Chapter 22
Syla lay on her back on a fur near the rear of the camp and stared at the stalactites hanging down from the ceiling. With the fires burning low, the shadows were deep between the rock features.
She’d removed her spectacles to sleep but doubted that would happen.
Her mind was busy mulling over what she would do if she couldn’t escape.
She’d poured the sedative into the soup, but the communal meal she’d expected hadn’t happened.
Maybe it would have if the creatures hadn’t attacked, but people had been coming by the shells of simmering liquid a couple at a time, and some had chosen the roasted meat as well or instead.
Even among those who’d consumed the soup, they might not have received enough of the sedative to make a difference.
Vorik hadn’t taken any soup, and Jhiton hadn’t even returned to the cave. He was out there in the storm, sulking or doing whatever his tiff with Vorik had inspired. She hadn’t heard their telepathic words, but their body language had made it clear they’d been arguing. About her, she knew.
Outside, the storm continued to rail, branches—if not entire trunks—snapping under the gales.
Maybe she would get lucky, and a tree would fall on Jhiton.
If not… she would encounter him if she tried to escape.
An unpleasant thought. Without Vorik’s watchful eye on him, Jhiton might take the opportunity to remove the source of the conflict between him and his brother.
No, not might. He absolutely would do that. It would be logical, and he seemed the logical sort.
Syla grimaced and looked toward Vorik. He lay nearby, ostensibly sleeping, but he shifted now and then, so she doubted he was doing more than dozing intermittently.
He probably felt he had to keep an eye on her so nobody would bother her—and she wouldn’t bother anyone.
Earlier, he’d tried to keep her from dropping the powdered dayvak buds into the soup, but he’d also shifted Jhiton’s attention when she’d been doing exactly that.
He was as conflicted about their relationship as she.
After revealing the location of the Bogberry Island shielder, she should have hated Vorik for capturing her and restraining her so the hydra-scale concoction could be administered, but…
hadn’t she done this to herself? She could have tried harder to escape his kidnapping attempt. But she’d wanted this opportunity.
And she had to use it. She had to gain something from this misadventure.
Syla put her spectacles on, sat up, and looked toward the back of the cave.
In the depths of night, it was hard to see much, but a couple of lanterns continued to burn in that tunnel, and she didn’t see anyone standing guard in front of the nook she’d noted earlier, the nook she believed held the shielder components.
The camp was quiet, with nobody moving about, but dawn probably wasn’t far off. She would have to make her attempt now… or never.
Fortunately, the stormers hadn’t tied her up before she’d lain down to rest. Chieftess Shi had come over, demanding it, but Vorik had said he would watch her. He’d also pointed out that Syla had healed their people and that she should be treated well. They’d gotten what they’d wanted from her.
Shi had argued that Syla had only helped people to soften their attitude toward her and had reminded Vorik that there would be further interrogations in the morning, that the tribal leaders wanted the locations of all the shielders.
Syla shuddered at the idea of divulging more Kingdom secrets. She couldn’t stick around for that.
Wreylith? she called telepathically, hoping the dragon wasn’t deep in slumber and would hear her.
She had to touch the krendala and reach out twice more before she received a response.
Is there not a storm there? Wreylith asked, not sounding appreciative of being woken. The type of storm that prompts wise creatures to den up and sleep through? From what I’ve heard, it stretches across the entire Sea of Storms right now.
There is a storm, but I need to escape. I… Syla hated to admit that she’d failed to keep her secrets. The stormers will be a threat again as soon as the weather clears. I need to get away from them and beat them back to Bogberry Island.
If she did, maybe she could grab Aunt Tibby and have her unmount the shielder so they could move it to another location.
At the least, she could get troops to the salt mine to guard the entrance.
Maybe she would get lucky, and her allies were even now retrieving the weapons platform from the bottom of the river.
Too bad the salt mine was more than five miles inland—beyond its range.
You should have told me your precise location earlier. The Freeborn Faction dragons searched all along the coast where they believed a stormer camp might be.
I don’t know where we are on a map, but they were close when they encountered the stormer dragons.
So they assumed. Those dragons drove most of them far away, and they’ve dared not return with the storm raging. Only Igliana managed to evade them and nest on the mainland, but she had to travel far down the coast so her enemies wouldn’t sense her.
Can Igliana sense me?
Your magic makes you easier to sense than most humans but not from great distances. Tell me when you escape, and I’ll ask her to look for you after the storm abates.
Syla frowned. She had to escape before the storm abated.
I’ll do so, she said, hoping Igliana could find her in time once she did.
Since nobody had reacted when she sat up, Syla dared ease away from the fur.
Vorik didn’t stir at her movement. Nobody did. A man who’d been ordered to stand guard near the entrance was slumped down across a rock mound. At least someone had eaten enough soup to be affected; she assumed the vigilant stormers wouldn’t otherwise take naps while on guard duty.
Syla picked up her medical kit and rose to her feet. If someone confronted her, she would claim to need to pee. With no toilet facilities in the cave, the stormers went outside for that. Earlier, she’d seen a few venture out into the storm, but it had been some time since anyone had gone.
As she picked her way past camps and toward the back of the cave, she expected someone to yell at her at any moment.
She kept glancing back, certain Vorik would rise and stop her.
But nobody stirred, and she made it to the tunnel.
The guard who should have been alertly keeping anyone from reaching the shielder components lay slumped across a rock, similar to the one out front.
She squeezed past, careful not to brush him.
Little lantern light penetrated the nook, and it went back farther than she would have guessed, but she soon sensed the components. They were all magical, after all. She could detect all three, the teal ore, the desiccated moss-bulb powder, and the orb from the storm god’s laboratory.
Unable to see anything, she groped and prodded her way toward them. When last she’d seen the items, the ore and orb had glowed, but someone must have wrapped them up.
When she reached them, fingers brushing fabric, she realized the orb and ore were still in the pack she’d put them in.
She was tempted to untie the flap and look inside to verify with her eyes that they were there, but she didn’t want the light to wake the guard.
She slid the pack over her shoulders, then patted around and found the ceramic amphora, the lid secured.
She hefted it with one arm and shifted the medical kit on its shoulder strap so that it rested against her hip, then headed out, wondering how by the eyes of the moon she would run and hide while carrying so much.
She certainly couldn’t fight. Would she even be able to ride on a dragon?
Praying that she would somehow slip away without anyone noticing, she returned to the main portion of the cave.
Reminded that Vorik hadn’t consumed any of the soup, she picked a route that stayed away from him.
He lay on his back, the same as he had when she’d departed, but she couldn’t tell if his eyes were open or closed.
Closed, surely. If he’d been awake, he would have stopped her.
Heart beating in her ears, Syla reached the entrance and stepped past the sleeping guard. She resisted the urge to quicken her pace. If she tripped and dropped one of the items—or made any noise at all—someone who hadn’t consumed the soup would hear her and waken.
A gust of wind nearly knocked her into the wall before she reached the mouth of the cave. Rain blew sideways, cold even though it was only the beginning of fall, and spattered her spectacles.
I’m out, Wreylith, she thought. Will you tell Igliana to look for me?
More wind blew, and Syla could hear the roar of the sea, waves crashing into the cliff under the bluff.
I will tell her, but if it yet storms there, she may not be able to search for you.
You might mention that I’m thinking of starting a horn-hog farm so that I can always have delicious livestock for my dragon allies.
You wish me to bribe her? Wreylith asked dryly.
Yeah, will it work?
Probably. She is young and naive.
I’ll reserve some horn hogs for you too.
I am not young or naive.
But you’d accept offerings of horn hogs if they happened to come your way.
Certainly. Sheep and goats as well. And the pesky but delicious venomous sword iglets that hug the sea floor and are difficult for dragons to catch.
I’ll keep your tastes in mind.
Outside the cave, Syla looked left and right through the trees, their leaf- and needle-filled branches swaying in the wind, the dark night making it hard to see anything. No moon would guide her way, and a wise traveler would hunker down and wait for day. But she dared not wait.