“Make way, please,” he said to those gathering around the blankets. “I can heal people.”
Therrik was one of the people kneeling in front of them, and he stepped back, turning with a glower for Trip, his hand reaching for the chapaharii sword at his waist. Trip tensed. This wasn’t the time for this. Therrik stopped his fingers before they wrapped around the hilt.
“Help Kaika,” he growled, shifting out of the way. “She’s one of the worst.”
Trip sucked in a worried breath as he spotted her lying on the blanket, burns covering one side of her face and body. She should have been unconscious from wounds like that, but her face was contorted in a rictus of pain.
“You sure took your time getting here, Trip,” Leftie said, his voice strained. He lay next to Kaika, also burned, though not as badly, and a deep gash lay open on his arm.
“Sorry.” Trip couldn’t come up with a flippant remark, not when he felt so much guilt for having missed the battle.
Azarwrath, will you help me? Trip asked, focusing on Kaika. I don’t know how to… I mean, I know it’s just important to ensure she lives, but can we keep her from being scarred?
Very likely. Begin. I will assist. She is the worst of those left alive.
Left alive? Trip glanced at the others on the blankets and saw Duck sitting up and gripping talon gouges in his abdomen while Pimples knelt beside him, making jokes about him being a low priority. Another charred officer, his face unrecognizable due to the burns, lay completely still. Dead. Lieutenant Beeline.
Tears welled in Trip’s eyes even though he didn’t know the man well.
Kaika moaned softly and brought a shaking hand up to grip Trip’s arm. He took a deep breath and focused on her. She was alive and in pain, and she needed him.
He closed his eyes and, with Azarwrath’s guidance, healed burns for the first time in his life. He was aware of voices, soft discussions going on behind him, but he didn’t participate in them. He needed his concentration for this.
“Is the king coming?” That was Therrik.
“He’s on his way,” Zirkander said.
“Does he know…”
“I said she was injured and that she threw her sword in order to drop a dragon’s defenses for us. It may have saved the night, even if we’ll have to get it off the bottom of the harbor. And even if we still lost Beeline and Snail.”
“Snail too, sir?” Blazer asked.
“I saw the fire hit his flier point blank. By the time it disappeared into the harbor, it was nothing but a charred husk. Damn it, I wish more people had tried the parachutes.” Zirkander’s voice was thick with emotion. “Better to lose fliers than pilots.”
“Better not to lose anyone,” Therrik snarled, his voice also heavy with emotion. And frustration. “And better not to lose any more of the swords. They just got the one, right? We’re sure Kaika’s is on the bottom of the harbor?”
“I saw it hit the water. Nobody saw any dragons dive down for it—only two of them had those hook things. Graspers. Whatever you want to call them. Seven gods, I need to stop thinking of the dragons as animals without tactics beyond biting and clawing and breathing fire. We’re fortunate Bhrava Saruth arrived to help drive them off. I shouldn’t have sent both our warrior dragons along on Trip’s mission.”
“We would’ve driven them off without him. We had them on the run.”
“On the run with one of our swords. And only because Phelistoth showed up to help. We have more swords than we used to, but not an unlimited supply, and it’s clear they’re targeting them now, trying to get them away from us.”
“They won’t get any more,” Therrik said with determination.
“Let’s hope not. We need to watch out for treachery as well as open attacks. Bhrava Saruth said these were some of the same dragons that dropped a building on your head.”
“Fortunately, my head isn’t my deadliest part.”
Zirkander grunted. “Did you just insult yourself, Therrik? That’s my job.”
“I’m in the mood for self-flagellation.”
“Now you’re using vocabulary words. You’re not trying to make me think you’re smart, are you?”
“Not now, Zirkander.” Therrik moved away from him and crouched next to Trip, the tip of his sword scabbard clunking on the cement floor.
Trip tensed, aware of the big man’s presence, and especially aware of Kasandral. But all Therrik did was rest a hand on Kaika’s shoulder, on the side that hadn’t been burned.
“Shit,” Kaika rasped. “Therrik is giving me sympathy. That means I’m going to die for sure.”
“I think Dragon Man is fixing you,” Therrik said, “but you look like the inside of a volcano. Fat chance you’ll get Angulus to kiss you again.”
“Looks don’t matter when your tongue is as talented as mine.”
“Uh huh, you and your tongue better keep the lights off.”
“I always do. My tongue likes dark and mysterious environs.”
“Was that an innuendo? If so, disgusting.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Trip smiled slightly, glad Kaika had the strength to trade barbs with Therrik, but he kept his eyes closed, kept pouring his energy into mending her burned muscle. The skin was impossible to repair, so he and Azarwrath built new skin, accelerating the process by thousands of times. Trip let the more experienced soulblade take the lead and simply lent his power for the task.
“Sardelle,” came Zirkander’s voice from behind Trip. It stood out to him more than the murmurs of the other pilots and ground crew who were attending the wounded men and the damaged fliers. Trip sensed her and also that Angulus had arrived. He radiated distress and concern.
Someone touched Trip’s shoulder. Sardelle.
You have her? she asked quietly into his mind.
Yes, ma’am.
I’ll work on Duck and Leftie.
Thank you.
Trip kept his focus on Kaika, not wanting to fail her or Angulus or anyone else, especially when he could sense the unease lurking within everyone else here. Nobody thought this attack had been a fluke. The dragons would be back.
The light of the magical illumination globes Shulina Arya had created showed the charred, smoldering remains of the vineyard. At least the fires were out now. She had helped squelch them, moving large quantities of water from the lake to dump onto the flames as the family watched in open-mouthed awe.
Now, Shulina Arya lay off to one side while Rysha, her father, aunt, and Krey walked down the path that had once meandered past the vineyard to a pergola, benches, and a fountain. The stone fountain was blackened but still standing. Only ashes remained where the wood structures had been. Rysha blinked back tears, remembering roughhousing with her brothers under the pergola and playing cards with her grandfather before he’d passed.
Only a handful of vines in the back corner had escaped the fire. Aware of how many years her brother, and their grandfather before him, had spent creating unique and desirable cultivars, Rysha hoped some could be saved and replanted.
“It could have been worse,” Father said, looking toward the manor and the lake.
Krey gave him an anguished look.