Chapter 11 #3
The clangs of swords faltered as men paused to look up. Smoke wafted from Wreylith’s nostrils.
Two men swore and ran into alleys, but the fleet leader yelled, “Stay, men! Get the women!”
His troops held their swords uncertainly toward Wreylith.
Her long neck flexed, then snapped like a whip, and her head darted down with viper-like speed.
Her jaws snapped, and she knocked the leader’s sword out of his grip as she picked him up in her great maw.
She flung him screaming over buildings to disappear into a street a block away.
Without pausing, her head snapped down toward another target.
Someone dared fire a crossbow at her. The quarrel glanced off her shoulder without doing noticeable damage.
“My people, get out of the street!” Syla waved for Fel, Tibby, and the Royal Protectors to join her inside.
Even as Wreylith plucked up or outright crushed men, more smoke was wafting from her nostrils. She wanted to roast someone. Probably because of irritation that the men had interrupted her cave hunt.
Fel and the Royal Protectors ran into the glassworks, dodging Wreylith as she attacked another man, one who tried to swing his sword at her before she plucked him up.
Unlike the stormers’ gargoyle-bone blades, the metal edge didn’t pierce her scales, and Wreylith ignored the attack.
She tossed the man over a building in the same direction as the first.
As the Royal Protectors entered the glassworks, pushing Syla gently but determinedly back from the carriage doors, she lost view of some of the fight, but she realized that Tibby hadn’t abandoned the sphere.
Worse, two newly arrived enforcers were charging toward her.
Maybe they’d realized Syla wasn’t reachable at the moment—and that Aunt Tibby was.
Or maybe someone had grasped the significance of the sphere.
“Look out, Aunt Tibby!” Again, Syla waved for her to come join them. The sphere, if it had been made as sturdily as the others, could surely withstand damage if the men reached it. As she’d just noted, they didn’t have magical weapons to hurl at it.
“I haven’t had an opportunity to make more explosives,” Tibby cried in frustration as the men advanced.
“Just get out of there!” Syla yelled as Fel ran out of the glassworks and toward her.
The choice to do so almost resulted in his death. With the street clear of allies, at least from Wreylith’s perspective on the roof above, she started streaming fire onto the enemies around the glassworks.
Fel cursed and sprinted sideways, surely feeling the heat from the flames as they struck the street, cracking cobblestones with their intensity and engulfing men.
Syla winced and gripped a post for support, wanting to cry for the dragon to stop, that those were Kingdom men.
But they’d been trying to kill her, so how could she blame Wreylith for treating them like enemies?
Try not to kill them, Syla urged the dragon, though screams abruptly cut off, and the smell of scorched flesh promised some men had already suffered that fate.
Fel, the back of his uniform singed, reached Tibby and the sphere. The two men who’d been running toward her had already stopped, not because of Fel but because they were gaping at the dragon fire, and flames erupting in awnings and from anything flammable on the nearby buildings.
“Where’s my wagon?” Tibby demanded as Fel reached her side with his mace.
“I thought getting help was more important,” he said.
“Getting this out of here and to Harvest Island is more important than anything.” Tibby slapped the side of the sphere.
“Not anything.” Fel glared at her.
Their would-be attackers turned and ran away.
All the remaining troops were doing the same, and, as the fires died out, Wreylith punctuating the event with another roar, Syla risked slipping past the Royal Protectors to step outside and look around.
One of the men reached for her, intending to pull her back to safety, but Wreylith surprised everyone by lowering her maw and gripping Syla.
She squawked and held her spectacles to her face as Wreylith lifted her above the rooftop and tossed her toward her back.
Twisting in the air, Syla barely managed to angle herself to land without falling off.
She drew upon her power to magically anchor herself to the dragon’s scales, and none too soon. Wreylith launched into the air.
“Where are we going?” Syla blurted. “I can’t leave our allies.”
Unburdened by having to protect you, they should be able to reach your ships.
“I’m not a burden,” Syla said, offended, even if the soldiers and enforcers had been trying to reach her. To kill her.
You ride on my back and are the literal definition of a burden. Wreylith flew above the street toward the sphere.
“Well, you put me here.” Syla closed her mouth on further protests, reminded that Wreylith was doing her a favor.
It is your place. Wreylith lowered her talons and snatched up the giant sphere, startling Tibby and Fel.
Her wings beat rapidly, and she snarled and even roared as she exerted a great deal of effort to lift the huge, heavy object.
Had the twine not wrapped it, she wouldn’t have been able to find purchase to grasp something so large, but with grit and more roaring, Wreylith lifted it above the rooftops.
I cannot carry this all the way to the Island of Eliok, she said.
Can you get it to our ship, the one carrying the weapons platform? We’ll need that to drive the dragons off Harvest Island before we can place the shielder. Syla looked back toward the glassworks. And I think we’ll need Aunt Tibby to activate it too.
I will carry no more weight, even for a short journey!
Understandable. Thank you for your help.
“Where are you going?” Vonla called, her voice faint as the dragon flew away.
“The cove!” Syla hoped Major Hixun had seen Fel’s flare and was on his way there. She also hoped that he could maneuver around all the fleet ships and reach the cove. “Meet us there!”
Wings beating hard and rapidly, muscles in her back straining, Wreylith flew over the rooftops and out of the city.
Syla gaped as she had a view from above of the harbor and the streets around them.
Many more fleet troops were streaming off gangplanks and into the city, all heading in the direction of the glassworks.
“The entire military is against us,” Syla whispered and hoped Tibby and the others could escape the city before the legions of men reached them.
The puny humans follow orders and nothing more. You will again command them, and they will follow your orders as easily as they have another’s.
Syla hoped that was true—and that she hadn’t abandoned Aunt Tibby and the others to a dreadful fate.