Dragon Storm (Heritage of Power Book 1)
Dragon Storm: Chapter 10

Trip caught up to Blazer and the others a couple of hours later as they flew east along the southern shore of Iskandia, the Little Sister Fjords visible to their left. The fliers would follow the shoreline for another two hundred miles, to the panhandle of the country, before turning southeast and shooting out over the open ocean. Jaxi had indeed been able to add speed to his flier, and he’d made up more time by cutting across the corner of the country and flying over the farms and ranches down there.

“Did you and Lieutenant Ravenwood have a nice interlude together?” Leftie asked when Trip fell in at the back of their small formation.

He hesitated, not sure he should speak of the diversion. Surely, Ravenwood wouldn’t want to be reminded of her grandmother’s death. She hadn’t said anything to Trip about it, but he’d overheard the conversation. He’d kept telling himself not to eavesdrop, but her uncle and father hadn’t been speaking that quietly, and he would have needed to leave his flier to avoid hearing their words.

“We checked on her family,” Trip finally said, glancing over his shoulder.

Ravenwood slumped back in her seat, her expression pensive as she gazed blankly toward the fjords and the southern tip of the distant Ice Blades. Before they’d stopped at her castle—her manor—she had been peering over the side, excited by the flight. She hadn’t spoken in the three hours since they’d left, but she was definitely no longer excited.

“You sure you didn’t roll out a blanket and a picnic basket for a date?” Leftie asked. “You were gone longer than it takes for a flyby.”

Trip supposed he shouldn’t be wistful at such a notion. Even though he didn’t know Ravenwood—Rysha, that was her first name—well yet, he found her attractive and was drawn to the fact that she didn’t quite fit in, either. She also didn’t seem fazed by talk of magic and sorcerers. She’d even researched magical swords. And she hadn’t once looked at him like he was odd. Granted, he’d been trying not to be odd, but that didn’t always work.

But if he’d had notions of asking her on a date, seeing her manor had quashed them. It wasn’t that commoners and nobles never had relationships, but as far as he knew, the nobles usually only had flings with “lesser” people and married from within their own caste. Over the years, he had seen newspaper articles announcing arranged marriages over in eastern Iskandia, and that was in an area where fewer rules and social stigmas existed than in the west.

Also, he’d seen the way her father and uncle had looked at him, as if he were some freeloading scum begging on the streets rather than an officer in the army. He had no doubt that they would object strongly to him dating their little girl.

Did General Zirkander get looks like that from the nobility? He didn’t come from that caste, either. Trip remembered stories about how he’d grown up in a poor neighborhood and had to fight for survival on the streets. Of course, it was hard to know what was fact and fiction since so many people liked to tell tales of Zirkander and his exploits.

Leftie had fallen in beside him and was grinning over, expecting a response.

“Don’t be jealous because the only person you could fly away with was a bald Cofah warrior,” Trip said, afraid his long pause might have Leftie believing he’d guessed correctly.

Duck was transporting Kaika’s bombs, Kaika rode with Blazer, and Leftie had lost the draw and received their surly companion. Oh, there hadn’t truly been a draw. Simply a doling out of seating assignments, probably based on rank.

“It’s true he’s not as cute as our lieutenant,” Leftie said.

“I think there’s a regulation against remarking on female soldiers’ feminine attributes,” Duck said. “Or saying anything you wouldn’t say to a male soldier.”

“I’d tell you if you were cute, Captain Duck,” Leftie said.

“I’m not? I had a girl once tell me I was cuter than a fuzzy duckling.”

“You sure that wasn’t an ugly duckling?”

“Positive. I’ve got many fine attributes, and in the right circumstances, I can be downright adorable.”

“It’s true that you might be cuter than our new recruit,” Leftie allowed.

Trip wondered if the Cofah was listening or napping in the back. There wasn’t much for passengers to do on a flier journey.

Oh, he’s awake, Jaxi said into his mind. He’s an all-around alert fellow from what I’ve observed. I don’t think he misses much. I’d keep an eye on him if I were you.

Do you have any idea why he was sent with us? Trip figured if anyone would be in the know, it would be Jaxi. Sardelle and Zirkander tossed King Angulus’s name around often enough to suggest they at least had meetings with him now and then.

Ridge doesn’t know, if that’s what you’re asking. Angulus just said it was due to some diplomatic pressures. Apparently, he’s been trying hard to stay in the good graces of the current Cofah ruler, Prince Varlok, even though he’s fairly certain the Cofah know that he ordered the mission where his father, Emperor Salatak, was kidnapped. Angulus had him sent into exile and didn’t tell anyone where he went or that he was still alive. The Cofah keep referring to Varlok as the temporary emperor and seem to believe Salatak will be found one day.

Trip was waiting to see how this would tie in to Leftie’s passenger or if it would. He didn’t follow Cofah politics as closely as he should, but there’d been no interaction with them since he’d accepted his commission. Pirates had been far more of a concern. And now dragons.

Sorry, that’s all I know. That and what Ridge said, that the Cofah sent one of their best warriors, this fellow, so he could help with the portal. I have heard that the Cofah have had even more dragons harassing their towns and cities than we have. I wasn’t there for the meeting, or I could have peeked into Angulus’s thoughts and perhaps gotten more.

Could you peek into his thoughts? Trip asked. Dreyak’s.

Surprisingly, no. Or perhaps not surprisingly. He has some dragon blood in his veins.

Trip started, almost losing his grip on the flight stick. You mean he’s a sorcerer?

Not necessarily. Becoming a sorcerer requires a lot of training. But it is very possible someone taught him to wall off his mind so he can’t be read by other sorcerers. Or powerful and highly talented soulblades.

Is that you?

I was generalizing.

Of course.

I also don’t think he has enough dragon blood to be a very powerful sorcerer, even if he has had training. He’s not like you.

This time, Trip did lose his grip on the stick. They were flying against the breeze, so the wings wobbled alarmingly before he grasped it again.

“Sorry,” he called back to Rysha. Ravenwood, he reminded himself. He should think of her as Lieutenant Ravenwood.

Still gazing to the north, she seemed lost in thought and didn’t acknowledge him.

I don’t think you can pretend you don’t know at this point, Jaxi said dryly.

That my father might have been a shaman or something like that? I guess. My grandparents told me as much and said to hide it from everyone. I don’t think they knew I’d be spending time with telepathic swords.

Extremely shortsighted of them.

“How’d you get your name, Leftie?” Duck asked. “Is it just because you’re left-handed? If so, I reckon Cougar Squadron doesn’t have very imaginative people in charge of picking names.”

“I am left-handed,” Leftie said, “and throw a mean hookball with that arm. It’s like a rocket launcher.”

Trip snorted. He hadn’t been planning to out his friend, but Duck apparently heard that snort.

“There another truth there, Trip?” he asked.

“Well…”

“I don’t think that story is appropriate to share in the presence of the more genteel sex,” Leftie rushed to say.

“We’re all soldiers here,” Kaika said. “And I dearly love an inappropriate story.”

“Over at the Charkolt base,” Trip said, ignoring the glare Leftie sent him, “the barracks are way in the back, and the flier hangars are toward the front where the gate into the city is. A lot of people keep uniforms and civilian clothing at the hangar, and shower and change in the locker rooms instead of going back to the barracks before heading out. During our first week of duty, Leftie was recovering from a small injury—”

“Taking a brisk ball to the groin is not a small injury,” Leftie growled.

“Yes, apparently, he was black and blue, and rather swollen, for several days. On one side in particular.”

“The left?” Duck asked.

“The left,” Trip agreed. “You wouldn’t think many men would look at other men’s testicles, but enough people saw the discrepancy—”

“Temporary discrepancy,” Leftie said.

“—that a nickname was born,” Trip finished.

“Clearly, we’ll have to check later,” Kaika drawled. “To see if that discrepancy really was temporary.”

“We?” Blazer protested. “I don’t want to see his hairy balls.”

“They can’t be that hairy, or nobody would have noticed he was cattywampus.”

“Catty-what?” Leftie asked. “I don’t know what that is, but I’m not it.”

“Are you sure they’re the more genteel sex, Leftie?” Duck asked.

“Not anymore, no.”

“Downed airship up ahead,” Blazer said.

“One of ours?” Duck asked, leaning to the side to peer down toward the fjords. “If there are people that survived, we should help.”

“Actually, no. It’s a Cofah design, but the ship is painted black, and there seems to be a white sword across a skull on the envelope. What I can see of it. It’s all deflated.”

Trip straightened. “That’s the pirate king’s mark.”

“Must have stolen it from the Cofah.”

Trip also peered over the side and spotted the big balloon up ahead, as deflated as Blazer had said. It half hid the framework of the crashed ship underneath it. The craft had come down right at the edge of one of the cliffs jutting out between the fjords. The pirates must have narrowly avoided plummeting into the side of the cliff. If that had happened, it would have crashed among boulders far below, the ocean waves white as they broke all around the jagged rocks.

Three people stood atop the stark cliff, appearing little larger than ants from this distance. They waved their arms to flag the fliers down for a rescue.

“We don’t rescue pirates, do we?” Leftie asked.

“Nah,” Blazer said. “We can report them to the next flier base we pass—we have to be within fifty miles to use the communication crystals. Someone’ll probably send a dirigible or some navy ships out to get them.”

“They look like they would prefer to be rescued now,” Duck remarked, the figures waving vigorously as the fliers drew closer.

“I care less about pirates’ preferences than about the wart on my toe,” Blazer said. “Besides, we don’t have any extra room for passengers, so there’s nothing we can do to help. It’s not like Kaika is going to let us leave her bombs behind.”

“For pirates?” Kaika asked, her voice barely audible since she was talking from the back seat of Blazer’s flier. “Hells, no.”

Rysha leaned forward and patted Trip on the shoulder. “Is there any chance you could fix that airship, sir? With what we have in the fliers?”

“Er, what?”

“That airship. It’s like a pub table, but larger.”

“Thanks for the clarification,” Trip said dryly, though he was pleased to see her humor peek out. “If the engine and boiler aren’t too damaged and if there are helium reserves in the tanks so the balloon could be refilled after patching it, I guess it’s possible. The envelope frame may need some rebuilding too.” Trip looked past the crashed ship and toward the forest that started at the back of the cliff. “Technically, we could use wood for that if the metal is too damaged to bend back into shape, though without a sawmill, we’d be stuck using logs.”

I can cut wood better than any sawmill, if properly motivated, Jaxi informed him.

I’ll keep that in mind. “But why would we want to?” Trip glanced over his shoulder. “Repairing it could take days.”

“We’re not repairing anything,” Blazer said. “We’re about to head out over the sea to our destination. Like I said, we’ll report that they crashed once we get back within range of a base.”

“It’s our destination I was thinking about,” Rysha said, yelling over Trip’s shoulder toward the communication crystal. “The Pirate Isles. We won’t be able to fly in openly and land our fliers.”

“I was planning to be sneaky, not open. Even if they see us, I heard they’re not fussy about who they serve rum and beer to there.”

“From what the maps show, the islands aren’t that large, and they’re all clumped together. Finding a spot to land fliers sneakily might be hard,” Rysha said. “It’s possible the pirates would let us land, if we had a good cover story, but—”

“Highly doubtful,” Leftie said. “Especially if any of them recognize me or Trip. We’ve caused some serious grief to a lot of pirates these last couple of years.”

“They aren’t going to like Iskandian fliers in general,” Duck said. “We’d be like lions trotting into a wolf pack’s territory.”

“Lions can take down wolves, can’t they?” Blazer asked.

“Not if they’re outnumbered.”

“That’s why my plan makes sense,” Rysha said.

“What plan?” Blazer asked.

Trip peered back at her, also curious.

“If we can fix up that airship, we can claim it for ourselves, and fly it to the Pirate Isles. Maybe we can even coerce those pirates into staying on board and working for us. Even if we can’t, we could get a lot closer and maybe land right in a harbor without being questioned. They’d think we were one of them.”

“What about our fliers?” Duck asked. “I’m not going to a pirate island or anywhere else without one.”

“That’s a Toralka airship,” Rysha said. “Length of eight hundred feet, diameter of over a hundred feet, plenty of deck space. Lift of more than three hundred thousand pounds when the envelope is fully gassed up. In other words, it has more than enough space and capacity for these four fliers.”

“How do you know all that?” Trip asked, amused. He wouldn’t have taken her for a fan of airships. “Do you know the stats of all aircraft?”

“No, but we had some math problems in school that employed dirigibles for examples, and they used information from specific models.”

“And you remember it?”

“I have a good memory for numbers.”

“Math problems from school,” Blazer said. “I was a lot more likely to sign off on this plan before she said that.”

I can offer assistance if necessary, Jaxi told Trip. I, too, believe it would be difficult to enter the Isles in your Iskandian fliers. Even if we were allowed to land, the pirates would be watching us intently. I could camouflage the fliers somewhat, but someone would notice them eventually if they were parked on their air docks all night.

“Jaxi says she’ll help,” Trip said.

“All right,” Blazer said, turning her craft toward the fjords. “I guess it wouldn’t take that long to land and gauge the damage. We have anyone with engineering expertise on board?”

“I can fix things,” Trip said, glad for a chance to employ his one skill besides flying.

“He’s excellent with tables,” Rysha said.

“Yes,” Blazer said, “I’m sure fixing tables and fixing airships requires about the same degree of expertise.”

Trip did not respond. He was too busy thinking that he would like to show Rysha that he could fix more than tables. He was still smarting from having to admit to her that all he’d done in the dragon battle was crash and be rescued by Zirkander. Even though he’d been the one to tell the general he didn’t want anyone to know that he’d played a pivotal role, it was hard to have others believing him a screw-up who had lost his flier. Granted, he had done that, but not before helping.

“I’ll give you twenty minutes down there to look things over,” Blazer said. “If you can’t give me a time estimate for repairs that I like within that window, we’re taking off, and we’ll do our best with the Isles. We’ll be flying in at night, so we might get in more easily than you all seem to think.”

“Twenty minutes should be all I need,” Trip said.

“Don’t say things like that in front of women you want to picnic with, Trip,” Leftie said.

Blazer snorted. It took Trip longer to get the joke.

He groped for a witty comeback.

“Some women don’t mind quick and efficient men,” Rysha said, patting Trip on the shoulder.

“That’s not what I’ve heard,” Leftie said. “And I’m experienced and worldly in these matters. This may be the reason the women don’t flock to you, Trip. They’ve heard the unfortunate news. That you’re quick and efficient.”

Rysha lifted her eyes heavenward, but a faint smile curved her lips.

Trip decided it was worth being the butt of the joke if it brought her humor back and distracted her from thinking about her grandmother’s death. And the hurtful things her relatives had said. There was nothing disgraceful about fighting for one’s country.