Gold Dragon

by Lindsay Buroker

  No, being compelled is not being in love, Shulina Arya stated firmly. Neither is mating for biological needs, because one’s breeding cycle comes and one has urges.

  I’ll agree with that. It dawned on Rysha what this was about.

  Shulina Arya hadn’t said anything about the elder dragon’s unwelcome advances, but it had to have been on her mind during the flight home. Bhrava Saruth and that bronze dragon had been faithfully trailing her the whole time. She didn’t appear to appreciate their proximity.

  You don’t believe you’ll find love among your own kind? Rysha asked.

  What sounded in her mind reminded her of kids thrusting their tongues out and making rude noises. Loudly.

  Male dragons are like male horses, Shulina Arya said. They just want to mount something young and robust to satisfy their urges. They don’t know about love. There isn’t even a dragon word for love, not like the human word. The romantic word. You and Captain Trip are romantic. He makes you things.

  He’s a good man, Rysha said carefully, not wanting to circle back to the dragon offering to take him as a mate if Rysha grew tired of him. Perhaps you could come with us to the officers’ club one evening, and he could introduce you to some nice young pilots. A pilot seems like a good match for a dragon. You would have a love of flying in common.

  That sounds fun. I could wear my new roller-skates!

  Indeed. Rysha wondered if she should try to find a college student for Shulina Arya instead of an officer. Or even a pre-college student? No, even if she acted young when she shape-shifted, she was hundreds of years old as a dragon. It would take someone more mature than a teenager to handle a near-immortal lover.

  “There’s smoke inland,” Trip said over the communication crystal, the first words anyone had spoken aloud in an hour. “A lot of smoke.”

  “Let’s check it out,” Colonel Grady said.

  Trip cursed. “I also sense another dragon over there.”

  Storyteller, Shulina Arya blurted, as Rysha noted that the terrain under that smoke appeared familiar. It is that silver dragon I chased the other night!

  “And that’s my family’s valley,” Rysha said grimly.

  Shulina Arya pumped her wings and arrowed toward the smoke, pulling ahead of the fliers.

  “It’s the silver dragon, Trip,” Rysha said. “We’re going to deal with him.”

  “I’m coming right behind you.”

  Fear churned in Rysha’s gut as they flew past the coast and over green farmlands, vineyards, and grassy grazing land on the way to the southern highway and her valley on the other side of it. What if those thick plumes of smoke were coming from the manor? Damn it, her family had already been targeted by dragons. This wasn’t fair.

  She blinked away tears and wrapped her hand around Dorfindral’s hilt. If that silver dragon had done anything to her parents or her brothers, she would shove the sword down its gullet until it came out the other end.

  They flew over the highway where a few people on horseback had stopped to gawk at the smoke. Rysha scowled down at them, wondering what useless neighbors or passersby weren’t going to help, but she couldn’t make out their features from this high up.

  As she and Shulina Arya neared the lake, Rysha could make out the source of the smoke. The vineyards behind the house next to the orchards, the orchards that had already been ravaged by a gold dragon’s flames. Indignation flared within her. That couldn’t be an accident. Someone—or some dragon—had deliberately chosen valuable plants, not random flora. But was it the silver? Silvers couldn’t even breathe fire.

  It was the silver, Shulina Arya said. I sense him. He senses me and is fleeing. The coward.

  How did he light the vineyards on fire?

  He could have done it with his mind.

  They flew over the manor, and Rysha glimpsed people outside, running to collect water from the lake to try and put out the flames. She doubted they would be able to save the vineyard. Her brother’s passion, the source of the wine he made, was in danger of total destruction.

  She shook her head, again wondering why her family was being picked on by dragons.

  Rysha? Trip asked, though his flier had fallen far behind.

  Yes?

  One of the men gathered on the road is Lord Lockvale.

  Rysha caught herself growling like an enraged tiger.

  I find that suspicious, Trip added.

  I find it more than suspicious. Can you go down there and… And what, she asked herself. Capture him? Interrogate him? Trip couldn’t do any of those things to a nobleman—or anyone who wasn’t a known Iskandian criminal. Question him, she finished, hoping he could get telepathic answers that would be more accurate than anything that came out of Lockvale’s mouth.

  Trip hesitated, but only for a second before saying, Yes.

  We’ll be there as soon as we can.

  The laws were still such that Trip would get into extra trouble for punching a nobleman—not that she expected him to do that—but Rysha could likely get away with it.

  The silver is leading us toward the foothills, Shulina Arya said. Is that still part of your territory?

  Yes, Rysha said, not wanting to explain inheritances and that her father and her uncle were the owners of the land, not she.

  There may be caves back there that he’s been hiding in, dampening his aura so that other dragons would not sense him.

  Below, the terrain grew rockier and full of small canyons and gullies as the Ice Blades loomed closer to the east. For the first time, Rysha glimpsed the silver dragon flying ahead of them, a dark winged shape weaving through the treetops. The sun had dipped below the horizon, leaving the land fully in shadow.

  Rysha could feel Shulina Arya’s powerful muscles putting forth more effort as she tried to catch up, and she appreciated it. The silver dragon dipped behind a copse of evergreens and didn’t come into sight again.

  He’s flown into a gully, Shulina Arya said, veering toward that copse.

  Could it be a trap?

  Shulina Arya’s nostrils flared, as if the scent of her prey filled them, and she didn’t answer. If anything, she flew faster.

  Rysha drew Dorfindral.

  The gully was thick with vegetation, and rabbits and birds scurried for safety as Shulina Arya flapped past. At the end, a black hole marked a cave entrance, and they glimpsed the silver tucking his wings close to fly inside.

  Oh, it’s definitely a trap, Shulina Arya said. He’s been trying to make me believe he’s injured, attempting to fool me with illusions, and now I’m getting an image of him hunkering inside, ready to turn and fight with his back to the wall. But I also sense hairline cracks in the rocks. He’s made it so they’re poised to fall. As if a rockfall would trap a gold dragon. He’s also created an exit in the back of the cave, a way that he can slip out. The hole is covered with foliage.

  Despite her analysis of the trap, Shulina Arya arrowed straight toward that front cave entrance. Rysha eyed it warily, knowing that Dorfindral couldn’t protect her from physical attacks, such as rockfalls.

  But Shulina Arya flew upward at the last second. Instead of going into the cave, she landed on the boulders above it. A great cracking and snapping came from below, and the ground quaked. Then it shifted as tons and tons of rocks collapsed downward.

  Shulina Arya flapped her wings to hover above the cave instead of standing on it. Pulverized rock and dust flew up, the earthy scent tickling Rysha’s nostrils. A roar of distress came from the cave—or what was left of it.

  How do you like being the one smashed? Shulina Arya cried.

  The rocks stopped shifting, and the dust settled. Rysha had no way of sensing what was below them, whether the silver was still alive, if any of the cave remained, or if the dragon had been squashed.

  He’s still alive, Shulina Arya said, the words quieter in Rysha’s mind. He’s pretending to be injured and buried alive, perhaps dying, but I am not fooled. I grew up being taught by crafty bronzes. I know all the ways of
dragon trickery. I believe he will realize we are not leaving, and then he’ll throw off the rocks and try to flee. We’ll be here, ready to pounce.

  Rysha was about to ask how long they would likely have to wait—she worried about Trip and the task she’d given him—but then the rocks shifted alarmingly. Numerous boulders flew into the air all at once.

  Some would have struck Shulina Arya, but she had a barrier up, so they bounced off. Rysha glimpsed dusty silver scales as more boulders shifted.

  Do not think you can take this land from me, a voice roared in Rysha’s mind.

  Ah, excellent, Shulina Arya thought. He is going to fight.

  Chatter sounded over the communication crystal as Trip brought his flier down on the highway not far from the group of men staring at Rysha’s smoking land. To his surprise, he heard General Zirkander’s voice and those of several Wolf Squadron members.

  “Don’t shoot yet,” Zirkander said. “Hold steady. Blazer, you need to get Therrik closer so he can swing that letter opener.”

  “I’d be happy to, sir, if his heavy ass wasn’t weighing down the back of the flier and slowing us down.”

  “It’s not my ass that’s heavy, Major,” Therrik growled.

  “Sir? This is Captain Ahn. I’m with Trip twenty-five miles south of the capital. We’re returning from our mission.”

  “Come on up to the city, Ahn. We’ve got some fun for you to join in on.”

  Trip winced at the confirmation that whatever battle they were fighting was happening in the sky over the capital. He thought of his little siblings in different houses throughout the city, of how their surrogate mothers weren’t mages and had no way to protect them from magic.

  “There’s a silver dragon over some property down here, and something is on fire,” Ahn said.

  “It’s Ry—Lieutenant Ravenwood’s estate, sir,” Trip added, hoping Zirkander would understand that meant something to him. He was worried about the capital, but he couldn’t leave Rysha to battle the silver dragon—and whatever scheme this nobleman was enacting—alone.

  “Must be nice to have an estate,” someone said. Pimples?

  “Not if a dragon is always lighting it on fire,” Duck drawled. “Do we—awk, look out!”

  Machine gun fire banged over the crystal.

  “Come help us when you’re able,” Zirkander said. “We’ve got a mess up here.”

  “Yes, sir.” Ahn was flying in circles above Trip, and she looked down at him. “Colonel Grady says we need to go join them, but you and Ravenwood can stay here and deal with the silver. And then come to help.”

  “Good,” Trip said, relieved nobody was ordering him away. He had already landed, and the horseback riders were glancing his way. He wanted to reach them before they decided to run.

  The bronze coward is skulking away, but I shall fly to the city to assist with the battle, Bhrava Saruth announced. Trip had almost forgotten about him and Telmandaroo. Since Shulina Arya has unwisely refused my magnificent help.

  She seems to refuse a lot you offer her, Trip remarked, powering down his flier and unfastening his harness.

  She does. It is extremely odd. I am a very handsome dragon, far superior to that crusty elder that wanted to rub her scales earlier.

  Bhrava Saruth flew overhead on his way toward the capital, and Ahn’s flier also sailed off in that direction. The buzz of her propeller soon faded.

  Feeling alone and outnumbered, Trip took a deep breath as he strode toward the group of men. There were six of them. Normally, he wouldn’t find that daunting, but if they were all nobles, dealing with them would be tricky. They wouldn’t likely be intimidated by a soldier.

  Trip had thought they might take off down the road when he approached, especially if they were engaged in something nefarious, but they continued talking and pointing and didn’t seem concerned about him.

  With a pistol on one hip and Azarwrath on the other, and in his full army uniform, Trip hoped he looked authoritative. He let a little of his scylori show as he approached the group, but then decided it might be better to let it all out, especially if he hoped to get the truth from Lockvale.

  Several of the men looked down at him from atop their horses, but Lockvale did not. He made a point of yawning and looking toward the smoke.

  “Do you think the fire will spread to the house?” he asked, the words for his comrades, not for Trip. “That would be unfortunate. Much trouble has befallen this family this spring, hasn’t it?”

  Nobody answered him. His five comrades were looking at Trip in the fading light, their mouths parted, as if stunned.

  “What do you have to do with it, Lockvale?” Trip asked bluntly, not wanting to dawdle, not with Rysha chasing a dragon and a battle going on in the capital.

  Finally, Lockvale turned to look down at him. His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t seem as affected as the others by Trip’s aura. “Commoner, I insist that you call me Lord Lockvale.”

  Trip hadn’t made a fuss at the Ravenwood’s family dinner, and he regretted it now. If he had been more straightforward and hadn’t worried about offending people, he might have learned enough to keep this fire—and who knew what other damage had been done?—from occurring.

  “Get off your horse, Lord Lockvale,” Trip said, putting some of his power in his voice. “Let’s talk.”

  Three of the men Trip wasn’t looking at scrambled off their horses. Lockvale started to shift, as if to dismount, but caught himself and sneered. He glanced toward Azarwrath.

  “I don’t know what power you think that sword gives you, but if you use it on me, I’ll report you for molesting a nobleman.”

  Trip willed Lockvale to float into the air, eliciting a startled cry from the man. The horse neighed with fear and ran off. Trip set Lockvale down on the road, facing him. Fury burned in the man’s eyes. Trip scraped through his surface thoughts, but the nobleman was too busy being furious with him to think about what had caused the fire.

  “Are you aligned with the silver dragon bothering the Ravenwoods?” Trip asked.

  “You don’t get to question me, you arrogant boy. You think because you wear an army uniform you have authority over the nobility?”

  The men around him shifted backward, as if all they wanted was to avoid notice. And Trip did ignore them. He held Lockvale’s gaze and tried to find the answers he wanted.

  His question had prompted the man to think of an image, of him standing in front of a silver dragon, offering a plate of apples and speaking. Speaking of plans to force Lord Ravenwood, a school rival from years back who Lockvale had never liked, to sell his land for a fraction of its worth. Since Lockvale’s father had lost most of his family’s land, he felt it his duty to acquire an estate for his children and siblings, so they needn’t join the growing legions of the noble poor who’d lost so much of their power and influence over recent generations. And if he could take Ravenwood’s excellent estate, the land so fertile and so close to the city? That would certainly be ideal.

  Lockvale raised a hand to his temple, and alarm flashed through his emotions for the first time.

  “What did you offer the dragon to get him to comply?” Trip asked. “Surely, not just apples.”

  Lockvale’s sense of alarm tripled at this proof of mind reading.

  “Get out of my head,” he shrieked, glancing at his buddies and waving at Trip, as if to order them to do something.

  Trip looked coolly at them, and nobody moved. Some scurried farther back, not noticing that they stepped into thick mud beside the road.

  “What did you offer the silver dragon?” Trip repeated, rummaging through Lockvale’s thoughts again.

  Unfortunately, the nobleman was aware of Trip’s mental intrusion now and fought harder to block it, and his rage and fear clouded salient thoughts. Trip wished he hadn’t felt rushed and had been subtler, as that might have had a better result. Now, he could feel discomfort—almost pain—from the man, so he lessened his pressure. Reluctantly. He was worried about Rysha
and the city. If General Zirkander was up in the air, the squadrons weren’t likely dealing with a simple, easily repelled attack by a single dragon.

  Trip did his best to plant the image he’d already seen firmly in Lockvale’s mind, of him and the dragon talking over apples. Lockvale flashed to another image, of the silver dragon attacking people and devouring apples from trees on another estate. His neighbor’s land, Trip sensed. Men had gone out to fight the silver, but Lockvale had been clever and made an offer to it instead. He’d told the dragon that if it would work with him, together, they would acquire a great deal of land, land full of fruit and livestock that the silver could enjoy whenever it wanted. And nobody would attack it. The dragon would be allowed free rein of the land, as soon as Lockvale acquired it.

  Trip grimaced, realizing it wasn’t a dissimilar offer to the one he’d made to Drysaleskar. But the Tlongan Steppes were the king’s land, and he had the right to use them in a negotiation. This land belonged to someone else, to Rysha and her family. Trip clenched a fist, angry at the man’s scheme, angry at him.

  Lockvale grabbed his temples, fell to his knees, and cried out. “He’s attacking me!”

  Startled, Trip drew back, removing his mental touch. But Lockvale started screaming.

  “Stop him, stop him. He’s a witch! Shoot him!”

  He’s feigning that pain, Azarwrath said with disgust.

  Lockvale stole glances at his comrades, but none of them were moving against Trip. They were alarmed that Lockvale was being hurt, but they weren’t willing to risk themselves. Further, they were being affected by Trip’s aura, which made them want to stay on his good side, even though they had no idea who he was.

  Lockvale snarled, stuck his hand under his jacket, and jumped to his feet, gripping a pistol.

  Though startled, Trip raised his defenses instantly. Lockvale fired, but the bullet was deflected.

  His eyes bulged in disbelief, and he ran toward Trip, firing again.