Dragon Storm (Heritage of Power Book 1)

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.