Balanced on the Blade's Edge (Dragon Blood, Book 1) (31 page)

“I hate logic sometimes,” Ridge said, the
wind stealing his words. Not that there was anyone there to hear
them.

Once he was above the airship again, and they
couldn’t target him so easily, he veered in close. He strafed the
oblong balloon, delivering dozens of small holes. With luck, the
bullets might chew up the frame inside too. Unfortunately, those
little holes wouldn’t bring the craft down anytime soon.

Something streaked out of the dark sky and
slammed into the front of the cockpit. He jerked back. The owl, he
realized at the same moment as its unworldly shriek blasted his
ears.

He banked hard, trying to hurl it off the
flier. If not for his harness, he might have hurled
himself
out. The cursed magical bird hung on, its
wings beating around the cockpit, keeping Ridge from seeing
anything clearly. He glimpsed the balloon of the airship,
approaching quickly. He tried to pull up, but that giant owl was
either pushing down on the nose somehow or it weighed as much as
another person.

Something rolled against Ridge’s foot as he
twisted and turned, trying to buck the owl free.

“What now?” he growled.

Then he remembered Bosmont’s comment. Since
he needed to duck a slashing talon anyway, he bent down and patted
around his feet. He grasped something that felt like a cannonball.
That didn’t make any sense. He slapped at the switch that uncovered
the crystal in the back, and light blazed forth.

The owl squawked and let go, flapping off to
the side of the flier.

“Ten layers of hell, if I’d known it hated
light, I would have tried that first.” Ridge didn’t give a whit
that the glowing crystal would make him an easier target for the
airship, not if it kept that demon bird away. He needed to see what
his engineer had given him too. It was lighter than a cannonball,
even if it had the same shape, and a wick stuck out of the top.

“Not a wick, idiot, a fuse.” Ridge laughed.
Bosmont had made him some bombs.

His first thought was that a bomb dropped
onto the top of that balloon would definitely rip a big enough hole
to bring the airship down. But the owl veered in again, its huge
wings blotting out the stars. The light of the crystal might have
startled it, but it had recovered.

“Let’s see how he likes bombs.”

Keeping one hand on the controls, Ridge
unfastened the lid of the storage box next to his seat, and fished
out the flashlamp used for lighting emergency flares. He thumbed
the trigger on the side, and flint snapped against steel, producing
a tiny flame. He jammed the bomb between his legs to hold it and
hoped Bosmont knew what he was doing and that it wouldn’t go off
prematurely. He waited before lighting it, knowing it would take a
lot of luck to catch that owl. From the length of the fuse, he
judged he would have about four seconds before the bomb
exploded.

The creature had disappeared for the moment.
Maybe it knew what he intended. Ridge craned his neck in all
directions and up, knowing death often came from above in aerial
fights, and he was rewarded. He spotted the owl diving down at him
from above, plummeting for a kill.

Ridge lit the fuse, grabbed the bomb, then
waited, counting. The flier shimmied and jerked, needing two hands
on the controls, especially now that it had taken damage.

“Just give me one more second, girl,” he
muttered.

He threw the bomb at the owl, as it extended
its talons to grip the top of the cockpit again, or maybe to grip
the top of Ridge’s head. Whatever its intent, having a metal ball
hurled at its face altered its plan. Ridge expected the bomb to
strike it and bounce off—he was hoping he had timed it so it would
explode before it bounced far—but the owl reacted by snapping its
beak down. It caught the bomb in its mouth.

Ridge fought the urge to gape in surprise,
instead taking the flier down, knowing he had to put distance
between himself and that bomb before—

It erupted with a great flash of orange and
yellow, and with a boom that rivaled that of the cannons firing
below. The shock made the flier buck, but Ridge got away before any
shrapnel hit him. For a moment, feathers filled the sky, as if a
pillow had exploded.

Ridge blew out a relieved breath but went
straight to his next target. The airship. He felt around with his
foot. Hadn’t Bosmont said he had packed a couple of those little
gifts? To keep Ridge warm? Yes, there was another. He fished it
out, setting it in his lap again. That would never cease to make
him nervous, but nobody had thought to mount a bomb holder in the
cockpit.

The flier fought him, and he didn’t know how
many more runs he would have, but he angled it skyward again. If he
could take out the airship, surely the men below could do the rest.
Sorcerer or not.

As he climbed, Ridge peered into the fort,
wondering about Sardelle, wondering if…

This time, he did let his mouth fall open in
a gape. Sardelle was on her feet in the middle of the courtyard,
her sword blazing with an intense golden light that had to be
hurting the eyes of anyone nearby. Except for that white-haired man
in the furs… He was facing her, his hand outstretched, some sort of
red mist pouring from his fingers. Ridge had no idea what was going
on—or who was winning—and as much as he wanted to help her, he was
glad to be far above. He would much rather deal with the airship
than magic.

Around Sardelle and the enemy sorcerer, Cofah
warriors were engaged with the fort defenders in close combat.
Ridge’s people had numbers and
ought
to
have the advantage, but someone had opened the mine doors, and
miners were streaming out, pickaxes in hand. There was no telling
which side of the fray they would join. With that balloon on the
ground, they would have to see an escape opportunity. They might
simply brain anyone they crossed and sprint for freedom.

Ridge jerked his gaze from the courtyard and
touched the bomb in his lap. He had to finish his part before
worrying about the chaos below.

* * *

Sardelle advanced on the shaman, Jaxi glowing
like a sun in her hand. She had surprised him with her initial
attack, and his defenses had fallen, allowing the bullets to reach
the Cofah warriors, but he had recovered enough to brick off his
mind. That was fine. She had no problem stopping the man with her
sword. So long as the Cofah didn’t distract her overly much.

They were clearly acting as the shaman’s
bodyguards, whereas the soldiers on the wall… would be as happy to
shoot her as to shoot him.

A Cofah warrior aimed his firearm at her.
When it blasted, Jaxi blazed, incinerating what turned out to be
sprayed shot rather than a bullet. Fortunately, the rest of the
Cofah were focused on shooting back at those shooting from the
wall. With their shielding gone, they had the low ground. Some had
already run to take cover behind buildings.

The shaman tried another mental attack,
similar to the one he had originally launched. He wasn’t the only
one who had shored up his brain’s defenses. The assault broke
around Sardelle, like water passing a boulder in a stream.

She smiled at him and walked closer. Less
than ten meters separated them. If he was armed, his weapons lay
under that fur cloak. She eyed it. The wombat fur or whatever it
was looked coarse and dry. She waved her hand, trying to ignite it.
For a moment, smoke wafted up all around the shaman, but he
squelched the attack.

He sneered at her, raising his hand, and
tendrils of red mist floated toward her. Sardelle kept walking, not
certain what that mist was—much of his magic was foreign to her,
something from a distant continent—but trusted Jaxi’s power to
destroy it. For herself, she raised the soulblade over her
shoulder, preparing for a physical attack.

Jaxi pulled the red mist toward her. It
wrapped around the blade, then light flashed and it was gone,
incinerated like the bullets.

The shaman’s eyes grew round as he stared at
her—at the sword. At that moment, he knew he was outmatched.

It’s not too late
,
he spoke into her mind.
Forget these talentless
apes. They’re not worth wasting your power on. Come with me.
I’ll give you more than they ever
could
.

Is this going to be
another offer to breed?
Sardelle didn’t bother to hide her
disgust this time. He should have offered again to take her to the
other sorcerers in the world. That would have tempted her more. Not
enough to lower her sword and stop advancing on him, but more.

Do you not want children?
Children with power to rival your own?

If I choose to have
children, I want them to have two parents that love them, and each
other
.

That could come in
time
.
With his thoughts, he sent an image of them
together, locked in a lovers’ embrace.

Sardelle curled her lip. The shaman was
backing away, even as she advanced. She increased her pace. Another
five meters, and she would reach him. As she pressed forward, Jaxi
cut down bullets that came close—one burst into flames a foot from
her eyes. That had originated on the wall, not from a Cofah
shotgun. It wasn’t the first. No matter what the outcome of this
battle, she needed to leave as soon as her confrontation was
over.

You see them?
The
shaman flung a hand toward the soldiers on the wall.
They would strike you down as swiftly as they would me.
To defend them is utter foolishness. You are not worthy of a
soulblade.

Your courting words could
use some work.
Three meters.

The shaman crouched like a tiger, as if he
meant to launch a physical attack at her. Instead he threw up both
hands, hurling a tidal wave of energy. Again she let it deflect off
her mental shield, and it barely stirred her hair. Behind her,
windows shattered and doors flew open. A soldier was knocked off
the wall and cried out in pain.

Sardelle leapt forward, slashing at the
shaman’s neck with her blade. He scrambled backward, but his heel
caught on slick ground. He flailed trying to catch himself.
Sardelle lunged after him before he could recover, reminding
herself that, weapon or not, he was
not
a
helpless unarmed opponent. He had come to destroy this fort—and to
steal Jaxi. She finished him with a stab to the heart.

Sardelle turned three hundred and sixty
degrees, checking for fresh attackers, prepared to defend herself.
Rifles fired and metal clanged in all directions. Red and gray
uniforms mixed, as men fought hand-to-hand. The drab garb of
prisoners was everywhere too. She had forgotten—the shaman had
released the miners. A pickaxe slammed into a man’s back. The
victim wasn’t, as she had feared, one of the fort’s soldiers. It
was a Cofah warrior. The prisoners were
helping
the soldiers, not hindering them.

Light flared in the night sky, and a cheer
erupted. The rear of the airship had exploded, and shards of wood
flew in every direction. Its balloon was already a misshapen,
half-sunken mess. A single bronze dragon flier streaked out of the
remains of the explosion, its frame gleaming with the reflection of
the flames eating at the back of the airship. The wooden craft
slumped in the sky, floating lower and lower, a crash
inevitable.

Sardelle wished she could join in with the
celebration and wait for Ridge, give him a kiss and a hug for his
heroics, but she remembered those bullets all too well. As long as
General Nax was in charge, she wouldn’t receive fair treatment
here.

With tears stinging her eyes, Sardelle
checked the shaman one last time to ensure he was dead, then ran
for the balloon craft that had delivered the Cofah. A single man
waited in the large basket, the pilot doubtlessly. He was kneeling
with only his eyes peeking over the rim. When he saw Sardelle
coming, he leaned out and cut a line, then a second. They were
attached to anchors holding the balloon down, and as soon as he
severed them, the craft rose. Her run turned into a dead sprint. As
dubious a craft as a hot air balloon might be for flying over the
Ice Blades, it was all she had to escape these mountains.

She tossed her soulblade into the basket—that
ought to alarm the pilot—then leaped, catching one of the dangling
lines. Though she was weary from the battle, and no great athlete
under any circumstances, she was motivated enough to find a way up.
Half afraid the pilot would brain her, she rushed to claw her way
over the edge and into the basket. Her sword was the only thing
waiting inside.

I flared at him, and he
jumped over the side.

You make an effective
bully, Jaxi.

Thank you.

Sardelle pushed herself to her feet. In a
minute, she would figure out how to work the controls. Sometime
after that, she would contemplate her future and decide where she
wanted the craft to take her. For now, she simply inhaled and
exhaled the cold mountain air, feeling some of the tension ebb from
her body as the fort grew farther and farther away.

The clank-thunk-kertwank of the dragon
flier’s engine drifted to her ear, and she found Ridge, the light
of his power crystal illuminating him in the cockpit. He was flying
toward the fort as she drifted in the other direction—by the sickly
sound of that engine, it was doubtful his craft would make it much
farther—and too much distance separated them for words. He gave her
a nod though and lifted a hand.

Her throat tight, Sardelle returned the
gesture. Even if nobody else in that fort understood, he did.

Is that enough?

Sardelle wiped her eyes.
It has to be.

There were either no fish, or his bait wasn’t
fooling them. Or he was too drunk to realize they had snickeringly
made off with the bait an hour ago. He pondered whether fish
snickered. And then he pondered whether he had the strength to get
up from the chair, go inside the cabin, and make something to eat.
It sounded like a lot of work. Much easier to lean back on the deck
and enjoy the winter sun—if one could even call this weather
“winter” in comparison to what the Ice Blades experienced. There
wasn’t any ice on the lake, and it felt more like autumn with the
sun warming his skin.