Dragon Storm (Heritage of Power Book 1)
Dragon Storm: Chapter 7

Rysha swore as another of her shells blew up right on its target, right where she’d been aiming, only to do nothing. She seethed with frustration.

From her spot on the wall, she’d witnessed three fliers go down, two crashing into the city and one into the harbor. She was certain the pilots couldn’t have survived. The dragons hadn’t even struck them physically. They seemed to hurl mental attacks that rammed into the fliers like battering rams. Giant battering rams.

The gold dragon perched on the castle wall, raining fire down into the courtyard. Plumes of smoke came from the burning structures inside.

“You’re doing better than any of us did,” Deimakker said, his voice dull with defeat and weariness.

“I just wish it mattered.”

“The rest of Wolf Squadron is coming up from the south,” someone cried from within the fort. “Keep those dragons busy. They’re bringing a weapon to get through their armor, a magical sword.”

“What’s a sword going to do against them?” Deimakker growled. “And how could they even reach a dragon to use it?”

“I’ve read the reports of the one dragon our people have managed to kill,” Rysha said, allowing a tendril of hope to curl into her heart. She didn’t mention that the battle had taken place three years earlier, and nobody had succeeded recently in slaying a dragon. “The sword can pierce their magical barriers, allowing other weapons to get through.”

Rysha fired another shell at the gold dragon, only to have it ignored, blowing up several meters from its head. Maybe it would be better to wait until the sword arrived? To save ammunition?

Abruptly, the gold dragon’s head lifted on its long serpentine neck. It rotated to peer toward the north, where Rysha had occasionally seen explosions, presumably from another dragon battle.

For several seconds, the dragon stood in tableau, its wings at its side, its head turned north. Then it sprang into the air, wings flapping. For the first time that night, it headed away from the city.

You have three days, puny humans, the dragon’s words filled Rysha’s head. Three days to consider your fate. Die as we destroy your city, or surrender and give in to your fate as lesser creatures. Agree to serve us.

The bronze dragon, which had been taking delight in tearing down one of the hangars on the bluff, also flapped into the air. It took off after its golden comrade.

Rysha could hardly believe their luck. What had happened?

She was positive they hadn’t injured either of those two dragons. Had they realized that sword was coming? And did they fear it?

That was hard to believe. From what she’d read, the blades had been made by human sorcerers working with dragons and were particularly effective against magic, but they weren’t super weapons. They were simply tools that could be useful in a battle against dragons. Tools that had been stashed away or lost over the millennia that dragons had been gone from the world. Clearly, not going looking for them before now had been a mistake. Rysha wished she’d thought to go to her commanders with her research as soon as the dragon attacks had first begun.

“Well,” Deimakker said, stepping up onto the parapet to look out over the burning city. “It’s good that they’re gone for now, but I have no idea what we’re going to do in three days.”

• • • • •

When Trip woke up, such pain stabbed at the inside of his head that he promptly wished he could drop into unconsciousness again. Someone touched his shoulder.

“This one’s awake, Mrs. Sardelle.”

“Just Sardelle,” came a tired voice from a few feet away.

Clothing rustled, and Trip sensed her sitting in a chair next to his bed. Someone he wasn’t familiar with moved away. He forced his eyes open against the pain. In addition to his head hurting, it felt like someone had grabbed both ends of his spine and twisted it like a wet towel to be wrung out.

Sardelle rested a hand on his forehead. The pain diminished so swiftly that he almost groaned with relief and said something stupid, like he understood now why General Zirkander had fallen in love with her.

But he kept that thought to himself. Especially since he didn’t know if Zirkander had made it. The last time Trip had seen him, he’d been blown off to the side so far and fast, Trip had been sure his flier would be ripped apart.

Ragged cheers went up in the room around him, and a few people clapped.

Though curious, Trip didn’t want to turn his head to look, lest he disturb Sardelle’s hand and whatever she was doing to his poor, bruised body. He did sense a lot of other people around him. They were in an open rectangular building with beds lining the long walls. Surprisingly, daylight came through a nearby window. How long had he been out? And how had he gotten here? Was it a hospital in the city or an infirmary in the army fort?

As if they would let all these scruffy, bedraggled soldiers into a civilian hospital, Jaxi spoke into his mind.

He had the sense that she wasn’t far away. Before he could ask, General Zirkander walked into view, his flight jacket open, his uniform rumpled, and his hair tousled. He appeared wearier than any man should be able to feel without collapsing into a bunk. Or onto the ground. He carried the soulblade in his hand, looking like he wanted to use it as a walking cane.

That is absolutely undignified and not permissible, Jaxi said.

Are you reading all my thoughts? Trip asked as Zirkander stopped at the foot of the bed across the aisle to murmur something to an injured woman in uniform.

Just the interesting ones. And only when I’m bored.

“Good work, sir,” the man in the bunk next to Trip’s told Zirkander.

The general acknowledged the praise with a tired wave, then grabbed a stool and pulled it up next to the one Sardelle sat on. She was still leaning over Trip, her hand on his forehead, her eyes closed, but she reached back and patted his thigh briefly.

“What happened, sir?” Trip asked, his throat raw and raspy.

He wondered if he’d swallowed much sea water. How was it possible he hadn’t drowned?

You’re welcome, Jaxi said.

You helped me?

After we killed the dragon, I led Ridge down to replace you. It was amazing that you hadn’t drowned yet. But we hauled you up and into his flier and got you back to base.

Trip couldn’t imagine that had been easy, given that Zirkander had been flying a one-seater. Embarrassment crept into his mind at the thought of himself draped across a general’s lap, drooling all over the cockpit.

Better to be embarrassed and alive. I do regret that I was too busy protecting Ridge to be able to soften your landing. It was our only chance, you see. To attack the dragon.

I understand. It’s all right.

It wasn’t as if he’d ever expected to have a sentient sword protecting him when he flew into battle.

“You alive in there, Trip?” Zirkander asked, peering into his eyes.

Trip blinked, realizing he’d been staring off, glassy-eyed as Jaxi spoke to him.

“Yes, sir. I, uhm, thank you.”

“I understand we have you to thank,” Zirkander said quietly, eyeing him curiously.

“Sir?”

“Jaxi says you were the one to do something to the dragon to cause her to drop her barrier for long enough for us to attack. Once we got some of Tolemek’s acid goo onto her scales, she was in too much pain to get her defenses back up again. We hammered her from all sides, and I managed to lob one of those grenades in her mouth. She went down after that.” He drew a finger across his throat. “That’s only the third dragon we’ve managed to kill here in Iskandia. The first without Kasandral.”

“Oh. That’s good then.”

“Yes,” Zirkander said, gazing at him expectantly. “Care to tell us what you did? Because it would be handy if we could replicate it.”

“I don’t think I did anything, sir. I just flew at her and tried to shoot her in the head. Are you sure she didn’t get tired of keeping her defenses up?”

“I’m not sure of anything,” Zirkander said, smiling wearily, “but Jaxi says you launched a mental attack at her.”

“I just yelled in her head.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “I remember you shouting stop it.”

“Yeah. She was hurting me with her telepathy, and I yelled back. That’s it.”

Zirkander looked at Sardelle. Her eyes were open now, and she looked back at him. Their gazes held, and Trip was certain they were speaking telepathically.

You’re catching on, kid.

Can you tell them that I wasn’t responsible? I’m afraid they’ll expect me to yell at dragons again, and that it won’t do anything except get me swatted with a giant tail.

I could, except that you were responsible. I felt you channeling power and throwing it at her in a mental attack. It’s impressive that it got through, because dragons can shield their minds the same way they shield their bodies. It’s possible she wasn’t expecting such an attack, so wasn’t spending a lot of energy on her mental shields, but even so… getting through to a dragon’s mind is not something Sardelle or I have ever managed. Of course, her specialty is healing, and mine is attacking with raw power. I always loved fire, mind you. Neither of us are mind experts. It’s possible another type of sorcerer might have better luck with mental attacks on dragons. Like you, I suppose.

I’m not a sorcerer, Trip protested. And certainly not a mind expert.

No, it seems you’re not an expert on anything except pushing the stick around in your flier. It’s clear that you need training.

Sardelle must have finished her conversation with Zirkander, for she looked down at Trip.

“Ma’am, your sword is insulting me,” he said.

“That’s one of her special gifts,” Zirkander said, then patted Trip’s shin. “Whatever you did out there, Captain, we appreciate it. Let’s hope you can figure out what it was so you can do it again.”

“I… I’ll try, sir.”

“Good. I’m glad you made it out alive.” The faint smile that had been on his lips faded. “Not everybody did. We lost four pilots. And the city…” He looked helplessly at Sardelle. “I think the emergency responders will be replaceing bodies for days, and it’ll be a while before we get the final count.”

Zirkander looked up at the ceiling and blinked a few times. Moisture glinted in his eyes.

When Trip had dreamed of meeting the man, he’d never imagined a scenario like this. “Which pilots, sir?”

He regretted not taking the time to trade a few barbs with Leftie before going up, just in case…

Sardelle shifted her hand to his shoulder, and warmth ran up and down Trip’s spine, almost a buzz of sensation. It was a little uncomfortable, but he could feel the healing magic doing its work.

“Hopper, Dreams, Weasel, and Frog,” Zirkander said. “Some other serious injuries. Crash and Pimples are down there.” He waved toward the end of the infirmary. “Sardelle’s been going from worst to least worst. Apparently, my whiplash puts me toward the bottom. It’s heartening that I’ll at least get taken care of before Blazer’s hangnail.”

Trip knew it was wrong to feel relieved that nobody he knew was among the dead, but he couldn’t help it.

“Do you know if Leftie’s all right, sir?” He wanted to ask about Ravenwood, too, but since she was in another unit, he doubted Zirkander would know.

“He’s fine.”

“Is my flier…” Trip suspected he knew the answer, but he had a hard time imagining the only craft he’d had for the last two years, one he’d thought of as his, being destroyed. Maybe it had washed up on the beach, and it was possible it could be rebuilt.

“Sorry, Captain. It sank. In pieces. If the power crystal were still working, we’d haul it up to at least retrieve that, but Jaxi said it burned out.”

It was Trip’s turn to blink rapidly, trying to keep tears from forming. He knew it was stupid to get more emotional about a machine than about people’s lives, but he’d been through so much with that flier in the last two years. And he felt like a failure for having wrecked it.

“You really pissed off that dragon,” Zirkander added, probably understanding perfectly and trying to take his mind off it.

“Someone had to, sir. You firing up her nose wasn’t as effective as you’d think.”

“No kidding. Who knew dragons had armored nostrils?”

Sardelle cleared her throat. “I am trying to concentrate here.”

“All right, I’ll leave in a minute. Just a couple more things.” Zirkander stood, rested a hand on Sardelle’s back, and eased past her to crouch at Trip’s shoulder. Speaking softly, he said, “Right now, I’m getting the credit for slaying the dragon, on account of the grenade thrown down her throat. It’s hard to change stories once they get started, no matter what the truth is, but I can try if you want credit for getting her defenses down. Sardelle thinks you won’t want anyone to know because then they’d know… too much.” He arched his eyebrows. “But I wanted to check with you. I’m alarmingly accustomed to getting credit for things, whether I was the reason for the success or not, and when I’m not, it never sits well with me, but…” He lifted an open hand, palm upward.

Trip closed his eyes, thinking of his mother’s death, and he almost teared up again. Maybe if she’d lived over here in the capital, things could have been different. People seemed more accepting here. Or maybe that was a select group of people who worked with Zirkander and Sardelle. But Sardelle was healing everyone here, and nobody was complaining.

But being a healer was different from… whatever he was. Or could be with the training Jaxi had mentioned. Training he didn’t particularly want. He just wanted to fly, damn it. That’s all he’d ever wanted.

“My mother was hanged for being a witch,” he whispered, looking at the ceiling instead of Zirkander. “Even though she wasn’t one. I don’t know what I am, but I don’t want anyone else to know, either. I don’t want to be considered odd. I just want to be normal. And to become a great pilot.”

If he was honest with himself, he knew he wanted to be a hero, not normal. To save people and to be recognized for saving them, but not with some weird mental power he didn’t understand. By legitimate means. With a flier and bullets. He wanted to be like Zirkander, and as far as Trip knew, the general didn’t have any dragon blood helping him with his feats.

Not a drop, Jaxi told him amiably. However, I’m not sure anyone thinks he’s normal.

“Give it time.” Zirkander patted his shoulder. “You’re already off to a better start than I was.”

“Really?” Trip asked, though he expected Zirkander was just trying to make him feel better.

“Ask him what his first nickname was,” Sardelle murmured, her eyes closed.

Zirkander swatted her arm. “I thought you were busy healing.”

“I told you, it’s hard to concentrate with all this chatter.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll leave in a second. Right after this.” Zirkander unbuttoned one of his uniform pockets and extracted a couple of small items. He held them up so Trip could see.

A wolf-head pin that would identify him as a part of Wolf Squadron and captain’s rank tabs. Emotion welled in Trip’s throat, and he couldn’t say anything.

“Not an official ceremony, but I’m not sure when things will calm down enough for that.” Zirkander plucked Trip’s uniform jacket off the bed post, brushed sand and dried seaweed off the front, and fastened the accouterments.

“Thank you, sir,” Trip whispered.

Zirkander gave him a grave salute and stood up. He turned toward Sardelle, whispered something that sounded like a thank-you for taking care of his people, and kissed her on the top of the head before he walked off, rubbing the back of his neck.

After a few quiet minutes, Sardelle opened her eyes. “I’ve done what I can. Your body will have to heal the rest.”

“Will I still be able to go on our mission?” Trip glanced toward the window. The plan had been to leave this morning, before dawn. He assumed the dragon attack had delayed that, but what if the team had been sent without him?

“I think so. Your body appears to have good regenerative capabilities. I want you to rest for today and tonight, but I believe that mission won’t be delayed more than a day since it’s of paramount importance. More so now than ever. I don’t know if you were conscious for the warning, but the male gold dragon said we only have three days until he comes back, and then we have to decide to surrender. Or else.” Her lips thinned.

“He’ll destroy the city?”

“That’s what he said. At least Cas and Tolemek and the others are back now, and they have Kasandral. That’ll give us a fighting chance. Ridge and his pilots are fully capable of some impressive aerial acrobatics to get close enough to a dragon to drop that sword on it.”

“I have no doubt.” Trip knew he shouldn’t be envious that others would be able to stay here and fight dragons and protect the city, not when he had his own mission to go on. But he’d liked working with Zirkander. And what if he and the others went off for a week or a month and returned to replace the capital destroyed with all the inhabitants dead or enslaved? What if, by the time they found that portal, all of Iskandia was like that? He thought bleakly of his grandparents and their weekend dinners, and imagined never seeing them again.

“You’ll do fine.” Sardelle stood up. “And we will too.”

Zirkander had left the soulblade at the foot of the bed, for Sardelle, Trip had thought, but she left it and walked to another bed in the infirmary.

Sorry, you’re stuck with me, Jaxi informed him.

Isn’t it the other way around? Trip imagined the soulblade would prefer to stay with her owner.

Handler, Jaxi corrected. Nobody owns a soulblade. As to the rest, I enjoy traveling. Just promise you won’t leave me in a boring barracks room while you go off to have adventures. That was almost as tedious as babysitting.

I apologize, ma’am.

Jaxi.

Yes, ma’am. Jaxi, ma’am.

Breyatah’s Breath, it’s going to be like skinning a dragon to train you, isn’t it?

My former commander certainly thought so.

Heartening.