“Popular tourist destinations, yes.”
“The army doesn’t send us to tour the empire very often.”
“I don’t think Cofahre encourages Iskandians to visit their lands, regardless. But followers of the Soldier God often pilgrimage to that lake, and the Blood Fields are popular with painters.” Rysha waved at the signature in the corner, though she wasn’t familiar with the artist.
“It hurts my brain to think about bloodthirsty, conquering nations having painters.” Trip pointed to another wall with much smaller sketches on them. “I think those lend further credence to the idea that she’s Cofah.”
Rysha adjusted her spectacles and stepped closer to that wall. The lantern light didn’t brighten it as much, and it took her a moment to realize she was looking at wanted posters rather than artwork. They all featured the same woman, a dark-haired beauty in her twenties. Grekka Amonosheir was the name printed under the face on all of them. Was this the Silver Shark? Decades ago?
“I’m amused that they’re framed,” Trip said from the desk. “Grekka, huh?”
He’d either read them as he first came in, or his magic was enhancing his eyesight.
“If you did something dastardly enough to earn Emperor Salatak’s wrath, wouldn’t you frame the evidence and display it in your office?” Rysha pointed to the issuer’s signature in the corner of the warrants. It had been Salatak himself rather than some lesser official in Cofahre.
“Pilots don’t get offices. I suppose I could fit one in my cockpit.” Trip opened a ledger on the desk, but paused before reading it, his head tilting toward the door.
Worried they would have to leave—or hide—soon, Rysha moved to his side to read the writing and skim the tidy columns of numbers.
“Grekka and her comrades have arrived on the barge,” Trip said. “They’re talking on the deck and getting a report from one of the guards. Jaxi is camouflaging us and will let us know when they come inside the warehouse, but I doubt we have much time.”
“This is Cofah writing.” Rysha pointed. “Our words, essentially, but the Cofah haven’t lost their diacritical marks yet, the way we have.”
He cocked an eyebrow.
She hurried to read the words instead of commenting on the language. Trip could have read them himself—aside from the diacritics, the Cofah and Iskandian alphabets were the same—but he wore an abstracted expression that meant he was using his senses.
“She delivered Dakrovian rum and Cofah wine to five inns and taprooms in the city today. Nails and ingots to a carpenter. Silk to a seamstress. And she’s set to pick up cactus flower honey and ceramic roof tiles from the locals tomorrow.”
“She sounds truly nefarious.” Trip poked into drawers. “Where do we find her records of paying local mages to assassinate visiting relatives of the throne?”
“I don’t know what the average person files such things under.” Rysha delved into another set of drawers, quickly skimming the labels on the hanging dividers inside. “Here’s a folder on the animals with a bunch of receipts in it. Nothing indicates where they originally came from, but some she rents to performers. Others go out by the hour for tracking purposes. That sounds somewhat nefarious.”
“Maybe, but there weren’t any claw marks on Dreyak’s body, so I don’t think the winged lion got him.” Trip kept glancing at the door, even though they had closed it.
“Here’s something about payments to the enforcers.” Rysha flipped through pages in a folder, pulling out a few. “Ah, and a receipt for a sword that she paid them for. Five thousand vreks.”
“A chapaharii sword?”
“It doesn’t say, but this was only three days ago. It’s hard to imagine any other swords going for that much money.”
“Agreed. Grekka and the others have moved inside. They’re discussing something at the table where the guards were gaming earlier, but I’m sure they won’t stay there for long.”
Rysha wondered how good Jaxi’s camouflage was. Would someone with dragon blood walk right past them? What if she was in the room with them? It was late enough that the woman might go straight to bed, but the lit lanterns and fire in the stove suggested Grekka would head to the office first.
“We’re either going to have to find a hiding spot soon, or confront them.” Trip sounded nervous at the prospect.
Out on the beach, he’d suggested he could handle Grekka, but that had been before he knew she had dragon blood and mage training. Rysha assumed he was more powerful than she was, even if she was a sorceress, but also understood that he’d barely begun to learn to use his power.
Trip closed the drawers, looking like he meant to leave, but Rysha had pulled out more interesting papers from the file.
“Wait,” she said. “These are receipts from the enforcer paymaster. She’s paid to have people arrested—a fellow businessman, Aragatun Po, was detained three times this month, all financed by her. Lots of other people have been arrested too. Or, uh, I think this one for a thousand vreks was an order to kill someone.”
“That’s how business is done here, right? Is there anything about Dreyak? Obviously, that would have been a recent one.”
“I know, and I’m looking, but nothing so far. There’s not even anything that might refer to him, like a description rather than a name. She’s very specific. All her targets are named.”
“No copies of rewards put out for stasis chambers, either, I suppose.”
“Not that I’ve found.”
“Thanks for looking. Put the papers back.” Trip pointed to the drawer. “We need to go.”
Rysha slid the folder back into place and hurried around the desk, clunking Dorfindral’s scabbard on the edge. She winced at the noise and hoped the woman wasn’t right outside.
Trip eased the door open and stepped out on the landing, lowering into a crouch. The warehouse was a lot brighter now, with men with lanterns standing in the central aisle at the far end. Rysha, slipping out after Trip, recognized them as the two bodyguards from the docks.
She didn’t see the original two guards, but the other four people from the docks also stood in view, their hoods lowered. Three were men, all with the bronze skin and dark hair of the Cofah, though the oldest fellow’s hair was half gray. He was in his late forties or early fifties and also had a graying goatee, impeccably trimmed and shaped. He stood close to the woman, her lush black hair also holding a few gray streaks. Or silver, Rysha supposed, if one wanted to be poetic about it. Grekka, the Silver Shark.
Trip tugged Rysha toward the stairs, but slowly. None of the main four of the group faced the back of the warehouse or this upper level, but one of the bodyguards, his gaze roving about, peered toward the landing.
Trip and Rysha froze. Her hand rested on Dorfindral’s humming hilt, and the blade sent aggressive feelings into her, making her want to rush down the stairs and challenge Grekka to a battle.
But it was basing its desires only on her dragon blood. So far, Rysha didn’t have proof that this woman had ordered the baby kidnapped or had anything to do with Dreyak’s death. Not yet. Grekka clearly had some slimy business practices, but that seemed the norm in this city. Rysha didn’t feel justified in being her judge and executioner. Still, she didn’t know if she and Trip would get out of here without a fight. She mentally told Dorfindral to stand ready.
A thrum of excitement came from the blade. It wasn’t the stand down command it heard so often.
“I just want him dead,” Grekka growled, turning so that her voice was audible from the back of the warehouse.
The bodyguard with the roving gaze must not have seen Rysha and Trip, thanks to the shadows. Or thanks to Jaxi’s magic. His attention turned back to his boss.
“I don’t mind competition, but he takes our rivalry too far,” Grekka added.
Rysha wondered who she was complaining about. The man she’d had arrested three times? Some other business rival?
Trip had reached the stairs and descended a couple of them, but he paused and sank
low to peer through the railing. The thick spindles might hide them if one of the bodyguards glanced back again, but Rysha would have preferred to keep going down, so they could escape out the back of the warehouse if need be.
“He’s rumored to have a shaman working for him now,” the graying man said. “It’s not surprising he’s eluding you.”
“Two shamans,” another man said. “Apparently, they fled Dakrovia after a dragon ate everyone in their village.”
“Not everyone, clearly.”
“Almost everyone. We’re lucky dragons haven’t shown up here yet, despite that idiotic cult praying every day and sacrificing virgins.”
“Gods among men, do they still do that?” Grekka asked. “Heathens. I had one of their leaders killed a couple of years ago.”
“There’s always another one that sprouts up. They believe—oh, it’s insanity what they believe. As if that dead dragon is going to come back to bless them.”
“Actually,” one of the younger men said, “I heard…” He paused, and the others turned curiously toward him. “It’s nothing but rumor, I suppose. I’ve seen nothing to prove there’s any truth to it yet, but I heard that someone showed up claiming to be the son of their dragon. Or maybe it was the dragon himself. What’s his name? Agar-something. I forget. Apparently, he’s telling the cultists to follow him, and he can lead them to great health and prosperity.”
Rysha, crouching on the stairs beside Trip, stared over at him. She was fairly certain he hadn’t tried to take over the dragon cult while they’d been in the outpost. True, she’d barely been conscious for that half hour after the tarantula bit her, but someone would have updated her on that development if it had happened.
He met her gaze, but only shrugged.
The door opened with a bang, and a furtive man scrambled in, clutching a hat to his chest.
“Ah, one of your terrified minions is here, Shark,” one of the younger men said. “We’ll leave so he can attend to you.”
The woman snorted, but didn’t object when the two younger men headed for the door, stepping around the newcomer, who looked down instead of meeting their eyes.
“Bhodian,” one called back, looking at the man standing beside the woman. “Will you be at the palace later?”
“Of course.”
“I’ve a business proposition for you. A private one.”
“I’m always amenable to hearing business propositions.”
Rysha shifted her weight and wished Trip could use his magic to direct the conversation back to this supposed dragon son that had shown up. Was that out at the outpost? Or here in the city somewhere? And how did it tie in with Trip? What other sons could there be that were old enough to make such claims?
“What is it, Delix?” Grekka asked the man now studying her feet—elegant leather loafers with tassels, specifically. “I’m assuming from your posture that your cousins failed to get the swords.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the man spoke, his voice so soft Rysha barely heard it. “And I lost Trelix and Selix and several of their friends.”
“Lost?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Didn’t you say a couple of women carried the swords?”
Rysha’s interest sharpened. He wasn’t talking about…
“Yes, ma’am. They fought well.” The man winced and bobbed his head. “Very well.”
“Did the man that was seen with them, the one rumored to be a mage, return in time to help?”
Rysha met Trip’s eyes again. This could only be about their group.
“No, ma’am. It was only the women. They fought very well.”
“Or your cousins fought poorly.”
“I think they were Iskandian soldiers, ma’am. Iskandians let their women go into combat.”
“So I’ve heard, but that doesn’t explain your cousins’ failure.” Her voice softened, and Rysha missed a few words. “…your failure.”
“No, ma’am, but one of my spies was watching and saw something, something that will interest you. One of our rivals snuck in and got one, but there were others. Many others.”
The gray-haired man, Bhodian, smiled and clenched his fist. He was behind Grekka, and she didn’t seem to notice.
“Other whats?” she asked, her focus on Delix.
“Strange artifacts that looked like… she wasn’t sure what,” the man said. “But she knew they were magical and valuable. Selling them could gain you much more than selling those swords.”
Bhodian nodded, still smiling.
“I doubt that,” Grekka murmured. “Run along, Delix. I’m not paying you for failure. Get me those swords, and we’ll talk again. If you find this powerful magical artifact that was taken, or any of the others, I’ll consider making an offer on it, but I’m not interested in trinkets.”
Grekka looked back at Bhodian, and he wiped the smile off his face and clasped his hands behind his back. He assumed a bored expression and shrugged a shoulder at her.
“Yes, ma’am,” Delix said.
As the man scurried out, still clutching his cap to his chest, one of the bodyguards moved to stand next to the other one. He tilted his head toward the stairs, toward Trip and Rysha. Uh-oh. Had they been spotted? Trip had mentioned magical camouflage, but belatedly, she realized that wouldn’t work on her, for the same reason he hadn’t been able to float her across the harbor to the barge.
“What’s the matter, Grekka?” Bhodian asked while the two guards conferred too quietly for Rysha to hear. “You’re no longer able to afford to run your business if you don’t collect more swords that loathe you?”
Maybe it was her imagination, but Rysha had a feeling he was trying to turn Grekka’s attention away from the artifacts her man had reported on. The stasis chambers. Why? Because he was the one who’d ordered them stolen in the first place? If so, what was his connection with the Brotherhood of the Dragon, if anything?
“They’d loathe you, too, if they understood the world,” Grekka said dryly.
“Such an unfriendly thing to say to the sexy man who keeps your toes warm at night. I have a team that can go out and find a sword or two for you if you need. Weapons unclaimed and buried in ancient ruins rather than in collections that require theft or murder to acquire.”
“Doesn’t sound nearly as exciting,” Grekka said, though she sounded distracted. She was looking toward the front door.
Trip? Rysha asked silently. She was tempted to ask it aloud since he hadn’t stirred in a couple of minutes. What was he doing?
Yes?
Is there something going on outside? And do those bodyguards know we’re here?
Sorry, I’ve been trying to figure out the man. I can’t read his thoughts either. Uhm, outside, it’s quiet, with two men leaving in the boat they all came over in. Apparently, these two—Grekka and Bhodian—are staying here or on the barge next door. I think the palace belongs to the man, which is why I’ve been trying to read him, but I can’t. He’s even harder to read than the woman. If I didn’t see him with my eyes, I’m not sure I would be able to tell he’s there. I believe he’s carrying some artifact that blocks me, but I don’t sense it either. It’s almost as if… He looked toward the chapaharii blade on her hip.
Maybe we should get out of here before we’re discovered. Rysha glanced at the bodyguards, half expecting to see them striding toward the stairs. Oddly, they stood next to the woman and the man, also looking toward the front door.
Uh oh. Trip gripped the railing, as if he meant to stand and march down there, or maybe leap over it and to the floor. I can’t read the leaders, but I can read the bodyguards. The woman just told them there are intruders here and to let the animals out to deal with it.
Abruptly, Grekka and Bhodian strode toward the front door. The bodyguards turned and sprinted toward the back of the warehouse.
Trip vaulted over the railing, tearing Azarwrath and Jaxi free as he dropped.
Rysha yanked Dorfindral from its sheath and raced down the stairs. One of the
bodyguards ran to engage with Trip as the second man sprinted into the animal area. Grekka and Bhodian disappeared out the front door.
As Rysha charged toward the closest guard, he pointed a pistol at Trip and fired.
Jaxi incinerated the bullet in the air. Instead of attacking the shooter, Trip pointed Azarwrath toward the doorway leading to the animal area. Dorfindral buzzed angrily in Rysha’s hand, making her certain the soulblade had hurled some magical power.
A thud and a pained cry came from the bodyguard in the back.
The one aiming a pistol at Trip fired three more times. Once again, Jaxi incinerated the bullets in midair, little orange bursts of light appearing between the two men.
Rysha was tempted to launch herself at the shooter, to keep him from firing again, but Trip had it handled. If she could get Bhodian, she could question him about the stasis chamber. She was positive he knew something.
Trip twitched Jaxi, and some blast of air must have struck the bodyguard, because his pistol flew from his hand. It bounced off a huge glass bottle on a shelf, then disappeared into the shadows. Trip glared into the animal area, and the bodyguard that had run in there was dragged out on his back by the scruff of his collar, some force Rysha couldn’t see pulling him.
Trusting Trip had the two bodyguards under control, Rysha ran down the center aisle toward the front door. Though she feared she was picking the more dangerous fight by chasing a sorceress—and a man with a device or power to keep Trip from sensing him—she had the weapon to handle it.
Rysha sprang into the night with Dorfindral at the ready only to find the deck abandoned. A couple of people moved about on the lit docks across the harbor, but nobody remained outside on the warehouse barge.
She peeked around one corner. Their rowboat floated, still attached to the back end of the vessel, the silvery moonlight reflecting in the water around it. Good. They could get away if they needed to.
She peeked around the other corner, not expecting to find anyone on that walkway, either. But she was in time to see Grekka jump onto the railing and spring toward the palace barge.
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