Warrior Mage (Book 1) (26 page)

A thud sounded, a pack being thrown to the ground at his feet. It was
his
pack with his weapons strapped to it.

“We’ll be docked in fifteen minutes,” Dak said, a touch of reprimand in his voice. He wore his own pack over his shoulders and had his weapons belt strapped on.

“Eager to get off the ship, are you?”

“The captain doesn’t want me here.” From the way he said it, it didn’t sound like it bothered him.

“I can’t imagine why.”

Yanko picked up his pack and hefted it over his shoulder. “Have you been here before, Dak?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know where the Polytechnic is?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t suppose you speak the language?”

“Yes.” Dak regarded him. Thoughtfully? He could guess that Yanko needed a guide, but did he wonder if this might be his opportunity to learn more about Yanko’s mission? Granted, he hadn’t exactly been trying to pry information out of Yanko. In fact, his expression had been bland to the point of indifference when Yanko had confessed oh-so-vaguely that someone important was sending him to do something important. But perhaps that was his strategy for gathering information. Pretend he didn’t care, but then be there, lurking in the background when secrets were spoken.

“Do you read and write the language?” Yanko asked, even though it would be better to find some student at the Polytechnic to help him, someone who might find researching an ancient artifact interesting but who was too concerned about his or her own grades to consider the global ramifications or to do anything with the information.

“Yes,” Dak said.

“Ah, good. You’re a much more versatile bodyguard than my brother would have been.” Yanko smiled, but he couldn’t help but think that if his brother were here, he could share
everything
with him.

Dak only grunted in response to the praise and started to walk away.

“Wait. I have one more question.” Yanko glanced in the direction he had sensed the kraken. It had dropped down into the depths again, and he barely felt its presence now, so there was nothing to show Dak. Still, the size of it made him uneasy, and he wanted reassurance that it wasn’t planning to wrap those tentacles around the ship and squish them. “Are you aware of any large tentacled sea creatures that enjoy these waters?”

“How large?”

“As big as this ship.”

“Sounds like a kraken,” Dak said. “They’re not common in shallow waters, but it gets deep quickly when you get away from these islands. And I’ve heard they’ve been more frequent here in the last twenty years. Apparently, they’re attracted to Turgonian underwater boats, and Admiral—President—Starcrest made a number of them for the Kyattese marine scientists when he was here. They’re lucky he put in some defensive capabilities.”

“What do the krakens do?”

Dak spread his arms in a hugging motion, then squeezed them tightly about himself.

“Oh.” Now, instead of imagining tentacles wrapped around Captain Minark’s ship, Yanko pictured oblong cylinders—he had only a vague idea of what a Turgonian underwater boat looked like—being snared and tugged down into underwater chasms at the bottom of the ocean. “Do they want to eat them or do they find them offensive for some reason?”

“No, they eat fish.
Lots
of fish. But there’s speculation that krakens are attracted to underwater boats and mistake them for mates.”

Yanko squinted at Dak, suspicious that he was being teased.

Dak only shrugged. “The Kyattese have tried painting their boats all different colors in the hope of deterring them. Usually, they have to use a shock system to electrify the hull.”

“That would be a jarring message to get from something you thought was your lover.”

“Tell me about it.” With that obscure comment, Dak walked away.

“We’re here,” one of the crew announced. “Land of sun, surf, and those blonde girls with the bouncing coconuts.”

“You’re referring to the drinks they carry in coconut shells, right?” Arayevo asked.

“Uh, right!”

“Enough blather,” Minark said. “I want these freeloaders off my ship.” He waved a hand toward Dak and Yanko, and Yanko stuck a fist on his hip. He, Dak, and Lakeo had worked the whole way here, in addition to paying, and Yanko had kept the captain’s ship from being turned into kindling for a fireball. “Morgagt, get your scrawny backside off to the markets and find me some limes. You people had teeth falling out
before
the voyage started. Everyone else, get to work on repairs,” Minark added. “The women can wait.”

“Just because he already
has
a woman,” someone muttered as they slunk past.

Yanko frowned, hoping that didn’t have anything to do with Arayevo. It would slay him if she wanted to stay here because of the captain.

Something poked him in the shoulder. Lakeo’s bow staff.

“You ready?” she asked.

“Yes. First stop is the Polytechnic to check about enrollment. Fake enrollment for me, but I assume you’re going to ask about real enrollment?”

Lakeo thumped the staff to the deck and headed for the gangplank, clearly expecting him to follow. “How come you asked Arayevo to come with you, but you’re ready to leave me here?”

“Uh, I thought your entire goal was to come here and study.” Yanko didn’t comment on the fact that she must have been eavesdropping on his conversation, but he made a note to look around more with his senses before having private chats with people in the future.

“It was, but that was when I had money saved up.”

Yanko kept himself from mentioning the “seller’s fee” she had taken from him and then felt compelled to return. He still didn’t quite understand what that had been about.

“Besides,” Lakeo said, “that was before you said all that stuff about having the Great Chief be aware of one’s existence and gaining honor and maybe a decent job and...” They were walking down the gangplank, and when she fell silent, he thought she might be concentrating on not tripping over something or might have seen a threat in the crowd on the docks, but she shook her head and said, “Never mind.”

He thought he could guess what had been on her mind. “I don’t know anything about the Great Chief’s thoughts or preferences—” Yanko chose not to use the word prejudices, “—but perhaps for someone who did a favor for his family—for our entire nation—there might be some honor or privilege awarded, even if she didn’t have an entirely Nurian bloodline.”

Her shoulders hunched, and she stopped walking. Yanko half-expected her to snap at him for bringing up that subject, but she sighed instead, tightening her hand around her bow staff and staring at it. “I just want to learn magic, Yanko. I’ve tried on my own, but it’s hard.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t. You had tutors.”

“Intermittently. When my father could successfully bribe, bully, or beg someone to come stay in our village for a while. He didn’t have a lot of money to pay those people, and they never stayed long. I’m not sure you noticed, but our village isn’t an exotic tourist mecca, or a place people are drawn to stay unless they have roots in the community. A lot of time, I was learning from books.”

“Guess you’re smarter than me then.” Lakeo clenched her jaw and looked around.

“I didn’t mean to say that. The tutors did help. They gave me a foundation and made it easier to learn more on my own, but I’ve always known that my progress would improve when I could go to a real school. I’m sure you feel the same way.” Except the Nurian schools and academies did not accept those with mixed blood. Maybe that was the exception she thought the Great Chief might make if she helped with his quest. Institutions for the mental sciences did not cost students any money, not in Nuria. The Kyattese Polytechnic might be more inviting to different nationalities, but from what Yanko had heard, tuition was not inexpensive.

“Yeah.”

Dak had joined them at the base of the gangplank, so they had best put their guide to use and get on with the mission. That other ship could not be far behind, and if Sun Dragon knew Yanko had been coming here, he might know where Yanko would go for research too.

“If you
want
to come along, Lakeo, I would be pleased to have you.” It surprised Yanko to realize he wasn’t lying. All those months in the mine, he had dreaded Lakeo’s appearance, knowing she would bring her sharp tongue and her snide comments. He did not think she had changed much, but for some reason, the comments bothered him less now. Maybe because she was all he had now that reminded him of Uncle Mishnal and home.

She shrugged again. “I’ll think about. After I find out how much it costs to go to their snooty school here.” She sniffed and looked around the docks.

They were busy, with more ships coming into the harbor every minute. Some found berths at the piers—there had to be a hundred of them thrusting out from the quay along the waterfront—while others set anchor in the large harbor protected by a jetty to the east and cliffs to the west. Nurian freighters made from wood and sail floated alongside Turgonian ironclads and other vessels flying flags Yanko only recognized from books on world history.

“The other girl’s not coming?” Dak asked.

Arayevo remained on the ship, talking to the captain.

“Not now,” Yanko said, hoping he didn’t mean, “Not ever.”

“This way then.” Dak headed east, along the quay, watching the people they passed.

About half of them had the pale skin and blond, brown, or red hair of the Kyattese, but the other half represented other nationalities, with clothing styles that ranged from robes to saris to military uniforms to trousers and tunics. The natives seemed to prefer saris, blouses, and knee-length trousers along with lightweight shoes or sandals.

“Police,” Dak said over his shoulder, tilting his chin toward a squad of men and women jogging down the quay. Wearing sandals, shorts, and yellow, button-down shirts, they did not have the intimidating mien of a martial unit, but they did carry cudgels and crossbows, except for one who wore a couple of glowing pins on his collar. Mage? Or practitioner, as they called them here?

“They won’t be a problem, I trust?” Yanko waved at the eclectic mix of travelers walking up and down the quay.

“Shouldn’t be.” Dak looked over his shoulder. “Assuming you don’t have any prison breaks in mind for this portion of your trip.”

The police happened to be walking by at that moment, and Yanko flushed. “No, just research.”

Though the police didn’t slow down, they gave his group curious looks, with one turning to walk backward for a moment as he contemplated Dak.

“You didn’t do anything notorious when you were here before, did you?” Yanko asked after they had passed out of earshot. “That one thought the back of your head was rather interesting.”

“I doubt they walk past many Turgonians speaking Nurian on their docks.”

“Ah.” That made sense. “Do you know of anyplace inexpensive where we can find lodgings?” Preferably in an area where wizards and assassins would struggle to find them...

“I usually stay at the Turgonian Embassy for free.”

“Would it be free for us?” Lakeo sounded serious.

Yanko gaped at her.

“It would depend on how large of an interrogation room you’d want to be placed in.” Dak’s eye glinted as he glanced back at them.

“Uh,” Yanko said. “I’d prefer to stay on the other side of town from the Turgonian Embassy.” None of the foreigners they were passing were picking fights with each other, perhaps a result of those frequent police patrols, but he had caught some glares between nationalities, and the sailors on a Turgonian freighter were shaking their fists and exchanging curses with the crew on a Nurian merchant vessel.

At the end of the quay, Dak turned onto a street, but he paused to look at the side of a large, whitewashed stone building. A police station? The entire side wall was papered with pictures of heads. Wanted posters, Yanko realized, looking closer. The tingle of magic came from the wall—probably some safeguard to ensure nobody took down or altered the posters.

Dak tapped an empty spot and said something in Turgonian.

“Pardon?” Yanko asked, perusing the extensive offering. He supposed the Kyattese, being known for peacefulness and neutrality, probably wanted to stop notorious criminals from strolling onto their island. A number of pirates were among the offerings. He skimmed the rows, half hoping to find Captain Minark on there, if only to show Arayevo what kind of man she had taken up with.

“They finally took one down that they were supposed to take down last year. A Turgonian assassin who’s working for the government now. The president would prefer he not be shot on sight.”

Yanko barely heard him. He had found the picture of his mother. If not for the name Captain Snake Heart Pey Lu typed in distinct print in three languages, he might not have recognized her from the image—that twenty-year-old painting in his father’s cabinet was the only picture he had seen of her. Her black hair was short now, almost as wild as Lakeo’s, and whoever the artist had been had drawn her with a heavy hand, an angry hand. Her mouth was pinched in a frown, her eyebrows were pulled together, and a large tattoo marked her neck. Some sort of lizard or dragon? She appeared perpetually irritated and older than Yanko would have expected. He saw little of the beauty that must have once drawn his father to her, but her dark eyes held the same determination they had in the picture.

“Is that your
mother
? She’s
fierce
.” Lakeo touched the tattoo and fingered a number of small notes that had been pinned to the corner. “What are these? Amendments?”

Yanko tore his gaze from the picture to focus on the papers. They were only written in Kyattese, so he couldn’t guess. “Dak? If you’re done checking on your infamous countrymen, could you translate something for me, please?”

Dak had been squinting at a picture at the far end, and looked ready to continue up the busy street, but he returned. “They’re updates on that pirate. Recent sightings in the area.”

“In the area?” Yanko gaped and pointed at the cobblestones under his feet. “
This
area? She’s supposed to be two thousand miles to the south. Tormenting spice traders around the Mesuna Keys, that’s what Uncle Mishnal said.” Not that she couldn’t have moved in the months since Yanko had received that information, information that may have been months or years out of date by the time his uncle received it. He shoved at his hair with his fingers, nearly knocking his topknot from its binding. Had he been claiming that the gods were guiding him? Helping put together a team that could succeed at this quest? If that was true, why would they send his
mother
up here? The woman who had singlehandedly taken the White Fox clan from a position of honor to one of disgrace?