Unraveled: Heritage of Power, Book 4

by Buroker, Lindsay

  “What?” Trip gripped the bench he sat on.

  Grekka held up a finger. “Davors, attempt to drive through the men and the intersection. I paid for an armored carriage for a reason.”

  A roar came from above, and Trip sensed the lion springing toward the approaching men. They yelled and veered in different directions. The lion chased after one. Unfortunately, more men approached.

  “Shoot anyone who deters you, Davors,” Grekka added. “My crest is on the side. They should know better.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the driver responded, a hint of glee in his voice.

  The carriage surged forward, and Trip’s back thumped against the bench cushions.

  “I believe the dragon’s name is Agarrenon Shivar,” Grekka said, her expression not changing as the carriage accelerated, thumped against something, and lurched from side to side.

  A gun fired, a bullet clanging off the side by the door.

  “That’s impossible,” Trip said, flattening himself against the cushions so he wouldn’t be a visible target to someone shooting through the window. The metal frame of the carriage was likely bulletproof, as Grekka had suggested, but the windows appeared to be made of glass. Thick glass, but glass, nonetheless. “He’s dead. I saw his bones. He’s been dead a long, long time.”

  Grekka twitched a shoulder. “Then someone else has taken his place and convinced those fools to follow. Someone or something.”

  “Something? A dragon?”

  “It could be, or perhaps a human is seeking to trick them. However, in more than twenty years, I’ve never seen the cult this active in the city. I think it would take more than a human. With hundreds of dragons now in the world, I imagine they’re all fighting for territory, seeking to carve out a niche for themselves. It would be handy for one to find a cult, an outpost, and a whole religion already established and waiting for a dragon to appear.”

  Trip thought of Bhrava Saruth and his claims to be a dragon god. He would probably love having a cult. But it couldn’t be he. Trip hadn’t sensed his arrival in the city, nor had he detected any other dragons around. And he should have if they were within fifty miles.

  “I haven’t sensed any dragons here,” he said.

  “Nor have I, but dragons can be crafty.”

  Trip remembered the silver dragons in the Antarctic that had shape-shifted into pigeons. They’d had their auras dampened down so much that he’d barely been able to pick them out of the flock.

  More guns fired outside, and two of the carriage wheels rose up on something, pitching Trip against the side. A boom erupted, rattling the windows and making the whole vehicle quake.

  Trip sensed more people in the intersection now, all with rifles and pistols pointed at the carriage. And he also sensed someone with grenades. Gunshots sounded from nearby—the driver firing as he tried to navigate them through the water flooding the intersection.

  The carriage ran into something, and its steam whistle blew. They stopped moving.

  “Do I have to do everything myself?” Grekka growled, drawing a pistol and reaching for the door.

  Trip narrowed his focus to the man with the explosives. His target was preparing a second one to throw. Trip started to channel the wind, intending to knock the weapons out of his grip, perhaps hurling them all the way to the harbor where they could splash into the water, but someone else attacked first. Fire flared around the man, and the grenades blew up in his hands.

  Trip winced, glad he wasn’t looking with his eyes. It was bad enough that he sensed the gory and instant death, and the injuries to the two men who had been standing close.

  Enemies, Azarwrath said, and Trip realized he’d lit the fire. Do not coddle them. They’ve chosen to make an enemy of you. Destroy them or let them live at your peril.

  Stunned by the harsh verdict, Trip didn’t leap out of the carriage after Grekka right away.

  For once, I agree with Azzy, Jaxi said. Also, something is happening back at the steamer. I think your lieutenant and maybe your stasis siblings are in trouble.

  Trip growled, the news hardening his feelings. He sprang out of the carriage as he raised a barrier around himself.

  He splashed down in ankle-deep water. The carriage had run into the fountain, and Trip saw the reason why as soon as he took a few steps away from the door. Their driver lay slumped on his side, a bullet in his forehead.

  Gunshots fired, and he sensed them hitting someone else’s magical barrier. Grekka’s. She stood on a ledge circling the fountain and glared defiantly all around her. Though she gripped a pistol, she attacked with her mind, somehow keeping her barrier up at the same time. The water rose up in a wave and slammed into two men pointing pistols at her. It washed their weapons from their grip and toppled them onto their backsides.

  Trip sensed that Grekka wasn’t using a tremendous amount of power, and probably didn’t have that much to draw upon, but she knew how to use what she had well.

  Less subtle, Trip hurled a wave of power at a group of men on the other side of the intersection. He wasn’t sure if they were all enemies, but one wore the cultist attire and pointed a rifle in his direction. The man fired, but too late. His bullet went skyward as Trip’s power slammed into the group, hurling all the men down the street. They flew more than thirty feet before landing.

  That reckless battle lust that always lurked within him, ready to spring to the surface and revel in fighting and defeating his enemies, threatened to burst forth and start making decisions for his conscious mind. He willed it to stay tamped down. He needed to be in full control here. He didn’t want this to become a bloodbath.

  With precision, Trip ripped firearms out of people’s hands, using channels of air to fling them onto rooftops. If his enemies had no weapons, they couldn’t attack him. They should run away.

  Though he hadn’t yet drawn the soulblades, they weren’t content to hang idly from his belt. Jaxi hurled a fireball toward a rooftop on a corner where a sniper crouched, firing at Grekka. Three branches of lightning left Azarwrath’s scabbard to slam into three different targets, all wearing the cultist white.

  Trip lamented that the soulblades didn’t seem to mind if blood was spilled.

  “There he is,” someone taking cover in a doorway yelled. The man pointed at Trip. “The usurper. Our god said this man wants to take his position, that he claims a right to rule us. You know that isn’t true. There is only one god, Agarrenon Shivar! Kill him!”

  These people are insane, Jaxi said as Trip sent a wind attack through that doorway to strike the speaker in the chest. It hurled him back into the building and hopefully into silence.

  But it was too late. The cultist had already gotten his message out. All the people who’d been firing indiscriminately at the carriage, at Grekka, and at the lion that occasionally ran through the intersection, turned their focus on Trip alone.

  He channeled more of his power into maintaining his barrier, worried some of those bullets might get through. He spotted another man gripping a grenade. That definitely might get through.

  It will not, Azarwrath snarled.

  A second later, the grenade blew up, still in the man’s hands.

  Trip looked away as pieces of his foe’s body splattered the walls and against the white clothes of his overzealous comrades.

  That’s barbaric, Azzy, Jaxi said. You could just wet the fuse so it won’t go off.

  Trip had the sense that Azarwrath, coming from a long-past era, didn’t know much about fuses or how explosives worked, just that fire would detonate them.

  All Azarwrath said was, We must make them fear us if we want to leave an impression, to teach them to leave us alone.

  More gunshots fired from the rooftops. Trip frowned and knocked the snipers from their perches, again separating them from their weapons.

  I don’t think these people are impressionable, Jaxi said.

  Trip couldn’t believe that more zealots kept running this way. Why wouldn’t they flee for their lives when they saw
their comrades being killed?

  I think someone may be coercing them into this attack, Jaxi said. Or perhaps coerced them earlier in the day, and it’s sticking. It must be nice to have that kind of power.

  “I am not here to usurp your cult,” Trip yelled, attempting to throw his own power into his voice, both to make it louder and also to give what he said more weight. He had no idea how to manipulate an entire crowd, but he did his best to make his words sound persuasive. “I am a simple traveler, and I plan to leave soon. Save your attacks for true enemies. No good will come of this.”

  Someone flew across the intersection and smashed head-first into the ancient warrior statue in the center of the fountain. Trip caught Grekka’s grim and satisfied look. He also sensed her weariness. She was drawing on her power a great deal, both to attack and defend; her reserves had to be running low.

  “Stop attacking,” Trip roared, spreading his arms. “We are not your enemies. Leave us be and lower your weapons.”

  More gunshots fired. A lot of people were down, dead or wounded, but the holdouts continued to fire.

  Jaxi, how do I make my words more powerful? Am I having any effect on them at all?

  It’s hard to manipulate minds that are all riled up like that, Jaxi replied, but as I said before, I believe there’s some manipulation already in effect. Manipulation powerful enough to override what you’re attempting to do.

  Whose?

  Jaxi hesitated. I don’t think you want to know.

  Trip waited for her to explain as he disarmed more men. He was tired of the bloodshed, especially now that he knew someone was manipulating these people and forcing them to attack, so he did his best not to do permanent damage.

  Sensing Grekka’s barrier flagging, Trip stepped closer to her. He pushed her defenses aside so he could extend his around her. A few more gunshots rang out. Trip focused on the snipers’ rifles and bent them in half with his mind.

  Frustrated beyond measure, he looked into one man’s eyes and mentally yelled, Go away!

  To his surprise, it worked this time. The man dropped his bent rifle and sprinted away.

  There you go, Jaxi said. You just have to be extremely pissed to have enough power to override a dragon.

  A dragon? Was that who was responsible?

  I’m afraid so, Jaxi said. I’ve confirmed it. As soon as you’re done here, hurry down to the harbor.

  Is Rysha there?

  Yes, and she’s in trouble.

  Trip cursed and flung a wave of power to flatten the handful of attackers left around the intersection. He didn’t bother disarming them.

  “I have to get to the harbor,” he blurted to Grekka. “Can you defend yourself?”

  “Yes.” Though she appeared weary, she straightened her spine and waved for him to go.

  As Trip took off, sprinting down the most direct street to the waterfront, Grekka added a few words in his head.

  I doubt they’ll bother me now that you’re leaving the area. Expect to receive an invoice before you depart the city. For the damage to my carriage.

  He snorted since it sounded like a joke, but he couldn’t be certain. She was a shrewd businesswoman, after all.

  As Trip tore down a street that had emptied, thanks to all the violence a few blocks back, he sent his senses ahead of himself, afraid of what he’d find.

  To his surprise, he immediately felt the overpowering aura of a dragon. The great creature was flying over the harbor. Where had it come from, and how had he missed sensing it before? The skirmish at the intersection had only been a mile from the waterfront. Had he been that distracted?

  Now, the creature’s aura affected him so profoundly that he could barely focus on sensing other things. It seemed impossible to believe he hadn’t noticed the dragon before if it had been anywhere near the town.

  But as the water and the docks came into view, he cursed, for there was no mistaking the great golden form flying over the harbor.

  That’s odd, Jaxi observed. He doesn’t feel like a gold.

  Trip shook his head. He didn’t care if the dragon was purple with green polka dots. All he cared was that it was diving down, its talons outstretched. And its target was the steamer where Trip had left Rysha and Kaika and his siblings.

  The dragon didn’t land on the upper deck where crewmen fired rifles and artillery weapons at it. Instead, it perched on the side of the ship and drove its talons into the hull, as if it meant to dig out some prize.

  Fresh worry slammed into Trip’s gut. Where had Kaika and Rysha put the stasis chambers? And where were they?

  Rysha? he cried with his mind, projecting her name toward the ship, then scouring it with his senses, searching for her.

  Trip! she responded as he found her, right behind the hull the dragon was trying to get through.

  She was alone with the stasis chambers, alone without a weapon that could harm a dragon.

  Hide, Trip ordered, his legs pumping faster and faster as he ran down the hill. I’m coming for you!

  He wished he could turn into a falcon or a giant hawk and streak down there to attack the dragon. He concentrated, just in case he could will himself to shape change. With some of his magic, that had been all he’d needed to do to call upon it.

  But nothing happened except that his lungs burned and his thighs felt like lead. Maybe shape-shifting was something one had to spend time studying, like the fish in that workbook.

  I can’t, Rysha thought back, a wave of bleakness accompanying the words. He got a glimpse of what she saw, of the dragon tearing open more of the side of the ship with its powerful talons. For a creature of such strength, it was as easy as opening a fish tin. If I don’t defend them, he’ll destroy them easily.

  Trip sensed her standing in front of the stasis chambers and pointing a pistol at the dragon. She fired when his maw thrust through the hull, his massive teeth so close they would be able to snap down on her.

  Better them than you. Rysha, I love you. Don’t you dare get yourself killed.

  I’ll try not to. I love you too.

  He wanted her to hide, to let the dragon have what it wanted if it could save her. As horrified as he was by the idea of sacrificing his siblings, he couldn’t lose her.

  But he sensed that she wasn’t moving. She wasn’t hiding. She was determined to fight to keep the dragon away from the babies.

  Damn it, Rysha!

  17

  Rysha fired at the massive dragon maw snapping toward her. Apparently, Xandyrothol had forgotten his interest in mating with her. Now, he exuded a predator’s instincts, his desire to defeat and destroy all enemies, including the spawn of those vile gold dragons. Oddly, he appeared as a gold dragon instead of a bronze. Some trick for the sake of his would-be minions watching?

  Hot breath blasted Rysha’s face. Her bullet didn’t bounce off an invisible shield, as she thought it might, but it struck the back of the dragon’s throat and did nothing. It didn’t seem to penetrate at all. Xandyrothol’s tongue came up, his jaw snapped shut, and she feared he swallowed the bullet.

  A single copper eye glared at her through a hole torn in the metal hull, then shifted toward the stasis chambers. Metal squealed as the dragon thrust his neck farther inside, turning it so his head pointed toward his new target.

  Rysha fired again, aiming for his eye. But the dragon closed the lid before it struck, and the bullet was deflected.

  Xandyrothol’s maw opened, as if he would devour the stasis chambers.

  “No!” Rysha yelled.

  She fired over and over until the hammer clicked, the chamber empty.

  The dragon jerked his head back just before his fangs came down on the devices. Rysha gaped. Had one of her bullets actually done something?

  Xandyrothol yanked his head out of the hold, more metal warping and squealing, as a yell came from somewhere above.

  Rysha ran to the gaping hole in the hull in time to see Major Kaika falling from above. No, she had jumped from above.

  S
he landed astraddle the dragon’s neck and drove Eryndral downward. The glowing sword succeeded where bullets had failed and sank deeply between his scales.

  Rysha screamed and clenched a triumphant fist, praying Kaika had done enough, or that she would be able to stab him over and over, driving the blade deep enough for a killing blow.

  But Xandyrothol reacted instantly, twisting and flinging his neck—with Kaika straddling it—toward the steamer. He twisted so she would smash right into it. Kaika had been in the process of yanking Eryndral out so she could strike again, but she saw her fate coming and jumped to her feet.

  Briefly, she managed to balance atop his neck, even lifting her sword to strike again, but that neck flexed and twisted faster than a whip. Kaika couldn’t hold on, and it flung her toward the ship. She cracked against the hull so hard that Rysha feared the blow had broken her neck.

  Kaika plummeted into the water below as Xandyrothol flew upward, like an eagle that meant to come around for another dive, to sink its talons into its recalcitrant prey.

  Down in the water, Kaika lifted her head.

  “Come back, you scaled bastard,” she yelled, waving Eryndral.

  Rysha smiled at her defiance, but then a ship came out of nowhere. One of those fast armored boats that had attacked Wolf Squadron. There was nobody in the wheelhouse—the dragon had to be propelling the craft forward, and at top speed.

  Rysha yelled a warning, but she was too late. The boat slammed into Kaika, knocking the sword from her hands. It disappeared into the water, the same way Rysha’s had. Worse, the force also sent Kaika flying sideways. She landed with her face toward the sky, but her eyes closed and her mouth open.

  Was she unconscious? Dead?

  Tears ran down Rysha’s face. What now?

  Gritting her teeth, she dug into her ammo pouch to load more bullets. A useless gesture, she knew, but she couldn’t think of anything better.

  “Wait,” she muttered and dove for her pack. She could give the dragon the journal. Maybe it was too late—and maybe he wanted to destroy the stasis chambers no matter what—but she might get lucky. “It has to be time for some luck.”