Chapter 17
For at least the twentieth time, Vorik plunged below the water’s surface to hack and rip at the hull of the ship.
As strong as his magical gargoyle-bone blades were, they were not adequate tools for carpentry.
A trained saboteur, he was not, but when he thought of all the dragons that had died to the weapons platform—as well as riders he’d known his whole life—he found the wherewithal to keep going.
Finally, he created a large enough hole in the side of the ship that he believed it would sink.
As he came up for air, it occurred to him to wonder how deep the river was in that spot. He imagined the vessel sinking only a couple of feet before landing in the silty ground below.
“We’re taking on water!” someone yelled.
Vorik pushed his hair out of his eyes, not surprised it had taken people time to notice. With the entire crew on deck, fighting his men, he’d had as good an opportunity for sabotage as he could have wanted.
Sticking close to the hull so he wouldn’t be spotted, he maneuvered around the ship, the air now hazy with smoke. Flames burned on the deck and also the docks.
Vorik peered upward, wondering if Syla had seen and was on her way.
But what if Lesva had already gotten her?
His gut churned at the thought, and he second-guessed letting Lesva and her team continue unopposed to the palace.
Maybe he should have fought her, but that would have assured their men that what she’d claimed was true, that he was a traitor. And he was not that, damn it.
“There’s a team in the water!” someone on the deck yelled over the chaos.
A team? Vorik was hardly that and didn’t think anyone had yet seen him, but he angled under the dock for cover. He spotted the kayak, farther downriver and caught against the grassy bank.
“Now I just need Syla to make my escape,” he murmured.
Except that he couldn’t leave while his men were fighting above. They’d willingly stepped up to his side to assist him, and he couldn’t abandon them.
Vorik sheathed his weapons and grabbed an algae-slick piling, intending to climb up to help them, but paused when he sensed a dragon approaching. Wreylith. Was Syla on her back?
He was tempted to remain in the water and hidden so he could choose a time to pounce, but with the dragon on the way, his men were in more danger.
He pulled himself onto the dock and into the midst of the chaos.
Fires burned around him and also on the nearby ships.
One was sailing away from the docks. Trying to escape the stormers?
Syla’s vessel remained in place and sat low in the water.
“We’re sinking fast!” someone cried.
“There’s the one who did it!” A crossbowman spotted Vorik and raised his weapon.
Vorik dove behind a post, a quarrel buzzing through the air where he’d been.
As he drew his own weapons, he spotted the red dragon soaring toward them.
Yes, that was Wreylith, and Syla did indeed ride on her back, the sunlight glinting off her spectacles.
Her face was set with grim determination.
He hated that they were on opposing sides, but when one of his men cried out in pain from the deck of her ship, Vorik didn’t hesitate to run and leap over the railing to assist.
The crossbowman had reloaded and pointed his weapon at him again.
With so many skirmishes ongoing, and the deck slanted, the straps that held the weapons platform in place groaning, nobody had come to help the Kingdom man.
He fired, but Vorik anticipated it and threw himself into a roll, somersaulting across the tilted deck and springing up in front of his foe.
His attacker tried to skitter back but realized he didn’t have time to reload or escape and hurled the crossbow at Vorik.
Concerned far more about Wreylith than the man, Vorik calmly slashed with his sword, slicing the stock in half. Surging forward, he grabbed the startled soldier and spun, throwing him into the railing. Weakened by fire, the wood snapped, and he tumbled into the water.
“We’re winning, sir!” a stormer blurted, spotting Vorik and charging up beside him, his sword bloody and his eyes gleaming.
If only Vorik felt that they were. But he nodded.
“Yes, good work, Tems. As soon as the ship sinks, take the men and get out of here, all right?” Smoke tickled his throat, and he struggled not to cough as he glanced around, ensuring no enemies were sneaking up on them.
Several crewmen leaped off the vessel, realizing its fate was inevitable.
“Hide in the forest until we can get ships in to retrieve you.”
“Yes, sir, but what about you?”
“I have another mission.”
A roar came from the sky. The wind had shifted, blowing smoke across the deck and the docks, so Vorik couldn’t see the dragon’s descent, but he sensed it. And he sensed his danger. Syla might hesitate to kill him, but he doubted Wreylith would.
“Go.” Vorik pushed Tems away, not wanting him to be taken out because he’d been standing too close to the dragon’s target.
Agrevlari, Vorik asked silently, sensing his dragon ally flying out at sea, not far from the barrier. I’m going to come to you soon.
I do pine in your absence.
We might have to get out of here quickly.
Fleeing enemies?
One big red enemy.
Ah. The mighty Wreylith.
“You!” called a familiar female voice. The engineer aunt. Tibby.
Eyes watering behind her spectacles, she’d come up from belowdecks and was running through the smoke toward the weapons platform as she glared at Vorik.
She reached it before he could stop her, climbed up, and grabbed the posts.
By now, Vorik knew that was how the platform was operated, and he ran, intending to spring and knock her away, but Wreylith appeared through the smoke, her fanged maw opening right behind him.
Vorik dove under the weapons platform. Jaws snapped, fangs clinking off the corner of the marble device, and Tibby cried out, as alarmed as anyone.
“Sorry, Aunt Tibby!” Syla called from Wreylith’s back as the dragon landed on top of the weapons platform.
Bloody daggers, how was Vorik supposed to kidnap Syla when her dragon was right there?
Two pairs of boots—all he could see from below—ran toward him. He started to roll out on the other side, but Wreylith’s red maw came down, and hot steamy breath mingled with the smoke and flowed under the weapons platform.
He’d managed to get himself trapped and almost laughed at the foolishness of his choice to climb out of the river. He might end up captured by Syla again.
Then a snap sounded. Fabric? A buckle? Both? One of the straps that held the weapons platform in place had broken, and the great marble structure skidded across the slanted deck toward the railing.
“Lift it off!” Syla called from above.
Was she talking to Wreylith? Vorik, rolling to stay underneath the platform, doubted even the powerful dragon could lift it by herself.
Another strap snapped, and flapping sounds erupted from above. Wings beating and stirring smoke, the dragon leaped into the air as her perch skidded toward the railing.
“Aunt Tibby!” Syla cried.
Was she still on the platform? Afraid he would be crushed, Vorik risked scrambling out from underneath.
He rose in time to see a blazing silver ball shoot from the top of the platform.
At first, he thought himself the target, but the aunt must not have wanted to hit the ship.
The projectile slammed into a man—one of Vorik’s men—in the middle of a sword fight with a Kingdom soldier on the dock.
The magical sphere incinerated him with a blinding flash of silver light.
Horrified, Vorik turned toward the platform, his sword raised.
Tibby hung on to one of the posts, her hand planted on the mark on its side, her gaze as determined as her niece’s as she looked at Vorik.
He had no doubt that he was her next target.
Aware of the way those projectiles could follow a dragon—or a person—he was sure he wouldn’t escape a second attack.
But thunderous snaps came from below, and the deck quaked under Vorik.
It more than quaked. It gave way, and the weapons platform lurched, then plummeted downward.
More wood snapped as it fell, and Tibby disappeared along with the entire structure.
The deck also gave way under Vorik. Though the purchase under his feet dropped, he managed to leap away before it disappeared entirely.
Using his dagger like a climbing pick, he caught a portion of the deck that remained intact.
As more people fled the sinking ship, Vorik pulled his way up the slanted deck and grabbed on to a solid portion of the railing.
Flames burned all around him, black smoke choking him, but he could see that the weapons platform had disappeared and water bubbled up from below.
Most of what deck remained was covered in water, and even as he watched, a mast snapped, wood and sail falling to cover the giant hole the weapons platform had fallen through.
Vorik had a feeling it had broken through the hull and now lay on the bottom of the river, where the ship would soon join it.
He should have felt triumphant at accomplishing his mission, but a distressed cry came from above.
“Aunt Tibby!” Syla still rode Wreylith’s back as the dragon circled.
Wings flapping so hard that smoke swirled and Vorik felt their wind from the railing, Wreylith hovered, briefly more like a hummingbird than a dragon, and snapped up the broken mast, tossing it aside.
Then Wreylith plunged her head through the hole.
But dragons were not hummingbirds, and her belly slammed against the wheelhouse.
When she landed, unable to find a solid perch, more deck gave way.
Wreylith lifted her head without finding the aunt and roared in frustration.
As more of the ship broke underneath her, the dragon roared again and flapped her wings to fly upward.