Rysha sighed, the noise just audible over her communication crystal. “I’m retrieving my sword.”
“You threw it again?” Trip imagined them having to dive thousands of feet into the ocean to get it off the bottom. “I don’t think you’re supposed to do that with a sword.”
“I didn’t throw it. It got stuck.”
Rysha slithered off Shulina Arya’s back, surprising Trip. She landed in the water next to the dead dragon and swam toward his head.
“I’m landing on the pirate ship for long enough to pick up Colonel Grady,” Ahn said. “He has singlehandedly cut down most of the crew.”
“I’m sure your bullets took down plenty of them,” Trip said—Ahn sounded a little envious.
“A few. The sorceress was protecting them. Was she a powerful one? She seemed strong.”
Once Trip had known she existed and focused on her, it hadn’t been difficult to defeat her. He thought that might sound like bragging, so he only said, “I believe she could have rivaled Sardelle in power, so she was strong for this era, yes.”
“Got it,” Rysha said, then grunted with effort. “Sort of.”
Trip flew down closer in case she needed help. She planted her boots on the dragon’s maw, one on a fang and one on a lip, and pulled backward, both hands on Dorfindral’s hilt. The sword finally slid from the roof of the dragon’s mouth. Rysha looked up at Shulina Arya, and Trip sensed her trying to figure out how to get back on her back.
He tried to lift her before remembering Dorfindral wouldn’t allow it. He was surprised Shulina Arya could affect her as much as she could, since it was magic that kept a rider on a dragon’s back.
Shulina Arya dove down into the water and came up beside Rysha so she could climb back on.
How long do I have to hold this hulking boat here? Bhrava Saruth asked, flying lazy circles around the hovering Iskandian freighter.
“If it’s not seaworthy, it’ll need a ride back to Iskandia,” Ahn said.
You wish me to carry it all the way across the ocean?
Do you feel you won’t be able to nap sufficiently if you have to do that? Shulina Arya asked, flying up from the water with Rysha aboard.
“Can you hold it there for a half hour or so?” Trip piloted his flier toward the airship. “I’ll land on the deck and see if I can put out the fires and help the crew repair it.”
A half hour? Bhrava Saruth sighed dramatically into their minds. Very well.
Bhrava Saruth is a very old dragon, Shulina Arya informed them. It distresses him when he can’t nap on an hourly basis.
I am not old! I am magnificent and in the prime of my life. There is nothing wrong with enjoying a nap while the sun beats upon your scales—your skin—and someone else flies you. Though I do not believe I will sit in the back of one of those flying contraptions again until pillows are installed.
“We’ll be sure to put in a work order for that,” Ahn muttered.
What remained of the Iskandian crew scattered as Trip flew close, glad he had one of the two-seater fliers, since it had thrusters. He activated them and came down on a portion of the deck that appeared less charred than others. Flames still burned in numerous spots, though the crew seemed to have realized the battle was over and that they could come out and attempt to put them out.
People poked their heads out from behind supports and railings. Since Trip wore his Iskandian uniform and was in one of the iconic bronze dragon fliers, he didn’t expect trouble, but he lifted his hand, the one on the uninjured side, and tried to look friendly. That was a challenge with the ache in his shoulder. At the least, he hoped he didn’t appear dragonly or odd.
A ragged cheer went up. That was encouraging.
Ahn’s flier also headed for the deck, Colonel Grady once again in her back seat.
“Can you handle talking to the crew, Captain?” Trip asked. “I’d like to focus on fixing their ship. Perhaps my shoulder, too, if there’s time.”
“What happened to your shoulder?” Ahn asked.
“I got shot.”
“Ah. Yes, stay in your cockpit and do your magic. We’ll have Colonel Grady talk to the civilian captain since he outranks us. And has half a ballad composed.”
“Really, Captain,” came Grady’s voice from the back seat. “I’ve only composed a few lines in my head.”
“You already titled it.”
“Sometimes, titles come before the first words have been written. Captain Trip, I can’t tell you how pleased I am about your nickname.”
“Oh?” Trip wondered if he should feel wary.
“It rhymes with so many things.” Grady sounded truly delighted.
The first words that popped into Trip’s mind were drip, pip, and gyp, which left him less delighted.
How about airship, wing tip, and bullwhip? Azarwrath suggested.
Those sound like they could lead to slightly more promising lyrics, Trip allowed, noting that Azarwrath had come up with words with more syllables. Did that mean he was smarter than Trip, and if so, should he be concerned? Can you heal my wound while I work on the ship?
I shall endeavor to do so, though without Jaxi here to incinerate the bullet, I will be handicapped.
Was that sarcasm?
Of course not. That would be poor sportsmanship. Trip. Fan of the potato chip. Azarwrath grinned into his mind, apparently pleased by this new word game.
Trip closed his eyes and slumped back in the cockpit.
13
By the time Rysha slid off Shulina Arya’s back and onto the deck of the Iskandian airship, the pirate vessel had fallen out of the sky. It floated in the ocean below, its envelope half burned away, the tattered and charred remains whipping about in the breeze. The Iskandian ship remained aloft, thanks to Bhrava Saruth’s magic. He continued to fly in slow circles around the vessel, waiting for Trip to repair it.
With her uniform dripping and her bun hanging wet and limp at the nape of her neck, Rysha walked toward the cluster of merchant sailors standing with Captain Ahn and Colonel Grady.
Several of the crew looked at her, and at Shulina Arya behind her, the dragon crouching with her wings folded in so she would fit on the deck under the envelope. They clapped and a few let out whoops of praise and thanks. Rysha felt embarrassed by the attention, even if it seemed more for Shulina Arya than her, but she was glad the crew was appreciative, especially given that there were a few dead being carried from the deck. Rysha wished her team had arrived earlier, so nobody would have been lost, but she reminded herself that only luck had brought them here in time to help at all.
“We’re bound for the capital,” a graying man was telling Colonel Grady and Ahn. “All of Iskandia will be glad that you were able to help us. It appears that, despite all the damage up here, the cargo and the hold are safe.”
“All of Iskandia?” Grady asked. “What are you carrying that’s so important? And why didn’t you wait until a military escort was available to accompany you?”
“Military escorts are in short supply,” the graying man said, the captain presumably. “We would have had to wait six weeks, and our cargo is perishable. We’re carrying chocolate, coffee, and sugarcane.”