Chapter 18
I don’t think I’m going to get a blackberry cobbler, Vorik said telepathically to Agrevlari as he watched Syla pace back and forth on the road while the engineer—Aunt Tibby, as she’d called the mid-fifties woman—examined the ambulatory machine that the bodyguard had destroyed.
Vorik wasn’t that concerned about her. Though the woman was moon-marked, Vorik had gathered from what he’d overheard that she didn’t know where the shielders were.
His focus remained on Syla—and the steam coming out of her ears.
Oh, not literal steam, but he imagined he could see it wafting up, her brain boiling from all the concentrating she was doing. Or was it… scheming? If she’d been Vorik’s poor deceased nephew, he would have been certain of it from that expression. The kid had been a thinker and a schemer.
A twinge of sadness and nostalgia swept over him at the memory of Jebrosh.
A cobbler… Agrevlari mused. Is that not a human occupation?
It’s also the name of the dessert Syla said she could make if she had access to an oven and, presumably, the proper ingredients. Vorik remembered the tangy taste of the tart berries he’d eaten and grew wistful for another reason.
Ah. Given what I know about you, it makes more sense to desire a dessert than the flesh of a human.
Yeah, I’m not interested in eating my own kind.
This interlude has been satiating—an image of a sheep accompanied the words—but is it not time to resume the pursuit of our orders? It is possible I could carry three, if that would sway the princess to ride with you on my back. The Island of Eliok is not far.
Elioks are animals, right? Vorik hadn’t previously heard what he assumed was the dragon name for Harvest Island.
Most delicious prey that have been hunted to extinction everywhere but on a handful of Garden Kingdom islands.
They are known to be particularly populous in the wilderness near the volcano and away from the cultivated lands there.
Our kind crave the opportunity to hunt them again and enjoy their sumptuous flesh.
Which was probably why Agrevlari was offering to carry the heavy burden of extra riders. He hoped the shield would be taken down so he could hunt. Dragons had singular ambitions.
Thanks for offering, but I don’t want you to carry three, especially not if one is the tedious bodyguard. I need to get the princess away from her allies if I’m going to… Vorik remembered riding to the farm with his arms wrapped around Syla and her warm body between his thighs.
Seduce her?
Win her trust and locate the other shielders. The bodyguard and aunt are suspicious of me and want to get rid of me.
The princess is also suspicious of you and wants to get rid of you, the dragon said dryly.
Less so. Her mind and instincts warn her that I’m a dangerous enemy who is not to be trusted, but her body craves my touch. It hadn’t been Vorik’s imagination that Syla had melted back into him when they’d ridden together.
Right now, she’s touching the statuette of Wreylith.
Vorik frowned at Syla. When had she pulled out that figurine?
Even though Syla had survived her encounter with the red dragon, it wouldn’t be a good idea to intrude upon Wreylith again in the same day. Or the same year.
Where did she get that, do you think? Vorik asked. It’s a krendala, isn’t it? I’ve only heard of them before, not seen one. Nobody left in this era knows how to make them, do they?
I’ve seen a few of the magical tools that allow bonded humans and dragons to communicate from across great distances, but I believe you are correct that centuries have passed since new ones have been made.
As far as I’m aware, the knowledge of how to craft them has been lost. Wreylith, however, is not the youngest of dragons.
You’d better not call her old when she’s close enough to overhear, or she’ll light your tail on fire.
I did not say she is old, Agrevlari said. Dragons may live many centuries; some have even reputedly survived for a thousand years. Wreylith is not old but mature, which makes her wise and powerful and extremely…
Sexy?
She is that. Agrevlari rose from his reclining spot in the grass and stretched like a cat, his tail swishing back and forth. She sets the libidos of many male dragons ablaze.
Despite her aloofness?
Perhaps that is part of the appeal. That which is not easy to obtain is valued greatly. Did you know she reputedly killed the last male who sought to court her? She mated with him to sate her urges, then slew him, like a black-widow spider or the legendary female morisaka.
I know the possibility of being killed afterward gets me eager for sex.
I think it’s possible your Captain Lesva would slay a mate who didn’t satisfy her.
Vorik snorted. That is possible.
My point in bringing up age is that Wreylith may have been bonded to a human in the time when makers with the knowledge to craft krendalas still existed. That figurine is most certainly linked to her.
Vorik watched Syla turn it over and over in her hand. He didn’t sense her using her magic to activate the power within the figurine, but might she be contemplating it?
Wreylith couldn’t ever have been bonded to a human, Vorik replied as he debated why Syla might want to reach out to the red dragon again.
Wreylith had, however inadvertently, almost killed her.
She would be foolish to want to interact with the dragon again.
She has utter scorn for riders—and those of your kind who allow themselves to be ridden.
I’ve, alas, been the recipient of many of her comments on that and agree that it does seem unlikely, but… the krendala exists.
Yeah. Vorik sensed a trickle of magic flowing from Syla and into the krendala.
Bloody daggers, she was trying to draw the red dragon’s attention.
Vorik jogged over, hoping to stop her before it was too late. Syla had her shoulder toward him and didn’t seem to notice his approach until he reached out to touch her hand.
Syla jumped, dropping the figurine and spinning toward him with alarm widening her eyes.
“I apologize.” Vorik stepped back. He’d meant to interrupt her but not startle her. She must have been quite focused on the figurine not to have noticed his approach. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t scare me.” Syla scowled at him and picked up the krendala to hold protectively to her chest. “I didn’t see you coming.”
Her spectacles had slipped down her nose, and she pushed them up as she took another step back from him. A touch of enlightenment came to him as he realized they might affect her peripheral vision—or maybe it was that they couldn’t correct for eye weakness to the sides.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, hoping she would object less to that word. “But I was concerned by… Ah, did you intend to draw the red dragon to you again?”
“Yes. There are four of us, and your dragon can only carry two.”
Vorik gaped at her. “Wreylith isn’t going to carry you. She scorns all dragons who bond with humans or let themselves be ridden at any time.”
Agrevlari let out a mournful rumble.
“I didn’t presume it would be easy to talk her into it,” Syla said, “but I want to try. It would be faster to ride from here to Harvest Island than to find an undamaged ship and a willing captain to take us aboard.”
The aunt headed in their direction. Tibby, Vorik reminded himself.
She scowled at Fel as she approached. Even though Agrevlari had destroyed the other machine, Tibby seemed less inclined to glower at him.
The bodyguard, who was keeping an eye on Vorik while discussing lizards with the stableboy or whatever that kid was, didn’t acknowledge the aunt’s ire.
“If she comes at all, it might be to kill you,” Vorik warned Syla. “You may think you did her a favor by pulling out that fang, but the wild dragons never feel beholden to humans. If anything, they think we should serve them and give them offerings since we’re supposedly a lesser species.”
I do enjoy when you give me smoked salmon. Oh, and the whale-blubber pemmican that your people make in the winter. What is that delightful seasoning you put in it?
Pepper.
Since Tibby had drawn near, Vorik waved to invite her to listen to his conversation with Syla. Hopefully, she would advise her niece that summoning a wild dragon would be a bad idea.
“If I had an offering for her, do you think she would give us a ride?” Syla asked.
“No. If you knew what kind of offering she liked and had one, she might spare your life, but she’s probably going to kill you for using that.” Vorik pointed at the krendala.
“Is that your father’s little statue?” Tibby looked at it.
“Yes,” Syla said. “He left it to me when he passed. Do you know anything about it?”
“Just that he inherited it. It’s been in the family for several generations.”
“I…” Syla trailed off, her gaze shifting toward the northern sky. Her jaw sagged, and her face grew pale. “The dragon is coming. She said…” She looked at Vorik. “She’s not happy with me for using the figurine again and plans to kill me and take it.”
“Using the figurine?” Tibby mouthed.
She must not have had any knowledge of its power. Had these people even heard of krendalas?
“You’d better find an offering for her.” Vorik pushed his hand through his hair. He and Agrevlari might need to once again protect Syla, this time from herself rather than the general’s plot.
Did they have the combined power to stop Wreylith? Vorik doubted Agrevlari alone would be her match and didn’t know if his smitten dragon would raise a talon toward her, regardless.
“I noticed eral pods in the garden,” Syla said. “My plan was to offer to make a salve for her wound from them.”
In the distant sky, the powerful red dragon grew visible. She was flying fast, her hard face set with irritated determination. Already, Vorik could tell her icy gaze was locked upon Syla.