Chapter 10 #2
“Dragon!” someone called from the crow’s nest, the alarm in his voice suggesting it wasn’t their familiar red dragon ally.
Syla spotted Tibby walking toward her with the book but also a green dragon flying toward the ship. “I think that one is from the Freeborn Faction.”
She peered at the rider, wishing her eyesight were better. Was that Chieftess Atilya’s gray hair?
“You can ask the faction leader herself how dependable the intelligence is,” Syla said when Hixun joined her in the doorway.
His grunt suggested he didn’t find the notion appealing.
“I need you for a moment, Syla.” Tibby lay a hand on her arm and tilted her head toward the weapons platform.
“Get some of the ships underway for Bogberry Island, Major,” Syla said. “As soon as possible.”
“I’ll have to speak with the fleet commander first,” he said, “but I’ll urge him to follow that direction.”
“Thank you.”
The dragon landed on the deck, Chieftess Atilya lifting her hand toward Syla before sliding off.
Tibby harrumphed as her news was delayed a moment more.
“Thank you for your help yesterday, Chieftess,” Syla said. “I appreciated it immeasurably.”
“I’m glad. There was some debate about whether we should approach while you were casting magical cannonballs with that…
device.” The side-eye Atilya leveled at the weapons platform suggested she hadn’t valued its contributions as much as Syla had.
Maybe because she and her people were also allied to dragons, Atilya didn’t like seeing them slain.
“Some were concerned that it—did you control it?—wouldn’t differentiate faction dragons from those who’ve declared themselves your enemies. ”
“I was controlling it, yes.”
“Ah. That is somewhat reassuring, though that is a lot of power for a human to wield.”
“Especially one trained to be a healer.” Syla smiled sadly.
Atilya considered her answer for a moment. “Perhaps, a healer, as long as she has the wherewithal to use deadly force, is a better person to wield such a weapon than one who longs for the power to slay others.”
“I wish nobody needed to use it.”
“That would be ideal. We of the Freeborn Faction do seek peace rather than hostility. Also an opportunity to earn food yielded from your bountiful islands. We have not taken any, though it has not always been possible to keep our dragons from coming here to hunt. They’ve minds of their own.”
“Yes, the minds of predators. I’ve noticed.” Syla smiled toward the northern coast of the island, sensing through her link with Wreylith that she was hunting near the cliffs by Lavaperch Temple.
“Of course. You’re linked with a dragon now.” Atilya looked at her hand. “I’d forgotten. I could sense power from you even before the wild red dragon marked you.”
“From my moon-mark, I assume.”
“I suppose it must be.” Atilya considered her hand, as if she wasn’t sure, but didn’t suggest anything else. “Have you developed new abilities from your bond yet?”
“Not that I’ve noticed.”
“Sometimes, it takes a while, but you may notice soon that you’re faster and stronger in battle.”
“I go into battle less often than you might think. My cousin, Teyla, may have been a better bet to link with a dragon. She takes sword-fighting lessons, at least.”
“Dragons choose those they’ve an affinity for. You must have proven yourself to Wreylith.”
“Oh, yes.”
“I believe,” Atilya said, “that Igliana may have already warned you that your Bogberry Island defenses have been breached. Someone, presumably General Jhiton’s riders, set fire to several buildings in the main city.”
“Yes. I’m thankful that she brought the news. We’re going to head that way soon.”
“We could fly along to assist you or stay here and attempt to stave off stormer dragons. In case Jhiton splits his forces and sends some to reclaim this area. I would expect him to.”
“It’s my concern that he will, yes. But even if his forces are split…” Syla held her palm toward the sky.
“They would outnumber us? That is likely, yes.”
“As I said, I appreciate any help you can offer, and we’ll surely invite you to a feast in your honor as soon as we’re able to drive the stormers out of the Kingdom. We’ll send you home with many pounds of fruit, vegetables, and grains, but I don’t expect you to lose people on our behalf.”
“We’ll assess the situation when their dragons are in the sky.”
“All right. Thank you.”
Even at fifty-something years of age, Atilya was strong enough and agile enough to leap upon her dragon’s back when she departed. When Syla had time, she would have to explore whether she had developed any special abilities from her bond.
Tibby cleared her throat, but, before Syla could join her at the weapons platform, someone called from the railing. The dinghy carrying Lord Ravoran had arrived.
He climbed aboard before any of his escort and strode straight toward Syla. “You!”
“It’s Your Majesty,” Syla said, bracing herself.
Normally, she wouldn’t care about pomp, as Fel had once called it, but more than a dozen witnesses were close enough to observe them, and it would demean her authority if the island lord treated her like a wayward child instead of his monarch.
Never mind that he was thirty years her senior and probably thought of her like a child.
“You stole our shielder!” he said without correction.
Red-faced with jowls that waggled when he yelled, he pointed a stout finger at her face.
“You’ve caused this carnage. All of this.
” He flung his arm toward the charred and missing buildings in the city hugging the harbor.
“Hundreds have been killed, the crops that are to see our people through the winter have been stolen, and those flying vultures have eaten our livestock and wild animals.”
“I’m aware, Lord Ravoran.” Syla made herself politely and respectfully use his appropriate title, though she kept her back straight and her chin up as she faced him. “As I wrote to you in my letter, we suffered the same fate on Castle Island.”
“For a couple of days. Until you stole our shielder. Weeks ago.”
“I told you the reason why, and I promise we’re actively researching how to repair your shielder or build a new one.
” She nodded toward Tibby, hoping the book in her aunt’s hands made her look like someone on the verge of a solution.
If only Syla hadn’t thus far failed to get those shielder components.
“As if you can hammer one into existence like a horseshoe!”
“We know a new one can be made, and doing so is my priority.”
At that moment, the major called to his crew to ready the ship to sail to Bogberry Island.
“We’re not a priority at all,” Ravoran snapped. “You’re already preparing to leave.”
“Not for long.”
“Those stormer animals have not only been stealing but have been killing our people. Gleefully. And their dragons enjoy hunting them down. I demand you return our shielder. Your sister is the one who let yours be sabotaged, isn’t she?
That’s not our fault. Your family screwed up.
You and your island need to deal with the consequences. ”
“Do you know how many dragons and stormer ships we might face, Your Majesty?” Hixun called—he’d waved the fleet commander on board and was speaking to him now. “Should we take all of our ships or only some?”
Ravoran reached for Syla. “You’re not going anywhere until you return our shielder.”
Had Fel been at her side, he would have blocked Ravoran, but she’d left her interim bodyguard figuring out how to get Vorik back in his cell, and there was nobody nearby to spring to her defense.
Syla lifted her hand and gripped Ravoran’s wrist as he reached for her shoulder.
Despite his age, he was bigger and stronger and didn’t hesitate to grab her.
But she hadn’t been trying to deflect the blow, just touch him.
She didn’t want to hurt him—not when he was right to defend his people and understandably felt betrayed—but she willed her power to come to her, to warn him that she wasn’t defenseless, that he couldn’t hurt her or throw her overboard.
Who knew what the red-faced man had in mind?
The moon-mark on the back of her hand thrummed and glowed silver, and power slid easily out of her and into him, a tendril that locked around his wrist but also shot down through his body to his legs, to the nerves that instructed his muscles on how to ambulate him.
He halted abruptly, anchored, and his eyes widened.
The moon-mark on the back of his hand also glowed, a reminder that he was also descended from those early people that the gods had shared their gift with, and she braced herself in case he could use his power to counter hers.
But his flare died down as quickly as it had come.
Her hand flared brighter, and he glanced at it.
“You’re more than a healer,” he whispered.
“I’ve had to become more.”
Releasing him from her power, Syla stepped back. She didn’t want to threaten a man who had, for a decade, loyally served her mother and her father before that. All she needed was his cooperation, or at least for him not to fight her.
“Major Hixun,” Syla called without looking away from Ravoran. “Take the island lord to a private cabin where I can talk to him later.” She had no desire to do that but felt compelled to hear him out fully. Once the fleet was underway and she learned what Aunt Tibby wanted.
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Hixun saluted her, then ordered a couple of men to escort Ravoran and the refugees below.
Syla let out a slow breath, trying to will some of the tension out of her shoulders, but there was too much to be tense about. Her muscles wouldn’t unwind.
“What did you do?” Tibby waved to Syla’s hand and watched as the lord headed below.