Soulblade (48 page)

Wreltad hadn’t stopped glowing. He wanted a battle, not to flee, and Ridge felt the same way.

“We have some bullets that can get through,” Ridge said, pointing at Sardelle, who was waving a pack as she ran toward the landing pad. That was all the permission Ridge needed. “We’ll leave you one of the fliers,” he shouted, chopped the air with a salute, and ran to join her.

“Zirkander!” Ort yelled after him.

A cacophonous crash came from the direction of the harbor, and Ridge didn’t hear anything else the general said. He wouldn’t have slowed down regardless.

Sardelle waited next to the flier and tossed him the band of ammunition before he even slowed down. There wasn’t much of it. He leaped up, pulling himself head first into the cockpit, not bothering to yank the rest of his body in before feeding the ammo into the guns. He stuck Wreltad down beside the seat, hoping the sword could truly help them. It would have to be with magic, because it wasn’t as if Ridge could swing a blade while piloting.

“Zirkander,” someone yelled, the voice obscured by the fact that his head was dangling into the cockpit.

Ridge didn’t stop what he was doing. Nobody was going to deny him this chance to... to... he didn’t know exactly. Protect the city. Make amends. Stop feeling like a feeble-minded ass who didn’t deserve to live. “Yeah, say it like it is, Ridge,” he muttered to himself as he pulled the rest of his body into the cockpit.

Sardelle already sat in the back seat, strapped into the harness, Jaxi in her hand.

“You say you want to come along?” He grinned at her, the anticipation of battle thrumming through his veins, pushing aside his dark thoughts.

“You’re not fighting a dragon again without me.”

“I was hoping you would say that.” He hit the switch, and the power crystal flared to life.

“Zirkander, stop, damn you.” Therrik raced up to the side of the flier, Kasandral clenched in his hand.

“Damn you,
sir
,” Ridge said, hitting the ignition for the thrusters. “At least until Angulus decides to revoke my rank.”

Therrik pointed at Sardelle, or maybe at the back seat. “Take me up with you. I can hurt those bastards.”

Ridge hesitated. He did have Kasandral. But no, Ridge wasn’t going after another dragon without Sardelle at his back.

“Good. Get Ort to bring you.” Ridge shooed Therrik away from the thrusters as he piloted the flier off the landing pad.

Ort was busy arguing with Angulus, trying to pull him toward the empty flier so the king could escape, not join in a battle. By now, Ort ought to know that Angulus wasn’t someone to flee in the face of trouble. Or if he did, it was only until he could drop a bomb on that trouble. Kaika was a good influence on him.

Therrik cursed colorfully and lividly as the flier rose, then shouted, “Here, you idiot!”

He threw Kasandral at the cockpit. Ridge yelped, thinking it an attack, but Therrik was throwing the weapon
to
him, not at him. He managed to catch it without cutting off any of his fingers. The selfless gesture surprised Ridge, though a livid scowl accompanied it. Therrik might still cut off Ridge’s fingers once he landed again.

Wreltad throbbed blue.
We do not need that
inferior
weapon.

“Nope, I didn’t think so,” Ridge said, jamming Kasandral between the seat and the hull on the opposite side of the soulblade. “We’ll just use him to tighten any screws that might fly loose in battle. You’re sitting on top of my toolbox.”

Wreltad made a noise that might have been a snort. At the least, he didn’t sound quite so indignant.

Which sword are you talking to?
Sardelle asked, sounding amused.

Wreltad. Kasandral hasn’t seen fit to talk to me yet.
Ridge took them out of the courtyard, heading out to sea and picking up altitude before flying toward the dragons.

Sardelle rested her hand on his shoulder. Gods, it felt good to have her back there again. With all that had happened, it felt like it had been months since they had been in the sky together, not weeks. He squeezed her hand before turning them toward the battle.

Two large gold dragons were chasing a slightly smaller gold dragon around the harbor.

That’s Bhrava Saruth.
Sardelle’s hand tightened on his shoulder before she seemed to realize what she was doing and released him.

The smaller dragon did not appear any faster than the others. He whipped between buildings in the city, curled around spires, and dove behind clock towers, dodging flames and magic hurled at him left and right. Ridge grimaced as more than one building crumbled under the assault. Several fliers were in the air, half of the squadron circling over the castle in a guard position, while the other half chased the dragons, shooting when they could.

I’m surprised the dragons aren’t attacking the castle and trying to get the emperor instead
, Ridge thought, trusting that Sardelle was monitoring him.

Bhrava Saruth is deliberately drawing them away, but he wasn’t expecting two. He’s gotten in a few bites, but he’s already injured. He can’t beat them. All he can do is buy time.

That’s the dragon that picked me up by the scruff of my neck, right?

Yes, I hope you won’t hold that against him. I want to help him.
Sardelle paused, then added,
He thinks I’m his high priestess.

Uhm, are you?

I’m not really qualified for that position.

That was not, Ridge noted, a no. He was flying through the city now, rounding a clock tower and doing his best to catch up with the rearmost dragon, so he couldn’t properly gawk back at Sardelle.
Your week sounds like it was more interesting than mine.

Two fliers dropped to his altitude, taking up positions off his wings. “General Zirkander, is that
you
?” Lieutenant Beeline asked over the communication crystal. Then, much more loudly, he shouted, “General Zirkander’s alive!”

“Good to see you Beeline, Crash.” Ridge nodded at the second pilot. A hearty cheer went up, a dozen voices talking and blurting greetings at once. He was closing in on the rearmost dragon and wanted to get some information, but he had to quash his impatience, reminding himself that they had all believed him dead. Later, he would take delight in the display of caring and enthusiasm, but now, as soon as he could, he asked, “Does anybody else have any of Tolemek’s bullets?”

“No, sir. Our bullets bounce right off those shiny yellow hides.”

“All right.” Ridge tapped Kasandral’s pommel, wishing he could hand off the blade to one of the other fliers. He had the bullets, and he had Sardelle. It would be better to spread around weapons that could actually harm the dragons, but none of the other pilots had passengers with them, passengers who could be pressed into sword-fighting duty. “I hate to say this, but I’m the only one here with a weapon that can hurt the dragons. The rest of you are just putting yourselves at risk. You better go to the castle and see if you can help while we—”

Blue light leaped from the top of Wreltad’s pommel, arced around the propeller, and zapped the rear dragon in the backside. The creature screeched and wheeled about instantly. Blazing yellow eyes fixed on Ridge, and the dragon opened his maw.

“Get yourself killed by an angry dragon, sir?” Crash asked.

Ridge was too busy choosing a target to respond. Every instinct told him to steer clear of the stream of fire that had to be coming, but he had a perfect view of dragon tonsils and a big pink dragon throat. Surely, the creature would be vulnerable if he could fire a few of Tolemek’s special bullets down its gullet.

Into valiant battle we go
, Wreltad cried into Ridge’s mind, sending more lightning around the propeller and at the dragon.

Valiant battle?
Jaxi asked.
Is he joking, or does he really talk like that?

Shields?
Ridge asked, the question for Sardelle, Jaxi, Wreltad, or even Kasandral. Not waiting for an answer, he dove straight toward the dragon, even as it flew straight toward him. Smoke came out of its nostrils, and the maw stretched wide, flames boiling up from the back of its throat.

You have to stop firing before we raise a shield, or the bullets will bounce back at us,
Sardelle said into his mind, fear making the words tumble out quickly.
If you’re touching Kasandral, you might be safe from fire, but I doubt the flier will be.

Ridge thumbed the trigger, loosing five precise shots. He didn’t want to risk more than that—he doubted he had more than thirty bullets to spare. More lightning streaked from Wreltad, striking the dragon in the mouth, bouncing between its massive fangs, and curling down its throat. Ridge knew his bullets landed, but the lightning may very well have done more damage.

“Done,” he announced, pulling up so the fire would strike the belly of his craft instead of roiling into the cockpit, though he hoped Sardelle could shield them, so nothing was struck.

For a few seconds, nothing but orange existed in the world. The dragon had turned its head, tracking them. Flames crackled all around the flier. Ridge did not feel the heat, but he saw the air wavering as the inferno parted around them, around the bubble someone was shielding them with.

“Thank you,” he said calmly, not sure whether he had Sardelle or one of the swords to thank, but grateful to have so much help. When compared to the last time he had been up here facing a dragon...

He shook his head, not wanting to think about it. Instead, he took them around, trying to get behind the dragon, so they would be safe from fire. He knew that deflecting such power took a toll on Sardelle.

The creature rolled, spinning a somersault in the air to deny Ridge the angle of attack he wanted. It roared, the noise deep and angry as it battered at his eardrums. Was this the male or the female? Ridge couldn’t tell. Only one was fighting him. The other was still chasing Bhrava Saruth. That roar devolved into a sputter—a cough? Was it wounded? Maybe the bullets or lightning had damaged it.

Ridge dove toward that exposed throat, hoping the dragon couldn’t hurl flames when it was coughing. He fired four more shots. This time, they bounced off before coming anywhere close to the creature’s head. He broke off the engagement, veering to the side. After being grabbed out of his cockpit by Sardelle’s dragon, he was careful not to go anywhere near those talons—or those teeth.

He’s realized you can hurt him
, Sardelle thought.
His defenses are up fully now.

Wreltad sent more branches of lightning at the dragon, but they forked around an invisible barrier, Sardelle’s words proving true.

Another flier swept down, firing at the dragon. Two more followed it, unloading bullets.

Ridge snorted. His people followed orders every bit as well as he did. There would be a talk later, but for now, he wrapped his hand around Kasandral’s hilt as he guided his craft after the dragon with his other hand.

“We’re taking that shield down,” he announced to whomever was listening.

Yes
, Wreltad agreed.
I’ll be ready.

Ridge hefted Kasandral, as Cas had once done. He would only get one shot, but a dragon was a large target. They were over the harbor now. If he had to, he would go diving for Kasandral later, once the dragons were dead.

The dragon wasn’t flying straight, more like a drunken bumblebee. Dare he hope they had hurt it enough to take it out of the fight?

One of the Wolf Squadron fliers cut toward the side of the creature, shooting at its neck. Ridge shook his head as the bullets bounced uselessly off. The dragon must have noticed the attack, because the tail lashed out. It caught the wing of the flier as the pilot veered away. Even the glancing blow had the strength to send the craft tumbling. Worse, the dragon’s head whipped around, and he sent a stream of fire after the flier.

Ridge clenched his jaw, worried for the pilot—was that Lieutenant Pigpen?—and frustrated with his team for not staying back, as he’d ordered. Even if he knew he would respond in exactly the same way, there was no point in risking death when one couldn’t do anything.

“I’m going in,” he said. “Everyone else, stay
back
.”

Ridge bore down, picking his angle so he could come down from above. The dragon’s tail lashed out like a whip, trying to knock his propeller off. Keeping his touch light, he avoided it, almost dancing with it, a dip here, a loop here. Finally, he was flying above the dragon’s back, the harbor a blur of blue below them.

“I’m throwing the sword, Sardelle,” he said, not wanting her shield to get in the way, though Kasandral could probably cut through it, the same as he had done to Morishtomaric’s defenses.

Excellent
, Wreltad said at the same time as Jaxi made a cheering noise in Ridge’s head.

“Sorry, Kasandral,” Ridge said. “Don’t think anyone likes you.” He hurled the sword like a spear, aiming at the dragon’s broad back.

“Is the general talking to a sword?” someone asked over the crystal.

“Three of them,” Ridge muttered. He wanted to watch the blade’s descent, to see if it cut through the dragon’s shield and worked, but he dove as soon as he threw it, hoping he could recover it if he missed or if it bounced off. He didn’t truly want to go swimming for that sword later.

A flash of light came when Kasandral cut through the dragon’s shield, followed by a surge of power rolling off the dragon. Ridge’s flier wings wobbled slightly, but Sardelle was shielding them again. The sword reached the dragon’s golden scales and sank in. Wreltad sent more lightning streaking toward the creature, the bright blue branches biting into its hide now that its defenses were gone. A fireball the size of a house launched from behind Ridge, and he felt the heat of the sun on the back of his neck before it sped away. Jaxi’s enthusiastic work.

The dragon screamed and bucked under the combined assault, though Kasandral seemed to hurt it most of all. Had someone driven the sword into his back by hand, the blade might have stayed in, but under those violent undulations, it flew free.