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 knowthe 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 puzzlepieces 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.
