Warrior Mage (Book 1) (8 page)

“Put them back.”

Her indifferent shrug turned into a scowl. “You’re not in charge here, Yanko. We’re just two people traveling the same way. You don’t have any right to tell me what to do.”

Yanko stepped away from the building. “That’s Shen Pon’s shed and his canteens. He’s a baker, lost a leg in the war, and his only son is a shepherd. He’s probably poorer than you. Put them back, and I’ll get you something from our house.” Granted, Yanko hadn’t reached his own family’s homestead yet, but he trusted that whatever the raiders had come for, it wasn’t canteens.

For a long moment, Lakeo stared mulishly at him, but she finally shrugged again and tossed the canteens back into the smoldering building. Half of the roof had burned off, and soot stained two of the inside walls. If Shen Pon came back, canteens were probably the last thing he would worry about. Still, the idea of stealing from his people—from any people—made Yanko grimace.

“Got any beds in your house?” Lakeo asked as they walked along the lake, the worn cobblestone road in good shape despite the destruction to the rest of the village.

“Many.”

“Think we can rest there tonight? That it would be wise? I’m exhausted. They wouldn’t come back to raid the same village twice, would they?”

“I don’t know.”

Yanko did not know what they would find. It was wishful to think that the raiders hadn’t reached his homestead, but the property was fenced, so maybe the rest of the village had run there to hide—to put up a stand. Granted, the split-log railing that encompassed most of the area would not keep out determined warriors and definitely would not stop a wizard. Even the deer leaped over it easily in their constant quest to terrorize his grandmother’s garden.

Thinking of those deer and his family brought memories of his childhood to mind. He tried to swallow around the lump that had formed in his throat again—or maybe it had never completely disappeared.

“Look, Yanko,” Lakeo said. “I’m sorry you lost your uncle. And that this happened. I know it’s hard.”

“Thanks,” he mumbled. He sensed that saying that had been hard for her, though he didn’t know why. She could make sarcastic comments easily enough.

“I lost my mother too. A few years ago. Been on my own since I was fourteen. It’s not easy being alone.”

“Yeah.”

They passed through the wooden gates, and the grassy foothills that marked the beginning of the homestead came into view. The property wasn’t impressive by the standards of many of the honored families—he had been told that his grandparents had once owned several homes in the Golden City that princes would have been pleased to stay in—but it was sprawling, with plenty of space for children to roam. The centuries-old main house had room for multiple generations, and barns and yurts dotted the property, along with a couple of greenhouses that supplied much of the produce for those who lived in the valley, especially tropical fruits that couldn’t survive the mountain frosts. Yanko did not see any signs of destruction, no singed walls or smoke wafting from the roofs, but as with the village, an emptiness hung about the place. Though his headache hadn’t abated, he cast out with his mind, searching for his kin or even his hounds. Everyone was gone. A wind blew off the mountains, bumping two upturned canoes together on the beach, the sound eerie in the stillness of the valley.

“Looks like a nice place to grow up,” Lakeo said.

“It was. There should have been more kids running around, aside from my brother and me, but, well, you’ve heard the story about my mother. We did have some younger cousins who were around. That made it seem busier. Fuller.” Unlike how it felt now. Yanko peeked into the vehicle stable. The big lizards, a special breed that had been magically adapted over the centuries to deal with the cold of the mountains, were gone, but the wagons and the two carriages remained. Even from the doorway, he could feel the power from the Made devices that powered them. “Strange. Everyone left, but they didn’t take the carriages.”

“Those look like they would only be good on the roads,” Lakeo said.

“They are. The wheels aren’t suited for rough terrain. Are you opposed to taking the road down to the coast?”

“Didn’t you say some of those invaders were traipsing through the mountain pass? Along the main road?”

“Yes, but...” Yanko chewed on the inside of his cheek. “How many of those bands of marauders could there be? My uncle and I
just
crossed the pass on the road out to the mines a couple of days ago. I didn’t hear
anything
in town about trouble coming. But my uncle’s dying words... He seemed to think this was inevitable. And I remember Prince Zirabo mentioning something about it, too, back when he came to the mines.” He pushed his hand through his hair, half knocking out his topknot but not caring. “Why didn’t any of them tell me more? Did they think I was too young? That I wouldn’t care? Or couldn’t be trusted?”

“Maybe they thought you were getting everything you needed from those newspapers you were reading.” Lakeo pointed to the porch. “So, there’s a bed in there I can use?”

Yanko waved her toward the door. “There’s not a lock. Go ahead.”

He should think of bed, too, but it would not be dark for another hour or two. Even if they hadn’t slept last night, he couldn’t imagine relaxing now, not when he hadn’t solved the mystery of his people’s disappearance. Had they all run up into the hills to hide from the invaders? It was hard to imagine his father cowering behind a rock, even if a wizard was involved, but Yanko would feel better knowing everyone was safe in the forest somewhere.

In the brush near the main gate, birds squawked and flew up. The creaking of something—a wobbly wheel?—drifted on the breeze. Yanko flexed his hand around the hilt of the sword he had been carrying all night and day. He stood with his back to the porch that led into the house—Lakeo had already disappeared inside. Maybe he should find some shadows to hide in.

Before he had taken more than a step toward the woodpile at the side of the house, an army carriage wobbled into view, one of its wood and rubber tires half-busted, the cannon that should have been mounted on the roof torn off. Despite the sturdy construction and reinforced leather armoring the thick walls, no less than a dozen arrows stuck out of the sides. There wasn’t a driver sitting on the exterior seat, and whoever was peering at the road through the horizontal slit of a window in the front didn’t seem to be doing so soberly. The vehicle kept veering into the tall grass and ruts beside the cobblestones.

Yanko did not know if he should be running forward to help or continuing to his hiding spot. He stretched out with his senses, endured another white flash of light that had him gripping the corner of the house for support, then gasped because he recognized the aura of the wagon’s sole occupant.

“Falcon?” he whispered, a mixture of confusion and disbelief rushing into him.

It had only been a few months since he had seen his brother, when Falcon had been home on leave. He had returned to the frozen outpost where he was stationed shortly after. That was more than a thousand miles to the north—and ten thousand feet higher in elevation. He couldn’t have received leave again so quickly, and regardless, he wouldn’t have been given an army vehicle to come home in.

Yanko rushed forward, but had to leap out of the way as the wobbly carriage nearly ran over him.

“Falcon,” he cried. “What’s wrong?” Aside from the arrows sticking out of the craft...

As it finally slowed to a stop, Yanko squinted at the end of the lake, wondering how far behind those archers, and whatever trouble his brother had escaped, were.

“Yanko?” came a wan call from inside.

It was only then, with his brother closer now, that Yanko sensed not only his presence, but his pain. He rushed to the heavy door on the side and tugged on the latch, but it was locked.

“Falcon? Let me in. Were you shot?” Not waiting for an answer, he pulled himself onto the roof to try the hatch that gave soldiers inside access to the cannon. It was locked too. He was on the verge of trying to conjure up some magical method of picking locks when the lower door thunked open.

Falcon spilled out onto the street with a groan.

Yanko hopped down, landing beside him, touching his chest lightly. The nub of an arrow, the shaft broken off, protruded from his brother’s thigh, and a huge slash had torn open the shoulder of his army uniform—along with an inch-deep canyon in the flesh beneath.

“What happened? Do you...?” Worry constricted Yanko’s throat again, making it hard to finish. If Falcon was mortally wounded the way Uncle Mishnal had been... Curse the coyote god, Yanko couldn’t lose someone else he loved. Not his brother.

“Need a healer?” Falcon asked. “Love one, thanks.”

Yanko found the flippancy encouraging. Dying men weren’t flippant, right?

“Everyone’s missing,” Yanko said. “I’m sorry. We just got here and don’t know what happened.”

“Missing?” Falcon’s eyes grew haunted as well as pained. “Am I too late?” He touched a small messenger satchel strapped across his chest.

“If you have a letter for Father, yes. I don’t know where anyone is.” Yanko raised his voice and called, “Lakeo? I need your help.” He could carry his brother inside, but probably not without hurting him further. It would be easier to keep from bumping his wounds with two people.

When he started to stand up, Falcon grabbed his arm. “Yanko? The message is for you.”

“Me? Who would send me a message?”

“That’s what I asked.” Falcon managed a quirky grin, even though he was breathing deeply, grabbing his leg and struggling for composure. Someone had bandaged it around the arrow, not risking pulling it out in the carriage. Or maybe Falcon had made the clumsy bandage himself. “I wasn’t told. I was pulled from my unit, given a carriage, and told to deliver it to you.” With a shaking hand, he reached for the satchel, fumbling with the clasp.

“Let me. You’ve lost a lot of blood, haven’t you?” Yanko could see some of it staining the floor of the carriage. He glimpsed someone’s arm, as well, an unmoving arm, also coated in blood. “And a driver,” he guessed.

“Yeah.” Falcon moved his hand and let Yanko unfasten the clasps. “If I can’t have a healer, I could at least use a drink from Father’s forbidden cabinet. I’m old enough for it now, don’t you think?”

Footsteps clomped on the wooden stairs of the porch.

“He’s a mess,” Lakeo said. “Do you know who he is?”

“My brother.” Yanko pulled an envelope out of his brother’s pouch, then waved for Lakeo to come help carry him inside. When he spotted the deep purple wax seal on the paper, he itched to open it, but he had to take care of Falcon first. “You saw the royal seal?” he couldn’t help but ask as Lakeo came around to Falcon’s legs. Yanko slid his hands under his brother’s armpits.

Falcon hissed when they lifted him. His face and arms were scratched and cut, in addition to the more major wounds. They appeared fresh, like he had been attacked earlier that day. Yanko glanced again toward the road leading to the lake, afraid pursuit might not be far behind.

“I saw it,” Falcon said between gritted teeth as Yanko and Lakeo maneuvered him up the steps and through the front door. “Was real tempted to open it.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t.”

“Been on the road for a week. That’s a long time to itch with curiosity.”

They took Falcon into the closest bedroom, one usually reserved for guests. He didn’t object.

“Figured I’d be struck down by lightning if I opened it,” Falcon said. “Or mauled by bandits.”

“Is that who attacked you?” Yanko doubted it, but he wanted Falcon’s account of it.

“If they were bandits, they were extremely prepared bandits. They had a lot of archers wielding big army longbows, and they had a wizard, as well. I was lucky to escape. They couldn’t have anticipated me—I don’t see how—but it was like they were lying in wait. I was coming through Bent Badger Canyon on my way up the mountains, and they leaped out. Got Sergeant Huko. Almost got me too.”

“Who did you annoy, Falcon?” After they settled him on the bed, Yanko turned on lamps. That arrow had to come out of his brother’s leg, and the shoulder should be stitched up, but he didn’t know how to do either. Grandmother had a few healing artifacts in her room that might deal with the gash, but the arrow?

“I’m just a soldier. You’re the one the note was addressed to.”

“Lakeo, can you get some water and some food for him? For all of us? I’m going to root through Grandmother’s closet for healing... things.”

“Healing things,” Lakeo said. “Going to find people who know how to use them too?”

“I wish.” Yanko knew of numerous people who lived in cabins in the mountains, but none of them that he could reach before nightfall. The sun was dropping below the ridge, and long shadows stretched across the grassy foothills outside.

“Just find me a first-aid kit, and I’ll cut out the arrow,” Falcon said. “Then bring some of Grandmother’s salves.”

“You’ll cut out the arrow?” Lakeo sounded impressed.

“I’ve had basic medic’s training.”

Yanko retrieved the requested items, though he wanted to tear into that envelope. It had to be from Prince Zirabo. Only the royal family was allowed to dress in dark purple or use the color in any manner, and Zirabo was the only one who knew Yanko existed. Maybe he had sent information about the craziness going on. Maybe it was a warning, one that had arrived too late.

“Here’s Grandmother’s surgical kit, that stinky mushroom goo she always put on us as kids, and her satchel full of other herbs. I’ll let you determine what’s useful, what’s hallucinogenic, and what’s a snack she was saving for a dreary day.”

“Wouldn’t mind a hallucinogen right now,” Falcon said, opening the kit. “Or something to knock me out completely, but...” He shook his head and didn’t finish the sentence.

Yanko could guess at his concern. “Do you think the people who attacked you followed you?”

“I think they knew where I was going. And if they didn’t, they could find out. It’s not like our family isn’t known around here.” Falcon removed the bandage around the arrow, pulled out a bottle that stank of alcohol, and swabbed the liquid around his wound.