Chapter 36 #3
She craned her neck to look up and spotted Agrevlari with Vorik still on his back, flying over a smoldering wreck that was all that remained of one of the guard ships.
Though blood leaked from numerous gouges in his flanks, the green dragon did not angle back toward Wreylith.
Instead, he flew toward one of the other wild dragons.
That male desires to mate with me and will not attack me, Wreylith stated as she flew around the whaling ship, snapping a scaled enemy that lingered in the area, its rider firing at the crew. Many of the domesticated dragons seek to rut with a free wild dragon of my stature.
Syla knew little about the bonded dragons but suspected Agrevlari would be highly offended at being called domesticated. Or a pet. That was what she’d said earlier.
At the moment, Syla did not care. She dared lift her head a little higher, hoping the stormers would give up. But there were more dragons with riders than wild dragons, and Vorik and Agrevlari were succeeding in driving the one they’d targeted away.
I’ve not had much experience with porting humans about, Wreylith said, but I’ve observed that they usually choose to ride on the back, not the tail.
The tail is easier to hang on to. Syla’s stomach tried to exit through her throat when Wreylith barrel-rolled to the left to avoid a cannonball—damn it, those men were firing at the wrong dragon. Especially when you do that.
Before, you used your magic to aid in clinging to my back.
I remember. I just—
A dark shadow crossed through Syla’s vision before she could finish the thought—or consider how she might use her magic to maneuver from the tail to Wreylith’s back. The huge black dragon blotted out the sun as it flew toward the whaling ship.
No, not the ship.
It was plummeting toward Wreylith, talons outstretched, maw parted and sharp fangs gleaming in the sunlight.
I don’t think that one wants to mate with you, Syla thought.
No, he’s old and grumpy and doesn’t even remember how to rut. Hold on.
Syla did, squinting her eyes shut and hoping Wreylith could handle the big dragon. But, before the black reached them, a green blur swept in from the side. It—was that Agrevlari?—crashed into the black dragon, knocking it from its route. Both dragons tumbled past, missing Wreylith by only feet.
Flames blazed, and thunderous angry roars came from the dragons as they twisted in the air. The black appeared to be trying to get away, but the green, like a rabid dog, bit him and clung to his flank.
Still hugging herself to Wreylith’s tail, Syla gaped as she spotted Vorik and Jhiton… hanging on to their dragons, both their faces stamped with shock.
“Call off your dragon, Captain!” Jhiton yelled as his mount twisted again to bite the green.
Agrevlari was smaller, but he didn’t give up, instead slashing with his talons even as he lost a chunk of scale and flesh to the deadly bite of the black.
“I can’t!” Vorik called back. “He’s in love with the wild dragon!”
Jhiton swore.
Wreylith emitted a clucking noise that Syla hadn’t heard before. Was that how dragons… laughed? She sounded smug.
After flapping away from the battling males, Wreylith landed on the half-destroyed wheelhouse of the whaling ship. Two of the beleaguered cannon men started to aim toward her but, Captain Radmarik, his cane still in the side of his mouth, called them off.
“You don’t fire at the dragon the princess is riding, men.”
Since Syla was still hanging on to Wreylith’s tail, it was debatable if she was riding anything, but, politely, nobody pointed out the dubiousness of her position.
The weary crewmen slumped, relieved that Wreylith wasn’t attacking.
Fel, face bloody but his mace still in his hand, looked toward the sky.
The black dragon was now chasing Agrevlari, heading out over the ocean and away from the ships.
From his rapid wingbeats, the black was pissed.
Vorik and his general remained astride their dragons, but neither appeared to be in control of their mounts.
They were too far away for Syla to see well, but the general’s back was stiff. He was irked.
And Vorik?
He turned to look back at Syla and saluted before their dragons flew out of view.
The tail shifted, and Syla tightened her grip, but Wreylith was lowering her to the deck. Syla let go, thankful to have solid wood under her feet. She was about to thank the dragon for helping, but Wreylith opened her fang-filled maw and roared.
With their general departing, only a couple of the dragons with riders had remained in the area. Whatever that roar meant, it was enough to make them fly off. Only the wild dragons remained, appearing unconcerned about Wreylith’s commentary. One even plunged into the water for a swim.
A hand came to rest on Syla’s shoulder. Fel.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“I think so.” Syla pulled out the dragon figurine and held it up to the sunlight, Wreylith’s great form behind it. It was amazing how similar they looked. “She may be starting to like me.”
Wreylith’s eyes locked onto the figurine.
She roared again, then whipped her neck down so quickly that it startled Syla into dropping the little artifact.
Before it could clatter to the deck, Wreylith caught it in her great maw, then sprang off the wheelhouse and flew away from the ship.
The wild dragons took off after her, heading to Harvest Island, no doubt to hunt the elioks.
“Like may be an optimistic word,” Syla said.
“She could have lit us all on fire before leaving,” Fel pointed out.
“True.”
Syla was sad that she was losing her link to Wreylith, but, once all the dragons had disappeared from the sky, and the whaling ship was on course for Castle Island, she admitted that things were looking up.
Hopefully, Aunt Tibby was safely underway in her own ship, with none of the stormers aware that it carried the shielder.
Syla dreaded returning home to all the clean-up, funerals, and political maneuvering she would have to deal with, but if they could get the shielder working to protect her home… that would be something. She would endure the rest. There was no other choice.