05 Dragon Blood: The Blade's Memory by Lindsay Buroker

would have been filed. He had done his best to squelch all of the rumors before he left, but Captain Heriton had suspected—and feared—Sardelle from the beginning. It hadn’t mattered one iota that she had saved the entire outpost from death and destruction.
    “I’ll look,” Chason said. “But this is not a national emergency, whatever it is. If there is such a thing as magic, it’s been around for thousands of years.” She made a disgusted noise and headed for the front door. It opened, but she spoke again before walking out. Ridge had to strain to hear the words—it had started raining, and the patter on the rooftop competed with the voices. “What are you going to do when he shows up again?”
    “Who? Zirkander?”
    “Yes. Whatever you think of him and his lover, we need him in the sky if the Cofah come. Don’t do anything drastic. Or illegal.”
    “I won’t have to,” Therrik said, his voice almost a purr. “According to my most recent orders, I’m his commanding officer now. If he wants to fly, he’ll do it at my discretion. Maybe I’ll send him to hunt down some witches.”
    Maybe Ridge would borrow Sardelle’s sword to turn Therrik into a eunuch.
    The door finally shut. Any thought Ridge had of Therrik being a gentleman and walking the general home was squashed when his footsteps started up again—heading for the bedroom. Ridge told himself Therrik could not know that they were there, that he would not have spoken so openly if he had, but he couldn’t help but tense.
    The boots entered the bedroom, grinding broken glass with each step. A lantern was set on a piece of furniture, and the straw of a broom dangled into view. Ridge bit his lip and hoped Therrik would prove a lazy sweeper, or think he had more stuff cluttering the floor under the bed than the box digging into Ridge’s hip.
    “Damned rain,” Therrik muttered and leaned the broom against the wall and walked out.
    The back door opened, then closed. Ridge was so surprised that he had gone outside that he did not react at first.
    Tolemek poked him again and whispered, “He must be getting boards for the window. Go.”
    Ridge needed no further urging. He slid out from under the bed. A thump sounded, and he winced. The wooden box had skidded out from under the bed. Tolemek cursed and scrambled out after it, clutching his knee. Even though Ridge knew they had to get out of there, he caught himself staring at the box. It looked as old as dirt with intricate carvings running along the top of it. The lantern did not provide enough light to tell what the pictures portrayed, but his curiosity got ahold of him. He slid the box the rest of the way out and opened it. There was an old iron latch, but no lock.
    “What’re you doing?” Tolemek glanced toward the window. “Push that back. Let’s go.”
    Ridge already had it open. Faded blue velvet adorned the interior of the box, covering a layer of thin metal. Otherwise, it was empty. “What’s usually in here?” he wondered.
    “Probably one of those .” Tolemek thrust his hand toward a wall filled with ancient axes, swords, and maces, much like the walls in the living room. Then he closed the box, shoved it back under the bed, and raced for the front door.
    Ridge chased after him, deciding he was right. As they slipped out of the house and ran to the street, he wished he had found something significant. Even if he had gained information by spying on the meeting, all that information had done was enrage him. A witch-hunt. With his people leading it. Dear gods.
    At the end of the block, Tolemek jerked to a halt.
    Ridge almost crashed into his back. “What?”
    “The canister.” Tolemek patted himself down. “I pulled it under the bed so the soldiers wouldn’t see it, but when I hit my knee on that box I forgot about it.” He spun around, looking toward Therrik’s house.
    “We’re not going back.”
    Banging drifted down the street from the direction of the house. The sound of a