Yanko drew a purse out of his robe and laid it on the table. He unbuckled the sword belt with Sun Dragon’s scimitar on it and rested it, still in its scabbard, next to the purse.
Pey Lu’s eyebrows drifted upward, as if she hadn’t truly expected him to pay her. Yanko didn’t know if she would take the scimitar—she’d rejected it before—but if she wanted it, he owed it to her.
Pey Lu tilted her head as she regarded the weapon. She walked around the table toward it.
Yanko knew it had a strong magical signature, more so than many other Made items that he’d encountered, but he hadn’t been able to make it glow, so he was positive he hadn’t seen its full power. Granted, he hadn’t spent a lot of time studying it. All he knew was that it was strong. He’d used it to destroy the artifact that had maintained the dome that kept the prisoners in.
As Pey Lu reached for the sword, Jhali shifted slightly, bending her knees in a ready stance. Yanko lifted his hand and looked at her.
He expected to find belligerence in Jhali’s eyes, a silent promise that she would attack if Pey Lu touched the weapon. But at his glance, she stepped back slightly, as if she’d caught herself. Maybe it had been an automatic reflex rather than a conscious act. It had to be hard for her to stand in the same room with the woman who’d killed her mother. Yanko had struggled to stand in the room with Pey Lu when they’d first met, and he hadn’t known any of her victims personally; he’d only resented her for the dishonor she’d brought to his family.
Pey Lu picked up the scabbard and took several steps back from Jhali before drawing the blade. Yanko saw something he hadn’t been able to make out in the communications orb, a knot of scar tissue on the side of Pey Lu’s neck. Maybe she was as wary of Jhali now as Jhali was of her.
“It’s an old blade,” Pey Lu said, examining the Early Nurian runes engraved on the side, “from the Tan Hoon Dynasty, I think. From the time the Kyattese were first sinking their continent. You should find an archaeologist to tell you more.”
“I don’t have a lot of Kyattese friends, I’m afraid,” Yanko said, surprised when she returned it to its scabbard and pushed it back toward him. She also left the purse. “Unless you count feathered ones.”
“We do have Nurian archaeologists,” Tynlee said.
“That looks like Turgonian steel,” Dak said. “It would almost have to be if it was from that era. Your people were still using bronze back then.”
“Those are our runes on the side,” Pey Lu said.
“Engravings can be added after a blade is forged,” Dak said.
“Are you implying that a Nurian stole it?” Pey Lu’s eyes narrowed.
“I’ll look into it.” Yanko grabbed the weapons belt again, mostly to head off an argument. “If you’re sure you don’t want it?” He raised his eyebrows, holding the blade out in offering.
Pey Lu hesitated, her gaze lingering on the scimitar—it did seem to have intrigued her—but she shook her head. “No. The future Great Chief should have a high-quality blade.”
“The what?” Tynlee asked.
Yanko gripped the table for support. Why had she said something about that dumb conversation?
A smile flirted with Pey Lu’s lips. It was as if she’d wanted to get him in trouble with his friends, friends who would grow suspicious of his motives if they thought he was angling for the dais himself.
“I’ll give it to Zirabo then,” Yanko said, “and he can offer it to… whoever his candidate is. He didn’t say, actually.”
“Good that you’re throwing your support behind someone that wishy-washy,” Pey Lu said.
Yanko shook his head. “Captain, is there a price we can offer you to bring your fleet down to scare the Turgonians away?”
Dak made a noise in his throat. It might have been a growl at the idea that Turgonians might be scared away.
“I’ve named my price,” she said.
Yanko closed his eyes. I’m not going to try to become Great Chief, Mother, he said, switching to telepathy and hoping she wouldn’t imply again that the idea had come up. Even if I aspired to that, which sounds far more like a nightmare than a dream, there’s no way anyone would accept me as a leader of a military unit, much less the nation. You—I—our family is dishonored now, and everybody I’ve encountered knows that.
“As I’ve told you,” she responded out loud, “I’m not supporting a kid with a flute who ran away from his responsibilities.”
“He was twelve,” Yanko said, surprised she knew about it.
“Did you run from your responsibilities when you were twelve? Or ever?”
Yanko knew he hadn’t been the perfect son, that he hadn’t studied fire magic enough to satisfy his father, so all he did was shake his head and spread his hands at the question. The fact that he hadn’t run away didn’t mean anything.
“You couldn’t be any worse than the other twits out there fighting for the position,” she said, then waved her hand. “Go, Yanko. I’m not risking any more of my ships or my people. Not for Zirabo.”
Yanko looked to his comrades, especially Dak and Tynlee. They were the ones with access to other resources, and they were the most experienced in the ways of the world.
It was Lakeo who cleared her throat loudly and elbowed Yanko. Arayevo also jerked her chin toward Pey Lu and gave him a significant look.
By the ferret goddess, did they want to join her now? To leave him?
Dak and Tynlee were exchanging looks with each other and didn’t offer him any wisdom or help.
Sighing, Yanko gestured to Arayevo and Lakeo. “Captain, my friends have wanted to meet you for a while.”
“I believe we met when they helped you steal the journal and destroy my ship,” Pey Lu said, glancing dismissively at them.
“That was an abbreviated meeting,” Yanko said. “Arayevo is an experienced sailor and has worked with a smuggler before. She’s, ah, looking for work that takes her away from Nuria and an arranged marriage.” He added the last, thinking it would make his mother more sympathetic. She’d had to deal with that herself, after all.
“Oh?” Pey Lu did give Arayevo a second glance.
“And Lakeo is seeking someone to teach her to use her talents for magic. She’s strong and a hard worker.”
“Yes, I can see the Turgonian blood.” Pey Lu glanced at Lakeo’s bare muscled arms.
Lakeo scowled. “My blood isn’t tainted with—”
“She can stay if she wants,” Pey Lu said, waving to Arayevo. “I have no need of a surly mage whose efforts would always be tainted by her weak blood.”
“Weak?” Gramon asked. “Really, Pey Lu.”
“Your people are abysmal at magic. It’s why your ancestors were driven out of Nuria to start with.”
“We left on our own, thank you.”
Dak didn’t comment, but his single eye was narrowed, and Yanko suspected he agreed with the sentiment.
“That’s all,” Pey Lu said, waving toward the door with more emphasis and nodding at Gramon. To escort them out?
“I can stay?” Arayevo whispered, touching her chest.
“As long as you know what you’re getting yourself into,” Pey Lu said. “We’re not smugglers.”
“I’ll get my things.” Arayevo started to run for the door, but paused, and whirled around to hug Yanko and kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you.”
Her eyes gleamed. Then she released him and ran out.
Yanko struggled to swallow a lump in his throat. He may have come to terms with her strange career desires, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t miss her. And worry about her.
Lakeo walked out after Arayevo, her spine stiff. Yanko hoped that he would be able to find someone to assist her in learning magic. She’d stuck with him through all this and deserved something for her efforts and her loyalty. If they couldn’t figure out a way to make enough for her to pay for tuition, he’d do his best to teach her himself, though he feared he wouldn’t be any good at it.
Yanko headed for the d
oor but paused when Pey Lu spoke again.
“The offer stands, Yanko,” she said quietly. “Both of them. Though the second one has a time limit. You would have to move quickly if you wanted to put in a bid at the auction.”
Yanko shook his head and walked out without looking back. He wasn’t completely ungrateful, since his mother had helped him, but he suspected she wanted these things because of her own desires rather than because they were good for him. She’d said as much, that it would be a triumph to have a son as the ruler of Nuria, as if he were a box to be checked off on some list of life goals.
He was glad when Dak fell in behind him, like a large shield between him and her gaze.
“Might I have a moment with you, Captain?” Tynlee asked, staying in the room. “That was such an abbreviated meeting. I truly wish to make your acquaintance.”
Dak didn’t pause, so Yanko kept walking and didn’t hear Pey Lu’s response. Dak wasn’t surprised, so he must have known Tynlee wanted to speak with Pey Lu. Either because she’d told him or he’d simply come to know her.
It wasn’t until the group returned to the yacht that Dak stopped and drew Yanko aside.
“She offered to help you take the dais for yourself?” Dak asked.
Yanko rubbed his face. He’d known it was vain to hope that Dak and Tynlee hadn’t caught on to that.
“She said she wouldn’t back Zirabo and posited me as an alternative.”
“Would she back that? With her fleet?” Dak sounded more curious than annoyed or suspicious.
“She implied it, but I don’t have megalomaniacal desires, Dak. I’m not old enough to lead anyone. You know that. All I’ve done is get myself in trouble, for the most part. But if I could get this continent for Nuria… that would be something. In a decade or two, I’m sure I could turn it into a beautiful place that provided great amounts of food for my people. You know how depleted our soils here are. We need this.”
When Dak didn’t comment, Yanko lifted his gaze and tried to read his face.
He was looking at the sea, his expression thoughtful. “If it were up to me, I’d give you the continent, with the proviso that you grow half of the food for Turgonia. But nothing is up to me.” He smiled faintly, sadly.
Yanko stirred uneasily. Did Dak know something he didn’t? Had Yanko guessed right? Were the Turgonians already on the way to claim it? Or had they already?
“I have to go, even if Pey Lu won’t come.” Yanko watched his face for a reaction.
“I expected as much.”
“I… noticed you didn’t get off the yacht and take that courier ship home with the professor. Do you have orders beyond finding Zirabo? I know you talked to him, but I don’t know what about.”
“You, mostly.” Dak sounded wry and maybe a touch exasperated, like maybe he’d wanted to discuss other more scintillating topics. “You impressed a lot of people by destroying that creature. Zirabo included. Apparently, I impressed them less, maybe because I almost killed myself in the process.”
Yanko recalled the impression he’d gotten during a couple of their more candid talks, of Dak—the nephew to the Turgonian president and famous fleet admiral—feeling inadequate in his uncle’s shadow. Yanko would hate for Dak to resent him because Nurians considered magic flashier and more impressive than science or mundane explosives. He had little doubt that if those had been Turgonian prisoners, they would have dismissed Yanko’s magic tricks and celebrated Dak’s victory.
“I was impressed.” Yanko rested a hand on his own chest. “I didn’t think you could destroy a soul construct without magic.”
Dak grunted, and it might have only been in Yanko’s imagination that he appeared mollified.
“No, I didn’t go with the professor,” Dak said. “Someone needs to keep an eye on you.”
“Are those your genuine orders or are you taking initiative?” Yanko worried that keep an eye on meant that Dak wanted to make sure he wouldn’t do anything to harm any Turgonians who were already on the new continent.
“My orders were to find Zirabo and offer him support. You are supporting him, and therefore, I will support you on this endeavor, insofar as it doesn’t conflict with Turgonian interests.” Dak’s eye narrowed.
Yanko groaned inwardly, knowing he’d interpreted the situation correctly. How could Dak support Yanko, who had Nurian interests at heart, if Dak had Turgonian interests at heart?
“That definitely sounds like you’re taking initiative.” Yanko forced a smile, but he couldn’t help but feel that his bodyguard had turned into his babysitter. How was he supposed to outfight or outsmart a bunch of Turgonians with Dak right there, warning them about him?
“Let’s hope it goes better for me this time,” Dak said glumly.
After the group returned to the yacht and it sailed away from the pirate fleet, Yanko stood at the railing and stared at the sea ahead. He suspected his expression was just as glum as Dak’s.
3
Kei squawked and shifted from foot to foot on Yanko’s shoulder. The air wafting off the newly risen continent smelled of death and decomposing vegetation. The landmass had come into view early that morning, and the yacht was sailing along the coastline, the crew looking for signs of other ships.
So far, they hadn’t encountered any. Yanko was surprised. Not only had he expected a Turgonian fleet, but he suspected the Kyattese would send some of their science vessels down to investigate their ancestors’ homeland. It seemed like they had to have heard about this by now.
Was it possible Nuria would get lucky and that nobody else saw the potential of the continent?
Kei lowered his head and buried his beak under a wing. A protest against the smell?
“We may have to bring in decomposer species as well as animal life,” Yanko murmured, wishing he had some science books to peruse. As a boy working alongside his grandmother, he’d gained plenty of experience turning compost and maintaining a vermiculture bin for worm castings, so he knew how to turn poor soil into rich soil. In a garden. This would be soil-amending to the extreme.
He was daunted by the scope of the project but also excited. He could start small and see what worked, then teach people how to employ the techniques across the entire continent. Or most of it. He supposed they were far enough south of the equator that those craggy mountains would eventually be covered in snow for most of the year. And their presence would result in rain shadows—indeed, gray clouds hugged their peaks now—so that would mean deserts or at least areas that were significantly drier than others.
He had no idea what to expect from weather in this part of the world and looked forward to seeing what would happen over time. Would there be rivers? Lakes? He imagined the place in a few decades and smiled.
This was what he was meant to do. He believed it had been the gods as much as Zirabo choosing this task for him, and that he could handle it, turning this barren dead rock into an agricultural land to feed his people. Earth magic had always called to him, and this was a way to use it. He wasn’t a leader of men. He was a gardener. A grand gardener.
“Your big island stinks, Yanko,” Lakeo said, joining him at the railing, a cloth pressed over her nose.
Tynlee walked up beside her, wearing a white mind-mage robe along with her fluffy slippers. She didn’t carry a cloth, but her nose had a distressed crinkle to it.
“If the smell of decomposition keeps competitors away,” Yanko said, “I’m glad for it.”
“What if it keeps your allies in their cabins with the doors shut and burning six sticks of incense to hide it? I caught Consul Tynlee lighting scented candles against the captain’s wishes. Strongly scented candles.”
“I assured him that I could control the fire.” Tynlee gazed toward the brownish gray rock they were sailing past. “I confess, it’s not the beautiful land I imagined, but I suppose this makes sense if it was underwater for centuries. And then rose abruptly.”
“Nobody seems to see the potential,” Yanko said. “That may be to our ad
vantage.”
“If the air doesn’t kill us while we’re scouting it,” Lakeo said.
Yanko decided he shouldn’t lament that his mother hadn’t invited Lakeo to join her crew. He already missed Arayevo and knew he would have missed Lakeo, too, however much she teased him.
Lakeo gagged and shook her head. “I need to go back to my cabin. Or maybe Tynlee’s cabin. With the candles.”
She staggered off, one hand holding the cloth, the other on her belly.
Yanko didn’t think it was that bad, but he was relieved when the breeze shifted, the ocean’s salty tang returning to his nostrils.
Kei removed his beak from under his wing and ruffled his feathers.
“Do you sense the crew of a ship several miles ahead?” Tynlee asked Yanko.
“Uhm.” He had been looking for life on the continent rather than at sea, but he reached out with his senses to follow the coastline ahead. He had gotten better at distinguishing between life below the surface and life above, and it didn’t take long for him to detect a ship with about twenty-five people on it. He couldn’t tell what nationality they represented from this distance. “I do now.”
Even though Tynlee’s expression didn’t hold judgment, his cheeks warmed. He was the one standing out here near the bow. He should have spotted the people first.
“I was contemplating the mountains and whether they would soon be covered in snow,” he admitted.
Tynlee gazed at them. “They are a formidable height, at least from this perspective. I believe a dusting of snow would improve the aesthetic of your continent.”
“Give it time. If I’m allowed to work the land, one day, it’ll be green and fertile.”
Tynlee raised her eyebrows. “That would take decades, wouldn’t it?”
Yanko twitched a shoulder. “I’m young.”
So long as a reasonable Great Chief ended up on the dais and granted him this project. What if someone who considered him a criminal won? And ordered him shot or jailed at the first opportunity? He grimaced.
Great Chief (Chains of Honor, Book 4) Page 3