Unraveled: Heritage of Power, Book 4

by Buroker, Lindsay

  Trip dodged and deflected slashing claws as he glanced over his shoulder, afraid that snake would take advantage and strike at his back. But it had moved off to the side. Another snake had appeared in the foyer, also coiled, its head higher than Trip’s as it hissed at him. It wasn’t close enough to attack. Instead, it maintained its coil off to one side, across from the first snake.

  As Trip frantically blocked attacks, he got the feeling that the snakes had opened the way and that the other animals were driving him in a particular direction. Toward one of those doors in the back?

  Claws slipped past his defenses and raked his arm, shredding his sleeve—and his flesh. He growled and attempted to throw a wave of power at the animals, to knock them all back to the doors.

  All he managed was a feeble puff of air that barely stirred their fur.

  The soulblades also weren’t as effective as usual. When he’d battled with them before, they had guided his hands, turning him into a master swordsman even though he had no experience. He sensed little bursts from Jaxi and Azarwrath, as they tried to add speed to his blocks, but it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t hold his ground, and the animals succeeded in driving him farther and farther from the front doors.

  Trip glanced back again. He was definitely being angled toward one of those doors. What if he simply ran to it, opened it, and shut it in the faces of the animals? Nothing, probably. These powerful creatures could bash down a door. Besides—

  The floor disappeared under his feet.

  Trip swore as he pitched downward. He released the soulblades and grabbed at the edge of the opening, but it was slick with grease. His fingers slipped off. He fell into darkness, one flailing hand grazing the hanging trapdoor that he hadn’t detected, its marble tile surface identical to that of the rest of the foyer flooring.

  He expected to splash into the water under the barge, but he landed on the hard hull, the metal cold and unforgiving. Darkness enshrouded him, and he couldn’t sense a thing. Metal clanged right above him, and he flinched and lifted his hands, expecting something to fall on him.

  Nothing struck him, but when he jumped to his feet, he cracked his head on a low ceiling that he hadn’t anticipated. No, not a ceiling, he realized as he patted around, fingers brushing metal bars. The top of a cage.

  A roar came from above, one of the lions peering through the trapdoor opening. Even without access to his senses, Trip knew it was envisioning a tasty dinner entrée. But the trapdoor swung shut first, locking the animals out. And locking Trip in.

  He explored the rest of the cage, looking for a way out, but all he found were metal bars all around him. When he shoved at the metal over his head, the flat top did not move. A well-designed cage, he admitted grudgingly. And he’d allowed himself to be placed right in it.

  9

  Rysha arrived at the waterfront several hours after the sun set and expected to spend hours waiting in the shadows, watching the palace to see if anything explosive happened. She didn’t expect to find a battle underway as soon as the barge came into view.

  She gawked at the chaos taking place out there, at lions, lizards, and apes racing from the warehouse barge across a ramp to the palace barge. That ramp was soon hurled into the air by some invisible power, but it didn’t matter. The two barges were close enough that more animals leaped across. They all arrowed toward the man standing just inside the open double doors. Trip.

  He wielded Jaxi and Azarwrath, the blades whipping about as he deflected bites and slashes, but the swords had a much duller glow than usual, and his movements seemed more frantic than expert.

  A few people had gathered on the waterfront, drawn by the battle—the growls and yips echoed throughout the harbor. Others stood gaping from the deck of a large merchant steamer moored at the end of the docks—the vessel Kaika must have booked passage on.

  Rysha ran toward the docks, wondering if she could persuade the captain to take her out to the barge. But there wasn’t any smoke coming from his smokestacks. Firing up the vessel would take time, time that Trip might not have.

  The palace barge wasn’t so far out that a ride was necessary. Besides, whoever had let out all those animals would notice another ship coming out. That person might not notice a single small figure in the dark water…

  “I knew swimming would be involved sooner or later,” Rysha grumbled to herself.

  She ran past the docks and turned onto the sandy beach where Trip had fixed the rowboat the night before. From down here, she couldn’t see him anymore, but the roars and growls continued to emanate from the barge.

  Rysha made sure Dorfindral was secure in its sheath, then tugged out the strap that would secure her spectacles to her face. Though she hated to delay, she also grabbed an oilskin bag she’d stopped to buy on the way here, having envisioned having to swim. She stuck her pistol inside and did her best to make the bag watertight, so the bullets wouldn’t get wet.

  Finally, she plowed into the water under the docks. Its frigid grip wrapped around her body, making her gasp, but the cold propelled her arms to greater speed. The sooner she got out there, the sooner she could climb out and help Trip. Assuming there was a ladder or a way up to the deck from the water.

  She grimaced as she swam, realizing there was no guarantee of a ladder, but she vowed she would find a way up. She didn’t know how Trip had gotten into trouble so quickly, but her gut told her that he needed her. Dorfindral was made to battle people—and animals—with dragon blood.

  By the time she reached the barge, her breaths were ragged, and her arms and legs felt like lead. A clang sounded—doors shutting? The noise of the battle grew muffled. She still heard roars, but they sounded like they were coming from inside now.

  Rysha swam around the hull, looking for a ladder or any handholds she could use to pull herself up. Finally, she spotted something.

  Not a ladder, but the thick anchor chain that stretched from midway up the hull into the water. She swam over and pulled herself up with weary arms. The chain hole wasn’t large enough for anyone to crawl through, but she managed to stick a boot in and use it as a foothold. She pushed herself up, stretching high, fingers brushing the lip of the railing. Growling, she leaped from the tiny, awkward ledge. If she didn’t make it, she would simply try again.

  Her fingers curled around the railing, only with one hand at first. But she flung her other hand up and also caught the railing. And then she dangled there, some part of the back of her mind laughing because this was the exact situation she’d been in when she’d had to get over that wall on the elite-troops obstacle course.

  As she’d done then, she swung her legs from side to side, making a human pendulum. The railing was damp, and she had to be careful not to dislodge her fingers. Tedious seconds passed as she gathered momentum. Worry gnawed at her heart because the sounds of the battle had faded completely.

  Finally, she twisted at the height of a swing and hooked one leg over the railing. That was enough. She pulled herself up awkwardly, almost falling over and onto the walkway.

  Hot air washed over her, and she glanced to the side. Not air. Breath.

  Fangs snapped toward her.

  She lurched back, tearing Dorfindral from its sheath. Her shoulder rammed hard against a wall, and she almost dropped the sword. But the chapaharii blade took over, slashing to knock aside a panther’s snapping maw before her conscious mind could have summoned a defense.

  Dorfindral flared, its green light shining in the creature’s yellow eyes, and energy surged into Rysha’s limbs. All the weariness from the hard swim evaporated, and she felt like climbing mountains. And slaying enemies.

  She lunged away from the wall, meeting the panther in the air as it sprang toward her, its jaws snapping for her face. Rysha roared and swept the blade up and across with all her strength. The fangs almost made it to her, and she jerked her head back, but not before Dorfindral cut halfway through the panther’s broad neck.

  She jumped back, pulling the blade free as the animal
dropped to the deck. It couldn’t survive that injury, but it didn’t know that yet. It bunched it muscles, preparing to spring for her again.

  Rysha leaped first, the sword giving her greater speed than usual. She adjusted her grip and plunged the blade down from above, the point diving into the creature’s skull. There was so much power behind the blow that she almost pinned it to the deck.

  Afraid that others would have heard the battle, Rysha yanked the blade free and spun to look in the other direction. And then swore.

  She’d expected more animals, but a woman stood there with twin ivory-hilted pistols in her hands. Grekka.

  Rysha stared at the dark muzzles pointed at her face.

  “I happen to know the magic of those swords does not protect the wielder from bullets,” Grekka said in a faint Cofah accent.

  “Actually, I have deflected bullets before,” Rysha said, still in a fighting stance, still with Dorfindral raised in front of her.

  “Not from this range, I wager. And not two at a time.”

  Rysha couldn’t tell if the woman had an invisible barrier around her, but she doubted it, not if she meant to shoot. Even if she did, Dorfindral could pop it in a second, and Rysha could lunge in and knock the pistols away. She just needed to buy that second.

  “It’s a very good blade,” Rysha said, then glanced over Grekka’s shoulder and frowned, as if something was back there.

  The woman smirked and didn’t glance away. Belatedly, Rysha realized she would have magical senses, the same as Trip, and wouldn’t need to look to know nothing was sneaking up on her. Too bad.

  “Drop it,” the woman said.

  “And then what?” Rysha asked, easily imagining the woman shooting her anyway. At least with the sword in hand, she had a chance at deflecting those bullets or lunging forward and cutting into the pistols before they fired. Even now, Dorfindral hummed in her grip, urging her to take action, to slash at the vile sorceress standing in front of them.

  “Maybe I’ll let you swim back the way you came. I can’t imagine there would be much of a bounty out there for an Iskandian soldier, especially a lowly lieutenant.”

  Rysha masked her face, not letting her unease show, but it worried her that the woman knew all about her. She wasn’t wearing her uniform jacket or her rank insignia, and she hadn’t been thinking about her rank or her job, so Grekka shouldn’t have telepathically plucked the information from her mind.

  “You couldn’t know many royal secrets,” Grekka said. “Though there are Cofah who like torturing Iskandians just because it’s enjoyable. Perhaps you would be worth keeping to sell. I have some empty cages after last night.” Her eyes narrowed.

  “You know a lot of Cofah subjects, still?” Rysha asked, realizing she might get some information from the woman. “I heard you prefer to kill them when they come to visit.”

  A hint of confusion entered Grekka’s narrowed eyes.

  “Dreyak,” Rysha said. “He was helping our people out. Is that why he’s dead now?”

  The woman froze, and her face became a mask. Rysha had expected a different reaction, a sneer perhaps. She could tell the woman recognized the name, but she couldn’t discern anything more.

  Before she could ask another question, a rapid clacking of claws on the metal deck came from behind her. Damn it, she had forgotten there would be more animals out here.

  Her instincts told her to spin and defend her back, but she made her feet stay where they were. There was trouble enough in front of her.

  Grekka’s fingers tensed on the triggers. Dorfindral whipped across, and a clang sounded right after the cracks of the pistols. The sword deflected one bullet, but agony flared in Rysha’s stomach—the second one had gotten through.

  She lunged and slashed at Grekka. A pop reverberated up her arm, Dorfindral breaking the woman’s barrier. But before Rysha could push the attack, something massive slammed into her back.

  As she flew forward, the woman dodged to the side to get out of the way. Rysha’s hand cracked against the railing, and her fingers flew open. Dorfindral fell from her grip.

  Rysha hit the deck, a huge weight atop her, and she roared in pain and frustration—and realization. She hadn’t just dropped the sword; she’d dropped the sword into the harbor.

  Rysha tried to push herself up, having a ridiculous notion of diving after it and somehow finding it in the dark water and catching it before it fell too far to retrieve. But she couldn’t budge an inch. Whatever had her pinned weighed far more than she did.

  “Warrior gods be damned, woman,” Grekka growled, her feet coming into view as she stepped to the railing to peer over. “You threw that sword in? Those are worth ten thousand karvots a piece.”

  “Sorry to inconvenience your finances,” Rysha growled through the pain in her abdomen. The bullet was lodged in there. Seven gods, she thought, terror creeping into her limbs. A wound like that could kill her.

  Hot breath hit the back of her cold, wet neck. Something splashed to the deck beside her face. Saliva.

  “You will be,” Grekka snarled. “Fuddy, have her for dinner.”

  Grekka stalked away as the weight shifted on Rysha’s back, the animal’s fanged maw lowering to her head.

  Rysha’s terror went from a simmer to a boil. Whatever was on top of her was going to kill her long before the bullet did.

  * * *

  A hatch creaked open in the darkness, and the quiet thud of boots on metal floated to Trip’s ears. He lifted his forehead from the bars of the cage—the cold metal helped ease his headache somewhat, though it did nothing to alleviate his sense of defeat. He was trapped and couldn’t draw upon any of his power.

  He didn’t know if the cage was made of the tainted iron from the quarry or if the entire barge was, but he had been a fool to come out here. He’d dropped Jaxi and Azarwrath as he fell, and he didn’t know if they were down in this hold with him or up on the marble floor, getting slobbered on by the circus. Whoever was walking toward him would probably pick them up and sell them. Or maybe, realizing a soulblade couldn’t be used against its wishes, the person would throw them over the side of the barge.

  Trip slumped as he imagined having to tell Sardelle that he’d lost Jaxi. Assuming he lived that long.

  The person who’d entered unshuttered a lantern. The soft yellow flame didn’t provide much light, but it was enough for Trip to recognize the gray goatee. Bhodian.

  He lifted the lantern and gazed at Trip. “I must say, you’re a disappointment.”

  “Thanks,” Trip said, refusing to show that the statement confused him, even if it did. “And who are you?”

  Oh, Trip had his name, but he had no idea if it was a first name, a surname, or a nickname. Nor did he know where the man was from or what he truly wanted.

  Bhodian’s eyebrows drew together. “You don’t know? Do you typically break into the boats of people who you don’t know?”

  “I didn’t break in. I knocked on the door. And then I tried very hard not to enter, but your guard dogs shoved me in. No, technically, the guard snake dragged me in.”

  “Droofy,” Bhodian said, smirking. “Or maybe it was Dorfus. They are some of Grekka’s favorites. I’ve a fondness for them too. She lets me keep them as house pets even when I’m not expecting intruders.”

  “As I said, I didn’t want to intrude. I just wanted to talk.”

  “Which is why you broke into Grekka’s warehouse yesterday and snooped through her desk drawers.” Bhodian raised his eyebrows.

  Trip wished he had an answer for that, other than to wonder how the man had known the precise details. Or was it Grekka who had known?

  Trip shrugged. “I believe she killed a friend of mine, and I didn’t think she would come if I invited her to tea to chat about it.”

  “No? She’s open to chatting about killing people over tea.”

  “Lovely.”

  Bhodian looked him up and down while Trip did the same to him. It didn’t look like the man carried a weapon,
but he wore a long coat that could have hidden pistols and daggers. Trip tried to sense his thoughts, but it was in vain. He couldn’t sense his own foot right now.

  “Why am I not what you expected?” he asked, not because he wanted a list detailing his disappointing attributes, but because Bhodian may have known Trip’s mother. More than that, he may have financed the expedition that resulted in Trip being found and being born again into this new era.

  “You’re half dragon, right? The offspring of Agarrenon Shivar.” Bhodian tilted his head. “I expected you to be immensely powerful. I thought it was the greatest vanity for me to attempt to arrange this trap. Quite frankly, I thought you would wave your hand and destroy my home.”

  Trip decided it wouldn’t benefit him to share that he’d only started training to be a sorcerer a couple of weeks ago. And that he’d been an absentee student for most of that time.

  “You seem to have gone to some lengths to magic-proof it.” Trip peered to the left and right of his cage, trying to pick out Jaxi or Azarwrath in the shadows. He also hoped, no doubt in vain, that he might spot the stasis chamber tucked away in a corner.

  “Yes, several years back, I was concerned about a competitor. We were engaged in a feud of sorts. I assumed it would end up with one of us dead.” He smirked. “I didn’t imagine we’d end up with adjoining barges and often working together on deals.”

  “You and Grekka work together? Then you might know why she killed a Cofah warrior named Dreyak.”

  It was ludicrous to expect the man to give him information, but as long as Bhodian was feeling chatty, why not try?

  “Dreyak? That was your friend? Huh.”

  Huh? Trip would have stripped naked for the power to read the man’s mind.

  “It’s a little hard to believe since you’re Iskandian,” Bhodian added.