Ridge eyed the open window, the sound of Captain Kaika’s voice drifting out as she described the previous night’s events to the king. Her voice was tense, and she stared down at her clasped hands as she sat on the edge of the couch while he stood and listened with his arms folded across his chest. Ridge was tempted to listen, as well, so he might hear the king’s reaction and be prepared for it the next time they spoke. Ultimately, he decided that he should not spy on King Angulus twice in the same month.
Since they looked like they might be discussing events for a while, Ridge continued on around the side of the house. His first thought was to check in on Tolemek—and the noxious blue smoke wafting from the kitchen windows. It was too soon to ask if he had come up with a weapon to use against invaders, but Ridge hoped he was making progress.
Before going inside, Ridge spotted Duck in the back yard, still sitting on the fence. He had no idea what words of comfort he might offer, especially when he felt responsible for Apex’s death, but he detoured in that direction. Duck did not look up as he approached.
Ridge leaned against the fence beside him, wishing he had something useful he could say. Comforting people wasn’t his strong suit, unless getting them drunk counted. But he dared not do that now, not when he could be called to leave any minute. Too bad, because he wouldn’t have minded a stiff drink. Apex’s face kept entering his thoughts, that hurt expression he had worn when Ridge had told him to fix the problem he had made. Now all Ridge could do was wish he had handled that better. Sending the man off alone... what had he been thinking? He had been angry. He hadn’t been thinking.
A cat stalked past, hunting a moth. A couple of yards over, a lady feeding chickens stole glances in their direction. After landing in the closest field he could, Ridge had done his best to hustle Angulus to the house without attracting attention, but he was sure a few neighbors had spotted him. That was another reason to leave soon. The last thing Angulus needed was a bunch of rural folk coming to him about problems with neighbors stealing cows or letting dogs run through their chicken pens.
“You going to be able to fly?” Ridge asked. “I’m going to do my best to make sure there are some fliers in our hangar come dawn.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I know it’s hard to lose people—friends—especially when...” He stopped himself from saying the death had been meaningless. Apex had been there, trying to redeem himself, trying to do what Ridge had asked. That wasn’t meaningless. What was meaningless was the queen’s bloody tirade against anyone who might have the slightest ability to perform magic. He should have been enraged by her actions, but it was hard to feel rage toward a dead person. “It’s just always hard,” he finished when Duck looked at him.
“Sir, I don’t understand... I mean, I probably would have done the same thing if the queen had come up to me and told me to stick a tracker on my flier. Are you even allowed to refuse royal orders? What else could he have done?”
“He could have told me about it, and I would have stalked into the castle and shoved that device up the queen’s big, padded—” Remembering that the house windows were open, Ridge lowered his voice and amended his last word to, “—nose.”
Duck managed a brief half smile. “You probably would have done that, sir.” His smile faded quickly, and he stared down at the mud. “I owed him a beer. Never got a chance to get back to town and buy it.”
“A life lesson. You should never delay the mutual consumption of alcohol.”
“I know people die, sir. We’ve lost friends before, but it seems to make more sense when you’re defending your country, fighting back those Cofah bastards, you know? This was just—to get randomly shot by some castle guard... such a waste.”
Ridge lifted his brows but managed to keep from asking who had told him that version of the story. Kaika? He didn’t think Sardelle would have lied to protect Ahn’s reputation or to make things easier, if only because she was a lousy liar, but perhaps Kaika had wanted to spare contention among the officers. It might not be a bad idea, since they were going to have to fly together again.
“Apex was a good man,” Duck went on. “His anger with Tolemek... I understood why he hated him. I didn’t have that personal connection to Tanglewood, but it was horrible, sir. I... It doesn’t make sense to me, why good men die young and evil men who are murderers will probably live to be old, crusty geezers.” Duck glanced toward the kitchen window.
Hatred didn’t roil off him, not the way it had for Apex when they had first left for the mission to Cofahre with Tolemek in the back of Ahn’s flier, but Ridge doubted Duck would ever be friends with the former “Deathmaker.” So long as he was willing to use any weapons Tolemek came up with to defend the homeland.
“Fate and fairness don’t usually go hand-in-hand,” Ridge said, “but you know some of those Cofah who fly against us are probably good men, too, men who are just following orders, the same as us. Over there, we’d be considered the murderers. It would take wiser men than us to decide what’s good and what’s evil. We’re better off following orders and accepting that the world doesn’t always make sense. Then coming home and drinking beer.” He patted Duck on the back. “We’ll have one together when this is all over, all right?”
“Yes, sir.” A yawn almost swallowed Duck’s last word.
“Go get some sleep. I think the bedroom’s open.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ridge wouldn’t have minded a spot to rest for a few hours, either, but as soon as the king finished talking to Kaika, he would want his ride back into the city. Ridge wondered what version of the story she was giving him. He also wondered if he might have liked things better if he had also received that version. Knowing it had been Lieutenant Ahn’s hand that had slain Apex did not make anything easier. He didn’t blame her—as soon as Sardelle had frowned doubtfully at that sword, he should have found a way to lock it away somewhere that nobody could use it. But he did worry that Ahn would blame herself, and he didn’t think anything good could come of that. What if she never came back at all?
She’s actually turning onto this street now, Sardelle whispered into his thoughts. She was leaning against the wall at the corner of the house. Had she heard him talking to Duck? Or maybe she was eavesdropping on the king’s conversation, as he had thought to do.
We had this discussion before. Sardelle smiled at him. It’s not eavesdropping if I happen to be standing nearby while you’re discussing things in a normal tone of voice in an open area.
Yes, I do remember that. Does the same rule apply if you’re hanging from a vine while listening?
Whoever would listen while hanging from a vine?
Never mind. I better go meet Ahn. She doesn’t have that cursed blade with her, does she?
No. We left it in the rubble at the castle.
Rubble that would eventually be cleared. He grimaced. If the king was still talking to him after he heard the full story, Ridge would have to lobby for someone to have that thing taken out to sea and dropped in the Forbidden Trench.
As Ridge circled toward the front of the house, he watched Sardelle walk through the kitchen door. A great plume of smoke wafted out as she entered. Once everyone cleared out of the house—and there was no risk of the king overhearing any yelling—Ridge expected a lecture from his mother. A loud one.
Ahn stood in front of the house, looking at the front door, as if debating whether she truly wanted to go up and knock. He could understand the sentiment. Her short hair was tousled, her clothes ripped and stained, and her slouch hinted of weariness far greater than anyone as young as she was should feel. He did not see a horse, so she might have walked the entire way. She held an envelope, the creamy, smudge-free paper contrasting with her dirty hand.
When she spotted him, she stood straighter, her hand twitching upward. It didn’t make it all the way to a salute. Instead, her shoulders slumped again, and she stared bleakly at his boots.
Ridge walked over, having no more idea of what to say to her than he had for Duck. For lack of a better opening, he started the same way.
“You going to be able to fly? I’m trying to get our machines back. I got the king—” Ridge pointed his thumb toward the house, “—so that might happen more easily now.”
Ahn blinked a few times and stared at the front door. That probably was not the opening she had expected.
“Yes, sir,” she said. “I mean... I can if you need me to, but I...” She looked down at the envelope, took a slow breath, then held it out to him. “I came to report for punishment and also to resign my commission.”
Ridge looked at the envelope without moving his hand to accept it.
“I know I’ll still be tried by military law... when that time comes, but I can’t go back to—” She swallowed and looked down the street. A couple of chickens were wandering in the dirt lane, pecking for bugs. “I figure if I’m going to be killing people indiscriminately, I might as well be working for my father.”
“Ahn,” Ridge said, then gripped her shoulder. “Caslin. I can’t promise that there won’t be repercussions for the choices we’ve all made here—especially me—but see what they are first. Don’t assume—look, I get it. The queen gave some order, and the sword leaped to obey. You were just the one holding it.”
“I chose to be holding it, sir.” Ahn dropped her gaze again. “It had some pull I don’t understand, but I should have seen through that. I don’t even like swords. They’re barbaric. Who chooses to kill someone like that?” Her voice cracked on the word kill, and she blinked again, this time not with surprise but to stave off tears.
Ridge released her. He had no idea what to say. He thought about offering her a hug, but he was probably part of the problem, since he represented authority—as ironic as that may be—and she expected punishment. As difficult as he found it to admit, Tolemek was the better person for her to talk to right now. Of everyone here, he could truly understand what it was like to be powerless to stop deaths one was responsible for.
“Let’s worry about it after we’ve dealt with the Cofah threat,” Ridge said. “I shot down a reconnaissance flier this morning, so you better believe more will be coming. In the meantime, Tolemek is in the kitchen, sooting up the walls and hopefully not asphyxiating my mom’s cats. Maybe you should check on him.”
From the mixed expression on her face, she wasn’t as certain as he was that Tolemek was the right person for her to see, but she said, “Yes, sir.” She took a step toward the door, but paused again and lifted the envelope. “Will you accept my resignation? For after the battle?”
“No, I won’t. You know I hate paperwork. You’ll have to see if General Ort will take that.”
“Isn’t he still missing?”
“Yes, he is. Just try giving it to him.”
Before she could object further, Ridge pointed her toward the kitchen door, so she wouldn’t walk through the king’s meeting. Sardelle must have told Tolemek that Ahn had arrived, because that side door opened, and he stepped out.
Ahn was only a few steps from the house, but she hesitated, dropping her gaze to the walkway. Tolemek crossed the distance and wrapped her in a hug, lowering his face to the top of her head. Ahn tipped forward, leaning her forehead into his chest, but she did not return the hug. Her arms drooped at her sides with her shoulders slumped. Ridge couldn’t remember seeing anyone look so dejected.
Tolemek murmured something and led Ahn toward the house. She shambled along slowly, but at least she went with him. When Tolemek glanced toward Ridge, Ridge nodded once. He doubted the former pirate cared about receiving his approval, but Ridge would give it, anyway. He truly believed Tolemek would be the best person to comfort Ahn. To his surprise, Tolemek returned the solemn nod before they disappeared inside.
Left alone in the yard, Ridge rubbed his face and looked up at the sky. The clouds had returned, and their somber gray matched his mood. He wondered if the gods would laugh at him if he prayed for the Cofah attack to be delayed for another six months.
A distant buzz drifted to his ears, and he slumped. He had a feeling the gods were about to mock him.
He walked out into the street, hopping a few puddles, then turning for a view of the sky in the direction of the propeller noise. He found the source against the gray backdrop, and his heart lifted. This time, the flier was bronze. It was too far away to see the pilot or the animal snout painted on the nose that would identify the squadron, but Ridge found himself grinning, anyway. It had to be one of his comrades on the way back from one of the other bases. Someone had heard his message and was coming.
He almost waved, but the pilot would never see him at this distance. Besides, who would be looking down at a tiny community plopped down in the middle of a bunch of farmland? Instead, he scanned the sky behind it, longing to see other aircraft coming into view. He would take any help he could get, but a single one-man flier wouldn’t add much to the empty hangars.
As the bronze craft flew overhead to the west, Ridge spotted a few dark dots on the horizon. He grinned again. Maybe the gods were finally on his side. That looked like five—no, six more fliers. Maybe they belonged to his squadron. It felt as if an eternity had passed since he had seen Crash, Blazer, and Thasel. He’d even give Pimples a hug if the kid walked up right now.
But his grin faded as those aircraft flew closer, the buzz of their propellers audible now. These fliers were not the same bronze as the first one. Their dark paint filled Ridge with dread. Even worse, there were heads visible above those cockpits, so they weren’t automated. Fliers piloted by real people with real and cunning human brains were chasing whoever was in that single Iskandian craft.
“Cofah,” he whispered and sprinted for the house. “Sardelle!” he cried, having already decided in that split second that there was nobody else here that he wanted in the seat behind him to help catch those craft before they annihilated the Iskandian one.
• • • • •
Sardelle gripped the sides of her seat, not complaining when the wind whipped the tail of Ridge’s scarf into her face. She was too busy panting from their wild sprint across people’s yards, around barns, and through pigpens in order to reach the field with the flier in it. She couldn’t hear or see the Cofah craft Ridge had spoken of, and she hoped they could catch them before it was too late for the Iskandian pilot.
I could take care of that for you, Jaxi said.
Sardelle hadn’t had time to grab anything else from the house, but she had belted the soulblade on as she ran. What?
The scarf. You’ve seen me cut through steel vault doors and ancient pyramids. A thin, little scarf would be a simple matter.
I don’t think Ridge would be amenable to that. He uses the end to wipe his goggles during flight.
I could incinerate those specks of engine grease that trouble him, Jaxi suggested.
Sardelle imagined Ridge’s alarm when flames burst from his goggles.
You’re awfully chatty right now, Jaxi. The flier lurched into motion and bumped across the uneven field. Sardelle buckled herself into the harness. If this was like their last battle, she might end up upside down at some point. Feeling perky?
You know I like to go into battle.
Sardelle did not share the feeling, preferring the healer’s tent to a battlefield, but it pleased her that Ridge had asked for her in between ordering Tolemek to finish making something brilliant and ordering Cas, Duck, and Kaika to ensure the king got back to his castle. There hadn’t been time to wait for objections—or counter orders—for which Sardelle was also glad. She’d only glimpsed Angulus’s face on her way to grab her sword, but it had been much less expressive than it had been when she had first awoken, before he had known his wife had been killed. He could have been thinking anything behind his stony facade. She hoped that it wasn’t about how he would avenge the queen’s death.
“Can you sense them?” Ridge called over his shoulder.
I’ll check, Sardelle spoke into his mind, abashed that she hadn’t already thought to look. In the minutes that had passed while she and Ridge ran to the field, the fliers might have escaped her range, but Jaxi ought to be able to sense aircraft at a greater distance.
Yes, I can. And I do. They’re about halfway back to the city. The ugly black ones are shooting at the bronze one.
Sardelle was about to relay the message, but Jaxi added, I told him too. He appreciated that I identified the Cofah aircraft as ugly. He also appreciates that I’m along.
You got all that when he’s busy flying and worrying about his man?
It may have been a general sense of appreciation for the information. I extrapolated.
Sardelle snorted.
She leaned to the side, searching the sky ahead with her mind, as well as her eyes, the former being more effective since she didn’t have goggles. The wind teared her eyes and tried to whip hair free from her braid, but she located the six Cofah aircraft flying in a triangular formation. The one soaring at the point was doing the most firing at the target ahead of them. Sardelle could see little more than a bronze smudge at this distance, but she could tell that dark gray smoke wafted from the belly of the craft. The Iskandian flier had already taken damage. Enough to bring it down eventually? She couldn’t tell.
Stiff wind came from the sea, and cold rain droplets flew sideways, stinging her cheeks. She flexed her fingers, both to keep them warm and because she was ready to use them. She wanted to help, wanted to prove to King Angulus that she was worth keeping around—and alive. And, as always, she wanted to help Ridge keep his people alive. She didn’t want to see him lose anyone else.
The craft vibrated enough to make Sardelle’s teeth rattle. Ridge was pushing it to its maximum speed and then some. Sardelle took slow breaths, telling herself to remain calm, that he knew what he was doing. Seeing bullet holes in the hull had made Sardelle pause, but Ridge had climbed in without hesitation. If he believed the craft flight-worthy, it must be. Still, she hadn’t been able to keep from thinking that her powers might not be enough to save them if they crashed.
I believe we’re close enough that I could bother them, Jaxi said at the same time as the fliers grew closer, their dark shapes hugging the clouds. Do we want rashes to inconvenience them? Or fireballs to utterly destroy them?
If six of them are chasing one lone Iskandian flier on our continent, I believe Ridge’s vote would be for fireballs.
Yes. I approve of this relationship of yours.
I’m so glad.
The rattling of their flier increased, and Sardelle gripped the edges of her seat again. Ridge was pushing to close the distance, but she doubted they could before the other fliers reached the city. Would the Cofah dare enter the space over the capital? She wasn’t sure what the full capabilities of the artillery weapons down there were, but knew some could reach high enough to strike low-flying craft.
Almost close enough for pyrotechnics, Jaxi purred.
Even though Sardelle was alarmed at their speed already, she closed her eyes and concentrated on the air behind them. She assumed the rattling was due to the strain of the engine rather than any problem with their velocity—and she hoped that assumption wouldn’t get them killed—so she channeled the wind, trying to give them a tunnel to fly through, one that the other aircraft did not have.
“Wolf Squadron 74 to home,” Ridge spoke to the communication crystal, the wind almost stealing his words before Sardelle heard them. “This is Colonel Zirkander. Is anybody manning the desk?”
A silent moment passed, and Sardelle could feel his disappointment. He couldn’t even warn the city as to what was coming.
“What do you want, Zirkander?” came a rough voice over the crystal. It was muted and tinny, but Sardelle recognized it as soon as the speaker added, “And is this thrice-cursed rock magic, too?”
Rock? Was that oaf referring to her master crystal? She had painstakingly crafted that over a week.
“Quit whining, Therrik,” Ridge said. “There are six enemy fliers heading for the city. They’ll be there any minute. If any of our fliers are back, get them in the air. Get your infantry buddies on the guns too.”
Therrik’s only response was a curse.
So good to know he’s got our backs, Ridge thought. Do you hear me? Is that you helping back there? This is great. We’re making incredible speed.
I do, and I am.
Good. Thank you. Ridge massaged the trigger of one of his guns. Almost close enough to—
Flames burst from the tail of the rearmost flier in the formation. Clouds of black smoke poured into the sky. Jaxi cackled.
The pilot craned his head around. Even across the distance and even though the man wore goggles, Sardelle could see the horrified expression contorting his face. He veered away from the formation, descending rapidly. Whether he would be able to land or if a crash was inevitable, Sardelle did not know. Even if these people had marked themselves as enemies, she found she much preferred fighting against the unmanned fliers.
I do too, Jaxi said.
Your cackle suggested otherwise. Sardelle fed more wind into her tunnel, propelling Ridge’s flier to even greater speeds. They cruised through the smoke the flaming craft had just left. Ridge took a few introductory shots at a flier in front of them.
That wasn’t a cackle. It was an expression of pleased satisfaction that I was able to toast one of these mechanical monstrosities.
I see. Sardelle focused on the bronze flier, testing the air currents around and behind it. The craft had slowed down, and the others were gaining. Perhaps if she could give it a boost, it would make a difference. The buildings of the city had come into sight on the horizon, and she could just make out the bluff where the hangars overlooked the harbor.
I may have also been slightly amused when he turned around and tried to blow out the flames, Jaxi added.
I’m quite certain he was only pursing his lips in horror. Can you shield that Iskandian pilot up there? He’s too far away for me to do it.
I can shield his entire flier while making waffles and buffing my pommel.
Feeling cocky, are we?
Ridge had found his range with the machine guns and was laying into the two remaining fliers in the rear of the formation. They noticed and took evasive measures, as did the two in front of them. The leader of the formation continued after the bronze flier.
I’m staying on him, Ridge thought. Anything you can do to keep the others from circling back and jumping on our tail would be appreciated. Tell Jaxi I like her flames.
He’s cackling inside too, Jaxi said.
The bronze flier dipped its left wing, then spiraled downward, more smoke flowing from its belly. Sardelle could not tell if it was a ploy, or if the craft had succumbed to the damage done.
I haven’t let any new bullets get to him, Jaxi said, but his flier was shot up already when we got here.
The Cofah on its tail dipped after it, machine guns blazing. Ridge angled downward, choosing a course that would shave seconds off the descent and perhaps allow him to catch up.
Sardelle was tempted to reach out to the pilot, try to sense whether he was unconscious, conscious and calm, or awake and terrified, but the rest of the Cofah formation was doing as Ridge had predicted, trying to circle back and get behind his flier. Bullets streaked through the air. She did her best to create shields on either side of them. She didn’t want to stop Ridge’s ability to use the machine guns, nor did she want to cut them off from the wind, so she couldn’t protect them as completely as she would have liked.
The bronze flier continued to fall, spiraling toward houses on the outskirts of the capital.
“Sleepy,” Ridge said, his voice utterly calm even though they were arrowing toward the ground at top speed and had bullets coming in from all sides, “if you crash them into the buildings of the city, the ghosts of a hundred past kings will haunt you.”
Sardelle didn’t think he was talking to her, but wasn’t sure if he was hoping to communicate with the pilot in the other flyer or muttering to himself. He fired several more rounds at the Cofah stalking his fellow Iskandian, his fellow Iskandian who was only seconds from crashing into shops lining a wide boulevard below. Sardelle kept shielding them from the fliers trying to get behind Ridge, but found their bullets rarely struck her barrier. Ridge did an uncanny job of avoiding them, even as he stayed on his target’s tail, almost as if he had eyes in the back of his head and could track every other aircraft in the sky.
The Iskandian flier, smoke still streaming from its belly, pulled up at the last second, just avoiding smashing into the roof of a three-story building. It wobbled, its wings shuddering, and it clipped a flagpole before gaining altitude. The Cofah was following, but one of Ridge’s bullets hit him square in the head. The pilot stiffened, then slumped to the side. Instead of pulling up and hanging with the Iskandian, the enemy flier plunged into the street between two buildings. The wings flew off, the fuselage caved in and skidded three blocks, and the wreck ended up coming to a halt in front of the steps of a barber shop. People out in the street had pressed their backs to the closest buildings, and were gaping at the crash and at the sky.
That was the last Sardelle saw, for Ridge was pulling up now, flying through smoke as they gained altitude.
“Sorry, sir,” came a voice over the crystal. That definitely wasn’t Therrik. “I’ve taken damage, didn’t think I could make it to the harbor. Thanks for shooting that ugly feller, but I was hoping he would crash due to my craftiness, rather than your marksmanship.” The firing of a machine gun punctuated the pilot’s words. He had already turned his nose toward the oncoming fliers.
“If you need to get to the base, do it,” Ridge said. “We’ll take care of the rest of these.”
“No, sir. I’m sticking with you. They’ve got rockets that—”
“I’ve seen them before. Stay on my six until you get a chance to shoot. I’ve got a secret weapon.”
That’s me, Jaxi preened.
It could be me.
All you’ve done so far is generate air. Watch this.
A second Cofah flier burst into flame. This time, the fire emerged from the cockpit, burning the occupant. Sardelle winced as the man’s screams pierced her ears, even over the sounds of wind and machine gun fire. The Cofah flier dipped sharply, arrowing toward the city. The pilot struck a control on the dashboard before losing all conscious thought. A sleek black cylinder shot out. At first, it looked like it would target a building, but then it swooped upward, turning toward the Iskandian fliers.
Oops, Jaxi thought.
Yes, Sardelle recognized the rocket from their desperate flight from the volcano lab. Try to incinerate the vial of dragon blood, she told Jaxi. That had worked once before. The dragon blood itself was impervious to everything, or everything they had tried at least, but once the glass holding it was destroyed, it leaked all over the inside of the machine and could no longer power and guide the weapon.
These vials aren’t made from glass anymore, Jaxi thought.
What? Sardelle tried to concentrate on the conversation, but the three fliers filling the sky in front of them made her want to grip Ridge’s shoulders for support.
Shooting with every tilt of his wings, Ridge wove through the formation as if the fliers were cones on some obstacle course. Sardelle felt it suicidal, and she flailed mentally for a second, not sure where to apply her shields to protect them. To her surprise, the number of bullets streaking through the air lessened. The Cofah pilots didn’t want to risk shooting each other, she realized.
That rocket is about to fly up your Iskandian butts, Jaxi said.
“I’ve got this one, Jaxi,” Ridge yelled. “Handle that rocket that the newcomer just launched, will you?”
Newcomer? Sardelle was about to shore up their rear shield, certain the rocket would smash into them, when Ridge turned sharply to the left, more sharply than she would have thought these fliers could manage. He seemed to defy all of the rules of physics, and Sardelle ducked low in her seat as the belly of a Cofah flier filled her vision. Its propeller buzzed right over her head, the sound like an angry hornet’s nest stuffed in her ears, and she thought all of her hair might be shaved off by its blades. But then they were past the other flier and streaking toward the clouds.
An explosion came from behind them, the force battering at Sardelle’s shield. Their flier rocked in the air despite her protection. She glanced back in time to see the Cofah craft burst into a million pieces.
Nice, Jaxi crooned in her mind. He got the rocket to hit one of their fliers. That’s almost as good as spontaneous combustion.
Sardelle took a few shaky breaths, seeking some of the calmness that radiated from Ridge. He had flown in hundreds of battles like this, she reminded herself. Her only dogfight had been with two unmanned fliers. The fact that they were killing people this time was part of what had her trembling. She vowed to do better, not to dwell on the humanness of their opponents until after she and Ridge were safely on the ground.
She focused on one of the two remaining Cofah fliers, finding the two rockets nestled in launchers under the belly of the craft. The pilot was busy firing the machine guns and cursing—Sardelle allowed herself a brief moment of satisfaction to know that Ridge was flummoxing these people. Then she examined the firing mechanism of the weapons, trying to figure out what attached to what, so she could sabotage the insides. Too complicated. Instead, she heated the ends of the machine gun barrels, pouring controlled energy into them. The metal grew cherry hot. She nudged the ends together, so the bullets would no longer fly out. Lastly, she brought in a gust of cool air to chill the muzzles.
Sooner than she expected, the pilot tried to fire his guns. She worried that the bullets would simply shoot through her obstruction, that the metal would still be pliable, but a small explosion boomed. The pilot jerked back in his seat, startled. Sardelle didn’t think it would ultimately do anything except deny him a couple of weapons, but the barrel of the guns had blown open and peeled back like flower petals. A piece got in the way of the propeller blade, causing it to jam and freeze up. The flier’s momentum carried it a ways, but it soon tilted downward, falling toward the ground. Sardelle stared, unable to take her gaze from its plummet, newly aware of how fragile these craft were, of how little it took to knock them out of the sky.
“Jaxi?” Ridge called aloud after downing the sixth flier with the help of the other Iskandian pilot. “Sardelle? I’m out of targets to send that rocket into, unless I crash it into the city, which I don’t want to do. Anything you can do?”
Sardelle had almost forgotten about the second rocket. Ridge had been avoiding it so deftly that it seemed he could do it forever, but with the dragon blood powering it, the weapon kept after them, its speed not flagging at all.
I’m having trouble destroying the vial this time, Jaxi admitted, presumably speaking to both of them.
Their flier twisted through the air like a corkscrew, Ridge doing his best to avoid the rocket. He tried to turn in time to shoot at it, but it was too fast.
The other Iskandian flier had left Ridge’s tail and came in from the side. The pilot unloaded bullets at the rocket. Most missed the sleek, narrow cylinder, but one caught. Sardelle hoped that might be enough to destroy it, and indeed, it was knocked from its path for a second, but it righted itself and sped after Ridge’s flier again.
They switched from glass to iron, Jaxi added. Specially treated iron. It’s resisting my attempts to incinerate it.
Sardelle peered into the innards of the rocket, trying to make sense of the circuit board and wires inside. She sensed the encapsulated dragon blood riding in the center near the front and understood what Jaxi meant. Either a shaman had treated that metal, or the Cofah had found some old stash of ingots treated long ago, perhaps in creating armor to battle dragons and sorcerers. It resisted her attempts to melt it.
Let’s destroy the rest of that board and those wires, Sardelle told Jaxi. They’re not armored the way the vial is. Even if she wasn’t an engineer and most of the new contraptions of this century confused her, she assumed that those parts somehow controlled the rocket.
I think your soul snozzle has something else in mind.
Sardelle had sunk low into her seat, losing awareness of their surroundings as she focused on the rocket, so when she sat taller and had a look ahead of them, her stomach nearly dropped to her boots. Black jagged rock filled her vision. She was barely aware of the castle to their left. They couldn’t be more than two seconds from crashing.
Pull up, she thought—or maybe she screamed it.
At the last instant, Ridge did so. The bottom of their flier’s tail scraped across a jagged boulder protruding above the others. An angry shudder rocked the craft, and Sardelle thought they were dead. Before she could tell if they would be able to rise up again and escape, an explosion ripped the air behind them. She barely had the presence of mind to shore up her shields and protect them from the shockwave.
Their flier soared away from the angry orange fireball churning the air. The rocks skimming past below disappeared, replaced by the gray waters of the harbor.
“Sorry,” Ridge said. “It had to be close. As I found out last time, those rockets are not easily fooled.”
“I understand,” Sardelle rasped, her voice barely able to escape her tight throat.
“Nice flying, sir,” came the other pilot’s voice over the crystal. “Though that explosion got the guards in the castle towers all riled up.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard they’ve had a bad week.”
He sounded as casual as if they were all sitting at a bar and sharing drinks. He probably wasn’t even sweating.
Sardelle mopped moisture from her own forehead as she slumped back in the seat.
At least you didn’t throw up like Colonel Therrik did, Jaxi observed.
Once the flier had sailed to a safe height again—one where it was not in danger of hitting rocks, buildings, or crashing into the castle, Ridge twisted in his seat to grin back at her. He found her hand and clasped it—he didn’t seem to notice that her knuckles were white from gripping the edge of her seat.
“Thanks for your help,” he said. “Sleepy never would have made it if we had been any later.”
“That’s the other pilot?” she asked.
Ridge nodded. “Tiger Squadron. He’s just a kid. I’m going to ask him about where the rest of his squadron is, but wanted to say thanks.” He squeezed her hand again, then turned back to his controls.
He thanked me too. Jaxi sounded pleased. Or pleased with herself. Sometimes it was hard to tell the difference.
Jaxi sniffed haughtily in her mind.
“Sleepy,” Ridge said over the crystal, “want to tell me what you’re doing down here by yourself? Did—”
A wailing alarm emanated from the city below, drowning out his words. Sardelle had heard it before, the night the pirates had attacked.
They’re a little late, Sardelle thought to Ridge.
He turned to look back at her, his usually warm and cheerful eyes grave. “No, they’re not.”
He tilted his chin toward the sea, past Sardelle’s shoulder.
You don’t want to look, Jaxi said.
She did, anyway. She looked... and stared.
About three miles out over the ocean, beneath grim gray clouds that promised more rain, a massive fortress floated in the air. It reminded her of the floating pirate city they had dealt with earlier that winter, but it appeared much more sophisticated, much more impenetrable. There weren’t any balloons holding it up that one might target. Sardelle had no idea what was holding it up. Dragon blood had to be involved, but an energy source, no matter how powerful, could not defy gravity.
A pair of dirigibles floated on either side, the oblong balloons appearing small next to the walls and towers of the fortress. Even from here, Sardelle could tell that cannons, guns, and rocket launchers were mounted on those towers. An open area lay visible, too, almost like the courtyard in the castle, except one could have walked right off the fortress platform and fallen into the ocean. Or flown off, she realized, squinting at the dark smudges lined up in rows in that open area. Fliers. A lot of them. Fifty? One hundred?
Bleakly, she thought of the empty hangar she and Ridge had visited.
“Sleepy,” Ridge said, “I hope you had a good breakfast, because it doesn’t look like our work is done.”
“Oh, sir.” The other pilot had spoken with relative calm during their battle, but his voice had a choked, mournful quality to it now. “What can we do against all that?”
“Pray,” Sardelle whispered.