Rysha well remembered unlocking the cage she’d found him trapped inside. “But how will you make magic-based power sources if the banded iron will be integrated into the weapons platform? Wouldn’t they simply go out? The way your flier crystals did when we approached the quarry?”
“I’ve been thinking about that. Magic and the tainted iron were used together in creating the chapaharii blades, and I got a chance to study yours closely that night we altered the command words. I believe I can design the power sources to be immune to the influence of the iron. And I’ll only be using a small amount of it. It won’t be as deleterious to magic and magic users as that quarry itself was.”
“This is an ambitious project, Trip.”
“I know. And like I said, I’ll need some help, but I think I can handle creating the majority of the weapons platform.” Trip waved at the sketches. “And hopefully General Zirkander can put together a team to go collect some of the ore. As for the weapons themselves, I believe if we use the tainted iron for the casings of rockets that contain Dr. Targoson’s acid, the weapons will pierce the dragons’ magical barriers, allowing them to get through to break open on their scales.”
“And they wouldn’t be able to easily destroy the rockets because of the ore,” Rysha said. “Much like our chapaharii swords.”
“Yes.”
The scale of the project daunted Rysha. Could it truly be made in anything less than years?
“The weapons I’m proposing could also be fired from the ground by a smart, sexy artillery officer—” Trip squeezed her shoulders, “—but by creating a mobile launch platform, they could be easily moved all over the country. I believe that with Dr. Targoson’s help, I could also figure out how to instill commands in the dragon blood—apparently, the Cofah were doing that three years ago before they lost their source of it—that would cause the weapons to seek out and follow dragons, so the big creatures couldn’t simply outmaneuver them. I’ll refine my plans more. I have a lot of ideas. I’m positive I can make this work. And when it’s successful, we can build more than one weapons platform and station the others around the country. If the dragons keep encountering them, they might realize it would be easier on them to simply leave Iskandia alone.”
“I’m positive you can make it work too.” Rysha smiled and patted him on the chest. She was less positive he could make it work in less than five years, but she was glad to see him using his passion for creating things for this. It made perfect sense to her. “May I ask what prompted you to start thinking of doing more than flying and shooting things and becoming a hero that way? Those were your words as I recall. I don’t disapprove, mind you. I’m just curious.”
He gazed down at the floor, then over at the cribs.
“Part of it was the attack last night and how bad I felt for not being there to help. I realized that I’m not immortal and I won’t always be here for Iskandia and my relatives and descendants—should there one day be descendants.” Trip smiled briefly at her. “Even when I am here, I’m only one man, and not nearly as powerful as an actual dragon, so the magic I can do at any one given time isn’t the answer. Not to mention that I’ll likely be fighting prejudices and outdated concepts all my life.” He winced.
He must have heard about Lockvale’s accusations.
“But if I create something that anyone can use, and that can protect a city—maybe even the whole country—without me having to be in the area… that seems like something I must do. Yes, it’s taken me a long time to realize this. It’s hard to give up those boyhood dreams. I still envy Zirkander his reputation and the adoration he gets from the newspaper journalists. And yes, I know that’s immature and un-evolved.” He smiled again. “It was actually a conversation last night with Shulina Arya’s parents about my birth mother that changed something for me. One of them remembers her, you see. They thought she might have chosen to sleep with my sire of her own free will, not because she cared about him but because she wanted a half-dragon baby who would grow up to change the world. If there’s any truth to that, it’s daunting, I’ll admit, to think someone conceived you thinking you’d be this great being, but it’s also… I feel this expectation now. I don’t want to fail. I know she’s been gone for three thousand years, but I’d hate to disappoint her.”
Rysha left her hand on Trip’s chest as she listened to him. She thought it sounded awful, to choose a father—a sire—not out of love but to create more desirable offspring, but it did strike her as better than the likely alternative, that his mother had been forced against her wishes. Remembering that bronze dragon pawing over her in Lagresh still made her shudder.
“You couldn’t disappoint anyone if you tried, Trip,” she said.
“Lord Lockvale seems less than pleased with me.”
“Only because you haven’t made him a coffee maker.”
Trip paused. “Do you think that would work?”
“Maybe you should keep gifts for the home in your cockpit. You could have tried wooing him with one on the highway. Though I wouldn’t want you to make friends with the man who’s been plotting against my family.”
“I can assist people with their coffee woes without befriending them.”
Rysha grinned, and was thinking of kissing him, but Trip stiffened and turned toward the wall. His eyes grew distant, and she knew he was investigating more than the paint.
“The military police are coming.” He sighed, let go of her, and started stacking papers so he could roll them up. “I need to get out of here.”
“Get out? Are you officially going AWOL?”
“I can’t build this from a military prison.”
“You can’t build some huge half-mile-long flying weapons platform while you’re out hiding in the woods, either. Trip, that’s a job for fifty people. Plus, you need the banded iron ore from that quarry, right?”
“The woods aren’t the place I have in mind. Have you seen Bhrava Saruth’s temple? I was thinking of asking him for sanctuary there. There’s a huge flat area out back. If I agree to worship him or rub his belly or make him tarts, I bet he would let me stay. Maybe he could even be convinced to help. Even better, only his human followers go out there, and there aren’t many of them. No dragons would be caught there, so we could build the platform and spring it on our enemies before they knew anything about it.”
“Make tarts? Trip, I’ve never even seen you make your own breakfast. Everything you eat comes out of the mess hall or a ration box.”
“Yes, much to Azarwrath’s lament.” Trip rolled up his drawing-filled papers and grabbed the pen and pencils he’d been using. He reached for the pink ruler, but left it, perhaps afraid to borrow such a precious belonging without permission. “If I can’t make tarts myself, I’ll make a machine to make them. How hard can be it be?”
“Trip…”
He glanced at the door, then headed for the window and pushed it open. One of the babies woke up and gurgled a protest. Or maybe that was an incipient cry.
“Trip, wait.” Rysha lunged after him and caught his arm.
“I can’t stay, Rysha. They’re almost to the front door.”
“I don’t care. Listen to reason for a minute. That being me, since I’m the only other one here over six months old.”
She feared he would pull his arm away, dart out the window, and disappear into the woods, but he paused and looked at her.
“If you run and hide—if you go AWOL—you’re only going to make things worse. Much worse. People will think you’re guilty, that you have something to hide.”
“General Zirkander told me to come out here.”
“He told you to go AWOL?”
“No, he said to spend the night here and that we’d go see the king together in the morning. But then he never came home. And the military police did.”
“Trip, don’t make this way worse than it is. Just wait for the general. If you insist on being difficult, nobody can arrest you against your wishes, but that won’t help your cause. If you le
t them take you, it would only be temporary. I’m sure Zirkander can find you right away. And if he forgets—which he won’t—I will find you. Trip, I have a dragon, and I’m not afraid to use her.”
He snorted, but he smiled too. Rysha found that encouraging.
“I’m positive that Shulina Arya would require no more than six tarts to be coaxed into perpetrating a prison break.”
“I can imagine her riding in on her scooter with a key ring in hand.”
“It could happen. And just in case you don’t think my dragon and I will be enough to save you, remember that you do have a few powers of your own. I haven’t heard anything about the prison in the fort being lined with iron from that quarry. You could turn the cell bars into a coffee maker if you get bored of waiting.”
“This is true.”
A pounding knock sounded at the front door.
Rysha watched Trip’s eyes, still afraid he might panic and bolt. “I bet if you take your drawings along, you could work on them there.”
“But will there be a ruler?”
“Sardelle’s daughter would probably permit you to borrow hers for a few days.”
“I’d feel bad if it was confiscated.” Trip sighed and closed the window. “You say you’re the voice of reason?”
“When compared to two babies and a dragonling man with a maniacal plan.”
“Hm. All right. I shall attempt to be reasonable. While on my way to prison. And I am taking that ruler.” Trip strode across the room to the changing table to pluck it up.
Rysha wagered he would ask Sardelle if he could borrow it on the way out.
Another gurgle came from a crib, and Trip paused to look in. “If I never see you again, Zherie, I want you to know that your brother thinks you have the potential to be a wonderful and brilliant person.” He waved the pink ruler which elicited some giggles, then stepped toward the other crib. Rysha wasn’t sure if Sardelle’s newborn was awake yet. “If I never see you again, Olek, I want you to know that your mother’s student thinks you have the potential to be a wonderful and brilliant person.”
He saluted the baby with the ruler, then headed for the door.
“You think they’ll remember that?” Rysha asked.
“Nah, but it makes me feel better about using their room all night and scribbling loudly in the dark.”
“In the dark?” She followed him into the hall and toward the stairs.
“I didn’t want to bother them by having lanterns lit.”
Stern male voices drifted up from below, and Rysha didn’t reply. Nervous energy coursed through her as she wondered if she’d done the right thing. She wanted to believe that a better result would come of Trip staying and dealing with this than running away—even if he only wanted to run away to build a weapon to protect the city from dragons—but she couldn’t see the future and know for sure.
“There he is,” a man said as Trip stepped off the stairs and into the living room.
Rysha glimpsed one of two uniformed men trying to stride through the door and into the house. But he bumped into an invisible barrier and stumbled back.
“Ma’am, we have orders to arrest Captain Telryn Yert. It’s unlawful of you to stop us.”
Sardelle stood inside the door, her shoulder to the wall and her arms folded across her chest as she looked at the men. “I’m not stopping you. But Captain Trip has several scaled friends who are here. It could be any one of them.”
Trip paused with his hand on the back of the couch. The two shape-shifted bronze dragons wandered into the living room with coffee mugs and a plate of pastries in hand. Phelistoth followed them, also carrying a steaming mug, and he gazed blandly toward the front door.
Rysha leaned toward the window, wondering if Shulina Arya was still napping out there, but she only saw four more military police soldiers in the yard. Had they thought they would need the whole platoon to arrest Trip?
Then Shulina Arya hopped up onto the back of the couch next to Trip—as a golden ferret. For once, Rysha wished she’d stayed in her dragon form. She couldn’t imagine anyone striding up to the front door to make an arrest—or do anything else—with a dragon in the yard.
The two soldiers at the door frowned at each other, frowned inside, and frowned even more darkly at Trip.
“Captain,” the speaker said—he also held the rank of captain. “I insist that you come with us. We’ve been looking for you all night. First formation came and went, and you weren’t at work. You’re officially AWOL.”
“That’s not true,” Rysha said. “General Zirkander told him to come here and wait for him. He’s following orders.”
“We have orders from the commandant.” The MP captain held up a sheet of paper. “Judicial matters supersede all others. A civilian nobleman has made a serious charge against him. He is to be arrested and held until his case can be heard.”
Shulina Arya hopped onto Rysha’s shoulder, startling her. What is happening, Storyteller? Is your mate to be punished?
No, Rysha thought firmly, hoping she was right.
“Ridge will be home later today,” Sardelle said. “I suggest you have a seat and wait for him. My houseguest isn’t leaving until he’s had a chance to talk to his battalion commander.”
The soldiers looked at each other again, even the captain appearing uneasy. Rysha guessed that they would prefer to arrest Trip and get out of there before Zirkander arrived. The general was hardly known for being a tyrant, but he did have a big reputation to swing around.
“Later today, ma’am? We have orders to detain Captain Yert now.”
“You’ll find it difficult to get into the house, and unless he walks outside of his own accord, I don’t see how you’ll detain him.”
“Captain Yert,” the MP officer tried, addressing him to his face this time. “Won’t you cooperate and come along? I’d hate to have to write down that you resisted arrest. It’s going to look bad enough that you were difficult to find.”
“Is that human attempting to take one of our own against his wishes?” Wyleenesh asked, a half-eaten dragon claw pastry in hand.
Trip’s eyebrows lifted at the “one of our own” comment, and he looked heartened.
I can get rid of these interlopers, Storyteller. Simply let me know if it is acceptable to incinerate them.
No, they’re on our side, Rysha replied. Technically.
“I’ll come,” Trip said. “I don’t want to cause any more trouble. It wasn’t my intent to cause any at all.”
Sardelle shook her head. “Trip, a Cofah invasion is trouble. This is merely an interruption to breakfast. And not even that for everyone.” She extended a hand toward the noshing dragons.
Trip smiled. “General Zirkander will know where to find me when he learns of this.” He nodded to her. “Thank you for your hospitality, ma’am.”
Rysha followed after him, intending to ride back with them until they reached the intersection that forked off and up to the castle. At that point, she would head up there and stand outside the king’s door until she was granted an audience.
“You can stay if you want to,” Sardelle told Trip quietly as he approached the door.
“I can get out if I need to,” he said, equally quietly. “A nice cell will give me time to finish my drawings.”
“I don’t think the fort is known for nice cells.”
Trip shrugged and walked out.
Even though Rysha had argued for him to cooperate, she flexed her hands in distress as she watched the big men turn him around and handcuff his wrists behind his back. She was the only reason Trip was in this situation. If not for her, he never would have crossed paths with Lockvale.
“I hardly think that’s necessary,” Sardelle said, then lowered her voice, “or going to be effective if he wants to escape.”
Trip smiled sadly back at her, and then at Rysha, holding her gaze longer.
“Ow,” one of the men yelped, yanking his hand back.
“What’d he do?” another asked,
reaching for his pistol.
“It was the sword. It’s baking hot. You can’t touch it.”
“Witch sword,” one of the men in the yard whispered, making superstitious gestures.
“Remove it and hand it to us, Captain,” the MP captain said.
“If a soulblade doesn’t want you to hold it, you won’t be able to hold it,” Trip said.
“Well, you can’t keep a weapon. It’s against official arrest procedure.”
“Even I can’t make Azarwrath do anything against his will.”
“Az-what?”
“The sword.”
“Take it off and leave it here then.”
Trip slumped at the order, his chin drooping to his chest. Would he comply?
Storyteller, are you sure these men don’t need to be incinerated? They are having unpleasant thoughts toward your mate.
I know. And no. They’re in the same army as we are.
Perhaps this army should be pruned of substandard soldiers.
By incineration?
Indeed!
After a long minute—and perhaps a conversation with Azarwrath—Trip magically unbuckled the scabbard and floated it to Sardelle. She accepted it gravely.
“How come she can touch it?” the soldier with the burned hand grumbled.
“Because she’s Zirkander’s witch,” a man in the back muttered.
Sardelle’s eyes tightened at the corners, but that was her only acknowledgment of the comment.
The MPs led Trip to a steam wagon, the back half designed to hold prisoners. Rysha curled her fingers into fists as he was put inside with a couple of soldiers to guard him, as if he were a criminal. The vehicle trundled away, belching black smoke from its stack, and rolled up the street until it disappeared from view.
Sardelle laid a hand on Rysha’s shoulder. “Ridge will get him out as soon as he’s able. Jaxi already told him what happened. He’s swamped in the aftermath of the battle—he didn’t get any sleep last night—but he promised he’ll collect Trip as soon as the work day is over.”