Chapter 7
With soldiers pounding down the tunnel toward the shielder chamber, Vorik raced out after Jhiton and the others, his wounds making each step painful.
He half-expected his brother to snap at him that he ought to stay and deal with the wrath of the gardeners since he was so fond of their princess.
But Jhiton didn’t look back at him at all, merely leading his men down the tunnel and into the burial chamber with the freshly blown hole in the far wall.
A tunnel lay beyond that hole. When had his people carved it? And did it lead all the way to the bluff and the sea?
There wasn’t time for sightseeing, but Vorik couldn’t help but glance around, trying to figure how the stormers could have managed an excavation with a castle full of people above, people who would have heard explosions.
Even if the hard rock had been chiseled, that would have made noise.
And when could his people have done it? In the days after the invasion when the island hadn’t been protected and the castle dwellers had been distracted by repairs and funerals? It scarcely seemed enough time.
The tunnel didn’t go far before widening into a natural cave. Two Storm Guard soldiers rose from crouches to either side of the transition area, torches in their hands and kegs placed along both sides of the passageway.
“Blow them,” Jhiton said, running past the men without slowing.
Shouts behind them promised the soldiers had found the hole in the burial chamber. Some of them had likely found their princess and Syla’s relative or whoever that other woman had been—the person Vorik had originally believed to be Syla—but others ran after the intruders.
“Yes, sir,” one man said.
“A big explosion right there might bring down the castle,” someone pointed out.
“Darn,” Jhiton said.
He rarely shared a lot of emotion, but he sounded annoyed, and he didn’t hide the exasperation in his expression as he glanced back at Vorik.
Vorik spread his arms but didn’t apologize for defending Syla. And the rest? It wasn’t his fault the rest of his brother’s plan hadn’t worked, that someone had booby-trapped the shielder.
The soldiers lit fuses that led to the stacked kegs, then ran, catching up with the group.
The cave grew broader and higher, something that Vorik sensed more than saw in the dark. Had this place existed before his brother had planned his invasion? It must have. Maybe it had existed centuries earlier, before the castle had even been built. Had the gardeners known about it?
As the kegs exploded, their booms thunderous in the enclosed space, light flashed upon walls that held statues in large alcoves, and Vorik gaped. They were statues of dragons. And there was a griffin. And a wyvern. A gargoyle. A cloud striker? Were these all of the storm god’s winged creations?
Rocks tumbled down in the aftermath of the explosion, most behind them, where the kegs had been set, but one of the statues also toppled.
A wyvern. It pitched forward, and a wing broke off.
What was that set against the rock wall behind it?
Vorik thought of the stone sarcophagi in the chambers they’d just left.
But who would have built a tomb for a wyvern?
Before the light faded, Vorik also spotted nooks carved into the walls in an area with an ancient stone table thick with dust. A few beakers and flasks remained, coated with so many spiderwebs that they might have been there since the beginning of time. Was this some kind of workshop?
A hint of a sea breeze brushed Vorik’s cheeks, mingling with the scent of spent powder. Jhiton looked back. The soldiers who’d lit the explosives were catching up, their torches now the only source of light.
“The way is blocked?” Jhiton asked.
“Yes, sir. But the gardeners will get through eventually.”
“We’ll be long gone by then.”
“Yes, sir, but we won’t be able to gain entrance this way again. I’m sure they’ll seal the area once they discover it.”
“I can’t believe they didn’t know about this place before,” another man said.
“It’s from before the gods moved all of humanity to these islands and placed their protection around them,” Jhiton said.
“I only know of it because of Ozlemar. Even he isn’t old enough to have visited it, but the elder dragons remember the stories that their mothers and fathers passed down.
This was one of the storm god’s workshops, its existence long forgotten by humans, even those living right above it. ”
“We won’t be able to try again to destroy the shielders. Not going in this way.”
“We may have something almost as good.” Jhiton looked toward Devron, the soldier who’d warned them about Syla’s power.
“Yes, sir. I’ve got the scrolls. I’m not the best reader, and I didn’t get a chance to take a good look anyway, but I’m sure they’ll hold something of worth.”
“A map to the locations of all the shielders, if we’re fortunate,” Jhiton said.
Vorik looked sharply at him. He didn’t think that was likely—every Kingdom subject he’d spoken to on the matter believed that only the royal Moonmarks knew the locations and that the knowledge was passed down but never written down.
“We’ll have Lieutenant Wise study them,” Jhiton added.
They reached the end of the cave and entered a short tunnel with a hint of dim light at the end, the faint glow provided by the night sky. Rock shards littered the floor. This had been excavated recently.
The tunnel led to a jagged vertical slit overlooking the ocean rather than the harbor. They’d come out around the point from where the dragon ship had been shooting off fireworks. Vorik trusted it had sailed away before the Kingdom military vessels descended upon it.
Several men groaned at the prospect of the climb.
Aside from the two troops who’d waited to light the explosives, everyone in the party had been wounded.
Most of Vorik’s body ached or outright sent stabs of agony through him, but pain was an old friend, and he didn’t allow himself to groan, not with his brother right there.
Jhiton had taken the brunt of that explosive and had to hurt as much as or more than Vorik, but he said nothing as he started down in the dark without a rope.
None of the stormers had them, but most of the tribes lived in caves—the only types of domiciles that could be properly defended from dragons, wyverns, and other threats—so shimmying up and down cliffs was second-nature to their people.
As one, the group descended toward kayaks tied to the rocks far below. There was no beach or landing spot, merely waves crashing against the cliff, threatening to destroy the tiny vessels. A single stormer perched on a ledge, keeping an eye on the craft.
As the group climbed down, experienced fingers finding holds in the vertical rock, even in the dark, Vorik found himself shoulder to shoulder with Jhiton again.
He groped for something to say. An apology? An explanation? Something that would convince his brother that he could still be trusted.
Was that entirely true? Where Syla was concerned, Vorik couldn’t stand back and watch her be killed. She didn’t deserve that. She hadn’t deserved any of what befell her.
Jhiton was the one to speak first. “I can’t believe you stopped me from killing the woman who tried to blow us up.”
“She tried to blow you up. I was foolishly standing nearby.”
“She tried to blow me up twice.” Jhiton still sounded exasperated, but the fact that he was speaking suggested he wasn’t as angry as Vorik had feared.
“Yeah.” He dared grin a little.
After a few more seconds of descending, Jhiton looked over. “I see why you like her.”
Vorik’s grin widened. “Yeah.”
Any update on Wreylith? Vorik asked Agrevlari.
During the chaos, he’d forgotten about the red dragon and to wonder what had brought her.
Could Syla have called her? Though he could understand why she hadn’t wanted to give him any intelligence, he was curious for his own sake how she’d won the dragon’s assistance again.
Where she is and what she’s up to, Vorik added, sensing smugness through their telepathic link.
Not anything about her beauty or the poem you’re composing.
She called Ozlemar cowardly for attacking a healer and wanted to know if our presence here means the shield protecting this island will soon drop again.
Why would she care about that? Vorik asked.
She did not say.
Again, Vorik wondered if Syla had somehow reached out to the dragon.
Surely, Wreylith wouldn’t be out here gathering intelligence for a lowly human, even one who’d done a favor or two for her.
That had to be beneath a wild dragon who called those of her kind who bonded with humans domesticated or pets.
She did, however, mention that she took note of my actions during the skirmish over the whaling ship.
Your actions? Vorik asked. Like when you bit Ozzy in the flank?
I believe she approved of that, yes. There was the reason for Agrevlari’s smugness. That was the first time that Wreylith had said anything kindly toward him.
Syla liked it too.
A wave washed against the cliff below Vorik and Jhiton, cold ocean spray reaching them.
The men angled toward the kayaks. Lights burned on two ships that had rounded the point and come into view.
Kingdom ships? Yes, they had to be. They had to know stormers remained behind and hadn’t left with the dragon ship, and they were looking for them.
Your princess? Agrevlari asked.
The sole remaining princess of the Garden Kingdom. She is not mine.
Wistfulness filled Vorik at the statement.
Maybe he should have wanted nothing to do with Syla after she’d gotten the best of him on Harvest Island, but he’d been far more annoyed with himself than with her over that.
She’d been doing her duty for her people, the same as he’d been doing his.
He couldn’t resent her for that. No, he respected her.
And tonight… Vorik smiled at the memory of her holding those two explosive devices aloft, ready to throw them at Jhiton.
He wagered she’d been instrumental in placing them.
She’d known his people would try again, that their shielder wouldn’t be safe.
“Shall we leave you there, Captain?” Jhiton called up from one of the kayaks.
The rest of the team had found seats in the lightweight craft, two already heading out toward sea.
“No, I’d like to come along.” Vorik slithered off the cliff and into a two-seater kayak with his brother.
“I’m pleased that’s still the case.”
“Had I had an opportunity to taste the baked desserts the princess offered, I might have felt differently.” Vorik grew even more wistful as he remembered the cylindrical boxes of cobblers and who knew what other treats.
How lamentable that he hadn’t been able to bring them along.
It would have been difficult to steer a kayak with a cake perched between his legs though.
Once settled, Vorik grabbed a paddle and helped Jhiton push away from the cliff. It wasn’t easy with the waves and currents churning everything toward the rocks, but his people were almost as practiced with kayaks as with climbing.
“If only the gardeners knew how easily your loyalties might be won,” Jhiton said.
“All soldiers are ruled by their stomachs. Perhaps we should take up Syla’s offer of trade. Then you could get cobblers for your troops to ensure their undying devotion to you.”
Busy steering through the waves, Jhiton didn’t respond. Maybe he didn’t think the comment worth a response.
The Kingdom ships lurking out there between them and the barrier were concerning, but all the stormers had to do was paddle far enough out that their dragons could pick them up.
“What scrolls did Devron take from the chamber?” Vorik asked. “You don’t really expect to find the locations of the other shielders written down on parchment, do you?”
“We’ll find out once we return to our headquarters.”
Vorik didn’t recall seeing scrolls the last time he’d been in that chamber. What were the odds that Devron had grabbed a shopping list that someone had left down there?
A wave sprayed Vorik with water, and the splash brought realization as well as moisture.
Of course. Syla had spoken to her aunt about seeking out schematics as well as the Harvest Island shielder.
She or Tibby must have located them and brought them back to study.
Essentially instructions on how to repair the broken shielder.
If that was what the party had gotten away with, Vorik’s people might have left the gardeners in a bind again.
And Syla, despite Vorik stepping in and trying to help her, might resent him for being a part of that.
As he paddled, he gazed bleakly toward the starry sky. He’d hoped that they would one day find a chance to relive the night in the cave, this time without him being drugged in the end. But the odds of that seemed poorer than ever.