As she focused her magic on lessening the swelling and repairing what turned out to be a crack in his skull, she sliced off a modicum of her attention to continue inspecting the rest of his body. His arms and limbs appeared hale, but he had cracked ribs and bruised organs. Healing external wounds, those she could see with her eyes, was always easier than fixing interior damage, but she’d had plenty of practice in her more than ten years as a healer.
She had to be careful, however, about how much she did here, while in this vulnerable predicament. Since the healing magic relied on her own energy and stamina, as well as the power giftedby the gods, doing too much could leave her crumpled and unconscious herself.
A rustle and a clunk came from the alley, and she paused. A dog sniffing about? An enemy?
She peered into the blurry gloom, afraid.
When the noise didn’t repeat, she bit her lip and hurried to send power into Fel more swiftly than was wise. With her senses and her magic, she finished working on his skull, then knitted the broken ribs together while sending energy into his organs to reduce the swelling and encourage the body to apply its own healing power to them.
Fel stirred, groaning, and that gave her hope. Hope that he would wake soon, thathiseyes would be fine and he could get them back to the temple. There, she could grab her spare spectacles, and then they could go to the castle and… find out who remained alive.
Even grim and afraid, she couldn’t keep from yawning as she worked, fatigue creeping into her body. The sense of being watched came over her. Again, she looked toward the alley, but it was too dark to see anything. No, wait. Was that a hint of movement? Something in her periphery?
“Go away,” she whispered and gripped Fel’s mace, drawing it out from under his body to brandish it toward the alley.
He groaned again.
“Wake up anytime, Sergeant,” Syla said. “I need you more than ever.”
She was close enough to see his face when he winced. Soon, he would rouse from unconsciousness, but when he did, he would be in pain from the wounds she hadn’t yet attended. They were less grievous, and she told herself he could function with them, but she wished she could do more.
Unfortunately, more yawns stretched her mouth, and hereyelids wanted to lower. She didn’t have the energy left for more healing.
A horse whinnied in the street.
“This is looting, you know,” someone outside whispered. The male voice was close enough for the words to be distinct.
“If we didn’t do it,” another man said, “the dragon riders would. Just find what’s valuable.”
“Check that building.” Were the men right outside the front door?
The shadows stirred, and a clunk sounded.
Syla gripped the mace and tried to stand up. But the healing had taken too much out of her. Lightheaded, she collapsed and lost consciousness.
3
The war horn blew again,three short notes to summon officers, and Agrevlari flew across the sea toward it without input from his rider.
“I’m sure General Jhiton appreciates your swift obedience.” Captain Vorik patted his bonded dragon on his scaled back as he looked over his shoulder, toward the fiery remains of Garden Castle and the kingdom’s capital city.
Some dragons continued to attack, killing and razing for pleasure, but Vorik and his wing mates had taken out the key military officers and members of the royal family, those with the ability to find and operate the sky shielders. Had the horn not summoned him, Vorik might have attempted to call off the other dragons, but he only commanded the riders, not their kind. Dragons worked with the human tribes when it suited them, but never did they takeordersfrom the puny two-legs, as the wild ones called men.
Jhiton can clip my talons,Agrevlari spoke telepathically into Vorik’s mind.It is Wingleader Saleetha who commands my loyalty.
“Still hoping she’ll invite you into her nest, huh?”
She would be a most appealing partner, but you know the wild dragon for whom I pine.
“Is it still that pretty red one? Wreylith?”
Wreylith the Graceful and Beautiful and the Utterly Magnificent.
“That’s a long name.” Vorik spotted a black dragon in the distance, he and his rider standing atop a rock formation in the middle of the sea, waves crashing around the base.
A few other dragons with riders circled the formation, wings spread wide as they rode the air currents, but they didn’t land. It appeared this would be a private meeting, at least in the beginning.
General Jhiton’s gaze shifted from the burning castle in the distance to Agrevlari’s approach. Muscular arms folded across his chest, stance wide against the wind, and a griffin-fur cloak flapping behind him, Jhiton intimidated most people, but Vorik saw his older brother, the person who’d raised him after their father had died, and he flew closer without concern. Gray flecks in the short black hair at Jhiton’s temple were the only suggestion that he’d seen well over forty years and had been using his twin swords, one belted to either side of his waist, to slay enemies for decades.
