Warrior Mage (Book 1) (13 page)

The man dropped off his barrel at the front of a skiff that had been ferrying goods back and forth to one of the ships, then he turned around and headed back toward the warehouses adjacent to the shoreline. Yanko willed him to look up, needing to see the face to be certain.

Another man walked past the Turgonian, this one not as tall or broad, but that didn’t keep him from intentionally bumping the bigger man’s shoulder. He said something, throwing a challenging glare at his target, but the Turgonian didn’t react. He kept walking. If that was the man Yanko thought it might be, the belligerent Nurian had been risking his life with that shoulder bump. The Turgonian reached the head of the dock and picked up another barrel, lifting it over his shoulder as if it weighed nothing, despite the fact that he had a few gray hairs at his temple. In that moment, he finally lifted his face enough that Yanko could verify that he only had one eye, an ugly knot of scar tissue being all that remained of the left one.

“It
is
Dak,” he whispered, that being the only name the Turgonian had given him.

Prince Zirabo had implied Dak was a diplomat or someone of political importance and that his father had made a mistake throwing him into the salt mine, but Yanko had never learned more than that. Dak had certainly never shared anything about himself. They had spent hours and hours sparring together—which had usually involved Yanko being pummeled mercilessly, then smashed into the ground—before Dak had even revealed that he spoke and understood Nurian.

After he loaded the second barrel, a nervous-looking Nurian man carrying a sack of wheat came up to him and whispered something. A hundred meters away, Yanko had no chance at hearing it, but Dak responded, and the conversation went on for a long minute before the two parted ways. The
last
time Yanko had seen Dak trading whispers with someone, he had been plotting to escape the mines with a band of Turgonians, some of whom had been in there for murder. That had been more than six months ago. Why was he still on Nurian soil, and what was he up to now?

Lakeo elbowed Yanko. “You’re not going to get a good deal if you don’t come over here and defend your box. That sleazy salesman is coming up with all manner of deficiencies and knocking zekris off the price he’s willing to pay every second.”

Not wanting to take his eyes off Dak, Yanko said, “Will you barter with him for me? You’re scarier than I am.” He waved to her muscled arms. “I need to talk to that man down there. I’ll be right back.”

“What man? There are a hundred people on the docks.”

Already trotting away, Yanko waved back and said, “I’ll explain later.”

With hundreds of people on the dock and hundreds of thousands in the city, if Yanko lost track of Dak, he might never find him again. Given that he had no idea what trouble the Turgonian might be starting, that could be a good thing. But no, Dak owed him a favor. Dak had said so himself, right before knocking Yanko out and disappearing into the night with his band of Turgonians.

As Yanko reached the head of the dock, he started to second-guess himself. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Maybe that bit about a favor had been a lie, a distraction so that he could crack Yanko on the back of the head without resistance. But he kept walking. Dak was loading a crate onto the skiff now and exchanging a few words with one of the oarsmen, one that had the olive skin and larger build of a Turgonian. They kept their conversation short, and Dak turned toward the head of the dock again.

He halted when he spotted Yanko. His stony features hardened instead of relaxing in a friendly manner, and his gaze flicked past Yanko, searching the dock and boardwalk behind him. Did he think an escort would be standing back there? Armed men ready to return him to the mines? After six months? As if the mines even mattered now...

“Greetings,” Yanko said, stopping a few feet away. He kept his tone cheery, but the utter lack of warmth in the Turgonian’s face made that difficult. Part of him wanted to say he had mistaken Dak for someone else, apologize, and slink away. Even if the Turgonian was wearing a baggy shirt today, Yanko knew all about the thick, powerful muscles that lay beneath the garment, not to mention all of the scars from battles survived. Even though Yanko had done decently against him in their last sparring match, he had always known Dak hadn’t truly been trying to kill him. He reminded himself of that now. If the Turgonian hadn’t wanted to kill him then, he shouldn’t want to kill him today. Probably. “Are you speaking Nurian this month or pretending you don’t know it?” Yanko forced a smile. “I haven’t had time to work on my Turgonian, I’m afraid.”

After staring at him coolly for what felt like ten minutes but was probably five seconds, Dak said, “What do you want?”

Yanko lifted his chin in an attempt not to be daunted by the blunt words. It was almost as if Dak didn’t recognize him. Was that possible? Maybe all Nurians looked alike to Turgonians. Yanko had heard the equivalent spoken by his own people about Turgonians. But surely the reminder about the language would have jogged Dak’s memory. Still, he said, “You remember me, right?” just to be certain.

“Yes.” Dak’s tone didn’t imply that he was happy about the fact. “What do you want?” he repeated.

The head oarsman cleared his throat. Yanko glanced over and was surprised to see a slight movement from beneath a tarp folded between a few of the barrels. Was someone hiding under there?

Dak strode toward the head of the dock again, and Yanko might have been trampled, or knocked into the water, if he hadn’t skittered to the side.

“I need your help,” Yanko blurted, jogging to catch up.

“I’m busy.”

“You said you owed me a favor. I’d like to redeem it.”

Dak’s jaw tightened, but he kept walking. Yanko stopped, giving him a moment to think about his words as he picked up another barrel. He would not be surprised if nothing came of this, if Dak ignored the promised favor completely, but he couldn’t help but think what a marvelous bodyguard the big Turgonian would make if he could somehow talk him into coming along. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate Lakeo, but an assassin, even a mage hunter, would think twice about attacking Yanko with this wall of muscle standing at his back. He fully acknowledged that asking Dak to deflect the attacks of assassins and travel by sea for two weeks was out of proportion to the original act that had prompted the acknowledgment of a favor due, but it couldn’t hurt to try to get Dak on his side, if only temporarily. The Kyatt Islands were halfway to Turgonia. Who knew? Maybe he was ready to go home and had to travel that way, anyway. Assuming Lakeo got enough from the salesman, Yanko could pay for passage for all three of them. He glanced at the blockade. If there was passage available. The idea of being stuck here for days or weeks while waiting for that to resolve made him grimace. That assassin was sure to catch up with him if he was loitering around in one place. All the more reason to enlist Dak.

Yanko lifted his brows as Dak walked past again, carrying another load. Despite his strength, this one seemed heavier than the others. The tendons at his neck strained, and his back bowed forward as he toted the barrel up the dock.

“What is it?” Dak asked as he passed.

An odd thump came from inside the barrel. Weapons clunking against the side? Or maybe another person being smuggled? Dak’s expression never changed.

“I’m in need of a bodyguard.” It occurred to Yanko that he might leave it at that, try to get the Turgonian’s word before explaining the depth of the commitment he was asking for, but he couldn’t bring himself to try and trick the man into helping. If nothing else, a bodyguard bitter about the job he was doing wouldn’t be that eager to do a good job in his protection role. “For a trip to the Kyatt Islands,” Yanko added. “Maybe farther.” He lowered his voice, aware of other laborers striding up and down the dock to ships tied along the way. “I’ve been given a quest to find something valuable that could help my people.” He stopped before saying more. Whatever Dak was doing here, he was Turgonian and ultimately worked for the other side, a side that surely wouldn’t mind adding a new continent to the collection of colonies it already claimed. Maybe talking to Dak and trying to enlist him was the greatest foolishness. If he came along, he was certain to figure out what they were looking for. No, Yanko could keep that knowledge to himself, do his research in private. He could make this work, he was certain of it. If Dak would agree.

Dak grunted and lowered the barrel into the skiff. He didn’t thunk it down but was gentle with placing it next to the others.

The oarsman watched Yanko with wariness and glanced at Dak a couple of times, trying to catch his eye. And suggest that they should get rid of this Nurian kid poking his nose into their lizard cart?

“I’m too busy right now, Yanko.” Dak waved at the oarsman and tilted his head toward the ships in the harbor.

If it hadn’t been part of a dismissal, Yanko would have been pleased to know that Dak remembered his name. But those weren’t the words he wanted to hear.

The oarsman untied the skiff and ordered his colleagues to start rowing. Dak headed for the front of the dock again, his strides long and determined. He clearly wanted to leave Yanko behind and forget this conversation.

But Yanko couldn’t give up yet. Dak would be such a useful asset. He had already proven his skill with a blade, and in leading a group of prisoners out of the mine, he had proven that he was crafty, as well, despite his thuggish face and body. He had traveled the world, too, at least Turgonia and Nuria, so he would know things Yanko didn’t. Like how to get a good deal selling a carriage and where to find a ship that could smuggle a few people to the Kyatt Islands. As Yanko trotted after Dak, he glanced back at the skiff. It was arrowing for a freighter, not a Turgonian ironclad—which would have been blown up if it showed up in a Nurian port—but a wooden sailing ship flying a Kendorian flag.

Dak strode toward a busy warehouse with people and carts all around the loading docks. Yanko might lose him if he didn’t keep up. He jogged up to the bigger man’s side and opened his mouth to try again.

“I can’t,” Dak repeated.

“I see,” Yanko said. “You only redeem favors when it’s convenient for you to do so.” He hadn’t meant to sound so stung when he voiced the words—he had already acknowledged that what he was asking was far out of proportion to what he had done for Dak—but they came out that way, regardless, maybe because so much had gone wrong these last few days. Yanko couldn’t help but let the hurt and frustration seep into his voice.

Dak stopped and looked down at him, his expression one of exasperation rather than empathy.

“I need help,” Yanko said, hoping his naked honesty might appeal to the man. “The mines were attacked, my uncle was killed, and I’m the only one left who can help the family, help my people.” He waved back toward the freighter. “I know you help people, even if they’re not usually Nurians.” He didn’t want to do anything so stupid as attempting to blackmail Dak by threatening to find the port authorities and having them search that ship—again, an unwilling bodyguard wouldn’t be a good one—but maybe letting Dak know that he knew his secret would be enough.

“The Kyatt Islands,” Dak finally said, not giving any indication that he was worried about that freighter or what Yanko knew.

“Yes.”

“How are you going to get there? The port is blockaded.”

“I have ways.” Yanko wriggled his fingers to remind Dak he was a powerful wizard. Or at least a young man with a few magical tricks.

“You’re going to offer to heal a fern for one of the captains?”

Yanko flushed, reminded that the only magic Dak had seen him employ had involved bringing a dying fern back to life for Prince Zirabo. Alas, the earth sciences never impressed anyone. Maybe if Yanko conjured a small fireball and sent it sizzling into the water...

But Turgonians reputedly hated all magic, some claiming it didn’t even exist, so he wasn’t sure a demonstration would help his cause.

“Actually I was going to try and find a smuggler to hire,” Yanko said and didn’t mention that he had no idea where one went to
find
smugglers. He eyed the freighter again, but if they were going to Kendor, they were sailing down around the cape and taking the extremely long way to Turgonia, one that wouldn’t even take them into the same ocean as the Kyatt Islands.

“You find a smuggler willing to run the blockade,” Dak said, “and I’ll go with you.”

Even though Yanko had been hoping to elicit this very statement, the fact that he had actually gotten it shocked him. He pressed his palms together in front of his chest and bowed. “Thank you, Honored...” He groped for a title that would work in this instance. Honored Turgonian? Nobody ever said that. Honored Bodyguard? He wasn’t sure anyone had ever given a bodyguard that much status, either. Honored...

Dak grunted. “Enemy?”

“Well, technically perhaps, but I hope that won’t be the case. Thank you. Where can I find you after I’ve, uh, secured the services of a smuggler?”

Dak’s dark eye narrowed. He probably knew Yanko had no idea where to look for someone. “The Lady’s Skirts.” He waved toward an alley at the far end of the docks, where large signs, most with pictures rather than words, promised pubs and hostels and brothels. “I’ll be there after dark. Bring your weapons. It’s a rough place.” With his eye still closed to a slit, he added, “Captains sometimes get drinks there.” His words spoken, he resumed his brisk stride toward the warehouse.

“I’ll be there,” Yanko called after him. “Thank you!”

A couple of sailors walked past and gave him a strange look. Yes, a Nurian kid yelling words of gratitude to a Turgonian wasn’t common, but Yanko didn’t care. He couldn’t keep from grinning. He might not have any idea how he was going to talk a smuggler into risking having his ship pulverized just for Yanko, but he had a bodyguard. A
good
one. Something was finally going right.

Chapter 7

“Y
ou want the good news or the bad news?” Lakeo said, sliding into a seat across from Yanko.

Thanks to the boisterous crowd in the combination pub, hostel, and brothel, he barely heard her. “What?”