Chapter 14 #2
Two bog bears! Wreylith added with excitement. Oh, and that one is quite plump and succulent-looking. Their kind must be fattening up for the winter.
Syla resisted the urge to suggest that a certain dragon might long to do the same thing.
“She’s scouting?” Fel must have guessed from Syla’s expression that she was communicating with Wreylith.
“Definitely scouting.” Syla climbed into the wagon and sat cross-legged with her medical kit in her lap.
Fel and two soldiers joined her inside while the rest walked beside them as the horses pulled the wagon into the city.
While they bumped along cobblestone streets, Syla rested her palm on her moon-marked hand. I would like to invite my dragon ally, Wreylith, to pass through the barrier, she thought at it. She also tried to direct the thought toward the barrier above.
If anything happened, she couldn’t tell.
The quarter-moon birthmark didn’t glow or tingle as it sometimes did when she drew upon her magic.
She repeated the words, this time envisioning them being sent across the island and deep underground to where the shielder was mounted in a hidden chamber.
Many years had passed since her parents had taken her to see it, but she remembered it was accessible through an abandoned section of the salt mine in Prominence Hill.
Since the mine lay miles inland, Syla didn’t expect anything to come of her attempt, but her moon-mark surprised her by warming. An image of Wreylith formed in her mind, as if sent by someone—or something—and a sense of a question also formed, though she didn’t hear any words.
Yes, that’s my ally, Syla thought. A dragon who is helping me keep the Kingdom safe. I believe she was here before, long ago.
An image of a young bespectacled woman with dark hair and gray eyes formed in her mind, a roguish smirk on her lips and a sword in her hand.
It took Syla a moment to recognize Queen Erasbella who, in all of her portraits, always sat demurely with needlepoint or knitting in her lap, and never with spectacles on.
After reading The Secret Life of Queen Erasbella, Syla knew the historians had left out a lot about the queen and fudged the truth to create a figure with an appropriately royal and mature mien.
Yes, Wreylith would have been with Queen Erasbella when she came. Syla kept trying to direct her thoughts inland to the shielder, though, for all she knew, she could have been communicating with a magical toadstool.
A sense of acceptance came to her, and her moon-mark pulsed once, tingling warmly, before returning to normal.
Wreylith? I’m not positive, but I think you may be able to come through the barrier now.
I will attempt to do so.
Syla couldn’t see the red dragon in the sky any longer—having a metal tent over her wagon didn’t help—but she imagined Wreylith diving toward a bog bear with her fangs ready.
“As long as she shows up if we need help,” Syla murmured.
Fel was peering into the streets with his hand on his mace, but he glanced at her.
“We’ll find out soon, I suspect, if Wreylith is able to fly down to assist us.” Syla wondered if the stormers who couldn’t be found were gathered somewhere, planning a second attack. Since she knew where the shielder was, she would be a target.
“That would be helpful,” Fel said.
As the wagon continued across the city and uphill from the river, Syla gazed into alleys and onto rooftops visible out the back.
The wide waterway was also visible as they climbed in elevation, their surroundings changing from industrial factories and warehouses to residences that either looked toward the river or the sea.
Perched on top of one of the last warehouses, a lone figure peered down at them.
A lone figure in black riding leathers with tousled black hair.
Syla straightened. Was that Vorik?
Across the distance, his sharp emerald eyes met hers. She grinned. It was Vorik.
Relieved that the weapon hadn’t gotten him, she almost waved, but she didn’t want to draw attention to him. Besides, she reminded herself, he was trying to kidnap her. He was her enemy.
As if he could guess her thoughts, he smiled and blew her a kiss.
She stuck her tongue out at him.
Fel noticed and followed her gaze, but Vorik had ducked out of view. “What are you doing?”
“Wreylith may be hunting bog bears instead of joining us promptly,” Syla said, though that probably wasn’t a suitable explanation for her tongue gesture.
Fel squinted at her, but someone called out for the wagon to halt, and it rolled over something that made the wheels wobble, then pulled to a stop. They had reached the gates for the palace. One of those gates had been ripped off and lay in the street. It was what they’d rolled over.
“It looks like dragons helped with this attack,” Syla said as she climbed out and eyed the destruction, “but that’s not possible, right? The barrier was up.”
“The dragon riders are formidable foes,” a soldier said from the side. “Welcome, Your Majesty.”
The soldier wasn’t one of hers. He wore the maroon uniform of the palace guard. Abrasions and bruises darkened his face, and his hair was matted with blood, but he stood in the gateway, weapons in hand.
“Last night, I was on duty when a female with silver hair ripped the gate off, as if the hinges were made from twine instead of iron. And she did that.” The guard pointed across the courtyard toward what should have been the grand entryway of the palace, but the carved doors had been torn from their hinges and smashed against the marble stairs.
Those stairs were cracked, as if the gods had hurled lightning bolts at them.
Or an irritated rider with a gargoyle-bone sword had employed all her strength and magic on them…
“I’ve witnessed the power of the riders bonded with dragons,” Syla said, remembering Vorik’s broken shackles.
Silver hair—that had to be Captain Lesva. Her dragon was dead, but maybe the magic from her bond would linger for a time.
The guard shuddered, then whispered, “That woman threw me across the courtyard as if I were a toddler.”
“Dragon!” someone called in alarm from one of two towers framing the palace rooftop.
A magnificent red dragon with what looked like purple berry stains on her belly soared over the city, heading in Syla’s direction.
“She’s an ally!” she called to the guards in the yard and in the towers. Silently, she asked Wreylith, Did you visit a bog on your way here? One full of ripe berries?
I visited the bog bears on my way. The fat one I caught ran through the brambles, flinging berries everywhere, but I caught it, and it was as delicious as I’d hoped. Hunting here will be glorious. Will you stay many days? Perhaps weeks?
Probably not weeks. Syla still had shielder components to acquire.
But days.
We’ll see. I’m honored that you took time away from your hunt to come check on me.
I ate my fill. For now. Should you need assistance, I will provide it. Wreylith alighted on the roof of one of the towers.
“That’s probably not an architectural ornament the island lord ever wanted on his palace,” Fel muttered.
“She’s magnificent and beautiful, and she’s helping us with our problems,” Syla said. “He should have an ornamental carving made in her likeness. Many carvings. They could go all over the roof and improve the aesthetic.”
“Is that berry juice staining your dragon’s scales?”
Syla hadn’t thought the purple splotches that noticeable, but her bodyguard had keener eyes than she.
She shrugged. “I understand there are bog bears on this island and that they’re delicious.”
“Her dinner must have put up a fight in the middle of berry-covered brambles.”
“Dragons like a challenge, I understand.”
A guard jogged out of the palace, using a side door instead of coming across the battered main threshold. “Your Majesty! You’ve come.”
She didn’t recall having met the guard before, but few people had ever looked at her with such relief.
“And you’re a healer. A gods-gifted healer.” The guard looked at her moon-mark. “The lord and lady need your help.”
Syla nodded. “Take me to them, please.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Will you wait here and keep watch? Syla asked Wreylith as she followed the guard toward the palace entrance, Fel and several Royal Protectors surrounding her.
Yes, but you must be careful.
Syla had already reached the doorway but paused. Do you sense a threat in the palace?
She remembered Vorik crouching on the rooftop and had no doubt the stormers planned to strike again.
I sense several humans with the power of dragon bonds in underground warrens beneath the city.
You mean the stormwater runoff tunnels? And you said several?
Several.
That was more than Vorik then. Or was Vorik being counted at all? Maybe Wreylith sensed Lesva and the team that had decimated the palace.
How far away are they? Syla looked around the courtyard, glad she didn’t see any stormwater drains among the flagstones and gardens insides its walls, but with the gate broken down and only mundane men out here to fight the powerful riders, it wouldn’t matter if Lesva’s team came up outside of the palace grounds.
Perhaps two miles. You should hurry.
Grim, Syla hurried through the doorway. I will.
Vorik crouched on a rooftop as troops marched past below in the gray uniforms of Kingdom Enforcers. He’d also spotted men and women from the Royal Fleet searching the streets for intruders. Intruders like him.
So far, Vorik had been able to avoid the troops, but he doubted he would be able to slip into the palace and find Syla and Lady Abrya before nightfall.
He was glad he’d spotted Syla heading in that direction so he knew where she was, but he’d been bemused to see her riding in a rickety fruit wagon.
He’d also been surprised when she’d noticed him—or maybe she’d sensed him with her power—hidden on the rooftop. Nobody else had picked him out yet.