Warrior Mage (Book 1) (17 page)

Hoping nobody
would
ask, Yanko tugged the robe’s hood over his head to shadow his features. “I’ll do the talking. If they ask, I’ll say I’m eighteen. And a protégé. I entered Stargrind at thirteen.”

Lakeo snorted. “Does that ever happen?”

“Once. Three hundred years ago. To Se Mon the Star Flyer.”

Lakeo shook her head, apparently not familiar with the name.

“That was one of your great chiefs, wasn’t it?” Dak asked. “The one who razed the capital city to cow the resistance, then took over by force?”

“Yes.” Yanko tried not to find it disconcerting that Dak knew more about his people’s history than Lakeo did.

They stopped talking after that, padding down the rock path in silence. Two guards stepped into view before they had gone half way. One wore a black and white robe with the runes of a mind control specialist lining the sleeves.

Yanko kept the alarm off his face—he hoped—and raised his chin. Inside, he panicked. He hadn’t expected to find another mage here. In retrospect, it made perfect sense that someone from that discipline would be assigned to keep an eye on the prisoners. With his telepathy skills, the man could ferret out prisoners planning breakouts while they were still in the incipient stages. But he could also read every thought in visitors’ heads, if he so chose.

“He wasn’t here before,” Dak murmured. From the warning tone in that murmur, he recognized the significance of the outfit. There was a coldness to his tone, as well, a forbidding quality that made Yanko uneasy, even if the accompanying glare wasn’t directed at him.

“Keep your thoughts as blank as possible.” Yanko added, “He’ll be a telepath.”

“I know.”

Yanko kept walking—anything else would be suspicious—but he contemplated Lakeo out of the corner of his eye as he did so. If Dak loathed mind mages, his hatred might actually help him. His thoughts of strangling the man, or whatever violence he fantasized about, might keep the more important thoughts from surfacing, such as that this was all a ruse and that Yanko should be thrown atop the pointy rocks far below for his audaciousness. He was less certain about Lakeo. Even if she used a hint of magic in her carving, something he had witnessed before when she thought nobody was watching, that didn’t mean she had a well-trained mind that could deflect the inquiries of a telepath.

“Honored Warrior Mage,” the mind mage said, pressing his hands together in front of his chest and bowing when Yanko reached the ledge.

Yanko returned the gesture, making his bow slighter, since society said a warrior mage outranked all of the wizards in the other disciplines. The man had some gray in his hair, and Yanko felt like a fraud before he ever said a word.

“Honored Mind Mage,” he greeted. “I apologize for my tardiness, but my carriage broke down some miles north of the Port of the Red Sky Wars. The recklessness of young drivers.” He flicked a dismissive hand toward Lakeo, even as he hoped the night shadows hid his own youth.

The mind mage tilted his head curiously. “Could you not repair it?”

The general populace, and other mages too, it seemed, had a notion that warrior mages could do anything. Odd, since so many of them specialized in little more than flinging fireballs and wielding swords.

“It was the power source. I never bothered studying Making.” Yanko offered his best haughty sniff to imply that tinkering with artifacts was beneath him. Either that, or he implied he was trying to keep snot from dribbling out of his nose.

“What brings you here, Honored Warrior Mage?” the second man asked, a young guard with bruised knuckles. He must have been punching people lately. Did he sound suspicious at this late-night unannounced arrival? Yanko couldn’t tell. Maybe
he
should study telepathy.

“I have a message to deliver to the man in charge, Commissioner Rekanogee, I believe.” Yanko resisted the urge to speak quickly, lest they find it suspicious, but the fact that the mage was contemplating Dak and Lakeo made him nervous. When he dipped into a pocket for the forged letter, he noticed the dampness of his palms. He hoped nobody would spot the sweaty smudge marks he left on the edges of the scroll. “I’ve been told I’ll be making a pickup, as well. Shall I wait here?”

“A pickup?” The guard scratched his head. “I didn’t hear anything about that.”

“That’s why there’s a note.”

“Uh, all right. But the commissioner is sleeping.” The guard glanced at the mage and made an I-don’t-want-to-be-the-one-to-wake-him-up face.

“I’ll take it.” The mage squinted at Yanko as he accepted the letter, and he felt the faintest brush at the edges of his mind, an attempt to read his surface thoughts without delving too deeply to attract notice. Someone who wasn’t a Sensitive wouldn’t notice such a light touch, and not every mage would, either.

As soon as he had seen the telepath, Yanko had bricked off his mind, and he knew the man wouldn’t get anything, but a warning might be in order. Thus to discourage further attempts.

Yanko sent his senses down into the ledge and the rock that supported it, quickly finding that much of the cliff wall had eroded under the relentless tides. It took little effort to shift one of the crucial veins that kept the ledge from falling into the ocean. He made sure the damage wouldn’t bring it down completely, then sheered off a few rocks. Audible snaps came up from below, and the ledge shuddered with tremors.

The guard squawked and ran inside.

The quake should distract the mage, too, but in case he was still monitoring, Yanko let one of his thoughts slip through, an image of the entire ledge collapsing, except for the path and the portion he and his comrades stood upon.

The mage’s eyes bulged.

“I do not appreciate anyone meddling in my thoughts, Honored Mage,” Yanko said, doing his best to make his voice steely. It was hard because he felt like an ass for trying to cow the man.

“No, no, Honored Warrior Mage. I just had to be sure. Anyone can dress in a costume.”

“Surely, you can tell this is not a fake robe.” Yanko spread an arm, thinking of the power he had sensed within the garment. Even if he didn’t know yet what it did, he knew it was there, and another mage should feel that too. To his surprise, the runes at the edges flared to life, a golden glow brightening the shadowy ledge. “Who would dare imitate a warrior mage?”

The ledge shivered again, not as a result of anything he had done. He hoped he hadn’t miscalculated and truly made the rock so unstable that this portion of ground would collapse.

“No one, Honored Warrior Mage.” The telepath bowed again, deeply and hastily this time. “You’re right. My apologies. Please come inside and wait while I notify the commissioner.” He glanced warily at the ledge. “I’ll have food and beverages fetched.”

Yanko inclined his head and spread his arm again, indicating the other fellow should lead. Yanko glanced at his companions, feeling wary himself, anticipating being called an idiot again. Dak merely gazed back at him blandly. He had retreated a couple of steps—to the path, which was supported by different veins of rock than the ledge—but he didn’t comment on the quake.

Lakeo grabbed his arm. Instead of calling him an idiot, she whispered, “He was poking in my mind. I felt it. I tried to think about the carriage being broken, but I don’t know if it fooled him. I’m not—I never had any training for dealing with telepaths.”

“I know. Wait up top, will you? Just to be safe. And—” Yanko glanced toward the cavern. He had better not take long, lest the mage’s suspicions be aroused again. “If anything happens, let my brother know where I am—or was. Please.”

Surprisingly, she didn’t argue. The mage’s mind touch must have truly unnerved her. “I will,” she said and jogged back up the path.

Trusting Dak to follow him, Yanko strode inside.

Nothing about the flat, grassy cliff top had hinted of underground passages, so Yanko was impressed by the size of the chamber that opened up around them. The already-wide entrance widened farther, creating a large cavern, the ceiling soaring more than thirty feet above with stalactites leering down, dripping water into small pools. Yanko stretched up with his mind, judging the amount of rock that stood between that ceiling and the cliff top above. Dak’s estimate had been dead-on. In this spot at least, there was another thirty feet of rock above the ceiling. Numerous tunnels opened from that first chamber, several at higher elevations with wooden ladders leading up to them.

The mage was talking to another guard and pointing down a wide passage. While they spoke, Yanko turned his senses outward again, feeling out the different tunnels, trying to judge their length and how many people were housed down each one. Since he knew Arayevo, he hoped he might find her familiar aura as he searched.

But the telepath returned, and Yanko reined in his thoughts. He didn’t want to be caught gazing longingly down prison tunnels.

“The commissioner has been awoken,” the mind mage said, bowing deeply again. Yanko certainly had made an impression on him. So long as that ledge didn’t topple into the ocean before he and Dak had to leave. “He’ll meet you over there.” The telepath pointed to crude benches that had been carved into the wall and natural rock formations to one side. There was also a fire pit. Homey. At least by cave standards. Dripping water spattered on one of the benches, and a puddle lay at the feet of another.

“Thank you.” Yanko headed that way, hoping to end his conversation with the mage. If he had been probing Lakeo’s mind, he must have checked on Dak, as well. Even if Dak’s rage might deter the mage from scraping too deeply into his thoughts, Yanko could not count on that. As a Turgonian, Dak would have even less natural ability to resist a telepath, and he wouldn’t likely know when one was sauntering through his mind.

Unfortunately, the mage tagged along, following Yanko to the benches.

“I’m Senshoth Fire Badger,” he said. “Do you mind sharing your name, Honored Warrior Mage?”

“Akaron Sun Dragon.”

“Sun Dragon,” the man breathed. “A truly great family. No wonder you can manipulate the earth in addition to your other talents.”

“Yes,” was all Yanko said. No need to share that his other talents, his non-earth science talents, were on the mediocre side by warrior mage standards. Or any mage standards.

Avoiding the puddles, Yanko sat on a bench carved into a stalagmite. Dak stood beside him, his hands resting on the hilts of his weapons. Even though he had sparred with a sword and a shield when they had practiced in the mines, he had shown up tonight with traditional Nurian weapons, a
kyzar
and a scimitar. Yanko wouldn’t be surprised if he could fight in the Nurian style as effectively as in his own. But fighting wouldn’t do him any good if the mage read his thoughts.

Senshoth perched on a bench across from Yanko and Dak. He draped his forearms on his knees and gazed over in... Yanko was not sure how to read that expression. Rapture? It couldn’t be.

The guard Senshoth had been talking to earlier returned with a tray of appetizers and beverages. Technically, it was an upturned shield with some broken rice crackers and a chipped pitcher containing an undetermined substance—no separate mugs. The prison must not entertain often.

“If I may presume to ask,” Senshoth said, “however did you claim a Turgonian for a bodyguard?”

Uh. It hadn’t occurred to Yanko to prepare an answer for that question. He blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “He’s a war prize.”

“War?” Senshoth tilted his head. “What war? You’re so young, Honored Warrior Mage.”

Yanko didn’t think he sounded suspicious—yet—but he accepted the pitcher and took a long sip from the side so he had a moment to consider an explanation. The potent beverage nearly burned his tonsils off on the way down. Who put such strong alcohol in a pitcher that big? It was all he could do not to cough and sputter.

“He was a Turgonian spy actually,” Yanko said, surreptitiously wiping the tears from the corners of his eyes. “He had orders to study Stargrind and assassinate the headmaster if possible. He was captured and put up a great fight before he was brought down. I was a senior student at the time and had the luck to be the person instrumental in defeating him.” Yanko resisted the urge to look at Dak, not wanting to see the icy glare that was doubtlessly leveled in his direction. Considering how many times Dak had flattened him into the ground while they had been sparring, the idea of Yanko defeating him was laughable. “The headmaster intended to put him to death, but after he was tortured and revealed all of his information, most of the fight went out of him. I had yet to claim a bodyguard for myself, and I thought it would be an interesting challenge to break him like a
sazchen
lizard.” This time, he didn’t
have
to look at Dak to feel the glare drilling its way into the side of his head.

“Fascinating,” Senshoth breathed, apparently believing the ludicrous story. “Because he was such a good fighter?”

“Indeed. I knew if I could handle him, it would be a great boon to have him at my side.”

“You must keep a charm or compel spell of some kind on him.”

Were there such things? Yanko hadn’t read about them. Something out of the mind mage books, perhaps.

“Naturally,” he said. He handed the pitcher across to the mage, not wanting to dull his senses by swallowing any more alcohol, especially since that stuff was potent enough to be used as a fire starter.

“I can’t read him at all,” Senshoth admitted, scrutinizing Dak. “It’s remarkable. You said he was a spy? He must have extensive training. It’s almost as if he’s a mage hunter.”

“Really?” Yanko asked before he caught himself. If he and Dak had been working together since his supposed graduation, he shouldn’t be surprised by anything about him...

“Really. I’ve been trying. I get the sense that he wants to kill me, of course, but that’s not surprising for a Turgonian.”

“No,” Yanko murmured, his mind dwelling on the revelation that Dak had been trained to thwart mental attacks. That wasn’t remotely typical for a Turgonian, not when ninety percent of the nation had convinced themselves that the mental sciences did not exist.