Soulblade (30 page)

“Did you crash too?” the woman asked.

“No. We’re looking for—”

“General Zirkander!” a boy cried from the doorway of the house, the same boy who had been in the garden. He moved quickly. “He was fighting the dragon. Did you see the dragon?”

“Uhm.” Sardelle’s first thought was that they had spotted Bhrava Saruth somehow, but maybe Morishtomaric had been here before his final battle. “Was Ridge—General Zirkander here, by chance?”

“He came in the day before yesterday.”

“We don’t actually know that he fought the dragon,” the woman said, making a shushing motion to the boy. “He’d been injured. He seemed nice, but a little confused. Like he didn’t know about the dragon, and everybody knows about the dragon around here. We just assumed everyone in the country had heard.”

Sardelle had clasped her hands together, almost leaping in excitement at this verification that Ridge was alive, but the talk of an injury and confusion worried her. What did
that
mean?

Interesting
, Jaxi said at the same time as Therrik spoke.

“We didn’t crash, ma’am,” he said. “The king sent us to find Zirkander and take him home.”

What’s interesting, Jaxi?

Ridge was here with a woman, but she doesn’t look anything like the sorceress we fought in the fortress.

Sardelle went from clasping her hands to wringing them.
But the traps... are we dealing with
another
magic user?

“Home? Are you a pilot too?” the woman asked.

“Did you bring a flier?” the boy blurted, apparently forgetting his shushing.

“No.” A hint of irritation entered Therrik’s voice, but perhaps not so much that a stranger would notice it. “I’m an elite forcers officer and a tracker. I’ve been following him since locating his crash site.”

It’s hard to tell
, Jaxi said.
I’m browsing through the woman’s surface thoughts when she thinks of him—them. Maybe it was a disguise. Eversong has certainly been able to hide her presence from us.

“He’s not here now, is he?” Sardelle asked. Could they be that lucky?

“They left yesterday morning, him and the woman he was with.”

Even though Sardelle knew about “the woman,” her hackles went up. “Heading east? Toward the capital?”

“We sent them on to Aspen Creek. There’s a retired colonel there with a rickety old flier. My husband thought he might lend it to the general to get him home.”

Therrik expelled a noisy grunt and leveled a flat stare at Sardelle. “You and the king have had me tracking him through the mountains for days, when he’s already found his own way home?”

“Yes, but—” Sardelle glanced at the woman, smiled and held up a finger, then gripped Therrik’s arm and pulled him back a few paces. “This woman he’s with, it must be the sorceress.”

“She doesn’t seem to be impeding him.”

“She might want him to take her home, to the capital, where she could have free rein of the military installation as Ridge’s... guest.” Sardelle grimaced, thinking of the way
she
had been allowed access to the fort, as Ridge’s guest. Not easily, but he’d had enough sway to get that letter drawn up for her. Jaxi’s words about buttons drifted back to her. What if the sorceress wasn’t so much torturing him as she was
seducing
him?

“Guest.” Therrik grunted. “What, afraid she’ll take your spot at his side?”

“Of course not,” Sardelle said, though she had been thinking that exact thing. “But if she did, she could have access to all of your military installations.”

“Much as you had?” Therrik scowled at her, as if still affronted by this.

Sardelle kept her voice calm when she responded, though it made her sad and disgruntled that Therrik still saw her as an outsider, someone who annoyed him. “
I’m
Iskandian. And loyal to this country. She is not.”

Jaxi, this other woman she looks like—

I’m thinking she might be able to shape change,
Jaxi said with enthusiasm,
like a dragon. I’d heard that some powerful sorcerers in the old days could, but I was never certain.

Yes, perhaps we can discuss it with her later. What does the woman look like now?

Oh, she’s gorgeous. Young, thick blonde hair, perfect body, eyes that aren’t quite as innocent as they appear...

Sardelle rocked back on her heels, suddenly finding the seduction scenario plausible. But Ridge wouldn’t let himself be seduced, surely. Not when he was—when
they
were
together.

Depends on just how confused he is,
Jaxi said.

“An enemy sorceress controlling Zirkander
could
cause all manner of trouble,” Therrik said.

Controlling? Was that more likely than seduction?

“I’m sure there are numerous military secrets floating around in his mouthy, dense head,” Therrik went on, “especially since he’s one of Angulus’s favorites now.” A quick sneer crossed his face. “And if she was walking around with Zirkander, she’d have access to other high-ranking officers. He could even take her to the castle to get to Angulus, I imagine. And whatever fancy diplomats are at the castle this week.”

Sardelle lifted her fist to her mouth, remembering her meeting with Angulus. “Not diplomats. The council heads. The king said they would all be here this week, presumably to discuss the escalation of matters with the Cofah.” She lowered her fist and met his hard eyes. “If she or someone else attacked while they’re there...”

“She could wipe out the majority of our government leaders with one wave of her hand.” Therrik grumbled something else under his breath, something about using Kasandral on everyone in the world with magical blood.

Sardelle chose to ignore the comment. It was possible she hadn’t heard him correctly.

Sure, it is. The blacksmith is coming.

The aproned woman had been waiting quietly while Sardelle and Therrik spoke, but a second person walked up the street now to join her. A muscular man in his thirties, he looked curiously at Therrik, frowned at Sardelle, then scanned the trees beyond the gardens behind the houses.

“Which way to this Aspen Creek?” Therrik asked, raising his voice so the townswoman would hear. “And how far?”

Yes, they needed to know the distance. If Ridge and the sorceress were walking or riding on horseback, and Bhrava Saruth could fly Sardelle and Therrik, maybe they could catch up. Flying hadn’t been an option when they had been tracking, but now that they knew where they had gone, they might be able to reach the next village in less than an hour. So long as Bhrava Saruth was willing to—

A chittering noise came from the grass, and Sardelle almost groaned aloud. Even though Bhrava Saruth hadn’t shape-changed again since they’d dealt with the traps, she recognized that sound.

“Thirty miles,” the woman replied to Therrik. “Follow that road for twenty, then head west on the paved highway.”

The blacksmith jumped when the furry ferret raced out of the grass and ran to Sardelle. It leaped up, and she reflexively caught the animal. He scurried up her arm to rest on her shoulder.

The blacksmith’s eyes grew rounder than saucers.

“A pet,” Sardelle said, though she worried the man already sensed that the ferret was more than that.

A pet? High priestess, really.

“We should probably go now,” Sardelle murmured to Therrik, who was glowering distastefully at Bhrava Saruth.

Is there no one here who needs my healing assistance?
the dragon-turned-ferret asked.
That man glaring at us looks particularly dyspeptic. Perhaps he has colitis.

I don’t think that’s his problem.
Sardelle took a step back.

The blacksmith whispered something to the woman, his expression quite agitated.

“Therrik,” Sardelle said, “my pet and I will wait for you up the road a ways.” She would have preferred to heal people and get to know the villagers, so they would consider her an ally rather than a suspicious stranger, but they didn’t have time for that, and she didn’t know if it would be possible under any circumstances.

Therrik turned his frown on her—he didn’t seem to grasp what was going on—and started to speak.

“Colonel,” the blacksmith said, gripping the aproned woman’s arm. “Be careful. We believe that you’re traveling with a witch and her familiar.”

Familiar!
Bhrava Saruth stood up on his hind legs and hissed in the man’s direction.
That’s even worse than being called a pet.

Stop reacting, please.
Sardelle wanted to defend herself, but nothing could be gained by doing so. She turned her back on the village and headed up the road.

“A witch and her familiar,” Therrik said dryly. “Imagine that.”

Sardelle ignored the urge to scowl over her shoulder at him.

“She could be controlling you,” the blacksmith blurted, sounding confused that Therrik wasn’t taking his admonition seriously.

“Probably not. She only bothers controlling men more handsome than I.” Damn that bastard—Therrik truly sounded delighted.

“I’m getting my rifle,” the blacksmith told the woman and jogged away.

This is intolerable
, Bhrava Saruth announced.
I will not allow my high priestess to be denigrated so.
He sprang from her shoulder, heading back toward Therrik and the woman.

Bhrava Saruth
, Sardelle cried in his mind, having an image of him running up and biting the blacksmith on the ankles.
Stop. Don’t bother them. Please.

Ankle biting wasn’t what the dragon had in mind. Once he reached Therrik, he turned into his usual form, his very large, very intimidating dragon form. He towered over the villagers and flexed his wings, spreading them so that they stretched over the buildings to either side of the road. He glared down at the woman, who was gaping up at him, too shocked to move.

I am not a familiar
, he announced, speaking into everyone’s minds in the area.
I am the god, Bhrava Saruth, and that is my high priestess. You will treat her with respect.

Therrik growled and backed away from the dragon, his hand going to Kasandral’s scabbard.

He won’t hurt anyone, Therrik,
Sardelle rushed to speak into his mind.
Come join me, please. Let’s leave. Ridge and the sorceress are our priority, remember?

Screams came from down the street. Several of the people out in the fields grabbed shovels and axes and raced toward the town.

Sardelle wanted to cover her face with her hands. How had this gone so badly so quickly?

Bhrava Saruth
, Sardelle said.
Nothing can be gained from this. Please, let’s go
. Why wouldn’t either of these males listen to her?

They will learn to respect my high priestess.
Moving more quickly than a cat and far more quickly than his size would have implied possible, he sprang down the street. He caught the blacksmith by the back of his shirt before the man could lunge into his shop.

Someone else had managed to find a rifle. A shot rang out.

Sardelle paused in her retreat. Bhrava Saruth ought to be able to protect himself, but if Therrik was standing nearby when people were shooting, he might be in danger. She might not be able to wrap a shield around him when he carried Kasandral, but she could make a barrier in front of him.

Except that Therrik wasn’t standing still, waiting to see what happened. He’d yanked Kasandral from his scabbard and was running toward Bhrava Saruth. Meanwhile, the dragon had lifted the smith up to the roof of a two-story building and dropped him there, perhaps intending to have a chat with him when he couldn’t easily escape.

Watch out
, Sardelle warned him, not certain he was aware of Therrik bearing down on him.

Bhrava Saruth sprang into the air, wings flapping, as Therrik swung the sword at his backside.

The smith shouted, “Get him, get him!” from the rooftop. Half of the villagers were running into the street with weapons, real and improvised, while the other half were sprinting out back doors and racing for the trees.

Sardelle did not know whether Therrik was acting of his own volition, because he thought the smith in danger, or if Kasandral had taken the moment to rear his obstinate head again. Either way, Sardelle could do nothing to stop Therrik as he leaped, trying to reach Bhrava Saruth with his sword.

Seeing the dragon distracted, the smith raced for the back of the roof. Bhrava Saruth roared in irritation, more at Therrik than at the smith, but the startled man glanced back just as he reached the edge. He stumbled and lost his footing. Instead of jumping or climbing down from the roof as he must have planned, he tumbled the two stories and landed hard. Judging by the way he hit, and the way he cried out, he had sprained his ankle if not broken a bone or two.

Jaxi
, Sardelle growled in frustration, as if her soulblade could do something to rectify this situation.

I’m not his high priestess. He’s not going to listen to
me
.

He’s not listening to me either.
Sardelle ran for the smith, who was writhing on the ground, grasping his lower leg.
And as long as Therrik is holding Kasandral, I can’t do anything to him.

Neither can I.

I know. I’m just—this is ridiculous. We’re hurting people, however inadvertently, and this doesn’t get us any closer to Ridge.

I’m
not hurting anyone.

With most of the villagers focused on the dragon and Therrik, Sardelle was able to approach the smith without anyone running over to intercept her. She wanted to stop Therrik and Bhrava Saruth from squabbling, mostly because she worried the dragon would grow weary of being swatted at and decide to drop a building on Therrik, but she also wanted to help the poor man. As if being manhandled by a dragon wasn’t bad enough, to tumble off a building wouldn’t leave him with fond memories of “witches.”