6.0 - Raptor (7 page)

Even though her resignation had been her choice, she felt stung that everyone knew about this except for her.

“The dragon convinced me to release him,” King Angulus said. “He promised to help Kaika and me escape from the cavern. Foolishly, I believed him.”

“Sire, he had a powerful mind,” Kaika said. “I was sympathetic to him, too, and that’s not normal for me. Not when dealing with giant monsters with fangs bigger and sharper than swords.”

From the way Angulus’s lips thinned and he shook his head, he didn’t forgive himself, powerful mind notwithstanding. Cas understood all too well how hard it was to forgive oneself when one had committed an unforgivable error.

“Regardless of the circumstances,” Angulus said, “the dragon is free now, and it’s wreaking havoc in rural areas. It’s been close to the capital as well.” He extended a hand toward Zirkander.

“Apparently, it feels particularly venomous toward furnishings,” Zirkander said, earning a flat look from Angulus.

“He attacked the silver dragon you helped free,” Angulus said, “a dragon we’re hoping might be an ally to Iskandia one day.” He glanced at Tylie, being more honest with her in the room than Cas would have expected. “At the least, Phelistoth hasn’t proven himself an enemy, and we hope that will continue.”

“He doesn’t attack people,” Tylie said. She had released Tolemek from the hug, but still clasped his hand. “He’s a scholar. He’s interested in finding out what happened to his kind, that’s all.” A troubled line creased her brow. “He doesn’t want to fight for anyone.”

Angulus spread his hand in an accepting gesture, though he had to secretly be hoping for some dragon allies. That could tip the scales against the empire. Or at least cause the empire to think twice about attacking Iskandia, and as far as Cas knew, that was all her country wanted, to be left alone.

“We’re planning a dragon hunt,” Angulus told Cas. “General Zirkander and General Ort will spearhead it.”

General Ort had not said anything since Cas had arrived. He stood to one side of the room, hands clasped behind his back in a crisp parade-rest stance. Cas hadn’t spoken to the man very often, but thought he would be a good commander. But why was the king telling her about this, when she wasn’t on the army’s payroll anymore? Did he want her to go? That was all she could imagine, but why? She doubted bullets would harm a dragon. They hadn’t even done anything in fights against human magic users.

Cas rocked back on her heels with the realization of what the king must be thinking—and why he had called her here. Colonel Therrik had been reassigned to the crystal mines, so he wasn’t around to consult. Too bad. He would be much more knowledgeable when it came to Kasandral, the dragon-slaying sword. The sword that was happy to slay
anyone
, dragon or sorcerer or not.

“I intend to get the dragon sword out of its locked vault,” Angulus said.

For the first time, the other people in the room stirred. Sardelle didn’t look surprised, but she was the only one. Zirkander, Ort, and Kaika all looked at
Cas
. Heat flushed her cheeks, and she wanted to crawl into the corner and disappear. Zirkander looked away quickly, perhaps not wanting to remind her of her bad memories. Too late.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sire,” Cas whispered. “It can’t be trusted. Its wielder can’t be trusted, either, not when Kasandral is in hand.”

“I’m aware of the details of Apex’s death,” Angulus said.

Even though hearing Apex’s name came as a stab to the heart, Cas appreciated the king’s bluntness versus the way Tolemek and Zirkander talked around it. They were trying to spare her feelings, and she understood that, but it didn’t help.

“That’s why I’ve brought you here,” Angulus said. “I want to stack the odds in our favor. We’ll take explosives, at least one soulblade, and fliers and an airship so we can reach the dragon, but if I understand my history, that sword was designed to
kill
dragons.” He looked toward Sardelle, who nodded once. “It’s the ideal weapon to use, and I’ve also been told that if it’s kept in that box, a dragon or sorceress shouldn’t be able to sense it.” Another nod from Sardelle. “If Zirkander flies up to meet the dragon and takes a wielder with him, someone who would keep the sword boxed until the last moment, perhaps that person could get close enough to strike a mortal blow.”

“Oh, so that’s my part in this,” Zirkander said. “You don’t want a mission co-commander, you want a sacrifice to the dragon gods. And the dragon.”

Cas ignored him—as did Angulus. Zirkander might grouse, but he would also complain if someone else was given the suicidal task. Cas was more concerned about this talk of an unnamed wielder, especially since Angulus was looking steadily at her. Seven gods, he couldn’t be thinking of asking
her
to do this, could he? Out of some notion that she had experience with the blade and was thus the logical choice? Her experience had been
tragic
. She should be the last choice for anything that dealt with it.

“I need to choose someone to wield the sword,” Angulus said. “It would help if you could give me any information that might be pertinent. Are your thoughts your own when you hold it? At least most of the time? Could someone who had been trained as a sorceress wield it, or would it reject that?”

“I can answer that, Sire,” Sardelle said. “Kasandral zapped me when I touched the scabbard. I’m not sure what would happen if I tried to grab the hilt, but I’d like to keep both hands, so I would decline the opportunity. Kasandral hates magic, and he hates those who wield it.”

“That’s unfortunate, because I thought someone who’d had the mental training that sorceresses get might be better at deflecting its manipulation attempts.”

“The manipulation is a danger,” Sardelle said, “but it wasn’t until the queen uttered a certain phrase that Cas lost control. I think Kasandral was designed to have the ability to take over, so that even someone without sword skills could be effective at wielding him.”

“When it’s in control,” Cas said, refusing to give the sword a gender, “you’re aware of what it’s doing. You just can’t stop it. You’re locked up, a prisoner in your own body. The rest of the time, it affects you more subtly. Such as, you start feeling irritated at your friends, and you don’t know why. Your friends who have dragon blood in their veins, that is.”

Tolemek rested a hand on her shoulder. A part of her wanted to reject the support—the sympathy that it included—but a part of her was glad for it. She hadn’t ever wanted to talk about this again. As much as she wanted to do nothing more than clinically state the facts, the facts were tangled up with memories and emotions.

“Does anyone recall the words that Nia—the queen—spoke?” Angulus asked.

Cas closed her eyes, trying to remember. She’d been caught so unaware, and everything had happened so quickly. She knew they hadn’t been in the modern tongue, but all she could do was shake her head.

“Unfortunately, I don’t remember the words, either,” Sardelle said. “With the pre-Occupation versions of our language, I’ve only seen the words written, not heard them spoken. I’m also not positive Kasandral originated in Iskandia, so the words could have been in another language altogether.”

“Nia must have learned them somewhere here. I wonder if Therrik has them. Maybe they were handed down through the family.”

“We can ask him if we go up there.” Sardelle tapped her fingers on Jaxi’s hilt. “It’s also possible some of the books that were excavated from Galmok Mountain would have the information we need. My people had a library full of history texts related to dragons and magic. All of the modern books I’ve seen that deal even peripherally with such topics seem to have been edited or destroyed.”

Angulus grunted, not denying that the city’s libraries—probably the entire continent’s libraries—had been so manipulated in the past centuries.

“Do we
want
to know those words?” Zirkander asked. “If they’re what made Ahn go, ah, AWOL?”

“I wouldn’t mind never hearing them again,” Cas said.

“It’s likely the command is what caused the sword to flare to full power,” Sardelle said. “Kasandral has some power when he’s quiescent—perhaps enough to cut through dragon scale—but he definitely grew stronger once he had been fully awoken. Perhaps if the words could be learned, the wielder could be the one to use them at his or her discretion.”

“Another reason to detour to the crystal mines then,” Zirkander said.

Another reason? What was the
first
reason? Cas felt that she had come into the middle of a conversation.

Angulus frowned. “Perhaps.”

“Would I be safe piloting someone carrying the sword?” Zirkander asked. “I’m open to taking a flier up to catch a dragon, even if that sounds extremely unwise, but I wouldn’t want to be concentrating on flying, only to get brained from behind.”

“You don’t have any dragon blood,” Sardelle said. “The sword shouldn’t object to you.”

“
Shouldn’t
.”

“Cas,” Sardelle said, “you mentioned feeling irritated toward Tolemek and me when you were carrying the sword. Did your feelings toward Ridge or anyone else in our group change?”

“Not that I remember, but—” She spread her arms helplessly, not able to voice that Apex hadn’t had dragon blood, either. He’d just… gotten in the way.

From the bleak expressions in the room, she did not need to say the rest out loud.

“Kasandral was made to protect humans from dragons and, to a lesser extent, sorcerers,” Sardelle said, breaking the uncomfortable silence. “You shouldn’t need to worry about being brained. Unless you irritate your passenger with your flying.”

Zirkander snorted. “So long as you don’t stick Colonel Therrik behind me. He doesn’t appreciate my maneuvers.”

“That’s actually who I had in mind,” Angulus said.

Cas stared at him. He wasn’t serious, was he? She’d assumed… well, she had believed the king might be leading up to assigning
her
to go along on the mission. She had intended to object, of course, since she couldn’t trust herself to touch that sword again. But the idea of having someone like that hot-headed Colonel Therrik holding it was even more appalling.

“Is that a joke, Sire?” Zirkander asked. “Because it’s hard to tell when you’re telling jokes. Your tone is so dry all the time.”

“It’s not a joke. It’s his family’s sword. And I’m positive that somewhere in his military career, he’s found time to train at swordsmanship.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’s trained with every pointy, bladed, or blunt weapon in existence, including his own head.”

Tolemek snorted. He’d lowered his hand from Cas’s shoulder, but remained close behind her. She’d forgotten what it was like to have him there. She’d forgotten how much she liked it. What she didn’t like was imagining Therrik with Kasandral. He didn’t like Zirkander, and he didn’t like sorcerers. What if he used it as an excuse to attack Sardelle? With Jaxi’s help, Sardelle had fended off Cas when the sword had taken over, but with Therrik’s strength and combat expertise, he would be a more dangerous opponent.

“You have another candidate in mind?” Angulus asked.

Zirkander only hesitated a second before looking at Kaika. She had her hands clasped behind her head as she lounged in the chair, but she sat upright now.

“Uhm?” She did not appear enthused about the idea. And why would she? She had been there for Apex’s death and had seen what had happened firsthand.

“No,” Angulus said, his tone cold.

“Why not? She’s got the same kind of training as he has, and I don’t think she has any secret fantasies about braining me—or Sardelle.” Zirkander must have been having the same thoughts as Cas. Someone who already loathed magic shouldn’t be allowed around that blade. The idea of someone using it as an excuse to get rid of what he considered unsavory people appalled her.

“She’ll be busy launching explosives at the dragon,” Angulus said, though he sounded a little uncertain.

“She can set up some bombs and hand them to someone else to launch,” Zirkander said. “Like Tolemek. Is he coming? We could use some of his concoctions too. Maybe he can fling a nice acid in the dragon’s eyes so it can’t fly. Or hand it a pill to swallow that will make it pass out. We could stick it in a piece of steak. That works with dogs, so why not dragons?”

“Why can’t I be in the same room as that man for more than ten minutes without him turning me into a walking pharmacy?” Tolemek muttered too quietly for anyone but Cas and Tylie to hear.

Tylie grinned up at him. “You’re good at making things, Tolie.”

Angulus sighed, ignoring Zirkander and facing Kaika. “Do you want to do it?”

“Not really, but I will if that’s what the mission calls for. I haven’t used swords often though. I’ve gone to all the knife classes, but that’s not really the same.”

“Perhaps we could recruit someone new from the elite forces,” Angulus said. “Someone who shares Therrik’s passion for old weapons but who doesn’t share his attitudes.”

“And someone who doesn’t get airsick,” Zirkander added. “That’s another reason Therrik couldn’t do it. He’d end up puking all over the dragon. Or more likely, his pilot.”

As the conversation continued around her, Cas’s thoughts turned inward. Earlier, she had cringed to think that she might be asked to wield Kasandral again, but as no superior candidates were nominated, she started to realize that she might be the logical choice, even if her soul quivered at the idea of volunteering. She was familiar with the sword and would know what to expect. This time, she might do better at controlling the feelings of annoyance it would inflict upon her in regard to Sardelle and Tolemek. And if they kept it in the box until the last moment, its effects might be minimal. Maybe. She remembered Sardelle theorizing that some of Therrik’s belligerence toward her and Tolemek might have been a result, at least in part, from sleeping with the sword under his bed.

Even if Cas couldn’t control her responses, wouldn’t she still be a logical choice? She might not be a blade master, but she already had a stain on her soul. If the sword forced its wielder to kill another ally, and that wielder was she… well, wouldn’t that be better than someone else having to carry that burden?