Page 22 of Red Dragon
Syla shook her head. She had to protect the shielder. She belonged down here.
The soldier in the doorway spun around, then bent in half. Another black-clad stormer had arrived. Two more. They shoved the dispatched soldier aside and stepped into the passageway.
“We’re here, General,” one yelled.
Vorik was the one to answer. “Good! We’ve got them surrounded!”
Jhiton gave him a sidelong look, one hard to interpret. With the soldiers still outnumbering the stormers by far, Syla didn’t know how much the odds had changed, but she would never bet against Vorik, and Jhiton was just as capable. Those two alone might have held off an entire army.
Syla turned and patted the orb, forcing herself to keep her touch slow and methodical, not frantic. The last thing she wanted was to accidentally blow up Fel and herself.
How many explosives had Aunt Tibby placed? Syla wished she had come down to help. Then she would have known where they were.
“There,” she whispered, brushing one.
She carefully unstuck it and was tempted to whirl and throw it, but if she could find two, that would be better. The general might see one coming and knock it away again, but if she could throw a second right after, before the smoke cleared and Jhiton recovered, she might defeat him this time.
Fel grunted and jerked his arm up, defending against someone who’d decided to try to get to the shielder. Or maybe to Syla. Trusting Fel’s ability, she kept patting, shifting around the orb, needing to find one more of Tibby’s devices.
A strangled cry of pain announced another man going down. One of her soldiers, she feared.
Tears of frustration welled in her eyes. She should have moved the shielder already, not merely boobytrapped it. It could have sat in a hay wagon under a tarp in the courtyard, and the night would have turned out better than this.
There. She found another explosive.
Fel grunted, dropping to one knee, but he kept his mace up. A sword pressed against it, one of the riders trying to force his way past Fel’s defenses.
“Move the princess, and expose the shielder,” came Jhiton's voice from the wall.
Syla spun, a trap in each hand, ready to throw them. The stormer who’d driven Fel to one knee glanced toward his general and backed up a few steps.
“She’s got explosives,” the man warned.
“Don’t let her touch you,” another man rasped from the other side of the chamber. “She’s not a healer. Someone lied about that.”
It was the would-be scroll thief. He’d recovered enough to rise to his feet, but he rubbed his throat and leaned on a sarcophagus for support.
Fel swore as he pushed himself back to both feet. Whether it was because of his injuries or the situation, Syla didn’t know. The chamber had grown quiet, and bleakness washed over her as she looked around. Almost all of the soldiers who’d run in to help were on the ground, dead or too severely wounded to continue fighting. It looked like others had fled. She hoped they were getting reinforcements because only one of the riders was down—hopefully the bastard was dead. Vorik and another rider remained on their feet, armed and not far from the shielder. Further, Jhiton and the two stormers who’d charged in to help crouched near the passageway—blocking escape. They were all injured, Jhiton worse than the others, but they were on their feet and retained their weapons.
Syla swallowed and raised her arms higher, making sure they all saw the explosives she held. “I’ll let you leave if you go now, but if you try to take the shielder, I’ll blow us all up.”
One of the riders snorted. “Including yourself?”
“By the storm god’s cursed minions, yes. You’renotgetting our shielder.” Syla was answering the rider but looked at Jhiton.
He was in charge. He was the one she needed to convince. Unfortunately, he’d already survived one explosionand probably realized the devices weren’t powerful enough to blow up everyone in the room. But with two, she might get her target. She shifted to make it clear thathewould be her target.
Jhiton gazed at her, not noticeably alarmed by her obvious intent. He lifted his swords as if to say he’d knocked one aside and could handle two more. With his face blackened and burned and his clothes shredded, blood visible from numerous wounds, he didn’tlooklike he could handle a pair of explosives being thrown at him, but she wasn’t positive. The riders were freaks of nature—freaks of their dragon magic.
Syla could see Vorik to her side but didn’t look at him. She couldn’t let him influence her decision one way or another.
Shouts came from the tunnels. A lot of them.
“Find the princess!” someone yelled in the distance.
“Seal the tunnels, and kill the invaders!” came another cry.
Reinforcements. But would they arrive in time?
