If Jhiton hadn’t been coming, the battle might have been theirs. Storm-cursed luck. She hated that man.
Her hatred renewed her strength, and she willed all four posts to send out projectiles. If she could finish off the dragons around the fleet, maybe her people could regroup in time to meet the new threat.
But Jhiton’s dragons, wings beating hard, were almost there. Wreylith flew overhead, not slowing down but streaking out to meet them. That would help, but there were too many enemies for her to deal with alone. And her allies—were those Freeborn Faction dragons?—hesitated to fly straight toward the oncoming forces. They knew they were outnumbered.
Hoping to hearten them, Syla willed all of her projectiles toward Jhiton’s dragons. The silver balls streaked much farther than cannons could have reached, and one sped toward the great black dragon carrying the general. Syla clenched her jaw, willing it to take the creature in the chest—and bring its rider down with it.
Lightning flashed in the sky, branches streaking down from the black clouds. At first, Syla thought the gods would help her, that one might knock the general from his dragon. But a branch streaked into her projectile, brilliant white light meeting the glowing silver sphere with a blinding flash that stunned her.
She blinked furiously, trying to recover her vision as the light faded, her projectile gone from the sky. Had itexploded?
Before she could see if it had affected Jhiton and his dragon—probably not, as the lightning had caught the projectile before it got close—a clash of metal on the deck between the railing and the weapons platform pulled her attention downward. Though she was still blinking to clear her vision, she made out someone leaping down from the railing and into the Royal Protectors and several soldiers running toward him. No, towardher.
Dripping water from her black riding leathers, Captain Lesva wielded a dagger and a sword, her gargoyle-bone weapons almost glowing white as they deflected attacks from numerous angles. Though many men sprang for her and archers aimed, trying to get a shot over the heads of their allies, Lesva didn’t appear daunted in the least. She wasn’t even focused on her attackers, somehow dodging and parrying while glowering at Syla.
The memory of her last encounter with the captain flashed in Syla’s mind, and, for the first time during the battle, she longed to flee, to run belowdecks and barricade herself behind a door.
As if that would be enough to deter the magically enhanced rider captain. One of Lesva’s blades darted through the defenses of a Royal Protector and sliced into his jugular. He stumbled back, dropping his weapons as blood spattered the deck. An archer fired through the opening his absence created, but with uncanny speed and accuracy, Lesva batted the arrow away. It deflected into the shoulder of one of the men at the cannons.
Even as she battled the Kingdom men, Lesva took step after step toward Syla.
Hands still on the posts, Syla thought about trying to strike her with one of the projectiles, but, even if it landed accurately, it would crash through Lesva and into the deck and hull of the ship. She might sink her own vessel and lose the weapons platform to the bottom of the sea.
“Get more men over here!” Fel barked, though he couldn’t reach Lesva through the troops trying to surround her. The captain should have been overwhelmed, but she moved so quickly, even anticipating attacks from behind.
Wreylith? Syla glanced toward the sky as lightning flashed again.
This time, it didn’t strike anything, but it highlighted the enemy forces, including a red dragon battling a black dragon. Wreylith and Ozlemar.
The Freeborn Faction dragons were flying to help Wreylith, but they were still outnumbered. Though Lesva would inevitably reach Syla and kill her if she didn’t run, Syla willed two more projectiles toward the stormer dragons, afraid for Wreylith. She also worried she wouldn’t have many more opportunities to attack their enemies. Once the forces mingled, Syla wouldn’t be able to tell friendly dragons from enemy dragons, not from such a great distance.
Defeat the human foe!Wreylith ordered.
If only Syla could. Lesva was far from human, and now she was only a few steps from the weapons platform.
“Get that storm-cursed mutant of a woman!” someone yelled.
“Excellent idea.” Again, Syla contemplated sending a projectile toward Lesva, the risk to the ship be damned.
As if she sensed the threat, Lesva spun, slashing rapidly, driving men back, and then she took two running steps and leaped in Syla’s direction, somersaulting over the heads of the defenders. Syla scrambled back, intending to jump off the other side of the weapons platform, but she’d used too much of her energy firing the weapons. Utterly drained, her knees buckled, her legs giving out.
An instant before Lesva would have landed atop Syla, something crashed into the woman from above. Vorik.
Surprise flashed across Lesva’s face before she disappeared from Syla’s view, flattened to the deck. The arrival of Vorik startled the men who’d been trying to get to Lesva’s back. If they’d been quicker to react, they might have driven weapons into her, but, even startled, Lesva recovered with eerie rapidity. She sprang to her feet with her weapons still in her hands.
But Vorik now stood between her and the weapons platform. He glanced back at Syla but only for an instant before Lesva, not hesitating in the least, leaped at him.
Their weapons came together in blurs, clangs sounding more like the meeting of metal than of bone, and sparks flew from those magical blades. Two remaining Royal Protectors and a handful of crewmen not busy loading cannons and loosing arrows at dragons backed away from the fight. Blood ran from many of their faces, mingling with sweat and rain, and they glanced at Syla. An archer raised his bow with uncertainty, the two ridersbothenemies as far as he was concerned.
“Don’t fire!” Syla yelled. “Stay back!”
Vorik had defeated Lesva before, and Syla believed he could do so again—as long as none of her peopleshot him. Recognition sparked in the archer’s eyes—he’d figured out who Vorik was and knew he was an enemy. But Lesva was evenmoreof an enemy.
Syla tried to stand as the archer drew back his bowstring, aiming at Vorik. “No!”
Her legs couldn’t hold her. She crawled across the weapons platform, but she couldn’t reach the archer in time.
Embroiled in their own battle, Vorik and Lesva didn’t glance at the man. Did they even know he was there? They were such dangerous opponents that neither dared glance away from the other.
