If Ridge had disliked the colonel before, he was ready to hurl the man into a volcano now. His shoulders flexed, and he caught himself climbing another foot on the vine with an image in his mind of leaping through the window, repercussions be damned. But another limb snapped away from the wall overhead, and he found his perch sagging a couple of inches away from the window. He gritted his teeth and eyed the ledge. He might be able to make the lunge…
“That would be a poor reward for Zirkander’s years of loyalty,” the king said, his tone still dry.
Therrik snorted. “If you want to reward the man, give him a medal, not a witch. Sire, do we even know he’s voluntarily housing her? She could be using him—controlling him—without him even knowing it.”
Not that idiotic argument again. Everyone seemed sure Ridge had a mind feebler than that of an eighty-year-old amnesiac.
“I’ve read her record,” the king said. “If she had been one of the rogues from her century, she would already be dead. She was a healer who worked with the army.”
Huh, the king’s research had been even more thorough than Heriton’s, it seemed.
“Her… century, Sire?” Therrik asked.
“Never mind.”
“Please, hear me, Sire. I don’t think Zirkander’s a suitable guard dog for a witch, especially not if he’s sleeping with her. Besides, he’s not even here half the time, and she’s free to roam at will.”
“I have people watching her. If it becomes a problem… I’ll reassess the situation.”
People watching her? Ridge swallowed. And here he had joked at Sardelle’s assertion that she didn’t feel safe doing her work on base. Maybe the grandmother next door was keeping an eye on her.
“This is a bomb waiting to detonate, Sire. If you don’t do anything about her, you can trust that someone will. A lot of people are very afraid of magic.”
“I’m aware of that, Colonel,” the king said, his tone cooler now.
Sardelle is in trouble! The words and an image of the old archives building in town blasted into Ridge’s mind like a foghorn, startling him so that he lost his grip.
He tried to catch himself, his fingers wrapping around a branch, and he thought he might have saved himself, but the brittle limb snapped. He plummeted to the ground. He bent his knees, trying to soften the landing and keep himself from making a lot of noise, but one of his heels struck something slippery. His leg flew out from beneath him, and he landed on his back. He rolled and came up in a crouch, ready to flee away before anyone could look out the window and spot him. With his first step, he almost crashed into General Ort.
“Are you insane?” the general whispered, glancing up at the open window and keeping his voice low. He grabbed Ridge by the arm before he could answer, dragging him toward the garden gate. “Are you trying to throw away a twenty-year career?”
“No, sir,” Ridge responded, but his focus was inward. That had to have been Sardelle’s sword that had yelled into his thoughts. It had never spoken to him before, but he knew it communicated with Sardelle, and apparently it had done so with Tolemek, as well. Another time, the telepathic intrusion would have made him as uncomfortable as ants crawling on his skin, but the content of the message was more important than the fact of it.
What do you mean? he asked in his mind, having no way of knowing if the sword could hear him. What kind of trouble?
“Don’t tell me you were looking for a place to piss in the garden,” Ort growled. “I’m sure there’s a rule on the books somewhere about leaving yellow snow on the castle grounds.”
Ridge shook his head, hoping for clarification from the sword. But nothing came.
“I wasn’t thinking, sir. That’s all. If this mission starts tomorrow, I have to run to the hangar, select my team, and make sure everyone and everything gets packed and ready today.” By now, they had reached the main courtyard, with its guards stationed all around. Ridge couldn’t have gone back for more spying, even if he dared. It didn’t matter. Sardelle was in trouble. He quickened his steps. “I’ll report back to you at the end of the day, sir.” Not waiting to be dismissed, he broke into a run.
“You better,” Ort called after him.
Ridge raced through the castle gate with little more than an acknowledging wave. He sprinted down the icy street, ignoring the startled looks he inspired from passersby, and headed for the archives building.
Chapter 2
Sardelle hunkered on her hands and knees in a corner as books and pieces of the ceiling continued to fall onto the shield she had gathered around herself. Her lantern was buried, and she couldn’t see a thing, but she sensed two people at the top of the stairs leading to the basement. They were armed. Somehow, she doubted they were patrons of the archives, simply curious about the noise. Rubble blocked the doorway on her side, so they wouldn’t be coming to investigate soon. She muffled a cough—some of the dust flooding the basement had gotten to her before she had formed her shield—not wanting to make noise, regardless. Let them think her dead.
When the final book fell, she risked lowering her shield, so she could create a light. A soft orange glow filled the space, its influence dimmed by the haze in the air. It didn’t matter. Her other senses had already told her the story. She was blocked in until she cleared that doorway—or someone else did. Going out that way might not be wise, anyway. She touched the wall behind her, stretching her mind out in that direction, wondering if there might be more than dirt and earth out there. In a city this old, one expected layers upon layers of civilization.
Hm, yes, there was a passage out there. Or, more likely, a sewer tunnel. Either could offer her an alternative exit. The mortar holding the old, chipped bricks together was already crumbling. It shouldn’t take much effort to tear away at it. She let go of the light—maintaining two ongoing forms of energy was always a challenge—to reestablish her shield, in case her architectural deconstruction resulted in a cave-in. Another one.
She could have pulled down the wall in one quick move, but she didn’t want to make noise. The people on the steps were still there, waiting like snipers. They might decide to close in if they thought she was escaping. Sardelle didn’t know who they were, but she didn’t want to deal with them.
The bricks slipped free with soft clunks and thunks. Of course, there was another layer of bricks behind them. Time ticked past as she removed the puzzle pieces one by one.
A soft rattle came from the other side of the rubble pile, someone trying the doorknob. Her snipers had grown tired of waiting. The door opened inward, so she ought to have more time before they could clear a route.
“No,” came a distant, shrill command from the stairwell. “No more explosives. Not in my building.”
Sardelle recognized the archivist’s voice—and the fact that she might have run out of time. She pulled down the bricks more vigorously, wincing when they banged and clanked as they landed. A musty scent wafted in along with a cool draft. It didn’t smell like a sewer. That was promising.
“—hear her,” someone said on the other side of the door.
They heard her. Not someone. There was no question for them as to who their trapped prey was. Well, Sardelle wouldn’t be trapped for long.
Judging the hole large enough, she started to squirm through. She halted in the middle, her stomach draped across bricks, remembering the scrolls with the genealogical trees. She created her light again and stumbled across the rubble to the spot where she’d last seen them. A broken table lay across the bin of scrolls. She flung debris aside, no longer worrying about making noise, and yanked out the red-banded ones.
“Hurry,” someone urged on the other side of the door.
Sardelle didn’t hear or sense the archivist. She must have been ushered away somehow. Who were these people, anyway? Government spies with orders to get rid of her? She had sensed people watching Ridge’s house—watching her in the past weeks—but they had never approached her.
A question to answer later. With the scrolls
unceremoniously stuffed into her satchel, along with the books she had grabbed earlier, she climbed across the bricks. She was about to crawl into the space on the other side, which turned out to be tighter than she had estimated, when a boom sounded behind her. Whoever wanted her didn’t care a whit about destroying public property.
Sardelle used the noise to bring down more bricks and hide the hole she had made. They would find it eventually, but not right away. She hoped.
She pulled herself upright in the passage outside of the basement and found she couldn’t walk through it, not without scraping her hips and shoulders into a pulp. The floor was uneven and littered with rocks and sticks or some other type of debris she didn’t bother to identify. She didn’t bother with a light, either—she wasn’t certain how effectively she had covered that hole and didn’t want any rays seeping back into the basement for those two people to see.
Turning sideways, Sardelle shuffled along, her heavy satchel bumping against the walls, impeding her progress. When she checked to see if there might be a room on the other side of the crawlspace, she found nothing but filled-in earth for several meters. At least she was heading in the direction of the street.
Her satchel snagged on some obstacle in the way. She tried to push it aside, but it stuck out of the wall. She leaned forward and patted around, trying to figure out if it went all the way across or if she could climb over or duck under. Something else snagged her hair. Grumbling, she tried to draw back. Her knuckles brushed against the wall. It had turned from brick into dirt at some point. The thing in her path seemed to be a branch, or maybe a tree root. Had she gone the wrong way? Maybe she wasn’t heading toward the street at all.
Sardelle risked a small light and gasped, stumbling backward. The human leg bone sticking out of the wall wasn’t what she had expected at all. Her heel caught on one of the rocks, and she almost pitched to the ground. The narrowness of the passage saved her, for she flung her arms out, catching herself. What she’d thought was a rock was part of a skull. There were a number of them behind her—she had been stepping all over them, kicking them to the side. Nubs of bones were sticking out all along the dirt wall.
It took a moment for her heart to quiet its rapid beating… and for her to realize this must be the edge of some old cemetery or catacomb. The bones were yellow and brittle with age; they had been residents of this place for a long time.
“What a strange research trip this is,” she whispered.
Back in the basement, rock or brick shifted, reminding her that those people would be expecting to find her in that room. She hustled forward, crawling awkwardly under the bone obstacles. Noises came from ahead, clack-clunks that echoed oddly in the small passage. Horse hooves? On cobblestones? She thought she might find a way up to the street, but ultimately her passage simply continued under it. It turned and she stumbled across more debris, this time broken ceramic jugs. She touched the wall in spots, trying to sense an opening ahead or another basement nearby. Finally, she found the latter. There was nobody in it, and the wall was in poor condition here as well. She carefully tore away bricks, feeling bad about her vandalism, but she had no intention of wandering this maze beneath the city all day.
She squeezed through her hole and into a basement full of old distilling equipment. She climbed creaking wood stairs that led to a ground-level building. Clanks and the smells of food wafted down the hall, but she turned in the opposite direction, finding a door leading to an alley. Outside, she slumped against the wall, relieved to be in daylight again. Horses and wagons passed in the nearby street.
Disoriented, Sardelle crept to the end of the alley to see where she was. She snorted. The front door of the archives was across the street and only one building away. It had seemed like she had been underground far longer than that. She poked her head out and peered in both directions, then yanked her head right back into the alley. There were two slender figures in cloaks watching the archives building. The same two that had been blowing their way into the basement? No, this felt like another two. Both women. Interesting.
Sardelle backed up and nearly cried out when she ran into someone.
“Most people have to go inside the archives building to do research,” a familiar voice drawled, “but I suppose you have those special powers.”
“Ridge,” she whispered with heartfelt relief, facing him for a sound kiss, though she wasn’t ready to turn her back on the street—and those spies—for long. Those women hadn’t moved. They were like statues watching the front door.
“What are we spying on?” Ridge slipped his arms around her waist and hugged her from behind. It wasn’t always easy to tell when he was worried, since he made flippant remarks no matter what, but she sensed his concern wrapping around her along with his arms. For a moment, she basked in it, admiring the handsome line of his jaw over her shoulder. A month of living together had yet to dull the almost giddy pleasure she experienced in his company. Then it occurred to her to wonder what had brought him here in the middle of the day. And why he was breathing so heavily. With sweat trickling down the side of his face. Had he run all the way here?
She squeezed his arm to let him know she appreciated the embrace and answered his question before asking her own. “Those two women in the cloaks. There are more inside who tried to trap me in the basement. How’d you know I was in trouble?”
“Your sword chose an inopportune moment to jump into my head.” Ridge dropped one arm to rub his backside.
“Jaxi? I told her not to do that to you. I—Jaxi! I forgot about her.”
“She’s in danger too?”
“In danger of being discovered, anyway. Someone was sneaking into your house.” Jaxi? Did you and the beer steins drive away the intruders?
“More women in cloaks?”
“I don’t know. She’s not answering. Do you have time to stop at home before going back to work?”
He hesitated, and she flinched inwardly. He probably hadn’t had time to come to her rescue in the first place, but he had clearly made it.
“Yes.” Ridge stepped back and dusted a cobweb from her hair. “But I have to tell you about my latest mission on the way. You’re not injured, are you?”
“No.” She swatted at dust clinging to her dress.
Ridge frowned at her, as if he wasn’t sure if she was telling the truth. He didn’t question her, though. He pointed toward the archives building. “Not that you need my assertive and manly help in matters, but do you want me to question those women and get some information before we go?”
“I don’t know… Would you be getting information with force or with charm?”
“If I follow in my already established pattern for the day, I’d dangle from a vine outside their window.”
“There’s a story I’d like to hear about.”
“And yet, oddly, I’m not inclined to share it.” Ridge grinned, then tilted his chin toward the street, silently asking his question again.
It was probably a vain hope, but Sardelle didn’t want to drag Ridge into her trouble. He stood to lose so much if people found out he was protecting a sorceress. A witch, they would call her.
“No,” Sardelle said. “Leave them be. Better to just disappear.”
For a moment, he looked like he would argue, but he sighed and said, “As you wish.”
He released her from his hug but held her hand as he started toward the opposite end of the alley. He paused before he had gone more than a step. “Ah, by disappear, did you mean walk briskly back to the house to check on your sword, or did you mean something more…” He waved his hand in the air and raised his eyebrows.
Sardelle smiled and started walking at his side. Someday, she would give him the full list of what she could and could not do, but the notion that she could do anything magical at all hadn’t stopped making him twitch. It would take more time for him to grow accustomed to her abilities. Assuming she remained in the city and they had that time. She gave a long look over her shoulder before letting h
im lead her into the next street.
• • • • •
“How long will you be gone?” Sardelle asked as the gate guard passed them onto the installation. She was worried about Jaxi and setting a fast pace, but Ridge’s proclamation that he was heading to Cofahre, for what could only be a dangerous mission, had her doubly concerned. “And would it be terribly inappropriate if I arranged to be on the continent at the same time? I promised Tolemek I would find a way to get his sister, and…” She groped for a way to suggest that she could be useful if she were there with Ridge without implying that he needed her help.
He gave her a sidelong look. “Tolemek should be coming with us, if Colonel Ice Butt doesn’t offend him so deeply that he flees the country ahead of time. Albeit, this isn’t a quest to get his sister.”
“Will Lieutenant Ahn be going too?”
Ridge nodded. “I’m not sure I could get anyone else to willingly fly with the Deathmaker sitting in the back seat. That would even make my shoulder blades itchy.”
“Ah.” It was silly—Sardelle wasn’t a part of his world and certainly not trusted by his military, so she couldn’t expect to be invited along—but she already felt lonely at the thought of the few friends she had made all leaving her. As the weeks had passed, she had grown more distressed about the comrades and kin she would never see again, rather than less. In the beginning, it had been as if she had been off on some adventure in a strange new land, with her family waiting back at home. But she’d had more quiet time of late, and it had finally sunken in that there was no one back at home. There wasn’t even a home anymore.
“I’d rather have you with us than roaming the continent on your own.” Ridge chewed on his lip as they rounded the corner onto his street. “And I’m not enthused about the idea of leaving you here, either, especially when there’s so much interest in you right now.”
“I don’t suppose there’s a luggage compartment on those fliers that you could stick me in.”
“Uh, they’re not really made for long-distance voyages. Just ask Ahn about the tube.”
The Dragon Blood Collection, Books 1-3 Page 53