“Blow them,” Jhiton said, running past the men without slowing.
Shouts behind them promised the soldiers had found the hole in the burial chamber. Some of them had likely found their princess and Syla’s relative or whoever that other woman had been—the person Vorik had originally believed to be Syla—but others ran after the intruders.
“Yes, sir,” one man said.
“A big explosion right there might bring down the castle,” someone pointed out.
“Darn,” Jhiton said.
He rarely shared a lot of emotion, but he sounded annoyed, and he didn’t hide the exasperation in his expression as he glanced back at Vorik.
Vorik spread his arms but didn’t apologize for defending Syla. And the rest? It wasn’t his fault the rest of his brother’s plan hadn’t worked, that someone had booby-trapped the shielder.
The soldiers lit fuses that led to the stacked kegs, then ran, catching up with the group.
The cave grew broader and higher, something that Vorik sensed more than saw in the dark. Had this place existedbeforehis brother had planned his invasion? It must have. Maybe it had existed centuries earlier, before the castle had even been built. Had the gardeners known about it?
As the kegs exploded, their booms thunderous in the enclosed space, light flashed upon walls that held statues in large alcoves, and Vorik gaped. They were statues of dragons. Andthere was a griffin. And a wyvern. A gargoyle. A cloud striker? Were theseallof the storm god’s winged creations?
Rocks tumbled down in the aftermath of the explosion, most behind them, where the kegs had been set, but one of the statues also toppled. A wyvern. It pitched forward, and a wing broke off. What was that set against the rock wall behind it? Vorik thought of the stone sarcophagi in the chambers they’d just left. But who would have built a tomb for a wyvern?
Before the light faded, Vorik also spotted nooks carved into the walls in an area with an ancient stone table thick with dust. A few beakers and flasks remained, coated with so many spiderwebs that they might have been there since the beginning of time. Was this some kind of workshop?
A hint of a sea breeze brushed Vorik’s cheeks, mingling with the scent of spent powder. Jhiton looked back. The soldiers who’d lit the explosives were catching up, their torches now the only source of light.
“The way is blocked?” Jhiton asked.
“Yes, sir. But the gardeners will get through eventually.”
“We’ll be long gone by then.”
“Yes, sir, but we won’t be able to gain entrance this way again. I’m sure they’ll seal the area once they discover it.”
“I can’t believe they didn’t know about this place before,” another man said.
“It’s from before the gods moved all of humanity to these islands and placed their protection around them,” Jhiton said. “I only know of it because of Ozlemar. Even he isn’t old enough to have visited it, but the elder dragons remember the stories that their mothers and fathers passed down. This was one of the storm god’s workshops, its existence long forgotten by humans, even those living right above it.”
“We won’t be able to try again to destroy the shielders. Not going in this way.”
“We may have something almost as good.” Jhiton looked toward Devron, the soldier who’d warned them about Syla’s power.
“Yes, sir. I’ve got the scrolls. I’m not the best reader, and I didn’t get a chance to take a good look anyway, but I’m sure they’ll hold something of worth.”
“A map to the locations of all the shielders, if we’re fortunate,” Jhiton said.
Vorik looked sharply at him. He didn’t think that was likely—every Kingdom subject he’d spoken to on the matter believed that only the royal Moonmarks knew the locations and that the knowledge was passed down but neverwrittendown.
“We’ll have Lieutenant Wise study them,” Jhiton added.
They reached the end of the cave and entered a short tunnel with a hint of dim light at the end, the faint glow provided by the night sky. Rock shards littered the floor. This had been excavated recently.
The tunnel led to a jagged vertical slit overlooking the ocean rather than the harbor. They’d come out around the point from where the dragon ship had been shooting off fireworks. Vorik trusted it had sailed away before the Kingdom military vessels descended upon it.
Several men groaned at the prospect of the climb. Aside from the two troops who’d waited to light the explosives, everyone in the party had been wounded. Most of Vorik’s body ached or outright sent stabs of agony through him, but pain was an old friend, and he didn’t allow himself to groan, not with his brother right there. Jhiton had taken the brunt of that explosive and had to hurt as much as or more than Vorik, but he said nothing as he started down in the dark without a rope.
None of the stormers had them, but most of the tribes lived in caves—the only types of domiciles that could be properly defended from dragons, wyverns, and other threats—so shimmying up and down cliffs was second-nature to their people.
As one, the group descended toward kayaks tied to the rocks far below. There was no beach or landing spot, merely waves crashing against the cliff, threatening to destroy the tiny vessels. A single stormer perched on a ledge, keeping an eye on the craft.
