Chapter 1 #2
Wreylith emitted a noise like a belch. Maybe it was a belch. Something else that Vorik hadn’t mentioned to Syla that dragons did.
The heads of two children peeked out of the door behind the man.
“It’s Queen Syla!” one blurted.
“She’s come to bless our farm!”
Syla eyed the intestines draped over the wall. That had to be the opposite of blessing. Before she could do more than wave at the children, Wreylith finished her meal and sprang into the air.
We will depart before your minions suggest that you have tamed me, Wreylith said.
“They’re my subjects, and I’m composing an article for the newspaper that will explain your independence, fearsomeness, and magnanimity in assisting me with defending the Kingdom.
” Syla had already written it, but she hadn’t yet figured out how to get it printed without her cousin, Relvin, the editor of the Kingdom Journal, altering it into something scandalous and untrue—if he allowed it to be distributed at all.
I should think my fearsome independence would be evident to all. As the setting sun burnished her scales, Wreylith soared over the remaining croplands and pastures and headed south toward the Sea of Storms and Harvest Island, its outline soon visible on the horizon.
“It should be, yes.”
In minutes, dragons could fly the miles that it took ships many hours to sail, and twilight wasn’t yet deep when they neared the shallower waters around Harvest Island.
Fires burned inland, the flames bright against the encroaching darkness, and Syla grimaced.
They weren’t campfires or anything that had been started by humans.
More likely, stormer-allied dragons had wantonly lit the forest and farmlands on fire.
Maybe their riders had even encouraged them to, though why they wanted to damage the island they were trying to claim for their people, Syla didn’t know.
“Trying to?” she murmured.
The stormers had successfully taken over Harvest Island, driving out or killing the Kingdom troops, and pillaging vineyards, bogs, and croplands for food.
Thus far, her attempts to get messages to and receive reports from the island lord, Ravoran, had failed.
Only rumors from refugees suggested he was still alive and directing the local populace.
Unfortunately, Syla wouldn’t likely be able to find and speak with him this evening.
Wreylith would have to keep her distance.
What Syla hoped to learn was how many dragons were in the area and if she might successfully sail over with the ancient gods-created weapons platform that she’d recovered from the Dire Desert.
At the moment, it rested in the castle courtyard where Wreylith’s allies had dropped it, the magical marble proving heavy and difficult to move.
But it would be worth the effort to do so if it could be transported here until a shielder could be returned to the island.
I sense wild dragons and also stormer dragons, Wreylith said, though Syla couldn’t see any winged creatures in the sky.
“Near Hazel Harbor or farther inland?”
Based on a couple of tests Syla had done with the weapons platform, she believed it could send its magical projectiles about five miles.
Since Harvest Island, only a little smaller than Castle Island, was more than thirty miles across in places, she would only be able to protect a portion of it.
But if she could sail the weapons platform to the island’s capital, the city wrapped around Hazel Harbor, she could defend a good portion of the population.
More, people currently hiding on their farmsteads and in their homes on other parts of the island could flee there for protection.
Most hunt inland, but I sense a couple of stormer dragons among the dwellings in the city. They may be perched on rooftops as scouts, watching the skies for spies even as we seek to observe them.
“Right. Let’s not get close.”
Had you more dragon allies, you might drive them away.
“Sadly, only one dragon has seen my worth and offered to align with me.”
Few are as perspicacious as I am.
“That’s a good word. I’ll see if I can work it into your newspaper article.”
Yes. Wreylith banked before reaching the harbor and flapped her wings to head back north.
In the distance, in the direction of the volcano Syla had visited weeks earlier, a couple more dragons flew into view, their winged silhouettes visible against the darkening sky.
She chewed on her lip, having a feeling that openly sailing over here with ships would be difficult.
There were probably enough dragons in the area that they could keep the fleet from getting close.
Since it had lost many ships during the initial invasion of Castle Island, she wouldn’t be able to bring as many as she wished.
Could she launch weapons from the platform while it was on the moving deck of a vessel? She would have to experiment.
Before deciding on that mission, Syla would speak again with General Dolok to see if his intelligence officers had learned the location of the stormer headquarters. If she could retrieve the stolen components and bring a repaired shielder to Harvest Island, that would be ideal.
Before they’d turned fully away from the harbor, Syla glimpsed a dragon flying up from the city. One of the ones that had been skulking about on a rooftop down there? It flew after them but not at top speed.
That one desires to make certain we are departing, Wreylith said.
“Did he or she speak to you?”
No. I’ve had few telepathic conversations with stormer dragons or even my wild kin since our bonding.
Syla digested that as she gazed back at the dragon. It flew out over the sea, following them. “Is it because… Are you being ostracized? Because of me?”
It hadn’t occurred to her that Wreylith might be lowered in status with the wild dragons because she was now bonded to a human and allowing herself to be ridden.
And the stormer dragons might be irked with Wreylith too since she was helping someone from the Garden Kingdom.
Even though the gods had been responsible for long ago placing the shields over the twelve islands, the shields that kept dragons and other aerial predators out, Syla could imagine that their winged kind believed her people at the heart of the problem, their inability to hunt on those islands.
I go where I wish and do what I wish with whom I wish.
“That’s a yes, isn’t it?” Syla patted Wreylith’s back. “I’m sorry. I appreciate your help.”
Yes. One of Wreylith’s eyes rotated to consider the dragon behind them. It hadn’t gained on them, but it also wasn’t veering away, and it was undoubtedly following them, not coincidentally flying in the same direction.
Abruptly, Wreylith’s attention swung forward.
Beyond her horns, Castle Island was visible.
At first, Syla didn’t see anything that could have drawn Wreylith’s attention.
Then, a blue dragon and a yellow dragon flew up from the northern side of the island—they’d been hidden by the bluff on which Garden Castle perched.
Syla sucked in a startled breath as the dragons headed in their direction. “Are they under the shield?”
The barrier couldn’t have fallen. Not in the short time that Syla and Wreylith had been gone.
They fly just above it, their bellies nearly skimming the translucent surface.
Syla would have found that a relief—the dragons couldn’t have been threatening her people—but they were flying straight toward her.
Wreylith beat her wings faster. They intend to cut us off and prevent us from reaching the protection of the shield.
“You mean they’re going to attack us?”
A growl emanated from Wreylith’s throat and reverberated through her body. That is the only way they could prevent me from reaching my destination.
Unlike the dragon following them, the two heading toward them had riders.
One was a woman with two long braids of silver hair, and Syla’s gut clenched.
From this distance, she couldn’t make out facial features, but Captain Lesva, the vile rider who’d magically tortured her, had silver hair and rode a blue dragon.
Hold on tight, Wreylith warned.
Hands planted on scales, Syla willed more power into the dragon through their link, anchoring herself in place.
The effort drained her, especially since, until recently, she’d only used her gods-gift for healing, but falling a thousand feet into the ocean would drain her even more. Likely by killing her.
As the yellow and blue dragons flew closer, they spread apart. Intending to catch Wreylith between them so they could bite and slash at her flanks from either side?
Wreylith flew to a higher altitude and angled away. As the dragons attempted to follow, to cut her off and engage her, the riders drew weapons. A male stormer that Syla hadn’t seen before rode the yellow, and he hefted a gargoyle-bone bow, the arrows also carved from the magical material.
On the blue dragon, the rider lifted a gargoyle-bone sword. Yes, that was Lesva. Her blue eyes locked on Syla with cold determination, and she waved the blade threateningly.
“Looks like she wants to kill me this time, not question me,” Syla said.
Wreylith, wings beating hard, sought to outfly the dragons and maneuver around them.
Or at least, Syla thought that was what an outnumbered dragon would do.
But after Wreylith had half-circled around the pair, she banked hard, angling toward the yellow dragon, and tilted alarmingly.
Syla flattened herself to Wreylith’s back while applying more of her magic.
It was luck and desperation more than skill that saved her, for the archer, though surprised by the dragon turning on him, loosed an arrow. It whizzed past scant inches above Syla’s head.
Wreylith opened her maw, roared, and launched a gout of fire at the yellow dragon. But Lesva’s blue was coming around its ally, opening its own maw. Lesva leaned forward on its back, almost quivering in her eagerness to get close enough to lop Syla’s head off with her sword.
Perhaps you should learn to use a weapon, Wreylith suggested, her telepathic voice calm even though she was in the middle of twisting to parry jaws snapping toward her head.
I’m not bad at throwing books at things.
That is unlikely to deter a determined enemy.
Unfortunately, I’ve found that to be true. This time, Syla spotted the archer firing. She had to duck and dip halfway off Wreylith’s back to avoid the arrow, but it buzzed past without hitting her.
In the mayhem, the two dragons managed to surround Wreylith briefly.
Her wings bumped against those of the blue dragon, and she tilted to get away but also raked the air with her forelimbs, talons slashing toward their enemies.
But only for an instant. Without the steady wingbeats, gravity caught up to Wreylith, and she fell away from the other dragons.
Syla’s heart tried to spring out of her throat. The strap of her spectacles threatened to fly off her head, and she smashed her frames to her face to keep them on.
Once she’d fallen well below the other dragons, Wreylith started flapping her wings again. Maybe all along she’d intended the move as a way to escape them.
Booms came from below, startling Syla. Thanks to the deepening darkness and all the gyrating they’d done, it took her a moment to realize they were over Sky Torn Harbor and Garden Castle. Home.
A familiar warm buzz against her skin made her sag with relief. They’d passed through the barrier. Wreylith clearly felt it too, for her flying turned into something of a smug sashay.
One more arrow flew after them—no, straight at Syla—but Wreylith turned, snapped her jaws, and caught it before it struck.
Thank the gods. No, thank Wreylith.
The stormer dragons were unable to follow her. They flew back and forth above the barrier, their version of pacing in agitation.
Again, cannons fired from castle walls. The mundane iron balls lacked the oomph of the magical projectiles the weapons platform could send out, but they reached beyond the shielder, and the blue and yellow dragons had to fly apart to avoid them.
Their riders glared down at Syla for a moment, but Wreylith flew farther from them, descending toward the castle without looking back. Syla also turned her back but not before spotting Lesva glaring after her.
“Coward!” the woman called, the wind not quite muffling the word.
Syla clenched her jaw in irritation. She didn’t have a weapon, and they’d been outnumbered.
“Fleeing was prudent, not cowardly,” she said, though Lesva and her allies were flying off and couldn’t hear.
Is that another word that you will incorporate in your newspaper article? Wreylith asked.
“Probably not. People aren’t tantalized to read about prudence.”
Alas. As a queen, wasn’t that a quality Syla should seek to achieve?
As Wreylith spread her wings to slow their descent toward the courtyard, Syla looked back at their enemies again, wondering if the dragons would linger in the area. No, they were flying south, back to Harvest Island.
Syla grimaced at the knowledge that she would have to deal with the captain to get that territory back for the Kingdom. And Lesva was going to make it personal.