Beginnings: Five Heroic Fantasy Adventure Novels

by Lindsay Buroker

  “Did Agarik make it?” Tikaya asked.

  Bocrest prowled around the device, started to touch an indentation, but decided against it. “He got jumped by—it doesn’t matter who by now—but he was cut up pretty bad and left to bleed in the snow. Bones stitched him up earlier.”

  Relief and regret mingled in her mind. If she had not asked Agarik to fetch Rias, he might not have been hurt at all. Would he resent her for it?

  “Where’s Rias?” she asked.

  Bocrest scowled. “Prisoner Five is making some concoction in the vehicle house. Said we’ll need it in the tunnels. After that, he’ll be shackled again.”

  “Let’s see your shoulder,” Bones told Tikaya.

  She eased her parka off under the cool gazes of the two officers. She was surely too old to want someone to hold her hand while a doctor worked on her, but she wished Rias had come back. Strange that he had disappeared so abruptly. Had he felt guilty about more than her shoulder?

  Bones huffed and tossed her parka aside. Apparently impatient with her undressing speed, he unfastened the buttons of the black uniform jacket for her. Uneasy, she wondered how much disrobing she would have to endure for this medical treatment. Fortunately, Bones left her undershirt on. Icy but professional hands probed her shoulder. She tried not to wince.

  Bocrest nodded at the device. “You figure out what this stuff says?”

  “Some of it,” Tikaya said. “I can only guess at the writing on the bottom, but the context gives me clues. If I get more samples, also in context, I’ll be able to make some good guesses.”

  Bocrest’s grunt did not sound impressed. Curse him, she and Rias had saved the marines—again. Why couldn’t the captain acknowledge her usefulness?

  Footsteps sounded above, and shards of wood rained from the biggest hole in the roof. Sergeant Ottotark slithered over the edge and dropped down behind Bones.

  Tikaya groaned, but he did not look at her.

  “Sorry, Bones. Your brother and Private Choyka are dead.” Ottotark gripped the man’s shoulder.

  Bones’s jaw clenched, but he did not otherwise react.

  “I’ll get a team to lower them down for the funeral pyre.” Ottotark nodded to the captain and left.

  Tikaya relaxed a smidgeon. Bones made a sling from a large square of cloth and secured her arm.

  “You’ll be fine in a few days,” he said. “Sir, I’ll attend the others if you don’t need anything else here. I’d prefer to keep busy.”

  “Yes, go,” Bocrest said.

  Bones left, head down, shoulders slumped further.

  “What’s the purpose of this device?” Bocrest asked.

  Tikaya rubbed her shoulder. “My best guess? Scientific experiments. They probably wanted to observe the somatic and neurological effects certain gases had on their specimens outside of a controlled environment.”

  “What kind of specimens?” Bocrest asked.

  “Look in a mirror.”

  “Turgonians?”

  Tikaya hesitated, almost tempted to play upon his paranoia. She had not yet figured out how she could ensure her family’s safety while escaping with her life, but she would probably have more opportunities later if she convinced Bocrest her words were trustworthy now.

  “Humans, animals.” A cold gust blew snow through the broken wall, and Tikaya grabbed her parka. “I suppose Turgonian enemies could have brought it here and turned it on.” She thought of the Nurian captain’s orders; the Nurians were smart enough to not want anything to do with the artifacts. “Or your own people might have done it out of stupidity.”

  Bocrest’s gaze grew frosty.

  “Stupidity isn’t a trait unique to Turgonians,” Tikaya said by way of apology.

  “Apparently not.” Bocrest continued to glare. “Prisoner Five says Lieutenant Commander Okars attacked him, and he was forced to kill my officer in self-defense.”

  Unease trickled down her spine. Uh oh. Why had Rias said anything? Maybe the marines never would have thought to look for bodies in the attic, and, even if they did, in the craziness anyone could have fired at anyone. Rias could have feigned ignorance and no one would have known. But, no, he had felt guilty—or honor-bound—to explain the dead officer. She could not fault him for being an honest man, but his loyalty to these marines, to the empire, might prove disastrous for her. Or maybe not. He had covered for her, though she was not sure whether to be relieved or not. Surely his position here was as precarious as hers.

  “I know who he is,” Bocrest said, “who he was, and now that he’s...himself again, I doubt he’d intentionally kill an imperial marine, nor do I believe he’s inept enough to accidentally dispatch someone in self-defense.”

  “We were all under the influence of that device,” Tikaya said. “Rias—”

  Bocrest drew his arm back, and she turned her cheek, expecting a blow. He curled his fingers into a fist, but jerked it to his side. A vein at his temple pulsed. “I don’t know what he’s told you, but you will not refer to him as anything other than Prisoner Five. He lost his right to a name, and I don’t want my men conflicted on who to follow out here.”

  “What did he do?” Tikaya whispered. And who is he, she almost added. But for the ill timing of that blasting stick, she might know by now. Someone who was Bocrest’s equal, or maybe even a superior? Was Rias old enough to be an admiral?

  Bocrest stepped back, and his eyes widened. “You don’t know?”

  She shook her head.

  “Cruel ancestors, what a waste. He gave up everything, and your people don’t even know.”

  “What?” She reached for his arm. “Please, tell me.”

  Bocrest scoffed and turned away. He grabbed the rifle and knife, making sure not to leave her any weapons. “Self-absorbed scientists,” he muttered on his way out.

  Tikaya dropped her arm. She thought back to the first conversation she had with Rias, when he asked if her president was still alive. Was that what Bocrest referred to? Had Rias done something for her people during the war, something that had turned the Turgonians against him? If that was the case, why hadn’t he told her right away? If he had done a good deed for Kyatt, he might be allowed to come live on her island, and maybe he’d be someone her family could like, and...

  She groaned and rubbed her face. When had he stopped being the enemy soldier and turned into someone she wanted to bring home to meet her parents?

  * * *

  Weariness plagued Tikaya’s limbs as she marched after the squad of marines, her arm in the sling, her crampons replaced with snowshoes. The new footwear was almost as awkward to walk in as swim fins, and she struggled to keep up—and upright. There had been no rest after the funeral pyre. They traveled east, in the shadows of jagged white mountains that dominated the southern horizon. To the north, the flat icy tundra stretched until it blended into the pale blue sky.

  Forty men remained, with fifteen dead back in Wolfhump, and many carried double loads. Dogs, too, had been lost and the teams pulling the sleds slouched along, as tired as she. A sergeant marched alongside the squad, singing a cadence that condoned plundering farm goods and stealing daughters from conquered nations. Or maybe it was stealing farm goods and plundering daughters. Tikaya tried to ignore the words, though she found her steps matching the encouraging refrains of left, right, left.

  For the fortieth or fiftieth time, she glanced behind. Wrists shackled again, Rias walked with a small team tasked with carrying the boxes of blasting sticks. A precautionary couple dozen meter gap lay between them and the main group, though, oddly, the captain walked at his side. She did not know what they spoke of, though his presence served as a deterrent to keep her from strolling back to walk with Rias. She had not seen Agarik since the day before, but his injuries must not be too severe, for he was ahead with the scouting team. Separate from the marines, separate from her two allies, she felt the loneliness and oppressive cold of the tundra. She was tempted to go back to walk with Rias even if it meant enduring the captain’s
sarcasm.

  A dead arctic jaeger alongside the trail diverted her thoughts. The large bird’s white-tipped wings were broken, its head smashed in, but no predators had sampled its flesh. Had it simply fallen from the sky? Two sets of snowshoe prints around it meant the scouts had stopped to look.

  Long years had passed since her biology classes, so she left it without further examination, but she turned her attention to her surroundings as she continued on. Over the next few miles, she spotted other downed birds, all undisturbed by predators. An uneasy feeling shrouded her, and she wondered what would await them at the fort. More dead men? Another device?

  “Prisoner Five, come back here!” Bocrest shouted.

  Rias had set down his box of blasting sticks, and he churned across the tundra. Bocrest plowed after him, rifle in hand.

  “Sir?” one of the marines in front of Tikaya called. “Do you need help?”

  Bocrest waved, and the back two men stamped out of formation, flinging snow as they raced into the drifts with high-kneed steps. Tikaya veered after them, afraid they would think Rias was trying to escape and take violent measures—as if Rias would be dumb enough to run away with everyone watching. Unfortunately, her slog through the unbroken snow was less effective than theirs. Even with the snowshoes, she sank deep with each step, and she tripped twice before reaching the gathering.

  Rias stopped, knelt, and picked up something. Bocrest and the others scrambled over, and Tikaya floundered up in time to hear the red-faced, scowling Bocrest speak.

  “What are you doing, Five? Are you trying to get yourself shot? Prisoners don’t get to take unannounced side trips.”

  Rias lifted his goggles to peer at his find.

  “What is it?” Tikaya asked.

  She attempted to slip past the other marines to join him, but one of them took a step at the same time and landed on the edge of her snowshoe. She sprawled, face heading toward the powder. Rias lunged, caught her, and even managed to keep from jarring her shoulder.

  “Slagging librarians,” Bocrest grumbled.

  Face red from more than the cold, Tikaya got her snowshoes beneath her. “Thank you. It seems I’m always tumbling into your arms.” She sighed, appreciative but a little envious too. Neither shackles nor snowshoes made him ungainly.

  “I don’t mind,” Rias said. “Makes me feel useful.”

  Bocrest snorted. “Any excuse to grab a tit.”

  The two marines sniggered, and Tikaya stepped out of Rias’s arms, her cheeks warm. Rias merely shook his head at Bocrest, like a father disappointed in a wayward child.

  Bocrest scowled. “What did you find, Five?”

  Rias held an empty, one-inch cube of glass, or what appeared to be glass, on the palm of his gloved hand. One corner was broken, though the evenness of the cut suggested the hole planned rather than accidental. He flexed his fingers upon the cube. Though the thin sides appeared fragile, they did not bend or crack under pressure.

  “It glinted in the sun and caught my eye,” Rias said.

  “It looks like someone’s trash,” Bocrest said.

  A dark shape loped across the tundra, and the two marines lifted rifles. A black wolf, so gaunt its ribs showed even at a distance. After her encounter with the berserk animals in town, Tikaya hoped the men shot it quickly, before it could attack.

  “Hold,” Bocrest said. “Why’s it so scrawny when there are dead birds everywhere?”

  She glanced at him, surprised by the perspicacious comment. He was right, though. It was odd. And this wolf, unlike the ones in town, gave no indication of aggressive behavior. Indeed, it did not seem concerned about the humans at all.

  “It is the end of winter, sir,” a marine said. “Maybe it was a rough one for the animals.”

  “That wouldn’t explain why it’s not eating those free meals,” Bocrest said.

  The wolf loped parallel to the squad, then paused at the corpse of a jaeger. It sniffed and pawed at the bird, and Tikaya expect it to take a chomp. Instead it lifted its muzzle and howled. The oscillating mournful sound made her shiver. Another wolf answered from the foothills, its howl just as forlorn.

  “He seems to find the fowl unpalatable,” Rias mused.

  He turned his attention back to the cube, lifting it so the sun shone through the glass. Tikaya sucked in a startled breath. A familiar symbol etched one side.

  She took it from Rias. “I recognize that. It’s one of the symbols repeated often in the rubbings the captain gave me.” She nodded toward Bocrest. “Know anything?”

  “Shit,” he said.

  “Very elucidating, thank you,” Tikaya said.

  “Where’d those runes come from, Bocrest?” Rias asked in a tone of command.

  “That’s top secret.”

  “If you want Tikaya to translate this for you, she needs to know everything about the symbols.”

  Bocrest ground his jaw. Tikaya had made that argument before, and the captain had ignored it, but he waved the marines to go back to the squad. When he, Rias, and Tikaya were alone, he spoke.

  “Last month, a black box covered with those runes was delivered to the research department of the biggest university in the capital. No name, no identification. They should have buried it somewhere and forgotten about it, but scientists being scientists...they fiddled with it, let out some kind of airborne poison. It killed everybody on campus. It was late in the evening, so not as bad as it could have been, but hundreds still died.”

  Tikaya dropped the cube and stepped back. In her haste, she almost tripped over her snowshoes again. Rias’s lips flattened, and he rubbed the fingers of his glove together, as if he could wipe off any taint from the cube.

  “It’s not the same thing, though,” Bocrest said. “The bodies on campus were horribly mutilated, and these birds barely look dead. Maybe our people at the fort are fine.”

  “Those are carrion birds,” Rias said.

  Tikaya swallowed with grim understanding. “Not as bright as the wolves then, eh?”

  “It seems not.”

  “What are you talking about?” Bocrest asked.

  “We’re just guessing at this point,” Rias said, “but it’s possible our people are dead by the means you’re familiar with, and the poison was toxic enough that even the carrion beasts that tried to feed off them died.”

  Bocrest scowled at the dead bird. “Oh.”

  “Will it still be toxic if we get close?” Tikaya asked. “That cube wasn’t covered by snow, so this couldn’t have happened that many days ago.”

  “I don’t know,” Rias said. “It depends on whether we’re looking at an area denial weapon or something short-lived, designed simply to kill.” He faced Bocrest. “The scouting party. How far ahead are they?”

  Bocrest’s face froze, and a long moment passed before he said, “They’ll be there by now.”

  Tikaya’s gut twisted. Agarik. She had not even had a chance to apologize to him. She prayed it wasn’t too late.

  11

  The walled army fort squatted in the foothills, small and insignificant compared to the towering white mountains plunging it into shadow. Tikaya stamped her feet to keep warm and wondered if she was crazy for wanting to travel the last half mile to the gate. No soldiers manned the massive guns perched atop the ramparts, nor did any smoke waft from the chimneys inside. Rias’s guess that everyone was dead seemed likely, but perhaps whatever weapon had done it waited within those walls. And such a weapon might be inscribed with language clues like those on the Wolfhump artifact. Now that she had made a little progress, the prospect of more tantalized her.

  Rias meandered across the foothills, pausing to pick up something here and there. More of those cubes, she feared, not sure whether they were safe to touch or not. He carried a small notepad and scribbled something in it whenever he found one. He still wore his shackles, and two guards trailed dutifully behind him. Did Bocrest not know they were superfluous at this point? Rias had shown no interest in escaping since he learned what was
at stake.

  She hoped that loyalty to the empire would not result in his death. Or hers. She would much prefer to see him strolling on one of her island’s beaches, picking up agates and sand dollars instead of vials that might have housed lethal poison. And in this vision, she saw him with less clothing on. She grinned. Or none. She thought of the scar that bisected his eyebrow and wondered what other battle wounds stamped his olive skin. He had filled out since she first saw him in rags in his cell, and she imagined broad shoulders and powerful muscles beneath that parka.

  A guilty pang ended her thoughts. She believed Parkonis would have wanted her to go on and find love again—though not with a Turgonian, no matter how academically inclined—so it was not that. It was that she had never daydreamed about him with his shirt off. Parkonis had been boyishly cute with freckles and a mop of red-blond curls, but not the type to inspire women’s fantasies. Of course, she was hardly the type to inspire men’s fantasies. She hated to dwell on it, but feared she would not be able to compete with others if she and Rias survived to return to a world where she was no longer the only woman for hundreds of miles.

  Snow crunched behind her.

  A pair of privates approached, and she braced herself for insults or crude comments. Acne scarred one’s face, and neither appeared older than twenty, though like most of the men here they were taller than she and no doubt dangerous.

  “Ma’am, we’re, ah...” The speaker glanced at his comrade, who gave an encouraging nod. “We’re having rations.”

  Er, what did that have to do with her? “Yes?”

  Behind them, marines sat in groups of four or five and shared lunch while the officers conferred in a cluster. More than one man snoozed against his rucksack, oblivious to the frosty environs.

  “You could join our mess if you wanted.” The speaker nodded to a knot of young men busy chatting, laughing, and stuffing crackers into their mouths. One waved. “We’ve got extra tooth dullers and—”