Dragon Storm

by Lindsay Buroker

  Not only did Rysha have nothing to do with the flier battalion, but she’d only been out of the academy for three months. She was at the beginning of her elite troops training. By military standards, she was a raw rookie with little to offer. More than that, her first three months had been spent with the ground troops, an artillery unit. Why would she be sent off with pilots?

  “Do you know what this is about, ma’am?” Rysha asked, matching her strides to Kaika’s long steps.

  “No idea, but the order was for both of us. Usually, if the flier people want me along on a mission, it’s to blow stuff up. I have no idea how they even know you exist.” Kaika looked at her, eyebrows raised, as if she might have the answer.

  Rysha could only shrug. “I don’t know how they know I exist, either. I have had some history papers and results from science experiments published. Just this winter, one was reprinted in the Iskandian Journal of Modern Physics.”

  “I’m sure Zirkander reads that to pass the time when he’s in the outhouse.”

  Rysha’s cheeks warmed. She hadn’t meant to imply that most soldiers read academic journals, but surely, it was possible that some did. The officers all had university experience, including the pilots. Most of them had mathematics or engineering degrees. And wouldn’t someone who wheeled around in the sky be interested in physics?

  As they climbed the stone steps off the field, some of the drying mud flaked off Rysha’s trousers. She halted mid-step.

  “Wait, ma’am. I can’t go see a general like this. I have to change first.”

  “Duck said we’re already late.” Kaika kept walking up the steps and didn’t look back.

  “But—”

  “Don’t worry. Zirkander isn’t like other generals.”

  Rysha didn’t find that comforting. Very little today was comforting. Had she truly told the timekeeper that she liked to be uncomfortable?

  3

  For the second time in as many days, Trip stopped in front of the door to a superior officer’s office. But this one was extremely superior. GENERAL ZIRKANDER, the plaque on the wall said.

  From all the articles he’d read, the stories he’d heard, and the mission reports he’d devoured like pulp novels, Trip felt as if he’d met the man a hundred times over, and yet, he’d never even seen the general. As a boy, he’d emulated Zirkander’s exploits in Wolf Squadron, jumping off sheds and pretending he could fly himself, that he could battle pirates and the Cofah. Even though he was actually doing those things now, he couldn’t help but be intimidated by the legendary Zirkander. Intimidated and nervous.

  It didn’t help that he’d not only idolized the famous pilot as a boy but had even dreamed he would one day find out Zirkander was his father. Trip had never met his father, so it had always seemed possible. His grandparents claimed the man had been a lover his mother had known briefly during her travels to collect exotic herbs for her tinctures and potions. But who knew if that was the truth?

  And Zirkander had once had a reputation for attracting ladies in droves. He’d only been married for three years. Before that, he’d been known to have dalliances near and far. Couldn’t he have met Trip’s mother early in his career and… dallied?

  Trip snorted at the wishful thinking and knocked on the door. Logically, he’d known for a long time that his skin was too dark for his father to have been an Iskandian. Still, he’d been almost an adult before he’d given up that particular fantasy. Even at the university, when other boys had been visited by their fathers during semester breaks, Trip had imagined Zirkander showing up and them going for a beer together. Maybe even a little fishing trip. He’d fished with his grandfather when he’d been a boy, but that had usually involved him being sent scrounging for suitable worms. He felt certain Zirkander wouldn’t make a fishing partner collect the bait.

  “Yeah?” came the response through the door.

  Trip hesitated. Was that an invitation to enter?

  He cleared his throat. “Uhm, it’s Lieutenant—Captain—Trip. I mean, Telryn Yert. Sir.”

  He rolled his eyes at himself. Way to mangle not only his rank but his name. Everyone in his unit had called him Trip, and he supposed that would be true in his new unit, too, but his real name was on his orders. Zirkander might only know him that way. And as a lieutenant. Should he have introduced himself that way? He’d received his orders, stating his new rank was effective today, but he hadn’t met his unit yet or been through a promotion ceremony in front of a formation. He assumed that was standard operating procedure here in the capital, as well as back home.

  “Are you sure?” came the amused response.

  “About most of it, yes, sir.” Trip bit his lip. Should he joke with the general? Zirkander didn’t have a reputation as a tightass, but it did seem presumptuous to make… presumptions.

  The door opened, and the person standing there smirked at him. “Which parts?”

  The man—since he’d come to open the door himself, Trip glanced at his nametag to assure himself that this was General Zirkander—was a little over six feet tall and rangy in build with a lean, handsome face. Trip didn’t usually notice men’s looks, but even he could see why Zirkander had attracted all those women—being a famous pilot had surely only been part of it. He was younger than Trip had expected from a general and from someone he’d grown up admiring. Early forties? Some gray at the temples lightened his short brown hair, but he had to be the fittest general Trip had come across.

  And the most rumpled. Dried mud spattered his boots, and it looked like he’d slept in his uniform. His hair was tousled, and even though he gave off a friendly air with the smirk, there was a tiredness lurking under it. Trip noticed a well-used leather couch near the window overlooking the harbor. Maybe he had slept in his uniform.

  “Pretty sure on the name, sir,” Trip said. “The, uh, real one.”

  “Trip’s what your squadron gave you?”

  “Sidetrip, sir. Yes.”

  “I’ve heard worse ones. Much worse ones.” Zirkander waved him into the office. It was tidier than he was, though the stack of papers and folders on the desk had a precarious tilt to it, suggesting it might topple into the garbage can at any time. Maybe that was his hope.

  “Did you ever have one?” Trip had wondered that a number of times. He knew the general’s first name was a peculiar one—Ridgewalker—but was fairly certain that was on his birth certificate and hadn’t been a nickname.

  Half hazing, half induction into the squadron, the nicknames were typical among flier pilots, and almost everyone got one. Most weren’t overly flattering, though some people got lucky, or were just too talented and deadly from the get-go for anyone to mock. Captain “Raptor” Ahn in Wolf Squadron had reputedly been like that, with an assassin for a father and marksmanship skill that any professional sniper would envy.

  Trip wondered what it would be like to meet some of the more famous members of Wolf Squadron. And work with them. He felt as nervous as he had two years earlier, on his first day of duty with Cougar Squadron.

  “I did have one,” Zirkander said, reaching the desk, turning, and hitching his thigh onto it. “Fortunately, with the retirement of General Ort, there’s nobody left in the battalion who remembers it.” He grinned.

  The grin made Trip relax a little and feel that working here might be more enjoyable than serving in Cougar Squadron had been. Of course, Zirkander wasn’t the commander of Wolf Squadron anymore. Trip wouldn’t likely interact with him much. Though he had heard that the general still went out on missions. That was probably why the paperwork piled up.

  “Where’s your buddy?” Zirkander asked.

  “Who?”

  Zirkander looked at a couple of papers on the desk that were not a part of the stack. “Lieutenant Lu Lymander.”

  “Oh, Leftie.” Trip had been delighted to learn that Leftie was also being transferred. The two of them had flown over with their fliers early that morning, landing at the hangars on the southern bluff that overlooked the h
arbor and the city. “He didn’t come up with me. I’m not sure he knew he was supposed to report. I think he’s—”

  “Right here, sir.” Leftie walked in, panting slightly, and saluted. His boots were polished and his uniform ironed. He could be professional when he needed to be. Usually only when reporting to superior officers.

  Zirkander returned the salute with a droopy half-heartedness that only generals could get away with. “Take a seat while we wait for the rest of the team. I don’t want to explain the mission more than once.”

  Trip wanted to dance, not sit, at this confirmation of a mission. He and Leftie exchanged excited looks as they hustled to the couch. Zirkander picked up a folder with a paper stapled to it and marked things off with a pencil.

  Boots clomped in the hallway before Trip could spend much time debating whether it would be permissible to whisper speculative thoughts to Leftie.

  Two tall women in fatigues walked in, one in her late thirties with tousled auburn hair and a captain’s rank, and one too spattered in mud to discern much about her, including her rank. Trip thought she had blondish-red hair under the mud, but he wasn’t positive. It was back in a bun and tucked under her cap. She wore spectacles as mud-spattered as the rest of her, and he wondered if she could see anything through them.

  “Hm,” Zirkander said, looking up from his folder, then down to the mud they’d slogged into the office. “You’re looking as alluring as always, Captain Kaika.”

  “Thank you, sir,” the older woman said. The muddier woman looked to be closer to Trip’s age. “It’s good to know that the years haven’t stolen my ability to attract handsome generals.” She looked over at Trip and Leftie. “We’ll see if that holds true when it comes to young officers.”

  Leftie threw an arm across the back of the couch and smiled agreeably. Trip slipped off the cushion and almost pitched to the floor. He hadn’t realized he’d been that close to the edge.

  “Already making plans for them?” Zirkander asked.

  “Nah, probably not. I have loyalties now. Fidelities.”

  “Yes, I understand the single men in the barracks are terribly disappointed.”

  Trip looked back and forth between them. So far, this was very different from Cougar Squadron. He met the muddy woman’s eyes and thought her expression displayed similar bemusement.

  “I believe you called for me and my young protégé, General?” Kaika said, stepping aside to extend a hand toward the younger woman.

  “Protégé, ma’am?” The woman’s eyes grew round behind her spectacles. She reached up to push them higher on her nose. “Do you mean—I mean… are you just bantering or does that mean… something?”

  Zirkander scratched his jaw. “This is Lieutenant Ravenwood?”

  “Yes, sir,” the woman—Ravenwood—said more firmly. A surname like that ought to mean she was of the nobility and that her family owned land and businesses, but she didn’t appear overly noble currently.

  “After looking over your record, I was expecting you to be more articulate.” Though it was an insult, Zirkander smiled at her as he offered it, so it didn’t have much sting.

  Indeed, Ravenwood seemed to blush under the mud, and she looked down shyly. Trip had a hunch she wasn’t usually that shy.

  Leftie nudged him and whispered, “This is strange.”

  “What?” Trip murmured.

  “Me not being the prettiest boy in the room.” Leftie waved toward the women. “They’re barely aware I exist.”

  “Is your ego crushed?”

  “Moderately so.”

  “I’m better at writing, sir,” Ravenwood said.

  “There won’t be much time for that on the mission.” Zirkander pointed toward the couch. “That’s Captain Sidetrip and Lieutenant Leftie. They’re two Cougar Squadron pilots I’ve selected for this.”

  “Sidetrip and Leftie?” Kaika wrinkled her nose. “Sounds like a comedy act at the officers’ club.”

  “Easy, Astuawilda.”

  Kaika pointed a finger at Zirkander’s nose. “If you weren’t tantalizing me with a new mission, I’d come over there and pummel you for using that name.”

  “Fortunately, generals are wise and know you never tease a pit dog unless you’ve got a steak in your pocket.” Zirkander smirked at her, not appearing overly concerned about the pummeling possibility, though the tall, tough Captain Kaika did look like she could damage men effectively.

  “What’s this about, sir?” Kaika asked, lowering her hand and glancing at Ravenwood.

  “As you probably already know, Angulus and I have been talking,” he told her with a nod. “Ahn, Tolemek, Colonel Therrik, and a lot of our best people are out hunting dragons. Well, trying to keep them from razing the countryside, more like. Despite Therrik boasting about his sword-fighting ability, I don’t believe any dragons have fallen to his hungry green blade.”

  “Are you talking about Kasandral, the dragon-slaying sword from the 600s BD, sir?” Ravenwood blurted, her shyness evaporating. “I’ve studied that sword and many others of the chapaharii from the dragon-rider days. Not in person, of course, but in the history books. At the time, I didn’t realize how important it might become to find some of those anti-magic tools, but I researched the locations of some of the ones named in the old texts and believe I even located some of their present-day resting places. Is that why I was called here?”

  “That among other reasons, and I’m encouraged that you know all about that sword,” Zirkander told her. “I understand you have a degree in, uh, dragonology.”

  “It’s a degree in history with an emphasis on dragon society, language, and culture, yes, sir.”

  “And that’s only one of the degrees, right?”

  Ravenwood blushed and glanced at Trip and Leftie, as if she were embarrassed to be called out for her academic knowledge. Trip didn’t know why. It sounded like it would be useful.

  “I also studied archaeology and physics,” Ravenwood said.

  Zirkander arched his eyebrows. “Just studied?”

  “Technically, I have degrees in them, but only undergraduate degrees. I would have to take more courses if I wanted to work in either of those fields. But that wasn’t where my interests lay.”

  Kaika, who seemed to be receiving this information for the first time, looked at her muddy protégé and uttered a, “Huh.”

  “That’s why you’re both invited to come on this mission,” Zirkander said. “Ravenwood to find something, and Kaika to blow it up.”

  “That’s vague, sir,” Kaika said. “Though I do enjoy blowing things up.”

  “I was going to wait until everyone was here for the explanations, but Major Blazer and Duck were at the king’s meeting with me, so they already know about the portal. I guess we have everybody we need.” Zirkander looked toward the open doorway. “A grand entrance would be appropriate now.”

  “Grand?” a striking woman asked as she walked into the room, gliding past Kaika and Rysha.

  “You can be sedate if you prefer, but I’ve noticed Jaxi seems inclined toward grandness.”

  Trip glanced at Zirkander. Who?

  “This is true,” the woman agreed with a smile.

  “I think that’s his wife,” Leftie whispered.

  “The woman in the dress?” Trip asked, still confused about the name that had been mentioned.

  “No, the planter in the corner. Of course the woman in the dress.” Leftie thumped him on the arm.

  The woman raised her eyebrows in their direction, and Leftie fell silent. She had long black hair pulled back in a clip, fair skin, and clear blue eyes. She wore an emerald green dress with artful folds that fell to the floor, almost concealing the fact that she was quite pregnant. At odds with the dress, she carried a sword in a well-worn scabbard, the sides covered in silver runes.

  Ravenwood’s eyes widened as she noticed the weapon. Perhaps it was the dragon-slaying sword that had been mentioned.

  Guess again, genius, a voice spoke into Trip’s mi
nd.

  He fell on the floor.

  Everyone in the room looked at him. Trip scrambled to his feet.

  “Sorry, I, uh—” He had no idea what to say. Confessing to hearing voices in his head would get him condemned as either insane or a witch. “The couch is slippery.”

  Leftie snorted, but he also gave Trip a what-is-wrong-with-your-brain look.

  Zirkander sighed, not at Trip but at the woman. “I thought Jaxi didn’t speak to people she didn’t know and who weren’t prepared for her personal touch.”

  The woman pursed her lips and looked down at the sword. “Usually, she doesn’t. He may be…” She gave Trip a sidelong look, then considered Leftie and Ravenwood. “Perhaps this isn’t the place to discuss it.”

  “Mm,” was all Zirkander said.

  Trip decided standing would be safer than sitting, and clasped his hands behind his back in a loose parade rest as he tried to follow the conversation and figure out what had happened.

  Let me help you, the voice spoke into his mind again, a woman’s voice. Or maybe a girl’s voice. She—it—sounded young. I’m Jaxi, I’m a soulblade, and I’m most certainly not an it.

  His gaze locked on the sword. Was that who—what—was talking to him? It wasn’t throbbing or doing anything blatantly magical.

  I can throb if you want me to, but I usually refrain in public.

  Hello? Trip thought tentatively. Can you hear me?

  Of course I can hear you. I’m five feet away.

  A soulblade. He’d heard stories of such weapons, but he didn’t know how much was myth and how much was reality.

  I don’t know what to say, Trip thought, and eased back down onto the couch. Maybe he needed to be sitting for this.

  Silence is always an option. Especially considering you’re a shouter.

  A what?

  You’re throwing your thoughts around like an untrained elephant stampeding through a crowd. Try a whisper, eh?

  “Introductions are in order, I suspect,” Zirkander said, saving Trip from responding. “This is my wife, Sardelle. Normally, this is the kind of mission she would go on, but we’re expecting an addition to our household.” He extended a hand toward her stomach and lowered his voice to ask her, “I assume Mom is watching Marinka?”