Chapter 18 #2
“She’s not dead,” Vorik said. “She’s just been busy.
She’ll easily get the throne back when she’s done dealing with, well, we’ve been keeping her busy.
But, as I said earlier, we’ve not done what we hoped to do.
Since the initial invasion and destruction of most of the royal family, we’ve not had a victory.
And we’ve had a lot of losses. Syla found that weapon made by the gods, and she may be blessed by the gods herself.
If we continue on, we’ll have more losses.
I’m offering what I think is a more appealing alternative than continued futility that would include more death and suffering.
It’s also a more appealing alternative than continuing on with our status quo, only having what we can scrounge up in an increasingly harsh world.
” Vorik waved in the direction of the underground lake to remind them of the kraken and cave crawlers.
“But is it your alternative to offer? Or hers?” Amalia didn’t sound belligerent and was asking the questions calmly. And they were fair questions. “If she doesn’t control the Kingdom…”
“She will,” Vorik said firmly. “She’s dealt with every threat so far, many far more onerous than ambitious human usurpers.
” His next wave was toward the sea to indicate all their dragon allies.
“Of course, if we want to ensure the throne will be controlled by someone sympathetic to stormers, we could support her as she returns to reclaim it.”
That did elicit a number of scoffs, and not only from Tenilor. Vorik hadn’t truly expected anyone to leap onto that idea. A couple of faces, however, did continue to appear more wistful than adversarial at his ongoing suggestions.
Vorik looked at Jhiton and Amalia since they had a lot of sway with the chiefs. “She is the only potential ruler who’s going to be sympathetic to us.”
“She’s sympathetic to you,” Jhiton said.
“Yes, but I’m a stormer.” Vorik almost added that he was now a stormer chief, but he didn’t want to rub people’s hackles the wrong way, not when Shi had died as a result of his challenge. “Assuming nobody exiles me,” was what he finished with.
“I wouldn’t assume that,” Jhiton said.
“Have I said lately what a delight it is being your brother?”
“You forgot to mention it while driving your sword into my gut.”
Vorik winced but could hardly blame Jhiton for the words. It was a wonder that his brother was speaking with him at all. “That was inconsiderate of me.”
“Yes.” Jhiton leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes.
His wound probably pained him more than the conversation, but Vorik regretted that his brother’s sense of duty had him here, standing upright when he should be resting.
Vorik turned to look at the assembled chiefs, groping for a way to finish his talk in a manner that would leave them inclined to vote for a cessation of hostilities.
The storm god is rising, the voice of a dragon boomed into their minds. Ozlemar. It is time.
“What?” Silently, Vorik added, Agrevlari?
Another dragon has arrived with information, Agrevlari replied.
Apparently, he stayed behind at the Island of Eliok, out of sight of the queen and her ships, to monitor the situation.
He says he sensed the power around the volcano growing stronger and believes the dragons succeeded in the ritual they performed to call to the storm god.
As the greatest of his creations, they believed they had the power to reach him and draw him back to this world. It seems they were correct.
They performed a ritual? That’s information you failed to give me earlier.
I’m only learning of it now. Since you disobeyed orders, I’ve not been kept in the know.
All the dragons must go to him, Ozlemar boomed. To our creator, he who made dragons, he who knows dragons should rule the world and hunt wherever they please.
Numerous people exchanged uneasy looks with each other. The stormers had been allied with dragons for a long time, and those dragons had always openly spoken of their love for hunting and their desire to access the Kingdom islands, but Vorik hadn’t heard many speak of ruling the world.
Jhiton turned to walk away from the meeting.
“Where are you going?” Vorik called after him.
The storm god calls, Jhiton replied telepathically.
To the dragons, maybe, but not to us. He hates humans, and we don’t worship him. We certainly don’t answer his beckons.
The power that he’d sensed before again flared up and roiled off Jhiton. When he gave Vorik a long look back over his shoulder, it was in his eyes, like swirling dark clouds.
Deeper unease pooled in Vorik’s gut as Jhiton disappeared into the tunnel. Whoever had just left… Vorik didn’t think it was his brother, not fully. Maybe it wasn’t Jhiton at all. Maybe he’d died in that mine, and this was… Vorik didn’t know what this was.
It was deep in the night, with rain continuing to fall and Wreylith complaining that she needed to hunt and replenish her reserves, before she’d excavated enough rock to reveal the shielder chamber.
Perhaps feeling triumphant after completing the arduous task, she threw her head back on her long neck and roared.
A muffled scream of concern came from below.
“Aunt Tibby?” Syla thought she recognized that voice.
The scream stopped as Syla crept to the edge of the great hole Wreylith had cleared and peered down.
The lava tube that they’d once walked through to reach the chamber was unrecognizable.
As they’d guessed, the door was jammed partway open, rubble half-filling it.
It was Fel rather than Tibby who poked a head out.
“Thank the gods,” he said.
Wreylith lowered her head to gaze down at him.
“And your dragon,” he added.
Syla and Teyla climbed down to join Fel and peer through the doorway. The chamber, lit by two lanterns burning on the floor, was recognizable. Other than some rubble that had pushed in around the entrance, it appeared unchanged from the last time Syla had been there.
Aunt Tibby knelt beside the new shielder.
No longer wrapped in canvas, it was mounted between the silver branches of the frame, as the other had been, and appeared little different from the original, though it didn’t yet glow like a moon.
Thinking again of that long lightning strike, Syla worried the shielder might not work, but she was relieved Tibby and Fel were all right.
“That air is wonderful.” Fel tilted his face toward the sky.
“It smells of sulfur and electricity and rain,” Syla said.
“And dragon breath,” Tibby added, pushing herself to her feet, “but the air down here was getting stale, so we’ll take it. Come, lend me your hand, Syla. This might go better with two people to activate it, and the heir in particular.”
Syla did so, leaving Fel to stand guard. “Did you try to activate it before?”
“Yes, but a great crack and boom came from above, and the magic seemed to… retreat. That’s the word that comes to mind. Then the roof caved in, and I didn’t blame the magic for going into hiding.”
“A lightning bolt struck up there.” Syla waved toward the ceiling.
“We thought it might be something like that.” Tibby pressed her hands against the surface of the sphere and nodded for Syla to do the same.
Before she touched the artifact, her moon-mark started glowing. Hoping that was a good sign, Syla stood next to her aunt and planted both hands on the smooth surface. Magic flared within, as if it had been waiting for her.
“That’s promising,” she murmured.
“Yes.” Tibby closed her eyes, summoning her own magic, and her moon-mark also glowed.
Syla let her guide the way while standing close and lending her power to the effort. Outside, thunder rumbled and lightning continued to flash as angry rain fell and wind gusted. Thankfully, the chamber offered them protection.
Teyla sat in a corner, closing her eyes to rest. Wreylith hunkered down in one of the caves nearby, keeping an eye on them but also keeping her scales from moldering, as she called it.
Hours passed with Tibby manipulating the magic, as if she were tying threads together, or maybe weaving them together.
She drew often on Syla’s power to assist her, and, by the time morning came, Syla was exhausted.
But with the arrival of dawn came a thrum of power from the shielder.
It started glowing silver, like the one under the castle back home.
“Eyes of the moon, I think it worked.” Tibby stepped back and clasped her hands to her chest, the magical light illuminating her weary face.
“As the creator, should you be so surprised?” Syla stepped over to hug her.
“As the creator, I’m especially positioned to be surprised. I put it together with desperation, vague instructions, and chicle.”
“Chicle? Gum?”
“Tabuvar had a bunch in his workshop. It’s how I stuck a few pieces for the core together while we welded more permanent solutions.”
A ripple of power swept outward from the sphere, making Syla’s skin tingle as it passed over her.
It felt exactly like when she sailed or flew through one of the barriers, and she stepped out of the chamber to look upward with hope.
Since the shields were always translucent, she couldn’t see anything except the clouds in the sky, but she thought she sensed the magic extending outward from the shielder chamber.
Wreylith? Syla asked. Did you notice that?
The barrier has returned, the dragon replied. You may have to inform it that I am to be allowed through when we leave. I do not wish to be trapped with these angry clouds as you sail away.
I’ll do so. Syla eyed those angry clouds as they continued to spatter rain. Daylight hadn’t done much, if anything, to brighten the sky directly over the island.