward the flier. If she knew about the conversation Wreltad was having with Ridge, she did not show it. Not that it mattered. Her words were compelling, far more than they should be, and he found himself walking toward the craft. He forgot the threat she represented; all he could think about was the dragon that was coming.
There weren’t any other fliers parked on the landing pad behind the castle. The soldiers on the walls had cannons, rocket launchers, and big artillery guns, but he was the only one here who could fly up and confront a dragon face to face. It sounded like a suicide mission—would a dragon be susceptible to bullets or would they bounce off? The various paintings and statues he had seen that immortalized the ancient creatures had always shown them as huge, nearly indestructible.
“To the guns,” the captain ordered, shouting to be heard over the wailing alarm. “Enemy dragon incoming.”
It all felt surreal, like some strange dream—or nightmare.
Go, Wreltad said again. Go deal with that dragon and its riders.
Ridge could not disobey the order. He wasn’t even sure he should. He jumped up to the cockpit once again and maneuvered the flier away from the wall. As soon as he turned toward the torn strip of grass ahead of him, he realized the obvious, that he would not have enough room to take off. Without thrusters, he would never achieve lift in time.
I’ll see to it that you do, Wreltad said. Just get out of here.
Mara was jogging for the side door, completely unopposed since all of the guards had raced up to defend the walls. Ridge realized that Wreltad might be trying to save him from Mara. At the least, he was trying to get Ridge out of the way. Was there truly a dragon out there? Or was this some diversion? A witch’s illusion?
He worried that he was being fooled and that his king would be killed while he was dithering in the sky, but the same compulsion that had forced him into the cockpit now forced him to take off. Before the craft had crossed half of the courtyard, it lifted into the sky.
The gold dragon came into view as soon as he cleared the wall, a powerful creature flapping massive wings as it soared over the city. The sight stunned him, the first dragon he’d ever seen. Or at least, the first dragon he could remember seeing. Either way, it did not look like an illusion. Maybe Wreltad truly had wanted him to fly up to protect his people, not just to get him out of Mara’s way.
How Ridge might offer that protection, he did not know. Terror flowed through his limbs as his flier buzzed away from the castle, heading straight toward the dragon. Down in the streets, people screamed. Sirens continued to wail.
Ridge tightened his grip on his flight stick. He didn’t know if it was in his power to stop the dragon, but he would do everything he could to try.
• • • • •
The houses of the capital city sprawled out below them as Bhrava Saruth carried Sardelle and Therrik toward the harbor. They had closed the distance, but had not yet caught sight of Ridge’s flier in the air ahead of him. Bhrava Saruth was confident that the alarmed birds in the sky had told him the truth of Ridge’s position, which was why they were angling toward Harborgard Castle instead of the flier base.
An alarm wailed in the city
, and Sardelle shook her head bleakly, positive that it was for the dragon’s approach instead of for the enemy who had apparently flown into town on Ridge’s lap.
You’re not going to get over that, are you? Jaxi asked. Will you forgive him if Taddy is controlling him?
I’ll forgive him if the soulblade is controlling him—Sardelle refused to call an ancient sorcerer’s soul Taddy—but I doubt I’m an evolved enough human being to forget it completely.
I’m not either. I plan to do my best to melt Taddy into a steaming pile of molten ore. If I can’t do that, I’ll at least mock him horribly while Kasandral cleaves him in half.
Sardelle thought about pointing out that Jaxi and Kasandral had clashed in battle once and that soulblades were strong enough to defy cleaving, even from dragon-slaying swords, but she spotted a flier rising above the castle walls and all thoughts except for one vanished from her mind.
Ridge.
She squinted? Was it him? It had to be—that flier wasn’t painted bronze like the military ones.
The one-man craft turned toward them. She reached out as the figure came within range of her senses and confirmed it was Ridge before her eyes could verify that determination. A wave of giddiness washed over her, and she bit her lip.
Ridge! she called into his mind, certain that he was coming to greet them, perhaps to guide them in to the castle so the artillerymen on the walls wouldn’t be tempted to fire.
But instead of returning her telepathic greeting with a pleased cry of her own name, alarm flared in Ridge’s thoughts. Alarm and fear, as if he believed her some enemy out to kill him.
Another voice? he wondered. Now who? Are you the dragon?
No, it’s me. Sardelle.
How many damned witches are there in the world now? Frustration and confusion swamped him, but he gripped his flight stick with determination, heading straight for Bhrava Saruth, his other hand reaching for his machine gun triggers.
Sardelle closed her eyes, hurt even though logic told her not to be, that he was naturally frustrated if he’d been dealing with Eversong and had never known—couldn’t remember—her.
Jaxi? Is there any chance you can fix him? Sardelle was the healer and might have a better chance of that, but she would need to be close enough to touch him to get a feel of how the sorceress—or her soulblade—had affected Ridge’s mind. Jaxi had the superior range, so maybe she could see the influence first and discern how to break it.
Jaxi did not answer immediately, and Ridge’s flier drew closer quickly. Bhrava Saruth had not altered his course, and they would collide if neither of them diverted.
I don’t think so, Jaxi said. I don’t even know what I’m looking for exactly. You know my specialty is burning things into ashes, not fixing brains.
Yes, sorry. Sardelle kept her disappointment to herself. It had been too much to hope for.
All I can tell is that he’s positive this dragon is his enemy. I’m not sure he’s put any thought into who the two people riding on his back are.
Bhrava Saruth, Sardelle thought. Please prepare to shield yourself. He’s—
The first blast of gunfire interrupted her. Ridge’s bullets streaked straight toward them. They bounced off an invisible shield, but that did not keep the dragon from making a disgruntled comment.
High priestess, your mate is shooting at me.
Yes, I noticed. I’m sorry. We believe the sorceress is controlling him somehow. Please don’t do anything to hurt him.
Ridge fired again, his flier almost upon them now. He veered upward and to the side to avoid crashing into Bhrava Saruth. He looked down at them as he flew past, meeting Sardelle’s eyes for a second. The lack of recognition in his face stung her to the core. She had expected something similar to the expression Cas had worn when under Kasandral’s control, one that showed her wrestling with herself, her horror at how she was being used. But Ridge didn’t know her at all. It was like meeting the eyes of a stranger, a stranger who thought she was the enemy and someone to be killed.
“What are you doing, you idiot?” Therrik shouted as the flier streaked past.
Aren’t you supposed to call him General Idiot? Jaxi asked, presumably speaking to both of them.
Not now, Jaxi. Sardelle was in no mood for jokes. Bhrava Saruth, can you capture him somehow?
It was a ludicrous request—since the bullets couldn’t break through Bhrava Saruth’s shields, they should simply continue on to the castle and confront Eversong. But she couldn’t help but think that if she had Ridge here beside her, she might be able to get a better look at what they had done to him. Also, he could become an ally instead of another threat to worry about.
The noise of his propeller changed as he banked, coming back toward them. Bhrava Saruth could have outdistanced him, but instead he turned to face the charge. A boom came from below—a cannon firing from the castle wall. They had almost reached the building.
Bhrava Saruth flapped his wings and picked up speed.
Careful, Sardelle added. It would be best if we didn’t destroy the flier. She didn’t want to do anything that would cause those castle guards to grow more agitated and unload all of their weapons at them. Also, she knew how valuable fliers were to the military. This seemed such a foolish way for one to be destroyed.
The dragon’s wing beats faltered. High priestess, will it not fall out of the sky once its rider is gone?
Yes, you’re right. Just capture him without destroying it, please. Jaxi and I will worry about the flier.
Oh? Jaxi asked. Lucky us.
Ridge fired again. Sardelle could feel his frustration as his bullets bounced off the dragon’s shield. Frustration, bleakness, and surprise, as if he hadn’t known this would happen. Didn’t he remember his battle with Morishtomaric?
I don’t think he remembers much of anything, Jaxi said.
Sardelle tried not to think about what she would do if that turned out to be a permanent situation, if Ridge remembered nothing of her or of them together. Would he be able to fall in love with her again? Without the unique circumstances that had brought them together at the mining outpost?
The flier veered downward, this time heading under Bhrava Saruth’s belly. Maybe Ridge thought he could shoot the dragon from below and find a vulnerability?
Bhrava Saruth twisted, moving impossibly fast. His head lashed out, his maw opened, and fear blasted through Sardelle. Even though she knew better, it was hard to see that as anything other than an attack. She couldn’t see as well as she would have liked—Bhrava Saruth’s body was in the way—but she felt what happened with her other senses. Ridge ducked and tried to veer away as the dragon’s head snapped toward him. He almost succeeded, but Bhrava Saruth used magic to aid him, throwing a wall of wind at the nose of the flier. It gave him enough time to grasp Ridge in his mouth.
Ridge’s startled cry was like a dagger thrusting into Sardelle’s soul, and she felt certain those sharp fangs were hurting him. Bhrava Saruth’s neck came up, twisting, and he dropped Ridge atop his shoulder blades, right in front of Therrik. Ridge’s eyes bulged with fear, and his hand darted toward his waist, but he had neither a belt nor a weapon there.
Sardelle started to reach past Therrik, wanting to touch Ridge and let him know he was with friends, but Jaxi spoke into her mind.
The flier?
Sardelle cursed, remembering that they were going to keep it from crashing. Without a hand on the stick, it had veered off course and was descending toward the city. Sardelle steadied the stick with her mind, though she found that steering it wasn’t as intuitive as she thought. The idea of landing it on the butte on the opposite side of the harbor daunted her—she didn’t think she could extend her range that far and continue to control it.
How about that road in front of the castle? Jaxi suggested. I’ll help.
The curving cobblestone road with sharp bends? At the speed it’s flying, it will need a runway, room to slow down.
I will halt it, high priestess, Bhrava Sar
uth said.
Sardelle should have asked how, but was distracted by Ridge. Sitting astride Bhrava Saruth in front of Therrik, he was looking to either side, like a trapped animal. They were hundreds of feet above the castle. He wouldn’t be so foolish as to jump, would he?
“We’re not your enemies, Ridge,” Sardelle said, resisting the urge to speak the same words into his mind. If he’d forgotten her, he wouldn’t find telepathic contact reassuring.
Ridge stared at her without recognition. His brow furrowed, as if he was trying to remember.
“Relax, Zirkander,” Therrik said. “We’re here to kill the sorceress, not you.”
Ridge mouthed the word kill as he looked at Therrik’s chest—his uniform. The concern stamped on his face lessened slightly. Sardelle told herself it didn’t matter how that came about and refused to feel stung that it was Therrik that put Ridge at ease, not her.
“Colonel Therrik,” Ridge said, reading the nametag. “Do I know you?”
“Looks like she didn’t take away his ability to read,” Therrik said over his shoulder with an eye roll, “but that’s all we can count on.” To Ridge, he said, “You and your sarcastic mouth have been annoying me for the last three months.”
“That does sound like me.” He peered hard at Therrik’s face, as if willing himself to remember.
“And this is your woman.” Therrik jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Sardelle. “She’s almost as much of a pest as you are.”
Ridge’s mouth dangled open. Sardelle tried a tentative smile, though she doubted that introduction would do anything to warm Ridge’s heart toward her.
“But she’s a witch,” he blurted. “She talked to me in my head.” He touched his temple, his expression dazed.
“Yeah, she does that. The dragon does too. Also her sword. It’s a bizarre world you live in, Zirkander.”
I guess Therrik has gotten over his interest in me, Sardelle thought, while trying not to feel hurt by Ridge’s, “she’s a witch,” condemnation.
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