The Dragon Blood Collection, Books 1-3

by Lindsay Buroker

  But the large projectile did the impossible. It curved off its trajectory, banking in the sky like an aircraft. By now, Ridge ought to expect the unexpected from these dragon-blood powered contraptions, but he found himself gaping in stunned disbelief anyway. Until the projectile—the rocket—arced a full hundred and eighty degrees and spun through the sky toward him.

  “Anyone want to enlighten me on these new Cofah weapons?” Ridge asked, nudging the nose of his craft to alter his course.

  “If you haven’t seen one yet, be glad,” Duck said, his voice quick, almost breathless.

  “I’m seeing one now. It’s heading right for me and—” The rocket was adjusting course to keep him in its sights—if projectiles even had sights—and it had already closed half the distance. “Talk later,” he said, knowing he’d need his full concentration.

  “Yeah,” came Duck’s response, grim and full of understanding.

  Ridge made a more abrupt correction to his course this time, pitching downward. The canyon was still running along the craggy hills beside him, but he didn’t know the terrain and didn’t want to get himself stuck with a rocket on his butt. He headed straight for the ground, as if he meant to crash. He kept one eye on the terrain and one on the rocket, which was tilting toward the ground, too, toward him.

  He brought his nose up before he hit the trees, though he came close enough that the air from his passing knocked snow off the boughs. The rocket arrowed toward him, its nose aimed straight at the front of his craft. The trees ended, and he dropped even lower, skimming along rock and snow. The rocket filled his vision, its black snub-nose as appealing as a viper’s fangs.

  Ridge waited until the last second, timing it… timing it… and jerked the stick to the side.

  The rocket tried to adjust at the last second, too, but it wasn’t quite fast enough. It darted past Ridge’s wing, so close he could have read the model number engraved in the side if it hadn’t been moving so fast. He expected it to hit the ground—that had been the whole idea—but he didn’t expect the cacophonous boom that filled the air, pounding at his eardrums even as the shockwave pounded his craft.

  His flier spun out of control, the tail flipping over the nose twice, a wing cracking against the ground. Ridge was jerked around in the cockpit like a puppet on strings. His head slammed against the side, his leather cap offering poor protection. If not for the harness, he would have been thrown free. He almost wished he had been. He tried to regain his senses, to recover somehow and get the flier into the air again—or at least bring it to a stop before it destroyed itself, but the lip of the canyon loomed before him. He’d been flying so close, and he had turned in that direction… He was going in if he couldn’t bring the craft to a stop. And it was a long fall to the bottom.

  Suddenly, his flier slowed and stopped striking the ground. It righted itself and rose into the air as if someone had snatched it from its mad tumble. Ridge knew that wasn’t his doing, but he was so disoriented that he couldn’t guess what was happening. He wasn’t even positive he was alive.

  The flier came to a halt and floated over the lip of the canyon, the ground on one side and a fall of two hundred feet on the other. He hovered there. He hadn’t activated the thrusters, had he?

  My apologies. I thought your maneuver would be sufficient. I didn’t realize the projectile would explode.

  Jaxi? Ridge touched his head, wincing at a lump already swelling beneath his cap. There was blood dripping down the side of his face too.

  Are there other swords that speak into your mind?

  I don’t think so. But I can barely remember my name right now, so I’m an unreliable source. He twisted to look behind him, looking for the spot where the rocket landed. It wasn’t hard to find. A huge crater scarred the ground, with trees uprooted and thrown free all around the circular depression. He was lucky to be alive.

  Remembering that he hadn’t shot down that flier before it launched its weapon, he jerked his gaze to the sky. Where’s the other pilot? The Cofah?

  His flier fell into the canyon.

  Ridge, his mind still a knot of jarred confusion, could only ask, What?

  I should say his engine exploded, and then his flier fell into the canyon as a result of that. I wasn’t sure I could do that—dragon blood isn’t flammable, as I found out, but that oily stuff you put in the engines—what do you call it?—that is flammable. Very flammable. If swords could cackle, Jaxi did.

  We call it oil. Ridge slumped. His head and body ached and he owed his life to a sorcerous sword. Not his skill or cleverness or… anything.

  Remembering the rest of his people, who were also facing rockets, Ridge sat up straight. Self-flagellation would have to wait for later. Can you help the others?

  A second explosion shook the mountains before Jaxi responded. An orange blaze lit the sky like a small sun. Two bronze Iskandian fliers flew out of the explosion, heading in his direction. His fist clenched. Good. But the third? Where was the third? He didn’t see the Cofah craft, either. A small comfort if he had lost a squad member.

  “Nice shot, Raptor,” Apex said.

  “Thank you,” Ahn said. They both sounded exhausted. Harried.

  “Duck?” Ridge asked.

  “I’m here, sir,” Duck said. “Just escorting that Cofah flier into a nice mountainside back here. That black paint makes the hull look real good all smashed into the snow. Not sure that goat appreciated us a-visiting, though.”

  “Visiting,” Apex said. “There is no grammatical reason to add extra letters or syllables to the word.”

  “After what we just went through, you’re lecturing me on my word-making?” Duck’s craft finally came into view, flying out from behind the mountain.

  “The goat asked me to.”

  Jaxi, can you lower me to the ground? I need to see if this craft can be made airworthy again. I’m assuming I’d drop right out of the sky and into that canyon without your assistance. His sudden ability to hover without thrusters would be difficult to explain to the others as well.

  Correct.

  Thank you for your help, he added as his mangled flier floated to a flat stretch of ground and settled onto its wheels. Lopsidedly.

  Sardelle would have been weepy and inconsolable if you’d died. I probably should have helped earlier, but these mechanical contraptions are beyond my experience. It’s also possible your comrades would have found it suspicious if the enemy craft spontaneously combusted before their eyes.

  Possible, yes.

  “Your flier isn’t looking good, sir,” Duck said. “My wing was clipped, too, and I’m a little wobbly. Should we land or try to catch the airship?”

  “Is it still in sight up there?” From the ground, Ridge couldn’t see over the trees. “I was too busy crashing to see what it was doing.”

  “Last I saw it, it was flying behind that peak over there. It probably kept going. So much for crashing it in here.”

  Ridge sighed. So much for this whole mission. He should have taken his people’s role more seriously from the beginning. But how could he have anticipated these new aircraft and weapons?

  “Sorry, sir,” Ahn said. “We should have split off and someone should have come to help you when we saw we only had one on our butts, but that one fired that crazy rocket…”

  “Each of their fliers was loaded with two rockets,” Apex said. “Ahn discovered that her sniper rifle was ineffective for destroying them, but that the machine gun works. For the record, Duck and I tried to discover that, too, but our aim was imprecise.”

  “My aim was perfectly precise,” Duck grumbled. “It’s not my fault the rocket kept moving out of the spot I was aiming at.”

  “Find places to land,” Ridge said. “We’ll run checks and see who’s damaged and how much. I’m afraid this flier might not be airworthy again, not without an engineer and a box of spare parts.” Neither of which they had out here. He cursed softly. How was he going to get all of his people out if they were down a flier?

>   “Yes, sir.”

  Ridge unfastened his harness and climbed down. His legs were shaking after the crash, so he was glad he had a moment to compose himself before the others joined him. He removed his cap and goggles and slumped against the side of the craft. An icy wind blowing off the mountaintops batted at his scarf. He shivered, his body slicked with cold sweat, as if he had run a marathon instead of simply sitting in a chair up there.

  After the others landed, the buzz of propellers faded from the mountains. He considered the sun, hoping it would drop quickly up here and that his people would have the darkness of night to hide them while they did repairs. That airship, and possibly many of its friends, would be back before long.

  The airship hasn’t left completely.

  Ridge straightened immediately. What? Where is it? Is it coming this way? He opened his mouth, ready to order his people back into the air and already feeling a surge of anguish that he might not be able to follow them.

  It’s heading west, but it’s leaving a message.

  A message? Ridge thought of the rockets. Could the airship be equipped with launchers too? Just because it hadn’t used them on their first pass didn’t mean it didn’t have them.

  It’s a literal message. Interesting how a sword could make its telepathic words as dry as someone could with a voice. Might want to climb a tree.

  Ridge didn’t feel like climbing anything, except maybe into a bed, but he didn’t want to miss whatever lovely message the Cofah had for him. He found an aspen tree with most of its trunk bare and only the snow-covered branches at the top obstructing the sky, creating a latticework he could see through. He unfastened his belt, encircled the trunk with it, and looped the ends around his hands and gripped them. With his boots braced against the trunk, he slid the belt up a couple of feet at a time, his legs following. As he advanced toward the treetop, his movements shook the thin branches overhead, and clumps of snow pelted his shoulders and head.

  You could have just told me what the message said, Ridge thought, though he didn’t know if the sword would be listening.

  Yes, I could have floated you fifty feet into the air, too, but would you have an answer when your people asked how you got up there to read it?

  They’re not here yet. He wasn’t sure where they had landed, but there were limited spots among the trees.

  Yes, they are.

  “Whatcha doing, sir?” Duck called up.

  But by now, Ridge had climbed high enough to see the sky to the west. The airship was a mere speck on the horizon, and the message it had left in smoke was already being blown apart by the wind. He could still read it, though, and it made him drop his head to his chin, a great weariness filling him.

  Your spies are dead. Leave or you’re next.

  Chapter 10

  Sardelle and Tolemek slogged across the snow, cloaks pulled tightly around their bodies and hoods tugged low over their heads. Night hugged the mountains, and after traveling all day, they both needed sleep. After Jaxi’s warning, Sardelle had wanted to fly back to Ridge’s camp with all speed possible, but they’d had little choice but to return the way they had come: first on train, then on horseback, and finally on stolen snowshoes when the drifts grew too deep for the horses. Jaxi was directing them to the new camp, where the pilots were doing repairs as quickly as possible so they could move before the Cofah returned. Sardelle worried she and Tolemek—who had scarcely said three words since leaving the asylum—would arrive only to find out the others had moved on.

  They’re still there. I’m helping Mr. Cranky fix his flier.

  Mr. Cranky? That couldn’t be Ridge.

  He’s not cranky with his troops, but he’s cranky with me. I’m not sure he appreciates my comments in his head, even though I did save him from falling into a canyon yesterday.

  Is it the fact that you’re commenting that he doesn’t appreciate or the fact that your comments are sarcastic and frequently exasperating? Sardelle was starting to regret initiating telepathic communication with Ridge. She hadn’t realized Jaxi would take it as an invitation to chat with him at every opportunity.

  Please, I’m only infrequently exasperating. You can’t believe the restraint I exercise. I could comment on everything you people do. As to the rest, if you didn’t want me to chat with him, you shouldn’t have left me in his flying contraption.

  “Are you sure we’re going the right way?” Tolemek stopped on the snow-socked hillside, gazing up at the mountains fencing them. They had been on a trail at one point, but Jaxi had assured Sardelle this was a shortcut.

  “We’re close to their camp,” she said.

  “That didn’t quite answer my question, did it?”

  “Jaxi is certain we’re going the right way.”

  Tolemek grunted and continued up the slope. Sardelle caught the scent of woodsmoke on the breeze. She hoped that meant they were close, but wondered if Ridge would allow fires when enemy airships might be about.

  They’re using the flames to melt pine pitch to use in their repairs. It’s extremely primitive. Ridge did not find it helpful when I informed him thusly. Perhaps the pirate scientist can help them come up with a superior glue.

  Sardelle was beginning to see why Ridge might be cranky with Jaxi. She and Tolemek crested a ridge, and she expected a campfire to come into view, but she saw nothing but trees, a canyon in the distance, and a strange crater. Ah, wait. There was a hint of magic in the air.

  I’m camouflaging them from anyone who might happen by.

  Does Ridge know?

  It’s the reason he’s risking the fire. I’m being very helpful. I told him I could have camouflaged his camp before if he had only asked. That netting they were using was troublesome when they had to leave. A far inferior product to what a sorceress can craft with her mind.

  Ridge doesn’t know what your abilities are, Sardelle reminded Jaxi. And he’s being careful with our secret.

  There are only the two pilots that don’t know about you. Perhaps it would be useful to bring them into the fold, so we can use our power openly to help them.

  Perhaps so. I’ll discuss it with him. Sardelle thought Ridge trusted all of his pilots, but she didn’t know Duck or Apex well yet, and was reluctant to simply walk up and inform them she was a sorceress.

  Tolemek stopped. “I… sense something out there.” He gave her a curious look.

  “It’s the camp. That’s good that you detected Jaxi’s handiwork.”

  Not that good. It makes me doubt my touch. Am I growing old?

  Ancient. But you shouldn’t be surprised. You said yourself he has a lot of innate talent. It’s a shame we didn’t find the sister. I’m curious about her.

  Aren’t you going to keep looking for her?

  Yes, but it sounds like we need to help Ridge and his team first.

  Jaxi had summarized the aerial battle, as well as the message the airship had left in the sky. The fact that the Cofah had all of this dragon blood and were using it to build weapons that would inevitably be used on the Iskandians… It was disturbing. This wasn’t just about helping Ridge. Her whole continent was in danger.

  Between one step and the next, the view changed. What had appeared to be nothing more than trees turned into a cleared area with two fliers in it. Two others hunkered behind a copse of aspens farther back. They appeared fine, but the closer two fliers had black tarry spots over their bronze bodies and patches on the wings. Dozens of dents and scratches marred the hull, and the number of broken branches and pine needles carpeting the surface suggested the propeller had recently doubled as a wood chipper.

  In the shadows, Lieutenant Ahn leaned against a stump with a rifle cradled in her arms. Sardelle hadn’t noticed her at first, but had a feeling Ahn had noticed her hundreds of meters away. The two other lieutenants were standing by a large fire, one adding branches and one stirring the contents of a makeshift pot—was that a tin Cofah helmet? Ridge was straddling the most damaged flier, and he waved a pitch-covered stick at her w
hen she looked at him.

  “Tolemek,” he called. “Do you have any interesting goos that could help with repairs?”

  “Possibly,” Tolemek said. “I’ll take a look in a moment.” He drifted over to Ahn first, giving her a hug and sharing a few quiet words with her.

  Apex was on his way to gather another load of firewood. He glared at them, but didn’t say a word.

  Sardelle knew she shouldn’t distract Ridge with secret conversations, but, remembering the way he had teased her about helping Tolemek first when they’d both been knocked down, she touched his mind with a question. Should I be jealous that you’re more excited to see him than you are to see me?

  No, because that’s not the case. It’s just that I can’t leap from my flier and smother you with kisses while everyone is watching. Also, I might get pitch in your hair if I tried. His humor sounded tired and forced. He was weary, but there was more bothering him. The loss of the two captains must weigh heavily on him. Maybe he felt responsible in some way.

  “You didn’t find what you sought?” Apex asked, walking back into camp with a couple of big branches. He addressed Sardelle instead of Tolemek.

  “What we sought had been moved,” Sardelle said.

  Ridge finished working on the flier, at least for the moment, and climbed down. “Apex, that’s enough wood. Everyone, let’s have a quick meeting around the fire.”

  Sardelle wouldn’t have minded sitting down after the long trek through the mountains, but the camp lacked seating unless one wanted to climb up into one of the cockpits. Tolemek and the pilots gathered around the flames. Sardelle resisted the urge to lean against Ridge’s arm, instead standing a couple of feet behind him.

  “If the Cofah can be believed, Captains Nowon and Kaika are dead,” Ridge said.

  “If they can be believed?” Ahn asked. “You think they were lying, sir?”