Dragon Storm Page 10

  “Oh. That’s good then.”

  “Yes,” Zirkander said, gazing at him expectantly. “Care to tell us what you did? Because it would be handy if we could replicate it.”

  “I don’t think I did anything, sir. I just flew at her and tried to shoot her in the head. Are you sure she didn’t get tired of keeping her defenses up?”

  “I’m not sure of anything,” Zirkander said, smiling wearily, “but Jaxi says you launched a mental attack at her.”

  “I just yelled in her head.”

  He lifted his eyebrows. “I remember you shouting stop it.”

  “Yeah. She was hurting me with her telepathy, and I yelled back. That’s it.”

  Zirkander looked at Sardelle. Her eyes were open now, and she looked back at him. Their gazes held, and Trip was certain they were speaking telepathically.

  You’re catching on, kid.

  Can you tell them that I wasn’t responsible? I’m afraid they’ll expect me to yell at dragons again, and that it won’t do anything except get me swatted with a giant tail.

  I could, except that you were responsible. I felt you channeling power and throwing it at her in a mental attack. It’s impressive that it got through, because dragons can shield their minds the same way they shield their bodies. It’s possible she wasn’t expecting such an attack, so wasn’t spending a lot of energy on her mental shields, but even so… getting through to a dragon’s mind is not something Sardelle or I have ever managed. Of course, her specialty is healing, and mine is attacking with raw power. I always loved fire, mind you. Neither of us are mind experts. It’s possible another type of sorcerer might have better luck with mental attacks on dragons. Like you, I suppose.

  I’m not a sorcerer, Trip protested. And certainly not a mind expert.

  No, it seems you’re not an expert on anything except pushing the stick around in your flier. It’s clear that you need training.

  Sardelle must have finished her conversation with Zirkander, for she looked down at Trip.

  “Ma’am, your sword is insulting me,” he said.

  “That’s one of her special gifts,” Zirkander said, then patted Trip’s shin. “Whatever you did out there, Captain, we appreciate it. Let’s hope you can figure out what it was so you can do it again.”

  “I… I’ll try, sir.”

  “Good. I’m glad you made it out alive.” The faint smile that had been on his lips faded. “Not everybody did. We lost four pilots. And the city…” He looked helplessly at Sardelle. “I think the emergency responders will be finding bodies for days, and it’ll be a while before we get the final count.”

  Zirkander looked up at the ceiling and blinked a few times. Moisture glinted in his eyes.

  When Trip had dreamed of meeting the man, he’d never imagined a scenario like this. “Which pilots, sir?”

  He regretted not taking the time to trade a few barbs with Leftie before going up, just in case…

  Sardelle shifted her hand to his shoulder, and warmth ran up and down Trip’s spine, almost a buzz of sensation. It was a little uncomfortable, but he could feel the healing magic doing its work.

  “Hopper, Dreams, Weasel, and Frog,” Zirkander said. “Some other serious injuries. Crash and Pimples are down there.” He waved toward the end of the infirmary. “Sardelle’s been going from worst to least worst. Apparently, my whiplash puts me toward the bottom. It’s heartening that I’ll at least get taken care of before Blazer’s hangnail.”

  Trip knew it was wrong to feel relieved that nobody he knew was among the dead, but he couldn’t help it.

  “Do you know if Leftie’s all right, sir?” He wanted to ask about Ravenwood, too, but since she was in another unit, he doubted Zirkander would know.

  “He’s fine.”

  “Is my flier…” Trip suspected he knew the answer, but he had a hard time imagining the only craft he’d had for the last two years, one he’d thought of as his, being destroyed. Maybe it had washed up on the beach, and it was possible it could be rebuilt.

  “Sorry, Captain. It sank. In pieces. If the power crystal were still working, we’d haul it up to at least retrieve that, but Jaxi said it burned out.”

  It was Trip’s turn to blink rapidly, trying to keep tears from forming. He knew it was stupid to get more emotional about a machine than about people’s lives, but he’d been through so much with that flier in the last two years. And he felt like a failure for having wrecked it.

  “You really pissed off that dragon,” Zirkander added, probably understanding perfectly and trying to take his mind off it.

  “Someone had to, sir. You firing up her nose wasn’t as effective as you’d think.”

  “No kidding. Who knew dragons had armored nostrils?”

  Sardelle cleared her throat. “I am trying to concentrate here.”

  “All right, I’ll leave in a minute. Just a couple more things.” Zirkander stood, rested a hand on Sardelle’s back, and eased past her to crouch at Trip’s shoulder. Speaking softly, he said, “Right now, I’m getting the credit for slaying the dragon, on account of the grenade thrown down her throat. It’s hard to change stories once they get started, no matter what the truth is, but I can try if you want credit for getting her defenses down. Sardelle thinks you won’t want anyone to know because then they’d know… too much.” He arched his eyebrows. “But I wanted to check with you. I’m alarmingly accustomed to getting credit for things, whether I was the reason for the success or not, and when I’m not, it never sits well with me, but…” He lifted an open hand, palm upward.

  Trip closed his eyes, thinking of his mother’s death, and he almost teared up again. Maybe if she’d lived over here in the capital, things could have been different. People seemed more accepting here. Or maybe that was a select group of people who worked with Zirkander and Sardelle. But Sardelle was healing everyone here, and nobody was complaining.

  But being a healer was different from… whatever he was. Or could be with the training Jaxi had mentioned. Training he didn’t particularly want. He just wanted to fly, damn it. That’s all he’d ever wanted.

  “My mother was hanged for being a witch,” he whispered, looking at the ceiling instead of Zirkander. “Even though she wasn’t one. I don’t know what I am, but I don’t want anyone else to know, either. I don’t want to be considered odd. I just want to be normal. And to become a great pilot.”

  If he was honest with himself, he knew he wanted to be a hero, not normal. To save people and to be recognized for saving them, but not with some weird mental power he didn’t understand. By legitimate means. With a flier and bullets. He wanted to be like Zirkander, and as far as Trip knew, the general didn’t have any dragon blood helping him with his feats.

  Not a drop, Jaxi told him amiably. However, I’m not sure anyone thinks he’s normal.

  “Give it time.” Zirkander patted his shoulder. “You’re already off to a better start than I was.”

  “Really?” Trip asked, though he expected Zirkander was just trying to make him feel better.

  “Ask him what his first nickname was,” Sardelle murmured, her eyes closed.

  Zirkander swatted her arm. “I thought you were busy healing.”

  “I told you, it’s hard to concentrate with all this chatter.”

  “Fine, fine, I’ll leave in a second. Right after this.” Zirkander unbuttoned one of his uniform pockets and extracted a couple of small items. He held them up so Trip could see.

  A wolf-head pin that would identify him as a part of Wolf Squadron and captain’s rank tabs. Emotion welled in Trip’s throat, and he couldn’t say anything.

  “Not an official ceremony, but I’m not sure when things will calm down enough for that.” Zirkander plucked Trip’s uniform jacket off the bed post, brushed sand and dried seaweed off the front, and fastened the accouterments.

  “Thank you, sir,” Trip whispered.

  Zirkander gave him a grave salute and stood up. He turned toward Sardelle, whispered something that sounde
d like a thank-you for taking care of his people, and kissed her on the top of the head before he walked off, rubbing the back of his neck.

  After a few quiet minutes, Sardelle opened her eyes. “I’ve done what I can. Your body will have to heal the rest.”

  “Will I still be able to go on our mission?” Trip glanced toward the window. The plan had been to leave this morning, before dawn. He assumed the dragon attack had delayed that, but what if the team had been sent without him?

  “I think so. Your body appears to have good regenerative capabilities. I want you to rest for today and tonight, but I believe that mission won’t be delayed more than a day since it’s of paramount importance. More so now than ever. I don’t know if you were conscious for the warning, but the male gold dragon said we only have three days until he comes back, and then we have to decide to surrender. Or else.” Her lips thinned.

  “He’ll destroy the city?”

  “That’s what he said. At least Cas and Tolemek and the others are back now, and they have Kasandral. That’ll give us a fighting chance. Ridge and his pilots are fully capable of some impressive aerial acrobatics to get close enough to a dragon to drop that sword on it.”

  “I have no doubt.” Trip knew he shouldn’t be envious that others would be able to stay here and fight dragons and protect the city, not when he had his own mission to go on. But he’d liked working with Zirkander. And what if he and the others went off for a week or a month and returned to find the capital destroyed with all the inhabitants dead or enslaved? What if, by the time they found that portal, all of Iskandia was like that? He thought bleakly of his grandparents and their weekend dinners, and imagined never seeing them again.

  “You’ll do fine.” Sardelle stood up. “And we will too.”

  Zirkander had left the soulblade at the foot of the bed, for Sardelle, Trip had thought, but she left it and walked to another bed in the infirmary.

  Sorry, you’re stuck with me, Jaxi informed him.

  Isn’t it the other way around? Trip imagined the soulblade would prefer to stay with her owner.

  Handler, Jaxi corrected. Nobody owns a soulblade. As to the rest, I enjoy traveling. Just promise you won’t leave me in a boring barracks room while you go off to have adventures. That was almost as tedious as babysitting.

  I apologize, ma’am.

  Jaxi.

  Yes, ma’am. Jaxi, ma’am.

  Breyatah's Breath, it’s going to be like skinning a dragon to train you, isn’t it?

  My former commander certainly thought so.

  Heartening.

  8

  The tram car wobbled and swayed as the wind gusted and rain pattered against the windows. Rysha didn’t think it was an auspicious morning to take off on a mission, especially since the fliers were open to the elements. The infantry soldiers liked to talk about the pilots as if they were precious pansies, but Rysha couldn’t imagine the courage it took to do what they did.

  She would rather fight someone on the ground than fly in all manner of crazy conditions to battle pirates, Cofah, and now dragons. Especially considering how fragile their fliers appeared. The bodies were a lightweight metal that didn’t always stop bullets, and the wings were made of some kind of cloth material.

  She’d heard Trip’s flier had crashed into the ocean during the battle, and she’d wanted to go see him in the infirmary the day before, but she had been pressed into duty, helping find injured people and cart them to hospitals and infirmaries. Buildings were still smoldering all over the city, so she ought to be grateful for the rain.

  The wobbling car made it to the top, and the doors opened to let Rysha out, along with a couple of other yawning soldiers who headed straight toward one of two hangars. Her step faltered when she saw that one of the hangars had been ripped to shreds, its roof gone and its walls torn from the foundation. A private drove something akin to a street sweeper around the top of the bluff, cleaning up shards of metal.

  Shaking her head, Rysha headed through the puddles toward the remaining hangar. The doors stood open with soft light coming out.

  She spotted two figures standing on the edge of the bluff, looking out toward the city and the harbor, and she detoured toward them. Their backs were to her, but the tall one looked like Captain Kaika. One of her feet was propped up on a huge duffel bag that had to be full of more than changes of clothing.

  The other appeared to be a woman, too, but she was almost a foot shorter than Kaika and couldn’t have weighed more than a hundred pounds. Despite that, she wore a large sniper rifle on her back and a sword in a scabbard.

  They both turned as Rysha approached, even though she didn’t think she’d made any noise.

  “Morning, Captain Kaika,” Rysha said, looking at the other woman’s collar as she saluted, to see if she needed to include her too. Another captain, one with pilot’s wings pinned on her jacket. AHN, her nametag read. “Ma’am.” Rysha nodded politely to her as she saluted.

  “Lieutenant Ravenwood,” Kaika said, half greeting, half introduction, as she waved from her to Ahn. “This is Captain Raptor Ahn.”

  The name and the weapons seemed at odds with the woman’s physical stature, but Rysha didn’t know her at all, so didn’t dare make jokes or ask how she’d gotten the name.

  “Oh, and that’s Kasandral,” Kaika added, pointing at the sword hilt poking over Ahn’s shoulder.

  It glowed green briefly, and Rysha stumbled back a step.

  “He knows his name,” Kaika said. “He’s a good boy.”

  “So long as there aren’t any sorceresses or dragons around that he desperately wants me to slay.” It sounded a bit like a joke, but Ahn’s expression was as grim as death. She looked toward the open hangar door. “Or odd new pilots that rub him the wrong way.”

  Kaika tilted her head. “Which one was that?”

  “I didn’t get his name. I got out of there as soon as Kasandral flared to life and started urging me to slay him.” Again, it wasn’t a joke. Ahn grimaced, as if she were resisting that urge right now, and she even turned her head toward the hilt and whispered words under her breath.

  Rysha didn’t hear them fully, but guessed them to be Old Iskandian, the terms used for controlling the magical blades. The dragon-slaying swords had all been made during that time period, before the disappearance of the dragons and before the worst Cofah invasion in Iskandian history, when the imperials had occupied the country for decades and forced the inhabitants to switch to their language.

  Kasandral’s green glow disappeared.

  “Huh,” Kaika said. “That’s why you’re out here in the rain, then?”

  “No, I’m on sentinel duty right now.” Ahn pointed up and down the coast. From here on the bluff, she had a great view to the north and south, or she would on a clear day. Right now, between the wan pre-dawn light and the rain, they couldn’t even see the castle on the other side of the harbor. “Colonel Therrik gets days. I get nights. He should relieve me soon.”

  “Just think of all the fun he’d be missing if Angulus had actually let him retire from the military to become a castle guard.”

  “I imagine he’d still be carrying the sword during the days. He’d just be standing guard from the castle instead of here.” Ahn nodded toward the other end of the harbor, then lowered her voice to add, “Nobody trusts the dragons to wait three days—two, now—to visit again.”

  “Can’t say I’m sorry I’ll miss their return.” Kaika touched a bruise on her cheek.

  Whatever the elite troops had been doing during the battle, Rysha was sure it hadn’t been sitting on their hands and watching.

  “I’m envious of your mission,” Ahn said. “But since Therrik and I are the only wielders trained to handle Kasandral’s eccentricities, we need to be here. If the capital falls… We can’t lose the capital. It’s horrible to lose any cities, but this is the center of our government and so much of our culture.”

  “And it’s got all the best houses of ill-repute. You can order up a
classy man between your legs any time, day or night.” Kaika winked, probably trying to lighten the mood.

  “Yes, that’s a key reason we can’t let the city fall,” Ahn said, her voice so deadpan it took Rysha a second to realize it was a joke.

  “Good luck.” Kaika slapped her on the shoulder and picked up her duffel bag. It must have weighed seventy or eighty pounds, but she shouldered it with ease.

  “Are you allowed to take that much gear on the fliers?” Rysha asked as they walked toward the hangar. She had been ordered to pack as lightly as possible.

  “Nobody objects to having my explosives along.” Kaika patted the side of the bag.

  “Ah. So that’s fifty percent bomb-making material and fifty percent undies and socks?”

  “More like ninety and ten.” Kaika grinned at her as they stepped through the doorway. “I only need a lot of changes of undies when Zirkander is flying me somewhere.”

  “Because he’s terrifying to ride with?”

  “Sure, we’ll go with that.”

  Rysha stumbled, almost tripping over her own feet. Kaika glanced back, smirking.

  “You’re not quite what I expected, ma’am.”

  “Before you joined, your parents probably told you not to spend time with people like me.”

  “That’s unfortunately true of the military at large, though it had more to do with my interest in joining rather than crude panty jokes.”

  “Crude? Please, my panty jokes are always tasteful.” Kaika stopped in front of the four two-seat fliers lined up in front of the open hangar door. “Which one of you fine gentlemen wants to carry me and my bombs across a couple of oceans?”