Great Chief (Chains of Honor, Book 4) Read online

  Holes also blew near the mages, and Yanko sensed them protecting themselves with their magic. Four of them. Luy Hano and the woman were down—unconscious or dead?

  Yanko glared at the other mages and divided his power, willing some of it to tear down their defenses as the explosions continued, completely pulverizing the floor of the arena and blowing out the walls of the tunnels below. The roar of water came from somewhere in the complex, somewhere higher than Yanko.

  Alarmed shouts came from the stands, and he sensed fear as people tried to figure out what was happening. He also sensed the fear of the mages as they struggled against him, trying to raise their barriers. Yanko snarled and put all of his energy into tearing them down, battering at them with all his power.

  An explosion roared up from below the mages, right in the middle of their group. With their defenses down, they were as vulnerable as the mage hunter had been. They were flung into the air, burned and battered. When they came down, the ground was gone, leaving nothing but water where the tunnels below had been.

  Water? Yanko stared in confusion as the mages landed with splashes.

  Then water rushed toward him, a huge wave flowing out of the closest tunnel. Yanko could only reinforce his barrier as it struck him. The bubble kept him dry, but it didn’t keep the tidal wave from slamming into it, hurling him across the arena. The world spun for him, and then he pitched into a hole, his bubble bobbing wildly. Water completely covered him, battering his barrier from all directions.

  He reached out with his senses, worried for Jhali, who had no bubble to protect her.

  He detected her closer than he expected, alive but terrified. He willed the current to carry his bubble in that direction. The floor of the arena seemed entirely destroyed, leaving a lake to navigate.

  His bubble bumped against a pillar, and in frustration, he released it and swam toward her. For once, her mental defenses were down, and he sensed her pain, her fear.

  “Jhali!” he cried. “Over here.”

  The mage lights had all disappeared, and it was dark in the arena, only a few distant lamps on higher levels still lit. The roar of water lessened, the tidal wave fading, but Yanko didn’t know if he was safe. He finally navigated his way to Jhali and grabbed her.

  “Jhali,” he gasped. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” she said, though her pain came out in her voice. She patted him clumsily in the water, then parted from him, as if to say this wasn’t over yet, and they couldn’t leave their defenses down.

  Worried they were targets, Yanko checked around them with his senses. Just as he detected people approaching on a rim of the arena floor that hadn’t been destroyed, a hand reached down and grabbed him.

  His first instinct was to struggle, but he recognized the owner of that hand. He slumped, letting himself be pulled out of the water.

  He felt like a drowned rat. An especially scrawny drowned rat when his rescuer only needed one arm to hoist him into the air.

  Dak deposited him on one of the wood planks still in place near the wall of the arena. Yanko slumped against that wall, needing the support to remain upright. From this vantage point, he could see what his senses had told him, that most of the arena had turned into a lake.

  “Jhali?” Yanko looked around. “She was right here.”

  Dak pointed to where Arayevo and Lakeo were pulling her from the water. Jhali’s face contorted with pain, but she never cried out. His strong silent bodyguard. She was as stoic as any Turgonian. And far more beautiful.

  “I found the water tank,” Dak said, relish in his voice.

  “Yes,” Yanko croaked, feeling like half the tank had gone down his throat. “I gathered. Thank you.”

  “After I planted a bunch of explosives down below. Lakeo and Arayevo helped, so we managed to do it quickly. You were a good distraction.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  Realizing he was safe for the moment, Yanko wobbled, exhaustion catching up with him. He would have crumpled to his knees if not for the wall—and Dak’s hand helping to keep him upright.

  He grew aware of cheers and the stomping of boots—the men and women in the stands hadn’t been affected by the water. Why would they cheer? Didn’t they realize that Yanko and his friends had killed Luy Hano and might have also killed his kin? Unless they’d survived that blast and flood. What of the mage hunters? Had any of them survived? Yanko didn’t see anyone crawling out of the water.

  “Do they know their side lost?” Dak asked.

  Yanko shook his head, his topknot half fallen out and hair limply plastering the side of his face. “They may be cheering for the entertainment value.” The thought of all this being simply to entertain people made him sick. He pointed to the closest tunnel. “Let’s get out of here before they realize we’re the enemy.”

  Dak tilted his head. A synchronized chant had started up from the stands, echoing from all sides of them.

  “White Fox! White Fox!”

  “I don’t think they consider you the enemy any longer,” Dak said.

  “I may throw up,” Yanko said, appalled at how quickly those people had been willing to change allegiance.

  “Do you want me to carry you out of here?” Dak asked dryly, as Arayevo and Lakeo came up behind them, Jhali supported between them.

  “Yes, but the crowd might stop cheering for me if we did that, so no.” Yanko shifted past Dak and hugged Jhali, careful to avoid her wounded shoulder. The others stepped back. “Thank you. I’m so sorry you were hurt protecting me.”

  “It’s what being a bodyguard is all about.”

  “And I’m sorry you had to fight your people,” he whispered. “I know it’s not what you wanted. And it’s not what I wanted.”

  “I know.” Anguish flashed in her eyes, but she masked it quickly. Then she let herself lean into his hug, accepting his support. “It’s what being a bodyguard is all about,” she repeated softly. To herself?

  Yanko wished he could take her pain away.

  “I would prefer it if you weren’t my bodyguard. I mean, you were wonderful, and I owe you my life, but I would rather you were…” He looked at her face as he groped for words, afraid he was mangling this and would offend her. “When this is all over, will you go out to dinner with me?”

  Jhali stared at him.

  “On a date,” he said, refusing to feel embarrassed that Dak, Lakeo, and Arayevo watched. “We’ve never gotten to do that.”

  “I don’t think that would be appropriate now,” Jhali said softly, looking down.

  “Right.” He smiled and brushed away a lock of damp hair plastered to her cheek. “Can we do it anyway?”

  “She agrees,” Lakeo said before Jhali answered. “Arayevo and I will find her a dress. One that has a spot for her throwing knives.”

  Jhali looked back at her, not bothering to hide her confusion at this unexpected show of support.

  “Is it hard to accessorize throwing knives?” Arayevo asked.

  “Nah, you just get a little handbag to keep them in,” Lakeo said. “Or she can strap some to her thigh under her dress. That serves as a double warning for Yanko not to get handsy. Men get intimidated when they’re sliding a hand up a woman’s leg and encounter sharp pointy steel.” She glanced at Dak. “Some men.”

  Dak’s eyebrows twitched. “You need more male friends, Yanko.”

  “I know.” Yanko met Jhali’s eyes hopefully.

  “I… agree to dinner,” she said.

  “Because you can take your knives?” Yanko grinned.

  “Because I’m now curious if you’ll get handsy.”

  “It might depend on how many knives you strap to your leg.”

  Now she grinned.

  22

  “Do you want me to carry you?” Yanko whispered to Jhali as his weary group shambled back to the palace. The gash in his forearm dripped blood, but it was his only injury, and he was positive he could support her.

  “No.” She was limping, in addition to clutching h
er wounded shoulder, but she glared at him and attempted to take the hitch out of her step.

  He’d been certain that would be her response, at least with witnesses around—Dak and Lakeo walked beside them and Arayevo walked ahead—but he needed to offer. He would love to help Jhali in any way possible and at any time, but especially now, after she’d fought her former colleagues for his sake, even pushing him out of the way and taking a knife that had been meant for him. He wished he could explain how much her loyalty meant to him. It was what he’d sorely missed when relatives and friends wouldn’t stick up for him because of who his mother was or just because they couldn’t be bothered.

  “Do you want to carry me?” Yanko asked, hoping an attempt at humor would take her mind off her pain until they reached the palace. He was glad that Zirabo had a couple of healers among his troops staying there.

  “What?”

  “I’m really tired. Someone threw the contents of a water tank at me.”

  Dak’s eyebrows rose. “I threw the contents at your enemies.”

  “While I was engaged in a sword fight with them.”

  “How was I supposed to know you’d be that close? Outside of our sparring matches, you’ve rarely used that sword for more than a belt decoration.”

  “Are you grouchy because the crowd wasn’t chanting your name?” Yanko asked. “Or because I didn’t offer to carry you?”

  “If the crowd knew my name, it would mean I’d messed up somewhere.”

  Despite the words, Dak huffed out a breath that was a little wistful. Would Turgonia ever know how much he’d helped Yanko and Nuria? Would Turgonia care if it did? Yanko wished he knew how to help Dak be recognized as the hero he was in his own land.

  “It does seem like a powerful mage and future Great Chief should be able to arrange some kind of transportation for his allies,” Dak said. “A floating pallet, at least.”

  Jhali nodded.

  Yanko looked at her. “You don’t object to being carried by my magic? Just by my arms?”

  “Not if your magic is carrying Dak too,” she said.

  “Someday, you’ll have to explain the rules to me about when and how it’s acceptable to offer you assistance.”

  “I prefer to be able to assist myself. And others. Not to be an invalid.”

  “Unless Dak is also being an invalid.”

  Dak skewered Yanko with his single eye.

  His comrades were grumpy considering they had been victorious this night. Granted, they were all soaking wet and tired. Yanko poked into alleys with his senses, searching for a suitable pallet. He could levitate them all without the use of an object to sit on, as he’d done before, but if Dak wanted a pallet…

  Ah, there. He levitated out a soggy rain-stained board that had been leaning against a wall for a long time. It smelled of mildew. Yanko tipped it onto its side, thickened the air underneath it so it would stay up, then patted the board invitingly as he looked at his comrades.

  Jhali, a testament to her pain and weariness, tried it first, sitting experimentally on the edge. When it didn’t give, she scooted more fully onto it, then finally lay on her back.

  Dak sat with his legs dangling off the side. “Huh.”

  “Yanko is giving rides?” Lakeo asked.

  She trotted over and jumped onto the board, causing it to rock slightly. Yanko firmed up the pressure underneath it, then climbed on himself, so he could see to steer.

  Arayevo came last, sitting gingerly on the edge and avoiding a moldy patch. “It’s a good thing we haven’t seen anyone watching from the windows. This might not be considered a noble enough conveyance for the great Yanko White Fox.”

  “If people think that, they don’t know me well,” Yanko said, sweeping in a current of air to push them from behind.

  “Isn’t that a foregone conclusion?” Lakeo asked. “They wouldn’t want you to be Great Chief if they knew you well.”

  “Have I mentioned how heartening it is to have such supportive friends?” Yanko asked.

  “No.”

  “Good.”

  Dak flopped onto his back, similar to Jhali, and Yanko wondered if he had received injuries too. With him, one might never know if there wasn’t blood visible.

  Guards jogged out when they reached the palace, Yanko floating the board and its riders toward the main entrance. As soon as the guards saw him in the light, they stepped back and bowed, making no objection to their passing. Or the smell of the mildewy board.

  “Time to dismount, my supportive friends,” Yanko said.

  As he brought them to a stop before the towering double doors, they opened, and Zirabo walked out, accompanied by Amaranthe and Sicarius.

  Yanko wondered what it said about his nation that there were likely more Turgonian secret agents in the capital than Nurian intelligencers. Sicarius and Amaranthe wore packs and weapons and looked like they were prepared to leave the city. Maybe they had done all that was required of them and planned to find a ship heading to Turgonia in the morning. Yanko imagined a lot of ships would attempt to slip out, now that the harbor was filled with pirate vessels. He could still hear booms, though they were less frequent. He trusted that the Sun Dragon sea forces would fade away now that Luy Hano was gone.

  “Is Dak alive?” Amaranthe asked. “Or are you bringing his body back for a funeral pyre?”

  Dak groaned and rolled off the board. Yanko rushed to assist Jhali off. Her face was pale, and she definitely looked like she should be carried.

  “Do you have a healer handy, Zirabo?” Yanko asked, slipping his arm around her waist, whether she wanted support or not.

  She leaned against him and didn’t object. Maybe support was permitted even if carrying was not.

  “Yes, of course.” Zirabo’s eyes glazed for a few seconds. “Someone is on the way to get her.” He looked to Amaranthe and Sicarius. “I guess I don’t need you to check on my wayward Great Chief, after all.”

  “Wayward?” Yanko asked. “Is that the right term for someone facing a deadly enemy, and all of his mage friends, in open battle?”

  “If the battle was open, then yes. Wayward and foolish.” Zirabo shook his head.

  “I recommended a stealthy incursion,” Dak grumbled.

  A man and a woman in yellow-and-white healers’ robes stepped outside and went straight to Jhali. Yanko was reluctant to let go of her, but they could do more for her than he could. He would check on her shortly.

  “I wasn’t opposed to stealth,” Yanko said, “but it’s hard to sneak in when your enemy is awake and senses you coming.”

  “For some people.” Amaranthe smirked at Sicarius. “You could have asked for help, Yanko.”

  “The boy had to navigate some of his own obstacles,” Sicarius said.

  Yanko felt like he had been navigating nothing but obstacles for months, but he said, “I had the help I needed.” He patted Dak on the shoulder. “But I thank you for the assistance you’ve already given me.” He bowed to Amaranthe and Sicarius. “I’ll do my best to make sure you are both welcome in Nuria in the future. Preferably for a vacation, not for work.”

  “Oh? How are the beaches in Nuria?” Amaranthe smiled. “We’ve been to a couple of secluded Kyattese ones and found the experience…” She looked at Sicarius. “Refreshing.”

  Yanko did not want to think about Sicarius cavorting on a beach—or whatever might qualify as refreshing for an assassin—so he took the moment to report to Zirabo.

  “Honored Prince, I must inform you that Luy Hano Sun Dragon is dead, as are some of his allies.”

  Zirabo nodded gravely. “That should make it a relatively simple matter to gain control of the rest of the city tomorrow and from there, the nation. I’d had reports that the Swift Wolves were falling apart even before you regained control of Yellow Delta. They spread themselves too thin, and more than that, some of the prisoners you rescued, those who didn’t stay with me, went off to enact revenge on their own. Numerous Wolves leaders have been assassinated in the last tw
o weeks. I don’t have to tell you what this means.” Zirabo smiled at Yanko.

  “That there’s little point in me practicing to retake the Stargrind entrance exam next year?” Yanko made himself smile back, more because peace might finally come to Nuria than because he was excited about this new role that now seemed inevitable.

  “Yanko, you killed a dragon,” Zirabo said. “That’s an automatic pass for the exam. And I think it would qualify you to graduate as well.”

  Yanko shook his head skeptically. There had to be more to those years of study at Stargrind than learning to fling raw power around.

  “I’m going to follow those healers,” Dak said, “and see if someone can put my kidney back in the right spot.”

  So, he was injured. Yanko had thought so. He hoped a mage hadn’t found him fiddling with the water tank and hurled him against walls.

  “If you like, I’ll round up some former instructors, those we can find who still live—” Zirabo grimaced, “—and see if they would be willing to test you or assess your deeds and make you an official graduate.”

  The offer delighted Yanko. He would feel so much better if there was no reason for him to believe himself a fraud every time he donned his red robe.

  “I would like that,” he said.

  “He’s about to be made Great Chief, and he’s worried about getting a graduation certificate from Stargrind,” Lakeo said to Arayevo. “You’re still an odd boy, Yanko.”

  Arayevo smiled. “He’s a good kid.” She ruffled his hair and winked at him. “I had to get that in since I may not be allowed to do that anymore once you’re officially Great Chief.”

  “Because it’s unseemly for a leader of an entire nation to have his babysitter tousle his hair?” Lakeo asked.

  “Because he’ll be followed around by a squadron of bodyguards who might think I’m attacking him.”

  “Attacking him with… hair tousling?”

  “Well, I am a pirate now, you know. They’ll consider my tousles threatening.”