Warrior Mage Page 7

  Falcon hissed when they lifted him. His face and arms were scratched and cut, in addition to the more major wounds. They appeared fresh, like he had been attacked earlier that day. Yanko glanced again toward the road leading to the lake, afraid pursuit might not be far behind.

  “I saw it,” Falcon said between gritted teeth as Yanko and Lakeo maneuvered him up the steps and through the front door. “Was real tempted to open it.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t.”

  “Been on the road for a week. That’s a long time to itch with curiosity.”

  They took Falcon into the closest bedroom, one usually reserved for guests. He didn’t object.

  “Figured I’d be struck down by lightning if I opened it,” Falcon said. “Or mauled by bandits.”

  “Is that who attacked you?” Yanko doubted it, but he wanted Falcon’s account of it.

  “If they were bandits, they were extremely prepared bandits. They had a lot of archers wielding big army longbows, and they had a wizard, as well. I was lucky to escape. They couldn’t have anticipated me—I don’t see how—but it was like they were lying in wait. I was coming through Bent Badger Canyon on my way up the mountains, and they leaped out. Got Sergeant Huko. Almost got me too.”

  “Who did you annoy, Falcon?” After they settled him on the bed, Yanko turned on lamps. That arrow had to come out of his brother’s leg, and the shoulder should be stitched up, but he didn’t know how to do either. Grandmother had a few healing artifacts in her room that might deal with the gash, but the arrow?

  “I’m just a soldier. You’re the one the note was addressed to.”

  “Lakeo, can you get some water and some food for him? For all of us? I’m going to root through Grandmother’s closet for healing... things.”

  “Healing things,” Lakeo said. “Going to find people who know how to use them too?”

  “I wish.” Yanko knew of numerous people who lived in cabins in the mountains, but none of them that he could reach before nightfall. The sun was dropping below the ridge, and long shadows stretched across the grassy foothills outside.

  “Just find me a first-aid kit, and I’ll cut out the arrow,” Falcon said. “Then bring some of Grandmother’s salves.”

  “You’ll cut out the arrow?” Lakeo sounded impressed.

  “I’ve had basic medic’s training.”

  Yanko retrieved the requested items, though he wanted to tear into that envelope. It had to be from Prince Zirabo. Only the royal family was allowed to dress in dark purple or use the color in any manner, and Zirabo was the only one who knew Yanko existed. Maybe he had sent information about the craziness going on. Maybe it was a warning, one that had arrived too late.

  “Here’s Grandmother’s surgical kit, that stinky mushroom goo she always put on us as kids, and her satchel full of other herbs. I’ll let you determine what’s useful, what’s hallucinogenic, and what’s a snack she was saving for a dreary day.”

  “Wouldn’t mind a hallucinogen right now,” Falcon said, opening the kit. “Or something to knock me out completely, but...” He shook his head and didn’t finish the sentence.

  Yanko could guess at his concern. “Do you think the people who attacked you followed you?”

  “I think they knew where I was going. And if they didn’t, they could find out. It’s not like our family isn’t known around here.” Falcon removed the bandage around the arrow, pulled out a bottle that stank of alcohol, and swabbed the liquid around his wound.

  Yanko was relieved his brother seemed to know what he was doing, because he felt useless. He also worried that they shouldn’t spend the night in the house, that the woods would be safer, but he didn’t want to drag an injured man out to sleep on the damp forest floor. Lakeo might object to that, too, given how many times she had asked about beds.

  “Can I do anything to help?” Yanko asked.

  “Yes, open your letter. I’d like to know what I almost died to deliver.”

  Lakeo came back in the room with a jug of water, a couple of rounds of cheese, and some smoked trout. “Looks like some things were taken from the kitchen and pantry and that someone packed in a hurry,” she said, setting the food down on the bedside table.

  The sight of the goat cheese made Yanko’s mouth water, but he pulled out the envelope, as curious about it as his brother. Before he could break the seal, Falcon stopped him with a hand on his arm. He tilted his head toward Lakeo, a question in his eyes.

  “She’s my friend,” Yanko said.

  “Moksu?”

  By this point, Lakeo had caught on, and she crossed her arms over her chest and glowered at them.

  “No,” Yanko said.

  “You may want to read that in private.”

  Yanko turned the envelope over a couple of times. “It doesn’t say that.”

  “It’s implied by the purple seal.”

  “As if I care what the runty youngest son of the Great Chief tells you.” Lakeo grabbed a piece of fish and stalked out the door, slamming it behind her.

  Yanko frowned at his brother. “I thought you were the one who did wonderfully with the women, but maybe I was mistaken.”

  “I do wonderfully with the women I want to do wonderfully with.” Falcon pointed at the note. “Now open it, will you?”

  “I see. It’s too private to read in front of other people, but not too private to read in front of you.”

  “I’m your brother. And moksu.”

  Too curious to argue further, Yanko broke the seal. A tingle ran up his fingers, and he realized there had been some subtle magic about the envelope. Maybe it had been protected so that only he could open it or so that someone else who tried would be punished. He rubbed his fingers. “I think it’s good you didn’t try to open it.”

  “I suspected as much.” Though Falcon was in the middle of dealing with that arrowhead, he leaned close, trying to see what was inside the envelope.

  Yanko slid out the message, surprised by the multiple pages and the amount of text that awaited him—and the fact that his name was indeed on top of it all. He had never seen Prince Zirabo’s writing, but from the brisk script and the ink blots that speckled the page, he suspected this had been written quickly. He read it aloud, so his brother could keep his eyes on his work.

  “Yanko, as I alluded to when last we met, there is trouble in our Great Land. After building for centuries, rebellion has come to the Golden City and to other key regions. Men and women believe the Great Chief is to blame, as if another ruler could keep this tidal wave from washing to the shore. It is the tenth year of drought on the plains, our prime agricultural land, and dust storms and hunger are driving farmers out of the area. As you’ve seen, much of what used to be orchard and vineyards in the south, to the west of the mountains, has turned to desert. The climate has grown drier in this last century, and the aquifers have been drawn down and are not replenishing themselves quickly enough. Our people have been living on and farming this land for millennia, and the scars show on the land. Our population has grown too large for it to support, and thanks to our mineral-poor mountains, we have little to trade to other nations. The prosperity enjoyed by our neighbors in their less populous lands has not been ours. By military might, we have often sought to take their resources, but war is an expense we can no longer afford. Now, we face civil war with numerous groups wishing to put their own chief on the dais. They do not realize that a change in leadership will not solve our problem. A drastic culling of the population might help, but that is not something I wish to contemplate, nor does my father. Thus, we must seek more resources to satiate our people, to give us more time to deal with this situation or for the climate to grow more amenable again. This is where you come in.”

  Yanko paused to flip to the next page and to check his brother’s reaction. Falcon must have seen some of this in the years since he had left home, because he was nodding. Yanko had read the newspapers and knew of some of these troubles, but down here, in the sparsely populated mountains,
he hadn’t felt the hunger or noticed the changes. He supposed he had seen abandoned homesteads in the desert around the mines, but he had not realized agricultural lands had once filled the area.

  “Even though my brother Zenato is more the scientist than I,” Yanko went on, reading the second page, “I have been doing research whenever I’ve found the time. As a diplomat, I’ve traveled to other nations and have long understood that the most resource-endowed and agriculturally rich land, that of Turgonia, is never going to fall to us. They are too mighty, and with their former war hero and master tactician Admiral Starcrest now ruling over the land, even my father has accepted this. So... we seek another solution, a land that hasn’t been claimed.”

  Yanko paused to rub his head. What land of any significance had not been claimed? There might be uninhabited islands here and there, but the world’s continents had long since been discovered, mapped, and settled.

  Falcon shrugged—this he didn’t know about.

  “If you’re familiar with Kyattese history,” Yanko continued aloud, “then you know the Kyatts didn’t originate on their island chain. They came from a continent in the southern hemisphere, one that they destroyed through war and then fled because of a plague that may or may not have been magical in nature. This was over seven hundred years ago, but our people have been sailing the seas for millennia and remember this, even though the Kyattese were, at that time, an insular people. What I tell you now is more legend than recorded history, at least insofar as Nuria knows. Because the Kyattese devastated their land so, and because the plague was so horrible, claiming nine out of ten people, they took their best wizards—or Science practitioners as they call them—and came up with a way to hide the continent before they left, to ensure future generations didn’t try to return and fall prey to the plague, then spread it to the world. To this day, nobody has ever found this continent. Many doubt it ever existed. Yet there is evidence that seems to imply that the Kyattese came from another part of the world; their pale skin coloring if nothing else, surely an anomaly under the equatorial sun of their archipelago. Information about much of their migration and their early days on the islands has been lost, whether accidentally or purposefully, but they themselves mention in their history texts a Golden Lodestone that might one day guide the descendants home, when their leaders decide the time has come.

  “I spent a week in Kyatt on the way home from my last mission and met much obfuscation when I brought up the subject of their history, but they knew who I was, whose son I was, and that may be why they shared little. Perhaps you would have more luck. As the son of a family who has, alas, fallen from the Great Chief’s grace, I thought you might believably enroll in their polytechnic to study magic, and that such a position would give you the opportunity to find out the truth about this Golden Lodestone and where to find it. After seven hundred years, whatever plague might have once existed should have faded away, and it’s possible the land has recovered and become rich and fertile once again. If so, our people could claim it. The Kyattese seem happy on their tropical islands, but even if that is not the case, they have no right to the land after so long. I have enclosed some money to see you to the islands and to get you enrolled in the first year of classes. I wish I could come myself to help you, but I am embroiled in the mess here in the Golden City, and I fear I have already taken too much time to pen this missive. I’ve had your brother’s orders changed, so he can go along with you and act as your bodyguard. If word of your quest gets out—and I’m afraid my research hasn’t been as secret as I wish it would have been, for there are spies everywhere in the Great Chief’s palace—I have no doubt you’ll see trouble. If this lodestone does indeed lead to a secret and unpopulated continent, the entire world will want it for themselves. Be careful, Yanko. I have faith that you can do this.”

  Yanko lowered the pages and stared at his brother, floored by the contents of the letter and by the task he had been given.

  “Trouble, no kidding.” Falcon held up the bloody arrowhead he had cut from his thigh. He had withdrawn it without so much as a whimper or grunt of pain—unless Yanko had been too absorbed in the letter to notice it—but his brown skin had grown ashen, and he looked like he could collapse on the bed at any second. Instead, he grabbed some of Grandmother’s healing goo to smear in the gaping wound.

  “Falcon, why would he send this to me?” Yanko whispered. “Enrolling as a student might be plausible for someone my age, but everything else... What am I supposed to do if I find the lodestone? And if you were already shot, does that mean there are assassins on our trail? Why would assassins think I could do anything worth... assassinating anyone over? Or do they think there’s some huge secret in this note? All it says is go do research and find this lodestone. That’s not worth killing over.” Realizing he had been speaking rather quickly, Yanko forced himself to stop and take a breath, to let his brother talk.

  “Two things,” Falcon said. “First, stop hyperventilating. Second, calm down.”

  “Those are kind of the same things, aren’t they?” Yanko had been waiting for more salient advice.

  “Not the way you’re doing them. Hand me those bandages, will you? And a sponge. I’m making a mess here. I’m glad this isn’t my room.”

  Yanko gave his brother the requested items, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the note, about the request. No, it wasn’t a request. This came from one of the Great Chief’s sons. He must consider it an order. To refuse the task would be cowardice, if not an outright crime. “I don’t understand why he thought of me.”

  “You bonded when he came to the mines, didn’t you? That’s what Uncle Mishnal said.”

  “If you call bonding being hit over the head by the same Turgonian thugs, then yes. But...” Yanko swallowed his sarcasm, realizing his brother didn’t know about their uncle yet. “Mishnal is dead. The mine was attacked. Lakeo and I barely got out and not without a fight.” It was silly, given the horrible news he was sharing, but he needed to let Falcon know that they had fought. He didn’t want to be seen as cowardly for escaping, for surviving when so many others had been killed.

  “Is that where Father and everyone else went?” Falcon asked.

  “I don’t know where they are. The village was attacked too. Did you see the smoking buildings?”

  “Just from a distance. I was trying to steer the carriage and keep Sergeant Huko from dying. Neither worked well.” Falcon flopped back on the bed, wincing and glowering at his shoulder.

  “Let me try to clean that for you. And bandage it until someone who knows how to stitch it shows up. Or we find someone. You’re coming with me, right? On this journey? Or...” Yanko looked down at the bleeding puncture where the arrow had been. “You won’t even be able to walk, will you?”

  “Not for a while.” Falcon stared up at the ceiling. “Even if we find Grandmother, she’s not a mage. She can’t work healing miracles.” He rubbed his face, the dirt and stubble adorning his jaw, the scratches and bruises. He wasn’t fit to be a bodyguard or to travel.

  The idea of going on this quest without him, without even knowing the fate of his father and the rest of his kin, made Yanko’s stomach feel hollow. But maybe Lakeo would go with him as far as the coast. He snorted. Maybe she would go with him as far as Kyatt. That had been her dream, hadn’t it? Maybe he could even give her the money the prince had sent for tuition if he could find information related to that lodestone another way. Except he hadn’t seen any money. Had those who attacked the carriage gotten it? He poked into his brother’s messenger bag.

  “Don’t ask.” Falcon sighed. “That was the first attack.”

  “Oh?”

  “Three days ago, up the Coast of Green Tides. There were two other soldiers with me, alternating driving so we could travel day and night to get here as fast as possible. The prince was generous with the coin he sent along, perhaps too generous. It was quite the prize for a lowly corporal. Jathru either set up a bandit attack or took advantage of one. We were fighting
off a group of eight men who attacked us, doing decently if I’m fit to judge. Then he took off after an archer who had been injured and was running away. Huko and I were busy driving off the rest of the group. We didn’t think anything strange of Jathru’s departure until fifteen minutes passed and he didn’t return. I went out to look for him—I was worried he’d been injured. Or worse.” Falcon grunted. “I was an idiot. When I got back, Huko was there and told me the truth. The strongbox was missing.” He turned his head, staring Yanko in the eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m not even your bodyguard yet, and I already failed you.”

  Having his older brother worried about failing him was such a bizarre turn of events that Yanko didn’t know what to say at first. He shook his head and spread his hand, groping for words.

  “But, I was thinking on the way here,” Falcon went on, “that Father could give you some money if he has it. Maybe he doesn’t. Our family might be land rich by Nurian standards but isn’t financially wealthy anymore. Even so, there are the carriages. They might be old models, but the energy sources are as powerful as the day they were Made. You should be able to sell one for passage to Kyatt at least. I didn’t think Father would object when he saw the prince’s letter.” Falcon glanced toward the window—twilight had fallen outside. “If he’s not here, I guess he can’t object. We’ll take it down to the coast, and I’ll help you sell it in the Port of the Red Sky Wars. We’ll—”

  “Falcon.” Yanko held up a hand. He didn’t want to make it sound like he was rejecting his brother, but those injuries could easily become infected, especially if they were off at sea for weeks. “Someone needs to stay here, find the rest of the family and the village. I’m guessing they hid in the hills from superior numbers, but we can’t know that for sure. What if they were kidnapped for some nefarious plan?” All right, that sounded far-fetched, but Yanko knew his argument had to be strong to sway his brother. Even if his kin all returned tomorrow, from Zirabo’s letter, it sounded like the region could anticipate more trouble. Having a young, strong soldier like Falcon here to help everyone would be ideal for them. “That someone to stay should be you.”