Chapter 5
Vorik watched Syla and her bodyguard race out of the throne room, then trotted after them before he’d fully decided that he should follow her.
No, that he would follow her. He doubted he should.
Jhiton would have told him about the plan if he’d wanted Vorik involved.
That he didn’t… disturbed Vorik. It spoke of a lack of trust, at least when it came to something involving Syla.
He hoped he hadn’t lost his brother’s trust in general.
There weren’t too many uniformed guards in the halls, men who would object to a dragon rider in black leather jogging through the castle, but there were staff.
Numerous men and women with cleaning implements or carrying laundry spotted Vorik and skittered back in alarm or ran, shouting for guards.
Vorik gave them cheerful waves and kept going, not wanting to lose Syla.
Intelligence reports promised the way he’d gotten into the tunnels below the castle before had been blocked and that the lagoon was no longer accessible.
He needed to enter by the same means as Syla.
Rounding a corner, he almost ran into the server that she’d sent for desserts. The man was returning with cylindrical boxes that smelled of sweets, their tantalizing aromas wafting in the air. Frosting? Berries? Both?
Vorik darted around the man and directed his nose back into a forward position, telling himself that desserts weren’t the priority. Making sure Syla didn’t walk into a trap was.
As he knew from his previous incursion into the tunnels, it would take someone with a magical moon-mark on his or her hand to open the doorway to the shielder chamber.
Vorik had spotted a blond man about his age in the throne room who’d had such a mark—some relative of Syla’s—but doubted Jhiton had been aware of the person ahead of time to include him in the plan.
More likely, laying a trap was exactly what Jhiton, or whoever he’d put in charge of the mission, was doing.
Luring Syla down so that she could be forced to open the door. With a dagger to her throat?
Vorik shook his head, irritation and exasperation creeping into him.
That the generals and chiefs were scheming to bring down more shields and expose more islands didn’t surprise him, but he didn’t know why their plans kept involving attacking the royal family.
Jhiton had better not be planning to put an end to Syla.
It worried Vorik that his brother might be considering it and that was why he hadn’t said anything to him.
“You, stormer!” A guard that had been standing duty down a stub of a hallway spotted Vorik as he jogged past.
Ahead of him, two more men in blue uniforms rushed toward him from the direction Syla had gone. Had she sent them to deter Vorik? He’d been staying far enough back that he’d believed she wouldn’t see him, but she might have anyway.
Though he didn’t want to fight, both because it would delay him and he didn’t desire to cause trouble when he hadn’t been ordered to do so, Vorik had little choice.
Before the invasion, he’d memorized a map of the castle put together by stormer spies, but that would do no good when he didn’t know Syla’s destination.
Grim but determined, he rushed straight at the men. They drew swords.
Vorik didn’t pull his own out, instead angling left, toward the man who appeared less lithe and formidable, and leaped for what was likely his weaker side since he carried his blade in his right hand. The guard lunged at him, sword leading, as his comrade tried to flank Vorik.
Though the men appeared competent, they weren’t as fast as the riders that Vorik trained with. He ducked and dodged slashes, shifting so that one man blocked the other’s attacks, then knocked his foe’s sword arm to the side, following with a heel strike to the jaw.
The guard’s head snapped back. His comrade grabbed him and tried to push him aside, but Vorik had the power of dragon magic surging through his veins, giving him greater speed than they had.
He kicked the man, knocking him back into the wall, then punched the first guard as he struggled to recover.
With three more kicks and a head butt, he’d driven them both against the wall, one’s knees buckling.
Vorik grabbed their wrists, twisted hard enough to make them gasp and open their fingers, and took their swords.
After delivering two more blows that would ideally daze them for a few moments, he continued on.
Though he’d escaped the guards, shouts elsewhere in the castle promised more would show up. Worse, the delay had allowed Syla and Fel to escape his sight.
Vorik hurried in the direction they’d been going.
He tossed the guards’ swords into an open room that he passed, then ran down a carpeted hall toward an intersection ahead.
There, he would have to guess which way Syla had gone.
Or so he thought. When he reached an open door to his right, a sign labeling the cavernous room inside as a theater, he spotted movement.
Fel crouched atop a stage at the far end, a trapdoor open, and a lantern in his hand. Syla had already disappeared through the door—or so Vorik assumed—and Fel descended after her.
As Vorik ran down an aisle between rows of seats, the trapdoor thudded shut.
He leaped lightly onto the stage and opened it as another door, this one set into the flagstone floor underneath, also shut.
He dropped down and pulled an iron ring, debating how he would convince Syla to let him remain with her, but the ring didn’t budge.
A tingle of forbidding magic buzzed against his palm, and he released it.
Did this door also require someone with a moon-mark to open it?
Might another type of magic do? Or break the seal defending the door?
He knew, since his people had tried before, that only a moon-mark would allow one into the shielder chamber, but he sensed this was a simpler magic.
Vorik drew his gargoyle-blade sword from his scabbard.
I sense Wreylith, Agrevlari spoke into Vorik’s mind from beyond the Castle Island barrier. I believe she has been hunting on the Island of Eliok, but she is flying in this direction.
Vorik slid his sword into the gap between the trapdoor and its frame, the magical gargoyle blade as slender and fine as any crafted from steel. Have you lured her with poetry? Or perhaps your masculine magnificence?
I do hope that latter is having an effect, and she’s realized what a loyal, wonderful, and devoted mate I could be. I have not attempted to recite poetry to her, but I’ve little skill with languages. You have written ballads about dragons. Perhaps you could help me compose something.
We can try later, but she’d probably be more touched by something that came from you.
She is coming directly this way. Perhaps my allure is drawing her.
Vorik doubted that. Thus far, the red dragon hadn’t been interested in Agrevlari’s attempts to woo her.
Was it possible that Syla had once again called Wreylith?
And the dragon was coming? As long as the shield was up, Wreylith wouldn’t be a threat to whatever Jhiton was doing under the castle, but if the general succeeded in dropping the shield…
Well, his black dragon as well as those of the other riders who’d come along were out there. As strong a fighter as Wreylith was, she wouldn’t be a match for so many. Unless she’d brought allies again. And unless Agrevlari defended her against his own allies again.
Vorik growled at the situation, fearing his people had underestimated Syla. Worse, the trapdoor didn’t budge as he tried to find a way through it with his sword. Frustrated, he jammed it all around the frame, trying to find and break a lock or the hinges.
Something snapped under his strength and the power of his sword, but its defensive magic flashed like lightning, and a startling shock blasted up his blade.
It struck him, knocking him back, and he hit his head on the low wooden stage above.
He managed to twist and land in a crouch instead of flat on his back, but he felt chagrined that such a minor defense was thwarting him.
He was a dragon rider, damn it. Strong, powerful, and with magic gifted to him through his bond with the even stronger and more powerful Agrevlari.
What rhymes with love? his dragon asked.
Vorik grabbed his sword and patted around the trapdoor, aware of shouts in the castle, maybe in the theater. Did the guards know about this access point to the tunnels? Syla had ordered troops into the underground passageways before, so the entrances couldn’t be that secret.
Ah, he’d broken one of the hinges. Risking more magical ire from the trapdoor, Vorik jammed his sword into a second one.
Vorik? Agrevlari prompted.
Yes, I’m still here. The second hinge snapped without putting up a fuss. Maybe Vorik had broken the magical defense.
Love?
I’m a little busy right now. Vorik hefted the heavy stone trapdoor and moved it aside, then ran down dark stairs. Glove, he offered.
Syla and Fel hadn’t lit any of the lanterns mounted along the way, but that suited Vorik. He could see in all but pitch darkness, and even then, he navigated decently, thanks to his magical senses.
Really, Vorik. As you might imagine, gloves are of little interest to dragons.
There aren’t that many words that rhyme with love. Vorik reached the bottom and heard voices down the tunnel he entered. And in the distance, a lot more voices sounded. Stormers? Castle troops? Both?
Fel and Syla were already out of sight. Vorik hurried forward, senses outstretched so that he wouldn’t run obliviously into someone else skulking around without a light.
Dove, Vorik offered as he ran.
I did consider that, but those birds are so tiny as to be insignificant to a dragon. Too small to make even a bite-sized snack. You’d need a whole flock to comprise an appetizer.