Revelations

  Revelations

  Heritage of Power, Book 2

  Lindsay Buroker

  Copyright © 2017 by Lindsay Buroker

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to my editor, Shelley Holloway, and my beta readers, Rue Silver and Sarah Engelke, for continuing to help out with these new adventures. Also, thank you to my band of typo hunters for reading advanced copies and catching what the rest of us miss.

  1

  The sun blazed in the western sky, the wind whipped Captain Telryn “Sidetrip” Yert’s scarf around, and the ocean gleamed dark and blue thousands of feet below his flier. The southern polar cap, more than a thousand square miles of sheets of ice, hadn’t yet come into view, but icebergs bobbed in the water far below, promising the team was getting close.

  Trip had never been to the Antarctic and looked forward to seeing a new place. Even more, he looked forward to completing their challenging mission to destroy the portal that had been re-opened, allowing hostile dragons into the world. He and the others would be hailed as heroes then. There would be newspaper articles. Photographers. Pictures of him standing in front of his flier and—

  “Can’t you keep your silly scarf from whipping into my face?” his backseat passenger, Dreyak, demanded.

  It was the latest of several grievances from the shaven-headed Cofah warrior. The last had been in regard to the lack of lavatory amenities in the open-air fliers. Trip could understand a woman being less than thrilled about the simple tube setup, it being more for emergencies than comfort, but one expected men to have fewer qualms about where they urinated.

  “I thought you might want to use the end to keep your hairless head warm,” Trip called back over the wind. “The air is starting to get nippy.”

  He was glad he had donned his parka and the Iskandian winter uniform at their last stop. They had started their flight three days before from the Pirate Isles just south of the equator, with only short rest breaks along the way, sometimes on uninhabited islands little more than bare rocks thrusting up from the ocean. It hadn’t been until that morning that the air had truly grown cold.

  “Cofah warriors do not need such ridiculous garments,” Dreyak announced, and without looking back, Trip was sure his chin had an arrogant tilt to it. “We are a hardy people.”

  “You don’t have scarves with playful little fringes on the ends?”

  “No.”

  “What about ear muffs?”

  “No.”

  “Fur caps with tufted balls on the top? What with your trend toward shaven heads, you must feel the need to protect those shiny domes from snowfall.”

  “For extreme winter conditions, we have fur coats and caps. Nothing is tufted. Or fringed.”

  “That must be why Iskandia is known for setting the world’s fashion trends.”

  “What a pitiful thing to be known for.”

  “We can’t all be known as conquering warmongers with a quota of countries to be invaded. Some of us prefer peace.”

  “I haven’t noticed that your preferences for peace—” Dreyak said it as if it were the filthiest word in the dictionary, “—have kept your country from violence. It is better to be strong and fierce, thus to make enemies quail at the idea of attacking your shores.”

  “Yeah? And how’s that working for the Cofah when it comes to dragons?”

  They were on this mission together since both of their countries had a dragon problem.

  “It is highly likely that the dragons, realizing how fearsome Cofah warriors are, will soon grow weary of attacking our cities and instead will attack the easy targets that Iskandia offers, cities defended only by puny soldiers.”

  Trip refused to get angry at the jabs. It was the most his passenger had spoken the whole trip, and after the frigid silence, Trip didn’t mind having something to talk about with him. Besides, he always got the sense that Dreyak was deliberately goading him—all of them—with his ridiculous proclamations about the glory of war and the Cofahre empire. For the first time, he wondered if it was to divert their attention from something else, questions about him personally perhaps. And why exactly he’d been chosen for this mission.

  That is a surprisingly astute observation, Jaxi, his borrowed soulblade, spoke into his mind. The weapon hung in its scabbard from the belt on his left hip, wedged awkwardly between his seat and the hull. Did sentient swords feel discomfort?

  Surprising because you hadn’t thought of it? Trip asked, responding silently, though he still hadn’t figured out if he could transmit his thoughts, like a real sorcerer could. Was transmit even the right word? He had little knowledge of terms related to the magical and the arcane. Or surprising because of the source?

  The latter. In the time I’ve known you, you haven’t convinced me to expect astuteness.

  You’ve known me for less than a week.

  Plenty of time to suss out astuteness. It’s hard for me to consider you as anything except obtuse, given your grasp of your own abilities regarding magic.

  Thanks.

  “Watch who you’re calling puny,” Trip said over his shoulder, realizing he was more likely to come out ahead in his sparring with the Cofah than with Jaxi. “I have two swords up here with me now.”

  A second soulblade, the one he’d picked up after Rysha defeated a pirate sorceress in battle, was jammed through his belt on his right hip. He’d found that he had to be very careful getting into and out of his flier with all the extra appendages dangling from his body.

  “The second one should be in my hands,” Dreyak said. “It is a Cofah soulblade, and I am Cofah.”

  “Yeah, I know. The setting sun reflecting off your shiny head keeps reminding me.”

  A snicker sounded over the communication crystal in the cockpit.

  “Good one, Trip,” Leftie said. He, Duck, and Blazer flew ahead of Trip in their four-flier formation.

  “Thanks, Leftie.”

  Trip glanced back, wondering how his passenger would respond. His scarf tried to tickle Dreyak’s nose, leading him to roll his eyes heavenward.

  “I’d be happy to give you the sword if the sword requested it,” Trip said, “but it hasn’t said a word to me yet. Jaxi said it went dormant after its handler died.”

  Jaxi had also said giving it to Dreyak to take home to his people would be the right thing to do. Trip planned to do just that when they parted ways at the end of the mission, assuming the blade didn’t request it sooner, but for now, it seemed like a good idea to have the Cofah soulblade right next to Jaxi where she could keep an eye on it.

  On him, she said dryly. We’ve discussed this. His name is Azarwrath, and he is most certainly a boy.

  He’s not speaking to you, is he?

  Not now, no. But he introduced himself to me before we engaged in battle.

  That was polite.

  Not really. It included informing me about his superiority and suggesting I’m not reverent enough to be a sorceress, followed by promises to smite me into molten ore.

  I see. Trip looked down at his right hip, reconsidering the wisdom of keeping the blade so close. He didn’t want anything down there smote. If Azzy wants someone else to hold him, all he has to do is tell me.

  Trip didn’t necessarily want to give Dreyak a weapon that would make him more powerful than he already was, adding magic to his repertoire of abilities as a combat specialist, but Trip didn’t want to keep Azzy against its—his—will, either.

  There are times when you’re not unlike Ridge, Jaxi shared in t
hat same dry tone.

  You’re comparing me to General Zirkander? I’ll take that as a compliment.

  He, too, has a tendency toward flippancy. It must be a trait inculcated in all Iskandian pilots.

  I’ve noticed it seems to be inculcated in Iskandian soulblades too.

  Really. Jaxi sniffed, the sound penetrating his mind as effectively as if she had a nose.

  “The scarf, Captain,” Dreyak growled, pulling out a knife as long as his forearm. “Take care of it, or I will take care of it for you.”

  Trip tucked the end of his scarf into the back of his leather flight jacket again. It kept wanting to wiggle free, to Dreyak’s obvious consternation. Rysha hadn’t complained about it when she’d ridden with him.

  He looked toward Leftie’s flier where Lieutenant Rysha Ravenwood rode in the back seat. Was he regaling her with piloting stories? Or tales of his cunning athleticism on the hookball field?

  Trip well remembered the long appreciative look—leer—Leftie had given Rysha when she’d walked out of the airship hold in that extremely revealing pirate costume. Since then, he’d shown a lot more interest in her. Trip couldn’t pretend to be surprised, but he’d been fond of Rysha since she’d stood up for him in that dreadful bar in the capital. Wasn’t there a rule that said girls were supposed to reciprocate the liking of whichever boy liked them first?

  Now you sound more like a twelve-year-old than Ridge, Jaxi said. What did that even mean?

  I don’t know. I’m not good with girls. Women. Since he was a few months from his twenty-fifth birthday, he should probably think of himself as a man and interesting female prospects as women.

  Imagine my shock, Jaxi said. I suggest you rein in your romantic interests toward the lieutenant, at least until the mission is over and she hands that dragon-slaying sword to someone else. A dragon-slaying sword that will happily slay sorcerers too.

  It hardly seems fair when I’m not truly a—

  Or those with the potential to become sorcerers, Jaxi added, cutting him off.

  Trip sighed and gazed toward the horizon. He’d given up denying that he was that. Even if all he wanted to do was fly and defend his homeland from pirates, imperial invaders, and dragons.

  “Major Blazer?” Captain Duck asked over the crystal. “My passenger was wondering how much farther we’ll fly today. She’s unimpressed with the lavatory facilities and wishes a chance to stretch her legs.”

  “I knew I wasn’t the only one,” Dreyak growled, the words almost lost on the wind.

  “Preferably not by propping them up on my shoulders again,” Duck added. “That makes me feel like she’s the praying mantis and I’m the, uh, prey.”

  “Some men get excited at the prospect of being preyed upon by Captain Kaika,” Blazer said.

  “I’m sure it would be stimulating, ma’am,” Duck said. “I’m not sure I’d survive the experience. Earlier, she was fondling her explosives in my back seat.”

  Something twanged Trip’s senses, and he scanned the horizon instead of staring glassy-eyed at it. Was someone else out there? Or something else? Dragons were faster than fliers and could reputedly cross oceans with ease.

  Kaika leaned over Duck’s shoulder to speak—the back seats weren’t equipped with communication crystals. “All I was doing was trimming fuses. Captain Duck is being melodramatic.”

  “It’s just that I’ve heard about your reputation for devouring men, ma’am.” Even though they were the same rank, Duck seemed certain he should call her ma’am instead of by name.

  “You needn’t get your feathers all ruffled, Duck.” Kaika patted him on the shoulder. “You’re not in danger of my attention.”

  “That’s a relief.” He seemed to consider that for a moment. “Wait, does that mean you don’t find me appealing? Why not?”

  “Do you want a list of reasons?”

  Duck’s shoulders slumped. “No, I reckon not.”

  “Wise man.”

  Trip heard the conversation, but he ignored it. He definitely sensed something out there ahead of them, something with a significant aura. So far, the only beings he’d encountered that oozed power and presence like that were dragons. He supposed a magical artifact, like the portal they sought, might do so, but he didn’t think he sensed an artifact.

  Jaxi? he asked. Do you feel a dragon out there?

  Not yet, but I wasn’t trying to sense anything. I was contemplating the image of Captain Kaika as a praying mantis.

  Trip, who was learning how to extend his senses to search for life and get a feel for the terrain around them, attempted to reach out farther than his eyes could see. A strange thing to contemplate when the sky was clear, and visibility was more than ten miles.

  He imagined himself in the lead flier, sailing far ahead of their tiny formation and looking down from above. Last time, that mental exercise had worked a lot better than Jaxi’s suggestion that he imagine his mind unfurling like a flower bud.

  Everyone’s a critic, Jaxi said.

  Doing his best to concentrate, Trip didn’t answer. As his mind—his senses—extended outward, the cockpit controls grew fuzzy, and a different view came into focus. The ocean still lay dark and blue underneath him, but he also saw a white shoreline, a shoreline of solid ice. It was jagged along the edge, with icebergs floating in the water all around it, some as small as fliers, others as large as cities.

  At the far edge of his vision, a bronze dragon soared over the white landscape. He couldn’t tell if it was on its way somewhere or simply flying around, perhaps patrolling the area.

  Maybe hunting, Jaxi said. I see her now too. I don’t know what she would be patrolling, or why a dragon would be lingering down here, unless she just came out of the portal. Dragons don’t care for cold weather.

  Another dragon flew into the range of Trip’s senses, a silver this time. It paralleled the female’s course.

  He shifted uneasily in his seat. Despite what Jaxi had said, he had the distinct impression that the dragons were patrolling the shoreline.

  What if some were left down here to guard the portal? Trip suggested, though he hoped that wasn’t the case. The plan was to sneak in and destroy the portal without encountering dragons. Had that been a delusional plan? Is it possible the dragons know humans are targeting it?

  Dragons can easily read humans’ minds, so it’s definitely possible, but as far as I’m aware, we’re the only team that’s been sent to destroy it.

  But you wouldn’t know if the Cofah or some other nation had sent a team, right?

  That’s correct, but the Cofah sent your surly friend there with us, supposedly because their people didn’t know the location of the portal. We don’t know the location, either, but thanks to our missing ally, Bhrava Saruth, we at least knew to start in the polar regions.

  What if Dreyak was sent along to spy on us and report back to his government once he learned the location of the portal? Trip didn’t know if Rysha had shared the coordinates that she and Sardelle had narrowed down, based on locations of dragon ruins, with anyone except the pilots. But if Dreyak had asked, she might have innocently answered his question. She enjoyed speaking about her passions, and with her degree in dragon history, this mission had to fall under that category. You said you can’t read Dreyak’s thoughts, right? Because he has dragon blood?

  Because he’s been trained to keep people out of his head, Jaxi said. You have dragon blood, and I can read you like a romance novel.

  I don’t know how to respond to that.

  No response necessary. Just ask Sardelle about walling off your thoughts from other telepaths when you sign up for her classes after this is over.

  Sign up for her classes? Trip imagined browsing through a catalog like one might at a university. Under which section were the magicking classes?

  So obtuse. It’s a marvel you sensed those two dragons before I did.

  Three now.

  Three?

  There’s another one farther east. I don’t know if
it’s with the others, but… I’m going to tell the others. The dragons will sense us as easily as I sense them, I assume.

  Oh, more easily. Granted, we don’t have the auras that they have, but their powers and abilities to sense their surroundings are far greater than any human’s. I’ll do my best to shroud us, but that generally only works against other sorcerers.

  Will they sense the chapaharii swords? Trip asked, using the term Rysha did for the dragon-slaying swords, though he didn’t know what it meant.

  It seems likely.

  Any chance that will cause them to leave our fliers alone and let us search the ice without interference?

  Jaxi snorted even more effectively than she sniffed. She had an amazing range for a sword.

  If anything, it will make them more likely to come investigate, and perhaps try to destroy us. They’ll see us as a threat and probably believe we brought the weapons because we’re hoping to hunt and kill them.

  No, we just want to hunt and kill the portal they used to invade our world.

  Technically, they’re not invaders. You would have to ask your archaeology-loving lieutenant, but I’m fairly certain dragons evolved here on Linora. Then they were tricked into leaving, something it’s unlikely we’ll manage to do again. Humans weren’t even the ones responsible for it last time, according to Bhrava Saruth.

  Trip wondered if he would ever get to meet this Bhrava Saruth or the other dragon the Iskandians had befriended, dragons that had been conspicuously absent since the portal opened and all the unfriendly ones spewed into the world.

  When Jaxi didn’t comment on that, Trip addressed the rest of his team. “We have a problem.”

  “Is it that Captain Kaika is using my shoulders for a leg rest again?” Duck asked.

  “No. There are dragons ahead of us, about thirty miles away. They’re flying right along the shoreline where we were planning to cut inland.”

  “Jaxi reported that?” Major Blazer asked.

  Trip hesitated. So far, he didn’t think anyone on the team had figured out that he had a sixth sense—more than a sixth sense—and that somewhere in the distant past, a dragon had apparently frolicked horizontally, as Jaxi had called it, with one of his ancestors. He wouldn’t be surprised if Rysha had some inklings, but he believed Blazer, Kaika, and the others thought the chapaharii blades responded unfavorably to him because he was carrying magical soulblades.