But Zirkander was involved in a conversation with a silver-haired man Trip recognized as Phelistoth in shape-shifted form. He didn’t notice Trip’s glance. The words “coffee maker” came up, and Zirkander frowned at the dragon.
“No,” Rysha said. “I’m trying to figure out a solution for my problem with Dorfindral, which is also your problem with Dorfindral.”
“The problem where he wants me dead?” Trip asked.
“Yes, and has been allowed to—ordered to—use me to try to make that happen. Despite me using the command words.” Rysha winced and faced Sardelle again. “Ma’am, I’ve heard from you and Captain Kaika that the chapaharii swords have turned against their wielders before.”
“Multiple times, yes.”
The baby cooed and waved a hand. Rysha smiled briefly and wriggled her fingers back, but she was clearly too distracted to admire a newborn. “When it happened to me with Trip, I was saying the control words, but so was a Cofah sorceress on the other side of the chamber.”
Sardelle nodded without surprise.
“The times you witnessed it, was it something similar? And did the words of the new speaker override the words the wielder used?”
“The first time it happened,” Sardelle said, “we’d just acquired Kasandral, and nobody knew about the words. The queen spoke them, and the sword took over Cas—its wielder at the time—and used her to attack me. After that, we were able to find an old book with the command words in it. Cas memorized them, and they worked to quell the blade in normal situations, but the dragon we soon battled knew them somehow. He might have plucked them out of her mind, or he might have learned them long ago in his lifetime. He uttered them, and even though Cas kept saying the words, the sword chose to listen to the dragon.”
“Good.”
Sardelle arched her eyebrows. “Good?”
“I have a hypothesis, and your experiences support it.”
“That the swords take any opportunity to do as they wish?”
“No. I mean, that’s possible, but my hypothesis is that those with dragon blood have more power to control the chapaharii weapons than we do—than I do—even though they cannot themselves touch them.”
Trip remembered the battle in the ice chamber and Kiadarsa shouting those nonsensical words. Was it possible that if he’d known them, he could have spoken the “stand down” command, and the sword would have obeyed? If so, he needn’t have traded all those blows with Rysha and broken her spectacles to finally get her to stop.
The baby squirmed, and Sardelle shifted him to her other arm. “I don’t believe that makes sense since the weapons were specifically made to destroy those with dragon blood. Why would they be more likely to accept orders from their enemies?”
“Not their enemies,” Rysha said. “Their allies. During the Rider Wars, the magical battled the magical, dragons against dragons and sorcerers against sorcerers, right?”
“So history tells us.”
“The chapaharii weapons were made for battling enemy magic-users, but as you’ve seen, they were a threat to friendly magic-users. Those who forged them and imbued them with their power would have known this. They may have made the command words, not just for the wielders themselves, but for their dragon-blooded allies.”
“But if their enemies knew them—”
“Most likely, they didn’t intend for their enemies to ever know them. Originally, they were made in Iskandia, and that’s why the command words are in Old Iskandian, right? Eventually, the Cofah stole some of the weapons and also, if the texts I’ve read are accurate, the knowledge of how to make them. After a while, the words probably weren’t a secret, but originally, they may have been designed to be spoken by people with power. Think about it. The sorcerers wouldn’t have wanted their allies who were wielding the weapons to be able to turn on them. This could have been a failsafe, giving more weight to words uttered by someone with dragon blood.”
“Hm, you’re persuading me of the possibility. I suppose the thing to do would be to set up an experiment.” Sardelle looked at Trip, and he wondered if he should have sneaked over to join the coffee-maker conversation. Tylie had come out and was standing beside Phelistoth now. But, no. If Trip could help Rysha, he had to do so. Especially if Dorfindral was truly the only thing keeping them from a date.
“What can I do?” he asked.
“I didn’t expect to find you here, but this is fortuitous.” Rysha pulled a folded piece of paper out of a mud-spattered pocket. “Can you memorize these? I’ll see you tomorrow for the mission, and I’ll have Dorfindral. We can see if you’re able to override me. I’ll tell the sword to stand down, and you tell it to attack. Or vice versa.”
“What if it doesn’t work, and you end up attacking me, and we can’t stop it?”
“I’ll bring all my extra pairs of spectacles with me on the mission, just in case.” Rysha smiled, but the gesture didn’t reach her eyes.
“You could simply try it with the commands for stand down and stand ready,” Sardelle said.
“Yes, good. We’ll try that.” Rysha’s smile warmed.
Trip liked that smile, and his stomach flipped in nervous anticipation as it turned fully onto him, but he also worried this experiment might not be as easy as they made it sound. The last thing he wanted was for Rysha to end up attacking him again, and him having to break her spectacles—or worse—to stop her.
Further, there was the possibility that a day would come when he couldn’t stop her. Last time, he’d had both Azarwrath and Jaxi to aid in his defense, but Jaxi was back with Sardelle now. And from what he’d heard, Rysha and the other new blade wielders were training under Colonel Therrik, improving their skills with the weapons.
“Captain Trip,” a shy voice came from the side. Tylie walked over and smiled tentatively. “If you make another gift for Sardelle, we could use a new coffee maker. Phelistoth tried to make coffee by himself this morning.”
“It didn’t go well?”
The silver-haired man strode back into the kitchen, an arrogant and defiant tilt to his chin.
“Phel is a scholar, not an engineer,” Tylie said. “He hasn’t mastered appliances.”
Zirkander shook his head, his expression one of exasperation as he looked at Trip. “I can’t believe one of the most powerful beings in the world, one capable of razing enemy airships, controlling the minds of armies, and eating a cheese wheel whole can’t work a coffee maker.”
“Human contraptions sometimes mystify dragons,” Sardelle said mildly.
“I feel like we should be able to use that to our advantage somehow,” Zirkander said. “By hurling legions of coffee makers at Cofah-sympathizing dragons.”
“They would just incinerate them,” Trip said.
“Apparently, that’s what happened to my coffee maker. When someone got cranky and frustrated.” Zirkander scowled at the kitchen, then pointed at the front door. “Let me steal you from the ladies for a minute, Trip. It’s about your new assignment.”
“Yes, sir.”
Trip trotted around the couch to join him on the front stoop, though his mind was already contemplating the various coffee makers he’d seen and what might be done to enhance one. He would have to keep the design simple, thus not to thwart dragon users, but surely, he could add a few useful features.
“You’ll leave after first formation,” Zirkander said without preamble. “It took me a while to finagle permission to send fliers—and those swords—on an adventure that will presumably take you out of the country, but the king has personally approved it now. Your team will meet you in the hangar, and you can tell them where you’re heading first.”
“Am I in command, sir?” The notion daunted Trip, even if the mission had been his idea, and the entire purpose was to find the dragon who had sired him.
“You’re in subcommand.”
“What does that mean?”
“That if three people are sleeping or otherwise unavailable, then you’re in command.”
r /> Trip snorted.
“But you’ll be directing people where to go. You have some ideas of where to start?”
“I thought I’d see if my grandparents know any more than what they told me as a kid, sir. At the least, they should know the continent my mother was exploring before she came back pregnant.”
Trip’s mind boggled at the idea of his mother having slept with some strange dragon in a far-off place. He remembered her as a strong, adventurous woman, but also a soft-spoken and kindly potion maker. What had possessed her to seek out a gold dragon? Could it have been an accident? Or could the dragon have… coerced her? Thinking of that made him shudder, but he couldn’t dismiss the notion, not when he’d sensed dragon power firsthand, and there were many stories of dragons controlling people. Forcing them to act against their wishes. He prayed that Agarrenon Shivar would have a noble streak and wouldn’t have done any such thing.
“Let’s hope that with Lieutenant Ravenwood’s researching acumen, you’ll be able to narrow it down further than a continent,” Zirkander said. “We’d like to see you back sometime this year.”
“Is there a deadline, sir? A date you expect us back?” Trip couldn’t imagine the king wanted those swords out of the country for long.
Zirkander nodded. “You’ve got a month.”
“Yes, sir.”
“If you hear of any trouble going on back here in Iskandia earlier than that, we’d appreciate it if you come back sooner to help.”
From the grim set to Zirkander’s face, Trip worried he had a reason to expect there would be trouble.
“Have there already been dragon attacks?” he asked.
“Several in Cofahre, and we’ve had reports of sightings in Iskandia. A few of our officers have suggested that some of the dragons are working together and that these look like scouting missions. Humans have spread out across the world since the dragons first left. Now that they’ve returned, the dragons may have noticed that there aren’t many areas left for them to claim. Unless they conquer an existing nation or nations.”
Trip nodded, not surprised at the intelligence reports coming in. Few of the dragons he’d met seemed interested in simply blending in and living in peace with humans. Even Iskandia’s greatest ally and the most amenable dragon he’d met, Bhrava Saruth, had insisted on a temple and wanted people to worship him as a god.
“I’ll try to find Agarrenon Shivar and get back as quickly as possible, sir. With him.”
That was, after all, why he’d come up with this mission to start with. He hoped to secure his sire’s assistance as an ally to Iskandia. Since Agarrenon Shivar had, according to multiple sources, been respected among the dragons at one point in time, Trip hoped that would still be true, that his sire might be able to convince other dragons to leave Iskandia alone. Trip just had to convince Agarrenon Shivar that he wanted to help.
Zirkander gripped his shoulder. “Good luck.”
3
As the flier squadron soared over the Ice Blades, cold wind whipped at Rysha’s face, making her wish she’d brought a scarf. They were part of the uniform for the pilots, as much so they could wipe engine grease spatters off their goggles as for warmth, but their passengers were left to their own devices. Since it was late spring back home, and there’d been no mention of arctic visits, Rysha hadn’t thought to pack winter gear, but they were flying even higher than the fifteen-thousand-foot peaks, and the frigid air knifed through her jacket.
Another flier swooped past overhead, startling her. It spun in a languid roll while it sashayed back and forth in the sky. The pilot—was that Trip?—spiraled downward in a dive, then pulled up after his craft nearly kissed a glacier smothering the side of one of the mountains.
Rysha hadn’t considered it before, but now realized Trip’s dragon heritage might contribute to his love of flying.
“What are you doing, Sidetrip?” Major Blazer asked from the cockpit in front of Rysha, the words just audible over the wind and the cigar clamped between her teeth.
“Enjoying myself, ma’am,” came Trip’s voice over Blazer’s communication crystal. He guided his flier into a few more spirals as he swooped up to rejoin the formation.
“This is the army. We don’t allow soldiers to enjoy themselves in public.”
“That’s a rule?” Trip didn’t sound that abashed. Maybe because he was used to Blazer’s grouchy streak by now.
Rysha had been surprised when everybody from the portal mission had shown up at the hangar, having been assigned to accompany Trip on this new mission. Zirkander must have thought Agarrenon Shivar would make trouble and that Trip would need numerous allies to convince the dragon to join them. Even so, Rysha had expected a smaller team. She’d also expected Lieutenant Leftie to be excluded, since he’d been glaring daggers at Trip and his dragonness ever since they left the Antarctic. Had Zirkander not known about that? Or had he known but hoped Leftie would get over his problem if he and Trip went on a mission together? Since both men had been transferred into Wolf Squadron, Zirkander wouldn’t want any strife between them.
“Absolutely,” Blazer said.
“Aw, Major,” Duck drawled over the crystal. “Sometimes, a pilot just gets an urge and has to satisfy it. You know that.”
“No satisfying urges in public, either,” Blazer said. “You can do that in your room alone at night.”
“That’s disgusting, ma’am.”
“I certainly think so.”
“I thought Captain Kaika was the only one who made immature sex jokes,” Leftie spoke from his flier’s cockpit. Kaika lounged behind him while polishing her chapaharii sword, Eryndral. Alas, since Leftie had no dragon blood, the sword wouldn’t convince her to crack him over the head. “Though she seems old for it.”
“That’s Major Kaika now,” Blazer said. “Didn’t you see her shiny new pins?”
“Finally,” Kaika said. “I was beginning to think I’d die a captain. Who knew that blowing up enemy warships and airships wasn’t worth a promotion? That you had to scrag a dragon portal?”
“You didn’t see that in the army handbook?” Blazer asked. “Should have read the fine print.”
“Ha ha. And to answer Little Leftie’s question, you can make immature sex jokes at any age. I fully intend to be a lewd octogenarian, teaching younglings how to blow things up from my rocking chair.”
“Did you call me Little, ma’am?” Leftie asked. “I assure you, I’m anything but.”
“Just on the one side?”
Leftie groaned and glared over at Trip, the one who’d originally shared the story of how Leftie had received his nickname. Rysha thought he might engage Trip in some banter, as he would have done a few weeks ago, but he looked back toward the route ahead without commenting. Trip gazed toward him for a long moment, but didn’t say anything, merely turning his own focus back to the route ahead, the last of the mountains before they flew down toward the grassy foothills at the base of the Ice Blades.
Though Trip was too far away from Rysha for her to make out his expression, especially when he wore his goggles and scarf, she felt certain she would have read hurt in his eyes if they’d been closer. It made her want to hug him as soon as they landed.
Dorfindral, his scabbard stuck between the seat and the side of the seat well, oozed discontent into her mind. An image of chasing after Trip with the bared blade popped into her thoughts.
Rysha growled and muttered, “meyusha,” the term for “stand down.” She refused to let the sword influence how she felt about Trip or anyone else. She looked forward to trying her experiment, seeing if Trip could control the blade now that she’d given him the command words. Then she could hug him without worrying about repercussions.
She was surprised he hadn’t seemed more excited at the prospect. That morning, she had arrived at the hangar early, hoping they might perform the experiment before everyone loaded up. But he’d arrived later and had granted her only a brief smile before engaging in a conversation with Blazer and Zi
rkander. It had almost seemed as if he was avoiding Rysha.
“There’s the ocean,” Duck said brightly as they flew out of the Ice Blades. “My ocean. Provalia is just to the south of Charkolt Province, my home. I grew up in the woods down there. It’s real rural out there still. I was mostly raised by wolves.”
“That explains a lot,” Leftie said.
“Like my cunning wilderness wiles?”
“Not exactly.”
“We have company,” Trip said, after having been relatively quiet for most of the flight over, presuming he hadn’t been chatting with his seat mate.
The surly Cofah warrior Dreyak rode in his flier once again, something that had perplexed Rysha. Supposedly, he’d been along on their last mission to assist them in destroying the portal. But that was done, so why was he with them again? Supposedly, he was only getting a ride as far as Charkolt, but that didn’t make sense to her, either. What could be in Eastern Iskandia that would interest a Cofah?
Blazer had asked that exact thing, and Zirkander had only shrugged and said, “The king said he could go with you if he wants. Apparently, you charmed him, Blazer, and he couldn’t stay away.”
To which she’d responded, “I’m about as known for charming men as you are, General.”
“Please tell me it’s not hostile company,” Blazer said in response to Trip’s comment.
“It’s Bhrava Saruth and Shulina Arya,” Trip said.
“Shit, I’d rather have hostile company.”
“I like Bhrava Saruth,” Duck said. “And the new female seems friendly too. They’re like hounds ready to join their people for a hunt.”
“I suggest you don’t call the dragons hounds when they’re close enough to hear it,” Blazer said.
“Actually, dragons can’t hear,” Rysha said, leaning forward so everyone would hear her over Blazer’s crystal. “At least, not in the way humans do. They feel vibrations, both in the ground and in the air, and it’s believed their physical senses are augmented with magic.”