Chapter 10 #2
The power he derived from his bond with Agrevlari enhanced his physical attributes, which made him more effective at defeating foes—sometimes permanently defeating foes—but it wasn’t as if he could wave his hand and end a person’s life.
Of course, some riders with dragons more predatory and merciless than Agrevlari received power that might be able to let them do something like that.
He’d heard stories of riders lashing out with less tangible weapons than swords and bows, but didn’t that usually require close contact?
“It was like an invisible garrote wrapping around my neck.” Again, Devron touched his throat.
“It kept me from breathing. At the same time, I felt like this snake of power was winding through my body. It wrapped around my heart. For a moment, I thought she was going to… I don’t know.
Kill me. The way she looked into my eyes with the certainty that she could was, uhm.
” Devron glanced at Jhiton and didn’t say something like terrifying or soul-shriveling, instead opting to save face with, “Concerning.”
“That’s the reason you were unconscious when we entered the chamber?” Jhiton asked as Vorik shook his head, having a hard time believing Syla had used her power to knock someone out. She’d never suggested she could do that. She’d emphasized that she used her magic for healing.
“Yes, sir. I couldn’t breathe, and then I blacked out. I didn’t think… I wasn’t sure I would wake up.”
“What exactly can she do with her magic?” Jhiton directed the question at Vorik.
“I don’t know. I thought only healing.”
“Over the years, our spies have reported that the moon-marks give those with them power that they can direct in different ways, depending on their natural talents and interests,” Jhiton said, “but I haven’t heard of any of them becoming assassins.”
“Syla isn’t an assassin.” Vorik couldn’t keep the exasperation out of his voice. “She’s a healer. She wears their robes. She bakes cobblers.”
Devron’s brow scrunched in puzzlement. The poor man had probably never had a cobbler. Admittedly, Vorik hadn’t until Syla had given him one, but now that he knew they existed, he wanted more of them.
“Well, if she wears a robe,” Jhiton said, “she can’t possibly be an assassin. Everyone knows they have different sartorial preferences.”
“That’s right. They dress more like this.” Vorik plucked at his brother’s black sleeve and waved at the equally dark cloak.
“Funny.”
“I aim to entertain.” Vorik pointed at the scrolls, hoping to change the subject, but he sensed the approach of someone new.
“She can do more than heal,” Captain Lesva said coolly.
She came to stand at Jhiton's side while leveling a cold look at Vorik.
He sighed, deciding he should have gone to her when she’d been recovering from her injuries, but he hadn’t wanted to deal with her snark.
And he couldn’t have brought himself to apologize for being responsible for her falling off that cliff.
She’d brought that upon herself by disobeying Jhiton's orders and capturing—capturing and torturing—Syla.
“What more?” Jhiton eyed her without warmth, but he didn’t step away from her either.
“When I was questioning her—”
“Torturing her,” Vorik interrupted.
Lesva shot him the cold look again. “When I was attempting to learn that which Vorik had failed to learn, the location of the Harvest Island shielder, I used my magic to try to lower her defenses and convince her to speak the answers you sought.” Lesva pointed at Jhiton as she said that you, as if everything she did was for him and the good of the stormers and the Sixteen Talons.
Yeah, right. Vorik knew she craved a promotion and power. If she got her way, she would lead her tribe one day, and she would do anything necessary to reach her goal.
“I believe I told you,” Jhiton said mildly, “that would prove ineffective. Moonmarks are notoriously resistant to mental attacks and interrogation. We’ve attempted to forcibly question members of the royal family before.”
Vorik also wanted to correct his brother, swapping in torture for forcibly question, but one didn’t correct one’s superior officer, especially not in front of witnesses.
“You did, sir,” Lesva said.
“And I told you not to attempt to capture and interrogate the princess,” Jhiton continued, his tone still mild, but his green eyes were hard.
He’d stripped people of their rank before when they’d disobeyed his orders.
When they’d disobeyed in a way that put the Talons at risk, he’d even killed them. With his own hands.
Vorik didn’t wish that fate on Lesva, but if she were demoted, he wouldn’t object.
After the pain she’d inflicted on Syla, some punishment should be in order.
Unfortunately, Jhiton probably didn’t care much about Syla.
She was a royal from the Garden Kingdom, after all, an obstacle in the flight path to achieving his goal.
“You did, sir,” Lesva repeated, and bowed her head, though such a gesture had to be difficult for one with such a stiff neck.
“I thought you would forgive me my choice if I could destroy the shielder. But my choice resulted in the death of my lieutenant, and I regret it. Honestly, I thought the gardener girl looked so soft that there was no way that she could fight off my magic.” Lesva glanced at Vorik again.
He clenched his jaw, remembering Lesva’s unflattering description of Syla. She wasn’t rangy, lean, and muscular, like stormer women, but she wasn’t soft. She had grit and determination. And power. More, if Devron’s accounting was correct, than any of them had realized.
Was it possible the dragon Wreylith had realized it? Maybe that was why she’d come when Syla touched the krendala.
Even though Vorik hadn’t intended to trick Syla into giving up information, he did wish he’d managed to find out how she’d finagled Wreylith’s help during that battle. That had been unexpected and almost disastrous.
“I believe the loss of your lieutenant is punishment enough,” Jhiton said, “so I will not demote you, but you will not disobey my orders again.”
Vorik told himself that he shouldn’t be disappointed that Lesva wasn’t being demoted, but he disagreed with the loss of one of her squadron as being sufficient punishment.
Lesva, despite her aspirations to lead her tribe, didn’t have a lot of warmth and compassion for others, not that he’d noticed.
He doubted she’d lost much sleep over her lieutenant’s death.
“I understand, General. But what is the mission going forward? Simply continue to demolish Harvest Island and take their food? Or do you have plans to gain access to more of the islands?” Lesva’s mouth twisted as she lifted her head and met Jhiton's gaze. “And get rid of that girl?”
That girl? Syla?
Vorik clenched his fist. Lesva had been the one to torture Syla. What grudge could Lesva hold?
“You know what my plans are,” Jhiton said quietly. “We will not only have access to the other islands, but we will have them.”
“Excellent, sir. Is there anything I can do? I’ve recovered enough for duty.” Lesva leaned forward, eager for a mission.
Not wanting to appear anything but a loyal officer desiring the same, Vorik attempted to look alert, though he was far more eager for a night’s sleep.
“I want you to take two squadrons to Harvest Island to establish rule over the capital city while Captain Vorik makes sure a shielder is never returned to its shores to reinstate the sky shield. Not unless we choose to put one in place.”
Vorik raised his eyebrows and looked at the scrolls, guessing they tied in with his portion of the mission.
Lesva frowned, as if she wanted to object to such a simple task, and she also looked at the scrolls. Certain some great secrets that were key to their plans lay within? And that she should be involved?
“You’ll leave in the morning,” Jhiton told her, pointing toward the cave exit and out to sea in the direction of the Garden Kingdom islands.
“Yes, sir,” Lesva said but hesitated. “What about the girl? If Devron is right, she’s even more dangerous than I believed. And if she commands Wreylith—”
“I am certain she doesn’t command Wreylith,” Jhiton said, dry again.
“No, sir, that’s probably true, but I think we need to get rid of her.”
“That’s not necessary,” Vorik caught himself saying, though maybe he should have kept his mouth shut. Jhiton hadn’t indicated he would send Lesva off on an assassination mission. Further, if Vorik kept defending Syla to his people… they would grow suspicious about his loyalties.
The squint that Lesva sent him promised that she was already suspicious, at least when it came to his feelings for Syla.
Vorik folded his arms over his chest, refusing to take back his words. “She’s not a threat.”
“She threw explosives at us,” Jhiton reminded him.
“At you.”
“Thus making the behavior acceptable.”
“She was trying to defend her people’s shielders,” Vorik said.
“The shielders that we must destroy so that our people have a better future.” Jhiton gestured around the cave at the fires burning, families happily eating their fill for the first time in a long time.
“I know.” Vorik lowered his arms. “I don’t oppose that, and you know I’ll do whatever you ask, General. I just don’t think we need to worry about Princess Syla.”
Long seconds passed as Jhiton regarded him. Vorik willed him to send the lurking Devron and Lesva away so they could speak privately. Jhiton would be annoyed by him questioning him in front of others, but alone, he would be more reasonable. Or so Vorik hoped.
“She’s more than a healer,” Lesva said.
Devron nodded vigorously.
“Getting rid of her would be wise,” Lesva added. “Sir, if you want, while I’m on Harvest Island, it would be a simple matter to have my dragon fly me close to Castle Island. I could swim through the barrier with my weapons and end the princess as a threat to our conquest.”