A carriage is being set upon by men in gray uniforms,Wreylith said as another angry yell came from the road.
“Enforcers again,” Syla said grimly. “Let’s help, please, Wreylith.”
“Do you think they’re rounding up more people with moon-marks?” Vorik asked.
“I think I recognize that voice, and shedoeshave a moon-mark…”
As the dragon flew closer, soaring low over a clump of trees, Syla spotted the carriage stopped on the road. Gray-uniformed men with swords and maces had pulled an enforcer wagon across the highway to block the way, and two troops stood atop it with crossbows pointed at a coachman. Two more enforcers had yanked open the door of the carriage and were trying to extricate someone who… kicked one of them in the chest. After the man stumbled back, a woman sprang out with a sword in her hand, her brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. Cousin Teyla.
The crossbowmen glanced at each other, as if asking if they were supposed to fire at her, but one spotted Wreylith and stumbled back, almost falling off the wagon as he pointed at her. The other man swore, his eyes bulging, andjumpedoff. As Teyla slashed and stabbed at one of the enforcers who’d been tryingto extricate her, Wreylith soared over her carriage with smoke wafting from her nostrils.
“Try not to kill anyone, please,” Syla called.
Without hesitation, Wreylith blasted a gout of fire toward the road.
The men who’d been on the wagon had time to spring away and flee, but it burst into flames. The dragon’s accuracy had been pinpoint, and the horses hitched to the wagon weren’t burned, but their reins were incinerated, and they fled into the countryside. Though the carriage hadn’t been damaged, its terrified horses also took off.Theirreins were still attached, so they dragged it and its startled coachman off the highway behind them.
Soon, with her foes fleeing along with the others, Teyla stood alone on the highway. She gawked at Wreylith as the dragon circled the area, but she didn’t run.
Syla lifted a hand toward her cousin. Teyla returned the wave and waited for them to land, though she gazed across a field in the direction her carriage and horses had taken off, maybe wondering if the rest of her journey would be on foot. Was she heading to the capital? Did she know her father was dead? Had she, despite Syla’s belief to the contrary, been responsible?
With questions threatening to bubble over like boiling soup, Syla slid off Wreylith’s back.
“Are you all right?” was the first thing she asked.
“Yes.”
Teyla turned in the direction the enforcers had run—none of them looked like they would return—and then regarded Vorik. She hadn’t sheathed her sword yet, but she’d seen him slay a gargoyle that had nearly killed her and Fel, so she couldn’t think challenging him would be a good idea.
“The last time I saw Captain Vorik,” Teyla said, “he was working against us.”
“Actually, we were working together to achieve a common goal,” Syla said.
“After its achieving, he and his man took off with the prize.”
“Well, I’ve suborned him since then, and he’s fully on our side now.” Syla waved for Vorik, who’d dismounted but hung back, to join them. “I also reclaimed that prize, and Aunt Tibby is in the process of building a new shielder as we speak.”
“Oh.” Teyla brightened. “You got the components back from the stormers? How?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Does it involve how Captain Vorik became… suborned?” Teyla looked him up and down as he approached, as if clues about that might be on his form. He still wore his black riding leathers, his dark hair tousled by the wind, and his weapons in sheaths at his waist, so he looked the same as usual. Maybe even fiercer than usual, though Syla deciphered the set of his jaw as he gazed toward the coastline as pensive more than anything else.
“Not exactly. Vorik kind of suborned himself.” Syla didn’t point out that he was contemplating returning to his people to try to wrest control of a tribe. Suborned probably wasn’t the appropriate word for what Vorik was.
“Because of Syla’s influence,” Vorik said without disagreeing with the usage. “Good morning, Lady Teyla.”
“Uhm, hi. It’s good to see you, Syla. I thought—well, I didn’t reallybelieveit—but Lord Fograth, who is now calling himselfKingFograth, if my father can be believed, said you were dead.”
“Ah,” Syla said. “Not surprising, since it’s easier to claim a throne when its occupant is deceased, but… about your father, Teyla.”
“Yes?” Teyla peered in the direction from which Wreylith had flown. “Did you come from Lake Ferringtar? Did you see him? I’m sure he realized first thing this morning that I was gone. Is he irate about my disappearance?”
“I, uh, don’t think so.” Syla scrutinized her cousin, trying to tell if the questions were an act. She’d never considered Teyla a duplicitous sort, not like her brother, Relvin, who, if his mouth was open, was lying. “He’s dead, Teyla.”
She frowned at Syla. “Who is?”
“Your father.”
