Chapter 6 #2
As the cacophonous clamor of swords clashing against swords rang out, Syla realized her men would target everyone in black leathers, Vorik included, but she couldn’t bring herself to yell at them to leave him be.
Not when he’d moved to stand side-by-side with his brother, their backs to the wall as they faced the greater numbers.
Vorik was fighting her people. He was an enemy. She couldn’t let herself forget that.
Vorik’s and Jhiton's faces remained calm as they defended against soldiers swarming into the chamber—so many that Syla worried her people would strike each other in the confined space.
But they switched their styles from swinging slashes to thrusts, trying to slip in side-by-side to reach the riders.
All four of the stormers drew opponents, but the greatest concentration of soldiers targeted Vorik and Jhiton.
That was fortunate because Jhiton kept glancing at the active shielder nestled within its mount.
Fel and Syla stood in front of it, so he would have to go through them to reach it, but she had no doubt that the general would do that.
Jhiton’s face was a cool mask as he breathed through his nose, as if whipping his swords about, defending against so many, took no effort, but Syla could read the determination in his eyes.
It was almost like the religious zeal of the godders prostrating themselves at their temples and making offerings, certain their actions would result in the return of the deities.
A man cried out. One of the soldiers. He tumbled back, dropping his sword and clutching his chest, blood from a stab wound washing his fingers.
Healer’s instincts calling her, Syla stepped in that direction.
But Fel gripped her arm to keep her back.
She couldn’t have reached the soldier even if she’d believed it wise.
Another had replaced him as a comrade pulled him back so he wouldn’t be trampled by all the boots.
It didn’t look like a mortal wound, and she could attend to him later, but as another man cursed, stumbling back at a blow to his hip, she was reminded that the riders might very well overcome the greater numbers.
Especially in the confining chamber where only so many soldiers could attack them at once.
“Get out of here if you spot an opportunity.” Fel released Syla without looking away from the fighting. “You can heal the survivors afterward. From the safety of the castle.”
As strange as it seemed with more than twenty men fighting in the chamber, nobody was attacking them at the moment. The riders were too busy defending against superior numbers.
“Of course,” Syla said, but she wouldn’t leave while the shielders were in danger. It was bad enough that fighting went on all around the broken one—the invaders had succeeded in pushing it halfway to the exit.
And what of Teyla? Syla couldn’t abandon her cousin. Though they had tried to tuck her against the wall behind a sarcophagus, she was in danger of being trampled.
Syla tightened her grip around the explosive. She had to do something.
Vorik lunged to the side, away from the general as he cut off two soldiers trying to slip in by the wall to get behind them.
Syla took that moment to throw the device at Jhiton's opposite shoulder. She wanted to throw it square at his chest—or maybe between his eyes—but she didn’t want to hurt Vorik. Enemy or not, he meant something to her. Too much.
Despite defending against eight attacks simultaneously, Jhiton saw the flat square explosive sailing toward him.
It had blended in with the silver of the orb but stood out as it arched through the air.
The faintest hint of confusion made one of his eyebrows twitch, but his sword came up, batting it aside.
Upon impact, it exploded scant feet from Jhiton's head. The force of the shockwave hurled him against the wall.
Even from halfway across the chamber, Syla felt it, her hair blown back, sooty smoke and intense heat blasting over her. It was as if she’d opened the oven door of the gods. Soldiers who had been near Jhiton stumbled, two falling to the ground.
The flash and smoke hid Syla’s view of Vorik, and she held her breath, afraid she’d hurt him as well as the general.
She’d better have hurt the general. Somehow, Jhiton remained on his feet and hadn’t dropped his weapon.
Neither had Vorik. And, as the smoke cleared, she could see them again, faces blackened, clothes torn, and burns blistering their skin, especially Jhiton's.
But they remained in the battle. If anything, their faces grew more determined, their sword strikes faster, deadlier.
Another soldier went down. All around the chamber, people coughed, the smoke distracting them. It made Syla’s eyes water and her throat itch as well. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t taken down the general.
Fel looked at her in exasperation, and Syla expected him to berate her for not following his instructions.
“Next time you do that,” he said, “at least use the opportunity to escape.”
“We can’t abandon the shielder.” Syla glanced toward the passageway where a soldier held the door open.
“We won’t.” Fel thumped his chest. “But you need to get out of here. You never should have come down.” His expression turned aggrieved as he no doubt regretted not forcibly keeping her in the castle.
Syla shook her head. She had to protect the shielder. She belonged down here.
The soldier in the doorway spun around, then bent in half. Another black-clad stormer had arrived. Two more. They shoved the dispatched soldier aside and stepped into the passageway.
“We’re here, General,” one yelled.
Vorik was the one to answer. “Good! We’ve got them surrounded!”
Jhiton gave him a sidelong look, one hard to interpret. With the soldiers still outnumbering the stormers by far, Syla didn’t know how much the odds had changed, but she would never bet against Vorik, and Jhiton was just as capable. Those two alone might have held off an entire army.
Syla turned and patted the orb, forcing herself to keep her touch slow and methodical, not frantic. The last thing she wanted was to accidentally blow up Fel and herself.
How many explosives had Aunt Tibby placed? Syla wished she had come down to help. Then she would have known where they were.
“There,” she whispered, brushing one.
She carefully unstuck it and was tempted to whirl and throw it, but if she could find two, that would be better. The general might see one coming and knock it away again, but if she could throw a second right after, before the smoke cleared and Jhiton recovered, she might defeat him this time.
Fel grunted and jerked his arm up, defending against someone who’d decided to try to get to the shielder. Or maybe to Syla. Trusting Fel’s ability, she kept patting, shifting around the orb, needing to find one more of Tibby’s devices.
A strangled cry of pain announced another man going down. One of her soldiers, she feared.
Tears of frustration welled in her eyes. She should have moved the shielder already, not merely boobytrapped it. It could have sat in a hay wagon under a tarp in the courtyard, and the night would have turned out better than this.
There. She found another explosive.
Fel grunted, dropping to one knee, but he kept his mace up. A sword pressed against it, one of the riders trying to force his way past Fel’s defenses.
“Move the princess, and expose the shielder,” came Jhiton's voice from the wall.
Syla spun, a trap in each hand, ready to throw them. The stormer who’d driven Fel to one knee glanced toward his general and backed up a few steps.
“She’s got explosives,” the man warned.
“Don’t let her touch you,” another man rasped from the other side of the chamber. “She’s not a healer. Someone lied about that.”
It was the would-be scroll thief. He’d recovered enough to rise to his feet, but he rubbed his throat and leaned on a sarcophagus for support.
Fel swore as he pushed himself back to both feet.
Whether it was because of his injuries or the situation, Syla didn’t know.
The chamber had grown quiet, and bleakness washed over her as she looked around.
Almost all of the soldiers who’d run in to help were on the ground, dead or too severely wounded to continue fighting.
It looked like others had fled. She hoped they were getting reinforcements because only one of the riders was down—hopefully the bastard was dead.
Vorik and another rider remained on their feet, armed and not far from the shielder.
Further, Jhiton and the two stormers who’d charged in to help crouched near the passageway—blocking escape.
They were all injured, Jhiton worse than the others, but they were on their feet and retained their weapons.
Syla swallowed and raised her arms higher, making sure they all saw the explosives she held. “I’ll let you leave if you go now, but if you try to take the shielder, I’ll blow us all up.”
One of the riders snorted. “Including yourself?”
“By the storm god’s cursed minions, yes. You’re not getting our shielder.” Syla was answering the rider but looked at Jhiton.
He was in charge. He was the one she needed to convince. Unfortunately, he’d already survived one explosion and probably realized the devices weren’t powerful enough to blow up everyone in the room. But with two, she might get her target. She shifted to make it clear that he would be her target.
Jhiton gazed at her, not noticeably alarmed by her obvious intent.
He lifted his swords as if to say he’d knocked one aside and could handle two more.
With his face blackened and burned and his clothes shredded, blood visible from numerous wounds, he didn’t look like he could handle a pair of explosives being thrown at him, but she wasn’t positive.
The riders were freaks of nature—freaks of their dragon magic.
Syla could see Vorik to her side but didn’t look at him. She couldn’t let him influence her decision one way or another.
Shouts came from the tunnels. A lot of them.
“Find the princess!” someone yelled in the distance.
“Seal the tunnels, and kill the invaders!” came another cry.
Reinforcements. But would they arrive in time?
A distant boom filtered through the layers of rock and earth.
Had that come from the harbor? Syla hoped the fleet was firing on the stormers’ ship, but she had a feeling they had moved it out from under the barrier before sending their incursion team in.
Still, her people’s ships might have gone out after it.
“Orders, sir?” Vorik watched Jhiton warily.
Jhiton looked up at the stone ceiling. Was his dragon up there?
Flying over the barrier and warning him of something?
He also looked at the man Syla had attacked earlier.
The stormer straightened and lowered his hand from his throat, tapping a hip pouch.
Jhiton’s gaze shifted to the shielder. He would have to go through Syla and Fel to reach it, but he was surely capable of that.
Tense, she moved her arms enough to remind him of the explosives. He already knew she would throw them.
But if she did, and Jhiton and his men leaped away, something they would more easily do now that they weren’t distracted by defending themselves, she wouldn’t have any other way to attack, to defend the shielder.
Maybe Jhiton believed exactly that because, despite more shouts—closer shouts—in the tunnels, he raised his swords and strode toward Syla.
Fel lifted his mace, bracing himself to defend her.
She lofted one of the explosives over his head toward Jhiton.
As she’d predicted, he sprang to the side, not touching it with his sword this time.
She tracked him and threw the other, hoping it would glance off him as he landed.
But he anticipated her attack and threw one of his swords.
It struck the closer explosive, keeping it from reaching him.
It blew at the same time as the first hit the ground.
The shockwaves blasted through the chamber, the lids on the sarcophagi rattling. Fel stumbled back, bumping into Syla and knocking her to the ground. A shard of something sharp slammed into her thigh, and she gasped at the agonizing pain.
Rocks banged down in the tunnel. Only the magic imbued in the chamber kept it intact as everything shook and smoke flooded the air.
“That way!” soldiers yelled, closer now.
“Was that the shielder?”
Inside the chamber, the smoke cleared enough that Syla could see General Jhiton still on his feet.
He’d already retrieved his sword. She tried to stand, but a sharp piece of rock embedded in her thigh made her grunt in pain as soon as she moved her leg.
Fel groaned, also injured, and struggled to push himself to his knees.
His mace was on the ground between them. Syla grabbed it. Not worried in the least about her ability to hurt him with it, Jhiton strode toward her—her and the shielder. From the ground, she couldn’t protect it. She had to—
Movement to the side made her jerk the mace that way, fearing another threat.
Vorik strode out of the smoke. At first, she thought he would grab her and heft her to her feet, maybe pull her away from the shielder so his general could destroy it. Instead…
Vorik stepped in front of her and blocked Jhiton from reaching her.
“Get out of the way, Vorik,” Jhiton said, his voice icy.
“We have to leave now if we’re to have any hope of escaping.” Without stepping from in front of Syla, Vorik pointed toward the passageway.
Judging by the shouts, more soldiers than before were coming. And the stormers were injured. Would Vorik be able to reason with his general?
Jhiton halted and looked at him. From the ground behind Vorik, Syla couldn’t see their expressions, but she did catch Vorik lifting his chin. Determined? Defiant?
Facing each other, Jhiton and Vorik stood still, holding gazes for what seemed minutes or hours but could only have been a couple of seconds.
More shouts from the tunnels spurred them to movement.
“Retreat,” Jhiton said quietly, then turned on his heel and led his men out.
Vorik went last, looking over his shoulder at Syla as he did.
His expression was worried, but she didn’t know if it was for her or for his future among his people—with his brother—after defending her.
Either way, he managed a quick half-smile and saluted her, the same as he had after the dragon battle over the whaling ship, before disappearing into the tunnel with his comrades.
With the rock shard stabbing her with pain, Syla let herself slump onto her back. The shielder remained in place, its power protecting the island, but soldiers lay dead all around them. She couldn’t feel like she’d won a battle.