Revelations

  He sighed, not wanting to be odd. Just wanting to fly. And to take her for a walk along the harbor at sunset. He gave her a sad smile.

  She recovered, masking the concern he’d caught in her eyes, and smiled back.

  “We’ll assume that what you saw is accurate,” Angulus said, not commenting on Trip’s ability to interact with the dragon compound. Neither he, Sardelle, nor Zirkander appeared surprised by it, so Trip was positive reports had preceded him.

  When one discovers a direct descendant of a dragon, one must tell everybody one knows, Jaxi said.

  I understand. Trip frowned. Er, how many people do you know?

  He imagined word getting across the continent to his grandparents before he’d had a chance to tell them personally.

  Not that many that I can speak with—not everybody appreciates having the delightful personality of a sentient sword in their minds.

  Huh, that’s odd.

  Extremely so.

  “I must attempt to get the so-called friendly dragons, the ones that may be willing to work with Iskandians, to come to a meeting.” Angulus turned toward Sardelle. “Can you ask Bhrava Saruth to humbly request that they come to the castle soon?”

  “I can ask Bhrava Saruth,” Sardelle said, “though I haven’t observed that he understands what humbleness is or is overly loved by his fellow dragons.”

  “Do they not bow to his godliness?” Kaika smirked.

  “It’s possible another among them is more of a leader. I’ll do my best to find out, Sire.”

  “There were about twelve of them?” Angulus looked at Trip again.

  “Yes, Sire.”

  “Four of them went out to attack the Cofah airships without being asked,” Blazer said. “It’s possible they may be eager to work with Iskandians.”

  “What were the other ones doing?”

  “Watching Bhrava Saruth sniff Trip like a hound, Sire.”

  Trip resisted the urge to drop his face into his hand. Barely.

  “I’m sure that was riveting,” Zirkander said.

  “A dozen dragons,” Angulus said, not quirking a smile at the humor, “seems so few in comparison to the hundreds that were mentioned, but it is more than we have now. I will do my best to secure a commitment of assistance from them.”

  “I’m certain that not all of those hundreds of dragons are aligned with the Cofah, Sire. The future is daunting—” Sardelle rested a hand on her stomach, “—but I do think it’s unlikely we’ll be swarmed. And we may have a little time to shore up our defenses since Yisharnesh is dead. It may be a while before another Cofah-loyal leader will arise among the dragons. Also, Tolemek has requested that I bribe Bhrava Saruth for samples of his blood so he can use it to make more weapons that are capable of harming dragons, as he did the last time we had vials of dragon blood.”

  “What bribes work on dragons, ma’am?” Rysha asked. “When they have the power to get whatever they want?”

  Sardelle smiled faintly. “Fern, Ridge’s mother, is helping me perfect a mango tart recipe.”

  “Apparently, they’re best when they’re still warm out of the oven,” Zirkander said.

  “We did also manage to bring back a few vials of blood from a dead dragon,” Blazer said. “I’m not sure if they were properly prepared, or how that’s done exactly, but it’s only been a few days since we acquired it. Maybe it’s still viable and Tolemek can make use of it, no bribes required.”

  “Good, get them to him immediately.” Angulus gazed out the window and toward the harbor for several long seconds before turning back to the room. “Keep me apprised on everything dragon-related. I’ll do my best to shore up our defenses, as Sardelle suggested, but we definitely need weapons that can strike at our enemies. There may be more missions to retrieve chapaharii swords, if they can be located.” He nodded at Rysha, as if to suggest she would be responsible for that. “I’ll let our military leaders decide whether the ones we have should be reallocated or not. Thank you all for retrieving them and disabling the portal.”

  Trip joined the others in nodding and murmuring, “You’re welcome, Sire.”

  Angulus and his guards left the office, and Trip was relieved he hadn’t been singled out for anything else, though he was surprised nobody had asked about his father. He had been wondering about how to find him all the way back, and if he could possibly be the answer to their problems.

  Zirkander dismissed the team, and they headed for the door. Trip started after them, but the general spoke again.

  “Trip?” Zirkander waved him back into the room. Maybe Trip’s heritage would be brought up, after all. “You forgetting something?”

  “Sir?”

  “I know soulblades are trendy, but you really don’t need two.” He extended a hand toward Sardelle.

  “Oh,” Trip blurted, feeling like an idiot as he unbuckled the scabbard. He would have remembered before leaving the citadel, he was sure.

  If not, I would have reminded you, Jaxi said.

  I’m sure of that.

  “Sorry, ma’am,” Trip said, handing the scabbard to Sardelle. “She was useful on the trip.”

  “Because of her sage advice or because she lit a lot of enemies on fire?”

  Zirkander grinned. “Do you truly need to ask that question?”

  “No,” Sardelle said. “I was curious how diplomatic our young captain is.”

  “Pilots aren’t generally known for their diplomacy,” Zirkander said.

  “Some pilots aren’t.” She gazed blandly at him.

  “And yet they get promoted anyway. Exceedingly odd.” Zirkander waved, as if to leave Trip to Sardelle, and plopped down in his desk chair, opening a folder.

  Trip looked back and forth between them, not sure what he was supposed to do. He hadn’t been dismissed.

  Sardelle smiled at him and gestured at his remaining scabbard. “Azarwrath, is it?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Jaxi and Wreltad are the only soulblades I’m aware of left in Iskandia that haven’t gone dormant. Technically, Wreltad isn’t even an Iskandian blade. It’s a good thing he likes playing cards with Ridge and our house guests.”

  She smiled at Zirkander while Trip tried to decipher what the comment meant. He’d briefly been introduced to Wreltad on the flight back and knew Tylie to be the soulblade’s handler. He didn’t think a soulblade could be linked to two people or to a mundane—

  They’re just friends, genius. Don’t hurt your brain thinking so hard. It seemed Jaxi, despite being back in Sardelle’s hands, would continue to share advice with him.

  It would be unfair of me to leave you bereft of my wisdom.

  “I haven’t heard of that many soulblades left in Cofahre, either,” Sardelle said. “I would appreciate it if you would come by the house for dinner, Trip, so we can all chat.”

  “We? Uhm, you and… the swords?”

  “You’re welcome to speak too,” she said dryly.

  “At your house?” Trip didn’t know what he found more intimidating, the idea of going to the house of a sorceress he barely knew or the idea of going to General Zirkander’s house. For dinner. “Er.”

  “Life tip, Trip,” Zirkander said, not looking up from the file he perused. “If a woman shows interest in your sword, you should always chat with her.”

  Sardelle’s eyebrows rose. “Really, Ridge. It should depend on the woman.”

  “Oh? Are you sure?”

  “Quite.”

  “Huh.”

  Sardelle shook her head and met Trip’s gaze again. “We’d love to have you, too, of course. Soulblades, regardless.”

  We? She and General Zirkander? Trip couldn’t imagine that the general truly wanted young pilots traipsing around his house.

  “I imagine you have questions and perhaps an interest in receiving training.” Sardelle spread a hand. “I admit I’d be intimidated at the prospect, but I can offer instruction in the basics. Jaxi informs me that you’re quite a novice currently.”

/>   “Yes, ma’am. I’m—I don’t know what I am.” He hadn’t meant that to come out quite so bleak and helpless.

  “One of Ridge’s pilots, I gather.” She nodded toward the wolf head pin on his flight jacket. “With the potential to do more than thwack enemies with machine guns.”

  “Not that there’s anything wrong with machine guns,” Zirkander said, proving he was listening, however distracted by his paperwork he appeared.

  “Certainly not. Though they are noisy.”

  “So is the fwump of Jaxi lighting someone’s flier on fire.”

  “Will tomorrow evening work, Trip?” Sardelle asked. “I understand the squadron is finally getting a day off, presuming no enemy dragons appear on the horizon. I hear that even overworked generals have been promised a day off.”

  “We’ll see about that.” Zirkander flipped a page and scribbled something with a pen.

  “Bring Lieutenant Ravenwood, if you wish. We usually have a few house guests around, so there are plenty of people to talk to, especially now that our allies have returned.”

  “Did you say plenty of people to talk to?” Zirkander asked.

  Sardelle smiled serenely.

  “Tomorrow is fine, ma’am,” Trip said. “Thank you.”

  “Come early if you want,” Zirkander said, looking up from his folder. “We’ll have a beer. You may need one.”

  “Ridge, are you suggesting that he’ll find our discussion onerous?” Sardelle attempted a stern look, but the way her lips quirked didn’t make it convincing.

  “No, I’m suggesting he’ll find our house guests onerous. I don’t know whether to feel flattered or alarmed that we were their first stop. And that there are more of them now.”

  “Ah, yes. I had better perfect that tart recipe soon.”

  Trip didn’t know exactly what they were talking about, but he caught himself smiling for the first time since he’d waved his hand and opened the gate in that dragon compound. He still felt intimidated by the idea of dinner at their house, and talk of training his talents, but General Zirkander had invited him to have a beer. He knew it was silly, especially now that he was a grown man, but that delighted him. He well remembered his daydreams of finding out Zirkander was his father and having him invite him to have a drink. The father dream was more of an impossibility now than ever, but Trip would happily share a beer with him.

  Epilogue

  Trip walked down a dead-end street toward the address General Zirkander had given him, the writing bordering on illegible. Was this the right way? He’d been strolling through well-populated suburban areas since leaving the city walls, but this last turn was taking him down a dirt road with a far more rural feel. On either side, tall trees stretched up toward the blue sky, and sunlight glinted on a large pond at the end of the street.

  When he located the right address, it was the last house before the pond, with nothing except tall grass and blackberry bushes on the lot across the street. The home itself was two stories and unpretentious, with a grassy lawn in front and more trees in the back. Trip turned up a tidy walkway toward the front door.

  He wished Rysha were with him, but she’d gone home for her grandmother’s funeral. He’d thought about offering to go with her for support, but couldn’t imagine her parents wanting to see him with their daughter—or at all. Besides, things hadn’t been as comfortable between them since the sword fight. That saddened him, but he didn’t know how to change it.

  A squeal of young giggles drifted through an open window.

  Trip lifted a hand to knock on the door, but it opened before he touched it. Nobody was standing there.

  “General Ridge’s guest is here,” came the familiar voice of a young woman. Tylie?

  Trip hadn’t seen her since she had flown away with Phelistoth and the other dragons.

  Come in, Trip, Sardelle spoke into his mind from wherever she was in the house. We’re going to take over babysitting duties, so you and Ridge can have your beer in peace. Relative peace.

  Trip had gotten used to people—well, swords—speaking into his mind, but hearing Sardelle’s voice that way surprised him. He wasn’t sure why.

  As he stepped inside, more giggles came from the other side of an eccentric couch that looked to be made from flier parts. Parts from crashed fliers. Bullet holes riddled the sides of it.

  Even though it wasn’t his preferred aesthetic, Trip walked forward, curious despite himself. He was distracted from a more thorough examination by Zirkander—the general lay on his back with his legs in his air and a brown-haired toddler in a polka-dotted dress resting on his socked feet, her little hands in his larger ones. He tilted his legs from side to side and front and back, eliciting whoops and giggles.

  Zirkander winked when he noticed Trip. “It’s important to instill the love of flying in them when they’re young.”

  “Yes, sir.” It was all he could manage to say, feeling flummoxed by seeing the legendary general on the floor playing with his kid.

  A golden ferret ran out from what Trip guessed was the kitchen. Powdered sugar dusted its tail, and the toddler giggled at the sight of it.

  On first glance, Trip didn’t think anything of the creature. It wasn’t until his sixth sense kicked in that he realized that was no ferret. It was—

  Yes, it is I. Bhrava Saruth, the god!

  Zirkander rolled to a sitting position, shielding his little daughter as the ferret launched itself onto his shoulder. He grimaced as claws dug into his clothing, and possibly his skin. The ferret—was that truly Bhrava Saruth?—leaned his head in to rub Zirkander’s jaw. Zirkander reached up and patted the furry creature while Trip stared.

  If seeing his general playing with his daughter had flummoxed him, seeing a dragon in ferret form acting like a house pet truly floored him.

  House pet? Certainly not. A dragon god must assume a pleasing form so as not to alarm his worshippers. The ferret lowered his head so the toddler, who was giggling once again, could give him some clumsy pats.

  Yes, she missed you, Bhrava Saruth, Zirkander thought.

  Trip stirred, startled he had heard the silent words. As far as he knew, the general couldn’t speak telepathically. Trip supposed he’d opened up his mind to hear the dragon’s words and was catching surface thoughts from Zirkander. That was alarming. He didn’t want to read his commanding officer’s mind.

  Did you not also miss me, Ridgewalker? You were my first true worshipper when I awoke in this era.

  I know. Zirkander’s expression grew wry. And yes, the house was entirely too restful without you and Phelistoth traipsing through periodically. My cheese wheel got moldy without any dragons here to consume large quantities.

  Going solely by Zirkander’s expression, Trip would have assumed the response sarcastic, but he got the sense that the general truly had missed the dragons being around.

  Cheese? I do not understand why that snooty silver dragon likes that loathsome stuff. It is not at all sweet or appealing. Not like pastries. The ferret sprang from his shoulder to land on the back of the couch. Did you know that my high priestess has acquired a recipe for mango tarts? This is most fabulous news. I cannot wait to sample the results.

  Yes, my mom has been instructing Sardelle on the finer points of baking. When she hasn’t been busy with her students. Uh, speaking of students… Zirkander shifted his gaze toward Trip.

  Trip might have shied away from the attention switching to him, especially when the ferret rose on his hind legs to peer at him, but the fact that he’d met Bhrava Saruth already eased his nerves somewhat. It wasn’t as if the dragon didn’t know exactly what he was.

  Greetings, Telryn Yert, Bhrava Saruth spoke into his mind. It is good to see you have returned to Iskandia. Have you seen my temple? It is most magnificent. Have you decided to renounce all lesser gods and accept me as the pinnacle of divinity? Should you choose to worship me, I will bless you and be available to guide you as you learn to use your powers.

  Trip hadn’t noticed b
efore that Bhrava Saruth had deep green eyes, disturbingly similar to his own, especially now that he wasn’t in dragon form. Oh, ferret eyes weren’t all that close to human ones, either, but they didn’t have slitted irises like a snake’s.

  “I think he just came for dinner,” Zirkander said, and Trip realized Bhrava Saruth must have also been sharing the telepathic words with him. Or everyone in the room. Trip glanced at the girl, who couldn’t have been more than two, and wondered if she also received telepathic communications. “If you promise to bring him sweets and you rub his belly,” Zirkander added, “he’ll probably bless and guide you regardless of your religious affiliation.”

  Yes, belly rubs are most excellent. The ferret dropped down onto the back of the cushion, rolling over to expose his stomach.

  When Trip hesitated, Zirkander gave that stomach a significant look. Bhrava Saruth, his small ferret paws crooked into the air, also gave it a significant look.

  Trip stepped forward and stroked the slinky creature. A contented ahhhh sounded in his mind, reminding him of a purring cat.

  The kitchen door swung open, and Tylie walked out, barefoot, trailed by a boy and a girl of eleven or twelve.

  “There he is.” Tylie pointed at Trip. “He’s the one I told you about. He rescued us from our imprisonment.”

  Trip started to protest—all he’d done was press his palm to a wall—but the boy blurted, “Are you really a half dragon? That’s cracking!”

  “Where’s your father?” the girl asked. “Do you know him? Is he big and scary? Or is he…” She looked at Bhrava Saruth, who was still making contented sounds as Trip stroked his belly.

  “I’ve never met him,” Trip said. “I’m not sure if he’s even alive.”

  “He must be alive if he’s a dragon,” the girl said. “Dragons live for eons.”

  “Can you shape-shift like Bhrava Saruth?” the boy asked. “Can we see?”

  “I don’t know how or if that’s possible.” Trip’s mind boggled at the idea of turning into a ferret. Or an anything.

  “Trip, that is Ferrin,” Zirkander said, waving to the boy, “and Ylisa. You’ve met Tylie. They’re all Sardelle’s students. Kids, that’s Captain Trip, one of my pilots. I don’t think he’s decided yet if he’s going to be a sorcerer.”