Wreylith opened her maw, roared, and launched a gout of fire at the yellow dragon. But Lesva’s blue was coming around its ally, opening its own maw. Lesva leaned forward on its back, almost quivering in her eagerness to get close enough to lop Syla’s head off with her sword.
Perhaps you should learn to use a weapon,Wreylith suggested, her telepathic voice calm even though she was in the middle of twisting to parry jaws snapping toward her head.
I’m not bad at throwing books at things.
That is unlikely to deter a determined enemy.
Unfortunately, I’ve found that to be true.This time, Syla spotted the archer firing. She had to duck and dip halfway off Wreylith’s back to avoid the arrow, but it buzzed past without hitting her.
In the mayhem, the two dragons managed to surround Wreylith briefly. Her wings bumped against those of the blue dragon, and she tilted to get away but also raked the air with her forelimbs, talons slashing toward their enemies. But only for an instant. Without the steady wingbeats, gravity caught up to Wreylith, and she fell away from the other dragons.
Syla’s heart tried to spring out of her throat. The strap of her spectacles threatened to fly off her head, and she smashed her frames to her face to keep them on.
Once she’d fallen well below the other dragons, Wreylith started flapping her wings again. Maybe all along she’d intended the move as a way to escape them.
Booms came from below, startling Syla. Thanks to the deepening darkness and all the gyrating they’d done, it took her a moment to realize they were over Sky Torn Harbor and Garden Castle. Home.
A familiar warm buzz against her skin made her sag with relief. They’d passed through the barrier. Wreylith clearly felt it too, for her flying turned into something of a smug sashay.
One more arrow flew after them—no, straight atSyla—but Wreylith turned, snapped her jaws, and caught it before it struck.
Thank the gods. No, thankWreylith.
The stormer dragons were unable to follow her. They flew back and forth above the barrier, their version of pacing in agitation.
Again, cannons fired from castle walls. The mundane iron balls lacked the oomph of the magical projectiles the weapons platform could send out, but they reached beyond the shielder, and the blue and yellow dragons had to fly apart to avoid them.
Their riders glared down at Syla for a moment, but Wreylith flew farther from them, descending toward the castle without looking back. Syla also turned her back but not before spotting Lesva glaring after her.
“Coward!” the woman called, the wind not quite muffling the word.
Syla clenched her jaw in irritation. She didn’t have a weapon, and they’d been outnumbered.
“Fleeing was prudent, not cowardly,” she said, though Lesva and her allies were flying off and couldn’t hear.
Is that another word that you will incorporate in your newspaper article?Wreylith asked.
“Probably not. People aren’t tantalized to read about prudence.”
Alas. As a queen, wasn’t that a quality Syla should seek to achieve?
As Wreylith spread her wings to slow their descent toward the courtyard, Syla looked back at their enemies again, wondering if the dragons would linger in the area. No, they were flying south, back to Harvest Island.
Syla grimaced at the knowledge that she would have to deal with the captain to get that territory back for the Kingdom. And Lesva was going to make it personal.
2
After packing,Captain Vorik headed to the back of the large cave that housed the Wingborn Tribe and currently acted as the Sixteen Talons headquarters. Soon, they would all head to a new camp, the stormers never staying in one place long enough for Garden Kingdom intelligence officers to figure out their location.
Vorik wrinkled his nose. Unlike in the front of the cave, where the salty breeze swept past the wide ledge overlooking the Sea of Storms and cleared the air, smoke and the scents of past meals and body odor hung thickly. He looked forward to a change. Or… would he soon have a new mission?
In a nook, Vorik’s brother and the commander of the Sixteen Talons, General Jhiton, stood with Chieftess Shi and General Amalia, their heads bowed as they spoke around a campfire. Highlighted by the dancing flames, their lean faces were determined, their eyes intent.
Jhiton shook his head, and Shi frowned, pointing a finger at his chest and then toward the front of the cave. In the direction of the Kingdom? The sprawling chain of a dozen islands lay many hours of travel by dragon to the southwest, but theywere a likely topic of discussion. And Jhiton, who frowned and shook his head again, didn’t like something that he was hearing. Amalia, who commanded the Storm Guard, also wore a bleak expression, but she didn’t make any negative gestures.
Usually, Vorik would avoid meetings among the tribe leaders and highest-ranking military officers, instead waiting for his superiors to hand down orders for him and his squadron of riders, but something Lieutenant Wise had said on their last mission had been niggling at him. No,disturbinghim.
Apparently, some of the chiefs had spoken of, “Ruling over the gardeners and keeping our existing life while they farm for us.”
