Great Chief

by Lindsay Buroker

  Silence fell after he finished, only the snaps and cracks of a nearby fire reaching his ears. Did that mean they’d at least listened to him?

  Several people shouted. At first, he thought it an objection, a suggestion that he stuff his grandiose plans up his butt, but then the shouts broke into cheers.

  Yanko closed his eyes and leaned his head against the side of the window. He hoped that meant they agreed with him and were done looting.

  I see you’ve picked up a few tricks, Pey Lu spoke into his mind, sounding pleased. I told you that you’d be good at mind manipulation.

  Yes, he said simply and did his best not to let her sense that he wanted to throw up.

  The moonlight gleamed on the ocean as Yanko leaned against the column in the Tortoise God’s shrine, looking at the water as he’d done from the same spot weeks ago. This time, he wasn’t seeking guidance, though maybe he should have been. Mostly, he wondered if he’d done the right thing. The last count he’d heard, delivered by Dak, over a hundred Swift Wolves men and women had been killed, a hundred had been captured and were tied up and under guard, and dozens of innocent people had been killed and injured, either because they’d gotten in the way or simply because the pirates hadn’t stopped to ask whose side they were on.

  Yanko had thrown up twice after delivering his speech from the bell tower. He’d managed to do it in private, though he thought Jhali might have been close enough to hear him once. At least the pirates didn’t know what a soft stomach their supposed war leader had.

  What would Zirabo think when he arrived?

  Yanko had reclaimed the city, but at what cost? The Swift Wolves fighters had chosen their battle, but what of those his unskilled and untrained army had killed by accident? Or not even by accident? He’d enabled murderers today, and he knew it.

  Barks drifted to his ears from the tall grass behind the beach, and he snorted, recognizing the auras of the abandoned dogs he’d fed weeks earlier. He was glad that some of them were still alive. They must have recognized his scent because a few had hopeful perks to their ears.

  He hadn’t used so much of his magic earlier in the day that he couldn’t muster more now, so he mentally hunted for fish in the surf. His physical stamina was still poor—he was impressed that Dak’s weakened constitution hadn’t affected him in any of the battles—but he could draw upon magic even if his body wasn’t at its peak.

  As fish flew over the beach and toward the dogs, all of whom barked excitedly when they realized what was happening, Yanko sensed someone walking up the beach. Jhali.

  Earlier, he’d intentionally slipped away without telling her that he was leaving, because he had felt the need to be alone and because he hadn’t believed he needed a bodyguard. Not now. His pirate troops had the city, and he doubted word could have traveled to wherever the Swift Wolves were headquartered yet, so they shouldn’t need to expect retaliation for a while. Yanko hoped Zirabo would return soon with some of the moksu so they could place more trustworthy troops in charge of the city.

  “I thought I might get to see you hurling fish at dogs again if I came out here,” Jhali said as she approached, picking his form out of the shadows.

  “To the dogs, not at them,” Yanko said, though he was still debating if he wanted to talk or brood in silence.

  Even if he didn’t want to talk, did he have the heart to send her away when she’d walked this far looking for him? No.

  Jhali stepped into the shadows of his pillar, slipped her arms around his waist, and leaned into him for a hug. He wrapped his arms around her, his brain for some reason bringing up the memory of the near hysterical woman Ayta who’d sobbed into his shoulder. He couldn’t imagine Jhali ever doing that, no matter how dreadful a time she’d had.

  She didn’t speak, merely resting her chest against his, and it slowly dawned on him that she hadn’t come out here to talk. Maybe she knew that wasn’t what he wanted. He laid his face against the side of her head, enjoying the feel of her soft hair against his cheek. And appreciating that she didn’t seem inclined to judge him. A part of him felt he should be judged, but Zirabo could do that when he arrived. Or Dak could do it later, if he was so inclined. Yanko wasn’t sure he would be. Dak never seemed to mind killing Nurians.

  Remembering that he’d promised Jhali a couple of head rubs and had never delivered on that, he lifted a hand to her hair. He slid his fingers through it and found her scalp. His experience rubbing women’s heads was limited, but he’d appreciated it when she’d massaged his scalp, so he hoped the same kneading would make her feel good. He was rewarded by her melting into him.

  “I know I can’t have you, Yanko,” she whispered after a time, “but I want you.”

  A titillating warmth rushed through his body. No woman had ever said she wanted him.

  “Why can’t you have me?” he asked in bewilderment.

  She leaned back enough to look into his eyes and offer a lopsided smile. “Even if you weren’t moksu, it’s clear your path will make you a man of great importance. I’m common-born and don’t know how to do anything but fight and kill people.” Her smile turned to a grimace. “And I don’t even mind that much. It suits me. You need someone smart and educated, and your family, if not the world, will insist on someone with the appropriate bloodlines.”

  Yanko still felt bewildered. “It’s true I hope that if Zirabo’s people come out on top, I might be made governor or at least head gardener over the Nurian portion of the new continent, but that’s going to be a wild frontier for a long time. I can’t imagine anyone caring about bloodlines. My father might not approve, but he doesn’t approve of anything I do, so it would be a typical day. And maybe I should point out that right now, I’m a criminal, and if Zirabo doesn’t come out on top, we could both be running from the law together. Especially after I show up back in the Great Land with not one but two fleets of pirates in my wake.”

  She patted his chest. “I have faith that you’ll be able to find a more desirable end than that. I’ve watched you talk to people, use your magic to make your words more agreeable than they should be. Normally, I would hate that, since it’s part of what I hate about mages, but with you, once you have everyone agreeing that you’re delightful, you’ll probably sit down to tell them about your pumpkins.”

  Yanko laughed briefly, though he was still concerned. It sounded like she was pushing him away. He couldn’t let that happen. Not when he’d finally found a woman who wanted him.

  “I don’t have any pumpkins right now. Nor will I likely have any for a while in the new land. Once I figure out a solution for the salt problem, the first thing to do will be to plant tons of cover crops to improve the soil. Red clover, field peas, oh and comfrey. Definitely comfrey. Comfrey accumulates a lot of nutrients and spreads and creates an abundance of organic matter. My grandmother used to say that comfrey leaves were so fertile they’re as good as manure for the garden.”

  Jhali gazed at him without comment.

  “Uhm, possibly I shouldn’t have brought up manure while hugging a woman on a moonlit beach.”

  “Actually, it was the perfect thing to assuage my concerns about you manipulating people’s minds.” She smiled, then leaned in close and kissed him.

  He had no idea how manure-speak had won him a kiss, but he was delighted and returned it with great enthusiasm. Before he lost himself in the moment, he swept his senses along the beach to make sure neither enemies nor well-intentioned friends were around to interrupt. They weren’t. Perfect. A few of the dogs were nosing around in the grass, but he doubted they would bother them.

  Jhali? Yanko asked softly into Jhali’s mind, afraid she would remember her certainty that they couldn’t be together.

  Her lips paused in their exploration of his, and he worried she would object to the telepathic touch, especially after they’d been discussing mind manipulation. But telepathy was so much better than talking. Mostly because it could be done at the same time as kissing.

  Yes?

&
nbsp; In case it isn’t obvious, I want to say that if you want me, you can have me. Lots. Yanko had a feeling Falcon would have told him he should pretend to be aloof and unattainable to increase his desirability, but in his case, that would probably fail. He had no knack for games. He might as well admit to exactly what was on his mind. Also, in case this also isn’t obvious, I want you too.

  Yes, I can tell that.

  Oh, uhm, right. He blushed, wondering if she had figured out yet that he’d never had a romantic partner. Would she find that less charming than talk of gardens? Should he… warn her? She was older than he was. Who knew what kind of, er, competence and experience she expected from her partners.

  Jhali slid her hand around the back of his neck and pushed her fingers into his hair, then deepened their kiss. He wasn’t sure how it was possible, but he started to believe he’d said the right thing. Maybe he would keep further thoughts to himself and enjoy the soft warmth of her lips, the curve of her breasts pressed into his chest, the delightful sensation of her nails grazing his scalp.

  He pulled her tighter, wanting so much to—

  Yanko? Prince Zirabo asked into his mind, his telepathic voice sounding far off. Can you hear me?

  “Erkt,” he blurted in surprise—and displeasure—breaking their kiss.

  Jhali frowned at him in puzzlement. What would happen if Yanko didn’t answer? At least not for another hour. Would Zirabo believe they were too far apart and that he hadn’t heard?

  Yanko, I’m approaching the city with our new officers and troops, the prisoners from the islands, and other assorted reinforcements I’ve managed to gather. One of my people just caught up with me and reported that the city was captured last week—and that you just recaptured it. Is that right? Can you come out and meet us on the road? I’d hate to be shot at by friendly fire as we approach. By, ah, friendly pirate fire, as I understand it.

  Yanko took a shaky breath, willing his body to cool down a few degrees. Yes, Honored Prince. I can meet you in an hour—I’m a little ways up the beach now, at the shrine. He didn’t mention Jhali. He would prefer it that Zirabo thought him praying to the gods rather than smooching with a woman in a holy shrine.

  “Sorry,” Yanko said aloud. “Zirabo is contacting me.”

  “Now?” Her hand tightened on his shoulder.

  He allowed himself to feel pleased that she seemed as distressed by the interruption as he, but he wished it simply hadn’t happened. He wanted very much to know where that kiss might have led.

  “Sorry,” he repeated. “I have to go meet him. He’s concerned about my pirates.”

  She snorted. “Who wouldn’t be?”

  It might have been a joke, but it made him remember the looting the pirates had done and all the Wolves and innocent city dwellers who had died that afternoon. Maybe it wasn’t appropriate for him to be out here enjoying himself. And what would Zirabo say when Yanko reported everything? On top of his failures today, he hadn’t claimed the continent for Nuria, as the prince had hoped. He wasn’t even truly sure the plant would keep the Turgonians away for long.

  “Will you come with me?” Yanko shifted his arms so that one wrapped around her shoulders, then nodded up the beach.

  “Do you think you’ll need a bodyguard?”

  “I might,” he said grimly. “I might.”

  16

  Yanko was glad to have Jhali at his side when he walked toward the large tent erected near the highway a mile from the western gate of Yellow Delta. As night deepened, a fog rolled in, and he could hear but not see the river roaring alongside the road. Only a handful of lanterns were visible in the misty haze, but Yanko’s senses told him that thousands of men and women and hundreds of giant lizards and their carts occupied the valley.

  It daunted him. Being invited to what he thought of as the command tent also daunted him. Even though Yanko had done much these last few months, he was still an eighteen-year-old boy. No, a man, he corrected. Surely, he’d earned that label by now.

  Dak and Tynlee walked behind them, neither appearing daunted by their surroundings. Apparently, Zirabo had also reached out to Tynlee and requested her presence. Yanko was less certain that Dak had been requested. Even if he was there to offer his support to Zirabo, he was still a Turgonian, a Turgonian spy who would send reports back to his people.

  When Yanko ducked into the tent, he found a few lanterns illuminating a collapsible desk and camp stools, all occupied. Yanko wasn’t sure why, but he had only expected Zirabo, and perhaps some aide, to be waiting inside.

  Zirabo was there, but so were three generals and an admiral, with gray hair, white hair, or no hair. Yanko had no idea who any of them were and only knew their ranks from the colorful and elaborate patches sewn to their uniforms. He was embarrassed to admit that he wouldn’t even have known those if he hadn’t helped Falcon study for a quiz before he’d gone off to his army training camp.

  Yanko wished his brother was here with him now. Was he in the camp somewhere? He would look later. Maybe he would ask Kei to look. Since it was after dark, the parrot was snoozing back on the yacht.

  The officers stared at his group as they walked in, their faces either stern or disapproving. Yanko wasn’t sure if the disapproval was for him or for Dak. Or even Jhali. One scowled in recognition of her mage-hunter garb.

  Zirabo smiled from behind the desk, but dark bags lurked under his eyes. A bamboo flute case that Yanko hadn’t seen before lay on a stack of papers in front of him, and he sensed magic from the Made instrument inside.

  “Honored Prince and Officers.” Yanko offered a deep bow.

  He wasn’t sure if he should be the one to handle introductions—Tynlee was far more experienced at interacting with such high-ranking individuals—but when nobody else spoke up, he stepped to the side so his comrades could come the rest of the way in. As he opened his mouth to speak further, one of the generals interrupted.

  “What is he doing here?” the officer demanded.

  At first, Yanko thought the objection was to him, the general deeming him too young and from too unimportant a family to be invited to a meeting, but the glowering officer pointed at Dak.

  “Offering the support of Turgonia, I believe,” Zirabo said.

  “We don’t need the empire’s support,” the admiral said stiffly.

  “It’s a republic now, Oleen.” A bald general with squinty eyes and a white mustache smirked at his comrade. “Do keep up.”

  “Nobody here needs a tutor, Dom Joo,” the admiral—Oleen—growled.

  “This is Colonel Dak Starcrest,” Yanko said, not hiding his identity since Zirabo knew it. “This is Consul Tynlee Blue Heron from the Turgonian consulate in Port Morgrant. And lastly, this is Jhali, my…” He groped for an appropriate word that would explain the presence of a mage hunter and that would also convey that he trusted her. To simply call her a bodyguard didn’t seem to convey enough, certainly not kisses in shrines.

  “Bodyguard,” she said firmly and bowed to Zirabo and the officers while keeping her eyes locked on them. It was traditional in Nurian bows, but her gaze seemed more challenging than deferential.

  “Right,” Yanko said, glad to have someone along who wasn’t intimidated by senior officers.

  “It’s good that one of you knows,” the general who’d first objected to Dak said.

  “Don’t tease my mage, please, Kree Nu,” Zirabo said. “We’re going to need him.”

  Yanko did his best not to shrink at the appraising looks that fell upon him. Him and his red robe. Once again, it hadn’t occurred to him to remove it after the battle for the city, and here he stood, in front of the highest-ranking Nurian military commanders he’d ever encountered. He waited for one of them to demand what he was doing wearing it.

  “Yes, I understand he slays soul constructs,” Admiral Oleen said.

  Yanko’s cheeks warmed. He couldn’t tell if that had been a sarcastic comment or simply an observation. It hadn’t, he was positive, been reverence, not like he�
�d gotten from the prisoners. Admittedly, they’d been so pleased to be rescued that they would have been reverent if a rat accidentally bit through the cables to destroy that dome.

  “Just the one so far,” Yanko said. “Dak slew the other one. We would be wise to ask for his advice going forward. The power of Turgonian ingenuity cannot be underestimated.” Yanko stood sideways so he could nod at Dak while still keeping Zirabo and the officers in view.

  “Spoken like someone too young to have fought them in the war,” the dour general—Kree Nu—growled. “Their ingenuity isn’t anything we need to claim the dais.”

  “We, General?” Zirabo asked lightly, but there was a dangerous edge to his voice, one Yanko hadn’t heard before. He was glad to see Zirabo with these men around him, truly ready to march on the capital. Or what remained of it. “Are you going to stand upon it with the new Great Chief?”

  “Behind it, I should think. I have no desire for that position. If I did, I would have done what’s popular these days and started my own faction.” Kree Nu curled his lip and spat on the ground.

  “Good. Yanko, Dak, I will be pleased to hear what Turgonian ingenuity has to suggest.”

  “I have some explosives left.” Dak’s eye glinted.

  “Turg gorilla,” Kree Nu muttered under his breath.

  Dak ignored him. Yanko glared at him, losing some of his ingrained respect for his elder and having the urge to light his uniform on fire from the underwear out.

  Tynlee snorted—or was that a snicker? Yanko scowled, not annoyed with her, but irked that his mind remained an open book for her. He wondered if he would ever become good enough to keep his thoughts from talented mind mages.

  Kree Nu’s gaze shifted from Dak to Yanko, but he didn’t hold their gazes for long. He looked over at the tent wall and crossed his arms over his chest.