“Stifling. Watching. It’s one of those two.”
“She waited a long time for a grandchild.”
“Yes, I know. But I believe that’s more your fault than mine.”
“Hardly.” Zirkander winked at her. “I was waiting for you to show up in my life.”
Trip looked away. They weren’t smooching or doing anything too lovey-dovey, but he still felt like an intruder in their moment. Leftie, not an overly romantic sort, rolled his eyes. Despite his frequent dates with “pretty ladies,” he hadn’t yet fallen for any of them, at least not in the years Trip had known him.
“Sardelle,” Zirkander said, his tone growing more professional. “Those are two newly transferred pilots from Cougar Squadron, Lieutenant Leftie and recently minted Captain Trip.”
“I see your naming conventions are country-wide,” Sardelle murmured.
“You can’t be a pilot without an embarrassing name. That’s a rule.”
“Did you tell them what yours was?” Her eyes crinkled.
“Absolutely not. I’m a general. Generals live by different rules. That’s why I took this job.”
“Also, Angulus didn’t give you a choice.”
“It’s true. The man rules with an iron fist.” Zirkander pointed at the other two soldiers. “You know Kaika, of course, and her mud-covered protégé is Lieutenant Ravenwood. She’s our new dragon expert.”
“Sir, I simply studied dragons as a part of a history degree,” Ravenwood protested. “If you truly need an expert, you should talk to Professors Silverridge, Warnir, or Craneridge at the university here in the capital.”
“Are any of them under seventy?”
Ravenwood looked upward thoughtfully. “Professor Warnir may only be sixty-five.”
“While that’s not so geriatric an age as I believed it was when I was younger, I’m looking for people who are capable soldiers and can go along on a dangerous mission.”
“Oh. Yes, sir. I understand.”
“I might have asked my cousin, Professor Lilah Zirkander, but she’s—they’re—she’s expecting also.” His face twisted in a grimace.
“They’ve been married for two years,” Sardelle murmured. “Are you ever going to get comfortable with them as a them?”
“Absolutely not.”
“I’ve read Professor Zirkander’s work,” Ravenwood blurted. “I almost mentioned her. She’s moved on from studying dragons specifically, I believe, but in my paleontology class, we read her paper on the fossil record and searching for the missing link in the evolution of dragons. They share skeletal similarities with the extinct flying lizards in southern Dakrovia, but those were only about three feet long. What came in between? What led to dragons acquiring their great size? And their magical power? We don’t know. But it was a brilliant paper, and she had an amazingly thorough list of citations. I spent an entire summer devouring the source material.”
“I’m sure she’ll be pleased to hear she’s keeping students far and wide entertained,” Zirkander said. “You remember any of that reference material?”
“Oh, absolutely, sir. I would be excited to share my dragon knowledge and anything related that might be useful. Do you want me to map out locations of the chapaharii? I can do it from memory.” Ravenwood smiled brightly behind the mud. “Would you want the swords, specifically? The shields and bows could be useful too. Alas, I don’t know of any of those that are conveniently located. Though it would be worth hunting them down, regardless, now that all these dragons have appeared. They’re the only tools currently known to man that can harm such creatures.”
“Do you think she always talks this much?” Leftie whispered to Trip.
Trip only lifted a shoulder. He thought she was kind of cute. Since he was a horrible conversationalist, he liked people who could fill in the gaps.
“Dragons are quite impervious to most means of attack, you know,” Ravenwood added. “Including magic.” She glanced at Sardelle.
Leftie shifted on the couch. Mentions of magic always made him uneasy, which was why Trip never brought up the subject with him. His heart ached at the idea of Leftie turning on him. They’d been friends for six years, since they met during their first year at the university. On more than one occasion, the more popular Leftie had stuck up for Trip against those who’d thought him odd.
“I do know that,” Zirkander said. “Very well. I’m not sure we need a map right now, but if there are a few dragon-slaying blades that are close, I’d like to hear about it. As much trouble as Kasandral has been to us—” he winced, “—a sword like that may be necessary. You may need to go get one before you can accomplish the rest of the mission, in fact. Will one be needed to destroy the portal?” He looked at Sardelle.
“Possibly,” she said, but spread her arms, palms upward in uncertainty.
“Angulus said ‘no’ to taking Kasandral out of the country right now,” Zirkander said.
Out of the country? Trip leaned forward, excited at the prospect of an adventure in a far-off land.
“The current situation here is too unstable,” Zirkander added, “and the lieutenant is correct. That sword is currently our only tool that does anything to dragons.”
“Uhm, sir,” Trip said, “what is the current situation? Back east, we’ve heard about the dragon attacks, and we saw some of the burned towns on the way over the mountains, but we haven’t had anything more than distant sightings yet.”
“Count yourselves lucky,” Zirkander said.
“The current situation,” Sardelle said, resting her scabbard on the general’s desk and supporting her stomach with her hands, “is that approximately four months ago, dragons we know nothing about and believed long gone showed up in the world again. I spoke to a dragon ally we’ve had for the last three years—”
“You mean your dragon god, high priestess,” Zirkander said, smiling.
She gave him a flat look. “Our ally, Bhrava Saruth, said he felt an ancient portal reopening, one that was once used by a particular bronze dragon to trick almost all of dragon-kind into leaving Linora, or Serankil, as they call our world. Bhrava Saruth and another of our dragon allies, Phelistoth, as well as his rider, Tylie, went off to investigate it.” She closed her eyes for a moment. “We haven’t heard from any of them since. It’s been almost three months, and our friend, Tolemek, Tylie’s brother, has been crushed with worry.”
“They wouldn’t have gone through the portal, would they?” Ravenwood asked.
“I can’t imagine why. But it’s possible they were detained. Or worse.” Sardelle grimaced.
“How did we get dragon allies?” Trip asked, his thoughts having snagged on that term. It boggled his mind. Most of the stories he’d heard involved dragons slaying humans and destroying their towns.
“During the First Dragon Era—and how odd to consider that one day, historians may refer to our time as the Second Dragon Era—many of the creatures cared nothing for humans, seeing them as prey or irritations to be wiped out. Others were interested in us and seemed to gain something from interacting with us. People bonded with them and rode them in the sky, usually sorcerers who had dragon blood in their veins themselves—they were the offspring of human-dragon pairings.”
“Human-what?” Leftie asked, forgetting to say sir or ma’am.
If the interruption bothered Sardelle, she didn’t show it. She had a serene, almost enigmatic face, and through his sixth sense, Trip would have recognized that she had power even if he hadn’t heard rumors about Zirkander’s “witch” wife.
“Apparently, the dragons shape-shift into human form for this,” Zirkander said.
Everyone looked at him.
“Trust me, I asked the same question. It’s rather alarming to imagine things working any other way. And I’ve personally seen dragons take human form. While wiping out all the cheese and tarts in my pantry.”
Leftie didn’t appear amused at this statement.
Trip felt wishful at the idea of riding a dragon and hav
ing one as an ally. He adored his flier, and enjoyed tinkering with the mechanical elements to improve the craft’s efficiency, but what would it be like to bond with a dragon?
“Meaning they could be strolling down the streets and spying on us without us knowing it?” Leftie looked toward the window, as if dragons might be cavorting all over the citadel’s courtyard.
“The ones I know wouldn’t make good spies,” Zirkander said. “They’re odd.”
“They have an aura of power,” Sardelle said, “that comes through even when they’re shape-shifted.”
“Which makes them odd.”
She wavered her hand in something bordering on agreement. “As I was saying, we know that our allies went to investigate this portal, but they neglected to tell us where it was before leaving. All we know is that dragons are coming through it in alarming numbers. We’re not sure how many have entered our world, but our spies in Cofahre and around Linora have reported seeing them on all the major continents. We’re not the only ones being picked on. Recently, four of them combined forces to raze one of the empire’s major cities.”
“Why?” Trip whispered.
“The dragons have given different reasons when they’ve deigned to telepathically talk to humans.” Sardelle touched her temple. “Everything from destroying a threat, to having fun, to enslaving us to serve them, to taking revenge for past sins—apparently, some of them believe that humans were the ones to create that portal and trick them into leaving the world a thousand years ago. Some shamans and sorcerers in other countries have tried to negotiate, but nothing has come of it yet. One of my contacts in Cofahre was eaten.”
Trip looked at her, half-expecting that to be a joke, like the cheese, but her face was deathly serious.
“But I thought all witches died a long time ago,” Leftie said, licking his lips, appearing uncharacteristically nervous.
He threw game-winning goals with his hook-net without any signs of nerves, and he also hopped into his flier and went into battle as if it were simply a day’s work. Why did talk of magic concern him so much?
“Many Iskandian sorcerers were destroyed when Galmok Mountain was infiltrated and blown up three centuries ago—” Sardelle winced, as if this had been some personal affront, “—and there was a similar event in Cofahre, with mundanes growing afraid of those with magic and organizing raids to kill people.”
Trip thought of his mother’s horrible end. That hadn’t been three centuries ago. Hangings still happened, especially in rural areas.
“Today’s sorcerers,” Sardelle continued, “are the descendants of ones who escaped those events—this was common for those living on other continents. But you are correct in that magic-users are rare today and usually weak when they do appear. One’s power largely relies on how many generations removed one is from one’s dragon ancestor. Since dragons were gone for so long, it’s quite surprising to find someone with any significant amount of their blood flowing through their veins, and with a commensurate amount of power.” She’d been looking around the room at the various occupants as she spoke, but now her gaze settled on Trip.
What did that mean?
“This may be more than you all need to know for the mission,” Zirkander said. “Essentially, I’m putting this team together to find and destroy the portal. We need to keep any more dragons from pouring into our world.”
“You said we don’t know where it is though?” Ravenwood asked.
“Bhrava Saruth once told me it was originally in the Arctic,” Sardelle said. “But I’ve since caught him using Arctic to refer to both the Arctic and Antarctic so we had better not assume he meant north.”
“So, it could be anywhere above the Arctic Circle and below the Antarctic Circle? That’s thousands of square miles of land and ice.”
“I’ve done some research and attempted to narrow down likely locations. I believe it may be near one of the existing dragon ruins sites.”
Ravenwood leaned forward on her toes. “I’d love to see that research.”
“I’ll share it with you today. Also, we don’t need the precise location of the portal. Jaxi should sense it if she gets within fifty miles.” Sardelle patted her scabbard.
“Jaxi?” Leftie asked.
“My soulblade.”
“Wait.” Leftie shifted to the edge of the couch and held his hands out in front of him. “Are you saying…” He glanced at Trip, as if for support, then looked to the sword and finally to Sardelle. “You’re a witch?”
“And here I thought the flier officers were intelligent,” Ravenwood murmured.
“I mean, I’d heard rumors, but—” Leftie licked his lips again, his gaze darting from Zirkander to Sardelle.
“We prefer the term sorcerer or sorceress,” Sardelle said calmly. “Or mage. Three hundred years ago, I held the position of sherastu, mage advisor, and often accompanied the king’s soldiers into battle to heal them. I am first and foremost a healer.”
“Three hundred—” Leftie slipped off the couch, his butt hitting the wood floorboards with a thump.
“I told you the cushions were slippery,” Trip said.
He shouldn’t have been amused by his friend’s discomfort, but he was secretly delighted at the announcement. Oh, he didn’t understand the three-hundred-years thing—he’d never heard that human witches, or sorcerers, were immortal or extra long-lived—but if Sardelle truly was one, maybe he could ask her some questions someday. Though chatting up his CO’s wife seemed a daunting prospect.
“How is everybody being so calm about this?” Leftie lurched to his feet, using the couch for support, looking like he wanted to shove it between him and Sardelle. “Sir, how could you—I mean, did you know?”
Zirkander still stood by his desk, his arms now folded across his chest. Though Sardelle continued to appear calm and serene, he wore a long-suffering expression. Trip thought he might shift into general mode and tell Leftie to shut the hells up and show proper respect.
“Not at first,” Zirkander said, “but I figured it out sometime after she started talking into my head.”
“Sometime after,” she said, smiling fondly at him.
“You know I’m not the pointiest sword in the armory.”
“You’re pointy when it counts.”
“Your praise warms my… pointy bits.”
“I’ll bet.” Kaika smirked.
Trip couldn’t believe Captain Kaika was so blasé about this. Of course, she’d probably known for years. But had Ravenwood? If she came from the capital, maybe she had known for years too. For Leftie and Trip, there had only been rumors, rumors both of them had been quick to dismiss, given Zirkander’s reputation.
“Let’s get back to the mission,” Zirkander said, addressing the room and ignoring the fact that Leftie was gripping the couch hard enough to turn his knuckles white. “You’ll leave tomorrow. Major Blazer will command. She, Duck, Leftie, and Trip are the pilots and will fly the two-seaters so they can take passengers. Captain Kaika and Lieutenant Ravenwood and a fighter that King Angulus told me needs to go along.” Zirkander hitched a shoulder. “Some of your gear can go in the empty seat in the fourth flier, including however many explosives Kaika thinks will be necessary to blow up a dragon portal. Sardelle will share her notes on its likely location with Ravenwood.”
“Yes.” Sardelle nodded to Ravenwood. “We’ll talk over dinner as soon as you clean up.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I didn’t know note-sharing required cleanliness,” Zirkander said.
“We wouldn’t want mud smudging the pages,” Sardelle said.
“What about the chapaharii swords?” Ravenwood asked. “Given all that I’ve read, I believe it’s likely this portal could be impervious to mundane explosives.”
“My explosives are powerful and exquisite, not mundane,” Kaika said.
“But they’re not magical.”
“They don’t need to be.”
“Usually,” Ravenwood said.
&nbs
p; Zirkander lifted a hand. “I’m open to you looking for one of the dragon-slaying swords along the way. Do you know where any more like Kasandral are in Iskandia, Lieutenant?” He looked at Sardelle. “I never thought I’d hear myself ask that question.”
A troubled expression crossed Sardelle’s face. “Nor I.”
Kaika shrugged. “There won’t be any mages along this time, though, right? If Sardelle’s not going? So Kasandral, or some twin sword, wouldn’t have anything to get pissy over, except for actual dragons.”
“Mm,” Sardelle said noncommittally.
Trip shifted uneasily, even though she didn’t look at him. Was it possible a dragon-slaying blade would sense some distant dragonness inside him and want to attack him? That sounded like what they were implying.
“Not in Iskandia currently,” Ravenwood said in answer to Zirkander’s question. “Most are in Cofah museums or are still buried in long-lost dragon-rider temples—but there were some here in private collections less than twenty years ago. My research last summer led to an article listing some swords stolen in a raid by Neaminor, the self-appointed pirate king that raids out of the southeast.”
Trip straightened, almost springing from the couch. He would love a chance to put a permanent halt to the pirate’s raids.
“I know him,” Trip said. “He and his people have attacked many of the towns in the east. They even stole fliers from the Charkolt base this week.”
“He’s reputed to be a sword collector,” Ravenwood said. “Unless he also trades or sells them, he should have at least one chapaharii blade in his hideout in the Pirate Isles. We could likely steal it back without repercussions, whereas thieving from a Cofah museum might start an international incident.”
“If Major Blazer thinks you can get in and out without injury or damage to the fliers, by all means, raid the pirates.” Zirkander’s expression grew wistful.
Dragon Storm Page 5