Forgotten Ages (The Complete Series)

by Lindsay Buroker

“Is there anything I could do?” Tikaya asked. It was meant to be a joke, but it didn’t sound very funny when it came out.

  “Your people are theists, aren’t they? Perhaps you could pray for a storm or a dense fog.”

  Tikaya eyed the clouds. They lacked the ominous darkness of thunderheads, and there was no hint of fog lingering in the troughs of the waves. “I haven’t noticed a high success rate amongst those who pray for weather phenomena.”

  “Unfortunate,” Rias said. “At least these Nurians shouldn’t have a reason to kill you, not like those assassins we encountered last time. With luck, they won’t even know who you are, and they’ll leave you alone.”

  “Oh, good. I can just stand back and watch as you’re beaten, chained, and thrown into their dank, windowless brig.”

  “You could always come along.” Rias smiled and offered his arm. “Dank windowless brigs are always more amenable with company.”

  She snorted and leaned against him, though his joke did little to lift her spirits. She scowled at the back of the captain’s head. How depressing to think that they might have survived assassins, deadly technology, and monster-filled tunnels, only to be defeated by human greed.

  PART VII

  Afternoon brought the first warning shot, a cannonball splashing into the water off the port bow. Towering granite cliffs rose to the east, the topography Rias had described, with no sign of a river—or any coves to hide in—within sight. Deep blue water promised plenty of depth for the Nurian warships to navigate through.

  On the schooner, the captain paced back and forth, masticating his tobacco like an apothecary grinding a nettlesome root in a mortar. The mate was barking orders to his modest gun crew—the schooner claimed four cannons. Given the hundreds the other ships carried—which were clearly visible now that the Nurians had drawn closer—Tikaya thought the captain was addled for even contemplating a fight. If it was inevitable that the Nurians would overtake the Fin, better to let them board and take the stolen flute, rather than risk irking them further.

  So long as they didn’t find Rias.

  The waiting and worrying was enough to make Tikaya crazy. Part of her wanted to run down to the bilge pump and plan a mutiny with him, if only on the chance that having him in charge would make a difference, but she was the one who’d told him—implored him—to hide out down there.

  “We just have to hold them for a while,” the captain told the mate. “We’ll reach Port Malevek by dusk.”

  By dusk was three hours away. Those ships were in firing range now. Another cannon boomed, and the ball splashed into the water a few meters behind the schooner. The next one might very well crash into the ship.

  “Need another idea,” Tikaya muttered. “Something better.” She still had the flute, but she doubted the Nurians would hear her over the sea and cannons even if she knew what tune to play. Garchee stood by the railing, watching the approaching ships with that same resignation on his face from earlier.

  She jogged over to him. “Any chance you know a tune that would convince those captains to turn around and go home?”

  He smiled sadly. “The flutes aren’t that powerful. Especially that one. It was made by a novice.”

  One of the galleons was inching closer, trying to come alongside the schooner. A forward cannon fired, and Tikaya’s heart nearly stopped. The black ball arced straight toward them.

  She grabbed Garchee and pulled him to the deck. The cannonball smashed into the hull of the ship not three feet below them. Wood shattered, hurling planks and splinters into the air. The deck trembled as the cannonball ripped through the ship’s innards. She didn’t know if it crashed all the way through to the other side or lodged somewhere in the middle.

  Tikaya sat up, concern for Rias rearing in her mind. He was below decks. What if—

  As if her thoughts had conjured him, Rias burst up the stairs and onto the deck, his eyes round with surprise. “They’re firing at the ship?”

  “That surprises you?” Tikaya asked.

  Rias’s gaze latched onto Garchee, who, still on his knees, was also blinking in surprise. “Yes.”

  “I thought they’d surround us and board us,” Garchee said to himself in Nurian. “Maybe they don’t know…”

  “They shouldn’t be trying to hit us unless they don’t know that more than an artifact is on board.” Rias extended a hand toward Garchee. “Come.”

  He helped the boy to his feet, then pointed toward the closest mast. Not sure what he had in mind, Tikaya followed them.

  “Up,” Rias pointed toward the yards.

  Garchee nodded once and climbed. Rias headed up after him.

  “What are you doing?” Tikaya asked. The firing of a cannon—one from their own ship—drowned out her words. “Rias, they’ll see you,” she called. “They’ll recognize you.”

  “I know,” Rias said grimly. “But they need to see… their thief.” He looked up to where Garchee had reached the lower yard and crawled out onto it. The boy’s face was bleak but accepting.

  “Rias, you can’t…” Tikaya didn’t know what to say. Did he truly mean to risk himself and to offer up the poor boy as sacrifice to save the mangy crew of this schooner? She couldn’t believe that of him. He had to be up to something else.

  Before crawling out onto the yard himself, Rias looked down and met Tikaya’s gaze. Trust me, his eyes seemed to say.

  “What are those idiots doing up there?” the captain bellowed.

  He didn’t have time to follow up on the question. The two galleons were gliding closer, hemming in the smaller ship while the frigate closed from behind.

  On the yard, Rias and Garchee stood. The boy inched out to the end and lifted an arm toward the frigate.

  The galleons drew even with the schooner. The Nurians were close enough that Tikaya could hear their orders, shouts to disable the enemy ship in preparation for boarding. Then a panicked shout erupted from a man in the frigate’s crow’s nest. That ship was too far back for Tikaya to make out the words, but more shouts arose on the deck. She thought she heard a “cease fire” order.

  “Grappling hooks,” someone bellowed from the nearest galleon.

  A Nurian sailor lifted a megaphone and called in accented Turgonian, “Unnamed vessel, prepare to be boarded.”

  Down on the deck, the captain seethed, fists clenched. The mate asked him something and pointed to the cannons. The captain spat, then shook his head.

  “It’s over.”

  Garchee was picking his way back toward the mast. Rias waited, perhaps ready in case the less-than-agile youth slipped again. Noble, but Tikaya wished to Akahe that he’d get down from there and hide somewhere before the Nurians boarded.

  As the two were climbing back to the deck, another shout went up from a crow’s nest, this time on the closest ship. The words sent a swarm of dread into Tikaya’s gut.

  “Tell the captain I think that’s Admiral Starcrest over there.”

  Tikaya rubbed her face. “Oh, Rias,” she said as he hopped down beside her. “Why couldn’t you have stayed out of sight?”

  “I never was good at hiding from trouble,” Rias said, reaching out a hand to steady Garchee when he jumped the last few feet to land beside them.

  “Drop all weapons,” the Nurian with the megaphone commanded.

  A squad of bowmen stood along the railing of each galleon, covering their comrades as they boarded.

  Tikaya checked the waters in every direction, hoping a Turgonian fleet would appear on the horizon. “It’s really quite lackadaisical of your people to leave this stretch of their coast unguarded,” she told Rias. “These Nurians are close enough to Port Malevek to see what people are growing in their gardens.”

  “Should I ever regain my warrior-caste status, I’ll be certain to write a strongly worded letter to the local base commander.”

  A short, squat Nurian in a flowing, vibrant crimson and yellow uniform strode toward Rias and Garchee. Strands of gray wove through his black hair, which was
swept into a thick topknot in the center of his head. Gold disks sewn into his collar proclaimed him a senior sergeant. The rest of his men fanned out, half of them covering their leader while the others aimed bows or swords at the crew, ensuring everyone had indeed dropped their weapons. Many of those bows were pointed at Rias.

  “Mee Lin, Fahso, Torsee, and Mek,” the sergeant said in Nurian, “take the admiral prisoner. Search him, tie him, and put him in our brig. We’ll salvage something from this fool’s mission. By the pantheon, we’ve taken too much risk already in getting this close to the empire.” He glanced toward the towering cliffs in the distance.

  Tikaya took a step forward, intending to tell them they were mistaken, and that Rias only looked like this Admiral Starcrest they’d fought in the war. But Garchee acted first.

  He took a deep breath and raised a hand. “Leave him, sergeant.”

  All of the Nurians halted.

  “Dead deranged ancestors,” the schooner captain said around a plug of tobacco, “what’s going on?” Standing near the wheel with the helmsman and the mate, he seemed surprised to have earned the attention of only a couple of guards. Of course, he couldn’t likely understand Nurian and follow the conversation.

  “Prince Zirabo,” the sergeant said, addressing Garchee, “do you know who he is? Even if you don’t, if he’s the one who kidnapped you, you must want him brought to justice.”

  Prince? Zirabo? Tikaya blinked. That was the name of one of the Great Chief’s three sons.

  “I know, sergeant,” Garchee—no, Zirabo—said. “But I… wasn’t kidnapped. I ran away. I was tired of— It doesn’t matter now. It was a mistake. Father will punish me, and I’ll deserve it.”

  Tikaya found herself gaping at Rias. Again, she wasn’t certain how much of the conversation he followed, but he must have recognized the prince’s name. He didn’t appear surprised. Not in the least.

  “Admiral Starcrest wasn’t a part of any of this,” Zirabo said. “I’m not certain how he came to be here, but he and the woman boarded as passengers the day before yesterday. I think… they just wanted a ride south.”

  Tikaya nodded vigorously when the sergeant glanced at her. Rias was watching all, though he said nothing, and his face was impossible to read. Zirabo and the sergeant were using the Nurian version of Rias’s name, which translated to “Enemy Chief Fox,” and the captain and mate still didn’t seem to have a clue as to what was going on.

  The sergeant lowered his voice. “Starcrest would be a great prize, Prince Zirabo. Perhaps your father would forgive you for your errors in judgment and the trouble you’ve caused if you brought this man home in chains.”

  No, bad idea, Tikaya thought, concerned that the boy would find the offer tempting. What twelve year old wouldn’t want to avoid punishment?

  Indeed Zirabo touched his chin, and his eyes grew speculative. But, after a silent moment, he dropped his hand and squared his shoulders. “He saved my life. We will leave him.”

  Tikaya would have been proud of the youth, but she was busy watching the sergeant and his men, waiting to see if they’d override the prince’s orders. No adult on the Kyatt Islands would have let a child dictate in such an important moment.

  The sergeant scratched his jaw. “You’ve grown up these last couple of weeks, My Prince.”

  “Stupidity, or perhaps surviving stupidity, teaches one a few things,” Zirabo said.

  “Well said, My Prince. If you’ll come with us, we’d best retreat from these waters before our presence instigates a new war.”

  Zirabo winced, perhaps thinking that it would be his fault if that happened. “Of course, sergeant.”

  The youth jogged to Tikaya and Rias. “I apologize, but I must have the flute back. I will have money sent to compensate the captain for my passage—and the holes in his ship—though I dare think he worked me hard enough to cover the repairs.”

  “Perhaps so.” Tikaya handed the flute to him, wondering if he was old enough to have carved it himself or if it belonged to some older brother or cousin.

  “A life for a life,” Zirabo told Rias with a solemn nod.

  “Understood,” Rias responded.

  With the flute in hand, Zirabo trotted to the boarding ramp. The Nurians waited for him to climb across and disappear onto a galleon before retreating. As soon as no weapons were trained on his chest, the captain bellowed, “Emperor’s warts, what is going on?”

  “Do you want to explain it to him or should I?” Rias murmured as the Nurians continued to evacuate the ship.

  “Neither.” Tikaya searched Rias’s face. “How did you know?” she asked, certain that he had. He’d propelled the youth up onto the yard to make sure the Nurians knew he was there. They must have only known they were following the artifact, not necessarily that their prince remained with it.

  “When he was offended at your suggestion that he’d stolen the flute,” Rias said, “I assumed it was his to start with. And you’d said that only the royal family knew how to create them, so…”

  “You couldn’t have known he was one of the princes, though.”

  “It was a hunch from the day we spent together.”

  “A hunch?” Tikaya asked. “You barely speak his language.”

  Rias sniffed. “Really.”

  “And he never spoke more than three words at once anyway.”

  “I can read people.” Rias lifted his eyebrows, as if to remind her of a previous conversation they’d had, one where he’d suggested that much of being a military strategist was being able to get into the mind of the person on the other side. He’d done more than that here. He was proving a knack for winning people over to his side as well.

  “Hm,” Tikaya said, “I’d been worried about taking you back to the Kyatt Islands with me. I’d even been contemplating going home alone long enough to ensure my family I’m fine, then asking you to meet me at some foreign port later on.”

  “And now?” Rias asked.

  “I’m still worried about it, but I’m beginning to think you might have what it takes to assure my government you’re not a spy, placate belligerent citizens who resent your role in the war, and maybe even win Grandpa’s regard.”

  “Am I correct in assuming that Grandpa may be the most intractable obstacle your island holds?”

  Tikaya grinned. “Probably.”

  “It does sound like a harrowing mission, but I would have been distraught if you took it from me.”

  “Because you’ve fallen deeply in love with me, and you can’t bear the idea of weeks apart?”

  “Perhaps.” The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Or perhaps because I, too, have grown weary of the frozen north, and the sun and beaches you’ve been talking about sound relaxing.”

  “Hmmph.”

  The captain stomped past them, cursing, glaring, and spitting in every direction. “What’s everybody doing? Standing around and gawking? Do you think this schooner is going to reach port by magic? Get back to work!”

  Sailors scurried away like a flock of pigeons startled by a dog’s approach.

  Tikaya leaned against Rias. “What are the odds of the next portion of our voyage being more tranquil? And involving a private cabin?”

  “Whatever would we need a private cabin for?” Rias smiled.

  “If you don’t know that, then you’re not nearly as good at reading people as you think.”

  Tikaya was of a mind to kiss him, lack of privacy or not, but the captain grumped to a stop in front of them and jabbed his finger into Rias’s chest.

  “That bilge water isn’t going to pump itself. Get back to work.”

  Rias exchanged sighs with Tikaya. “A private cabin, yes, we’ll look into it.”

  THE END

  DECRYPTED

  by Lindsay Buroker

  PART I

  CHAPTER 1

  Tikaya crossed out another opening line. A letter should not be so hard to write. True, the conditions were not ideal: the ship’s wooden railing made a poor desk, the s
alty wind tugged at the paper, and something redolent of seagull poop adorned the side of her pencil. But it was the topic that made the message a challenge. And the fact that she didn’t know the names of the people to whom the letter would be mailed. Nor was she certain they existed.

  She glowered at the page.

  “Linguistics troubles?” a familiar baritone asked.

  Tikaya turned and spotted Rias. A clean Rias, the first time he’d appeared so in more days than she could remember. She flung herself into his arms with enthusiasm that would have knocked over most of the men on her island; he caught her with ease. His six-and-a-half feet complemented her annoyingly tall six-foot frame nicely. But that height, along with those broad shoulders and the dense armoring of muscle beneath his shirt, reminded her how unmistakably Turgonian he was. For the eight-or nine-thousandth time, she worried that none of her ideas for inspiring her people—her family—to accept him would work. Even getting him past the port authorities could prove challenging.

  The basalt cliffs rising from the eastern side of the island told her they had a few more minutes before the ship reached the harbor. She could worry then. For now…

  Tikaya rose on her tiptoes, kissed Rias, and wriggled deeper into his embrace.

  Catcalls and whistles floated down from the ratlines.

  Someone yelled, “Ain’t pass’gers s’posed to have cabins for that?”

  “Give ’em a blanket, so’s we got a show to watch!”

  Most of the sailors’ comments were easily ignored—especially considering how little of Rias she had seen during the three-week voyage—but the surly mutter of “traitor” from a passing man stole her ardor.

  Tikaya broke off the kiss. “Sorry.”

  The sailor had spoken in Kyattese, and she wasn’t sure if it was one of the words Rias knew, but he had to have guessed the nature of the comment. He merely raised his eyebrows. “I hope that apology is for stabbing me in the neck with your pencil—”

  She blushed and adjusted her hands.

  “—and not for kissing me,” he finished. “Because if you’ve forgotten how much I enjoy the latter, I’ve been spending far too much time in that stokehold.”