Dragon Storm (Heritage of Power Book 1)

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.