Soulblade

by Lindsay Buroker

  A sorceress is causing destruction, Phelistoth announced.

  “It can’t be Sardelle.” She didn’t run around, causing havoc. “The Cofah one?” Tolemek asked. “Eversong?”

  I do not know the names of all the humans you deal with. Do you still wish me to land?

  Several bodies lay in the courtyard. Tolemek pushed his hair out of his face with a frustrated hand swipe. There was nobody down there to whom they could hand off the emperor.

  “Yes,” Kaika said, with a sigh. “I’ll watch him.” She looked back to Tolemek. “You’ll have to help the dragons by yourself. I lost all of my explosives during our swim anyway.”

  Tolemek nodded. Yes, if anyone could handle a prisoner, it would be Kaika. If nothing else, she could flirt with him.

  Phelistoth swooped down and alighted on one of the few towers that were not in flames. Kaika slid off, grabbing the emperor’s arm. He tried to struggle, but they had tied him well, and he could barely stand. Kaika saluted Tolemek—or maybe that salute was for Phelistoth—and tugged her prisoner toward the stairs.

  Up in the sky over the harbor, the two gold dragons fought, diving and raking each other with claws. Definitely not dancing. For the moment, the fight appeared even, but what would happen if that second male showed up?

  “To the lab, please,” Tolemek said.

  Phelistoth sprang into the air again, stealing the location from Tolemek’s mind and flying into the city.

  • • • • •

  Ridge was not an expert on barging into castles to defeat malevolent sorceresses, but felt he should have a weapon. Not that a firearm would be of any use to him if he came face to face with Mara again. He had been powerless to keep from delivering her to the castle. If anything happened to Angulus—or anyone else here—it would be his fault. So far, the halls had been empty, but they were full of smoke, and he dreaded the moment when they stumbled across wounded or dead guards. Given the shouts coming from deeper inside the castle, that moment seemed inevitable.

  A door banged somewhere behind him. His hand darted to where his pistol should have been. He clenched his fist, annoyed that he was defenseless. He hated to rely solely on the two people ahead of him in the hall, not when he had no memory of Colonel Therrik or the person Therrik had introduced as “your woman.” Sardelle. His mind boggled at the notion that he might have a relationship with her. With a witch.

  Even if she had been a normal woman, his mind might have boggled. He was not sure he could imagine them as a couple. Oh, she was beautiful, even in simple travel clothes and with her dark hair pulled back in a braid, but she had a dignified and proper mien. She did not seem like someone who would appreciate his irreverence and immaturity. Still, she had brought him his luck charm and had humored him when he rubbed it. He’d been teased about that habit before, by men and women. Sardelle had smiled gently at him, and he’d felt an inexplicable warmth toward her. Her admission to having witch powers had thrown him, but he had to admit there was a faint familiarity about her. He couldn’t remember her, but the thought of trusting her seemed... right.

  “This way, Sergeant,” someone barked from the direction of the door that had banged.

  Three castle guards ran up behind them. Ridge’s first instinct was to get out of their way, since they seemed to have more of a clue than he did, but he spotted a young private holding a rifle and held up a hand.

  “Soldier, I need to borrow your firearm.”

  Sardelle paused to look back at him. Therrik, who had been throwing open doors and raising his sword to kill the first suspicious person he saw, kept at it, advancing systematically down the hall.

  The trio of guards halted and took in his dirt-stained uniform with half of the buttons gone. No, he didn’t look like a competent and highly decorated officer, not today. Fortunately, they couldn’t see that he was still missing a sock.

  “It’s General Zirkander,” the sergeant said. “Give it to him, Madds.”

  “But the witch—”

  “We’ll get you another one.”

  “Yes, sir.” The private handed Ridge the rifle.

  “Ammo too.” Ridge pointed at the kid’s ammo pouch. “You boys seen the king, by chance?”

  “No, sir. He was at a secret meeting with the council heads. Only his personal guards know where. We were told to find—” the sergeant’s voice lowered to a whisper, “—a witch, sir.”

  “Yes, we’re looking for her, too, if you want to come along.” Ridge did not wait to see if they would. Now that he was armed, he hustled to catch up with Therrik.

  Sardelle had been waiting for him, and she joined him, jogging at his side, as if that was her usual place. Was it? He wished he knew.

  “I didn’t know if that would work,” he admitted when he caught her glancing at him. He held up the rifle he had been given.

  “I’ve noticed that young men are smitten with you. It’s the older ones—your superior officers—who find you less charming.”

  Huh, she did know him. “Have you met General Ort?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “You sure it’s wise to arm him?” Therrik growled, stomping out of a room, his gaze flicking toward Ridge’s new firearm. He did not wait for an answer. He proceeded to check the next room.

  “Apparently, some lower-ranking officers find me less than charming too,” Ridge said.

  “You were both colonels when you met. You drugged him and left him beside a road, so you could lead a mission to Cofahre without his help.”

  Therrik stalked out of the room and headed for a stairwell, one set of steps leading up and another down. Smoke clouded the air on the higher level, but after casting a glower in Ridge’s direction, Therrik headed down the stairs descending to a basement level.

  “I would say that doesn’t sound like something I’d do,” Ridge said, “but I might as well be honest with you. The other witch was able to read my mind.” He also didn’t feel compelled to lie to her or withhold truths the way he had Mara. Even if he still couldn’t believe they had the relationship Therrik had bluntly spoken of, he didn’t get the sense that she wanted to use or manipulate him. If she wanted anything at all from him, he couldn’t see it. The calm reserve she carried about herself seemed to suggest independence, that she didn’t need anything from anyone, woman or man.

  “Sorceress, please,” Sardelle said.

  “Pardon?”

  “The term witch is considered derogatory.”

  “Oh. Sorry. Is it all right to call our enemy a witch?” Ridge stepped ahead of her to follow Therrik down the stairs, having the sense that the person with the rifle should go ahead of the woman with the sword.

  “I won’t object to that. She’s tried to kill both of us before.”

  An ominous thought, that. Would she try to kill both of them now when they found her?

  While Therrik searched another room, Ridge paused at the bottom of the stairs and dug into his pocket. He withdrew his dragon figurine and ran his thumb along the smooth wood. On a whim, he offered it to Sardelle, in case she might like to do the same.

  “Rub it for luck?” he whispered.

  Sardelle smiled sadly and rested her hand on the charm for a moment, her fingers brushing his palm. A shiver went through him at the touch, as chaste as it was. She withdrew her hand, and the words too soon came to mind.

  “I usually do it more vigorously,” he said.

  “Pardon?”

  “The rubbing.” Ridge flushed and stuck the figurine back in his pocket. What an idiotic time for flirting.

  “I see.” Her expression was hard to read, almost appearing sad, but for a second, he thought he also glimpsed amusement in there. Could one be amused and sad at the same time? “Does it work better then?” she asked.

  “I hope so. I...”

  Ridge stopped, pressing a hand against the wall for support, as some foreign sensation came over him. His skull itched from the inside, and it felt as if a thousand ants were crawling around on his brain. He l
eaned his rifle against the wall, afraid he would drop it.

  A hand touched his back and a feeling of reassurance came over him. “Ridge?” Sardelle asked from behind him. “Are you all right?”

  It’s me, Wreltad spoke into his mind, his voice hard and angry. She’s gone too far. I choose death.

  What? With the ants still crawling all over his brain, Ridge could barely concentrate on the words.

  When a soulblade breaks the bond with his handler, he accepts that the magic keeping his eternal essence tied to this world will fade, and he will die. Before that happens, I am giving you back your memories.

  “I—” The crawling sensation in his head intensified, more like an attack than a gift, and Ridge grabbed his temples. He stumbled back, dizziness assailing him, numbness afflicting his limbs. He was aware of tumbling and falling against Sardelle, but he couldn’t stop himself.

  “Ridge?”

  Her voice came to him, as if from a great distance, even though he could see her face as she knelt at his side, cradling his head in her arms. He saw her in a snowy landscape, smiling at him from beneath the fur-lined hood of a parka several sizes too large for her. He saw her smiling in a cave, bending over him and tending wounds on his chest. He saw her in the back of a flier, helping him fight against Cofah invaders. He saw her naked, limbs entangled with his at his mother’s house. He saw her lying in his arms, telling him he would be a better father than he’d ever imagined. They were together in all of the visions, not always entangled, but always together, always supporting each other.

  Tears came to his eyes. Seven gods, how had he forgotten her? How had he not remembered that someone so patient and understanding and sexy and beautiful had come into his life, taking away the loneliness in his life and showing him what it was to have a soul mate?

  “Sardelle?” he rasped.

  She was stroking his face, her hand tender and caring, the touch of a healer, the touch of someone who loved him. And of someone whom he loved back.

  “What happened?” she whispered. “I sensed something. Was it an attack?”

  “It was—” He didn’t have the words. He slid his arms around her and pulled her down to him, hardly noticing that the edges of the stairs were biting into his back. He buried his face in her neck, inhaling her womanly scent, a scent that was once again familiar. Tears ran down his cheeks, but he didn’t care. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  “For what?” Though she seemed surprised, she did not hesitate to return the embrace.

  “Forgetting.”

  There were tears in her own eyes when she lifted her head enough to look at his face. She touched him, not with her fingers this time but with her mind, tentatively, an uncertain whisper. You remember now?

  Words, tangled up in his emotions, seemed too complicated, too difficult to get out, even in his head, so he kissed her instead. This wasn’t the place for it—they needed to find and protect Angulus—but it was faster than explaining, and it was something he hadn’t known just how much he missed.

  You do remember, she thought. It wasn’t a question this time. Her tears mingled with his on their cheeks.

  She returned his kiss, all of her emotions coming through a link that he had missed as much as the physical elements of their relationship. He experienced all of the horror she had felt when they’d found his crash site, her fear that he was dead, her refusal to stop looking for him, her longing for a joyous reunion, the ecstasy she’d known when she’d realized he was alive, the betrayal she’d felt when she’d heard he was flying off with another woman, the way it had hurt when he hadn’t recognized her. When he’d called her a witch. He stroked her hair, tears of shame falling as he silently apologized for hurting her, for being an obtuse fool. He wished they could spend a month like this, and that he could truly apologize to her, but he knew they couldn’t.

  “What in all the hells is this?” Therrik demanded, slamming a door shut behind him. “I thought you were here to help me kill that damned sorceress, not hump each other on the king’s stairs like horny baboons.”

  Reluctantly, Ridge pulled his mouth from Sardelle’s. He lamented that his memories of Therrik had returned along with the ones of Sardelle. He could have done without remembering the surly colonel.

  Sardelle blushed and drew back, to Ridge’s further lament.

  “Sir,” Ridge told Therrik.

  “What?”

  “I now remember getting this rank.” He waved at the pins on his travel-stained uniform. “I’d appreciate it if you remembered it too.” Ridge pushed himself to his feet and offered Sardelle a hand up. “And I believe the rule is that generals can hump whenever and whomever they like. It’s in the officers’ handbook.”

  “Not when there are enemies in the castle,” Therrik growled. “Sir.”

  Ridge waved him toward the hallway. “Go then. Find her. You’re the one with the sword that can hurt her.”

  “You’re the one whose mind she was poking in. What military secrets did you let her access?” Therrik’s scowl deepened. “Does she know what the king’s emergency plans are?”

  “I don’t even know what his plans are.” Ridge wanted to sound indignant and say that he’d given the woman nothing, but she—or Wreltad—might have sucked military secrets from his mind, and that chilled him. He might not be the highest-ranking officer in the army, or the one most likely to be entrusted with confidences, but he knew enough to endanger his whole country.

  Without letting go of Sardelle’s hand—he had no wish to ever do that again—he picked up his borrowed rifle. He didn’t know why he bothered. He was now more certain than ever that it would be useless against Mara. Eversong. Tarshalyn. Gods, he remembered her now, in all of her incarnations, including the one with the dark hair and the ancient armor. That bitch had tried to fry him with a fireball. And he’d slept with her. He tripped over a carpet runner. Damn it. She’d drugged him and it hadn’t been his fault, but still. His blood boiled at the memory of how easily he had been led along—and led into that barn. And Sardelle would know, too, if she didn’t already.

  He gave her an anguished look as they walked side by side, following Therrik deeper into the castle. Even if it hadn’t been his fault, how could that not hurt her? Hells, he’d been thinking of sleeping with Mayford’s granddaughter, too, after knowing her for all of ten minutes. Did it matter that he hadn’t been aware of Sardelle’s existence? Yes, of course, but he still felt chagrined for being so... licentious. That was the term, wasn’t it?

  I was thinking slutty, but if you prefer to make a vocabulary word out of it, by all means.

  Jaxi. Ridge would have admitted to missing her if he hadn’t felt so guilty. She probably knew all his thoughts.

  Yes, I see you’ve not only been rutting with other women, but you’ve been bonding with other swords.

  He snorted, his humor piqued despite his morose thoughts. She sounded more affronted by his relationship with Wreltad.

  Sardelle raised her eyebrows.

  “Jaxi is reestablishing her relationship with me,” he said, keeping his voice down, aware of Therrik alternately checking rooms and glaring back at him.

  “She missed you.” Sardelle squeezed his hand. “I did too.” Maybe she hadn’t dipped into his thoughts yet and gotten the details about his trailside dalliances.

  Something to worry about later. After they found Angulus. He shuddered to think what Wreltad had meant with his comment that Mara—Eversong had gone too far. It occurred to him that Wreltad must have known exactly who was coming on that dragon, and he must have also known that Ridge wouldn’t be able to damage the creature. Had he known that Sardelle wouldn’t allow it to damage him? He must have suspected. Maybe he truly had wanted to get him out of the way to protect him. Ridge wished that solicitude had extended to Angulus.

  Sardelle wrinkled her nose. Even though the smoke had been thicker on the level above, it lingered here, as well, and the air was hot. In places, the wood-paneled walls were charred.
<
br />   Someone screamed in the distance, and Therrik paused, looking back toward the stairs. But he frowned down at his sword, shook his head, and continued deeper into the castle. That wasn’t just any sword, Ridge realized. With his memories back, he recognized Kasandral. It glowed a faint green as Therrik stalked the corridors. However had he and Sardelle traveled together without it luring him into attacking her?

  Where is he, my Iskandian hero? a woman’s voice sounded in Ridge’s head. Eversong.

  He jumped before realizing she wasn’t with them in the passage. She could be talking to him from anywhere in the castle.

  He glanced at Sardelle, wondering if she could hear Eversong communicating with him. She returned his look, raising her eyebrows in inquiry. She knew him well enough to know something had happened, but she didn’t seem to know what. He shook his head, hoping that ignoring the sorceress would cause her to leave him be.

  Something stirred in Ridge’s mind. It didn’t hurt—it almost felt like an itch inside his skull—but it wasn’t friendly. He could tell this was Eversong. He should repel her, but he didn’t know how. She rifled through his thoughts, hunting for information on Angulus’s whereabouts. As if Ridge knew where the king hid when invaders came. In a tower? In the basement? In a privy?

  I checked there, she said dryly.

  He found it reassuring that Eversong hadn’t found Angulus yet, but wondered if Therrik had a clue as to where he was going. The wood paneling gave way to old stone walls and doors leading to storage areas. Ridge had never been in the basement of the castle, but thought it strange that none of the guards he’d seen streaming off the walls and inside were about. Despite his invitation, the three who had given him the rifle had chosen a different intersection.

  I gave them much to keep them occupied upstairs, Eversong said.

  The ground shivered as a thunderous crack came from another part of the castle. Distant screams of fear mingled with shouts of rage. A crash followed—walls coming down?

  Ridge eyed the arched stone ceiling above them. If Eversong knew where he was, how simple would it be for her to drop the ceiling on their heads? Maybe he shouldn’t think about that and give her ideas. He wondered if Wreltad was fighting her at all, or if she had thumped him with her mind and left him stuck in the ground somewhere.