Sky Shielder (Fire and Fang #1)

Chapter 1

“I’ve a new find that you’ll be dying to add to your collection, Your Highness.” The antiques store clerk drew out a small velvet cube, opened it, and revealed a cylindrical bronze tool with a dozen tiny apertures in the top.

Fascinated, Syla lifted her spectacles and leaned in for a better look, her nose almost to the instrument.

Among her abler-eyed kin, censorious aristocrats, and especially attractive men, Syla was self-conscious about her nearsightedness and thick lenses, but here… Here it was different. Much like puppies and kittens, antiques did not judge a person.

“It’s not as aged as many of the instruments you prefer,” the clerk continued, “and such tools are still in use on some of the islands, especially where actual leeches are rare, but it was recently dredged out of the deepest part of Sky Torn Harbor, pulled up from a wrecked warship that was destroyed centuries ago by dragons and their foul riders.”

“Oh, in the Battle of 873? I’ve read all about that and how the dragons created a barricade just outside the sky shield to keep our ships from coming and going. Our forces had to leave the magical protection to confront them, and many were lost.”

“It must have been a dreadful time, yes.” The clerk made the eyes-of-the-moon symbol, two fingers tapping his chest, followed by a circle traced over his heart.

Syla rotated the instrument to study the back. “Is that the mark of Henis the Godcrafter? Goodness, what an exquisite specimen.”

Reminded that the clerk always thought her wealthy and asked outrageous prices, Syla leaned back and wished she hadn’t shown such interest. Now, he would try to gouge her.

“I thought it might appeal to you.” Yes, he sounded smug, as he always did when he believed he would wheedle money out of a patron.

Since Syla had walked to his shop of her own accord, procrastinating on her way to the castle for the dreaded weekly family dinner, she couldn’t pretend to be a victim.

“What is it?” her bodyguard, Sergeant Fel, rumbled in a suspicious bass from his position near the door.

“A spring-loaded scarificator.” The clerk demonstrated its function by tapping a small button on the side of the cylinder. Tiny scalpels inside sprang out, protruding from the apertures. “Some call devices like this artificial leeches.”

Fel, a twenty-year fleet veteran, who’d served another twenty years as a bodyguard for the royal family, drew back, as if he hadn’t seen and experienced much worse during his career.

He curled a distasteful—maybe even horrified—lip as he regarded the scarificator, as well as the antique ecraseur and speculum the clerk had first laid on his counter for Syla to consider.

With a shudder of his broad shoulders, he stated, “This place is unholy,” then turned to look out the window and regard whatever threats he envisioned creeping down the cobblestone street.

In the process, he stuck one of his legs out to stretch his calf.

He flexed and grimaced at his muscle tightness.

“I thought you were looking for herbalism antiques.”

“I do adore the history of herbalism, but other than pointy gathering sticks and occasional decorative cases, there aren’t a lot of antiques associated with the craft.

There are a lot of old books.” Syla lowered her spectacles to eye the shelves, wondering if any new tomes had come in.

She longed to find a copy of Aramon’s Herbs and Lore of the Rainforest Continent for her collection.

The clerk, who was glaring balefully at Fel, didn’t mention if he’d received any books lately.

“Not everyone is as fascinated by the history of healing as I am,” Syla said apologetically to him.

She eyed the scarificator again, contemplating making an offer—a low offer to counter whatever ridiculous price the clerk would quote.

But her room at Moon Watch Temple already overflowed with healing and history tomes, drawings of medicinal plants, and antiques related to her profession that were tucked into every nook and cranny, not to mention mounted to the wall, stacked under her bed, and overflowing from the dresser drawers. She didn’t need anything else, but…

“Is your bodyguard all right?” The clerk’s baleful glower had turned to one of concern.

Likely, he worried more about the many breakable items around the shop than the sergeant’s well-being.

Even without the dour grimace, Fel always looked dangerous and on the verge of violence.

Head shaven—to hide how gray his hair was, he’d once admitted—broad face scarred, and his tall frame still well-muscled, despite his years, he intimidated many people.

The crossbow slung across his back, bandolier of quarrels and daggers, and heavy mace at his belt all suggested he was a man capable of doing a lot of damage to enemies—and perhaps sensitive antiques as well.

“That dour frown is part of his normal expression.” Syla nodded as Fel switched legs, his grimace deepening when he stretched the other calf.

The clerk looked at her with a furrowed brow. Maybe she hadn’t answered his question sufficiently?

Syla held up a finger. “How much longer until your retirement, Sergeant Fel?”

“Seventeen days, eight hours, and…” Fel drew a pocket watch from his blue uniform trousers. “Thirteen minutes.”

“That’s when he’ll truly be all right,” Syla told the clerk, not minding Fel’s gruffness or even that he didn’t want to be at her side any longer than required.

After a lifetime of body-guarding her older and more politically important siblings, he deserved retirement.

And she… Well, she’d never believed herself in need of a protector.

Who would try to kill a healer? The youngest by far of five children?

Syla kept waiting for her oldest sister to have children so that she would no longer be directly in line for the throne and an even less likely target, but the gods hadn’t blessed any of her siblings with children yet, an absence the newspapers noted often.

Fel leaned closer to the window, frowning as he tucked his pocket watch away. His hand strayed to his mace, and was that a growl that emanated from his chest? He sounded like a gargoyle.

“Maybe he should wait outside.” The clerk must have heard the growl. He lifted a fragile, decorative dragon egg and two glass vases from the counter, then tucked them safely underneath it.

Syla joined Fel at the window, wondering if she’d been too quick to dismiss the possibility of trouble in the street.

But here in the capital city, on the most protected island in the Garden Kingdom, muggers wouldn’t ply their trade.

And, thanks to the magical sky shielder, people didn’t have to worry about dragons, wyverns, or other aerial threats.

Syla peered at the one- and two-story shops lining the wide street, horses hitched at mounting posts outside. “Sergeant, are you growling because your calf is knotted or because you spotted trouble?”

She felt diminutive standing next to her bodyguard.

At five-and-a-half feet in height, she wasn’t short for a Kingdom woman, but her head only came to the top of his shoulder.

Even if she’d worn her shoulder-length auburn hair in the currently trendy beehive style, instead of clipped back over her ears, Fel could have seen over her head.

“My calf is knotted, my arches ache, my heel feels like it’s being stabbed, and my knee is throbbing, but it’s the dragon that just flew overhead that’s making me growl.” Fel pointed toward the cloudy gray sky.

Syla didn’t see anything but the promise of evening rain, but she didn’t doubt the sergeant. His body might hurt from a lifetime of hard work, training, and wounds received in battle, but he’d never indicated any failings with his eyes.

“Just one soaring above the shield, right?”

“It looked lower than that.” Fel held up a finger. “Stay here.”

Syla blinked. Lower than the sky shield? That wasn’t possible. Dragons couldn’t pass through the magical barrier. None of the storm god’s creations could.

“Dragons?” The clerk tucked more fragile antiques out of the way, as if damage to a few gewgaws would be the main concern if deadly predators made it through the shield.

Syla, neither a warrior nor even well-endowed with athleticism, obeyed Fel’s command to stay inside, but curiosity prompted her to lean through the doorway for a better look.

Once out in the cobblestone street, clear of the shop’s awning, Fel surveyed the sky, then turned toward the castle on the bluff that overlooked the harbor and capital city. Whatever he saw up there made him widen his eyes and curse.

At first, he reached for his crossbow. Then he looked at Syla and swore again. When he rushed toward her, screams came with him. Two horses pulling carts raced down the street, wheels rattling as the drivers cracked their whips and shouted for greater speed.

“The castle is under attack.” Fel gripped Syla’s arm. “Dragons. A whole wing of them. We have to get you to a bunker.”

Though stunned, Syla let him drag her into the street. Sticking to the side, they ran under awnings and overhangs whenever possible. She glanced back toward the castle, half-believing he had to be mistaken. The sky shield had successfully protected the islands for centuries.

But dozens of green, gray, and blue dragons circled the castle, spewing fire at the towers and battlements.

The only defense came from archers, crossbowmen, and Royal Protectors manning cannons.

Smoke roiled from the courtyard and the high windows of the keep, promising great damage had already been done.

Horrified, Syla stumbled, almost falling to the cobblestones.