Dragon Storm

by Lindsay Buroker

  “Just be glad you walked—er, swam—away from that crash,” Trip said. “And that nobody tried to lop your head off while hanging one-handedly from your back seat.”

  “I’m sorry I missed seeing that.” Leftie grinned down at him. “I hear Blazer had to rescue you.”

  “Only because I shot that crazy pirate in the heart, and he still didn’t die.”

  “Because of the, uh, sword?” Leftie’s smile faded, and he glanced nervously toward the other side of their small camp, where the boxes had been stacked, the dragon-slaying blades tucked into them for the moment. “It certainly made Lieutenant Ravenwood… scary.”

  Trip looked toward where Rysha, Kaika, Blazer, and Dreyak slept. He and Leftie, since they had to repair the flier anyway, were keeping Duck company on watch duty whenever he ambled past on his patrol.

  He wanted to object to the idea of Rysha being scary, but he hadn’t seen most of her battle with the sorceress, and the look she’d given him when he walked up had frozen his blood. Hatred, loathing, and murderous intent had raged in her eyes until she’d visibly fought the emotions down, scowling at the sword glowing in her hand.

  Trip knew none of those emotions belonged to her—she hadn’t even spoken of the dragon that had killed her grandmother with such vitriol in her eyes—and he’d wanted to tell her to toss that sword aside. Or at least throw it and the others in the back of one of the fliers, not his, only to be taken out to hew down the dragon portal. After that, some experienced soldiers back in Iskandia could wield the swords, experienced soldiers who didn’t count sorcerers—or anyone with dragon blood—as friends.

  But he couldn’t do that. Rysha had proven she was capable of wielding the sword, vast combat experience or not, and it would be selfish of him to tell her to give it away if she wanted to keep it. And why wouldn’t she? She had more reason than any of them to want to end the dragon threat to Iskandia, and she’d been the one to find that blade. More than that, it had clearly accepted her as a wielder. He’d caught enough of her battle to see how much power it gave her, at least when fighting dragon-blooded enemies.

  He’d experienced something similar with Jaxi. Even if Jaxi had a mind of her own and was unlikely to do his bidding, just having access to that kind of power was titillating.

  Please don’t use my name in the same sentence as words like titillating, Jaxi said. And you’re right about that bidding thing, so don’t ask me to do silly things like clean your barracks room.

  Glad I’ve been warned. Any word on that soulblade? Trip trimmed the tips off the new wires he’d installed, glad there had been some in the repair kit.

  He’s not talking to me. He’s gone dormant.

  What does that mean, exactly? Trip asked.

  He’s sulking.

  Ah, that’s the official Referatu definition, is it?

  No, and I suppose I’m being callous. I would be devastated if I lost Sardelle. He’s probably mourning the death of his handler and debating if he wants to slay us all in our sleep.

  Trip dropped his wire cutters. Is that likely?

  I’d certainly consider it if I was being held by the people who’d slain my handler. But I’m keeping an eye on him. I don’t need sleep. I am ever vigilant. And, unlike your Captain Duck, I don’t let my guard down when I see wild animals strolling past the camp.

  That’s not happening now, is it?

  He’s watching a pair of coyotes frolic under the moonlight. Practically asking for an enemy sword to zap his balls off.

  I guess he’s fortunate you’re on duty.

  Eminently so.

  What would be the appropriate thing to do with the soulblade? Trip plucked the wire cutters out of the grass. He’s not loot we can just take back to Iskandia, right? I assume since he’s a Cofah soulblade, he wouldn’t work with our people or bond with one of our sorcerers needing a soulblade. Did Iskandia even have such people? He had no idea. Sardelle was the only sorceress he knew, and he hadn’t even known her a week ago.

  You’re not a very worldly boy, are you?

  No.

  A soulblade is most certainly not loot, Jaxi said. And you wouldn’t be able to take one anywhere against his or her wishes unless you were more powerful than he or she was, which is unlikely to be the case in this era. Though who knows with you? You’re an odd unworldly boy.

  Great, thanks.

  I’m surprised Azarwrath let you pick him up without a fight. He was probably worried about being left on the beach with the tide coming in. Since you asked, the appropriate or honorable thing to do would be to return the soulblade to Cofahre, perhaps by giving it to your surly friend over there to carry home after the mission. I do hate the idea of giving them any extra tools to use against us. We’ve technically been at peace with them for the last three years, but they never can hold peaces for long. I’m sure some uppity general will want to invade us again before long.

  Trip looked over at Dreyak, still wondering why the man was truly here. He hadn’t said much since the battle, other than to observe that it was, “Good that the pirate threat has been vanquished.”

  Trip hadn’t pointed out that they’d only vanquished one side of the island. Of course, with their pirate king and contraption-making sorceress gone, perhaps the rest of the pirates would be less well organized for a time.

  They will be most well organized as the minions of Telmandaroo, a voice thundered in Trip’s head.

  He dropped his wire cutters again, then recovered from his surprise and looked toward the sky. He’d sensed the dragon all along, but the last time Trip had checked, Telmandaroo had been by the remains of the fortress, licking his wounds and surveying his new domain. Now, the bronze sailed into view over the field.

  Trip stepped away from the flier, wondering if he should yell for Rysha to wake up and grab that sword. Or yell for Duck to shift his focus to the sky because there was something else to watch frolicking now. Which was exactly what the dragon seemed to be doing. He wheeled and twisted in the sky, like a young pilot trying out a new flier.

  Leftie, squeezing water from a sponge over the side of his craft, groaned and continued to work, unaware of the dragon sailing overhead. It amazed Trip that the others didn’t seem to sense when the dragons were near. Their auras were so large and overwhelming that it seemed impossible that normal people missed them completely.

  Making plans for your new island? Trip asked, gazing up at the dragon and hoping Jaxi would think to amplify his words.

  Or would the bronze dragon be monitoring him? Telmandaroo seemed to have come up here looking for his team specifically. Which was a little alarming. So far, all the dragons he’d met wanted to kill or enslave humans. And he supposed this one did, too, but Trip hoped that since they had struck that deal, the dragon would not see his team as potential “minions.”

  Islands. There are many islands, and I shall claim them all for my dominion.

  And the pirates on them?

  Naturally! Telmandaroo landed in the field about twenty meters away, his great form making the fliers seem small in comparison. You have not left with those vile swords.

  Ah, that was what he’d come about.

  Not yet, Trip replied, walking toward the dragon, surprised nobody in camp had started yelling—or screaming—yet. As soon as we get our fliers fixed, we will. Tomorrow morning, most likely. He hoped he could get a little sleep before then, since it was a long flight to the Antarctic Circle and beyond.

  Yes, your flying contraptions are most odd. And fragile. Humans did not have such strange things the last time we were in this world. They are in the likeness of dragons, are they not? It is good that you have not forgotten us. Do you worship the old dragon gods?

  I’m a bit of an agnostic myself, Trip said, mostly because it seemed safer than saying he worshiped other gods. Real gods. It occurred to him that having a dragon speaking to him without threatening to eat him might be an opportunity to gain some intel. Why did you leave our world long ago, Telmandaroo?
<
br />   We were tricked through a portal! By our own kind! Can you believe it? Such treachery. We were able to survive in the world where we were sent, but the volcanos were tedious, always erupting, and the awful weather was not appealing for flying creatures, even ones of our great power and magnificence.

  Hard to believe.

  It is! We dreamed of coming back to the warm, prey-filled plains and jungles of this world. Eventually, the day came when a dragon scientist learned how to alter the portal, to change it from a one-way doorway to one that could return us to this world. Telmandaroo spread his wings wide and turned his fanged snout toward the stars. It is even better than I remembered. Smell that air? There is no sulfur in it. We are home.

  Home? If all the dragons felt that way, that was disturbing. Trip had no training in how to hide his thoughts, and didn’t even know if it could be done from dragons, but he did his best not to think of their mission and their plans for the portal.

  The dragon’s head swung back down, lowering to stare at him with yellow reptilian eyes. Trip eased backward, alarmed by the power emanating from them and afraid the creature had plucked details of the mission from his mind.

  You may stay and become one of my minions if you wish, Telmandaroo said.

  What?

  You were useful in the battle against my enemies, so you could even be a top-level minion. But the swords must go.

  Thank you for the generous offer, but I need to leave with the swords.

  With them? They cannot like you, can they? You have the blood of a gold in your veins.

  A gold… dragon?

  Trip stared at his unlikely informant, wanting to dismiss the words as impossible. But he already knew he had the ability to access some otherworldly powers. That meant there had to have been a dragon in his bloodline at some point in time. Was it possible Telmandaroo could actually sense what kind of dragon? And did it ultimately matter? He was more curious about who his father was, or had been, rather than some distant—and extremely strange—ancestor.

  They do not like me, Trip agreed.

  I thought not. They are blades most foul.

  Indeed.

  Leftie would have teased Trip for using a word like indeed, but oddly, he was still tinkering in the cockpit. It seemed incredible that he hadn’t noticed the dragon. Even if he hadn’t sensed Telmandaroo, the dragon was close enough to see, silhouetted against the night sky.

  But then Trip noticed something around the creature, and it seemed to be around him too. An invisible cloud that he could see only with his sixth sense. He couldn’t tell from looking at it what the hazy cloud did, but he suspected it was some camouflage.

  The dragon spread his wings. I have a dominion to survey, but if you change your mind and stay, come find me. I will make you a very top-level minion. And find you a private hut to live in. And a mate!

  That does make the offer more tempting.

  Yes!

  The dragon leaped into the air and soared off to survey his domain—his dominion.

  Trip headed back to the flier, trusting that this particular dragon would not be a further threat that night.

  And you gathered intel from him, Jaxi said. Very good.

  Did you sense him all along?

  Of course. A dragon shroud doesn’t veil a soulblade’s eyes. I was being tactful and not butting in.

  I didn’t know you could do that.

  When it so moves me.

  I’m just hoping he couldn’t read my thoughts and doesn’t now know about our mission, Trip said. It sounded like he, and maybe all the dragons, like it here.

  Yes, that is alarming. If we could have foreseen their coming, we could have planted a volcano in front of their portal, thus to ensure they had no interest in coming through.

  Your tactfulness didn’t include refraining from eavesdropping, I see.

  When a dragon speaks, it is smart to listen.

  You would make a good top-level minion.

  Jaxi did the soulblade equivalent of sticking out her tongue and making a rude sputtering noise into his mind.

  • • • • •

  Rysha rolled awake with a gasp, a nightmare fresh in her mind. She’d been stalking Trip through a dark forest, Dorfindral glowing in her hand. Then she’d spotted him, springing for his back and raising the blade for a killing blow.

  “You all right, Ravenwood?” Kaika asked softly.

  It was close to dawn, and in the gray light, Rysha could make out her blurry form on a nearby log. She patted around to find her spectacles and put them on. The hulking shapes of the fliers grew discernible in the field behind Kaika. Trip and Leftie must have finished their repairs during the night. The two lumps wrapped in blankets under the fliers presumably belonged to them.

  Rysha removed her spectacles to rub her face with a shaking hand, glad Trip was far away from her. What if the sword had tried to make that nightmare a reality while she slept? She’d heard of people walking around and doing things in their sleep, even without being under the influence of a magical sword.

  “You look like the woman who wakes up after a night of drinking with an unpalatable man in bed,” Kaika added.

  They appeared to be the only ones awake thus far.

  Feeling the need for wisdom, or maybe a hug, Rysha donned her spectacles again, shucked her dew-moistened blanket, and shambled over to join Kaika on the log. Were lieutenants allowed to ask superior officers for hugs? She didn’t know if she could lift her arm to offer one of her own, since all her muscles ached this morning, but she felt like a child again, in need of comfort.

  “I had a nightmare,” Rysha said quietly, and pointed to the stack of ornate wooden sword boxes. She had carefully stored Dorfindral inside the one with its name on it the night before, securing the latch, foolishly thinking that would be all it took to separate herself from it. “I think the sword can influence me even from its case.”

  “Yeah,” Kaika said.

  It wasn’t the word Rysha wanted to hear.

  “I know Colonel Therrik was even more of an ass than usual to our dragon-blooded allies when he was sleeping with Kasandral’s box under his bed. I heard he tried to kill Sardelle once, and he also beat up Tolemek. And when Captain Ahn was carrying it… Well, this was a special circumstance, and she was caught by surprise, but it made her try to kill Sardelle, and a friend got in the way.”

  “And was killed?” Rysha asked bleakly.

  “Yes.”

  “But she’s still carrying the sword?” Rysha thought of Captain Ahn standing on the bluff overlooking the city, standing guard with Kasandral on her back.

  “Not often. She reluctantly does it because she’s familiar with it, and because she knows the control words now, but Therrik carries it most of the time. He hates magic and witches, as he calls them, so his views line up nicely with those of the sword. And it was in his family for countless generations, so he believes he’s the rightful wielder. He’s proud to be its wielder. A few years back, he killed a powerful enemy sorceress that was trying to assassinate King Angulus, and he never lets anyone forget it.”

  “But it—the sword—hates friends as much as foes? Does Sardelle just avoid him?”

  “For the most part, though Therrik has learned to control it over the years, and he can be in the room with her without attacking her.” Kaika tilted her head. “I’m sure you’ll learn the same with this one. Since you found it, I guess that makes you the rightful wielder, at least for the rest of this mission.”

  “Technically, it belongs to a noble family back in Iskandia,” Rysha said, though she’d originally been thinking exactly what Kaika had said. When she’d located the sword, she’d figured she could use it. She could be the one to battle dragons and destroy the portal. She could be the type of hero—heroine—she’d imagined herself as a girl, someone journalists wrote about in newspapers and songwriters featured in ballads.

  But her stomach twisted at the idea of ongoing nightmares about killing Trip, not to mention the w
aking urges she’d had to attack him. Even when the sword wasn’t encouraging that, she sensed its hatred bleeding into her, making her want to hate him. To hate him when she’d started to have feelings for him.

  “You’re more experienced, ma’am,” Rysha said. “I was thinking it might be better if you wielded it.”

  “You want to foist the nightmares off on me?” Kaika asked dryly.

  “No. I mean…” Rysha rubbed her face again. Was she being cowardly? Passing up her chance for heroism because of her feelings for Trip? Should she even be having feelings for Trip? When he was… she didn’t know exactly what he was. “I’m not sure I could live with myself if I accidentally killed a friend.”

  Kaika looked toward the slumbering pilots. “Trip won’t have Sardelle’s soulblade with him forever. After that, the sword should be indifferent to him.”

  “Uhm.” Rysha bit her tongue on the words that almost tumbled out, that she was positive the sword objected to him, not Jaxi. Or not just Jaxi. But if Trip hadn’t told anyone he had magical powers, it wasn’t her secret to share.

  “We’ve got two more swords, so I may end up wielding one, regardless,” Kaika said. “And Leftie or Duck too. Not Dreyak. He looks to have some dragon blood in him.” Her lips thinned with disapproval.

  Another reason Rysha shouldn’t spill Trip’s secret. Hatred and fear of magic seemed built in to the Iskandian psyche. Just because those in the capital were a little more tolerant, in large part because Sardelle had helped defend the city from invaders numerous times, didn’t mean the average subject considered magic a good thing. Even Kaika, who had to be as familiar with it as anyone in the country by now, was showing a bit of her distaste. She might have nothing against Sardelle as a person, but less well-known people with magic were… suspect.

  “Maybe Blazer,” Kaika added. “She likely has more unarmed combat experience than Duck or Leftie. We’ll see who wants it.”

  “I don’t think distributing the weapons would be a good idea, ma’am.” Rysha imagined all three of them ganging up on Trip, waving menacing swords at him and driving him away. Or worse. “Unless we’re really desperate.”