Gold Dragon

by Lindsay Buroker

  His chest bumped against the barrier, and he stumbled, falling backward. Trip used his power to tear the pistol from his grip.

  “You’re scheming against the wrong family, Lord Lockvale.”

  Trip lowered his barrier for long enough to float the pistol into his grip. As he held it in both hands, Azarwrath flared with red light, ensuring everyone could see. Trip channeled power into warping the metal, making it look as though he was breaking the firearm with his bare hands. He bent the barrel so it would never fire again and tossed it to the ground.

  “If you or this dragon bother the Ravenwoods again, you’ll have to deal with me.” Even scarier, Trip added, switching to telepathy so the man would fully understand that he was a sorcerer, you’ll have to deal with Lieutenant Ravenwood and her dragon. And her dragon is larger than yours.

  Lockvale screamed and dropped to the ground again, grabbing his head with both hands. “He’s attacking me, hurting me!”

  Trip stepped back, sensing the silver dragon on the move. When he’d landed, it had been at the far eastern end of the property, with Shulina Arya chasing it. Now it was heading back toward the manor and the highway. Once again, Shulina Arya flew after it.

  Lockvale staggered to his feet, backing toward his friends. “You all saw it.”

  He still gripped his head, as if he were staunching some flow of blood, though there was none. He wasn’t even hurt, unless he’d bruised himself rolling around on the road. Lockvale looked around for his horse, but the creature had moved far down the road.

  Fire lit up the sky behind the manor, and Trip shifted his attention, more worried about Rysha’s family than the nobleman.

  He spotted the silver dragon weaving and diving as it tried to evade the flames. Shulina Arya came right behind, with Rysha on her back, but they weren’t gaining. The speedy silver dragon was pulling away, flying toward the highway. Maybe it thought it could fly out to sea and get away.

  “We’ll see about that,” Trip muttered, drew Azarwrath, and ran down the long drive toward the manor—and the dragon chase.

  As his legs churned, he kept his eyes on the silver. He sensed it was injured, but not enough to slow it down. He also sensed that its mental defenses were up, so neither flame nor magical attack was hurting it.

  As it soared toward him, Trip planted himself in the road and lifted his hands, imagining wind channeling itself to create a wall of air in the middle of the silver’s path.

  The dragon smashed into it headfirst, its body jerking and neck bending as if it had struck a brick wall. It started to fall, but then flapped its wings and recovered, shaking its head as if to shake away the stars dancing in its vision.

  Shulina Arya spewed fire as she drew near. The silver glanced down at Trip, and he braced himself for an attack, but it flew off to the side of the valley, again pumping its wings so fast that it started pulling away.

  Stop, you coward! Shulina Arya cried.

  Trip marshaled his strength and conjured another wall in the air ahead of the silver.

  This time, the dragon must have sensed it. The creature banked hard, talons grazing the magical barrier, then pushing off. It flew east again, back toward Rysha’s manor and the lake.

  Shulina Arya angled, trying to cut it off. Trip created one more wall, though he struggled to make it as effective now that he stood at a greater distance.

  Wishing he’d run for his flier instead of heading up the long drive on foot, he took off running again. Shulina Arya gained ground as the silver avoided Trip’s new wall. It stuttered in the air as raw energy buffeted its wings. Trip sensed Shulina Arya being subtler now, attacking with her mind instead of with fang and flames.

  As he reached the lake, where tall trees grew along the shoreline, he lost sight of the combatants, the foliage blocking the sky. But he monitored with his senses as he ran. Azarwrath sent streaks of red lightning over the treetops and toward the silver. Trip tried to attack the dragon’s mind, hoping to further discombobulate it. He sensed Shulina Arya drawing close enough for strikes with fang and talon—and sword.

  Shots rang out ahead of him, startling Trip.

  He spotted people standing outside the manor, some with buckets and hoses, others with rifles. They fired, hopefully at the silver dragon, whenever they saw it.

  Trip kept running, wanting to warn them to be careful. Dorfindral would protect Rysha from magical attacks, but a stray bullet could get through, especially if she and the sword were focused on the dragon.

  As Trip raced up the last part of the driveway toward the people, the dragons came back into view. He almost jumped at how close they were. The silver plummeted toward the manor, with Shulina Arya racing behind it, breathing flames and charring its backside. Trip sensed that the silver’s defenses were down. More than that, the creature seemed barely conscious.

  The observers on the ground yelled and scrambled back toward the manor as it crashed headfirst into the grass beside the driveway.

  Shulina Arya swooped upward at the last second to avoid also crashing. Rysha waved toward the people—her family members, Trip presumed, though he hadn’t used his senses to identify individuals yet.

  Shulina Arya rolled in a pleased victory gesture, then glided down to land on the other side of the drive from the unconscious—or dead?—silver dragon. The creature’s scales were charred, and flames burned in the damp grass to either side of it.

  “Is everyone all right?” Rysha slid off Shulina Arya’s back and ran toward her family.

  There were about twenty people—Trip recognized her uncle, father, brothers, and her aunt among them. They all gaped back and forth from the silver dragon to Shulina Arya to Rysha running toward them. The prim and proper Aunt Tadelay was one of the people with a rifle.

  Rysha hugged her father, and that seemed to break the spell. Trip was pleased to see them gather around her and give her hugs and back pats. The other night at dinner, he hadn’t witnessed a lot of warmth from the family, which seemed so different from what he was used to with his grandparents, but their tensions had also been high.

  They should know that you helped them, Azarwrath said. Then perhaps they will feel less tense about you and will be more accepting.

  I don’t know about that. Unless I find out that my three-thousand-year-old mother happened to be from the era’s nobility, and I have no idea how I’d figure that out. It seems unlikely.

  Telryn Yert, you are half dragon. This is far superior to having some generations-removed ancestor that helped a past king and was granted land and a title as a thank you.

  Is that how it works? Trip admitted he’d never paid any attention to the history of the nobility or how one became a noble. Maybe he’d been designing paper fliers whenever it had been covered in school. If so, he felt ashamed that Azarwrath, who hadn’t been born in this country, knew more about it than he did.

  Yes. If your king wished to, he could wave his hand—or fill out some paperwork—give you a few acres of land, and declare you a noble.

  Trip wondered if that actually happened or if all the land available for such things had been assigned long ago. Wouldn’t a great hero like General Zirkander have been given a title and land by now if such things were still done?

  Thinking of the general reminded Trip of the battle going on in the capital.

  Rysha? he asked silently, hating to interrupt the hugging and talking—half a dozen people were explaining what had happened from their point of view. I have to get back to my flier and go to the capital. There’s a battle going on up there.

  Rysha pulled away from the group hug and looked back at him.

  Stay here until the fire is under control and you know everyone’s safe, he told her, not wanting her to feel she had to leave her family to come along. There were numerous soldiers in the capital with chapaharii blades now.

  Rysha’s father said something, but she held up a hand and ran toward Trip.

  She hugged him and said, “Thank you for the help,” louder than n
ecessary.

  Wanting to let her family know that he had assisted her? He hadn’t done much.

  Trip patted her on the back. “I learned that Lockvale was behind this.” He waved at the inert silver dragon. “I’ll tell you more later, but you’ll want to watch for him. He might try something else. He…” Trip gazed toward the highway. The lake and the trees made it so he couldn’t see all the way back to it, but he had no trouble checking the area with his senses. The nobleman and his buddies had departed. “He’s gone, but he was responsible. I saw it in his mind. He instructed the silver to make a nuisance of himself, scare off the workers, and also to destroy some of the property so your parents would be more inclined to sell. Cheaply. Once he had the land for himself, he promised the dragon it could stay on it and would be well fed.”

  “I don’t suppose you have any proof other than…?” Rysha waved at his temple.

  “I don’t,” he said grimly, understanding the problem, that they lived in a world where a nobleman’s word would be given more weight than his, especially since he had used magic to learn what he knew.

  “He ought to be locked up if he’s the reason our vineyards are burning.”

  “I agree.” Trip looked up—Rysha’s father was coming over. “I have to go.” He bowed clumsily toward Lord Ravenwood and waved to Rysha, not wanting to deal with her family’s dismissive comments now.

  “I’ll be along soon to help,” Rysha called after him as he retreated, running back toward the highway and his flier.

  15

  Trip spotted smoke in the air as he flew north to the capital, but he didn’t sense any dragons up there other than Bhrava Saruth. Had Wolf Squadron driven them all off? The chatter over the communication crystal had died down too. Normally, he might feel disappointed about missing a battle, but it had been a long day, and he’d dealt with more than his share of dragons.

  The darkness made it hard to tell how much damage had been done to the city, but he sensed pain and fear from the people below as he flew toward the army fort. In several places, buildings burned, mostly warehouses and canneries along the waterfront, but fires also lit up the night farther inland, in residential areas.

  His gut tightened as he thought of the babies. He had the addresses for all the mothers taking care of them and would check on them as soon as he could.

  The hangar was well-lit with the big sliding door still open, so Trip flew straight in. The scent of smoke met his nostrils. At first, he thought the building itself had been burned, but the smoke came from the engines and tails of some of the fliers. A few damaged craft had barely made it back to the hangar, and they were parked in the middle rather than in their slots to the sides. A makeshift medical area had been assembled with blankets on the floor and officers sitting or lying on them and others kneeling or standing around.

  Trip sensed Leftie and Duck among the injured, and he landed as quickly as he could, praying to the seven gods that the wounds weren’t mortal, that he could heal them. The idea of losing a friend in a battle he hadn’t been there for horrified him.

  As Trip vaulted from his cockpit, General Zirkander, his face smeared with soot and his sleeve torn and bloodied, jogged from the office in the back.

  “I’ve sent our report to the king,” Zirkander told Tranq, Blazer, and the colonel from Tiger Squadron, all of whom slumped with weariness. “Sardelle is coming to help with healing.” He started toward the blankets, then paused, spotting Trip running over.

  “Sorry I’m late, sir,” Trip blurted, feeling awful for coming in after the fight.

  Had he made the right choice in staying to help Rysha’s family and dealing with that fop Lockvale? Or might he have been more help here if he’d arrived sooner? Maybe he could have stopped people from being hurt.

  “Make way, please,” he said to those gathering around the blankets. “I can heal people.”

  Therrik was one of the people kneeling in front of them, and he stepped back, turning with a glower for Trip, his hand reaching for the chapaharii sword at his waist. Trip tensed. This wasn’t the time for this. Therrik stopped his fingers before they wrapped around the hilt.

  “Help Kaika,” he growled, shifting out of the way. “She’s one of the worst.”

  Trip sucked in a worried breath as he spotted her lying on the blanket, burns covering one side of her face and body. She should have been unconscious from wounds like that, but her face was contorted in a rictus of pain.

  “You sure took your time getting here, Trip,” Leftie said, his voice strained. He lay next to Kaika, also burned, though not as badly, and a deep gash lay open on his arm.

  “Sorry.” Trip couldn’t come up with a flippant remark, not when he felt so much guilt for having missed the battle.

  Azarwrath, will you help me? Trip asked, focusing on Kaika. I don’t know how to… I mean, I know it’s just important to ensure she lives, but can we keep her from being scarred?

  Very likely. Begin. I will assist. She is the worst of those left alive.

  Left alive? Trip glanced at the others on the blankets and saw Duck sitting up and gripping talon gouges in his abdomen while Pimples knelt beside him, making jokes about him being a low priority. Another charred officer, his face unrecognizable due to the burns, lay completely still. Dead. Lieutenant Beeline.

  Tears welled in Trip’s eyes even though he didn’t know the man well.

  Kaika moaned softly and brought a shaking hand up to grip Trip’s arm. He took a deep breath and focused on her. She was alive and in pain, and she needed him.

  He closed his eyes and, with Azarwrath’s guidance, healed burns for the first time in his life. He was aware of voices, soft discussions going on behind him, but he didn’t participate in them. He needed his concentration for this.

  “Is the king coming?” That was Therrik.

  “He’s on his way,” Zirkander said.

  “Does he know…”

  “I said she was injured and that she threw her sword in order to drop a dragon’s defenses for us. It may have saved the night, even if we’ll have to get it off the bottom of the harbor. And even if we still lost Beeline and Snail.”

  “Snail too, sir?” Blazer asked.

  “I saw the fire hit his flier point blank. By the time it disappeared into the harbor, it was nothing but a charred husk. Damn it, I wish more people had tried the parachutes.” Zirkander’s voice was thick with emotion. “Better to lose fliers than pilots.”

  “Better not to lose anyone,” Therrik snarled, his voice also heavy with emotion. And frustration. “And better not to lose any more of the swords. They just got the one, right? We’re sure Kaika’s is on the bottom of the harbor?”

  “I saw it hit the water. Nobody saw any dragons dive down for it—only two of them had those hook things. Graspers. Whatever you want to call them. Seven gods, I need to stop thinking of the dragons as animals without tactics beyond biting and clawing and breathing fire. We’re fortunate Bhrava Saruth arrived to help drive them off. I shouldn’t have sent both our warrior dragons along on Trip’s mission.”

  “We would’ve driven them off without him. We had them on the run.”

  “On the run with one of our swords. And only because Phelistoth showed up to help. We have more swords than we used to, but not an unlimited supply, and it’s clear they’re targeting them now, trying to get them away from us.”

  “They won’t get any more,” Therrik said with determination.

  “Let’s hope not. We need to watch out for treachery as well as open attacks. Bhrava Saruth said these were some of the same dragons that dropped a building on your head.”

  “Fortunately, my head isn’t my deadliest part.”

  Zirkander grunted. “Did you just insult yourself, Therrik? That’s my job.”

  “I’m in the mood for self-flagellation.”

  “Now you’re using vocabulary words. You’re not trying to make me think you’re smart, are you?”

  “Not now, Zirkander.” Therrik moved
away from him and crouched next to Trip, the tip of his sword scabbard clunking on the cement floor.

  Trip tensed, aware of the big man’s presence, and especially aware of Kasandral. But all Therrik did was rest a hand on Kaika’s shoulder, on the side that hadn’t been burned.

  “Shit,” Kaika rasped. “Therrik is giving me sympathy. That means I’m going to die for sure.”

  “I think Dragon Man is fixing you,” Therrik said, “but you look like the inside of a volcano. Fat chance you’ll get Angulus to kiss you again.”

  “Looks don’t matter when your tongue is as talented as mine.”

  “Uh huh, you and your tongue better keep the lights off.”

  “I always do. My tongue likes dark and mysterious environs.”

  “Was that an innuendo? If so, disgusting.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Trip smiled slightly, glad Kaika had the strength to trade barbs with Therrik, but he kept his eyes closed, kept pouring his energy into mending her burned muscle. The skin was impossible to repair, so he and Azarwrath built new skin, accelerating the process by thousands of times. Trip let the more experienced soulblade take the lead and simply lent his power for the task.

  “Sardelle,” came Zirkander’s voice from behind Trip. It stood out to him more than the murmurs of the other pilots and ground crew who were attending the wounded men and the damaged fliers. Trip sensed her and also that Angulus had arrived. He radiated distress and concern.

  Someone touched Trip’s shoulder. Sardelle.

  You have her? she asked quietly into his mind.

  Yes, ma’am.

  I’ll work on Duck and Leftie.

  Thank you.

  Trip kept his focus on Kaika, not wanting to fail her or Angulus or anyone else, especially when he could sense the unease lurking within everyone else here. Nobody thought this attack had been a fluke. The dragons would be back.

  The light of the magical illumination globes Shulina Arya had created showed the charred, smoldering remains of the vineyard. At least the fires were out now. She had helped squelch them, moving large quantities of water from the lake to dump onto the flames as the family watched in open-mouthed awe.