The observers on the ground yelled and scrambled back toward the manor as it crashed headfirst into the grass beside the driveway.
Shulina Arya swooped upward at the last second to avoid also crashing. Rysha waved toward the people—her family members, Trip presumed, though he hadn’t used his senses to identify individuals yet.
Shulina Arya rolled in a pleased victory gesture, then glided down to land on the other side of the drive from the unconscious—or dead?—silver dragon. The creature’s scales were charred, and flames burned in the damp grass to either side of it.
“Is everyone all right?” Rysha slid off Shulina Arya’s back and ran toward her family.
There were about twenty people—Trip recognized her uncle, father, brothers, and her aunt among them. They all gaped back and forth from the silver dragon to Shulina Arya to Rysha running toward them. The prim and proper Aunt Tadelay was one of the people with a rifle.
Rysha hugged her father, and that seemed to break the spell. Trip was pleased to see them gather around her and give her hugs and back pats. The other night at dinner, he hadn’t witnessed a lot of warmth from the family, which seemed so different from what he was used to with his grandparents, but their tensions had also been high.
They should know that you helped them, Azarwrath said. Then perhaps they will feel less tense about you and will be more accepting.
I don’t know about that. Unless I find out that my three-thousand-year-old mother happened to be from the era’s nobility, and I have no idea how I’d figure that out. It seems unlikely.
Telryn Yert, you are half dragon. This is far superior to having some generations-removed ancestor that helped a past king and was granted land and a title as a thank you.
Is that how it works? Trip admitted he’d never paid any attention to the history of the nobility or how one became a noble. Maybe he’d been designing paper fliers whenever it had been covered in school. If so, he felt ashamed that Azarwrath, who hadn’t been born in this country, knew more about it than he did.
Yes. If your king wished to, he could wave his hand—or fill out some paperwork—give you a few acres of land, and declare you a noble.
Trip wondered if that actually happened or if all the land available for such things had been assigned long ago. Wouldn’t a great hero like General Zirkander have been given a title and land by now if such things were still done?
Thinking of the general reminded Trip of the battle going on in the capital.
Rysha? he asked silently, hating to interrupt the hugging and talking—half a dozen people were explaining what had happened from their point of view. I have to get back to my flier and go to the capital. There’s a battle going on up there.
Rysha pulled away from the group hug and looked back at him.
Stay here until the fire is under control and you know everyone’s safe, he told her, not wanting her to feel she had to leave her family to come along. There were numerous soldiers in the capital with chapaharii blades now.
Rysha’s father said something, but she held up a hand and ran toward Trip.
She hugged him and said, “Thank you for the help,” louder than necessary.
Wanting to let her family know that he had assisted her? He hadn’t done much.
Trip patted her on the back. “I learned that Lockvale was behind this.” He waved at the inert silver dragon. “I’ll tell you more later, but you’ll want to watch for him. He might try something else. He…” Trip gazed toward the highway. The lake and the trees made it so he couldn’t see all the way back to it, but he had no trouble checking the area with his senses. The nobleman and his buddies had departed. “He’s gone, but he was responsible. I saw it in his mind. He instructed the silver to make a nuisance of himself, scare off the workers, and also to destroy some of the property so your parents would be more inclined to sell. Cheaply. Once he had the land for himself, he promised the dragon it could stay on it and would be well fed.”
“I don’t suppose you have any proof other than…?” Rysha waved at his temple.
“I don’t,” he said grimly, understanding the problem, that they lived in a world where a nobleman’s word would be given more weight than his, especially since he had used magic to learn what he knew.
“He ought to be locked up if he’s the reason our vineyards are burning.”
“I agree.” Trip looked up—Rysha’s father was coming over. “I have to go.” He bowed clumsily toward Lord Ravenwood and waved to Rysha, not wanting to deal with her family’s dismissive comments now.
“I’ll be along soon to help,” Rysha called after him as he retreated, running back toward the highway and his flier.
15
Trip spotted smoke in the air as he flew north to the capital, but he didn’t sense any dragons up there other than Bhrava Saruth. Had Wolf Squadron driven them all off? The chatter over the communication crystal had died down too. Normally, he might feel disappointed about missing a battle, but it had been a long day, and he’d dealt with more than his share of dragons.
The darkness made it hard to tell how much damage had been done to the city, but he sensed pain and fear from the people below as he flew toward the army fort. In several places, buildings burned, mostly warehouses and canneries along the waterfront, but fires also lit up the night farther inland, in residential areas.
His gut tightened as he thought of the babies. He had the addresses for all the mothers taking care of them and would check on them as soon as he could.
The hangar was well-lit with the big sliding door still open, so Trip flew straight in. The scent of smoke met his nostrils. At first, he thought the building itself had been burned, but the smoke came from the engines and tails of some of the fliers. A few damaged craft had barely made it back to the hangar, and they were parked in the middle rather than in their slots to the sides. A makeshift medical area had been assembled with blankets on the floor and officers sitting or lying on them and others kneeling or standing around.
Trip sensed Leftie and Duck among the injured, and he landed as quickly as he could, praying to the seven gods that the wounds weren’t mortal, that he could heal them. The idea of losing a friend in a battle he hadn’t been there for horrified him.
As Trip vaulted from his cockpit, General Zirkander, his face smeared with soot and his sleeve torn and bloodied, jogged from the office in the back.
“I’ve sent our report to the king,” Zirkander told Tranq, Blazer, and the colonel from Tiger Squadron, all of whom slumped with weariness. “Sardelle is coming to help with healing.” He started toward the blankets, then paused, spotting Trip running over.
“Sorry I’m late, sir,” Trip blurted, feeling awful for coming in after the fight.
Had he made the right choice in staying to help Rysha’s family and dealing with that fop Lockvale? Or might he have been more help here if he’d arrived sooner? Maybe he could have stopped people from being hurt.