“But here, my lord? Is she a threat? She’s, uh, looming.”
“Let her loom. Maybe she’ll keep the stormers away.”
Syla hoped so.
A roar floated through the closed window. That had to be Wreylith.
Problem?Syla asked telepathically.
A crossbowman touched his weapon while looking at me.
And you let him know that’s unacceptable?
Precisely.
Did he move his hand away from the weapon?
He ran into a stable. I believe after he wet himself.
If he’s in that state, I guess it doesn’t matter if his hand is on his crossbow or not.
Likely not,Wreylith said.The rider I sensed with the power of a dragon bond is nearby now. She seems to be underground. I left to fly circles and attempt to locate her and was unable to see her in the area where I sensed her.
It’s Captain Lesva, I trust?Syla’s dread returned.
I do not know the names of insignificant humans, but I can tell she is female and, when compared to the other puny members of your kind, powerful. I believe she is the one who attacked you on the deck of your ship. With the death launcher, you slew her dragon ally.
Yes, she won’t be happy with me.
Indeed not. The slaying of a dragon ally is an unforgivable crime.Something about Wreylith’s tone suggested that a human slayinganydragon was unforgivable.
I would prefer not to attack your kind. You’re magnificent and beautiful and not a threat to the Kingdom when our shields are in place. But I must defend my islands.
I am aware. And wearebeautiful and magnificent but not so shallow as to favor humans simply because they flatter us.
I would never think to do so to win your favor,Syla said.
That is wise.
I would deliver delicious livestock instead.
I approve of the plan to create a horn-hog farm. Perhaps it can be located near the cave lair I desire to establish.
That does seem the logical location for one, though it may be difficult to keep it populated with horn hogs.
Abrya stirred, her eyelids flickering for the first time. Her bleary gray-blue eyes fixed on Syla without recognition.
“Do you need your spectacles?” Syla asked, though enough years had passed since her last visit that she wasn’t surprised that Abrya didn’t remember her right away.
“Usually,” she rasped.
Syla handed them to her and also offered a cup of water.
“Lord Oyenar?” She waved for him to come over. “Your wife is awake.”
Oyenar joined them, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You look beleaguered and disheveled, my lady.”
“Yes, but after I heal, I at least won’t be haggard and pot-bellied.”
