Chapter 23 #2
Fear almost made Syla scream as she soared through the barrier hundreds of feet in the air.
Reminded that Wreylith was less inclined to use her magic to guide a rider into place and keep her on, Syla struggled to arrange herself to land on the red dragon’s back without bouncing off.
Even so, when she thumped onto her hard red scales, she lost her grip on the amphora as she tried to flatten a hand to Wreylith to use her magic as an anchor.
Surprisingly, power flowed from the red dragon, righting Syla and securing her in place. But the amphora tumbled toward the ocean.
“That’s a shielder component,” she blurted.
Wreylith dove after it, and Syla remembered the newspaper that the dragon had incinerated.
“I need that! Don’t toast it, please!”
Reaching the amphora scant feet before it would have disappeared into the water, Wreylith opened her jaws.
Syla closed her eyes and winced, afraid she would hear the snapping of ceramic and watch the precious moss-bulb powder fly out to land on the waves.
But with surprising gentleness, Wreylith caught the amphora in her jaws.
Her belly skimmed the water as she spread her wings, then flapped them to regain altitude.
Once she was high enough, her neck twisted, and her head came back, allowing Syla to take the amphora from her grip.
“Thank you, Wreylith.” Syla slumped in relief.
If, after everything, she’d lost one of the rare shielder components, she didn’t think she could have faced Lord Oyenar or Aunt Tibby.
The only thing that would make explaining the impending stormer incursion less difficult was that she’d at least achieved one small victory.
Igliana roared and somersaulted in apparent approval for Wreylith’s athletic maneuver.
The young are so easily impressed, Wreylith said, flying inland. They were on the far side of the island from the city and the palace.
On the way here, we discussed that Igliana is pleasantly encouraging. Syla lifted a hand toward the orange dragon, disappointed that there was no way for her to fly to the island to help. Syla would need all the help she could get against the stormers.
Easily impressed, Wreylith repeated. It seemed she had no interest in being encouraging. Your enemy pronged her sword into the roof of my mouth.
Oh! Syla had been so distracted by her own problems that she’d forgotten. Let me see if I can heal the wound for you while we’re flying.
Mighty dragons do not need the assistance of puny human healers.
Certainly not. I’ll get started right away.
Do so.
Fortunately, the magic of dragons helped them to heal quickly from most wounds, and it didn’t take long for Syla to send tendrils of power through Wreylith’s body and to the roof of her great maw. She knitted bone and flesh back together as they flew inland.
You might want to refrain from breathing fire for a while, she advised. I imagine that would irritate a wound.
Thus I discovered. In the aftermath, I almost wished for one of your foul slimy concoctions.
You mean my soothing salves.
Slimy.
Since Syla didn’t want to apply a salve, slimy or otherwise, to the roof of a dragon’s mouth, she didn’t argue further on the merits of her medicines.
By the time Wreylith flew over Prominence Hill, Syla had finished her task, trusting nature—and the dragon’s inherent magic—would ensure she would soon be able to breathe fire again without trouble.
Before heading to the capital, Syla had Wreylith circle the hill so she could study the bogs, lakes, and forests below. She’d seen maps and once traveled to the salt mine via a road that led up its slopes, but she’d never seen the area from above and tried to conjure tactical thoughts.
Lake Talindar took up a large portion of the flat, forested top of the hill, and several fishing boats had dared to venture out after the storm.
A half mile from the body of water, a couple of wooden buildings marked the mine entrance, one holding a lift cage that descended into the earth.
Rail tracks led from the double doors of that building and followed the road as it meandered down the hill.
The ground-level portion of the operation was unassuming, especially considering it had existed and been in continuous use for centuries, but Syla knew from her previous visit that the mine was anything but.
With multiple levels spread over hundreds of vertical feet, each level dozens of feet high, any one of them could have held an entire army.
What if that was what the stormers brought?
Great armies that would march through the forests and bogs to the top of the hill where they could force their way into the mine?
Only a handful of people could go down via the lift cage at a time, but even small numbers of stormers were challenging opponents, especially if riders were among them.
Even their ground troops, the Storm Guard, were better warriors than most Kingdom soldiers.
“We’ll have to start sending people to the mine right away,” Syla murmured to herself. “It’ll take time for our troops to descend too. Though I suppose we could plant soldiers all around the mine entrance and try to keep the stormers out.”
Hypothetically, that might work. The Bogberry natives ought to be able to summon more people than the stormers could bring by ship, but she couldn’t help thinking of the amazing power and athleticism of the riders and worry that greater numbers wouldn’t be enough.
As they flew along the main road heading to the coast, they spotted wagons carrying uniformed troops. Other men were on foot searching the bogs and forests.
At first, Syla thought they might have somehow learned the stormers would be after the artifact and were preparing, but not many wagons were heading toward Lake Talindar. They were spread out all over the place, as if they were searching the island for something.
Or… someone?
Unease crept into Syla.
“Will you take me to the ship or wherever Aunt Tibby is, please, Wreylith? I think we’re going to need booby-traps. If not an engineering miracle.”
After Syla spoke, she realized she didn’t know if Tibby was safe.
Vorik had said he’d helped her to shore, but what had happened after that?
What if she was who the troops were searching for?
The fleet ships had been sinking and in flames when Vorik had stolen Syla away, and she’d been so preoccupied with her own fate since then that she hadn’t thought to worry about her aunt.
And what of Lord Oyenar and Lady Abrya and the palace?
Lesva, she feared, had survived the battle and probably gathered her troops to try again to reach them.
“Is Aunt Tibby all right? Do you know?”
The last time I flew over the city, she was on the remains of the docks with your bodyguard and local humans, directing the bringing of lifting equipment.
Only the mast of the vessel you rode here is visible above the surface of the river.
It and the weapons platform are underwater, sunk to the bottom.
Syla had suspected that and assumed they wouldn’t have a way to use the gods’ weapon to keep stormers out of the mine, but she groaned anyway.
“Vorik, why couldn’t you have kidnapped me without sinking my ship?
” She had little doubt that he’d deliberately chosen that target.
After all, he’d been trying to destroy the weapons platform earlier.
He might even have known she would come if he lit her ship on fire.
“I need to end the relationship I never should have had with him, don’t I, Wreylith? ”
You find him a stimulating sexual partner.
“Yeah, I enjoy our encounters way too much, and it’s not only sex.
It’s… he’s…” Syla huffed out a frustrated breath as they flew closer to the city.
“He’s my enemy, and I don’t think that’s going to change.
He’s too loyal to his people and his brother.
I understand that, but it’s why we can’t be a we.
I never should have allowed myself to fall for him. ”
Stimulating partners aren’t always easy to find. Perhaps you should suborn him.
“Have you managed to suborn Agrevlari?”
I have not tried. Up until recently, I did not think I found him the least bit intriguing.
“But then you had that engaging encounter on the rock formation?”
That was vigorous and appealing, but he grew more interesting when he showed me his mettle as a fighter and even dove past my defenses to bite me.
Wreylith let out a roar before descending toward the docks, a wooden crane visible.
Aunt Tibby and a couple of men stood near it, working or maybe, judging by their gesticulations, arguing.
“That doesn’t look sturdy enough to pull the heavy marble platform off the bottom of the river,” Syla said dubiously.
Back in the capital, they’d had access to a lot of high-quality machinery, and it had still been a laborious process to get the weapons platform from the courtyard of the castle down to the docks and onto the Stormslicer.
Prying it away from the wreckage of the ship and lifting it onto land would be even more challenging.
Especially since that crane looked like something that might have been state-of-the-art a few centuries past.
It took four strong dragons to carry it across the ocean, Wreylith said.
Yeah, and they only had access to one dragon.
“I hope Aunt Tibby can work a miracle.”
Even if she could, as Syla had just been thinking, the weapons platform wasn’t the answer to the current problem.
“We’re going to have to figure something else out.” She looked back to the lingering clouds on the horizon and wondered if the stormers would give them time. What if they were already on the way?