“What’s the difference?” Trip asked. “It’s almost as big as King Angulus’s castle in the city.”
“Castles have fortifications. Occasionally moats.”
“A lake seems better than a moat.”
She couldn’t tell if she detected some of the resentment she’d been thinking about in Trip’s voice. She didn’t think so. If anything, he sounded daunted.
“Apparently not, since it didn’t stop the dragon,” she said.
“Not much does.”
“The chapaharii swords do. We’ll get the one that pirate has.” Rysha clenched a fist, knowing that wouldn’t do anything to help those who had already fallen.
As the flier descended to the yard, two people stepped out from under the large stone portico at the front of the manor and peered curiously at it.
Rysha let out a relieved breath. Her father and uncle. At least some of her family had survived unscathed. But she couldn’t help but look one more time toward the lake and the remains of her grandmother’s house as the flier landed.
Trip flipped a switch, and twin thrusters tilted downward from the wing framework. The two-seater fliers were fancier than the one-seaters, not requiring runways for takeoffs and landings, but she’d heard Duck giving Leftie some tips on flying them and saying they weren’t as agile and maneuverable as the one-seaters. Rysha hoped that wouldn’t matter too much in fights against pirates or dragons.
Her father and uncle waited until the flier landed and the propeller stopped roaring before striding through the drizzle toward them. Rysha unbuckled her harness and slithered over the edge, eschewing the ladder to jump down. She turned toward them in time to find herself engulfed in an embrace.
Almost as soon as it began, Father pushed her back to arm’s length to look her up and down.
“Are you all right?” Uncle Sath asked. “We heard the capital was absolutely ravaged and that thousands died.”
“I wasn’t hurt,” she said. “Is Mother all right? Grandmother?” She flung a worried arm toward the lake.
Her father and uncle exchanged long looks, and dread curdled in Rysha’s stomach.
“Your mother is fine,” Father said. “Most of us were in the manor when the dragon came, but your grandmother’s house isn’t as sturdy, as you know.” He swallowed.
Rysha gripped his forearm.
“She didn’t make it,” he said quietly.
Rysha closed her eyes.
“We believe it was over quickly.”
“But horribly,” Uncle Sath growled.
Father frowned at him.
“You saw her remains. To be burned to death—”
“Sath.” Father tilted his head toward Rysha.
Rysha was too busy looking at the lake and trying not to cry to worry about them arguing.
“We’re going to have her funeral tomorrow,” Father said, glancing toward the flier. “Can you stay?”
“I…” Rysha wanted to say that yes, of course, she could stay. But Trip couldn’t wait more than a day for her. She had a mission, a duty. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”
Both men frowned deeply at her.
“I’m part of a team on a mission to get some tools so that we can fight the dragons when they return.”
“When?” Sath scowled.
Rysha hated to deliver more bad news. “They… promised they would,” she said softly. “But to the capital. Maybe not to here. Still, you should stay in the basement rooms as much as possible.” Her voice sounded hollow in her ears, and she kept seeing her grandmother’s sparkling eyes. It seemed so unfair that she was gone.
Uncle Sath rubbed his bald pate. “The newspapers and rumors coming out of the capital are such a jumble. They say the pilot Zirkander took down one of the dragons but that there were others, and that they said they wanted to enslave all Iskandians.”
“That’s what one of the gold dragons said,” Rysha said. “I was there for the battle, manning an artillery gun. I didn’t see the flier battle that killed one of the dragons, but I know it happened. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the one making threats to us.”
Father and Sath shifted their gazes toward the flier and Trip. He was still in the cockpit, not looking certain whether to come down or not.
“That’s Captain Trip,” Rysha said, belatedly thinking of introductions. “He’s—we’re—part of the mission to help with the dragons.”
She knew she’d already said that, but she felt the need to emphasize it as an explanation for why she couldn’t stay for the funeral. Besides, she was proud to have been chosen and glad to have this opportunity to help Iskandia. She lifted her chin, wanting them to acknowledge that.
“Breyatah's Breath, you’re flying around in one of those contraptions?” Sath asked, rubbing his pate more vigorously. Worriedly. “What insanity has taken you?”
He didn’t seem to think it odd to point out that General Zirkander had helped save the city while in a flier and then to call someone insane for riding in one.
“What mission could you have been selected for?” Father frowned, looking at her collar tabs.
Some of her pride wilted under the frown. “I’ve studied dragons, remember?”
“Hardly enough to make you an expert. And you barely have any military experience. Or experience at anything except going to school. You should be in a classroom, earning teaching experience to become a professor, not cavorting around in army fatigues and shooting guns.”
“Father…” Rysha had come to check on her family’s welfare, not rehash this old argument. Especially now, with Grandmother dead. Surely, it was a time to realize that there were more important things in the world than worrying about her career choices. She also hated that Trip was close enough to overhear their condemning words. “Now, more than ever, Iskandia needs soldiers. Officers.”
“Did you do anything against that dragon?”
“I shot one with an artillery gun several times.”
“And did that do anything? Or just draw its ire?” Father clasped her shoulder, as if she were ten, not twenty-six. “Sweetie, let the professional thugs and killers go out and fight for the country. You’re too smart for that. You could be so much more, a professor or researcher in any of your fields of interest. If you want to make Iskandia a safer place, you could get into politics, like Cousin Hyer. Our name would ensure you could get a position if you wished. War is the failure of politics and a last resort.”
“I don’t think politics can stop a dragon from attacking.” Rysha stepped back, shrugging off his grip.
“Are you sure? If one was speaking to you, that proves they’re intelligent. It’s a foregone conclusion that we can’t kill all these dragons that have appeared in the world all of a sudden.”
“We killed one.”
“Zirkander is just one man. A heroic man, I’m sure, but he can’t kill them all.”
“The army is full of men like him.” Rysha flung her hand toward Trip, the gesture meant to include all pilots—and all her comrades in the other units, as well—but her father and uncle focused on him.
Trip lifted a tentative hand, his goggles still on, and he didn’t appear overly heroic.
“They’ll find a way,” Rysha added. “We’ll find a way. The military needs smart people every bit as much as it needs thugs and killers.” Her lips twisted with disgust at that description. She’d met very few soldiers that she would lump into that category.
Father pinched his nose between his fingers. “Rysha…”
She backed away. She wanted to see Mother, to console her about the loss of her mother, but there truly wasn’t time. And she worried a meeting with her mother would go in a similar direction as this one. It was good for her parents’ relationship that they had similar outlooks and were united in so much, but it wasn’t good for her that they’d always been united in their disdain for Rysha’s career choice.
Uncle Sath frowned in alarm. “Can’t you at least stay for breakfast? Your mother will want to see you. You can b
ring your, uhm—” He pointed at Trip, who’d finally decided he should climb out of the cockpit, though he kept gazing toward the sky, perhaps wondering how many miles per hour the soulblade could increase their speed. He looked a little nobler and heroic standing in his uniform and flight jacket with his chin elevated, his goggles back in the flier, his scarf flapping in the breeze. “What did you say his name was?” Sath asked, lowering his voice. “His real name?”
“I don’t believe I know it,” Rysha said, holding back a sigh, certain she knew why he was asking.
“He doesn’t look like he’s full-blooded Iskandian. Certainly not of the nobility.”
Rysha shrugged. “Maybe not. A lot of officers aren’t now.”
“A pity,” Father said.
“Yes, and even more reason to worry about Rysha being in there among them,” Sath said. “Going off on missions with such men.”
Father frowned, as if some new unpleasant thought had occurred to him. “Are there any women along on this mission? Besides you? You’re not just going off with this… pilot, are you?” He kept his voice low so Trip wouldn’t hear the questions, but Rysha didn’t think that made them any less insulting.
She didn’t even want to answer, because it shouldn’t matter, but it was easier to say, “The commander is a woman,” than pick another argument.
“Ah.”
She couldn’t tell if he was reassured or not.
“I remember when only men could become officers,” Sath said, shaking his head.
By the gods, if it wasn’t one thing, it was another.
“I have to go,” Rysha said, lifting a hand and backing away. “Hug Mother for me, please. And let her know I’ll come down for a week as soon as I’m able. I’ll have some leave after this. I can help with rebuilding or replanting. Whatever you need.”
She didn’t relish the idea of spending a week with her family, where they could lecture her any time of the day or night, but she felt guilty that she couldn’t stay for the funeral, couldn’t say a proper goodbye to Grandmother. She needed to offer something to assuage that guilt.
Father’s eyebrows drew down in a distressed expression, but all he said was, “Be careful, Rysha. Don’t risk yourself if there’s nothing to be gained.”
She forced a smile and nodded, though her teeth clenched behind the facade. A part of her wanted to say that she was an officer in the king’s army now and didn’t need such advice, but he wouldn’t understand. He never had.
Rysha turned back to Trip, who was doing a good job maintaining a neutral expression even though Uncle Sath continued to eye him suspiciously.
“I’m ready to go,” she told him.
Trip nodded, and they climbed into the flier and took off.
10
Trip caught up to Blazer and the others a couple of hours later as they flew east along the southern shore of Iskandia, the Little Sister Fjords visible to their left. The fliers would follow the shoreline for another two hundred miles, to the panhandle of the country, before turning southeast and shooting out over the open ocean. Jaxi had indeed been able to add speed to his flier, and he’d made up more time by cutting across the corner of the country and flying over the farms and ranches down there.
“Did you and Lieutenant Ravenwood have a nice interlude together?” Leftie asked when Trip fell in at the back of their small formation.
He hesitated, not sure he should speak of the diversion. Surely, Ravenwood wouldn’t want to be reminded of her grandmother’s death. She hadn’t said anything to Trip about it, but he’d overheard the conversation. He’d kept telling himself not to eavesdrop, but her uncle and father hadn’t been speaking that quietly, and he would have needed to leave his flier to avoid hearing their words.
“We checked on her family,” Trip finally said, glancing over his shoulder.
Ravenwood slumped back in her seat, her expression pensive as she gazed blankly toward the fjords and the southern tip of the distant Ice Blades. Before they’d stopped at her castle—her manor—she had been peering over the side, excited by the flight. She hadn’t spoken in the three hours since they’d left, but she was definitely no longer excited.
“You sure you didn’t roll out a blanket and a picnic basket for a date?” Leftie asked. “You were gone longer than it takes for a flyby.”
Trip supposed he shouldn’t be wistful at such a notion. Even though he didn’t know Ravenwood—Rysha, that was her first name—well yet, he found her attractive and was drawn to the fact that she didn’t quite fit in, either. She also didn’t seem fazed by talk of magic and sorcerers. She’d even researched magical swords. And she hadn’t once looked at him like he was odd. Granted, he’d been trying not to be odd, but that didn’t always work.
But if he’d had notions of asking her on a date, seeing her manor had quashed them. It wasn’t that commoners and nobles never had relationships, but as far as he knew, the nobles usually only had flings with “lesser” people and married from within their own caste. Over the years, he had seen newspaper articles announcing arranged marriages over in eastern Iskandia, and that was in an area where fewer rules and social stigmas existed than in the west.
Also, he’d seen the way her father and uncle had looked at him, as if he were some freeloading scum begging on the streets rather than an officer in the army. He had no doubt that they would object strongly to him dating their little girl.
Did General Zirkander get looks like that from the nobility? He didn’t come from that caste, either. Trip remembered stories about how he’d grown up in a poor neighborhood and had to fight for survival on the streets. Of course, it was hard to know what was fact and fiction since so many people liked to tell tales of Zirkander and his exploits.
Leftie had fallen in beside him and was grinning over, expecting a response.
“Don’t be jealous because the only person you could fly away with was a bald Cofah warrior,” Trip said, afraid his long pause might have Leftie believing he’d guessed correctly.
Duck was transporting Kaika’s bombs, Kaika rode with Blazer, and Leftie had lost the draw and received their surly companion. Oh, there hadn’t truly been a draw. Simply a doling out of seating assignments, probably based on rank.
“It’s true he’s not as cute as our lieutenant,” Leftie said.
“I think there’s a regulation against remarking on female soldiers’ feminine attributes,” Duck said. “Or saying anything you wouldn’t say to a male soldier.”
“I’d tell you if you were cute, Captain Duck,” Leftie said.
“I’m not? I had a girl once tell me I was cuter than a fuzzy duckling.”
“You sure that wasn’t an ugly duckling?”
“Positive. I’ve got many fine attributes, and in the right circumstances, I can be downright adorable.”
“It’s true that you might be cuter than our new recruit,” Leftie allowed.
Trip wondered if the Cofah was listening or napping in the back. There wasn’t much for passengers to do on a flier journey.
Oh, he’s awake, Jaxi said into his mind. He’s an all-around alert fellow from what I’ve observed. I don’t think he misses much. I’d keep an eye on him if I were you.
Do you have any idea why he was sent with us? Trip figured if anyone would be in the know, it would be Jaxi. Sardelle and Zirkander tossed King Angulus’s name around often enough to suggest they at least had meetings with him now and then.
Ridge doesn’t know, if that’s what you’re asking. Angulus just said it was due to some diplomatic pressures. Apparently, he’s been trying hard to stay in the good graces of the current Cofah ruler, Prince Varlok, even though he’s fairly certain the Cofah know that he ordered the mission where his father, Emperor Salatak, was kidnapped. Angulus had him sent into exile and didn’t tell anyone where he went or that he was still alive. The Cofah keep referring to Varlok as the temporary emperor and seem to believe Salatak will be found one day.
Trip was waiting to see how this would tie in to
Leftie’s passenger or if it would. He didn’t follow Cofah politics as closely as he should, but there’d been no interaction with them since he’d accepted his commission. Pirates had been far more of a concern. And now dragons.
Sorry, that’s all I know. That and what Ridge said, that the Cofah sent one of their best warriors, this fellow, so he could help with the portal. I have heard that the Cofah have had even more dragons harassing their towns and cities than we have. I wasn’t there for the meeting, or I could have peeked into Angulus’s thoughts and perhaps gotten more.
Could you peek into his thoughts? Trip asked. Dreyak's.
Surprisingly, no. Or perhaps not surprisingly. He has some dragon blood in his veins.
Trip started, almost losing his grip on the flight stick. You mean he’s a sorcerer?
Not necessarily. Becoming a sorcerer requires a lot of training. But it is very possible someone taught him to wall off his mind so he can’t be read by other sorcerers. Or powerful and highly talented soulblades.
Is that you?
I was generalizing.
Of course.
I also don’t think he has enough dragon blood to be a very powerful sorcerer, even if he has had training. He’s not like you.
This time, Trip did lose his grip on the stick. They were flying against the breeze, so the wings wobbled alarmingly before he grasped it again.
“Sorry,” he called back to Rysha. Ravenwood, he reminded himself. He should think of her as Lieutenant Ravenwood.
Still gazing to the north, she seemed lost in thought and didn’t acknowledge him.
I don’t think you can pretend you don’t know at this point, Jaxi said dryly.
That my father might have been a shaman or something like that? I guess. My grandparents told me as much and said to hide it from everyone. I don’t think they knew I’d be spending time with telepathic swords.
Extremely shortsighted of them.
“How’d you get your name, Leftie?” Duck asked. “Is it just because you’re left-handed? If so, I reckon Cougar Squadron doesn’t have very imaginative people in charge of picking names.”
Dragon Storm Page 12
