Chapter 17 #2
Tonasketal had turned his long neck to gaze out toward the sea. They’d flown far enough up the river that it was barely visible, but Vorik didn’t doubt that the dragons sensed others in the area.
“The general mentioned summoning more people to solidify our holding on Harvest Island,” Vorik said. “They might be flying up the coast to report to him before heading out over the sea.”
“General Amalia was also talking with General Jhiton yesterday,” Wise said, “about a plan to attack Bogberry Island to split the Kingdom forces. They seemed to think they might be able to learn the location of the shielder there and disable it, but I haven’t heard any new intelligence about that.”
“Neither have I, though I know Jhiton would like that island. He wants to claim the three northernmost because they’d be easier to defend.
Oh, he wants the whole Kingdom, but I think his back-up plan is to acquire those three.
They’d be enough to feed our people if we wanted to settle down and farm.
” Vorik wondered how many of his foraging, hunting, and nomad-life-loving kin would be willing to do that.
If it meant a more stable existence, at least some would, but maybe not all.
“Settle down? That’s not what General Amalia and Chief Tenilor were talking about.”
Vorik frowned, wondering why he hadn’t been invited to whatever meeting this had been. At the least, Jhiton usually filled him in on things. The uneasy thought that his allegiance might be in question right now bothered him.
“What were they talking about?”
“Ruling over the gardeners and keeping our existing life while they farm for us.” Wise shrugged. “It sounded a little tyrannical and despotic to me, and I don’t think that’s what all our leaders want, but… it was being discussed.”
“Enslaving them.”
“Essentially. Some people like Captain Lesva have grudges, family members who tried to go back and were turned away. Others who hoped for healing or refuge for a time have also been turned away. That is a common theme.”
“I’m aware, but we’re not enslaving an entire nation. I know that’s not Jhiton’s plan.” Vorik squinted at Wise, hoping that was the truth, that his brother’s plans hadn’t changed without Vorik being informed.
“No, I don’t think that’s what he wants, sir. But he’s only the leader of the Sixteen Talons.”
“Only.”
“I didn’t mean he’s not important and doesn’t have a lot of sway, but the tribal chiefs are in charge of the military.” Wise shrugged again, then looked toward the sea.
A dragon with a female rider was approaching. She lifted a hand toward them.
That’s Balinskil, Tonasketal said, naming the dragon rather than the rider.
“And Lieutenant Savlin.” Vorik recognized the woman’s broad face and short wiry black hair as he remembered the dragon she rode. “There’s not room on this perch for anyone else.”
Wise laughed. “No, sir. We’ll move.”
Tonasketal took off, the breeze from his wings riffling through Vorik’s hair. In a few moments, Savlin and her dragon landed beside Agrevlari.
“Good evening, sir,” she said, smiling. “It’s always a pleasure to run into you, but what brings you way down south?”
“A mission for the general. The usual.”
“Of course. We’re heading to check in with General Jhiton now, and I’m eager to sample the pears we heard proliferate on the Kingdom island we took.”
“They’re delicious.”
“When we sensed you, I decided to check in to see if you need anything.” Savlin raised her eyebrows.
“Just a moon-marked gardener, apparently.”
Savlin blinked. “Sir?”
“Never mind. We’ll acquire that ourselves.
” Vorik only said the latter because Tonasketal was lazily circling the area, close enough for Wise to listen in.
He thought about shooing them away but didn’t plan to discuss anything clandestine during a chance meeting with a Swordhawk Tribe lieutenant.
Further, he didn’t want Wise to think he had anything to hide.
“Yes, sir.” Savlin tilted her head. “Do you need any supplies? Or do you have any messages that I can take to the general? We’re going to fly through the night and arrive before dawn.”
Wise’s chin came up. “Will you tell him that I deciphered what he requested, and we need…” He glanced at Vorik.
Vorik knew what his lieutenant intended to share and was too far away to clamp a hand over his mouth.
“A moon-marked gardener?” Savlin guessed.
Vorik sighed. “Yes, you can tell the general that. And that we know where to find one.”
“I hear there are a lot of them in the Garden Kingdom,” Savlin said dryly. “Though fewer than there used to be.”
“Yes,” Vorik said, far more grim than amused.
Now that he knew Syla personally and was aware that his people had assassinated her entire family, it was impossible to be anything but grim.
Still, aware that his fellow riders wouldn’t understand, he forced a smile.
“There are pears at the headquarters camp. Make sure to get some before you leave. They’re magnificent. ”
“I look forward to it, sir. And I’ll deliver your message, Wise.” Savlin waved to them, and her dragon sprang off the perch, flying off to catch up with the rest of her wing.
“Was it… all right that I said that, sir?” Wise asked.
No, Vorik thought.
“Yes, of course,” he said. “Especially if Jhiton asked you to decipher the scrolls, and that’s what they said.”
“Yes, sir. He did.”
Vorik closed his eyes and tilted his head toward the darkening sky.
He didn’t want to kidnap Syla and force her to do anything, but with General Jhiton soon to learn that it would be necessary…
how could he do anything else? If he didn’t acquire someone with a moon-mark, Jhiton would send someone else to complete this mission.
Someone who wouldn’t care about Syla and might hurt her in the process. Or worse.
“Should I climb up and pull it down?” Fel’s voice promised he did not want to do that.
Even as he asked, he was leaning against a tree, alternately stretching his calf and flexing his ankle and knee.
His muscles and joints must have stiffened up on the long ride.
His mace hung from his belt, but he’d leaned his crossbow against the tree, the weapon never more than a few inches from his grip.
“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.
” Syla pulled her gaze from the cylindrical green bulb twenty or thirty feet up in the thick tree, its details barely visible as twilight deepened.
She shifted her weight, trying to find a place to stand where leaves, thorns, and vines didn’t threaten to stab or entangle her.
The air was warm and close, myriad scents of growth and decay dense around them.
“We need a version that’s died and naturally petrified or was preserved by people long enough ago that it’s completely dried out and has gained magic. ”
“We can’t get one and dry it?” Fel asked.
“It sounds like it takes a long time before magic permeates it and that more was involved than slicing pieces off and dehydrating them in the sun.” Syla spread a hand.
Despite her extensive knowledge of medicinal plants, she’d only known a little about the moss bulbs before Aunt Tibby had shared the information on the scrolls.
“The people who used the bulbs had to replicate the petrification process, essentially.”
Teyla jumped as a winged bug buzzed past her ear, half-swinging her sword at it before stopping herself.
Countless unfamiliar animal, bird, and insect noises came from the trees and the river, most ominous and threatening to their inexperienced ears.
A stormer would probably know which indicated danger and which did not.
Though, from what Vorik had said about his world, including that they had a dedicated term—sky watcher—for someone who kept an eye out for approaching threats, maybe everything could be dangerous.
For the moment, the dragons remained nearby, hanging from root perches below the bank, but the position did not look comfortable.
Among the dense trees and tangled undergrowth, there wasn’t room for them to stand on the ground, even with their wings folded in, and Syla suspected they would soon leave to find a more comfortable place to wait.
For now, they appeared to be communicating telepathically with each other, heads tilting and wings occasionally twitching in response to each other’s comments.
Syla pulled a compact lantern out of her pack and dug out dragonspark matches.
“The reason I want to find ruins is in the hope that we might chance upon already-preserved specimens inside. As I was saying earlier, the bulbs were commonly collected by the indigenous peoples in the area, back before the gods relocated humanity to our islands.”
“You may not want to light that.” Fel stepped away from the tree and took his crossbow in his arms again. “It’ll bring animals and insects to you.”
As if to affirm the statement, Teyla jumped again, swatting at something that must have brushed her neck.
Growling, Fel eyed a winged insect that whizzed past his face. It was the size of a bluebird back home.
“We need to be able to see.” Reminded of the huge insect that had buzzed past with a stinger like a sword, Syla pulled out her first-aid kit and withdrew a pungent salve. “This keeps mosquitoes on the islands away.”
“That wasn’t a mosquito,” Fel said.
Something landed on Syla’s hand, instantly stinging or maybe biting her, and she shook her arm with a grunt. Her moon-mark surprised her by glowing a slight silver. A warning of danger? Or was it offering the same message as it had on the river? That this area held something important?
Mindful of Fel’s warning that light would attract more insects, Syla pulled her sleeve over the glowing birthmark, then uncapped the salve. Its strong citrus and banebark scents joined the earthy odors of the rainforest, and she smeared her exposed skin with the stuff.