Gold Dragon

by Lindsay Buroker

  She spotted Lockvale sitting at a table near one fireplace with a bowl of soup and a wine glass, papers strewn around him as Shulina Arya had described. The man was still dressed for the day, which Rysha was thankful for. She would have felt like a bully threatening someone in pajamas. She felt like a bully, as it was, and reminded herself this was for Trip, Trip who had only come into this man’s sights because he’d been helping her.

  Chin firm, Rysha strode into the room with Shulina Arya. She was halfway to Lockvale before he noticed them.

  He leaped up, knocking his chair over. “What is this? You dare intrude in Lockvale Manor?”

  He gaped at the tiger in disbelief.

  “I dare, yes.” Rysha stopped a few feet away from him. He’d moved around the table to put it between himself and them. “Because you dare make up ridiculous charges to slander someone honorable and with a great deal of integrity. More than that, you’re trying to have him hanged.”

  “Because he’s a witch, you fool of a girl. All those people should be hanged.”

  “All those people who have been helping defend the country from dragons, Cofah, and pirates?”

  “So they tell us. But it’s only a matter of time before they take over again, as they once tried to do. That—that man used his evil power to read my mind. I was completely incapable of fighting back. When I tried to defend myself, he didn’t even have to lift a finger to send me hurling backward.”

  “As I understand it, he was defending himself from you.”

  “I didn’t try to read his mind.”

  “You just tried to shoot him.”

  “Because he’s a witch.”

  Rysha wished she had a way to record his words like music on a phonograph so they could be played back at the inquest in the morning.

  “Just like that one who’s been manipulating Angulus for the last three years,” Lockvale snarled.

  “Sardelle?” Rysha couldn’t imagine who else he might mean. It had to either be she or Dr. Targoson.

  “She controls him, and she controls the pilot Zirkander. Why more people don’t see that, I can’t imagine. She’s got them all under her thumb. Angulus used to be different. It used to be that if I or one of the other nobles went to him with a problem, he promptly did something to help. Now, he’s siding with witches.”

  Lockvale eyed the tiger warily. “That’s not a real animal. It’s some illusion. Some witch magic.” He squinted at Rysha. “Are you experimenting with magic? I never would have thought a Ravenwood would turn to sorcerous ways.” He glanced toward the fireplace mantle. Both a sword and a rifle hung above it.

  Rysha dropped a hand to Dorfindral. “I’m not a witch, and neither is the tiger. This is the gold dragon Shulina Arya, shape-shifted into a form suitable for walking into your castle. And eating you if need be.”

  Shulina Arya put in a timely roar, and Lockvale's eyes bulged as he stumbled back from the table.

  “That had better be a joke, girl,” he said, edging closer to the fireplace.

  “Lord Lockvale.” Rysha stalked down the table opposite him, intending to head him off if he went for a weapon. “I am here because you falsely accused Captain Yert of attempted murder, and his efforts to build a weapon to defend the city from dragons are being interrupted because of your ridiculous inquest. I insist that you drop the charges, that you say you were mistaken and have realized the truth, that Trip was only defending himself.”

  “Ridiculous. He attacked me.”

  He actually seems to believe that, Storyteller. However, I can see into his thoughts and see that events unfolded as Captain Trip described. This man believes mind-reading is a heinous crime and that when your mate created a protective barrier around himself, it was the same as attacking. This man is most foolish.

  “You weren’t there,” Lockvale added. “You don’t know what happened.”

  “Actually, the dragon here is reading your mind and knows exactly what happened. It’s a shame you don’t. Perhaps you should learn about magic instead of insisting it’s pure evil and wetting yourself whenever it’s mentioned.”

  Lockvale’s eyes flared with indignation. Aunt Tadelay possibly wouldn’t have approved of Rysha bringing latrine talk into the discussion.

  “He’s manipulating you.” Lockvale thrust a finger toward Rysha. “The same way that witch manipulates the king. Get out of my home now, or I’ll add your name to my official complaint against your captain. I have friends in the city.” He waved toward the newspapers with his other hand. “Don’t think I can’t make this happen.”

  May I incinerate him now, Storyteller? I am tired of listening to his ignorance and arrogance.

  Lockvale must have heard the telepathic comment because his eyes grew even rounder. He lunged for the weapons above the fireplace.

  Rysha ran to cut him off, but her boot hit a newspaper that had fallen to the floor, and she skidded. It only took her a second to catch her balance, but it was long enough for Lockvale to yank the sword off the wall. He spun toward her, gripping the weapon in both hands.

  Rysha slowed before reaching him, seeing from his grip and his stance that he had experience.

  “You will get out of my home now,” Lockvale growled.

  “Not until you promise to revoke the charges against Trip.”

  Rysha drew Dorfindral. She had experience too.

  The blade glowed green, and she saw the alarm in Lockvale’s eyes, this proof that more magic was in effect. But he didn’t back down.

  Seeing the glow made Rysha think that Lockvale might have some dragon blood in his veins, but Dorfindral urged her to attack the tiger behind her rather than the man, so she suspected it was only glowing because of Shulina Arya’s proximity. That meant that if she fought Lockvale, she would have only her own skills to draw upon. The blade wouldn’t help. So be it.

  “Not only will I not revoke them, but I’ll add your name. I don’t care whose daughter you are. You broke into my home.” Lockvale snarled and leaped at her.

  Do you wish me to flatten him to the ground, Storyteller? Shulina Arya asked as Rysha whipped Dorfindral up to parry.

  Not unless I’m losing.

  Rysha blocked a barrage of blows, sensing Lockvale’s frustration and anger. He hammered at her without finesse, though she did recognize a dueler’s classic thrusts and attacks.

  She backed up as she parried, keeping an eye on the furnishings as she further studied his technique. He wasn’t as fast and clean with his blade work as the elite troops she’d been practicing with, and she kept him at bay without much trouble, ensuring her body remained relaxed, her arms fluid. She picked out four combinations of thrusts and slashes that he favored, repeating them over and over.

  Rysha waited until he launched into one of the familiar routines, anticipated him, and burst into motion. She batted the flat of her sword against his knuckles as he swung into his second attack in the combination. He cried out, dropping the weapon. Before it hit the ground, she kneed him in the groin, then employed a leg sweep to knock him off his feet.

  He fell to the stone floor, and she stepped on his chest before he could roll away. She pressed Dorfindral’s tip to his throat.

  Lockvale opened his hands and looked at her face. He seemed more wary than truly afraid, and she didn’t think he believed she would kill him. Which was true. She had to figure out how to extract a promise from him in such a way that he wouldn’t feel justified in later ignoring it.

  “Shulina Arya, can you show him what truly happened? And make him understand it?”

  The other man is here. I am preventing him from entering the room.

  Without moving her sword tip from Lockvale’s throat, Rysha looked toward the doorway.

  “I understand what happened,” the newcomer said, presumably the man who had been reading upstairs. “I was there. Gemmon wanted me to join the others in testifying against the officer, but I would not.”

  “He’s not an officer; he’s a witch,” Lockvale snarled. />
  “I suspect he’s both.”

  “Go back to your books and puzzles, Jhag. This has nothing to do with you.”

  Jhag—that was Lockvale’s younger brother, wasn’t it? Not the butler Rysha had guessed would be in the house with him.

  “What will you do to him, Lady Ravenwood?” Jhag asked.

  “I cannot let his ignorance and prejudice put my friend’s life at risk,” Rysha said, trying to sound grim and determined, like she might truly kill Lockvale. She glared down at him, making her eyes as hard as she could. “I will do whatever I need to do to protect him. Just as he would do anything to protect me.”

  If my rider does not slay him, I will incinerate him myself, for he has proven himself an enemy and a hater of those born of dragons, Shulina Arya said, wood creaking under her large feline form. She’d hopped onto the table and sat on her haunches, her tail swishing about, knocking newspapers onto the floor. Though perhaps in this form, I should simply devour him? Tigers devour humans, do they not?

  She shared a graphic image with all of them of a tiger chasing down a man, springing onto his back and bearing him to the ground, then ripping his head off and beginning its meal.

  “Seven gods.” Jhag gripped the doorjamb.

  Rysha had to fight to maintain her position, not to back away and lower her sword. That vision was so vivid that it would have been intensely disturbing even if it hadn’t reminded her of the bear that had nearly eaten her back on that barge in Lagresh.

  “I’ll do it,” Lockvale said, his voice so squeaky Rysha could barely hear him.

  That inspired an idea for her, that and the fact that she didn’t quite believe Lockvale.

  Shulina Arya? she asked silently.

  Yes?

  Can you do something to his vocal cords to keep him from speaking? A temporary injury or some damage that could later be healed?

  Yes, I can do this.

  Good, do it please.

  “Excellent,” Rysha said in response to Lockvale. “To ensure that’s the case, my magical blade here has left a stamp on your throat.” She stepped back, drawing Dorfindral from Lockvale’s neck, and waving the sword so he would take note of the green glow.

  But Lockvale was busy taking note of something else. He winced, touching a hand to his throat, then opened his mouth to speak. His lips and tongue moved, but no words came out.

  “You’ll tell no more lies,” Rysha said. “But if you visit the king and take back the one you told about Trip, I’ll return to your home and heal the damage to your vocal cords. If you don’t, then you’ll never speak again.”

  She didn’t need magic to sense his rage and indignation.

  Does this mean I don’t get to devour him? Shulina Arya asked, the words for everyone in the room. She oozed disappointment. In this feline form, the idea seems oddly appealing.

  Lockvale pushed himself to his feet, looking for a moment like he might snatch up the sword and attack Rysha again, but Shulina Arya also stood, her violet eyes exuding power as she looked at him.

  Lockvale unclenched his fists, then turned his back to them and stalked to a window overlooking the sea.

  I guess that means the meeting is adjourned, Rysha thought.

  Shulina Arya hopped off the table, and they walked toward the door where Jhag still stood, his face ashen. He hurried to step aside.

  Rysha hadn’t intended to evoke any promises from him—especially if he had been the one man in that group on the highway who’d been unwilling to throw Trip to the wolves—but after pausing to let them pass, he hurried to catch up and walk at her side.

  “I’ll make sure he does what you asked,” Jhag said quietly. “I think the threat of never speaking again will be enough to convince him, but if it’s not…” He spread his hand. “I was there that night. I saw what happened. I didn’t want to speak against my own brother, but everything he’s been doing lately, including trying to get your family’s estate—not to mention the Orehills’ and the Tenderwoods’ estates—has been against my wishes. It isn’t what Grandfather would have wanted, and it’s not honorable.”

  “Good,” Rysha said as they reached the door, surprised at this unexpected support. “Thank you.”

  He nodded and showed her—and her tiger—out with a deferential manner. But Rysha wouldn’t know until tomorrow if anything she had done here would truly have an effect. Maybe Lockvale simply wouldn’t show up and the charges would stand. Maybe the man wasn’t that attached to his voice anyway. Or maybe he would come in with a list of accusations that now included Rysha’s nighttime visit. Noble blood or not, she could end up in a cell right next to Trip’s for this.

  “We’ll see in the morning,” she murmured.

  Whatever happened, at least she had done everything she could.

  23

  The military police escorted Trip up the walkway toward the one-story Army Justice Headquarters, a humorless brick building at the back of the fort, standing in the shadow of the bluff that held the flier hangars. Trip gazed up wistfully, feeling homesick for his cockpit and the chatter of Wolf Squadron as the pilots went off on training exercises.

  That feeling intensified as he watched six fliers taking off. For training? Or because some threat approached?

  Trip stretched out with his senses, checking for unfamiliar dragons. He sensed Bhrava Saruth, miles to the north and still at his temple, then Phelistoth near Sardelle’s house. He hadn’t sensed the bronze dragon Telmandaroo for several days and assumed he’d gone back to his pirate islands. Shulina Arya’s parents weren’t within range. He had no idea where they went when they weren’t here reporting to the king or tinkering with ancient technology. Shulina Arya herself was closer than Trip expected, a few miles away and flying toward the city.

  Currently, he didn’t sense any other dragons, which was a relief. He’d been checking often for the gold that had spied on him three days earlier.

  That morning, Trip had left Tolemek mounting the rocket launchers. The platform was almost ready for a trial run, but as long as it was on the ground without those weapons installed, it would be vulnerable to sabotage.

  One of the police escorting Trip cleared his throat and jerked his thumb toward the front door. He didn’t say, “Quit dawdling,” because he was a sergeant and Trip was an officer, but Trip sensed the words among his surface thoughts.

  Informing the man that he was searching for signs of enemy dragons probably wouldn’t win him any lenience. Trip quickened his pace, telling himself the sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could return to his project. And once that was done, he could return to the squadron and his flier.

  Assuming this inquest didn’t go poorly.

  The police marched him inside and down a drab hallway. They entered a room with two rows of chairs in the back behind a railing, chairs and tables in the middle, and a raised dais and throne-like seat in the front with a stool on either side. Nobody was up there yet, but the chairs in the back were surprisingly full given the early hour. General Zirkander sat next to Sardelle, Blazer, Duck, Pimples, and Leftie—Trip had barely spoken to Leftie because he’d been so busy of late—along with a few Tiger Squadron pilots that Trip had worked with a few times.

  Seeing the group there—to support him or even testify?—warmed his heart. Of course, they were so busy reading newspapers that they didn’t seem to notice him come in. Only Leftie, who was twirling his lucky ball on its chain, spotted him. He grinned and ambled over, bumping one of the guards in the shoulder, perhaps not by accident.

  “Want to kiss my balls, Trip?”

  The guard’s eyebrows flew up.

  “Balls?” Trip asked. “Is there more than one now?”

  “There always was.” Leftie winked and stuck a hand in his pocket. “But if you’re referring to the metal ones, I’ve added a lovely tungsten luck ball to my collection. You see, the melting point of tungsten is almost twice that of gold, which my other ball is mostly made from. After my near miss with that flame-happy drag
on last week, I was concerned about my lucky ball melting, so I had a backup made.”

  “The lucky ball you keep in your pocket?”

  “Yes. Now I keep two.”

  “Don’t you think you’ll melt before the gold does?” Trip was pleased that he didn’t see any signs of the burns Leftie had suffered the week before. He’d been certain that he and Azarwrath could heal the injuries, but he had been less certain they could prevent scar tissue. He hadn’t seen Major Kaika in the last week and hoped she, too, was free of scars.

  “If I do, I hope you’ll be around to un-melt me.” Leftie thumped him on the shoulder, then held up his new ball on its chain.

  “I’m not kissing that,” Trip said, though Leftie’s offer made him happy—as did the fact that Leftie seemed perfectly willing to be healed by him these days. How far they had come.

  “It’s lucky. You might need luck today.”

  Do not do it, Telryn. No self-respecting mighty sorcerer should be seen leaving lip moistness on a metal ball.

  Azarwrath? Trip checked with his senses and realized both Jaxi and Azarwrath were in their scabbards and tucked between the chairs that Sardelle and General Zirkander occupied.

  Naturally. I came to ensure that you wouldn’t do something foolish like letting yourself be hanged because you were afraid to use your powers in a morally questionable way.

  And also to make sure you don’t kiss Leftie’s balls, Jaxi added. I know Azzy was concerned about that.

  Trip smiled for the first time in… he didn’t know how long. He’d missed Azarwrath’s company—and Jaxi’s, too, though he’d never expected her to be a permanent part of his life. A couple of times, he’d thought about slipping over to Sardelle’s house at night to pick up the soulblade, but the military police had come to the temple at least twice a day to check on him. If they had come and he hadn’t been there or in his barracks, he would have been relegated to a jail cell again. Also, they would have objected if their prisoner had been wandering around with a sword.