A second before the man would have fired, Fel stepped up to the archer and pushed the bow aside. He pointed toward the sky at a dragon heading their way.
“Your Majesty.” A soldier jogged up to the weapons platform from the other side. “We need to get you to safety.”
“We need her to shoot down more dragons!” That was the fleet commander.
Syla pulled her arm away from the soldier reaching for her. Though she struggled to find strength, she agreed that her place was at the weapons platform, firing at their enemies.
Screeches and roars sounded over the thunder and the booms of cannons. The aerial battle had grown closer, the Freeborn Faction dragons combatting the stormer dragons, wheeling and diving in the dark sky. A gray dragon had joined the black in battling Wreylith. She was magnificent, biting and slashing and keeping them from flanking her, but there were too many foes, even for her.
Syla gripped one of the posts and used it to pull herself up. Leaning heavily on it, she managed to plant her hand on the mark.
Ozlemar was no longer fighting Wreylith—where had Jhiton and his mount gone?—but two green dragons had joined the gray to gang up on her. Indignant and afraid for her ally, Syla managed to summon another projectile, sending it toward the fray.
The silvery sphere blazed across the sky and struck one of the green dragons attacking Wreylith, knocking it away from her. Blackness edged Syla’s vision after the effort. Bloody daggers, would she pass out if she tried to call upon more projectiles?
Lesva cried out, stumbling back. Blood flowed from a fresh gash in the side of her neck. Determined, Vorik strode after her. For the first time, uncertainty crept into Lesva’s eyes.
“Vorik, you’re betraying your people,” she yelled, glancing past him toward Syla.
“You’re not killing her.” Vorik sprang after Lesva.
She scrambled back to the railing and glanced overboard. He raised his sword, slashing so that she wouldn’t have the time to turn and jump over, if that was what she intended.
“Traitor!” she screamed at him as his blade knocked hers aside and dove for her neck.
Lightning flashed, and the shadow of a dragon grew visible on the deck an instant before taloned feet lowered. They snatched up Lesva before Vorik could land a killing blow.
Syla peered out from under the canopy of the weapons platform, hoping that was an ally dragon and that it would slay her enemy. But it was the black dragon, with General Jhiton on his back, his short hair plastered to his skull, his face as hard as stone as they flew away. Captain Lesva dangled from the black dragon’s grip as they flew over the ship and toward the far side of Harvest Island.
Vorik lowered his sword, his mouth drooping. He looked as surprised as Syla by his brother’s intervention.
A pained screech came from the aerial battle. Wreylith?
Frustrated, Syla risked falling unconscious and used the last vestiges of her strength to fire two more projectiles into the air. They sped away from the platform, striking one of Wreylith’s enemies as she clamped onto the neck of another. It was too far away for Syla to hear bone crunch, but as she sank to her knees, she saw Wreylith’s foe go rigid, and then very limp. Wreylith released her enemy and flew about, searching for more threats, but the remaining stormer dragons were flying away, heading in the same direction as the general.
On the deck of the warship, several archers who’d paused while Vorik and Lesva battled, stepped forward now with their bows raised and determination in their eyes. Vorik stood alone, a single stormer surrounded by enemies.
Undeterred, he raised his sword, as if to say he would parry a dozen arrows flying at his chest if he needed to. Syla didn’t think that even he could manage such a feat.
She struggled to find the strength to call out an order, but the blackness threatened all of her vision now, not only the edges.
Fel opened his mouth, as if he might try to call off the archers, but he looked toward her. Undecided? A part of him had to wonder if it would be better to let Vorik be killed.
But he’d saved Syla’s life. Shecouldn’t allow that.
“Prisoner, Fel,” Syla rasped. “To question,” she managed to add, hoping the logic would sway Fel and the soldiers.
Vorik didn’t look like he wouldallowhimself to be taken prisoner. He glanced toward the railing. Thinking of jumping over?
Before he could, Wreylith landed on that railing, her huge body denying him an escape route. Her golden eyes pinned him, and her maw opened.
Prisoner!Syla blurted telepathically to the dragon.Take him prisoner.
The effort was the last she could manage, and she lost consciousness before she saw what happened next.
7
I would cheerfully rescue you,Agrevlari spoke into Vorik’s mind, his voice distant,but the weapons platform remains in place on that vessel, and the corpses of my kin are floating in the waves.
