Tolemek raced into the lab, jumping over the floor-cleaning automaton that idled away in the hallway, the device unaware of the dragons battling over the city’s harbor. As far as human workers went, the front desk wasn’t staffed, and he didn’t spot any open doors.
“Good thing I didn’t bring the emperor here,” he muttered.
Captain Kaika seems capable of guarding a human, Phelistoth said, trotting behind him.
Tolemek had been surprised when the dragon shifted into human form to follow him into the lab. He’d expected Phelistoth to wait for him on the roof. Maybe he thought the other dragons would be less likely to notice him if he was in this innocuous form.
I am growing weary of having my talons cut off by golds, Phelistoth grumbled. Why are there no bronze dragons left in the world?
As Tolemek opened the door to his lab, he decided not to point out that more than Phelistoth’s talons had been cut in the numerous scrapes he had been in, first with Morishtomaric and then with the female.
It is an expression. Phelistoth strode in behind him. Where is—
He halted, staring at several large tables that had been pushed together in the center of the lab, taking up so much space that it was hard to maneuver around them. A dragon skull rested atop them, the scales, muscle, and brain material having been dissected and removed for preservation before Tolemek left.
“I requested that Morishtomaric’s remains be brought in for me to study,” Tolemek explained hastily, aware of the incredulous and somewhat threatening look that Phelistoth leveled at him. He had forgotten that the skull was still in his lab.
Study? For what purpose?
“To better learn the anatomy and biochemistry of dragons so we can defend ourselves against them in the future. Against hostile ones, only.” Tolemek kept himself from asking if Phelistoth was about to become a hostile dragon.
Phelistoth curled his lip at the skull, then turned his back on it. Where is this weapon that will affect dragons? I will gladly change back in order to hurl it at Yisharnesh.
Tolemek skirted the table to reach a locked cabinet. He turned the dial to the combination, opened the door, and withdrew a ceramic jar surrounded with padding. “I had time to make more than I needed for the last confrontation, but I haven’t had time to craft a delivery system.”
Without a gunsmith nearby, he couldn’t make bullets again. He looked down at the jar dubiously, imagining that the battle would not go well if he simply ran up and threw it at a dragon.
It will go well if I throw it, I assure you.
“Er, I suppose that could work.” Tolemek could still imagine the jar missing or bouncing off the dragon’s shields and falling uselessly into the ocean. This was all he had of the compound. He looked toward his cabinet of empty jars and vials. Perhaps if he split it into several containers, they would have more chances to—
There is no time. Yisharnesh is not enjoying Bhrava Saruth’s dance moves, and her mate comes.
“Her mate?” Tolemek gaped toward the window, but it looked out over the city instead of toward the castle.
The other gold dragon that escaped from the cavern. It appears Yisharnesh has forgotten about the emperor and is focusing on Bhrava Saruth. She is irritated at him because he dropped a glacier on her head back in the mountains. When your irritation rises, sensible thoughts sometimes fall out of your head.
“Yes, I’ve noticed that happens with dragons.” Tolemek held out the jar.
Keep it until we are poised to throw. The mate may leave if we convince Yisharnesh to leave. He is aloof and has no interest in humans, emperors or otherwise. I will instruct Bhrava Saruth to put all of his energy into lowering Yisharnesh’s defenses, and then I will hurl the jar at her. Phelistoth ran back into the hallway, heading for the stairs leading to the rooftop.
Tolemek ran after him, asking, “Will that work?”
If Bhrava Saruth is strong enough. And if he’ll follow my orders.
Tolemek tried to reassure himself that both of those things could happen.
• • • • •
Ridge didn’t let go of Sardelle until they escaped the maze of toppled walls and flattened hallways that was all that remained of the castle. As soon as they stepped into the rubble-littered courtyard, he spotted four soldiers running toward a collapsed tower from the direction of the landing pad, where two Wolf Squadron fliers must have just settled down. General Ort led the group, alternately yelling for the king and glancing toward the sky. Three gold dragons wheeled and fought above the harbor, while a dozen fliers swooped about, like gnats in comparison to the mighty creatures. The fight was taking place at an uncomfortably low altitude. With two of the courtyard walls flattened, Ridge could see them easily, as they battled near the docks. One of the golds blew a stream of flames from its maw. The fire missed its target—that must be the dragon Sardelle had been riding—and bathed ships docked in the harbor. They burst into flame instantly.
Ridge spun toward Sardelle. “Bullets?”
She was already jogging toward the spot where Bhrava Saruth had dropped them off. “I’ll get them and meet you at the fliers.”
Ridge sprinted for the half-collapsed tower where Ort gesticulated wildly as he spoke to Angulus. Angulus barely seemed to be listening. He was digging frantically, trying to clear the doorway of the tower. Kaika must be trapped down there. Therrik and several guards were helping, but the men kept glancing toward the battle in the sky. As much as Ridge cared about Kaika, the entire city was at risk from those dragons.
“Sire,” he blurted as he drew close. “General Ort. I need one of those fliers.”
Ort’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead when he saw Ridge, and for a moment, he looked like he might hug him, but he broke off the gesture and shook his head instead. “Those fliers are to get the king out of the city. Our people have been in the air for the last ten minutes, and all that’s happening is they’re getting knocked down. They can’t hurt the dragons at all.” His gaze drifted downward as he spoke, locking on the soulblade in Ridge’s hand.
Wreltad hadn’t stopped glowing. He wanted a battle, not to flee, and Ridge felt the same way.
“We have some bullets that can get through,” Ridge said, pointing at Sardelle, who was waving a pack as she ran toward the landing pad. That was all the permission Ridge needed. “We’ll leave you one of the fliers,” he shouted, chopped the air with a salute, and ran to join her.
“Zirkander!” Ort yelled after him.
A cacophonous crash came from the direction of the harbor, and Ridge didn’t hear anything else the general said. He wouldn’t have slowed down regardless.
Sardelle waited next to the flier and tossed him the band of ammunition before he even slowed down. There wasn’t much of it. He leaped up, pulling himself head first into the cockpit, not bothering to yank the rest of his body in before feeding the ammo into the guns. He stuck Wreltad down beside the seat, hoping the sword could truly help them. It would have to be with magic, because it wasn’t as if Ridge could swing a blade while piloting.
“Zirkander,” someone yelled, the voice obscured by the fact that his head was dangling into the cockpit.
Ridge didn’t stop what he was doing. Nobody was going to deny him this chance to... to... he didn’t know exactly. Protect the city. Make amends. Stop feeling like a feeble-minded ass who didn’t deserve to live. “Yeah, say it like it is, Ridge,” he muttered to himself as he pulled the rest of his body into the cockpit.
Sardelle already sat in the back seat, strapped into the harness, Jaxi in her hand.
“You say you want to come along?” He grinned at her, the anticipation of battle thrumming through his veins, pushing aside his dark thoughts.
“You’re not fighting a dragon again without me.”
“I was hoping you would say that.” He hit the switch, and the power crystal flared to life.
“Zirkander, stop, damn you.” Therrik raced up to the side of the flier, Kasandral clenched in his hand.
“Damn you, sir,” Ridge said, hitting the ignition for the thrusters. “At least until Angulus decides to revoke my rank.”
Therrik pointed at Sardelle, or maybe at the back seat. “Take me up with you. I can hurt those bastards.”
Ridge hesitated. He did have Kasandral. But no, Ridge wasn’t going after another dragon without Sardelle at his back.
“Good. Get Ort to bring you.” Ridge shooed Therrik away from the thrusters as he piloted the flier off the landing pad.
Ort was busy arguing with Angulus, trying to pull him toward the empty flier so the king could escape, not join in a battle. By now, Ort ought to know that Angulus wasn’t someone to flee in the face of trouble. Or if he did, it was only until he could drop a bomb on that trouble. Kaika was a good influence on him.
Therrik cursed colorfully and lividly as the flier rose, then shouted, “Here, you idiot!”
He threw Kasandral at the cockpit. Ridge yelped, thinking it an attack, but Therrik was throwing the weapon to him, not at him. He managed to catch it without cutting off any of his fingers. The selfless gesture surprised Ridge, though a livid scowl accompanied it. Therrik might still cut off Ridge’s fingers once he landed again.
Wreltad throbbed blue. We do not need that inferior weapon.
“Nope, I didn’t think so,” Ridge said, jamming Kasandral between the seat and the hull on the opposite side of the soulblade. “We’ll just use him to tighten any screws that might fly loose in battle. You’re sitting on top of my toolbox.”
Wreltad made a noise that might have been a snort. At the least, he didn’t sound quite so indignant.
Which sword are you talking to? Sardelle asked, sounding amused.
Wreltad. Kasandral hasn’t seen fit to talk to me yet. Ridge took them out of the courtyard, heading out to sea and picking up altitude before flying toward the dragons.
Sardelle rested her hand on his shoulder. Gods, it felt good to have her back there again. With all that had happened, it felt like it had been months since they had been in the sky together, not weeks. He squeezed her hand before turning them toward the battle.
Two large gold dragons were chasing a slightly smaller gold dragon around the harbor.
That’s Bhrava Saruth. Sardelle’s hand tightened on his shoulder before she seemed to realize what she was doing and released him.
The smaller dragon did not appear any faster than the others. He whipped between buildings in the city, curled around spires, and dove behind clock towers, dodging flames and magic hurled at him left and right. Ridge grimaced as more than one building crumbled under the assault. Several fliers were in the air, half of the squadron circling over the castle in a guard position, while the other half chased the dragons, shooting when they could.
I’m surprised the dragons aren’t attacking the castle and trying to get the emperor instead, Ridge thought, trusting that Sardelle was monitoring him.
Bhrava Saruth is deliberately drawing them away, but he wasn’t expecting two. He’s gotten in a few bites, but he’s already injured. He can’t beat them. All he can do is buy time.
That’s the dragon that picked me up by the scruff of my neck, right?
Yes, I hope you won’t hold that against him. I want to help him. Sardelle paused, then added, He thinks I’m his high priestess.
Uhm, are you?
I’m not really qualified for that position.
That was not, Ridge noted, a no. He was flying through the city now, rounding a clock tower and doing his best to catch up with the rearmost dragon, so he couldn’t properly gawk back at Sardelle. Your week sounds like it was more interesting than mine.
Two fliers dropped to his altitude, taking up positions off his wings. “General Zirkander, is that you?” Lieutenant Beeline asked over the communication crystal. Then, much more loudly, he shouted, “General Zirkander’s alive!”
“Good to see you Beeline, Crash.” Ridge nodded at the second pilot. A hearty cheer went up, a dozen voices talking and blurting greetings at once. He was closing in on the rearmost dragon and wanted to get some information, but he had to quash his impatience, reminding himself that they had all believed him dead. Later, he would take delight in the display of caring and enthusiasm, but now, as soon as he could, he asked, “Does anybody else have any of Tolemek’s bullets?”
“No, sir. Our bullets bounce right off those shiny yellow hides.”
“All right.” Ridge tapped Kasandral’s pommel, wishing he could hand off the blade to one of the other fliers. He had the bullets, and he had Sardelle. It would be better to spread around weapons that could actually harm the dragons, but none of the other pilots had passengers with them, passengers who could be pressed into sword-fighting duty. “I hate to say this, but I’m the only one here with a weapon that can hurt the dragons. The rest of you are just putting yourselves at risk. You better go to the castle and see if you can help while we—”
Blue light leaped from the top of Wreltad’s pommel, arced around the propeller, and zapped the rear dragon in the backside. The creature screeched and wheeled about instantly. Blazing yellow eyes fixed on Ridge, and the dragon opened his maw.
“Get yourself killed by an angry dragon, sir?” Crash asked.
Ridge was too busy choosing a target to respond. Every instinct told him to steer clear of the stream of fire that had to be coming, but he had a perfect view of dragon tonsils and a big pink dragon throat. Surely, the creature would be vulnerable if he could fire a few of Tolemek’s special bullets down its gullet.
Into valiant battle we go, Wreltad cried into Ridge’s mind, sending more lightning around the propeller and at the dragon.
Valiant battle? Jaxi asked. Is he joking, or does he really talk like that?
Shields? Ridge asked, the question for Sardelle, Jaxi, Wreltad, or even Kasandral. Not waiting for an answer, he drove straight toward the dragon, even as it flew straight toward him. Smoke came out of its nostrils, and the maw stretched wide, flames boiling up from the back of its throat.
You have to stop firing before we raise a shield, or the bullets will bounce back at us, Sardelle said into his mind, fear making the words tumble out quickly. If you’re touching Kasandral, you might be safe from fire, but I doubt the flier will be.
Ridge thumbed the trigger, loosing five precise shots. He didn’t want to risk more than that—he doubted he had more than thirty bullets to spare. More lightning streaked from Wreltad, striking the dragon in the mouth, bouncing between its massive fangs, and curling down its throat. Ridge knew his bullets landed, but the lightning may very well have done more damage.
“Done,” he announced, pulling up so the fire would strike the belly of his craft instead of roiling into the cockpit, though hoped Sardelle could shield them, so nothing was struck.
For a few seconds, nothing but orange existed in the world. The dragon had turned its head, tracking them. Flames crackled all around the flier. Ridge did not feel the heat, but he saw the air wavering as the inferno parted around them, around the bubble someone was shielding them with.
“Thank you,” he said calmly, not sure whether he had Sardelle or one of the swords to thank, but grateful to have so much help. When compared to the last time he had been up here facing a dragon...
He shook his head, not wanting to think about it. Instead, he took them around, trying to get behind the dragon, so they would be safe from fire. He knew that deflecting such power took a toll on Sardelle.
The creature rolled, spinning a somersault in the air to deny Ridge the angle of attack he wanted. It roared, the noise deep and angry as it battered at his eardrums. Was this the male or the female? Ridge couldn’t tell. Only one was fighting him. The other was still chasing Bhrava Saruth. That roar devolved into a sputter—a cough? Was it wounded? Maybe the bullets or lightning had damaged it.
Ridge dove toward that exposed throat, hoping the dragon couldn’t hurl flames when it was coughing. He fired four more shots. This time, they bounced off before coming anywhere close to the creature’s head. He broke off the engagement, veering to the side. After being grabbed out of his cockpit by Sardelle’s dragon, he was careful not to go anywhere near those talons—or those teeth.
He’s realized you can hurt him, Sardelle thought. His defenses are up fully now.
Wreltad sent more branches of lightning at the dragon, but they forked around an invisible barrier, Sardelle’s words proving true.
Another flier swept down, firing at the dragon. Two more followed it, unloading bullets.
Ridge snorted. His people followed orders every bit as well as he did. There would be a talk later, but for now, he wrapped his hand around Kasandral’s hilt as he guided his craft after the dragon with his other hand.
“We’re taking that shield down,” he announced to whomever was listening.
Yes, Wreltad agreed. I’ll be ready.
Ridge hefted Kasandral, as Cas had once done. He would only get one shot, but a dragon was a large target. They were over the harbor now. If he had to, he would go diving for Kasandral later, once the dragons were dead.
The dragon wasn’t flying straight, more like a drunken bumblebee. Dare he hope they had hurt it enough to take it out of the fight?
One of the Wolf Squadron fliers cut toward the side of the creature, shooting at its neck. Ridge shook his head as the bullets bounced uselessly off. The dragon must have noticed the attack, because the tail lashed out. It caught the wing of the flier as the pilot veered away. Even the glancing blow had the strength to send the craft tumbling. Worse, the dragon’s head whipped around, and he sent a stream of fire after the flier.
Ridge clenched his jaw, worried for the pilot—was that Lieutenant Pigpen?—and frustrated with his team for not staying back, as he’d ordered. Even if he knew he would respond in exactly the same way, there was no point in risking death when one couldn’t do anything.
“I’m going in,” he said. “Everyone else, stay back.”
Ridge bore down, picking his angle so he could come down from above. The dragon’s tail lashed out like a whip, trying to knock his propeller off. Keeping his touch light, he avoided it, almost dancing with it, a dip here, a loop here. Finally, he was flying above the dragon’s back, the harbor a blur of blue below them.
“I’m throwing the sword, Sardelle,” he said, not wanting her shield to get in the way, though Kasandral could probably cut through it, the same as he had done to Morishtomaric’s defenses.
Excellent, Wreltad said at the same time as Jaxi made a cheering noise in Ridge’s head.
“Sorry, Kasandral,” Ridge said. “Don’t think anyone likes you.” He hurled the sword like a spear, aiming at the dragon’s broad back.
“Is the general talking to a sword?” someone asked over the crystal.
“Three of them,” Ridge muttered. He wanted to watch the blade’s descent, to see if it cut through the dragon’s shield and worked, but he dove as soon as he threw it, hoping he could recover it if he missed or if it bounced off. He didn’t truly want to go swimming for that sword later.
A flash of light came when Kasandral cut through the dragon’s shield, followed by a surge of power rolling off the dragon. Ridge’s flier’s wings wobbled slightly, but Sardelle was shielding them again. The sword reached the dragon’s golden scales and sank in. Wreltad sent more lightning streaking toward the creature, the bright blue branches biting into its hide now that its defenses were gone. A fireball the size of a house launched from behind Ridge, and he felt the heat of the sun on the back of his neck before it sped away. Jaxi’s enthusiastic work.
The dragon screamed and bucked under the combined assault, though Kasandral seemed to hurt it most of all. Had someone driven the sword into his back by hand, the blade might have stayed in, but under those violent undulations, it flew free.
Ridge was ready. His flier’s nose was already pointed at the harbor below, and he was picking up speed. He glided toward the blade as it fell. He thought about trying to set himself so he could catch the hilt with his hand as it tumbled past, but he might cut off his arm doing that. Instead, he got under it, then leveled to catch it with his wing, the blade slicing into the taut canvas frame and sticking.
“I’ll get him later,” Ridge said, pulling the nose up further so they wouldn’t smash into the water. As it was, he thought he could feel the misty air above the waves as they swooped back upward.
“Everyone all right?” He glanced back at Sardelle and noticed her with a hand outstretched, utter concentration on her face.
Not fifty meters away, the flier that had been damaged by the dragon tail was landing, the entire framework charred from fire. A wide-eyed Lieutenant Pigpen sat behind the controls as he was levitated onto a dock.
“Thank you, Sardelle,” Ridge said.
Her hand relaxed as the flier settled into a safe spot, and she nodded toward him. You’re welcome. They had a hard time obeying your orders to leave the dragons alone.
It’s hard to resist the allure of a dragon-sized target.
I think they just want to protect their general.
Ridge pointed his nose upward again, looking for the dragon Kasandral had poked. Two others—Bhrava Saruth and the female—were still fighting in the air behind the castle.
He’s flying away, Wreltad said smugly. That was excellent. This flying contraption is almost as pleasurable to fight from as the back of a dragon.
Almost? Ridge asked, affronted on behalf of the fine craft.
Don’t worry, Jaxi said. I’ll tell him he’s being too uppity for the new sword.
Thank you. I think.
Sardelle laid her hand on his shoulder again. He clasped it, glad to have her back there with him again.
Which one of us is going to climb out on the wing and bring in Kasandral? he asked, turning the flier back toward the castle, aware that a battle continued over there.
He won’t let me touch him, Sardelle said.
I can’t touch him either, Jaxi said.
Nor I, Wreltad added.
Oh, I guess that means I’m nominated. Ridge thought about asking Sardelle to keep the stick steady with her mind, but they were still close to the docks. He would take them to land. It would be easier that way, and it would only take a moment. Then they could head over to the castle to help with the last enemy dragon.