Page 60 of Red Dragon
Teyla stabbed him in the shoulder on his way past. Startled, he howled in pain and spun on her, raising his mace. Syla jumped forward and struck him on the back of the head. Unfortunately, the small hammer didn’t deliver a crippling blow.He stumbled but didn’t drop his weapon. Syla lifted the hammer to strike again, but a second man slipped into the wheelhouse.
“Need help guarding the princess!” Fel yelled amid clangs and thuds.
He was doing his best to block the way, and had downed one of the would-be assassins, but others were keeping him too busy to stop more.
Clangs sounded as the mace-wielder attacked Teyla, now determined to get her out of the way. The second masked assassin leaped for Syla with a dagger in his hand.
Though terrified, she swung the hammer at his arm, hoping to knock the blade away. With fast, easy speed, he dodged her swipe and leaped toward her, catching her wrist to halt further attacks. She jerked back, trying to escape his grasp, but he was too strong. Without effort, he pushed her against a wooden wall, knocking the breath out of her. Fear surged through Syla’s veins, and she kicked out, but her foot glanced off his leg and did nothing to stop him.
“Sorry, princess.” The man sounded sincere, but that didn’t keep him from raising his dagger. “Orders.”
Terrified for her life, Syla reacted on instinct, summoning her power faster than she ever had before. The back of her hand flared silver, bright enough that the man paused, glancing at it. Through his grip, she hurled tendrils of magic from her body and into his. One tendril shot toward his heart and another toward his brain, and she directed great pressure into crucial blood vessels. Instead of healing them, as she’d done a thousand times, she willed them to burst, to hurt him enough to drop him to the ground, anything to keep that dagger from slitting her throat.
“Fire!” someone outside cried.
“Dragons!” another man yelled.
A roar and a splitting of wood came from above, but Syla’s attacker didn’t glance up. He swept his dagger with unerring accuracy toward her throat.
But he didn’t finish the stroke. Abruptly, fear widened his eyes, the only part of his face visible behind the mask. Fear and confusion. His focus turned inward, the dagger hanging in the air between them. Then his grip softened, and he released Syla. He staggered back, dropped his dagger, and reached for his head. With an inarticulate noise, his face twisting in a rictus, he pitched to the deck.
Syla slumped back against the wall, drained by using so much power so rapidly, but she also stared at the man, scarcely able to believe she’d stopped him so quickly. No, she’d donemorethan stop him. His eyes were frozen open. Dear moon god, had she… killed him? With her magic?
All she’d wanted was to stop him, to do something dramatic to keep him from finishing that blade stroke.
Teyla grunted in pain, and Syla jerked her gaze up, reminding herself that the battle wasn’t over. The other assassin had driven Teyla back to the opposite wall and disarmed her, her sword clattering to the deck.
Syla tried to step forward, but her legs nearly gave out, her muscles rubbery and weak. She’d used so much power in that handful of seconds that she almost pitched to the deck beside the assassin’s body.
But Teyla needed help. Gritting her teeth, Syla supported herself on a console beside the wheel and willed energy into her leg muscles, hoping to spring on the man’s back to stop him.
Before she could, someone leaped down from the roof—through a newly formedholein the roof—and twisted in the air to land behind the attacker. The man wore dark riding leathers, with windswept black hair framing his familiar face, and a travel pack and sword strapped to his back.
“Vorik!” Syla glimpsed green scales through the hole in the roof.
Agrevlari breathed fire at the nearby military ship that had sent the boarding party.
After making sure Syla wasn’t in immediate danger, Vorik gripped Teyla’s attacker from behind and hurled the man through the doorway with far more power than most people possessed. The assassin shouted in alarm as he flew into another black-clad man who’d been about to rush inside. They tumbled over two assassins unconscious or dead on the deck. Beyond them, Fel was climbing to his feet, recovering from a blow—or had he been shot?
Pain contorted his face, but he’d kept his weapons and stepped over one of the downed men to club those discombobulated by tripping over their comrades.
Vorik rushed to Syla’s side, his sword in hand, though he hadn’t yet bloodied it on an enemy. He must have flown straight to the wheelhouse. As he looked her up and down, checking for wounds, fire blasted across the huge windows behind the wheel.
Another military ship had been approaching, but the navigator must have spotted the dragon, because it was already turning. Or were there two dragons? Syla glimpsed a gray-scaled tail as another flew past outside.
Relieved for the help, Syla gripped Vorik with both hands. She might have hugged him, but the chaos continued outside the wheelhouse. Further, Teyla remained inside, a witness alternately gaping at Vorik and through the rooftop at Agrevlari’s belly. The dragon roared and breathed more fire, targeting another military vessel within range.
“Good morning, Syla,” Vorik said calmly, though he eyed the dead man on the floor. Wondering what had felled him when there was no blood?
Even though the assassin had been trying to kill her, Syla couldn’t feel triumph over the way she’d stopped him. No, she felt horror. She was a healer, and she’d used her power to kill. She hadn’tmeantto, though in hindsight she realized she’d chosen vital targets and couldn’t be surprised by the outcome. At the time, with that dagger swinging toward her throat, she’d been too scared to opt for subtlety.
Though he kept his sword pointed toward the doorway, Vorik wrapped his free arm around her. “I’ve been pining for you and thought I would come for a visit.”
“I’m glad you did,” she whispered, tearing her gaze from the fallen man and leaning against Vorik’s side, glad for the support. She looked at Teyla to make sure she was all right.
Her sleeve was ripped and blood dampened her tunic, but she picked up her sword and nodded that she could handle more if needed. Her wound must not have been too grievous.
“They’re pulling away!” someone outside yelled.
