Instead of heading inland, the trail turned to follow the coastline, meandering through a mixture of conifers and deciduous trees, some of the leaves already turning yellow, orange, and red for the year. A squirrel with fangs chattered at them from the branches. A huge pinecone dropped between Jhiton and Vorik. Too bad it hadn’t hit the general on the head, though he probably would have reacted in time to swat it aside with one of the two swords sheathed at his waist, as he’d done with her explosives in the shielder chamber on Castle Island.
Again, she dreaded the idea of spending time alone with the man. Though she didn’t want to be questioned by Vorik either, she would prefer a friendly face, especially if she was to be drugged. He would be far less likely to take advantage of her. Though he would do his duty, as he always did, and ask the questions his general wanted answers to.
She grimaced and hoped she could find the shielder components and figure out how to escapebeforethe questioning.
Jhiton turned off the path, padding across mossy rocks, and toward the mouth of a cave that Syla didn’t notice until they were almost upon it. Though the entrance was wide and higherthan their heads, jumbled boulders around the front helped hide the dark opening. Further, stalactites inside leered down from above like jagged dragon’s teeth. She’d only read about such rock features. Thanks to the volcanos that had formed most of the Kingdom islands, the majority of the caves back home had been carved out by magma and were tubular in nature.
Before entering, Jhiton lifted a hand toward the top of the cave. Syla jumped. In the fading light, she hadn’t seen the man perched up there among the moss-covered boulders. As well as he blended in—he wore fur-trimmed animal-hide clothing rather than black rider garments—she might not have spotted him under any circumstances.
“We always have a sky watcher on duty around our camps,” Vorik said, reminding her of the term the stormers had. “Wyverns aren’t that prevalent in this area, but there are plenty of other aerial predators we have to watch out for.”
“Ground predators as well,” one of the riders behind them muttered.
“Don’t forget about the cave crawlers,” his comrade said.
Jhiton gazed coolly back at them. What, were his men not allowed to chatter?
“When we bring prisoners to camp,” he said, “the idea is to learn from them, not volunteer information about our people.”
“You’re being grumpy this evening, General,” Vorik said. “Prisoners prefer it if you question them with good-natured cheer.”
Jhiton didn’t respond, only leading them into the spacious cave. Without cheer.
At first, stalactites and rock formations kept Syla from seeing how many people resided inside, but the lights from fires promised dozens of inhabitants, and the air was thick with the scents of burning wood and roasting meat.
As numerous sets of eyes turned toward them, Syla braced herself for hatred and vitriol. And many of the gazes were cool or outright hostile when they landed on her, but some were curious. Some belonged to children, and a band of boys and girls ran past, kicking a ball made from stitched leather in a game that involved bouncing it off the rock formations and bopping it with elbows, chests, and heads but not hands.
“Hi, Vorik!” One kid waved at him. “Will you play with us later? Is that a gardener? Oh, hullo, General.” The wave turned to a salute for Jhiton, whose cold aloofness probably didn’t endear him to children. Or anyone.
The ball bounced off a stalactite and flew toward Syla’s head. She ducked, seeing it angling at her from the side more easily than she usually would have, but Vorik stepped in to catch it before it could reach her. He looked curiously at her as he tossed the ball toward the group.
“No hands, Vorik!” one admonished him.
“I didn’t think the queen would be impressed with me head-butting a ball like a mountain goat,” he replied.
That comment prompted the kids to issue goat-like bleats as they ran along the edges of the camp, kicking the ball and being yelled at by mothers and grandmothers. A white-haired woman smiled while also waving a menacing wooden spoon at them.
Syla was struck by the homeyness of the setting. Though a couple of armed men patrolled the area, some wandering into view from the depths of the cave, she realized she was, for the first time in her life, seeing stormers in the natural state in which they lived their lives, not as invaders or potential troublemakers visiting her islands. There were more aged men and women than she’d expected. Their reputation would have led her to guess they sent their elders out to die in order to preserve winter food stores for those still of an age to bear children and protect the tribe. Even if they didn’t do that, she would have thought that,simply due to the harshness of their environment, not many people made it to old age.
“Come,” Jhiton said to Syla.
“The questioning is going to start right away?” Vorik asked. “Can’t we give her a meal first? Queens are more garrulous and cheerful on full stomachs.”
“That’s not mentioned in the history lores.” Jhiton twitched his fingers toward Syla, then walked off, assuming she would obey.
She clenched her jaw, longing to see the kids’ ball sail across the cave to club him in the back of his head.
Vorik rested his hand on the small of her back and nodded for her to follow, making it clear that he would walk beside her. Maybe he meant the gesture to be supportive, but he was her captor as much as Jhiton was.More. He’d been the one to kidnap her after all, and even if he would protect her from harm—and flying balls—he wouldn’t stop the questioning.
Though she walked where he indicated—he could easily hoist her over his shoulder if she resisted—nerves jittered in her stomach, and she gazed carefully about the cave. This time, instead of looking at the inhabitants, she tried to spot the shielder components. Vorik hadn’t said anything to suggest his people had destroyed them, so they ought to be there. Theyhadto be there, otherwise there was no point in Syla having allowed her capture. Not that she could necessarily have stopped it. But, as Wreylith had pointed out, she could have fought harder against it.
She spotted Chieftess Shi sitting with a group of adults in a corner of the cave sectioned off from the others by rock formations. Jhiton nodded at her over the heads of those around her. She nodded back.
All going to plan, was it? Syla grimaced.
“Isn’t it dinnertime yet?” a girl of five or six asked plaintively. “We have food now, don’t we? I’m hungry.”
“We have food, but you still have to wait for it to cook.” A gaunt woman with sparse white hair and a hunched spine stirred soup in one of several giant shells the size of metal stock pots back home. A rich broth that smelled wonderful simmered over one of several fires burning close together in what one might have called a kitchen area. Meat also roasted on spits, dripping juices down into the flames. “Hunt Night Soup is a delicacy that must be nursed along so that the flavors develop.” The woman scattered rosemary, thyme, and a few less easily identifiable herbs atop the liquid in the shells.
