Warrior Mage Page 8

  “My orders—”

  “Didn’t take into account that you were nearly killed getting here.”

  “Who’s going to watch your back while you conjure spells? That girl?” Falcon thrust his arm toward the door, then gasped and grabbed his wounded shoulder. He growled at the ceiling or at Yanko, or maybe at himself. Yanko understood all too well and all too recently how disappointing failure was.

  “She’s not a bad fighter.” True, Yanko would rather have his brother—he didn’t even know if Lakeo would decide to stick with him once they reached the coast. She might go as far as Kyatt, but what then? She wanted to stay there, to study. Yanko had the feeling that would only be the beginning of his journey.

  “But she’s not a trained soldier, is she? And she’s not your kin. Your blood, Yanko. Who else will watch out for you the way I would?”

  “Nobody. You’ve always watched out for me. I know that.” Yanko hadn’t always appreciated it—he had wanted to stand on his own feet, not to have his brother step in when some kid in the village teased him because gardening and beekeeping were “girl hobbies.” But he had always known that he would have a bodyguard someday. Every wizard, even a warrior mage, needed one. And he couldn’t think of anyone better.

  He plucked at the hem of the blanket on the bed, tempted to change his mind, to bring Falcon along. If they were going to take one of the carriages and ride to the city instead of walking, then might not his brother’s wounds heal along the way? Except it was less than two days to the port. He couldn’t do much healing in that time. And who knew what trouble they might face along the way? More battles? Battles in which a lame man would be a hindrance rather than a help? How would he feel if his choice resulted in his brother’s death?

  “This is why I was sent,” Falcon said. “To help you. To help us redeem our family’s honor. This is the journey that could do it, Yanko.”

  Yanko wasn’t so sure about that. When Zirabo had come, Yanko had learned that the prince was on the bottom rung of his family’s ladder, and not just because he was the youngest son. It was very possible the Great Chief knew nothing about this quest. Still, it might be a chance at... something. Yanko had better not put the cart before the lizard, though. First, he had to get to Kyatt.

  “I know, Falcon. And if I could wave my hand and heal you, I would. I know you’d be a huge asset on this journey.”

  “Even injured, I could be an asset. I’ll heal along the way.”

  “And who will stay behind and search for Father? For Grandmother? For Great Uncle Lao Zun? Little Cousin Ishee?”

  Falcon closed his eyes. He wanted to argue farther—Yanko could see it—but he had to feel the loyalty to the family too.

  “I better pack for the trip,” Yanko murmured. “It doesn’t sound like it would be wise to delay.”

  “No.” Falcon touched his injured thigh. “It wouldn’t be.”

  “Yell if you need anything else.” Yanko stood up, leaving the food and water. Maybe he could find the potent beverages in Father’s cabinet that his brother had mentioned, let Falcon find respite with a heady drink. “Maybe Father and the others will return by dawn, and things will look up.”

  “Yeah.” Falcon sounded listless, tired. Best to leave him alone.

  “I’m sorry,” Yanko said. He felt bad for telling his brother not to come, but also because Falcon had been injured, his entire life uprooted, all to deliver a message to him.

  Falcon turned on the bed, faced the wall, and didn’t respond.

  Chapter 5

  Yanko hadn’t been in his father’s bedroom many times as a boy, and going inside without his permission now felt strange. Given all that had happened, encroaching on his privacy should be the last worry on Yanko’s mind, but he had the sense that he would get in trouble.

  “You’re a little old to be worried about being spanked,” he told himself and set the lamp down on the table.

  Usually, he would simply conjure light if he needed it, but his headache hadn’t abated at all since arriving home. He had taken one of Grandmother’s aspen-tree draughts, but his brain still demanded rest. As soon as he found something potent for Falcon to drink and finished packing, he would sleep. He had already moved one of the family carriages into an empty shed back in the village, just in case trouble came in the morning and Yanko and the others couldn’t escape through the main gate. They might be able to circle around, through the trees above the foothills, sneak into the village, and grab the carriage there. He hoped he was being overcautious, but Falcon’s attackers might not be far away.

  There wasn’t a lock on the old mahogany liquor cabinet. Father had never been lenient, and he had always made the rules known, so Yanko and Falcon had never dared to challenge them. Yanko knew little of the types of spirits inside, so he selected one randomly. He doubted Falcon needed a glass and was about to close the door when the glint of something in a drawer that hadn’t been shut all the way caught his eye. Metal was a scarce commodity in Nuria. His curiosity prompted him to tug on the handle. If it was a firearm—also a rare commodity here, where magic was preferred over technological gadgetry—it could be useful on his quest.

  But it wasn’t a gun in the drawer. It was a golden amulet, one with a spherical jade stone in the middle, held in place by a lizard’s claw—or maybe that was supposed to be the claw of a mythological dragon. A curious piece of jewelry, one Yanko had never seen his father wear. He touched it, wondering if it had any magical power, and a flare of warm orange light washed over him. Energy sang to him, not unlike that of the orbs that powered the carriages, but he immediately sensed that this piece had been Made for a different purpose. Not to power vehicles but to protect its wearer somehow. From what, he couldn’t tell, but an impressive amount of energy hummed within the jade sphere. He was surprised he had not sensed its presence in the house before. Maybe it had fallen dormant after not being touched for so long.

  After nibbling on his lip for a moment, Yanko took it out and set it on top of the cabinet. Taking something of his father’s felt like stealing, but if this truly could offer some protection to its wearer, it could be useful on his journey. Besides, he had never seen his father wear it. It seemed a shame to leave a powerful artifact to collect dust in a drawer.

  “Yes, get your excuses all in order for when he comes home and demands to know why it’s missing.”

  Yanko tugged open the drawer below it. As long as he was snooping, he might as well do it thoroughly. It wasn’t as if he should be packing or sleeping or something else useful in preparation for his journey.

  This drawer also held a single item, a picture in a frame, an illustration that depicted Father as a young man, carrying a sword on his belt and wearing a soldier’s uniform. He stood arm in arm with a handsome woman with strong, defined features and flowing black hair that fell halfway to her waist. She wore the colorful red of a warrior mage, her expression determined and almost fierce as she stared at the painter. Father’s face, turned slightly toward her, was softer, a warm smile to his lips. A man in love.

  Though it should have been obvious, it took a moment for Yanko to realize he was looking at a picture of his parents. Of his mother. He had never seen an image of her before, and Father had claimed there weren’t any in the house, that he had gotten rid of all traces of her when she left and never came back.

  Yanko put the picture back. Father had never lied about Pey Lu’s current occupation, one that occasional mentions in the newspapers confirmed, and Yanko hadn’t grown up with any delusions or romantic notions about her. Of course, he had been curious as a youth, but her own parents still lived in a neighboring village, and they had confirmed that she had never sent letters home, not to Father, and not to them. If she cared what happened in her homeland, none of her kin could verify it.

  The last drawer was deeper, and Yanko pulled it out to reveal a folded crimson robe made from a rich material like silk, but heavier. Gold trim and several layers gave it an elegant look, but it wasn’t un
til he touched it that the garment came to life for him. It didn’t glow the way the amulet had, but an energy radiated up his arm, like touching a stove and feeling its heat, but more profound.

  “Mother’s robe from the war,” he decided. It, too, must have protective energy locked within the fibers of the material or perhaps in the ancient runes that lined the cuffs and hem. He didn’t know how to tell what they could do, but perhaps he could study the garment during his long sea voyage. Assuming he took it along. Male and female warrior mages wore the same robes, and Made clothing was often handed down through the generations, so it wasn’t as if there would be anything strange about wearing something that had been Made for his mother. Regardless of what she had done after the war, she had been a great wizard during it, one who had saved the lives of many soldiers, or so the stories told. It wasn’t as if Father would don the robe. Of course, he had not earned the right to wear a warrior mage’s robe by graduating from Stargrind, or even qualifying to enter the academy.

  He almost tucked it back into the drawer, but hesitated. What if it could help him in his quest? Dare he leave it?

  After a few more seconds of debate, Yanko set the robe on the cabinet next to the other items. He gathered everything in his arms and headed into the hall where he almost crashed into his brother. Soft snores came from one of the guest rooms. He had thought they belonged to Falcon, but they must be Lakeo’s.

  Falcon should have been resting, but he had found crutches, and there he was. Yanko’s cheeks heated at being caught taking their mother’s belongings.

  But Falcon merely nodded. “I was going to tell you about that stuff.”

  “You knew?”

  Falcon shrugged. “I was old enough when she left to remember her a little. To remember Father’s confusion at being abandoned and his belief that she would return. Her robe hung in his closet for quite a while, as if he expected her to come walking back in and put it on any day. It was a couple of years before the news that she had become a pirate made its way home.”

  Not certain what else to say, Yanko held out the smoky gray liquor bottle, its contents sloshing inside. “I got this for you.”

  “Thanks, but I was lying in that bed and thinking.”

  “Oh? I thought you were sulking.” Yanko smiled to let Falcon know he was teasing. It wasn’t the time for it, but he wanted so much to part ways with his brother on good terms. He wanted Falcon to smile back and to wish him luck on this journey.

  “Yes, that too. But it occurred to me that we shouldn’t stay here tonight, not right in the house, anyway. We would be too easy for someone to find. This Golden Lodestone, if it can do what Prince Zirabo believes, could literally change the world. Give us another continent. Nuria needs it, but can you imagine what wealth it would represent to anyone who found it? A continent, Yanko. The thought of there being one somehow undiscovered... It’s incredible.” Falcon shifted his weight on the crutches, wincing again. He shouldn’t be up.

  “I know,” was all Yanko said. Who was he to tell his brother how to take care of himself? “Where do you think we should go?”

  “We can spend the night in the woods, keep an eye on the house. Then you can leave in the morning. And I... I’ll stay and wait for the others to return. Or as soon as I’m strong enough, I’ll search for tracks and try to figure out which way they went.”

  “Lakeo won’t be happy about being rousted from the bed. I think she was impressed with the goose down blanket. But I agree with you. I had the same thought. I hid one of the carriages in town in case we were trapped here.”

  Falcon nodded, but then he smiled. “You drove the carriage? Did Father ever allow you to? He never let me, so I hadn’t touched a vehicle until I was in the army.”

  “No, he never allowed me to, either, but I’m training to be a powerful mage, you know.” One so powerful he hadn’t qualified for Stargrind. Yet more bad news he would have to confess to his brother eventually. Though he supposed it didn’t matter much now.

  “Uh huh. How many fences did you knock over on the way to wherever you were taking it?”

  “Fences? None.”

  Falcon raised his eyebrows expectantly.

  “But a water barrel, two of those hanging flower baskets, and the village mailbox may now be slightly more damaged than they were earlier today.”

  “I thought so.” Falcon turned around awkwardly and crutched himself down the hallway, the tips thudding on the timeworn pine floorboards. “I’m going to leave most of the packing to you, but I’m going to the kitchen to grab a few supplies, in case I get stuck out there for days. I’ll leave rousting your friend to you, as well. She seems like she might be grumpy when she wakes up.”

  “Actually, she’s always grumpy.”

  “I’m sure she’ll be a fun bodyguard then.”

  Yanko decided not to mention that he wasn’t sure how long Lakeo would stay with him. “Are bodyguards supposed to be fun? I thought they just had to keep you alive.”

  “The bodyguard handbook says it’s like a marriage because you spend so much time together. Having someone you can stand seeing every hour of every day is useful for a good relationship.”

  Yanko stopped when he reached Lakeo’s door. “I haven’t decided if I believe that there’s actually a handbook about body guarding.” His brother had mentioned it once before, but he’d thought it might have been a joke.

  “That’s because you’re not a soldier,” Falcon said as he turned into the great room and headed for the kitchen. “They don’t trust anyone to be competent, so there’s a handbook for everything. Washing your uniform. Polishing your boots. Cleaning your weapons. Personal hygiene.”

  “The army has to teach soldiers how to wash?”

  “Oh, yes. That’s another thing you should look for in a bodyguard. Good hygiene.”

  “Glad to hear that your sense of humor is improving,” Yanko called after him, then lowered his voice. “Either that, or Grandmother’s draughts are making him loopy.”

  He knocked on Lakeo’s door. He wasn’t expecting it to open promptly and for her to be standing there, scowling at him. “I heard a bunch of yelling and thought invaders had come. Then I heard you talking about hygiene. Loudly.” Her scowl deepened.

  “Yes, I hope your nap was comfortable. We’ve decided staying here tonight isn’t a good idea, that we’ll be easy to find. Fortunately, it’s autumn, so there are plenty of cushy leaves on the forest floor to lie on.” Yanko smiled and braced himself for an argument.

  “I wondered if you’d want to stay here, if there might be people coming to finish what they started on your brother’s carriage.” Lakeo hefted a bag. “I’m ready if you don’t have a problem with me borrowing some things. It’s just clothes and food. And a bow I found out in that shed by the smokehouse.” She plucked it from where it was leaning against the wall, a sturdy ash staff that had yet to be strung. She nudged a quiver of arrows with her foot too.

  “That’s fine. That’s Falcon’s hunting bow. I doubt he’ll mind.” Unless he wanted to take it with him into the woods. No, there was an armory in the attic, weapons from the generations of White Foxes who had lived on the homestead, or at least visited it seasonally. There were dozens of bows up there.

  “I could borrow yours instead if you think he wants it,” Lakeo said.

  “I don’t hunt.”

  Her brows rose, and he felt the need to explain.

  “I can’t. I wasn’t very good at blocking my ability to sense others’ emotions when I was a boy, and I had a special affinity for animals. I could feel what they felt when they were dying, and it made me throw up.” His mouth twisted, remembering Father’s disappointed look the first time they had gone hunting and that had happened. As a non-Sensitive, he couldn’t have understood. He hadn’t tried to, even when Yanko explained it.

  “Huh. I’d call you a wimp, but I saw you pull down a hundred tons of stone with your mind.” Lakeo put on her boots and grabbed her gear.

  Yanko hurri
ed to pack his mother’s robe and amulet and was debating what else to bring when a cold, unpleasant whisper slid across the back of his neck. It was the sensation of someone powerful using magic nearby.

  Cursing, Yanko ran into the hallway with what gear he had, little more than the clothes he had packed and his saber and kyzar. “Someone’s coming,” he called as loudly as he dared. “Put out the lamps. Meet outside, out the back. Lakeo, Falcon, do you hear me?”

  He raced through the house, cutting out lamps by hand, afraid to use his powers and alert the other mage to his presence. Next, he ran to the kitchen to make sure Falcon had heard him. Lakeo was already striding for the back of the house. Yanko hadn’t checked a window yet, but he didn’t need to. If he felt someone calling upon the mental sciences, that someone couldn’t be far away.

  Falcon limped out of the kitchen on his crutches, a bag slung over his shoulder. “Thought I’d have a little more time to pack,” he muttered.

  “Sh, hurry.” Yanko took the bag. “Mage.”

  As he made it down the now-dark hallway, listening to the thumps of his brother’s crutches as well as his ragged breathing, Yanko felt guilty about telling him to hurry, but if they were caught in the house when a mage hurled a fireball at it, he would suffer far greater injuries.

  A cold breeze battered them when they stepped out onto the back porch. Full darkness had fallen, and the moon hadn’t risen. Clouds had come in, too, and the lake and mountains were barely visible. Though Falcon knew the land as well as Yanko—and far better than any stranger could—his injury would cause him to struggle. They would have to stick to the paths until they reached the tree line, instead of creeping through the waist-high grass that swayed in the fields as Yanko would have preferred.