Chapter 12
While she’d extricated the venom-filled fang from the fearsome red dragon, Syla had remained calm, fighting down her instinct to run each time the powerful creature twitched a limb or spoke of slaying.
But now, with two new dragons flying toward the grassy top of the bluff, her calmness fled.
Both of their riders waved swords while glaring at her, their intent clear. Surprisingly, they glared at Vorik too.
When the gray dragon angled toward Syla, descending rapidly with talons outstretched, she sprinted for the only cover on the clifftop, the lighthouse.
“Hide inside!” Vorik yelled after her.
Meanwhile, he ran to his winged ally and sprang high into the air, landing astride its broad back, as if it were a pony instead of a huge dragon. Never had Syla seen anyone capable of such a great jump.
Something that doesn’t matter in the least right now, she thought as she ran, wishing she’d stayed closer to the lighthouse while healing Wreylith.
The enemy dragons were coming in fast, and she wouldn’t make it in time. Even if she did, was the stone structure enough to protect her from such powerful enemies? After all, the buildings in the castle had fallen…
As the gray dragon swept closer, it opened its maw, and flames roiled in the back of its throat. It would torch her and the lighthouse.
No, a green dragon arrowed in from the side, colliding with the gray and knocking it from its flight path. Vorik riding on his mount. Agrevlari. That had been the big male’s name.
The wingbeats of the two dragons battered the air as they twisted and dove right above Syla’s head.
The wind they generated tugged at her dress hard enough to send her stumbling sideways.
As she flailed for balance, she gaped at the sight of the battling dragons.
They twisted, bit, and clawed at each other, somehow remaining aloft as they gyrated about, even lashing out at each other with their thick and powerful tails.
“Traitor!” the rider of the gray dragon yelled.
Syla reached the door of the lighthouse and should have run inside, but she paused with her hand on the latch.
She couldn’t keep from watching as the wind created by the dragons’ wings tugged at her hair and made the grass flutter.
The display of gravity-defying power and agility from both creatures as they rolled and twisted in the air was mesmerizing.
The battle took place near the lighthouse, more than thirty feet up, but Vorik leaped from the back of his dragon to land on the spine of the gray, as if there were no danger of falling to one’s death.
His rider opponent didn’t appear surprised, merely spinning around to meet him with a swinging sword.
Vorik struck quickly, deflecting the blade with his own as he balanced on the back of the gyrating dragon.
He even managed to kick the other rider, a strong blow that took the man square in the chest.
His opponent flew off his mount and tumbled past the edge of the cliff and toward the sea below.
The gray dragon roared and extricated itself from the biting and slashing Agrevlari. Neck snapping around, its fanged maw whipped toward Vorik who still crouched on its back.
“Look out!” Syla caught herself yelling.
Somehow, Vorik leaped over the snapping jaws, avoiding them and coming down farther back on the dragon, just above the base of the tail.
Agrevlari flew in again, but the gray dragon, incensed by having an unwanted rider, bucked and snapped wildly.
Twice more, Vorik jumped to avoid those deadly fangs, once somersaulting in the air and swinging his sword at one of the beast’s horns, clipping off the tip.
Somehow, he landed again on the dragon’s back.
Agrevlari flew in close to help—or maybe retrieve his rider.
Captivated by Vorik’s sheer acrobatic skill, Syla almost missed the shadow that fell over the lighthouse. The other green dragon was arrowing straight down toward her, its maw parted and hatred burning in its rider’s eyes.
She lifted the latch, but the door was heavier than she expected and stuck as it scraped over an uneven stone floor.
Terrified, she shoved her shoulder against it.
It ground open, and she leaped inside as the dragon landed, head snapping toward her.
It missed her but caught the hem of her dress, the rip of fabric echoing loudly in the hollow stone lighthouse.
The yank as the dragon pulled at the captured hem almost pulled Syla off her feet—and back through the doorway. But she lunged away, losing the bottom portion of her dress, then raced for the stairs.
A thump sounded behind her, the rider dismounting. A big muscular man, he’d landed in a crouch right in front of the doorway. He lunged to follow her, to kill her, his swinging sword promised.
But something caught him from behind. Vorik had also jumped down from who knew where—forty feet in the sky?
Before the rider could turn to face him, Vorik leaped upon the man, snaking a muscled arm around his foe’s neck from behind.
Vorik dragged the man out of the lighthouse and away from the doorway. Syla glimpsed a boot as the rider kicked, trying to escape from Vorik. Then they both disappeared from her view, though thumps and grunts continued as the two fought.
Several steps up, Syla paused, her heart racing, the bottom of her dress shredded. She was tempted to keep running to the top of the lighthouse but had no idea where the dragons had gone. What if they were waiting at the top for her?
A loud snap came from outside near the doorway. It sounded like a bone breaking. Or… a neck?
Silence fell, save for the roar of the sea, and Syla waited, afraid of who would come into view.
The last she’d seen, Vorik had held the advantage, but the riders were all so well-trained.
It was possible their enemy had managed to get the best of Vorik, especially if one of the dragons had returned to help.
A screech sounded from the sky, but it was farther away than she would have expected. Had the battle between the dragons moved out over the sea?
A dark figure stepped into the doorway. Vorik.
Never would she have thought she would let out a breath of pure relief at seeing him. He was a dragon rider himself. An enemy.
But… was that true?
He’d just fought his own people to protect her, as he’d said he would. Those dragons had been trying to kill each other, and she’d seen that man go over the cliff. He’d probably died on the rocks below. With a fall so far, how not?
“Are you all right, Your Highness?” Other than his clothing being rucked up, his hair tousled, and a gash along his jaw, Vorik appeared fine, his voice calm.
“I… yes.” Syla smoothed her dress as much as she could with the lower half in tatters. She tried not to think about how many inches away she’d been from being crushed in a dragon’s jaws.
She stepped down the stairs toward him. “Are you?”
When she faced him from the ground, she reached toward his jaw, prompted by her healer’s instincts to inspect the wound. It wept blood down the side of his neck and looked painful.
Vorik caught her wrist gently but firmly. “I’m not as impervious to magic as Wreylith believes she is. Please forgive my rudeness, but I’ll pass on accepting healing from you, Your Highness.”
“Oh.” Her cheeks heated. “I wouldn’t have used my magic on you without asking for permission. I was just looking to see how deep it is. Sorry. It’s a habit.”
“I understand.” Vorik released her wrist, bowed to her, and stepped outside.
Agrevlari waited in the grass, as if nothing eventful had happened. He didn’t appear to have even a cut. She looked for the other dragons and spotted the pair flying away, side by side and already far out to sea.
“What happened to their riders?” Syla had seen the first fall over the cliff, but what of the second? Had Vorik broken his neck?
The grass was flattened where the two men had fought, but she didn’t see a body.
Wordlessly, Vorik pointed to the cliff, then walked to the edge. It was only a few yards from the lighthouse, and she eased up beside him to peer over herself.
The rocks jutting from the churning white water below looked as deadly as she’d believed, but she didn’t see either of the men’s bodies. Had they been dragged under by the tide? She spotted something black—a boot—upon one of the rocks.
“They may be down there, swimming away.” Vorik was also looking about, seeking sign of them. “Riders are tough to kill.”
“I… would imagine.” Syla looked at him, tempted to ask about the superhuman fighting prowess he’d shown. He was clearly fit and trained hard, but only magic could have allowed such feats. “I know why they want me dead, but why did they attack you?”
The memory of the man shouting traitor rose in her mind, answering her own question.
Vorik shrugged, as if the attack hadn’t surprised him. “They must have figured out that which I’ve tried to keep hidden.”
“Your… allegiance to the Freeborn Faction?” Syla hadn’t believed that story before, but as blood trickled from Vorik’s wound, she started to wonder if he’d told the truth. Maybe it wasn’t a ruse.
She couldn’t deny that those men—and especially that gray dragon—had tried to kill Vorik. They’d glared at him with even more hatred in their eyes than when they’d looked at her.
“Yes. When I return, I’ll have to tell Chieftess Atilya. She’ll be disappointed to learn that my cover has been blown and I can’t be a spy for her anymore, but…” Vorik shrugged again. “I figured that would happen anyway when I came here to protect you.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Just tell me where I can find more of those fabulous blackberries.”
Syla blinked. That wasn’t what she’d expected him to have on his mind right now. “If we find an oven, I’ll bake you a cobbler with them.”
“Really?” His ears perked, and an expression of wonder and delight stretched his lips, almost startling on the face of such a savage warrior. But, by the moon, he was striking when he smiled. “I’ve heard of such things but never had one. They’re sweet, yes?”
“Yes. It’s a dessert.”
His smile turned a little sad. “My people don’t have desserts.”
It was ridiculous, given the situation, but Syla had the urge to hug him. His people had just decimated hers and killed her family. Feeling sympathy for them—even for Vorik—would be ridiculous. But… he kept saving her life. She couldn’t help but feel… something.
It didn’t hurt that he was handsome—very handsome—with those keen emerald eyes and cheekbones that couldn’t have been more perfect if a sculptor had carved them from marble.
And the strong, muscled arms that had so easily caught her when she’d dropped?
Though it was undoubtedly unwise, she longed to step closer to him rather than drawing away.
Lorengarth has warned me, Agrevlari said, letting Syla hear his words, that he intends to return with more riders after he’s reported to his superiors about the princess’s whereabouts and your betrayal.
Vorik nodded. “We’d better not stay here. Your Highness, my faction leaders would like me to bring you to their hideout, the better to protect you—”
Syla shook her head and stepped back, her hackles rising. She wouldn’t let anyone lock her in a room again, not her own people and not his.
“—but you look like you were packed for a trip?” He cocked his head and waved at her pack in the grass.
“I…” Syla wasn’t as suspicious of Vorik as she had been twenty minutes ago, but she dared not speak of the shielders to a rider.
It would be safest to tell him to leave her be and that she would go her own way.
But, logically, would she survive another day without a protector?
If those dragons returned with new riders, they would be looking for her, and she didn’t have the power to stand up to even a rider, much less a rider with a dragon.
“I need to visit my aunt,” Syla said.
That wasn’t a great kingdom secret that she couldn’t let out.
Vorik raised his eyebrows at her vagueness.
She groped for an explanation that would satisfy him without giving away anything important.
“Does she have an oven?” he surprised her by asking.
Syla almost laughed. “Yes.”
“Then please allow Agrevlari and me to escort you to her kitchen.” Vorik bowed and extended a hand toward the dragon.
Syla looked toward Agrevlari. He wasn’t rolling on his back in the grass now but watching her intently.
If she got onto the dragon’s back with Vorik, she would essentially be his prisoner, helpless and unable to escape. Even though she wasn’t as suspicious of him as she had been, her gut warned her not to put herself into a situation from which she couldn’t extricate herself.
But when Vorik cheerfully added, “I’ll gather more berries for the cobbler,” and jogged to the bramble patch, Syla snorted, again almost laughing. The night had been far too grim for laughter, but, thanks to Vorik, she was still alive, and she could pursue her mission to save the kingdom.
Maybe it was foolish, but she walked toward the dragon to get on.