As she climbed to the upper hall and still didn’t find any lamps lit, she began to doubt Jaxi’s promise. But she sensed someone in the library room. Maybe Ridge had brought his own lantern and not bothered lighting any on the way. Perhaps a good idea if they didn’t want to be discovered. Although with this general here now, Sardelle was reluctant to do anything with him that might get him in trouble. For all anyone here knew, she was a prisoner. Ridge was the only one who had thought of her as anything else.
She paused with her hand on the doorknob. Maybe she shouldn’t risk contacting him. But she couldn’t stomach the idea of leaving him in there alone. He was…
Drunk, she guessed as soon as she opened the door and smelled the alcohol. And sitting in the dark, staring toward the library’s lone window, which had a lovely view of the drab stone ramparts.
“Ridge?” Sardelle whispered. “Are you… do you want to be alone?”
He took a deep, audible breath, letting it out slowly before answering. Considering his answer, perhaps. Whatever had brought him here, Sardelle doubted it was she or an urge for sex.
“No,” he finally decided.
“Can I… light a candle?”
“Yeah.” His voice wasn’t slurred, but he definitely sounded off. No, he sounded down. Defeated.
“Well, I don’t like this new general already if he drove you to drink,” Sardelle said lightly.
Ridge grunted.
“Is he… in command now?”
“Yeah. HQ gave him the authority to take over if I wasn’t doing an adequate job.” He flipped his hand, as if he didn’t care.
After fumbling in a couple of drawers, Sardelle cheated, using her senses to locate candles and a box of matches. She brought them over to the table where Ridge was seated. He looked away when the match flared to life. The brown glass bottle next to him didn’t have a label; maybe it had been concocted in some tub in the back of the barracks. Whatever it was smelled strong. A little wooden dragon figurine rested next to the bottle, the paint on its bulbous belly worn off. She had only had glimpses of the charm, but she recognized it. There was a little metal eyehook on the top with a braided golden loop attached. He must hang it in the cockpit when he flies.
Sardelle sat in the chair next to him. “Perhaps you could give me some context. I’m not certain whether I should be trying to cheer you up or commiserating with you. Or simply sitting in silence.”
Ridge used the back of his hand to push the bottle toward her.
“Or joining you for a drink,” she added.
“Two of my pilots were killed.”
“Oh.” It wasn’t the general that had distressed him so, or not only the general. “Men you flew with? That you knew well?”
“A man and a woman. A girl, really. Ahn was only twenty-three, barely out of the academy, but she had a real feel for the flier and the archer god’s gift for accuracy. She—” Ridge swallowed audibly, then cleared his throat and picked up the bottle. He took a long swig.
Sardelle wondered if this Ahn had been more than a fellow pilot for him, but kept herself from asking. This was not the time, and she refused to feel petty jealously toward a dead woman.
Ridge set down the bottle. “She was a good kid. Would have had a great career. Made a difference, you know?”
Sardelle didn’t have any words, none that wouldn’t sound pointless and inane, so she simply laid a hand on his forearm.
“Dash, too,” Ridge said. “Even if he was reckless. They both were. Probably got that from me. And then I wasn’t there when—” He broke off again, gazing into the dark nothingness.
“I’m sorry,” Sardelle whispered. It seemed so inadequate. For him, and for her too. Her thoughts drifted to those she had lost, friends and relatives who also would have had great careers if the fates had allowed it. Some had been younger than Ridge’s lieutenant when the mountain had come crashing down.
They sat there in silence, letting the candles burn lower, their lights dancing with shadows on the bookcase. After a time, Ridge pushed the bottle toward her again.
“You should drink. I’m more interesting when you do. Better company.”
Because he wished it, Sardelle took a sample of the strong-smelling brew. As she had suspected, it burned like fire going down her throat. She managed not to cough and sputter—barely. “As I told you this morning, you don’t have to do much to be better company than a brigade of snoring women.”
“Yeah? Guess I’m lucky standards here are low.”
Sardelle too. She thought of the pretty blonde girl and the way she had fallen over Ridge from the moment she stepped out of the plane. It occurred to her that the hero worship she had seen from many of the soldiers must extend to women when he was back home. He must have his choice of female companions. If she were to knock on the door of his cabin by the lake someday, would she find him alone? Or, with so many other interested parties around, would he forget about her?
You never used to be insecure.
I never used to date much.
You’re an attractive woman, Sardelle. He’s in the library with you, not drinking with that blonde girl. She offered.
I’m sorry, were you trying to make me feel better?
No, just making observations.
Time for a different topic. “It sounded like that general was giving you a hard time. Will you get in trouble over… the changes you’ve implemented?” Or over me, she added silently.
“Already did. He thinks I’m running the place like the officer’s club back home. He figures I’ll bring in masseurs to rub down the prisoners next.”
“Wasn’t he at least pleased by the crystals you’ve found?” Sardelle asked.
“He was so happy he almost didn’t scowl for a second. Wouldn’t credit me for them though—not that I’ve had anything to do with finding them—” Ridge nodded toward her. “Even though Heriton told him differently, he’s convinced they came out of the ground on General Bockenhaimer’s shift.”
“Well… your men are close to another one. He’ll be able to see that one for himself when they dig it out.”
“Yeah.”
“If I were down there, I might be able to find even more. Pretty soon, you’re going to get into some of the old rooms, and there’ll be a higher density of… ” Sardelle stopped because Ridge had twisted in his seat to face her.
He clasped the top of the hand she had been resting on his arm. “Listen, Sardelle. You need to make yourself scarce. Don’t let him see you, and don’t show up when Heriton is around either. If he starts blabbing about what that prisoner said or about any of the admittedly unusual things that have happened since you came around… you’ll be in danger. I won’t be able to protect you. As much as I’d like to, I can’t throw a superior officer off a cliff.”
“I’d never ask you to.”
“I know you wouldn’t.” Ridge lifted his hand and stroked the side of her face. “You’re more mature than I am.” His eyes moved, following her face as his fingers traced her cheek down to her jaw. A pleased shiver ran through her. “Sexier too,” he murmured.
“I would refute that statement. You’re quite sexy. Especially when you smile.”
He managed a small one. “No argument on mature, eh?”
“No.”
Ridge chuckled softly and leaned closer. He kissed her gently on the lips, then lowered his face to the side of her neck. Sardelle wasn’t sure if he had commiseration in mind or… something more, but her body was certainly responding to his touch. It would be a shame to go back to the barracks now. He pushed his hand through her hair and massaged the back of her neck.
“I suppose being pawed over by a drunk wouldn’t be much of a reward for you coming all the way out here to keep me company,” he murmured against her throat, his lips grazing her skin.
She wondered if he could feel the rapidness of her heartbeat there. “Depends on the drunk,” she whispered, slipping her hand behind his head and wondering why their chairs were so far a
part.
“Oh?”
“You still seem to have… ” That massage felt so good, her brain slipped a cog and she momentarily forgot the rest of her sentence. Good and… stimulating. Not to mention what his lips were doing on her throat. “Retained your faculties,” she breathed.
“I was hoping you’d come.” His other hand found her thigh. Even through her clothing, it charged her with heat.
Sardelle left her chair to sit in his lap and wrapped her arms more firmly around him. “Me too.” That didn’t make sense, but she didn’t care.
“You’re the only thing keeping me sane tonight,” Ridge whispered, and it was the last thing either of them said for a time.
* * *
After spending the night with Sardelle, something Ridge resolved to do more often, whatever he had to do to manage it, he found himself struggling to pay attention to the lecture from the general’s daughter. Oh, Professor Vespa surely didn’t mean it to be a lecture, but by the time she had explained the significance of the tenth type of rock from her sample case, Ridge was hoping General Nax would show up to send her away. Odd, when Sardelle had recited summaries of all those books, he hadn’t found it pompous or boring, but Vespa had an air of self-importance that made him want to pull out something else to work on while she spoke. He also got the impression she thought he wasn’t that bright.
“It’s important that we start getting the miners to categorize the non-valuable debris they clear out in each level,” Vespa stated. “I’m here to determine the most likely types of rock that we can find crystals in.”
“Someone has already determined that,” Ridge said. “That’s why we’ve found four in the last couple of weeks.”
“Someone.” Vespa crinkled her tiny nose. “A geologist? An expert?”
“I’m not sure what field she studied. She’s a prisoner.”
“You’re taking excavating advice from a prisoner? Oh, Ridge.”
“She’s educated.” Ridge probably shouldn’t be talking about Sardelle at all, but he didn’t want to have to institute some idiotic rock cataloguing system—he could just imagine how well that would go over with the miners, having to separate and label every chunk of dirt they removed—when they had a better way.
“From where?”
“She didn’t say.” It occurred to Ridge that he might have an unexpected resource to unearth a little more about Sardelle’s mysterious past. “Although, maybe you’ve heard of her. I think she was an archaeologist or in a similar field before… ending up here.” Did geologists and archaeologists work together from time to time, read each other’s papers?
“What’s her name?”
“Sardelle Sordenta.”
Vespa shook her head. “I’ve never heard of her.”
“Hm. She has some interesting ideas about where the crystals come from. Have you ever heard about there being a Referatu outpost here at some point in the past? Here, inside the mountain itself?”
Vespa took a step back. “The sorcerers? Of course not.”
She was genuinely surprised. Huh. Ridge had thought he simply didn’t spend enough time in the halls of academia to have stumbled across the information himself. Well, a geologist wasn’t an archaeologist. “You might find it interesting to actually go down into the tunnels,” he said. “See the mine shafts. You can tell that some areas appear to have been mined before, and then collapsed.”
“Truly? That’s fascinating.” She smiled, flashing a pair of dimples at him. “And did I just hear you offer to take me on a tour down there?”
“Er. I’m actually already late to meet Captain Bosmont to work on the flier.”
Vespa held up a hand. “I wouldn’t go near that thing if I were you. My father was furious when he saw that rusted junk pile—his words, not mine—in the middle of the courtyard.”
“Yes, I was there to receive his opinions on the project yesterday.” His opinions on everything.
“I heard him say he wants it scrapped.”
“He’ll think differently if we’re able to use it to defend against the Cofah, who could be back at any time.” Another reason Ridge didn’t want to dither around giving tours. The skies were clear. The snow and wind that had been keeping the airship away wouldn’t be a hurdle now.
“I’m sure he will. I would love to see you fly.”
Ridge would love for Sardelle to see him fly. Her background might still be a mystery to him, but he had gotten the impression that she had never seen a dragon flier before, despite her academic familiarity with the Denhoft book.
A door banged open out in the hallway. “Colonel? General?” came Captain Heriton’s excited voice. “News from the mines!”
Ridge pushed to his feet. “Shall we see what it is?” He held the door open for Vespa.
“Thank you, Ridge.”
She walked out first and as Ridge stepped out, General Nax strode out of the office next door. Not surprisingly, he scowled at the back of Vespa’s head, then at Ridge, having caught them both coming out of the same room.
“Hurry,” the captain called from the base of the stairs. “Out by Tram Three. This is unbelievable.”
“A crystal?” Vespa asked.
“Must be,” the general said.
Ridge wasn’t so sure. Heriton had been as excited as anybody at the finding of the first crystal—the first one in over a year—but now that it had become more common, he didn’t shout for everyone to come look when a miner walked out with one.
Ridge jogged across the courtyard. Quite a few people, soldiers and miners, had gathered around the tram exit. An ore cart full of something that wasn’t ore rested in front of the shaft. The dusty contents looked to be…
“Books?” Vespa asked, jogging too. “Dug out of the mountain?” Her face screwed up in disbelief.
Ridge was less surprised, having been warned of the Referatu by Sardelle. This must be the first true proof, other than the crystals themselves, as to a prior civilization living down there. One that had apparently had a mountain collapsed upon their heads.
Men moved aside for Ridge and the general to approach.
“We found ’em just this morning,” a miner was saying, “and some old dusty carpets too.”
Another miner standing beside him elbowed him and pointed to Ridge. “Tell them about the bones.”
“I know, I know, I’m getting to it.”
“Be quiet,” General Nax snapped. “Everyone. Except you.” He pointed to the first miner. “Explain everything. No one interrupt him.”
Several men muttered yes-sirs. A couple of them glanced at Ridge, as if they felt betrayed he had allowed this more authoritative—or despotic, depending on how one looked at it—figure to take charge. He kept himself from rolling his eyes or doing anything else that would let the men know how he felt about Nax. Channeling some of Sardelle’s maturity, perhaps. He took a deep breath and listened.
“It looked like an old room that had caved in. Part of some kind of underground fortress or castle or something. There were two crystals. Two! Within ten feet of each other. The engineer took those right away, but we brung up these books too. But, like Two-five-three said, there were bones too. All smashed from the rocks, but human skeletons for sure. Two of ’em that we got to right away. Could be more. Bunch of us are still digging down there.”
The general was staring at the books and didn’t seem to be paying attention.
“Good find,” Ridge said. “Thank you for the hard work.”
The miners knuckled their foreheads in something approximating a military salute. “Sure, boss. Sure.”
“What is this?” General Nax asked, touching the spine of one of the books with a single finger. The title was written in Iskandian, albeit an archaic-looking version of the text, with more flowery touches than one usually saw on a book.
“What is it, Da?” Vespa squeezed past two men for a better look.
“Rituals of the Harvest Moon,” Nax read, then jerked his finger back. “Rituals. The
se are… sorcerous filth.” He looked at a few more titles. “All of them.”
“If this was a Referatu stronghold,” Vespa said, “those titles make sense.”
Ridge winced. He hadn’t told her that believing she would speak openly of it. A mistake. He shouldn’t have said anything at all, a notion reinforced when the general’s head whipped around. “Who told you that?”
Vespa looked at Ridge, a question in her eyes.
He snorted to himself. She might as well have thrust a finger at him.
“I heard it from a prisoner,” Ridge said when Nax’s scowl turned in his direction again. “I thought it might be an accepted fact in the academic world, so I brought it up to the professor.”
The miners were looking back and forth, sharing confused expressions. Ridge couldn’t blame them. They ought to be proud of finding such an old and unique find, but the general certainly wasn’t giving them that impression.
“Burn them,” Nax said. “Burn everything that comes out of there.”
“What?” came a familiar cry from the back of the crowd.
Ridge winced again. He couldn’t blame Sardelle for protesting this, especially if these artifacts were what had brought her all the way out here, but he wished she hadn’t let that cry slip out. In truth, it sounded like one of surprise as much as one of protest, and when he spotted her, wearing the usual prisoner’s garb and with a laundry basket in her arms, he also spotted the regret in her eyes, the cringe on her face. She, too, knew she had made a mistake.
Chapter 11
Sardelle kept her hands clasped behind her back and stared steadily at the snow in front of her. Ridge had warned her, and she had warned herself, yet when she had chanced upon that crowd, seen the books, and heard that vile proclamation from the general…
To destroy what little remained of her people, it was unthinkable. And yet, she had brought this about herself. If she hadn’t been so eager to help Ridge find some crystals, the miners might never have delved into that half of the mountain. Now they might destroy every remaining piece of her culture.