The Dragon Blood Collection, Books 1-3

by Lindsay Buroker

  “Are you sure they’re all our prints?” Zirkander asked. “The Cofah could have had snowshoes too.”

  “Fairly certain, sir. We saw the ship take off and searched around it. No one seemed to have been left behind.”

  “No one.”

  While the men debated, Sardelle mentally braced herself and walked up to the side of the body. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t sensed something that was big enough to kill a man, and to kill him swiftly it sounded like. His face had been ravaged by claws or—she thought of Zirkander’s hawk guess—talons. The eyes were missing, gouged out, the holes so deep they revealed brain matter beneath them. The front of his parka was shredded, his flesh cut open, entrails torn free and slumped into the snow.

  Sardelle took a long breath, glad the air was so fresh and cold. As a healer, she had seen death before, and all manner of wounds, but this was a particularly grisly display. Had she arrived earlier, maybe she could have saved him, but maybe not. He must have died quickly from those extensive wounds.

  “Looks like the attack came from the air,” Zirkander said. He wasn’t unmoved by the death, she sensed, but his words came out calm and detached. This would be an analytical discussion, not an emotional one.

  Makt glanced at him. “That’s what I thought, sir. But I wasn’t sure… I didn’t want to sound stupid. I reckon there’s eagles and other big raptors up here, but an eagle couldn’t do this, could it? And even if it could, why would it?”

  “Why, indeed?” Zirkander looked to Sardelle. Did he think she would have the answer? He couldn’t possibly think she was somehow responsible, could he? Maybe he had figured out that her powers were more than academic. Or maybe he thought it suspicious that she had run after the group. “Are you all right?” he asked, flexing his mittened fingers toward the body.

  Oh. Concern. Not suspicion. Not yet.

  She looked at his hand but not at the body. She had seen enough. “I’m… ” Fine? That seemed a ludicrous thing to proclaim with a mauled soldier at her feet. She simply nodded to finish her answer.

  Snow crunched, heralding the return of the other two men, their rifles in their hands. They were shaking their heads before they reached the colonel.

  “We didn’t see anything.”

  “Not so much as a tuft of fur.” Oster glanced at Makt. “Or a feather.”

  “It’s getting dark though.” The first man eyed the metal gray sky above the pines and firs. Thick flakes wafted down peacefully, unperturbed by the death below. “If there had been drops of blood out there, they would have been hard to pick out.”

  “Should we head back, sir?” Oster asked. “Even darker clouds are heading this way, and there’s a lot of wind coming across the canyon up above. The airship had to fight to head off to the north.”

  Zirkander was staring down at the body, a fist pressed to his mouth. “Yes, there’s nothing for us out here now.”

  Except a mystery. Sardelle couldn’t believe something had slipped past her awareness. Something deadly. Was it possible the airship sorcerer had masked it somehow?

  “Let’s make a travois so we can haul him back,” Zirkander said. “I’m not leaving his body out here to the animals.”

  “Yes, sir,” Oster said. “Rav, you got an axe? Use those saplings to—”

  A screech ripped through the forest.

  It wasn’t in the distance this time, but nearby, overhead. Sardelle searched the clouds, her hand balled into a fist, ready to unleash an attack. Even in the small clearing, the trees fenced them in, and little of the dark sky was visible.

  “Cover,” Zirkander barked.

  The soldiers split into twos and lunged behind trees, then knelt, their rifles pointing to the sky. Zirkander started for a tree of his own, but saw Sardelle wasn’t moving and grabbed her. Just as he was pulling her away, she glimpsed massive outstretched wings high overhead, the dark shape seeming more shadow than substance against the snow and clouds.

  “There,” she cried at the same time as two rifles fired.

  Zirkander pushed her toward a pair of trees. “Stay between them,” he ordered, even as he took two steps in the other direction and raised his own firearm to the sky.

  The bird—no, it was far too large to call it a bird—had swooped out of sight almost as soon as they had spotted it, but it came back around, higher. Even with the poor visibility, Sardelle would have expected the men’s bullets to hit it, but the creature never flinched, never altered its flight path. It was climbing higher and higher. Readying for a dive.

  She still couldn’t sense it, and that perplexed her but didn’t keep her from preparing an attack of her own. Shots rang out from all of the rifles. The massive bird pulled in its wings to dive, like an osprey arrowing into a lake for a fish, except its target was Zirkander. Sardelle pulled wind from the coming storm, channeled it, and slammed it into the plummeting creature. It was flung to the side, hurled into a stout pine.

  Sardelle blew out a quick relieved breath. She had feared that since she couldn’t sense it, she wouldn’t be able to strike it, as if it were some kind of illusion. The great bird—it had the markings of a barred owl, not a hawk, but it was nearly as tall as a man—recovered before it hit the ground, thrusting its wings out to beat at the air, to pull itself back into the night sky.

  All through this, the soldiers were firing, their spent casings leaping from their rifles and burning holes into the snow all around them. The creature climbed back into the sky, not fleeing from the barrage but preparing to dive again.

  “Who hit it?” one soldier shouted. “Where did you aim to make it fly sideways?”

  “We’ve all hit it,” another responded. “The bullets are bouncing off—I saw mine strike and veer off as if that thing were solid metal.”

  “Someone hurt it though—it crashed for a moment. If we could all target that spot.”

  “That wasn’t a bullet, you idiot. That was the wind.”

  Technically true.

  Jaxi! What is this thing? Someone’s familiar? Someone’s extremely enhanced familiar?

  I believe you’re looking at a Dakrovian shaman’s animal companion.

  Dakrovian! From the jungles in the southern hemisphere? That’s thousands of miles from Cofah.

  Jaxi offered a mental shrug. Perhaps they went recruiting.

  “Sir! Look out. It’s dropping again.”

  “I see it.” Zirkander jumped to his feet and ran toward Sardelle’s trees.

  He ducked around the biggest one and fished into his ammo pouch to reload his rifle.

  Nobody except the dead soldier remained in the tiny clearing, but that didn’t keep the giant owl from diving down again. Though Sardelle knew she risked what little of her confusing cover story remained by using magic, she hurled another funnel of wind at it. The bullets weren’t doing anything. Someone had to drive it away.

  But the bird somehow sensed her attack and dodged. The blast of wind barely ruffled its feathers. It dropped to within two feet of the ground, then impossibly turned the dive into an upward swoop, pulling out at the last moment. No, not pulling out… and not turning upward. It streaked horizontally, paralleling the ground, its dive taking it toward the trees two of the soldiers hid behind.

  “Look out!” someone yelled.

  More shots rang out, though the soldiers must have realized by then that they couldn’t hurt it. Zirkander yanked out a foot-long dagger and charged toward the creature. The soldiers leaped to the side, avoiding the owl’s attack in time, but only because the stout firs slowed their avian attacker. One ran around a tree and clubbed the owl in the wing as it shifted from flying to standing, its spread talons enough to keep it from sinking into the snow. The soldier’s attack did nothing to hurt it. It flung its wing out, the tip catching him and hurling him ten feet.

  Zirkander ran at it from behind, fast enough, even with the snowshoes, to surprise it. He leaped onto its back and tried to sink his long dagger into its neck. As with the bullets, the blade bounced
off. Its head spun around a hundred and eighty degrees. That must have been alarming—it was suddenly staring right at Zirkander—but he attacked it without hesitation, this time aiming for one of its great yellow eyes.

  Sardelle had her own hand raised, trying to think of some attack she dared make while Zirkander was right on top of it, but she paused, hoping he had guessed right and that the eye represented some vulnerability.

  The blade started to sink in. At least she thought it did—it was hard to tell. At the first touch, the owl shook its head vigorously. Zirkander didn’t let go of the weapon. He tried to push it in deeper, but was thrown free. He landed hard on his back. The creature jumped after him, seeming to rear up to an impossible height as it spread its wings.

  Sardelle tried to find its heart, to wrap the fingers of her mind around it to stop it from beating, but again her senses told her nothing was there. A soldier ran out, an axe in his hand, as if that would do what the bullets hadn’t. The bird ignored the man and attacked Zirkander, plunging downward with its beak.

  Sardelle cursed, knowing she would be too late as she tore a heavy branch from the tree above the owl, hoping to bring it down onto the creature’s head. Zirkander had already rolled to the side and leaped up, not as helpless as he had appeared.

  The branch landed, flinging snow everywhere, and surprised him as much as the creature. He recovered first and hurled his dagger. The weapon struck the owl’s eye, but in throwing the attack, he exposed himself an instant too long. A talon flashed up, striking like lightning as it ripped into his parka. Zirkander leaped back, but blood sprayed the snow around him.

  Sardelle growled, prepared to drop an entire tree on the bird’s head, and to the hells with what anyone saw, but it was flinging its head about and screeching now. The dagger was stuck in its eye. For a moment, she thought it might be a killing blow, or at least a seriously wounding one, but the creature used a talon to bat it away. The weapon landed point first in the snow. The owl leaped into the air, raking the axe-wielding soldier with its talons, too, before it flapped its wings and climbed out of reach again.

  “Sir, Rav, are you all right?” Makt ran out from behind the trees on the other side of the clearing.

  “Just a scratch,” Zirkander said.

  Sure, a scratch that had left blood all over the snow. Sardelle started toward him, but the owl screeched again. It wasn’t done with them. It was circling and rising again, preparing for another dive.

  “Let’s get out of here.” Zirkander pointed to the rocky canyon wall. “Are there any caves or fissures in that cliff?”

  “Don’t know, sir.”

  “Go, look. There’s nothing for us to gain by fighting this thing.”

  And everything to lose.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “It’s starting another dive,” one of the men said.

  “Go, go.” Zirkander waved the men forward and reached back toward Sardelle.

  She had thought to linger, to try dropping a tree on it when the men were out of sight, but Zirkander was like a sheep dog, gathering his flock. Nothing in his expression said he would let her loiter.

  She hustled after him. A tree probably wouldn’t kill that creature anyway. Not unless she could ram the trunk through its eye.

  The owl swooped again when it reached the ground, trying to dart through the forest after them. Zirkander and the soldiers weaved into the thickest areas. Even the powerful creature couldn’t rip trees aside with its talons. It returned to the sky, tracking them from above. There was a bare stretch near the cliff wall. They would have to be careful crossing it.

  “There’s a big crack.” Someone pointed.

  “Might be a cave.”

  “Another hole over there. Impossible to tell without looking.”

  “It’s too dark to tell either way. That’s just a big shadow, I think.”

  Zirkander looked up. Yes, the creature was up there, banking and turning, flying back and forth. Waiting.

  Sardelle skimmed the craggy rocks with her mind. That spot was too shallow, that one too narrow to get into, that one large enough that the owl could follow. A dozen meters to the left, there were two little caves that should work, each with just enough space for two or three men to squeeze into.

  “Down there.” Sardelle pointed. “I’ve studied geology. Those are Brackenforth Fissures. They’ll be narrow but deep.”

  One of the soldiers snorted. “Is she joking?”

  “It’s going to dive again.” Oster stabbed his rifle toward the black sky.

  Sardelle ran toward the caves she knew were deep enough. Zirkander cursed and ran after her, yelling, “Find hiding,” to the soldiers.

  “I ought to tackle you,” he growled, his voice right behind her. He could have. She definitely wasn’t fast on the snowshoes.

  “Not a good time.” Sardelle waved to the sky without pausing, then climbed up the cliff face. She tried to anyway. She couldn’t manage with the big, clumsy shoes on. She bent, unbuckling them as fast as she could, and hurled another buffet of wind at the owl as she did so. It was already diving, choosing her as a target since she had been foolish enough to run out first.

  Rifles fired. Those soldiers never gave up. Fortunately, Sardelle’s attack clipped the owl’s side this time, diverting it a few meters. Its screech filled their ears, as it nearly slammed into the rocks at the base of the cliff.

  Sardelle scrambled up without glancing at it, aiming for the first little cave, the smaller of the two. Zirkander was right beside her, shadowing her, protecting her. She slipped twice, her mittens falling away from the icy rocks when she tried to grab them, but Zirkander caught her both times, holding her up until she found a new grip.

  The creature recovered from its near crash, rising again, readying itself for another dive. The soldiers were farther down the cliff—they had gone for the caves directly in front of the area where they had come out of the trees. Sardelle hoped they found sufficient cover there.

  “Here,” she said, and squeezed through a crack. It smelled of mildew and cold but nothing more ominous. She had already checked to make sure nothing was making a den inside. She crawled to the back—which was all of six feet from the front—and tried to make herself small so Zirkander would have room.

  His rifle clunked against the rock, and clothing rasped and ripped. His body blocked the mouth of the cave as he grunted, trying to wedge himself in, and full darkness filled the small space.

  “Can you make it?” Sardelle asked. She had thought it would be big enough, but he was taller and broader of shoulder than she was. Reluctantly, she said, “There’s another fissure a few feet up if you can’t.” She didn’t want to spend the night alone in the cave.

  More like, you don’t want to spend the night alone in the cave without his company.

  Hush. This is about keeping everyone alive, nothing more.

  Uh huh.

  This space isn’t big enough for anything more anyway. Not that Sardelle seriously thought Zirkander would contemplate “anything more” even if this were the time and the place. She was his little puzzle to be solved, nothing more. If he was protecting her, it was simply because he would do that for any woman.

  “I’m in.” Zirkander leaned out. “Find a place, Rav! It’s coming.”

  Sardelle checked the others. They had found a cave big enough for three, but they weren’t able to fit the other soldier inside.

  “Trying, sir!” came the distant call.

  Zirkander wriggled his rifle back out. He was poised like a panther on a tree branch, muscles bunched, ready to spring. Sardelle resisted the urge to tell him he couldn’t do anything to drive off the owl. He wouldn’t appreciate it. She couldn’t do anything either, if she couldn’t see it, which she couldn’t from the back of the cave. Even when she could see it, she hadn’t been able to do much. She needed to dig out books on those jungle shamans when she got home.

  Home?

  Well, back. They’re buried down there somewhere, right
?

  Possibly, though I do hope you’ll make my retrieval your priority.

  We’ll see.

  “There’s room over here,” Zirkander yelled.

  Sardelle crept forward, found a rock to stand on, and tried to see past his shoulder. If she could locate the owl, she could attack it with wind again. She could—

  “He got in.” Zirkander turned and bumped into her.

  She fell off the rock and grabbed the nearest thing—his shoulder. “Sorry,” she said, stepping down. “I was trying to see out.”

  “And here I thought you were overcome by the euphoria of surviving and wanted to fling your arms around me for a kiss.”

  “I… ” Did he want that? No, his tone was dry. A joke, nothing more. “Look out,” she cried as a shadow blotted out the night forest behind him.

  The dreadful screech filled the tiny cave, hammering Sardelle’s eardrums. She stumbled back, pulling Zirkander with her. He needed no urging. Talons scraped and tore at the rock around the entrance. He pressed himself against the back of the fissure, grunting as he shifted about to face the entrance, positioning himself so he was between her and the creature.

  With its wings tucked in, the owl wasn’t much bigger than the men. If it could climb in…

  Sardelle gulped, terrified she had led them to a trap rather than a haven. She summoned her energy to batter at it again, but one of its talons slipped, and it disappeared amid a flurry of wing beats. It soon returned, beating at the mouth of the cave. Sardelle examined the top of the cliff above her. The snow-covered top of the cliff. She nudged a drift over the edge. It wouldn’t hurt the owl, but maybe…

  Big clumps of snow rained down on it. The creature shrieked and disappeared from view.

  “I do not like that noise,” Sardelle said. She hoped the others’ cave entrances were narrow enough that the owl would have no chance at getting to them.

  “Now I know what my mother meant all the times she used the term ear-drilling to me,” Zirkander said.