Chapter 19 #2
Will the livestock be for the dragon who comes to get you or the dragon who arranges the rescue?
Syla resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Wasn’t Wreylith sated from all those bog bears?
Both, was what she thought back to the dragon.
Hm, very well.
“They’re heading toward the camp,” one of the riders observed, pointing toward the tracks and the trail leading to the bluff.
“Yes.” Jhiton straightened. “And dire wolves are often accompanied by dire vultures, which have a propensity to carry off our children if we’re not vigilant.
” His people had to already know that, so Syla suspected the words were for her.
Jhiton glanced at her before continuing to speak to his men.
“Ask your dragons to stay in the area. We left many of our winged allies in the Kingdom to reclaim Harvest Island and be ready in case we get another opportunity at Bogberry, but we lost many of them—and several of our skilled riders—to that gods-forsaken weapon.”
“It’s a gods-crafted wondrous weapon,” Syla stated.
Vorik gave her a warning look that probably meant she would be wise not to talk back to Jhiton or ruffle his feathers. She lifted her chin, having no intention of being cowed by the general or any of his riders.
“Either way, it’s in the river now,” Vorik said cheerfully.
“Not a deep enough burial for it,” Jhiton murmured, looking at Syla again, as if that were her fault.
Syla bared her teeth at him and fantasized about driving magical daggers into his heart.
If she got close enough to touch him at any point, she wouldn’t hesitate to use her power to kill him, and she eyed his chest now, wishing she could press her palm flat to it and send her magic straight into his heart.
The general’s eyes narrowed as he watched her face, and, for the second time that day, she wondered if he could read her thoughts. She hadn’t heard of a human with that ability, but who knew what powers he derived from that great black dragon?
Vorik rested a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s head to camp, General. The dire wolves are more active at night, and it’s getting dark.”
“Agreed,” Jhiton said. “And it’ll be easier to question our captive there. Healer Yavaron has the powder.”
“Powder?” Syla looked to Vorik, remembering that he’d taken items, including the hydra-scale powder, from her cabin, but he didn’t have a pack with him now, nothing but his weapons and clothes.
He didn’t look surprised by Jhiton’s comment but didn’t explain.
Jhiton smiled tightly and led the way up the trail.
Agrevlari, Ozlemar, and the blue dragons flapped away, heading out to sea and down the coast. To hunt?
Since the trees and bushes grew densely atop the bluff, reminding Syla of the rainforest they’d visited along the coast of Droha, the dragons might struggle to find places to land.
This was probably as close to the stormer camp as they’d been able to bring their riders.
Vorik followed Jhiton up the trail, making sure Syla came with him.
She adjusted her spectacles and stayed close to Vorik.
The two riders who walked behind them gave her cool looks, and she suspected everyone in the stormer camp except Vorik would hate her instantly for having used the weapons platform to kill their comrades.
What were the odds that Vorik would truly be able to keep anyone from hurting her? Or worse?
The blades of waist-high grass along the path had razor edges, making her wish she wore trousers instead of a dress.
At least the hem fell past her calves. A couple of stunted trees they passed had thorns along their narrow, bent trunks.
Even though the green foliage above looked lush, Syla was sure a lot of the flora here could open a wound on a person.
The predators would be even more likely to do so.
Jhiton looked up, and Syla followed his gaze.
Against the dark sky, the storm clouds having drifted closer, a huge black vulture with a white spot on its chest sailed overhead.
She’d never seen a bird so large, not on her islands, and, with talons almost as long as those of a dragon, she believed it was far more than a scavenger.
Its size promised Jhiton’s statement about the vultures here stealing away children was likely true. Large children.
As they reached the top of the bluff, screeches, roars, and blood-curdling shrieks drifted out of the forest. Again, it reminded Syla of the rainforest on Droha, though the salty air wasn’t as warm or humid.
Instead of heading inland, the trail turned to follow the coastline, meandering through a mixture of conifers and deciduous trees, some of the leaves already turning yellow, orange, and red for the year.
A squirrel with fangs chattered at them from the branches.
A huge pinecone dropped between Jhiton and Vorik.
Too bad it hadn’t hit the general on the head, though he probably would have reacted in time to swat it aside with one of the two swords sheathed at his waist, as he’d done with her explosives in the shielder chamber on Castle Island.
Again, she dreaded the idea of spending time alone with the man.
Though she didn’t want to be questioned by Vorik either, she would prefer a friendly face, especially if she was to be drugged.
He would be far less likely to take advantage of her.
Though he would do his duty, as he always did, and ask the questions his general wanted answers to.
She grimaced and hoped she could find the shielder components and figure out how to escape before the questioning.
Jhiton turned off the path, padding across mossy rocks, and toward the mouth of a cave that Syla didn’t notice until they were almost upon it.
Though the entrance was wide and higher than their heads, jumbled boulders around the front helped hide the dark opening.
Further, stalactites inside leered down from above like jagged dragon’s teeth.
She’d only read about such rock features.
Thanks to the volcanos that had formed most of the Kingdom islands, the majority of the caves back home had been carved out by magma and were tubular in nature.
Before entering, Jhiton lifted a hand toward the top of the cave.
Syla jumped. In the fading light, she hadn’t seen the man perched up there among the moss-covered boulders.
As well as he blended in—he wore fur-trimmed animal-hide clothing rather than black rider garments—she might not have spotted him under any circumstances.
“We always have a sky watcher on duty around our camps,” Vorik said, reminding her of the term the stormers had. “Wyverns aren’t that prevalent in this area, but there are plenty of other aerial predators we have to watch out for.”
“Ground predators as well,” one of the riders behind them muttered.
“Don’t forget about the cave crawlers,” his comrade said.
Jhiton gazed coolly back at them. What, were his men not allowed to chatter?
“When we bring prisoners to camp,” he said, “the idea is to learn from them, not volunteer information about our people.”
“You’re being grumpy this evening, General,” Vorik said. “Prisoners prefer it if you question them with good-natured cheer.”
Jhiton didn’t respond, only leading them into the spacious cave. Without cheer.
At first, stalactites and rock formations kept Syla from seeing how many people resided inside, but the lights from fires promised dozens of inhabitants, and the air was thick with the scents of burning wood and roasting meat.
As numerous sets of eyes turned toward them, Syla braced herself for hatred and vitriol.
And many of the gazes were cool or outright hostile when they landed on her, but some were curious.
Some belonged to children, and a band of boys and girls ran past, kicking a ball made from stitched leather in a game that involved bouncing it off the rock formations and bopping it with elbows, chests, and heads but not hands.
“Hi, Vorik!” One kid waved at him. “Will you play with us later? Is that a gardener? Oh, hullo, General.” The wave turned to a salute for Jhiton, whose cold aloofness probably didn’t endear him to children. Or anyone.
The ball bounced off a stalactite and flew toward Syla’s head. She ducked, seeing it angling at her from the side more easily than she usually would have, but Vorik stepped in to catch it before it could reach her. He looked curiously at her as he tossed the ball toward the group.
“No hands, Vorik!” one admonished him.
“I didn’t think the queen would be impressed with me head-butting a ball like a mountain goat,” he replied.
That comment prompted the kids to issue goat-like bleats as they ran along the edges of the camp, kicking the ball and being yelled at by mothers and grandmothers. A white-haired woman smiled while also waving a menacing wooden spoon at them.
Syla was struck by the homeyness of the setting.
Though a couple of armed men patrolled the area, some wandering into view from the depths of the cave, she realized she was, for the first time in her life, seeing stormers in the natural state in which they lived their lives, not as invaders or potential troublemakers visiting her islands.
There were more aged men and women than she’d expected.
Their reputation would have led her to guess they sent their elders out to die in order to preserve winter food stores for those still of an age to bear children and protect the tribe.
Even if they didn’t do that, she would have thought that, simply due to the harshness of their environment, not many people made it to old age.
“Come,” Jhiton said to Syla.
“The questioning is going to start right away?” Vorik asked. “Can’t we give her a meal first? Queens are more garrulous and cheerful on full stomachs.”
“That’s not mentioned in the history lores.” Jhiton twitched his fingers toward Syla, then walked off, assuming she would obey.