Tikaya eyed him skeptically. “I can imagine you as young, but…scrawny? You’re, what, six and a half feet? And broad.”
“Oh, I was always scrawny because I was always the youngest. I was the youngest child in my family, and then I went to the university four years early, so I was the youngest there. I got smashed whenever I tried to join the sports teams, and I couldn’t attract girls, because I was fourteen and they were at least eighteen and only interested in older men. Though I did finally bribe one gal to kiss me by volunteering to do her homework.”
Tikaya smiled. So, he had also been the youth who did not fit in. Maybe more so than she, since it sounded as if there was less educational infrastructure for precocious children in the empire.
“Surely, you’ve long since outgrown those troubles.” She yawned, folded her arms over her journal, and pillowed her chin. “I’m sure you could entice women of any age now.”
The pencil paused, and he bent down to peer into her eyes. “Hm, I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. How old are you?”
“Thirty. Does it matter?”
Humor glinted in his brown eyes. “Just wondering if my fantasies have been downright scandalous or merely lacking in propriety.”
If Tikaya had been less tired, she would have laughed at the idea of being someone’s fantasy, but she smiled blearily, her eyelids half shut. The thought, like the applejack, left her with a warm contentedness.
“How old are you?” she murmured.
“Forty-three.”
“As far as my people are concerned, it’d be more scandalous that you were a Turgonian military officer than that you’re older than I am.”
He had never told her he was an officer, but he did not deny it now. Glum acknowledgment replaced the humor on his face, and Tikaya wished she could retract the comment.
A knock sounded at the door, and the guard walked in. He blinked in surprise at Tikaya, probably expecting her to be naked, then focused on Rias.
“Skeldar’s team checked that mining camp like you asked,” the marine said. “It’s ten miles out. The men there were dead, same as everyone here. Same time ago. And the lookout tower at the bottom of the pass seems the same. The scouts saw no fire, no one moving.”
Rias scribbled a note. “Distance to the tower?”
“Fifteen miles.”
“Thank you, private. Dismissed.”
Grimness hooded his eyes, and he did not watch as the marine walked out. Tikaya shifted in her seat, waiting for him to finish, or waiting for an opportunity to ask him his thoughts. But she already sensed the problem. If people fifteen miles away had been killed by the same rocket…
“Ancestors help us.” Rias sat back, eyes closed.
“What?”
“The rocket detonated in the air over the fort, sending those cubes in all directions where they opened of their own volition to release their contents. I can only guess at the exact nature of the substance, but based on all the data points I’ve received, we’re looking at a weapon that can kill everyone within twenty miles of the detonation point. That’s more than twelve hundred and fifty square miles.” He stared at her. “Can you imagine what would happen if a weapon like this was launched in a populated area? Our capital city has more than a million people.”
“Ninety percent of the Kyattese population lives on our main island, and it’s smaller than that.” Tikaya thought of such a weapon in the Turgonian emperor’s hands. Why worry about subjugating her people when one could just kill them all and claim the deserted island for colonization?
CHAPTER 13
The door opened with a bang, and cold air flooded the room. Tikaya sat up. Wan morning light silhouetted Bocrest.
Confusion disoriented her for a moment. She remembered falling asleep at the desk with her cheek pressed against the pages of her journal, but now she sat in the bunk, a blanket pooled about her waist. Rias lay on the floor before the stove. He rolled his head toward the door, eyes slitted.
Bocrest looked from the nearly full applejack bottle on the desk, to Tikaya, and finally to Rias. “This is pathetic. You’ve got a private room, a bed, booze, and a woman, and you spent the night on the floor like a hound.”
“Ass,” Tikaya grumbled, wondering if she was too old to hurl pillows at people.
Rias yawned, stretched, and rolled to his feet. “Careful, Bocrest. You’re starting to sound like your brutish sergeant. Officers are supposed to be an influence on their troops, not the other way around.”
Bocrest snorted and walked to the desk. He picked up the top sheet of paper and scrutinized it, appearing as enlightened as a rock. “Did your big genius brain figure out where that rocket was launched from?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I’ll lead a team to the location, but I have conditions. I want ten men who have taken the mountaineering course. Give me a tracker too. I need a rifle, a pistol, a knife, and I want these chains off.” Rias rattled them for emphasis. “Permanently.”
Bocrest gaped at this list of demands. “Is there anything else this humble captain could lay at your feet, Master Prisoner? Perhaps I could grovel while I fulfill your wishes?”
“He wants me to come too,” Tikaya said.
“Absolutely not,” Bocrest said.
Rias arched his eyebrows at her. “Are you sure? It’d be difficult even without an injury.”
Tikaya hesitated. She did not want to make more work for him, but what if they found a cache of weapons and needed help disarming a rocket poised to launch? “You may need me up there.”
“As you wish,” Rias said.
“Emperor’s spit,” Bocrest said. “She’s got you leashed, and you’re not even screwing her.”
The manacles ensured Rias’s punch was not pretty, but he got a fist on the captain’s nose all the same. Bocrest saw it coming and partially blocked it, but the force still sent him staggering backward. His own fingers curled into a fist, but he snorted and released them.
“You’ll have your team.” Bocrest unclipped keys from his belt and tossed them to Rias. “But she should go with the main force to set up the base camp. What’s she going to do up there besides be a liability?”
“She’s found more ways to be useful than any of your men thus far.” Rias beamed her a proud smile.
Tikaya smiled back, ignoring the captain’s disgusted huff.
“What’s she actually translated?” Bocrest asked. “Did that rocket say anything?”
“I’m still working on what appear to be instructions,” she said. “I believe the simple phrases on the side say ‘caution’ and ‘this side up.’”
Bocrest snorted. “That’s as useful as goat spit. Great.”
“Captain…” Rias warned.
“Whatever. I don’t care. If she needs to be carried, none of my men are doing it. She’s your responsibility.” He stalked out the door, not bothering to shut it. “Team leaves in fifteen minutes!”
Tikaya slid her legs off the bed and grabbed her boots. It was the only thing Rias had presumed to remove before tucking her into bed. Her heart ached. Even if he had not leapt to her defense, she could have loved him just for being a gentleman up here in this savage land so far from the mores of civilization. She almost confided her suspicions to him, her fear that Bocrest’s mission would prove less about saving the Turgonians and more about getting the emperor a stockpile of terrifyingly powerful weapons.
“Something wrong?” Rias sat beside her to put on his own boots.
How could she tell him? A man whose every choice proved he still felt loyal to the empire, even after they had taken everything and exiled him. “I’m worried I made a mistake,” she said instead of bringing up the weapons. “I spoke hastily. I don’t want to be a burden on you. Maybe you could just copy any runes you find for me.”
“Do you want to go?”
“Yes.” A self-deprecating laugh spilled from her lips. She had never craved field work; she’d always preferred to stay in the
lab, letting agile adventurous sorts bring their finds to her. When had that changed? “I don’t want to miss anything.”
“I wouldn’t want that either.” He smiled, but it soon faded. “Besides, I’m concerned about your assassins. The bodyguard may be tortured and dead, but if the wizard is still around, he’ll feel he’s running out of time. It’ll be dangerous on the mountain, yes, but I’d prefer you with me rather than with a bunch of men who don’t care.”
By now his admission that he cared was no surprise, but hearing him say it almost brought tears to her eyes. If only he weren’t a Turgonian.
She leaned against his shoulder. “I care too.”
“Good.” He leaned back. “About me, right?”
She grinned and swatted him. She thought about doing more, but a pair of marines tramped past the door, pausing to peer inside. Then Bocrest hollered for his guide. Sighing, she finished tying her boots.
• • • • •
Tikaya eased along the narrow ledge, her metal crampons scraping and clinking against the ice. Sheer granite towered to her left while equally sheer rock plummeted on her right. A snowy canyon stretched hundreds of feet below. Though the white drifts appeared soft, she had no illusions of a landing being anything but deadly. Wind buffeted the face of the cliff, tugging at her thick braid and whipping stray strands of hair against her spectacles. Frost crystals glittered on the scarf snugged over her nose.
“We’re close,” Rias called, voice muffled by his own scarf.
He led the single-file squad of marines inching along the cliff face. Tikaya came second with Bocrest third. At first, the captain’s presence had surprised her, but a few curt words here and there had given her the impression he was there to remind everyone ‘Prisoner Five’ was most definitely not in charge of the team, even if he led.
A shadow fell across the group as a black raptor as large as a man sailed overhead. This was its third appearance. The way it coasted past made Tikaya think it was scouting the group. Her imagination, no doubt.
The sun glinted off sharp ebony talons as it flexed its legs to land on a perch a couple dozen feet above the ledge ahead of them. It cocked its head to stare at her through a calculating black eye.
“I’m getting tired of that bird,” a marine grumbled.
“We could make a meal out of it,” another said, voice loud and threatening, as if the creature would understand and leave.
Tikaya caught Bocrest glancing at the bird, but he otherwise paid it little attention. He did, however, carry his loaded rifle in one hand, barrel leaning against his shoulder. Earlier, he had worn it strapped to his rucksack.
The hair on the back of Tikaya’s neck rose as they walked under the creature’s perch. She had not felt the tingle of the mental sciences being used since the night the Nurians attacked. She paused to study the bird.
“Quit gawking,” Bocrest said.
“What species is that?” she asked. “Are they common?”
“How would I know? Do I look like I keep a summer estate here?”
“Ice condor.” Rias turned and held up a hand to halt the squad. “They’re predators but scavengers too. It’s unlikely it’ll attack a group of armed men. It’s probably just waiting to see if one of us falls.”
Lovely thought. “They’re usually natural creatures, then?”
“Of course, it’s a natural creature,” Bocrest said. “What else would it be?”
Tikaya pointed at it. “This one’s a—”
The condor dropped from its perch, plunging straight at her, beak agape, talons extended.
With nowhere else to go, Tikaya smashed herself against the cliff. The giant bird filled her vision, wings pressed against its body for speed. She raised her good arm to guard her face.
A rifle cracked. Someone pulled her up the path.
The condor squawked, clipped the edge of the ledge, and bounced away. Rock crumbled and fell into the canyon. The bird flapped its wings and recovered before tumbling far, but blood spattered the ice on the ledge. The condor sailed on a draft and disappeared from sight before Tikaya recovered.
“Thanks,” she rasped.
It was Rias who held her, Bocrest’s rifle that smoked.
“That was peculiar,” the captain said.
“More than that.” Rias checked Tikaya for injuries and released her. “A familiar?”
“That’s…” She mulled over the Turgonian word options. “Close enough. I’m guessing it’s a regular creature that someone is manipulating with thought control.” She remembered the snatch of conversation she had overheard the night the Nurians attacked her; the practitioner had read someone’s thoughts to find her. If he had studied telepathy on humans, controlling animals was not a stretch.
“How would you know?” Bocrest asked. “I thought you weren’t a wizard.”
“I’m not, but I’ve grown up around practitioners. I can sense when the mental sciences are being used nearby.”
Bocrest scowled at Rias. “Get moving. I want to finish up and get off this mountain quick.”
When they reached the top of the cliff, long shadows darkened the snowy plateau despite the early afternoon hour. They had climbed less than halfway up the mountain, and another granite wall rose to the rear, blocking the sun. Nothing on the plateau caught Tikaya’s eye, but the fantastic view to the north made for a memorable perch. Miles of unbroken tundra stretched to the horizon with ridges and swirls roaming like striations in stone.
Though nothing but drifts adorned the plateau, Rias strode across it as if he expected to find something. He stopped at a protruding edge and pointed.
“Perfect view of the fort from here,” he called.
“But there’s nothing here.” Bocrest gestured for his troops to fan out and investigate.
Tikaya floundered through deep snow to join Rias. He held a thermometer and a round bronze device she had seen him consult a few times. She had thought it a compass, but the numbers on its circular face did not represent degrees.
“Barometer?” she guessed.
Rias nodded once, though his eyes rolled upward as if he were busy with some calculation. Bocrest shuffled up behind them.
“Worried about a storm coming in?” she asked when Rias’s attention shifted to her.
He chuckled. “No, calculating our elevation. As long as you know the temperature, the air pressure at sea level, and the air pressure where you are, you can—”
Bocrest jerked his hand up. “Nobody cares, Five. Is this the spot or not?”
Rias’s sigh had a long-suffering quality, and, as he turned to face the captain, Tikaya wondered how many times in his career he had been cut off by officers with Bocrest’s temperament.
“We’re either here or we’re very close,” Rias said. “I was expecting a launching platform, but I suppose it’s possible the rocket was self-propelling.”
“You brought us up here to find nothing?” Bocrest demanded.
While the men debated, Tikaya removed her spectacles to clean them. She tilted them toward the sky to check for specks and almost dropped them when she spotted a sliver of familiar black metal on the cliff top above.
“Gentlemen.” She pointed, ending their argument.
“Ah.” Rias put away his tools. “Another fifty feet.”
“Thought your math was better than that.” Bocrest smirked.
Rias’s eyebrows disappeared under his wool cap. “My math is impeccable. The tools are imprecise.”
Tikaya grinned, always amused when his Turgonian arrogance peeped out.
Bocrest only snorted and called to his men: “Get some grappling hooks out. We’re climbing.”
“We’ll go first.” Rias pointed to his chest then at Tikaya. “I don’t want overeager young men thundering around up there before we’ve ascertained the danger.”
“I’ll go first,” Bocrest said. “You can come after and pull your wounded librarian up.”
Tikaya grimaced. She held her own on the walkable terrain,
but even without a shoulder injury, she would have needed help up the cliffs. Already, Rias had pulled her up two, while she scraped and pushed with her crampons, trying to use her legs and burden him as little as possible.
“Doing all right?” Rias patted her on the back as Bocrest stomped away.
“I’m fine. Do you always volunteer women to lead the way with you into potentially dangerous situations?”
He winked. “Only if I know they can handle it.”
Not for the first time, she wondered if he thought too highly of her.
• • • • •
When Rias pulled Tikaya over the edge, she knelt to catch her breath. Even with his help, the climb had been taxing.
The first thing she noticed was the dead man. The second thing she noticed was that he had not died the same way the marines in the fort had. An enormous amount of blood spattered the snow around him, and methodical cuts marked the body. Bocrest already stood over it, arms crossed, lips dragged down in a scowl.
“Tortured,” he said. “Same as the one in the fort.”
“Nurian?” Tikaya asked.
Bocrest was too busy cursing under his breath to answer.
The ledge, similar to the one below, offered another ideal view of the tundra—and the fort. A second cliff to the rear shadowed a tent and a fire pit. The source of the black metal Tikaya had spotted rested near the edge: a flat circle mounted on tripod legs. A shaft tilted upward from the disk and appeared the right size for cradling the rocket. The launching apparatus was not large, but it would have taken more than one man to carry it up there. Or a telekinetics practitioner.
Tikaya walked over to look at the body. “Uh.”
“Uh?” Rias asked.
“I recognize this one too.”
“Can’t be a practitioner,” Rias said. “He looks Turgonian.”
“He is Turgonian. That’s Lancecrest.”
“The fort commander?” Bocrest asked. “He’s too young.”
“No, the Lancecrest I told you about. And actually I think he did study the mental sciences at the Polytechnic. Along with archaeology.” She filled Rias in with the information she had given Bocrest the night before.
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