 
# Dragon Storm

### Heritage of Power, Book 1

## Lindsay Buroker

### Contents

Copyright

Foreword

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Epilogue
Copyright © 2017 by Lindsay Buroker

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

# Foreword

A couple of years ago, when I wrote _Soulblade_ , the seventh book in my Dragon Blood series, I wasn't sure if it was the end, but I'd left everybody in a fairly good place. The Cofah emperor was squirreled away in exile somewhere. There weren't any angry dragons on the horizon. Cas and Tolemek were moving in to an apartment together. Kaika was helping the king to broaden his horizons. Ridge had his memory back, and he and Sardelle were back together. They even had a _fabulous_ new couch. At least according to the plucky group of officers that arranged for its creation.

What more was there to write? Then one of my beta readers suggested that Colonel Therrik, an antagonistic ass of a character who was meant to be a red shirt and get killed off in Book 3, should find romance and learn to chill a little. Thus, _Shattered Past_ was written.

After that, I wandered off to write some science fiction, but after about a year of that, I found myself missing the Dragon Blood world. Podium Publishing had finished producing the audiobooks for those seven core novels, and, on a whim, I decided to listen to one. And then the next. And then the rest of them. Before I got to the end, I realized how much I'd enjoyed spending time with the characters, and I started thinking about jumping back to fantasy and the Dragon Blood world.

I immediately thought of writing a wedding book, an eighth installment with the core characters. That's actually in the works right now. But I also thought that I should try something with new heroes, too, since nobody who was unfamiliar with the series would consider jumping in at Book 8. I wanted to be able to create another Book 1 (especially since _Balanced on the Blade's Edge_ was never intended to lead into a series and doesn't feel much like a Book 1 of 8, 9, 10, or whatever I end up getting to), another spot where new readers could conceivably jump into this world.

Whether you're a new reader or you've read all the Dragon Blood books, I hope you'll enjoy coming into this world for these new adventures. Before you head into the story, please let me thank my beta readers, Cindy Wilkinson, Rue Silver, and Sarah Engelke for giving early feedback, and my editor, Shelley Holloway, for taking her red pen to the manuscript to improve it. I hope you have fun with Heritage of Power!

# 1

Trip reveled in the cool wind rushing past his face. He was tempted to tear off his cap and goggles, and let the salty air wash over all of his senses. Probably not wise, since the one time he'd flown without them, he'd streamed tears enough to thoroughly wash his scarf, and a small bug had spent two days lodged in the corner of his eye.

He settled for tilting the flight stick and sending his dragon flier into a spin and grinning like a boy. Even after two years as a pilot, the sensation of corkscrewing through the air, clouds and sea alternating positions above his head, never got old.

"Is there a problem with your flier, Lieutenant?" the dour, humorless, and dyspeptic Colonel Anchor asked.

In truth, Trip couldn't be sure about that last adjective, but it seemed as likely an explanation for the first two as any.

"No, sir." He straightened his craft to fly sedately next to the other seven fliers in the squadron. "I had an urge."

"Repress the next one." Amazing how Anchor's dourness came through so clearly over the small communication crystal embedded in the console.

Someone snickered. Leftie, most likely.

"This is a serious mission," the colonel added. "It's bad enough the pirate king was so brazen as to send his mindless thugs to attack our base at night and steal three of our new fliers..." Anchor issued a series of noises that either signified his extreme disgruntlement or lent evidence to support Trip's theory of dyspepsia. Perhaps both. "It's completely unacceptable."

"Yes, sir," Trip said.

"Fliers spotted ahead, sir," Hawkeye blurted. "I think they're ours!"

"Max speed," the colonel said. "We'll teach those thieving pirates."

"Are we shooting at our own craft?" someone asked.

"We'll surround them and force them to land," Anchor said. "If it becomes absolutely necessary to shoot, aim for the pilots instead of the fliers." He growled and added, "If Neaminor is one of the pilots, _make_ it necessary to shoot."

Trip did not know if he would recognize Neaminor, the infamous pirate king, if he saw him, but he trusted the colonel would point him out. They'd been enemies for ten years or more.

"Won't shooting the pilots _cause_ the fliers to crash, sir?" Leftie asked.

A valid point. And if the fliers went down out here, over the water, the squadron would be lucky if they were able to retrieve the power crystals before the craft sank.

"As I said, we'll attempt to force them to land," Anchor said.

Trip had his doubts, but as a lieutenant, he didn't have the right to question the colonel. Especially as a lieutenant who'd just been reprimanded for urges.

He looked to his right, to where Leftie flew, the morning sun gleaming off the bronze hull of his craft and his goggles. It was hard to read expressions when they were bundled up against the cold and wind, but he tried to catch Leftie's eye, to imply _he_ should question the colonel further. He was a lieutenant, too, but his charisma seemed to work almost as well on superior officers as it did on women.

Leftie merely made the thumb-to-fingers circle indicating readiness or that all was well. "Glad we caught up to them so quickly. We'll take 'em out and be home by lunch. I've got a hookball game tonight and a victory date with a pretty lady."

Though Trip had greater concerns, he asked, "How do you know it'll be a _victory_ date when the game hasn't even started yet?"

"Because I'm playing."

"Was this pretty lady attracted by your extreme modesty?"

"By my sparkling blue eyes and infectious laugh, I believe," Leftie said, and Trip couldn't help but briefly lament that his black hair and bronze skin made him look more like a Cofah than an Iskandian. Perhaps because the Cofah Empire had been trying to conquer Iskandia for centuries, the resemblance didn't help him attract women. He'd been told his dark green eyes were striking—by his grandmother, if no one else—but they weren't common in Iskandia, and didn't help him fit in. "Also by my glamorous job," Leftie added, wobbling the double wings on his flier.

"Glamorous?" someone chimed in. "Yesterday, I had to clean that diplomat's vomit out of the back of my flier."

"That'll teach you to say you're good at piloting a two-seater. And to make sure luck is on your side before missions." Over in his flier, Leftie brought his miniature gold hookball to his lips. He insisted on calling it a lucky charm rather than acknowledging it was a keychain.

"Not everybody gets excited about kissing balls."

"Enough chatter," Colonel Anchor said, his voice icy as it cut through the banter. "We're almost within firing range."

Reluctantly, Trip kept his concerns about crashed fliers to himself. Maybe the colonel was right, and they could force the pirates to turn toward the coast to land. With luck, those pirates wouldn't have much experience, at least not the intense training everyone in Cougar Squadron had endured.

They were close enough now to see the pirates glancing nervously behind them. Trip was surprised by how quickly his squadron had caught up. But as he had the thought, the pirates sped up.

As the fliers tore up the coastline, the squadron not quite able to close to firing range, Trip started to suspect a setup. Those three craft had been stolen in the middle of the night. Nobody had expected to catch up with them so quickly, or even to find them. And yet, here they were, barely fifty miles north of Charkolt.

Trip looked at the coastline, toward the houses perched in the high grasses above the water. The pirate king's lackeys had been bold of late, taking advantage of the frequent dragon attacks in western Iskandia, attacks that had prompted the air battalion commander, General Zirkander, to call fliers and pilots over from other posts to help. Right now, Cougar Squadron was the only one left stationed on the East Coast. And the pirates knew it.

Smoke drifted upward from Oredale, a little town a mile inland and up a gorge. More smoke than usual? The terrain hid the buildings from view, but Trip had flown up and down this coast a hundred times and knew the town held a refinery, one with a big chimney that always spat smoke. His intuition, however, tingled. Even though his eyes detected nothing, his sixth sense told him something was wrong.

"I'm going to check on Oredale real quick," he said, hoping that if he stated it instead of asking for permission, permission he knew wouldn't be granted, he would be in less trouble later.

"You're _what_?" Anchor blurted before Trip had done more than turn the nose of his flier.

"I have a hunch those three are intended to be a distraction. If I'm wrong, it won't take me long to check. I'll be back to help with the action." Trip sped inland, the wind battering at his wings.

"You'll be _back_?" Anchor roared. "You don't have permission to _go_. This isn't the time for you to live up to your name, Lieutenant _Sidetrip_. Get your ass back into formation now."

The anger in the colonel's voice chilled Trip and almost made him falter. He'd been reprimanded before for taking off on hunches, but he was usually _right_ , damn it. He'd saved people's lives by disobeying orders, and the sixth sense niggling at the back of his mind assured him that it was worth a reprimand this time too.

But what if it turned into _more_ than a reprimand? What if he was court-martialed? Or kicked out of the flier battalion? He couldn't imagine not having access to a flier, to the sky. This was all he'd wanted to do since he'd been a little boy. The sky had called to him like nothing else ever had. If he couldn't fly, he had no idea what he would do with his life.

Hoping he wouldn't regret it, Trip took a deep breath and said, "I'll call if I need backup."

"Lieutenant Sidetrip," Anchor growled. "If you—"

Leftie interrupted before the colonel could deliver whatever threat was on his lips. "Sir, Trip's hunches are always right. We've got enough men left to handle those thieves."

Trip appreciated his friend watching out for him, as he'd done since they'd been at the university together, but he winced at the vocal reminder to everyone that his "hunches" were always right. In a land where magic was feared, and displaying any extraordinary skill could cause one to be accused of it, it wasn't wise to remind people of one's eccentricities. Trip had only to remember being eight years old and watching his mother being hanged for "witchery" to understand that fully.

He'd heard that things had changed somewhat over in the capital, and the rumors said that General Zirkander had married a witch, but Cougar Squadron was a long ways from the capital. Who knew if there was even anything to those rumors?

Colonel Anchor cursed and growled under his breath. He didn't sound like he agreed with Leftie's words.

Trip looked over his shoulder toward the squadron, the bronze dragon-inspired fliers already growing small as they continued up the coast, and he focused on the back of the colonel's head. He silently willed the man to agree, or at least to drop the subject and concentrate on capturing those pirates.

To his surprise, Anchor said, "Fine. You go with him, Leftie. Keep an eye on him and drag him back as soon as you verify that there's nothing over there."

"Yes, sir," Leftie said, sounding as surprised as Trip.

"Don't take forever or go far," Anchor added. "We've only got a fifty-mile range on the comm crystals, and I don't want you twits too far away to report in."

"Yes, sir," Trip and Leftie said together.

It always boggled Trip's mind that nobody seemed to realize that the communication crystals and also the energy crystals that powered the fliers had been made with magic. _Somebody_ , of course, realized it, but he had no idea where the flier factory was or who had been in charge of inventing them in the first place. He did know that fliers were rare in the rest of the world—until recently, the Cofah Empire had only had dirigibles for air travel—which meant the witches that _made_ the crystals were likely here in Iskandia. Not being hanged.

If only the rest of the country would realize that magic could be useful and not all magic-users were evil.

Trip headed up the gorge and tried to push the problem to the back of his mind. As always, it resisted. He lived with the fear of being discovered as someone... not quite normal. His grandparents, who'd raised him after his mother had been executed— _murdered_ —had moved often when he'd been a boy, whenever people noticed that weird things sometimes happened when he was around. As he'd grown older, he'd mostly learned to control whatever peculiarities in his blood caused that, and he hadn't drawn too much attention to himself at Charkolt University or the flier academy. But there had been a couple of times recently...

"If this side trip makes me late for my game," Leftie said, arrowing down the gorge to fly right behind him, "I'm not going to introduce you to the pretty lady's twin sister."

"Was there a point at which you were ever intending to do that?" Trip asked, glad for the distraction.

He eyed the smoke up ahead. Was it thicker than it had been earlier?

"Of course. The seven gods know you can't get a woman on your own. Though I'm not sure why. You're not _that_ homely."

"Thanks for the ego-stroking."

Trip didn't explain that his fear of getting close to anyone tied in with his other fears. During his first time having sex with a woman, he'd somehow caused a vase on the bedside table to shatter. After they'd both recovered from the shock, she'd laughed and said he must have been enjoying himself if he'd knocked it off with an arm. But he'd known he hadn't touched it. Maybe she had too. She had avoided him after that.

As his flier rounded a bend in the gorge, he sucked in a startled breath, his fingers tightening around the flight stick. Even though he'd expected trouble, he _hadn't_ expected what lay ahead.

A black dirigible flew low over Oredale, dropping explosives onto buildings. It was an older Cofah model that had been painted black with a white sword-and-skull emblem on the hull marking it as property of the pirate king.

Similar to a wooden sailing ship in the air, the dirigible had an open deck and a long oval, gas-filled envelope above. Helium, most likely. The Cofah had stopped using hydrogen after losing numerous vessels to Iskandian fliers armed with incendiary bullets and explosives, and he doubted the pirates would have changed that. Bringing the vessel down wouldn't be easy.

But that needed to be done. Several structures had been destroyed, streets turned into giant potholes, and dozens of roofs burned. Though he didn't try to, Trip sensed the emotions of the hundreds of residents, their fear and anger and helplessness, and he couldn't help but think that Oredale was similar to the small coastal town that his grandparents lived in.

A boom echoed up and down the gorge. Trip couldn't believe the squadron hadn't heard the explosives out over the coast, but the wind, the pounding of their propellers, and the roar of the ocean drowned out much.

"Shit," Leftie said. "Colonel, we've got a serious attack happening here in Oredale. Need backup. I repeat, need backup."

Trip clenched his teeth and arrowed toward the dirigible, a finger resting on the trigger for the twin machine guns mounted to the front of his flier. He didn't see any other enemy aircraft in the sky, but dozens of men stood on the deck of the craft, all with rifles in hand and cutlasses at their waists. Some of those would be sniper rifles, capable of hitting him at a long distance. He kept that in mind, but didn't let it deter him. That dirigible was going down.

"Let's go in from above," Leftie said. "Keep that big, fluffy balloon between them and us while shooting some holes in it."

"Do it," Trip told him, as he dove down toward the river.

Leftie's suggestion was safest for them, but Trip knew from experience that they could put a hundred bullet holes in the huge envelope of a dirigible without causing it to crash. They either had to find a way to blow up the boiler within its engine room or shoot enough important people on the deck and in the wheelhouse that the pirates would flee.

"I was imagining it as a group thing," Leftie said dryly as he went high and Trip went low. "Us flying around like mosquitoes, distracting them and keeping them from lobbing more explosives, until the cavalry arrives."

Trip didn't answer. He focused on the men on the deck, the men aiming rifles at him. He tried to pick out a couple of officers before they started firing, something that was challenging since pirates didn't wear uniforms.

Once they opened fire, evasive maneuvers took most of his concentration. He swooped left and right and up and down, occasionally corkscrewing to make himself a difficult target. All the while, he advanced on the ship, on the _deck_. He knew he would have enough clearance to fly between it and the balloon, if he could weave around the support struts attaching the two. He would _barely_ have enough clearance, but he could do it.

He was upside down as he made his final approach, rifles cracking from ahead of him, but that didn't matter. He sprayed machine gun fire, his aim barely affected by his flier's gyrations. He wasn't great at a lot of things, but _this_... this was what he'd been born to do, and exhilaration thrummed through his veins as he flew.

Numerous bullets slammed into the deck, but many hit their marks. Pirates fell under his relentless fire.

A part of him worried that he could delight in slaying human beings, even if they were proven enemies of Iskandia, but a deeper, more primitive part of him claimed that this was how it was meant to be. He was like some great predator chasing down his prey, reveling in the hunt.

He willed the pirates' bullets to zip past his flier instead of striking it—or him—though he knew that didn't truly have an effect. His mad gyrations were what made it difficult for them. Even so, a few of their bullets gouged the lightweight material of his wings. Fortunately, the flier's body was made of wood with a bronze veneer, and could take a few hits.

At least a dozen pirates lay on the deck, clutching their wounds, by the time Trip flew out on the far side. Rifle fire chased him, and he stayed low in the cockpit. He flew in a loop so he could come back around for another attack.

He longed to target the boiler he knew to be protected within the ship itself, but he would need explosives for that. His bullets wouldn't tear through the wood hull. Instead, he dove in for another strafing run.

The deck was significantly clearer this time, many of the pirates having taken refuge below. He caught a few stubborn ones crouching behind the railing and shooting at him, and he targeted those. A bullet struck the corner of his windshield, and a spider web of cracks sprang across it. He fired relentlessly, knowing they would get him if he didn't get them first.

He flew so close that he scared the two men into leaping over the railing and into the river below. Good. Two fewer pirates to deal with.

As he flew over the deck, his wings almost hitting the bottom of the envelope, he angled left to send as many bullets into the wheelhouse as possible. He might not be able to destroy the engine or the boiler from up here, but if he could damage the steering mechanism, that would be good enough.

More booms sounded, and Trip cursed. What pirates were able to throw explosives with him causing so much trouble for them?

He realized the noise had come from the town. Someone had gotten a cannon out and was lobbing balls at the dirigible.

Someone down there either had good aim or got lucky. One of those balls crashed through the rear hull of the ship and struck something important. Important and _flammable_.

As Trip ended his run and flew away from the ship, looping to engage in another one, an explosion erupted from within the craft. It blew a giant hole in the hull, and flames shot out of the side. He grinned viciously, wanting to hug whoever was manning that cannon down there.

In addition to damaging the hull, the flames from the explosion blew high enough to catch the envelope on fire. Trip spotted Leftie flying up there, cheerfully riddling it full of holes. He suspected it was the flames rather than the bullets that did the serious damage, but either way, the dirigible listed sideways and drooped toward the river.

"The reinforcements are here," Leftie said.

Anchor and the rest of the squadron were flying up the gorge toward them, their paths surprisingly full of weaving and erratic flying. Trip spotted the reason why. The three pirates in the stolen fliers were behind them. Coming to help their comrades?

"Let's get those three," Trip said, arrowing toward the pursuers.

Perhaps seeing that the dirigible was out of commission and the town was safe for the moment, Anchor ordered everyone to join in. The entire squadron turned, catching the pirates by surprise—the pirates hadn't yet been close enough to see their downed allies.

As far as Trip knew, neither the Cofah nor the pirates that plagued the coast had an equivalent to Iskandian communication crystals, so they couldn't easily relay messages among their forces.

His squadron mates brought down two of the enemy fliers before Trip was close enough to help. Illogically, he felt a twinge of disappointment. He and Leftie had just taken down a dirigible, after all.

But the colonel hadn't _seen_ that. It was silly, but Trip wanted to be _seen_ defeating the enemy. Flying was wonderful, and he felt at home in the sky, but he also longed to have people treat him like a hero rather than an oddity. One day, he hoped to have the kind of reputation that General Zirkander had, one of being a famous protector of the country, loved wherever he went.

As Trip darted toward the third pirate flier, he glimpsed Colonel Anchor angling in from the opposite direction. Their eyes met briefly, Anchor as dyspeptic as ever behind his goggles. Reluctantly, Trip admitted that hero status would have to wait. For now, he would be happy to avoid serious reprimand—or worse—for flying off on his own.

He and Anchor fired together at the pirate who was trying to wheel away, to head back out to sea. Trip's bullet caught him in the shoulder. Anchor's took him in the head.

As the pirate slumped forward in death and the flier dipped toward the river, Trip hoped that wasn't some kind of metaphor for what the colonel would do to _him_ later.

"Hawkeye," Anchor said. "Get back to headquarters and report this. Oredale is going to need medical help. Everyone else, find a landing spot. We've got to capture those pirates and fish our fliers out of the river." Another stream of half-indecipherable curses followed the orders.

At least they were aimed toward "balls-licking, thieving pirates" this time. Maybe Trip would get lucky, and in the chaos of everything else, the colonel would forget that he'd disobeyed orders.

But Anchor flew beside him and glared over at him. "Lieutenant Sidetrip, you'll report to me in my office at the end of shift."

Trip sighed. "Yes, sir."

* * *

• • • • •

* * *

Trip took a deep breath and knocked on the pinewood door, the boards slightly warped after years of exposure to Charkolt's sea air. It was a light knock, a maybe-if-I-knock-quietly-he-won't-hear-it knock. But it received an answer, nonetheless.

"Get in here, Lieutenant," Anchor growled through the door.

Trip kept his chin up as he walked into the colonel's office, determined to simply say _yes, sir_ and accept his punishment calmly, without reacting at all. He wouldn't rail that he'd been right and that the town might have been lost if not for his hunch and his willingness to follow it. "I was right," was not an answer that superior officers ever wanted to hear.

His resolution to be calm and unflappable wavered as soon as he spotted a gray-haired officer standing to the right of the colonel's desk, flipping a gold pocket watch in one hand. General Nydran, the base commander.

Trip kept the panic off his face—he hoped—but his mind whirred as he reflexively saluted the two officers. What was Nydran doing here? The general had never been present for any of his previous reprimands. Trip had never even had a conversation with the man. He'd only saluted and said, "Good morning, sir," or "Good afternoon, sir" when he'd occasionally passed him on base.

Would the general be present if an officer was about to be discharged for disobeying orders? Did he have to personally sign the papers while Trip watched?

He closed his eyes and took another deep breath, fighting for control, fighting not to let the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes fully form. Officers didn't cry. Not even officers who'd dreamed of nothing else except flying for their entire lives.

"I object strongly to this, sir," Anchor said, looking at the general after a brief frown at Trip.

"Understandable," the general said, flipping his watch a few times as he spoke. "I'm not sure we should reward recklessness and a clear willingness to disobey orders."

They scoured him with their gazes, and Trip wanted to crawl under the desk. Or perhaps he could slip under the rug he was standing on and pull it over himself so they couldn't see him. Only the word _reward_ gave him some hope.

"He's _not_ ready for the responsibility," Anchor added. "He's just a kid."

"A kid who's brought down more pirates than anyone else on the east coast this year," Nydran said with a sigh. "You know talent and fearlessness can get you a long way in the flier unit." His lips curved into a wry smirk.

"I got my promotions by being dependable and responsible, sir," Anchor said, a touch stiffly.

"I do not question that, but surely, you've noticed that others who are slightly less responsible have been promoted over you."

Anchor turned his scowl on his desk.

Trip had no idea why he was being allowed to listen to this conversation, but he found it fascinating to see Anchor being spoken to so frankly.

"I'll speak no ill words of General Zirkander," Anchor said.

Nydran chuckled. "It amuses me that you knew exactly whom I was speaking about."

"I live to tickle your funny bone, sir."

"No doubt. Do you want to tell the boy, or shall I?"

Anchor shifted his scowl back to Trip. " _I_ object. If his orders didn't have him leaving in the morning, I would order him to be grounded for the next month. He could help the mechanics repair our reclaimed fliers. _After_ washing the silt and dead fish out of their engines."

"Leaving?" Trip whispered, the words sinking in. He had orders to a new duty station? Where? And _why_?

Oh, he'd known when he'd joined the military that he might be assigned to any of the bases in Iskandia that had flier squadrons, but he'd grown up here on the mostly rural east side of the country, gone to school in Charkolt, and attended the Eastern Flight Academy. His grandparents, his only close family, lived in the suburbs of the city now, and he visited them every weekend he was home, for Grandma's pie and salmon corn cakes.

He knew he should be excited, as there would be many more opportunities for him to gain national acclaim as a hero if he was based out of the capital, but already, homesickness threatened. His family was so small, and it wasn't as if he was good at making friends.

"You're being promoted to captain and transferred to Wolf Squadron in the capital," the general said.

Trip gaped at him.

Wolf Squadron was _legendary_. Not only were the pilots based in the capital, flying up and down the populous West Coast to protect the country, but they often did missions directly for the king. They had been one of the first two flier squadrons created more than fifty years earlier, and they'd collectively won more awards and been mentioned in more newspaper articles than any other. Zirkander himself had flown in that squadron, commanding it for years before his promotion to battalion commander and overseer of the flight academies.

Aware of the men staring at him, clearly expecting a reaction, Trip managed, "I don't know what to say, sir. Sirs."

The transfer by itself would have been a huge event in his life, but a promotion? Captain after only two years? That was startling. Very few pilots were promoted that young.

"Is this because of, uhm—" He waved toward the north, in the direction of Oredale. It had only been a few hours. Could the reports have gotten back to Headquarters that quickly?

"That in part, I'm sure," Anchor said, "but your record as a whole would have prompted the choice. I got the impression that Zirkander wants you for a mission. One where recklessness and wanton initiative may come in handy, I suppose." He lowered his voice to mutter to the general, "Though I can't imagine what kind of mission _that_ might be."

Nydran chuckled. "Will you be bitter if he's one day promoted over you?"

" _Extremely_ bitter. The kid's only twenty-four."

"You better retire soon then, so you're not here to see the day that he makes colonel. Or general."

Anchor's eyes narrowed. "Has anyone ever told you that you have a nasty streak, sir?"

"Yes, and one of the delights of being the highest-ranking man on the base is that I can indulge in it." He inclined his head toward Anchor and headed for the door.

He paused at Trip's shoulder, and his expression grew somber. "Be careful over there, _Captain_. After a thousand years without dragons in the world, several were unlocked from an ancient magical prison three years ago. The king and his allies befriended two of them, which was enough to keep the others from bothering Iskandia. But a few months ago, something changed. The two they befriended have disappeared, and more than thirty new ones have been identified harrying our country. Eating livestock, destroying villages, and slaying people. Thus far, they haven't attacked the metropolises, but it may only be a matter of time. Some have been spotted flying over the capital."

Trip didn't know what else to do but nod. He'd heard rumors of all this, and read reports in the newspapers, but somehow, it all seemed more real now that the general had confirmed it. And now that he was being sent to the capital.

"I'll do my best to fight them and protect Iskandia, sir," Trip said.

"I'm sure you will." Nydran patted his shoulder. "Good luck."

"He'll need it," Anchor grumbled, looking toward the sky beyond his window.

Thick, dark clouds were gathering over the ocean. Trip hoped that wasn't a sign of ill portent.

# 2

"Is _she_ still here?" one of the privates muttered.

"Thought she'd wash out after the first week."

"The first _day_."

All six of the men in the group sniggered as Lieutenant Rysha Ravenwood approached. It didn't matter that they were all enlisted men and she was an officer. Here, training for acceptance into the elite troops, ranks were set aside, and everyone was simply referred to as recruit. Or _rookie_ if the instructors were being condescending. Which was most of the time.

"She must be sleeping with one of the instructors," the private whispered.

"Who? Captain Kaika?"

More snickers.

"Nah, Kaika only sleeps with the king these days, I hear."

None of the mutters or whispers were soft or subtle, and they floated across the muddy obstacle course to Rysha's ears. She pushed her spectacles higher on her nose—a nervous and unnecessary habit, since she had them secured with a strap—and debated whether to pretend not to hear the words or to say something clever in response. The trouble was that she was much more likely to be clever in a five-paragraph essay than on the spur of the moment.

"I told you mule humpers to _run_ the obstacle course, not have tea beside it," came a call from across the muddy field.

Captain Kaika, the first and thus far only woman to be accepted into the army's elite troops, strode toward them, scowling impressively. Unlike with the other instructors, the scowl never reached her eyes. She always seemed more amused by the recruits than irritated by them, though she could get denigrating and snippy with the best of them.

Rysha stood to her full six feet as the captain approached, the auburn-haired woman having a rangy, athletic form similar in build to her own. Unfortunately, that was where the similarities ended. Kaika was ten years her senior and had even more years than that of military experience. Most of them in the elite troops.

It was all Rysha could do not to burble and gaze in starry-eyed wonder whenever the captain approached, for here was someone who'd done everything Rysha wished to do, making a name for herself while going on dangerous missions to distant lands and earning the respect of her male comrades. She also had the respect of her superiors, as well as the king himself. Other things from the king, too, if the rumors were to be believed. Rysha didn't hope to emulate _that_ part of Kaika's career.

"Let's go," Kaika shouted, pointing at two of the privates. "The timekeeper is ready. Get over that wall, under those logs, and through the rest of the course as quickly as possible. Sergeant Branigan is waiting for you at the end, ready and eager to play the role of Cofah infiltrator."

She pointed at the man at the far end of the field, a beefy veteran as broad as he was tall. He waved a cheerful fist.

Eager, indeed.

Nobody objected to his role as "Cofah infiltrator," even though Iskandia had officially had a ceasefire with the empire for the last three years, ever since a team of soldiers had captured their emperor, and King Angulus had squirreled him away into exile somewhere.

"Ravenwood," Kaika said, waving to her before Rysha could shuffle to the end of the line.

Rysha jogged toward her, tamping down a surge of delight that the captain knew her _name_. Kaika wasn't a full-time instructor at the training camp. She came in and worked with the recruits for a week here and there between her regular assignments, spy missions that took her all over the world. Rysha nearly swooned at the idea of going on such adventures.

"Yes, ma'am?" she asked, clicking her heels together and delivering a salute.

"You need those spectacles all the time?" Kaika asked without preamble.

Rysha covered a wince. Nobody had commented on them when she'd simply been enrolling in the army as an artillery soldier, but this was the third time one of the elite troops instructors had asked about them. It wasn't as if they kept her from doing the same training everyone else was doing, and she had extra sets in case she broke a pair. She thought she would make a wonderful spy if she passed the course. What enemy soldier would expect a bespectacled woman playing the role of traveling professor to, in reality, be a spy from the Iskandian army? And the gods knew, she could play the role of professor easily enough.

"Only if it's important that the world not be fuzzy, ma'am," Rysha said.

"So, that's a yes?"

"Yes, ma'am. I can read without them." Which Rysha had always thought seemed backward. She was fairly certain all those years of _reading_ growing up were the reason her vision had gotten bad. Shouldn't close-up words be fuzzy instead of objects in the distance? Her father's vision worked like that.

"Reading. You planning to do a lot of _reading_ in the elite troops?" Kaika snapped her fingers and pointed, and another pair of men raced over the wall and onto the course.

Most of the men were helping each other over. Would Rysha's partner help her? Was it possible she could jump to the top of the ten-foot wall and pull herself over _without_ help? Despite coming from a bookish family, she'd loved sports all her life and done well at them, and she had height on her side. She _might_ be able to make it.

"Is there not scintillating reading material to enjoy on missions, ma'am?" Rysha asked, sensing Kaika might be one of the few instructors to appreciate a recruit with a sense of humor rather than one that spat monotone _yes, sirs_ and _yes, ma'ams_. Or maybe she just _wanted_ that. She wanted to be the captain's colleague and friend, not simply one of the dozens of recruits in the spring class, someone easily forgotten.

"Scintillating? I don't know. How do you feel about porn and comic books?"

"Uhm, I guess it depends on plots and character development."

The look Kaika gave her was more puzzled than amused.

"Those being more common in the latter than the former, I understand," Rysha offered.

"Uh huh. Your turn." Kaika pointed at the wall. "Let's see if you can keep those beer bottle bottoms on your face."

Rysha's cheeks warmed as the remaining recruit snickered, a corporal who'd been snickering earlier too. And also, she realized, her partner for the obstacle course. She supposed it wouldn't be professional to ask for someone else.

Kaika had turned away, anyway, exchanging waves with a man in black fatigues and a brown leather jacket. He walked onto the field from the opposite end, and she strode in that direction.

"Our times are getting recorded this run," the corporal said as Rysha stepped up to the starting line next to him. "If you slow me down, I'll have my father do everything in his power to get you kicked out of the program."

Rysha launched a bewildered look at him, wondering what she'd done to earn his rancor. They'd only spoken a few times during their first week. She knew some of the men strongly felt that women didn't belong here, but they didn't make threats about it. From what she'd heard, it was hardly necessary. The handful of women who tried out for the program each spring never made it out of the training. The elite troops had their own physical performance requirements, ones much higher than the army as a whole, and there were no concessions made for women. They had to pass all the same tests that the men did.

"Who's your father?" Rysha asked, forgetting that nobody wore uniforms with nametags during the training and glancing at his chest. The mud-spattered fatigue jacket offered no hints to his identity.

"Lord Oakridge," he said, lifting his chin.

A noble? So, what? Rysha was one too. In the not-so-distant past, _all_ military officers had come out of the nobility. The army supposedly turned a blind eye to bloodlines now, promoting people based on merit and whether they'd passed various educational courses, but there were still plenty of nobles in the service. Why did this fool think he was special?

And why had he come in as an enlisted soldier, for that matter? Had he gotten kicked out of the officer academy? Or chosen this path because he thought it was harder and he would come out tougher?

"Oakridge?" Rysha offered her best haughty sniff. Actually, it was Aunt Tadelay's best haughty sniff. For her, it wasn't a joke or an affect. "From that tiny district in the south? Isn't half of your land a desert?"

His smug expression turned to a glower. "More land than _your_ family has, I bet."

"You'd be wise not to take that bet." Rysha faced the wall, indicating she was ready to focus on the course and stop talking to him, even though she knew he now had to be wondering who in the hells she was.

Not that throwing her parents' titles around here would do any good. They certainly wouldn't use their influence to help her get into the elite troops. Her mother and father would be absolutely delighted if she bombed out of this and was so dejected that she turned in her commission and left the army, returning to the worthwhile and respectable field of academia. Only Grandmother Adee approved of her temerity and sent weekly letters, encouraging her to stick with it.

"Ready?" the bored sergeant responsible for timing the run asked.

"Yes," the corporal said, pulling his suspicious glower from her.

Rysha crouched, ready to spring into action. "Ready."

"Go!"

She sprinted for the wall, matching the corporal's pace. Their boots sank deep into the mud and churned it out behind them, but they both made the obstacle in good time. He leaped, caught the lip, flung a leg up, and disappeared over the top.

Bastard. He hadn't even paused to see if she needed help. Since, as he'd just acknowledged, they had to finish the course together, demonstrating their ability to work as a team, it was illogical for him to leave her behind.

She growled and sprang into the air, determined that she wouldn't need him. Her fingers _just_ caught the top as her chest smashed against the wall and her breath whooshed out.

She'd hoped to bring a bunch of momentum into the jump to help her over, but she hadn't gotten as good of a grip as she needed. All her body weight dangled from the tips of her fingers. As much as she wanted to duplicate the corporal's feat, she wasn't strong enough to hold herself up like that for long. She wiggled and tried to hitch her way higher on the wall, despite its lack of handholds. That did no good. She tried swinging from side to side like a pendulum, creating momentum so she might hook one leg over the top.

That was more effective. Her forearms trembled, and her fingers threatened to give way, but she managed to heave herself sideways, half-twisting in the air to fling a leg over the wall. Her right hand slipped, and her heart lurched into her throat as she envisioned dangling there from one calf. But she kept her other hand affixed, growled, and pulled herself to the top.

Straddling the wall, she allowed herself one breath and a quick look down to gauge her so-called partner's progress before swinging herself down the other side. He was mired in the mud under the log course, struggling to get his big form through it. Good.

As Rysha hopped down, she noticed Kaika, who was now talking to the man in uniform on the far side of the field, looking in her direction.

Rysha grimaced, proud that she had gotten over by herself, but also aware that hadn't been her most graceful moment. Hopefully, the wall had hidden her struggles from view.

She sprinted for the logs, diving under them to low-crawl through the mud. Spring in the capital was typically wet and rainy, much like fall, winter, and half of summer, and this year was no exception. The mud sucked and pulled at her, spattering her glasses and filling her nostrils with its earthy scent. Her visions of catching the corporal were dashed, though she _did_ gain ground on him.

By the time she got out, he was only a third of the way through the jumps-and-ropes section of the course. This part, she did easily, balance and agility more important than raw strength.

He fell off one of the three-inch-wide platforms and had to start over. She didn't bother hiding a triumphant grin as she passed him. After her struggle with the wall, she doubted they would make the cut-off time, but at least she would reach the end before _he_ did.

She jumped down on the far side and jogged toward the "Cofah infiltrator." She would have sprinted, but there was no point in getting there without her partner. They were both supposed to fight him. Against many opponents, having two men to one would be an advantage, but the sergeant grinned and raised his fists, not appearing disadvantaged in the least.

The two previous recruits were crawling away from him, their heads low. Blood streamed from one's nose and spattered into the mud.

"Let me lead," the corporal growled, panting as he drew even with her. He shot her a dirty look as he passed.

"I'll gladly let you take the first punch."

He ran toward the sergeant without looking back. Rysha rolled her eyes. Technically, she only had to find a way past the man. They didn't have to engage with him.

Rysha jogged after the corporal, hoping to find a way to take advantage while he distracted the sergeant. That was how a lot of teams did it, one member trying to take down the Cofah infiltrator while the other made it through. It wasn't ideal, but it was considered a better outcome than both being pummeled into the ground.

She would be content with that outcome. Rysha had boxed with her brothers growing up, and done all the hand-to-hand combat courses for her basic army training, but she had no doubt the scarred elite troops sergeant could fight at a higher level.

The corporal launched himself at the man, clearly hoping to take him by surprise. As if that was possible in this scenario. Still, he made a valiant effort, throwing a series of jabs and straight punches.

The corporal wasn't slow, but the sergeant's arms moved fluidly, blocking the attacks with whip-like speed. And he looked bored while he did it.

Rysha started to circle around them to get past while they fought, but the sergeant stopped playing and launched a single punch, a single punch with the power of a steam hammer. The corporal flew backward, his feet leaving the earth. He landed on his back in the mud and didn't move.

The sergeant turned toward her, his eyebrows raised.

"Do you like women in spectacles?" she asked, throwing in a Cofah accent for good measure and giving her best flirty smile.

She couldn't imagine it being effective when she was wearing shapeless black military fatigues covered with half the mud on the course. When surprise blossomed on the sergeant's face, she suspected it had more to do with her audacity than anything else.

But he recovered and raised his fists. "No."

"What about wagers?" she offered, searching her mind for inspiration. With her partner out of the fight—and out _cold_ , it appeared—she highly doubted she could best the sergeant in a fight. "Or, better yet, trivia. Did you know that it takes 1700 pounds per square inch to break a human femur bone? Far less for the nose. I've read it only takes about ten pounds of pressure. The nose is mostly cartilage. Did you hit the corporal there in the nose? There _are_ a couple of bones there, at the top. The nasal bones form the bridge of the nose. Did you know that punches to the nose and other parts of the skull can cause brain damage or even kill a person? You've heard of concussions, right? If you gave me a concussion, it could have a permanent and negative effect on my brain and hinder my ability to perform everything from simple daily tasks to complex equations. I would be a much poorer officer. I might not be able to perform my duties at all, and all the time and money the army has invested in my training would be lost." She looked at his fist. _He_ was looking at his fist. "Do _you_ want to be responsible for that?"

She'd edged closer as she spoke, having a notion that she might break into a sprint and make it past him while he was pondering the devastation his fists could do.

"I've had a _lot_ of concussions," he said instead, looking at her with a concerned expression.

How surprising.

"Sometimes, I don't remember things so good anymore," he added.

Rysha nodded sagely. "The effects of brain trauma aren't always noticed at first, but injuries _can_ have a cumulative effect and grow worse over time. Symptoms include difficulty concentrating, difficulty making decisions, _and_ forgetfulness."

He looked away from the field, toward the distant Ice Blades Mountains. Rysha opted for easing past him, rather than sprinting. Seemingly lost in thought, he didn't lunge for her. He could have likely caught her without punching her, but she didn't point that out.

As soon as she was a few meters past him, she sprinted toward the end of the course. The time was probably irrelevant at this point, but she might as well finish as strongly as she could. If nothing else, this had been practice for the next time she ran the course. They had three chances to qualify during their weeks of training.

"Sergeant _Branigan_!" Kaika yelled, her arms outspread in exasperation.

Rysha winced, knowing the captain had seen their exchange, but she didn't look back. She picked up her pace and lunged across the finish line.

"What the hells was that?" Kaika added as Rysha dropped her hands to her knees for support while she caught her breath.

"Sorry, ma'am," the sergeant yelled back. "She started talking about brains and concussions and _symptoms_. I couldn't hit her after all that."

"You don't have to _hit_ people. Just stop them."

"But I like hitting." Branigan looked at the unconscious corporal. "I mean, I did."

Kaika dropped her face into her hand.

Rysha hoped she hadn't ruined one of the elite troops' best fighters. With luck, he wouldn't care if he was giving _enemies_ concussions.

A snort came from the side, the timekeeper. "Four minutes and twenty-nine seconds," he said.

The time required to pass was four minutes and thirty seconds. Rysha offered him a lopsided smile. She felt proud that she'd made it, but she had a feeling her method of bypassing the final challenge would disqualify her. If she'd wanted a unit that would reward creativity, it would have been the aviation or intelligence divisions. Intelligence officers went on spy missions too. But there were already plenty of women serving in those units. She'd wanted a challenge.

"Lieutenant Ravenwood," Kaika called. "Report."

Rysha straightened. "You think I'm in trouble?" she asked the timekeeper.

"Recruits usually are."

"Comforting."

"You signed up for this. Nobody said it would be comfortable."

"Guess I'm all right with being uncomfortable."

The timekeeper's lip quirked up. "That's not typical for a noble."

He was the same man who'd started the clock, having trotted around the outside of the course to reach the end to catch people's finish times, so he'd heard her conversation with the corporal. The corporal that the sergeant was now picking up and carrying off the field. For medical treatment, presumably.

"Or a woman," the timekeeper added.

"Captain Kaika doesn't seem to mind discomfort."

"She's like one of us." The man shrugged. "And she's definitely not noble. Too bad. The king could marry her if she was."

"Does he _want_ to?" Unlike her older sister, Rysha had zero interest in court intrigues, scandals, or romances, so she hadn't followed the king's personal life. She only knew him politically speaking, and then only from newspaper reports.

"Some people think so."

"Does _she_ want to?" Rysha couldn't imagine the freewheeling Captain Kaika settling down to marry someone and produce babies. Especially heirs to the kingdom.

The timekeeper's lip quirked again. "Some people think so."

"Any time it's convenient for you, Lieutenant!" Kaika stood with her hands on her hips, staring across the field at Rysha.

Rysha chopped a wave to the timekeeper and ran to join the captain and the man at her side. He wore a scarf in addition to the brown jacket, the latter sporting two pins, a bronze flier pin and a silver wolf head. The tabs at his collar marked him a captain, and his nametag read ANTILON.

He grinned as she jogged up and saluted. "That was cleverer than a fox coming up into the henhouse through a loose floorboard, Lieutenant. Loved it."

Kaika clubbed him on the arm. "Don't _encourage_ her, Duck."

Duck? Was that his first name? Or maybe his pilot name, Rysha supposed, remembering reading unorthodox sobriquets in the newspapers whenever Wolf Squadron had been paramount in repelling the Cofah or pirates, something that had happened frequently three years earlier. Those events had been among the reasons that Rysha switched from an academic path to a military one. _Here_ , she believed, she could make a difference.

"Why not?" Antilon—Duck—asked. He had a backwoods drawl, and was probably from the eastern half of the country. "General Zirkander would have loved that move."

Rysha spent a few wistful seconds considering that maybe she should have applied to the flier unit, after all. Women weren't _that_ common there. She still could have led a remarkable career. Of course, she threw up if Draven, their steam carriage driver, took the turns out to the estate too roughly. That didn't bode well for enjoying flying.

"Zirkander, as Colonel Therrik would be quick to point out, doesn't have anything to do with the elite troops," Kaika said.

"So, we shouldn't rub our pilot attitudes all over her when she's with us on this mission?"

"I don't think Lieutenant Ravenwood wants you rubbing anything on her."

Duck looked her up and down. "Not even a sponge?"

At first, Rysha thought that was some sexual innuendo, which would have flummoxed her since the baggy fatigues and the mud combined to do an excellent job of hiding her feminine attributes. Then she realized he was _referring_ to the mud. After crawling under the logs, her entire front half was slathered with the stuff. Maybe her back half too.

"She might be too heavy for a flier with all that extra weight." He pointed to a sizable clump balanced on her shoulder.

Rysha cleared her throat. "Did you say something about a mission, sir?"

"Ah, yes. It'll be cracking. You two are to report to General Zirkander's office right away." Duck tugged out a pocket watch. "Actually, five minutes ago. But I didn't want to drag you off your course."

"That's good. I made a passing time." Rysha looked at Kaika, not expecting praise but hoping she might at least allow the time to go down on her record. Technically, the instructions had only been to "get past" the Cofah infiltrator. Nothing about how it had to be done.

Kaika snorted. "It figures. Come on, Lieutenant. The citadel is on the other side of the fort."

"I'll see you two later," Duck said, waving rather than saluting. "I've got to oversee getting the fliers ready. We leave tomorrow!"

Rysha gave him a puzzled look over her shoulder as she and Kaika walked away and his words started to sink in. What kind of mission could _she_ be asked to go on? And by General Zirkander?

Not only did Rysha have nothing to do with the flier battalion, but she'd only been out of the academy for three months. She was at the beginning of her elite troops training. By military standards, she was a raw rookie with little to offer. More than that, her first three months had been spent with the ground troops, an artillery unit. Why would she be sent off with pilots?

"Do you know what this is about, ma'am?" Rysha asked, matching her strides to Kaika's long steps.

"No idea, but the order was for both of us. Usually, if the flier people want me along on a mission, it's to blow stuff up. I have no idea how they even know you exist." Kaika looked at her, eyebrows raised, as if she might have the answer.

Rysha could only shrug. "I don't know how they know I exist, either. I _have_ had some history papers and results from science experiments published. Just this winter, one was reprinted in the Iskandian Journal of Modern Physics."

"I'm sure Zirkander reads that to pass the time when he's in the outhouse."

Rysha's cheeks warmed. She hadn't meant to imply that most soldiers read academic journals, but surely, it was possible that _some_ did. The officers all had university experience, including the pilots. Most of them had mathematics or engineering degrees. And wouldn't someone who wheeled around in the sky be interested in physics?

As they climbed the stone steps off the field, some of the drying mud flaked off Rysha's trousers. She halted mid-step.

"Wait, ma'am. I can't go see a general like this. I have to change first."

"Duck said we're already late." Kaika kept walking up the steps and didn't look back.

"But—"

"Don't worry. Zirkander isn't like other generals."

Rysha didn't find that comforting. Very little today was comforting. Had she truly told the timekeeper that she liked to be uncomfortable?

# 3

For the second time in as many days, Trip stopped in front of the door to a superior officer's office. But this one was _extremely_ superior. GENERAL ZIRKANDER, the plaque on the wall said.

From all the articles he'd read, the stories he'd heard, and the mission reports he'd devoured like pulp novels, Trip felt as if he'd met the man a hundred times over, and yet, he'd never even seen the general. As a boy, he'd emulated Zirkander's exploits in Wolf Squadron, jumping off sheds and pretending he could fly himself, that he could battle pirates and the Cofah. Even though he was actually doing those things now, he couldn't help but be intimidated by the legendary Zirkander. Intimidated and nervous.

It didn't help that he'd not only idolized the famous pilot as a boy but had even dreamed he would one day find out Zirkander was his father. Trip had never _met_ his father, so it had always seemed possible. His grandparents claimed the man had been a lover his mother had known briefly during her travels to collect exotic herbs for her tinctures and potions. But who knew if that was the truth?

And Zirkander had once had a reputation for attracting ladies in droves. He'd only been married for three years. Before that, he'd been known to have dalliances near and far. Couldn't he have met Trip's mother early in his career and... dallied?

Trip snorted at the wishful thinking and knocked on the door. Logically, he'd known for a long time that his skin was too dark for his father to have been an Iskandian. Still, he'd been almost an adult before he'd given up that particular fantasy. Even at the university, when other boys had been visited by their fathers during semester breaks, Trip had imagined Zirkander showing up and them going for a beer together. Maybe even a little fishing trip. He'd fished with his grandfather when he'd been a boy, but that had usually involved him being sent scrounging for suitable worms. He felt certain Zirkander wouldn't make a fishing partner collect the bait.

"Yeah?" came the response through the door.

Trip hesitated. Was that an invitation to enter?

He cleared his throat. "Uhm, it's Lieutenant—Captain—Trip. I mean, Telryn Yert. Sir."

He rolled his eyes at himself. Way to mangle not only his rank but his name. Everyone in his unit had called him Trip, and he supposed that would be true in his new unit, too, but his real name was on his orders. Zirkander might only know him that way. And as a lieutenant. Should he have introduced himself that way? He'd received his orders, stating his new rank was effective today, but he hadn't met his unit yet or been through a promotion ceremony in front of a formation. He assumed that was standard operating procedure here in the capital, as well as back home.

"Are you sure?" came the amused response.

"About most of it, yes, sir." Trip bit his lip. Should he _joke_ with the general? Zirkander didn't have a reputation as a tightass, but it did seem presumptuous to make... presumptions.

The door opened, and the person standing there smirked at him. "Which parts?"

The man—since he'd come to open the door himself, Trip glanced at his nametag to assure himself that this _was_ General Zirkander—was a little over six feet tall and rangy in build with a lean, handsome face. Trip didn't usually notice men's looks, but even he could see why Zirkander had attracted all those women—being a famous pilot had surely only been part of it. He was younger than Trip had expected from a general and from someone he'd grown up admiring. Early forties? Some gray at the temples lightened his short brown hair, but he had to be the fittest general Trip had come across.

And the most rumpled. Dried mud spattered his boots, and it looked like he'd slept in his uniform. His hair was tousled, and even though he gave off a friendly air with the smirk, there was a tiredness lurking under it. Trip noticed a well-used leather couch near the window overlooking the harbor. Maybe he _had_ slept in his uniform.

"Pretty sure on the name, sir," Trip said. "The, uh, real one."

"Trip's what your squadron gave you?"

"Sidetrip, sir. Yes."

"I've heard worse ones. _Much_ worse ones." Zirkander waved him into the office. It was tidier than he was, though the stack of papers and folders on the desk had a precarious tilt to it, suggesting it might topple into the garbage can at any time. Maybe that was his hope.

"Did you ever have one?" Trip had wondered that a number of times. He knew the general's first name was a peculiar one—Ridgewalker—but was fairly certain that was on his birth certificate and hadn't been a nickname.

Half hazing, half induction into the squadron, the nicknames were typical among flier pilots, and almost everyone got one. Most weren't overly flattering, though some people got lucky, or were just too talented and deadly from the get-go for anyone to mock. Captain "Raptor" Ahn in Wolf Squadron had reputedly been like that, with an assassin for a father and marksmanship skill that any professional sniper would envy.

Trip wondered what it would be like to meet some of the more famous members of Wolf Squadron. And work with them. He felt as nervous as he had two years earlier, on his first day of duty with Cougar Squadron.

"I _did_ have one," Zirkander said, reaching the desk, turning, and hitching his thigh onto it. "Fortunately, with the retirement of General Ort, there's nobody left in the battalion who remembers it." He grinned.

The grin made Trip relax a little and feel that working here might be more enjoyable than serving in Cougar Squadron had been. Of course, Zirkander wasn't the commander of Wolf Squadron anymore. Trip wouldn't likely interact with him much. Though he _had_ heard that the general still went out on missions. That was probably why the paperwork piled up.

"Where's your buddy?" Zirkander asked.

"Who?"

Zirkander looked at a couple of papers on the desk that were not a part of the stack. "Lieutenant Lu Lymander."

"Oh, Leftie." Trip had been delighted to learn that Leftie was also being transferred. The two of them had flown over with their fliers early that morning, landing at the hangars on the southern bluff that overlooked the harbor and the city. "He didn't come up with me. I'm not sure he knew he was supposed to report. I think he's—"

"Right here, sir." Leftie walked in, panting slightly, and saluted. His boots were polished and his uniform ironed. He could be professional when he needed to be. Usually only when reporting to superior officers.

Zirkander returned the salute with a droopy half-heartedness that only generals could get away with. "Take a seat while we wait for the rest of the team. I don't want to explain the mission more than once."

Trip wanted to dance, not sit, at this confirmation of a _mission_. He and Leftie exchanged excited looks as they hustled to the couch. Zirkander picked up a folder with a paper stapled to it and marked things off with a pencil.

Boots clomped in the hallway before Trip could spend much time debating whether it would be permissible to whisper speculative thoughts to Leftie.

Two tall women in fatigues walked in, one in her late thirties with tousled auburn hair and a captain's rank, and one too spattered in mud to discern much about her, including her rank. Trip _thought_ she had blondish-red hair under the mud, but he wasn't positive. It was back in a bun and tucked under her cap. She wore spectacles as mud-spattered as the rest of her, and he wondered if she could see anything through them.

"Hm," Zirkander said, looking up from his folder, then down to the mud they'd slogged into the office. "You're looking as alluring as always, Captain Kaika."

" _Thank_ you, sir," the older woman said. The muddier woman looked to be closer to Trip's age. "It's good to know that the years haven't stolen my ability to attract handsome generals." She looked over at Trip and Leftie. "We'll see if that holds true when it comes to young officers."

Leftie threw an arm across the back of the couch and smiled agreeably. Trip slipped off the cushion and almost pitched to the floor. He hadn't realized he'd been that close to the edge.

"Already making plans for them?" Zirkander asked.

"Nah, probably not. I have loyalties now. Fidelities."

"Yes, I understand the single men in the barracks are terribly disappointed."

Trip looked back and forth between them. So far, this was very different from Cougar Squadron. He met the muddy woman's eyes and thought her expression displayed similar bemusement.

"I believe you called for me and my young protégé, General?" Kaika said, stepping aside to extend a hand toward the younger woman.

"Protégé, ma'am?" The woman's eyes grew round behind her spectacles. She reached up to push them higher on her nose. "Do you mean—I mean... are you just bantering or does that mean... something?"

Zirkander scratched his jaw. "This is Lieutenant Ravenwood?"

"Yes, sir," the woman—Ravenwood—said more firmly. A surname like that ought to mean she was of the nobility and that her family owned land and businesses, but she didn't appear overly noble currently.

"After looking over your record, I was expecting you to be more articulate." Though it was an insult, Zirkander smiled at her as he offered it, so it didn't have much sting.

Indeed, Ravenwood seemed to blush under the mud, and she looked down shyly. Trip had a hunch she wasn't usually that shy.

Leftie nudged him and whispered, "This is strange."

"What?" Trip murmured.

"Me not being the prettiest boy in the room." Leftie waved toward the women. "They're barely aware I exist."

"Is your ego crushed?"

"Moderately so."

"I'm better at writing, sir," Ravenwood said.

"There won't be much time for that on the mission." Zirkander pointed toward the couch. "That's Captain Sidetrip and Lieutenant Leftie. They're two Cougar Squadron pilots I've selected for this."

"Sidetrip and Leftie?" Kaika wrinkled her nose. "Sounds like a comedy act at the officers' club."

"Easy, _Astuawilda_."

Kaika pointed a finger at Zirkander's nose. "If you weren't tantalizing me with a new mission, I'd come over there and pummel you for using that name."

"Fortunately, generals are wise and know you never tease a pit dog unless you've got a steak in your pocket." Zirkander smirked at her, not appearing overly concerned about the pummeling possibility, though the tall, tough Captain Kaika did look like she could damage men effectively.

"What's this about, sir?" Kaika asked, lowering her hand and glancing at Ravenwood.

"As you probably already know, Angulus and I have been talking," he told her with a nod. "Ahn, Tolemek, Colonel Therrik, and a lot of our best people are out hunting dragons. Well, trying to keep them from razing the countryside, more like. Despite Therrik boasting about his sword-fighting ability, I don't believe any dragons have fallen to his hungry green blade."

"Are you talking about Kasandral, the dragon-slaying sword from the 600s BD, sir?" Ravenwood blurted, her shyness evaporating. "I've studied that sword and many others of the _chapaharii_ from the dragon-rider days. Not in person, of course, but in the history books. At the time, I didn't realize how important it might become to find some of those anti-magic tools, but I researched the locations of some of the ones named in the old texts and believe I even located some of their present-day resting places. Is that why I was called here?"

"That among other reasons, and I'm encouraged that you know all about that sword," Zirkander told her. "I understand you have a degree in, uh, dragonology."

"It's a degree in history with an emphasis on dragon society, language, and culture, yes, sir."

"And that's only one of the degrees, right?"

Ravenwood blushed and glanced at Trip and Leftie, as if she were embarrassed to be called out for her academic knowledge. Trip didn't know why. It sounded like it would be useful.

"I also studied archaeology and physics," Ravenwood said.

Zirkander arched his eyebrows. "Just studied?"

" _Technically_ , I have degrees in them, but only _undergraduate_ degrees. I would have to take more courses if I wanted to work in either of those fields. But that wasn't where my interests lay."

Kaika, who seemed to be receiving this information for the first time, looked at her muddy protégé and uttered a, "Huh."

"That's why you're _both_ invited to come on this mission," Zirkander said. "Ravenwood to find something, and Kaika to blow it up."

"That's vague, sir," Kaika said. "Though I do enjoy blowing things up."

"I was going to wait until everyone was here for the explanations, but Major Blazer and Duck were at the king's meeting with me, so they already know about the portal. I guess we have everybody we need." Zirkander looked toward the open doorway. "A grand entrance would be appropriate now."

"Grand?" a striking woman asked as she walked into the room, gliding past Kaika and Rysha.

"You can be sedate if you prefer, but I've noticed Jaxi seems inclined toward grandness."

Trip glanced at Zirkander. Who?

"This is true," the woman agreed with a smile.

"I think that's his wife," Leftie whispered.

"The woman in the dress?" Trip asked, still confused about the name that had been mentioned.

"No, the planter in the corner. Of _course_ the woman in the dress." Leftie thumped him on the arm.

The woman raised her eyebrows in their direction, and Leftie fell silent. She had long black hair pulled back in a clip, fair skin, and clear blue eyes. She wore an emerald green dress with artful folds that fell to the floor, almost concealing the fact that she was quite pregnant. At odds with the dress, she carried a sword in a well-worn scabbard, the sides covered in silver runes.

Ravenwood's eyes widened as she noticed the weapon. Perhaps it was the dragon-slaying sword that had been mentioned.

_Guess again, genius,_ a voice spoke into Trip's mind.

He fell on the floor.

Everyone in the room looked at him. Trip scrambled to his feet.

"Sorry, I, uh—" He had no idea what to say. Confessing to hearing voices in his head would get him condemned as either insane or a witch. "The couch is slippery."

Leftie snorted, but he also gave Trip a what-is-wrong-with-your-brain look.

Zirkander sighed, not at Trip but at the woman. "I thought Jaxi didn't speak to people she didn't know and who weren't prepared for her personal touch."

The woman pursed her lips and looked down at the sword. "Usually, she doesn't. He may be..." She gave Trip a sidelong look, then considered Leftie and Ravenwood. "Perhaps this isn't the place to discuss it."

"Mm," was all Zirkander said.

Trip decided standing would be safer than sitting, and clasped his hands behind his back in a loose parade rest as he tried to follow the conversation and figure out what had happened.

_Let me help you_ , the voice spoke into his mind again, a woman's voice. Or maybe a girl's voice. She—it—sounded young. _I'm Jaxi, I'm a soulblade, and I'm most certainly not an_ it _._

His gaze locked on the sword. Was _that_ who—what—was talking to him? It wasn't throbbing or doing anything blatantly magical.

_I can throb if you want me to, but I usually refrain in public._

_Hello?_ Trip thought tentatively. _Can you hear me?_

_Of course I can hear you. I'm five feet away._

A soulblade. He'd heard stories of such weapons, but he didn't know how much was myth and how much was reality.

_I don't know what to say,_ Trip thought, and eased back down onto the couch. Maybe he needed to be sitting for this.

_Silence is always an option. Especially considering you're a shouter._

_A what?_

_You're throwing your thoughts around like an untrained elephant stampeding through a crowd. Try a whisper, eh?_

"Introductions are in order, I suspect," Zirkander said, saving Trip from responding. "This is my wife, Sardelle. Normally, this is the kind of mission she would go on, but we're expecting an addition to our household." He extended a hand toward her stomach and lowered his voice to ask her, "I assume Mom is watching Marinka?"

"Stifling. Watching. It's one of those two."

"She waited a long time for a grandchild."

"Yes, I know. But I believe that's more your fault than mine."

"Hardly." Zirkander winked at her. "I was waiting for you to show up in my life."

Trip looked away. They weren't smooching or doing anything too lovey-dovey, but he still felt like an intruder in their moment. Leftie, not an overly romantic sort, rolled his eyes. Despite his frequent dates with "pretty ladies," he hadn't yet fallen for any of them, at least not in the years Trip had known him.

"Sardelle," Zirkander said, his tone growing more professional. "Those are two newly transferred pilots from Cougar Squadron, Lieutenant Leftie and recently minted Captain Trip."

"I see your naming conventions are country-wide," Sardelle murmured.

"You can't be a pilot without an embarrassing name. That's a rule."

"Did you tell them what yours was?" Her eyes crinkled.

"Absolutely not. I'm a general. Generals live by different rules. That's why I took this job."

"Also, Angulus didn't give you a choice."

"It's true. The man rules with an iron fist." Zirkander pointed at the other two soldiers. "You know Kaika, of course, and her mud-covered protégé is Lieutenant Ravenwood. She's our new dragon expert."

"Sir, I simply studied dragons as a part of a history degree," Ravenwood protested. "If you truly need an expert, you should talk to Professors Silverridge, Warnir, or Craneridge at the university here in the capital."

"Are any of them under seventy?"

Ravenwood looked upward thoughtfully. "Professor Warnir may only be sixty-five."

"While that's not so geriatric an age as I believed it was when I was younger, I'm looking for people who are capable soldiers and can go along on a dangerous mission."

"Oh. Yes, sir. I understand."

"I might have asked my cousin, Professor Lilah Zirkander, but she's—they're— _she's_ expecting also." His face twisted in a grimace.

"They've been married for two years," Sardelle murmured. "Are you ever going to get comfortable with them as a them?"

"Absolutely not."

"I've read Professor Zirkander's work," Ravenwood blurted. "I almost mentioned her. She's moved on from studying dragons specifically, I believe, but in my paleontology class, we read her paper on the fossil record and searching for the missing link in the evolution of dragons. They share skeletal similarities with the extinct flying lizards in southern Dakrovia, but those were only about three feet long. What came in between? What led to dragons acquiring their great size? And their magical power? We don't know. But it was a brilliant paper, and she had an amazingly thorough list of citations. I spent an entire summer devouring the source material."

"I'm sure she'll be pleased to hear she's keeping students far and wide entertained," Zirkander said. "You remember any of that reference material?"

"Oh, absolutely, sir. I would be excited to share my dragon knowledge and anything related that might be useful. Do you want me to map out locations of the _chapaharii?_ I can do it from memory." Ravenwood smiled brightly behind the mud. "Would you want the swords, specifically? The shields and bows could be useful too. Alas, I don't know of any of those that are conveniently located. Though it would be worth hunting them down, regardless, now that all these dragons have appeared. They're the only tools currently known to man that can harm such creatures."

"Do you think she _always_ talks this much?" Leftie whispered to Trip.

Trip only lifted a shoulder. He thought she was kind of cute. Since he was a horrible conversationalist, he liked people who could fill in the gaps.

"Dragons are quite impervious to most means of attack, you know," Ravenwood added. "Including magic." She glanced at Sardelle.

Leftie shifted on the couch. Mentions of magic always made him uneasy, which was why Trip never brought up the subject with him. His heart ached at the idea of Leftie turning on him. They'd been friends for six years, since they met during their first year at the university. On more than one occasion, the more popular Leftie had stuck up for Trip against those who'd thought him odd.

"I do know that," Zirkander said. "Very well. I'm not sure we need a map right now, but if there are a few dragon-slaying blades that are close, I'd like to hear about it. As much trouble as Kasandral has been to us—" he winced, "—a sword like that may be necessary. You may need to go get one before you can accomplish the rest of the mission, in fact. Will one be needed to destroy the portal?" He looked at Sardelle.

"Possibly," she said, but spread her arms, palms upward in uncertainty.

"Angulus said 'no' to taking Kasandral out of the country right now," Zirkander said.

Out of the country? Trip leaned forward, excited at the prospect of an adventure in a far-off land.

"The current situation here is too unstable," Zirkander added, "and the lieutenant is correct. That sword is currently our only tool that does anything to dragons."

"Uhm, sir," Trip said, "what _is_ the current situation? Back east, we've heard about the dragon attacks, and we saw some of the burned towns on the way over the mountains, but we haven't had anything more than distant sightings yet."

"Count yourselves lucky," Zirkander said.

"The current situation," Sardelle said, resting her scabbard on the general's desk and supporting her stomach with her hands, "is that approximately four months ago, dragons we know nothing about and believed long gone showed up in the world again. I spoke to a dragon ally we've had for the last three years—"

"You mean your dragon _god_ , high priestess," Zirkander said, smiling.

She gave him a flat look. "Our ally, Bhrava Saruth, said he felt an ancient portal reopening, one that was once used by a particular bronze dragon to trick almost all of dragon-kind into leaving Linora, or _Serankil,_ as they call our world. Bhrava Saruth and another of our dragon allies, Phelistoth, as well as his rider, Tylie, went off to investigate it." She closed her eyes for a moment. "We haven't heard from any of them since. It's been almost three months, and our friend, Tolemek, Tylie's brother, has been crushed with worry."

"They wouldn't have gone through the portal, would they?" Ravenwood asked.

"I can't imagine why. But it's possible they were detained. Or worse." Sardelle grimaced.

"How did we get dragon _allies_?" Trip asked, his thoughts having snagged on that term. It boggled his mind. Most of the stories he'd heard involved dragons slaying humans and destroying their towns.

"During the First Dragon Era—and how odd to consider that one day, historians may refer to _our_ time as the Second Dragon Era—many of the creatures cared nothing for humans, seeing them as prey or irritations to be wiped out. Others were interested in us and seemed to gain something from interacting with us. People bonded with them and rode them in the sky, usually sorcerers who had dragon blood in their veins themselves—they were the offspring of human-dragon pairings."

"Human- _what_?" Leftie asked, forgetting to say sir or ma'am.

If the interruption bothered Sardelle, she didn't show it. She had a serene, almost enigmatic face, and through his sixth sense, Trip would have recognized that she had power even if he hadn't heard rumors about Zirkander's "witch" wife.

"Apparently, the dragons shape-shift into human form for this," Zirkander said.

Everyone looked at him.

"Trust me, I asked the same question. It's rather alarming to imagine things working any other way. And I've personally seen dragons take human form. While wiping out all the cheese and tarts in my pantry."

Leftie didn't appear amused at this statement.

Trip felt wishful at the idea of riding a dragon and having one as an ally. He adored his flier, and enjoyed tinkering with the mechanical elements to improve the craft's efficiency, but what would it be like to bond with a _dragon_?

"Meaning they could be strolling down the streets and spying on us without us knowing it?" Leftie looked toward the window, as if dragons might be cavorting all over the citadel's courtyard.

"The ones I know wouldn't make good spies," Zirkander said. "They're odd."

"They have an aura of power," Sardelle said, "that comes through even when they're shape-shifted."

"Which makes them _odd_."

She wavered her hand in something bordering on agreement. "As I was saying, we know that our allies went to investigate this portal, but they neglected to tell us where it _was_ before leaving. All we know is that dragons are coming through it in alarming numbers. We're not sure how many have entered our world, but our spies in Cofahre and around Linora have reported seeing them on all the major continents. We're not the only ones being picked on. Recently, four of them combined forces to raze one of the empire's major cities."

"Why?" Trip whispered.

"The dragons have given different reasons when they've deigned to telepathically talk to humans." Sardelle touched her temple. "Everything from destroying a threat, to having fun, to enslaving us to serve them, to taking revenge for past sins—apparently, some of them believe that humans were the ones to create that portal and trick them into leaving the world a thousand years ago. Some shamans and sorcerers in other countries have tried to negotiate, but nothing has come of it yet. One of my contacts in Cofahre was eaten."

Trip looked at her, half-expecting that to be a joke, like the cheese, but her face was deathly serious.

"But I thought all witches died a long time ago," Leftie said, licking his lips, appearing uncharacteristically nervous.

He threw game-winning goals with his hook-net without any signs of nerves, and he also hopped into his flier and went into battle as if it were simply a day's work. Why did talk of magic concern him so much?

"Many Iskandian _sorcerers_ were destroyed when Galmok Mountain was infiltrated and blown up three centuries ago—" Sardelle winced, as if this had been some personal affront, "—and there was a similar event in Cofahre, with mundanes growing afraid of those with magic and organizing raids to kill people."

Trip thought of his mother's horrible end. That hadn't been three centuries ago. Hangings still happened, especially in rural areas.

"Today's sorcerers," Sardelle continued, "are the descendants of ones who escaped those events—this was common for those living on other continents. But you are correct in that magic-users are rare today and usually weak when they do appear. One's power largely relies on how many generations removed one is from one's dragon ancestor. Since dragons were gone for so long, it's quite surprising to find someone with any significant amount of their blood flowing through their veins, and with a commensurate amount of power." She'd been looking around the room at the various occupants as she spoke, but now her gaze settled on Trip.

What did _that_ mean?

"This may be more than you all need to know for the mission," Zirkander said. "Essentially, I'm putting this team together to find and destroy the portal. We need to keep any more dragons from pouring into our world."

"You said we don't know where it is though?" Ravenwood asked.

"Bhrava Saruth once told me it was originally in the Arctic," Sardelle said. "But I've since caught him using Arctic to refer to both the Arctic and Antarctic so we had better not assume he meant north."

"So, it could be anywhere above the Arctic Circle and below the Antarctic Circle? That's thousands of square miles of land and ice."

"I've done some research and attempted to narrow down likely locations. I believe it may be near one of the existing dragon ruins sites."

Ravenwood leaned forward on her toes. "I'd love to see that research."

"I'll share it with you today. Also, we don't need the precise location of the portal. Jaxi should sense it if she gets within fifty miles." Sardelle patted her scabbard.

"Jaxi?" Leftie asked.

"My soulblade."

"Wait." Leftie shifted to the edge of the couch and held his hands out in front of him. "Are you saying..." He glanced at Trip, as if for support, then looked to the sword and finally to Sardelle. "You're a witch?"

"And here I thought the flier officers were intelligent," Ravenwood murmured.

"I mean, I'd heard rumors, but—" Leftie licked his lips again, his gaze darting from Zirkander to Sardelle.

"We prefer the term sorcerer or sorceress," Sardelle said calmly. "Or mage. Three hundred years ago, I held the position of _sherastu_ , mage advisor, and often accompanied the king's soldiers into battle to heal them. I am first and foremost a healer."

"Three _hundred_ —" Leftie slipped off the couch, his butt hitting the wood floorboards with a thump.

"I told you the cushions were slippery," Trip said.

He shouldn't have been amused by his friend's discomfort, but he was secretly delighted at the announcement. Oh, he didn't understand the three-hundred-years thing—he'd never heard that human witches, or sorcerers, were immortal or extra long-lived—but if Sardelle truly _was_ one, maybe he could ask her some questions someday. Though chatting up his CO's wife seemed a daunting prospect.

"How is everybody being so calm about this?" Leftie lurched to his feet, using the couch for support, looking like he wanted to shove it between him and Sardelle. "Sir, how could you—I mean, did you _know_?"

Zirkander still stood by his desk, his arms now folded across his chest. Though Sardelle continued to appear calm and serene, he wore a long-suffering expression. Trip thought he might shift into general mode and tell Leftie to shut the hells up and show proper respect.

"Not at first," Zirkander said, "but I figured it out sometime after she started talking into my head."

"Sometime _after_ ," she said, smiling fondly at him.

"You know I'm not the pointiest sword in the armory."

"You're pointy when it counts."

"Your praise warms my... pointy bits."

"I'll bet." Kaika smirked.

Trip couldn't believe Captain Kaika was so blasé about this. Of course, she'd probably known for years. But had Ravenwood? If she came from the capital, maybe she had known for years too. For Leftie and Trip, there had only been rumors, rumors both of them had been quick to dismiss, given Zirkander's reputation.

"Let's get back to the mission," Zirkander said, addressing the room and ignoring the fact that Leftie was gripping the couch hard enough to turn his knuckles white. "You'll leave tomorrow. Major Blazer will command. She, Duck, Leftie, and Trip are the pilots and will fly the two-seaters so they can take passengers. Captain Kaika and Lieutenant Ravenwood and a fighter that King Angulus told me needs to go along." Zirkander hitched a shoulder. "Some of your gear can go in the empty seat in the fourth flier, including however many explosives Kaika thinks will be necessary to blow up a dragon portal. Sardelle will share her notes on its likely location with Ravenwood."

"Yes." Sardelle nodded to Ravenwood. "We'll talk over dinner as soon as you clean up."

"Yes, ma'am."

"I didn't know note-sharing required cleanliness," Zirkander said.

"We wouldn't want mud smudging the pages," Sardelle said.

"What about the _chapaharii_ swords?" Ravenwood asked. "Given all that I've read, I believe it's likely this portal could be impervious to mundane explosives."

"My explosives are powerful and exquisite, not mundane," Kaika said.

"But they're not magical."

"They don't need to be."

" _Usually_ ," Ravenwood said.

Zirkander lifted a hand. "I'm open to you looking for one of the dragon-slaying swords along the way. Do you know where any more like Kasandral are in Iskandia, Lieutenant?" He looked at Sardelle. "I never thought I'd hear myself ask that question."

A troubled expression crossed Sardelle's face. "Nor I."

Kaika shrugged. "There won't be any mages along this time, though, right? If Sardelle's not going? So Kasandral, or some twin sword, wouldn't have anything to get pissy over, except for actual dragons."

"Mm," Sardelle said noncommittally.

Trip shifted uneasily, even though she didn't look at him. Was it possible a dragon-slaying blade would sense some distant dragonness inside him and want to attack him? That sounded like what they were implying.

"Not in Iskandia currently," Ravenwood said in answer to Zirkander's question. "Most are in Cofah museums or are still buried in long-lost dragon-rider temples—but there were some here in private collections less than twenty years ago. My research last summer led to an article listing some swords stolen in a raid by Neaminor, the self-appointed pirate king that raids out of the southeast."

Trip straightened, almost springing from the couch. He would love a chance to put a permanent halt to the pirate's raids.

"I know him," Trip said. "He and his people have attacked many of the towns in the east. They even stole fliers from the Charkolt base this week."

"He's reputed to be a sword collector," Ravenwood said. "Unless he also trades or sells them, he should have at least one _chapaharii_ blade in his hideout in the Pirate Isles. We could likely steal it back without repercussions, whereas thieving from a Cofah museum might start an international incident."

"If Major Blazer thinks you can get in and out without injury or damage to the fliers, by all means, raid the pirates." Zirkander's expression grew wistful.

"How come you're not leading this mission, sir?" Kaika asked.

"I tried to nominate myself. Angulus forbade it. He wants me here to direct everything and help if any dragons attack the capital. Oddly, he was disappointed that _Sardelle_ couldn't go."

"Technically, I could, but—"

"Absolutely not. My mother would forbid it. As would I. But you're more likely to accept it from her."

"Fern can indeed be stern. But I also agree that I'm too far along for dragon-battling adventures." Sardelle lifted her sword scabbard while Trip wondered if there was a stage of pregnancy at which dragon-battling adventures _were_ acceptable. "However, I'd like to send along some help. Jaxi isn't much of a healer, but she _can_ cauterize wounds. And as I said, she'll be able to sense the portal from quite a ways off."

"Jaxi has agreed to go off with strangers?" Zirkander sounded surprised. "She's usually particular about who she lets, uhm, rub her pommel."

"We're not _all_ strangers," Kaika said. "Though I prefer rifles and explosives to swords, of course. Swords are such primitive weapons."

"Well," Zirkander said, "those words just assured that Jaxi won't choose Kaika to carry her."

"Indeed," Sardelle said. "Kaika is in danger of having something cauterized as we speak."

"Just try it, Short and Pointy." Kaika glowered at the scabbard.

Leftie looked toward the window again, this time, probably thinking of jumping out to get away from all these crazy people. Trip, on the other hand, was excited. He had no idea why, but he'd been chosen to go on a special mission by General Zirkander himself. An _important_ special mission. One where he could put his talents to use, strike a blow against the pirate king, and maybe start to earn the reputation that he longed for, one that prompted people to treat him as a hero instead of an outcast.

"Jaxi _is_ amenable to going along," Sardelle said. "I believe she's delighted to get out of babysitting duty for a while."

Zirkander snorted.

"She's already chosen who will carry her." Sardelle held the scabbard horizontally in both hands and turned toward Trip.

He blinked. " _Me?_ "

Sardelle smiled. "You."

He didn't know what to say.

_That you're honored to be chosen, not worthy of standing in my presence, and that you'll oil my blade nightly and keep me dry._

Had Trip been near the edge, he might have fallen off the couch again.

# 4

Deep in the stacks of the Pinoth University library, Rysha rubbed her eyes and fought back yawns. Four lanterns framed the table where she worked, shedding yellow light onto the world map spread across it. The sun had set a while ago—hours ago?—but she wasn't sure what time it was. She only knew she should be getting some sleep since they were reporting to the hangar before dawn.

After the general's meeting, she'd washed, changed, and hastily packed, then raced off to meet Sardelle here. Sardelle—it seemed so strange to think of General Zirkander's wife by first name—had spent a couple of hours distilling her notes. She hadn't done anything witchy—or was that sorceressy?—during the time, and Rysha was grateful for that. Even though she'd heard of the woman before, and hadn't been as floored by the revelations as that Lieutenant Leftie had been, she didn't have any personal experience with magic, or those who used it, and it had been hard to fight the urge to circle her heart with two fingers to ward off evil. A superstitious gesture, but one her grandmother used often, as did many from the older generation.

The magic only concerned her a little. Mostly, she felt honored to have been selected for the mission. She hadn't expected to get to go on exciting missions until after she passed the elite troops tests and completed the training. She'd joined the army longing to make a name for herself and to show the world that Captain Kaika wasn't an anomaly, that women could become elite soldiers too. Maybe she was going to get her chance to do that much sooner than she'd anticipated.

"I think she's back here," a male voice said, and Rysha dragged her wandering thoughts back to her work.

She could continue to piece together clues about the portal's location while on the voyage to the Pirate Isles—seven gods, she hoped that worked out, that Neaminor hadn't sold or traded away the sword—but it would be much easier here in the library than in some tiny open-air flier seat with the wind rushing past at eighty miles per hour.

"Ah ha, I see a light," another man said, and Ravenwood recognized the voice. Captain Trip?

"There are lights at the end of every row," the other man said dryly. Leftie?

Belatedly, she realized they must be looking for her. Did the leader of their mission, this Major Blazer, need the location of the portal _now_? If so, Rysha would be hard-pressed to provide it with certainty. But Zirkander hadn't seemed to expect certainty. Pack for a long trip, he'd said, hinting that they would have to check numerous locales.

Three men strolled into view, peering left and right between the aisles of bookcases. Captain Trip looked right at her and smiled.

He hadn't been smiling much during that meeting, so it was her first time seeing the gesture. It was warm, and he had an attractive face, though his skin was darker than typical for an Iskandian. Not that there was anything wrong with that. Plenty of people had parents from other countries, and during their various invasions over the centuries, the Cofah had left their blood on Iskandian shores in more ways than one.

Leftie was more classically handsome, dark hair and pale skin, a cleft chin and angular features. Women looked twice at him, Rysha was sure, though he carried himself with the kind of cockiness that tended to rub her the wrong way. She'd expected that from General Zirkander too, simply based on his reputation, but he'd been laid-back and easy-going with a smile that could turn a girl's knees to mush. Even though he was far from her type, and she was positive she wasn't his, she'd felt a twinge of disappointment that he was married.

"Found her," Trip said.

"Are you positive?" Leftie tilted his head from side to side and squinted at Rysha. "She's not wearing any mud. It's hard to be sure."

"Ha ha." Realizing that both Trip and the third man with them, Captain Duck, outranked her, Rysha came to her feet and saluted.

The men weren't in uniform, and it wasn't technically required, but she tried to err on the side of professionalism when it came to the army. She wasn't in uniform, either, but she was most certainly on duty and working.

"We decided to do some team bonding," Leftie said, after they returned her salute. "Now that we are one. A team, that is." He offered her his cocky smile. "You're invited."

"An honor, I'm sure, but I'm trying to figure out where we're going." Rysha gestured at the map. "I've heard pilots like to know that before they take off."

She wasn't even sure of the exact coordinates of the Pirate Isles. They were on the world maps, but she'd heard that strange things happened in that section of the ocean, and air and sea ships alike had a hard time finding them.

"I'm usually just happy to be in the air," Trip said, sticking a hand in his pocket as he surveyed the map.

"Not me," Leftie said. "I like to get up, do my job, and get back home where the comforts are. Such as women. And beer. Oh, and I've got to figure out how to sign up for the local hookball league. I've heard the capital team is pretty good. They should be excited to have me."

"No doubt," Trip murmured.

Rysha rolled her eyes, glad Leftie was a lieutenant so she wouldn't have to salute or defer to him. He likely had seniority, but the rest of the team should treat them about the same.

"They have signups at the end of every month," Captain Duck offered. He had some of Zirkander's laid-back easygoingness, along with a big nose and big ears that made him more homely than handsome, but she would take homely over cocky any day.

"Lieutenant Ravenwood, will you come with us to..." Leftie looked at Duck.

"The Black Stag," Duck supplied.

"Apparently, it's a regular hangout for soldiers," Leftie said.

"You can bring your work," Trip added. "It does seem like it would be a good idea for us all to get to know each other before fighting dragons together."

"Technically, we're just fighting the portal, aren't we?" she asked.

"Dragons could be coming out of it when we get there. And they might not appreciate us wanting to destroy it."

"I haven't noticed that dragons are appreciative varmints in general," Duck said. "Even the ones that are our supposed _allies_ are about as thankful as quail running from the hound you just leashed."

"Dragons are long-lived, nearly impossible to kill, and extremely powerful," Rysha said. "They're used to getting what they want. Gratitude and politeness didn't play much of a role in their societies, even among other dragons."

"Sardelle is all those things, and she still says _thank you_ if you give her a mango tart." Duck smiled, and Rysha assumed it was a joke. Even if Sardelle was a genuine sorceress, she wouldn't have anywhere near the power of a dragon. No human sorceress ever had. At most, a human could have half dragon blood, but nobody alive today was half dragon or anywhere close. Thanks to the thousand-year gap when there'd been no dragons around at all, as Sardelle had said, most people were extremely far removed from their scaled ancestors.

"She's not really three hundred years old, is she?" Trip asked Duck.

"Nah, she's in her late thirties. She was in some kind of mage stasis chamber, I think she called it, where she didn't age or anything for all that time, and then she accidentally got dug out by some miners and woken up." Duck spread a hand. "It's a long story about how she and the general met, but you can ask 'em about it if you want. They're not shy about sharing. Only, uh, don't ask for _all_ the details. There are a lot of... libidinous bits. For old people, they're randier than rabbits in a briar thicket."

"Old people? How old are you, Duck?" Rysha asked.

"Twenty-eight."

"And you think someone in her late thirties is old?"

"Well, Sardelle seems real mature for her age, I guess. And Zirkander, he's into his forties, I think. Though he is pretty young for a general. Now General Ort, he was an old humorless stick. You two are real lucky to be here under Zirkander's command." Duck waved at Trip and Leftie. "He doesn't get mad unless you really, _really_ screw up, and he's not afraid to stand up to anyone on your behalf. He'll even get in a row with the king if he has to. Wish he was leading this mission. Not that there's anything wrong with Major Blazer—I've been on missions with far worse commanders—but it's sad that Zirkander doesn't head up Wolf Squadron anymore. I used to fly with him, you know. He hates being behind a desk instead of in a cockpit, and he fought against that promotion. But overall, it's good that one of our own is running the battalion."

Rysha was starting to wonder if there was a pilot alive that didn't have a crush on Zirkander.

She rolled up her map, blew out the lanterns, and picked up her pack, sensing that the men would stand around and talk all night if she didn't agree to go with them. Perhaps they would wander off once they reached the Black Stag, and she could work. Though at this point, she had looked over all her notes and Sardelle's notes at least three times and didn't think she could narrow her guesses down to fewer than five.

* * *

• • • • •

* * *

The Stag was far too noisy for work, but Rysha cleared herself a table in the back and rolled out her map anyway. The table wobbled alarmingly and had gum and other indeterminable substances stuck underneath it. She found a coaster and placed it under one of the legs, trying to even it out. It wobbled more. She sighed.

Duck and Leftie went straight out into the crowd to mingle, both zeroing in on a group of women. Rysha wondered just how much "getting to know each other" and bonding as a team would happen tonight. They looked like they would rather get to know strange women in a horizontal capacity.

Better strange women than her, she supposed, since she couldn't imagine herself spending horizontal time with either man. Not that they'd given her contemplative looks. She wore trousers and a sweater, the clothing not much more revealing than army fatigues, and her spectacles... Well, she'd cleaned the mud off them. And removed the strap. She knew she wasn't _un_ attractive, but she also didn't get ogled on a regular basis. Or an irregular one, either. But she'd been picked first for sports teams all through school, thanks to her height and a knack for causing competitors from other teams to underestimate her. She might _look_ like a librarian, but she could hurl a hookball from one end of the field to the other without it bouncing.

Trip stood with his hands in his pockets near her table, his back to a post, alternating between looking uncomfortable and watching two fiddlers try to out-fiddle each other on the stage. Rysha caught him glancing over at her and the map a few times, but sensed that he didn't want to bother her if she was working. She had a feeling this evening out hadn't been his idea.

She wondered why the men hadn't invited Captain Kaika. Maybe because she was older than they were—no doubt considered "old people" by Duck's standards. Though she was a captain, she ought to have been a major or even a colonel, given how long she'd been in the service. Maybe she, like Zirkander, had fought against promotions to ensure she could keep doing fieldwork. Rysha had a hard time believing she was anything except a dedicated and reliable soldier. It was hard to imagine her getting into trouble and suffering demerits and demotions. From everything she'd read about the captain, she was reliable and good at her job.

"Evening, pretty thing," a bearded man with a pipe drawled, ambling toward Rysha's table, wobbling as he approached. He carried a mug of beer, the liquid sloshing around even after he stopped. He glanced at the map. "You bring homework to a bar?"

"Something like that," Rysha murmured.

His gaze shifted to her chest. Maybe someone liked her sweater, after all. Not that she wanted some drunk man's interest.

"You must be a student, eh? I like students. Pretty. Shy."

Ugh, he sounded like he liked _preying_ on students.

"I'm not that shy." Rysha stood up, a little pleased that she had an inch or two on him.

Not that men were always intimidated by tall women, but she figured she could defend herself against unwelcome advances from her feet better than from the chair. He had a gut and would have slow reflexes from the drink. He was no Sergeant Branigan, Cofah infiltrator.

"No?" Unfortunately, he looked intrigued rather than intimidated. He sipped from his mug and looked her up and down, gaze lingering on her breasts, the sweater curving noticeably around them. "I don't mind aggressive women, either. You can take the top if you like."

It took her a moment to realize that he meant in _bed_. She wasn't a virgin, but she also wasn't used to strangers jumping right to sexual suggestions. Who had suggested this pit of a pub, anyway?

"I'm not interested," Rysha said.

"No? You were quick to stand up and look excited." He set his mug down, leaving a beer ring on her map. "Why don't we try a dance, see if we've got any rhythm together?"

"No."

"Come on. Just a quick dance." He was already close, but he stepped closer, reaching for her waist—or maybe her ass.

She caught his wrist, squeezing hard enough to, she hoped, deter him. "Go _away_."

Indignation, or maybe anger, flared in his eyes. "Don't care much for women telling me what to do."

"Get over it." Rysha released his wrist and stepped back, but he came after her, reaching for her again, that anger still in his eyes, as if he meant to teach her a lesson.

Tired of subtlety, she caught his wrist again, and this time yanked it as she brought her heel down on his foot. He yelped, and she kicked his leg out from under him, grunting as his weight toppled toward her. But she had the strength and leverage to deal with it. She spun him, jerking his arm up behind his back, and thrust him toward a roughly hewn wooden post. His face smashed into it, and she hoped a legion of splinters rammed up his nose.

He struggled, trying to bring his strength to bear, but she had his arm twisted in such a way that she could make it hurt if he fought her. After three attempts at trying to escape her lock, he slumped in defeat.

"You going to leave me alone now?" she asked, yelling in his ear to be heard over the music. Nobody seemed to be paying attention to their little squabble.

"Yeah," the man grumbled.

She released him and stepped back, fists ready to come up if she needed to defend herself again. He sneered at her, straightened his shirt, walked to the table to get his beer, then strode away.

Rysha looked for her teammates, wondering if any of them had noticed the exchange. Leftie had his lips locked to some woman's, but Duck, who'd ended up chatting with a couple of short-haired men who were probably soldiers, was watching her. He gave a thumb-to-fingers circle when their eyes met and lifted his mug toward her, as if he'd assumed she could handle herself all along. She admitted that pleased her more than if one of them had come running over to _rescue_ her.

"...sure _look_ like a Cofah," came some growled words from the next post over, a lull in the music allowing Rysha to hear them.

"Yeah, he does. Shifty. Like a spy," a second man said.

Rysha started, realizing they were talking about Trip. Two big, muscular men had him backed up to the post. They were short-haired and in uniform, and she recognized one from her infantry battalion, though she didn't know his name.

"I'm a soldier," Trip said, a hint of indignation in his voice. "The same as you. Lieuten—Captain—Trip."

"Oh, ho, an officer, is it?" One of them shoved Trip in the shoulder. "Most officers know their ranks. Unless they're Cofah spies."

"Just got promoted. Would you care to share _your_ ranks with me?" Trip didn't appear that worried, but he also didn't look like he could walk away without being blocked. And abused.

As far as Rysha knew, the flier units didn't put a lot of emphasis on physical fitness and hand-to-hand combat skills, beyond ensuring their troops could do the minimums to pass the army tests. The brawny infantry boys would probably pummel Trip into the floor if the situation devolved into a fight.

Rysha strolled toward the group, hoping she could end things simply by identifying him. Given that they only had seven or eight hours before they had to report for duty, they didn't need any incidents involving the fort infirmary.

"Sure he wants to know _our_ ranks," one of the men said. "For his spy report."

"Evening, Captain," Rysha said strolling up and slipping past one man so she could stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Trip. "What do you think of the capital so far?"

Trip gave her a relieved look. "The bars aren't as friendly as I'd been told."

"Just wait until your reputation spreads. I hear General Zirkander hasn't bought his own beers for a long time." She _hadn't_ heard that, but suspected it was true.

"Who are you?" one of the men asked.

The other one, the one she recognized from her battalion, appeared less suspicious. He probably didn't know her name any more than she knew his, but he must have seen her around in the last few months.

"Lieutenant Ravenwood." She faced him, standing at her full height.

These men had a few inches on her, but she figured her name would carry whatever weight her height didn't. She'd never cared to rely on being from the nobility, but with one of her uncles on the King's council, most people who were even vaguely aware of politics had heard of it.

She wasn't sure if her name or her rank made more of a difference, but the men did take a step back.

One jerked a thumb at Trip. "You're with this..."

"Captain," Rysha offered. "And yes."

"You're sure he's not a spy, LT?"

"He's a brave pilot who's risked his life often to protect Iskandia," she said coolly, tired of the stupidity stampeding around this bar like scared cattle trapped in a corral.

"Oh, all right. If you know him then..." The men lifted their hands and backed into the crowd.

"Thanks," Trip said, though he wore an aggrieved expression as they walked to her table together. Nobody liked to have to be saved by someone else, so she understood that. She was sure it was even harder for men when women came to their rescue. "I, uh, didn't realize you'd heard of me. Before today, I mean."

"I hadn't." Rysha slid into her seat and waved for him to take the one opposite.

"Oh." Disappointment flashed in his eyes, making her wish she'd lied. "That part about me protecting Iskandia made it sound like it," he added.

"Isn't that what _all_ pilots do?"

"I suppose so. But I've been shot at more than most pilots who've been in as long as me. Or longer." His face screwed up as he seemed to reconsider whether that was something he should brag about or not.

She stifled a giggle since he might not appreciate it. "Because you've protected Iskandia more often than most or because you're more reckless than most?"

"Uhm, that second thing. I actually thought I was being brought in to be reprimanded when I was given orders to transfer over here and told I was being promoted." He smiled sheepishly. "It's my first day as captain. That's why I keep messing up my rank."

"You're young to make captain. How long have you been in?"

"It's been two years since I graduated from the academy. I... it surprised me, honestly. Not being transferred—everybody knows there's been more trouble on this side of the country—but the rest. I'm not sure I'm ready to be in charge of anything. It's not like my last CO sang my praises that often."

"Zirkander must have seen something in your record," Rysha said, assuming he signed off on promotions within his battalion. "Honestly, I'm more surprised someone handed you a soulblade."

"A what?"

"The sword Sardelle gave you. There's a sentient soul inside, at least according to the legends. When sorcerers died, especially if they knew their deaths were coming and had time to prepare, they sometimes did a ceremony to infuse their essences, their _souls_ , into magical swords. And then sorcerers who were deemed deserving would be given the sword and bond with the soul inside."

Trip looked a little disturbed as he digested this, making Rysha wonder why Sardelle hadn't explained more to him. Maybe the _soulblade_ would explain things to him.

"If you'd brought it along, it probably could have kicked those two brutes' asses," Rysha said.

Looking even more sheepish, he said, "I wasn't sure if I was supposed to walk around the city with it. Like if that's even legal."

"It's fine to carry weapons in the capital, especially if you're a soldier. And you should be taking the sword everywhere you go to bond with it."

"Bond? It's Sardelle's to be bonded with, right? It's just on loan to me for the mission."

"Even so, you should treat it with reverence and respect. It's no small thing to be allowed to use a soulblade. There aren't all that many left in the world."

"Huh, all right."

Rysha looked down at her map, deciding to change the subject since he appeared uncomfortable with it all. Besides, who was she to lecture him? She knew about magical swords, but thus far, all her experience was academic.

At least he didn't seem as alarmed by everything as Leftie had been during the meeting. Judging by Trip's accent, he was from the eastern provinces—they both were—and superstitions ran rampant over there. A lack of education, too. Though they both would have needed university degrees to join the service as officers.

"What did you study in school, Trip?" Rysha asked.

"Mechanical engineering."

"Oh?" She looked back up at him. "You must enjoy math, then."

"I mostly enjoy building and fixing things. I wanted to learn enough about machines to fix my own flier if I was shot down."

"The odds being greater for that than for other pilots, since you find yourself getting shot at so much?"

"Heh, I guess so."

She folded her hands on the wobbly table, thinking he might explain more about the degree and his interests, but he looked down at the map, like he wasn't certain what to say next.

"Can mechanical engineers fix tables?" Rysha asked, leaning on an elbow to produce a wobble.

"Yes. Though I could build you a new table too. My grandfather is a woodworker, and I used to help him around the shop."

"I believe you would find that the Black Stag lacks tools and raw materials."

"Perhaps so."

"Also, I probably don't need a new table for one night of studying." She gestured to the map.

Did he look a touch disappointed?

"One moment." Trip disappeared under the table.

Rysha thought about collecting him some coasters, but her attempt to employ them as supports hadn't amounted to much.

After a few seconds, Trip returned to his seat and extended a hand toward the table in invitation. She leaned an elbow on one side, expecting it would continue to wobble, but it now sat firmly and evenly on the floor.

"Huh." She peered under it, but it was too dark to see what he'd done. "An engineering miracle."

"Yes, you've just witnessed all four years of my college education distilled into one moment of genius."

She giggled, then clasped a hand over her mouth. Her aunt had often told her that it wasn't proper for noble ladies to giggle. They were supposed to titter delicately if necessary, or better yet, simply smile serenely. Rysha didn't always follow her aunt's advice on ladylike protocol, but sometimes when she laughed too hard, she snorted. She suspected neither noble ladies nor military officers were supposed to do that.

She looked back down to study the map, but not wanting to exclude her guest, asked, "What kind of tables do you usually make?"

"I always made furniture with useful built-in features. My grandfather told me simple and elegant was best, but I never believed him. My last table had cup holders, racks for overhead lanterns, a bookcase on one end, and a crank so you could raise and lower the whole thing."

"Sounds lovely. Did you know the earliest tables were believed to be made here in Iskandia? By the coastal tribes that brought us the Statues of Evermore? It was close to ten thousand years ago. Those tables, however, were little more than stone platforms used for keeping objects off the floor."

"No cranks or bookcases, huh?"

"We were a simple people back then."

He had his elbows up on the table, chin propped on his hands, watching her study the map. "Were you able to use Sardelle's notes to find the location of the portal?"

"Not one location, no, but with her notes, I've narrowed it down to five possible spots and three _likely_ spots. Subarctic Zharr, the southern polar cap, and the ice floes of Il-gothnor. Sardelle had more places selected, but these are areas where dragon artifacts have been found in the past by intrepid explorers on expeditions. Also, looking at known dragon sightings—and there have been a lot of them—they started in the southern hemisphere and trickled northward. Now, they're appearing all over, but..." She tapped the polar cap with her pencil. "There are some islands sheathed in ice down here, and the ice sheets themselves are so thick in places that—"

"That's it," Trip said, resting his finger next to her pencil.

The certainty in his voice surprised her.

"I mean, based on what you said, it makes a lot of sense," he amended.

She squinted at him.

He twitched a shoulder. "And I have a hunch. When you said that stuff, it clicked inside my mind, like a puzzle piece snapping into place."

Even though she'd just met him, she had a feeling his hunches were usually right. She'd caught Sardelle giving him a few significant looks when she'd been talking about dragon blood and sorcerers. He might believe he was a simple, table-making pilot, but Rysha wagered there was a reason Sardelle had chosen him to carry her sword. Or the _sword_ had chosen him.

Rysha wasn't sure how she felt about that. If those two men who'd randomly selected him to harass were any indication, Trip probably didn't make friends easily, which made her want to befriend him, but she shuddered at the idea of standing next to someone who could read her mind.

But Trip probably couldn't do that. If he had mind powers, he could have convinced those two soldiers to wander off without bothering him. Besides, if he _did_ have a little dragon blood, it could come in handy on the mission. Maybe his _hunch_ would pay off.

"I'll tell Major Blazer that I suggest we start looking at the polar cap," Rysha said.

Trip nodded. "After we visit Neaminor." His eyes gleamed.

"Excited at the prospect?"

"Pirates have been harassing our coastlines since—"

A wailing started up outside, the city-wide alert siren that announced an imminent attack.

"Invaders!" someone yelled.

"Pinoth is under attack!"

All the men with short hair—the soldiers in the pub—charged for the door.

Trip's eyes grew round. "Dragons are coming."

# 5

Trip sprinted through the cobblestone and cement streets toward the army fort at the base of the bluff housing the flier hangars. Sirens continued to wail, and his sixth sense screamed in his ears almost as loudly as they did. Dragons. _Multiple_ dragons.

He couldn't see anything in the cloudy night sky yet, but he sensed their auras. They radiated power like that of the sun, and he could almost feel it beating against his skin.

He wasn't the only soldier running toward the fort, and he found the gate already open, floodlights on. Good. He didn't have to worry about showing his identification. He hadn't received his Wolf Squadron pin yet—or his new rank tabs—and he didn't have anything except his orders to prove he was a part of the unit, orders that were in the barracks room he'd been assigned that morning.

As he raced onto the fort, Trip glanced around and realized he didn't know anyone around him. He'd sprinted off without checking to see if Duck, Ravenwood, or even Leftie were with him. All he'd known was that he had to get to his flier. That was the only place he could imagine going where he could do some good.

Some soldiers broke away, heading for the walls and the artillery weapons perched at intervals there. Others ran down the same streets as Trip, toward the tram at the back of the fort that led up to the flier hangars. He reached it as the doors were about to close. The tram car was already full. Damn it. As it was, he wouldn't get to his flier before the dragons reached the harbor and the city.

"Out, Cricket," a familiar voice said from behind him. "Go in the next round."

"Yes, sir," a soldier by the door blurted and stepped out.

General Zirkander jumped into his spot. There wasn't obvious room for another person, but Trip saw a tiny bit of floor space and decided to squeeze in. The doors started to shut before he found a spot.

Zirkander grabbed him, and Trip thought he might push him away, but he pulled him in, turning sideways to make more space. Others squished back in deference to him.

"Thanks, sir," Trip said.

"You bring Jaxi?" Zirkander asked.

"The sword? No."

Zirkander swore.

"Sorry, sir." Trip winced, now regretting his lunge into the car, and not just because he was forced to crouch, half-wedged under Zirkander's armpit. After what Ravenwood had said, he'd already been feeling bad about leaving the weapon behind. "I was at a pub. I didn't realize I should take it everywhere."

"Jaxi is invaluable. And useful. Even in pubs."

The tram shuddered into motion, the cable creaking ominously under the weight of all the soldiers—pilots—piled into the car.

"Yes, sir. I'm beginning to understand that now."

Zirkander didn't respond, and Trip tried not to feel like a screw-up. Just that afternoon, he'd been thinking how much better it would be to work under him than under Colonel Anchor, but if Zirkander's first impression of him was that he was an idiot, that might have been a premature assumption.

"Sardelle will bring her," Zirkander said as the car swayed and groaned its way to the top of the bluff.

"Sir?" Trip wasn't sure if the statement was for him.

"She hadn't left the fort yet to go home. She's stopping by your room in the barracks to get Jaxi, and she'll bring her along."

"Oh." Trip wondered if they were speaking telepathically. Zirkander didn't have dragon blood, at least Trip didn't think so, but maybe Sardelle, and perhaps the sword, could reach out to him.

Light flared somewhere outside, slashing through a side window. Someone gasped.

Trip couldn't see past people's heads, but he didn't need to. He could _feel_ the proximity of the first of the three dragons. Even though he'd never seen one in person before, he had no doubt that he was right.

"It's descending on the city," someone near the window blurted.

"There's more than one!"

Trip set his jaw. Tonight, he would join Wolf Squadron, and he would help drive those dragons away. That would show Zirkander that he wasn't a screw-up.

The car bumped to a stop, and the doors in the back opened. Men leaped out and raced for one of two hangars, the one all lit up, the one where Trip had parked his flier earlier. Just that morning. What a long, life-changing day it had been.

Zirkander took off at top speed, and Trip ran after him. The road to the hangar followed the side of the bluff, letting them see down into the dark waters of the harbor and also into the city curving along the coastline, the streets lit with gas lamps. And—Trip sucked in a startled breath—several buildings were ablaze with fire. _Dragon_ fire.

A huge gold flew over the city, gliding and banking and doing loops, much as Trip might do in his flier. It was as if the dragon was simply enjoying the feel of flying. And the feel of letting loose flames and destroying things.

Trip grimaced, thinking he heard screams over the undulations of the sirens.

Zirkander, less enthralled with the invading dragon, had outpaced him and was running into the hangar. Trip sprinted to catch up, determined to go up in the first wave. He just wasn't sure what they could do. What would bullets do to a dragon? Ravenwood had called the creatures nearly impervious and implied they needed one of those special swords to harm one. Could the soulblade—Jaxi—hurt a dragon?

Trip grimaced again, realizing he'd left Ravenwood down in the city without so much as a farewell or "good luck." Had she run to the fort after him? He felt certain Leftie and Duck had been right behind him, perhaps having to wait to cram into the next tram car. But Ravenwood wasn't a pilot. Where would she have gone? What if she was down there in a building now ablaze?

Damn, he wished he'd made sure she was someplace safe before taking off, especially after she had stepped up to his side to help him out of that jam. Even though that had been embarrassing, he'd been glad to get out of a fight that wouldn't have gone his way, and he'd had the sense that she would have fought at his side if it had devolved into that. Strangers, or near strangers, didn't typically jump to his defense.

"Right here," Zirkander called from an office, waving Trip to a line that had formed.

Trip had intended to run straight to his flier—someone had already rolled open the hangar door so the craft could take off—but Zirkander was handing objects to the pilots in line. As soon as they received one or two, they ran toward their fliers, cradling the items carefully. Trip sensed something about them, some small hint of magic.

"What are they, sir?" Trip asked from the end of the line, hopping from foot to foot in his eagerness to get out there and do something. To save the city and to prove himself. One way or another.

"The only weapon we've got left that can eat through dragon scales," Zirkander said. "We're out of the bullets, but these grenades have a special acid in them, made in part using dragon blood. Our mad scientist Tolemek got ahold of some a few years ago and made us some weapons."

"Deathmaker," someone in line said. Not a correction but a clarification, Trip sensed.

And he nodded. He'd heard of the infamous pirate, someone who'd had a reputation even greater—and more fearsome—than Neaminor.

"He works for us now," Zirkander said, glancing toward a flier several times as he doled grenades out from a box designed like an egg carton. "We've had him trying to invent some new weapons that work against dragons, but we're out of dragon blood, and that seems to be an integral element. This is all we've got. And I do mean _all_. We don't have Kasandral in the city right now, so we have no way to get through the dragons' magical armor. These grenades will only be effective if they're blown open when a dragon's barriers are down."

"How are we going to get them down, sir?" someone asked.

"Without Kasandral? I don't know. We're going to have to be creative and hope attrition might do something. We'll get everyone up there shooting. We can't let dragons raze the capital without a fight." Zirkander's face was as grim as death, so different from the affable general from the meeting that afternoon.

"Will the soulblade be of any use?" Trip asked, stepping to the front of the line.

Zirkander placed two grenades in his hand, pins to arm them evident.

"She's always useful," he said, "but she can't out-magic a dragon or force one's defenses down."

"Attrition it is, then." Trip gripped the grenades and ran toward his flier. He tried not to think about the grimness on Zirkander's face, but it was hard. His sixth sense was telling him that nobody had ever worn down a dragon through attrition, at least not using mundane human weapons.

_You are correct_ , a voice spoke into his head—Jaxi. _But it's possible the dragons will find us irritating enough that they'll leave the city. We'll be like flies harassing an elephant._

Trip had reached his flier, but he paused, looking toward the hangar door, imagining Jaxi must be close. Would she expect to fly with him?

Sardelle strode through the doorway, being passed by men and women on the run, more pilots who had come up in the next tram car. She looked aggrieved at her pace and held a hand to her stomach, but she turned toward Zirkander, her face determined.

_I'll fly with Ridge this time,_ Jaxi told him. _We're old combat buddies by now, and we've fought in many battles together. Besides, he needs me._

It took Trip a moment to realize that "Ridge" was Ridgewalker Zirkander. He couldn't imagine being on a first-name basis with the general.

Leftie and Duck jogged into the hangar, and Trip tossed them a wave before climbing into his cockpit, careful not to jostle the grenades. There hadn't been time to fix his flier's cracked windshield, but it would have to do. It sounded like he would be flying a two-seater for the mission, rather than his C-23, old Sky Hawk. Assuming everyone survived the night and there still _was_ a mission.

What if attrition didn't work and the dragons couldn't be driven off? He could sense the second one entering the harbor now, and another sailing down the coastline from the north.

"You're not trying to leave without me, are you, Trip?" Leftie called from the line, something gripped in his hand. His hookball luck charm?

"If you can't keep up, that's not my fault," Trip called back.

Fliers were already rolling out of the hangar and toward the runway, lights shining on their bronze hulls, the dragon snouts and fangs painted on the noses. When fliers had first been built, nobody had seen a real dragon in a thousand years. Next to the real thing, the fliers seemed woefully inadequate. But Trip would do the best he could out there.

He flicked on the engine power, and the energy crystal mounted in the cockpit flared to life with a yellow glow. He dropped the hood over it, so it wouldn't be so noticeable out there in the dark. Not that a dragon would fail to sense its magic. But with fliers swarming all over, the creatures shouldn't have a reason to target him in particular.

The fliers sailing out ahead of him had the Wolf Squadron "W" on the sides next to their numbers. There were a few other fliers with different letters, such as Leftie's C. One next to him had an L, Lion Squadron. Was he supposed to fly with Wolf Squadron? None of them knew him yet, including the commander, Colonel Tranq.

As Trip rolled toward the exit, chatter started up, audible through the comm crystal on the control panel.

"Wolves, you're with me," a woman said. That had to be Colonel Tranq. Trip had seen the officer's name in reports before but hadn't realized she was a woman. Not that it mattered. "Everyone else, you're going up with Zirkander. He'll direct the assault. Keep your yaps shut unless you have something major to report."

Trip reluctantly let a couple of other fliers roar out ahead of him, since they were Wolf Squadron. He was honored to fly with Zirkander, but he also wanted to get out there right away.

Fortunately, the general had handed off grenade distribution to a mechanic. He sent a parting wave to Sardelle as he raced toward his flier, one that still had a W on the side.

Ignoring the rungs, he vaulted into his cockpit, slapped the power on, and was rolling toward the hangar before his crystal flared fully to life. Trip caught a worried expression on Sardelle's face as she gazed after him, but Trip turned his focus to following Zirkander out of the hangar.

Along with Leftie and several others, they rolled into the fresh ocean air. Trip looked toward the night sky and the two dragons flying over the city, the gold he'd seen on the way up, and a smaller bronze. If the legends he'd grown up with were true, the bronze shouldn't breathe fire, but with a wingspan of almost fifty feet, and the strength and mental power of a demigod, it could still do plenty of damage.

"Tranq, form your squad up into four-man teams, two on each dragon," Zirkander said. "You know the drill, all rounds go out toward the ocean, and stagger runs to stay out of each other's fire. _No_ dropping grenades over the city. Do your best to lure the dragons out over the harbor."

"Yes, sir. We're on it."

"There's another gold dragon coming down from the north. Cougars, Lions, Bears, and anyone else I'm forgetting, you're with me. We're going up to meet her and try to stop her from reaching the city. V formation until we make contact."

Several _yes, sirs_ sounded in response.

Trip veered into the night after the general, surprised he knew about the third dragon, since it wasn't in sight yet, and also surprised he apparently knew its gender. _Her_ gender. Or was it a guess? Even Trip couldn't tell that.

_He_ has _a magical spy,_ Jaxi spoke into his mind, startling him. _As to the rest, the cloaca of the female is significantly different from the cloaca of the male. Do they not teach young pilots anything?_

_Uh, just how to fly, ma'am._

_Ma'am? Oh, this is much improved from earlier. But you can call me Jaxi. I was younger than you when I entered the sword. I'm not a stuffy old lady._

_I'll keep that in mind._ Based on what Ravenwood had told him, "entered the sword" meant that Jaxi the person had died at that point. He wondered what had happened to her to cause her death when so young.

A question for another time. The second gold dragon had come into view, and she was huge. Even larger than the first gold. She sped fearlessly toward them.

The first bangs of machine guns erupted behind Trip, Wolf Squadron engaging the other dragons. He didn't sense any pain or concern coming from the dragons. If anything, he sensed... amusement.

He winced. That didn't bode well for this battle.

# 6

Rysha ran up the stairs to the wall that surrounded the army fort, the largest installation on the West Coast and the city's major ground defense against those dragons. Booms thundered, and the stone steps shivered under her feet. Already, someone manned the cannons, guns, and other artillery weapons, lofting projectiles into the cloudy night sky.

Fire lit the city, at least a dozen buildings burning. Wood snapped and flames crackled, the noise competing with the siren, the terrified shouts of people, and the roar of the ocean beyond the breakwater. So far, the fort hadn't been hit. Men ran to their duty stations while shouting orders. High above, fliers took off from the bluff.

Had Trip, Leftie, and Duck already made it up there? Some of the fliers, barely visible against the dark sky, veered toward the dragons tormenting the city, and others headed north. Were _more_ dragons coming?

From all the reports Rysha had heard, she couldn't imagine fighting _one_ off, much less a herd of them. Or a flock. Or whatever the hells multiple dragons flying together were called. The history books had never mentioned a term.

She ran past two gun teams, nobody glancing her way. She had no idea if anyone would have taken over Gun 7 on the northeast corner since she'd left. She'd been given command of that position fresh out of the academy, with a couple of sergeants with true experience also on the team. But it had been three weeks since she received her orders for the elite troops training, so it was possible she would arrive and find another lieutenant in charge of the position.

But it wouldn't have made sense to run to the elite troops headquarters. There was nothing she could do to help from there. Even if she hadn't been a raw recruit, only partway into the training, she couldn't imagine what she might have done. For now, this entire battle was in the air.

Four men surrounded Gun 7, loading the first shells. Someone had lit a gas lamp so they could see. Half the men were in their pajamas and boots. Rifles leaned against the wall next to the big double-barreled artillery gun. If the dragons came down and the soldiers had to fight them with rifles, the entire city would be in trouble. Not that it wasn't in trouble already.

A scream came from the city, disturbingly close. An apartment building less than a quarter mile from the fort walls almost exploded from the heat as flames surged into the night. A dragon flew away. _Lazily_.

Gunshots fired, cannons boomed, and a shell exploded near its head, but the dragon flapped its wings just enough to rise up above the city again.

"Bastard's toying with us," came a growl from Gun 7.

An angry clang followed it, the breech door slamming shut.

"That Sergeant Deimakker?" Rysha asked as one of the men in pajamas aimed the now-loaded artillery weapon.

"Yeah, that you, Lieutenant Ravenwood? Thought you'd moved on to bigger and better things."

"Just muddier things." She came to stand behind the men.

"Some men pay a lot of money to see women covered in mud."

"I'm afraid I would have been a disappointing show."

"You do the obstacle course yet?"

"Yes."

"Make it past the Cofah infiltrator?"

"Technically, yes. After he knocked out my partner with a single punch, I talked medical science at him until he got concerned about all the concussions he'd received in his life. I jogged past him while he was pondering that."

Sergeant Deimakker barked a laugh. "You and your brain are either exactly what the elite troops need, or you'll be kicked out by the end of the month."

"Or both."

"True."

Someone—Corporal Lancing?—fired at the dragon, a shudder going through the massive gun with the recoil. The shell sailed upward and toward the harbor, blowing through the spot where their target had been two seconds earlier, then landing uselessly in the water.

The gun team cursed, but quickly loaded more rounds.

Rysha's fingers itched to do something, but as she'd learned as soon as she graduated the academy, young lieutenants were largely decorative. She'd done the paperwork for the unit, and in their practice drills, her job had been to walk between Guns 7, 8, and 9, to see if the sergeants, the men with the _real_ experience, needed anything. Sometimes, her rank could facilitate requests, but her rank was admittedly puny and lowly in comparison to other officers. Nobody expected that much from her.

While that was sometimes a relief, it rankled now. She _wanted_ to help. Especially now that this wasn't a practice drill.

Rysha was doing her best to lock her emotions—her fears—into a box in her mind, but every time she heard a scream or a cry of pain, they threatened to escape. It had been bad enough hearing about attacks taking place in different parts of the country, but this was _home_. Oh, her family's estate was forty miles down the coast, but she'd gone to school in the capital and done all her military training here. She knew the streets as well as any. And knew a lot of the people too.

She swallowed when she noticed a snarl of flames and smoke wafting upward from the southeastern side of the city, where the university lay. Most of the professors there lived close by. And many of her friends who'd stayed in academia. Might her sister be there now?

Thinking of her family made her realize that she had no idea if her mother and father and grandmother and everyone on the estate down south were all right. Had the dragons come from that direction? What if they'd burned everything along the coast on the way?

"Your big brain have any advice for hitting dragons?" Deimakker asked after taking a turn at the gun himself, only to have his rounds also fly wide.

Rysha took a deep breath and pushed her worries aside. Right now, all she could do was focus on her duty.

"You talking to me, Sarge?" the corporal who'd also missed the dragon asked.

"Nah, the LT. You know that."

"I'm big all over—my brain too. Wasn't sure."

Rysha smiled faintly as she looked toward the sky, studying the way the dragons, a gold and a bronze, banked and wheeled. A part of her found it odd that men facing danger tossed around banter, but intellectually, she understood. Anything to keep the mind off the trouble they were in. They not only struggled to hit the dragons, but even when projectiles came close, neither exploding shells nor cannonballs did any damage.

As she watched, a cannonball bounced off the bronze dragon, striking some invisible field instead of hitting him. She'd read about dragon powers and knew what to expect, but it hadn't prepared her for the reality, the frustration of being able to do nothing.

"The gold likes to bank to his left," she said. "And every time he comes to the end of the city, he loops up, rotates, and spins before flying back in." She ran some equations in her head. "I'd guess the speed for both of them to be a steady fifty, sixty miles per hour right now, faster when they're diving of course. It's roughly 1.2 seconds for one of our shells to hit an airborne target at one thousand meters in altitude and at this end of the city. To the north end it's 1.9, and more like 2.1 to the castle." Those were equations she'd run before, when she first came to this assignment, her notebook and pencil amusing the team of veterans. "If you can catch one of them on a straight run and fire about—" She made a groping gesture with her hand, not sure how to explain. "Probably aim a good five hundred yards in front of them when they're at this end of the city. Closer to seven hundred up north."

"You're right, Sarge. Her brain is bigger than mine."

"Take a try at the gun, LT," Deimakker said.

Rysha hesitated before stepping onto the firing platform. She'd had practice with the army's various artillery weapons out on the range, but she hadn't done any real firing yet, not out over the city where one had to be careful about ordnance exploding over buildings or the ships docked in the harbor. Not to mention the fliers up there trying their damnedest to shoot the dragons.

The pilots were well aware of the artillery weapons and usually attacked in rounds to give the ground troops openings. But with the guns and cannons so far proving worthless, would they stick to routine? The pilots were firing as they flew about, and occasionally, someone lobbed a small grenade from the cockpit, but thus far, the dragons appeared uninjured. Almost bored with the battle.

Booms came from the fort walls. The bronze was heading their way.

Rysha adjusted the big gun, shifting the sights well ahead of the dragon's path. Would it bank? Or continue straight toward them?

Guessing on straight, she pulled the two triggers, one after the other. The shells blasted away, the platform reverberating under her feet. She lost track of them in the dim light, but one of the dragon's taloned arms snapped out. It caught something. Her shell?

It rolled onto its back in the air and tossed the shell back toward the fort. It exploded in the air before it reached them, flashing in the night sky, and fortunately doing no damage.

"Well, that was disheartening," Deimakker said.

"Yeah," the corporal said. "Better let me go back to firing. It's safer when we miss."

Rysha stared bleakly as the bronze flew over them, banked, and flapped its wings to take it up to the hangars. It landed atop the back one and disappeared from her sight, but a great wrenching of metal echoed over the sirens still wailing in the city.

To the north, the gold dragon lit fire to dozens of ships docked in the harbor and then flew toward the castle. King Angulus's home and headquarters. There would be gunners on the castle walls, too, but what could they do that the soldiers down here couldn't?

More than a dozen fliers veered to follow the gold dragon, their machine gun fire pummeling the night, but their foe's wings never faltered, and Rysha knew those rounds weren't getting through.

_Puny humans!_ a voice cried in her mind, and she stumbled backward, slipping off the gun platform. Great power came with those words, and they rang around in her head like a clapper in a bell. _We are reclaiming Serankil, and this land you are infesting will be mine. Your weapons are useless against us, as you can see. You are weaker than you were a thousand years ago. So puny! So unworthy of a world to yourselves. Henceforward, all humans infesting this land will be my slaves. Or—_ the voice seemed to purr these last words _—my dinner._

"This night is getting better and better," Deimakker growled.

_Send forth your leader now to surrender your land to me, Gharettomenko the Bold, and perhaps we will not destroy your entire city._

The gold dragon circled the castle, apparently knowing exactly where the "leader" lived.

Rysha stepped back onto the platform and aimed at the dragon again. Until someone told her they were surrendering, she would keep shooting. Dragons weren't immortal, just very hard to kill. If they kept hammering away at that gold's shields, just maybe it would get tired. Maybe those shields would falter.

The gold dove down toward the castle, flames roiling from its maw.

* * *

• • • • •

* * *

Trip sailed into the split formation Zirkander ordered, his finger on the trigger for his machine guns. The cool night air whipped through his hair and battered his face—he hadn't taken the time to put on any of his gear except his goggles—but he barely noticed. He was focused on the dragon, though the sheer power roiling off her made him want to fly down and find a rock to cower behind. Instead, he did his best to wall off his emotions, to resist its power. A few seconds, and they would be within firing range.

"Sir," came Tranq's voice over the crystal, "we haven't been able to stop either of them yet, and the gold is attacking the castle."

"Do your best," Zirkander said. "We're about to engage the second gold. Trust that King Angulus is somewhere safe."

"Wish _I_ was," someone muttered.

"Stow that," Tranq barked.

"Just keep them as busy as possible," Zirkander said. "Sardelle has gotten in touch with Tolemek and the rest of Wolf Squadron. They just finished a battle of their own, and they're flying up from the south with the dragon-slaying blade. Just over a hundred miles away now and coming fast."

Trip grimaced. A hundred miles in a flier was still almost a two-hour trip, and they would be flying against the prevailing winds.

The squadron split to sail around the dragon, shooting forward and toward it. Machine gun fire blasted over the roar of the ocean and the now-distant sirens from the city. Every fourth bullet was an incendiary and lit the sky orange as it streaked toward its target. Because of that, Trip could see the bullets bouncing uselessly off the dragon's invisible shield.

Laughter sounded in their minds, rolling over them with power that could have brought men to their knees, had any of them been standing. As it was, several fliers wobbled, and guns stopped firing.

Trip gritted his teeth, took a couple of last shots at its tail, then prepared to circle back to chase it down the coast and fire again. He touched the two grenades he had wedged between his thighs. Not the best place for them, but he needed them to stay put when he flew upside down.

A wave of power rolled off the dragon as the fliers tried to close again.

"Brace yourselves," Trip blurted, not sure if the others would sense it coming.

It slammed into their fliers like a tidal wave. There was no chance to ride it out. Before Trip knew what was happening, his flier's tail flipped over its nose, the craft tumbling through the air like a hapless leaf on the wind. The _hurricane_ wind.

A myriad of curses burst from the communication crystal. Trip hadn't been the only one hurtled away.

Something snapped ominously in the rear of his flier. The frame?

He forced himself to relax—but tightened his grip on those grenades—knowing he wouldn't be able to gain control of the flier again until the wave washed past them.

"I'm damaged," someone said. "Losing altitude."

"Take her down, back to the base if you can," Zirkander said.

"My _brain_ is damaged," someone else growled. "Feels like that dragon is stabbing mental daggers in it."

"You stay with us. And learn to like that feeling."

"Planning on it, sir."

"My squad—I'm calling you Dragon Squadron for now—I'll try to draw her ire," Zirkander said, his voice remarkably calm given all that was going on. "Jaxi can protect my flier somewhat. While the dragon is focused on me at her head, I want you strafing her belly. If her defenses falter at any point, Jaxi will tell me, and I'll let you know. Don't waste your grenades until then."

Draw her ire? That didn't sound healthy.

Zirkander zipped ahead, flying faster than his craft should have been able to go. Was the soulblade giving him more speed? If anyone in the newly formed squadron wondered who or what Jaxi was, they didn't ask.

Trip followed the others, trying to come in from the side and under the dragon, even as they kept following it southward, back toward the city. But as he flew, he groped for ideas. _Shooting_ wasn't doing anything. They had to get her shields down.

Zirkander banked and flew straight toward the dragon's face. That seemed suicidal, especially since she could breathe fire, but maybe he hoped to be enough of a distraction that their winged enemy would lose focus and drop her barrier for a few seconds.

Trip pictured the dragon's head in his mind as he flew under her, angling fire up toward her scaled belly. Jaxi had claimed that he shouted when responding to her telepathically. Did that mean he was... transmitting words? Or whatever the term was?

_Dragon_ , he cried in his mind, trying to cry into _her_ mind, _do you fly in to help the other gold dragon? He has said he will rule this land by himself._ He'd heard the announcement the male gold had made earlier. Presumably, the female dragon, and everyone in the city, had heard it, too, but one never knew. _He must only be using you for your brawn._

Zirkander fired his machine guns at the dragon's nose, and Trip suspected his words had gone nowhere. What did _he_ know about telepathy?

Another wave of power sprang from the dragon, this time toward the air in front of it. Toward Zirkander. His flier was hurtled to the side like a hookball in one of Leftie's matches, and fear and fury formed a hard knot in Trip's throat. The force of the blow seemed like it would tear Zirkander's flier into pieces, and maybe it already had. He'd gone out toward the sea, the sky dark out there, and Trip couldn't make him out.

_You think Gharettomenko is using me?_ The words thundered into Trip's mind, banging around in his skull. Pain came with them, and he almost groaned aloud, his wings wobbling as his hand shook on the flight stick. _Gharettomenko is my mate. All that he does is to please me._

The words caused more pain as they pounded inside Trip's head, and he roared in frustration, bringing his flier about. Forgetting about the neat formations they'd been flying in to attack, he angled directly at the dragon's head, firing relentlessly. All he wanted to do was make the pain stop.

"Trip, what are you doing?" Leftie demanded. "You break ranks here, and you'll get caught in someone's crossfire."

_My mate and I will destroy your puny city,_ the female roared. Was everyone hearing the words? Or just Trip? Each one struck like a dagger this time, as if she knew she could use more force to speak and hurt him more.

"Stop it!" he yelled, unintentionally speaking aloud.

The side of the dragon's gold-scaled head filled his vision. He fired, bullets bouncing off, doing nothing. Again.

She laughed, the sound bringing as much pain as her words.

"Stop it!" Trip cried again, and imagined hurling his pain and anger and frustration into the dragon's mind as he flew past, strafing the top of her head with his ineffective ammunition.

"Her barrier's down," Zirkander barked. "Grenades, now!"

What the hells?

Almost past her, there was no time to ask for clarification. He grabbed the grenades, yanked the pins, and twisted in his seat to throw them between his flier's wings and over the tail.

Booms erupted as other grenades struck the dragon and exploded. They didn't simply hit a barrier and bounce off. They actually struck her _scales_.

Trip turned his flier, hoping to come in and fire again. Also hoping to see if the grenades were proving effective. Even with her magical defenses down, those scales were like steel armor, if not tougher.

He didn't see anything as promising as scales blown away and flesh laid bare underneath, but a brown goo clung to them after the grenades blew. It took a few seconds, but then pain radiated from the dragon, all of her previous amusement gone.

Trip would have whooped with triumph, except that fresh pain slammed into him. An attack? Or was he sensing _her_ pain? He had no idea if anybody else felt it as keenly, but it was all he could do not to cry out as it pierced his soul.

_You!_ the female roared into his mind.

Before he could think of a response, mental or physical, a wall of power slammed into his flier. It slammed him against his seat back, and pain blasted from his neck.

Behind him, wood snapped and crunched. One of his wings tore away from the frame as his craft was thrown end-over-end again.

This time, he couldn't pull out of it. He moved the flight stick, but a creak and groan came from the frame, followed by a soft snap. The steering mechanism. It broke completely. He had no way to turn, no way to fly up or down. Lastly, the power crystal went dark. Even though the hood hid it from sight, he sensed the light disappearing. The magic was no more.

His forward momentum faded, and gravity caught up with him. His flier dropped like a rock.

"I'm going down," he blurted, his voice sounding loud, afraid, and panicky in his ears.

He'd always imagined himself facing death valiantly. Bravely. Not wetting himself and weeping. But as his flier plummeted away from the battle still raging overhead, all he knew was sheer terror. His life had barely begun, and this was the end.

Trying to harness rational thought, he peered over the side. If he was over the water instead of land, maybe there was a chance.

It was hard to tell, as he was north of the city still, the coast all dark down there, but he thought he saw whitecaps breaking. If he landed, it would be behind them. In deep water. Might he survive?

With shaking hands, he unfastened his harness. Those whitecaps were close. Very close.

At the last second, he jumped from his seat, up and away from his flier, hoping in vain that he wouldn't hit the water as hard that way.

But the cold ocean slammed into him like a pile driver. His neck, back, and head struck down with an explosion of pain, and he blacked out.

# 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 find 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 finding 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 find 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._

# 8

The tram car wobbled and swayed as the wind gusted and rain pattered against the windows. Rysha didn't think it was an auspicious morning to take off on a mission, especially since the fliers were open to the elements. The infantry soldiers liked to talk about the pilots as if they were precious pansies, but Rysha couldn't imagine the courage it took to do what they did.

She would rather fight someone on the ground than fly in all manner of crazy conditions to battle pirates, Cofah, and now dragons. Especially considering how fragile their fliers appeared. The bodies were a lightweight metal that didn't always stop bullets, and the wings were made of some kind of cloth material.

She'd heard Trip's flier had crashed into the ocean during the battle, and she'd wanted to go see him in the infirmary the day before, but she had been pressed into duty, helping find injured people and cart them to hospitals and infirmaries. Buildings were still smoldering all over the city, so she ought to be grateful for the rain.

The wobbling car made it to the top, and the doors opened to let Rysha out, along with a couple of other yawning soldiers who headed straight toward one of two hangars. Her step faltered when she saw that one of the hangars had been ripped to shreds, its roof gone and its walls torn from the foundation. A private drove something akin to a street sweeper around the top of the bluff, cleaning up shards of metal.

Shaking her head, Rysha headed through the puddles toward the remaining hangar. The doors stood open with soft light coming out.

She spotted two figures standing on the edge of the bluff, looking out toward the city and the harbor, and she detoured toward them. Their backs were to her, but the tall one looked like Captain Kaika. One of her feet was propped up on a huge duffel bag that had to be full of more than changes of clothing.

The other appeared to be a woman, too, but she was almost a foot shorter than Kaika and couldn't have weighed more than a hundred pounds. Despite that, she wore a large sniper rifle on her back _and_ a sword in a scabbard.

They both turned as Rysha approached, even though she didn't think she'd made any noise.

"Morning, Captain Kaika," Rysha said, looking at the other woman's collar as she saluted, to see if she needed to include her too. Another captain, one with pilot's wings pinned on her jacket. AHN, her nametag read. "Ma'am." Rysha nodded politely to her as she saluted.

"Lieutenant Ravenwood," Kaika said, half greeting, half introduction, as she waved from her to Ahn. "This is Captain Raptor Ahn."

The name and the weapons seemed at odds with the woman's physical stature, but Rysha didn't know her at all, so didn't dare make jokes or ask how she'd gotten the name.

"Oh, and that's Kasandral," Kaika added, pointing at the sword hilt poking over Ahn's shoulder.

It glowed green briefly, and Rysha stumbled back a step.

"He knows his name," Kaika said. "He's a good boy."

"So long as there aren't any sorceresses or dragons around that he desperately wants me to slay." It sounded a bit like a joke, but Ahn's expression was as grim as death. She looked toward the open hangar door. "Or odd new pilots that rub him the wrong way."

Kaika tilted her head. "Which one was that?"

"I didn't get his name. I got out of there as soon as Kasandral flared to life and started urging me to slay him." Again, it wasn't a joke. Ahn grimaced, as if she were resisting that urge right now, and she even turned her head toward the hilt and whispered words under her breath.

Rysha didn't hear them fully, but guessed them to be Old Iskandian, the terms used for controlling the magical blades. The dragon-slaying swords had all been made during that time period, before the disappearance of the dragons and before the worst Cofah invasion in Iskandian history, when the imperials had occupied the country for decades and forced the inhabitants to switch to their language.

Kasandral's green glow disappeared.

"Huh," Kaika said. "That's why you're out here in the rain, then?"

"No, I'm on sentinel duty right now." Ahn pointed up and down the coast. From here on the bluff, she had a great view to the north and south, or she would on a clear day. Right now, between the wan pre-dawn light and the rain, they couldn't even see the castle on the other side of the harbor. "Colonel Therrik gets days. I get nights. He should relieve me soon."

"Just think of all the fun he'd be missing if Angulus had actually let him retire from the military to become a castle guard."

"I imagine he'd still be carrying the sword during the days. He'd just be standing guard from the castle instead of here." Ahn nodded toward the other end of the harbor, then lowered her voice to add, "Nobody trusts the dragons to wait three days—two, now—to visit again."

"Can't say I'm sorry I'll miss their return." Kaika touched a bruise on her cheek.

Whatever the elite troops had been doing during the battle, Rysha was sure it hadn't been sitting on their hands and watching.

"I'm envious of your mission," Ahn said. "But since Therrik and I are the only wielders trained to handle Kasandral's eccentricities, we need to be here. If the capital falls... We _can't_ lose the capital. It's horrible to lose any cities, but this is the center of our government and so much of our culture."

"And it's got all the best houses of ill-repute. You can order up a classy man between your legs any time, day or night." Kaika winked, probably trying to lighten the mood.

"Yes, that's a key reason we can't let the city fall," Ahn said, her voice so deadpan it took Rysha a second to realize it was a joke.

"Good luck." Kaika slapped her on the shoulder and picked up her duffel bag. It must have weighed seventy or eighty pounds, but she shouldered it with ease.

"Are you allowed to take that much gear on the fliers?" Rysha asked as they walked toward the hangar. She had been ordered to pack as lightly as possible.

"Nobody objects to having my explosives along." Kaika patted the side of the bag.

"Ah. So that's fifty percent bomb-making material and fifty percent undies and socks?"

"More like ninety and ten." Kaika grinned at her as they stepped through the doorway. "I only need a lot of changes of undies when Zirkander is flying me somewhere."

"Because he's terrifying to ride with?"

"Sure, we'll go with that."

Rysha stumbled, almost tripping over her own feet. Kaika glanced back, smirking.

"You're not quite what I expected, ma'am."

"Before you joined, your parents probably told you not to spend time with people like me."

"That's unfortunately true of the military at large, though it had more to do with my interest in joining rather than crude panty jokes."

"Crude? Please, my panty jokes are always tasteful." Kaika stopped in front of the four two-seat fliers lined up in front of the open hangar door. "Which one of you fine gentlemen wants to carry me and my bombs across a couple of oceans?"

" _One?_ " A woman with blonde hair pulled back in a bun jumped down from the lead flier, a lit cigar dangling from her lips. "Shit, Kaika, it'll take at least _three_ fliers for all that."

"Are you calling me heavy, Blazer? Or my _bombs_ heavy? You know a lady doesn't like to hear that."

"That's _Major_ Blazer to you." The woman jerked a thumb toward her collar pins, shiny new ones.

Trip closed a panel on one of the fliers and walked over to join Rysha as the two women talked.

" _You_ got promoted? Whose butt did you kiss for that? Zirkander's?" Kaika reached over and extracted the cigar from Blazer's mouth so she could take a puff.

"Nah, you know his butt doesn't excite me the way yours does." Blazer took her cigar back without apology.

"It is a nice one, isn't it?" Kaika turned and gave her cheek a slap.

"This is alarming," Rysha said quietly.

"That our mission commander is hitting on our demolitions expert?" Trip asked.

"That I'm the most feminine woman here."

He cocked an eyebrow. "That's not usually the case?"

Thankfully, he didn't give her a once over and comment on her attributes. Leftie would have, she was sure, even though she'd only spent a couple of hours with him.

"Between my height, all the sports I played with my brothers growing up, and how much time I spent dirty, I wasn't generally given gifts of frilly pink dresses and hair bows."

Leftie appeared from behind a flier in time to hear the comment, and his quirking lips promised an idiotic remark before his mouth opened. "What's that, you say? You like to get dirty and wear frilly dresses? I'm disappointed I didn't get to see that side of you at the Stag."

"You were too busy examining the inside of that woman's mouth to see much of anything," Trip told him.

"Don't be jealous, buddy. I was going to see if she had a friend. If dragons hadn't invaded the city." Leftie's smirk turned into a grimace as he glanced out the hangar door at the dreary gray sky.

"I wasn't jealous. It just wasn't how I imagined our team bonding going."

"Did you recover from your injuries?" Rysha asked him quietly. "I heard you crashed."

"I did." Trip winced, probably not caring to be reminded. "I lost my flier, almost lost my life, and had to be rescued by General Zirkander and his wife's sword. It's not at all how I imagined my first battle under his command going."

"If it helps, I spent the night shooting artillery weapons at dragons that couldn't be harmed by artillery weapons."

"Did you crash anything?"

"No."

"Then it doesn't help."

Rysha snorted and shoved his shoulder before remembering that he outranked her and there was probably a regulation against shoving a superior officer.

Trip didn't seem to mind. He pointed to the second flier in the lineup. "You can ride with me, if you like, Lieutenant."

"Afraid you'll get stuck with Kaika or her bombs if you don't fill that seat quickly?" Rysha headed that way with her pack, relieved by the offer. She didn't want to end up riding with Leftie, who had ambled over to join Kaika and Blazer, perhaps intrigued by the butt slapping.

"Both _are_ moderately alarming prospects," Trip called after her.

Rysha found straps in the back seat so she could ratchet down her pack. She'd seen numerous fliers sailing around upside down while battling the dragon. And, as calm and quiet as Trip was on the ground, she had no trouble imagining him corkscrewing through the air like a maniac.

Three people walked in through the side door while she adjusted her gear. General Zirkander was one of them. He promptly noticed Sardelle's soulblade in its scabbard on a table by the door and veered over to pick it up. The second person was Captain Duck. The third was a bronze-skinned, shaven-headed man Rysha hadn't seen before.

She glanced twice at him because he wore the reds and grays of a Cofah uniform, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows revealing muscular forearms. She ended up gawking at him. It lacked any sign of rank, but that was definitely full Cofah military garb, and he also wore a sword and pistol at opposite sides of his belt.

Was this... some prisoner? And if so, why was he armed instead of walking in chains between Duck and Zirkander? And where was he going? There weren't any other pilots in the hangar getting fliers ready.

The conversations stopped, Blazer planted her cigar firmly in her mouth, and everyone stared at the trio heading toward them.

"Well, it beats the clapping and cheering that my entrance was garnering everywhere yesterday," Zirkander said into the silence.

"You sure about that, sir?" Duck asked, a backwoods drawl that Rysha had barely noticed two days earlier more pronounced now. Maybe because he was tired. Both he and Zirkander were yawning as they walked in.

Rysha didn't think anyone had slept much since the attack. There had been too much to do. She hoped it would be safe to fly with sleep-deprived pilots. But what if they encountered dragons along the way? She didn't think fliers could outrun—or outfly—dragons.

"As long as nobody raises weapons at me, it's fine," Zirkander said, joining Kaika, Blazer, and Leftie, all of whom saluted him, despite his odd company. "This, my good officers, is the fighter who I mentioned would be going along with you."

"Are we adopting more Cofah soldiers, sir?" Kaika asked. "Was Tolemek not enough? Does this one also make goos?"

The Cofah man stared at her. Or maybe that was a glare. He only looked to be about twenty-five, but he had already mastered the humorless stare of a grumpy old general.

"This one is a gift from King Angulus," Zirkander said. "Dreyak, this is your team. Kaika, Blazer, Leftie, Trip, Ravenwood, and you've met Duck."

"You people have strange names." The Cofah—Dreyak—folded his arms across his chest and stared flatly at them. He had a heavy accent, making it seem as if Cofah and Iskandian were different languages rather than variations of the same, but he'd spoken slowly, almost theatrically, so it wasn't hard to understand.

"Yes, Iskandians are quirky," Zirkander said. "Did the king not tell you?"

The flat stare shifted to him. The Cofah didn't appear daunted by him or his reputation, nor did Zirkander appear daunted by Dreyak or his muscles. They might have stared at each other for hours, neither flinching, but Zirkander ruined it by yawning.

"Sir," Blazer said around her cigar, "we like brawny warriors to use as dragon fodder as much as the next pilots, but we've already got Kaika for that."

Kaika eyed her cigar, perhaps considering using her brawn to shove it up the major's nose.

"He's here for diplomatic reasons," Zirkander said. "The Cofah would like to help us with our dragon problem."

"Don't they have their own dragon problem to deal with?" Blazer asked.

"Angulus and Varlok, the temporary leader of the empire while his father is alas missing—" that statement got Zirkander a harsher glare from the Cofah, "—have apparently been discussing our joint dragon problem. The Cofah want to join forces with us to battle our common enemy. This is..." Zirkander spread his hand toward the surly warrior. "Something akin to the raspberry tarts given to the northern clansmen by the southern tribes to suggest an alliance so they could work together to fight off the third Cofah invasion attempt back around 500 BD."

"Actually, that was closer to 700 BD, sir," Rysha said. "And it's a common misconception that raspberries were used in the tarts. But they hadn't yet been cultivated at that time and weren't popular among humans. They were _blueberry_ tarts. The clansmen had trouble growing blueberries after Mt. Suviai erupted in 800 BD. You see, the ash, along with changing climate conditions, altered the composition of their previously acidic soil. The blueberry bushes there died, and their attempts to grow more were in vain. Thus, blueberries were extremely coveted by the populace at that time."

Everyone in the hangar had gone from staring at Dreyak to staring at her.

Rysha blushed and finished with, "I thought you'd want to know."

"Important information, most certainly," Zirkander said. "Dreyak here is reputed to have experience with battling dragons. If you can get the appropriate weapon into his hands—" his eyes widened for emphasis as he met Blazer's gaze, "—then perhaps he can be an asset out there."

Rysha took that to mean the Cofah warrior hadn't been given all the details of their mission yet. At least not the part where they would try to acquire a _chapaharii_ blade.

If he was coming along, Rysha didn't see the point in not telling him. He would find out as soon as they landed and started battling pirates.

Trip walked toward the Cofah and stuck out his hand. "I'm Captain Trip. Welcome to the team."

Dreyak squinted at him, squinted at his hand, and then clasped it. And didn't let go. He stared into Trip's eyes in some silent challenge, fingers tightening around his hand. Trip didn't look like he knew if he was supposed to squeeze back or punch him in the nose.

Leftie noticed this happening and walked up, puffing out his chest and glowering at the Cofah as he approached. Dreyak ignored him. Leftie looked at Trip, as if asking if he wanted him to jump in.

Trip's face had turned red, but he didn't try to yank his hand away. He stared back at the Cofah.

Finally, Dreyak released him. "You have soft hands, Iskandian."

"Thanks, it's the lotion I use. There may be blueberries in it."

Dreyak didn't crack a smile.

"What's your problem?" Leftie demanded of him. "You want to squeeze my hand? I'll kick you in the balls so hard your—"

"All right, gentlemen," Zirkander said, stepping toward them and raising a hand. "Let's save the ball-kicking for the dragons." He looked at the sword in his other hand, then sighed toward the others. "Apparently, it would be cloaca-kicking, and Jaxi isn't certain it's effective."

The men sent him puzzled looks. At least it put a stop to their bristling and puffing.

Zirkander handed the soulblade to Trip, who regarded it as if it might be a venomous snake before accepting it.

"You keep leaving her behind," Zirkander remarked.

"She was just on the table, sir. I wasn't going to forget."

"Good. You'll need her. Also, she promises to educate you on a few key things."

"On magic? Or dragon anatomy?"

"Both, I imagine." Zirkander waved toward the fliers and raised his voice to tell everyone, "Load up!"

"Why would you want to learn about magic?" Leftie whispered to Trip as the general walked away.

Trip twitched a shoulder. "It goes hand-in-hand with dragons. We should be aware of the powers our enemies possess."

It sounded like a plausible answer, but Rysha didn't think it was a complete one. As she'd been speculating earlier, there had to be a reason the soulblade had chosen Trip, even if it was only for one mission.

Judging by the way Leftie shuddered visibly, he might not be such a stalwart friend if he figured out that reason.

# 9

Even though the rain continued, chilling her through her uniform and parka, Rysha enjoyed the flight. They had taken off over the harbor but soon veered out over the ocean and now headed south along the coastline. The Pirate Isles lay to the southeast of the Iskandian continent, so eventually, they would fly across the ocean, but for now, the scenery was amazing.

Rysha had never imagined that she would see the beaches and cliffs of western Iskandia by air. Some of the areas she'd visited as a girl on weekend trips with her family. Just inland of those beaches, houses and farms dotted the landscape, and the Pin-Allyn highway wound through foothills, following the terrain.

They passed a familiar lake, blackened buildings along the shore promising that dragons had come through the area. Rysha realized that her family's estate might come into view as they continued south. It lay to the east side of the highway, in a lush valley where they grew apples, pears, and apricots, and kept bees for honey that was distributed all over the country. Technically, the servants did the growing and the keeping, but her father and uncle oversaw the business side of things.

She'd been wondering since the dragon attack if her family had survived unscathed. She'd checked on her sister in the capital, but there hadn't been time to borrow one of the army's horses or steam carriages to head south to the manor. The blackened buildings visible here and there below didn't put her mind at ease. A whole stretch of them had burned to the ground, and she spotted charred fields as well.

"Captain?" she called.

Trip sat right in front of her, but the wind whipping past made it hard to hear.

"Can we detour a bit? To check Ravenwood Estate? My family's valley starts just to the east of mile marker forty-three on the highway."

"Major Blazer," Trip said, lifting a gloved hand in acknowledgment. "Lieutenant Ravenwood wants to know if we can fly over her family's house to see if they were spared in the dragon attack."

"Got a mission here," Blazer responded promptly over the communication crystal—Rysha had to lean over Trip's shoulder to hear the words. "No time for detours. I'm sure she'll be able to get some leave when we get back to check on them."

Rysha dropped her chin to her chest. She understood, and it wasn't as if she could do anything if her family _had_ suffered losses, but she dearly would have liked to know if they were all right. Especially since she was flying off on a dangerous mission. What if something happened, and she didn't make it back? She knew that was one of the reasons her mother had objected to her joining the military, the possibility of her going off to war and not returning.

She lifted her chin and realized Trip was looking back at her. He didn't hold her gaze for long before speaking into the crystal again.

"We don't all have to go, Major. I can fly her over and catch up really quickly." After a pause, he added, "Jaxi says she can make my flier go faster too. Channel some winds. We can catch up without slowing down the mission."

Blazer grumbled something inarticulate before saying, "I was warned about you, Captain _Sidetrip_."

"We'll catch up soon, Major. Promise." As he spoke, Trip banked, turning further inland to fly right over the highway.

More undecipherable grumbles came from Blazer. Rysha noticed Trip hadn't waited to receive permission.

She didn't want him to get reprimanded when they got back, but she couldn't bring herself to say, "Never mind."

The flier cruised over the ground far faster than a horse would have and even faster than a steam truck, and at her direction, they soon turned off the highway and flew into the valley where she had grown up. A couple of miles wide, it followed a river all the way up into the distant mountains. Her family owned the land all the way back into the foothills, about sixty miles away, but it was mostly the descendants of the freed serfs from the previous century who worked the land back there. The family manor and outbuildings for the various businesses were within a couple of miles of the highway, near the front of the valley. The rambling stone structure where her parents, an uncle, and two aunts and their families lived rose along Emerald Lake.

At first, Rysha thought the estate had been left alone, but as they drew closer, she spotted smoldering trees behind the manor—the apple orchards. Rows and rows of them had been burned, leaving blackened husks behind, skeletal branches stretching upward forlornly. One of the barns and the distillery had burned to the ground.

"Seven gods," she whispered, "where were you that night?"

"At least the house, uhm, castle looks all right," Trip said, glancing at his shoulder.

Her fingers were gripping it. Rysha let go and leaned back. He wouldn't appreciate her cursing in his ear.

"The attack was at night, so probably everyone was in there, right?" Trip circled the sprawling stone structure as he spoke. "Oh, wait. Some of the walls look charred."

Bleakly, Rysha looked toward where he pointed. Yes, the east walls, the side of the manor facing the destroyed orchard, were blackened, shutters charred and broken on the ground. The fact that the manor was made primarily of stone appeared to have saved it, but she worried the heat could have hurt or even killed people inside. What if someone had been outside when the dragons came? Vulnerable in the courtyard or on the paths between the buildings. Her grandmother lived alone in a small wooden house in a copse of trees on the far side of the lake.

Rysha looked in that direction, and her gut clenched. The house was nothing but a blackened shell, the trees black and dead, those that still stood.

"No," she whispered, tears filling her eyes.

Grandmother was the only one in her family who'd told her to follow her dreams and join the army if that was what she wished. Everyone else had thought it was beneath her. As if being an academic was so much better than being a soldier. As if academics could have the safety and security to pursue their studies if there weren't people out there willing to risk their lives to defend the country.

"Trip," she whispered, forgetting to use his rank as her thoughts tangled in an unhelpful jumble. "I know we have to get back, but—"

"I'll set us down in the yard in front of the castle so you can run in and check on people."

She realized he'd already been taking them lower, circling so he could come in for a landing.

"Thank you. And it's a manor, not a castle." Growing up, Rysha had never thought much about being from the nobility and having a great deal of land, but in school and in the military academy, she'd learned all about the resentment it sometimes caused among others, so she now tried to downplay her family's wealth. Besides, it wasn't as if _she_ had access to any of it. Her parents had made it quite clear that she would be on her own, no allowance and no access to a vehicle or even a horse, if she joined the military.

"What's the difference?" Trip asked. "It's almost as big as King Angulus's castle in the city."

"Castles have fortifications. Occasionally moats."

"A lake seems better than a moat."

She couldn't tell if she detected some of the resentment she'd been thinking about in Trip's voice. She didn't think so. If anything, he sounded daunted.

"Apparently not, since it didn't stop the dragon," she said.

"Not much does."

"The _chapaharii_ swords do. We'll get the one that pirate has." Rysha clenched a fist, knowing that wouldn't do anything to help those who had already fallen.

As the flier descended to the yard, two people stepped out from under the large stone portico at the front of the manor and peered curiously at it.

Rysha let out a relieved breath. Her father and uncle. At least some of her family had survived unscathed. But she couldn't help but look one more time toward the lake and the remains of her grandmother's house as the flier landed.

Trip flipped a switch, and twin thrusters tilted downward from the wing framework. The two-seater fliers were fancier than the one-seaters, not requiring runways for takeoffs and landings, but she'd heard Duck giving Leftie some tips on flying them and saying they weren't as agile and maneuverable as the one-seaters. Rysha hoped that wouldn't matter too much in fights against pirates or dragons.

Her father and uncle waited until the flier landed and the propeller stopped roaring before striding through the drizzle toward them. Rysha unbuckled her harness and slithered over the edge, eschewing the ladder to jump down. She turned toward them in time to find herself engulfed in an embrace.

Almost as soon as it began, Father pushed her back to arm's length to look her up and down.

"Are you all right?" Uncle Sath asked. "We heard the capital was absolutely ravaged and that thousands died."

"I wasn't hurt," she said. "Is Mother all right? _Grandmother_?" She flung a worried arm toward the lake.

Her father and uncle exchanged long looks, and dread curdled in Rysha's stomach.

"Your mother is fine," Father said. "Most of us were in the manor when the dragon came, but your grandmother's house isn't as sturdy, as you know." He swallowed.

Rysha gripped his forearm.

"She didn't make it," he said quietly.

Rysha closed her eyes.

"We believe it was over quickly."

"But horribly," Uncle Sath growled.

Father frowned at him.

"You saw her remains. To be burned to death—"

"Sath." Father tilted his head toward Rysha.

Rysha was too busy looking at the lake and trying not to cry to worry about them arguing.

"We're going to have her funeral tomorrow," Father said, glancing toward the flier. "Can you stay?"

"I..." Rysha wanted to say that yes, of course, she could stay. But Trip couldn't wait more than a day for her. She had a mission, a duty. "I can't. I'm sorry."

Both men frowned deeply at her.

"I'm part of a team on a mission to get some tools so that we can fight the dragons when they return."

" _When?_ " Sath scowled.

Rysha hated to deliver more bad news. "They... promised they would," she said softly. "But to the capital. Maybe not to here. Still, you should stay in the basement rooms as much as possible." Her voice sounded hollow in her ears, and she kept seeing her grandmother's sparkling eyes. It seemed so unfair that she was gone.

Uncle Sath rubbed his bald pate. "The newspapers and rumors coming out of the capital are such a jumble. They say the pilot Zirkander took down one of the dragons but that there were others, and that they said they wanted to enslave all Iskandians."

"That's what one of the gold dragons said," Rysha said. "I was there for the battle, manning an artillery gun. I didn't see the flier battle that killed one of the dragons, but I know it happened. Unfortunately, it wasn't the one making threats to us."

Father and Sath shifted their gazes toward the flier and Trip. He was still in the cockpit, not looking certain whether to come down or not.

"That's Captain Trip," Rysha said, belatedly thinking of introductions. "He's—we're—part of the mission to help with the dragons."

She knew she'd already said that, but she felt the need to emphasize it as an explanation for why she couldn't stay for the funeral. Besides, she was proud to have been chosen and glad to have this opportunity to help Iskandia. She lifted her chin, wanting them to acknowledge that.

"Breyatah's Breath, you're flying around in one of those contraptions?" Sath asked, rubbing his pate more vigorously. Worriedly. "What insanity has taken you?"

He didn't seem to think it odd to point out that General Zirkander had helped save the city while in a flier and then to call someone insane for riding in one.

"What _mission_ could you have been selected for?" Father frowned, looking at her collar tabs.

Some of her pride wilted under the frown. "I've studied dragons, remember?"

"Hardly enough to make you an expert. And you barely have any military experience. Or experience at anything except going to school. You should be in a classroom, earning teaching experience to become a professor, not cavorting around in army fatigues and shooting guns."

"Father..." Rysha had come to check on her family's welfare, not rehash this old argument. Especially now, with Grandmother dead. Surely, it was a time to realize that there were more important things in the world than worrying about her career choices. She also hated that Trip was close enough to overhear their condemning words. "Now, more than ever, Iskandia needs soldiers. _Officers_."

"Did you do anything against that dragon?"

"I shot one with an artillery gun several times."

"And did that _do_ anything? Or just draw its ire?" Father clasped her shoulder, as if she were ten, not twenty-six. "Sweetie, let the professional thugs and killers go out and fight for the country. You're too smart for that. You could be so much more, a professor or researcher in any of your fields of interest. If you want to make Iskandia a safer place, you could get into politics, like Cousin Hyer. Our name would ensure you could get a position if you wished. War is the failure of politics and a last resort."

"I don't think _politics_ can stop a dragon from attacking." Rysha stepped back, shrugging off his grip.

"Are you sure? If one was speaking to you, that proves they're intelligent. It's a foregone conclusion that we can't kill all these dragons that have appeared in the world all of a sudden."

"We killed one."

"Zirkander is just one man. A heroic man, I'm sure, but he can't kill them all."

"The army is full of men like him." Rysha flung her hand toward Trip, the gesture meant to include all pilots—and all her comrades in the other units, as well—but her father and uncle focused on him.

Trip lifted a tentative hand, his goggles still on, and he didn't appear overly heroic.

"They'll find a way," Rysha added. " _We'll_ find a way. The military needs smart people every bit as much as it needs thugs and killers." Her lips twisted with disgust at that description. She'd met very few soldiers that she would lump into that category.

Father pinched his nose between his fingers. "Rysha..."

She backed away. She wanted to see Mother, to console her about the loss of _her_ mother, but there truly wasn't time. And she worried a meeting with her mother would go in a similar direction as this one. It was good for her parents' relationship that they had similar outlooks and were united in so much, but it wasn't good for her that they'd always been united in their disdain for Rysha's career choice.

Uncle Sath frowned in alarm. "Can't you at least stay for breakfast? Your mother will want to see you. You can bring your, uhm—" He pointed at Trip, who'd finally decided he should climb out of the cockpit, though he kept gazing toward the sky, perhaps wondering how many miles per hour the soulblade could increase their speed. He looked a little nobler and heroic standing in his uniform and flight jacket with his chin elevated, his goggles back in the flier, his scarf flapping in the breeze. "What did you say his name was?" Sath asked, lowering his voice. "His _real_ name?"

"I don't believe I know it," Rysha said, holding back a sigh, certain she knew why he was asking.

"He doesn't look like he's full-blooded Iskandian. Certainly not of the nobility."

Rysha shrugged. "Maybe not. A lot of officers aren't now."

"A pity," Father said.

"Yes, and even more reason to worry about Rysha being in there among them," Sath said. "Going off on missions with such men."

Father frowned, as if some new unpleasant thought had occurred to him. "Are there any women along on this mission? Besides you? You're not just going off with this... pilot, are you?" He kept his voice low so Trip wouldn't hear the questions, but Rysha didn't think that made them any less insulting.

She didn't even want to answer, because it shouldn't _matter_ , but it was easier to say, "The commander is a woman," than pick another argument.

"Ah."

She couldn't tell if he was reassured or not.

"I remember when only men could become officers," Sath said, shaking his head.

By the gods, if it wasn't one thing, it was another.

"I have to go," Rysha said, lifting a hand and backing away. "Hug Mother for me, please. And let her know I'll come down for a week as soon as I'm able. I'll have some leave after this. I can help with rebuilding or replanting. Whatever you need."

She didn't relish the idea of spending a week with her family, where they could lecture her any time of the day or night, but she felt guilty that she couldn't stay for the funeral, couldn't say a proper goodbye to Grandmother. She needed to offer something to assuage that guilt.

Father's eyebrows drew down in a distressed expression, but all he said was, "Be careful, Rysha. Don't risk yourself if there's nothing to be gained."

She forced a smile and nodded, though her teeth clenched behind the facade. A part of her wanted to say that she was an officer in the king's army now and didn't need such advice, but he wouldn't understand. He never had.

Rysha turned back to Trip, who was doing a good job maintaining a neutral expression even though Uncle Sath continued to eye him suspiciously.

"I'm ready to go," she told him.

Trip nodded, and they climbed into the flier and took off.

# 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.

# 11

Rysha loaded her rifle as Trip and the other pilots descended for a landing atop the cliff and behind the crashed airship. There were still only three people in sight, scruffy men in mismatched clothing. They looked far too bedraggled to cause trouble, but if they were pirates, they couldn't be trusted. Besides, three people seemed a small crew for an airship of that size. Had the others all died in the crash?

Now that they were closer, she believed her earlier statement in regard to its size and carrying capacity to be true. But her conviction that their small team could fix it with the limited tools they had along wavered. The airship appeared slightly more complicated than a wobbly table.

Before, the deflated envelope had hidden much of the ship itself from view, but now she could see that the port side had serious damage, as if it had smashed hull-first into the rocky cliff top. The balloon itself was riddled with rips and bullet holes.

"Looks like some of our Cougar Squadron buddies may have been responsible for this," Leftie said.

"We're a few hundred miles south of our territory," Trip said.

"Maybe the pirates got away after the ship was damaged and flew as far as they could."

"Could be."

"Lion Squadron could be responsible," Blazer said as her wheels touched down. "Their base is an hour's flight to the west."

"Yeah, but nobody else pummels pirates as mercilessly and effectively as we do," Leftie said.

"These pirates got away," Trip pointed out.

"Not that far away."

Rysha kept her eyes on the three pirates as the fliers settled onto the wind-scraped cliff. They carried weapons, pistols and cutlasses on their belts, but they all kept their hands away from them. One did glance toward the trees a few times. Those trees were a few hundred yards away, the start of a dense and dark forest that could hide a lot.

"Jaxi says there are more men in the trees," Trip said quietly.

Blazer had stood up to climb out, but she hesitated. "They have weapons?"

A pause, as Trip apparently got the answer. Leftie frowned toward the forest, then brought something to his lips and kissed it before slipping it back into a pocket. A luck charm?

"Yes," Trip said, "and they're fondling them in anticipation as they look at us."

"Fondling?" Duck asked.

"Jaxi's word. I am but her mouthpiece."

"How many are there?" Blazer asked, slipping a pistol from her belt but staying low to do it so the pirates on the ground wouldn't see.

"Twelve," Trip said.

"The whole rest of the crew then. All right, I'll go talk to these three with Duck and Leftie. Kaika, why don't you take our expert Cofah fighter and go visit those tree huggers? You, too, Ravenwood."

Rysha's heart started hammering as soon as her name came up. She was training for the elite troops, so she _should_ be ready for a battle like this, but so far, all she'd done was practice hand-to-hand combat with her peers and instructors. The skirmish with the overly friendly man in the bar had been the closest she'd been to a real fight, and he'd been tame compared to pirates, people who would gladly murder her to steal and sell her equipment.

"I'm ready to go," she said, even though she wasn't, "but are we sure approaching them across all that empty rock is a good way to do it? If they start shooting—and why wouldn't they?—we've got nowhere to hide. Maybe better to take cover in or behind the airship and wait for them to come to us."

"I'll go along," Trip said. "Jaxi says she can make a barrier around us as we walk over. We just can't shoot from inside it, so she'll have to lower it if we're actually going to fight."

" _You're_ going to fight, Trip?" Leftie asked. "I'd follow you into any battle where you're in a cockpit with guns at your disposal, but you're no sword dancer."

"I was planning to dance with my pistol, not Sardelle's sword."

"Even more alarming."

"Just do it," Blazer said. "These three are getting suspicious."

With that, she swung her leg over the side and hopped down. She walked toward the pirates with her rifle in her arms and her cigar casually tucked into the corner of her mouth. The wind had whipped some of her shoulder-length blonde hair free of its bun when she'd been flying, but neither it, nor the fact that she was a woman, made her look soft or like someone who could be taken advantage of out there.

Rysha tried to channel some of her courage, wanting to be like Blazer and Kaika. Strong, dependable, and just as capable as her male counterparts.

Duck and Leftie jumped out of their cockpits and jogged after Blazer to walk at her side as she approached the pirates.

Trip hopped down, joining Kaika and the Cofah, Dreyak. The man hadn't said a word during the entire flight, at least not that Rysha had heard. She slid out of the flier, her rifle in hand, before anyone could wonder why she was taking so long.

She was leery of this plan of directly approaching their would-be ambushers, but had to trust that a soulblade could indeed shield them. Logically, based on all that she'd read, it seemed probable, but emotionally, it was hard to entrust her life to magic.

"Stay behind us, recruits," Kaika said, looking at Rysha and Trip, then waving for Dreyak to walk beside her toward the trees.

Trip's lips twisted, his expression saying he wasn't amused at being called a "recruit."

"Just don't get too far ahead of me," he said, following them. "Ahead of _Jaxi_."

He had attached the scabbard to his belt, opposite his pistol. Interestingly, he strode forward with his hand on it instead of the firearm. Maybe Jaxi wanted to dance, even if he didn't.

Rysha walked at Trip's side, her rifle in her hands, her finger on the trigger. She'd done well in the marksmanship courses, and had competed at archery competitions as a girl, so she trusted her aim. But she also knew her hands would shake when adrenaline coursed through her veins. And she was less confident in her close-combat skills. She'd already been told she would have to practice a lot more to pass the elite troops tests. Her natural instincts ran contrary to punching people in the face.

They were less than halfway across the open rocky expanse when the first shot fired. Surprisingly, it came from behind them instead of the forest.

Rysha glanced back in time to see Blazer grappling with one of the pirates, trying to tear a pistol from his hand. Duck and another pirate wrestled on the ground, rolling over the bruising rocks. Leftie was running for cover behind the wrecked airship, zigzagging and jumping as the third pirate fired a pistol at him.

"Is that barrier up now?" Rysha demanded, jerking her rifle up, jamming the butt into the hollow of her shoulder.

"Only ahead of us," Trip said.

That was all Rysha needed to hear. She sighted down the long barrel of her rifle and fired at the man firing at Leftie.

Leftie had reached the airship hull and leaned out, his pistol ready to shoot. But Rysha's bullet slammed into the pirate's thigh first. She could have shot him in the head, but they might need some of these men alive for her ruse.

She snorted at the excuse her mind made. She just didn't want to kill people, and she knew it.

Could she truly do all she dreamed of doing if she shied away from that?

When the man hunched over, yelling and grabbing his thigh, Leftie took advantage. He fired twice, the bullets slamming into the pirate's chest.

So much for leaving men alive for her ruse.

Gunfire came from the forest, and Rysha whirled to face the ambushers. Blazer and the others would have to deal with the other two pirates on their own, which she trusted they could do.

Bullets skipped off the rocks all around Rysha and her team. Some of those _should_ have hit them, but Jaxi's invisible barrier was in place.

"Charge," Kaika yelled, raising her pistol aloft.

Dreyak bellowed, "Let the sun set on the spilled blood of our enemies," and ran at her side, an ornate Cofah pistol in one hand and a scimitar in the other.

Trip drew the soulblade and ran after them, more worried, Rysha sensed, about keeping close enough so they wouldn't be out of the range of Jaxi's barrier than about the sun setting on blood he spilled.

Also concerned about staying behind protection, Rysha sprinted to keep up with them. Bullets continued to skip off the rocks all around them, and her instincts told her to flee the other way instead of closing, but she didn't obey them.

The shadows lay thick below the towering pines in the forest, and Rysha couldn't see their pirate ambushers until they were almost among them. Finally, as they ran under the canopy, her eyes adjusted to the dimmer lighting, and she spotted men leaning out from behind trees. At least six of them. But there were twelve, she remembered.

She also remembered Trip saying Jaxi's barrier had to be lowered if their team was to fire back. Though she feared not being within its protection, Rysha let herself fall back to take a position behind a redwood tree so broad two or three of them could have hidden behind it. But she didn't intend to hide, merely use it for cover while she fired at their enemies.

A strange sensation, as if she'd walked through a thick soap bubble, came over her, and she realized Jaxi's barrier must have shifted to surround the group. It didn't matter for her now.

"You're on your own," she whispered to herself and leaned out from behind the tree, exposing as little of her body as possible as she looked for the likeliest target and also tried to identify where all twelve of the pirates were.

Dreyak roared and flung himself at two men charging out from behind a tree and running at him with cutlasses raised. They must have given up on firing at him.

Kaika dropped to a knee behind a log and used it to fire over.

"You're out from behind the barrier," Trip called. "All of you."

Dreyak bowled one pirate over and slashed at the other, his scimitar whipping toward the man's neck. Kaika fired at a man firing at her from behind a tree. As Dreyak rolled behind a boulder and took cover, Rysha spotted someone else aiming at Kaika, someone who had a good angle to strike her.

She swallowed, tried to still her breathing enough that it wouldn't affect her aim, and fired a split second before he did. Most of his head hadn't been visible to her, but she'd seen his pistol and the hand holding it. Her bullet slammed into the back of that hand. He yelped and jerked back out of sight.

Trip, the only one who wasn't under cover, at least not visible cover, drew the attention of their enemies. He stood with his weapons in hand, but lowered, as if he wasn't sure yet what he should do. That made him an easy target, and no less than four men started shooting at him.

Rysha sucked in an alarmed breath, but the bullets bounced away before they struck him. Jaxi's barrier was still up, at least for him. He gazed toward two of his assailants, two men using the same large cedar for cover.

Rysha aimed at the one closest to her—part of his butt and shoulder were visible. But before she could fire, Trip ran at them, the soulblade held aloft.

A fiery glow burst forth from the sword. One of the men in his path stumbled back from the tree, his face coming into Rysha's view, his eyes wide. His buddy reached for him, as if to pull him back behind cover, but Trip got there first.

Wielding the soulblade rather than using his pistol, he slashed the weapon toward the pirate with blinding speed. The sword moved so quickly, it seemed to leave an orange streak of light in the air.

The pirate tried to block, stepping in and lifting an arm, but Jaxi descended with the fury of a god, knocking aside the block and biting into the pirate's neck. The soulblade sliced all the way down into his torso, cutting through muscle and bone as if it were warm butter.

The second pirate tried to spring at Trip, but he whirled and thrust the blade into the man's stomach. Once again, his enemy was too slow to block.

Trip yanked the sword free and raced off to engage another pirate, heedless of the men firing at him. Nothing was hitting him.

He sprang over a log, swinging the soulblade in front of him as he flew through the air. _Tings_ sounded with each swipe, and Rysha realized he was deflecting bullets. Even though she knew Jaxi had to be guiding him, it boggled her mind that such speed and anticipation was possible.

Rysha glimpsed movement off to her left and tore her gaze from Trip. A pirate was trying to sneak up on her.

Cursing, she eased around the back side of her tree to avoid his line of sight, hoping she wasn't exposing herself to someone else as she did so. The man fired, and bark splintered and flew free. She crouched on the other side of the tree, debating whether to try and outmaneuver him at this game or to stay put. Three pirates lay dead around Dreyak, their blood exposed to sunsets, and he was trying to goad a fourth into attacking. Kaika had downed two from her spot behind the log, and Trip was moving through the rest like a whirlwind.

Could Rysha simply wait for someone fiercer to handle the one shooting at her? Someone with a soulblade, perhaps?

But that was cowardly, and she knew it. Besides, that one was in a position where he could fire at any of the four of them. If Rysha did nothing, he could shoot Kaika in the back.

She dropped to one knee and started to lean out to fire, but paused and grabbed a long stick on the ground instead. She tugged her black cap off, stuck it on the end, and thrust it toward the opposite side of the redwood.

The bang of a gun came immediately, tearing the cap from the stick. She leaned out on the opposite side, hoping it would take the pirate a couple of seconds to realize it had been a ruse. He fired again, not at her, but toward the spot where her cap had been.

She spotted his hand, pistol, and part of his jaw. Choosing the hand for her target again, she fired. And nailed him. The pirate cried out, dropping his weapon.

She assumed him out of the battle, but he charged around the tree and ran straight toward her, his cutlass raised in his left hand. Fury burned in his dark eyes as he sprinted toward her.

Forcing herself to remain calm, Rysha aimed at his chest and fired. Only to hear the soft click of the hammer falling on an empty chamber. She hadn't been counting her rounds. She was out of ammo.

Though she had more in her ammo pouch, there wasn't time to reload. Only a few feet away, the pirate sprang toward her, his cutlass swiping for the top of her head.

Rysha jerked her rifle up with both hands, holding it horizontally above her. The cutlass slammed into the barrel, the screech deafening as metal scraped along metal, her joints aching under the power of the blow. While his arm was up, she stepped backward to give herself enough room to slam a kick into his abdomen.

He twisted when he saw the boot coming, but not fast enough. She caught enough of him to make him stumble back. But he recovered quickly, growling and raising the cutlass to run in for another attack.

She braced herself, intending to block again with her rifle, if she could, but he looked past her shoulder. His eyes bulged, and he shifted his cutlass, raising it in a block.

Trip leaped past Rysha and brought the soulblade down like an axe. It sliced _through_ the cutlass instead of knocking it aside. And it sliced through the pirate too.

Rysha grimaced and looked away. The man died instantly, but it wasn't a pretty sight.

Trip's eyes burned with an intensity that alarmed her—and surprised her. She would have expected it from their bloodthirsty Cofah, but Trip had been so mild-mannered around her so far. The savage joy on his face as he tore his blade free left her uneasy. She'd seen similar expressions on the faces of comrades engaged in sporting competitions, but this wasn't sport. This was killing.

She started back behind the tree, figuring more enemies would be ready to fire, but silence replaced the chaotic noise of the battle. She could hear Trip's heavy breathing as he lowered the soulblade and searched around for more enemies. She also heard the roar of the ocean drifting up to them, but little else. It slowly dawned on her that nobody else was going to shoot at them.

She looked at Trip warily, wanting to thank him for his help, but her tongue fumbled when she saw the blood spattering his face and his brown jacket. He looked like an executioner, which was exactly what he'd _been_ , rather than the quiet, somewhat awkward officer who'd flown her to her family's home.

But the savage expression of a few seconds ago was fading, something of the calm, rational man returning. When he met her eyes, she read wariness in his, and she wondered if he'd seen her concern regarding him. She did her best to smooth her face and her feelings. This _was_ the same person. He'd simply been using—or being used by—a soulblade, a powerful magical sword.

"Thanks, Trip," she said. "I made a rookie mistake, not counting my rounds."

He offered a lopsided smile. "I know all about rookie mistakes."

"We all alive?" Kaika asked, brushing herself off as she rose from her log. "Injuries?"

"I'm fine," Rysha said. "Thanks to Trip."

Even if Jaxi _had_ been responsible for that display, she wanted to give him credit. Perhaps because of his youth or just that he was new to Wolf Squadron, nobody seemed to give him much respect.

"I'm also uninjured," Trip said.

Dreyak was prowling around them, going from fallen pirate to fallen pirate. He thrust his scimitar into one, mercilessly ending the man's life. He, too, was covered in blood, and he probably liked it. He was a far grimmer comrade than Trip.

His dark eyes shifted, looking over to meet hers, and she stepped a little closer to Trip. She told herself it was a coincidence, that the Cofah couldn't have heard her thoughts, but it didn't reassure her much.

Dreyak went back to checking on the pirates, killing any he found still alive. Rysha wanted to protest this treatment, even if Kaika didn't seem to think anything of it, but leaving the men here, injured and alone in a remote forest, might not be any better. They would die from the elements or wolves or mountain lions. She didn't think anyone on her team was a healer. What had Jaxi said? That she could cauterize wounds? Not exactly healing.

"We're going back to check on the others, Dreyak," Kaika called over her shoulder as she waved Trip and Rysha toward the crash site.

Dreyak looked toward the heavens, threw back his head, his bloody scimitar in one hand and his pistol in the other, and roared.

Rysha gaped at him.

"This was a good battle," he announced, then pointed at Trip. "I did not realize we had a soulblade among us. Excellent. A powerful and useful weapon."

"I prefer guns and explosives," Kaika said.

Dreyak, looking at Trip, ignored her and said, "You should let me wield it, boy. Do you even know what that blade is capable of?"

"She lets me know on an hourly basis," Trip said coolly, turning his back and walking toward the edge of the forest.

"To be a warrior and see the light die in your enemies' eyes is the greatest gift," Dreyak announced loudly.

Whether it was a general statement or if there was some message there for Trip, Rysha didn't know, but she also turned her back on him and jogged to catch up with Trip. She'd had enough of this dark forest and the killing.

# 12

Inside the cargo hold of the airship, Trip scribbled notes and sketches in the compact notebook he kept in his flight jacket. It was for making calculations in the air, not repair notes for enemy vessels, but it was all he had. He didn't want to try to keep everything in his head. He'd already found seven problems they would have to address, not including sealing all the holes in the envelope and cutting wood to replace the damaged sections of the envelope frame. There were massive holes in the hull, as well, and he balked at the idea of not repairing them, but reminded himself this wasn't a sailing ship, and it didn't have to be watertight for air flight.

"Captain Engineer," Leftie called from outside the airship. "All we have in our repair kits are mallets. Have you tried to hammer a nail with a mallet?"

"Is that you?" Rysha asked, picking her way through the dark hold toward him, lugging a large toolbox.

"By process of elimination, taking from consideration all non-captains, it's either me, Duck, or Kaika." Trip closed his notebook and picked up the bundle of patches for the envelope that he'd found, along with a coil of rope that he looped over his shoulder. "I can make a hammer for you if the toolbox from here doesn't have one," he called to Leftie as he headed toward a huge hole in the hull large enough to walk through—they had originally entered that way.

"Dreyak could be a captain back in Cofahre."

"Does he strike you as someone you'd approach with a mallet problem?"

"He's not someone I would approach at all," Rysha murmured. "I saw him painting his forehead with fresh blood from the dead pirates."

Trip, aware of the blood now spattering his jacket, did not comment. He hadn't intentionally painted himself with any, but he'd felt like some ancient barbarian clansman out there, swinging Jaxi like an axe. And enjoying the hells out of it.

He had experienced battle ecstasy before when mowing down pirates in his flier, and it often left him concerned once his blood cooled. Even though he'd chosen to become a soldier, he did not consider himself bloodthirsty, not someone who basked in killing people, so it was hard to accept he had a side that enjoyed it. He tried to tell himself that he simply enjoyed pitting himself against others in battle, being forced to challenge himself to thrive and survive, but when he was honest with himself, he knew that wasn't exactly it.

"Did he fight well?" Trip asked, wondering if the Cofah warrior had lived up to his reputation.

"Yes, I think so. He took down several men. Not as many as, uh, you."

Trip grimaced, slowing down as he reached the hole in the hull.

"That was Jaxi." He couldn't blame his battle savagery on her, though she hadn't seemed to object to it, but his sudden sword-fighting ability had definitely been her doing. It had been as if a god controlled his movements, giving him skills and experience he could only dream of. "It was an extremely weird experience."

He nodded to indicate that Rysha could go out first—that big toolbox would be useful in repairs, but it looked heavy and awkward.

But she paused to set it down. "Did she... take you over?"

"Not exactly, but she was guiding all my movements. I think I decided who to chase down. At least I remember seeing that pirate charging you and consciously choosing to try to intercept him. It is kind of a blur, though. And I remember her being—I guess bloodthirsty isn't the right word, but she was at least as gleeful about being in battle as..." He almost said _I was,_ but he didn't want to admit to that side of himself to Rysha. "Our Cofah warrior," he finished.

Rysha peered into his eyes, her face difficult to read.

Could she know what he'd almost said? Maybe she'd seen him fighting and just knew.

"You didn't seem to mind," she said quietly.

He wondered what lustful, crazy expression he'd worn in that battle.

"It's not a big deal," Rysha said. "If Iskandians didn't have any soldiers who could kill in battle, the Cofah would have forcefully assimilated us into their empire long ago."

It was a rational thing to say, but he wasn't sure he believed that she felt that way. Even though she was training to enlist in the elite troops, she seemed to have a gentle soul. Maybe it was the spectacles, but she had a scholarly mien to her even when she wore fatigues and carried a rifle. He knew she'd fired at their enemies, but he didn't think she'd shot to kill. He wondered if she would have the edge necessary to pass that training. He had a feeling Captain Kaika didn't have much trouble slitting throats when the situation demanded it.

"I just figured it was part of why you signed on to be a pilot," she added with a smile, though she sounded like she might be trying to convince herself. "You fellows shoot down people all the time."

"True, but I joined because I wanted to fly, not shoot anyone down, and the military is the main road to a career doing that now." Trip thought of the pirates he'd riddled with bullets on the airship the week before—had that even been a week ago? He'd experienced a similar battle lust then and countless other times when he'd engaged such foes, such enemies to Iskandia, but somehow, it was different when he was in his flier, with more distance between him and the enemy. He rarely had to see his foes' faces up close. This time, he'd looked people straight in the eye as he'd slashed the soulblade across their throats. "I did know it would involve protecting my country, and I've always been willing to do that."

She gazed at him thoughtfully for a moment, then smiled and nodded. "I'm glad. It needs protecting right now. I am a little surprised that Jaxi sounds bloodthirsty."

"I didn't mean to say that she was that. Just excited to go into battle, I think. It's true she didn't hesitate at all to guide my hands to kill." He shrugged, not sure if that fit the definition of bloodthirsty.

Jaxi was being quiet for the moment, almost oddly so. Maybe she sensed his discomfort and was giving him space. He found it surprising that someone with such enthusiasm for battle had been paired with a healer. Maybe they complemented each other's strengths and weaknesses?

"I haven't read a lot about soulblades," Rysha said slowly, "but I have studied the _chapaharii_ swords. Those aren't intelligent, or at least not in the way soulblades are, with former people inhabiting them, but they are reputed to have strong personalities and be very singled-minded in wishing to fulfill their destiny, killing dragons and those with dragon blood. There are some command words that can order them to stand down when necessary, and warriors used to carry them their whole lives, asserting their will over the blades and working with them to great success. I imagine that if you bonded with Jaxi, you'd get more accustomed to each other and figure out each other's boundaries."

"Yes, I imagine so. And I can't truly be bothered by what she helped me do out there." Trip waved out the hole and in the direction of the forest—the body-filled forest. "I would have just stood there stupidly, trying not to get hit, if she hadn't asserted herself. But I don't know if I can bond with someone else's soulblade. Once this mission is over, she'll go back to Sardelle, and I'll go back to my flier." He remembered that his flier was on the bottom of the ocean. Would he be given a new one to get to know? Or would he be stuck riding rickety substitutes? A different machine for each mission, whoever's was free?

"Fliers seem much less likely to engage you in conversation and assist you in battle."

"This is true, but I'm a pilot. Pilots don't get soulblades."

_Receiving a soulblade has little to do with your occupation,_ Jaxi spoke into his mind, her voice unusually diffident. _At least in my day, when there was far more of a mage culture and there were more soulblades in the world. When someone was chosen to be a handler, talent and aptitude counted for a little, but mostly, it was an honor bestowed on those who'd done great work in the community and could be trusted to use the extra power wisely._

Rysha peered at his notebook. "A list of repairs needed to be done?"

"Yes."

"Nothing about adding drink holders?"

Trip blinked a couple of times. "Are you teasing me, Lieutenant?"

"Maybe a little. But I got kind of excited imagining that table you described to me. Maybe I can order one from you when we get done with our mission. The overhead lighting sounded ideal for studying and research experiments, and I have been known to spill beverages on my papers before."

"Oh? I thought elite troops were swift and agile." It was silly, but it warmed his heart that she'd been listening to him describe his woodworking projects and actually remembered the details. Though he shouldn't be surprised, since she remembered the stats for an airship once mentioned in a math problem.

"We are _definitely_ swift and agile. But I don't think that precludes distractedly knocking over a bottle of sarsaparilla while mulling over clues to an archaeological puzzle."

The specifics there made Trip think that had actually happened.

"Did you know that four out of five university professors and librarians will _fine_ you for spilling drinks on their ancient texts?"

"I had no idea."

"It's a statistic I've proven over the years. I assure you it's accurate. Also accurate is the fact that sarsaparilla soda stains parchment. During my fourth year, I had to switch to drinking water while doing homework. To protect my purse."

"You sound like a woman in need of a built-in cup holder."

Rysha smiled blandly and pushed her spectacles higher on her nose. "That's what I've been telling you."

He grinned, glad for the silly conversation after the more disturbing one.

"Captain Engineer, are you coming out?" Leftie came into view and stuck his head through the hole. "Are those tools? Because we're going to need more tools. And lumber. Didn't your sword promise it could produce sawmill-quality lumber?" He looked back and forth between Rysha and Trip. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I? You two, in here, alone in the dark."

"Your mind has a singular focus, Leftie." Trip stepped through the hole and set down his gear.

"Focus is an admirable quality, I'm told." Leftie rubbed his shoulder and winced at some pain.

When Trip and the others had returned from their battle, Leftie, Duck, and Blazer had stood over one dead and two tied-up pirates, but they'd received a few bruises themselves in the scuffle. None of them had complained.

Maybe they, like Trip, felt foolish for having allowed themselves to be lured down. They'd been so busy planning their own scheme that they hadn't realized the pirates themselves might have a scheme. If Jaxi hadn't warned Trip so he could warn the others, the squadron would have fallen for the ambush, perhaps being destroyed by it.

_I should have warned you earlier,_ Jaxi told him. _I sensed those people in the trees before we landed. I didn't realize at first that you didn't sense them too._

_Should I have?_

_Yes. When we get back, you should ask Sardelle to teach you how to extend your senses to detect life, topography, and magic._

Trip couldn't imagine showing up at the door of the very pregnant Sardelle's house—which would also be his battalion commander's house—and asking for magicking lessons. Surely, she had other things on her mind.

_I don't suppose_ you'd _like to teach me?_ Trip suggested, though maybe it was presumptuous. Or impertinent. Or both. _You're here, after all. And I'm here._

_I'm not what you would call a born teacher. I don't have a lot of patience. Sardelle_ likes _teaching. It bewilders me._

_Ah._

Trip told himself he wasn't disappointed. He didn't want to learn magic, right? People found him strange enough with just his sixth sense. Though maybe if he learned a few things about his innate talents, he would also learn how to hide his eccentricities better.

Jaxi sighed melodramatically into his mind. _I suppose I could show you how to sense things around you. You're likely to get yourself killed if you can't do that. I won't be with you forever, you know. Unless Sardelle continues to stay home and produce bawling babies instead of going on adventures._ The next noise—interesting how she channeled them directly into his brain—was an aggrieved huff. _I should have known things would end like this as soon as she started rutting so enthusiastically with Ridge._

_Uh._ Trip did not want to think about his commander "rutting." _Do you not like kids?_

_Not babies. They're awful. Some of them turn out all right when they get older, but it takes a long time for them to get interesting._

_How long?_

_Twenty-five, thirty years._

_So, I might qualify as interesting?_ His twenty-fifth birthday was that summer.

_I'm still deciding._

Trip wondered if all soulblades were so... honest.

Leftie rummaging around in the toolbox brought Trip's focus back to the present. Which was good, since Kaika and Blazer were striding toward him.

He straightened and flipped open his notebook. "I put together a list of repairs, Major, Captain. The engine and boiler are in surprisingly good shape. A little dented, so I'll want to look them over before firing them up, but no obvious ruptures. There are two helium tanks. One is empty with a gouge in the side, but one is about two-thirds full. If we're very careful with getting the envelope patched everywhere there's a hole, and if we don't run into any foul weather or other problems that could delay us—" he didn't mention dragons, figuring that went without saying, "—then I think we can make it to the Isles on what we've got. Not much farther than that, but I assume we're planning to leave the Isles in our fliers and abandon the airship there."

"Damn right, we are," Blazer said. "I'm not going to be seen by anyone I know flying in some ugly pirate deathtrap with a skull on the balloon. Not to mention the stench of sweat. And who knows what that rotten, musty, gag-me odor is? I can smell it oozing from the ship even with the ocean air blowing around."

"I didn't realize you had such a sensitive nose, Major," Kaika said.

"Pilots have to be able to test the winds and smell if something's wrong with their flier. Also, a good nose comes in handy for blind tastings at the annual Wicked Whiskey World Beverage Competition in the capital." Blazer pulled a pocket watch out of her fatigue jacket and issued a disgusted noise. "Captain Trip, you said it would only take twenty minutes to get this assessment to me. It took an hour and fifty minutes."

He stared at her. "We fought a battle before I could get started, ma'am."

"No excuses. Get everybody to work. I want this airship aloft before sunset. If we leave at dusk, that gives us about ten hours to reach the Isles and come in before dawn. I'm sure it'll be easier all around if we arrive in the dark and while most of the inhabitants are asleep. I don't care _what_ we're flying. Most of us look like soldiers."

"Sunset _today_?" Trip asked. That was only four hours away. The woman wanted miracles.

Blazer frowned at him. " _Slow_ soldiers."

_Jaxi?_ Trip asked. _How good are you at producing miracles?_

A thunderous snap came from the forest, and a tall cedar on the edge toppled, landing with a thud on the bare rock.

_I am a miracle-maker,_ Jaxi announced.

_Then it's a good thing Sardelle sent you along._

_You're just now realizing this?_

* * *

• • • • •

* * *

Rysha stifled a yawn as the airship sailed toward the southeast, the propeller on the rear of the craft much quieter than the one she'd listened to on Trip's flier as they'd followed the coast of Iskandia. Or maybe it was just that she was farther from this one. She stood at the bow of the airship, her foot up on the railing as she gazed out ahead of them.

There wasn't much to see, as it was still dark, but a few stars guided their way. Admittedly, the compass and various navigation instruments in the wheelhouse were more accurate. Blazer was in there now, steering.

Trip and Leftie had passed out on the deck, lying in big coils of rope as if they were beds. Maybe nests. Neither had bothered to hunt for cabins below, or maybe they hadn't liked the idea of sleeping in the bunk of someone they had killed. Both men had worked until after midnight, continuing repairs even after they'd gotten the ship in the air, hammering and banging away like carpenters. Blazer had worked with them until it had been time to take off. Rysha, Duck, and Kaika had been released to rest around the same time, after finishing the job of patching the envelope, which had involved hours of sewing and sealing. Kaika, despite complaining that she didn't usually do the duties of a housewife, had been far more adept with a needle than Duck or Rysha. Rysha had kept her mouth shut, not admitting that she'd grown up with servants who handled any sewing that needed to be done.

Their needle duty had ended when the airship successfully lifted off, the pilots then navigating their fliers onto the deck. Those fliers were covered with tarps now. That might camouflage them successfully from someone observing them from a distance, but if anyone inspected ships that landed in the Pirate Isles, they could be in trouble. Might the pirates believe the team had stolen them?

Rysha spotted lights in the distance, seemingly floating on the water since she couldn't yet make out the land. She jogged to the wheelhouse to let Blazer know they may have reached their destination.

Though Trip had groused often about the impossibility of repairing an entire airship so quickly, with him focusing on the mechanical repairs and Jaxi cutting wood and lifting boards into place, things had gone amazingly well. It was an hour until dawn, so they'd made Blazer's goal.

Rysha stepped into the wheelhouse, the wood and glass structure also near the front of the ship.

Blazer leaned back in a chair, her heels on the large wheel that steered the craft, much as one might steer a wooden sailing ship. The simple technology surprised Rysha—it was much different from most Iskandian dirigibles, with their metal bodies nestled right up under the balloon and cockpits full of levers and dials for navigation. She couldn't tell how one raised and lowered this one, though Blazer must have figured it out.

"Major?" she asked, wondering if Blazer might be asleep there, with her chin down, her back to the door.

But Blazer swiveled in the chair, revealing an open tobacco tin in her lap, along with appurtenances for rolling cigars. "Did you sight the islands?"

"Yes, ma'am. Lights ahead."

"Excellent. I've been wondering what we would do if a dragon showed up."

"Point Trip and the soulblade at it and hope for the best?" Rysha offered, though she knew that even Jaxi wasn't a match for a dragon. If she had been, Zirkander and the soulblade would have gone straight up and challenged the ones that had descended on the capital. Though they _had_ brought one down in the end. She wondered if that had been a matter of death by a thousand paper cuts or if someone had done something creative up there. She'd heard that Zirkander had thrown a grenade that spurted acid formulated to affect dragons down the female's throat, but her magical defenses would have had to have been down for that to work. How had the flier squadron achieved that feat?

"Kaika did say he was surprisingly effective out there." Blazer rolled her cigar slowly, taking her time before checking on the lights ahead of the ship.

"Jaxi helped, I understand."

"Of that I have no doubt."

Rysha debated whether that was an insult to Trip and if she should come to his defense. But the door banged open behind her before she could decide.

If she hadn't left her rifle outside, she might have lunged for it. The person who ambled in wore a floppy hat, tan breeches and vest, and a vibrant silk blouse with the sleeves buttoned up and the laces on the front so loose that they showed both cleavage and belly skin. The person's weapons included a cutlass in a scabbard and a pistol being twirled around one finger. Though it took Rysha a moment to realize it, the auburn hair hanging to the "pirate's" jawline was familiar, as were the twinkling eyes.

"That's not regulation attire," Blazer said. She hadn't twitched at the entrance.

"That's the point," Kaika said dryly as she holstered the pistol. It wasn't her Iskandian Army one, but some older model with a lot of the bluing worn off. "You all might want to change into something piratey. There are women's clothes in the third cabin on the right. Whoever the owner was, she was tall, so that's good, since none of us are on the diminutive side."

"Thought I'd look for some comfortable men's clothing," Blazer said. "I don't like my bosom getting cold when I'm on a mission."

"We've gone south, closer to the equator. Nice bosom weather out there."

"Still, drafts can be unappealing."

Kaika looked at Rysha.

"I don't have a strong opinion on bosoms," Rysha said. "Though I would be more inclined to look for male clothing too. I can't imagine wanting to attract men's attention out there. Or anyone's attention."

Kaika shook her head—in disbelief? "You two do _not_ know how to be spies. Unless Professor Ravenwood knows exactly where the sword stash is, we're going to have to do some sleuthing. Gathering information. What easier way to gather information than from a man distracted by bare bosoms? Seduction is the age-old skill of the female spy."

Rysha rubbed her chin thoughtfully, realizing the words made a lot of sense. She'd imagined herself using her scholarly "librarian" costume—or usual fashion style—to extract information from people who wouldn't believe her a soldier, but admitted that Kaika's plan could be much more effective. Especially among pirates. Did Rysha have the acting ability to pull something like that off?

"Can't we just beat someone up and question him in a dark alley?" Blazer dropped her boots to the deck, stuck her cigar in her mouth, and stood up. "I figured that's how you elite troops did it." She peered through the window and over the bow, then kicked a lever in the deck apparently responsible for their elevation.

"If you beat people up, they tend to remember it afterward," Kaika said. "If you're on a spy mission, sometimes, you want to get in and out without anyone realizing you were there."

"So, you don't _always_ use explosives?"

"Not always, no."

"Shit, Kaika, I'm disappointed in you. I just assumed explosives were involved in _all_ of your missions."

"If you want me to blow up the islands on the way out, I'm perfectly happy to do so. I'm fairly certain the king would be tickled if we destroyed this pirate haven. And I _do_ always have my friends along with me." Kaika reached to the back of her belt, which her vest covered, and withdrew a grenade. She winked before putting it back into some subtle holder. "I'll have a few smoke bombs and true explosives at our disposal."

"Is everyone going out to gather information?" Rysha glanced at Kaika's chest and wondered if she could wear clothing like that without constantly trying to pull it tight or cover her exposed flesh with her arms.

Her seduction abilities would need even more work than her unarmed-combat skills. Though some considered the notions outdated, young noblewomen were still encouraged to be chaste when they were growing up, keeping bosoms and other suggestive body parts well covered. Rysha hadn't been particularly rebellious when it came to bucking that rule. And as far as seduction went, she hadn't kissed a boy until she'd been almost eighteen.

"Been thinking about that," Blazer said, facing the front and bringing the airship down to glide just above the ocean waves. The lights were visible from the wheelhouse now, as were the dark land masses underneath them. Few of the islands had any elevation to speak of. "Kaika goes, for obvious reasons."

"Bosoms," Rysha said.

Blazer snorted. "Experience."

"Experienced bosoms." Kaika winked and leaned an elbow against a bookcase full of navigation charts.

"I'll go too," Blazer said. "And Ravenwood, you're the one who knows about the sword, so you definitely need to go. Really, the women are our best bet, since we've all got hair we can let down. Sort of." She glanced at Kaika's tousled locks. They weren't super short, but she didn't have to pin them back to be within regulation. "The men all look..." She made a disgusted noise. "Almost nobody except soldiers wears their hair that short. Even with hats and civilian clothing, I'm not sure I'd believe any of them as pirates. Besides, three women shouldn't raise anyone's hackles. Leftie and his mouth would probably get in a fight before we left the docks, and Trip, I don't know. Those dark green eyes of his are memorable, and he's got an air about him that's a little odd. You kind of want to punch him."

"Are mission commanders supposed to say things like that about their troops?" Rysha said, bristling on Trip's behalf again.

"I'm the voice of realism. We could bring Duck, but his years in the capital haven't quite worn away his rural— _very_ rural—origins. Might be hard to buy a pirate constantly making animal metaphors. Dreyak acts way too much like a Cofah soldier, and I don't know if he can turn that off. Three people ought to be enough. Then the four of them can stay behind and guard the ship, keep anyone from nosing around. The last thing we want is someone finding the fliers and blabbing about them."

"We could say we stole them," Kaika said.

"Just easier not to have to deal with it."

"Right. I'm ready whenever you two are."

"I'll change as soon as I land this barge," Blazer said.

"I'll try wearing clothes like that," Rysha said, pointing at Kaika. "To seduce pirates."

Kaika's eyebrows rose toward her hat.

"I'm supposed to be training to be like you, right, ma'am?"

"Well. You can be your own kind of elite troops officer. You don't have to be like anyone. We're all different. You wouldn't catch Sergeant Branigan in clothes like this."

"Does he also not like his bosom getting cold?" Blazer asked.

"I know, ma'am," Rysha said, ignoring the comment, "but if I make it into the unit as a woman, maybe my superior officers will expect... that." She shrugged and waved at the outfit.

"You to carry grenades in your underwear?" Blazer asked. "Most likely."

"I do have a _pouch_ for them," Kaika said dryly, touching her back.

"So, you don't have any weapons stashed in your underwear?" Blazer asked.

"I didn't say that. Come, my young protégé," Kaika said, waving for Rysha to follow her out. "Let's go clothes shopping."

Rysha knew it was silly, but having Captain Kaika refer to her as her protégé tickled her. And though Kaika hadn't said it, Rysha imagined she might be flattered by having a young officer wanting to emulate her. She just hoped she could pull off the look and wouldn't mangle any attempts to use her body to extract information from a pirate.

# 13

Full dawn had arrived by the time the airship landed, Major Blazer bringing it into a cove on the largest of more than twenty islands in the chain, all within sight of all the others. Trip was surprised when she slid into dock in a lagoon packed with other ships, a mix of sailing vessels and airships. At least fifty buildings lined the waterfront, all promising women, food, and drink. This place had a larger population and clientele than Trip had imagined. He wondered why his superiors had never organized a raid to try and take out all the pirates at once, or at least destroy this particular base of operations.

_Maybe they know about the magical protection,_ Jaxi spoke into his head.

"Magical protection?" Trip blurted aloud before he considered his surroundings or if anyone would overhear.

He'd changed into nondescript men's civilian clothing he'd found below and stood on the starboard side of the deck, ready to throw ropes to the dock to tie down the craft.

"What are you talking about, Trip?" Duck asked, coming up behind him, then moving to another set of docking ropes. "I heard the word magic. That gets my hackles astir."

"Sorry, talking to Jaxi."

Trip glanced over his shoulder to make sure Leftie wasn't behind him, too, since his hackles did more than stir at the mention of magic. But Leftie must still have been below, picking out his pirate garb. Only Dreyak stood behind them. He'd decided on a bare chest for his costume, and he stood, his muscles on display and his meaty arms folded over his chest. A red sash around the waist of his black trousers held all manner of slits for daggers, and he also wore his weapons belt with his scimitar and a pistol.

"What's she have to say?" Duck asked.

_If you would stop with the interruptions, I'd tell you,_ Jaxi said.

Duck snorted. Maybe she'd spoken the words into his head too.

_There's a crystal mounted behind the wheel in the wheelhouse of your newly acquired airship,_ Jaxi informed them. _Until we drew near to the islands, I had no idea what it did, only that it had been made using magic. Then, when we got closer, I sensed magic about them too. An invisible dome-shaped field of energy._

_Like a dragon barrier or the shield you put around me when we fought?_ Trip asked.

_Nothing that powerful. It's barely even noticeable. If you wanted to lob cannonballs at the islands from afar, you could._ If _you could find them. We might not have if we'd been in our fliers, not unless we were almost on top of them. And even then, it would have been dicey. That dome-shaped field is for camouflage. And it probably explains why the islands haven't been targeted by Iskandians or other militaries tired of pirate attacks._

_But we know about the islands,_ Trip replied. _They're on Iskandian maps, and we knew where to fly._

_Yes, I saw that. Perhaps some cartographer found a way to visit once. It's also possible the camouflage is a recent addition. I wouldn't be surprised if people looking for the islands have cursed those maps when they weren't able to find them. Pirates, it seems, are given those little crystals to allow them, or those on their ships, to see through the dome. You were wise to detour to retrieve this vessel._

_Actually, that was Rys—Lieutenant Ravenwood's plan._

_You don't need to be formal and use her last name with me,_ Jaxi said dryly. _I can tell you've been having lustful fantasies when it comes to her._

_I have not._

_Have too. Until you get much better at hiding your thoughts, you might as well assume you can't lie to me._

_I'm not lying. I mean, maybe I considered that a romantic evening with her, such as a dinner date, would be pleasant, but I'm certainly not lusting after her or anyone else._

_You can tell yourself that all you like, but I can see the truth._

Trip digested that. His thoughts hadn't been _that_ lurid, but it disturbed him that Jaxi might be a witness to them.

Well, if he couldn't lie, he could at least shift the conversation away from Rysha. _You think I_ could _learn to hide my thoughts from swords, dragons, and sorcerers?_

_Oh yes, certainly. You're not even trying now. You could be like bronze and muscled over there. I can't read him at all._

_So, I should get him to teach me how to hide my thoughts?_ Trip asked it as a joke. His one and only overture of friendship toward the Cofah warrior had turned into a handshake that had left a few of his bones lightly crushed.

_Don't be melodramatic. Your bones are fine. For now._

"How did the magical defenses get here?" Duck asked.

Trip flushed, wondering how much of the conversation he'd heard. Had Jaxi shared her comments about Trip's... fantasies?

_I have more tact than that,_ Jaxi told him with a sniff. Then, apparently talking to both of them, she said, _As you're starting to suspect, the magical defenses around this outpost mean a sorcerer has been here in the past to build an artifact capable of projecting the dome, or a sorcerer is somewhere inside right now, keeping the defenses erected. It could be a sorceress too. Either way, you'll have to be careful that you don't run into the person. As soon as I realized what was going on, I ratcheted down my aura, so nobody out there should sense me, and I'll try to do the same for you, too, Trip._

Duck looked at him and scratched his head.

Trip shrugged, as if he had no idea what Jaxi meant.

He did, but he couldn't imagine his aura being significant enough to attract anyone's attention.

"Guess I'm used to dealing with sorcerers at this point," Duck said. "But they're peskier than raccoons rooting through your camp belongings."

_It would be disappointing if, after all their training, sorcerers couldn't do more to irk you than raccoons can,_ Jaxi said.

"I don't know. I've met some powerful irksome 'coons."

At an impatient shout from the wheelhouse, Trip hopped down to the dock to tie the rope to the cleat. He could see pale blue lagoon water between the boards twenty feet below. The elevated airship docks were at one end of the harbor, while a couple of normal piers for ships stretched out into it on the other side, one reaching all the way out into deeper water for ships with a deeper draw.

_Do you sense any sorcerers out there now, Jaxi?_ Trip asked.

If she worried that others might sense her, wasn't it likely that she could sense others?

_No, but that doesn't mean they're not here. Most sorcerers learn to ratchet down their auras so they don't announce themselves prematurely. Some don't care if they attract attention or not and don't bother, but I imagine these pirates aren't all buddies and have reason to be wary of each other._

_Ah._

_I'll tell you what I do sense, though,_ Jaxi added.

_A dragon-slaying sword?_ His guess was more hopeful than practical, and he didn't think it would be that easy to find the ancient weapon.

_A dragon-slaying sword,_ Jaxi confirmed.

Trip dropped the rope. _Really?_

_Really. I didn't expect to sense it right away, either. I assumed it would be in a box, similar to the one Kasandral is stored in when not in use. The box insulates its aura and also dampens its ability to control people around it._

_Control?_ Trip remembered Rysha saying something about those swords influencing their wielders, but "control" was an alarmingly strong word to use.

_Control. Hence the boxes. This one isn't in one._

_That could be convenient then._ He imagined waiting until the next night and simply sneaking into the bedroom of whoever had it and grabbing it. If it was stored in some locked vault at night, maybe Jaxi could melt the lock.

_As far as locating it, yes, I can do that. But I'm not sure acquiring it will be easy. I think it's in a fortress on the other side of the island. And I believe someone is wearing it on his back._

_That negates the need for lock-melting._

_You're optimistic, I see._

_A good quality in a handler?_

_Not really,_ Jaxi said. _Optimists are good at underestimating enemies and getting themselves killed._

A door banged open. Leftie came up the stairs and onto the deck, wearing a pink shirt and dark blue pantaloons tied with a red sash similar to Dreyak's, though that was their _only_ similarity.

Trip rubbed the back of his neck. Maybe Major Blazer had been right when she'd said the women would make better spies.

Dreyak turned to face Leftie and eyed him from head to toe. "You look like a court jester. Did that costume come with balls for you to juggle?"

"I had trouble finding something in my size. A problem you found a way to sidestep, I see." Leftie waved at his bare chest. "Should we be relieved that you're wearing pants?"

"You should be relieved I allow you to stand this close to me." Dreyak strode away from him to look over the railing and into the town, a town that hadn't yet come to life. Maybe pirates stayed up late carousing and then slept in. "I yearn to slay the vile criminals that hide in this den of villainy." His voice wasn't particularly low when he spoke.

Trip rubbed his neck again. "Blazer was _definitely_ right."

He'd objected, at first, to the notion of the women going out there alone, but upon reconsidering, he suspected they would be a lot less likely to get into fights than the men.

Cheerful whistling heralded the next two people to come up on deck, Kaika and Rysha.

Trip had glimpsed Kaika's costume earlier, so he wasn't surprised to see their demolitions captain showing off her chest, but his eyes bugged out when Rysha came into view. He'd never seen her in anything except sweaters and army fatigues, both of which hid a lot, so he was surprised not only by the clothing but by what it revealed.

Her leather bustier thrust her breasts up and showed a lot of their skin on the top. It also left several inches of her flat stomach on display. Her arms were bare, as well, aside from loose gold and silver bracelets jangling from her wrists. A knee-length skirt made from a shimmery material closer to scales than leather hugged her hips and left her calves bare. The leather boots were the only practical item she wore. The rest looked like it would be hard to fight in, though she did have a slender belt at her waist, with the typical pirate pistol and ammo pouch there. She had a knife instead of a sword, though she was certainly tall enough to wear a cutlass. She had those long lovely legs... _All_ of her was lovely. Lush, sleek.

_See?_ Jaxi said. _Lustful fantasies._

Flustered, Trip jerked his gaze away. _I wasn't until she came out in_ that _getup._

He spotted Leftie staring at Rysha, too, and the sudden urge to go over and punch him entered his mind.

_I believe Captain Kaika was responsible for costumes and makeup,_ Jaxi said.

Trip looked back at Rysha, careful to keep his focus above her collarbone, and noticed she kept tugging her skirt down. She kept pushing her hair back from her shoulders, too. It was down instead of back in its usual bun, and she seemed irked by the breeze blowing it around. Only her spectacles were the same as always.

_Does that explain Leftie's outfit too?_ Trip asked Jaxi.

Leftie had shifted his ogling to Kaika. He was an equal opportunity voyeur.

_No, he picked that out himself._

Blazer clomped up the stairs in a significantly less revealing outfit. In truth, she looked very similar to her usual self in mismatched military fatigues, a white Cofah winter jacket with green Droatian trousers. Only the snake-hide boots looked to be of a civilian cut, though they could be from a military uniform Trip wasn't familiar with. One of Blazer's cigars was clamped in the corner of her mouth, though it wasn't lit at the moment.

With the airship securely docked now, Trip headed over to warn her, to warn all of them, about the potential sorceress and the dragon-slaying blade. And to direct them to the fortress Jaxi had mentioned.

"Can you see without your spectacles?" Blazer asked after inspecting Rysha's costume.

_That's not all she's inspecting,_ Jaxi said into his mind, giggling. _Our young professor is stirring numerous people's fantasies._

Trip caught Duck gawking over at the women too. Only Dreyak, who was glaring fiercely out at the pirate town, appeared oblivious. Kaika, with her hand on her hip and her breasts thrust outward, appeared perfectly comfortable in the ensemble and with the gawking. Rysha, her cheeks red, looked like she wanted to hide in the wheelhouse.

A surge of protectiveness welled in Trip's chest, and he stepped up to her side, wondering if he could employ a fierce glare of his own to get everyone to look away.

_Your glare isn't very fierce. Maybe Dreyak could give you lessons on_ that _matter._

Maybe if he stood in front of Rysha and blocked people's views, that would do.

"Anything more than a few feet away gets blurry," Rysha answered Blazer.

"Is this going to work?" Blazer asked Kaika, nodding at Rysha's spectacles. "Who ever heard of blind pirates?"

"I'm not blind, ma'am." Rysha's cheeks had already been pink, but they grew pinker.

"Works fine," Kaika drawled. "She's The Professor. In charge of researching worthwhile targets for us to pirate. You, Major, are The Enforcer, in charge of pulping those who get in the way of our plundering. If someone wants to test you, you can find out if all that boxing you do for sport translates into pirate-pulping abilities."

Blazer's eyebrows rose. "And what is your illustrious job among our trio?"

"I'm the captain, of course. Leader of the Black Rose, the outfit we've recently started and are interested in expanding. Thus, our reason for coming here to recruit."

"You're the leader," Blazer said.

"Naturally."

"Uhm, ma'ams," Duck said, scratching his head. "How will you starting a pirate organization get us the sword we're looking for? Aren't we on a deadline? I figured we'd just come in, get it, and leave, quicker than a fox stealing eggs from a henhouse."

"Do you know where the henhouse is?" Kaika asked him.

"No."

"That's why we're going out like this, to gather information."

"Actually," Trip said, "Jaxi knows where the sword is located."

"So, we don't have to go out like this?" Rysha looked at him, her expression vacillating between disappointed and relieved.

A more obviously disappointed expression marked Kaika's face. Blazer merely chewed on her cigar and waited for Trip to explain further.

"There's a fortress on the other side of the island. Someone in there is wearing it."

"Interesting," Rysha said. "I imagined it in a weapons vault or on display in a collection, but with dragons in the world again, it makes sense that the owner would carry it around. Did we see any burned trees that would indicate a dragon's destruction?" She grimaced and looked out to sea.

Trip wondered if the words had brought thoughts of her grandmother to mind.

"I didn't see any burned trees on the way in," Blazer said. "But I did see a bunch of destruction to buildings on that outer island over there. I thought a hurricane might have struck, but a dragon is as good of an explanation as any."

"A silver or bronze dragon could have been through then," Rysha said. "That's a little unfortunate. I'd been hoping that the pirate king would have the sword stored away somewhere, in a room without guards. If he's wearing it, acquiring it won't be easy. He's reputed to be quite the warrior, and he has legions of people who work for him."

"I knew nothing about this mission would be easy as soon as Zirkander told me about it," Blazer said.

"Oh, did he say that?"

"No, but he looked real jealous that he couldn't go. That was a sure sign."

"How many other people are in the fortress besides the one carrying the sword, Captain Trip?" Rysha asked. "That should determine if we can force our way in and take it or if guile will be required."

"Guile?" Leftie looked at her chest and then at Kaika's. "Is _that_ the tactic you were preparing to employ?"

Kaika smiled. "Something of the sort."

_More than one hundred people,_ Jaxi told Trip. _And then another hundred on the three well-armed sailing ships that are anchored in the protected bay the fortress is perched over. Another fifty in the airship above the bay._

Trip relayed the information and added, "Some guile may be required."

"Excellent," Kaika said.

"I don't suppose the person carrying the sword is a woman?" Kaika said. "We're assuming the pirate king, but if it's a woman, she could be a possible recruit for the Black Rose."

_It's a man,_ Jaxi said. _But I believe I've located the sorceress, someone also living in that fortress. She's definitely a woman. And this is interesting. I believe she has a soulblade._

_I thought soulblades were only given to the extremely deserving,_ Trip replied, not liking the way their enemies, and the likely power of their enemies, kept increasing.

_That's how it worked centuries ago and among the Iskandians. The Cofah also knew how to make soulblades, and I've met Cofah wielders of them that I would definitely not consider deserving. As far as Sardelle and I have been able to learn, the ceremonies for creating and distributing soulblades died out three centuries ago, with the purging of the Referatu in Iskandia and the similar purge in Cofahre. Sardelle's situation where she was caught in a stasis chamber for three hundred years seems to have been fairly unique. It's likely that a sorceress carrying a soulblade today received it from an ancestor, rather than through an official ceremony._

_Or found it or stole it?_

_Unlikely. Soulblades usually go dead, their souls being drawn off to the afterlife, if their handlers die and there's no successor around for them to link with. Stealing a soulblade is very difficult since we are quite capable of protecting ourselves. Sardelle certainly could not carry me against my wishes. If one were stolen, it would likely be one of the dead ones I mentioned. This one is not dead. I can sense its aura._

Realizing the others were staring at him and waiting for an answer, Trip passed along the information.

"Just so you know," Leftie said, "I find it very creepy that a sword is talking to you. And that you're listening."

"I find it creepy that out of all the shirts down there, you chose a pink one," Trip said. When in doubt, deflect the conversation to a different topic...

"I told you, I couldn't find any others that fit. I have broad shoulders. The pirates were all scrawny."

"All right, troops," Blazer said. "We don't have all day. I'm open to an attempt to sneak into the fortress and get the dragon-slaying sword tonight, but the sun just came up, so we have a long time before we can attempt that. We might as well gather information in the meantime so we have more of an idea about what we'll be walking into tonight. Kaika, Ravenwood, and I will go out, as planned. _Recruiting_." Her mouth twisted.

"And the rest of us?" Duck asked. "We don't all need to stay here and guard the ship, do we?"

"You have grander plans?"

"No, but I'm like a horse eager for a rider. I like to be useful."

Leftie whispered to Trip, "Did he just say he likes to be ridden?"

Trip waved away the joke, mostly because he felt similarly to Duck. He didn't want to twiddle his thumbs all day.

"Maybe a couple of us could cross the island while you all are in the city," he said, "and take a look at that fortress. When we were coming in, the island looked jungly and overgrown in the middle, so we might be able to get close without anyone noticing."

"I don't think that's true for you." Rysha pointed a finger at his chest. "Not if you're carrying Jaxi around. A _chapaharii_ sword is going to sense anyone with dragon blood and magic, so I think it'll know if you get close."

Trip's shoulders slumped. "So, the others can spy, but I have to stay here?"

He almost mentioned that he could leave Jaxi behind, but he might have enough dragon blood in his veins for the sword to sense, even without her. It wasn't as if he knew how to hide his aura.

"You and at least one other person should stay aboard the ship to guard it," Blazer said. "Two others can go spy, if they're careful. It will be easier to steal something if the owners aren't anticipating it."

"Technically," Rysha said, "we're not stealing anything. The _chapaharii_ sword—the name of the one I believe the pirate king stole is Brysdral, by the way—was stolen from an aristocratic Iskandian family. We're _retrieving_ it and can return it once the dragon threat is over."

"How noble of us." Blazer headed for the docks. "Let's go, Black Rose."

"I think she's taken a liking to that name," Kaika murmured, ambling after her.

Rysha laid a hand on Trip's arm before following them, and even though the sleeve of the pirate jacket he'd found covered his skin, he grew extremely aware of the touch—and how close beside him she stood.

"If I die," she told him, "do me a favor and don't let them bury me like this."

"You're not going to die," he blurted, then noticed her smile, a somewhat worried one but a smile, nonetheless, and realized it had been joke. "I mean, nobody's going to _shoot_ you in that costume."

She snorted, her hand still resting on his arm. That was nice.

"But since I know where you live now, I can certainly stop by and let your wishes be known."

"Good." She squeezed his arm and walked off after the other women.

Rysha didn't sashay the way Kaika was doing, but Trip had a hard time tearing his gaze from her departure. Her hips weren't the only thing the skirt hugged.

_Lustful imaginings_ , Jaxi observed.

Grimacing, Trip turned to look out to sea. _Do you comment on these kinds of things with Sardelle? And General Zirkander?_ He felt certain the soulblade gave them more respect.

Jaxi's answer was a long, ringing laugh. Or maybe that was a cackle.

# 14

Rysha followed Kaika and Blazer down the docks and to the street fronting the lagoon, doing her best to look like a woman who loved her attire and dressed in such clothing every day. She tried not to feel self-conscious about the pale skin on display, some of it _very_ pale. She also tried not to worry about how much it would hurt if the tops of her boobs were sunburned. Ow.

Instead, she thought of how amazing it was that she'd been chosen for this mission, exactly the kind of mission she'd dreamed of one day going on when she'd applied for the elite troops. Artillery officers didn't get to infiltrate distant pirate bases, and who ever read about them in the newspapers? She was sure to make a name for herself this way, and she hadn't even had to pass her training to receive the assignment. She decided that was a testament to her unique qualifications, not a sign that the army was desperate right now.

"So, Ravy," Kaika said, dropping back to walk beside her while Blazer strode ahead, glowering at anyone who gave them cross looks—granted, that wasn't many people, as the only pirates they passed appeared very hung over. "Got any history on this place that might be useful?"

"Ravy? Is that my spy name?"

Kaika rolled her eyes. "You can't very well have a noble Iskandian name out here. You'll get shot."

"Captain Trip promised me that wouldn't happen while I was in this outfit."

"I bet he did."

"As to history, the structures appear to be less than a hundred years old with the docks having been built even more recently. Either this hasn't been a pirate hold for long, or occasional hurricanes have forced major rebuilding. They're very common in this part of the world. The islands themselves have been included on the maps for centuries and centuries—a couple of the dragon riders of old were cartographers and flew all over the world when they had the opportunity. They left us with quite accurate maps. Did you know that Iskandar the Traveled, the man for whom our country was named, was one of those early map-making dragon riders? Modern editions of our textbooks leave out the fact that he rode dragons and shared some of their blood. Sadly, they reflect the current attitude toward magic. It's extremely unfortunate when the biases of a population are allowed to influence the way history is portrayed."

"When I asked if you could tell me anything useful, I wasn't fishing for a sleep aid. Come on, Ravy. What have you got about _this_ place?"

"Uhm."

A drunk whistled at them from an alley between two of the taverns. Fortunately, nobody lurched out of it to hit on them. Or worse.

"Was that for you or for me, ma'am?" Rysha asked.

"Either, both. Might be for Blazy. Some men like a challenge. Also, use 'captain' if you _have_ to tack on an honorific."

"Right. Captain." Rysha was beginning to think spy names simply involved adding a "y" to the end.

"What I'd really like is the history of this pirate king who's got the sword," Kaika said quietly. "Did he take over the fortress on the other side of the island by force or did he _build_ it? And how loyal are the legions he's got living there with him? Will they truly defend him, or are they secretly hoping someone will kill him, so they can take over?"

"Ah, I can definitely enlighten you on Neaminor. He'll likely be in his fifties or sixties, as he's been raiding southern and eastern Iskandia, Far Western Cofahre, and Nu-yen for at least twenty-five years. He's reputed to have Cofah origins, a former soldier who went rogue."

"Like Tolemek, huh? The Cofah must not treat their soldiers well."

"The empire's just huge, I think. Half the global population is on their main continent. Lots of people to eventually go pirate. Anyway, Neaminor wasn't the first to form an entire fleet, with himself set up as king and numerous pirates working under him and giving him a cut, but he's done it better than most pirates in this century. He also has an entrepreneurial streak, and he's reputed to own land and businesses in many of the countries he's—"

Kaika lifted a hand. "I think Blazy has her eye on that tavern with the people eating on the covered porch. Sum up, please. Fortress? Legions?"

"I do think it's likely he built it, Captain. He may run the entire island chain. Also, if there have been dragon attacks here, and he's got a dragon-slaying sword that he's good at using, his people may feel quite loyal to him right now. And if he's also got a sorceress working for him... I definitely recommend sneaking in rather than assuming his people won't give their best to defend him. He, alone, should prove a formidable opponent."

"Any idea how close the sorceress is to him?" Kaika asked, lowering her voice further as she followed Blazer up steps to the tavern. "Is he married?"

"Are you thinking of proposing to him if he's available?"

"It wouldn't be my first proposal on a mission." Kaika winked.

Rysha barely kept herself from gaping at her. She shouldn't have been surprised, but now she wondered just how far one was expected to go when it came to seducing the enemy. She'd imagined flirtation, perhaps a kiss, but proposing? Did that mean Kaika ended up having sex with a lot of her unwitting informants? Even though Rysha wanted to emulate her career, she couldn't imagine throwing herself into bed with strangers.

Kaika lifted a finger to her lips to end the conversation as she tilted her head toward the outdoor tables.

The men eating on the porch were eyeing them with speculation. A couple of women, women dressed more like Blazer than Kaika or Rysha, eyed them with more hostile gazes.

Kaika took the lead from Blazer and sat down at a table large enough for six. Two men sat across from each other on the end nearest the railing. The people eating in the outdoor restaurant appeared less hung over and more awake than the others their group had passed.

"Those eggs smell good," Kaika said, sidling close to one of the men. "Worth ordering again?"

Both of them looked at her breasts, and neither objected to her closeness.

Blazer sat on the far end of the table from them, watching their surroundings, apparently content to let Kaika do the seducing, or whatever she intended to do. Rysha would have been far more comfortable emulating Blazer, but Kaika was in her unit and did the work she one day might be sent to do. Though she had doubts, Rysha sat down across the table from her and next to the other man.

His eyes lit, and he spent a long time examining her chest as his buddy explained the limited meal options to Kaika while slinging an arm around her shoulders. Kaika looked like she enjoyed the familiarity, though Rysha couldn't see how. The men weren't hideous—in fact, Kaika had chosen the better-looking options on the porch—but Rysha didn't care for their unshaven beard scruff or the way they were so open with their leers. Gentlemen wouldn't stare so.

She thought of Trip, the way his eyes had bulged when she'd walked out in her skimpy costume. He'd glanced at her breasts, but he'd been quick to look away. When he'd looked back, he'd kept his gaze on her face. She wouldn't have minded if he'd been a little less of a gentleman, in truth. Instead, that Leftie had been the one less subtle about his scrutiny. Though even he hadn't been as brazen as these pirates.

"...all-women pirate outfit?" Kaika's man snorted, and Rysha made herself focus on the conversation. She was supposed to be learning how to extract information, not thinking about which men she approved of eyeing her boobs. "That can't work. Women aren't strong enough."

"How strong do you need to be to shoot someone?" Kaika asked, leaning into the man's side. Rysha was fairly certain she had a hand on his thigh too. Kaika plucked a small, oval fruit off his plate and lifted it to her mouth. "We're not looking to invade Cofahre. We just find likely prospects and go visit them when they're not ready for visitors."

"You'd need some brawn for when they try to visit back."

"We disappear after and make sure they never see us again." Kaika slid the fruit part way into her mouth, half sucking on it, half exploring its texture with her tongue. Then she drew it out again.

The man watched, his gaze riveted. Kaika took a tiny nibble from the end.

"Mm, tart but sweet," she said. "I bet there are some women here on the islands that are good enough to work in an operation like ours."

Under the table, a hand came to rest on Rysha's thigh. Her _bare_ thigh. The damn skirt had slid up. She froze. It was all she could do not to bolt.

The man smiled and slid his hand up and down her leg. She wanted to avoid looking at him in the hope that he would get bored and move it, but she doubted that would happen. She reached under the table, gripped his hand, and moved it off her leg. Just because she was dressed as a promiscuous pirate didn't mean she had to be an _easy_ promiscuous pirate.

"Maybe Tronya," Kaika's man said, "but she's a real mean witch, and she's got that sword."

Rysha wondered if he was fondling _her_ thigh. She was probably too busy fondling his.

"Sword?" Kaika laughed, a very sultry laugh, and her breasts brushed his shoulder. She wasn't a gorgeous woman, but she sure knew how to use what she had. "How quaint. What century does she think this is?"

"It's a _magic_ sword," Rysha's man said, leaning forward. "A witch sword. And that's what she is. A witch. Some men wanted to hang her a few years back, and she incinerated them. I was there. I saw it. Nearly crapped myself. A real live witch."

Rysha hoped this sudden interest in the conversation meant he would be distracted from leg fondling, but he reached over and captured her thigh again, his grip firmer this time, a warning in it. As if to say, he wouldn't appreciate it if she moved his hand again.

Despite getting a late start with kissing, Rysha wasn't completely uninitiated to men and sex, but she found the situation alarming. It had taken Brafford Brambleridge three months to do more than kiss her, and they hadn't had sex for closer to nine. She tried to tell herself this oaf wasn't going to do anything at a public table, but the way his thumb was now rubbing her made panic well up in her chest.

Why hadn't she sat at the end with Blazer? Nobody was molesting _her_.

"A magic sword," Kaika said with a dismissive snort.

"It's true," her man said. "She's killed a lot of pirates who've crossed her path and plenty of others too."

"Yeah?" Kaika looked to Blazer. "We've done well of late with just the three of us, but I could use another enforcer in my outfit. Think she wants to join the Black Rose?"

Rysha tried to scoot farther from her man as he pushed her skirt higher. His grip tightened even further. She would have had a hard time moving without slamming a palm strike into his jaw. A fantasy that was taking root in her mind.

Kaika's man laughed. "Oh, sure. Tronya's going to leave the pirate king's bed to join some nobodies that I've never heard of."

"We're new. You'll hear about us lots soon." Kaika bit off half of the piece of fruit she'd been playing with, her face blissful as she chewed. Her tongue slipped out, moving along her lips.

"You're only recruiting women?" her man asked, watching her tongue like a hawk.

"Only interested in women," Kaika said agreeably.

"What do you three do alone out there? Without any men?" He leered, including Blazer and Rysha in his gaze.

"Oh, we keep ourselves entertained. I'm sure this Tronya would find us fun. Hard to believe she's happy with some geezer. Neaminor has been around forever. He's got to be a hundred or more."

"He's not _that_ old. Maybe sixty. Real fit, though. He comes into town sometimes, and he was the one that led the charge to drive off that dragon last month. Most people here respect him fine. Even though he sleeps with a witch out in his fortress. I doubt she's _fun_ —" he shuddered, "—but she's a beauty, so it's not impossible to see why he likes the arrangement."

"Must be nice to have a fortress," Kaika said. "I figure we'll have the kind of money for that in a couple years."

"His is posh." The man pointed toward the opposite side of the island. "Kind of like every boy's fantasy. He built it out of logs, and there are all these platforms and rope bridges, but it's not as rustic as it sounds. It's got all kinds of luxurious things in it from his plunders. Almost like a palace now. I got to see it once when I was doing deliveries for Yoro. It's five levels like this." He gestured with his hands, stacking them in the air. "I only got to see the bottom, where the deliveries go, but I hear it's all real nice. Some of the boys around town are always talking about plundering Neaminor." He laughed. "But not real seriously. Not with the witch. And he's no slouch, either. He got a magic sword of his own. It's what convinced the dragon to leave, I hear. They say it glowed all green when they battled, and he could cut into the dragon with it when nothing else could."

Rysha's detached intellectual side marveled that Kaika was getting all this information when she wasn't even asking any questions. But her emotional side had trouble studying the technique, since she couldn't stop worrying about the hand on her thigh, the hand that kept trying to shove her skirt higher. She was holding it down with her other hand, but the pirate seemed to like a challenge.

"Why don't you come over here," he murmured to her, his gaze on her breasts again. He'd checked out of the other conversation, perhaps not interested in the details of that fortress. Kaika, without asking, was somehow extracting more information on the layout and where deliveries went.

"I'm not interested in you," Rysha told the man, looking him in the face and trying to be blunt. But he wasn't looking at _her_ face.

"If that was true, you wouldn't have sat down so close." He smiled, his nails digging into her inner thigh and trying to tug her leg closer. To tug _her_ closer. "Come here."

Rysha made herself a brick. She'd had enough of his groping, and that palm-strike fantasy was swelling in her imagination. The only reason she hadn't enacted it yet was that she didn't want to ruin Kaika's information gathering.

But his hand traveled higher up her thigh, and he pinched her. Hard.

She couldn't hold back any longer. She snarled and launched her palm strike so hard and fast that he didn't have a chance to defend himself. He surely hadn't expected it.

His head snapped sideways, and his hand finally left her thigh. He balled it into a fist and lunged out of his seat, snarling, "You bitch!"

He swung at her, but Rysha was up by then, too, and she swept her arm out in a block, knocking the attack aside. She threw another palm strike, this time at his exposed sternum. She rotated, turning her hip into the thrust, and the adrenaline surging through her veins gave her more power than usual. He stumbled backward, tripping over his chair, and fell against the railing. The wood gave way with a snap, and he fell _through_ the railing and into the sand below.

Kaika gaped at Rysha in surprise. Her man stood to stare over the side and down at his buddy.

The front door slammed open, and a woman in an apron came out, carrying a broom.

"All of you, out," she barked. "We'll have no troublemakers here."

"Does that mean we can't order breakfast?" Blazer asked, standing up.

"Out!" The woman swatted at Kaika with her broom.

Kaika dodged the weak attack, and she, Blazer, and Rysha hurried from the porch.

As they headed down the road, Rysha looked at the fallen man, worried he would chase after her and retaliate. He _had_ found his feet. But he was yelling back at the woman in the apron, who seemed to believe he should pay for the broken rail.

Rysha hurried to get out of his view, but neither Kaika nor Blazer was hurrying, so she reluctantly slowed down to match their pace. They were looking toward other eating establishments.

Thinking of trying it all again? Rysha couldn't hold back a groan.

She didn't realize the noise came out so loudly until Kaika looked over at her.

"I'm sorry I messed up your intel gathering, ma'am," Rysha said, now feeling that she had overreacted. Weren't female spies supposed to let themselves get groped? Or even sleep with people? That's what seduction led to, wasn't it? So what if he had pulled her into his lap and she had been forced to sit on his happy stick?

"I'm not," Blazer said, eyes glinting. "That was beautiful."

" _Major_ ," Kaika said, sounding somewhere between amused and exasperated.

Blazer patted Rysha on the shoulder. "If the elite troops assignment doesn't work out, you come on over to Wolf Squadron. We'll train you up as a pilot. All you have to do to pirates with us is shoot them."

"She's _going_ to work out," Kaika growled. "Keep your pilot mittens off her."

Blazer lifted her hands, but she was still smiling as she ambled ahead of them, once again watching their surroundings for trouble. A few more pirates were out now, a few more interested parties eyeing the group of women.

"I'm sorry, Captain," Rysha told Kaika again, certain that Kaika had been letting her man grope her under the table. And it had worked. He'd spilled all that information about the fort, all unasked for. "I know I volunteered to dress this way. I thought I could do it, gather information by being... appealing. But I'm not appealing, ma'am. When I imagined going on spy missions, it always involved getting in and gathering intel by being underestimated and ignored as a wallflower."

"I think you'd have a harder time being a wallflower than you imagine," Kaika said dryly. "But you should go with your strengths. The quickest way to being discovered is by pretending to be something you're not."

"Don't spies _have_ to pretend to be something they're not?"

Kaika chuckled. "I'm not talking about the surface stuff. Don't try to change your personality on a mission."

"But don't you have to... I mean, as a spy, isn't it expected—Captain, I don't know if I can learn to be comfortable getting pawed over to get information."

"Relax, Ravy," Kaika said. "That's not in the job description."

Rysha looked at her.

"My commanders have certainly found my lack of certain inhibitions useful over the years," Kaika went on, "but that's not what the elite troops is all about. You think Colonel Therrik gets sent out to seduce people?"

"I haven't met Colonel Therrik."

"If you have an option, _don't_. Most of the missions are incursion and combat-related. The people who go undercover have a knack for it, but there's plenty to be done if you don't. We've got lots of men who are strategists, others who are just muscle." Kaika flexed her biceps and winked. "Both of which I think you'll have a knack for. And both of which," she added, her humor fading, "we'll likely need tonight."

"Tonight?"

"When we infiltrate the fortress and deal with a legendary pirate and his sorceress."

# 15

"Are they the odd duo, or are we?" Leftie asked, watching Duck and Dreyak head down the docks to find a place to cut through the city and into the wilderness.

Trip looked at his friend's pink shirt. It was more of a blouse with poofy sleeves that billowed when the breeze kicked up. "I think we'd have to put that to a vote. Let the squadron decide."

"I'm not sure that vote would come down in our favor."

"Perhaps not."

Trip sat on the railing of their purloined airship, keeping an eye out in case trouble headed their way. On an island chain run by pirates, it seemed inevitable.

"If I take the shirt off, I'm back to normal," Leftie said. "If you take your shirt off, you're still talking to a sword."

"We're not talking currently. And you're not normal, shirted or shirtless."

"As if you'd know."

"Like recognizes like."

Leftie grunted and swung himself up onto the railing, dangling his legs over the side. Trip watched him warily, hoping he wouldn't take this private moment to point out how much oddness truly had been revolving around Trip in the last week.

Had Leftie had time to wonder how the squadron had truly taken down that dragon? Trip still wasn't sure he believed _he'd_ done something, but he also didn't have another explanation for it.

"I feel it's a little unmanly to be sitting here, polishing the railing with our butts, while the women go out among the pirates," Leftie said.

"Then I guess you don't want to hear my suggestion that we wash the windows on the wheelhouse and tidy up all the wood chips stuck between the deck boards after our carpentry projects."

"Wash? Tidy? Trip, we became officers so we wouldn't have to do those things."

"True, but we're the lowest-ranking officers along, and there are no privates to foist the menial tasks onto."

"Damn, you're right. No, wait. Ravenwood is only a few months out of the academy. That means I have seniority on her. We can make her clean. Preferably while wearing her pirate costume." Leftie grinned at him.

Trip didn't grin back. He didn't want to say anything disrespectful and didn't want Leftie to say anything disrespectful. Even more, he didn't want Leftie fantasizing about her.

Leftie grunted in disgust when he didn't respond to the joke. "You're too serious, Trip."

"They're our fellow officers. I don't think you should say anything about them that you wouldn't say about General Zirkander. Or Duck."

"I doubt anybody wants to see Duck cleaning while in a pirate costume. Zirkander, I don't know. My mom has a newspaper article about him on the ice box. A close-up of his face."

Trip felt a familiar twinge of envy, the one that came up whenever other people talked about their parents. He was glad he had Grandma and Grandpa, and was grateful they had been there to raise him, but he still missed his mother. More, there were so many questions he wished he'd had a chance to ask her. To start with, who was his father? Someone she had known well and loved? A random fling in a port city? Was he still alive? Could Trip find him someday? Would his father know all about magic, and would he have any interest in teaching Trip? Or an interest in him in general? Did he even know Trip existed, or had his mother gone back to Iskandia without ever telling him she was pregnant?

"That looks like trouble." Leftie jerked a thumb toward the dock.

Four burly thugs in dark clothing were heading their way, all bearing rifles as well as pistols and cutlasses at their waists.

"Is there such a thing as a police force here?" Leftie added.

_Those are the toll collectors_ , Jaxi told Trip.

The soulblade dangled from his waist in its scabbard. Ever since going to that bar without Jaxi, he'd been loath to lean the sword out of the way somewhere. He wondered if Sardelle took it with her to bed.

_Ridge would object to that. My scabbard goes on a stand by the front door of the house. I'm like a guard dog, ready to bite any intruders that try to break in. Except I'd be far more likely to fry their balls off than bite anything._

_What if the intruders are women?_

_Women have parts that can be fried too._

"It sounds like they're coming to collect a docking fee," Trip said, deciding not to share any of the other dubious information Jaxi was sharing.

"Sounds like?" Leftie's lips twisted as he looked at the soulblade.

"Maybe I can start asking her to direct her messages to you so you won't feel left out."

"No, thanks. That's super creepy. All this magic stuff is. I can't believe you're so blasé about it."

"So far, having Jaxi along has been an advantage," Trip said, shifting to his feet since the "toll collectors" were definitely heading to their ship. "I have no problem with magic that's on our side."

"And what happens when you encounter some that isn't? There's a reason normal people rose up and started killing witches hundreds of years ago. They thought they were better than everyone else and wanted to enslave us, the same way the dragons want to today."

"I doubt that's true."

"It's in the history books, Trip. Didn't you ever pick up anything except technical manuals at the university?"

"Not if I could help it."

_There were some rogue sorcerers a few hundred years ago that unfortunately made things difficult for the rest of the Referatu,_ Jaxi said as Trip walked to the gangplank. _Most of us were loyal subjects who wanted to serve the king and our country. Sardelle used to go out with the army and navy, healing soldiers._

_I believe you._

_Perhaps you could convince your buddy._

_I don't want to talk about it with him. I'm afraid I'd lose a friend if he knew that I have... a sixth sense._

_You could have a lot more than that if you wanted,_ Jaxi said. _And he can't be much of a friend if you would lose him over that._

_He's watched out for me a lot of times. He's a good friend. Just superstitious._ Trip occasionally wondered if something had happened to Leftie to make him so, or if it was just due to his upbringing.

"How much is the docking fee?" Trip asked as the men turned up their gangplank. He walked down it, hoping to deter them from coming aboard. The tarps covering the gleaming Iskandian fliers couldn't hide their suspicious size or lumpiness. Trip couldn't think of anything else that large that he could claim was under them.

"Fifty Cofah karvots," one said, propping a meaty fist on his hip. "For _most_ ships. But you didn't come to the office and fill out a deposit envelope with your money as soon as you landed, so there's a late fee. Now it's two hundred karvots."

"That's quite a late fee," Trip choked out, trying to guess what the exchange rate was between karvots and Iskandian nucros. "I have a hard time believing your typical clientele trots up to an office with a fist full of karvots for a deposit box."

"Believe what you want while you hand over the money."

"We've been pillaging in Iskandia of late. What's the fee in nucros?"

"Iskandian money." The man sneered and looked at his comrades.

It was somewhat deflating to realize that his country's money wasn't as greatly desired as the empire's, even though these islands were much closer to Iskandia.

"Five hundred nucros, then."

Floored, Trip looked at Leftie. That couldn't possibly be the going rate. They could have fed and housed a whole flier squadron for a month on that. He didn't believe anyone else was paying that much. Maybe he and Leftie looked young, so these thugs meant to swindle them.

Leftie only shrugged back, as if to say, "You're the one who got promoted, so you're in charge."

"We're only staying for a day," Trip told the men, who had sauntered farther up the gangplank. The leader was eyeing the soulblade scabbard. "I'll get you a hundred nucros."

"Not enough, runt." The leader pointed at the sword. "We'll take that blade as payment for your fee."

An indignant surge of emotion came from Jaxi. Trip hadn't realized she could project feelings as well as words, but he agreed with the sentiment.

"The sword's not for sale," he said.

"Then you better cough up my five hundred, or we're coming aboard to look for it ourselves."

"Maybe we can just leave," Leftie offered, sidling closer, his hand resting on his pistol. "Figure out a way to pick up the others later."

"You've already been using that docking space for _hours_ ," the thug said. "You don't get to leave without paying. Five hundred."

"Just take the sword," one in the back said, slapping his rifle in his palm.

_Jaxi?_ Trip thought. _How would Sardelle deal with this?_

_She likes to give men like these genital rashes._

_Uh, what?_ That was so far from the answer Trip had expected that it stunned him. He wasn't ready when the men charged.

Fortunately, Jaxi was. An invisible barrier flared to life around him, and the lead thugs bounced back.

_I must warn you,_ Jaxi told him, _that my methods of dealing with people are less subtle._

_That's all right._ Trip drew the soulblade and looked sternly at the startled men. _Pilots aren't subtle people._

_Oh, I know_ that _, but I mean that a trained sorcerer might sense me using my magic. I do tend to be spectacular and noticeable, even when I'm not trying._

The men murmured to each other on the gangplank, eyeing Trip and eyeing the spectacular soulblade. Jaxi wasn't glowing or throbbing or doing anything obviously magical yet, but if they were familiar with sorceresses and magical swords, maybe they had their suspicions about the origins of that barrier.

"Go get a hundred nucros, Leftie," Trip said. "We'll give it to them and fly away as soon as our people return. Sound reasonable, gentlemen?"

He lifted the soulblade, and this time, Jaxi flared with a bright golden light, as if to remove all doubt from the men's minds that she was magical.

_A little dramatic flair doesn't hurt when you're trying to intimidate people,_ Jaxi said.

One of the men in the back waved vigorously toward an office on the waterfront. Trip hoped that wasn't the signal for reinforcements.

"Just get him," the other man in back said, nudging the two in front of him.

"He's got a _sword_."

"We've got _guns_."

"They don't _glow_."

"Shit, we'll get you some special paint if you need that." The man nudged his comrade again.

Trip didn't think any of them would have come forward, but the door to that office flew open, and unexpected objects flew out. The sun glinted off their metallic surfaces.

At first, Trip thought them some kind of miniature fliers, but they had butterfly-like wings instead of horizontal bi-wings.

_They're a mix of magical and mechanical constructs,_ Jaxi said.

_Oh?_ Trip couldn't help but look toward them. _Is that a thing you can do? Mixing the magical with the mechanical to invent new things?_ And if so, where did he find a course where he could study that?

_Maybe, instead of speculating on education opportunities, you should worry about the fact that they're coming this way. And they have guns._

_Uh._ Trip looked in the direction Leftie had gone, wanting to warn him, since he didn't know if Jaxi could protect him from a distance, but he'd disappeared belowdecks. _I don't suppose you can tell him to stay down there, Jaxi?_

_I don't think he would be amenable to hearing my words in his mind._ You _could tell him quite easily._

_I don't know how._

_You really should have come to the capital several months before this mission so Sardelle could have begun your training._

_Nobody sent me orders calling me over there until this week._ Trip kept an eye on the men on the gangplank, but also on what had turned out to be six contraptions, all flying over the lagoon and angling toward his ship. Toward _him_.

_The military is so_ shortsighted _,_ Jaxi said.

Trip glimpsed Kaika, Blazer, and Rysha walking on the waterfront street, perhaps a quarter of a mile away, and wiped his brow in relief. As a captain, he ought to be able to handle toll-collecting pirates on his own, but he would be glad to foist the problem off on a superior officer.

But the men didn't give him time. Bolstered by the contraptions' approach, they lifted their rifles and pistols, aiming at Trip.

He crouched to spring away, but Jaxi ordered, _Stay. I'll protect you. And you don't want them coming aboard, remember?_

She sent more than words into his mind—a hint of power accompanied them, and he wasn't sure he could have jumped away if he'd wanted to.

Guns cracked, and bullets fired, but true to Jaxi's word, they bounced off the invisible barrier a few feet in front of him. Just as had happened in the forest.

The men tried to rush him on the heels of their bullets. They had no more luck getting past Jaxi's barrier than the bullets had.

_Can I attack them while you're doing that?_ Trip asked silently as the flock of flying contraptions sailed out over the lagoon and toward their ship.

Would they shoot at him? Or try to get to Leftie?

_You could do all manner of mental attacks, but you can't shoot through my barrier. The bullets would bounce back at you._

_I don't know how to do mental attacks._

_Did I say you should have come to the capital months ago? I meant_ years _ago._

Shots came from behind Trip, and he jumped. Leftie was charging across the deck, firing past Trip and at the men firing at _him_. A couple of his bullets glanced off the edge of Jaxi's bubble, but others made it past.

One thudded into a toll collector's shoulder. He clutched at the wound and stumbled back, losing his footing and pitching off the gangplank. The other three dropped to a knee, shifting their aim to Leftie.

"Get back!" Trip yelled at him. "Enemies incoming on multiple fronts."

He flung an arm to indicate the contraptions zipping toward them. Bronze and copper with small flywheels in addition to their wings, they looked like something from a toymaker's shop, but Trip could now see twin gun barrels thrusting out to either side of the gleaming metal noses. He could also sense the magic Jaxi had spoken of, and he was certain they were capable of firing of their own accord.

Instead of getting back, Leftie threw himself into a roll as the men fired at him. He ran toward one of the tarp-covered fliers.

Trip groaned—he didn't want Leftie shot up, but he didn't want their fliers shot up, _either_.

With few other options, Trip surged down the gangplank. He had to put a stop to this.

_Let me attack, Jaxi,_ he ordered, knowing he took the risk of being shot as he did so.

_I'll handle them._ Jaxi heated in his grip, and a ball of fire appeared in the air, forcing Trip to halt. _You handle the metal gizmos. You're the mechanic._

_I'm an engineer, thank you._

_You build tables; don't glorify yourself._

_I also fixed all the broken equipment in the airship._

_Which you may be required to do again soon._

The ball of fire grew, blocking Trip's view of the men and threatening to singe off his eyebrows. But he heard and sensed them flinging themselves off the gangplank and into the water below.

It was only a short reprieve. The contraptions continued without anyone's guidance. They'd reached the ship, and they strafed the deck the same way Trip strafed pirate airships. Bullets slammed into the wood boards, and two of the machines angled toward Leftie's hiding spot.

Leftie leaned out and fired at one. His bullet struck it but clanged off without doing noticeable damage. The machine arrowed straight toward him.

Trip sprinted to intercept it, hoping the men who'd jumped off the gangplank wouldn't swim back to shore and race out again.

_They probably will,_ Jaxi said. _They have reinforcements coming. I'm going to try to deter them and make sure Kaika and the others can get through the growing crowd._

"I had no idea avoiding docking fees was such a crime," Trip growled, running and jumping to reach the construct angling for Leftie's hiding spot.

He slammed the soulblade into it before it could reach Leftie. Jaxi was still flaring gold. He had no idea if that added magic to her blade, but was relieved when it cut into the flying gizmo. His strong blow cut it in half, and the pieces crumpled to the deck.

Unfortunately, the five others turned their focus on Trip. They clinked and clanked as their parts whirred, and those barrels rotated unerringly toward his chest.

Despite Jaxi telling him he had to handle them while she handled the reinforcements, he could feel her power flowing into his limbs, guiding him with moves that should have been impossible for a sword-fighting neophyte. Or _any_ mundane human being.

Somehow, he sensed the bullets' trajectories—they seemed to slow down so he could _see_ them—and he whipped the blade in front of him as he ran, deflecting them. A couple of times, Jaxi cleaved bullets in _half_ , the remains clinking to the deck.

He advanced as he defended and sprang for another contraption.

This one saw him coming and whipped to the side, as if it were a sentient animal rather than a machine. But with Jaxi guiding his arms, he reacted instantly, the soulblade darting to follow it. He clipped it, slicing off part of a wing. It wobbled, still trying to target and shoot him as it lost altitude. Like a logger, he brought Jaxi down to cleave it in half.

But its bullet fired, and from that close, he didn't have time to dodge or deflect it. It sliced through his side, burning like fire. He gasped, almost dropping Jaxi.

_Don't you dare. A sorcerer is supposed to die with his soulblade in hand._

Shouts came from the waterfront, along with the firing of more guns. Trip worried that the women would need help, but with four more contraptions harrying him, he couldn't look in their direction.

The machines surrounded him, not worrying if they hit each _other_ with their bullets, not when those bullets simply clanged off their metal hides.

Again letting Jaxi guide him, Trip whirled and blocked, his arms and legs whipping about with impossible speed as he deflected their relentless attacks. He tried to back away from the clump so they would all be in front of him, so he wasn't too busy deflecting bullets from all sides to attack. But the damn metallic creatures moved with him, cutting him off.

Leftie yelled curses from the side and fired at one of them, but his bullets also clanged uselessly off. Trip lunged and slashed at one as it whirred backward. He sliced the muzzle off one of its guns. Unfortunately, that didn't affect its flight—or stop it from firing.

While he was distracted with his attack, one fired at him from behind. Sensing it, he sprang to the side, but the bullet grazed his arm.

Trip gritted his teeth at the pain, abruptly realizing he could die from these awful devices. He whipped Jaxi about, deflecting more bullets, but his breath was growing labored from the demanding moves, and he worried he couldn't keep it up much longer.

Frustration built within him as he once again failed in a sword attack. He roared, imagining Jaxi summoning some power to incinerate them, and flung out his hand as if he could will it to happen.

To his surprise, a huge wall of flame rose all around him. Heat poured off it, but Jaxi flared, creating a barrier again to protect him.

Leftie yelled and cursed, his voice sounding closer than Trip had expected.

With a lurch of fear, Trip yelled, "Jaxi, make it stop. Please."

The flames disappeared. Leftie lay on his back a few meters away, his rifle on the deck next to him, one arm raised to protect his face. His eyes bulged round, filled with terror. But he did not appear to be injured. He must have been running closer to the fray when the fire appeared. Maybe he'd thought to club the damn contraptions.

Trip lowered the soulblade and looked around, wondering where they had all gone.

_Look down, hero._

Four molten lumps smoked on the charred deck around Trip.

_You're amazing, Jaxi._ They weren't quite incinerated, but this would do just fine.

_I am amazing, but I didn't do that. You did. I was busy helping Kaika and the others get past all the pirates impeding them._

_I... did? That's not possible._

_Those four molten lumps suggest otherwise._

Trip let the soulblade droop. She couldn't be serious. How could he have created fire with his mind?

The notion stunned him, but he also felt strange. Tingly all over, as if power ran through his veins right now.

Footsteps pounded on the gangplank, and Trip turned, lifting the soulblade once more. His breathing was heavy, but he would attack again if he needed to.

But these weren't enemies running onto the ship. The three women, with Rysha in the lead, raced off the gangplank. Their eyes met, hers wide with an expression he couldn't read. Surprise? Horror? _Awe?_ How much had she seen?

A part of him was already groping for an excuse, a story to explain how Jaxi had been responsible for all that, but another part of him lifted his chin and thought that he'd like it if she knew he was a strong warrior, even without Jaxi guiding him.

_Please, if not for me, you'd have more holes in you than bubble cheese._

_You can't give me a couple of minutes of self-absorbed delusion before smothering me with reality?_

_I wouldn't want you to become overly full of yourself. Nothing good comes from sorcerers turning into arrogant asses._

Sorcerer, that was an overstatement. _It's good that you're along to keep me grounded._

_Indeed so. Also, those bullet wounds you suffered may help with that._

Trip touched his side as the women approached. He'd almost forgotten about them, but as he brushed the gouge down there, pain flared anew. Blood dripped from his fingers.

"Trip," Rysha said. "You're hurt. Let's get—

"The hells out of here," Blazer growled, racing to the wheelhouse. "Leftie, Trip, cut the ropes. You can nurse your owies later. We've got more trouble coming."

"Owies, Major?" Leftie rolled to his feet, stiffly but with determination. "Could we call them something more manly, please?"

Blazer slammed open the wheelhouse door and charged in without answering.

Another gun fired. Kaika's. She knelt behind the railing at the top of the gangplank, shooting at men who were crouching behind pilings and crates on the dock, shooting right back.

A bullet whizzed past Trip's head.

Ducking low, he ran to the ropes securing them to the dock. His side burned, as did the fresh gouge in his forearm, but he kept Jaxi in hand as he raced to cut them. Because she was useful in that chore and also because she'd forbade him to drop her.

_Glad you were listening,_ she told him. _Oh, how tedious._

_What?_ Trip hacked at one of the thick docking ropes, not wanting to jump down where he would be more visible—and an easier target—to untie it.

_There are cannons on the waterfront, and someone is preparing them._

_All this because we didn't pay a toll?_ Trip ran toward Leftie to help him. He was also cutting away a rope, but using a simple knife instead of a soulblade, and it wasn't going quickly.

_I believe the fireballs may have increased their ire toward us. Sorcerers aren't loved in most of the world, you know._

_Tell me about it._ Trip was surprised the pirates allowed one on their island at all, even one who protected them.

"One more rope," Leftie said, running across the deck with his head low.

Trip followed him as Kaika continued to fire from the gangplank. The engines thrummed below the deck, and gas hissed into the envelope above their heads.

"How did things devolve so quickly after I went belowdecks to get money?" Leftie started to hack at the rope, realized Jaxi could slice through it in a second, and let Trip handle it.

"I'm not sure. I think the situation started out devolved."

"I guess it's a good thing your new sword friend makes infernos." Leftie's lips twisted. "Though a little warning would have been nice. I almost got my front half incinerated. I'm real partial to some of the parts on my front half."

"I suppose you'd have trouble charming the ladies with just the back half."

"It would certainly be more of a challenge. Though I _have_ been told I have a nice ass. Nice to look at. Nice to squeeze."

_Maybe I should smother_ his _self-absorbed delusions too,_ Jaxi told Trip.

_You don't agree about the niceness of his backside?_

_I'm certainly not tempted to squeeze it._

He patted the flat of the soulblade. _How would that work if you were?_

_Don't underestimate the power of magic._

_Not just for creating infernos, eh?_

_Not in the least. Though fire_ is _my specialty. I approve of your methods back there, even if you scorched the deck and almost set the balloon on fire._

With the ropes cut, the airship lifted free from the dock. Bullets continued to fire, but Trip flopped down on the deck, his back to the railing, and felt some relief. Until a thunderous boom came from the waterfront.

The cannons Jaxi had mentioned?

Something slammed into the envelope at the rear of the ship, and Trip jumped to his feet again.

"What now?" Leftie groaned.

_Actually, those aren't quite cannonballs. One moment._ The soulblade's hilt grew warm again.

As more booms came from the waterfront, Trip ran toward the opposite side so he could see the threat. He was in time to see three fiery projectiles speeding toward the airship, toward the _envelope_.

"Damn it," Kaika growled, shooting toward the waterfront. "I should have brought a sniper rifle. There's not enough range or accuracy with this old girl."

One of the blazing cannonballs, or whatever they were, blew up before reaching the envelope. The second two struck an invisible barrier. Jaxi's work, Trip presumed.

_You presume correctly, but it's difficult to create one large enough to protect the entire airship. I—_ Three more blazing cannonballs fired, and she fell silent. Busy concentrating?

Once again, one was destroyed in the air halfway to them. Another bounced off her barrier, but the third sailed through the envelope at the far front. Jaxi cursed.

Trip thought the airship would make it out of the lagoon—he'd seen balloons perforated by far more than a few cannonballs continue to hold enough gas to fly for hundreds of miles—but that projectile had left flames behind after sailing through. Flames that were spreading quickly. Were those cannonballs coated in pitch or something else that was highly flammable?

He realized that the first cannonball had gotten through, too, before Jaxi had started defending against them. Flames burned heartily around that hole in the front, creeping up the side of the balloon.

"Someone's going to have to put those fires out," Blazer yelled, leaning out of the wheelhouse.

Trip would climb up there with wet blankets if he had to, but he questioned Jaxi first, on the chance she could simply magic them out. _Can you do anything?_

An explosion came from the waterfront, far noisier than the booms from cannons firing. Trip peered over the railing in time to see flames leaping from the spot where one of the cannons was— _had_ _been_.

_Trust me,_ Jaxi said. _I_ am _doing things._

Another cannon blew up.

_So I see._

Trip spotted Rysha climbing a ladder attached to one of the ship's support posts, and he raced over. If she could reach the fire, he could get a hose and feed it up to her. He had made sure the ship's water tanks were full before they'd left the fjords.

But she paused at the top of the ladder. "I can just see smoke from here. The fire's on the top half. I don't think there's any way to reach it unless someone can climb up the balloon's framework."

"I've got a better idea," Leftie yelled from the other side of the deck where he was tearing the tarps off the fliers. "We get some buckets and fly up there to dump them."

"I don't think that's going to work," Trip said, sensing how far the flames had spread by now, as if the massive black plumes of smoke flowing from the envelope wouldn't have told him.

"We're losing altitude," Blazer yelled.

A final explosion sounded, the last of the cannons on the waterfront blowing up. Trip was glad Jaxi enjoyed blowing things up and was good at it, but he feared it had happened too late to help them.

# 16

"This airship seems destined to crash," Blazer growled, turning the wheel to follow the shoreline away from the lagoon.

Rysha caught the words as she ran into the wheelhouse. "I don't think there's any way to put out the fire, ma'am. I looked. The men were talking about going up in their fliers with buckets of water, but—"

"Buckets?" Blazer scowled over her shoulder at her. "They might as well try to piss the fire out."

"Er, yes, ma'am. I don't have to do any calculations to know it's spread too far. It would take a fire suppressant more powerful than water to help in such limited amounts."

"Tell them to get their fliers ready. I'm going to get us as far from the lagoon as I can and try to crash on a remote-looking beach. Hopefully, nobody there figured out that we have fliers, and they'll think we simply went into the woods on foot."

"Where _will_ we go?" Rysha felt everything had fallen apart in the last hour, but she couldn't imagine returning to Iskandia with neither _chapaharii_ blades nor news of a destroyed dragon portal.

"Into the woods, but not on foot," Blazer said firmly. "We'll lie low and try to get into that fortress tonight. I'm praying that nobody has a clue what brought us to the islands and that this won't cause them to beef up security on the other side. Also hoping nobody sees the fliers and realizes we're Iskandian military."

Blazer looked toward the shoreline. The lagoon had fallen behind them, the coastline hiding it from view now, but here and there, ramshackle shacks perched above the beach. Other shorelines on other islands' beaches also held dwellings. None of the islands were that big, and even this central one, the largest of all, was only about four miles across at its widest point.

Rysha worried they wouldn't have a shot at taking fliers in without being noticed, but she couldn't think of any other plan.

"Why don't you crash it into the water instead of onto a beach?" she suggested. "Then maybe the pirates will think we drowned instead of heading inland."

"I'll see what I can do." Blazer jerked her thumb toward the door. "Fliers."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll tell them." Rysha backed out but paused with her hand on the jamb. "Wait, what about Duck and the Cofah—Dreyak? Without Duck, who's going to fly the fourth flier?"

"A very good question, Lieutenant. Tell them to figure that out while they're preparing for the rest."

"Er, yes, ma'am."

"Rysha—Lieutenant Ravenwood," came Trip's call from one of the fliers.

All of the tarps had been removed, along with the ropes tying them down, and he sat in the cockpit of his craft. Beside him, Leftie was climbing into another one.

It didn't look like Rysha would have to tell the men anything. Kaika stood near the fliers, frowning at the coastline—and how close the airship was flying over the water now. Spray from the waves crashing to shore flew up, misting their faces. The sea breeze blew away the scent of the smoke, but Rysha could still see it billowing from behind the envelope.

Trip waved to his back seat. "We need to get the fliers off before we crash. I've got the bits of pulverized gizmos cleared out of your seat."

Rysha smiled as she ran toward the fliers, the image of him fighting those contraptions fresh in her mind. He had seemed inhuman as he'd deflected the bullets being fired at him from all sides, his movements impossibly fast. And then he'd thrown an arm up as she and the others had been running up to the ship, and he—or Jaxi—had melted them all.

When he'd locked eyes with her, a strange little thrill had gone through her. She wasn't sure if it was attraction or something else, something _more_. He'd seemed like some ancient sorcerer of old standing there, the glowing blade in his hand.

"Major Blazer!" Trip yelled. "Leave the wheel and hurry out here. We've got your craft started up."

She lifted an arm in acknowledgment but didn't leave the wheelhouse yet. She spun the wheel hard, and the airship frame creaked and groaned as it turned inland, toward a rocky spit.

That wasn't quite what Rysha had been thinking of for their crash, but maybe it was a good idea. It might batter the airship enough to make it believable that there hadn't been survivors.

"Captain Kaika," Trip called. "Ever pilot a flier during your military career?"

"I've flown _in_ fliers numerous times," Kaika said, a dubious expression on her face. Despite that expression, she walked to Duck's flier and pulled herself into the cockpit. "I guess it's either me or Lieutenant Ravenwood, eh?"

Rysha, already climbing up behind Trip, hadn't considered that they might want _her_ to do it. She was aware that the pilots all had notebooks and sometimes performed mathematics for navigation, and that part she was certain she could do, but the rest? Taking off from the deck of a ship? Landing in a jungle? Considering yesterday had been her first time in a flier, that would have been asking a lot.

"We'll be happy to walk you through it, Captain," Leftie said, throwing her a flirtatious wink.

"Actually, I was going to have Jaxi walk her through it," Trip said. "Apparently, she's read _Denhoft's Theories on Aerodynamic and Aerostatic Flight_. And she claims she's flown with General Zirkander many times and is thus qualified to help."

"Flying lessons from a sword," Kaika said. "Wonderful."

"She also says she can levitate you and keep you from crashing," Trip said, "as long as you stay close to me and within her range."

"Maybe she can just do _all_ the flying, and I can take a nap in the back."

"What are you all still doing here?" Blazer yelled as she ran toward them. She jerked a thumb at the rocky spit looming ahead of them. "Get off the ship."

"Aw, we've still got plenty of time, ma'am," Leftie said. "Thirty seconds, easy."

"Someone slap him in the back of the head," Blazer growled, pulling herself into the cockpit of her flier.

Trip waved for Leftie to take off first. He probably wanted to go right behind Kaika.

"Can't you just lend her the soulblade?" Rysha asked as his propeller spun up, and the thrusters under the wings flared to life.

"I'm not sure what the rules are on that," Trip said over his shoulder, waving for Kaika to go next. "Jaxi didn't suggest it. She may be particular about who touches her."

"She sounds kind of uppity."

After a pause, Trip said, "She's just informed me that you have been added to the list of people not allowed to touch her."

" _Definitely_ uppity."

Trip grinned back at her.

The airship bumped something—hitting the waves?—and jostled them in their seats. Kaika frowned down at the control board, her face frozen in concentration. Rysha worried that she wouldn't be able to get it into the air, but she did something, and the flier rose, its thrusters scorching the deck.

Blazer was right. This craft was destined for the airship graveyard. How sad that they had spent so much effort repairing it.

It bumped on the waves again. This time, the hull settled atop them.

The deck rose and fell and tilted with the waves. Kaika maneuvered her flier between the deck and the bottom of the envelope—the side that hadn't burned yet. When she had to lift the craft to clear the railing, she ducked low, even though the wings would have struck the envelope before her head did. She hadn't retracted the wheels, and they bumped the railing, jostling her.

Rysha held her breath, afraid Kaika wouldn't clear it, that she would be bumped back. Blazer flew over the railing beside her, banking immediately to avoid that rocky spit. The ship was on the verge of being thrown against it.

"There's not enough room," Kaika growled, but as soon as the words came out, she rose higher. The wings _did_ almost hit the envelope, but she inched out through the gap.

The airship crunched against rocks under the water. Rysha gasped, gripping the sides as the jolt almost threw her out of her seat. She'd thought they had a few more seconds before ramming into the spit, but she hadn't considered underwater obstacles.

Thunderous snaps sounded as wood broke. The deck shuddered under them, and an ominous groan came from below.

Trip calmly took them into the air and zipped through the gap Kaika had struggled with, as if there were miles of clearance instead of inches.

He banked sharply to avoid the spit, and more snaps and wrenching squeals of metal pummeled Rysha's eardrums. She glanced back as a large wave carried the airship into the rocks. Smoke continued to billow from the envelope, the entire top half eaten by flames now, the blackened framework skeletal.

"A convincing wreck," Trip said over the communication crystal, accelerating to catch up to and fly beside Kaika. Leftie and Blazer had already turned inland, cruising over the lush greenery that carpeted the core of the island. "They won't know if we drowned or not."

"Assuming nobody saw our fliers." Rysha eyed one of the wood shacks above the beach as they passed over it. She had no idea if the dwellings here represented permanent domiciles or if it was trendy for pirates to build vacation homes here, but they shouldn't assume that nobody had seen them. And the island wasn't so large that it would take long for news to travel across it.

"Jaxi is trying to camouflage us while she monitors the island for signs of magic use and helps Kaika with her flier," Trip said.

"Sounds like a lot for one sword to do," Rysha said. "Even a magical one."

"Yes, she's letting me know that." Trip paused before adding, "Also that I'm supposed to oil her blade later."

"Is that like rubbing down a lathered horse after a long ride?"

Another pause.

"I'm told _no_ and that Jaxi doesn't appreciate being compared to a beast of burden."

" _So_ uppity," Rysha muttered.

* * *

• • • • •

* * *

Parrots and other birds squawked uproariously as the fliers sailed low over the jungle canopy.

Blazer led the way inland while Trip flew beside Kaika, staying close so Jaxi could advise her. She was doing well now, but landing would be a challenge, especially given how dense the foliage down there was. All the clearing and building had been done on the coasts. So far, he'd spotted a dirt road that meandered across the island, but no fields, backyards, or pig pens they could use.

"That road might be our likeliest landing spot," Trip told his colleagues.

"And the most likely to see traffic," Blazer said. "Ideally, I'd like to get us closer to the fortress. With the thrusters, we don't need runways, not like on the old models. We can put down in tight spots."

Kaika dashed sweat from her brow but didn't voice an objection. Trip doubted anyone who handled demolitions for a living would be easily fazed.

_Actually, it would be a good idea not to get much closer to the fortress,_ Jaxi told him. _I'm doing my best to camouflage us and dampen my aura, but as I mentioned earlier, I sense the soulblade that lives here, and it's possible he's sensed me too. The sorceress may be on the lookout for us, and if we get too close, she'll know the fortress is our target._

Trip relayed the message.

"All right," Blazer said. "Let's—oh, that looks like a good spot." She pointed ahead and to the left.

"The pond, ma'am?" Leftie asked dubiously. "Fliers don't float."

"It's a break in the canopy where we can go down, and then we can find spots between the trees where we can land if we're careful."

Leftie and Trip exchanged looks.

"You know fliers can't back up, right, ma'am?" Leftie said.

"I've been flying since you were in diapers, kid. If you can't pick a spot you can circle out of when we need to take off, then I guess you'll just have to get out and spin your flier around."

Trip assumed that was a joke since even the lightest one-seaters weighed a thousand pounds empty. He caught Leftie giving him another dubious look, then shifting that look toward Kaika. Trip was sure he and Leftie could handle the landing, but a brand-new pilot?

No, Kaika wasn't even that. A new pilot would have taken classes before being thrust into a cockpit. How much help could Jaxi truly provide? Would she knock over trees if Kaika got stuck? Lift the craft with her mind and turn it around? She had felled trees back at the fjords, but they hadn't needed to worry about anyone hearing the noise or seeing them tumbling down.

"I've got some explosives that could spin a flier around," Kaika grumbled. "And let me take this moment to say how much I appreciate you choosing a landing with a high degree of difficulty for my first time."

"If you see a better spot, I'm listening," Blazer said.

"How about at the docks for the fortress?"

"Where we would have to fight our way in against a sorceress, a pirate with a magical sword, and however many troops work in the place?"

"It's something I'd be much more familiar with," Kaika said.

"Just rely on Sardelle's sword," Blazer said, and dipped her flier toward the pond.

Sardelle's sword. Trip experienced a bout of wistfulness, wondering what it would be like to be bonded to a soulblade of his own. Even though Jaxi was irreverent and had a disturbing tendency to read his thoughts, he'd already seen how valuable she was. _Invaluable_. He was surprised Sardelle had been willing to send her along to help them.

He was also surprised Jaxi wasn't agreeing with his thoughts about her invaluableness. Maybe she was busy with Kaika's flier.

"Is that an airship on the horizon?" Rysha said, pointing out to sea.

"Yes, it is," Leftie said grimly.

"One that'll have a good view of us flying around over the island as it sails in?"

"Definitely."

"Another reason to land now," Blazer said. "Hurry up and get below the level of the trees."

Trip waited for Kaika to head down before obeying the order.

_Actually_ , Jaxi said, _I've been concentrating on that sorceress. She's out on a balcony of the fortress and seems to be looking for something. It's possible that something is me. I'm tamping down my aura, and still trying to hide the fliers from her, but if I have to use my magic to maneuver Kaika's craft around, I believe she'll sense that._

_What are you saying? Kaika is on her own to land?_ Trip grimaced, not wanting to deliver that news, but he would have to do it soon if it was true. They were already over the pond and descending to look for landing spots.

Kaika cursed vehemently and in more languages than Iskandian.

_I just informed her,_ Jaxi said.

_So I gathered._

_I won't abandon her, but if my help isn't absolutely necessary, and if your team still wishes a stealth incursion, I need to try not to interfere._

"What's going on?" Blazer asked as she flew along the edge of the pond, her propeller stirring reeds.

She found an inlet she liked and turned into it. There was just enough room for her to maneuver her flier around so that its nose pointed back out toward the pond for a quick takeoff.

"Jaxi is worried the sorceress will sense her if she uses magic," Trip said, sailing along the shoreline on the opposite side and scouting for a spot for Kaika. "So, unless it's absolutely necessary, she won't help Kaika."

"Define absolutely necessary," Kaika said.

"Here's a spot where you should be able to fit," Trip told her, ignoring the command.

"Aw, Trip, I was eyeing that inlet," Leftie said, swooping past above him.

"It's gentlemanly to give a nice landing spot to a lady," Trip said.

"Nice?" Kaika squawked, flying huge circles around the pond, her wings wobbling whenever she banked. "There's an alligator head sticking up out of the water."

"Proof of the spot's appeal," Trip said. "The local fauna is drawn to it."

"You pilots are such comedians. I'll be looking for you and Leftie to perform at the officers' club."

Leftie found a tight spot near Blazer, who was already out of her cockpit, her rifle in her arms as she alternated watching Kaika and the sky.

Trip wanted to land too. Even though the wounds he'd received were minor, with the bullets grazing him instead of embedding themselves, that didn't mean they didn't hurt. The gouge on his side seemed the deeper of the two, and he grimaced whenever he moved too much, because his shirt kept sticking to it, and it starting bleeding anew if he accidentally tugged it free.

"You can do this, Kaika," Blazer said. "I know you've got a steady hand. I've seen you light fuses."

"Not the same thing at _all_." Kaika blew out a long breath and turned herself toward the inlet.

The alligator, perhaps disliking the roar of her propeller, disappeared beneath the surface.

"Rotate yourself back to face the pond now so it'll be easier to leave in a hurry if needed," Blazer advised.

"I've got something you can rotate, Major."

"Now, now, Captain, you're getting me excited, and this isn't the time."

Kaika growled and swung her flier in a circle, trying to do as commanded. But she underestimated how much clearance her wings needed.

"Watch out for the branches," Trip yelled.

Too late. They tore into the cloth wings on the right side of her flier. Kaika jerked away from them, but overcompensated. Her flier dipped too low, and she crunched against a dead tree thrusting up from the mud.

Spitting even more curses, she finally brought the craft to land under the shade of a tree on the bank. A crunch sounded as she couldn't brake quickly enough, and the wing struck that tree.

She groaned and lolled her head back. "Why couldn't you have just let me face off against the pirate king's legions?"

Trip sighed and searched for his own landing spot. He had a feeling that flier would need repairs before it could take off again and suspected he would once again be commanded to wield tools.

_Good news,_ Jaxi said. _I don't believe the sorceress has noticed us._

_Wonderful._

_Oddly, her attention seems focused out to sea._

_Why?_ Trip asked.

_I'm not sure yet. I'll let you know when I figure it out._

_Wonderful_ , he repeated.

# 17

Rysha checked her rifle for the third time as Blazer, Leftie, and Trip walked around the flier Kaika had landed. They had several hours until dark, but she didn't know how long it would take on foot to reach the fortress.

She assumed she would be a part of the group that infiltrated the structure, since she would recognize the _chapaharii_ sword, even if it wasn't glowing or doing anything magical when they encountered it. She had also seen a photograph of the pirate leader before in a newspaper article and thought she could recognize him. The sorceress... She had no idea who the woman was or where she came from. But if she carried a soulblade, Rysha ought to be able to recognize that too.

Rysha swatted at a mosquito or similar insect. They'd only been on the ground for fifteen minutes, and she'd already been stabbed and nipped at by the insect life. Snakes slithered across the pond, and alligator heads occasionally rose above the water. She was beginning to see why all the towns and dwellings were on the beaches.

Trip reached up toward a wing, but winced and touched the side of his shirt. Rysha remembered that he'd been injured. How badly? She could see the rip in his shirt, but he'd chosen a black one, so she couldn't tell if he had blood on it.

Rysha started toward him to ask if she could help him bandage anything, but Kaika came up beside her, her own rifle in hand and a pack on her back. It wasn't the huge duffel but more of a day pack. Just the explosives one needed for a single incursion?

"Ready for a hike and a little infiltration?" Kaika asked.

"Yes, ma'am. Ready for anything now that I'm back in more comfortable attire." Rysha patted her long-sleeve gray shirt and fatigue trousers and lifted one of the boots she'd changed back into. It was her full Iskandian army uniform sans the fatigue jacket with her name and rank on it. She'd been lucky she'd had her pack stored in the back of Trip's flier rather than in a cabin in the airship, or she would have been stuck wearing that ghastly pirate costume all the way to the Antarctic.

Kaika chuckled. She hadn't changed out of her costume, aside from a switch from flimsy sandals to boots. But she seemed to find the clothing _comfortable_. Either that, or she planned to seduce the pirate king.

Rysha couldn't imagine seducing a man after one had recently crashed—twice—and trekked through the jungle. The whole team had a distinctive odor about them now.

Blazer headed toward their duo, leaving Trip and Leftie to pull the small toolkit out of the flier and start to work. Rysha wondered if Jaxi would be knocking down trees to provide raw material again. Probably not. There wasn't much wood on the fliers.

"Sardelle's sword is trying to get in touch with Duck and Dreyak," Blazer said, "and lead them to us."

"Good," Kaika said. "We could use some more muscle for the incursion team."

Blazer thumped her on the arm. "Don't worry. I'll go."

"Uh, thanks, but I think I'd take Trip and the sword before you."

"That puppy?" Blazer's latest cigar was lit, and she took a puff. "Are you joking?"

Rysha bristled at the insult. For starters, as a captain, Trip was hardly a new recruit. And with Jaxi's assistance, he was extremely useful in a fight right now.

"No," Kaika said, "but all the pilots are staying. You have to be ready in case we need a quick getaway. We'll find the sword, retrieve it, and run out, ideally without anyone being the wiser, but it doesn't always work that way." She grimaced and looked into the distance, perhaps remembering some past mission that had gone wrong.

"Two girls and a Cofah soldier we can't trust doesn't sound like a solid infiltration team to me," Blazer said.

Rysha bristled again, this time at being dismissed as a girl, though since Blazer was the one doing the dismissing, she wasn't sure if she could object. Besides, there was an element of truth to the comment. She wasn't some seasoned super warrior. Maybe one day she would be, but she was the one who felt like a puppy, if she was honest with herself.

"I don't think the king would have sent him along if we couldn't trust him to some extent," Kaika said. "I wouldn't go into battle against the Cofah with him, but he's probably got reason to hate dragons and pirates as much as we do."

"If you won't take me, which is foolish," Blazer said, "at least take Trip and the sword. Or just the sword."

"The sword hasn't offered to come with me," Kaika said.

Blazer looked at Rysha.

"Nor me," Rysha said. "In fact, I understand I've recently been added to the list of people not allowed to touch it. Her."

"I do think Jaxi could be useful," Kaika said, "but I also get the feeling the sorceress living in the fortress can detect her. Our odds of not being discovered may be better without the soulblade. Don't you agree, Ravenwood? What are the odds?"

Rysha arched her eyebrows. Had Captain Kaika decided she was some kind of math savant? Hardly that.

"There are too many unknown variables for me to begin to calculate them," Rysha said, though the very fact that the fortress had such a huge staff and such inimical leaders made her want to slant the odds far in the pirates' favor. She also didn't know if they had the element of surprise on their side. She would prefer to take Trip and Jaxi, even if the soulblade increased their chance of discovery.

"If we manage to get the Kasandral twin," Kaika said, "we'll also have to be careful to keep Jaxi away from it. Those swords hate dragon blood, and I bet they hate soulblades too. Anything magical. They'll do their best to destroy it. Even if they have to kill innocent people in order to do it. Trust me, I've seen it." Kaika met Blazer's eyes, her expression uncharacteristically solemn. "Did you ever hear what really happened to Lieutenant Apex?"

"Just that he died trying to protect the queen a few years ago when the king was kidnapped. Unfortunate, since I imagine he would have been Zirkander's first choice for a dragon expert." Blazer glanced at Rysha.

Rysha did not say anything, having no idea who Apex was—had been—though she well remembered the king's kidnapping. All the attacks on the city that spring, all the death and destruction delivered by enemies, had much to do with why she'd decided to follow her dream of leaving academia and joining the army. Writing papers wouldn't keep Iskandia free and its people safe.

"Guess they're not my secrets to share," Kaika said, "but Apex got in Kasandral's way."

"Oh," Blazer mouthed, having the look of someone who was having a few puzzle pieces click together. " _He_ didn't have dragon blood, did he?"

"No."

"Ah."

Rysha watched the two of them, saying nothing but chagrined to think that she may have been Zirkander's second choice for this mission. Or at least, a less desirable choice. One couldn't be "second" if the first was a dead person, right? But if Zirkander had a pilot with her knowledge of dragon history and sword locations, he could have sent another elite troops warrior along to help Kaika. A _real_ one.

Trip walked up, slogging through mud to reach them, Jaxi sheathed on his hip and pliers in hand. "Leftie said we're not going along to help get the sword, ma'am?" he asked Blazer.

"Apparently true. We were just discussing it. Kaika thinks the pilots should stay with the fliers and that Jaxi shouldn't tempt some dragon-slaying sword into flaring to life and causing a schism between people on our team."

"Uh, won't we all be flying together later, anyway?"

"After we've had time to figure out who has to ride with who to make it work, yes," Kaika said. "And I _did_ bring the list of control words along." She patted a pocket. "Sardelle researched and found those after Apex's death, and they do help tamp down Kasandral's tendencies, but I'm not sure it's a guarantee that the words will work on a sword we're not familiar with."

Trip looked down at the mud, but not before Rysha caught disappointment in his eyes.

"I know which words you're talking about, ma'am," Rysha said. "I've researched them. There are some differences for different types of _chapaharii_ weapons and tools, but only small variations, and the words for one sword should indeed work for all swords. That's true even if they originated on different continents, as the Iskandians originally discovered how to make the weapons, and then the Cofah basically copied everything, including the words they assigned to them. Did you know—"

Kaika lifted a hand, cutting her off. "No, I didn't, but save it for the flight to the Antarctic, will you? It'll be long and boring. I'm sure we'll all want to hear trivia."

"I don't know about that." Blazer puffed on her cigar. "I like to quietly contemplate the meaning of life while I fly."

"On the way out here," Kaika said, "I saw you flying with your knee while reading a copy of _Modern Girl_ magazine."

"Yes, the meaning-of-life articles are in the back."

"Isn't that the section that follows the women's sports teams in Iskandia?"

Blazer smiled and lifted a finger to her lips. "Ssh, others will have to find their _own_ meanings of life."

Trip shifted to stand next to Rysha and bumped her arm. "You can tell _me_ your trivia any time."

Rysha knew she had a tendency to burble about things she was interested in, and she was used to being cut off by people, so she hadn't minded the interruption, but she smiled at Trip, appreciating his encouragement.

"Sorry you can't come along," Rysha told him. "With luck, we'll get in and out easily."

"But if you don't, I guess we pilots will be here to fly in and rescue you."

Rysha propped a fist on her hip. "I wasn't planning to _need_ rescuing."

Trip spread his hands. "You never know when a snowball will turn into an avalanche."

"Just keep the engines running, kid," Kaika said, leaning over to thump Trip on the shoulder. "You pilots aren't trained for incursions. We'll get back here on our own, but in case we come in with company on our heels, we'll need to take off quickly."

Blazer looked at Rysha, and Rysha felt her cheeks warm. The major didn't say anything, but she might be thinking that Rysha wasn't trained for incursions, either. Not yet.

But, she reminded herself, she hadn't been chosen for her military training. It was her academic knowledge that General Zirkander had wanted. She could recognize one of the _chapaharii_ swords, whether it hung in a scabbard on someone's hip or it was buried among a thousand other blades the pirate king had looted over the years. She had also memorized the list of command words Kaika had mentioned. There would be no need to consult a sheet of paper.

Rysha lifted her chin. She was valuable and would be an asset to the incursion team, and she would prove it.

* * *

• • • • •

* * *

"What do you think, Jaxi?" Trip prodded the angry, inflamed skin around the furrow the bullet had left in his side. The gash across his arm didn't hurt as much, probably because he didn't keep bending and stretching it to do repairs. He'd finally given in to the throbbing pain and taken a break to pull the first-aid kit out of his flier and examine his wounds. Mostly, he just wanted a painkiller, but he figured it would be a good idea to clean the gashes, too, especially since this pond was as much mud as it was water, and he was smeared with the stuff. He sat on a mud-caked log now, debating if he should waste some of his potable canteen water for washing his hands.

_That it's infuriating that the baboons leading your mission aren't taking me on their incursion_ , Jaxi replied.

_I meant about my wounds. Do you have any healing powers?_

_Sorry, that's Sardelle's specialty. Do you need something cauterized? I'm excellent at cauterizing._

_Uh. I don't think so._ Trip imagined a fiery beam of energy shooting out of Jaxi to seal off a man's leg after an amputation. Using such power on his little gouge seemed like overkill. _And I don't think it's fair or very accurate to call Kaika and Blazer baboons._

_Great white apes? They're going into a fight against magic, and I'm their only magical advisor._

_I think they're hoping to avoid fighting._

_Please, I've been on missions with Kaika before. You don't blow up someone's fortress and expect to get out without trading blows. This is_ definitely _the B-team._

_The B-team?_ Trip dug out a roll of bandage and debated if he needed it. Nothing bled currently, but this borrowed pirate shirt liked to stick to scabs. He had his uniform along, but he didn't know if that would be better.

_It didn't occur to you that Ridge's best people weren't sent on this mission? Captain Ahn? Tolemek? Crash? Darter?_ Himself _? Not to mention General Bivart's best elite troops officers. Colonel Therrik—much as I hate to admit to that one, he's a beast in battle—and Colonel Quataldo. Or those two brothers who single-handedly—or, rather, double-handedly—took out an entire Cofah platoon?_

_General Zirkander said a lot of his best people had to stay to defend Iskandia against the dragons._

_Exactly, meaning this is the B-team._ Jaxi sighed. _I'm used to being with the best._

_Sorry_ , Trip said, even if it wasn't remotely his fault. The words made him feel inept and like he needed to apologize. They also made him wonder if this team had been put together because it was... expendable.

_No, no, you're not expendable. Angulus would argue that Kaika, in particular, isn't expendable. Forgive me. I lack Sardelle's tact. I'm just frustrated with not being able to speak directly with—and influence—the person who's in charge._ Ridge _always listens to me._

_Blazer won't?_

_The one time I spoke telepathically to her, she threatened to smear cigar ash all over my blade. She does_ not _appreciate magic or revere me the way she should._

_I'm surprised you didn't retaliate to such a threat._

_Oh, I did. I incinerated her next three cigars._ Jaxi smirked into his mind. _While they were in her mouth._

_That must have been alarming._

_Indeed. I was hoping she would wet herself. She did not, alas, but her curses were_ most _satisfying._

"Captain Trip?" came a woman's voice from behind him.

Trip lurched to his feet, thinking Blazer had come to berate him for stopping when the flier wasn't fully repaired, but he realized it was Rysha. Blazer and Kaika were over at one of the other inlets, talking to Duck and Dreyak, the two men having found the group, thanks to Jaxi communicating with Duck, someone who apparently didn't mind a sword talking into his mind.

"Hi, Rysha. Lieutenant Ravenwood." Why couldn't he remember to address her properly?

_Duck was on the first mission I went on with Ridge and Sardelle,_ Jaxi said. _I've had a long time to school him in the proper respect and etiquette to use with a powerful soulblade._

_How fortunate for him._

_Was that sarcasm? I can see you'll also need schooling._

_I thought you didn't like to teach._

_In certain areas, it's a pleasure._

_Should I be glad I don't have cigars to incinerate?_

_I'm sure you have other incineratable items._

_Incineratable? Is that a word?_

_It was in the Referatu language. We had many ways to speak of magically applying fire to targets._

"Are you all right, sir?" Rysha waved at the first-aid kit sitting on the log and his bare side—he'd removed his shirt for his self-examination. "I meant to come offer you help earlier, but got distracted." She waved toward Blazer and Kaika. "Also, you didn't mention that you had such deep wounds." Her expression grew stern.

"They're more like scratches. And you can call me Trip," he offered, mostly hoping she would invite him to use her first name. A lot of the officers did, though it wasn't automatic when there were rank differences. "Without a captain or a sir. I mean, I just got my rank three days ago, and there was no official ceremony, so I kind of feel like a fraud."

She lifted her gaze from the gouge in his side. He pretended she'd been admiring his physique, but he supposed she had brawnier physiques to admire among the men in elite troops training. Even her fellow artillery soldiers did a lot more PT than pilots did, he was sure. Pilots were probably the only soldiers encouraged to weigh less instead of more, since those extra pounds could make a difference when it came to maneuverability. Not that he was puny. He was just lean and wiry instead of big and brawny.

"Yes, sir. Trip. You're welcome to call me Rysha." Her mouth quirked. She'd probably noticed he already _had_ a few times. "Can I give you a hand? Those look like they've already closed up pretty well. Did you use some of the healing salve?"

"The what?" Trip peered into the open kit. "I took the painkiller. I didn't poke through and examine all the other vials and bottles. There are some things in there that aren't in the kits over in Charkolt."

"You'll definitely want to use the healing salve. The king ordered the scientist Tolemek Targoson—did you know he used to be the pirate called Deathmaker?—to make enough for most of the units out of the capital to have them in their kits. We're not supposed to know it, but it's rumored he uses magic as well as chemicals to make his compounds. They're quite effective, but that does mean they can't be mass-produced. That's probably why they haven't made it out to your unit." Rysha straddled the log beside him. "Let me wash it first and apply some of the antiseptic. Did you know that one of the first widely used antiseptics was carbolic acid? The doctors used to spray it on everyone and everything in an operating room in the belief that its vapors created a bacteria-free environment."

"I hope you're not going to spray acid on my bullet wounds. That sounds painful."

"No, just apply some of this iodine and potassium tincture that's in the kit. I can't promise it won't sting."

_A truly savage form of cleaning wounds,_ Jaxi said. _You're lucky your blood will help you heal._

Trip ignored her. He was busy smiling at Rysha and appreciating her ministrations.

He lifted his arm as she leaned down to smear the antiseptic on the gouge. Then, realizing he was waving his armpit at her, sniffed it to see if that was as heinous a crime as he feared. Damn, it was. He tried to curl up his arm, so it was down but not in the way.

Her gaze was focused on his wound, so he thought she didn't notice his shifting around, but then she said, "I think we're expected to smell like unwashed exercise clothes when we're on missions. It's not like there are showers in the fliers."

"True. But you smell all right."

_All right?_ Jaxi asked. _You need to work on your compliments for women, especially if you want to have a chance at romancing the lieutenant._

_I'm not trying to romance her._ Trip grimaced at the sting of the antiseptic. And Jaxi's nosiness. _She's from a noble family. Nobles don't romance orphans from the wild and uncivilized east side of the country._

Trip did not feel particularly wild or uncivilized, but he knew many people in the west had those beliefs about people from the east, and that many sneered at those who got their degrees from Charkolt University instead of one of the three more distinguished schools near the capital.

_You'd be romancing her, not her family, I imagine. Unless you have something outré in mind._

Trip's cheeks warmed. _No. I don't think you understand._

_In my time, power was a great equalizer. The nobility was always the nobility, descendants of those warrior and mage heroes that drove the Cofah out of Iskandia back after the dragons first disappeared. But if you made a name for yourself as a powerful sorcerer, then most families would welcome you into their fold._

_I'll be sure to knock on her parents' door as soon as I become a powerful sorcerer._

_Excellent._

_I was joking. These days, being even a mediocre sorcerer would get you shot._

_Being a mediocre sorcerer would have gotten you shot in any era,_ Jaxi informed him. _I strongly suggest you become a powerful sorcerer. As to the rest, attitudes are changing around the capital. Sardelle has been working to help that along._

_Even if that's true, from what little I saw of Rysha's family, they'd be more likely to approve of someone politically powerful than someone magically powerful._

_Yes, they sound tedious. Why can't you romance her without them being involved? You're young. You don't have to marry in order to have sex. You could simply rut with abandon with her while you're out here on this mission._

Trip choked, not so much at the words but at the image that Jaxi shared along with them, him and Rysha doing their best to have sex in the cockpit of his flier as it sailed along over the ocean. He couldn't imagine that _not_ being awkward, if not impossible.

_I assure you it's not impossible._

"Are you all right?" Rysha asked, leaning back from cleaning his wound, probably worried she had hurt him.

"Yes. Jaxi is talking to me about strange things. Unbelievable things."

_All you would have to do is ask Ridge about it. He could verify that it is possible, I assure you._

_Yes, I'll be sure to ask my commanding officer about the creative places he's had sex._

_Good. Then we don't need to discuss it further._

_On that, we're agreed._

"Want to share?" Rysha quirked her eyebrows.

Trip shook his head. "Not this time, no."

"Ah." She looked disappointed but bent down to finish working on his wound without further prying.

The appealing way her fingers brushed his skin here and there as she applied the antiseptic distracted Trip from Jaxi's disturbing conversation. His body tingled in response, and he imagined her trailing those fingers upward and across his chest.

"We're leaving soon," Rysha said quietly, glancing at the others. "I have a lot of respect for Captain Kaika, but I'm worried that the two of us—the three of us—won't be enough. I know I said we wouldn't need rescuing, but that was probably hubris speaking. When I stop to consider what we're up against and what's already happened... I worry they'll know we're coming, after the way we exited the lagoon."

"I'm not sure they'll assume people who weren't willing to pay the docking fee are people who will come over and make trouble for their fortress." Trip tried to smile encouragingly, even if he shared her doubts.

"I think we drew enough attention that their sorceress—or someone else—might have taken a close look at our ship and guessed those were fliers on the deck." Rysha shrugged, waving for him to lower his arm so she could clean that wound too.

"It's possible. You'll have to be careful and be prepared to abort if it's too dangerous."

"I'm not sure Captain Kaika knows the meaning of that word. I read all about her before trying out for the elite troops, including her public mission reports. She hasn't given up very often." Rysha smiled at him, and he noticed a few faded freckles across her cheeks and nose. "I wish you were going. I understood their argument, but I can't believe Sardelle sent her soulblade along so she could sit propped against a log in the woods."

Thank _you,_ Jaxi said.

Rysha's eyebrows flew up, and Trip realized the soulblade had spoken the words into her mind, as well.

_I couldn't contain myself. Maybe I'll take her off my no-touching list._

Rysha wore a bemused expression as she put away the antiseptic and withdrew something with the unimaginative name of Healing Salve #11. Trip should have read the label on that one earlier. He'd seen the tub and figured it was an ointment for burns or a cream to apply after encounters with poisonous vegetation. He could have easily tended his own wounds. Of course, that wouldn't have been as appealing as a woman gently rubbing the unctuous goo into his side.

Now that she was using it, he sensed the magic about it, and unlike the sting-inducing antiseptic concoction, this felt good going on. The slight tingles he'd been feeling from her touch before turned into shivers of pleasure. He found himself remembering Rysha in the pirate costume with all that skin on display and also thinking of Jaxi's words about romancing. Or rutting, as she'd so bluntly called it.

He didn't think Rysha was the type, however, to _rut_ randomly with someone on a mission. Despite her current career, he could sense her noble upbringing in her. Even when she'd been spattered in mud, she'd seemed dignified and proper. It was hard to imagine her sitting on his lap in his flier cockpit doing libidinous things. He suspected she would expect a potential suitor to go to her parents and ask their permission to court her.

And yet, her fingers lingered as she applied the ointment. She'd gone over the gouge once already, but she seemed determined to apply more, to be thorough. And he wasn't going to stop her. That felt far too good.

"These were just from earlier today, weren't they?" Rysha asked, peering closer. "It's amazing how quickly you've been healing."

A thread of worry curled through his gut. He'd always healed more quickly than others around him. It was another one of his quirks, one he'd done his best to hide when growing up. Rysha was observant, so he couldn't imagine hiding much from her. But, despite Jaxi's words about sorcery being more acceptable around the capital now, he didn't want to test that with Rysha. And he definitely didn't want her to think him odd.

"Must be that goo," he said.

"Hm." She kept peering at him as she rubbed a little more on. Then, as her fingers continued to stroke him, her gaze lifted to his chest, snagging there for a moment. Finally, she looked up and met his eyes.

A little zing ran through him, as if she'd given him a static shock. But something far more appealing than a shock. He held her gaze, thoughts of rutting, or at least kissing, charging to the forefront of his mind.

"Lieutenant?" Blazer called from the other inlet. "When you're done rubbing Captain Trip, we're ready to go."

Rysha jerked back, her hand dropping. "I'm helping him with his wounds," she called, sounding defensive.

Trip felt combative rather than defensive, wanting to snarl at their onlookers to go away, and then draw Rysha into the trees for privacy.

He lifted his eyes skyward and took a deep breath, reminding himself that there were many reasons why such feelings should not be acted upon.

Rysha bit her lip, her cheeks flaming red. Was it possible she'd been _enjoying_ touching him? Had she felt something, too, as their gazes had locked?

"And with the fantasies that will sustain him while we're gone, I'm sure," Kaika called, giving them a wave and a grin.

Now Trip's cheeks started flaming. He knew Kaika's teasing was good-natured and not meant to offend, but it was a little too close to the mark.

"Don't you just love the military?" he asked, trying to put Rysha at ease and brush aside the taunts.

"I _did_ choose this lifestyle."

"Any regrets?" Trip pulled his shirt over his head, thinking of the conversation he'd heard at her manor. It had been clear her family had regrets.

"Not yet. I mean, I'm sad that I wasn't there for my grandmother in the end, but I know logically, I couldn't have done anything to help her if I had been. And in the army, I can at least fight against dragons and other enemies, even if I have yet to be effective at it."

"I know the feeling." Trip smiled. True, he _had_ been the reason Zirkander had been able to finish off that dragon—or so they had told him—but that wasn't the story he'd given Rysha and the others. And he wasn't entirely sure that hadn't been some fluke, that Zirkander, Sardelle, and Jaxi had been mistaken.

"Someday, we'll be experienced and competent," Rysha said, capping the salve and returning it to the kit.

She slid off the log and headed toward the others. Trip watched her go, admiring her walk, even though it wasn't sultry or sexy, especially now that she was back in fatigues and boots. But his mind would never forget the image of her in far fewer clothes, nor would he forget the way she'd come to his defense in the Black Stag. He sensed that he wasn't doing a very good job of hiding his peculiarities from her, even though, by habit, he kept trying to do so. But he also sensed that she wasn't alarmed by them. Or repulsed by them. Or scared of them. He was starting to believe that if she figured out that he had some shaman for a father, she would stand at his side instead of handing him over to the authorities to be hanged. So far, only his grandmother and grandfather had been like that, and they were his own blood.

_Be careful,_ he thought toward her back, thinking of the doubts she'd shared.

To his surprise, she looked over her shoulder, her expression curious.

He lifted a hand in parting, keeping his face calm, though a part of him panicked inside. He hadn't spoken to her with his mind, had he? The way Jaxi could? Telepathically?

He didn't know how to do that. Did he?

# 18

Rysha picked a careful route behind Kaika and in front of the silent and stony Dreyak, wishing they dared carry a lantern through the dark jungle. Twilight had come and gone, and they hadn't yet reached their destination. The fishy sea air was strong, though, so they had to be close. Cicadas, or something like them, spoke loudly from the trees, covering the sounds of their footsteps. Not that they had encountered anyone else out here.

The trees ended abruptly, and Kaika paused before heading out into a clearing. The sky, visible for the first time since the pond, held a quarter moon that shone its silvery light through the clouds. It was enough to see the stump-dotted knee-high grass that stretched toward a cliff overlooking the ocean.

After ensuring nobody was skulking about up there—besides them—they headed through the field. About halfway across, the top of the fortress came into view. Rising five stories high and built out over the water on the east end of a sheltered harbor, the structure was larger than Rysha had imagined. It was still too dark to see details clearly, but it appeared to be made entirely from logs and beams, with open platforms all around the living areas, many of them attached by rope bridges. It looked like the kind of tree fort kids dreamed of making.

"Very flammable," Dreyak observed, his first words since they had left the pond.

Not that Rysha had been chatty, either. She'd been thinking about Trip and whether she _should_ be thinking about Trip. As far as she knew, they had nothing in common other than the military, and she wasn't quite sure why she found herself drawn to him. She'd always imagined herself with some professor or university researcher, someone who said, "Why, yes of course," when she started a sentence with, "Did you know?" And someone her parents would approve of. She didn't think they would insist that she marry into the nobility, especially her father, who'd done work on genetics and believed "diversity" was healthy for a bloodline. But she was _positive_ they would object to a soldier.

Of course, Rysha did not plan to marry anytime soon. Or even bring someone home to meet her parents. She didn't know why she was thinking about this. Because she'd liked touching Trip when he'd had his shirt off? It had admittedly been nice. He was all taut lean muscle and warm tan skin, and there was that intriguing sense of power that lurked underneath the surface, an odd juxtaposition to his usually mild-mannered disposition. And then there were those deep green eyes of his. They weren't typical for Iskandians. Nor Cofah, for that matter. Sometimes, when she caught him looking at her, there seemed to be a charge in the air between them.

Rysha rolled her eyes at herself, feeling like the horny teenagers she'd always scoffed at in school. Relationships should be formed based on rational thought and common interests, not hormones. She'd always believed that.

Not that people couldn't simply have sex without getting involved in _relationships_. Captain Kaika, she imagined, had operated with that philosophy for much of her life. Simply taking to bed men she was attracted to.

But as she'd proven at the pirates' tavern that morning, Rysha was _not_ Captain Kaika.

"Flammable?" Kaika propped her boot on a stump. "Is there a reason you're making that observation, Dreyak?"

Rysha jerked her mind back to the present, embarrassed she'd allowed herself to be distracted while they stood atop a cliff, overlooking the enemy fortress.

"You have explosives, yes?" Dreyak asked. "They could be planted around the compound and detonated. I assume you have timers or a way to trigger them remotely."

"Yes, but then I risk blowing up the sword we want, along with a bunch of people that may or may not be criminals."

"They are on the Pirate Isles. They are criminals."

"They could be slaves."

"Unlikely."

"I've encountered it before." Kaika shrugged. "I'm not ruling out your suggestion, mind you. It's not what Zirkander asked us to do, but I doubt any of my higher ups would care if we destroyed a pirate fortress. We might even get a medal for it."

"I seek only to defeat evil in glorious and honorable battle," Dreyak said, lifting his chin. "Not awards."

"How noble."

"Would we need to worry about retaliation from the pirates if we destroyed their whole fortress?" Rysha asked, though her mind shrank away from wantonly killing people, especially since Kaika had brought up the possibility of slaves. She would happily engage in a mission that involved capturing hundreds of pirates and taking them to Iskandia to stand for their crimes, but acting as judge and executioner out here? When their superiors hadn't ordered it?

"We'd have all of the Iskandian army behind us if they did retaliate," Kaika said, "but we might be able to do it in such a way that they won't know who hit them."

"The Iskandian army has a dragon problem it's busy dealing with," Rysha said.

"I think my lieutenant is voting against utterly blowing up the fortress."

"Your lieutenant? Does the Iskandian army operate via a democracy?" Dreyak's words dripped derision.

Rysha wished once again that they'd brought Trip along in addition to him. Or _instead_ of him.

"No," Kaika said, "but I like to listen to everyone's input before making a decision."

"And have you made it yet?" Dreyak asked. "Your decision."

"You do have me contemplating explosives, I admit. I am fond of them."

"It's best to meet a foe on the battlefield and look him in the eye as you bury your sword in his chest, but when it comes to pirates, I will accept most ways of killing them."

"So glad to have your acceptance," Kaika said. "All right, here's the plan. I will sneak in, probably from the water—I'm so glad Tolemek finally made me those waterproof bombs I asked for a few years ago—and I'll set explosives around the foundation. It's hard to tell from here, but it looks like most of the structure is perched on posts in the water. That'll make it vulnerable to properly placed explosives. I'll set them on a timer, one I can easily disconnect if all goes well. While I'm doing this, you two will head inside and try to find the sword. It could be in the warehouse level that man told us about, but it sounds like the pirate king is more likely to be sleeping with it. Either way, you've got to find it. I'll meet you on... the third floor, that dark platform in the back there, in... thirty minutes. See it? If you haven't been able to get the sword by then, I'll help you get it. If we get out without a problem, we can remove the countdown on the way out so the explosives don't blow. If we're captured or in a battle... the explosives will be a good distraction."

"The kind of distraction that engulfs you in an inferno?" Rysha asked.

"I'll try to set the right amount so it blows the foundation without engulfing the entire building in an inferno."

"So people will survive?" Dreyak sounded disappointed.

"Possibly, but I definitely recommend that you avoid being on the bottom levels."

"What if that's where the sword is?" Rysha asked.

"Then I recommend you get it quickly and get out."

Rysha rubbed her head. She'd gone from worrying about their odds of surviving to worrying about how many bodies they might leave in their wake tonight.

_Pirate_ bodies, she reminded herself. And she'd signed on to protect her country from people like this, people who had a long history of preying on law-abiding citizens in Iskandia. There was nothing wrong with striking preemptively.

"Use this," Kaika said, pressing a small jar into Rysha's hand, "to open any locked doors you may encounter. Use enough, and it can cut through walls too. It's one of Tolemek's goos, some acid that eats through almost anything. Be careful not to touch it."

"Understood, ma'am."

"I'm heading in. Ravenwood, you're in charge. Thirty minutes. Got your pocket watch?"

As they pulled out their military-issue watches, with large hands that could be read in the moonlight, to compare times, Dreyak made a discontented noise deep in his throat. He might have been clearing phlegm, or he might have been giving his opinion of having Rysha "in charge."

"Give me a five-minute head start," Kaika said and jogged through the grass to look for a way down from their field.

Despite the lack of cover, her clothing was dark, and she soon disappeared from sight.

"Good luck, ma'am," Rysha whispered, feeling intimidated by all they had to do in thirty minutes.

* * *

• • • • •

* * *

"I think that's as good as she's going to get out here in the wilds," Trip said, closing the engine panel and patting the side of the flier. "What do you think, Captain Duck?"

Duck stood next to him. He had been distraught to learn that his flier had encountered a few "obstacles upon landing," as Blazer had put it.

"I think she's awfully scratched up. You know who's going to be expected to hammer, thump, and buff that fuselage back into aerodynamic sleekness when we get back, don't you?"

"Your ground crew?"

Duck grunted. "Not alone. Wolf Squadron's got a policy of pilots working alongside the maintenance boys to keep everything in good order, especially if you were the one responsible for damaging the craft. Which I wasn't, but it's a foregone conclusion nobody's going to make Captain Kaika buff out scratches."

"I'll help you when we get back," Trip said. "I don't mind working on fliers. I find it restful."

He never had to worry about _machines_ thinking him odd.

Snores drifted to them from the log Trip had been sitting on earlier to patch up his wounds. Leftie and Blazer both lay on their backs on it, their eyes closed as frogs croaked in the pond. Trip believed Leftie responsible for the snores, but it was possible the major was contributing.

It _had_ been a long day, night, and day. Blazer had assigned watch duty to Trip before taking her nap, promising she'd stand watch later in the night. He wondered if Captain Kaika had imagined the pilots snoozing while she and her incursion team went off to risk their lives. Trip certainly hadn't imagined sitting on his hands while Rysha and Kaika put themselves in danger. Even though he understood the arguments, this didn't sit well with him. Why bring a soulblade along if one couldn't take her into dangerous situations?

_We could ignore your orders and go scouting on our own,_ Jaxi recommended.

Trip had no interest in disobeying orders unless he learned that the others were in trouble, but curiosity prompted him to ask, _You'd agree to that?_

_Of course I'd agree to it. Wasn't it my idea?_

_Well, yes, but..._

_What?_ Jaxi asked.

_You're an ancient, wise soul. I expected you to be kind of a mentor, not someone likely to help me get into trouble._

A peal of laugher rang through his head.

He waited for it to stop before asking, _Was that at the notion of you being wise and ancient or you being a mentor?_

_The part about keeping you out of trouble, actually. The idea of being a mentor is shudder-worthy, and don't ever call a woman ancient._

_What about wise?_

_So long as it's not wisely ancient._

_I'm not sure whether to be glad to learn that you're unlikely to stop me if I do something stupid or concerned about it,_ Trip said.

_I may stop you, or try to discourage you. It depends on how bored I am._

_I guess that gives me a hint to your current mental state._

Duck alternated between "hm" noises and clucking noises as he surveyed the flier, touching dents and frowning.

_A small hint,_ Jaxi said.

"I wonder what happened to that airship that we saw earlier," Trip said. "It seemed to be coming this way, but we never saw it fly overhead."

A yowl came from the forest. The nocturnal wildlife was coming alive now that dusk was waning.

"I never saw an airship," Duck said. "Dreyak and I were deep in the woods all day. I reckon we were about to the other side where we could have had a look at that fortress when Jaxi called us back. If we'd known you were going to take a shortcut to get to this side of the island, we could have foregone scouting."

"It wasn't exactly a shortcut. And we got shot at a lot."

"And attacked by trees, I see." Duck clucked again as he patted the side of the flier.

Trip didn't answer. He'd made sure the craft was mechanically sound. The dents and scratches could be dealt with back at the base.

While Duck continued his inspection, Trip removed his jacket and sword scabbard and started climbing a tree. It had few branches to act as hand and footholds, but that also meant there wasn't much foliage to impede him or block his view.

_Normally,_ Jaxi said, _I'd be upset that you were going somewhere without me, but I'm not hugely enamored with falling from trees, so I won't object to being left behind._

_I wasn't planning to fall._

_Nobody ever is._

Trip doubted this tree would allow him to get high enough to see over all the others and out to sea, but he at least ought to have a view of the sky out across the pond. Maybe he could spot that—

He sucked in a breath as a powerful alien presence flew into his awareness. It startled him, and he almost lost his grip on the trunk.

_I sense him too,_ Jaxi said.

Trip forced himself to stay calm, to keep breathing. The dragon seemed to be a ways out to sea still, and it was possible it—he—would fly past the islands without causing trouble, especially if the pirate king had fought off his kind before.

Since he was halfway up the tree, Trip decided to continue climbing. He could have taken his flier up, but that would be a lot more conspicuous to anyone looking out over the island, and the noise from the propellers could travel a great distance.

As soon as he could see over some of the trees on the far side of the pond, he glimpsed the black envelope of an airship hanging low in the sky. It was the same one they'd seen earlier. He couldn't see the fortress or the sea from his position, but he guessed it had docked near the fortress.

_Don't guess,_ Jaxi said. _Find out._

_How?_ He'd sensed the dragon, and he could usually tell when he was standing next to something magical, but he had no idea how to detect more mundane things.

_Performing magic is all about using the mind to manipulate the environment around you. Sensing is among the easiest of things a mage can learn to do. It's a combination of opening your mind and sending it outward at the same time. It's usually easiest to learn how to do this through mental exercises. A popular one involves you imagining your mind as a flower unfurling its petals._

_A flower? Jaxi, can't you give me something more manly to imagine than that?_

_Fine, imagine yourself lifting your arm for Rysha again, and your smelly armpit odor oozing out onto the wind._

_Uh, what kind of flower?_

_Roses are popular since they start as such tight little buds. I'm partial to lotus flowers._ She shared an image of each with him.

_So, I stand here and imagine my brain is a blooming flower?_

_That or an odor-emanating armpit. Your choice._

_I'm beginning to see why you don't teach._

_Just try it,_ Jaxi told him. _It's a little ridiculous how much potential you have and how completely unaware of it you are. You don't want to be like Tolemek, do you? Goodness, he was almost thirty and had no idea he was incorporating magic into his potions._

Trip had been on the verge of trying to get his brain to bloom, but Jaxi's digression made him pause. He'd always believed his mother wasn't a "witch" or sorceress or anything else like that. But was it possible that he just hadn't realized it? That she'd had talent, and her parents hadn't known? Maybe that _she_ hadn't even known? He'd always assumed his sixth sense came from the father he'd never known, but what if the townspeople had somehow been right, or at least correct in realizing his mother had a gift? A curse.

_Do your grandparents show signs of having a sixth sense, as you call it?_ Jaxi asked.

_Not that I've ever noticed._

_If your mother had dragon blood, at least one of her parents would've had to._

_Hm._ Trip imagined his grandmother knitting, baking, and drawing birds for the books she created. Her skills all seemed quite mundane, and his grandfather's woodwork, while handsome and functional, certainly didn't have any magic in it.

_Maybe you should go looking for your father one day._

_My mother never spoke of him. I wouldn't know where to start._

_Sardelle is good at research. She might have some ideas. To be honest, I wouldn't know where to start, either. Not when we've believed for so long that—_

"Trip?" Leftie called up from the log where he still lay on his back. "Whatcha doing?"

"Scouting. There's a dragon coming."

"What?" Leftie lurched upright, and Blazer's eyes flew open.

"He's about twenty miles away, and I'm not sure he's coming to the islands. Or this island specifically. I'm hoping he'll pass by and leave us alone."

"Like we'll get that lucky." Blazer rolled off the log and to her feet.

Trip closed his eyes, trying to practice Jaxi's exercise. Perhaps mage exercises were supposed to be done from the ground, but he had a vague notion that being up high might allow his mind to more easily unfurl.

_Whatever puts your brain in the right state,_ Jaxi said. _You might want to hurry. As that dragon draws closer, you'll have more trouble sensing anything except his giant, invasive aura._

_Closer? Are you sure he's coming this way?_

_You tell me._

_Right._ Trip sighed, though this might not be the time for the exercise, not when he had to "hurry" and unfurl his flower.

He imagined his brain having petals that were peeling back. Blooming. Opening wide and poking its flowery center up into the air.

That lasted about ten seconds, and when massive enlightenment didn't come, he imagined himself in a flier instead, sailing away from his position and looking down upon everything. Seeing what was beyond the trees, gazing upon a pebbly beach and a harbor and the airship anchored to an elevated dock. He envisioned the sea beyond it, and in the distance, a bronze dragon flapped its wings, flying with determination toward the island. No, toward the _fortress_.

A few deep slashes marked the dragon's side. They had healed, but scales were damaged or missing in those spots. Perhaps scales never grew back.

With a jolt, Trip realized the dragon had been here before, had been the one injured when Neaminor attacked it with his dragon-slaying sword. And he'd had the help of his sorceress and her soulblade. They'd gone up in an airship above their island, the sorceress doing her best to protect the craft from the dragon while it veered close enough for the pirate to use the blade. The dragon, believing himself immune to all weapons in this world, had flown straight in to attack with fang and talon.

When the pirate king had gotten a chance, he'd leaped from the deck and onto the dragon's back, cutting into his shield with the magic-loathing—and magic-destroying—sword. He'd plunged it deep, between scales and into flesh, causing tremendous pain such as the dragon had never known. The obnoxious human got in several more slashes to his sides and neck before the dragon managed to fling away his foe.

The human had tumbled into the water, and the dragon might have finished him off, but his body had hurt too badly after the assault. He'd flown away to recover, promising himself that he would return, promising he would take these little islands for his own. Bronze dragons couldn't claim giant continents or great kingdoms, but some islands far out at sea? With a most agreeable climate? Yes, this would be his new home.

_Uh, Trip?_ Jaxi asked, her voice sounding distant.

Trip blinked, and it was almost painful. He realized he'd been staring at the corrugated bark of the tree long enough for his eyes to dry out.

_Were you reading that dragon's mind?_ Jaxi asked.

_No. I mean, I don't know._ It seemed doubtful, like he'd probably made all that up, but it had also felt like the sensing experience that Jaxi had described where he would be able to see things far away and from above. He remembered people walking on the platforms and rope bridges of the fortress and ships in the bay. And he definitely remembered the scars on the dragon's bronze scales.

_If you did, that's not typical,_ Jaxi said. _Dragons shield their thoughts, and I haven't run into a person yet that could pierce those shields._

_I probably didn't either then._ Trip figured it was more reasonable that he'd made up a story to match what he had seen. Sensed. _But I do know one thing for certain. Based on his current course, the dragon is heading right to the fortress._

_I believe Kaika and the others are still close enough that I can warn them. Shall I tell them to abort?_

Would _Kaika abort?_ Trip asked. _Or would she think, "Dragon? An excellent distraction!"?_

_Possibly the latter._

_Do warn them, please. But I think we better plan to be ready to fly in and retrieve them rather than assuming they'll make it all the way back here._ Trip, realizing he didn't need to hang from branches any longer, made his way down the tree.

"Dragon status?" Blazer asked as his feet hit the ground.

"Judging by its current trajectory, it's heading toward the fortress."

# 19

Rysha crouched among large jagged rocks on the narrow pebbly beach below the field and to the east of the fortress. She removed her spectacles and cleaned the lenses using her shirt, then fished out the strap she hooked to them when she needed to ensure they wouldn't fall off. She couldn't chance losing her sight while infiltrating an enemy stronghold.

Crouching next to her, Dreyak considered the rear of the five-story structure. This side had fewer lights than the others, but it would still be difficult to approach without being seen. Yet Captain Kaika had gone in first, and no alarms had sounded yet. Of course, Rysha did not know if elaborate tree forts had alarms.

"Let's go now," Dreyak said, standing up, his hand on his scimitar hilt. "I have studied the routes of the two men patrolling the premises. They are on the far side now, and should be for approximately the next eight minutes."

"Good." Rysha clambered out from behind the rocks and rushed to catch up and stride in front of him.

On the way down from the cliff, she'd let him lead, but she had been the one to listen in as Kaika extracted details about the fortress from her unsuspecting informant. She should take charge now.

But he picked up his stride, too, and looked over at her. In the dark, she couldn't see his frown, but she could imagine it.

"I know where we're going," she said. "I'll go first."

"You are a woman. And a lieutenant."

"Two excellent reasons for me to lead."

"What do you mean?" he grumbled, no hint of humor in his voice.

"First, I'm an officer in the Iskandian army, and this is an Iskandian mission, so I should lead. Second, if we run into guards, they may be less likely to shoot a woman."

" _I_ would not be."

"Even if I looked at you with wide, innocent eyes?"

"Especially then," he grumbled. "If you were infiltrating my home."

"That's distressing. If they're equally willing to shoot both of us, we'd better not get caught."

Not waiting for a response, Rysha picked up her pace to a fast jog. She _would_ lead.

She wouldn't have been surprised if Dreyak matched her pace, and imagined having to swat at him and fight for the lead, like she might have with her brothers as a kid, but he grumbled under his breath and ran behind her.

Their boots stirred pebbles as they navigated driftwood on the beach, but Rysha didn't think they had to worry much about the noise, not when the ocean roared beyond this sheltered harbor. She couldn't hear anyone speaking yet, even though many windows in the fortress were open, wooden shutters propped up on sticks.

There were many places they could have climbed up and sneaked in, but Rysha headed toward the platform on the lower level, one that linked to docks extending out into the harbor. Lanterns lined the railings, but they weren't as bright as the gas lamps back home. Perhaps these burned whale oil, or maybe there were even candles behind the glass. Either way, it boded well for their infiltration. The shadows were thick along the docks and platforms.

Rysha made out the wide rollup door the informant had described, positioned so supplies from boats could be unloaded easily. It was closed now. No night-time deliveries expected, presumably.

"Four minutes until the patrols check the back side," Dreyak whispered as they reached the platform.

It was level with Rysha's eyes. Deep shadows lay underneath it, but she thought she could make out support posts, most of them out in the water instead of on the beach. Those should be the posts where Kaika had attached her explosives. Was she down there now? Or had she already finished and sneaked inside? Rysha couldn't pick her out in the dim lighting.

"How can you tell time so accurately in the dark?" she whispered back, keeping her voice low now that she could hear voices through some of those open windows. She placed her rifle on the platform.

"Time is time, regardless of light level."

That wasn't what she'd meant—he was an odd Cofah—but it didn't matter. She jumped as she pushed herself up to the platform, swinging up a leg and remembering the wall on the elite troops obstacle course. This wasn't so challenging.

Rysha rolled inward, careful not to bump the posts supporting a railing made from rope. Grabbing her rifle, she rose to her feet. Dreyak already crouched against the wall.

She trotted to the rollup door, patting along it until she found a handle near the deck. She tugged, but wasn't surprised to find it locked. There was a normal-sized door beside it, which was also locked.

As Rysha pulled out the jar Kaika had given her, Dreyak crouched to try the rollup door handle himself. She tamped down disgruntlement that he would assume she'd somehow checked it incorrectly. But he wasn't just seeing if it was locked. He growled and stood up, shoulders, back, and legs heaving.

A loud _crunch-snap_ made her wince. The lock breaking. Dreyak lifted the door, but it squealed on its rails, and he stopped with it only a couple of feet off the platform, enough for them to see that the room inside was dark. He dropped to his side, rolled under door, and disappeared from sight.

Grumbling under her breath about making noise, Rysha crawled under it after him.

As soon as she cleared it, Dreyak brought the door down with more squeals. They sounded thunderous to Rysha's ears, and she expected guards to come charging into the room at any second. She _did_ hear voices through the door, from the direction of the docks.

"The patrol heard some noise," Dreyak said. "They're coming to investigate."

"Where they'll be sure to notice that someone forced their door open."

"Perhaps, perhaps not. They wouldn't have missed a gaping hole in it with steaming acid dripping from the edges. Follow. The door is this way."

Rysha thought about pointing out that she was leading, but she had no idea where the door was. How did he? It was darker than pitch in here. Kaika's informant hadn't been that specific, nor had Dreyak been there to hear his words.

Uneasily, she walked through an open area, holding her rifle low and in front of her so she wouldn't trip. It bumped against something. Crates or other equipment stacked to one side. Or the wall. She realized she had veered left instead of going straight ahead.

"Over here," Dreyak whispered from the wall she'd _meant_ to angle toward.

"See anything?" someone hollered outside.

"No, but I'm still looking. Get patient, will you?"

"I don't get paid enough for patience."

Rysha followed Dreyak's voice, still using her rifle to test the route ahead of her. She bumped something—him?

"Normally, when an Iskandian jabs a rifle in my ass, I consider it an act of war."

She pointed her rifle to the floor. "What do you consider it now?"

"Ineptitude."

"I'm sorry I can't see in the dark, like you apparently can," Rysha snapped, then added, "Did you tell Angulus you're a sorcerer as well as a warrior?" Perhaps she shouldn't have voiced that question, especially if he was hiding it.

"No." He sounded surprised and offended. "I am not."

"Uh huh. You better let me or Kaika carry the _chapaharii_ sword when we find it. They don't like sorcerers."

"I'm not a sorcerer. You're wasting time. Come."

He pushed open the door to an inner hallway lit with wall-mounted lamps. Or rather, _log_ -mounted lamps. The interior featured the same log walls as the exterior.

They had the option to go left or right or up a wide staircase straight ahead. Voices drifted down from that direction, too muffled to make out, but nobody sounded alarmed yet.

"The storage area for their valuables is supposed to be that way." Rysha pointed to their left and started to take the lead. "Let's check there before looking for the pirate king. Given the vastness of his weapons collection, it's possible he has more than one _chapaharii_ blade."

She hadn't mentioned it to the others, because she hadn't wanted anyone to count on it, but Neaminor reputedly favored antiques of all sorts from the First Dragon Era, so she deemed it likely that he had multiple _chapaharii_ tools. It would make the mission easier if they could simply remove one from his vault instead of facing him in battle.

Dreyak jogged past her, almost knocking her aside with his broad shoulders as he took the lead.

She glowered at his back. Maybe she wouldn't mourn much if a _chapaharii_ sword _did_ decide to pick on him.

"This it?" He stopped in front of a solid wood door with three locks on it in addition to the lock on the knob.

"Yes."

Dreyak considered the sturdy door and the sturdier locks. "Use the acid."

Still irritated that he was trying to take command, she glared at him and said, "Yes, sir. Right away, sir."

Her sarcasm didn't keep her from grabbing the jar and sliding the applicator brush off the bottom.

He frowned at her. "You're lippy for a lieutenant. One usually only expects that from the pilots. I hear General Zirkander encourages his people to mouth off."

"I doubt that's true," Rysha said, smearing goo between the doorknob and the jamb, assuming the locking mechanism would be behind that spot. "As for the rest, I'm only lippy to men who think they're my superior officers and aren't. And also aren't in charge of the mission." The door smoked as the acid ate into the wood, and she applied the substance to the other locks. "If you try to do something like stealing the sword before I can get it, I'll spatter you with goo."

His nostrils flared. " _I_ do not steal. My people have many of these swords already. I am only here to assist with closing that portal."

"Why didn't your people send their own team to close the portal? And for that matter, why didn't you bring a _chapaharii_ sword with you, if you've got so many?"

He took a break from glaring at her to look up and down the hallway. A thud came from the level above.

"My people have not yet been able to deduce the location of the portal," he said, "and your king would not share the information, even though it should not matter who destroys it, so long as it is destroyed. Since I had been given this duty by my people, I had no choice but to join your team."

Rysha brushed more goo on the metal locking apparatus that had been revealed as the wood burned away. She wagered Angulus hadn't shared the location of the portal because he hadn't been certain about it. They _still_ weren't certain. "And you didn't think to bring a _chapaharii_ sword along?"

Dreyak hesitated. "Even though there are many in Cofahre, only two have been located, and they are being used in the defense of the palace and the capital city. They could not be spared. As is, I understand, the case with the one Iskandia claims."

He grabbed the knob, looking like he intended to force the locks if they hadn't yet broken. But he paused, scowling at the door. Or _through_ it.

"There is magic in that room."

"The sorceress? Or some magical artifacts? And you know that only someone with dragon blood could sense such things, right?"

"Magical devices," Dreyak said, ignoring the last question. "I do not know if they are artifacts or are new and in use."

"Security for the valuables?" Rysha thought of the airborne constructs that had attacked the airship.

"Security, or perhaps alarms that can be tripped to alert the sorceress that someone has entered the room."

"Is it her room? I thought this was the pirate king's loot."

"They sound like a team." Dreyak lifted his hand from the door. "Is there another way in? Maybe we could use your acid on the wall next to this one."

"We don't have a lot of time before we're supposed to meet Kaika, Dreyak. Ideally, with a _chapaharii_ sword already in hand. Would it really matter if we avoided the door?" Rysha imagined that booby traps or alarms would go off no matter how they entered the room. If they were magical, they couldn't be so crude as a tripwire strung across the doorway.

"I don't know, but we risk being discovered by going in here."

"If the pirate king comes down, with his _chapaharii_ blade in his hand, you can battle him and retrieve it. Makes it simpler than finding his bedroom."

"Simpler." Dreyak snorted. "What if the sorceress comes down too? Will you handle her while I battle the pirate?"

"If I have to, I'll throw myself at her feet and trip her."

He snorted again. "That seems in line with your abilities."

Rysha fumed silently at him, wondering what she'd done to earn such a poor assessment from him. Or did he think all women were too inept for battle? She knew the Cofah didn't allow female soldiers in their army, but some of their dragon riders of old had been women, sorceresses sailing into battle with soulblades and magic in their hands.

"Enough," she said. "We're wasting time, and you're not in charge. And it's clear why; you're probably the nuttiest person on the island. I've only spent fifteen minutes alone with you, but I'm certain of my assessment." She waved for him to open the door.

He frowned over at her. "You believe a man who calls himself the pirate king is saner than I am?"

"I'm not sure. I haven't had fifteen minutes with him yet."

"That'll likely happen if alarms go off," he grumbled.

A door banged on their level. "We've got a problem," someone yelled. "Where's the boss?"

Rysha couldn't make out the words of whoever responded, but footsteps thundered in their direction.

Dreyak cursed under his breath and shoved the door open with his shoulder.

Orange light flared to life as soon as he walked in, Rysha right on his heels. She lunged to catch one of the pieces of broken lock that fell as the door opened, but jerked her hand back at the last second, remembering Kaika's warning about touching the acid. She winced at the clunk it made landing on the floor, but all she could do was kick the piece inside with them as Dreyak shut the door.

More voices sounded on the level above and at the end of their hallway. It wouldn't be long before someone located them. As Rysha turned to face the room, her shoulders slumped at the realization that there wouldn't be time to do a thorough search for a specific sword.

Crates, baskets, barrels, bins, and sacks were stacked in haphazard piles all over the place, many rising to the ceiling. Someone had left a few winding aisles through the mess—it looked like some dragon's legendary treasure hoard—but she couldn't even see the back or side walls through the clutter. All she could do was peer about, looking for a weapons area among paraphernalia that ranged from Iskandian flier power crystals to artwork and statues to gaudy gem-encrusted figurines of the gods.

"That light is magical," Dreyak said, taking up a position by the door, his pistol in one hand and his scimitar in the other.

"Is that what you sensed?"

"I don't think so."

Too bad.

When she realized Dreyak meant to guard the door and leave the searching to her, Rysha crept forward, watching her step, just in case there _was_ a tripwire. She spotted a few ornate swords and axes from the Invasion Era, along with old flintlock muskets with silver inlaid on the barrels. But she didn't see any weapons from the First Dragon Era, mundane or otherwise. In fact, she didn't see anything that had extreme value.

"I think this is an overflow room," Rysha said. "Kaika's informant mentioned a vault."

A gunshot fired somewhere outside. Rysha winced. Kaika? She couldn't imagine who else would have drawn the pirates' ire. Had she been caught laying her explosives?

Feeling the press of time, Rysha scrambled up to the top of one of the higher treasure piles so she could see all walls and corners of the room. Some held shelves, some artwork, and one the wheel off an ancient sailing ship. Not only was there not a stash of swords anywhere, but she grew more certain that this wasn't the best of the pirate king's loot.

She scrutinized the walls again, this time looking for signs of secret doors. She didn't see any creases or breaks in the logs, but as she looked at the wall to the left of the door, she realized it was closer than it should have been, given the size of the room with the rollup door and how far she and Dreyak had walked in the hallway.

She scampered down, finding an aisle that led to it. A strange zing went up her leg right as she reached it, and she froze.

"Uh oh," she said.

"You triggered one of the alarms," Dreyak said with a sigh. "There's a commotion outside. I believe Captain Kaika may be doing something. Let us hope it means their sorceress does not come directly here."

"Maybe this is a sign that I'm close to the valuable stuff." Rysha ran her hands over the log walls, sliding her fingers along the mortar between them. Would there be a button or lever somewhere? Or would some magical word be required for entrance?

That seemed unlikely. This was the pirate king's treasure, supposedly, and not the sorceress's. Even if they were sleeping with each other, would the pirate trust her fully and put the access to his loot solely in her hands?

Faint clinks came from behind Rysha.

She spun as a contraption on four wheels rolled into view, coming over one of the treasure piles. Another turned a corner to roll down her aisle. They had gun barrels, similar to the flying constructs Trip had battled, and she suspected the same hand had created them. The same _magical_ hand.

"Dreyak," Rysha said, crouching to spring aside if needed. She had her rifle, but she didn't want to fire and alert the entire fort to their location. She also doubted mundane weapons would destroy these constructs if they were as much magical as clockwork.

A faint click came from one, the noise sounding much like a bullet chambering.

Rysha sprang up and to the right, scrambling over bolts of silk and bags of spices that gave off a strong aroma as she crushed them. The closest construct fired its twin barrels, and bullets slammed into the log wall. Rysha grimaced at the noise. It hadn't been as loud as her own rifle would be, but anyone nearby would hear the reports.

Dreyak jumped into view, landing in the aisle behind the construct. The other one had paused on the ridge of its treasure pile.

From the top of the silk and spice stack, Rysha could aim at it over Dreyak's head. Deciding being quiet no longer mattered, she fired. Her bullet struck the machine but bounced off without damaging it.

Below her, Dreyak tried to slice into the closest one with his scimitar. The weapon bounced off hard enough that Dreyak winced, probably feeling the jolt in his joints. He roared fiercely and kicked the contraption. He might as well have kicked something cemented to the floor. It did not move, and once again, his face screwed up with pain.

It seemed ridiculous that some knee-high toy could give them such trouble, but Rysha had no idea how to thwart them. The one on the opposite pile aimed at her. She rolled to the side, putting as much junk between it and her as she could.

It didn't fire, perhaps knowing she was behind cover. That much intelligence from a little automaton scared Rysha.

Dreyak cursed again, the noise followed by a thump and the clatter of silverware skidding down a pile. Shots fired. Though she couldn't see him, Rysha suspected he'd also had to leap aside to avoid being hit.

Whirs sounded as both constructs changed positions, coming to find their targets.

"Can you lead them away, Dreyak?" Rysha tugged out the jar of acid.

"We should abort the mission, or at least this aspect of it. I'd rather battle men and try to find the pirate king, take the sword right out of his hand."

Since he couldn't even defeat these small contraptions, Rysha doubted that battle would go the way Dreyak thought.

"Good thing I didn't ask for your opinion. Just lead them away. I'm going to burn a hole through this wall."

Dreyak cursed her ancestors—sometimes, it was a shame that Iskandia and Cofahre shared the same language, and she could understand all his curses. But as he did so, more junk clattered to the ground. She hoped that meant he was leading the constructs away.

Rysha made her way to the wall, wondering if the acid would be strong enough to eat through logs that might have been enhanced with magic.

The hallway door swung open. "They're in there," someone blurted.

Rysha groaned to herself. She wasn't going to have time.

Guns fired. The constructs.

Someone in the hallway laughed. "I think the witch's security is going to take care of them."

"Shut the door then. We've got a bigger problem to deal with right now."

Bigger problem? Rysha arched her eyebrows, not sure whether she and Dreyak had been delivered a piece of luck, or if things were about to get worse.

She smeared acid on the wall, determined to do her best to complete her mission, no matter what was coming. Sweat dripped down the sides of her face even though Dreyak was the one running around the room, drawing fire. From all the guns cracking, Rysha feared more constructs may have come to life.

_Lieutenant Ravenwood?_ a voice spoke into her mind.

Rysha almost dropped the applicator. Who was that? The sorceress?

_This is Jaxi. An enemy sorceress wouldn't likely address you by name. "Puny mundane," or "Pretentious infidel" would be more typical._

_I'll keep that in mind._ Rysha continued applying the acid, trying to burn an opening large enough for her to crawl through.

_I've already informed Captain Kaika, but I understand you aren't with her. She says you're late, by the way, but perhaps of greater importance, you should know that a dragon is almost upon your position. And it's possible it wants to take revenge on the pirate king. By destroying his fortress._

# 20

Trip flew straight toward the fortress, fantasizing about zipping in and rescuing Rysha and the others from a horrific dragon attack, perhaps while shooting relentlessly and effectively at the dragon.

_That_ is _a fantasy,_ Jaxi said.

_Unless I can somehow manage to force the dragon to lower his defenses._ Trip wished he knew how he'd done that last time, and if he truly had.

_Even if you can, you don't have any of Tolemek's grenades or special bullets. Your flier's puny ones would bounce off that bronze dragon's scales, even if no magic protected him._

"Hang back, Trip," Blazer said. "Leftie, Duck, you too. Let's parallel the shoreline and watch to see what unfolds before throwing ourselves into the thick of a battle that isn't ours. And for which we don't have effective weapons to use."

Trip obeyed, but not without frowning deeply at the idea of _hanging back_. "Doesn't the fact that our people are down there, _make_ it our battle?"

"Let's watch the first quarter from the sidelines and see if they need our help."

"First quarter?" Leftie asked. "Major Blazer, are you a hookball fan?"

"I go to the Ravens games when I can."

"I almost went pro, you know. Had an invitation from the Badgers."

"Is that so?"

Trip couldn't tell if Blazer sounded intrigued or skeptical. Her voice always bordered on the sarcastic no matter what.

The harbor and the fortress perched at its east end came into view, and Trip ignored the rest of the chatter. As he'd seen— _sensed_ —earlier, the black airship was docked at one of the elevated platforms, and several sailing ships were anchored or tied to docks in the water. A few crews were pulling away from those docks now, cutting ropes and waving at the sky.

Since night had fallen fully, it was hard to see the bronze dragon against the black clouds, but Trip's senses told him where the creature was before his eyes spotted it. There. It flew over the water, paralleling the coastline.

At first, Trip thought it wouldn't attack the fortress, since it didn't sail straight in, but then it turned, flying in the opposite direction. Pacing? Did dragons pace?

_I think he's assessing the fortress,_ Jaxi said, _maybe seeing if his enemies are home, but you're the one who can read dragons' minds. Why don't you take a peek?_

Trip thought about voicing his doubts to Jaxi, but she'd heard them all by now. Better to just try.

He turned his flier to match the dragon's aerial pacing, heading up and down the coastline, him over the forest and fields, and the dragon over the water. He stared over his shoulder toward the creature's head, trying to duplicate what he'd done before, something that had been entirely accidental. He'd let his thoughts drift out to the sea and looked down at the dragon from above.

This time, nothing happened except that a stiff breeze swept in from the sea, and he had to adjust the flier's wings, something that distracted him from mind unfurling.

The dragon banked and turned inland abruptly, pressing his wings to his body and diving downward, straight at a docked ship, one with a crew scrambling to make ready to depart. He struck like an eagle going in for a fish, except that when his talons came out, he snatched up people, one in each claw. He flung them away, as if they were lighter than mice, hurling them out into the water.

Rifles fired, but even from far above, Trip could tell that no bullets harmed the dragon.

The creature flung more crewmen away, then sprang into the ship's rigging. He shredded sails and snapped masts before landing on the railing and plunging his head down on his long sinewy neck to bite gaping holes in the hull. He rendered the vessel unseaworthy, if not on the verge of sinking, within seconds. Some of the people who'd been hurled into the harbor cried out or swam for shore, but others didn't move.

Trip stared down, his fingers tight around his flight stick. He wanted to fly down to help, whether these were pirates or not.

His senses must have still been extended somehow—damn, he needed more training—because he felt the emotions of the people down there as if they were his own. Fear, pain, and horror mingled in his mind. And he sensed something else, the dragon's glee.

"Major Blazer," he started, intending to announce his intent to help.

But she cut him off. "Maintain your position, Captain."

"I wish we had some of those special bullets," Duck said, sounding like he, too, ached to help. "Why didn't the general think to get us any?"

"From what I've heard," Blazer said, "they can only be made with pure dragon blood, and there's not much of that left in the capital—or anywhere in Iskandia."

She was so calm, as if the deaths down there didn't move her at all. Trip didn't know why they moved him. These people had been terrorizing the east coast of Iskandia for the two years he'd been flying. And yet, he could feel their pain. Maybe that was why it was so bad.

_Jaxi, any ideas of what we could do?_

_I believe Sardelle would think of something clever in this situation._

_Like what?_

Jaxi seemed to shrug into his mind, even though swords had nothing to shrug. _Technically, you and that dragon have similar goals. You should ask Sardelle sometime to share the tale of how she gained an ally in the gold dragon, Bhrava Saruth. Although I don't recommend using her exact tactics, since that resulted in her becoming Bhrava Saruth's high priestess._

_What?_

_The dragon believes he's a god, you see._

_Oh,_ Trip thought, not feeling any more enlightened. He'd heard the name of the dragon before and knew it was one of the kingdom's missing ally dragons.

The airship started firing cannons at the bronze invader plaguing the harbor. The dragon sprang from the sinking vessel and, with a few powerful wingbeats, landed among the airship's crew, clawing and biting away pieces of the hull. The bronze and silver dragons might not breathe fire like the golds, but they could do plenty of damage.

Men on the deck ran at him with rifles, and with a surge of mental power that Trip sensed, the dragon blasted them with a wave of air. They hurtled backward so hard and so far that they rolled and bounced across the deck, some flying all the way over the railing on the opposite side of the ship.

_Puny humans,_ the dragon cried into Trip's mind—maybe into everybody's minds— _the great dragon Telmandaroo has returned. You have not defeated me. Send your bravest warriors out to face me again. This time, you shall not get the best of me._

Even though numerous men and women from the fortress had run out to the docks, firing up at him, the dragon seemed to be keeping a close eye on the top level of the structure as it razed the ship. Did the pirate king and the sorceress live up there?

It might have been Trip's imagination, but he thought he sensed wariness from the dragon. And a desire to prove himself. As if the defeat he'd suffered here weeks earlier had hurt his pride as well as his body. He couldn't live with that, nor the mocking he'd received from other dragons over his failure, so he was back to destroy the fortress, and especially the pirate king and sorceress that had teamed up against him last time.

_You're doing it again,_ Jaxi said.

_What?_

_Reading a dragon's thoughts._

_Are you so sure that's not just my mind making up stories to back up my beliefs?_

Jaxi sniffed. _I haven't seen anything to suggest that you're that good of a storyteller._

Trip grunted, not exactly bolstered. He wondered if Jaxi was this blunt with Sardelle.

_Always. Good relationships are built on honesty._

_All right, then. Let's try being clever, as you suggested. Can you relay messages to the dragon for me? Or, better yet, amplify my thoughts somehow? So I can talk directly to him?_

_You can—oh, never mind. Go ahead. I shall "amplify."_

Trip sensed that she was teasing him, or mocking him, but he was starting to get used to it and didn't bother to ask for clarification.

He banked his flier to sail back up the coast toward the fortress and the dragon, passing Leftie and Blazer and Duck, who were flying in formation, still heading the opposite direction.

"Going somewhere, Trip?" Blazer asked warily.

"Jaxi has suggested I be clever."

"And she believes you're capable of that?"

Trip sighed and ignored the comment, wondering what rank he would have to achieve before fellow officers stopped mocking him.

_My understanding is that anyone ranked above you is free to mock you. Perhaps if you become General of the Armies, you'll no longer have to worry about it. But the man currently in that position is eighty. You've probably got a ways to go._

_Does anyone mock General Zirkander?_

He was only in his forties, but he'd achieved so much.

I _mock him daily. Whatever you're planning, you should do it. The sorceress and pirate king have stepped out to face the dragon._

Trip spotted the figures as soon as Jaxi spoke, a man and a woman on the platform surrounding the topmost level of the fortress. Together, they strode toward the railing overlooking the harbor. The woman wore a blue robe that flapped around her body in the breeze, and she carried a glowing sword in her hand.

_Soulblade_ , Jaxi informed him, then growled into his mind. _A Cofah soulblade. She is Cofah. Or was once._

The woman looked straight at Trip's flier for several long seconds, then turned her attention to the dragon. Telmandaroo was finishing off the airship. Its crew had given up on attacking him, and most had leaped into the water below. Shreds of the craft's balloon and pieces of its hull floated among them.

The gray-haired man standing next to the sorceress did not look toward Trip or the fliers. He held his sword aloft, and it glowed a sickly green. Here was Neaminor, the pirate king, the man who'd been behind so many of the attacks on Trip's homeland.

The fingers on his free hand curled around the rope railing, and even though Neaminor hefted the sword toward the dragon, he looked over at the sorceress, his face oddly contorted, as if he was fighting some inner compulsion. Trip had the bizarre sensation that the man wanted to strike down his ally, his lover of many years.

_That's typical for those swords,_ Jaxi said. _Something to keep in mind once your colleagues have one in their hands. You won't want to sleep next to them at night, or sleep at all while they're wielding the blade._

The woman's lips moved, as did Neaminor's, and he was able to wrench his gaze back toward the dragon. He pointed the blade at the invader and yelled something.

The distance and the thrumming of his propeller kept Trip from hearing, but it definitely looked like a challenge.

The dragon sprang from the destroyed airship and arrowed toward them. The pirate king adopted a fighting stance, but his winged enemy did not come close. The dragon hurled a mental attack, a blow of wind that should have knocked his foes from the platform.

It gusted past the pirate king without stirring his clothing, even though it ripped bark from the log wall behind him. The sorceress took a step back, bracing herself, and lifted her hands. Trip sensed the barrier she'd erected around herself. It wavered under the dragon's assault, but she managed to keep it up.

The sword in her hand blazed reddish-orange. It hurled an attack of its own at the dragon, red lightning crackling into the sky. It slammed into and branched around an invisible barrier protecting Telmandaroo _._

"Has Trip done his clever thing yet?" Duck whispered over the communication crystals.

Trip snorted. "No."

_Dragon_ , he cried with his mind, hoping Jaxi was still ready to amplify his words, to help him telepathically contact Telmandaroo. _Unless you wish to be defeated again, you will need help to win this battle._

The dragon was flapping up toward the clouds, as if to gain height before using gravity to take him down in a dive for the two sword-wielders.

_What?_ the dragon replied. _I need no help, certainly not from insignificant humans!_ The words carried so much power as they pierced Trip's mind that they almost felt like an attack.

_Insignificant humans are experts at defeating other insignificant humans,_ Trip replied. _There is no reason for you not to accept my help._

Telmandaroo dove toward his adversaries, sending another mental attack ahead of his descent. This time, his power drove the sorceress to her knees, and her protective shield faltered.

The dragon's talons flexed, as if he would sink them into her torso and tear her to pieces. At the last moment, she rolled to her side, erecting her barrier again, and Neaminor leaped at the dragon, springing higher than should have been possible. Trip couldn't tell if some magic allowed that, or if he had springs in his boots. Or a trampoline built into the platform?

His great jump surprised the dragon, and the green of Neaminor's sword grew brighter as the blade slashed through the air, cutting into the extended leg.

The dragon shrieked into everyone's minds, and people on the docks fell to their knees. Trip gritted his teeth against the power, knowing it was a cry of pain, not an attack. The sorceress knew too. She jumped up, thrusting her sword into the air, and lightning streaked out again.

Trip realized she'd feigned her earlier weakness.

This time, the dragon's defenses were down, and the lightning struck.

_I'm not sure you want to help this dragon,_ Jaxi thought. _He seems somewhat pathetic by dragon standards._

_Ready to accept my help yet?_ Trip thought toward the dragon as Telmandaroo plummeted toward the harbor.

The dragon snarled into his mind.

_I don't think we're getting anywhere,_ Jaxi said, as the dragon adjusted his flight before he would have plunged into the water.

He flapped away, not defeated yet. His magical barrier came up again, in time to deflect another branch of red lightning from the sorceress's soulblade.

_If nothing else, we're here and ready for Rysha and the others._ Trip looked toward the fortress, hoping this was buying them time to complete their mission. But they had come for the sword the pirate king wielded, so that might not be possible unless they ran out on the platform and grabbed it from him. Something that didn't seem like a good idea with that sorceress at the man's side.

_What do you want in exchange for help, human?_ The dragon hovered in the air over the western end of the harbor, as if regrouping. He looked over at Trip.

Trip hadn't thought that far ahead, but he came up with something quickly, sensing the dragon's suspicion, sensing Telmandaroo wouldn't believe he wanted to help if there _wasn't_ a catch.

_These pirates kill and thieve from people in our country on a regular basis,_ Trip replied. _It would be useful for us to have someone ruling over these islands, over the pirates, who would be an ally to our people._

_No dragon would ally himself with humans!_

_It has happened in the past,_ Trip thought. _Even if you are not interested in that, we would settle for having a stable ruler here who does not allow his minions to raid Iskandian shores._

_Minions? Oh, yes, I would like minions. I had not considered that. I thought only of destroying the human dwellings and claiming these islands for myself._

_Better to have minions who could serve you,_ Trip thought, not sure he should be encouraging a dragon to think that way, _but we must defeat these two powerful humans first. And when we do, I shall get that blade that bit so painfully into you. I will take it far from these islands so that your minions can never use it again. I know you cannot touch it or throw it into the sea. Better to have it taken far away._

_Yes, yes, this is true. It is a most foul blade._

The pirate king raised the "foul blade" as they spoke, shaking it toward the dragon and yelling another challenge. Down on the docks, his people raised their hands, cheering for him.

_Let us take the blade away so that it doesn't bother you,_ Trip said, _and we'll provide a distraction to make it easier for you to defeat those two._

_I do not need a human's help, but I agree that you_ will _take that blade away._

Trip flew toward the tower. _Jaxi, are you ready to confront a Cofah soulblade?_

_I thought I'd just try to keep you alive._

_That's acceptable._

"Where are you going, _Sidetrip_?" Blazer growled.

"We've made a deal with the dragon," he announced. "We're going to distract the sword-wielders so he can more easily swoop in to defeat them. And then we'll take the dragon-slaying sword. He insists."

"Wouldn't we have been able to take it, anyway?" Duck asked. "The dragon would be forced to leave it on the ground after he defeated the pirates, right? He couldn't pick it up?"

"True, but it's questionable whether he _would_ defeat them. That sword is useless if dragons stay out of range, but if they swoop down, it's quite the equalizer."

"Exactly why we're getting it," Blazer said.

To Trip's relief, her flier was right behind his, and Leftie and Duck flanked her.

They arrowed toward the top of the fortress. The dragon flapped slowly across the harbor in the same direction, but Trip sensed that Telmandaroo __ intended to wait for them to draw fire.

He took a deep breath. "So be it."

Jaxi groaned into his mind.

_Sorry_ , he said, assuming she wasn't thrilled with how his attempt at being _clever_ had turned out.

_Oh, I'm ready for battle_ , Jaxi said. _I just get tired of dealing with these Cofah soulblades. They're so uptight. This one must have gone to the same sorcerer's academy as Wreltad._

Trip had no idea who that was, and for some reason, the idea of soulblades talking telepathically to each other flummoxed him. Maybe because a week earlier, he'd been flying along, barely aware of magic at all.

_I'm glad sorcerers weren't entirely eliminated from the world during the evil purges of the Referatu and Cofah mages, but I do wish we'd stumble across more Iskandian magic-wielders. And soulblades._

They were close enough that Trip could see the determined eyes of the pirate king, so he didn't respond. He held down the trigger of his machine guns, certain the bullets would be deflected, but also certain it would distract the sorceress. The pirate shouldn't be able to create a barrier, since the dragon-slaying swords were more like anti-magic than magic, so she was the only one who could address them.

Some of his bullets slammed into the platform around them, but others, those that should have hit his enemies, bounced off. Trip sensed the woman—no, it was her _sword_ —hurling an attack.

Jaxi's barrier flared to life, and Trip eased his finger off the trigger, knowing he couldn't fire through it. Something akin to wind battered at them, but the barrier took the brunt of it, and his wings barely wobbled as he flew over the fortress.

Red lightning streaked after him, the air crackling as it curled around Jaxi's barrier.

Trip looped and flew back toward the fortress, attempting to be obnoxious and draw fire. Blazer, Leftie, and Duck didn't have soulblades to protect them, and he didn't want them to be struck.

_I'll attempt to protect them if they're targeted,_ Jaxi said, _but I agree that you should be obnoxious. I believe you'll find it easy._

_Thanks so much._

Jaxi grinned into his mind, and he sensed exhilaration along with it. As he swooped back in for another attack, he had the distinct feeling that she'd missed going into battle. He could feel an exhilaration of his own building as the wind scraped past his cheeks, and he soared toward the sword-wielders, firing again.

Focused on his targets, he almost didn't notice the dragon zooming in from the side. Telmandaroo wasn't flying slowly anymore.

Trip thought he would go right for the two pirates, since he was distracting them with his fire, but instead, he slammed into the side of the fortress a level or two below them. Logs broke into thousands of pieces, wood chips flying behind the dragon as he went through the wall like a wrecking ball. His power and momentum took him all the way through and out on the other side, knocking down support posts along the way.

Glee emanated from the dragon, the pure joy of destroying things.

Which would have been fine if Trip's people hadn't been inside the fortress.

_Jaxi, are the others still in there? Are they on their way out?_

_Yes, and no._

As the dragon sailed away, the snaps of wood continued, and Trip envisioned the entire structure collapsing on Rysha.

# 21

"I'm in, Dreyak," Rysha called, easing past the smoking sides of the hole she'd made.

"There are _four_ of these things now," Dreyak snarled, his voice coming from the far side of the treasure room.

"Was that a request for me to hurry?"

Angry bangs sounded almost as loudly and rapidly as machine gun fire, and she imagined him slamming his scimitar down on one of the constructs. Repeatedly.

Bullets fired, and the bangs halted.

Swallowing grimly, Rysha dropped to the floor in the dark, almost breaking her ankle on the logs she'd kicked in. The orange magical light from the other room did not stretch far into this new chamber.

Dust assailed her nostrils as she peered into the blackness. The chamber—vault?—couldn't have been more than six or seven feet wide. She patted her way forward as her eyes adjusted to the gloom.

Why hadn't she thought to grab a lantern? Or bring one along?

"Because you're a book hugger with no real military experience," she grumbled.

A soft light came on ahead of her, and Rysha jumped back, afraid she'd triggered a trap. She aimed her rifle at it, clunking the stock on the wall in the narrow room.

But the light came from an orange crystal lamp on a dusty shelf, cobwebs stretching from it to the ceiling. A few dusty human skulls sat on other perches, some with bullet holes through them. The glow of the light also revealed a variety of weapons in racks on the walls. Dusty uniforms also hung on the walls, some Iskandian, some Cofah, and she also recognized the furry cloak of a Dakrovian warden. It had a cannonball-sized hole in it.

Rysha knew there wasn't time to linger, especially when another round of gunshots came from the next room, but she paused to look at one of the Iskandian uniforms, this one with several bullet holes through the jacket and dark brown stains around them.

Her gut squirmed as she realized these were trophies, uniforms taken from slain enemies. Or perhaps people who'd simply gotten in the way during pirate raids. The nametag on the Iskandian uniform read _Sharlott_ , and tarnished colonel's rank pins marked the collar. She hadn't heard of the man, but that didn't make her hate the so-called pirate king any less.

She clenched her fist as she looked a second time at the skulls. Had they once belonged to the owners of these uniforms?

Though she seethed with quiet fury, Rysha forced herself to go to the weapons racks, looking for the telltale runes of the ancient _chapaharii_ swords.

The blade collection was impressive—any war museum would love to have them—but she started to grow worried when she made it two-thirds of the way down the racks without finding anything magical. Most of the weapons came from the time after dragons had disappeared from the world, and the few that were more than a thousand years old were simple blades of bronze.

Three wooden boxes stacked on the floor against the rear wall caught her eye. The light from the lamp was dimmer back there, but she hurried, a gut feeling telling her they might be what she sought. She knew from her research that Kasandral was stored in an ornate wood and iron box when not in use, supposedly to keep it from influencing its wielder or anyone else around.

As Rysha reached for the first box, a long and thunderous crash came from somewhere above her.

Hells, was that the dragon? Attacking the fortress itself and not just people?

She tugged the top box off the stack and flicked open a latch that could have been locked but wasn't. More crashes came from above, and the wood floor under her shuddered and bucked, as if she were in an earthquake. It didn't sound quite like Kaika's explosives going off, which should have come from below, but Rysha definitely found it ominous.

The box was empty.

She frowned, but at least the interior was promising, with a sword-shaped bed inside.

"Must be the one the pirate has," she said, brushing dust out of her hair. And pieces of wood. She glanced up warily. Was the fortress in danger of collapsing?

"Ravenwood," came a frustrated—and pained?—cry from the other room.

"Almost done, Dreyak," she yelled. "Buy me two more minutes."

She shoved the top box aside and tried to open the second, which was in a similar style to the first, with Middle Iskandian runes along the lid and sides. Later, she would take the time to translate them.

Unfortunately, this box was locked. Rysha groaned, having had fantasies of running out with one of the blades in hand so she could help with the dragon or anyone magical who opposed them. Carrying the box itself would have to do. Maybe she could thwack someone in the head with it.

She grabbed it and the other two as well, but the lock on the bottom one, the ancient iron old and rusty, fell open when she picked them up. The lid tumbled open, and a sword fell onto the floor, almost lopping off the toe of her boot.

Cursing, Rysha scrambled back. But she didn't stay back for long. The blade flared to life, a faint pale green, and she knew she had what she sought.

She grabbed it, bringing all the command words out of her memory in case she needed them—she had no intention of letting some ancient sword control her in any way. An intense hunger emanated from it, and the sword acted almost like a divining rod, suggesting her hand turn toward the wall. The wall that separated her from Dreyak and those constructs.

Magical constructs. Did it want her to go destroy them?

"Gladly," Rysha whispered, grabbing the full box and the two empty ones, and running awkwardly toward her hole. Knowing that the boxes themselves held some magic, she didn't want to leave them behind.

She eyed the uniforms on the way by—five of them had belonged to Iskandians—and she vowed she would destroy more than clockwork guard dogs if she had the chance.

As she reached the hole she'd made, a booming snap came from the floor above. She imagined herself being buried by rubble even as she'd found what they sought.

But the ceiling didn't collapse in her room. It collapsed in the next one, the one with Dreyak in it.

Wood sloughed down, along with a giant beam, and it fully blocked her hole.

* * *

• • • • •

* * *

Trip circled above the fortress, drawing attacks from the sorceress and yelling, out loud and in his mind, for the bronze dragon to stop attacking the _structure_. He seemed to be taking his frustrations out on it—maybe he thought he could defeat the pirate king by knocking his fortress out from under him. Which was not acceptable when Trip's people were in it.

_Telmandaroo_ , Trip cried in his mind, hoping Jaxi was still projecting his thoughts, _please stop that. We must focus our efforts on the pirates._

_They cannot fight from their lofty perch if their lofty perch is destroyed,_ the dragon replied, that same glee coming through in his words.

_Jaxi, are Kaika, Rysha, and Dreyak still in there?_

_Yes. Both Dreyak and Rysha appear to be trapped._

_Trapped? By what?_

_The floors are caving in under the dragon's assault._

Trip groaned. _Can you tell Kaika how to find them?_

_I shall attempt to do so. During my copious free time._

Red lightning arced from the sorceress's sword, streaking through the night sky at Trip's flier. Once again, the invisible barrier repelled it, but the lightning seemed to get closer than it had before. Was Jaxi growing tired?

_Thank you,_ Trip said, turning so he could make another run at the pirate duo. Surely, the woman had to also be getting tired.

_She is, but her_ sword _isn't,_ Jaxi said, irritation creeping into her words. _I believe, from what I've experienced of his power, that it's a very_ old _soulblade. The sorcerer whose soul is stored within likely came from the time when dragons still roamed the world—the_ last _time that happened, that is—and some mages had as much as fifty percent dragon blood in their veins. They were_ extremely _powerful._

_What does that mean for us?_ Trip fired, strafing the platform as he swooped low, tempted to try to mow those two down with his flier if not his bullets. Maybe seeing his entire craft arrowing for her would startle the sorceress, make her defenses falter. _Are soulblades as powerful as the sorcerers were in human form?_

_Usually not quite as powerful, but it can be close._

The sorceress lifted her arms, and a surge of invisible energy slammed into Trip's flier from below. It bounced him high into the sky, and lightning raced up after him.

The smell of something burning flooded his nostrils, and fear lurched into his heart as he realized some of that attack must have gotten through Jaxi's barrier.

He glared over the side at the pair. Maybe the dragon's plan of collapsing the fortress under them wasn't a bad idea. But it had to wait until his team was out of there.

The sorceress was too busy looking in another direction to return Trip's glare. She lifted her arms, this time aiming her soulblade at Duck's flier. He'd snuck in low, maybe searching for sign of their people on the docks or the beach.

"No," Trip yelled, and imagined himself hurling a mental attack at the woman, as he'd done with the dragon in the capital. He expected nothing, but hoped against logic, it would do something.

It was as if a battering ram slammed into her back. The woman flew from the platform, the sword slipping from her grip as she tumbled over the rope railing. The pirate king lunged after her, but he was too late. His fingers grasped at empty air, and the sorceress disappeared from Trip's sight as she fell.

_Did you do that, or did I?_ Trip asked.

_You did. But pat yourself on the back later. She's landed, and she's still alive. And pissed._

Trip started to angle his flier down toward the beach, but Blazer spoke over the crystal.

"Focus on the pirate king while his ally is down," she ordered. "You, too, Trip."

Though he worried that leaving the sorceress alive to gather herself and come up with a plan was a bad idea, Trip obeyed, remembering that getting that sword was their primary objective. Their _only_ objective in being here. He couldn't help but want to avenge the deaths of all the Iskandians that had fallen to the pirate king's raids, but that wasn't their mission.

Trip led the way to the platform, heading in low and firing straight at Neaminor. If the bullets didn't kill him, maybe Trip could knock his foe from the fortress. A five-story drop might take him out, even if it hadn't killed the sorceress. The pirate king wouldn't have his ally's shield to protect him this time.

He did not, but to Trip's surprise, Neaminor didn't flee for cover. He stood in a fighting stance, glaring defiantly at the fliers descending upon him. As Trip fired, the man's blade moved in a blur in front of him, deflecting bullets. Most of them. Trip was firing two guns at once, and as amazing as the man's—or his sword's—reflexes were, a couple of shots slipped past his defenses.

One clipped his shoulder, probably not hurting him much, but one sank into his thigh. The man screamed and ran toward the closest door. But the dragon alighted on the roof of the fortress right above it. Telmandaroo's serpentine neck whipped down, his head smashing a huge hole into the platform in front of the door. Cutting off the pirate's escape.

Trip had flown low, thinking to knock the man off the platform, but with the dragon in the way, he had to turn aside at the last second. Neaminor ran toward the railing. Trip thought he would leap over it, risking the fall—or trusting the sorceress to make it safe for him. Instead, he sprang onto one of the posts and then off it, his ability to jump enhanced somehow, as it had been earlier. He twisted in the air to catch the lip of Trip's back seat as the flier skimmed past.

Trip let out an unmanly squawk of surprise as the abrupt weight tilted his craft sideways. He gripped the flight stick, jerking his wings left and right, hoping to throw the pirate free. Neaminor, still holding his green-glowing sword, hung from the flier by one hand.

"Trip, you seem to have picked up a parasite," Leftie observed.

He, Duck, and Blazer all flew behind him, having let him take the lead in their attack formation.

"You have to be careful in tropical climates," Duck drawled. "There are all manner of infestuous critters that'll leap into a man."

"Infestuous?" Blazer asked. "What school did you go to, Duck?"

"School of the wilds, ma'am. You know I was raised by wolves."

Trip, doing his best to throw the pirate free of his flier, ignored the banter—and the fact that they all seemed amused by this latest development. Did they not realize how much of a threat Neaminor could still be? It wasn't as if Jaxi or Trip could attack him.

Just in case he was wrong and magic _could_ do something, Trip glanced back and tried to throw another mental attack. He wasn't sure if he was in the right state of mind to make it work, as he'd been angry and frustrated both times it had worked before. Now he was just alarmed and frustrated.

_No, our magic won't work against him,_ Jaxi said. _And that sword will pierce any barrier I erect. I recommend you not invite him further into your flier._

_I didn't invite him into it at all._

Happy to use brute force rather than magic, Trip pulled Jaxi from her scabbard and twisted in his seat. He lunged back while holding the flight stick with one hand, and he tried to slash the soulblade down onto Neaminor's fingers.

Green flared around the pirate's hand, and the soulblade bounced off something invisible without making a sound. No sound, but Trip _felt_ the obstacle as reverberations ricocheted up his arm, making his elbow ache fiercely.

_Nice move, genius,_ Jaxi said. _I do hope you'll buff out this dent you gave me later._

Trip knew Jaxi didn't have any scratches or dents, as the magical blade seemed impervious to such, so he said nothing. All he did was pull the soulblade back and jam it into its scabbard again.

Still dangling from one hand, the pirate lifted his sword into view, the blade glowing even more luminously green than before, and hacked at the side of the flier.

Snarling, Trip rocked the wings violently a few more times, then took the craft into a loop. He would see how well Neaminor could hang on when up was suddenly down and vice versa.

_Also, you could try hacking at his fingers with your utility knife,_ Jaxi said.

_That would work?_

_He's not shielded against everything, just magic. I assume the knife you use to cut sausage and butter your toast isn't overly magical._

_I haven't asked it._

Now flying upside down, Trip didn't go for the knife. He glanced back, hoping to see the pirate fall.

But the crazy man was still there, somehow having shifted his grip enough to hang from the tiny lip of the seat well. He glared defiantly, his eyes utterly wild rather than rational, some kind of crazy blood lust burning in them. The pirate pulled back his sword as he dangled, taking aim for a swipe that would lop off Trip's head.

Trip threw the flier into a corkscrew, but it didn't keep the pirate from attacking. The blade slashed toward his head, leaving a trail of green in the sky.

Trip ducked in time to avoid it, but felt the blade slice off some of his hair. An intense hatred emanated from the sword, a wordless promise that it would kill its handler if it had to, in order to bury itself to the hilt in Trip's chest.

"Leftie, Duck," Blazer said as Trip continued to corkscrew, "go down and finish off that damn witch." Was the sorceress still attacking them from the ground? "Trip, I'm coming to help. Fly straight for a minute, and I'll shoot him."

" _Shoot_ him? When I'm right next to him?" Trip winced at the alarmed squeak to his words. Pilots were supposed to be calm and collected in the face of death, damn it.

Neaminor swung at him again, once more trying to lop off his head. With reflexes fueled by gallons of adrenaline flowing through his veins, Trip yanked himself down as far as he could with his harness on. A screech sounded and sparks flew as the blade skipped off the back of his seat frame.

"I'll tell you when to duck," Blazer said, her voice containing the calm that Trip longed for. "I see you're getting some practice."

Trip, sensing that she wasn't close enough to aim for the pirate yet, pulled back on the flight stick for another loop, twisting as the flier soared upside down. He still hoped he might dislodge the pirate. He was flying over the beach, well east of the fortress and hundreds of feet off the ground. The fall _should_ kill him.

But Neaminor, his muscles charged by the sword's power, still wouldn't fall off. Defying gravity, he retained that one-handed grip and lashed out again at Trip.

_Why don't_ you _shoot him?_ Jaxi asked.

It was hard to imagine that working—the man seemed superhuman back there—but Trip promptly ripped his pistol from his holster. There was nothing magical about these bullets. If Jaxi was right...

He turned in time to see the blade slashing for his face. He ducked, forced to let go of the stick, and the wind whipped at the flier, rattling the wings. Trip popped up and fired at the man's chest.

Even with the flier lurching wildly and flying upside down, his target was close enough that he couldn't miss. A bullet sank into the pirate's heart.

Pain flashed in Neaminor's eyes, but impossibly, he did not let go. He whipped the sword toward Trip again, wild, uncontrolled slashes.

"Get down," Blazer ordered as Trip spotted her flier coming in from the side.

"Shit," he blurted, and did his best to drop into his boots—a difficult prospect with his harness holding him in and with gravity pulling in the opposite direction.

Machine gun fire tore through the air, drowning out the drone of the propeller. Trip was aware of his flier tipping toward the ground, wings jerking erratically without his hand on the stick.

Fortunately, his senses told him the ground was still hundreds of feet below. While those guns fired, all Trip could do was stay as deep in his seat well as possible and pray. He'd never been much for prayer, but he sent a heartfelt one to each of the seven gods now.

The gunfire stopped.

"You're welcome, kid," Blazer said.

Trip poked his head over the lip of his seat and grimaced at the backrest that had been lopped off. But not seeing the pirate drove away any disgruntlement he felt about the damage to his flier. He lifted his head higher, leaning over to peer into the back seat, as if the pirate might be crouching down in it, ready to spring another attack.

But it was empty.

Trip let out a relieved breath and whirled back around to grasp the flight stick. "Easy, girl," he murmured, silently apologizing for leaving the craft without his guidance.

"The proper response is _thank you_ ," Blazer said, lifting an arm toward him.

She'd turned her flier around, pointing it back down the beach. They'd flown east far enough that the fortress wasn't in sight anymore. Another few seconds, and he would have flown away from the island altogether.

"Thank you, Major," Trip said, recovering his equanimity—and getting that alarmed squeakiness out of his voice. He was certain General Zirkander never squeaked during battle.

"That's better. Go down and get that sword, will you? You're lucky you didn't fly out over the ocean, or you would have been swimming for it. When you've got it, join me back at the fortress. That damn witch is still alive and flinging attacks at our people while the stupid dragon watches. Maybe we can use the sword on _both_ of them."

"Actually, I don't think I can, ma'am." Trip peered over the side. He hadn't been watching to see where the pirate had landed, and if the sword was still glowing, it wasn't doing it in a spot where he could see it.

_I can sense it,_ Jaxi said, _but you are correct. Neither you nor I can touch it. The blade won't allow it._

"What do you mean?" Blazer asked.

"I have Jaxi with me, and she's very magical, so I won't be able to carry the two weapons in my flier at once."

Blazer heaved an aggravated sigh. "Fine, I'll find it. You go help the others."

_Subtle evasion,_ Jaxi told him dryly. _Will there be a point at which you share with the others that I'm not the only one in this flier that those swords hate?_

_Not voluntarily, no._

_As unobservant as mundane humans are, if you keep successfully attacking unattackable foes, someone's bound to notice that a dragon frolicked horizontally with one of your ancestors._

_Frolicked...er. Someday, you'll have to explain how that's even possible._ Trip's mind boggled as he imagined one of the giant dragons somehow sharing a bed with a human.

_Did you ever open a book at that university of yours?_

_Mostly technical manuals._

_The education system these days is extremely disappointing._

_Never mind,_ Trip said, weariness from the battle sinking into his muscles as he turned the flier toward the fortress. _I'll ask Rysha how it works. She's read all manner of books, so I'm sure she knows._ Now that he thought about it, he remembered Zirkander and Sardelle talking about shape-shifting during that meeting in the general's office. It still seemed exceedingly odd to contemplate.

"Jaxi says she would be most delighted to guide you to it," Trip told Blazer, feeling he should get Jaxi back for her derision. "I understand she very much enjoyed the last telepathic contact she had with you."

Jaxi sent the sword equivalent of a glower into his mind.

Blazer swore.

# 22

Rysha coughed and used her new sword to bat at the dust clogging the air. Its long-dead creator would have been scandalized to see it put to that purpose.

When the dust cleared, she found herself looking at a wall of solid wood. She was completely blocked in.

"Dreyak?" she yelled, worried the entire room over there had collapsed and that he was trapped. Or worse.

If he answered, she couldn't hear it.

The blade still glowed. Did that mean the magical constructs had survived?

"If so, that would be supremely unfair." Rysha leaned the boxes and sword against the wall so she could dig out the acid. She hoped the hallway outside wasn't blocked.

The floor groaned and creaked under her. Had the foundation also been damaged? She'd been on the verge of making another hole in a wall, but if there was nothing but water under her, couldn't she make a hole in the floor and jump through? She could swim away, using the boxes to help her float, and make it to the beach and eventually back to the fliers.

But that would mean leaving Dreyak. And maybe Kaika too. They were late for meeting her, so Kaika might be looking for them right now.

Rysha started smearing goo on the hallway wall, but someone thumped on it, as if knocking on a door. Startled, she froze.

Someone out there yelled. One of the pirates?

Rysha gripped the sword. It didn't glow any brighter. That should mean the sorceress wasn't standing on the other side of the wall.

Another yell sounded, two words.

"Get back?" Rysha guessed. A second later, their meaning registered, and she scrambled back.

An explosion ripped through the wall, and she whirled away. Shards of wood pelted her in the back. The _chapaharii_ swords might have their perks, but they certainly weren't soulblades that could help protect their owners. Not that a soulblade would ever join with some mundane human.

_Oh, I don't know about that,_ Jaxi spoke into her mind as wood shards stopped flying sideways, and instead, dust and sawdust trickled to the floor. _I believe Wreltad would have bonded with Ridge if he'd wished a soulblade._

"What?" Rysha croaked, her throat coated with dust. "Who?"

_Never mind. A story for later. I regret that my warning came too late, but Trip has had me_ quite _busy. I'm pleased you are unharmed. Kaika is waiting for you in the hall._

_Oh. Thanks._

"Ravenwood?" came a whisper from the hall, a shadowy figure swatting aside dust.

"Is there a point to whispering right now, ma'am?" Rysha asked.

Kaika barked a laugh. "Maybe not. Where's our Cofah? When Jaxi said you were back here, I thought she meant both of you."

Rysha grabbed the boxes and the sword, and hurried through the gaping hole Kaika's explosion had left—it was not nearly as tidy as the ones the acid could create. Mounds of debris littered the hallway floor, and Rysha stopped short when she spotted a dead man half-buried under some rubble. His throat had been slit. Another man lay dead at the base of the stairs.

"You didn't meet me at the meeting spot," Kaika said, as if providing an explanation for the dead pirates. Maybe she was.

"Sorry, ma'am."

Thinking of the uniforms and skulls, Rysha reminded herself these pirates were enemies.

"I did find some swords," she offered.

"Useful swords?" Kaika eyed the boxes.

"I believe so. Dreyak is—oh!" Rysha scrambled over debris to the door she and Dreyak had originally used. She tugged it open, and rubble spilled out. One of the wheeled constructs rolled out with the debris.

It was dented and wobbly, and Rysha wasn't sure if it had any ammunition left, but a surge of alien hatred flowed through her. Before rational thought could come into play, she dropped the boxes and lifted the sword with both hands. It clunked against the wall behind her, but she barely noticed. She drove down with all her strength, cleaving the construct in half, just as Trip had done on the deck of the airship.

But her blade—Dorfindral, the name popped into her mind—wasn't done. Under its guidance, she sliced downward again and again, until nothing but battered cogs and screws and scraps of metal remained.

Panting, Rysha drew back. Belatedly, she realized she should have uttered the control word that meant "stand down," but she hadn't expected so much emotion to flood into her, filling her with something she'd never experienced before, something akin to a battle rage. It had made it difficult to think, difficult to be rational.

"Ravenwood," Kaika said, lowering the hand she'd been using to shield her face from flying cogs. "We need to get you to the Sensual Sage when we get back."

"What?" The randomness of the comment startled her into forgetting to add a _ma'am_ to her question.

"The Sensual Sage. It's a nice brothel and tea house. We need to get you some sex. And a massage. And then more sex. You seem tense."

"That wasn't me. That was the sword." Rysha glanced at the runes on the side of the blade, putting her ancient languages class to use to read its mission and its name. Slaying dragons. And Dorfindral. "Dorfindral," she said aloud, uneasy that the magical blade had inserted its name into her mind.

"I don't think anyone is going to massage Dorfy, nor do I want to imagine sex play involving a blade that large."

Rysha's mind boggled at the notion that a smaller blade might be acceptable for that, but rubble shifting in the room drew her attention.

Dreyak crawled into view on hands and knees as he navigated over the pile half-blocking the door. Blood streamed down the side of his face from multiple cuts. Weariness—and probably pain—gave an uncharacteristic slump to his shoulders.

Rysha started to lift a hand to help him, but a wave of indignation washed over her, demanding that she lift the blade again, that she attack this vile foe.

" _Meyusha_ ," Kaika barked as she stepped in front of her. The control word for the swords that meant "stand down."

The blade pulsed, its green glow dulling some, and Rysha was able to move back while Kaika helped Dreyak out of the room. But she felt an intensely strong distaste for him that wouldn't go away.

"Seven gods," Rysha whispered, "how does that Captain Ahn wield Kasandral without going crazy? And Colonel Therrik? He wields Kasandral, too, doesn't he? I read that it's his family's blade."

Another crash came from somewhere above them, and the sounds of machine gun fire filled Rysha with new concern. Were those the fliers? What had brought them over to the fortress? They weren't fighting the dragon, were they?

"A discussion for later," Kaika said, shooing them toward the room they'd originally entered through. "And maybe we'll also discuss why one of those swords wants to kill our new Cofah friend." She thumped Dreyak on the back.

He glowered at her.

Kaika jogged into the lead, looking fresh and spry as she leaped rubble piles. She threw open the next door and started to turn into the large room, but halted abruptly.

"So, that's slightly blocked," she said.

Rysha peered past her and nodded in agreement. Light from the hallway shone in, enough to illuminate wood, posts, beams, and broken furniture that looked to have fallen through from the floor above. Or _multiple_ floors above.

A snap reverberated through their level, and Rysha stumbled back as another beam broke, and floor boards rained down into the hallway. If there was an exit that way, it was now blocked.

"The stairs?" Dreyak asked.

Kaika shook her head. "The battle's going on up there."

His dark eyes flared with some inner light, as if that one sentence had reenergized him. "Then we must go. We must defeat as many pirates as we can before leaving."

"I'm not even sure if we can get to the top floor anymore. I came from up there." Kaika pointed toward the ceiling. "From the meeting spot where you all were supposed to join me. It's a mess. Several stairways are already broken. The rest of the structure could come down on our heads at any moment."

"Is there another way off this floor then?" Dreyak looked the opposite way down the hallway.

"I'm not sure. Maybe a window or—"

"Wait." Rysha started to hand the sword to Kaika, but found herself reluctant to let anyone else touch it. Instead, she rested the tip on the floor and leaned the hilt against her hip while she dug out her jar. "Let's go down."

She found a relatively bare spot, swept dirt aside, and brushed a circle with the applicator. She was nearing the end of the jar, and applying the substance took longer than before. More beams snapped somewhere above them, and a cloud of dust rolled down the stairs.

"Tolemek needs to figure out a way to put that stuff in a tube you can squeeze," Kaika grumbled, eyeing the ceiling.

Shouts made their way through the log walls—what remained of them—and the rubble. Rysha had no idea whether they belonged to friend or foe. They all seemed to come from outside the building, from where she wished she already was.

"Is anyone left inside?" Dreyak asked.

"The last update I got from Jaxi was that the fortress is threatening to collapse in on itself, due to a dragon crashing into it multiple times," Kaika said. "And the pirate king and the sorceress were on a platform on the top level, doing an impressive job of fighting off all the fliers and the dragon at the same time. Jaxi also confirmed that the pirate king is wielding another dragon-slaying sword, perhaps the most powerful one in the bunch." Kaika waved at the boxes. "He would presumably claim the best one for himself."

"Nothing wrong with Dorfindral," Rysha muttered, watching smoke rise from the floorboards as the acid worked. She worried there would be multiple levels of subflooring and thick beams, and that she wouldn't have enough goo.

"Uh huh," Kaika said. "Even though I hate to be greedy, the more of these ugly green swords we can take home, the better. Right now, we've got one that we're trying to use to protect the entire country. And it's _not_ working."

"Can we blow up the building?" Rysha asked, since it sounded like most people had likely gotten out, everyone except the sorceress and pirate king. "Did you get your charges set?"

"I did."

"This is a cowardly way to destroy enemies," Dreyak said with a frown.

"Nah, it's a practical one," Kaika assured him. "Especially when that sorceress is up there throwing lightning at our fliers."

Rysha gave her a worried look. "Jaxi told you that?"

"No, I think Jaxi's busy now, but I saw it out a window."

The circle Rysha had burned in the floor fell three inches, then stuck. She kicked at it with her boot, fearing the floor beams she'd thought of were indeed there holding it up.

The disc tipped sideways and dropped into the dark water below. There _was_ a support beam, but it was off to one side. They could slide down past it.

"We're free and clear," Rysha said, as another ominous crack came from above.

"So long as the entire fortress doesn't collapse atop us as we swim away," Dreyak growled.

Rysha halted as an image of that flashed into her mind. The water, perhaps five feet deep under the fortress, wouldn't provide any insulation if that _did_ happen.

"Just hurry out," Kaika said, nudging her. "The faster we swim clear, the less likely that is to happen."

"Right."

Though the image lingered in her thoughts, Rysha handed one of the sword boxes to Kaika to carry, then dropped through the hole. She landed in the tepid water, her toes brushing the pebbly bottom. Half swimming, half walking, she hurried out of the way so the others could jump down.

Light came from the west side— _firelight_. Numerous ships in the harbor were burning, the reflection of the flames dancing on the waves.

The east side was dark, and Rysha headed in that direction. They'd originally come in that way, and she thought they could climb back up to that field. The fliers ought to be able to land there to pick them up, assuming they'd finished their battle.

Rysha listened for sounds of the skirmish as she plowed through the water, Kaika and Dreyak right behind her. She thought she heard machine gun fire, but water filled her ears, and the waves lapping at the pilings drowned out other noises.

Kaika stopped at one of those pilings near the edge of the platform.

Rysha paused. "Captain?"

"Keep going." Kaika waved for her and Dreyak to continue.

A shadowy lump protruded from the side of that piling. One of Kaika's explosives? Rysha had a feeling the fortress would collapse soon whether she set off her bombs or not.

Red light flashed ahead of them as Rysha and Dreyak made it out from under the fortress. Any relief she might have felt at escaping the building before it collapsed was quashed by seeing the sorceress standing on the pebbly beach a hundred meters away, her sword pointed aloft and red branches of lightning streaking into the cloudy night sky. Toward two fliers twisting and looping overhead.

"Trip?" Rysha whispered, though she couldn't see who the pilots were in the dark.

Green light flared from Dorfindral, and battle lust rushed into Rysha so forcefully, she almost lost her balance in the waves. _Hunt,_ the sword seemed to whisper into her mind, pulling her focus toward the sorceress. _Kill._

"Turn that thing down," Dreyak ordered from her side.

Rysha had been holding the sword over her head to keep it from getting wet, and it now glowed like a beacon.

"It wants to get the sorceress," Rysha said, striding toward the beach. It felt as if the blade was sending extra energy into her limbs, propelling her along. She felt strong. _Powerful_.

"So do I, but I'd rather she not see us coming."

Rysha doubted they could have sneaked up on a sorceress and her soulblade under any circumstances, but she kept her mouth shut. The two fliers dove toward the beach, and Dreyak wouldn't have heard her over the machine gun fire.

She didn't think either of the pilots was Trip, as he would have had Jaxi in his cockpit as he descended, and her glow of power would have been visible. Rysha glanced toward the top of the fortress and up and down the beach, worried that the other two fliers might have crashed. And where was the pirate king with _his_ _chapaharii_ sword?

The two fliers strafed the beach, the pilots no doubt hoping to get lucky as they slammed bullets into the ground, flying straight for the sorceress. She lifted her sword again, and another lightning bolt streaked out.

It struck the propeller of one of the fliers, then branched and arched back over the rest of the craft.

The pilot—was that Leftie?—ducked out of sight. His propeller stuttered, and smoke billowed from it. Leftie banked hard, struggling to keep the flier aloft. But it lost altitude quickly. He turned out over the water—hoping he could land in it without a horrific crash?

Why were they attacking the sorceress when they had no means of harming her? And where were the others? Only Duck remained in the sky, and the sorceress had her sights on him now.

Rysha ran out of the water, her sodden clothes hanging heavily from her body and water spattering her spectacles, but she barely noticed. Her legs propelled her toward the sorceress, accelerating to a sprint as soon as they could. She should have been clumsy and prone to stumbling on the pebbles, but exhilarating power flowed through her veins, and she felt she could run across water if need be.

The sorceress stood with her soulblade raised, poised to strike Duck as soon as he flew close enough, but she must have sensed Rysha coming. She whirled to face her, her robe flapping around her legs in the stiff ocean breeze.

The soulblade shifted, pointing toward Rysha's chest.

A big part of Rysha wanted to dive to the side, realizing she was an easy target on the beach and that this was suicidal. Who was she to challenge a powerful sorceress?

But the sword overrode her fear and drove her onward. She hefted the weapon over her shoulder with both hands.

The sorceress let her soulblade droop—she must have recognized that green glow. But she wasn't ready to admit defeat yet. She flung a hand in Rysha's direction.

Pebbles skidded down the beach, as if swept ahead of a hurricane, but they parted and flew around Rysha instead of hitting her. She was aware of a fierce wind gusting past, but it didn't stir so much as a hair.

Rysha sprang at the sorceress, slashing Dorfindral toward her. A jolt of electricity coursed up her arms when the blade met her invisible barrier, but it continued through and would have cleaved into the woman's neck if she hadn't sprung back, whipping her own sword up.

Dorfindral, glowing green, crashed into the red-glowing soulblade. The woman's eyes were tight, the blood dried on her chin evidence she'd already been hurt, but that didn't keep her from returning the attack. She swept her blade into a series of swift, deft slashes at Rysha's head and torso.

Without the _chapaharii_ weapon, Rysha would have been gravely outmatched, since she'd never picked up a sword in her life, but again, Dorfindral took the lead. The blade cut and parried in her hands, moving so quickly it blurred. The clash of steel meeting steel rang out so rapidly that it was like one continuous ringing in Rysha's ears.

The sorceress's eyes narrowed to determined slits, and she pressed forward, not giving Rysha time to launch attacks of her own. The invincibility she'd felt only seconds before faded as she realized Dorfindral might not be a match for the soulblade. Or maybe it was she, lacking sword-fighting experience, who wasn't a match for the sorceress. Would a more experienced handler have done better? She admitted she'd thought all she would have to do was slam Dorfindral down on the soulblade to destroy it.

After a complex series of attacks failed to get past Dorfindral's defense, the sorceress snarled. Maybe she was growing frustrated at not being able to quickly defeat Rysha. That was something, anyway. Rysha had allies out here—she could see Duck's flier landing behind the sorceress—and the same might not be true for her foe. All Rysha had to do was keep her busy long enough for one of the pilots to come down and shoot her. If nothing else, Dorfindral had destroyed her defensive barrier.

But, as silly as it was, especially in this frantic moment, Rysha wanted to defeat the woman of her own accord. She didn't want to be rescued. Surely, something in her military or academic experience could come to her aid now. With Dorfindral handling the defense, that freed her mind up to consider her options. She was simply a conduit for the blade now. Albeit one that was starting to run out of breath.

The woman was too. Their swords might be guiding them, but they were both human in the end, limited by what their bodies could do. Maybe it wasn't history or physics that could help Rysha here, but psychology.

"You can't defeat me," she told the woman, even as their blades clanged together in an X in front of their faces, and red and green sparks flew. "Not before... my friends come in to help. But we didn't come here... to kill you." Rysha gulped in air, realizing she needed to keep her speech short or she would be gasping on her knees. "Surrender, and you can... walk away. We got... what we came for."

Dorfindral didn't speak to her, not the way Rysha had heard the soulblades did, but she definitely sensed that the sword did not approve of the talk of surrender. New energy flowed into her limbs, and for the first time, she found herself taking the lead in the battle, attacking instead of defending.

"You kill my lover of twenty years, and you think I'll let you walk away?" the woman snarled, the first words she'd spoken. Her face twisted with rage, and she struggled to take the lead back.

" _I_ didn't kill him," Rysha said, though she appreciated the confirmation that he was dead. Who'd finally done it? Blazer? Trip?

"Your friend with the soulblade did. The _Iskandian_ soulblade." The sorceress sneered, as if it were the greatest of crimes to be from Iskandia.

"Yes, and he's coming to kill you next... if I don't do it first. You can't win. You—" A massive explosion erupted behind her, yellow fiery light driving back the night for hundreds of meters in all directions.

The sorceress stumbled, her focus jerked in that direction for a split second. A split second was all it took for Dorfindral to take advantage.

The blade lunged toward the woman's chest. The soulblade jerked over, trying to intercept, but it was too late. As shards of wood rained down for a half mile up and down the beach, Dorfindral plunged into the sorceress's heart.

Her gaze jerked back to Rysha's face, full of pain and horror. And accusation.

Rysha tried to release the blade, longing to back away from those eyes, but Dorfindral wouldn't let her. The sword's pride and satisfaction coursed through her as this dragon-blooded soul, this user of magic, died on its blade.

Rysha felt more horrified than triumphant. She knew the woman would have gladly killed her, and that she'd doubtless killed many in her role as a pirate, but Rysha couldn't help but feel that she'd instigated all this, that her team had invaded the woman's home and killed her. Brutally and... unfairly?

"Damn, Lieutenant," came Leftie's voice from the side. "Those were some fancy sword moves."

He'd made his way out of the water and stood, pointing a pistol at the sorceress. It had to be as waterlogged as he, so Rysha didn't know if it would have fired, but Duck's certainly would have. He stood on the other side, pointing his own pistol at the crumpled form.

A second flier had joined the one he'd landed on the beach. Trip's. Leftie's flier was visible bobbing in the waves. Rysha had no idea how they would get it out. Blazer hadn't joined them yet, but a glance toward the fortress revealed Kaika and Dreyak standing behind Rysha. They also had their firearms out.

Had Rysha simply flung herself away from the sorceress during the battle, giving her team a clear line of sight, someone else could have killed the woman. Dorfindral might have been disgruntled by that, but she wouldn't have minded.

She grimaced, ashamed by her thoughts. She was an army officer, training for the elite troops. To want to hand off the dirty work to someone else was cowardly. Whatever her commanders and her king ordered, that was what she had to do, and they never could have gotten the pirate king's blade if the sorceress had remained alive.

Or _had_ they gotten that blade? They had one, perhaps two, if that other box held one inside, but what if Neaminor's had fallen into the ocean? Kaika had suggested that might be the most powerful one.

She looked toward Trip, who'd climbed out of his flier and was walking toward them. Leftie and Blazer waved at him. Rysha took a step in his direction, wanting to hug him—for a while, she hadn't known if he'd made it.

But Dorfindral, still gripped in her hand, flared to life, the green glow every bit as bright and intense as it had been for the sorceress.

Rysha's first confused thought was that it was objecting to Jaxi or perhaps to the other soulblade—the weapon had fallen from the sorceress's grip and lay dormant on the pebbles, but it would still contain magic. Then the urge to fling herself at Trip and drive Dorfindral through his chest flooded into her. Could all that be because of Jaxi? The compulsion was so intense, so strong, that she dropped to her knees to fight it, to keep her legs from taking off under the sword's command.

Trip stopped, looking at her down on her knees and looking at the sword. He carried Jaxi with him, but she was sheathed and not glowing. Trip put his hands in his pockets, as if to appear completely harmless.

He gave Rysha a sad smile. "I guess you won't be flying with me anymore."

"No, I—" Rysha grimaced as more images flashed through her mind, more images of driving the blade into Trip's chest. " _Meyusha_ ," she snarled. " _Meyusha_!"

Behind her, Kaika uttered the same control word.

At first, the sword did not seem to heed them at all. But as they repeated the words, Dorfindral's glow finally dulled. An intense feeling of petulance emanated from it.

Rysha plunged the blade into the pebbles, and it finally allowed her to release it. She backed away, her hands up, as if she were backing away from a viper.

"Where's the box?" she asked.

She'd dropped both the ones she'd carried somewhere during her rush to face the sorceress.

"I'll find it, but the sword will still be a problem," Kaika said. "As I can say from past experience, it can influence people even if it's boxed up, though having it in the box helps diminish its power over its wielder. If we have three swords now, things will be especially interesting."

"I'm confused," Leftie said.

"About how your flier ended up in the surf?" Trip asked, and Rysha had the feeling he was deliberately trying to turn Leftie's focus to a different subject. It saddened her that he'd stopped well out of her reach. "I find that confusing too," he said. "Did Major Blazer say you could land it out there?"

"Very funny. We're going to have to find a way to get it back on land before it sinks, and then hope we can repair it."

"Guess I'm on screwdriver duty again," Trip said.

"Is it safe to start repairs?" Duck looked toward the flaming remains of the obliterated fortress.

Much of the dock system still stood, but the ships in the harbor had either been destroyed by the dragon or they'd taken off at top speed. The airship was a wreck, its deflated balloon floating in the middle of the harbor. A bronze dragon flew overhead, circling the area from high above, and even though Rysha had let go of Dorfindral, she felt stirrings of interest from the sword. It was eager to jump right into another battle, and dragons were its preferred foe, even more preferred than sorceresses and soulblades. And Trip.

"The dragon won't attack us," Trip said. "It got what it wanted."

_Human minions!_ a voice cried into Rysha's mind. Everyone's minds. Her entire team looked up toward the bronze dragon, the lingering flames from the explosion shedding their reflection on his scales. _You shall serve your new master, Telmandaroo!_

"That's not us, right?" Duck asked.

"No," Trip said. "I told him we would take the dragon-slaying sword away. _Swords_. And that he could have the islands for himself."

"That was cordial of you to give him the islands," Leftie said. "You having such a claim over them."

"He intended to take them one way or another."

"Would he have managed it without our help?" Kaika asked. "And should we find it alarming that you're our liaison with a strange dragon?"

"I'm sure you could yell up and talk to him, too, if you wished," Trip said.

Kaika gazed dubiously at their new "master." He'd landed on the skeletal remains of the fortress, unperturbed by the flames warming his butt, and was doing the dragon equivalent of preening his feathers. His scales.

"Nah," she said. "You go ahead. You're doing a good job."

Trip snorted softly and pulled out Jaxi. He considered Dorfindral, the blade still thrusting up from the beach, and then met Rysha's eyes. "Will it be all right if I ask Jaxi to help us get the wreck in? With magic?"

"You're asking me?" Rysha didn't think her fifteen minutes of experience wielding a _chapaharii_ blade made her an expert.

"That's fifteen minutes more than I've had."

Rysha started to reply, but realized with a jolt that she hadn't made her comment about minutes aloud. She'd only _thought_ it.

Not everyone was paying attention, some gazes being drawn toward the dragon still, but Leftie and Duck gave Trip confused looks. It hadn't _exactly_ been a non-sequitur to those who hadn't known her thoughts, but it had been close.

Trip's eyes grew concerned, as if he knew he'd made a mistake. "I'll go down the beach a ways and give it a try," he said and hurried in that direction.

Rysha watched him. She'd put the pieces together earlier and wasn't surprised that he had dragon blood—she was fairly certain that Dorfindral's desire to slay him had only _partially_ been a result of Jaxi's presence—but she hadn't realized... Could he read _minds_? And if so, did he do it regularly? From what she'd read, the _Referatu_ had considered that a faux pas, unless permission was given.

Even though she liked Trip, and had even had a few thoughts that involved _more_ than liking, she didn't like the idea of him reading her mind. It was disconcerting, for one thing. And it was an invasion of her privacy. She would be right to feel disgruntled.

A strange soothing agreement flowed into her, along with the idea that he should be punished.

Rysha glared at Dorfindral, knowing the exact source of that thought. She'd told the sword to stand down, that they wouldn't battle Trip, but would it continue to try to influence her? To manipulate her? To pit her against him?

She shuddered, realizing these blades might be more sentient than the history books had led her to believe. They could be a tremendous help in battles against sorceresses and dragons, but at what cost? Would Dorfindral try to lead her to slay her own allies simply because they had dragon blood?

"There's Blazer," Duck said, waving to a flier landing farther down the beach. Blazer waved a long blade from the cockpit. "And it looks like she's got the pirate king's sword. So, we've got two?"

"Maybe three, eh?" Using her boot, Kaika nudged one of the boxes Rysha had retrieved, the one that was locked.

"We should definitely be able to destroy a dragon portal now, right?" Duck asked.

"Let's hope so," Kaika said. "I don't think the rest of the dragons in the world are going to be satisfied with claiming little pirate islands for their domains."

"No," Rysha said. "The silvers and the golds, the more powerful dragons, will want much, much more."

# Epilogue

For the second night in a row, Trip found himself fixing a flier by lantern light. Also, removing seaweed from it. Up in the cockpit, Leftie grumbled as he heaved a colony of kelp over the side.

"This is ridiculous," he said. "It wasn't in the water for _that_ long."

Trip fought back a yawn as he worked on the wiring to the propeller. He hadn't been there to witness it, but it appeared the sorceress's red lightning had fried it. Or maybe that was the soulblade's lightning? He eyed the weapon where it leaned against a log in their camp. They had moved the fliers to the field above the ocean—with the tide coming in, the beach had seemed a dubious place for repairs. Jaxi had floated Leftie's craft out of the water and over the cliff to the grass. The activity had left Leftie sputtering and cursing and complaining about witch magic contaminating his flier.

"Just be glad you walked—er, swam—away from that crash," Trip said. "And that nobody tried to lop your head off while hanging one-handedly from your back seat."

"I'm sorry I missed seeing that." Leftie grinned down at him. "I hear Blazer had to rescue you."

"Only because I shot that crazy pirate in the heart, and he _still_ didn't die."

"Because of the, uh, sword?" Leftie's smile faded, and he glanced nervously toward the other side of their small camp, where the boxes had been stacked, the dragon-slaying blades tucked into them for the moment. "It certainly made Lieutenant Ravenwood... scary."

Trip looked toward where Rysha, Kaika, Blazer, and Dreyak slept. He and Leftie, since they had to repair the flier anyway, were keeping Duck company on watch duty whenever he ambled past on his patrol.

He wanted to object to the idea of Rysha being scary, but he hadn't seen most of her battle with the sorceress, and the look she'd given him when he walked up had frozen his blood. Hatred, loathing, and murderous intent had raged in her eyes until she'd visibly fought the emotions down, scowling at the sword glowing in her hand.

Trip knew none of those emotions belonged to her—she hadn't even spoken of the dragon that had killed her grandmother with such vitriol in her eyes—and he'd wanted to tell her to toss that sword aside. Or at least throw it and the others in the back of one of the fliers, not his, only to be taken out to hew down the dragon portal. After that, some experienced soldiers back in Iskandia could wield the swords, experienced soldiers who didn't count sorcerers—or anyone with dragon blood—as friends.

But he couldn't do that. Rysha had proven she was capable of wielding the sword, vast combat experience or not, and it would be selfish of him to tell her to give it away if she wanted to keep it. And why wouldn't she? She had more reason than any of them to want to end the dragon threat to Iskandia, and she'd been the one to find that blade. More than that, it had clearly accepted her as a wielder. He'd caught enough of her battle to see how much power it gave her, at least when fighting dragon-blooded enemies.

He'd experienced something similar with Jaxi. Even if Jaxi had a mind of her own and was unlikely to do his bidding, just having access to that kind of power was titillating.

_Please don't use my name in the same sentence as words like titillating,_ Jaxi said. _And you're right about that bidding thing, so don't ask me to do silly things like clean your barracks room._

_Glad I've been warned. Any word on that soulblade?_ Trip trimmed the tips off the new wires he'd installed, glad there had been some in the repair kit.

_He's not talking to me. He's gone dormant._

_What does that mean, exactly?_ Trip asked.

_He's sulking._

_Ah, that's the official_ Referatu _definition, is it?_

_No, and I suppose I'm being callous. I would be devastated if I lost Sardelle. He's probably mourning the death of his handler and debating if he wants to slay us all in our sleep._

Trip dropped his wire cutters. _Is that likely?_

_I'd certainly consider it if I was being held by the people who'd slain my handler. But I'm keeping an eye on him. I don't need sleep. I am ever vigilant. And, unlike your Captain Duck, I don't let my guard down_ _when I see wild animals strolling past the camp._

_That's not happening now, is it?_

_He's watching a pair of coyotes frolic under the moonlight. Practically asking for an enemy sword to zap his balls off._

_I guess he's fortunate you're on duty._

_Eminently so._

_What would be the appropriate thing to do with the soulblade?_ Trip plucked the wire cutters out of the grass. _He's not loot we can just take back to Iskandia, right? I assume since he's a Cofah soulblade, he wouldn't work with our people or bond with one of our sorcerers needing a soulblade._ Did Iskandia even have such people? He had no idea. Sardelle was the only sorceress he knew, and he hadn't even known her a week ago.

_You're not a very worldly boy, are you?_

_No._

_A soulblade is most certainly not loot,_ Jaxi said. _And you wouldn't be able to take one anywhere against his or her wishes unless you were more powerful than he or she was, which is unlikely to be the case in this era. Though who knows with you? You're an odd unworldly boy._

_Great, thanks._

_I'm surprised Azarwrath let you pick him up without a fight. He was probably worried about being left on the beach with the tide coming in. Since you asked, the appropriate or honorable thing to do would be to return the soulblade to Cofahre, perhaps by giving it to your surly friend over there to carry home after the mission. I do hate the idea of giving them any extra tools to use against us. We've technically been at peace with them for the last three years, but they never can hold peaces for long. I'm sure some uppity general will want to invade us again before long._

Trip looked over at Dreyak, still wondering why the man was truly here. He hadn't said much since the battle, other than to observe that it was, "Good that the pirate threat has been vanquished."

Trip hadn't pointed out that they'd only vanquished one side of the island. Of course, with their pirate king and contraption-making sorceress gone, perhaps the rest of the pirates would be less well organized for a time.

_They will be most well organized as the minions of Telmandaroo,_ a voice thundered in Trip's head.

He dropped his wire cutters again, then recovered from his surprise and looked toward the sky. He'd sensed the dragon all along, but the last time Trip had checked, Telmandaroo had been by the remains of the fortress, licking his wounds and surveying his new domain. Now, the bronze sailed into view over the field.

Trip stepped away from the flier, wondering if he should yell for Rysha to wake up and grab that sword. Or yell for Duck to shift his focus to the sky because there was something else to watch frolicking now. Which was exactly what the dragon seemed to be doing. He wheeled and twisted in the sky, like a young pilot trying out a new flier.

Leftie, squeezing water from a sponge over the side of his craft, groaned and continued to work, unaware of the dragon sailing overhead. It amazed Trip that the others didn't seem to sense when the dragons were near. Their auras were so large and overwhelming that it seemed impossible that normal people missed them completely.

_Making plans for your new island?_ Trip asked, gazing up at the dragon and hoping Jaxi would think to amplify his words.

Or would the bronze dragon be monitoring him? Telmandaroo seemed to have come up here looking for his team specifically. Which was a little alarming. So far, all the dragons he'd met wanted to kill or enslave humans. And he supposed this one did, too, but Trip hoped that since they had struck that deal, the dragon would not see his team as potential "minions."

_Islands. There are many islands, and I shall claim them all for my dominion._

_And the pirates_ on _them?_

_Naturally!_ Telmandaroo landed in the field about twenty meters away, his great form making the fliers seem small in comparison. _You have not left with those vile swords._

Ah, that was what he'd come about.

_Not yet,_ Trip replied, walking toward the dragon, surprised nobody in camp had started yelling—or screaming—yet. _As soon as we get our fliers fixed, we will. Tomorrow morning, most likely._ He hoped he could get a little sleep before then, since it was a long flight to the Antarctic Circle and beyond.

_Yes, your flying contraptions are most odd. And fragile. Humans did not have such strange things the last time we were in this world. They are in the likeness of dragons, are they not? It is good that you have not forgotten us. Do you worship the old dragon gods?_

_I'm a bit of an agnostic myself,_ Trip said, mostly because it seemed safer than saying he worshiped other gods. _Real_ gods. It occurred to him that having a dragon speaking to him without threatening to eat him might be an opportunity to gain some intel. _Why did you leave our world long ago, Telmandaroo?_

_We were tricked through a portal! By our own kind! Can you believe it? Such treachery. We were able to survive in the world where we were sent, but the volcanos were tedious, always erupting, and the awful weather was not appealing for flying creatures, even ones of our great power and magnificence._

_Hard to believe._

_It is! We dreamed of coming back to the warm, prey-filled plains and jungles of this world. Eventually, the day came when a dragon scientist learned how to alter the portal, to change it from a one-way doorway to one that could return us to this world._ Telmandaroo spread his wings wide and turned his fanged snout toward the stars. _It is even better than I remembered. Smell that air? There is no sulfur in it. We are home._

Home? If all the dragons felt that way, that was disturbing. Trip had no training in how to hide his thoughts, and didn't even know if it could be done from dragons, but he did his best not to think of their mission and their plans for the portal.

The dragon's head swung back down, lowering to stare at him with yellow reptilian eyes. Trip eased backward, alarmed by the power emanating from them and afraid the creature _had_ plucked details of the mission from his mind.

_You may stay and become one of my minions if you wish,_ Telmandaroo said.

_What?_

_You were useful in the battle against my enemies, so you could even be a top-level minion. But the swords must go._

_Thank you for the generous offer, but I need to leave with the swords._

_With them? They cannot like you, can they? You have the blood of a gold in your veins._

A gold... dragon?

Trip stared at his unlikely informant, wanting to dismiss the words as impossible. But he already knew he had the ability to access some otherworldly powers. That meant there had to have been a dragon in his bloodline at some point in time. Was it possible Telmandaroo could actually sense what _kind_ of dragon? And did it ultimately matter? He was more curious about who his father was, or had been, rather than some distant—and extremely strange—ancestor.

_They do not like me,_ Trip agreed.

_I thought not. They are blades most foul._

_Indeed._

Leftie would have teased Trip for using a word like _indeed_ , but oddly, he was still tinkering in the cockpit. It seemed incredible that he hadn't noticed the dragon. Even if he hadn't sensed Telmandaroo, the dragon was close enough to see, silhouetted against the night sky.

But then Trip noticed something around the creature, and it seemed to be around him too. An invisible cloud that he could see only with his sixth sense. He couldn't tell from looking at it what the hazy cloud did, but he suspected it was some camouflage.

The dragon spread his wings. _I have a dominion to survey, but if you change your mind and stay, come find me. I will make you a very top-level minion. And find you a private hut to live in. And a mate!_

_That does make the offer more tempting._

_Yes!_

The dragon leaped into the air and soared off to survey his domain—his _dominion_.

Trip headed back to the flier, trusting that this particular dragon would not be a further threat that night.

_And you gathered intel from him,_ Jaxi said. _Very good._

_Did you sense him all along?_

_Of course. A dragon shroud doesn't veil a soulblade's eyes. I was being tactful and not butting in._

_I didn't know you could do that._

_When it so moves me._

_I'm just hoping he couldn't read my thoughts and doesn't now know about our mission,_ Trip said. _It sounded like he, and maybe all the dragons, like it here._

_Yes, that is alarming. If we could have foreseen their coming, we could have planted a volcano in front of their portal, thus to ensure they had no interest in coming through._

_Your tactfulness didn't include refraining from eavesdropping, I see._

_When a dragon speaks, it is smart to listen._

_You would make a good top-level minion._

Jaxi did the soulblade equivalent of sticking out her tongue and making a rude sputtering noise into his mind.

* * *

• • • • •

* * *

Rysha rolled awake with a gasp, a nightmare fresh in her mind. She'd been stalking Trip through a dark forest, Dorfindral glowing in her hand. Then she'd spotted him, springing for his back and raising the blade for a killing blow.

"You all right, Ravenwood?" Kaika asked softly.

It was close to dawn, and in the gray light, Rysha could make out her blurry form on a nearby log. She patted around to find her spectacles and put them on. The hulking shapes of the fliers grew discernible in the field behind Kaika. Trip and Leftie must have finished their repairs during the night. The two lumps wrapped in blankets under the fliers presumably belonged to them.

Rysha removed her spectacles to rub her face with a shaking hand, glad Trip was far away from her. What if the sword had tried to make that nightmare a reality while she _slept_? She'd heard of people walking around and doing things in their sleep, even without being under the influence of a magical sword.

"You look like the woman who wakes up after a night of drinking with an unpalatable man in bed," Kaika added.

They appeared to be the only ones awake thus far.

Feeling the need for wisdom, or maybe a hug, Rysha donned her spectacles again, shucked her dew-moistened blanket, and shambled over to join Kaika on the log. Were lieutenants allowed to ask superior officers for hugs? She didn't know if she could lift her arm to offer one of her own, since all her muscles ached this morning, but she felt like a child again, in need of comfort.

"I had a nightmare," Rysha said quietly, and pointed to the stack of ornate wooden sword boxes. She had carefully stored Dorfindral inside the one with its name on it the night before, securing the latch, foolishly thinking that would be all it took to separate herself from it. "I think the sword can influence me even from its case."

"Yeah," Kaika said.

It wasn't the word Rysha wanted to hear.

"I know Colonel Therrik was even more of an ass than usual to our dragon-blooded allies when he was sleeping with Kasandral's box under his bed. I heard he tried to kill Sardelle once, and he also beat up Tolemek. And when Captain Ahn was carrying it... Well, this was a special circumstance, and she was caught by surprise, but it made her try to kill Sardelle, and a friend got in the way."

"And was killed?" Rysha asked bleakly.

"Yes."

"But she's still carrying the sword?" Rysha thought of Captain Ahn standing on the bluff overlooking the city, standing guard with Kasandral on her back.

"Not often. She reluctantly does it because she's familiar with it, and because she knows the control words now, but Therrik carries it most of the time. He hates magic and witches, as he calls them, so his views line up nicely with those of the sword. And it was in his family for countless generations, so he believes he's the rightful wielder. He's _proud_ to be its wielder. A few years back, he killed a powerful enemy sorceress that was trying to assassinate King Angulus, and he never lets anyone forget it."

"But it—the sword—hates friends as much as foes? Does Sardelle just avoid him?"

"For the most part, though Therrik has learned to control it over the years, and he can be in the room with her without attacking her." Kaika tilted her head. "I'm sure you'll learn the same with this one. Since you found it, I guess that makes you the rightful wielder, at least for the rest of this mission."

"Technically, it belongs to a noble family back in Iskandia," Rysha said, though she'd originally been thinking exactly what Kaika had said. When she'd located the sword, she'd figured she could use it. She could be the one to battle dragons and destroy the portal. She could be the type of hero—heroine—she'd imagined herself as a girl, someone journalists wrote about in newspapers and songwriters featured in ballads.

But her stomach twisted at the idea of ongoing nightmares about killing Trip, not to mention the waking urges she'd had to attack him. Even when the sword wasn't encouraging that, she sensed its hatred bleeding into her, making her want to hate him. To hate him when she'd started to have feelings for him.

"You're more experienced, ma'am," Rysha said. "I was thinking it might be better if you wielded it."

"You want to foist the nightmares off on me?" Kaika asked dryly.

"No. I mean..." Rysha rubbed her face again. Was she being cowardly? Passing up her chance for heroism because of her feelings for Trip? Should she even be _having_ feelings for Trip? When he was... she didn't know exactly _what_ he was. "I'm not sure I could live with myself if I accidentally killed a friend."

Kaika looked toward the slumbering pilots. "Trip won't have Sardelle's soulblade with him forever. After that, the sword should be indifferent to him."

"Uhm." Rysha bit her tongue on the words that almost tumbled out, that she was positive the sword objected to him, not Jaxi. Or not _just_ Jaxi. But if Trip hadn't told anyone he had magical powers, it wasn't her secret to share.

"We've got two more swords, so I may end up wielding one, regardless," Kaika said. "And Leftie or Duck too. Not Dreyak. He looks to have some dragon blood in him." Her lips thinned with disapproval.

Another reason Rysha shouldn't spill Trip's secret. Hatred and fear of magic seemed built in to the Iskandian psyche. Just because those in the capital were a little more tolerant, in large part because Sardelle had helped defend the city from invaders numerous times, didn't mean the average subject considered magic a good thing. Even Kaika, who had to be as familiar with it as anyone in the country by now, was showing a bit of her distaste. She might have nothing against Sardelle as a person, but less well-known people with magic were... suspect.

"Maybe Blazer," Kaika added. "She likely has more unarmed combat experience than Duck or Leftie. We'll see who wants it."

"I don't think distributing the weapons would be a good idea, ma'am." Rysha imagined all three of them ganging up on Trip, waving menacing swords at him and driving him away. Or worse. "Unless we're really desperate."

"Well, that could be the case soon. We struggled to beat some pirates and a sorceress. There could be all manner of dragons loitering near that portal."

"I know my experience has been brief, but it's been vivid. And scary. I think we should only have one sword out and that you should wield it. You know the words to control it, and you've had experience with the other one."

Kaika pursed her lips. "I'm willing to take it—I've almost been stuck with Kasandral a handful of times—but, Lieutenant—Rysha... are you sure you want to give up an extremely powerful tool because of a boy?" She didn't look toward Trip, didn't need to, and it bothered Rysha that she saw so clearly what Rysha had only recently been growing aware of. "A boy you haven't even slept with? Have you even _kissed_ him?"

Rysha blushed, shaking her head slightly.

"Have you kissed _any_ boys?"

"Of course I have, Captain. And I don't think the regulations permit you to ask me about my personal life."

Kaika's concerned expression turned into a smirk. "Have you kissed more than one?"

" _Three_. I'm not a child. And I've had sex too." Admittedly, Rysha _felt_ like a child for blurting that out as she crossed her arms over her chest and glared at Kaika.

Her smirk wasn't going anywhere. "More than once?"

" _Captain_."

"Just wondering which package we should sign you up for at the Sensual Sage. You know, for stress relief."

Rysha dropped her head to her knees. To think, she'd come over here to have a serious conversation.

At least the silly conversation was driving the vestiges of her nightmare from her mind. It helped that it was getting lighter out too. Soon, everyone would be awake, and they would head off to complete their mission. And Dreyak would likely be flying behind Trip instead of her, the two dragon-blooded souls together. Would Trip find him a better conversationalist than she had? Or would they simply fly in silence?

That thought saddened her. Trip struck her as someone who could use more friends, more people to talk to. Especially since Leftie might distance himself from him if he learned about Trip's blood. Or worse, if Leftie had to wield one of the _chapaharii_ swords.

Seven gods, she would fight that. Better Duck or Blazer than Leftie. Given the way Leftie felt about magic, he probably wouldn't even try to sublimate the sword's urges. He would just drive it through the chest of the nearest dragon-blooded soul, friend or foe.

Kaika draped an arm around her shoulders. "Rysha, I know you don't want to hurt Trip, and I promise I'll do my damnedest to help you control that sword, if you choose to wield it, but I need you to consider that with your scholarly expertise on these weapons, it probably makes the most sense for you to have one. If we need to pull out one of the others, I'll take it, and I'm sure Blazer would grab the third, but at least for the duration of this mission, I need you to put logic ahead of feelings."

Rysha didn't raise her face from her knees. This wasn't the hug she had envisioned. Nor did she appreciate that the first time Kaika had ever spoken to her without sarcasm or without making jokes was about this.

"Once the mission is over, and we're back in the capital, it's very likely we can find someone else appropriate to wield the sword." Kaika patted her shoulder and withdrew her arm. "I won't make this an order. It's your decision."

She just expected Rysha to make the _right_ decision. Great.

Rysha lifted her head and gazed toward Trip again. It wasn't so much about her burgeoning feelings. It was that she didn't want to hurt him, emotionally or physically. He didn't deserve that from her. But she feared the sword would make her do both.

Then she looked at Kaika, the woman whose career she'd held up as a model to be emulated, the woman _she'd_ wanted to emulate. Her expression was difficult to read in the predawn light. For now. What would it look like if Rysha said she couldn't do it?

"Would you be... disappointed?" Rysha whispered, gazing toward Trip again.

"My only disappointment is that you're in your twenties and you've apparently only had sex with one person. You're shyer than I realized."

" _Captain_." Rysha shoved her.

Kaika grinned but soon sobered and lifted her eyebrows, waiting for a decision.

Rysha folded her hands in her lap and stared down at them. "I'll do it. For the duration of the mission."

"Good." Kaika patted her on the shoulder. "I was worried I'd have to give it to Leftie."

Rysha snorted, though her fear of exactly that scenario was very real.

"I think you're strong enough to control it," Kaika said, "and brainy enough to outsmart it."

"My professors would be disappointed if I couldn't outsmart a hunk of metal."

"All the more reason for you to succeed at handling it with aplomb."

"Just promise me one thing, ma'am?"

"That wielders of dragon-slaying swords don't have to make breakfast for the team?"

Rysha hesitated. That hadn't been her question, but it was a task she wouldn't mind escaping. "No, that you won't really drag me off to that sex place you keep mentioning."

"The Sensual Sage? That's a _reward_ , not a punishment."

"I don't think so, ma'am."

Kaika shook her head. "Young lieutenants these days are utterly perplexing."

"Yes, ma'am."

* * *

THE END

* * *

The adventure continues in Book 2: _Revelations_. You can order your copy now.
