A man stepped outside with a lit dragonspark match and lifted it toward a lantern mounted on the wall beside the door, but he spotted Wreylith and gaped, stumbling back. The match dropped to the stone pavers at his feet and went out.
“It’s all right,” Syla called, lifting a hand, not certain if the man had noticed her or only the huge, powerful, and terrifying dragon. “We’ll leave momentarily.”
He glanced at her but continued to gape at Wreylith.
Perhaps he does not recognize you,the dragon said as she continued to nosh on her meal, the man’s appearance not disturbing her enjoyment of the tongue or whatever other favored horn-hog part she was eating now.You should have worn your crown.
“It’s for ceremonies, diplomatic negotiations, and public appearances,”Syla whispered, willing the dragon to finish so they could continue on with their mission.
Are you not currently appearing in public?
“I hadn’tplannedto.” Syla hadn’t even told her bodyguard, Sergeant Fel, that she was leaving the castle. He wouldn’t have approved of her departing, even with a powerful dragon ally, without him. He wouldn’t approve of this self-appointed mission atall. “Besides, the crown fits awkwardly when I’m wearing the strap to keep my spectacles on.”
She touched the rims of the new crimson-framed pair that she wore, the color a match for Wreylith’s gleaming red scales. When Syla had finally caught up with her optometrist, he’d been awestruck by the dragon but inspired as well. He’d not only made her the spectacles she’d ordered but two spare sets as well. She would, he’d assured her, require myriad options now that she was the queen and didn’t always wear a drab dark-blue healer’s robe. She’d accepted the extras, but she wanted spares less for fashion and more because encounters with assassins, dragons, and enemy riders were likely to break her spectacles regularly.
Wreylith emitted a noise like a belch. Maybe itwasa belch. Something else that Vorik hadn’t mentioned to Syla that dragons did.
The heads of two children peeked out of the door behind the man.
“It’s Queen Syla!” one blurted.
“She’s come to bless our farm!”
Syla eyed the intestines draped over the wall. That had to be the opposite ofblessing.Before she could do more than wave at the children, Wreylith finished her meal and sprang into the air.
We will depart before your minions suggest that you havetamedme, Wreylith said.
“They’re my subjects, and I’m composing an article for the newspaper that will explain your independence, fearsomeness, and magnanimity in assisting me with defending the Kingdom.” Syla had already written it, but she hadn’t yet figured out how to get it printed without her cousin, Relvin, the editor of theKingdom Journal,altering it into something scandalous and untrue—if he allowed it to be distributed at all.
I should think my fearsome independence would be evident to all.As the setting sun burnished her scales, Wreylith soared over the remaining croplands and pastures and headed south toward the Sea of Storms and Harvest Island, its outline soon visible on the horizon.
“It should be, yes.”
In minutes, dragons could fly the miles that it took ships many hours to sail, and twilight wasn’t yet deep when they neared the shallower waters around Harvest Island. Fires burned inland, the flames bright against the encroaching darkness, and Syla grimaced. They weren’t campfires or anything that had been started by humans. More likely, stormer-allied dragons had wantonly lit the forest and farmlands on fire. Maybe their riders had evenencouragedthem to, though why they wanted to damage the island they were trying to claim for their people, Syla didn’t know.
“Trying to?” she murmured.
The stormers had successfully taken over Harvest Island, driving out or killing the Kingdom troops, and pillaging vineyards, bogs, and croplands for food. Thus far, her attempts to get messages to and receive reports from the island lord, Ravoran, had failed. Only rumors from refugees suggested he was still alive and directing the local populace.
Unfortunately, Syla wouldn’t likely be able to find and speak with him this evening. Wreylith would have to keep her distance. What Syla hoped to learn was how many dragons were in thearea and if she might successfully sail over with the ancient gods-created weapons platform that she’d recovered from the Dire Desert. At the moment, it rested in the castle courtyard where Wreylith’s allies had dropped it, the magical marble proving heavy and difficult to move. But it would be worth the effort to do so if it could be transported here until a shielder could be returned to the island.
I sense wild dragons and also stormer dragons,Wreylith said, though Syla couldn’t see any winged creatures in the sky.
“Near Hazel Harbor or farther inland?”
Based on a couple of tests Syla had done with the weapons platform, she believed it could send its magical projectiles about five miles. Since Harvest Island, only a little smaller than Castle Island, was more than thirty miles across in places, she would only be able to protect a portion of it. But if she could sail the weapons platform to the island’s capital, the city wrapped around Hazel Harbor, she could defend a good portion of the population. More, people currently hiding on their farmsteads and in their homes on other parts of the island could flee there for protection.
Most hunt inland, but I sense a couple of stormer dragons among the dwellings in the city. They may be perched on rooftops as scouts, watching the skies for spies even as we seek to observe them.
“Right. Let’s not get close.”
Had you more dragon allies, you might drive them away.
“Sadly, only one dragon has seen my worth and offered to align with me.”
Few are as perspicacious as I am.
“That’s a good word. I’ll see if I can work it into your newspaper article.”
