After taking a deep breath, she placed her hands on the marks on the posts. Magic tingled against her palms, promising the weapon’s readiness.
The fleet fired its cannons, but the dragons tilted their wings or dove, fast enough to track the trajectories of the cannonballs and avoid them. Their flightpaths weren’t deterred for long, and they kept coming. Both dragons angled toward the lead ship—Syla’s ship.
Since many of their kind had been at the battle over the storm god’s laboratory, she had a feeling they’d all learned about the threat the weapons platform represented. They would go after it—afterher—first.
Syla closed her eyes and let her own power mingle with the magical energy humming within the marble posts. She didn’t have any choice but to make herself vulnerable to defend her people. Tension knotted her shoulders as she attempted to will the posts, with their cannon-like openings in the top, to fire magical projectiles, as they’d done in the desert laboratory.
But, with cannons booming and dragons trying to reach her, their riders raising swords as they stared down at her, Syla struggled to focus her thoughts. Terror and doubt stampeded into her. The success of this mission was predicated on her being able to launch projectiles from the weapons platform.
“This wasn’t hard before.” She stared alternately at her hands while willing the power within the posts to flare to life. All thewhile, she sensed more dragons launching from Harvest Island, arrowing toward the fleet. Towardher.
The two gray dragons tucked their wings in to dive. They would arrive in seconds, and were their maws already opening to breathe fire?
Cannons fired from all ships. One dragon lurched in its dive as a cannonball clipped its shoulder. Another twisted to avoid two more whizzing past. But the dragons were undeterred. As their riders loosed arrows at the crewmen, their aerial allies banked to come around and try again to reach the weapons platform. Four more enemy dragons flew toward the fleet. Inevitably, some would get through.
Again, Syla willed her power into the posts, but panic tightened her chest and scattered her concentration. What if she couldn’t do this? She would have doomed her fleet—herpeople—to failure. To destruction and death. Sweat trickled down her tense muscles as roars sounded over the increasing wind from the storm.
A blue dragon dodged cannonballs and streaked over the deck of a neighboring ship. Its maw opened, and fire streamed into the sails and rigging, a mast bursting into flame, the dampness from the rain not enough to prevent it.
From the deck beside the weapons platform, Fel looked at Syla, concern furrowing his brow, expectation in his eyes. Maybe Vorik would have said something supportive and encouraging.
She snorted. He would have told her to be aware of her peripheral vision since that supposedly calmed a person down.
It couldn’t hurt to try…
As she wiped sweat from her damp palms, she looked through the posts toward the wheelhouse but also tried to be aware of the men on the deck to either side of her. The sea was visible at the edges of her vision, the cloudy sky slanting rain at dragons as they wheeled and dodged cannonballs. Thosedragons werenotcalming to look at. Instead, she kept her peripheral vision on the men, the men reloading cannons and archers firing at enemies flying close. They were all blurry when she wasn’t peering at them through her lenses, but maybe her heartbeat slowed a touch? With her central vision unfocused and her awareness to the sides, she groped for and found the posts, her palms sliding onto the hand-shaped marks.
To one side, the dragon that had lit the neighboring ship on fire arrowed toward theStormslicer, a blue blur descending rapidly. Without looking directly at the creature, Syla willed the weapons platform to launch a projectile at it. She imagined Vorik giving her an encouraging nod, even though he wouldn’t have if he’d been there. Her enemies were his people.
“Ever a problem,” she whispered.
A softthwumpcame from above. A moonlight-silver ball of energy launched from one of the posts and sped toward the blue dragon and its rider. Faster and brighter than the cannonballs, it blazed through the dark sky. The dragon saw it coming and tried to dodge, but the projectile altered course and slammed into the creature’s side. The rider flew off its back as his mount screeched and wobbled.
Two more projectiles streaked out, one coming under the dragon and striking it in the belly. The other hit it squarely in the head, its horns briefly glowing silver, as if they were conducting the energy, the power. The dragon’s wingbeats halted, and it plummeted into the choppy waves below.
Dead? Syla couldn’t spend the time to check, but it crossed her mind that Vorik would be disappointed that she was using his advice against his people. It couldn’t be helped. They were attackingherpeople.
Determined, Syla found another target. An orange dragon. It wasn’t Igliana. This was a big female that screeched as shedescended, dodging cannon fire to stretch her talons toward the weapons platform.
Continuing to be aware of the world visible in her periphery, and willing herself to remain calm, Syla launched projectiles at the dragon. The weapons platform drew upon her energy to aid it, its tremendous magic coming at a cost, but there were more than a dozen dragons in the air now. She would have to continue to fight, to lend it her power, for much longer. If she didn’t…
“I will,” she vowed.
As it fired again, four more dragons flew toward the ship, two from each side. The orange was fast and dipped, only clipped by the projectile. It veered left, then down, then up, zigzagging about as it continued downward. It was buying time, Syla realized, drawing her attention and willing to sacrifice itself so that the others could attack her.
Fel and the Royal Protectors stood their ground, weapons raised to keep the dragons from reaching Syla, but all it would take was one well-aimed gout of fire to incinerate them all.
Since the weapons platform had multiple posts, Syla willed it to send out more than a single ball of energy at once. Two launched, with a third and fourth following in rapid succession, but the rush to fire made her aim imprecise. Only one projectile reached its target, blasting into the flank of a green dragon. The projectile knocked it from its course, and the dragon screeched in pain as its wings beat erratically. Its rider had a bow and, though he was being jerked about as he tried to stay on the dragon’s back, he managed to loose an arrow at Syla.
She ducked as Fel leaped up, trying to time his swing to deflect the attack. He clipped the arrow, and it ricocheted off one of the marble posts.
Syla had lost her grip on the others and rose to place her hands on the marks again.
“Look out!” Fel barked, pointing toward the opposite side of the ship.
Two blue dragons angled toward them, dodging cannonballs as they flew close enough to attack with fire. Thunder rumbled from the clouds, but it wasn’t loud enough to drown out the roars of the Kingdom’s enemies.
One of the blue dragons opened its maw, flames roiling in its throat. Syla had seen that dragon before—and its silver-haired rider. Captain Lesva.
