Unraveled Read online

  Hoping she wasn’t being suicidal, she shifted and dove through the doorway, staying low and turning the wild fling into a roll. Right away, she slammed into someone’s legs. She had enough mass and momentum to knock the person back, and something clattered to the ground nearby. The gun, she hoped.

  She sprang to her feet, swinging toward her opponent as she did so. Dorfindral cut into flesh. A man’s arm? She couldn’t tell in the thick smoke.

  A man cried out right in front of her. The smoke stirred, and Rysha sensed him leaping back. She leaped after him, swinging again, a fierce protectiveness welling within her and lending strength to her movements. Whether by accident or design, this thug had been trying to destroy the chambers, trying to kill babies.

  Her foe had been scurrying back, but he must have bumped into the far wall. A thud sounded, then a shout of alarm. Rysha thrust Dorfindral point first, and the blade sank deep into flesh.

  She might have stabbed again, to wound the man deeply enough that he would never want to return, but the clamor from Kaika’s skirmishes had quieted, and Rysha heard the rustle of clothing behind her. Someone trying to get into the room?

  She yelled and wheeled, running back for the door. The smoke had cleared enough for her to see the shadowy figure of a man in dark clothing. He’d reached the threshold, but he heard her yell and whirled, a dagger and pistol in hands.

  Anticipating a shot, Rysha sprang forward but also to the side. He fired. A scream of pain came from behind Rysha—had he hit his own ally?

  She didn’t pause to consider it, instead leaping in and slicing Dorfindral toward that pistol. A normal blade would only have knocked a firearm aside, but the chapaharii sword sliced through the metal, cleaving the barrel in two.

  The man’s eyes bulged in surprise, but he reacted quickly. He dropped the pistol and tried to knock Dorfindral aside with his dagger as he sprang toward Rysha. She had to dance back, but she evaded the attack and whipped her sword in, keeping it between her and the man.

  He yanked out a second dagger, the blade almost long enough to qualify as a short sword, and advanced on her. He used one weapon to block her attacks and stabbed and slashed with the other. Rysha tried not to give ground—she sensed that he wanted to push her away from the doorway so someone else could slip into the room.

  For the first time, she looked into the eyes of one of their attackers, clear blue eyes like an Iskandian might have. She didn’t let that make her pause, other than to note the grim determination in the man’s face. Instead, she launched into one of the sword routines she’d worked on with Colonel Therrik, one for use against a foe with two weapons.

  He tended to block with his right hand, and she suspected that was his dominant side. She struck hard and toward his left, forcing him to block with the other hand. He was less accurate and swatted as often as he connected. She had to watch out for the attacks from his right-hand dagger, but she had the advantage of reach. As long as she kept Dorfindral in front of her, he struggled to touch her when he slashed.

  Her foe growled at his lack of progress, and his attacks grew faster, almost frantic. Rysha felt daunted as she struggled to keep up, having to parry and move her feet rapidly so as not to give ground. Fortunately, he lost his accuracy and missed a few important blocks. Rysha feinted toward his ribs on his left side, then, as he twisted his body away to avoid Dorfindral’s tip, she whipped her blade down, sinking it into his thigh.

  Hollering curses, he stumbled back. She pressed the advantage and feinted high, then attacked low again, catching him in the hip.

  He pulled an arm back, and she almost didn’t recognize his intent in time. He threw one of his daggers. Rysha ducked, desperately jerking Dorfindral up to protect her head. More by chance than because of skill, her blade deflected the weapon, and it clanked against a nearby wall.

  Though shaken by the near miss, Rysha forced herself to lunge after him, knowing she had the advantage. He was down to one weapon.

  But he halted, his eyes bulging in surprise—and pain—before Rysha could strike again. His remaining weapon fell from his fingers, and a second later, he followed, crumpling to his side.

  Major Kaika stood behind him and in front of the doorway to their room. The smoke had cleared, revealing five fallen men in the street. Kaika bent and pulled a dagger out of the back of the one Rysha had been fighting.

  “Sorry,” Kaika said. “Normally, I would have let you finish—good training—but there are a lot of eyes watching this alley.”

  Rysha grimaced and glanced behind her, and then in the other direction as well. Girls, boys, men, and women crowded both ends of the alley, peering toward them with wide eyes. Most of them scattered when Kaika looked their way, but who knew how many spies had been in the group? From what Rysha had heard and seen, this city was run by a few crime lords and powerful business people. Possibly, those were the same thing here.

  “I’ll forgive you this one time, ma’am,” Rysha said, though all she’d been thinking about was surviving the encounter and defending the babies, not getting training.

  “You’re a gracious lieutenant.” Kaika kept her voice low so they wouldn’t be overheard.

  Right, it wasn’t a good idea to announce to the world that they were Iskandian soldiers.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Rysha whispered. “That’s how they taught us at the academy.”

  Kaika wiped her blade off on the dead man’s shirt, but paused before rising from a crouch. There was nothing notable about their assailants’ clothing, nor did all of them have the same hair or skin color. Rysha had noticed Lagresh was quite the melting pot with complexions from all over the world.

  But something must have given Kaika a clue. She shoved the man over and cut his shirt part way open, revealing a brand in the center of his chest below his collarbones. It was a familiar mark. The symbol of the Brotherhood of the Dragon.

  “I was hoping we wouldn’t see these people again.” Kaika rose to her feet and frowned at the fallen men.

  It might have been useful to question one of them, but Rysha didn’t think any had survived. The first one she’d stabbed had taken a bullet to the throat, courtesy of his comrade. And Kaika’s foes all appeared quite dead.

  “They wanted Trip dead from the moment they saw him,” Rysha said, stepping through the doorway to check on the stasis chambers. “Maybe they can sense when someone with some of Agarrenon Shivar’s blood is nearby. Or at least a couple of them can.”

  As she recalled, most of the cultists had been mundane—Dorfindral hadn’t reacted to their presence, just as the blade hadn’t been bothered by these attackers—but Trip had mentioned the leader having power. Had another leader stepped forward? One who could direct his people to the stasis chambers?

  “You’d think they would want to worship someone with their god’s blood,” Kaika said. “Not get rid of the person.”

  “Maybe. The first zealot I encountered on the cliff called Trip a usurper. Maybe they think offspring of the dragon are inferior and should be gotten rid of? Or maybe they worry that such offspring might try to take control of the cult?”

  Kaika grunted dubiously. Rysha wasn’t enamored with the hypothesis herself. She had no evidence. Maybe she should have been reading the Brotherhood journal instead of the other one. But from the beginning, she’d been far more interested in the outpost and the dragon riders who had created it than in the cult that had moved in later. She would have been perfectly happy if she had never encountered the Brotherhood of the Dragon again.

  Unfortunately, the Brotherhood seemed to have other ideas.

  Rysha touched a dent in one of the stasis chambers, grimacing. Most of them appeared undamaged, and they continued to hum faintly with whatever magic powered them. The dent looked to have come from one of the bullets. She peered inside, her gut clenching because it was one of the human babies. The dragon-human hybrid babies, Rysha corrected, but it—he—looked perfectly human as he floated there in the transparent gel.

  It
was the boy she’d been thinking reminded her of Frian. She shifted to check on the one that she’d thought might be his twin, the curly-haired little girl. But the chamber wasn’t next to the boy’s, as it had been earlier. Had Kaika moved them around?

  Rysha backed up and counted the rows. “Twenty-five… twenty-six…” Dread surged through her limbs. “Where’s twenty-seven?”

  “What?” Kaika leaned against the doorjamb—she had been watching the alley—but now she frowned over at Rysha.

  Rysha checked again, peering into the tops of the chambers, hoping she had simply counted incorrectly. But she hadn’t.

  “One of the chambers is missing. It was here just a few minutes ago. I’m sure of it.”

  “Someone got in, took one, and got out without us noticing?” Kaika asked skeptically. “I was right outside the door. Fighting, yes, but I pay attention to my surroundings when I’m in a skirmish.”

  Rysha silently admitted that someone could have gotten by her without her noticing, especially with all that smoke, but said, “Could someone have used magic?”

  “I—” Kaika frowned and tapped Eryndral’s hilt, the sword back in its scabbard. “Damn, maybe so. It buzzed a little warning in my hand while I was fighting. I assumed it was implying my opponent had some dragon blood.”

  Rysha rubbed the back of her neck, that feeling of dread increasing to one of horror.

  She had promised to keep an eye on the babies—to protect them—while Trip figured out who killed Dreyak. What would he think when he got back? Would he be disappointed in her? How not?

  Rysha hoped he could use his magic to locate the stasis chamber. But what if it was too late? What if someone transported it out of the city? Or what if someone took it to the harbor, pried open the lid, and dumped the baby out?

  Tears of fear and panic formed in her eyes.

  “You have any way to get in touch with Trip?” Kaika touched her temple, sounding much calmer than Rysha felt.

  “No, not unless he reaches out to me telepathically.” Rysha didn’t know what his range was for that, especially when she was toting Dorfindral around.

  “I can go look for it while you guard the others, but we’re not going to want to stay in this room indefinitely. It’s clearly not safe now.” Kaika waved toward their fallen assailants outside and also to the busted door. The initial kick that had thrust it open had also ripped it from its top hinge, and it hung askew. “People know we’re here, and someone could bring a team back for the rest of the babies. We need to get Trip here to assemble his wagon so we can move.”

  Kaika waved at the disassembled metal wagon he had made from scrap ore carts in the dragon’s lair. He’d taken its sides and wheels off so they could bring it into the room, fearing it would have been stolen in seconds if they left it outside unattended. Little had they known that would be the least of their worries.

  “I better go while there’s still a chance of catching up to—” Kaika frowned toward the rooftop on the opposite side of the alley and drew her sword again.

  “More trouble?”

  “Someone up there is spying on us. Someone who may have seen the kid being taken. Stay here.” Kaika ran across the alley and leaped to a window, using its vertical bars to pull herself up. She kept climbing to the next story and then the next, disappearing onto the rooftop.

  Rysha stared bleakly at the limestone wall of that building, feeling very alone and very much a failure.

  2

  We could simply go in the front door, Jaxi spoke into Trip’s mind. Majestic and powerful mages don’t usually squat on smelly rooftops, their shirts stuck to suspicious tarry substances as they spy on people meandering into work.

  You believe I’m majestic and powerful? Trip asked, watching as a man in the gray and white uniform of one of the city’s law enforcers strode toward the front door below his rooftop perch. Jaxi, one of two soulblades in scabbards attached to his belt, had been critiquing his information-gathering techniques all morning.

  No, but I thought you might aspire to be those things.

  As much as it pains me to agree with such a young and immature soul, Telryn, Azarwrath spoke up from his other hip, I agree that this skulking is beneath you.

  I don’t think I can walk in and start asking questions. Trip had considered that a couple of times, because he wasn’t learning anything useful from brushing the minds of the enforcers coming to work or those already in the building. None of them were thinking about Dreyak, even though someone from the two-story enforcer structure had presumably been responsible for chaining his body to the prominent post at the city docks. Trip had hoped he would catch a few of them thinking of Dreyak today, if only to wonder why he’d disappeared from his ignoble perch during the night.

  Before dawn, Trip had cut him down and searched his pockets, hoping for clues about who had murdered him. But if Dreyak had died with anything on him, thieves or his killers had removed it. After that, following Cofah tradition as much as he understood it, Trip had burned the body and scattered the ashes in the gentle waves lapping at the dock supports. Had there been anything he could have kept to send home to Dreyak’s family, he would have done it, even though he already worried the Cofah would suspect his team of having something to do with his death.

  Trip couldn’t help but feel that he’d failed the Cofah warrior. It wasn’t as if Dreyak had ever asked for his assistance or had a kind word for him, but he had helped his team retrieve those chapaharii blades from the pirate fortress and then bury the dragon portal in the Antarctic. He deserved more than to have met his death in this remote city of criminals.

  You most certainly can question these people, Azarwrath said. And if you do so, your words will elicit the thoughts you need in their minds.

  And what about after I’m done asking questions? At some point, they’ll realize I have dragon blood. Remember what was carved into Dreyak’s chest? Witch. I don’t think these people like magic. If the enforcers start searching for me… I don’t want to lead armed men back to the others. Or the babies.

  I do not think you need to worry about these mundane beings, but I can show you how to remove the enforcers’ memories of you questioning them.

  That’s… creepy. And disturbing. I don’t want to tinker with people’s memories. Trip shuddered at the idea that he might have the power to do so.

  He spotted movement out in the harbor, one of two massive barges adjusting its position. One had something like a palace atop it with towers and spires, the roofs glinting golden under the sun’s rays. The word barge hardly seemed adequate. The second looked like a floating warehouse that could store massive amounts of goods. Neither appeared seaworthy. He wondered if they were permanently anchored in the harbor.

  We’ve had this discussion, Telryn. Some tactics that would not be acceptable when used on allies should be employed on enemies, thus to avoid greater pain and destruction later on.

  It seems a fine line. And are these enemies? They’re just people who work here.

  The people who work here are employed by criminal organizations, Jaxi put in. I’ve been browsing through the thoughts of a man doing the books in an office in the back, and it looks like four different business owners are responsible for the salaries of these supposed public protectors. You may want to start your questioning with the bookkeeper. Besides, some street urchin on a different rooftop has noticed you and is currently wondering if the enforcers would pay her for informing them that they have a spy on their building. You should probably threaten her with your power and majesty.

  Trip looked across the square in front of the enforcer building and immediately spotted a girl of nine or ten on a sloped red tile roof. She flinched when their eyes met. He glimpsed scrawny limbs and ragtag clothing before she scrambled over the apex of the roof and behind a chimney. Her curiosity may have outweighed her wisdom, for she poked her eyes around the chimney to look at him again.

  I’d rather feed her than throw power at her, Trip thought. She lo
oks hungry.

  She looks hungry for the coin she’ll get for reporting you, Jaxi said. Don’t be soft-hearted, especially in this town. Everybody is on someone’s payroll here.

  I didn’t know you were an expert after only a day here.

  Trip fished in his pocket for one of the few coins he carried, choosing a silver one since it would have value even if nobody here dealt in Iskandian currency. He held it before his eyes, then gathered a channel of air under it. He let go, pleased when it hovered there, bobbing slightly. A few weeks ago, he wouldn’t have believed he could do such a thing. He squinted at the coin, willing the air to sweep it over the square and toward the opposite rooftop.

  I’ve been paying attention, Jaxi said as the coin reached the chimney.

  At first, the girl ducked out of sight, but she must have realized what it was, because she scurried out over the tiles toward it.

  What have you been doing? Jaxi added. Dreaming of your lieutenant’s voluptuous naked curves?

  Trip lost his concentration. The coin fell, clanking onto the tiles and rolling down toward the gutter.

  He rushed to reestablish his concentration and stop it before it disappeared and the girl couldn’t reach it. She was faster than he and ran down and snatched it before it landed in the gutter. She raced back, disappearing behind the chimney, but Trip could sense her there, staring with disbelief at the coin in her hand.

  Refusing to respond to Jaxi’s comment, he focused on the girl and projected a few words into her mind.

  I would appreciate it if you didn’t mention seeing me, he thought.

  Surprise and fear lurched into the girl’s mind. She raced off the rooftop and slid down a vertical drainpipe at the corner, but she was so scared that she slipped and fell to the uneven stone street, twisting her ankle. That didn’t keep her from running away, but her ankle hurt with each step.

  Trip slumped. He hadn’t meant to scare her and certainly not to hurt her.

  Was this what it meant to be a sorcerer? That no matter how well-intentioned his actions, there was the potential to do as much harm as good?