Assassin's Bond (Chains of Honor, Book 3) Page 18

  “Yes, my mother told me something similar.”

  “The sister may be advising the admiral. They both served together during the war—I believe Rias faced them in battle more than once.”

  Yanko closed his eyes, trying to remember old pictures he’d seen in the newspapers of the admiral, but nothing came to mind. The last war between Turgonia and Nuria had ended before he’d been born. It had been his mother’s war. His father’s too, but he hadn’t been the one to destroy ships and become famous during it.

  “Admiral Lahtu, from what I’ve heard, is the one who forced your Great Chief out of the Great City and made it possible for the rest of this to start up,” Dak said. “He was honored by the Great Chief and his ally, serving loyally and leading the northern navies in the peace after the war. Our people don’t know why he turned, whether he’d had the ambition to rule all his life or the Great Chief did something to alienate him. We consider the latter not unlikely. It’s also possible the admiral got tired of the Great Chief acting for glory instead of the good of your people. Either way, the admiral’s supporters believe it would be wise for your nation to put an experienced military leader on the dais.”

  “Is he someone the Turgonians want to see come out on top?” Yanko’s stomach twisted at the thought, mostly because of that green flag planted on his family’s salt mine.

  Other green flags marked other natural resources up and down the coastal mountain range, so maybe taking the mine hadn’t been personal for them. But it was personal for Yanko.

  “We wouldn’t fight against it,” Dak said. “You know our people respect enemies who fight well, whether they win or lose. But…”

  Yanko raised his eyebrows once. Back on the Turgonian warship, before they’d fought Sun Dragon, Yanko had asked him who the Turgonians would back, and he hadn’t given an answer, but he had seemed wistful at the idea of Zirabo as a leader. But they had both agreed that the youngest son of the Great Chief wasn’t an ambitious man and was more likely to back a leader than put himself forward as one.

  “The Great Chief’s cousin Mir Gray Badger has the support of a small group of academics. She’s a professor and an entrepreneur and has some resources to call upon, but… she’s represented by the purple flag.”

  Yanko had heard of the professor. She had more than twenty textbooks published, including two on the earth sciences. It wasn’t her specialty, but she had interviewed a number of old female earth mages, wanting to collect their knowledge before they passed on. Her specialty was…

  “She teaches astronomy and physics, I think,” Yanko said, dredging the information from the bio that had been in the back of the books. He wondered if Tynlee knew her.

  Dak nodded, one corner of his mouth twitching.

  Yanko searched the map for purple flags. There was one in the Great City on the hill that held the two universities. And then there was one in a city on the eastern coast. Her homeland?

  “Her odds don’t look good,” Yanko said. The other factions had dozens of flags all over the nation. The red might have hundreds.

  “No,” Dak said. “Even if Turgonia were to support her openly, it wouldn’t be enough. Too bad.”

  “Would an academic make a good national leader?” Yanko honestly didn’t know the answer. He supposed a scientist couldn’t be any worse than someone who inherited the leadership position because of blood, but he imagined that an experienced military leader accustomed to dealing with enemy nations and assigning people to various commands might be ideal.

  Dak spread a hand, palm up. “I know that Rias believes we’re entering a great technological age, and he finds it alarming to have leaders of powerful nations without any background in science—not magical science—and technology. To have people making decisions and creating policies when they’re ignorant on such matters is potentially very dangerous.” He shrugged and set his palm on the table. “As an engineer himself, he’s naturally biased.”

  Yanko could mention that he found it alarming that the Turgonian leaders had, for countless generations, had no knowledge of magical science. But he didn’t want to pick a fight on something academic. Besides, he was pleased that Dak was freely offering all of this information, that he was treating him like an ally rather than a pesky Nurian kid he’d been stuck with again.

  “I wonder if that’s the kind of person Zirabo would back,” Yanko said. He believed Zirabo had a gentle soul—he was the one who’d believed that finding a new land that could, in time, be turned into an agricultural mecca to feed their people was the best way forward for Nuria.

  “I think it would be if she had more of a following,” Dak said. “But you’d be hard-pressed to even find her, if that map is correct. And it agrees with what I last heard of how the various factions are doing. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to send someone up to the capital to try to locate her.” He looked toward the door. “You didn’t bring Arayevo and Lakeo with you?”

  “Lakeo is pawning her pirate loot, and Arayevo is visiting Minark.”

  “Minark? The smuggler captain who has your lime tree?”

  “And who abandoned us on that nameless island, yes.”

  “He’s docked here?” Dak rubbed his jaw.

  “Arayevo saw his ship on the way in.” Yanko didn’t want to see the bald captain, so he didn’t like the speculation in Dak’s eye. “Why?”

  “I was thinking of questioning some of the locals, but a smuggler might have some up-to-date news, at least related to coastal events. It’s unlikely that he knows where the prince is, but he would be safer to question than the patrons here.”

  “I’m positive he won’t volunteer any information to either of us.”

  “I thought he might volunteer information to my fists.”

  “Anyone ever tell you that you’re brutish for a spy?” Yanko asked, deciding he shouldn’t be pleased at the idea of seeing Minark take a fist in the face.

  “Yes.”

  “Often?”

  “Yes.”

  Gramon was gone from the pillory when Yanko and Dak passed the spot on the way back to the dock. Yanko wondered if he would ever see the man again. He also wondered if he had done the right thing. He didn’t see any dead watchmen nearby, but that didn’t mean Gramon had escaped without hurting anyone. The last time Yanko had freed prisoners, it had resulted in the deaths of guards. What did it say about him that so many people he knew were convicts?

  As they walked, they saw many watchmen prowling the waterfront. Because of Gramon’s escape? Or because they were looking for moksu men and women wandering around that they could kidnap and send off to camps?

  Yanko kept his head down and didn’t glower at the watchmen peering suspiciously at him and Dak. Surprisingly, Dak received fewer suspicious looks than Yanko. Because they knew a Turgonian wouldn’t be moksu or magically gifted?

  Once they turned onto the dock, there were fewer people. The yacht was quiet and dark when they passed it, continuing on toward the end of the dock where the Falcon’s Flight was berthed.

  “Looks busy, considering it’s almost midnight,” Dak said, waving to the well-lit deck.

  Not only was the crew awake, with numerous people about, but two figures faced each other on the gangplank, speaking animatedly. When Yanko was close enough to hear the words, Dak pulled him into the shadows of a bench and unlit lamp post.

  “A hundred zekris isn’t anywhere close to enough,” came Minark’s familiar voice. “Look, kid. I understand your plight, but I wouldn’t go down there for a thousand. There are supposed to be magical booby traps all over the place, and even if you get past them, there’s a fortress full of guards. I’ve been past Seventh Skull Island before, back when it was a pirate hangout. It was bad enough then.”

  “You don’t have to get close.” The other speaker sounded younger than Yanko. “You can drop me off a mile from the coast. I can swim in.”

  Minark laughed shortly. “The sharks will eat you.”

  “What do you care? I’ll pay up
front.”

  “It’s not enough. How’d you even pick me, kid? There are dozens of ships in port.”

  “You’re a smuggler. I heard the port authorities talking about you.”

  Minark shifted his weight, the gangplank creaking softly, and looked toward the waterfront. “Is that so?”

  “You do illegal things for money. I’m not even asking for anything illegal.” The young man took a deep breath. “I can ask a favor and get two hundred. Is that enough?”

  Minark didn’t answer right away. He was still looking toward the waterfront. Yanko thought he might have seen them, but two watchmen were heading up the dock with lanterns.

  Yanko shifted deeper into the shadows, putting his back to the post. Were the watchmen coming because of him, because they somehow sensed his magical items? Or did it have something to do with Minark and the young man? Yanko couldn’t tell if Minark had sounded alarmed by the statement that people here knew what he was. He checked the young man with his senses and detected some faint magic about him, a Made item, most likely. Whatever it was, it didn’t have as strong a signature as his robe or scimitar.

  “The only trips I’m making are away from Nuria,” Minark said. “I risked a lot and was paid well to bring… supplies here, but if city guards and whiny noble kids know my business, then it’s definitely time to leave.”

  The young man’s chin lifted. “Take me past the island on your way out to sea.”

  “It’s not on the way. It’s hundreds of miles south of the capital.”

  Yanko was worried about those watchmen, but he hung on every word of the conversation. Was this Seventh Skull Island the location of that big internment camp the merchant captain had mentioned? It sounded like Minark knew exactly where it was.

  “Get out of here, kid.” Minark lifted his hands and backed up the gangplank to his deck. “You’re trouble.”

  The young man hadn’t seemed to notice the approaching watchmen before, but that changed as Minark jogged across the deck, barking orders for his men to douse the lamps and make themselves scarce. As the young man turned, he flinched, almost falling off the gangplank.

  Without thinking, Yanko channeled air, giving him a little push so he stayed upright.

  A series of beeps came from the two watchmen, and Yanko jumped.

  “Magic!” one of the newcomers yelled and switched from a bored walk to a run.

  The young man recovered and leaped from the gangplank to the dock. For a moment, he looked like he would try to sprint past the watchmen and escape into the city, but the dock wasn’t that wide. He whirled and ran in the other direction. After a dozen steps, he veered to the side and leaped off the dock between two ships. A loud splash sounded.

  The watchmen cursed as they drew even with Yanko and Dak’s position. One of them clenched something that glowed orange, the light leaking between his fingers.

  Afraid they would notice Yanko and Dak, Yanko reached for his power so he could create an illusion but stopped abruptly. Had whatever that thing was—now that it was close, he could sense that it was a Made device—detected his earlier use of magic?

  Dak, perhaps thinking the same thing, gripped Yanko’s shoulder in warning.

  Fortunately, the watchmen didn’t glance to the side. They were focused on catching the young man. The young moksu man, Yanko wagered. Someone who may or may not have magic of his own to call upon. Would they round him up and send him off to that island?

  The watchmen stopped at the edge of the dock where the youth had jumped in. They held up their light. One pointed a crossbow.

  Yanko had no idea if they’d spotted the young man, but he felt a kinship toward the beleaguered youth and couldn’t stop himself from channeling wind again. This time, he slammed a big gust into the watchmen’s backs. They squawked and pitched off the dock, arms flailing. The device issued a series of whiny beeps as they plunged into the water. Yanko snorted.

  “They’ll know to look for us now.” Dak sighed.

  “Sorry, but I couldn’t…” Yanko trailed off, grimacing as he realized he’d already broken his vow to lie low.

  “Next time, ask me to pummel the watchmen if they’re in your way. It doesn’t make strange devices beep, and you know I enjoy punching Nurians.”

  “As a Nurian, it alarms me somewhat to hear you admit it.”

  “You can’t be surprised by now.”

  “No.” Yanko looked toward Minark, wondering if they dared visit the captain now. It wouldn’t take those watchmen long to swim back to shore and run out on the dock again. “Sorry, Dak. I wasn’t expecting them to have… whatever that is. Some kind of magic detector.”

  “If that’s what it is, I’ll have to ask them where they got it. Turgonia would like to put in a large order.”

  “I’ll let you talk to them when they come back. I better—”

  “Yanko?” came a soft call from Minark’s ship. Arayevo.

  “Here.” Yanko glanced toward the head of the dock to make sure it was empty before stepping out of the shadows and waving.

  Arayevo jogged down the gangplank to join them. The ship was dark now, and someone drew the gangplank in as soon as she left.

  Shouts came from the waterfront. Either those watchmen had buddies or the two in the water were fast swimmers.

  “Are you making trouble?” Arayevo asked, sounding more intrigued than worried.

  “Yes. I didn’t let Dak punch those watchmen.”

  “That was rude of you,” she said.

  “I agree.” Dak nudged Yanko toward the head of the dock. “Let’s get out of here before discussing what Arayevo learned.”

  “You think I learned something?” she asked.

  “One would hope.”

  Yanko headed toward shore but paused after only a few steps. Two more watchmen with lanterns came into sight.

  “Are you sure there was someone else?” Yanko caught one of them calling.

  “Over here,” Dak whispered, pointing to a nearby ship that lay dark, the crew sleeping or staying elsewhere for the night. The gangplank was down, suggesting the latter.

  Dak rushed across it, and Yanko and Arayevo didn’t hesitate to follow, not with more shouts coming from the waterfront. Yanko worried they would be trapped, unless they also wanted to go for a swim, but maybe if he could keep from using his magic again—and if that device wasn’t able to detect his robe and scimitar—the watchmen would have to slowly search every ship along the way.

  Dak led Yanko and Arayevo to the rear of the vessel, and they crouched behind a cabin that hid them from view.

  Numerous shouts announced the watchmen running up the dock, a lot of them. The ones from the water must have made it out.

  “You can punch the next ones,” Yanko whispered to Dak.

  “You’re generous.”

  Yanko glanced into the dark water behind the ship, deciding he might as well get used to the idea of a swim. A part of him hoped he would see the young man, if only because he’d sounded like a possible ally, but he’d likely made it to shore and disappeared by now.

  “Did you learn anything from Minark?” Yanko resisted the urge to ask if he’d been happy to see her, and vice versa, and if he’d apologized for abandoning her—abandoning all of them—to the Midnight Fleet back on that island.

  “I asked him about Zirabo, just in case,” Arayevo said. “I know how important it is to you to find him.”

  “Thank you.”

  “He didn’t know anything. He gave me some gossip about the rebel factions, but he’s only been here a few hours longer than we have. He also…”

  “What?” Yanko feared he wouldn’t like her answer.

  “He invited me to rejoin him. He said he was sorry he left me back on that island, that he’d only wanted to save his ship from pirates.”

  “You’re not tempted to go back, are you?” Yanko heard his voice rise in pitch, and he forced it down a register, both for the sake of his manhood and so the watchmen wouldn’t hear him. “It s
ounds like the locals know he’s a smuggler, and that they’re not fond of smugglers.”

  “Few authorities are. He plans to leave as soon as his supplies have come in.”

  Yanko glanced at Dak, hoping he would add a voice of reason to Arayevo’s thoughts of leaving with the smuggler, but he had shifted to the corner of the cabin to keep his eye on the watchmen. Ever the consummate bodyguard, even if he was a Turgonian spy.

  “And do you now have plans to leave soon?” Yanko asked.

  Arayevo hesitated before saying, “No. I’ll help you find Zirabo.”

  “But you don’t want to, do you?” he asked quietly.

  “It’s not my quest, but I’ll stay to help you. I don’t want to see you get killed, and maybe I can play a role in keeping that from happening.”

  Yanko leaned his head against the peeling paint of the cabin. He appreciated that she would stay for his sake, but he could tell she didn’t want to, that she felt bound by their friendship. That ate at him.

  Dak eased closer again—the watchmen must have passed their ship. “I’m going to go talk to Minark and anyone else I can find who might know anything.”

  “Don’t you want us to come along?” Yanko touched his forehead. “I’m getting better at reading people’s thoughts.”

  Dak grunted. “Without causing that device to beep?”

  “Uhm, I’m not sure what its range is.”

  “Device?” Arayevo whispered.

  Dak shook his head. “Let’s split up. You hunt for information your way, and I’ll hunt my way.”

  He didn’t say that he found Yanko a liability right now, but Yanko couldn’t help feeling that way. If he couldn’t use his magic, what did he have?

  “If there’s nobody watching the yacht, meet back there in the morning,” Dak added.

  “What if there is somebody watching?” Yanko found that very likely.