Chapter 21
A scream of pain echoed up from the depths of the cave. Syla struggled to clear her muzzy thoughts and figure out what was happening. She’d been taken prisoner, hadn’t she? By the stormers. Yes. That awful General Jhiton had been questioning her, and she… She’d spoken to him. Why?
She almost found the answer, but then it escaped, her mind fogged, reality elusive. She grew aware of Vorik standing at the entrance of their section of the cave. His back was to her, his sword in his hand, as he looked into a tunnel illuminated by lanterns.
Another scream sounded along with dozens of unfamiliar animal noises.
Something skittered into view beyond Vorik.
It looked like a waist-high rat with grimy, curly fur and a long tail.
If it had eyes, she couldn’t see them, but it shrieked, somehow seeing or sensing Vorik as he sprang into the tunnel at it.
His sword slashed too rapidly for the creature to evade, but others followed the first. Dozens of others.
Several bit at Vorik, but he danced out of reach, a blur of movement.
He slashed to kill at the same time as he leaped and twisted to evade.
A few more creatures tried to bite him, but others only sought to get past. He tried to stem the flow, but there were too many, even for him.
Several skittered around the fight as he slew others, their bodies large enough that they got in the way after they fell.
“Cave crawlers coming!” Vorik called toward the entrance of the cave as he drove his blade into the skull of another creature.
Two more ran past before he could stop them. Snarling, he looked like he wanted to race after the ones that were getting by, but he glanced in Syla’s direction and stayed where he was.
She vaguely remembered that there was a camp up there. A large camp of his people with elders and children.
One of the giant rats—cave crawlers, he’d called them—diverted into her nook. She scooted back, looking around for a weapon. There was her medical kit. Could she pull out a scalpel in time?
But Vorik caught the creature before it reached her. He leaped onto its back and plunged his blade into its neck. It let out a bone-rattling shriek before its legs collapsed underneath it.
Out in the tunnel, several more creatures ran past. Vorik spun, but two armed men, one limping but determined, chased after them.
“Defend the camp!” someone called.
Vorik glanced at Syla again. She nodded that she was fine.
He nodded back and returned to crouching with his sword at the entrance to their nook.
He wanted to help his people—she had no doubt—but he would make sure she wasn’t in danger.
At least not from the cave crawlers. She was in danger from something else, wasn’t she? If only her mind weren’t so fuzzy.
She went to her medical kit, trying to remember what drugs she’d brought along. Was there anything that could clear her thoughts? Had she hit her head?
No, she realized in a flash of clarity that came when she spotted one of her syringes. That cursed General Jhiton had drugged her. With hydra-scale powder. She didn’t know the ancient substance as well as modern drugs, but maybe thelenium would help. That promoted wakefulness and clarity.
As she placed a bitter tablet under her tongue, willing it to dissolve and enter her body quickly, she brushed a small bag of powdered dayvak buds and paused. There was some significance to the sedative. She’d meant to use it, hadn’t she?
She couldn’t remember where or on who but tucked the bag into her pocket, hoping illumination would come soon.
The bitterness of the tablet she’d slipped under her tongue made her want to spit, if not gag, and she looked around for water.
There was a gourd with a cap, and she reached for it, but a memory flashed into her mind.
That woman—a healer?—had put hydra-scale powder into it, and…
her gaze strayed to her arm. A hint of dried blood smudged her skin next to a vein.
In the tunnel beyond Vorik, several more armed men passed by, having to climb over the bodies of the cave crawlers that he’d killed. Blood and ichor spattered their faces and clothing, promising they’d also battled a subterranean foe.
General Jhiton appeared, jumping lithely over one of the bodies.
“The kraken is dead,” he said.
“Good,” Vorik said.
Syla closed the medical kit and knelt back from it an instant before Jhiton looked into the nook. He squinted suspiciously at her and opened his mouth, but Vorik spoke again.
“Some of the crawlers got past.”
A moan of pain drifted to them, promising people near the entrance had been injured.
Jhiton swore under his breath. “Keep watching her.”
“We need a healer!” a woman called. “Yavaron is hurt. Where’s her apprentice? Little Havalla?”
Syla touched her medical kit, intending to say that she could help, but her mind was starting to clear, and the puzzle pieces clicked together.
She remembered being questioned. She remembered trying and failing to kill Jhiton with her power.
She remembered everything. Curse of the storm god, she’d told them the location of the Bogberry Island shielder.
“Havalla is hurt too, but she’s doing her best,” someone called. “Chieftess, over here.”
Vorik looked at Syla, a question in his eyes, but he didn’t ask it.
“You look like… you,” he said instead.
“Yeah. You look… like an enemy.”
He shook his head sadly. “Yes.”
The squalls of a baby accompanied the moans and groans of others in pain. The one she’d seen on the way in?
Syla closed her eyes, wrestled only briefly with a decision, then grabbed her medical kit and stood. “I can help those who are injured.”
Vorik didn’t look surprised. He lifted a hand in invitation and guided her into the tunnel and toward the main area.
“But if your brother is injured,” she added, “I’m not healing him.”
“He looked hale when he passed through,” Vorik said.
“Fate never strikes fairly.”
“No.” He touched her shoulder.
Outside the cave, the wind railed, and branches broke as more bad weather swept in from the Sea of Storms. A loud crack-thump suggested an entire tree falling.
Inside, the cave remained dry and protected from the elements, and people rested after clearing away the corpses of the crawlers.
Some had been injured, but nobody complained.
Such events were common in the life of the stormers.
After all, desirable lairs protected from storms and aerial predators were popular with more than just humans.
At least nobody had died during the battle.
A couple of people would have been in more dire straits if not for Syla.
Feeling indebted to her, Vorik stood close as she went from injured person to injured person, cleaning wounds and applying bandages as well as her healing magic when the wounded gave their permission for it.
Several times, she let herself sink into a deep trance that left her vulnerable.
Vorik kept his hand on the hilt of his sword, making sure everyone knew Syla was under his protection.
But everyone saw that she was helping their people, and nobody even looked crossly at her.
Early in the process, she healed Yavaron, who then started helping her, acting as an assistant more than the master the tribe had relied upon for decades.
Yavaron, though she had a great deal of knowledge and experience, didn’t have the gods-gift, the quarter-moon-shaped birthmark that glowed silver from Syla’s hand as she worked.
We are chasing three of the faction dragons down the coast in the opposite direction of the cave, Agrevlari reported, his telepathic voice more distant than before. We fought briefly, but the storm is unpleasant, even for mighty dragons, and both parties may break off to find shelter soon.
Vorik had already told Agrevlari about the attack in the cave.
Thanks to the dense canopy outside, and the size of the cave entrance itself, the dragons couldn’t have done anything to help.
It was probably only bad luck that both attacks had happened at the same time—it wasn’t as if krakens communicated with dragons—but Vorik wondered, thoughts of the gods arranging things coming to mind again.
Weren’t there four of them? Vorik asked. Did you kill one?
The orange dragon that we flew with to the desert disappeared inland.
She’s probably the one Wreylith sent to find and retrieve Syla. The others are a distraction.
One of the others bit me in the shoulder.
Thus distracting you.
Agrevlari growled into his mind.
Thank you for the update, Vorik said. I’ll keep an eye out for the orange dragon. Igliana, wasn’t it?
Yes.
Hushed voices raised on the other side of the cave.
For a while, Jhiton had been over there, speaking with Chieftess Shi, General Amalia, and a couple of tribal elders.
More concerned about Syla and the injured, Vorik hadn’t been trying to listen in on their conversation, but Shi sounded angry now.
She folded her arms over her chest and glared at Jhiton.
Jaw tight, he glared back. It took Vorik a moment to realize they must have switched to telepathy.
Syla leaned back from her current patient—Alecton, the boy who’d almost hit her with a ball—and patted him on the shoulder. “Rest for a time. You’ll be back afflicting your game on passersby soon.”
“All right.” Alecton glanced around. To make sure there weren’t many witnesses? “Thanks,” he said in a whisper.
“You’re welcome.”
Without looking at Jhiton, Syla picked up her kit and moved to another patient, Fria, one of the women who’d been cooking dinner when this had all started. The campfires continued to burn, but someone had moved the soup shells away from the flames so the meal would stay warm but not scald.