“One?” A woman with blonde hair pulled back in a bun jumped down from the lead flier, a lit cigar dangling from her lips. “Shit, Kaika, it’ll take at least three fliers for all that.”
“Are you calling me heavy, Blazer? Or my bombs heavy? You know a lady doesn’t like to hear that.”
“That’s Major Blazer to you.” The woman jerked a thumb toward her collar pins, shiny new ones.
Trip closed a panel on one of the fliers and walked over to join Rysha as the two women talked.
“You got promoted? Whose butt did you kiss for that? Zirkander’s?” Kaika reached over and extracted the cigar from Blazer’s mouth so she could take a puff.
“Nah, you know his butt doesn’t excite me the way yours does.” Blazer took her cigar back without apology.
“It is a nice one, isn’t it?” Kaika turned and gave her cheek a slap.
“This is alarming,” Rysha said quietly.
“That our mission commander is hitting on our demolitions expert?” Trip asked.
“That I’m the most feminine woman here.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “That’s not usually the case?”
Thankfully, he didn’t give her a once over and comment on her attributes. Leftie would have, she was sure, even though she’d only spent a couple of hours with him.
“Between my height, all the sports I played with my brothers growing up, and how much time I spent dirty, I wasn’t generally given gifts of frilly pink dresses and hair bows.”
Leftie appeared from behind a flier in time to hear the comment, and his quirking lips promised an idiotic remark before his mouth opened. “What’s that, you say? You like to get dirty and wear frilly dresses? I’m disappointed I didn’t get to see that side of you at the Stag.”
“You were too busy examining the inside of that woman’s mouth to see much of anything,” Trip told him.
“Don’t be jealous, buddy. I was going to see if she had a friend. If dragons hadn’t invaded the city.” Leftie’s smirk turned into a grimace as he glanced out the hangar door at the dreary gray sky.
“I wasn’t jealous. It just wasn’t how I imagined our team bonding going.”
“Did you recover from your injuries?” Rysha asked him quietly. “I heard you crashed.”
“I did.” Trip winced, probably not caring to be reminded. “I lost my flier, almost lost my life, and had to be rescued by General Zirkander and his wife’s sword. It’s not at all how I imagined my first battle under his command going.”
“If it helps, I spent the night shooting artillery weapons at dragons that couldn’t be harmed by artillery weapons.”
“Did you crash anything?”
“No.”
“Then it doesn’t help.”
Rysha snorted and shoved his shoulder before remembering that he outranked her and there was probably a regulation against shoving a superior officer.
Trip didn’t seem to mind. He pointed to the second flier in the lineup. “You can ride with me, if you like, Lieutenant.”
“Afraid you’ll get stuck with Kaika or her bombs if you don’t fill that seat quickly?” Rysha headed that way with her pack, relieved by the offer. She didn’t want to end up riding with Leftie, who had ambled over to join Kaika and Blazer, perhaps intrigued by the butt slapping.
“Both are moderately alarming prospects,” Trip called after her.
Rysha found straps in the back seat so she could ratchet down her pack. She’d seen numerous fliers sailing around upside down while battling the dragon. And, as calm and quiet as Trip was on the ground, she had no trouble imagining him corkscrewing through the air like a maniac.
Three people walked in through the side door while she adjusted her gear. General Zirkander was one of them. He promptly noticed Sardelle’s soulblade in its scabbard on a table by the door and veered over to pick it up. The second person was Captain Duck. The third was a bronze-skinned, shaven-headed man Rysha hadn’t seen before.
She glanced twice at him because he wore the reds and grays of a Cofah uniform, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows revealing muscular forearms. She ended up gawking at him. It lacked any sign of rank, but that was definitely full Cofah military garb, and he also wore a sword and pistol at opposite sides of his belt.
Was this… some prisoner? And if so, why was he armed instead of walking in chains between Duck and Zirkander? And where was he going? There weren’t any other pilots in the hangar getting fliers ready.
The conversations stopped, Blazer planted her cigar firmly in her mouth, and everyone stared at the trio heading toward them.
“Well, it beats the clapping and cheering that my entrance was garnering everywhere yesterday,” Zirkander said into the silence.
“You sure about that, sir?” Duck asked, a backwoods drawl that Rysha had barely noticed two days earlier more pronounced now. Maybe because he was tired. Both he and Zirkander were yawning as they walked in.
Rysha didn’t think anyone had slept much since the attack. There had been too much to do. She hoped it would be safe to fly with sleep-deprived pilots. But what if they encountered dragons along the way? She didn’t think fliers could outrun—or outfly—dragons.
“As long as nobody raises weapons at me, it’s fine,” Zirkander said, joining Kaika, Blazer, and Leftie, all of whom saluted him, despite his odd company. “This, my good officers, is the fighter who I mentioned would be going along with you.”
“Are we adopting more Cofah soldiers, sir?” Kaika asked. “Was Tolemek not enough? Does this one also make goos?”
The Cofah man stared at her. Or maybe that was a glare. He only looked to be about twenty-five, but he had already mastered the humorless stare of a grumpy old general.
“This one is a gift from King Angulus,” Zirkander said. “Dreyak, this is your team. Kaika, Blazer, Leftie, Trip, Ravenwood, and you’ve met Duck.”
“You people have strange names.” The Cofah—Dreyak—folded his arms across his chest and stared flatly at them. He had a heavy accent, making it seem as if Cofah and Iskandian were different languages rather than variations of the same, but he’d spoken slowly, almost theatrically, so it wasn’t hard to understand.
“Yes, Iskandians are quirky,” Zirkander said. “Did the king not tell you?”
The flat stare shifted to him. The Cofah didn’t appear daunted by him or his reputation, nor did Zirkander appear daunted by Dreyak or his muscles. They might have stared at each other for hours, neither flinching, but Zirkander ruined it by yawning.
“Sir,” Blazer said around her cigar, “we like brawny warriors to use as dragon fodder as much as the next pilots, but we’ve already got Kaika for that.”
Kaika eyed her cigar, perhaps considering using her brawn to shove it up the major’s nose.
“He’s here for diplomatic reasons,” Zirkander said. “The Cofah would like to help us with our dragon problem.”
“Don’t they have their own dragon problem to deal with?” Blazer asked.
“Angulus and Varlok, the temporary leader of the empire while his father is alas missing—” that statement got Zirkander a harsher glare from the Cofah, “—have apparently been discussing our joint dragon problem. The Cofah want to join forces with us to battle our common enemy. This is…” Zirkander spread his hand toward the surly warrior. “Something akin to the raspberry tarts given to the northern clansmen by the southern tribes to suggest an alliance so they could work together to fight off the third Cofah invasion attempt back around 500 BD.”
“Actually, that was closer to 700 BD, sir,” Rysha said. “And it’s a common misconception that raspberries were used in the tarts. But they hadn’t yet been cultivated at that time and weren’t popular among humans. They were blueberry tarts. The clansmen had trouble growing blueberries after Mt. Suviai erupted in 800 BD. You see, the ash, along with changing climate conditions, altered the composition of their previously acidic soil. The blueberry bushes there died, and their attempts to grow more were in vain. Thus, blue
berries were extremely coveted by the populace at that time.”
Everyone in the hangar had gone from staring at Dreyak to staring at her.
Rysha blushed and finished with, “I thought you’d want to know.”
“Important information, most certainly,” Zirkander said. “Dreyak here is reputed to have experience with battling dragons. If you can get the appropriate weapon into his hands—” his eyes widened for emphasis as he met Blazer’s gaze, “—then perhaps he can be an asset out there.”
Rysha took that to mean the Cofah warrior hadn’t been given all the details of their mission yet. At least not the part where they would try to acquire a chapaharii blade.
If he was coming along, Rysha didn’t see the point in not telling him. He would find out as soon as they landed and started battling pirates.
Trip walked toward the Cofah and stuck out his hand. “I’m Captain Trip. Welcome to the team.”
Dreyak squinted at him, squinted at his hand, and then clasped it. And didn’t let go. He stared into Trip’s eyes in some silent challenge, fingers tightening around his hand. Trip didn’t look like he knew if he was supposed to squeeze back or punch him in the nose.
Leftie noticed this happening and walked up, puffing out his chest and glowering at the Cofah as he approached. Dreyak ignored him. Leftie looked at Trip, as if asking if he wanted him to jump in.
Trip’s face had turned red, but he didn’t try to yank his hand away. He stared back at the Cofah.
Finally, Dreyak released him. “You have soft hands, Iskandian.”
“Thanks, it’s the lotion I use. There may be blueberries in it.”
Dreyak didn’t crack a smile.
“What’s your problem?” Leftie demanded of him. “You want to squeeze my hand? I’ll kick you in the balls so hard your—”
“All right, gentlemen,” Zirkander said, stepping toward them and raising a hand. “Let’s save the ball-kicking for the dragons.” He looked at the sword in his other hand, then sighed toward the others. “Apparently, it would be cloaca-kicking, and Jaxi isn’t certain it’s effective.”
The men sent him puzzled looks. At least it put a stop to their bristling and puffing.
Zirkander handed the soulblade to Trip, who regarded it as if it might be a venomous snake before accepting it.
“You keep leaving her behind,” Zirkander remarked.
“She was just on the table, sir. I wasn’t going to forget.”
“Good. You’ll need her. Also, she promises to educate you on a few key things.”
“On magic? Or dragon anatomy?”
“Both, I imagine.” Zirkander waved toward the fliers and raised his voice to tell everyone, “Load up!”
“Why would you want to learn about magic?” Leftie whispered to Trip as the general walked away.
Trip twitched a shoulder. “It goes hand-in-hand with dragons. We should be aware of the powers our enemies possess.”
It sounded like a plausible answer, but Rysha didn’t think it was a complete one. As she’d been speculating earlier, there had to be a reason the soulblade had chosen Trip, even if it was only for one mission.
Judging by the way Leftie shuddered visibly, he might not be such a stalwart friend if he figured out that reason.
9
Even though the rain continued, chilling her through her uniform and parka, Rysha enjoyed the flight. They had taken off over the harbor but soon veered out over the ocean and now headed south along the coastline. The Pirate Isles lay to the southeast of the Iskandian continent, so eventually, they would fly across the ocean, but for now, the scenery was amazing.
Rysha had never imagined that she would see the beaches and cliffs of western Iskandia by air. Some of the areas she’d visited as a girl on weekend trips with her family. Just inland of those beaches, houses and farms dotted the landscape, and the Pin-Allyn highway wound through foothills, following the terrain.
They passed a familiar lake, blackened buildings along the shore promising that dragons had come through the area. Rysha realized that her family’s estate might come into view as they continued south. It lay to the east side of the highway, in a lush valley where they grew apples, pears, and apricots, and kept bees for honey that was distributed all over the country. Technically, the servants did the growing and the keeping, but her father and uncle oversaw the business side of things.
She’d been wondering since the dragon attack if her family had survived unscathed. She’d checked on her sister in the capital, but there hadn’t been time to borrow one of the army’s horses or steam carriages to head south to the manor. The blackened buildings visible here and there below didn’t put her mind at ease. A whole stretch of them had burned to the ground, and she spotted charred fields as well.
“Captain?” she called.
Trip sat right in front of her, but the wind whipping past made it hard to hear.
“Can we detour a bit? To check Ravenwood Estate? My family’s valley starts just to the east of mile marker forty-three on the highway.”
“Major Blazer,” Trip said, lifting a gloved hand in acknowledgment. “Lieutenant Ravenwood wants to know if we can fly over her family’s house to see if they were spared in the dragon attack.”
“Got a mission here,” Blazer responded promptly over the communication crystal—Rysha had to lean over Trip’s shoulder to hear the words. “No time for detours. I’m sure she’ll be able to get some leave when we get back to check on them.”
Rysha dropped her chin to her chest. She understood, and it wasn’t as if she could do anything if her family had suffered losses, but she dearly would have liked to know if they were all right. Especially since she was flying off on a dangerous mission. What if something happened, and she didn’t make it back? She knew that was one of the reasons her mother had objected to her joining the military, the possibility of her going off to war and not returning.
She lifted her chin and realized Trip was looking back at her. He didn’t hold her gaze for long before speaking into the crystal again.
“We don’t all have to go, Major. I can fly her over and catch up really quickly.” After a pause, he added, “Jaxi says she can make my flier go faster too. Channel some winds. We can catch up without slowing down the mission.”
Blazer grumbled something inarticulate before saying, “I was warned about you, Captain Sidetrip.”
“We’ll catch up soon, Major. Promise.” As he spoke, Trip banked, turning further inland to fly right over the highway.
More undecipherable grumbles came from Blazer. Rysha noticed Trip hadn’t waited to receive permission.
She didn’t want him to get reprimanded when they got back, but she couldn’t bring herself to say, “Never mind.”
The flier cruised over the ground far faster than a horse would have and even faster than a steam truck, and at her direction, they soon turned off the highway and flew into the valley where she had grown up. A couple of miles wide, it followed a river all the way up into the distant mountains. Her family owned the land all the way back into the foothills, about sixty miles away, but it was mostly the descendants of the freed serfs from the previous century who worked the land back there. The family manor and outbuildings for the various businesses were within a couple of miles of the highway, near the front of the valley. The rambling stone structure where her parents, an uncle, and two aunts and their families lived rose along Emerald Lake.
At first, Rysha thought the estate had been left alone, but as they drew closer, she spotted smoldering trees behind the manor—the apple orchards. Rows and rows of them had been burned, leaving blackened husks behind, skeletal branches stretching upward forlornly. One of the barns and the distillery had burned to the ground.
“Seven gods,” she whispered, “where were you that night?”
“At least the house, uhm, castle looks all right,” Trip said, glancing at his shoulder.
Her fingers were gripping it. Rysha let go and leaned back. He wouldn’t app
reciate her cursing in his ear.
“The attack was at night, so probably everyone was in there, right?” Trip circled the sprawling stone structure as he spoke. “Oh, wait. Some of the walls look charred.”
Bleakly, Rysha looked toward where he pointed. Yes, the east walls, the side of the manor facing the destroyed orchard, were blackened, shutters charred and broken on the ground. The fact that the manor was made primarily of stone appeared to have saved it, but she worried the heat could have hurt or even killed people inside. What if someone had been outside when the dragons came? Vulnerable in the courtyard or on the paths between the buildings. Her grandmother lived alone in a small wooden house in a copse of trees on the far side of the lake.
Rysha looked in that direction, and her gut clenched. The house was nothing but a blackened shell, the trees black and dead, those that still stood.
“No,” she whispered, tears filling her eyes.
Grandmother was the only one in her family who’d told her to follow her dreams and join the army if that was what she wished. Everyone else had thought it was beneath her. As if being an academic was so much better than being a soldier. As if academics could have the safety and security to pursue their studies if there weren’t people out there willing to risk their lives to defend the country.
“Trip,” she whispered, forgetting to use his rank as her thoughts tangled in an unhelpful jumble. “I know we have to get back, but—”
“I’ll set us down in the yard in front of the castle so you can run in and check on people.”
She realized he’d already been taking them lower, circling so he could come in for a landing.
“Thank you. And it’s a manor, not a castle.” Growing up, Rysha had never thought much about being from the nobility and having a great deal of land, but in school and in the military academy, she’d learned all about the resentment it sometimes caused among others, so she now tried to downplay her family’s wealth. Besides, it wasn’t as if she had access to any of it. Her parents had made it quite clear that she would be on her own, no allowance and no access to a vehicle or even a horse, if she joined the military.
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