Up there? Syla almost said that she’d already found lots of enemies in the mine.
Yes. Some have taken over the boats in the lake and are firing upon your troops coming up the road. Others are in the forest and advancing toward these buildings.
I thought we would have more time. Can you keep them from coming down into the mine?
Certainly. No humans will pass underneath me without notice. Should they attempt to do so, they will not fail to experience the incendiary flames of my wrath.
Dragon wrath is a terrible thing.
Yes.
Syla’s instincts tingled with a warning, and she whispered, “Down.”
Without question, Fel obeyed, pushing her low as he also ducked. An arrow that had been fired with more accuracy than the first sailed through the top of the cab where their heads had been.
“We’ll be easier targets now that we’re stopped.” Fel lifted his crossbow over Syla’s head and fired into the darkness.
A soft clink sounded as his quarrel skipped off something hard. Probably one of the salt pillars.
“I’m not sure we should get out right away.” Syla glanced toward the route ahead, wanting to check on the chamber but also aware of the witnesses watching them. “This is decent cover, and we’ve got ammunition.” She opened Tibby’s bag, revealing a surprising number of the flat, square packages—her explosives.
Fel eyed them. “I’m starting to appreciate that woman.”
“Even though she insults you often?”
“I get insulted by a lot of people, buttheydon’t give me explosives.” Fel picked up a couple of the packets.
Another arrow arced out of the darkness, sailing over the wagon and clinking off a pillar behind them, chipping away a chunk of salt.
“Stormers are usually more accurate than this.” Fel gave her a significant look. “They may be trying to delay us.”
“If they want to keep us away from the shielder chamber, they could kill us,” Syla said, but she agreed that the stormersseemed to be shooting to keep them busy rather than actively trying to slay them.
“You might be their backup plan for getting in.” Fel pointed at her hand.
“Or… something happened to Lady Abrya.” Syla hoped not, but what if Lesva had accidentallykilledher captive?
“There also might be only one archer.”
She looked sharply at him. She hadn’t sensed the bonded rider for a while. Had most of the stormers run ahead to beat the wagon to the chamber?
No sooner had the thought occurred than four shadowy figures appeared in the darkness. Three men and one woman, all wearing fur-trimmed Storm Guard chainmail, ran toward the wagon. They’d put away their bows and drawn swords.
Fel raised his crossbow to shoot. Syla grabbed one of the explosives and eased out of the cab so she had room to throw it, careful to avoid the support pillars.
These stormers weren’t as fast as Jhiton, the last person she’d thrown explosives at, but they knew to avoid them. One warrior ducked and kept coming, and the other three ran or rolled to the sides. Two sprang behind pillars for cover as an explosive struck down, blowing up with a great boom. The other two were knocked down by the shockwave. Syla also felt it and staggered back, bumping into the wagon. Fel remained rock steady and fired another quarrel. It slammed into a man’s shoulder. The female stormer was already down, rolling and grabbing her side.
Before Fel could reload or Syla grab a second explosive, one of the men who’d run behind the pillar came out on the other side and charged at her. She jumped back into the cab, thinking she might drive the wagon away and escape the stormers—or use it as a weapon to try to run them over. But he was on her before she could start it again.
He stabbed at her with his sword, and she dodged, surprised by her speed. She easily evaded the blow, then kicked the man in the chest to knock him back. He went flying, as startled by her strength as she was.
Before he could recover, she flattened her palm to the control panel and put the wagon into reverse, backing away from Fel, who’d jumped out on the other side and was wielding his mace against a stormer who’d reached him.
The man she’d kicked recovered quickly and leaped into the cab before Syla could get far enough away. Lunging, he grabbed her with one hand as he swung his sword with the other. But it caught on the frame with a loud clank.
As he shifted, maneuvering to turn his sweeping blow into a stab, Syla called upon her power. Her moon-mark flared silver as a tendril of magic extended into him, then wrapped around his trachea. As the tendril tightened, she leaned back and raised her leg to kick him again. If he hadn’t been startled—and scared—with his eyes bulging as he reached for his throat, she wouldn’t have gotten the best of him, but she caught him off balance, and he tumbled out of the cab.
She shifted the levers and backed the wagon away from her foe. Since they were no longer touching, her magic didn’t remain in him, and he jumped to his feet, his airway returning to normal. She shifted the wagon’s direction and drove straight at him.
