A distant boom sounded above the gales churning up the sea. A cannon? Out here?
Arayevo frowned at the mountains of waves rising on all sides of them, then raced up into the rigging again, climbing as easily as a monkey and standing out on a yard for a better look. A second cannon fired. This time, Yanko spotted the ball. It soared over the ship, falling harmlessly into the water fifty feet away. Good, but who was shooting at them? He stretched out again and was surprised to feel dozens of other auras—human beings—less than three hundred yards away.
“Ship,” he called at the same time as Arayevo yelled the same warning down. It was the one that had been following them. How had it sneaked so close without being sighted? Some mage’s camouflage. A mage who was much better at the mental sciences than Yanko, and who didn’t need smoke to make their ship appear invisible.
“Man the cannons,” Minark yelled.
“Already there, Cap’n,” a crew member responded, “but we can’t see anything.”
Yanko ran along the railing, then veered across the deck for the ladder. Thanks to the tilt to the ship, it was like running up a mountain. Water sprayed over the railings, spattering him in the face as he climbed up to join the captain.
“It’s the same ship that’s been following us,” Yanko said. “They’ve got at least one mage, maybe two.” Keeping the ship camouflaged and creating a storm at the same time should be the work of two people—or someone who was extremely talented.
“How far away?” Minark asked.
“Less than three hundred yards. That way.” Yanko pointed. “I think...” He ran his senses along the spot again, trying to get a feel for people’s auras and their emotions too. Did they sense victory? Were they worried? Confident? Overconfident?
Harried. That was what he got.
Another cannon boomed, the ball falling wide this time, plowing into the wave the schooner had just left.
“They thought they had us—they were closing for the kill—and then you activated that artifact,” Yanko said. “I think that forced their hand.”
His knees nearly went out as they careened down the back of another wave. Maybe he should not be speaking to the captain while he was manning the helm. One false move out here, and the craft could capsize. At the speed they were going, it seemed inevitable. But it wasn’t as if they could heave to and ride out the storm with enemies on their heels.
“If you can tell where that ship is, go help my gunners,” Minark said. “And feel free to throw some fireballs at them, kid.”
Fireballs. Everybody wanted fireballs. Yanko doubted he could conjure anything the other wizards couldn’t defend against, but he climbed back down the ladder. He could help the gunners.
He ran across to the cannons mounted along the side rail, pointed, and said, “There. Three hundred yards away.”
The fact that the other ship was sticking with them implied that one of their wizards was filling its sails with wind too. Yanko hoped whoever it was would get tired soon. The artifact could probably produce wind for a substantial period of time before it had to recharge.
“You sure, warrior mage?” one of the Nurians asked. “I don’t see anything.”
Another boom came from the direction Yanko had pointed. This cannonball blasted over the deck, narrowly missing the mast before burrowing into a wave on the far side.
“I’m sure,” Yanko said.
“Uh, right.”
Soon, the gunners at the bank of cannons were returning fire. Yanko gripped the railing between two of them, debating whether to attempt to single out and attack the wizard or wizards over there or to see if he could break apart the storm. Distracting the maker would probably be easier and more effective.
Don’t count on it, a voice spoke into his head.
Yanko jumped. Telepaths had spoken into his mind before, but it wasn’t a common occurrence. There were laws about uninvited intrusions, at least between those from honored families. The commoners had fewer rights, especially revolving around the mental sciences.
Who are you? Yanko responded. What do you want?
He had been reading the mind mage’s book and trying some of the exercises, so he thought he might be able to amplify his words, and send them across the intervening waves, but he didn’t do so. Let the other mage think him less powerful than he was. He did keep his barriers tight about his mind, so the person couldn’t delve into his thoughts.
I am Jaikon Sun Dragon.
Yanko’s grip tightened on the railing—he needed it to keep him standing upright. A Sun Dragon? A member of the very family he had been pretending to be a part of during his ruse at the prison? A very old and established family full of powerful wizards...
He gulped, hoping the man had no idea about the events in those caves.
I know much. The wizard sounded amused. And condescending.
What do you want? Yanko repeated.
We want what you also seek, of course.
This might be Yanko’s first time hearing the man’s voice in his head, but his aura felt familiar. He believed it was the same mage who had come to his village, the one who had sent hounds after him, and perhaps the one who had burned his ancestral home.
Yanko gritted his teeth. I don’t have it, so you might as well leave us alone.
You have Zirabo’s information on how to find it.
Yanko scoffed. As if that letter told him anything specific as to the lodestone’s location. He carefully kept those thoughts locked behind his mental walls, walls that he reinforced with layers of brick, because he could feel Sun Dragon prodding at his defenses, searching for a crack he might slip through. Even if the letter didn’t say much, it was better to keep his enemies as in the dark as possible.
So all of this, attacking my brother, burning my village, chasing after me... this has just been an attempt to get that letter?
What Zirabo wrote of promises the wealth, the resources, the pure untouched soil that we need. We will have it. The Great Chief will not.
Not that untouched if the place had been devastated by plague and razed by war... Still, Yanko believed as the prince did that seven centuries was enough for the land to have healed.
I thought your family was known for working with the Great Chief, not against him, Yanko thought.
The time has come for a new great chief, a new leader for our people. One who can lead us to the prosperity we once knew, and more.
You’re working for the rebels?
Laughter rang in Yanko’s head.
So... that was a yes? he asked.
You’re in water too deep, boy. Tell that smuggler to slow down and let us board. All we’ll take is the letter. We’ll let his ship and his crew go afterward. Even you.
If you want the letter, you’ll have to come get it. Yanko wouldn’t usually taunt enemies, especially not older and more powerful enemies, but he sensed that the other ship was falling farther behind. This mage wouldn’t be attempting to cow him if they could simply swoop down and destroy them.
I won’t give you the offer of freedom twice. I couldn’t if I wanted to. There’s someone here who wants very much to slay you.
Even if Yanko had dismissed the mage’s words as a desperate attempt to turn failure into victory, this statement chilled him, nonetheless. Especially since the image of that woman in white came along with it, the mage hunter with the twin katanas.
She’s well trained, and she was eager to accept this mission, to find you and kill you.
Yanko should have kept his thoughts to himself, but he couldn’t help but ask, Why? He hoped it didn’t sound as plaintive in his enemy’s mind as it did in his own.
Your family has many enemies, boy. Those who waited centuries for it to fall from grace, for its power to wane, and those who have more recent reasons to hate your clan.
Mother. Was this mage hunter someone she had wronged? She had been the only great warrior mage in the clan in her generation, so Yanko did not know who else might have provided “recent rea
sons” for hatred. Was he to be punished because of her misdeeds? He snorted. Of course, he was. Wasn’t that the Nurian way? There had been clans and prominent families since long before the Great Chief had been elected, and legends spoke of feuds that ran back not only for generations but for millennia.
The wind stopped, its cessation so abrupt that Yanko almost fell over because he had been leaning to the side to brace himself against it. The sky lightened, clouds whispering away, and the crew erupted in cheers.
“We outran it,” someone cried.
“Good work, Cap’n!”
Yanko wanted to share in their enthusiasm, but he worried that the other ship was simply changing tactics. They had fallen back to eight hundred yards and had stopped lobbing cannonballs, but many magical attacks could out-travel mundane ones.
“How far away are they now, kid?” Minark yelled from the wheel.
Yanko opened his mouth to respond, but the hairs on the back of his neck leaped up like hackles on a dog’s back. “Attack,” he blurted before he knew what it entailed.
An instant later, a fireball bloomed in the sky. It hurled toward them with all the intent and speed of a cannonball—and with more accuracy.
Yanko dropped his leg back, bracing his body as if for a physical blow, and lifted both hands toward the ball of flames. He formed a wall of wind, then funneled it into a shield the same size as the fireball, increasing the force even as he narrowed the width. When he launched the burst of air, the sails fluttered, and the ship groaned as the tremendous gust blew past. It smashed into the fireball less than fifty feet from the side of the ship.
Flames exploded as they struck the invisible shield, spattering in every direction. Then they disappeared, leaving nothing but a whisper of smoke in the air.
Relief washed over Yanko. He gripped the rail for support, weariness taking over his body, as if he had stopped that with his own sinews instead of with the air.
“More finesse,” he muttered to himself. “Just use the amount of force that’s necessary.”
“That’s the same mage that made the storm?” Dak asked from behind him.
Yanko hadn’t realized he had returned. “I think so. Sorry to send you on a pointless hunt. They were there all the time and camouflaged. They’re still—” Yanko halted, spinning back as he felt another attack coming.
A second fireball appeared on the horizon. Yanko gathered himself to deflect it again, this time creating a broader shield and trying to use less of his power. It was a fine line—he would hate to put less energy into it and have the flames smash into the ship—but he didn’t know how many of these the mage would throw, and he had to be prepared.
This time, the fireball struck harder, hurling his air shield back when it landed. But its force still wasn’t enough to blast through Yanko’s defense. The flames spattered in all directions, as if mud has been thrown rather than fire, then dissipated in the air.
I can hurl those all day, spoke the voice in Yanko’s mind.
That voice was more distant, and when Yanko checked, he could barely sense the other ship. It had fallen almost a mile back. He didn’t bother to respond. As much as he would like to try and wheedle more information from Sun Dragon—and learn more about who this mage hunter was and why she wanted to kill him—Yanko feared he might be tricked into giving away more than he learned. He already had the sense that the mage didn’t see him as a threat, perhaps rightfully so.
A third fireball blasted across the blue sky, but this one nearly fizzled out before it reached them. Yanko batted at it with the wind, and it dissipated. At least he had an idea of the Sun Dragon’s range now. Yanko didn’t know how many his opponent could have cast, but he was glad they had out-sailed the other ship. Meeting those fireballs had taken a great deal of his energy, and a fresh headache threatened. He had done much more the night they had rescued the prisoners and sneaked the ship past the barricade. At the time, he had been so busy being fraught and exhausted that he hadn’t dwelled on it, but in looking back, he was surprised at how much stamina he’d had then. And a little disappointed that it hadn’t lasted. What had been different that night? He had been dressed in that robe instead of a simple tunic. Could it be that some of the magic woven into the threads increased the mental stamina of the wearer? He would have to experiment with it further.
Another cheer went up from the crew. Yanko turned, finding Dak standing at his back, as he had expected, but a number of the motley smugglers were also nearby.
“That’s fancy fighting for a man who wears a dress,” one said, and a few came forward to smack him on the shoulder and offer equally mixed praise. Better than being outright mocked, Yanko supposed.
His heart lifted when Arayevo walked forward, hugged him, and kissed him on the cheek. “I think we owe you our lives,” she said, her eyes bright.
All too soon, she stepped back, but Yanko touched his cheek, the memory of the kiss burned into his mind forever. “Just trying to help,” he said.
Minark strode up next, flicking a glance at Arayevo before punching Yanko in the shoulder. “Thanks, kid.”
“You’re welcome, Captain.” Yanko resisted the urge to rub his shoulder. Given the captain’s penchant for accompanying all of his words with physical blows, Yanko was becoming more and more convinced that the man had Turgonian blood. A lot of it. “If I were you, I’d keep your wind maker running for a while. It’s the only thing that’s been allowing us to keep ahead of that other ship.”
“Best investment I ever made.” Minark ambled away, his charms jangling as he went.
Given that he was getting new respect—sort of—from the smugglers, Yanko didn’t mention the mage’s words to anyone. He didn’t want the captain to know that he—and Zirabo’s letter—were the only reasons they were being followed and attacked to start with. Their gratitude would be fleeting if they found out. Of course, that might be inevitable. Yanko did not know what cargo Minark had taken on to make this trip worthwhile for him, but he doubted warrior mages were often sent to chase down smugglers.
Dak leaned against the railing, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Disappointed you didn’t get to whack anyone with a sword?” Yanko asked.
“Moderately.” Dak squinted at him. “You said you failed your mage school tests?”
Mage school. As if Stargrind weren’t the most prestigious and vaunted academy in the Great Land.
“I didn’t say it; I think Lakeo blurted it out for me.”
“What was the problem?”
Yanko had already confessed to pride. That had been what ruined his chances ultimately, but it had been more than that, and he knew it. A need to prove himself to those who had mocked him, and also to those who watched. To his family. “I get nervous when people I know—my family, especially—are watching. There’s this pressure to do well, the knowledge that... since I was three years old and showed an aptitude for the mental sciences, it’s been understood that I would be the one to redeem the family’s honor, to become a powerful warrior mage and serve the Great Chief. Sometimes, it’s hard to be competent with all that pressure trying to squish you.” He knew he had said that word more than once, but even that didn’t seem enough times to emphasize how much he felt the weight of the family’s eyes upon him.
“You were just under pressure,” Dak observed. “If you had failed, the ship would have been enveloped by a fireball.”
“I suppose.” Yanko shrugged. “Is it strange that your own relatives can make you more nervous than angry wizards and vengeful assassins?”
Dak’s eyebrow twitched. “Assassins?”
Yanko debated if he should say more. The rest of the crew had gone back to work, and nobody was around to overhear the conversation. He might not want to let the smugglers know someone wanted to find him—and kill him—lest Minark and the others decide it would be safer for them if Yanko was thrown overboard one dark night, but wouldn’t it be disingenuous not to tell Dak? How could he expect the man to risk his li
fe protecting him when he didn’t have any ideas as to what was coming?
“Perhaps,” Yanko said slowly, “this would be the time to admit that there are some people following me.”
Dak grunted. “I gathered that.”
“There’s at least one warrior mage, and there’s a mage hunter, as well. They attacked my brother, who was delivering a message to me, then burned down the family house. Lakeo and I barely escaped.”
“A message.” Dak must be wondering how scintillating this message could be to cause all this.
Yanko did not think it as scintillating as all of this violence following in its wake implied. All it was now was a promise. Not even that. It was a suggestion of what might be out there. Nothing more. And yet, people were willing to kill for that suggestion.
“Yes,” Yanko said. “It’s from someone important. About something important.” All right, that was vague, but even admitting that made him nervous. What would keep Dak from rifling through his bag one night while Yanko slept? Granted, Yanko had been sleeping in his clothes and with the letter in an inside pocket, but a light touch might still ferret it out. Maybe later, he could see if he could put some small hex on it, to deter snooping. Making wasn’t his specialty, but he thought he could manage something simple.
“I see.”
Yanko hoped he didn’t, not truly. With the Kyatt Islands halfway to Turgonia, he had no doubt that Dak could find a way to relay information home from there. The last thing Yanko needed was for another party to become interested in what he sought.
Chapter 12
Yanko let out a long relieved breath when he spotted the island on the horizon of a placid blue ocean with not a wave over two feet in height. Both sights were a respite after the last few days. They had survived the magical storm only to run into one provided by nature. Nature’s had been scarier and had lasted much longer.
He sagged against the railing, glad he did not feel the need to throw up over it this time. The captain must have his artifact working again, because the schooner was cutting through the water faster than it should have, given the slight breeze. Minark must not want the mage to catch up with him again. Understandable. Yanko didn’t want to see him again, either, though it might be inevitable, since the other ship seemed to know where they were going. He had no idea how the rebel faction had learned of the letter or of Zirabo’s mission, but he accepted it as a truth that it did know.
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