Chapter 6
Nervous as the ships sailed closer to Harvest Island, Syla wiped water droplets from her spectacles.
Though the rain was picking up, she remained on deck, standing at the railing and watching the sky as the wind tugged at her cloak.
Maybe she should have been chatting with the major who’d scowled at his captain throughout their conversation, but he’d disappeared belowdecks.
It had crossed her mind to have him arrested, but the fleet commander might well be in on the special orders too.
If she locked up all the senior officers, who would lead the ships into battle?
Thus far, no dragons had flown overhead, but they had to be aware of the fleet’s approach, and they might attack at any moment.
Tibby joined Syla at the railing, a book tucked under her arm, her cloak arranged to protect it from the elements.
Her thick spectacles were also dotted with water droplets.
She’d been determinedly sitting on the weapons platform and reading, trying to find a way to allow someone besides Syla to employ the device.
But it hardly mattered. It would still take someone with a moon-mark, and she and Tibby were the only ones onboard.
Syla wouldn’t let a relative risk herself while she hid belowdecks.
“I was close enough to catch the gist of your discussion with that captain,” Tibby said.
“Are you here to advise me on the situation?”
“You might want to fire the weapons platform at all the barracks around Castle Island and start over with the military.”
“That’s not an option,” Syla said.
“Maybe not, but you can’t have people who are supposed to defend you and the Kingdom more likely to spin toward you and plant a dagger in your back.”
“I know. When there’s time, I need to talk individually with all the senior officers and figure out who’s giving the orders to get rid of me.” But when would there be time? As long as the stormers were threatening the Kingdom, Syla had to prioritize dealing with them.
“Only someone who stands to gain a lot would risk it.”
“The throne itself.”
“Or a lordship and lands granted by whoever takes the throne next,” Tibby said. “You already know Relvin is angling for it. I would start there.”
“It’s hard to believe he could entice the Royal Fleet to back him.
” Syla thought of General Dolok and how she’d heard rumors of people—officers—proposing military leaderships for the Kingdom.
But did he aspire to that? For the past few weeks, she’d believed he merely objected to her leadership, perhaps believing she might fall for a stormer and inadvertently betray their people, as her sister Venia had done.
Vorik’s face floated through Syla’s mind, but she wouldn’t let her feelings for him get in the way of her duty.
“Maybe, maybe not. Relvin’s father backs him, and he has sway with the aristocrats. Oh, Syla.” Tibby pushed a hand through her damp hair. “This all gives me a headache. I do prefer dealing with machinery rather than people. Machines don’t plot against you.”
“Except by breaking down when you need them.”
“If you take good care of them, that doesn’t happen. Unlike with people, some of whom would betray you for an ounce of gold and an opportunity to gain prestige.”
“Fel thinks I should cultivate a spy network.”
“That’s an excellent idea.” Tibby blinked and looked back at the sergeant. “He came up with it?”
“He’s not dull, my aunt.”
“One wouldn’t know it from the way he grunts and fondles his weapons.”
“Smart men can like swordsmanship. Macemanship.” Syla waved to indicate Fel’s favored weapon hanging from his belt.
“Hm.”
“It’s too bad you weren’t along on the trip to the storm god’s laboratory. You and Fel could have walked side-by-side together among the cactus flowers.” Syla smiled, thinking that would have been a better match than Fel and Teyla.
Tibby squinted at her. “He’s not the kind of person I would consider walking through a garden with.”
“It was wild and thorny, hardly garden-like. Among such dangerous flora, someone who can protect you with a weapon is a boon.”
“Dragons ahead!” a lookout called.
“Man the cannons!” the fleet commander called through a megaphone, and the order was relayed by the captains on the decks of the other ships.
The fleet was nearing Hazel Harbor, the city built in tiers up the slope around the water before stretching inland. Syla picked out four dragons perched upon rooftops, riders on their backs. All sets of eyes were toward the approaching ships.
“We’d better attack before they come up with a plan to deal with our fleet.” Syla kneaded the hem of a sleeve and wished she had somewhere dry to wipe her hands. As the moment of battle approached, more than rainwater moistened her palms.
“I wish you didn’t have to be the one using that thing.
” Tibby glanced at the weapons platform, then turned a sour expression on her book, as if it had betrayed her by not providing an answer to her question.
“You’re a healer, not a killer. A soldier should have that job.
Worse, you’ll be a target as soon as the stormers figure out what it can do. ”
“The whole ship will be a target.” Syla worried about that. If their enemies managed to sink the Stormslicer, she would lose the only weapon they had that could effectively slay dragons. “We might lose everything,” she murmured.
Tibby looked at her, but someone yelled that two dragons were flying toward the fleet.
“Guard me,” Syla told Fel and strode toward the weapons platform.
“I always do.” He took up a position beside one of the marble posts.
“I know. Thank you.”
Wind gusted across the ship, and Syla wobbled as she climbed onto the platform. The waves were getting rougher as well. With luck, the dragons would be as hindered as the fleet, the wind battering their wings as they maneuvered in the air.
As Syla stood on the platform, the rest of the Royal Protectors circled it to lend their swords to its defense.
To her defense, she hoped. She couldn’t help but eye the backs of their heads, aware that an assassin could come from any direction.
And, as draining as using the weapon was, she wouldn’t be able to defend herself from enemies nearby.
She looked in the direction that Wreylith and Igliana had flown off, hoping her winged allies would return soon. Instead, a pair of gray dragons with riders approached from the island. Without a doubt, they were not allies.
Wreylith, Syla called silently, we’re engaging in battle. I could use your help.
Since the red dragon had warned her not to engage until she returned, Syla wasn’t surprised when she didn’t receive an answer.
By now, Wreylith could be at the far end of the hundreds-of-miles-long Garden Kingdom chain of islands.
But the battle was coming to Syla, so she had no choice but to engage.
After taking a deep breath, she placed her hands on the marks on the posts. Magic tingled against her palms, promising the weapon’s readiness.
The fleet fired its cannons, but the dragons tilted their wings or dove, fast enough to track the trajectories of the cannonballs and avoid them. Their flightpaths weren’t deterred for long, and they kept coming. Both dragons angled toward the lead ship—Syla’s ship.
Since many of their kind had been at the battle over the storm god’s laboratory, she had a feeling they’d all learned about the threat the weapons platform represented. They would go after it—after her—first.
Syla closed her eyes and let her own power mingle with the magical energy humming within the marble posts.
She didn’t have any choice but to make herself vulnerable to defend her people.
Tension knotted her shoulders as she attempted to will the posts, with their cannon-like openings in the top, to fire magical projectiles, as they’d done in the desert laboratory.
But, with cannons booming and dragons trying to reach her, their riders raising swords as they stared down at her, Syla struggled to focus her thoughts. Terror and doubt stampeded into her. The success of this mission was predicated on her being able to launch projectiles from the weapons platform.
“This wasn’t hard before.” She stared alternately at her hands while willing the power within the posts to flare to life. All the while, she sensed more dragons launching from Harvest Island, arrowing toward the fleet. Toward her.
The two gray dragons tucked their wings in to dive. They would arrive in seconds, and were their maws already opening to breathe fire?
Cannons fired from all ships. One dragon lurched in its dive as a cannonball clipped its shoulder.
Another twisted to avoid two more whizzing past. But the dragons were undeterred.
As their riders loosed arrows at the crewmen, their aerial allies banked to come around and try again to reach the weapons platform.
Four more enemy dragons flew toward the fleet. Inevitably, some would get through.
Again, Syla willed her power into the posts, but panic tightened her chest and scattered her concentration.
What if she couldn’t do this? She would have doomed her fleet—her people—to failure.
To destruction and death. Sweat trickled down her tense muscles as roars sounded over the increasing wind from the storm.
A blue dragon dodged cannonballs and streaked over the deck of a neighboring ship. Its maw opened, and fire streamed into the sails and rigging, a mast bursting into flame, the dampness from the rain not enough to prevent it.
From the deck beside the weapons platform, Fel looked at Syla, concern furrowing his brow, expectation in his eyes. Maybe Vorik would have said something supportive and encouraging.
She snorted. He would have told her to be aware of her peripheral vision since that supposedly calmed a person down.
It couldn’t hurt to try…