Warrior Mage (Book 1) (21 page)

Alas, she lifted her hand to point down one of the docks. “He should be down there, past that boathouse. He likes to choose a berth that isn’t visible from the port authorities’ building.”

“Who doesn’t?” Yanko murmured.

As they headed toward the boathouse, he tried to tame the nervous flutters in his belly, the worries that Shark wouldn’t follow through with the deal or that he wouldn’t believe Yanko and the others had freed the whole crew. It would have been much better if he were leading them all back with him, perhaps tied together by a long rope.

“Minark?” Arayevo called. “Are you there?”

“Quiet, woman,” someone growled from the shadows of the boathouse. The surly man had a heavy accent made heavier by drink, judging by the smell of him. He pulled his legs up to his chest and tugged a blanket over his head. Or maybe that was a tarp.

Paying him no mind, Arayevo trotted up the gangplank of the two-masted schooner docked directly to the side of the boathouse. Lamps burned intermittently on the docks, showing the wooden hull to be painted a deep blue, but none of the lanterns on the vessel itself were lit, and Yanko did not see anyone on the deck. The name across the bow read:
Falcon’s Flight
. Since it shared his brother’s name, Yanko might have found it auspicious, but the deep gouges and scorch marks promised the vessel had seen a lot of trouble. It appeared old, as well, the wood worn beneath the paint, and he wondered if it truly was a fast ship.

Yanko waited on the dock with Lakeo. Maybe they should have searched for the captain at the Lady’s Skirts first. Or maybe he was drunk and sleeping under a tarp somewhere like the grumpy man.

Surprisingly, Dak had stopped at the corner of the boathouse. At first, Yanko assumed it was because he wanted a view up and down the main dock, but he was talking to someone. The grump from under the tarp.

“What’s he saying?” Yanko whispered.

“Don’t know,” Lakeo said, “but it’s not in Nurian.”

If Dak was going to continue attempting to smuggle Turgonians out of the port, Yanko wished he would pick less surly ones. He wouldn’t invite that man along, would he? The grump wasn’t in prison or chained to an oar bank anywhere. Couldn’t he leave on his own, if he wished?

Yanko eased a couple of steps in that direction, trying to hear a few words of the conversation. The man was speaking quite animatedly now, pointing at the warships lining the harbor exit as he did so. Yanko only knew a spattering of Turgonian, but he didn’t think the man was speaking that language. This was less guttural. Not as singsong as Nurian, but somewhere in between with lots of short words.

When the man wound down, Dak said a phrase in the same language, then walked up the dock to join Yanko and Lakeo.

“Kendorian?” Yanko guessed, less because he had recognized any other words and more because of the clump of shaggy blond hair that was poking out from under the tarp. It was also one of the other major nations in the world and a neighbor to Turgonia, though as far as Yanko knew, the Kendorians weren’t allies with the Turgonians. Nobody was allies with the Turgonians, not willingly, anyway.

Dak looked at him for a few seconds before answering. “Yes.”

“He have anything interesting to say?”

“The freighter he was working on was blown up when the rebel ships first came down.” Dak pointed toward a wreck stuck on a rock near two of the warships. “A lesson to those who thought the blockade might not be serious. He swam ashore and is waiting for another ship to be heading in his direction, so he can work his way home. That suggests the rebels don’t have a relationship with Kendor. Some people thought an outside force might be financing their insurrection, but perhaps it’s all internal.”

Though Dak didn’t take out a notepad and record anything, Yanko couldn’t help but get the feeling he was committing everything he learned to memory. For a report that might be sent home from the Kyatt Islands?

“
Some
people thought?” Yanko repeated. “Who were these some people?”

Dak was too busy surveying the warships waiting out there—
they
all had their lanterns lit—to answer. Or maybe he was only
pretending
he was too busy to answer.

“Yanko.” Arayevo waved from the railing. “He’s here. Come on up.”

“Is he sober?” Yanko trotted up the gangplank.

“No. He was up in his cabin sleeping off his drink, but he said he would put on trousers and come out to talk to us.”

Lakeo elbowed Yanko. “He’s putting on clothes for you. I had no idea you were such an honored guest.”

“An honored passenger, I hope.”

“Maybe the robe will impress him into giving you a better deal.”

Yanko would settle for any deal at all.

Arayevo walked around the deck, lighting lanterns while they waited. Even though Yanko’s senses were weary, he felt something on the ship, some Made artifact. He couldn’t see what it might be, but it reminded him of the energy source on his father’s carriage. Maybe the captain had something that helped with speed.

Eventually, a door banged, and Shark walked out on deck. He had indeed put on trousers, and he jangled with each step, his charms bumping and clinking together.

“Hello, Minark,” Arayevo said with a cheerful wave.

“Good to see you, girl.” The captain veered toward her first, clasped her hands, and kissed her on the cheek. He held her gaze for a long moment.

Yanko shifted uncomfortably. They couldn’t be... more than coworkers, captain and crew, could they?

“I knew they couldn’t hold you,” Minark said.

“Of course not.” Arayevo kissed him back, also on the cheek, but there weren’t many inches of skin between cheeks and lips. And she hadn’t kissed
Yanko
on the cheek. Why would she want to kiss some smarmy smuggler captain? With a big beard. That couldn’t feel good to brush against.

Lakeo elbowed him. “Looks like she’s taken.”

“I hardly think that’s true.”

“Maybe you’ll find a nice Kyattese girl. If it’s a long voyage, you could have a fourth chin hair grow in. That’ll be more likely to impress the women, especially the older women.”

Yanko shook his head. None of this mattered. He had far more important things to worry about. That didn’t keep him from wanting to run over and kick the captain in the shin when Arayevo stepped aside.

“The rest of the crew escaped too,” Arayevo told him, “but they’re taking their time arriving.”

“I’ll bet.”

“Yanko was the one responsible. He made it possible for us all to escape.”

Arayevo beamed at Yanko, and he stood taller, thrusting his chest out. Maybe that kiss hadn’t meant anything, after all. Or maybe it had something to do with the smuggler’s nationality, whatever it was. Yanko had read that some cultures were very open with physical affection and that even men exchanged kisses.

“Is that so?” Minark eyed him from head to toe, his gaze lingering on the robe.

Yanko needed to take off the garment. What were the odds that he would receive his own private cabin on the ship where he might hide out below decks and study for most of the trip? He had promised to help crew the vessel if necessary, but maybe enough of Minark’s men would return, so that would not be needed.

“As agreed,” Yanko replied. “I assume your offer still stands. How soon can we leave for Kyatt?”

“You’re a pushy brat, aren’t you?”

Alas, he had been downgraded from kid back to brat again. Apparently, the captain was one man who wasn’t impressed by warrior mage robes. Or maybe he had Yanko pegged for a fake by now.

“Trouble is coming,” Yanko said. “Leaving before dawn would be wise.”

“Guess what, kid? Trouble is
here
.” Minark flung a hand toward the blockade, then dug something out of his pocket. “Here. Take a look at what you would have to get us through. Fog isn’t going to work, not here.” He tossed something at Yanko’s face.

Yanko caught the hard cylinder. A spyglass. He extended it and walked to the railing for a better look at the ships.

“He can help, Captain,” Arayevo said. “He’s talented.”

“Talented at what? A few hours ago, he was pretending to be a bard. Now he’s a warrior mage? One who barely looks old enough to have weaned himself from his mother’s teats?”

“A bard?” Arayevo chortled.

Yanko sighed as he extended the spyglass for a look. Yes, Arayevo of all people knew he couldn’t sing. He found the first of the warships at the north end of the harbor, anchored south of the big rock jetty. Not only were the running lamps lit, but men patrolled the decks alertly. They wore the uniforms of the Nurian army, red with blue trim. The two sailors he spotted wore the greens and grays of naval officers. A true rebellion from within. What if the entire military had been siphoned away from the existing government somehow? The civil war wouldn’t last long if there was nobody left fighting on the Great Chief’s side.

Yanko was about to move on to the next ship, but the spyglass chanced across a robed woman standing on the forecastle deck. A red robe. Warrior mage.

He grimaced and shifted the spyglass away from her, afraid she might sense his visual intrusion. Then he stepped behind a lifeboat, realizing that someone out there might be looking across at him and noting
his
red robe. From behind cover, he continued his scan. Maybe the other ships would have less alert crews. It
was
the middle of the night, after all.

But similar personnel patrolled the decks of the other ships, ships bristling with cannons and harpoon launchers, in addition to what the mages could bring to a battle. All of the military personnel were armed with swords and bows, ready to engage in battle at any moment. Not every vessel claimed a red-robed mage, but every one had a magic user on watch, many weather or fire specialists. Since it was the middle of the night, that probably meant one or two more rested below decks. In the general population, the gifted only made up one in a hundred people, but military duty was a requirement for most who went to the mage schools, including Stargrind, so it wasn’t surprising that a greater number of them would be on the warships. And had all of these people agreed to rebel? Or had some of them simply been dragged along by their captains? So long as they were willing to follow orders, it didn’t matter.

“You think a few wisps of fog will fool them, kid?” Minark asked, ambling over.

“If it’s spread widely enough, they might not find us in it until we’ve already passed. You said this was a fast ship, didn’t you?”

“It’s fast. But nobody’s faster than a cannonball. Or an irritated mage.” Minark plucked at the shoulder of Yanko’s robe. “A
real
mage.”

Dak must not have found the smuggler threatening, for he didn’t run over to loom behind Yanko this time. He had procured a spyglass, as well, and was leaning against the railing, watching the warships.

Yanko removed Minark’s hand, tempted to use more force than necessary, but in addition to those charms, the smuggler carried pistols and a cutlass on his belt, the butts and hilt worn from much handling. Yanko’s sparring was improving, but he had only been in combat once now; Minark probably saw real combat on a weekly basis.

“Find your crew,” Yanko said, “and I’ll worry about the warships.”

“I’m not letting my ship get shot to the bottom of the harbor for you.”

“You said you’d give us passage if I freed your crew. Does your word mean so little to you?” Yanko had used a similar tactic on Dak, and it had worked, but he didn’t know if the captain had an honorable streak.

His jaw tight, Minark gazed over his shoulder toward Arayevo. She smiled and nodded back at him.

“You better figure out something good, kid.” Minark stalked away, tapping three times at a bugle-shaped charm on his belt. That was one of the trinkets that was more than decorative, with a faint energy humming about it. “Put out the lights, Arayevo. We don’t want anyone noticing our ship over here, not if we’ll be moving soon.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Yanko might have been relieved, but he was too busy dealing with a fresh wave of nerves. Now he had to find a way past those ships.

One of the coyotes in a cage yapped at the moon. Yanko rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. Maybe a couple of distractions piled atop each other? Get the warships looking toward the docks, and they might not notice a ship slipping out between them?

He wished it was a cloudier night. A talented weather mage might be able to bring in a small, compact storm, but tampering with the weather on a large scale was always discouraged, since it tended to have unpleasant consequences. If the makings for real fog were in the air, he could have helped them along, but a steady breeze swept down the shoreline. It would be hard to make his fog linger. Maybe smoke would be better. If something were burning, it might produce enough smoke to hide them. But there was nothing out there to burn except for ships. Yanko eyed the Kendorian freighter wreck Dak had pointed out.

“There’s Maw and Garolok,” Arayevo said from the railing, pointing to the boardwalk.

Minark nodded as if he had expected nothing less. The bugle charm. It must be keyed to his crew members to call them back. Indeed, two more men ran out of an alley and headed for their dock. Yanko would have been impressed by their eagerness to return to duty, but then two women shaking their fists stepped out of the same alley.

“If you can’t pay, don’t come sampling our wares,” one bellowed after him.

Yanko dropped his face into his hand. He hoped the watchmen on the warships were observing the sea instead of the docks. With most of the waterfront asleep, all the activity around Minark’s ship was sure to be noticed.

Dak walked over and joined Yanko at the railing. “Can you ignite black powder?”

Since it came out of nowhere, the question surprised him. “Not with a match, I assume you mean?”

“From a distance.”

“Depends on how far a distance.”

Dak gazed toward the warships. “They’ll have armories. Kegs of powder for the cannons.”

“Oh.” Yanko shuddered at the idea of blowing up a ship full of people. Rebels or not, they were Nurians. And human beings. “I—do you think your friend’s old freighter might still have some black powder in it? I’d been thinking that I could burn that vessel without hurting anyone.”