Chapter 13
The Fanged Whale was sailing into the cove when Wreylith reached it, the canvas-wrapped shielder still gripped in her talons, but her wingbeats were growing weary.
Twice on the way to the inlet, she’d dropped low enough that the sphere had scraped against the rocks.
With a growl, she’d beat her wings harder, gaining altitude again.
Five ships had sailed from Bogberry to Castle Island with Syla, but only three entered the cove. She hoped the others had headed off in another direction to distract or lead pursuers away, and that they’d not been attacked and sunk.
Distant booms reached her ears. Cannons. They came from the direction of Lyvor, which was far closer to the cove than Syla would have wished, but, for the sake of her straining dragon, she was glad it was a short journey.
Wreylith plummeted, seeming almost out of control, toward the deck of the Fanged Whale, the weapons platform still strapped down on it.
Syla leaned forward, hands plastered to the dragon’s back, worried they would crash.
Even for a large magical creature, the shielder was a heavy load to carry.
The crew must have been worried too because they scattered.
A few feet above the deck, Wreylith dropped the sphere. Syla winced. Since it had been made by her aunt and not yet tested, she worried the shielder wouldn’t have as great a durability as those that had been crafted by the gods.
The bigger problem was that, as soon as it struck down, it bounced and rolled.
“Stop that from hitting the railing!” Syla shouted as Wreylith’s momentum carried them past the ship. She envisioned the sphere crashing through the railing and falling into the sea.
Fortunately, it bumped into the weapons platform. Strapped down, the marble structure didn’t budge. The sphere, however, started rolling in the other direction.
Major Hixun was on deck and must have heard her, because he rushed toward it, yelling for crewmen to help him stop it.
Meanwhile, Wreylith banked, the tension leaving her body now that she’d dropped the heavy load. Almost sedately, she flapped her wings to fly back to the ship and land on the wheelhouse.
“Are there more people coming, Your Majesty?” Hixun looked toward the shoreline and the trail leading inland from the beach. “There are fleet ships all over out there, and some saw us and will head this way.”
“I think they’ll come, too, yes. Send a few dinghies to the beach, please.” Reminded of the predicament in which she’d left Tibby, Fel, and the others, Syla touched Wreylith’s back. I’m sorry I’m going to ask you to burden yourself again, but will you fly back so we can help the others?
Are there any more loathsome giant balls to carry?
No, and shielders are wondrous, not loathsome.
It was a far greater burden than a rider. Than even two riders. Wreylith growled, lifted a talon, and flexed it.
Did you break a nail? I have a salve for that.
Dragons do not have nails like feeble primates. The look Wreylith slanted back at Syla was baleful. I broke several claws.
You’ll like my salve then. It has magic in it to improve its potency. I’ve been working on learning to use my power to imbue medical substances to amplify their efficacy so they can help people to a greater extent even if I’m not around.
Is it slimy?
I wouldn’t consider it unctuous.
Slimy, Wreylith corrected. Many of your salves are slimy.
Dragons may experience tactile sensations differently than humans, but I maintain that nothing I craft is slimy.
And the nail salve speeds the healing process, I believe by as much as three times the usual rate.
Once all this chaos is over, I hope to perform a few tests on the new formulation to prove that, but I’m sure you’ll appreciate— Oh, never mind.
My medical kit and my pack are still in the carriage.
Damn, I could use both for the next stage of our journey. Will you—
Wreylith sprang into the air. You are a most needy rider.
It’s your broken claws that I’m thinking of, but, uh, please prioritize finding the others so we can help them.
“Launch the dinghies,” Hixun called as Wreylith headed inland again.
Without the heavy sphere, the return trip went quickly. Smoke wafted up from burning buildings near the glassworks, but the fire didn’t look to have spread. Good. Syla didn’t want Tabuvar to be financially ruined—or be hurt himself—because he’d dared help them.
Uniformed men continued to flood the streets of Lyvor. Most of the civilian citizens had wisely hidden themselves indoors. Wreylith flew over the glassworks, but Syla didn’t see Tibby, Teyla, or her other allies below. Had they already left for the cove?
Near the guard towers at the entrance to town, shouts and the cracks of hand cannons rang out.
“That way,” Syla urged, guessing her comrades were at the heart of the chaos.
They soon came into view on the road heading out of town.
Fel and Vonla had gotten a horse team with a wagon and were charging toward the towers, with Celena, Tibby, the Royal Protectors, and the numerous packs from the carriage bouncing in the back.
The eyes of the horses were wide with fear—had they been running in a less confined area, they might have taken off, fleeing all the chaos of the city.
Instead, they galloped toward the towers—and four squads of men crouched there with their weapons out.
Try to knock them out of the way without killing them, please, Syla told Wreylith as they flew closer.
The way the red dragon flapped her wings harder, arrowing toward the troops with smoke streaming from her nostrils, made Syla worry she would do things her own way. Maybe her broken claws were irritating her.
“Get out of the way!” Syla shouted toward the guards.
Wreylith opened her maw to roar.
The men glanced in her direction, then sprinted to the sides of the road.
Wreylith flew low over the spot they’d vacated and roared again, but she didn’t spew fire.
The horses pulling the carriage saw her and tried to veer to the side, but they were too hemmed in by buildings and the towers.
They ran through the vacated area, sweat gleaming on their coats as they tore out of the city and toward the highway.
Some of the guards ran out from under cover, as if they might follow, but Wreylith turned around. She flew down and landed in the road, facing them and roaring.
Behind her, Syla’s allies continued away from the city.
From the top of one of the towers, someone fired an arrow at the wagon.
It hit the tailgate, embedding in the wood.
Wreylith twisted her neck and sent a gout of fire toward the tower.
The archer flung himself out of view. The troops in the street also decided not to stick around with a dragon blocking the way. They disappeared into the city.
Once the wagon was out of view, hurrying on its way to the cove, Wreylith sprang into the air again. She followed it, flying leisurely high above, but not so high above that the horses didn’t notice.
“Those poor creatures,” Syla said, glad they didn’t have to travel far. They would work themselves to death if they had to run far at that speed. She was amazed that Fel and Vonla were keeping them going in the right direction.
Cannons boomed in the distance, and Syla grimaced. “That sounded like it came from the cove.”
Shall I fly back in that direction or accompany your minions and their wagon? Wreylith asked.
They’re my friends, and we’d better check on our ships.
Is your medical kit among the bags tucked into that wagon?
I hope they grabbed it.
Perhaps we should accompany it to ensure it reaches its destination.
So I can tend to your claws?
I am a mighty and powerful dragon, and my claws will heal adequately on their own.
But you’d endure a little salve if it promoted good health, right?
A minute amount, providing it is not slimy.
More booms thundered. Yes, curse the storm god, the cannon fire had indeed come from the cove.
Fly back to the ships, please, Syla said. It won’t take the wagon long to reach the cove, but if the ships we’re planning to take to Harvest Island are in the process of being sunk—with the shielder on one…
Wreylith let out a sigh and looked longingly toward the wagon, but she did fly along the rocky shoreline and toward the cove. When it came into view, Syla groaned. The Fanged Whale and its two allies were firing at eight ships that had sailed into the mouth of the cove.
Shall I attack those vessels? Wreylith asked.
Eight ships firing cannons may be too much for even you to handle.
I can handle much.
Yeah, but you don’t want to endanger your incipient eggs.
Ah, that is a valid point. I should take care.
Absolutely. Land on the wheelhouse of the Fanged Whale, please. I’ll… think of something.
What she would think of, Syla didn’t know.
There were two dinghies on the beach, with pacing crewmen waiting for her comrades, but they kept looking nervously toward the newly arrived ships.
They had to want to depart, but was it already too late?
The cove wasn’t large, and Syla couldn’t imagine trying to sail away when they would have to pass between ships firing cannons at them.
“The others are coming in a wagon,” she called down when Wreylith flew over the crewmen by the dinghies.
One had been pointing inland, as if trying to suggest they all abandon their duties and run to safety instead of returning to their ship. Syla couldn’t blame them but hoped they would remain where they were.
“Once my friends arrive, take them out to the Fanged Whale,” she added over her shoulder. “I’ll handle the rest.”
At the moment, the Fanged Whale was returning fire, launching cannonballs at the warships.
“Cease fire,” Syla called, spotting Major Hixun on deck as Wreylith landed on the wheelhouse again. “And get me a megaphone.”
Hixun blinked in surprise. “Your Majesty?”
“Those are my people. I’m going to remind them of that.”